#this gets long and rambly I apologize

[pheonixkenny]

How do you think other characters would react if they found out about Kenny’s immortality? I kinda go back and forth on this. I have many different ideas on how they’d react depending on how I’m feeling or information I have or w/e. I’m not sure how they would react canonically but I have some of my own ideas. (Ideas listed under the cut.)

Kyle: Given that he was the only one to give him the benefit of the doubt when Kenny mentioned it in “Coon Vs Coon and Friends.” (“Ok, let’s say you’re not crazy and it’s true.”) He would be one of the best at handling it. He does still think it’s kinda cool, but he knows better now than to tell Kenny that. He’s the one who asks him the most questions. (Like, “What’s it like to die? What’s the afterlife like? Do you think you’ll live forever?, etc.) He does feel kinda guilty for not knowing/believing him earlier, thinking he’s a bad friend. He enters big brother protection mode (previously reserved for Ike) around Kenny afterwards to try and keep him from dying so much. Kenny cycles back and forth between being flattered and annoyed about this. He also becomes determined to break Kenny’s curse, researching everything he can about the cult of cthulhu and immortality. The guy has a full on conspiracy board about this within a week.

Cartman: I know a lot of people have the theory that he already knows, it’s a solid theory that holds up logically but I don’t personally believe it because Cartman would absolutely take advantage of Kenny’s little power for his own gain. Anyone else who finds out about it tries to keep it from Cartman for this very reason.

Butters: Butters is a sweetheart so he apologizes profusely and gives Kenny a hug when he finds out. He also hugs Kenny whenever he comes back from a death and tries to comfort him, with varying degrees of success. I also feel like Butters would just believe him without any proof. Given how many of Cartman’s schemes he’s fallen for over the years I think it’s safe to say that he’s pretty gullible. He will believe pretty much anything you tell him. It’s just in this case it happens to be true.

Tweek: I saw a headcanon on here that Tweek would also believe Kenny because, thanks to the Underpants Gnomes, he knows how frustrating it is not to be believed. I love that and am stealing it. He wouldn’t exactly handle the information well though, because that is WAY too much pressure.

Craig: Craig didn’t give a shit when fucking lasers came out of his eyes so it’s safe to say he doesn’t give a shit about this either. He’ll say a sarcastic remark about it once in a while, but that’s about it.

Stan: Hoo boy, Stan. I know that I just recently wrote a fanfiction where Stan is patient and understanding about the whole thing but I changed my mind. So, in “The Cissy” when people around him start experimenting with gender for various reasons Stan gets worried and confused. He reacts similarly during the Tweek and Craig/Yaoi situation in “Tweek x Craig”. And who could forget the time when he didn’t go visit Kenny in the hospital because he couldn’t deal with the situation? (I’m making him sound like a bad kid, he’s not, he’s just sensitive and doesn’t know how to handle some things in the best way.) So now I’m thinking that when he finds out he’ll have another Stan Marsh Existential Crisis (patent pending) and just kinda avoid Kenny for a while. That’s not a good way to handle it but he doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t know what to say to the guy. It feels like everything has changed between them. Kyle has to intervene and goes up to Stan like “dude, quit being an idiot and go talk to Kenny. He thinks you hate him now.” (Because I can’t imagine a world where Stan knows and Kyle doesn’t or vice versa.) And he feels bad because he never meant to give him that impression. He still likes him just as much as before, he just needed some time to process everything. So he takes Kyle’s advice and they talk things out. Kenny understands how the information can be a shock and Stan promises not to withdraw like that again when his friends need him. Eventually he gets used to it and it just becomes another quirk that one of his friends has. (Thinking of writing a fic about this scenario but, like I said, I already wrote a fic focusing on Stan and Kenny’s relationship. I should probably use one of my Kyle and Kenny fic ideas first.)

[petite-phthora]

Jason, Jason Todd

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first… murder? - part 18]

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Part 1

Ao3

---

Private chat nicknames:

Gramps = Alfred

---

After throwing the last of the tp onto the manor they hop back over the wall, wandering back to where Jason parked his motorcycle earlier.

Honestly, Jason knows that it felt like it was too easy.

And it was.

The only reason they were able to freely “break into” the manor is because Jason was with Danny, showing he wasn’t a threat. He’s certain Babs has already noticed the loop he had put the cameras on. She probably hasn’t interrupted them yet out of politeness, or so that she can gather more blackmail.

It’s likely both…

Jason conspicuously checks his phone while walking when he notices he has a new message.

---

Private Chat

Gramps: I presume you will be coming back later today to clean up the manor. Won’t you, Master Jason?

---

Jason, knowing he’s already lucky enough that Alfred isn’t upset with either him or Danny, lets out a relieved breath. He quickly answers Alfred, apologizing for the tp-ing despite absolutely not regretting it in the slightest and replying to the implied question in the positive.

It’s also a bonus Alfred approves. He supposes as he reads Alfred’s next text.

---

Private Chat

Gramps: And do bring over young Danny for dinner sometime.

---

Steph stares in shock at the manor, completely covered in tp, in front of her. She drops the bag she’s holding onto the ground.

How dare they…

“Damn it!”

Out of the dropped bag rolls a roll of toilet paper.

“Who got here before me?!?” She exclaims, feeling oh so deeply betrayed. “And why wasn’t I included?!”

She quickly takes out her phone, a displeased frown on her face, paired with a pout. She opens the group chat and takes a pic of the manor. As she’s typing, she vows to herself…

She’s going to get to the bottom of this.

---

Danny checks his phone for directions to the location he had in mind.

Earlier that week he had scouted the city in his ghost form in order to find a place for the date. After finding the perfect spot, he marked the location down on his phone so he would easily be able to find it again.

After double-checking his phone, Danny puts it away and they both get on Red Hood’s motorcycle again. Danny gives him the directions as they drive, the sky slowly beginning to darken.

The location he chose wasn’t too far off from the manor, and in no time they arrived at the top of a hill looking out over Gotham City.

They get off of the motorcycle and Danny gets his bags out of the saddle bags as Red Hood, who had already taken off his helmet and is currently holding it under his arm, seems to be looking around.

“So, what’s the big plan, Polaris?” he asks.

Danny raises a curious eyebrow at the nickname.

“Polaris?”

Red Hood nods.

“You’ve mentioned before, while you were telling me about Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, how Ursa Minor is also known as the Little Bear constellation and how it contains the North Star, which is also referred to as the Pole Star or Polaris.

“Besides that, I felt like Polar Bear was a bit too long for a nickname, and Polar-is, which again is in the Little Bear constellation, just seemed to fit perfectly.” Red Hood says, a cheeky grin on his face.

Danny pauses, his cheeks flushing a little.

“You know what? That’s pretty creative, I’ll give you that.” Danny says, nodding.

“Though, to answer your question, I thought this would be a nice place to have a picnic dinner,” He says with a smile as he takes out a picnic blanket and some food and drinks he had brought along as well.

Red Hood smiles back at him.

“You know what? That sounds great. Here, lemme help you put it down” He says, reaching out for the blanket.

---

A little while later, they’re sitting on a blanket, looking up at the stars. They’re taking their time enjoying the food and looking out over the city and the night sky.

 Jason has his helmet set down next to him, mask still on his face, of course. He’s almost fully lying down, leaning back on his elbows. Danny sits cross-legged next to him.

“So, Mr. Aerospace Engineer, what can you tell me about what we’re seeing here?” Jason asks, gesturing at the night sky.

He glances over at Danny. Danny, who had been looking up at the sky in awe, meets his gaze. Danny takes a moment to respond, looking back at the sky and then looking Jason over before meeting his gaze once again.

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?” He asks instead, tilting his head.

“You’ve told me before how you love English literature, especially the classics. But what’s your favorite book?”

Jason’s face lights up with a smile as he starts telling Danny about Sense and Sensibility from Jane Austen.

---  

There’s a lull in conversation when Jason looks over at Danny, studying his peaceful expression. While taking in the beauty of the man next to him, Jason makes a decision.

To hell with it.

Jason takes off his mask. The action causes Danny, who had just turned to look at him, to immediately avert his gaze, cheeks slightly red. Danny opens his mouth to say something but Jason interrupts him before he can.

“No, no, it’s alright. If we’re actually doing this, if we’re actually dating… perhaps becoming more… then at the very least you deserve to know who you’re dating”

Danny hesitantly looks back up at Jason, making eye contact. Jason smiles at him, Danny giving a small smile back in response. He holds out his hand. Danny glances at it before giving him a questioning look.

“I’m Jason, Jason Todd.”

Danny’s smile transforms into a small grin. He grasps Jason’s hand, shaking it.

“Hi, Jason… I’m Danny, Danny Fenton.”

They shake hands and let go. The short silence afterward gets broken by Danny in no time.

“Jason?”

He makes a questioning noise in response.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question brings Jason’s thoughts to a stop and he sucks in a breath. Danny watches him, face filled with nervousness. Letting out a breath, Jason replies with a small teasing smile.

“Well, since we’ve already been to dinner I suppose I’m still owed one…”

After a few seconds, realization crosses over Danny’s face.

“I totally forgot I actually said that, oh the Ancients.” He takes a deep breath, running his hands over his face before dropping them back into his lap.

“Wait, so that’s why you came over to my apartment that first time with flowers and took me out to dinner?”

Jason sits up fully, turning so he’s facing Danny better. His gaze is filled with fondness and exasperation as he responds.

“You mean to tell me you forgot we agreed to go out to dinner first after I asked you if I could kiss you? Did you think I was just taking you out without asking then?

“Why did you even let me lead you out the window? Did you have any idea what I was talking about when I told you of the plans I had made that evening?”

Danny’s cheeks flush. Embarrassment fills his voice as he speaks.

“I mean, I don’t know, I thought you were just taking me out to dinner to thank me? For the— uh, murder?” He whispers the last word.

“I was, but I was mainly taking you out on a date. You do know that, right? I had considered that our first date, the tour being the second one.”

“Well, I did wonder later on if the dinner and observatory might have been a date but I figured it might have been some form of false hope, and I didn’t wanna have to ask. Especially if it wasn’t actually meant as a date....” Danny says.

Danny is rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, looking down at the blanket. His cheeks are still flushed. Jason lets out a sigh as he shakes his head a little.

“Well, it’s not entirely your fault. I guess I also could have been clearer. But… You don’t mind that having been our first date?” Jason asks, keeping his gaze on Danny’s face to study his reaction. “Even if you didn’t quite realize it was meant to be a date at the time?”

Danny shakes his head, smiling at him.

“No, no… I don’t mind.”

They’re both gazing softly at each other. Danny moves a bit closer and raises his hand, gently placing it on Jason’s cheek. When he speaks, his tone is a soft whisper.

“Well, since we got a liiiiittle bit off-topic I suppose I’ll ask again. Jason Todd, can I kiss you?”

“I’d like nothing more”

Now, having verbal consent, Danny places his other hand on Jason’s other cheek. Jason places his hands on Danny’s arms. They both lean in, closing their eyes.

