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luxaofhesperides · 3 months

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Soulmark AU + Sleeping Beauty ; requested by @candeartist422!

For the last few years, Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die.

It sounds cruel to say it that way. But the waiting is more painful, he thinks, than just mourning a lost love. It’s not like most people ever meet their soulmates anyways; his parents weren’t meant to be, but they still loved each other and had a life together. He wishes he could turn his focus away from his soulmate, but Duke is a romantic at heart and has always wanted to find the other half of his soul.

But since he was fourteen, his soulmark has dulled, fading in and out of color. What was once a vibrant blue crystal star, with eight points and a swirl of watercolor hues around it, dimmed more and more until Duke was sure he was watching his soulmate die slowly.

His soulmate didn’t die then. Whoever they are got better, his soulmark gaining color, but it never went back to the way it was. For years after, Duke would check at the beginning and end of each day, keeping track of when it faded and when it regained its color.

He thought his soulmate was sick. In and out of hospitals, fighting to stay alive.

And then it went nearly colorless.

Duke doesn’t remember much about that day. He knows he woke up, brushed his teeth, the lifted up his shirt to check his soulmark in the mirror. The blue was almost completely gone, the star on his left hipbone nearly gray with how colorless it was. He started at it for a moment, shocked, and reality slid away from him as he retreated into the safety of his mind, fully dissociating.

Bruce had found him when Duke didn’t show up for breakfast. He held him and offered quiet words of comfort that Duke couldn’t understand, but just having someone with him lessened the hurt of losing his soulmate.

Seeing the color come back the next day, faint as it was, hurt even more.

A year later, Duke still can’t break the habit of checking his soulmark twice a day. It hasn’t changed at all, still faint and dim, but carrying just enough color to show that his soulmate was still alive. At the very least, they were still breathing, but his chance of ever meeting them is basically zero. Still, he can’t help but hope, wishing that he could meet them even once before they die and leave him forever.

“Same as ever,” he murmurs to himself as he brushes his thumb against his soulmark. He’s terrified that he’s forgotten how beautiful the blue of it was when his soulmate was healthy.

Duke doesn’t let himself think on it too much anymore. Though his thoughts often turn to his soulmate during quiet moments like these, the busy nature of Gotham is usually more than enough to pull his attention back to the here and now. There’s no use in obsessing over his soulmate anyways; they’re just going to die, sooner or later, and Duke knows he’ll never get to meet them. They’ll just be another empty space in his life, right next to his parents.

“Come on, Thomas, focus,” he tells himself firmly, then gets dressed and heads down to the kitchen for breakfast.

The manor is quiet. It usually is in the mornings, with everyone from the night shift dead asleep and trying to get as much rest as they can before they have to start their day. Not that many of them stay in the manor these days; Duke and Damian are the only permanent residents at the moment, but Steph usually stays half with her mom and half in the manor during the summers when she’s home from college, and the others drop in whenever they feel like it.

Bruce lives more in the Batcave than the manor, so he doesn’t really count. It’s also why Duke is surprised to see Bruce awake and dressed like a normal person, drinking coffee in the kitchen as if this is a normal occurrence.

“Morning,” Duke offers.

“Good morning, Duke,” Bruce replies. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough. Alfred out or something?”

“He may have kicked me out of the Batcave to clean it up a bit,” Bruce answers tiredly. “Want me to make breakfast?”

Duke has heard the horror stories of Bruce’s attempts to make edible food in a kitchen. In the interest of not dealing with food poisoning, Duke shakes his head quickly and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda wanting to eat out for breakfast. Get out there as me, and not a mask, you know?”

“Mind if I join you? Alfred may forgive me for not sleeping if I willingly go outside.”

Duke laughs. “Sure man, as long as you pay.”

“I’ll drive, too.”

“What, don’t trust me behind a wheel?”

Bruce gives him a tired look, eyes dead and dull. “I have taught all my children how to drive. The day I willingly let them take the wheel when I am not actively dying is the day I’ve been replaced by a robot clone of myself who doesn’t know better yet.”

“That is… very specific. Is that a thing you usually worry about?”

“I’m Batman. I have to worry about everything.”

Yeah, that tracks. Duke wouldn’t be surprised if he has at least five contingency plans for that scenario, should it ever happen. “Well,” he says, “Right now, all you need to worry about is having your wallet and driving us down to The Foodie Nook. I’ve been craving their breakfast plates for ages.”

Bruce doesn’t object to his choice of restaurant and follows Duke down to the garage, grabbing a random set of keys and pointing it out to the many cars he owns. One near the front blinks its lights as it unlocks and Duke cheerfully tosses himself into the passenger seat as Bruce opens the garage door.

The drive into Gotham is smooth. They don’t hit traffic until they reach the bridge that leads into the city proper, taking them away from the quiet of Bristol. The morning is busy, but not enough that Duke worries about being out as the Signal to help keep the peace. It’s a normal type of busy, one borne from people going about their lives, feeling safe enough to go out.

The Foodie Nook is entirely local and very popular, so the parking lot is nearly full. But they expanded their space last year, which means he and Bruce don’t have to sit outside while they wait to grab a table. Bruce keeps conversation light and casual, well aware of the many listening ears around them, and it’s nice, feeling normal for once.

Well, as normal as life can be with Bruce Wayne™. The server who comes to lead them to a table realizes who she’s talking to after she gets a proper look at them while holding open the door and promptly stutters over her words.

“No need for any special treatment,” Bruce laughs lightly, “We’re just here for breakfast. Nothing special.”

“Of course,” she replies, cheeks red. “Um, right this way! We’ve got a table by the windows for you. Just two, yeah?”

“Yup! Just two. Thought this was a good day to spend some time with Duke. He’s a great kid, you know, I’m glad I was given the opportunity to foster him.”

The sunny, cheerful Bruce Wayne persona is so different from the usual Bruce he works with that it feels like he’s standing next to a stranger. But his words are sincere and warm his heart, filling up the gaps that his soulmate has left.

“Here you are!” their server announces, showing them to their table. “I’ll be right back with some menus.” She’s gone in a rush, and other customers glance over before quickly averting their gaze.

It’s one of the unspoken rules of Gotham: give the Waynes their privacy while they’re out in public. Questions and conversation are for public events only, but if they see a Wayne out and about during a normal day, everyone leaves them be unless spoken to first. Duke used to follow those rules as well when he was just another Gothamite. It’s strange being on the other side of that now that he’s in with the Waynes.

Duke barely has to look through the menu when it’s handed to him. The breakfast plates are his favorites and he gets one every single time he comes to The Foodie Nook; stacked full with breakfast foods from around the world. As a kid, he loved the Mexico Plate, but these days he’s craving either the Brazilian Plate or the Vietnamese Plate.

He can’t decide on which one and thinks about tossing a coin to decide, but seeing how that’s Two Face’s whole thing, he decides to hold off and settle the matter with eenie-meenie-minnie-mo.

He gets the Vietnamese Plate.

Bruce, on the other hand, reads through the entire menu like it’s a novel, then leans over and says rather loudly, “Duke, what’s a tort-illa.”

The pain he feels hearing that is only worsened by the amusement in Bruce’s eyes. He’s doing it on purpose, playing up the Brucie act for the public so he can psychologically torment Duke. A few nearby customers choke back laughter, turning away to hide their smiles.

Duke shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just food. Don’t ask any more questions, I just want a peaceful breakfast.”

“Well then,” Bruce replies, “I suppose I know what to order now.”

As if she was summoned, their server reappears before them, cheeks still looking a little flushed. “Hi! Ready to order?”

She writes down their orders quickly, valiantly keeping a straight face at Bruce’s mispronunciation of tortilla, then heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen.

Rather than draw out a conversation with Brucie Wayne, Duke settles for playing a few idle games on his phone; his current favorite is one quiet cat cafe game where he directs cats into fulfilling cafe orders.

Bruce, despite being out in his civilian identity, is working. He’s on his Batman phone, which looks the same as his other cell phones except this one has a bat symbol sticker just barely hiding a Superman sticker on the phone case. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads whatever file he’s accessing from the Batcomputer. It’s a little worrying but it could be anything. Bruce makes the same expression when he reads one of Tim’s snarky comments getting quoted in the news.

