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moonshine-nightlight · 2 years

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Finally Woken: Part Seven

Working for the family business of traveling trade caravans, means you‘ve always accepted having to put up with a lot from your family, especially your dad. He finally goes to far when he tries to sell your prized possessions to make up for his own business failings. You’re proud of yourself for making a stand, but he’s not wrong when he says you don’t have any real connections outside the family–but he’s not completely right either.

Your closest friend happens to live in the city you’re stopped at so you decide to see if you can stay at his place until you can figure out what you’re going to. You’ve never come by the city this early, but he’s probably fully woken up from the naga’s traditional bout of hibernation by now, right?

Fantasy, friends to lovers, naga, male monster x female reader, M/F, Part 7 of 8

Story Status: Complete

AO3: Finally Woken Chapter 7

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] Part Seven [Part Eight - NSFW]

When you get home from a day that at least ended early, if rather disappointingly, you realize one thing right away: Heshi’s already awake.

Not only is he awake, he’s moving around and talking to someone. You can hear his voice from the foyer. Last night he’d said he was gonna see if he could wake up early enough for a full sunning on the roof to provide the final jolt out of hibernation—and the weather had certainly cooperated.

Instead of being excited he seems to be fully out of hibernation, tension shoots up your spine. The air in the apartment doesn’t feel fearful or angry, but it does feel feverish in some way, almost anticipatory. There’s a panic in his voice and movements, like he’s pacing, which makes it impossible for you not to feel nervous.

You can’t make out any of the words he’s saying, but you decide to drop your bag in the hall just in case you suddenly have your hands full with worried naga again. Some instinct of yours seems to be urging caution and it's any easy enough thing to do to appease it. Hesitantly, you walk over to the archway and peer further inside.

You spot Heshi in the kitchen but you notice right away that there’s no one else here. He seems to be talking to himself, gesturing emphatically along with his own words, but speaking fast enough you still can’t really follow what has him so agitated. Because he definitely is, agitated that is.

His hair is completely undone, flowing around his face and down his back in wild tendrils, all semblance of a braid long gone. He’s moving back and forth, changing height depending on how much of his tail he’s putting into the motion—something he rarely does as he likes to keep to a steady height. The difference is down to the way the bulk of his tail stays where it is, the tip flicking in time with his pacing. He’s also not wearing a shirt, which you knew he didn’t wear when he sunbathed, but is still rather unusual since he’s inside now.

You tell yourself your focus on his chest is just to see if he’s shivering—which he doesn’t appear to be. In fact, you blink in surprise: he almost looks flushed. The skirt he has on is loose and comfortable, but also hastily thrown on. Combined with the way his claws are unsheathed—a sure sign he’s expecting a threat–it’s more than enough to unsettle you further. Despite all this agitation, he still hasn’t even noticed your presence yet. You doubt it will take long though and you don’t want to scare him, especially not in this state.

You take a deep breath and step forward. “Heshi?”

His head whips around with lightning speed, pupils slit thin before blowing wide when he identifies who made the sound. He gasps out your name, looking at you with such shock that you instinctively freeze. He starts toward you before stopping himself, placing his hands on one of the tall kitchen tables as if to hold himself with it between you and him, despite him being several feet away on the other side of the room as it is.

“Uh, Heshi…?”

He seems to notice your confusion and visibly straightens, clearly trying to coach his rather wild facial expressions back to normal. It might have worked better if you hadn’t, you know, literally watched him do so.

“Hey,” his voice is breathy, but less desperate or shocked than when he had called your name. He clears his throat before continuing in an alright approximation of his usual voice, “how was your day?”

“Okay…” you reply slowly. It's clear he doesn’t want you to notice, or at least not to comment on, whatever is bothering him. You’re willing to play along, for now. You don’t want to spook him. “I guess.” While you talk, you try to see if you can spot a physical source of what might be bothering him. He doesn’t look visibly injured or sunburned—can naga get sunburned? “The shop had already sold my flute though.”

He sobers at your words, distracted enough by your news that he forgets to try so hard to be normal. He frowns and says sympathetically, “I’m sorry, that’s really too bad.” He makes an aborted motion towards you, like he’s going to come over to give you a hug but then he stops himself. You suddenly realize this is the longest it’s been since you woke him up from hibernation for him to be awake and aware of you and yet not touching you.