They kiss.

It’s only a short moment after when they both suddenly jerk away from each other.

Two pairs of toxic green glowing eyes meet.

One gaze filled with shock, realization, and a small twinge of excitement. The other filled with pain, comprehension, and horror.

They both speak at once.

One voice filled with amazement. The other filled with devastation.

“You’ve died?”

---

Taglist:

@i-always-say-yea @uraniumwizard @why-must-i-be-like-this @griffinthing @i23432i @imsotiredfanficlovertm @jaguarthecat @arkita-shadow @ilydana @jai-twin @apple-juice16 @mossy-bonez

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Ok Wild Angsters, you wanted a continuation, so here you go :)

Four already knew what he would be walking into. His phone had been blowing up for hours. He’d come in to work early. Whether he was assigned to take care of Wild or not was another matter - Vaati loved to try and take all the admissions, convinced he was the best nurse on the unit. If Four could just keep Vaati out of Wild’s room, he’d consider it a success.

When the charge nurse told him he would be admitting the trauma alert, he knew who he was getting.

Pre-admission jitters always made Four anxious, but this was an entirely other level of fear. He almost wanted to request a different assignment, but it was too late now. What if he couldn’t take caer of him because he was his friend? What if that impair his decision making? What if he just wasn’t skilled enough to handle it? He knew Ezlo wouldn’t give him an assignment he couldn’t handle, wouldn’t be there to support him, but still…

Four went over the supplies in his room once more. Safety checks were fine—they had suction, they had a bag valve mask, the code card was nearby—and he had all the supplies he needed. It was just a waiting game.

Four paced the unit at least three times before he looked at the OR status board again. Wild was still in surgery. He poked in his chart, glancing at injuries, looking at vital signs and anesthesia notes. The last update he saw was that Wild had gotten another unit of blood. Estimated blood loss so far was around 2200mL.

2200mL. That… wasn’t too terrible, Four supposed. He’d… seen worse.

Please don’t get worse.

Four knew for certain that Wild had been mass transfused in the ED. Warriors, his primary nurse when he was there, had told him as much. Between that and the multiple blood products he’d gotten in surgery, as well all the crystalloids he was likely getting as well…

Four took a breath. Then another. He grabbed his phone, texting Warriors. You doing ok?

Wars didn’t reply.

Four wasn’t entirely sure where everyone was at this point. Hyrule had stayed at the hospital, lingering in the emergency department and then the operating room waiting area, but Four hadn’t seen him since he’d clocked in. Warriors and Legend should be getting off shift now, but whether they were going to stay up was another matter. Time was obviously in the OR (Wild’s wreck had been around 10pm, he’d arrived in the ED around 10:45, and he’d been stabilized for surgery and gone to the OR by around midnight - it was 7am now… he wasn’t sure how long this was going to take, but it couldn’t be much longer). Malon should be getting on shift now as well - she had come in last night when everything had gone down, alongside Twilight. Wind had been cautiously left out of the loop until Wild had gone to surgery, simply because nobody had really had much information at the time, so no one wanted to worry the kid until they could figure things out. Everyone had their hands full as it was. But by now, Four knew Wind was either in the OR waiting room, harassing every respiratory therapist he knew, or in the hospital library pacing anxiously. As for Sky, the last Four heard he was bouncing between different people, checking in on everyone.

He clicked through more anesthesia notes, looked at flow sheets for blood products. There wasn’t much to go on, as charting was sparse. What Four did know was that Wild had been obtunded, got mass transfused, had gotten a chest tube, had been intubated, blood was evident in his abdomen, and he had an open femur fracture. He’s been taken to Time’s OR for a ex-lap. Head CT had shown a bleed, and they were monitoring it. That was all the information Legend had told the group when he’d had a moment to spare.

Four’s vocera activated, telling him he had a call from the charge nurse. When he answered, he was told Malon had called and said they’d be finishing up in about thirty minutes and were likely to come up open.

Why was he coming up with his abdomen open? When had they gone from exploratory laparotomy to a full on open abdomen?

Ten minutes later, Malon called back to give report. When Four answered, the first thing he asked was, “How’s he doing? Is he okay? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Malon said, even though she sounded exhausted. “And he’s… hanging in there. I’ve seen worse, I’ll say that. I’ll give you the full rundown, okay?”

Four listened as Malon gave report, feeling his heart settled into his stomach, which was tying itself in knots. Multiple spots of bleeding, possible compartment syndrome in his abdomen, a likely kidney injury due to compression from the bleeding on some major vessels, a small hematoma in his brain… they’d had to call neurosurgery to do an emergency craniotomy out of overt concern of swelling, given that Wild had apparently had previous head trauma, based on what they saw in the OR.

Open abdomen, craniotomy, ICP monitoring, bleeding, one chest tube… this was a disaster. Four swallowed as he wrote, feeling his hand shake a little as his heart raced. He was not qualified enough to be admitting this. He was not.

But the turnaround on his unit was pretty insane, and he was the most experienced nurse on the unit today. At least Ezlo was charge; he knew he’d be well supported.

This was a nightmare. But Four had dealt with nightmares, and he would deal with this. He wasn’t going to screw up taking care of any patient, but especially his friend.

Sighing, he hung up the phone after thanking Malon, pushing worries for her and Time aside, trying to focus on what he would need, who he should grab to help him, and how he should prep his room.

It was time to get to work.

When everyone arrived from the OR, Four made brief eye contact with Time. He couldn’t read much from the man, who was stone faced, aside from the exhaustion evident in the dark circles under his eyes. Four got to work quickly, assessing Wild from head to toe as he looked to see what IV medications he was on. A coworker wrote the note while Ezlo helped detangle his lines (the OR always brought up a mess, after all). Time gave an overview of the surgery, and Four listened along as he checked pupils, as he zeroed the arterial line and the ICP monitor, as he listened to lung and heart sounds, as he checked the chest tube and stripped it with his fingers to ensure patency, as he checked peripheral pulses, as he looked at the abdominal dressing to get a baseline in case there was swelling from bleeding later. One of the techs connected the chest tube to wall suction, and Four looked over his drips. Only having levophed at 2 wasn’t terrible, and he was getting a unit of red blood cells, which was in a transfusion set that was y’d to some lactated ringers fluid. He was on propofol for sedation. Another nurse grabbed a blood gas from his arterial line and sent off labs. His foley he had was temp sensing, and Four quickly ascertained that Wild was cold, so he set up the blanket warmer and covered his friend up.

His friend. His friend.

Four shook his head. He had to focus.

As Time left the room, he put a hand on Four’s shoulder, making him freeze. The surgeon didn’t speak, just locking eyes with him. Four wasn’t entirely sure if it was for his own benefit or not. But he had no more time to let his emotions make any decisions for him. He nodded to the doctor, who nodded in return, and then the two went their separate ways.

This was going to be a long day.

[bittybeanie]

oh boy! time to post a new fic! I can't believe it's been *checks calendar* ....oh. uh. oops. ignore that! it's the fourth and final installment of (this) aspec reigen series, complete with a lite™ version of a couple different kinks and finally getting to touch the peen! this one's real long, folks, clocking in at about 9,500 words, so you might wanna get a nice beverage and settle in.

content notes: thigh riding, themes of consent, drunk almost sex, a discussion about the drunk almost sex in the following scene, praise kink, a very loose (literally) definition of bondage, and so so many pet names. minors please don't interact!

also on ao3!

It takes more than a couple tries for you to get settled on the bed. You’re too close, then too far, and Reigen can’t get comfy, and your hand keeps sliding out from under you, and he can’t decide how he wants your leg angled, and there’s too many clothes, then all at once so few clothes that it feels like too much at once and you hastily agree to put your shirts back on, not wanting to break the already fragile layer of quiet hope.

Finally, finally, everything is perfect.

Awkward, stilted, and a little tense, and you’re not sure how long your leg will let you keep it just barely raised like this before it cramps up, but he’s here, embarrassed but steadfast, breath coming out in shivery gasps, hovering over your thigh, one hair fisted in the back of your hair. If he tips over, there’s no way you’re not going with.

Perfect.

His thighs shake as he holds himself up, deciding which direction he wants to move. You reach for the small of his back to steady him. "Does this count as keeping my hands out of the way?" He nods, so you test the waters by sliding your other hand up his thigh.

"As long you don’t- just no direct touching. Close to is fine, just not… well." He moves a hand back and forth across where he’s hovering over your thigh.

“Keep off the goods. Gotcha."

"The goods? Awful. You're awful, I swear."

You slide your hand up, just barely skimming your fingernails over his hip when you catch the hem of his shirt, and his cock twitches in his boxers.

"The goods don't seem to agree."

"Oi." Despite his protests, the laughter loosens him, and he relaxes enough to lean back into your knee. “Fine, fine, just stop saying goods.”

“Alright.” He raises an eyebrow. You lift both hands in surrender. “I promise! I will never again use ‘the goods’ to refer to your perfect, gorgeous, suckable-”

“I get it! I get it.” He grabs onto your shoulder - maybe in an effort to distract you, or maybe just to keep his balance - as he shifts closer. You can practically feel the heat radiating from his ears. “Here, actually, can you-? Hm.” He presses a hand against the inside of your other leg, thumb digging in as he gives a shove. He slides a knee into the newly free space between your legs, leaning forward to get a better angle. Your hands settle back on his waist.

“Better?”

“Much.” He lets out a little hum as he pushes his hips forward, and you have to stamp down a whimper at the feeling, his dick heavy and warm even through fabric.

“Didn’t mean to just push like that, though. Sorry.”

“S’okay. I’ll survive a little manhandling, as a treat.” You hit the last “t” sound with a click of your tongue, and he falls into your neck with a laugh. You trace patterns on his hips as he moves, tracking the motion as you press your fingers into his skin. “God, how do you get your hips to move that smooth? It’s sorta mesmerizing.”

“Hm? Oh, I don’t know, I’m just- I wasn’t thinking about it. S’just what f- ha, feels good.” His breath fans out across your collarbone, warm and fast.

“Yeah? You like using my thigh, baby? No thoughts other than what feels good? Your own personal toy to get yourself off against?”

“Oi.” His hips stutter once before he falls back into a slower rhythm. His fingers dig into your shoulder as he pulls you closer.

“Too much?”

“That’s not how I think of you.”

You can’t help but laugh, a light chuckle coming out in a breath against his hair. “I know, ‘Taka, I know.” You slide your hands under his shirt, over his stomach and up to his collarbone. “But would it really be so bad to belong to you?”

“I- fuck.” There’s a moment of worry when he shoves you away, but then he’s scrambling for the hem of his shirt and pulling.

“Are you sure?” It’s a formality, uttered even as you’re already reaching to help slide the fabric over his elbows, but it’s one you can’t even imagine going without.

“Very.” He lifts himself off of you to push his boxers down, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he shimmies them all the way off. The mattress shifts and pitches him over, and you hurry to grab his arm.