But that’s not Duke’s problem! He’s here to enjoy his breakfast and it will take the end of the world itself to remove him from his seat before he’s done eating.

The game takes most of his attention until their food comes out, and by then Bruce has tucked away the smallest of his Batman mannerisms. They enjoy a normal, peaceful breakfast. Bruce ends it by asking their server if she has any debt that’s weighing her down, then giving her a tip that’s at least five thousand dollars above that.

She does cry and Bruce hugs her. It’s very sweet.

As soon as they get back into the car, his easy going smile drops and Duke knows some superhero nonsense is about to take over his day.

“Duke,” Bruce starts, seriously, “I received a message from Zatanna.”

“Don’t drag this out,” Duke says, “Just give it to me straight. What terrible thing is about to happen to us?”

“It’s nothing too big. They just recently defeated a magical being who had been tearing apart secret government facilities in Illinois. He had both magic and a high tech weapon, which they confiscated and are delivering to me. The government agency he was fighting was suspiciously interested in the weapon, and based on their behaviors and newly revealed work, Zatanna made the decision to turn the weapon over to us so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Bruce smoothly merges into traffic as he speaks, getting them onto the road back to the manor. There’s a look in his eyes that means he’s keeping a lot unsaid, and Duke knows without a doubt that whatever this government agency was doing is bad if Zatanna needs Batman to act as extra security.

He’s not sure about her decision to trust the weapon to be safe in Gotham, either. Sure, Batman will keep it as safe as he can, but with their luck, it’ll end up in the hands of a Rogue and lead to a lot of death and destruction.

As soon as they cross the bridge and return to Bristol, Bruce steps on the gas and the car tears down the road. Without any other cars to worry about (or traffic laws), it takes barely two minutes to reach the manor, when the gates open for them and let them into the garage.

Alfred waits for them by the door, looking them over with a critical eye. “I see you have managed to go outside, Master Bruce. What’s the special occasion?”

“Just breakfast,” Bruce answers. “I’m heading back down to the Batcave. Zatanna will be here soon to deliver a weapon.” He’s gone before Alfred can say anything more, hurrying down the hall and turning the corner, disappearing from sight as he heads towards his office.

“I see we have yet to break that bad habit of his. Did you enjoy your morning out, Master Duke?”

“Sure did, Alfred. I’m, uh, also going down to the Batcave. He’s definitely not telling me a lot about what’s going on, so I’m just going to read about it over his shoulder. I’ll be back up for lunch, though!”

“And perhaps you’ll be able to drag Master Bruce away from that cave of his,” Alfred comments wryly as he walks with Duke towards the office. He gives Duke a nod, then splits away from him, returning to the kitchen where Duke can hear Damian speaking to someone, probably Tim by the annoyed tone of his voice, and mentally wishes Alfred luck in handling them.

Duke sets the correct time on the clock in Bruce’s office and heads down to the Batcave, taking the steps two at a time.

Bruce is already at the Batcomputer, shoulders tensed, when he arrives.

“More bad news?” he asks as he makes his way over.

Bruce doesn’t bother looking away from the screen as he says, “More details about the fight. It seems the magical being called himself a ghost and was going on a rampage due to a betrayal. He says they nearly killed his son.”

“Oh, yikes.”

“And two of the scientists working with the government agency said that he stole their son and is keeping them from saving him.”

“Yikes,” Duke says with more feeling.

He doesn’t get to hear anymore details about JLD’s fight with this ghost when he catches a flicker in the corner of his eye. Duke turns and stares at the empty space in the Batcave near the medbay and watches as colorful magic gathers and swirls in dizzing circles. The portal opens a moment later and Zatanna steps out, looking exhausted and lightly singed.

“Batman,” she greets, holding a white gun that looks like it belongs in an early sci-fi movie from the 60s. “The GIW is trying to arrest us. Constantine keeps burning their badges and documents so it shouldn’t be a problem, but they are determined to get this back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you next. They’ve got some way of tracking things, but I didn’t have time to get any details before I had to leave.”

Bruce takes the gun from her hands carefully, looking it over with a sharp gaze. “Why would a ghost want to use a gun?”

“I don’t know. He had a variety of powers, too.”

“What does this do?”

“Shoots ice. He never let it go and nearly burned me alive for taking it before we subdued him.”

“We’ll keep it locked up,” Bruce promises.

Zatanna sighs. It looks as though a physical weight fell off her shoulders. “Thanks. I’m going to head back to stop Constantine from getting into a fistfight with the GIW agents.”

She opens another portal with a waved hand and a muttered spell. Bruce is already walking away to set the gun down on a work station, so Duke is the one to wave Zatanna goodbye.

By the time he reaches Bruce’s side, the gun is already dismantled, all pieces neatly set aside. Sticky notes denote which pieces go together and in what order. It looks the same as most guns, save for the aesthetic, but the heart of it is a glowing blue orb, large enough to cover the entirety of Bruce’s palm, and it brings a chill to the air.

Duke stares at it and feels his soulmark burn ice cold.

“Duke?”

It’s in his hands. He doesn’t remember reaching out to take it, but it’s in his hands. He can’t take his eyes off of it, cradling it gently and bringing it closer to his chest.

It’s the same blue his soulmark once was. Before his soulmate began to fade, before every day became a waiting game to see how long his soulmate will last before they die.

This has something to do with his soulmate. He’s sure of it.

He won’t let anyone take it from him.

“Duke. Give that to me.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. He’s detached, floating somewhere outside his body, puppeteering his limbs, making them move without feeling the motion. Shadows condense around his feet and Bruce takes a step back, wary.

“Duke,” he says again, but Duke can’t find any words, can’t draw on his voice, can’t even look away from the bright, bright blue of the orb. It pulses lightly in his hand like a heartbeat.

Bruce reaches a hand out.

He’s pulled back by shadows before he can get close, and Duke holds the orb against his chest, right against his heart, and feels the cold seep into him.

“Duke. I need you to look at me.” This time, Bruce’s voice has Batman’s growl in it, a heavy command that he can’t help but instinctively follow. He looks up and meets Bruce’s eyes, but he can’t focus. All his awareness is in his hands and the heartbeat of the glowing orb.

“I have to protect this,” Duke manages to whisper. “I… I think it’s alive.”

“Okay. Let’s get you to the medbay so you can sit down. We’ll figure this out, Duke.”

Bruce slowly, carefully, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder. He keeps his attention away from the orb, so Duke allows it and lets Bruce guide him to the medbay and onto one of the medical cots. Bruce leaves him after a minute of quiet fussing, muttering about calling Zatanna.

Whatever. None of that matters when the heartbeat of the orb grows stronger, steadier, and Duke feels it match the beat of his own heart.

Time slips away from him. Distantly, he hears people move around the cave, speaking in low tones. A hand presses against his shoulder, warm, then moves away.

The orb in his hand moves.

Duke blinks slowly, then claws his way back to awareness, pushing past the haze that’s fallen over his mind. The orb turns over in his hand, then cracks right down the middle. The glow grows stronger, washing the medbay in blue light and a symbol appears on the orb.

It’s his soulmark.

Later, he won’t be able to say why he did it. There were no thoughts, no reasonings, no explanations. Duke simply moved on instinct and lifted the orb up to his face and pressed a soft kiss against it.

One moment, the orb was still.

The next, it had burst in a flash of light that blinded everyone in the Batcave, and then a thin, injured teenager had fallen into Duke’s lap.

Hands immediately grab him, pulling him away from Duke. The teenager puts up no fight, eyes barely open, but he reaches for Duke weakly. On his wrist is the bright blue snowflake, the color strong and vivid.

“That’s me soulmate,” Duke whispers as he watches Bruce and Tim set the boy down on another medical cot.

“What?” Tim says, turning to face Duke, concern clear on his face.

“That’s my soulmate,” he repeats, louder. Then, panicked, he pulls up his shirt enough to see his own soulmark; the color is still dull, weak, barely there, but it’s more blue that it has been in a while. He doesn’t need to say anything. Tim sees the dullness of his soulmark, looks at the boy, and puts the pieces together on his own.