A pang of hurt goes through you at the thought that he might truly be done with hibernation and the long embraces will stop. You knew this would happen, you told yourself not to get used to it. You still feel an aching sense of loss that you try to shove to the side. You’ll deal with it when you’re inevitably sleeping alone again.

“If you’d like,” Heshi’s voice pulls you back to the present. He’s clearly trying to be upbeat, trying to cheer you up, but there’s a manic undertone to his voice that still worries you. “I could try to make you one? A flute, I mean. It’d be glass and not silver, but I’m sure it will sound just as pretty.”

He looks adorably earnest, but it's so obvious something is conspicuously off with him. “That, that would be really lovely,” you say truthfully, because it is a really sweet offer, and yet you can’t ignore this any longer. “But Heshi, what’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” he repeats anxiously. “Nothing’s wrong.” He winces when his voice pitches too high. He deliberately coughs before continuing, “In fact, my hibernation is officially over. So everything’s back to normal.”

You eye his very nervous smile at that proclamation and say, “Um, it’s really not.” You take a step closer, studying him as you continue in vain to try to figure it out yourself. “What’s wrong, Heshi?” You’re starting to really think he might be sick. Is this because you messed with his hibernation? You take another step closer, trying to peer around the table—a naga’s tail normally will give them away if there’s something wrong with their body and you can’t quite see it from where you’re at.

“Stop!” He holds out his hand, palm facing you. “Stay over there.” You immediately freeze, too surprised by his reaction to even say anything.

“Why?” you breathe, unsure of what you’ve done to make him more upset. You try to hide the illogical bit of hurt you feel at his words, but given how his face falls, you don’t manage it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking wretched and wringing his fingers, “but you really need to stay away.”

“Should I leave?” you offer, not sure what else to say. You want to understand, but you want him to feel better more so if you need to leave without an explanation, you will even if you know you’ll end up at wit’s end with worry.

“No!” he reaches out again, this time as if to pull you close. He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his fingers to his forehead. “I mean, yes, probably. You shouldn’t be here while I’m like this. I’m so sorry.”

Any hurt or fear melts away in the face of his distress. “But what is this? Are you sick? Is it contagious? Should I find a healer?”

“No, well, sort of,” he pulls his fingers through his hair violently enough it almost looks like he’s pulling on it. He deflates, pressing one palm to the table and leaning on it. “Maybe you should.”

Before you can even think of how to respond, he continues talking, “I just don’t understand! This shouldn’t be happening.” He glares at the table top as if the pressed glass pattern he designed might hold all the answers.

Hesitantly, you say, “Are you sick or not? How can I help?” You swallow before venturing, “Is this because your hibernation got interrupted?”

He barely seems to hear you, talking to himself and keeping his eyes down as if purposely not looking at you. “Not sick, exactly. No illness. Hibernation, yes, yes. My sunsleep! That’s where it all starts but why? How?” He looks up and you can see his eyes are wildly dilated, now that yours have adjusted to the lower amount of light in here. “None of this makes any sense. It shouldn’t be possible.”

“What shouldn’t be possible?”

“I’m in heat!” The words burst out of his mouth without his permission and his grip on the table edge goes white-knuckled. He looks embarrassed as your mouth falls open, but he doesn’t take the declaration back even as he snaps his mouth shut tight.

“I’m sorry, you’re what?” you ask, mind spinning, even as you catalog his symptoms in a new light. He is flushed, you hadn’t realized ‘heat’ is quite so literal, but it clearly is. His breathing is too fast, but it's deep too, drawing your attention to his bare chest. The tension in his frame, the dilation of his eyes, your eyes nearly try to track down his body before the table and your own awareness of the situation stops you in your tracks.

You frantically try to remember everything you’ve heard about a naga’s heat. Heshi himself has only mentioned, in passing, that it happens after hibernation between mates, but that’s really all he’s said. Everything else you know, you picked up just, listening around. You haven’t been to help but wonder, what with having a naga friend. An attractive naga friend. An attractive naga friend you had a crush on.

