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confessedlyfannish · 19 days

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Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

#i feel like I'm going to reread this and want to add other stuff #but I also just want to post it and get it out there #fun fact i scribbled a bunch of lines down at 2am bc i didn't want to forget them #im bad at multiple drafts #my writing #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #batman #i live to make everybody dramatic #but also i subscribe to a world where clockwork doesn't know how NOT to be dramatic #lol he's a ghost from all of time he doesn't know how to speak to humans and tailor it to the century let alone the decade #and his favorite little girl who calls him clocky loves how he speaks so #he doesn't need to change for nobody #nor feels inclined to #also I feel like as god he's way more inclined to threaten to get what he wants than like...be vulnerable #jazz: let's unpack that #clockwork: we never do #jazz: are you saying that because it's true or because that's what you want to be true?#clockwork: ...#also I cannot take credit for BITCH I MIGHTWING #wish i could #that is cash money right there #shoutout to 11thsense

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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 10 months

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Why would you—That's not—I just wanted to ask for help, why did you have to go and make it awkward???

[First] Prev <–-> Next

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #wei wuxian #xue yang #Its such a relief to not have to draw so many characters once again.#Redrawing the specific font from the English translated mdzs books was surprisingly fun!#Maybe I'm alone in this...but I think characters switching to a different font of speech for *emphasis* is peak comedy #you can't communicate voice changes of sound very well in non audio forms so this is the best I can do.#Anyways...rip Xue Yang. You finally meet your idol and he brushes you off #Rather— he doesn't live up to the expectations you built in your head #Kind of an on going issue there Jester (I refuse to call him king or sir)#XY is constantly making people out to be the versions he needed them to be to feel justified in his actions #but struggles to pivot when confronted with the fact that these ppl are *more* than just one surface reading!#wwx doesn't actually think xy is flirting. He's just tired of all the fake fans + wants to get out of this convo.#button mashing the A button to skip the unskippable cutscene #Lan Wangji is in the next comic btw. I've missed him dearly. I'm sorry he's been gone so long </3 #edit: poorly spelt MDZS strikes again. This is why I need more time to write my comics. So I can actually proofread B*(#edit2: I cast 'Power of Technology' and fixed my error. Everyone reblog this version instead please

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lucky-fy · 9 days

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For the Laicion nation (aka, me and three other people)

I had this illustration commissioned (a big thank you to @lunehowls) for my werewolf AU Laicion fic (still a WIP).

The general pitch is as follows :

AU in which Laios never got to meet his sister again, putting his life on a whole other path, a more desperate one. A military deserter with barely a coin to his name, Laios hitches a ride on a boat to one of the elven continents, where he learns about magical tattoos that binds one’s soul to a wolf’s, effectively making them artificial werewolves. Illegal magic be damned, this feels like the answer to… everything.

In the process, he learns about the existence of an illegal fighting ring in one of the elven cities, where beastmen gladiators gather. Freshly tattooed and without anywhere else to go to, Laios decides to head there, where he meets Lycion, an elf and artificial werewolf gladiator. If they first bond over a simple shared meal, by spending time together (sharing the same room in the barracks, maybe the same bed? gasp) they find that they have a lot in common, notably a shared distaste for the body they were born in, a dysphoria partially remedied by becoming a werewolf.

They bond :)

#dungeon meshi #laios touden #lycion #laicion #I'm heads deep in research regarding Ancient Rome gladiators... and loving it. Really fascinating stuff.#I bemoan the fact that most papers are locked behind a paywall (though I found one that gives a free pdf access)#(and no. Sci-hub is not an option. It's blocked in my country)#I'm also re-reading DunMeshi and taking notes to get a better grasp of Laios and Lycion as characters. Character studies if you will #and I still need to fully outline the fic #I know where I'm starting (struggling to choose a POV for that first chapter LOL) and where I'm ending so there's that #and a bunch of disconnected scenes (as we all do ahaha)#anyway. Doing all of this while studying for veterinary school. It's hard. I feel guilty whenever I'm not studying...#let's just say I don't expect the prep work for the fic to be ready before this summer (+ I need to finish the Kuro cosplay for Japan Expo)#hopefully; once it's done; I'll be able to set a schedule and write smoothly #werewolf #werewolf laios #rarepair

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becca-e-barnes · 10 months

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I’m literally drooling over the thought of sensitive Bucky whimpering and whining while fucking your tits and thighs he’s so pathetic and needy all he wants is to make you feel good and to fill you with his cum even if it overstimulates him

Okay, tit fucking is great and all but thigh fucking is SO underrated in my humble opinion. Could just be the fact I've got a small chest though lmao

It's so fun when you're already really into it and the insides of your thighs are all slick. I feel like Bucky would lose it, getting to see your face and look in your eyes and enjoy your body.