“I’ll call Doc Thompkins,” he says, already moving to fix everything. Bruce remains where he is, making sure the boy is tucked in and breathing steadily before he returns to Duke.

“Are you alright?”

Duke swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. He’s pale and thin, as if he’d been starved, and there’s frost beginning to spread on the bedsheet from his fingers. “He’s my soulmate,” Duke manages to say. “He’s been dying for two years.”

Bruce’s eyes a hard, a determined light in them. “We’ll save him,” he promises.

If anyone can, it’s Batman.

If anyone can, it’s them, Batman and the Signal, and their entire network of family and friends.

Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die all this time. Now, he’s going to save him.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #i dont really know much abt jld so they are not really in here #just duke trying to live his life and have a nice day with bruce #when his soul mate gets thrown at him in the form of an ORB #(ghost core but they dont know that yet)#dannys gonna have to answer so many questions once hes awake bc not many know abt realms beings #its gonna be rough for him bc he's been asleep for 2 years in his core bc he was never safe enough to recover #until duke gave him a boost (plus the power of soulmates really helped him) and he woke up #in a cave with his soulmate and a whole crew of superheroes #what a thing to open ur eyes to. rip danny lol #thanks for the prompt!

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inkskinned · 2 years

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but they don't care about the burnout. everyone is burnt out, they tell me. who isn't burnt out!

the good news is they don't say depression is a choice as much anymore, but the symptoms for burn out and depression are so hand-in-hand that they are mirror images of each other. but depression is serious. you're not depressed, you're just whiny. they barely change the script - don't be lazy! burn out is for people with real problems. burn out can be resolved with some fun candles and a day off work. burn out only happens in adults - no kid can be burnt out, after all; they've barely even had a life to live!

do you have a roof over your head and a steady job? you're not burnt out. so what if every night you wake up with a panic attack frothing inside your chest. you're lucky your problems are small. get back into plants or into yoga. shut up about it.

rich people get burnt out and go to fancy places. they get burnt out in their fancy offices with their real-people problems. they get burnt out and hire an assistant to help them never burn out again. you don't have the money to burn out. you don't have the two weeks to recover in a local spa. the job you come back to will still be stressful and hard.

you find yourself often wondering - does nobody remember about the pandemic? it seems almost like a joke or a punchline. being burnt-out was okay "during" the pandemic. now that people are back to ignoring covid, burnout is just-an-excuse again.

you google how to know if it's seasonal affective disorder or burnout. you google how to know if it's anxiety or it's burnout from working. you google how to know if my depression is back or i'm burning out badly.

coming back from burnout just leaves you covered in ashes, not new growth. you struggle to get back basics, and then - you're just supposed to get back up and keep going. every day the amount of tasks you are able to do seems to dwindle even further - where does the time go? why is everything moving so-fast-and-yet-so-slow?

my therapist and i were talking about how many people had latent mental illnesses that were triggered by the pandemic. how depression can be environmental and situational. i am annoyingly logic-driven about my own recovery - i like to be sure i'm working on the "right" thing. i tell her i feel like i'm lying. that it just might be burnout, and i need to stop complaining. she asks me what words come to mind when i think of burning.

oh, i guess i see.

we casually ignore the violence of being left empty.

#employers for 2 weeks during the pandemic: we know it's gonna be so so hard and we're here for you #week 3 day 1: now that we have been nice to you fucking get over it you weakling #do not worry this is not me romantically recalling the ''we're here for u'' overhead announcements #this is the opposite #side note #the new options to post????????? huh #gonna go write something VERY gay just to test it #(eventually. i skipped my meds by accident today so im nowhere)

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expelliarmus · 11 days

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#mine #doctor who #dwedit #matt smith #jenna louise coleman #2 more days until new dw!!!!!!#sorry i've been slacking on the gif making #it just feels so busy at work right now and i come home exhausted #but i am very excited that dw is almost here!!!#i'm reading a dw book with eleven and clara #they both feel slightly out of character in the book... and this book came out last year???#shouldn't we be able to write them accurately by now?#but it's still fun

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bluerosefox · 1 year

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CAT Ghost INSTINCTS

Damian comes back to the manor one day with... a new school acquaintance (coughfriendcough) due to the fact they need to work on a school project together and Danny Fenton was the only one in that class that Damian would tolerate to have as a partner.

Everything about the kid seemed normal, heck very normal if a bit shy... or at least that was until the kid suddenly zero focused on a corner of the room and stared at it non blinking. Then after what felt like hours blinked once and returned to normal, chatting away like nothing happened.

....It also doesn't help that Alfred the cat... did the same thing.. at the same time as Danny.

Yeah something is... off about Damian's new friend.

#danny phantom dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #batman #blue rambles #crossover #writing ideas #random idea #damian wayne #Tim was the one who saw it happened first #everyone didnt believe him due to the fact he had been awake for nearly 2 days and coffee'd uped #but then later it happens when Damain invites Danny over for dinner a few days later #in the middle of Danny explaining how he and his sister had to stop some reanimated hotdogs from teaming up with some leftover ham #Danny just stops and stares at the doorway for a full min before returning to his story #basically i want Danny to do the cat stare when they see and hear something #he does make a small rumble of 'back off' if whatever he sees is bad though #basically Danny sees Gotham ghosts that aren't strong enough to make themselves be seen #thats all i want #is this silly?#yes #there are ghosts in Wayne manor #and sometimes Lady Gotham appears too cause she loves her knights #Danny starts asking for an extra tea when hes over and leaves it in front of an empty chair #no one knows how the tea gets empty though #when they know no one has touched it #no one not even Alfred can explain how

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willowser · 1 year

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bakugou watches the news while washing the dishes.

muted, because he wouldn't be able to hear the weatherman over the faucet, anyway, and his brow is furrowed in concentration — at both his hands and the forecast for next week. behind him on the stove the kettle warms and you eye it lazily, jumping back and forth from it to the way bakugou's muscles shift beneath his shirt as he scrubs.

sometimes it amazes you, the strength he's built within his body — the broad span of his shoulders as he rolls them, sleeves almost too tight for his biceps, and the rest of the material hangs loose on his body, swaying off his tiny waist as he swaps weight from one foot to the other — but you know it hasn't come easy; even now, from where you're sitting, the heavy, pink scarring on his cheek is visible when he tips his head down.

you stand quietly, shuffling across the tile of the kitchen until you're close enough to wrap your arms around him. bakugou says nothing as you press your cheek into his back, only peeking over his shoulder when you press a gentle kiss into his soft cotton tee.

"thank you for spoiling me," you murmur, nuzzling further into him when you receive only a grunt, one you feel more than hear. "the food was really good, sweetie-pea."

the silly name makes him snort and he shakes his head when you hum, amused. dinner has made you full and tired and you lean a little further into him than you maybe should, though if he minds at all, he doesn't show it. instead he just sighs, breath stuttering when you slip your hands under the loose material to gently run over his stomach. just like you, he's soft, a tummy full of food, but it's not long before his abdomen is contracting, muscles suddenly tight under your touch.

you laugh quietly into his shoulder, holding back the urge to bite him. "are you flexing, tough guy?"

"shuddup," he grumbles, shifting his weight once more. "...bein' fuckin' touchy."

at that you inch closer, now purposely much too in his space — and yet he still doesn't push you away. around his shoulder, you watch him run a soapless plate under the water for almost two minutes before his focus returns and he moves on, and then you do bite him, because you can't help it.

bakugou hisses and jerks away when your teeth sink into his bicep, flushed face made more obvious as he turns to glare down at you. before he can get a word in, you kiss him in the center of his chest, over the scars of his heart, and offer him a sweet smile.

"love you,"

his eyes dart away on instinct, embarrassed, but he's been working on his vulnerability; his lips twist once before he's pressing them into your hairline, leaning back against you in return as the kettle starts to squeal.

"drink your tea, woman," he grunts, nuzzling into you the tiniest bit before letting you free. "love you, too."