Still, you’d never outright asked anyone—you’d never be able to get the words out—but you know it lasted more than a day, that there is a special significance placed on the first heat after marriage, and that the reason so many naga are born around the same time as a species is because the majority of them are the result of heated matings. Because obviously the other part is that anyone in heat wants to have sex—like, a lot. However, like Heshi himself had always seemed to suggest, you thought it only happened when they already have a partner and possibly only if that other partner was a naga.

“I mean,” your face feels warm and so does the rest of you at just the thought that Heshi might be…riled up—and he so clearly looks it too, now that you’re looking for that. “I thought, you needed, you know, a partner,” you manage to squeak out, “for that to, um, start.” How are you standing here talking about this with him? Is some god upset that your moving out went so well that they’ve thrown this in your path?

You almost feel like, now that you’re not worried he’s hurt or sick, that it's affecting you too. Could humans sense, smell, naga pheromones? Is it actually warmer in here?

“Sort of,” he says, a bit miserably, finger tracing along the table, drawing your eyes to the slender digit. “That’s what doesn’t make sense. I’m not with anyone or courting or anything so it shouldn’t be possible. You don’t need someone officially, but you do need someone with potential as a nestmate.”

A shiver of heat and jealousy goes down your spine at the word ‘nestmate’. You think he just means someone else who’d hibernated with him in the same nest—not an actual mate—but the only person even close to that description is you, if only for the last week, which sends a tendril of heat through you. The jealously is at even the thought of someone else, wrapped up in his arms, in his nest, waiting for him to awaken and… “Right,” you say quickly.

“There needs to be complementary pheromones in the air,” he continues explaining as if trying to prove to you why it shouldn’t be possible. “Someone interested in mating with you being close enough, often enough, during hibernation to trigger heat.”

“Oh,” you nod, again trying not to picture this hypothetical other naga that would make your Heshi all... “And you haven’t seen any other naga, right?”

“Well,” he hedges, “it wouldn’t have to be a naga actually.” He shrugs and you try so hard to keep your expression steady at that little admission. Before your mind can run with it, he continues, “but you’re missing the key: receptive. I would have to be around someone who wanted to mate with me.” He presses a hand to his chest before shrugging again. “And I’ve only seen you and Nell, so I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“I…” You swallow, sure your whole face must be turning red because if that’s what brought this on… “You’re sure that’s what’s happening?” If all that’s needed is someone interested in him, sharing his nest then…

He rubs the back of his neck, “I’ve gone into heat once before—years ago.” He gives a sharp nod. “I’m sure.”

Oh gods. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. If the ground swallowed you up, would that make his stupid heat stop and prevent you from having the most embarrassing conversation of you life? After a second of nothing happening, you burst out with, “Then this is all my fault. I’m so sorry, Heshi.” You squeeze your eyes shut, cursing your stupid feelings for making things ha-difficult for your friend. “How do I make it stop?”

“Your fault?” Heshi’s face screws up in absolute bewilderment. “How in the world could this be your fault?”

“Because what you said earlier was wrong,” you say, trying to force the words out of your mouth, but they’re as jumbled as your thoughts are. “You… I… I didn’t know… I didn’t mean…”

He says your name, sounding calmer than he has all night, clearly trying to ground you, but it's not working because you have to tell him. There’s no getting around it.

“Darling, what are you—”

“I am, is the problem,” you blurt out, knowing it probably still sounds like nonsense. You hate putting yourself out there, but you have to say it. “Interested or receptive or…” You flap your hand uselessly in his general direction, unable to even look him in the eye.

“You…” The clear disbelief in his voice, lacking in recrimination as it is, does little to make you feel better.

“I swear I had no idea this would happen.” You finally look at him again, needing him to understand this wasn’t some horrible plan on your part, but he’s still just staring at you in shock. “I tried to sleep in my own bed. And there was only that one dream! Why didn’t you warn me that's what causes your, you know, heat?”

Heshi actually moves out from behind the table, his gaze intent, his expression surprisingly unreadable. You unthinkingly take a step back.Your stupid feelings did this to him, clouding his mind, overwriting his desires.

He tilts his head to the side. “Are you saying you find me attractive or that you have feelings for me?”

His voice doesn’t give away anything that he’s thinking. You shrug helplessly. “I mean, yeah. Both?”