He crawls back over to straddle your thigh, the tip of his cock tapping lightly against your side before he leans back onto his ankles.

“Do I need to get-?” You chuck his shirt into infinity and gesture vaguely to the bedside drawer. He’s technically never told you that he started keeping lube in there, but he hasn’t made much effort to keep the secret either.

He shakes his head. “I’m close. Won’t matter.”

He tries to go back to rutting against you, anchoring his hands on your waist to tilt his hips this way and that, but something about the new angle is off, and he can’t get any good contact.

“Oh no, now horrible, your dick is just so hard it won’t stay down on its own.”

He clicks his tongue at you as he scoots to sit closer, flush making its way from his ears to the edges of his cheeks.

“That gorgeous curve probably isn’t helping, either. In this case, anyway. Be an absolute treat to have inside me, though.” You press your thumbs in just above his knees, encouraging him to spread his legs more, and he jumps with a squeak, hands flying to grab yours. “Sorry, sorry, di-”

“No, it’s-” He pulls your hands together, just in front of his stomach, and the tip of his cock brushes against you. For a moment, you think he’s going to pull down, but he guides your hands back to his hips, pressing them into his skin as he rolls his hips. “Here.”

He gives up and puts his hand flat over his dick, pinning it down against your leg. He lifts himself to adjust the angle, just his tip dragging along your skin until he bumps into your hip, precum rolling out in a thin line over your thigh. When he pulls back, he grinds down insistently, coating his length and covering what isn’t already marked of your thigh so he can slide more easily. After a few impatient jolts of his hips, he settles back into a rhythm, smooth and fluid, and lets up on the pressure of his hand. He slings his other arm over your shoulder to pull you closer, and he falls forward to bury his face in your neck, whining into your collarbone.

He wasn’t lying when he said he was close, because it only takes a few drags of his cock against you for him to seize up, body tensing before going boneless, cum rolling over his hand and onto your hip as he slumps against you in a mess of pants and sighs. You slide your hands up his back to support his full weight, pressing kisses to his hair as he catches his breath.

“Just… gimme a second, I can cl- get you- god, my legs.” He rolls off of you with none of his usual grace, limbs falling everywhere at once, lightly smacking your arm as he goes limp.

You laugh and push his hair back from his face. You don’t bother to untangle your legs from his, accepting your fate of needing a shower later in exchange for getting to lean down to kiss his cheek.

“Eh, let it dry.”

“I’m starting to think you like it more than tolerate it.”

“If you haven’t gotten the hint by now that I want you to absolutely cov-”

He gives you a shove, rolling his hand so there’s no real force behind it, but you seize the chance to topple with a dramatic moan, one hand falling theatrically across your forehead as your eyes flutter closed. 

“Oh, stop it.” He crawls over and props himself up on his elbows. You can feel his breath fanning over your collarbone, stilted like he’s trying not to laugh. You crack one eye open, breaking into giggles when you see his forced serious expression, eyebrows pinched together and one cheek sucked into his mouth to keep the smile off his face. He breaks at your laughter, breathing out through his nose and pressing his forehead to yours. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Oh, you could take me anywhere, handsome.” You waggle your eyebrows suggestively, and he rolls onto his back with an exasperated groan. You laugh again and sit up, pulling a blanket over him so you can settle in without accidentally brushing somewhere he’d rather you didn’t.

“Hey, Arataka?”

“I love you, too.”

“That, too.” You chuckle. “But I have a real question this time.”

“Oh.” He turns his head. “Sure.”

“After you… when you took my hands earlier, were you…?” The fleeting moment of contact between him and your hands floats through your mind. You can’t help but wonder what he was thinking in the moment he hesitated, but it feels weirdly invasive to ask so bluntly. “Sorry, never mind, this is a weird line of thought.”

You lay down beside him, craning your neck to rest your head on his shoulder. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together as his thumb smooths up your wrist.

“Do you mean…” He takes a steadying breath, grip tightening almost imperceptibly. “Do you mean after the clothes came off?”

You nod. For a moment, he stills, not even breathing.

“I was… I wanted so badly to let you touch me. I thought if I didn’t have to say it, if I could just… imply, then I could get around it, but,” he sighs heavily, and he sounds tired when he continues, “I panicked.”

You’re both quiet, long enough that you startle even yourself when you finally break the silence.

“It’s not a bad idea.”

“...Panicking?”

“No, angel. Implying.” He presses his cheek to the top of your head. “Maybe you just have to imply for a little longer.”

“I’m not following.”

“What if you left your hand on top of mine? That way it’s like- it’s the same as when you do it, but it sort of, hm, bridges the gap? All the sexy, none of the surprise.”

For a long moment, you’re not sure if he’s quiet because he’s thinking or because he’s falling asleep.

He hums, shoulder rolling under your head, and he pulls you tighter against his side.

+

"Okay." You shift nervously, tucking your foot underneath yourself, then deciding against it and unfolding your legs. "Walk me through the zones again."

"I'm not a city planning map." He rolls his eyes, but he takes your hand. You’re not sure which one of you the gesture is supposed to comfort.

You shift back onto your knees.

"Here up, anything goes." He points at the middle of his chest. "But try to stay- so more like, well, from maybe..." He gestures to his collarbone and wags his finger up and down. "Here to here, really."

When he looks back at you, you can tell he's waiting for something. You settle for a small nod.

"Right. A-and then, here to here," he points from his chest to just above his hip, "Hands are fine. Doing... whatever." He steadies himself with another deep breath and rushes through the rest. "Legs, stay still, and anything... direct we'll do the- on the- yeah, got it, that's all."

You let him sit for a moment to make sure there's nothing he forgot. His grip on your hand tightens, and you swear he moves to pull you closer, but he must decide against it at the last second.

"Whose hand is going on top again? Sorry, we've swapped it so many times I can't remember if we decided."

"Oh. Right. Um." He hovers his right hand over his left, then swaps them, then swaps them again. “Yours under mine.”

“Got it.” You reach for him, letting him pull your hand up to his collar. "And you know you can tell me to stop at any time?"

"You tell me that every time."

"It's important every time."

He swallows thickly and traces a circle on the back of your hand with his thumb. "Yeah. I know."

You shift to pull your legs off to the side, then cross them again, then sit back up on your knees. Gently taking the collar of his shirt in your hands, you trail one thumb along the edge of the fabric until you reach the top button. "And can I do this, or would you like to?"

He nods before realizing there were two options in your question, then points at you, then at your hands, then flashes you a thumbs up. "Yeah. Go ahead."

"Well, now hold on, I have manners. I'm not going straight for the goods." He laughs and shimmies to sit up straighter, letting his legs straighten out in front of him. "How about the pants later?"

"Uh, right, that's, I didn't think about that. I mean it would make sense that you're going to be- I mean it's not like-"

"Arataka."

"Yeah." He swallows.

"I'm not going to be offended if you’d like to take off your own pants."

He pauses, staring down at his knee. Eventually, he shakes his head. "I want you to do it."

"And your-?"

"Just do it at the same time."

"Got it." You take a steadying breath of your own. "I won't stay there, but is it okay if I straddle you for a little bit? I wa-"

His hands are pulling at your waist before you can get your legs properly unfolded, and you almost tumble over him. He laughs an apology as you move on top of him, hovering over his legs to avoid making any real contact.

You brush his bangs back from his face, following through with the motion until your fingers tangle in the shorter strands of hair at the back of his head. He tilts to follow your hand, craning his neck to keep you from pulling.

"Ready?"

He nods slightly.

"I’d like a verbal yes for this one, lovely."

He swallows. You watch his Adam's apple bob.

"Yeah, yes.” He nods again. His hand jerks, taking yours with it, and he awkwardly lets your hand fall into his lap. You do your best not to move. “I trust you."

You drag your gaze back up to his face, searching for any last signs of reluctance. A bead of sweat trails down his temple, and you’re certain if you put your hand to his cheek you’d worry he had a fever. Sure enough, when you slide your fingers along his jaw, he’s hot to the touch, and the tips of his ears are turning brighter shades of red by the second.

He clears his throat, pushing his jaw into your palm. “Are you gonna-?”

“In a minute.” You swipe your thumb across his bottom lip. “I’m savoring.”

He scoffs at that, the same scoff he uses when he sees somebody do something stupid in public, and you take the opportunity to catch him by surprise, surging forward to push him down onto the bed. His hands go to your shoulders on instinct but he pulls them back almost immediately, hovering awkwardly in the space between you. Using your grip on his chin, you angle his head so you can lean down and kiss him without knocking your noses together.

Once you’re sure you can support yourself without falling on him, you allow your free hand to trail down, tracing down the muscles in his neck, across his collarbone and back, finally settling on the first button of his shirt. It takes a little effort to get it undone with just one hand, but you manage it, and you allow yourself to dip down as you settle into a rhythm, lips ghosting along Reigen’s skin as you uncover more of it.

He’s shivering, hand shaking where it hovers over yours on the last button of his shirt. When you slide your hand back up along his side, his hand falls back to the bed, pulling at a wrinkle in the sheets.

You kiss along his jaw, savoring the feeling every time his breath catches in his throat under your lips. Your hand trails down along his side, wrapping around him to hold his waist when he arches up into the press of your thumb. He hums, eyelids fluttering, and you dare to slide your hand down, ever so slightly, thumb brushing over his waistband and back onto bare skin.

He grabs for you, grasp tight around your wrist, almost painful before he slowly relaxes and drags your hand back up toward his chest. You push yourself off him, swinging your leg to kneel beside him.

“Here, let’s try this.” You guide him to sit up. Once he’s situated against the headboard, you settle in by his thigh, your knee pressing gently into his hip. One hand traces circles and patterns as you trail down to his stomach. “Still good?”

He hums, but he scrambles for your wrist again, holding on tighter and tighter the closer you get to the button on his pants.

“You’re allowed to change your mind, y’know. I can let you do it.”

“That’s not- mm.” He relaxes his death grip on your arm but keeps his thumb hooked around it. After a few tries to let go completely, his head tips forward into your shoulder. “I thought I would… I’m sorry.”

You shake your head and slowly pull away. “Nothing to apologize for.” You cup his face with both hands and gently turn him, but he doesn’t hold your gaze for long. 

“Do you want to keep going? Should I…?”

He opens his mouth, but says nothing. His expression is pinched, tight with something you’re not sure how to label. His fingers press together, thumb and index, thumb and middle, thumb and ring, thumb and pinky, over and over as you lean back, nodding softly.

“Stay in bed?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You swear he flinches, and you clear your throat. “Or move to the couch and watch something?”

“Couch.” He nods once, stiff and harsh, and swallows thickly. “Thanks.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, and slides out of bed, starting to button his shirt back up as he wanders into the other room.

You keep nodding as if in a trance, and you follow him out. 