#cant proofread phone at 2%#i've been thinking about this exact scenario for two days now #get OUT of my HEAD #domestic bakugou 🥺 tummy full of food 🥺#this is so self indulgent he would hate me LOL #i use too many pet names and cant help being too touchy idk #bakugou drabble #✿ willow writes #✿ thoughts: bakugou #✿ theme: domestic bakugou

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harrowharkwife · 5 months

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i'm so used to there just being random unidentified bones laying around everywhere in these damn books that it finally occurred to me, just now, to wonder where the bones on new rho came from. y'know, the bones palamedes always tried to teach nona necromancy on.

they're his.

palamedes, who always loved teaching, living on borrowed time in a body that's not his own. palamedes, mentoring, teaching- parenting, by sixth standards, mind you. and that boy is sixth, through and through.

and the entire point of teaching nona necromancy in the first place was to try and determine if nona is, well, nonagesimus, right? so it has to be bones, it can't not be bones. bones are, like, her whole thing.

but they're not in the nine houses, anymore. things are different, on new rho.

they burn bones here. dig up the cemeteries. a society terrified of zombies will evolve to dispose of its dead differently.

the only bones he has access to now are his own. (camilla wouldn't let anyone take them- skull or hand, doesn't matter. they're still him, and she doesn't let go, remember? it's her one thing.)

palamedes woke up every morning wearing someone else's body to then gently place the shrapnel of his own in the cupped palms of a girl who's the closest thing he'll ever have to a daughter and try to teach her- how did the angel put it, again? normal school, as much as possible, for as long as possible.

(but hey, in a roundabout way, at least it's a chance for him to touch camilla again, right? nevermind that she's not there to feel any of it because he's in the driver's seat, that he can only stay for fifteen minutes at a time. it's atoms that belong to camilla touching atoms that used to belong to him, and that's close enough. he'll take what he can get, these days- if she can be their flesh, he can be the end. so what if holding his own bones is a mindfuck? so what if looking at them makes him nauseous? surely he can suck it up and deal with it for fifteen minutes. it's the least he can do— his poor camilla was the one who had to scrape the bloody pulp of them off the floors of canaan house.)

(speaking of, here's a fun fact: we actually only see nona practicing with the bones one time, on-page. camilla's final line in that scene, before palamedes takes over, is none other than: 'keep going. there are some bones left.' ow!)

remember, too, that the only part of dulcinea, the real dulcinea, that palamedes ever physically touched, was her tooth- the one that ianthe gave him, pulled from the ashes cytherea burnt her down to. he only ever touched dulcie once, and it wasn't until after she was already gone, but that doesn't matter- it still happened, and you can't take loved away.

in this same roundabout, bittersweet, by-proxy sort of way, palamedes has been physically touched by nona, too: the atoms she currently occupies, touching atoms that he used to occupy, and never will again.

the main interaction we've seen between palamedes and his mother took place back on the sixth, with her acting as mentor and him as pupil: the two of them studying a set of hand bones, juno encouraging him every step of the way.

we know that harrowhark's "most vivid memory of her mother was of her hands guiding harrow's over an inexpertly rendered portion of skull, her fingers encircling the fat baby bracelets of harrow's wrists, tightening this cuff to indicate correct technique."

they're still small for a nineteen year old, but the wrists are bigger, in this new set of memories nona's making. and it's not an inexpertly rendered portion of skull anymore- it's a hand, now, albeit one crafted from [a piece of skull reassembled (painstakingly—passionately—laboriously reassembled) from fragments, manually, and not by a bone magician, from the skull of someone who, soon after death or symptomatically during, had exploded.] and the identity and origin of these bones is no mystery at all. they belong to palamedes, and he's consented to their use for this purpose, and that matters.

but the details are just set dressing, really. the foundation of the memory is the same.

palamedes and his mother, juno and her son.

harrow and her mother; pelleamena and her daughter.

nona and her father-mother-teacher; palamedes and his daughter.

#these fucking books. every 2-3 business days i'll find some new detail to be insane about #this post took me like three hours to write. what the fuck #palamedes sextus #nona the ninth #the locked tomb #nona #palamedes the sixth #tlt #ntn #camilla hect #tlt spoilers #pal honey. im :( :( :(#spiritually that man is a MOM okay! there's a reason tamsyn specifically assigned him the same imagery in this scene #that she's been using to represent crucial bonding moments between mother/mother figure and child/child figure #that and the 'sextus you'll make a very irritating wife someday' joke and cam's 'i'll talk to your mother later' face #ie: talk to palamedes about nona #that boy is momcoded i don't make the rules!

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stevebabey · 1 year

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part one, part two, part three. this a part four. this is so accidentally long but hickies as promised, w a brief return out touch starved steve <3 mwah!

Eddie is sure his kiss tastes of uncertainty.

He can’t help the way his lips betray his nervousness in their obvious restraint. He knows he had been far more enthusiastic last night, eagerness behind every kiss. This kiss is… softer. Shyer.

He can’t help it. Because even though Steve said yes, had maybe flattened Eddie’s heart by adding a please, Eddie’s still… unsure. Still worried. Still waiting for a punch to come because that’s what happens to boys who kiss boys.

But… Steve’s hands are still holding onto Eddie’s wrists, keeping them in their place where they cup Steve’s face so gently. When Eddie had leaned in, lips grazing Steve’s, he had felt the other’s tightening grip like a silent prayer, saying come close, stay close. Even now, the grip around Eddie’s wrists holds firm.

Though it’s the last thing he wants, Eddie breaks the kiss. He draws back, savouring the moment — the sweetness of Steve’s lips for what might be the final time — with his eyes shut tight. Did I do it right this time? He thinks, he hopes. Can I kiss you and keep you?

“I’m…” Steve starts, his voice a whisper. Eddie’s eyes open. His fingers flex along Steve’s jaw instinctively. “Really confused.” Steve admits quietly.

His face is reserved. Only slight ripples of anxiety peek through. The crinkle between his brows speaks of his abundance of confusion. Eddie’s eyes drink in every expression and he can’t stop help how his eyes catch back on Steve’s lips. He stares when Steve speaks.

“I thought you— I thought you didn’t want…”

“Didn’t want this?” Eddie echoes, with a tone of incredulity, eyes darting back up to look Steve in the eye. He punctuates the last word with another touch, the pad of his thumb touching Steve’s bottom lip bravely.

Steve shivers. His eyes flutter for a moment, in a way Eddie has come to know means his strange aversion to touch is flaring up but — but Steve’s hands keep Eddie from moving away when he tries. Steve nods slowly.

Eddie swallows — tries to push down the ache to kiss him again. They’re still twisted; Steve still doesn’t get it.

Neither does Eddie though. He can’t even imagine what Steve came over to apologise for. What mental gymnastics he had put himself through to somehow be the one who needs to apologise in this situation.

“Where the fuck,” Eddie breathes softly, with an appalled chuckle, letting Steve know he wasn’t mad. Wasn’t in the slightest bit annoyed, only confused. “Did you get that idea?”

Beneath his hands, Eddie can feel Steve’s cheeks grow hotter. The colour soon follows, a glorious crimson that fills the apples of his cheeks. And sure, fine, okay, sue Eddie if he enjoys the sight a little too much. Steve all flushed in the face, ears definitely warmer than they were a second ago.

Steve starts to stammer. “You— You sounded annoyed when I was leaving.” His brows are nearly touching in the middle, drawn together in concern. “I thought you were regretting—“

Eddie interrupts to clarify, suddenly aware of where they’d gotten so muddled. “I sounded annoyed because you were leaving, Steve. Not…”

Not because you asked for a kiss. Eddie’s throat dries up. He can’t say it aloud, not just yet. The words dance on the tip of his tongue. Eddie doesn’t trust himself not to fumble them.

Even though, Steve’s sudden departure had been due to a genuine misunderstanding, Eddie can’t— he’s not… He’s got to be realistic with himself, just in case. Not say too much too soon.

Steve reads into the silent lull in Eddie’s words and in an instant, his eyes are widening in understanding. Somehow, his cheeks glow even warmer.

“Oh,” Steve says, the word doused in relief, in understanding. “Oh my god—“

The rest of his sentence is lost as a car drives by, tires groaning loudly along the tar road. It serves as a quick reminder of where they are. In public, in such close proximity. Eddie steps back instantly, hands ripping away from Steve as a lick of panic runs up his spine. His eyes track the pale blue car down the road.

