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shieldofiron · 1 year

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Cry Me an Ocean (Runaways)

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Co-written with @discodeviant and also on ao3

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Steve and Billy have been just hooking up for months now, and Billy cries pretty much every time they have sex. He tells Steve it's automatic, he can't help it and Steve thinks it's kind of cute, after he gets over the initial panic.

He cries when Steve presses kisses into the back of his neck while he rolls his hips into him, cries when he goes down on Steve, lets Steve brush the tears away with his thumbs. And he cries when he’s inside Steve, presses his face into the crook of Steve’s neck and groans when Steve tells him how good it feels.

So when Billy's making plans to leave town at last, he goes over to Steve’s for one last time. He knows they aren’t dating so he promised himself he won’t say anything. But in the heat of the moment… he doesn't want to cry, because he doesn't want to close his eyes and miss this moment.

He just looks down at this… boy, who he can’t bring himself not to care for, and even though his eyes burn, he holds back, praying Steve doesn't mention it because then he'll cry harder than he ever has. He just couldn't take it if Steve knew how he felt, he'd just rip in half.

Steve brushes the curl off of Billy’s forehead, and presses a kiss to the cheek that’s normally wet with tears. He can tell something's going on. Something's not clicking and he hates that he doesn't know what it is and can't figure it out. Steve’s been feeling it since the moment Billy waltzed through the door. But he doesn’t even know how the hell he could start to figure it out. Because how the hell could he? They fuck and Billy cries, he doesn't know anything else about the guy.

Afterwards he holds Billy and he decides… fuck it, "I never thought I'd say I missed the crying. You ok?"

Billy tries with everything he has to keep his voice even, "Yeah, pretty boy, I'm good."

But he's not good at all and it's really obvious. His voice cracks, and he's trembling. Steve rubs his back gently and Billy doesn't want to fucking leave, but he knows he has to. It's killing him because he was so sure… and now he's torn all to pieces because he let himself get attached.

Steve just rubs his back and whispers, "You know... I'm more than just a big dick... I have pretty big ears too... good for listening…”

Which makes Billy laugh, which makes him really cry.

"Yeah you do have pretty big fuckin' ears." He touches one and just fucking loses it because he's never been intimate with somebody like this, where he just wants to know and hold every itty bitty detail even down to Steve’s ears.

Steve just kisses his tears away, “So, who am I beating up?”

"Me, because I'm fucking stupid." California bound and leaving the one person he's ever actually fallen in love with. Fuck, he's really done it now.

Steve just laughs, "Aww, i'd never beat you up. Like you too much."

Billy can only look at him, at his rumpled hair in the dim room, and think, it'd hurt less than leaving you.

But he can’t completely bring himself to say it. Not now, not when he feels like he could shatter from another soft word.

He’d planned to leave in the morning but he falls asleep under Steve’s soothing touch and wakes up in Steve's arms and in the morning light. And it all seems even stupider than ever.

Steve wakes a few moments after Billy sits up and tries to take a few deep breaths to calm himself, and swipe at the tears that have escaped down his cheeks.

Steve reaches a hand out and brushes Billy’s side, “You slept ov-”

“I’m leaving.”

“Well, it’s kind of early, but yeah, you don’t have to stay,” Steve pulls back and runs a hand through his hair.

“No. I’m leaving Hawkins.”

Steve inhales, "You're leaving?"

"Shit, Steve, I don't know anymore--"

"For how long? Where? When?"

Billy cries harder, burning his face in his hands and trying to stifle the noises.

Steve just frowns, "Damn. And I was going to ask you to go to California with me."

Billy freezes, but tears keep rolling down his face.

"I was thinking in the fall," Steve shrugs, "When it starts to get cold. A-as friends... or... I dunno... anyway, you know all the spots to go."

Billy exhales shakily, and turns to look at him. Steve’s so… everything. So plain yet overwhelming, curled up in his navy sheets with his morning breath.

"Friends. Yeah, alright.”

But it's dripping with sarcasm and they both damn well know it, and it's quiet for a while. They're still sticky with sweat but Billy's still there, he hasn't left yet, and he asks, "Would you really come with me?"

Steve reaches out, tentatively, and pulls Billy back into the bed, back against Steve’s chest.

And Billy has to whisper, "It has to be now. Today. My Dad's gone."

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The next time Billy cries is when Steve lays him down in the motel bed in Nebraska.

Billy thinks he's being selfish about the whole thing because he wants– needs– Steve so fucking badly. And yeah, maybe it's the most insane and reckless thing Steve has done in his goddamn life, but he needs Billy too. So, Nebraska for a night. Then Nevada, and that's when Steve cries.

Billy stops riding him, shaking hands digging into Steve’s face, "Is it home? Do you want to go back? I wouldn't have–"

Steve just swipes at his face and lays a hand over Billy’s, "Nah. I just realized I'm in love with you. It's cool."