+

Despite the now faint memory of some friend of a friend forcefully inviting you, there's not a single soul at the party you recognize. With the exception of a few people dancing by the kitchen, closer to the speakers, everyone has settled for taking a seat and awkwardly bobbing their head. You’ve repeated the same three lines of small talk more times than you can count, it's just cold enough that you've had the chills the whole time while still managing to feel overwhelmingly stifled, and the music is so awful you wonder how somebody hasn’t tried to change it yet. But there's alcohol, the good stuff that somebody is clearly very particular about, and lots of it. You can't remember how much you've had, and that fact is enough to tell you it was probably too much, but it doesn't stop you from taking whatever the host is passing out when they wander through.

You think Reigen might be the only person doing worse than you. He looks... woozy. His face is flushed and his eyes are lidded like he might throw up, pass out, or both at any moment. At one point he took a tumble when he tried to sit down, graciously ignored by everyone else, and you had to throw your arm around his waist to keep him from sliding down the front of the couch again. He's leaning on you for support every time he moves, and if there were anything left in his can you’re sure he would be spilling it on you right now.

He's restless at the best of times, you know this, but even through the fog you can tell something is off. Not wrong exactly, but he keeps giving you this sideways glance, digging his fingers into your thigh to steady himself and then yanking his hand away, knocking his head into your shoulder and muttering something you haven't been able to make out.

He laughs - way too loudly at something you're not sure was supposed to be funny - and stands abruptly. Your hand around his waist falls limp on the couch, and he sways without the support.

"I'm going to the re- the ba- I gotta piss."

Nobody but you pays him any attention. He takes a wobbly step forward, knocking his foot into the leg of the coffee table, but he doesn't seem fazed. His knees bend at a weird angle as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, then he straightens back up and whirls around to face you. The momentum sends him tumbling back down, and you manage to catch him before his nose smashes into your jaw.

"I guess you better help me there."

"Yeah." Your voice crackles from dehydration. You have to clear your throat and try again to get a recognizable sound to come out. "Alright." You do a quick mental scan of your legs to make sure they'll support you before you motion for him to get up so you can stand. He does, grabbing your wrist and pulling with the conviction of somebody who does not need help walking.

The gears in your head start to turn.

He drags you along, glancing over his shoulder as he rounds the corner into the hallway, only stumbling once when he has to screech to a halt and back up to yank a door open. He pushes you inside, pulling the door closed behind him after he follows you in.

It's pitch black, and you're not sure if the overwhelming lemon smell is coming from Reigen or something in the room. You reach out to find him, but your fingers brush against something cold and smooth instead, and it's not until it tilts and hits you in the head that you realize it's probably a handle for something. Reigen's hand whacks into your arm and he holds on tight, fingers digging into your shoulder as he pulls you forward.

"I don't think that was the right door."

"Hm? Oh, sure." You can feel the air beside you moving until eventually his other hand finds your face, one finger dragging across your cheek until it hits your nose. "No, I- yeah, I know."

"Then wh-"

He pushes, hard and sudden. You fight to keep your balance as you adjust to the weird backwards lean you find yourself in. Reigen hisses as he pulls his fingers out from between you and the wall.

"Dumb, that was so dumb. Sorry." He fumbles for your waist to guide you backwards, and you feel his hips press against you when he reaches past your head to lean on the wall.

Everything clicks together all at once.

Your hands fly to where his waist should be. Once you find him, you're not sure if you want to shove him away or pull him in closer.

"You're super drunk. I don't know if-"

"Tha's the point." The hand on your face slides around until his thumb catches your bottom lip. He sways, like talking about it has made him remember how much he's had to drink. When he leans against you, he's heavier than normal, like he can’t support his weight anymore. "Liquid courage."

"I’m drunk." 

"Mm. Shit." He pulls away, just barely, and he nods. "Do you mind?"

Your mouth drops open uselessly. All your thoughts feel like static, indecipherable noise screaming for you to do something, if only you could figure out what. He's squirming now, like it hurts to stay still. You realize he's whimpering at the same time you realize he's grinding his hips against your leg.

“M’fine.”

He lets out a sigh of relief and drops his hands as he shuffles around. You take the chance to stand back up. When you finally bump into each other again, he wraps his arms around you and squeezes, his breathing coming out in pants against your chest.  He hooks one leg around yours, tapping his foot against your heel to bring your leg forward. You make a strangled humming sound when he grinds against your thigh.

"Hey, where's your hand?"

"My...?" You suddenly remember you have hands. You allow yourself a moment of silence for all the time you could have been holding onto him before you push one hand forward. It smacks into what you think is his stomach. "Sorry. Here."

"S'kay. Stay put." You keep your hand pressed against him as he leans backward. You're not sure when he stopped holding onto you, but one of his hands is suddenly over yours, and a loud zip cuts through the sound of you both breathing. He slides his hand down, dragging yours with it. Your fingers glide along his skin, smooth and soft, until you brush against a patch of hair.

A sobering panic cuts through you.

He must realize what he's doing at the same time you do, because you both freeze. His grip tightens. He guides your hand away from him slowly, stopping when he makes contact with your side.

"Stay... stay put."

He turns and scrambles for the door. Something falls beside you when he misses the doorknob, then you're squinting as light floods in from the hallway. You can make out the silhouette of him sprinting into the room diagonal from where you're standing, and then there's the unmistakable sound of vomiting.

Your place is only two blocks away - no more than a ten minute walk.

You call a cab service.

+

It smells like coffee.

When you try to sit up, the room spins. You end up in a sort of half sit, half lean as you grab onto the side of the mattress, willing everything to stay still. You take stock of the things that are clear enough to look at, slowly making sense of what happened once you got home.

You're laying on top of the covers, still in your clothes from last night. One shoe is in the doorway, and the other is nowhere in sight, probably somewhere closer to the entrance. The coffee smell, growing more enticing by the second, is a good sign Reigen's in the kitchen.

You slide onto the floor beside your bed, not trusting yourself to stand up without falling just yet, to rummage for more comfortable clothes. Once you manage to get changed, you stand up slowly, and make your way to the kitchen.

Reigen must have grabbed a set of pajamas at some point last night, though you can't remember when. His back is turned to you; he's lazily stirring something on the stove. Two steaming cups of coffee sit on the counter beside him. Before you can decide whether you want to say something and risk startling him, he seems to sense you standing there, and he turns around with a weak smile.

"Hey."

"Morning?" It's both a greeting and a question, because you have no idea what time it is.

"Yeah." He lets out a breathy chuckle. "How, um, how you feeling?"

Your head is throbbing so bad your teeth hurt, your legs and back are sore, and you have a looming sense of guilt.

"I think I should be asking you that."

"I'm fine, really." He clicks off the fire and reaches for a bowl. "I told you, I felt basically back to normal after I- well, um, you know. Thanks again, by the way, for car- for carrying me."

You nod softly, feeling a little useless as he hands you what looks and smells like a very delicious soup.

"Reigen, I am so-" "I didn't mean-"

He reaches for a second bowl. "You first." When you start to shake your head, he rolls his wrist in a "go on" motion. "Please. I'm not actually sure how to say mine yet."

"Right." You swallow thickly, fidgeting with your spoon. Deep in thought, you miss Reigen slipping past you. He clears his throat and gestures to the seat across from him. You slide into the chair. Your spoon clanks against the bowl as you set it down. "I, um. Shit, I'm so sorry."

He seems surprised, a spoonful of soup halfway to his lips.

"What for?"

"Wh-" You blink. "Every... thing? I- I know sorry doesn't even cover it, but I-"

"Whoa, hey, okay." He shakes his hand in front of him. "Never mind, I'll go first, because I think you got the wrong idea and I'm not gonna let you apologize for anything that happened."

"But you trusted me, and I-"

"And I still do. That's- that was the whole- look, I-" He sighs. His spoon clanks as he sets it down, abandoned in favor of wringing his hands together. "I set you up."

"You-?"

"I didn't mean to! I thought- It was stupid, and I should have just told you what I was trying to do, I know , but I- I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, and I thought if I could speed up the process, then- I mean, there's only so many times you can put up with almost getting to- if I could- ugh, sorry, hang on."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. You swear your headache is reacting sympathetically, because pain shoots between your temples, dull but persistent. He goes to retrieve the coffees from the kitchen, just cool enough to drink, and you down some as soon as he hands you a mug.

"You've been so patient, and I know you would never do anything I didn't want, but I... I keep overthinking it. And I thought it would be the perfect excuse to... to not have to think about it at all. I mean that's- that's just what people do at parties, right, and- I mean, it was... ugh." He sits back down, his posture unnaturally rigid. He chooses his next words carefully, pausing between words as if he’s testing out different sentences in his head. "I trusted you… to not take it further than I was comfortable with… more than I trusted myself to… not panic over nothing. So, I- I saw the chance and I..." He gestures weakly, hand falling back to the table with a soft thump.

"Liquid courage."

He takes a sip of his coffee and slumps forward, holding his chin with one hand.

"You... got drunk on purpose?"

"Not originally, but, uh."

You nod slowly. Your stomach grumbles, and you realize you haven't actually eaten any of your soup. You take a reluctant spoonful, chewing slowly as you take everything in.

"When you froze up, it- I realized how little I had thought it through. I- it wasn't fair to you. You didn't do anything to- I never should have put you in that position in the first place."

"I... would have appreciated a warning, yeah."

"Sorry." He runs his hand through his hair and leaves it against the back of his neck. "I'm really sorry."

"Apology accepted." Reigen relaxes into his chair. As he stretches his legs out, one of his feet bumps against your ankle, and you laugh softly. "I'm still sorry, too. I should have asked more questions. And I didn't... I think I noticed something was wrong but I didn’t realize it was that frustrating for you. Before, I mean. I never wanted to make you feel like you had to do something like that."

"It's exclusively a me problem, I promise. I thought something would have worked by now. I don't... I don't really know what’s getting in the way." He shakes his head, breathing out sharply through his nose.

“I mean, literally speaking, your hands.” You laugh and take another sip of your coffee. He tilts his head. “Because, you know, y-you always grab my hand before I-?” He stares, unblinking. “Sorry, too soon to joke, probably,” you mutter into your cup, taking another sip just to have something to do.

When he moves again, it’s with a jerky start, sitting up and leaning forward. “My hands.”

“Yeah, I-”

“No, my hands.” He throws his elbows onto the table. The bowls clatter and his coffee sloshes; his chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. His wrists come together in front of you, palms up and fingers curled loosely, as he stares, silent, waiting for a glimpse of recognition to cross your face. It takes a moment, but when he finds it, he grins. “My hands.”

“If you want to stop-”

“Saying so has always been enough.”

You stand, leaning to match his eye level. You consider him, searching for hesitation, but you find none.

You take his hand, and you start pulling.

+

“This is… mine?” An old black tie lays across Reigen’s palms, the ends hanging loosely over his thighs.

“Yeah, you left it here. A while ago, I guess.” You shrug. “You never really liked it, though, plus you’re here all the time anyway, so I didn’t get around to giving it back, and it’s just been here ever since.”

As you slide the drawer closed, he catches a glimpse of an old t-shirt he left on his first night in your place, folded neatly in the back corner, under a small collection of his dress socks. 