They were covered by the van but, still.

“C’mon,” Steve says softly, calling to catch his attention.

The panic wavers wildly for a moment before eventually relenting, Eddie dropping his shoulders as he turns back to Steve. He’s delighted to find Steve is no less red in the face.

Steve clears his throat, “We can call a tow back at yours.”

He gestures to his car, an invitation, with a smile. Eddie’s not even sure he’s meant to say something so reassuring; a mixture of the use of we and the implication Steve would come back home with him. Would come inside.

Eddie can’t help how he ogles at Steve. He’s doing another once-over to make sure Steve isn’t a mirage about to fade. Maybe Eddie had actually crashed his van when the engine spluttered on him and all this was a weird and extremely vivid coma dream.

Except, Steve doesn’t look perfect — not like a dream would.

Eddie can tell from the flatness of his hair, he likely didn’t sleep well. He’s got a tired but kind smile on. It’s shyer than Eddie’s ever seen before.

He’s still wearing that bright green Family Video vest for Christ’s sake — if Eddie was in a coma, he had some serious self-reflection to do if his brain picked this as his dream-Steve fit.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, with a nod and a smile of his own. “Lemme, uh, lemme just grab my stuff.”

Eddie turns to hide his face before Steve can see it grow into a wild frenzied smile, too gleeful to contain. He pops the driver’s side door and scurries around, grabbing all the essentials; cigarettes, lighters, and tapes with actual good music on them.

Steve’s waiting for him, still in the same spot when he slides the door shut. Eddie works the rusted lock to lock it up. No, Eddie thinks gleefully, this is not a dream.

Steve is surprised it’s not more awkward.

Not that he wants that— honestly, this sweet in-between phase where Eddie keeps glancing over at him, brown eyes longing and like he was checking if Steve was still there, as he talked on the phone, suited Steve just fine. More than fine.

And yeah, okay, maybe Steve swooned a bit when Eddie started twirling the cord of the phone, so much like a lovey-dovey teenage girl that Steve nearly laughed aloud. He wasn’t sure if Eddie even realised he was doing it. Just leant up against the wall, stealing glances at Steve — his fingers fiddling with the cord til they began looping it over and over.

Steve wouldn’t though— laugh at Eddie, that is. It feels pretty much impossible to do anything except sit with all his giddiness, just knowing that… his feelings for Eddie are mutual.

That Eddie hadn’t regretted the kisses in the slightest. That Eddie had wanted Steve for just as long.

It’s achingly sweet to look back on that first hug Steve had asked for — knowing they had both been toeing the line, trying desperately to keep their pining to themselves. Idiots, Steve scoffs to himself affectionately, they were both idiots.

Rerunning the memory of his hasty exit last night is less of a breezy memory. Steve doesn’t want to think too hard about what malicious ideas Eddie’s brain might have spun up to taunt himself.

He must’ve thought that Steve had left for entirely worse reasons. That the reason Steve hadn’t been able to look at him because he thought Eddie was… that he regretted… Steve shakes his head. None of those thoughts are pretty.

And, more importantly, they were untrue. Steve very much liked those kisses. His only regret that night was leaving the way he did. Honest, Steve would have more kisses if he could.

Something scorches across his heart delightfully because he can have more kisses — he just has to ask.

“Okay, thank you so much,” Eddie says appreciatively into the receiver. He dashes another look over at Steve, an apology in the form of his sorry grimace. He focuses back on the phone. “Yeah, I’ll be in tomorrow to see the damage. Thanks, again.”

He sets the phone back in the cradle and for a moment, Steve can’t see his face. Can’t see any of the nervous contemplation. Eddie finally seems to grasp his courage and spins, fixing Steve with a smile.

“Um,” He says, a nervous chuckle leaking through. Eddie moves closer but he moves all skittish, one of his sneakers catching on nothing. He stumbles just a bit, taking a quick seat on the couch arm beside Steve.

“Wh—“ Eddie starts to say. He huffs another nervous chuckle, one hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “This might be a stupid question but what… now?”

Steve thinks for a moment. He’s considering how to go about this when Eddie blurts out in a hopeful tone— “More kissing?”

There’s an unspoken please. Steve revels in the blush that follows the words.

He smirks up at Eddie, eyes tracing the bloom of pink on his cheeks. “What? On the couch, like I’m some common whore?”

“You seemed to have no problem with it last time, my liege.” Eddie points out dramatically, all with a grin.

“And I have no intention of repeating last time.” Steve counters. Then frowns.

“Well, except for the good part.” He corrects himself. “The first part! Just- Christ, can we go to your room instead, please?”

Eddie’s on his feet in an instant. He brings his hand up to his forehead and gives a salute with enough force to rip his arm off. Then marches down the hall and disappears into his room without waiting for Steve.

Steve thinks the nerves might be getting to him.

He walks the steps he’s walked a hundred times before, crossing into Eddie’s room and pressing the door shut behind him.

Eddie’s sat on the bed, criss-cross apple sauce style. He’s kicked his sneakers off — one’s by Steve’s foot, the other on the other side of the room.

Steve swallows and toes off his own shoes. He approaches the bed, climbing on gingerly and folding his limbs to match Eddie. That familiar swoop of nerves sits oh-so present in the pit of his stomach. Steve tries to think of it as a good thing — it’s good to have something so good that he’s nervous in his excitement.

For a moment, they just sit. Staring at one another. One of Eddie’s fingers is digging into the rips of his jeans, toying with the loose strands. It gives away his restless energy.

Steve waits. He asked last time and he knows — he knows Eddie wants to kiss him. But a small part of him…

“Why is this so hard?” Eddie blurts out all of a sudden. Like before, the words seem like they’ve come out without Eddie realising, but he barrels on. “Shit, I’m so fucking nervous. You make me so nervous, Steve.”

Eddie’s eyes won’t settle. They dart around. Move from Steve’s eyes to his lips, down, to the bed sheet beneath them. Like he still isn’t sure if he’s truly allowed to look. His admission makes Steve sorta wanna roll over and scream into the pillow. In a good way.

“I’m— Me too," Steve admits, a smile curling at his lips. “The- fuck, the way I feel about you honestly scares me shitless.”

Eddie seems to be both chuffed and relieved at his words.

“But I… want to kiss you,” Steve says assuredly. The next sentence he poses as a question, words a little more hesitant. More nervous. “And… and you want to kiss me?”

Across the bed, Eddie grabs a piece of his hair, twisting it nervously as he pulls it to cover his face. His usual nervous tell. Steve can’t help how he breaks into a grin when Eddie nods fervently.

“Cool.” Steve breathes. Then mentally smacks himself for saying cool. He tries to recover but Eddie beats him to it, with a question of his own. “Can I kiss you now?”

Steve answers by shuffling closer, til their knees are touching and then — like beside the road earlier — mimics the touch Eddie had given him.

Hands on either side of Eddie’s face, gentle as they curl under his jaw. Steve can feel the curls of his hair tickling at his fingertips. Another inch forward and he’d be burying his hands in Eddie’s hair. Steve bookmarks that urge for later.

Eddie looks nervous. Steve is undoubtedly making it worse, taking his time like this. But he can’t help it.

He wants to look — wants to stare, wants to devour every detail of Eddie’s face. Commit it to memory so he can picture it with his eyelids closed. What Eddie Munson looks like while waiting for a kiss.

The amount of affection that swells in Steve’s chest hits like a sucker-punch, enough he sucks in a tiny breath. He can see the smallest quiver in Eddie’s lip.

“You gonna stare all day, Harrington?” Eddie teases, but it lacks conviction when the words wobble a bit.

“Just enjoying the view,” Steve remarks, and then, finally, he kisses Eddie.

It’s the floodgate. It’s a frenzy, kiss after kiss after kiss, the softness of them slipping away in lieu of making up for missed time. Steve kisses every apology onto Eddie’s lips and he receives forgiveness a dozen times back. It’s bliss.

Eddie’s a very enthusiastic partner, to say the least. He’s a little messier with his kisses, hands gripping the front of Steve’s shirt tightly, pressing forward in a way that pushes Steve back— but Steve certainly doesn’t mind. He removes his hands from Eddie’s face to lower himself back, elbows against the comforter as Eddie follows eagerly.