It's a nice one to do while laid on your side, facing each other. Although the angle isn't quite right for him to slip inside you, it's fun to explore the other ways your bodies can steal pleasure from one another.

"This isn't going to work, sweetheart." You can't help but laugh, having already tried everything you can think of to make the height difference work. There's no way to keep this romantic and intimate in that position because there's just no chance of aligning your bodies properly to allow him to press inside you.

"Maybe not. But it feels nice anyway." His eyes flutter shut, gliding his dick over the smooth, soft, warm insides of your thighs, encouraged by how slick and easy your arousal makes the movement.

You adjust yourself to bring your other thigh on top of his length, closing him in on both sides.

You're wet enough that friction doesn't impede his movement too much and there's something oddly romantic about it. Maybe it's his hand smoothing the back of your head or his other hand up your back, pulling your body closer to his.

It's so intimate, watching his face as he whines your name, rutting senselessly against your thighs. The little flush to his cheeks is beautiful and you can't resist kissing the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. The thick duvet on top of you both, coupled with your combined body heat means the room is far hotter than you'd planned.

You take a second to reach between your bodies, spreading your wet folds and readjusting his length, letting him drag his cock against your neglected clit with each stroke and oh, that's pretty mind-blowing.

"O-oh my God." He whines, desperately fucking himself against your wet cunt, rather than into it. It's a different kind of pleasure to being inside you and while they're not comparable sensations, it doesn't stop this from feeling fantastic.

"Fuck, that's good." You groan, rolling your hips to meet his. Your fingers dip between you once more, gathering some of your slick arousal, using it to glide your fingertips over the underside of his shaft and over his balls.

"Holy shit, that's - fuck." Bucky's hardly got a coherent thought left in his head. He's closed in on both sides by your wet, soft thighs and now your fingers are giving him a different sensation underneath while pressing him against your soaked sex.

"I know, baby. Feels good, doesn't it?" Your fingertips trail lightly back and forth over the underside of his shaft, focusing on the inch or so beneath the tip.

"I can't... I need to cum." He groans, thrusting frantically, clinging to your body to keep you close. Within a few seconds, you feel his dick pulse under your fingertips, his cum coating the inside of your thighs in hot, thick, messy spurts.

He doesn't waste a second, kissing your forehead before kissing your neck and whispering "Good girl. Now let me watch you get yourself off with my cum on your fingertips."

#asks answered <3 #becca writes spice #anon #needy!bucky #Bucky Barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes smut #sub!bucky #was this one something I've been fortunate enough to try? Absolutely.#and has it bounced around in my head ever since?? yep #I've got so many 💦sports asks #and I've been really hesitant to answer them bc I have people I know irl on here now #but honestly if my interests so far haven't freaked you out #those probably won't either #I made the best overnight oats last night I've been thinking about them all day #white chocolate chunks with raspberries and peanut butter #with oat milk #and I'm using that to distract me from the fact I'm locked out of my work emails and I can't do my Sunday evening email clear up #it's freaking me out that I can't get into them #that'll mean I have so much to do tomorrow morning #I'll probably lose my hour home on the train tomorrow trying to catch up #I love my hour to work and my hour home from work on the train #that's my me time #where I read my silly little book and chill

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jelluf1sh · 2 months

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toji with prompt 5 pretty please

𖦹 ˚ ✩ . ❝what they're like with kids.❞

★ synopsis. toji with kids.

★ featuring. toji fushiguro.

★ formatting. headcanons. (from this list.)

★ notes. husband! toji, he's a good dad for once, sfw, so much fluff, megumi and tsumiki are your kids.