There are signs of him everywhere, really, if he looks. His toothbrush in your bathroom, a blanket he bought you for your birthday draped over the back of the couch, his favorite sweater of yours hanging on the handle of the closet, never out of service long enough to make it in with the rest of your clothes.

He’s struck with the realization it’s not just in your things, your home, but in you, the way you gesture with an extra dramatic flourish that wasn’t there before, the unwavering, tight smile that settles on your face when you talk to clients, the softness in your voice when you welcome the kids into the office, quietly clearing a table for them to do homework on, the flashes of movement in the kitchen as you dash back and forth whenever you make recipes he taught you - favorites from when things were harder and uncertain and cooking was his escape, before even the hardest parts of his life were laced with joy.

He’s wearing off on you.

He’s known it for a while, but he’s never put it all together like this, never seen it all so neatly represented in a single black tie, satin and unassuming and full of possibility. You kick your abandoned shoe out of the way, pushing the door shut with a soft click that startles him just enough to draw his attention.

“Still okay?”

He wonders how you’ve worn off on him, which parts of him weren’t there before that he doesn’t notice, can’t notice.

“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m ready.”

He smooths his thumb over the fabric, watching it wrinkle and crease where he applies pressure. It slides across his palms, dragging slowly as you wrap one end around your hand, until he’s left with empty air, hands outstretched between you.

He feels light.

You take his hands in yours, turning them in toward each other, and start to lay the tie across his wrists.

“Oh, wait!” You pull back right away, and he holds up one finger. “Not- we should take my shirt off first.”

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me!” You laugh and settle back onto your knees. “Yes, okay, let’s- yeah.”

Reigen stops halfway up. The fabric stays bunched when he lets go, and he pulls your hands to the exposed patch of skin. He can feel the tie, still wrapped around your palm, pressing against his side, cold and smooth, and he swallows thickly. As you drag your hands up, it slides up with you, and a shiver wracks through him when you finally pull the shirt off his arms.

He cups your face, pulling you into a kiss, fingers coming to press at the back of your neck to keep you against him as he topples backward. You catch yourself on one hand, the end of the tie flipping to rest over his shoulder as you climb to straddle him. He’s insistent, both hands tangling in your hair, little sighs and puffs of breath against your mouth as he refuses to pull away for air.

You press a kiss to his cheek to soothe the loss when you lean back. He drapes his arms over your shoulders, locking his fingers together behind your head.

“We could stay like this? My hands are… close-ish together.”

“I can’t see behind me to tie it, but,” you pull his hands around your head, “I’m sure we can figure it out after that.”

He nods. You turn his hands back toward each other and his fingers curl, knuckles pressing together as he relaxes. You drape the tie around his wrists, trying a few different ways of looping it but not finding anything you’re satisfied with.

“Sorry. I just wanna make sure you can get out if you need.”

“It’s alright. I like the attention.”

You freeze, a wobbly grin taking shape as your face heats up.

“‘Taka, I’m supposed to be the composed one!”

“I’m just trying to be honest!” He flexes his wrists, pressing his knuckles together to crack them.

“Don’t worry,” you press both ends of the tie between his hands and motion for him to hold them still, “I like giving you attention.” You fold the middle of the tie over to make two loops and start twisting them in on themselves. “And I wanna hear about it as much as you can bear.”

“You seem plenty composed to me.” He pinches his thumb between two fingers and squeezes.

“Quick recovery. I learned from the best.” You wink and put your fingers through the loops. “Here, hands in here.”

He flattens his hands to squeeze them through, stopping to let you shimmy the tie the rest of the way over. You hold the ends of the tie and give a quick tug before tying them together.

“There, it’ll have to do.” You slip a finger in each loop, making sure there’s enough room to be comfortable without him being able to slip out without meaning to. “It’s a little loose, so don’t pull too hard, okay?”

“Sure.” He folds his elbows down, letting his hands come to rest on his chest. He jerks one hand up toward his hair, pulling his other hand with it, and the tie snaps taut. He has the courtesy to look sheepish. “I’ll try.”

You roll your eyes, smile still wide.

“Hands above your head, please.”

“Hm?”

“I’d like to get at your neck.” You press up on his elbows, and he unfolds his arms. “Those were in the way.”

“O-oh. Right.”

You lean down, tilting his chin up with one hand, and press a kiss to his throat, savoring the way it moves as he swallows. You trail down until you reach his stomach, dragging your tongue along his skin on the way back up. He exhales sharply, breath moving your hair as you get closer to his face. He forces out a laugh, and he rolls one shoulder.

You glance up. The tie is already starting to come loose, untwisting in the middle, but his hands are clasped together, the tie held in place between his wrists, fingers over the ends.

You kiss him, quick and breathless, and slip your fingers under his waistband. When his breath hitches, you smooth your thumb along the bone there, a reassurance you won’t move yet. You can feel him tense under you, pressing up into your touch, then slowly settling back onto the mattress.

You’re both reluctant to acknowledge the fact that you have to get off of him to take his pants off. You do your best to shimmy them under you, and he lifts his hips to help, but you need both hands to make sure his boxers stay on for now, and you want to make sure he can move his legs, so eventually, begrudgingly, you climb off him.

He takes the opportunity to stretch, his back arching off the bed as you throw his pants off somewhere to worry about later.

“Ooh, pretty. Think you can do that for me again?” You press a thumb to the inside of his thigh, at the edge of where his boxer leg has ridden up, and he jumps, hips rolling against your touch.

“Trickery.” He squirms, a whine that refuses to come out shining through in his voice. “Not fair.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get plenty more chances.” You trail your fingers up his thigh, along the “v” of the bone, up his stomach. He shivers when you trail back down, your fingers catching on the waistband of his boxers to drag it over his skin before letting go, settling your hand lightly over the bulge in the fabric. It’s slightly damp against your skin, and Reigen chokes back a moan when you press down. 

You pull, grinding your palm down on his cock as the waistband moves until you can see the base of it, then you slide back up, tracing the outline of him with your fingers. When he whimpers, you’re too slow to hide your grin, and he glares halfheartedly.

“Having fun down there?”

“Oh, lots, thanks.” You slip your thumb below the elastic. “Seems like you are, too.”

“Hm.”

“Sorry, what was that?” You lift your hand with mock alarm, and he scrambles to reach for you, slowly lowering his arms to his chest when he sees your smile.

“Yes.”

“So, just to make sure, you are having fun?” It’s just as sarcastic as it is serious, and he seems to take it in equal measures, because he scoffs at the same time he nods. Both hands are on his hips now, both thumbs in his waistband, and you pull up gently to get him to lift his hips.

“Good boy.”

You’re not sure you would have felt it if you weren’t holding him, but he definitely shudders, trembling where your fingers press into his skin.

“Arataka.”

“Hmm?” He sounds breathless, and his chest heaves with effort, the rest of him as still as he can keep it.

“Should I keep calling you a good boy?”

“Um. If you want.” He jerks his hips up, and you take the hint to slide his boxers off, keeping an eye on his face as you do. You climb between his legs and lean over him, wrapping your hand slowly around his cock, firmly but gently, your thumb over the tip.

He squeaks, and he tenses, but he doesn’t reach for your hands.

“You’re doing so well, ‘Taka.” He swallows, and he shifts his hands, twisting the tie so he can lay his arms closer to his hair. “Such a good boy for me.” Precum oozes out of his slit, and you feel it roll down your hand.

“Mhm.” You lean back on your heels. “How about this? You tell me what feels good, and every time you do,” you pull your thumb down, spreading the precum along his length, “I’ll let you know just how much I appreciate it. Sound good?”

He nods, and you stop moving.

“Can I hear you say it?”

“Yes,” he breathes, pressing his wrists together, “yes, sounds good.”

“Good job.” When you lean to kiss him, grip tightening to keep his dick down against his stomach, his knuckles brush over your hair. “So perfect.”

You start slow, focusing more on touching every inch of him then keeping any sort of rhythm. When you trail up the vein on the underside, he shivers, and he gasps when you squeeze the base, and his hips jerk up when you pass over his slit, one leg coming up to press his ankle against your side. It’s not until you slip your other hand around him, though, arm passing through the space created by the bend of his knee to settle on his outer thigh, that he says anything.

“Fuck, that, more of that. P-please.”

“This hand?” You press your fingers into his thigh. He presses back.

“Yeah. I need… just, hold onto me.”

“Okay. Yeah, of course, sweetheart.” You scoot closer to wrap your hand tighter around his leg, spreading your legs to slip your knee underneath him. Once he relaxes, the full weight of his leg on yours, you press a kiss to his knee. “Good boy.”

“Shit,” he laughs, squirming closer to you. “S’not close enough.”

“Let me try something, then.” You slide backwards, reluctantly letting his leg fall to the bed, and you shimmy onto your stomach. When you pull his leg over your shoulder, he immediately hooks his ankle into your back and lets out a breathy moan. The pressure makes it a little harder to reach back around his thigh, but he relaxes into it easier, and the view is incredible. “There you go, perfect.”

You start up a little faster this time, twisting your wrist as you move up and down, and he bucks up into your hand. You risk a kiss to his thigh and his hands fly to your hair, the ends of the tie flowing down against your cheek.

“Sorry, too much?”

“Not enough.” His voice is scratchy now, and he gives a little tug once he gets a hold of you. “Can you, don’t put it- but, closer?”

“You want me here instead?” You press a kiss to the underside of his cock, flipping the loose ends of the tie out of the way to lay across his hip.

“Y-yes. Yes, fuck.”

“Gladly.” Between words, you pepper kisses along his shaft, following the trail of your hand up and down. “Thank you for letting me do this for you. You look so beautiful like this, feeling so good.”

He starts to make a noise of protest, but it quickly shifts into a stifled groan when you press a kiss to his tip, just barely letting your tongue drag across his slit as you pull away.

He whines and bucks his hips to follow you, and you can’t help but let an incredulous laugh slip out. “Alright, love, I’m gonna give you a choice, okay?”

He swallows thickly, then nods.

“Option one, you can tell me exactly how you want me to make you come. If you want my hand or my mouth or to go faster or slower or anything at all you just have to say the word. But I won’t do anything you don’t tell me, so you’ll have to say exactly what you want.”

His breathing is ragged, and he twitches in your grasp. “And option two?”

You grin and lean over him, propping yourself up on one hand. “I do whatever makes you the loudest, and if you stop making those pretty noises for me, I stop.” He seems to flinch at that, and you brush his hair back. “Just for a little while.”

He takes a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed, and he pulls his arms in and down to drape one across his forehead. The tie was never really secure in the first place, but after quite a bit of pulling and flailing, it’s fully undone by now, nothing but luck and stubborn determination holding the loops in place around Reigen’s wrists.

“Both options, of course, come with all sorts of praise and admiration.” You slip a finger under the fabric and give a light tug. He lifts his hands to let the tie slide free.