For a moment, a sprout of doubt pulls them apart. Eddie hovers, not getting too close. “This is… this is okay?”

Steve grabs him by the collar and tugs him down, meeting him in the middle for another kiss. It’s a fat unanimous yes. Something glows hot in his chest when Eddie smiles into the kiss. Grins even. In fact, he has to take a moment to cheese it out, his face tucked into hiding against the crook of Steve’s neck.

Steve doesn’t mind. His hand strokes idly over Eddie’s hair, twisting in with the curls. He lets him take his time, lets Eddie work back up the nerve to kiss him again, except— with a gasp, Steve squirms at the sudden kiss on his neck, hot and soft.

“I think you were the one overdue for a hickie,” Steve breathes, hands threading through Eddie’s hair gently. He doesn’t pull him away though; lets Eddie figure out the best way to scrape his teeth against Steve’s skin as best he likes.

“Uh huh,” Eddie murmurs, barely heard. He’s too distracted.

“Eddie,” Steve tries, but it comes out far too close to a sigh. He tries again, this time with a proper tug to pull Eddie back from him.

It’s a bit of leftover King Steve the way he manoeuvres the both of them, rolling deftly so it’s Eddie upon his back and Steve hovering above him. Eddie manages to look both impressed and disgruntled at once.

Steve doesn’t let him get a word out. The pale stretch of skin down Eddie’s neck has been calling his name for too long and Steve is hungry for it. He grants Eddie one, two, three more kisses on his lips before he’s moving down.

He’s just getting started, lips pressed to hot skin when it happens. Eddie’s hands move up, skirting barely up and under Steve’s shirt, fingers searching. The unpleasant aversion prickles under Steve’s skin.

He locks up. He’s unable to do anything but; it feels helpless even as he tries to shake it off but he knows, he knows Eddie can feel it as he grows rigid under the touch.

It’s worse when Eddie tries to reel his touch back in. Steve wants to cry with frustration because it’s not Eddie— it’s fucking him.

“Don’t,” Steve pleads, his hand diving down to catch Eddie’s wrist and holding it there. He knows Eddie’s watching him closely, even as Steve’s eyes scrunch shut and he fights to fend off the uncomfortable feeling attempting to make home under his skin.

“It’s…” Steve wills himself to look Eddie in the eye, hoping the sincerity bleeds through his words. “It’s not you, Eds. Just— fuck, just… give me a second, okay?”

He releases Eddie’s wrist. Eddie nods, a minuscule motion. His brown eyes are watching Steve closely, darting all over his face wildly and after a moment, they still on his lips. Eddie makes a decision and pushes forward, planting a tender kiss on the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“S’okay,” He assures. Then gives Steve another kiss, this time on the lips, slow and sweet. Steve drinks it in, tries to savour the feeling of being kissed by someone who wants him. Wants him in every way they can have him. It's maddening.

Eddie’s hand moves an inch cautiously, testing the waters as his fingertips trace the skin of Steve’s tummy. He doesn’t flinch when Steve stiffens up again.

Like he can sense the frustration building up in the other boy, he captures Steve’s lips with his gently. Whispers against them again as soothingly as he can. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

It’s like the words run across the raised hackles of Steve’s soul, soothing and seeping out the tension from every muscle. Steve can feel himself relax under the words. Feels something inside him wobble and then tip over, finally soothed, finally settled.

This time when Eddie’s hand grazes along his waist, Steve shivers in a good way— and leans in closer, kissing back. His hands clutch back at Eddie’s hair, raking through to grip it sweetly. He tugs, jerking Eddie’s chin up and exposing his throat.

“Can I…” Steve begins. It’s a tease.

“Shut up,” Eddie grinds out, hands fixed on Steve’s waist. Now he knows he can touch, that Steve isn’t tensing up or flinching away, his hands are rabid. Hungry. They crawl across the skin, leaving hot scorch marks behind that tingle delightfully. “This hickie is so overdue.”

Steve grins wolfishly.

Eddie’s neck is a thorough shade of violet by the time he’s done, chest heaving. He looks devilishly handsome when Steve pulls back to admire his work and he barely gets a moment before Eddie’s back on him, lips hot against Steve’s own.

“My go.”

This time when Steve’s getting ready to leave, he half-heartedly pulls on his shoes. It’s a pitiful attempt to slow down the inevitable. He can’t believe leaving is harder this time; maybe it’s more to do with the hickies adoring his own neck and collarbones.

“Hey, I-“ Steve starts, already feeling flush in the face. Eddie’s watching him pack his stuff up, still pink in the face, but so evidently content with himself. He’s laid back on the bed, arms crossed behind his head. He’s showing off the dark lovebites on his skin, neck craned proudly.

“Mm?” Eddie hums, a cheeky smile on his face.

“When I— Robin.” Steve says, flashing a hand to his neck. “She’s- she’s probably gonna ask.”

Steve swallows. He somehow gets the feeling Eddie already knows what he’s going to ask — that he’s waiting for him to say it. Eddie’s grin says as much.

“And when she does, I—“ Steve continues, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. The kisses on it tingle beneath his own touch. “Can I… call you my boyfriend?”

Eddie glows. It’s the only word for the excited laugh that punches out of him, like a gleeful goblin.

Steve thinks he might just be falling all over again when Eddie rolls over and buries his face in his pillow. He pretends for Eddie’s sake not to hear his muffled shout that’s almost a squeal. His cheeks are ruby red by the time he sticks his face back out, his grin so wide it makes his eyes crinkle in the corner.

“Yes,” Eddie says, voice giddy. “Yes, please.”

And Steve’s so fucking glad he asked for that stupid hug way back when, because got a gremlin-level of affectionate boyfriend now to show for it.

and that's likely a wrap on the can i series for now ! i had an inkling of an idea for future but tbh i wasn't supposed to write this i like have 7 other fics callin my name. but alas! thank u so very much for the love on this, whether sending kisses to my touch starved self or talking bout needing a hug too in the tags <3 hopefully this heals all the right places <3 mwah my loves

tags below:

@original-cypher @maya-custodios-dionach @uwujinniee @attic-cat-blog @immortal-iratze @anaibis @orangeandthefairroadkill @etaka @silversnaffles @invisibleflame812 @eddie-hero-munson @jesskier @princess-eddie @impeachy @estrellami-1 @bloomingconflagration @newtstabber @iwouldsail @sundead @darksmistress @sydstroons @leethegay @superchellerific @eddielives1986 @jinxjinn @breealtair @steddieassheg0es @loopholesinmydreams @savory-babby @alittlegreyfish @izzy2210 @em9515 @killjoy-patrixtump @mrspasser @spectrum-spectre

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starry-bi-sky · 4 months

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more clone^2 memes because i think they're funny

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #clone^2 #danny fenton is not the ghost king #so canon to clone^2 and clone damian the portal that ends up transporting damian to amity park is left pr ambiguous #so really how he got there could be one of many things whether it be through divine intervention or clockwork's doing or hell #it could've also been quite literally the 1 in 1 millionth chance that a natural portal opened up beneath him and sent him to amity #and was a happy accident #but the idea that the laz pits or another adjacent such entity heard damian wanting an older brother (he meant og damian but oops never-#specified) and then sends him to the one person who could fulfill that wish and make him happy at the same time.#was really funny to me within the context of the lilo and stitch meme. the meme can also be seen the other way around with danny as lilo #and damian as stitch. but danny being stitch was infinitely funnier and ~technically~ more accurate imo #danny technically IS a nice angel but also. he's a developing menace to society (just ask wes) and he's going to make damian one too #danny being from the midwest means he has a midwestern accent and thats not something the bats know how to handle when they finally meet hi #hey look at that! my meme making skills are steadily improving. im no longer making the same joke six different times in different formats #those first two images i made a few days ago the rest i made in the last thirty minutes in a spur of clone^2 induced inspiration #and procrastination of writing the cfau rewrite of the first post. we are 10k words deep folks and just barely got past the 1st gala reunio #dunking on the giw is a god-given right and danny WILL pass it down to damian

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harbingersglory · 4 months

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hii could i req an soft dom arlecchino x sub/fem reader?? something w a really needy whiny reader n maybe like a mommy kink or thigh riding IDK tysm for ur time !