You barely have time to blink, barely able to see something ripple across his expression before he’s across the room, in front of you. His strong fingers take hold of your chin, tilting you face up towards his. He slants his mouth over yours for a kiss before you can comprehend anything beyond how much heat he seems to be giving, so different than his usual temperature.

Then there’s nothing on your mind except the feeling of him pressed so close, the softness of his lips, how solid he is against you. Your hand wraps around his wrist, keeping him where he is and his arm slides around your waist—as it has so many times in the last few days—and yet everything is different this time as he pulls you against him. Your other hand curls over his shoulder as you return the kiss instinctively. He pulls away briefly, only to press another kiss to your lips, giving a light pull to first your top lip, then your bottom lip. He flicks his tongue against the seam of yours after that and you let out a gasp at the sensation.

He takes advantage of the opening, pressing even closer, his slender, adroit tongue slipping in. You slide your own against his, causing him to moan. That sound combined with the feeling of his fangs against your lips send a ripple of heat through your veins.

You tighten your grip on him as he kisses you. You never want him to let you go ever again, you think deliriously as his large hand strokes up and back down your back, encouraging you to arch into him. This is everything you ever wanted with him.

Everything you wanted.

The thought sends a shard of ice down your spine and abruptly, you find the strength to use your hold on him to push him away.

You part with pop and stare up at him panting. His eyes are half-lidded and dark, fixed on your lips, and it's not until you try to maintain the distance between you that he seems to notice something is wrong.

“We’re not doing this just because you’re all hormone crazy,” you sputter, trying to push him even further away. “I can’t! Please.”

“Oh, darling.” It’s unfair how liquid and low his voice is. He leans down to catch your eyes with his own. “It still takes two.”

“What?” You can’t take any chance that he might mean—

His smile is warm and encouraging as he says, “You can’t go into heat for someone you don’t want back.” When you just stare at him with surprise, faintly shaking your head, he ducks his head a little before his eyes meet yours again. “Is that so hard to believe? I’ve had a crush on you for ages now.”

Your eyes grow even wider as you try to make sense of his words. “You have?” There’s that shy hope you were trying to avoid, but it's so hard with him continuing to say all the right things, still holding you, still looking well kissed by you.

“For years,” he admits, a little sheepish. “I just didn’t say anything because, well, I lived here and you lived everywhere.” He pushes against your hold again and this time you let him close once more, his breath fanning across your face as you stare, entranced. He nuzzles against you, before pulling back the barest inch to continue, “I thought it was a dream, you saying you were going to stay here, that you wanted to live with me. I felt so guilty for how happy I was that your family finally crossed the line, but I am.”

He looks like he expects you to judge him for that but you’re just waiting to hear what other, wonderful, impossible thing he might say next. He presses his forehead against yours and murmurs, “Because you’re finally here, with me. In my nest, in my arms.”

“Oh,” you breathe, unable to find a single coherent thought to voice in response.

He pulls back again, just slightly, and goes on to say, “I was going to wait until you were more settled, see how you liked living here, living with me—when you were dealing with fewer changes--to see if you might consider…” he looks at you through ridiculously pretty lashes you’ve somehow never noticed until right this second, “consider being with me.”

“Yeah?” your voice is a little teary in the face of his sincerity, his consideration. Heshi. Heshi had a plan to ask you out. Heshi likes you. Heshi wants you. Your mind is spinning and you’re holding back tears and you’ve never felt so many overwhelming good feelings in your life.

He nods with a smile. “Yeah.”

“Yes,” you say, nodding rather vehemently. “I don’t need time and yeah, life is crazy now, but it always is. I want to be with you.” And this time, you pull him down and press your lips to his. The kiss starts sweet, but he lets out something like a whine against your lips in the split second you pull back to breathe. Heat radiates from him and you begin to feel feverish with it too, the desperate need to be closer, even closer.

Ever since you nudged him from hibernation, you’ve been trying so hard to hold yourself back, to accept his hugs and embraces, but not reach for him. Your arm hooks around his neck as you let yourself pull him to you. He capitulates easily, wrapping arms around you, his tongue along yours as the kiss grows hungrier. You feel something smooth and strong against your legs and moan when you realize his tail is spiraling around you.

At some point you have to breathe and he wastes no time in lunging for the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, his favorite spot to nuzzle, only this time… This time, you gasp out his name as his fangs lightly drag along the spot and he nips. The shiver his mouth inspires only grows when he sets about sucking a mark into your skin.