When he opens his eyes, a shudder running down his spine, he sees you absent-mindedly tying the tie around your neck, uneven and loose, hanging down between you to brush against his stomach. He’s sure you just needed somewhere to put it, something to do with your hands, but it flips a strangely possessive switch somewhere inside him. Not because he’s seeing you in his clothes - he’s had the privilege of that many times before - but because you’ve taken the thing that was supposed to restrain his ability to fuck up the situation, taken something he left safe for you to keep track of without even realizing he’d done it, taken the symbol of his presence in your space and your time and your life, and you’ve put it on without a second thought. He thinks of his misguided reasoning that got you into this situation, that he trusts you with him more than he trusts himself, and he knows what he wants.

For once, words are failing him, which just makes the choice even easier.

“Second one.”

Your eyebrows raise a little, like you’re surprised at his answer, and he almost takes it all back, but then you’re grinning and leaning down to cup his jaw, kissing him like he’s giving you the only air you could ever breathe, and he moans into your mouth.

You lean away just enough to pull in a gasp of air, fingers sliding to tangle into the base of his hair.

“Just like that, gorgeous.”

He laughs, sucking in a shaky breath as you wrap your hand around him again. It pinches into a sort of strained whimper as he starts to quiet himself and thinks better of it, and you start moving.

“That’s it, good boy, just let me take care of everything.”

For all he got into his head before, breaking the seal of touching him seems to have removed any last bits of hesitation, because he relaxes into your touch almost immediately. Your experimenting earlier left you with a good idea of what will get the best noises out of him, and he doesn’t hold back. You’re silently thankful, not only because you get to hear him, but also because you’re not sure you could have followed through on your threat of stopping. And if he’s exaggerating for your sake, all clipped moans and raspy mumbling and bucking hips, well, you’re not going to complain.

After a particularly tight stroke up his cock and a brush of teeth up the inside of his thigh, he pulls one arm over his mouth, pushing it against his lips with his other hand. You’re still deciding if that counts as muffling his sounds enough to slow down when he bites his wrist and yelps, a loud, desperate, frantic noise that seizes what little of your attention isn’t already on him. His head tips back as he struggles to prop himself up on one elbow, hand flipping to clamp down over his mouth, and you can see the bite mark, lines pressed into the pale skin just below the jut of bone where palm meets wrist. It takes you a minute to realize he’s saying something, your brain struggling to piece his noises together into words.

“Can I have your hand?” You hum, scrambling to extract your hand from his leg. “I just- I need,” he opens and closes his hands, “something.” When you hold your hand up blindly toward him, he takes it quickly and holds on tight, fingers lacing together with yours. He gives a few tugs, and you hurry to sit up.

“Please, I need- I can’t take it anymore.” He looks frantic, eyebrows pinched together and his chest heaving with ragged, shaky breaths. His hips buck wildly, quick and shallow into your curled fingers. You realize you’ve forgotten to keep moving as you were watching him, and you quickly correct your mistake, reveling in the shiver that racks through him as your thumb swipes over his tip.

He’s begging now, your name falling out in pieces between gasps and cries; he’s still tugging at your hand like you can’t get close enough, pressing his lips to your jaw like he can’t quite remember how to leave kisses there. He pitches his hips up and presses against you, knees coming together to press into your sides, pinning your hand against your torso as he lets out a final shuddering whimper.

He comes across your fingers, his whole body tense as he holds himself up, back arched and head rolled to the side. He moves to wrap his arms around you, forgetting that his elbow is supporting him, and he pulls you down with him as he falls the short distance to the mattress.

You do your best to roll off him without letting go of him during the aftershocks, but you’re not exactly paying attention to where you’re still holding, and he yelps again from the overstimulation. You yank your hand away with half an apology, smoothing your hand up his side as you lift yourself up on your other arm.

“Nono, wait, don’t-” He scrambles to grab you wherever he can, and you intercept him before he can smack you across the face.

“It’s okay, ‘Taka, s’okay. I’m not going anywhere. I just didn’t wanna crush you. Let’s sit up so you can get some water, alright? All that noise can really make your throat sore, I know.” You slip your hands under him, one at the small of his back and one between his shoulders, gently lifting him toward the headboard. “That’s it. You’re okay. I gotcha.”

Once he’s upright, a glass of water in two shaky hands, you lean over the side of the bed to fumble for a washcloth. When he doesn’t slow down on his own, you start to reach for the glass, but he pulls away for a big gulp of air before you can.

“How you feelin’?”

He doesn’t answer right away, leaving you to fidget with the cloth, slowly reaching for his thigh. He lets his eyes slide closed as you start to wipe him off, smoothing an apologetic thumb over his hip when he hisses from the sensitivity. You wipe your hand on a mostly clean corner before you chuck it in the general direction of the hamper, silently relieved when it makes it in.

“I think I died.” His hands are still shaking as he goes to set the glass on your nightstand, and you gingerly take it from him, lifting yourself up to set it on the far corner where neither of you can accidentally knock it off later. “I understand you now.”

“You didn’t die, I promise.” You allow yourself a smirk and pull a blanket up from the end of the bed. “That’s high praise, though.”

“You’re high praise.”

“You’re the one that liked it so much.”

He rolls his eyes, too tired to argue. As you pull yourself up the bed to sit beside him, he leans over, one hand sliding behind you to rest on your hip. Now that he doesn’t have the distraction of everything else, you can tell he’s starting to think, because his ears are tinting pink and he’s fidgeting with a string on the edge of the blanket.

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t happy to oblige.”

You scoop his hand into yours, leaving the blanket’s seams to live another day, and examine the bite mark on his wrist.

“I can’t believe I did that.” He scoffs, shaking his head a little as you turn his arm over. “The hell was I thinking?”

“Obviously you weren’t, which is both the point and very hot, so hush.” He turns away stubbornly, but he looks pleased. “You could probably say a spirit did it. Biting seems like an evil ghost thing to do, right?”

“With clearly human teeth?”

“Maybe it… stole them?”

He laughs, pulling away from your grip to get comfortable against your side. Just as you start to drift off, soothed by the sound of his breathing slowing and his weight settling on you as he relaxes, you feel his fingers walking down your hip, making their way to your thigh. You crack one eye open, and he looks away with obviously fake innocence.

“Where you going with that hand, darling?”

He smiles, bright and daring, as his fingers dig in. “Your turn?”

You consider it. You’re not quite capable of fully ignoring how turned on seeing him like this has made you. There’s a bit of nervous energy, buzzing over what’s left of your hangover, excitement, the joy that bubbles up in your chest at seeing him smiling at you like that, everything coming together in an overwhelming, swirling feeling of wanting whatever he will give you. But there’s something else, a calm undercurrent to it all, coating the emotion in quiet and directing it all back to a single point, solid and unwavering and right .

More than anything, you are content.

He sees your expression and laughs, must know what you’re going to say the moment you decide, because he mouths the words along with you as he pulls his hand back up to your hip.

“Maybe next time.”

[human-for-tonight]

the thing about watcher is I think buzzfeed unsolved fucked them over. both in terms of numbers but also in terms of output. if you go to buzzfeed unsolved network and sort by popular, you have to scroll past 84 videos before you get below 10mil views. and a lot of those are 5-7 years old, so those are numbers they would've been looking at when deciding to break off from buzzfeed (the first watcher video was posted 4 years ago). they thought they could get big numbers without constantly churning out videos, because that's what they'd gotten with buzzfeed unsolved. and I'm sure they adjusted their projected numbers to account for people not following over to the new channel, but I doubt they predicted their top videos would be in the 8mil views range (which is still a lot, but not what they had pulled in the past).

so they aren't getting old buzzfeed unsolved numbers, but that's okay! look at the try guys - they aren't putting up millions of views every video and they're able to have a company with a decent amount of employees. and this is where the output issue comes in. between their main channel and their various podcasts, try guys is putting out 5 videos a week, with 2 being main channel videos. watcher is putting out 3 with 1 being a main channel video. plenty of people who have been making videos for a while have talked about the youtube grind and the algorithm - there's a reason daily vlogs and content houses got so big. and watcher didn't want to do that grind. from the beginning they've said they want to do seasons of shows. which is feasible! again, this is something try guys does with without a recipe. but the difference is try guys has quick and cheap videos they can put out in between and concurrently with those big shows that help support them. eat the menu is their best example of this because it gets big numbers. watcher doesn't really have filler videos.

to further the try guys comparison, buzzfeed unsolved limited the type of content fans were looking for in a way try guys was never limited because trying new things is a really fucking broad category. try guys was always more about the people than the specific thing they were trying. obviously a lot of fans of watcher like ryan and shane (and to a lesser extent steven, based on how many people are blaming him specifically for this). but I'm sure there were also people only watching because they liked true crime and/or ghost hunting content, which makes it harder to branch out and retain ghost files numbers on their other shows.

overall, they thought they could be buzzfeed with just unsolved, and that's not how youtube works and now it's fucking them over that they got too ambitious too fast

[loadinghellsing]

back to studying hellsing's style to figure out how to draw the characters... specifically Anderson due to my drawing break.

his face is so funky and complicated, and I've been trying to figure out what all the reasons as to "why" are, when I realized the outline profile of his face has 6 core line behaviors instead of the usual 4.

its not even an art style diffrence, because Alucard and Integra both have 4. And Seras has 3! A demonstration of what I'm talking about;

basically sections of the face outline. A dip in for the eye, curve out then in for the cheek, out for a more defined jaw/chin (which Seras doesn't have), and of course the forehead which leads into hairline.

Anderson on the other hand... has 6. With the addition of his eye brows and mouth.

Provided, this allows more emphasis on his eyes and grin which express ALOT about everything his character is. But for that to be visible in character outline? WACK.

I also need to point out Alucard, Seras, and Integra have symmetrical faces (Which is to be expected within animation, its less work and saves costs).

But Anderson's smirk is often a little lopsided (and I love him for it)

even his full blown grin, tends to be skewed one way or another.

its one of those small things that make him feel more human, even when he's unhinged feral with instant access to the 4th dimension

[itsmuffiiee]

What are your favorite DCA fics? Some of mine are Solar Lunacy, LDR, and Sleuth Jesters! :D

OKAY!! so I don’t think I have a favorite? I have fanfics I’m currently excited to see update though!! (Which is.. almost every fic I read but I’ll try to include some I’m ESPECIALLY excited about!!)

Enjoy some silly notes about each Fic Below!! ・・・★

Flaring Rays and Ivory Crescents

By @surrealkunstlerin

- Moon has a silly stupid laugh but let him have it..! he deserves it!

- How y/n spending isn’t giving them anxiety is beyond me- I think you gotta trust the robots to be financially intelligent

- I would just sort of lay in moons arm all day before they both got mad at me for not doing anything 😞

- Self indulgent.. my dream: sun and moon would be helpers that help me live a better life )::

Red sky

By Kettle_fish

- “I want two boyfriends, and I want by boyfriends to be boyfriends”

- 257k my beloved

- I really enjoyed the moments of y/n bonding with sun and moon in the cell ::3c

An Introvert Meets the Devil at the End of the World

By Kassykins

- post apocalyptic time!!