꒰౨ৎ — author’s note. i KNOW what my bio says but i'm multifaceted. literally so in love with this deadbeat and i hope it shows. thank u as always for requesting and sorry for the wait !!꒱

★彡 TOJI FUSHIGURO.

The first time Toji ever felt genuine love was when he put that pretty golden band on your finger.

The second was when he looked into Tsumiki’s big, brown eyes for the first time.

Then the third came with a small head of black hair and the name he’d chosen long before he'd known whether his kid would be a boy or a girl: Megumi.

From then on, life was a journey for him.

Growing up, Tsumiki was much calmer than Megumi, who would fuss and cry at every little thing. His papa wouldn't read to him long enough? He'd bawl his eyes out. He couldn't reach the fridge handle because his legs were too stubby? Waterworks. His toy was missing after he'd been the one to misplace it? He'd throw a fit.

Toji would honestly curse himself for even thinking he could fall asleep for more than 20 minutes before his son would toddle into the room, promptly disturbing his dad's nap by pouncing onto his stomach or latching onto his arm.

You, however, found it pretty funny.

"Shit's not anythin' to giggle about," Toji would grumble at you, his beauty sleep interrupted as you laughed, glaring at Megumi as he clambered onto his father's chest, bouncing his bottom up and down and beating on him with his tiny fists.

There have been multiple instances where Megumi's been in a good mood, though. You'll never forget the pictures you took of him napping, holding his big sister's hand in his smaller one as they both rested on top of Toji's large chest, his hands cradling both their heads while he snored.

Toji is so bad at not cursing in front of his kids. It's a horrible habit, but he can't seem to grasp the fact that 4-year-olds aren't supposed to be saying the same unsavory words that roll off his tongue so easily.

"Fuck!" he'd let it slip a few times when he accidentally hurt himself, and in typical kid fashion, they were always around to hear something they shouldn't.

"Fuk?" The fact that Megumi was the very picture of innocence while such a filthy word came tumbling out of his mouth (and paired with a smile!) rattled his father.

"What's 'fuck'?" Tsumiki asked, barely much older than her brother. Toji could only pray you didn't hear that.

"Wh— not so loud! Don't repeat that shi— that stuff. Yer gonna get me in trouble with Mama."

(you indeed did hear and he got his ass beat later)

Calls Megumi and Tsumiki 'rugrats.'

He didn't realize just how little time he'd have for romance with his kids around. Every single time Toji leans in to press his lips on his yours, no matter where you two may be, they come running from around the corner (apparently, they'd been watching for a while), darting between your legs and making fake retching noises as they giggle at the scowl on their dad's face.

Toji's the kind of dad to lose one kid in the store, turn around to ask the other kid where their sibling went, only to find them both gone LMFAO.

Stiffens up when he hears an "I love you," or even when he receives a hug from either one of his children. Hugs take some coaxing from you, but he doesn't dislike them (he'd never admit it, what with his tough guy persona, but Toji's kids make him so soft inside.)

#꒰🪼꒱ jelly writes.#꩜ inbox. ✉️#toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen toji #sorry i’ve been on hiatus #okay let me rant. i'm obssessed with the way toji's first and only love until the very end was megumi's mother #like. he was looked at like a piece of shit because of the fact that he couldn't see curses by his clan #but then here comes ms fushiguro. and she LOVED HIM despite all of his shit. SHE LOVED HIM SO BAD GUYS OH MY GOD #and till the very end he NEVER got over her. NEVER.#gege you make me sick btw #probably gonna change my layout again

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sofipitch · 11 months

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One thing that was really fun about Nona was it's commitment to unreliable narration as seen through a child. Nona is perceptive and clues in on a lot more than others want her to know, yet there are hints of shit going on that Nona doesn't really get. Like some of it becomes plot relevant so you do get answers but I'm talking about the stuff we don't get to see again, like what all Camilla and Palamedes' night missions entailed. If they are trying to save necromancers, did they? And where would they put the escapees? I still wonder why Pyrrha had the job she did and if that was also something important. The fact that Pyrrha was maybe fucking Cam and Pal off screen. Same with a lot of details about New Rho, why was the building Nona lived in so bad, why shouldn't you leave the house without a jacket and mask, etc etc. New Rho itself is a bleak wasteland where you can't buy a lot of food but who cares bc Nona doesn't like most food anyways. I'm OBSESSED with the way we find out BOE is burning necromancers alive is through children who are attending public executions, debating if they helped kill someone the same way you might debate if someone actually did a cartwheel. These are all things Nona takes for granted, as long as her loved ones are safe, they don't register as noteworthy, that's just how things are, right? I have so many questions but Nona can answer none of them but she can tell me if Noodle was a good boy today