Billy just looks down at him for a moment, bleary because he's starting to cry too, and everything's slowing down. Steve is fucking beautiful inside and out, and Steve is in love with him, and Steve is at a motel with him in Reno-fucking-Nevada because he wanted to go with him. So he leans over and kisses the fuck out of Steve, and they're both crying. Billy starts riding him again all slow and overwhelmed but it's the best night either of them have ever had.

Billy doesn't think too much about saying it back because he's not the best with words like that, but by then he bets that Steve likes to hear those things out loud. So when they're worn out and snuggling up for the night, he gets real close to Steve's ear and whispers, "You know I'm in love with you too."

Steve nods. "Yeah, man. You ran away with me. You love me so bad"

Billy snorts, hiding his face in Steve's neck, "Shut the fuck up"

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When Billy sees the ocean again, he doesn’t cry. He just looks, hand folded into Steve’s. He doesn’t cry when the sun sets, and they sit on the beach until it turns cold.

But that night, when Steve pressed him against the door to their little cheap motel room, and kisses down his throat, he chokes on a sob.

“We did it,” Steve murmurs against Billy’s clavicle. “We did it.”

Billy grips Steve’s shoulder, plying his fingers through the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck.

“You’re free, Billy,” Steve whispers, “It’s okay.”

Billy can’t help it. Same as loving Steve, he can’t stop himself from crying. It’s automatic.

#harringrove #harringrove fanfic #collab!#discodeviant #harringrove fic #lemon ish #barely #Crying Billy is the best billy #billy hargove x steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #steve/billy #billy/steve #billy hargrove deserved better #cry me an ocean (runaways)

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roetrolls · 2 months

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(woagh! we did it again!! it's a collab between me and Chase @sasster! Look, there's a google doc!)

Appraisal

Emarra is still drunk on attention when he returns to his trailer, buzzing with adrenaline and the thrill of a crowd. He expects Sylvie will follow him here soon enough, his little sprite always so eager for his praise after a successful show.

He’s already imagining what he’ll say to her, turning the words over in his mind as he busies himself removing his jacket and pushes past the beaded curtains into his home.

“Yumeno.”

He freezes. Now there’s a voice that will kill a mood.

Ever the performer. Emarra is quick to reel himself in, shocked expression melting into a smile tight enough to rival Faithful.

“General.”

An unscheduled visit from the Marauder rarely spells good news, but retiring for the morning to find the man waiting in your home? That’s a level of horror all its own.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks through gritted teeth.

Zerkev has already made himself comfortable–if such a word can even be used to describe such a straight-laced troll–in the seat by the window, gaze hard and stern.

“Sit.”

It is always cumbersome dealing with fuchsias that feel they can just walk into his home and tell him what to do. Resentment leaves a sick taste in the back of his mouth as he takes a seat opposite to the general.

“There’s no chance that what you’re here to talk about could have been a text message, I’m guessing.”

Zerkev’s expression tightens, not one for jokes on a good day, let alone on one where he is already beyond the threshold of having patience for the man.

“Why have you not found Mallum yet?”

Well, of course that’s what this is about. What else would The Marauder be making home visits for? There are so many ways Emarra can answer that question too, and they all flash in his mind one after the other.

Chiefly, he has been busy with his circus, and also it isn’t his job to play Pravus line babysitter.

Neither of these answers, however, would be met with the most pleasant of responses, so he swallows them down with the taste of resentment that now coats his throat.

“He’s in the company of professionals. You know that.”

“I was under the impression that you were a professional, Yumeno.”

“Gracious and the Roatus kid can’t find him either,” by the grace of God, he manages to swallow the indignance that tries so hard to claw its way out. “It’s going to take me some more time.”

“More time?”

Something snaps behind the general’s eye, perhaps his last thread of patience, something that somehow does not influence the rest of his expression.

Instead, Zerkev sits there stone-faced.

“Just a little patience, I’ll find him.”

“Mm,” comes the muted response. The seadweller stares a moment longer, gaze boring into Emarra with a scrutiny so intense he has to suppress the urge to shift in his seat. “Would you say you’ve been distracted from this task?”

Emarra all but scoffs at the accusation. Was he expected to put his entire life on hold until the kid was found? That’s a ridiculous idea, even for someone as work-focused as the Marauder.

“No,” he answers shortly, stopping himself before anything more insulting can tumble from his mouth.

Zerkev raises an eyebrow. “That so? I’d say otherwise, personally.”

He reaches into the jacket of his uniform to withdraw a phone. It’s almost comical how out of place the thing seems in his hand, but Emarra is in no mood for humor.

After a few seconds, Zerkev brandishes the screen, playing a short, looping clip of a shadow unfurling along someone’s wall.