- sun is so traumatized

- Should of listended to y/n smh

- interactions between the bots and y/n … 12/10… the other humans though make me question humanity- I think however that’s is the point to be off put and disgusted by them

- I enjoy moon protecting y/n as their source of life and is trying to get sun not to FUCK IT UP

He’s a little confused but he got the spirit

By @midnight-mourning

- I can’t wait to see sun stare in the mirror and realize “oh god, I like them, oh god, oh no.. THAT THING IS WHAT I FALL FOR? You got to be kidding me!!”

- The Sun is burning out and is stressed )::

- Beloved moon in this fic, I hope he gets everything he wants and more

- Fanart MIGHT be in progress.. I am excited to draw these goobers

There Are Many Benefits (To Rethinking This Career Path)

By @moonliched

- Nessa x Chica was not on my 2024 bingo

- I need to see sun and moon get jealous more often

- Author please, please, let them have a sleep over someway somehow

- “I need to go into the ocean, I need to be in there” - y/n probably

- the little extra bits at the end of each chapter DO make me smile and brighten up my day immensely

If ongoing fics aren’t your style !! And you prefer completed stories I also have: Claw at the Stars by @vivisols !!

- NON HUMAN Y/N BELOVED !!

- more mermaids.. ::3

- I love all their fics sm.. ‹𝟹

> I have so many more fics to share (to ramble about).. so..so many but I’ll leave it here for now!! Thank you for asking!! Please be mindful of tags before reading! ::)

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

I've always wondered if you happened to have a discord? If not have you ever considered making one?

i do have one! however i use it very sparingly because 1) new people (especially groups) scare me & 2) brain's been fucking weird for a hot minute and i barely talk to people i'm already friends with let alone strangers

[azulock]

I had this submitted to my blog just like 15 minutes ago by an anon:

Chigiri is a big chest guy? So he don’t like small boobs is that what you mean? Why? What’s so undesirable about small boobs that every single author always forget or explicit exclude women with small boobs? Are small boobs disgusting? Boring? Why is always about big boobs being better!

I’ll answer in good faith, ok: this is not what I meant. I meant “big chest guy” the same way you’d say someone is a “big movie guy”, it’s meant to be that he is big into tits, as in he likes them a lot. I generally try to be as inclusive as possible in my writing, so much so that that part was meant to include man boobs too, I reall try to be inclusive, esp in headcanons where I’m free to not go into details so that’s easier. If I’m writing a full fic then I tend to lose that a bit, and when I need details I’ll usually take them from my reality, so if you read my fics and feel like that too I apologize, it just happens that I got big tits and I’m writing the fics for myself, my life ends up being my bias. But I reiterate: I meant it as in “he really likes boobs”, if that didn’t come accross I apologize, nobody proof reads my shit and english is only my second language, the first being portuguese.

Again, I’m so sorry, I get ya, I get the rage. Every fic author out there is doing reader blushing, but my black ass can’t blush, even tho I’m not even that dark. Every fic author is writing about petite women with tiny little waists, and someone like me who is tall and thick just gets left out. It’s always rosy pussies and tiny pink nipples, it’s always flowing long hair and women getting swallowed by their boyfriend’s shirts, and I many other things that made me feel left off. I’m sorry if that was the case, really. I try to make this a space safe for people with all different bodies as much as possible, and hopefully, despite my limitations, I can at least do an ok job, for everyone.

[pettyprocrastination]

Idle Hands

Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader

My secret Santa gift for the ever lovely @floralpascal I do hope this follows your prompt well and that you enjoy it! Big thank you to @humanransome-note for being my editor+beta reader on this one at like 1 am lol. Also a huge thank you to @pedrostories for putting together this amazing event to begin with!!! <3

Summary: Frankie goes to you when he needs his clothes altered and each time has a revelation each time he sees you work. 

Warnings: fluff, light self doubt, lots of talk about hands I just really like hands okay. Friends to lovers babeyyyy

word count: 1.2k

________

     Frankie’s clothes never fit him right. 

     The sleeves of shirts hung just a touch too long on him, but going a size under meant they’d squeeze around the bulk of his shoulders in a way that made him worry it would tear (it did. On a first date, it was very embarrassing for him). Trousers either gaped at his waist or had to be rolled up at the cuff because they were made for somebody taller, not wider to properly fit his legs. 

     But he didn’t complain, it gave him a reason to see you. 

     “It’s because clothes used to be made for the body specifically.” You told him, needle in hand as you sat at a table and pushed it through the cuff of his pants. “Everything was tailor made to your measurements, but nowadays we just buy off the rack and hope it fits right.” 

     “Or we take it to our incredibly talented friend who hems our pants in return for dinner?” 

     Sometimes he hopes they don’t fit right, just so he can see you smile. 

     “Yeah, that’s always an option too.” 

     His mother has always told him that love was found in one’s hands. Holding the door open, taking their hand in yours when you crossed the street, the gentle cradling of their face when leaning in for a gentle kiss, it was everything. Small testimonies of love and care found in everyday moments that took root in the palms of a lover. 

     But Francisco's hands were scarred. His fingers were calloused from hard labor and would tremble until he curled them into fists and willed them to stop. They sweat horribly when he would get nervous, leading to him shoving his hands in his pockets and praying you never noticed. 

     If you did, you said nothing of it. 

     But his hands weren’t good for nothing, despite the fact he considered them too rough for handling gentle things like you and the way his fingers fumbled with his keys, he was still skilled. 

     It was his hands that put in the new lock on your door after a series of break-ins took place in your neighborhood. The same fingers that fumbled with your birthday present are nimble and quick with the screwdriver in hand as he reassures you that it’ll be alright. They're the same ones that held you the night you got stood up for a date and wiped the tears from your face as he told you any man who can’t show up for you isn’t worth your fucking time. The same hand that settles on the small of your back each time you walk through a crowd together, the gentle reminder of his presence when you felt everything else closing in. 

     I’m here. You're safe. 

     “These are new.”      “I’m sorry?” 

     You lift your head from your work table and hold up the pair of slacks in your hand he had brought for you to hem. All black with a fine finish, something you’d wear to a wedding. 

     The same pair he stared at in the store for fifteen minutes before finally biting the bullet.

     “The pants, I’ve never seen you wear them before.” 

     His hands curl, thumb pressing against the flat of his pointing finger until he hears a soft “pop” from the joint and moves to the next in hopes to keep his mind off the fact that your thumb is running along the inseam of one pant leg, a gentle back and forth, back and forth, that he’s not sure you even know you're doing it, but it's enough to make his lungs feel tight and head full of cotton. 

     “Right, they're uh, they're new.” 

     Middle finger. 

     Pop. 

     Ring finger. 

     Pop. 

     Pinkie. 

     Pop. 

     “They're real nice.” 

     “You think so?” 

     “You’ll look real sharp in those, Frankie. You got something special coming up?” You look beautiful. Your eyes are focused on your hands that weave the needle in and out of the fabric with such ease it reminds him of a conductor. There's something about it. The way your arm moves up and down, the gentle flick of your wrist when it pulls the needle through. Each separate movement that melts into one another like a connected dance. Maybe Frankie was just reading too much into it. Maybe it had just been far too fucking long since he went on a date and he was so starved he got to the point of romanticizing tailoring. Maybe he just really liked your hands. 

     Maybe, he just really liked you. 

     “Nothing in particular.” 

     You snip the end of the thread, tying it with quick flitting fingers before smiling at him over your shoulder. 

     “Well let me know when you do, I’d like to see you get all fancy.” 

     He scratches at the back of his neck. 

     “You just want a reason to get me out of my work clothes.” 

     There's a moment in every hug from Francisco Morales. From the moment you first met him to years later you can name it down to the very second it happens. A split second before he pulls away from you where his hand settles on your waist and curls in ever so slightly, squeezing you to his chest so softly that by the time you notice he’s already pulling away and telling you “have a good one.”

     It’s the moment you want to continue. For his hands to stay on your waist and keep him flush to your chest, where you’d finally find the bravery to mumble out those words you’ve kept locked away for the past four years because you don’t know what you’d do after there or. Or what he’d do. Christ, you don’t want to imagine it. 

     So instead you bite your tongue. You hold back the confession that’s been nested in the crevice of your ribs since you first met him and savor the feeling of his hands on your waist and the little “mmm.” he does every time you give him a hug that just makes you feel lightheaded.

     He’s halfway down the driveway when he stops in his tracks. Snipping something under his breath to himself before turning on his heel and pointing at you. 

     “Are you uh, are you free? This Friday?” 

     His hands were shaking. 

     “Yeah. Yeah, I’m free.” 

    So were yours. 

     “I was thinking we could get dinner. It’ll give me a reason to wear these, you know?”  He holds up the pair of pants in his hands and smiles. “Plus, I’ve been meaning to ask you out for a long time. I only have so many clothes for you to fix.” 

     Francisco learned that his hands were full of love. 

     His hands could pull out your chair, pour you wine with a steady grasp. They’ll gesture during conversation that seemed to last for hours and drape his coat around your shoulders in the night air.  Cradle your face when he kissed you goodnight and grip your waist when you pulled him in for another. They could hold you together and pull you apart all in the same night. 

     You saw the trembles in his fingertips without shame. Your lips pressed kiss after kiss to the rough skin of his palm without flinching and wrapped your hands with his each time you saw the world closing in on him, refusing to let go or be pushed away. 

     You saw his hands for what they were. An extension of the man they belonged to. One with scars and tremors that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he tried to hide them. 

     But you held him nonetheless.

[poisonouspastels]

I need to talk about Minecraft AU for a sec and how the difference between our world and their world makes for some of the most humorous but also interesting differences in how people act about certain subjects.

Like the trans thing right. Steve and Rana are both trans I've talked about that before. And neither of them are on hormone replacement or anything (there is an in universe explanation as to why Steve has a beard though I promise I can talk about that if anyone wants) but like that's fine bc it literally Doesn't Matter to them or anyone else. Like as spawned players they already don't have any pre-existing gender roles or ideas of what something "should" be so gender and presentation is what they make of it and there's no real solid idea in anyone's mind about how a "boy" or "girl" behaves or looks like. These are labels that exist but they barely mean anything. It also helps that any preexisting culture that WOULD have ideas of this was almost entirely destroyed like 5000 years ago (thanks Groda) so it matters even less than it already did.

And its funny bc the only two people alive from that era, White Eyes and Groda also just don't care. Groda maybe asks why Rana's voice sounds deeper once and nearly gets torn apart by Alex bc of it (Rana isn't offended or anything she just has a defensive girlfriend), bc she doesn't really understand because she never experienced anything like this first hand but very quickly comes to understand it and accept it. And on the other hand White Eyes is just like "I've seen weirder things than this" which yeah. Yeah honestly I think the person who was previously one with the undead would not care about gender in the grand scheme of things.

And then u have Kai which I've joked before that they may as well have been spawned in nonbinary. They rlly just said "I'm not really anything" and everyone was like yeah makes sense I vibe with it. Good for u.