{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes drabble, fem reader, sub reader {☆} warnings 18+ content

"Slowly, doll. We're not in a rush." Arlecchino reprimands lightly, squeezing your hips with just enough force to keep you unmoving on her thigh– she was still being gentle, but the subtle warning in her tone spoke to how easily she could push you against the desk and turn you into such a mess that you couldn't even remember your own name..just that you were hers.

But the barest hint of stimulation from her slacks pressed against your throbbing cunt had you twitching, barely able to form words. All you could think about was the scorching, twisting need building in your stomach, desperation for relief slowly climbing until you'd think she was doing this on purpose to drive you mad.

"Please– 'm a good girl, right? I've been good.." You choked out, only to be met with the rough, husky laugh echoing in your ear that made you feel dizzy with a rush of need, her nails gliding along the skin of your hips as she pressed you down even more firmly– you couldn't see her face but it was easy to imagine the crooked smile twisting her lips at the way you inhaled sharply and tried to buck against her thigh.

"Shh. I know, doll. I've got you, just relax." She murmured in that sickly sweet tone that always had your knees buckling, the raspiness of her voice sending shivers down your spine. It was almost impossible to relax with her so close, the notes of metal lingering on her skin despite how well she presents herself– but you trusted her, despite how you know you shouldn't.

"There we go. Good girl." Arlecchino's grip on your hips loosened just enough for you to move if you so wished, and oh did it take every ounce of restraint to not do just that..she hadn't said you were allowed to, and you weren't about to spoil her good mood by being a brat. Not tonight, anyway. "Do you want to cum, doll?"

The fervent nod you offer in place of words draws a laugh from her lips, one that is almost mocking, making your face flush in embarrassment– but the sudden tap against your hip makes your mind go blank to the point you forget it all together, focused only on the feeling of her thigh rubbing against your cunt as you bucked against her thigh, the fabric slick and wet against your inner thighs. You'd have half the heart to be embarrassed about that, too, if not for the sudden brush of her thumb against your aching, neglected clit. Just that small touch has you speeding up your movements, practically drooling as you whimpered like a dog in heat.

"That's more like it, doll. Such a pretty girl." Arlecchino hummed, her other hand trailing up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts and ghosting across your throat before settling on grabbing your jaw in a firm, yet almost tender touch as she tilted your head to the side just enough for her to pull you into a burning kiss. It left you lightheaded, grinding down against her thigh as she claimed your mouth as her own, her thumb still ghosting over your clit sporadically.

She'd spent so long teasing you, constantly touching you but never where you needed her, that you already felt like you were going to snap like a wire. She must've been in a really good mood, then, when she pulled away from the kiss with an almost predatory lick of her lips, yet she settled on pressing kisses to your skin rather then the usual sharp bite of her teeth as they sunk into the curve of your shoulder.

"Are you close? Go on. I want to see your face when you cum– you look the prettiest when you finally break apart, doll." Arlecchino mused idly– as if she wasn't talking to you while you continued to rub your aching cunt against her thigh, chasing your own release through shaky, strained breaths. Her thumb swiped over your lips, brushing strands of hair stuck to your skin from your face– at the same time as she swiped her thumb more firmly against your clit, creating a vicious contrast that had you both melting at the barest hint of almost softness from her and the touch of her hand between your legs, dragging you into an orgasm that leaves you trembling and, had she not shoved her fingers into your mouth, screaming, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes.

"All done, little doll. Take it easy." She murmured, voice so quiet you almost didn't hear it, thumb swiping across your cheek to wipe away the stray tear, her hands pulling away to settle on your sides. "You did well– good girl. Let me take it from here."

#genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #minors dni #writing tag #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino smut #i considered the mommy part for half a second but i see arle as the biggest butch and i didnt want 2 swap it on the fly looks around #the projection is just a little too hard my bad. i am obnoxiously annoying abt butch arle...#n e way ough soft arle...........not done enough......arle being rough is a given bc shes Like That but like #soft.......#i am weak for a woman who can do both and switch on a dime #arle imo leans like. 80-90% towards rough but shes got a soft spot if shes in a good mood yknow..#i wrote this at 1 am on like uhhh 2 hrs of sleep if it isnt good uhhhhh blame it on that lol #im just feeling it out rn anyway tryna get into writing proper smut again its been a hot minute oop #passes out and dies ough......................#also did NOT spellcheck i just wrote it all in one sitting and called it a day i am gonna pass out now so if u see a typo....#no u didnt #im not done yet wait a minute okay now just. soft arle got me okay. its rlly rare but shes good at playing nice okay #the appeal of arle is fucked up little creature but sometimes u want 2 be pampered i get it #OKAY im actually shutting up now passes out in the middle of the road

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molsno · 8 months

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I think that tme people have heard a lot of things about terfs that give them a false impression of who can be a terf. yes, most terfs are heterosexual. but there are bisexual and lesbian terfs. yes, terfs are racist. but there are still terfs who are poc. yes, terfs are antisemitic. but there are still jewish terfs. yes, terfs are intersexist. but there are still intersex terfs. yes, terfs are ableist. but there are still disabled terfs. yes, terfs are transphobic. but there are still nonbinary and transmasc terfs. if you're not transfem, and especially if you were afab, terfs will happily accept you into their "sisterhood".

like, if you think I'm being harsh here, you need to understand that for trans women, we have to see them all. you might think that because you're [insert marginalized identity], you couldn't possibly be a terf. but I can guarantee you I've been personally harassed by a terf who shares that exact same identity, and a lot of trans women can say the same. are they less common than the stereotypical cishet white christian perisex able-bodied women that you imagine all terfs to be? absolutely, but they still exist. and it doesn't particularly matter if they don't check all those boxes, because at the end of the day, they're still calling me a male-socialized rapist who will never be a woman and telling me to kill myself! it doesn't matter to them that the movement they're a part of harms people like them - people like you - because they hate people like me more.

it would be nice if we could all pretend that terfs are this tiny group of ultra-privileged conservative women but when you're transfem it becomes so glaringly obvious that that's nothing more than an illusion. terfs are a fairly large hate group, one that includes people from any background you can imagine, excluding transfems. if it bothers you to be reminded that there are terfs who share the same background as you, then do something about it. they're everywhere - they could be your family, your friends, your co-workers, your classmates. start advocating for trans women, especially the ones who also share the same background as you, and shield them from transmisogyny. learn to actually recognize transmisogyny and nip it in the bud when people start spouting off terf talking points - it's better not to let them become terfs at all. you're not helping any trans women when you plug your ears and pretend that people just like you can't possibly be violent transmisogynists.

#my writing #transmisogyny #since I've been going on a terf blocking spree with them popping up in my notes for the past 2 days this has been on my mind #I feel like it really needs to be said because these things are not as uncommon as some people seem to think they are

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chromaherder · 1 year

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Byler week day 4: Summer Love During which Mike vows to never do sports again after swallowing a good handful of salt water.

#byler #byler fanart #bylerweek2023 #i've been listening to a lot of Beach Boys lately so yeah #also I recently learned how to surf and let me tell you it's not easy #also been feeling very soft the past few days with all the amazing art and writing being posted #so you can have a little smooch as a treat #if you realize now mike has freckles like he rightfully should is bc 2 days later i realized i uploaded the wrong image lmao #fanart

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 3 days

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OK SO . notice the exact wording here 😇😇 i’m literally going insane btw . BUT. hear me out.

notice how this is the departed spirit of ”the strongest” — NOT gojo satoru. the strongest has departed, and this is the ghost of that strenght, but that doesn’t mean that gojo’s dead.

gojo lost the title of ”the strongest” when he lost against sukuna. i also think he lost (or is about to lose) his six eyes — notice how only one of his eyes is visible, and how the ending note specifically points out his eyes…… maybe it was a binding vow of some kind?? 😭 either way that would only solidify the fact that he isn’t the strongest anymore. this is going to be his final show of absolute strenght, and then the spirit of ”the strongest” will pass on.

but gojo will still be there.