#honestly i'm just obsessed with this writing style it's so much fun #it also taps into the fact that this is also part of our existence as humans we can only fully take on our perspective #it's impossible to know everything #eldrich creature alecto might know everything (it's tlt tho is idk) and maybe she'll miss when all she thought about was her b day party #tlt #the locked tomb #nona the ninth

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spockfallsinlove · 10 months

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Prompt: Spock’s hands are injured and since Vulcan hands are so sensitive he can’t help but cry about it

"Shit," Jim is saying, over and over, as he digs the salve out of his bag. "Shit, hang on, shit—"

Spock, for his part, is biting down on his cheek so hard that he tastes blood, his hands held out in front of him and shaking. The burns aren't severe, but the pain is enough for his telepathic bonds to be burned themselves.

The storm rages outside the cave they've found themselves in. Lightning had struck as they were running to find shelter, causing a fire. Jim was trapped and Spock didn't give it a second thought when he pulled the burning debris off of Jim, his hands scalding from the embers.

"Jim," he croaks out, his voice shaking despite his best efforts. He doesn't know what he's asking for.

Jim uncaps the salve, hands steady as he scoops out a dollop. "This will hurt," he says. "I'm sorry."

Spock grits his teeth and lets out a small cry of pain as Jim, as careful as he is, painfully applies the salve to the burns dotting Spock's fingertips. Jim then wraps each finger in medical tape, wincing at every hiss and sharp breath that Spock takes.

"The comms," Spock manages to get out, "are they—"

"Still down because of the storm." Jim sits back on his heels, face pale and drawn. He wipes his forehead with his arm. "Damn it, Spock. I'm sorry."

"It's of no consequence," Spock lies, biting down harder on his cheek. The pain is mounting; not just the burn, but the lack of feeling he has in his hands. It's like he's been thrown into the dark with nothing but fire and pain to accompany him.

Something in his face must betray the true extent of his pain because Jim suddenly looks stricken, eyes wide. Spock realizes, belatedly, that there are tears streaming down his cheeks.

"What can I do?" Jim asks, his voice steadier than the panic Spock sees in his eyes.

"I cannot—" Spock sucks in a breath. Tries to steady himself, unsuccessfully. "Without touch..."

Jim nods, like he understands. With Spock, he always seems to understand. "Your telepathy. It's dependent on your hands."

"Yes. It's..." Spock squeezes his eyes shut at another wave of pain. "The burns are painful. But the lack of connection to my environment may be... worse."

Jim grips Spock's wrists, which are undamaged from the flames. It's like a balm over Spock's wounds; an anchor in the darkness. Jim's expression is intent. "What about my touch? Does it help?"

Spock could sigh with relief. It's like he's found home again, after groping in the dark for so long. "Yes," he says, gratefully.

Jim's hands grip just a fraction tighter, his fingers imprinting into Spock's skin. "Then I will continue to do so, as long as you need it."

The pain is already receding, Spock falling into the comforting warmth that is Jim's presence. "That may be a very long time," he says, a little more honestly than he would like.

Jim smiles. He releases one of Spock's wrists, but only to run a thumb across Spock's temple. "Forever, if you need it," he promises softly.