You groan as he skims his mouth and fangs back up your neck only to pant desperately in your ear, “Want you. So much.” You nod thoughtlessly in his hold.

“Now, please,” he demands, breathy with need.

“Yes.”

[Part Eight - NSFW]

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pbnmj · 1 year

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THE NOIR-HOBIE INTERACTIONS THAT I MADE UP IN MY MIND ARE VERY REAL TO ME. SONY PLEASE PICK UP WHAT I’M PUTTING DOWN!!!

#atsv spoilers #atsv #across the spiderverse #across the spider-verse #left the theatre knowing my gf is coming back immediately ofc had to draw this .#written hobie's dialogue here as though someone might incidentally forget he's british. LOL #sorray brits i will never be good at ur slang. i think bruv is a liiiittle old but he also said mandem so whatever #wanker/geezer is rly not used anymore but im sorry . i refuse to keep looking up british slang. its too hard #hobie brown #peter parker #spider-man noir #spider-punk #spiderman noir #spider punk #itsv #spiderman #into the spiderverse #my art

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smolphrog-littlebrain · 1 year

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Kids on the internet now a days are literally wild.. like when I was 12 and on the internet, i was lying out my asshole I was telling people about my kids and my wife. I was talking to them about taxes and how I miss my college days.....now 12 year Olds are out here telling their AGE?!?! OR REAL NAME?!??! I was literally fucking Garry that worked at staples and had 2 children for like 4 years...

#i have so many storys from garry and his family its ridiculous #like where are your parents?!?#Someone get ur child OFF HERE

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alexbutrandomthoughts · 1 month

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"Can't two guys be just friends?" If they stop looking at each other like that then sure

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inkskinned · 6 months

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in internet posts it is easy to cut them out of your life. they are hurting you! they aren't listening to you!

they held your hair back. they lent you lipstick. they held your hand at the train station and got you home safe. they rounded on your bully, got loud, said get fucked, spitting-mad in your defense.

they also cut the hair off again. told you that you should really think twice before wearing something like that. took you for granted. took your insecurities and threw them in your face again.

you know logically it should be easy. all the internet advice comments always read it will feel better. like an equation - if a person is rotten, you just remove them. you pull the tooth that's hurting.

but it was never a big flare-up moment. you don't live in a sitcom. they never tried to take your boyfriend or steal from your apartment. they showed up to birthdays and they wrote songs about you and bring you water without you asking. once you found out they carry an emergency inhaler for you, even though you haven't had an asthma attack in years - just in case.

where is the line? people fuck up. sometimes they fuck up badly. sometimes people have raw personalities, like a powerline, and being around them is dangerous. addicting. sometimes they can't help themselves, but you know they're trying. sometimes they are just rough-around-the-edges. sometimes they don't even realize how they sounded when they said that. sometimes it's just - you've both loved each other for so long now, the way this thing hurts goes back to the root.

and that's the fucked up part. you have pushed your fingers against the sweetheart of memory. things these days are electric, tense, harrowing. they didn't used to be. there were a lot of good days in there. sometimes you want to just close your eyes and say can this be over yet? do we still need to be fighting?

doing that would give up any chance you get of getting an apology, but you don't always know that you need an apology, you love them. once they flaked on your birthday party. once they told you to get over it, people are always dying. they also let you crash on their couch for a week after the breakup, handfeeding you when you were so sad you couldn't eat. they are also judgmental about everything, occasionally react to banal statements with an attitude that is weird and fiery. they also love you like a lighthouse sometimes, so strong they cut the storm like lightning.

but the problem is that you might be storm. you might be the thing that needs breaking. what if you are two forces who are desperately, horribly drawn to each other, shaped by the other person's passions, and both good for each other and bad in equal measure.

what if you're both just people, and you're no saint neither.

just cut them off! swallowing the saltwater, you catch yourself in the mirror. you've been shaking more than usual. there's an ache in you that is oblique, loud, impossible to soothe. is this what it looks like? when life is "easier"?

your mouth will always have a hole, is the thing, if you remove the tooth.