AND . here’s the thing . i’m extremely normal abt this subject btw . this is the HAPPIEST ending for gojo . without question!!!!! :(((( finally he’s free from the burden of being the strongest, the loneliest. finally he’ll be able to figure out how much his strenght truly defines who he is as a person.

…. and it’s just . the perfect ending to his character arc. he died as the strongest, and came back as gojo satoru!!!! and he’ll still be so strong and so kind and so loved . he just won’t be alone at the top anymore. no one will have to bear the burden of being ”the strongest” alone, and that’s exactly the kind of future gojo was fighting so hard for :’3

i’m just . emotional . i love him. i want him to be happy. don’t let me down you evil little cat

#SCREAMING AND CRYING #had 2 get this out #not to be That Guy but … i’ve been pushing the gojo will lose his six eyes theory since day one 🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡#i’m akutami’s strongest soldier #anyway if gojo ends up actually dying next chapter this will be EXTREMELY embarrassing but 😭😭😭 i have faith!!!!!#no but this is genuinely the most fitting end to his character arc #i rlly do love akutami’s writing i’m sorry 💔 feel free to shoot me #wahhhhh i didn’t realize how much i truly missed him until i saw his little face :(((((#need him to eat sukuna alive #ari noises ✩#jjk spoilers #jjk leaks #jjk manga spoilers #jjk 260

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slashmagpie · 8 months

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Look, he’s no idiot. He’s no cheater, either. He knows that it’s extraordinarily unwise to be sneaking around the dungeon of Decked Out when you’re not playing the game itself. But the thing is—the thing is, is that Bdubs dreams. And when Bdubs dreams, he can’t always control where he goes, and sometimes—sometimes that’s right into the heart of the dungeon.

Here’s the other thing: Bdubs sleeps a lot. More than most. Sunset to sunrise, he’s curled up under the covers of his bed, fast asleep and dreaming. Others—other people, they stay up all night, attract all the phantoms. Not Bdubs! He’s the only sane, rational person on this server. He sleeps. But the others—they stay up all night.

Recently, they’ve been staying up all night playing Decked Out.

Bdubs doesn’t know if Tango sleeps anymore. He certainly hopes Tango sleeps, but the man is too engrossed in his redstone for his own good sometimes. Maybe now that the game is done, is launched, is actively being played, he’ll take a nap or two. But right now, Bdubs is dreaming, and Tango is in the dungeon, and Bdubs, against his will, is here too.

Tango is not-quite-solid, ephemeral, and Bdubs gets the sense that if he were awake and standing where he is, he wouldn’t be able to see Tango at all. Tango doesn’t seem to see him, either, back turned as he approaches a ravager on the bank of the River of Souls.

Ghostlike, Tango presses his forehead against the (unknowing, unseeing) ravager’s, a smile on his face. The ravager slips through Tango’s form, leaving Tango pressed against its side, but he seems unfazed, patting affectionately at its flank with a hand. “Good job, Pumpkin,” he says, and Bdubs can hear the pride in his voice, the hint of a laugh. “Good job. You listened. I appreciate the effort.”

In his dreams, Bdubs can’t feel the chill of the dungeon; he’s toasty and warm under the blankets of the waiting room bed. (Okay, look, he may also be spending the night at Decked Out, but at least he’s sleeping—if he pays attention, he can hear the faint, unintelligible babble of voices in the waiting room, see the soft golden light through his eyelids. He flinches away from it, back into the dungeon, back into his sleep. The others may be content to spend the entire night waiting and dying to ravagers, but Bdubs needs his beauty sleep.) And—hey, what was he thinking about again?

Oh, right.

Bdubs can’t feel the chill of the dungeon, but a chill runs down his spine nonetheless as Tango looks at the ravager with cub’s blood on its teeth with affection and pride. And—okay, the whole point of the game is getting killed (or, preferably, not killed) by ravagers, they’d all signed up for this, they knew what they were in for—but did Tango have to look so… happy about it? So fond of the murderous beasts he’d wrangled for their entertainment? Did he have to look so—

Hm. Now that Bdubs is looking—

Tango’s ghostlike form doesn’t have a shadow, but it trails off towards the end, less him and more ghost, an echo of some sort, and the ghost tendrils stretch into the snow and the water and the stone of the walls. It’s almost like a spider’s web, Tango’s consciousness at the centre of it, flickering and ephemeral. Tango lets out a contented sigh, and Bdubs swears he hears the dungeon sigh too, and out of the water where Cub died the blood starts to drain, though Bdubs can’t tell where it’s draining to. It’s just—there, and then smaller, and then gone, and Tango swipes his tongue across his pointed canines, and Bdubs feels cold. Colder. The tendrils stretch long, and the more Bdubs looks, the more he sees, and he can’t quite tell anymore where the dungeon ends, and Tango begins, and hang on, is Tango a spider on his web or are those tightening more like puppet strings as Tango turns—

His eyes land on Bdubs, and he frowns, the smile slipping from his face. The dungeon feels darker than it did a second ago. Bdubs flinches back, because Tango shouldn’t be able to see him, even if he’s also not in his body right now—

“You shouldn’t be here,” Tango says. “Cheater.”

Bdubs opens his mouth to defend himself, but he doesn’t even get the chance before he’s gasping awake in bed, covered in a cold sweat, shooting straight upwards. The movement draws Scar’s attention, and he looks over, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re up late, Bdubs,” he comments, teasing.

It takes Bdubs a moment to find his words. “Hard to sleep with all this racket!” he grumbles, scowling as he pulls the covers back.

“Oh.” Scar blinks. “Do you want us to be quiet?”

“Yeah, we can quiet down for you man, if you need us to,” Jevin offers.

Bdubs shakes his head. “No, no, I’m up now.” In truth, he doesn’t think he could sleep again after that even if he wanted to.

And now that he’s thinking about that, he’s thinking about—

“Hello there,” Tango greets, dipping past Scar and into the room. He glances at Bdubs, and then just past him, not a hint of what just transpired on his face. He’s back in his body, solid and whole again, and he looks—fine. Frosty and blue, like he’s been all season, basically, at this point, but—fine. Tired, maybe, but they’re all tired. It’s the lack of sleep.

(Does Tango even need to sleep, anymore? Dungeons don’t need to sleep, after all. Ravagers don’t sleep. Do spiders sleep? Do—?)

Tango turns away from greeting Jevin to look at Bdubs, a grin on his face. “Bubbles, how you doing?”

Bdubs jumps, startled from his thoughts, and doesn’t get an answer in before Tango is distracted by Jevin once again. The two of them talk game mechanics, and Bdubs stares at Tango, trying to find any hint on his face, in his body language, of what exactly he is, but—

He’s too awake, darn it. If he’d still been sleeping, maybe he could have seen something, but it’s late, and he’s awake, and Tango looks as ordinary as ever.

“I saw you petting a ravager down there,” he says at last, and Scar gives Bdubs a weird look, but Tango doesn’t seem surprised. He just laughs, shaking his head.

“No, no, no, no. I was reprimanding them.”

“Yes, you were!”

“—for their vicious attacks—”

“You’re rooting against us!”

“—on my… friends, here.”

There’s a weird pause, a solid second or two where Tango seems to struggle to get the word friends out of his mouth, and when he does the tone is flat, insincere. Scar is still frowning at Bdubs. He doesn’t notice the way Tango’s expression flickers. Bdubs notices. Bdubs can’t tear his eyes away.

Hey, is it cold in here?

“I’m starting to learn something dark about you, with all the laughing and smiling you’ve been doing while we’re strugglin’!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tango says, then smiles, turning away to Scar, changing the topic of the conversation. They move on, teasing Grian for being AFK, and Bdubs—

God, Bdubs needs more sleep.

#hermitcraft #fanfiction #bdoubleo100 #tangotek #woo! tumblr ficlet time! it's been a while since i did one of these #anyway i came up with this concept like a week ago i just haven't had time to write it #based on a conversation that happened in tango's day 2 stream #i have a couple of decked out ficlets in my head. we'll see if i get to writing them all.#in the meantime have this one #magpie feather quill #< just realised I didn’t add my writing tag to this that’s how you KNOW it’s been a while

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