#i hope this is ok!!#i turned it into hurt/comfort because i'm a sucker for it lol #spirk #space husbands #my writing #thank you so much for the prompt!!!!#also if this totally fucks up the current facts on vulcan anatomy my only defense is that i have not kept up on current st canon AT ALL

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butterflysonnets · 3 months

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yes i'm rooting for m*leven breakup because byler is neat but mostly? i'm rooting for m*leven breakup for the sake of el and mike.

to me, their romance was always a puppy love born out of a combination of social pressures, naïve curiosity, and a lack of true understanding regarding intimacy and romantic love and what it really is. it was real in that they do truly, deeply care about each other and they are close friends, maybe even shared an attraction, but a maturing romance is so much more than that. they've grown up and out of being boyfriend/girlfriend, and that's okay! i think television/film needs to show more often that most of us don't have definite "soulmates" or first childhood loves that we spend our whole lives with. it doesn't mean these relationships meant nothing and didn't impact us, it just means they've run their course and that something else is in the cards, and this is part of life!

i've always felt el was at her best and most confident self when broken up with mike, discovering who she was and what she liked alongside another girl her age instead of just relying on mike for mentorship on how to live in the real world. she deserves more of an opportunity to find herself, her autonomy, and her independence, and to love who she is, and she's made it clear she's felt insecure in the relationship with mike because she isn't being loved and understood the way she wants, needs, and deserves from someone who is her partner.

also, it's okay if mike doesn't love her in "the way he should". he is not obligated to love her romantically and stay in a relationship with her just because she's a girl, because she "needed someone", or because he cares about her a lot. he shouldn't be pressured into a romance if it's not truly coming from his heart. he deserves freedom to find out and honour who he is, too, instead of just staying in his non-functional first relationship — one he got into as a child, essentially — and defining himself that way because it's what's expected when a boy and a girl are close. he loves her in some way, yes, but it's okay if he doesn't feel comfortable or secure being her boyfriend anymore, for whatever reason that is. he's felt insecure too, and that's valid and it matters.

they are their own people and are steadily growing and changing every day. they need time to figure out who those people are, and it's become clear (at least in my opinion) that those people aren't meant to be a couple at this stage.

they deserve freedom. they deserve to grow up and be authentic to themselves and not feel like they need to lie for the sake of a relationship. they deserve to move on from this version of their relationship that isn't making them happy and rekindle the best part of their bond: their strong, beautiful friendship. they don't have to be a couple if it doesn't make them stronger and better and happier people.

i think it would be healthy and wonderful for a show, especially one consumed frequently by young adults, to show a relationship starting, progressing, and ending on good terms in this way. sometimes things don't work out, and that is okay.

#eve text #elmike #stranger things #byler #only tagging byler because i feel like yall will like this take lol #tagging tagging tagging WHAT ARE EVERYONE ELSE'S THOUGHTS #god i can't believe i'm making a post about stranger things. this feels like poking a bear #i'm not particularly anti m*leven but like... they'd have to do something pretty special at this point for me to feel like it's viable #i'm seeing the bts of s5 and it's got me Having Thoughts #elmike friendship is something i am so passionate about #even before i ever liked byler (didn't ship at all until s4 even though i knew it was a thing before) i've felt this way about elmike #i always believed they were close friends at heart and needed to break up #the romance part of them felt very distinctly young and very much “he was a boy she was a girl” to me #and it hasn't deepened into anything more mature and i don't see how it could based on the current state of the writing...#the fact that lumax exists — a young relationship that is actively maturing and is healthy — makes that clear to me #and the “love confession” in s4 and how disingenuous and miserable it felt was just the nail in the coffin #also the fact that will (who is IN LOVE with mike) was instrumental in making it happen? ... uh... okay... interesting choice…#fucked up and reductive if they make it another queer unrequited love sacrifice for the sake of pushing the heterosexual agenda YUCK #so i really hope the speculation about a m*leven breakup is real!! i think it just makes sense for their characters but who knows #i don't believe in the notion of love at first sight or one true love and i think the writers don't too???#love to me is an accumulation of experiences and we inevitably choose it at some point rather than fall into it... but idk #tv is so fixated on keeping couples together... sometimes it's just not reality guys especially with young people... LET IT GO...#like i said though i'm not 100% sold that they're going to give up their “golden couple” LMAO #stranger things hasn't historically subverted too many tropes if i'm being honest #anyway i seriously need this season to come out quickly... i'm so bored and getting my master's is crushing my soul #i need frivolity #ALSO btw i won't respond to hateful messages about this so please don't bother. it's not that serious. this is a netflix show

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