#spilled ink #warm up #writeblr #this is about someone specific but feel free to blorbo on main.#tbh this is familial for me so that is an element but it's also about childhood best friends #and probably about ur enemies to lovers blorbo #(but i want to specifically say if ur partner is like this. not necessarily a good partnership lol.)#(the dynamics at play in familial/friend relationships feel equally important and in some ways are HARDER to escape.#bc we can see that this is a potentially toxic romantic foundation.#but in family ? ...... it's toxic and it doesn't stop u from loving them. bc u always have.#and i think that makes it harder. by a lot. which is what this is referencing).#but genuinely and really truly forever feel free to tag ur potentially toxic enemies to lovers on this and all my poetry #here i'll do one for u - adora & catra :x

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cosmosnout · 4 months

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Revelations.

#LOOL a lot OF ppl Though it said ate instead of are so I had to go back and change it #and that’s how Marco found out abt Ace’s dad #AGGHH I COULDT FIND THE ORIGINAL TEMPLATE FOR THIS (idk if there even is one) BUT SAW SOMEONE DO THIS AND IMMEDIATELY THOUGHT OF THEM #anyhow had to hit marco with that yassification beam 2000 #marco Fans are the strongest ppl out there bc ur man really out here with all that ass on his head /lovingly #anyway I love the wb pirates <<33 #pov: you pull up to the bad handwriting competition but see me #art #my art #fanart #one piece #portgas d ace #ace #Marco #marco the phoenix #op

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knifearo · 6 months

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being aromantic is like. hey btw you're going to live a life that is the culmination of most of society's worst nightmares. sorry lol ✌️ but then you turn around and take a really good hard look at it and it turns out that living in that nightmare is fucking awesome and you get to wake up every day and take that fear that other people have and laugh and hold it close until it's a great joy for you instead. and being happy is a radical act that you define instead of someone else. and you're sexy as fuck that's just a fact of life i don't make the rules on that one

#aromantic people are just sexy i'm not making the decisions here it's just facts #course ur hot as fuck. it came free with the aromanticism #being sexy is just default settings for aromantic people 👍#hope this all helps. anyway i'm on my 'i hope i die alone <3 i can't wait to die alone <3' kick rn #i think the existential fear that people have of Not Partnering specifically is so. well.#obviously that shit is strong and it is SO awesome to be free of it.#realizing you're aro and you don't Want a partner can be such a hit to the solar plexus #cause society says that's the only thing that'll make you happy. so either you go without that thing or you force yourself #into doing something you don't want which would make you unhappy anyway.#so you think it's a lose lose situation and you have to come to terms with what amatonormativity presents as the worst possible situation #but then! whoa! turns out personhood is inherently valuable in and of itself and romantic partnering is just a construct!#and that nightmare is now your life to do with as you please... define as you will... structure as you want...#best case scenario. is what i'm saying.#every day i wake up ready to spit all that amatonormative rhetoric back in life's teeth by being alone and being happy #and it's so fucking satisfying. every day.#fucking JUBILANT being by myself. and i love being a living breathing 'fuck you' to the romantic system #you need a partner to be happy? oh that's sooo fucking crazy guess i'll go be miserable then. in my perfect fucking dream life lmao #yeah obviously it's the worst possible outcome on earth to die without a partner. so terrible. can't wait for it :)#aromantic #aromanticism #aro positivity #aroace #arospec #sorry to bitches who are sad about not having a partner. i could not give a fuck though get better soon #you couldn't EVER pay me enough to go back to a mindset in which my inherent value wasn't enough by myself.#FUCK that shit. absolutely miserable and a bad life outlook in general. like genuinely do the work w/ amatonormativity and get better #life is something that can be so fulfilling whether someone wants to kiss you or whatever or not #i'm on antidepressants and i have people i care deeply about. what the fuck would i need a partner for lmao

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lanavecorona · 5 months

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today i offer you tmnt art. tomorrow???? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#half a year ago if you would've told me i was gonna get obsessed with teenage mutant ninja turtles i would've laughed. but here we are.#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #rottmnt april #pizza time with the boys!#im gonna have to censor the hospital one to post on insta so that'll be fun #pov ur friend never got her mystic pizazz for her project so she still needs your help instead #the comic is from a stupid tiktok

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usereddie · 2 months

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new people seeing all the recent 911 buzz ever since bi buck and the abc move: huh. maybe i’ll give it a try! looks fun!