The Ringleader feels a brief twinge of satisfaction as he makes note of the tiger-shaped nightlight by the bed, one corner of his mouth twitching as if to smile.

Then he squares his jaw, lifting a blank gaze back to his uninvited guest.

“What am I meant to be looking at here?”

The general cocks his head. “You tell me.”

“It’s a recording on your phone, why would I have that information?”

With a nod, Zerkev pockets the device once more and leans forward on his knees, fingers laced together. He pauses a moment, expression deceptively placid, before answering.

“I know you’ve more sense than to lie to my face.”

The statement, simple as it is, is easy to identify as a thinly veiled threat. Emarra, having worked with the general long enough to detect that threat a mile away, leans back into his chair as if trying to put some more distance between himself and the fuchsia. It takes some effort to conceal the panic working hard to bubble up through his chest, but he manages even then to keep his gaze level.

”Then you should know that I am not lying, to your face or otherwise.”

Zerkev purses his lips, and though his expression does not shift to betray him, he does possess the uncanny ability of letting his disappointment and irritation poison the atmosphere of the room without such dramatic shifts.

The Ringleader very briefly finds his thoughts drifting back to the other’s missing son. Yeah, I’d run away too if this guy raised and was looking for me, no question. Poor thing must’ve had an intolerable adolescence.

Locked in a terrible staring contest with his boss, Emarra then takes the opportunity to sift through a mental list of his choice in extracurricular activities up to this point. He risks being skinned alive if he admits how lax he has actually been about finding Mallum in the many perigees that have passed between now and his being given the assignment.

He risks a fate worse than that if he so much as breathes word about harassing that damn runaway of his own in the meantime.

Zerkev clears his throat, the time limit on his second chance at honesty clearly reaching its end.

“Are you telling me that you think every time something goes bump in the day that it will have something to do with me? Come on. Be real, Zerkev. I have a life, you know.”

A disappointed click of the tongue is his only response. Is he really tsk-ing him right now? Beneath his indignation, an invisible fist constricts around Emarra’s lungs, abated only slightly by the thin shred of hope that spawns in him as the seadweller rises to his feet.

Did that actually work?

Zerkev fiddles with his cufflink and hefts a weary sigh, staring ahead of himself as if lost in thought.

“Yumeno?”

For fuck’s sake, would he just go already? “Yes?”

Without warning, the Marauder’s hand shoots out to grasp Emarra by the hair, yanking him from his chair by the scalp. The motion wrenches a pitiful yelp from his lips, palms grasping at his assailant’s wrist in an effort to relieve the pain.

“I thought I told you not to lie to me, son.”

His voice, perfectly level, belies no hint of anger. He might as well be asking about the weather for all his tone suggests.

“Zerkev–”

The grip on his hair, already ironclad, grows tighter.

“General Pravus, sir,” Emarra corrects himself breathlessly, a nervous chuckle catching in his throat. It would be unwise to double down he thinks, but… Ah, screw it. He’s a carnie at heart. Honesty has never been his virtue. “I have a show to run. You really think I’m wasting my precious time on pointless games?”

Zerkev regards him carefully, lips pressed into a line. The silence hangs over them like lead, suffocating enough to prompt another anxious plea from the clown.

“You know how Maelia treats me! Why would I go looking for trouble under his nose?”

“Hm.” The general blinks slowly, fingers still wound tightly in the purpleblood’s hair. “I suppose you wouldn’t, would you?”

Emarra nods the best he can with his head practically glued to the man’s hand, eyes blown wide. “Exactly! I–”

“Yumeno.”

“Sir?” He swallows, choking down his pride with some hope of warding off the venom that lurks behind that stony expression.

“Did I tell you that was Drakon’s hive?”

Emarra’s stomach drops like a stone, the panic he’s been working so hard to suppress now lurching to the surface, plain as day on his face. Zerkev’s expression is unflinching, much like the tight and fearsome grip he maintains on the Ringleader’s hair.

A reply is hard to come by under that icy glare, but eventually the clown manages to find his voice.

“Wh-Why else would you be so upset?” he stammers, choking on his own desperation. “Everyone knows how you get about your privacy.”

The way Zerkev’s lip twitches, it’s clear that was not the answer he wanted.

“My livin’ with Drakon is public knowledge now, is it?” His tone, low before, turns downright dangerous. It’s a miracle he hasn’t ripped Emarra’s hair right out of his scalp.

Past the edges of his own hubris, the purpleblood can see that he is being given one final chance to come clean. As much as he hates the man, he can’t deny that the Marauder’s patience is astounding. Any other fish would have flown off the handle ages ago.

He swallows, fingers still clasped around the general’s assaulting wrist, and selects his next words with care.

“I made a mistake,” he says slowly, heart lodged in his throat.

“A mistake?” Zerkev echoes incredulously, almost amused at his audacity.

“A poor choice.”