Steve and Rana are both fairly open about having been the opposite genders previously (because that's how they view their experiences and that's valid!) and don't really shy away from the subject but also never really have much reason to talk about it since there's rarely a need to. In the modern day pretty much everyone who met them had met them post-transition. Even Alex had met them just before Steve started growing in his beard. The only people who ever knew them as Adam and Eve were Efe and Sunny but they never really thought it was weird or anything. Like the weirdest part to them was Steve saying he got his epiphany from seeing some guy in the distance on a foggy day who looked vaguely like him but that's its own subject manner that they aren't going to pry on.

Also Steve did DIY top "surgery" previously with a sword but we aren't going to talk about how messy that was for everyone involved.

[lilacstarvix]

TotK 'Resurrection AU'

Something I've had on my mind for a little while now, is a TotK AU where Rauru and Sonia get 'brought back to life' during the events of the game.

Sonia is also the target of my zonai-ification nonsense instead of Link this time, I do be putting people in creechurification situations since my Submas days.

I did some deranged rambling writing about it too, little bit of warning, there is some panicking:

When Rauru woke up, the last thing he remembers was bidding Link farewell, followed by a warm feeling that seems to have lasted for an eternity but also no time at all.

He looks around to see that he is in a room, one shrouded in darkness, of Zonai architecture, but ancient, even by his standards.

Feeling cold stone beneath him, he notices that he is wearing nothing but underwear, 'This must've been how Link felt' Rauru ponders before he gets up and starts wandering the empty room.

Time begins to pass as his brain begins to process the fact that he is 'Alive' and that he has no clue where he is and begins to panic, calling out for Sonia, calling out for Mineru, calling out for the sages, calling out for Link...but nobody came.

Rauru begins to wander, calling out into the empty halls in hopes that anyone or anything will reveal it's presence.

Meanwhile elsewhere in the facility:

Sonia wakes from a warm 'dream', her last memory being of falling 'asleep' in Rauru's arms while recovering from something she can't quite remember properly.

The room is dark, cold, her face feels heavy, her ears feel pressed against frigid stone, her forehead feels... weird... to say the least.

As she gets up her whole body aches but not in a way that hurts, like a stiff muscle finally loosening.

She turns to sit up she finally looks own and notices a grey protrusion on her face, aswell as her whole body being covered in a similar grey, reaching a hand to touch it.. ..fur. Soft, thin fur, almost too soft, like a newborn puppy or other small mammal.

Slowly she reached upwards, touching the... snout.. on her face, trailing her hands further up her hands reach her forehead.

Gently, Sonia presses against the soft bump, almost instinctually the 'bump' opens her vision widens vertically for a brief moment.

'A third eye' Sonia realizes, among other thoughts racing through her mind as she puts together, that for some reason she is now a Zonai and lost in this strange unfamiliar place, with nobody in sight.

Sonia finally stands up although her legs feel unstable, and a little shorter than what her muscle memory thinks they should be, but regardless she begins to walk-waddle around, to get a better look at this dilapidated, dark, dreary and empty structure and hopefully find somebody, something or just a way out of here to get her bearings.

Back to Rauru

Rauru has been occasionally yelling out for help for a few hours now, to him it mattered not if the attention was positive or negative at this point, he just needed to see someone, anyone, hell even a warrior construct would be a welcome presence over the sheer loneliness this place echoed.

But finally something other than his shouts break the silence.

Footsteps.

It took Rauru a moment to realize that he wasn't just imagining things as he not only hears the footsteps, but sees a figure off in the distance of the dimly lit halls.

A distinctly Zonai shape, that also seems fianlly notice him , they begin to stumble, walk, then run towards Rauru with relief, enthusiasm and desperation that shocked Rauru.

He began to wonder how much longer this eager Zonai must've been alone for to reach such desperation, before he begins to hearing her voice and upon seeing her face, despite how different it was, those wise teal pools couldn't belong to anyone other than...

.."Sonia!"

(Part 2 here!)

(Link to the Ao3 version of the fic here, it has many more chapters than what I have on tumblr)

[ashwii]

Hey I'm kinda obsessed with how you shade and colour!! Especially water!! Do ya have any tips?

- 💜💚 @autisticenbydonnie

[This'll prolly be one of those long posts where tumblr says "View Post" at the bottom, so apologies for that, aha]

Aww thank you so much !!

🤔🤔 so with water specifically, a LOT of it is guess work. Sometimes I need to redo the water 3 or 4 times until I get it right ya know?

I'll show the process for that Leo drawing I just reblogged:

This was where I was at before I really started taking care of the water. First, you wanna get a whole bunch of tones in there, even beforeyou really start goin at it. Lights, darks, mids, use your multiply layers, add layers, color dodge, all of it. Basically, you want a bunch of choices to color pick from when rendering.

Now the issue here was that the water looked like it was wrapping around him like fabric instead of it ;;; looking like water dhehwjw. We [more I] want it to look like we're looking through a glass of water almost — where you can see the waterline and the water wrapping around the glass.

Now — after painting over everything — we have a waterline, and the water is now wrapping around leo like how water would. You can see the waterline around his arms and body too.

The way I personally color water is to go from dark to light. Make a BUNCH of blobby messy shapes with the dark tones and mid tones, then work on top of those colors with the lights. Once I get to the lightest color [white in this case], I give the water some light at the high points of the waves, and some white dots for some shimmer and sparkles hehe [add more white shimmers closest to your light source, which in this case is the moon in the back]. I also add in some bubbly shapes around the waterlines to make the water feel more;;; alive I guess?? Aha

And after ALLL of that, I go in with some color correction, some glow dodge and add glow layer, and bam, you got urself some glowy water 😤😤. Bottom line, don't think to much about it looking "perfect and pretty," if you look close, the water is just all blobby shapes and scribbles I made lmao.

And if anyone's curious, the main tools I use to get this kind of painty effect are the Marker brush and the Water brush in Paint Tool Sai 💕💕

[bluerasbunny]

what if i started posting my other fandoms and my ocs even more

[oh-no-its-bird]

Adjusting my glasses and squinting at my ask box

One of you guys REALLY wants edo tensei tobirama huh

[rushingheadlong]

okay, last post about the tank top (for now, until we inevitably get more photos) but setting aside the flailing and thirsting and excitement and everything else for a moment here

more than anything I am just SO happy that Brian felt comfortable enough to wear that tank top out onstage again without anything else over it

because he's obviously been using tank tops as his undershirt for the entire tour so far but even with everything being posted from soundchecks and hotels and his stationary bike we haven't seen him in just the tank on this tour before. he's wearing these constantly now, nearly daily, and until Halloween every image of him from this tour had been with an overshirt on or wearing a different t-shirt entirely.

and we know that Brian had(/has) body image issues and if you look at his entire wardrobe over the entire course of his life it's pretty freaking obvious that at least some of those issues are with his torso and shoulders. yes he's allergic to buttons but how many photos do we have of him actually shirtless compared to, say, Roger or Freddie?

more than that, how many times has he performed with Queen while wearing a tank top? I'll tell you right now you can count it on one hand and it's never been during a Queen concert specifically. the closest he's ever gotten has been rolling up his sleeves during the Q+PR years, or the handful of times he did the same in the 80s.

"we was glam!" Brian once said, and honestly that's probably a large reason why he's never worn tanks onstage with Queen before. because Queen's aesthetic is very different than that of his solo tours, and Q+AL is very different from Q+PR in that the glam vibes that Adam brings allow Brian to return to some of his own stage costume roots. Brian has a wild number of shirt and/or outfit changes during the show, and even the "street clothes" he wears on stage are sparklier than they ever were during the Q+PR years - not to mention that he's actually wearing costumes again, with the borhap solo outfits and the military jackets and everything else he does.

Brian may not be "fashionable" in the sense of being into fashion, following trends, etc. but he has always been extremely aware of how to follow the fashion in Queen specifically (and one day I'll write up that post about how Brian and Freddie continued wearing "costumes" onstage long past the point where Roger and John stopped....). it's really obvious when you look at Brian on the Magic Tour, where his stagewear is mostly just street clothes that vibe with what Roger and John are wearing, but he still pulls out those fabulous coats towards the end of the show to match the grandeur and spectacle that comes with a Queen finale.

Brian is clearly comfortable wearing tank tops in general but it's a very different matter for him to a) wear them publicly, where there will be photos and videos of it on the internet forever and b) wear them during a Queen show in 2023 when they match nothing else going on with his stagewear for this tour.

and I don't want to spend a lot of time on Point A because I am sick to fucking death of trying to get this fandom to understand that cracking "jokes" about the visible signs of natural aging (like the shoulder hair) isn't actually funny, especially when people are doing it on platforms that Brian himself is on like instagram

but with regards to Point B, like... there was just no reason for Brian to do this. there's no reason he couldn't have worn the Frank mask with the mirror ball suit, or if there was a reason he still could've worn an overshirt like he did when they had timing issues and he couldn't do his quick-change a few shows back.

but clearly Brian wanted to do this. he wanted THAT to be his Halloween costume specifically - not the mirror suit or his stagewear with a mask added, but a full outfit that was specifically unique for that moment in that show even if it was pulled from other clothing pieces he already had on hand.

it's a choice that, for about 20 seconds, made him completely visually different from anything anyone else had worn during that show. it's a choice that doesn't fully match Queen's aesthetic, either then or now, and it's a choice that's already generating some questionable "teasing" at his expense.

Brian has always had his physical appearance put under a microscope. from his height to his hair, the clogs to the unbuttoned shirts, by sheer virtue of the fact that he exists in the public eye Brian cannot wear anything without getting comments and critiques on it to some degree. and as he's aged those comments have naturally shifted to be about his aging - about his decision to dye or stop dyeing his hair, about how much skin he shows and how appealing the rest of the world finds that, how much body hair he now has and the small belly he's gained and everything else that comes along when you're a human being who's been alive for 70+ years.

but despite all of that, Brian wore that tank top on stage.

despite the dozens of reasons why this could have been a bad idea, despite the wildly varying opinions I've already seen, despite the aesthetic of Queen and this tour, despite the routine they already have for his outfit changes, despite the fact that this was always going to special because of the green lights and the Frank mask...

despite everything... Brian stripped down to that tank and stepped onto the raising platform without wearing any of his glam overshirts or special-made costumes, knowing that the thousands of people in that venue were waiting to get pictures and videos of that solo, and that he'd be opening himself up to very specific criticisms about his appearance by doing this.

and Brian was still confident enough, comfortable enough, in himself to do that during possible the highest-stakes moment in the entire show.

so yeah, I'm excited because there's new tank top content and I'm not above admitting that I personally find this sort of confidence very sexy even on a man of Brian's age

but I'm also just happy FOR Brian with this - happy that it went off without a hitch, happy that it has mostly been well-received by fans, happy that he seems to have had fun with it and, above all else, happy to see that any lingering self-doubts or body image issues aren't enough to stop him from giving us a moment like this.