911 hiding incredibly well done, heartbreaking storylines about alcoholism and addiction and grief and suicidal ideations and depression and abandonment issues and domestic abuse and violence and trauma and toxic relationships and post partum depression and emotional neglect and parentification and complicated family relationships and more trauma behind their back: yes super fun! they even call us the weewoo show :) isn’t that so cute? what could possibly go wrong!

#like yeah join us but do so at ur risk i haven’t gone heehee haha since 2021 #911 abc #my post #also sorry to sonny if u see this cuz i said i was going to bed like half an hour ago and here i am. posting on tumblr. not asleep.

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stuckinapril · 2 months

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I love Tumblr because nothing matters here truly. There are no influencers. Having followers doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a site where people post their sporadic thoughts and rb pretty pictures. Anyone who thinks any of this matters is woefully missing the point

#I joined tumblr for the aesthetics and now I’m here bc it’s the most low pressure social media to be on #Instagram is ppl’s highlight reel but Tumblr is where u see their pure thoughts unobstructed and I adore that #It’s very nice to have people to relate to and is def the main appeal to me but I don’t think there’s much more to it than that genuinely #Monetization on tumblr isn’t a thing and probably won’t be so it feels stupid to put more stake than necessary in it. Like you’re in the #Trenches over tumblr of all things. Embarrassing #I know chronically online people exist bc I have seen them in my or somebody else’s inbox but imagine waking up at 70 one day and the #Realization hitting u like a freight time that u wasted all ur time thinking tumblr. TUMBLR. This dying website. Has enough weight for u to #be sending anon hate or reviewing ppl’s blogs like they’re some kind of product. Brother this is licherally tumblr #I choose to laugh at this behavior than take it seriously bc absolutely no one is driving me crazy on my OWN blog. On tumblr dot com.#I refuse #I will do whatever I want forever etc

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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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crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington · 1 month

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circus AU i make with my friends :3

#crumb #cuptoast #friend art #original art #this is ur sign to make AUs with ur friend group #its really so fun #here r some AU ideas ive done with my friends #mlp... pixie hollow... zombie apocolypse... bnha...#its totally fun #i cant reccomend it enough

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newttxt · 2 months

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he’s here!!

from ch 7 of utilities included

masterpost

#one piece #sanji #zoro #luffy #zosan #nami #usopp #vivi #weh… i had so much fun drawing luffy here!!! hes just a guy!#i had something i was going to say here but now i forget. probably for the best. anyway. good chapter. please read if ur interested!#utilities included

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inkskinned · 10 months

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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

#every time someones like ''AI will replace u" im like. u will have to fucking KILL ME #there is no replacement here bc i am not filling a position. i am just writing #and the writing is what i need to be doing #writeblr #this probably doesn't make sense bc its sooo frustrating i rarely speak it the way i want to #edited for the typo wrote it and then was late to a meeting lol #i love u people who mention my typos genuinely bc i don't always catch them!!!! :) it is doing me a genuine favor!!!#my friend says i should tell you ''thank you beta editors'' but i don't know what that means #i made her promise it isn't a wolf fanfiction thing. so if it IS a wolf thing she is DEAD to me (just kidding i love her)#hey PS PS PS ??? if ur reading this thinking what it's saying is ''i am financially capable of losing this'' ur reading it wrong #i write for free. i always have. i have worked 5-7 jobs at once to make ends meet.#i did not grow up with access or money. i did not grow up with connections or like some kind of excuse #i grew up and worked my fucking ASS OFF. and i STILL!!! wrote!!! on the side!!! because i didn't know how not to!!!#i do not write for money!!!! i write because i fuckken NEED TO #i could be in the fucking desert i could be in the fuckken tundra i could be in total darkness #and i would still be writing pretentious angsty poetry about it #im not in any way saying it's a good thing. i'm not in any way implying that they're NOT tryna kill us #i'm saying. you could take away our jobs and we could go hungry and we could suffer #and from that suffering (if i know us) we'd still fuckin make art.#i would LOVE to be able to make money doing this! i never have been able to. but i don't NEED to. i will find a way to make my life work #even if it means being miserable #but i will not give up this thing. for the whole world.

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