“I’ll say. Unless you wanna tell me spyin’ on my home was a necessary part of the process?”

“I… I was just messing with the kid,” Emarra finally admits, voice small.

“Instead of lookin’ for mine.”

“Both! I was doing both! You couldn’t have expected me to drop my entire life for you!”

Zerkev exhales slowly, something between a growl and a sigh. It’s all the warning Emarra gets before the general throws his arm to fling him face-first into the wall, the ache in his scalp quickly replaced by a new searing pain and the scent of blood in his nose. He loses his footing in the toss and crumples to the floor in a heap, hissing quietly.

Before he has the chance to catch his bearings, the Ringleader feels a cold-toed boot upon his neck.

“I’d say I’m a reasonable man, Yumeno, wouldn’t you?” He grinds his shoe into the base of Emarra’s skull before easing up, not waiting for an answer. “So here’s what I think sounds reasonable.”

Still somewhat dazed, he can only grimace in response as Zerkev grabs him by the collar and hoists him to his feet to slam his back against the wall.

“You’re gonna get one warning. Keep that greasy nose out of my business. Leave my mate and his family alone. And find my goddamned son. Are we understood?”

Emarra squares his jaw and nods.

“Are we understood?”

His teeth are as good as dust with how hard he grits them. “Yes, sir.”

Zerkev regards him carefully, eyes flitting across his face as he, perhaps, tries to gauge the man’s sincerity. Emarra can’t help but bristle. Can’t he let him go already? What more does he fucking want?

The general frowns, evidently displeased by whatever attitude he can still detect on his underling’s face. The clown prickles under his scrutiny, for once facing down a type of attention he would sooner escape. Then, all at once, that attention is drawn elsewhere, to the small voice that sounds beyond the room’s beaded entrance.

“Emarra!”

Though Zerkev doesn’t release the purpleblood’s collar, his grip loosens considerably, just in time for Sylvie’s innocent, four-eyed face to push its way into the scene. Those eyes become saucers when they land on the Marauder, the woman’s delicate features overtaken by fear.

“General Pravus,” she squeaks, gaze darting between him and her ringmaster.

Zerkev nods in greeting, venom all but evaporated, and Emarra thanks the Messiahs for his sprite’s timely arrival.

“I-I, um…” She shoots him another anxious glance, hand unconsciously drifting toward her own nose as she spies the blood leaking from his. “I didn’t know you would have… company.”

“I was just leavin’,” the general answers, though he makes no move to do so.

Another silence descends on the trailer, with Zerkev’s pensive gaze now settled squarely on the mutant. Emarra can practically see the gears turning in his head, and he only wishes it could come as a surprise when the man opens his mouth again.

“I just got one more thing to square away ‘fore I go. Miss Selari, hon, would you mind steppin’ outside a minute? Won’t be long.”

Sylvie hesitates, again looking to the clown. With an agitated grimace, he sighs and gives her a nod. The sooner they can get this over with, the better.

His approval eases her enough to acquiesce, and soon enough she is padding back out on light and silent feet, the gentle rattle of beads all that announces her departure. The moment that faint click subsides, Zerkev’s attention is back on Emarra.

“She’s sweeter than you deserve.”

The Ringleader balks at him, the tameness of the insult somehow a bigger slap than his previous scathing reprimands. He doesn’t care what the bastard thinks of him, obviously, but it’s not the type of comment he expects during this kind of performance review.

“How long’s it been now? That you’ve had her?”

“This is what you’re hanging around to talk about?”

Evidently, the question was rhetorical, as Emarra’s non-answer glances ineffectually off the general’s chest. He finally releases him and steps away, at least, allowing the clown some room to breathe while he prepares to prattle on.

“Mallum’s always been a bright kid, you know. Wicked bright. Bit more self control and he’d be unstoppable.”

“Uh-huh,” the purpleblood responds, his irritation palpable.

“He had a hard time with schoolfeeding. Lacked discipline, always got distracted with other things. Ain’t his fault– We’re a species built on base impulse. Same reason we don’t rear our own young.”

What the fuck is he even talking about right now?

“Most trolls lack the ability to self-regulate. We found with Mallum… It sometimes helped to remove the distractions for him. He hated me for it, ‘course, but it did him good in the end.”

“I’ll remember that next time I decide to become a lusus,” Emarra deadpans, wiping the blood from his nose.

Zerkev locks eyes with him, placid expression once again turning grave.

“Yumeno. The next time you force me out here to remind you of your job, I’m taking Miss Selari back with me.”

#this guy is so fed up with his clowns #writing #guest star!#collab!#zerkev pravus #the marauder #oops i forgot sylvies here too #sylvie writing #zerkev writing

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daily-ethoslab · 2 years

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What if you drew Etho as a falconer? You know, with the one big leather glove and the falcon?

“What a weird bird!” [126]

( if you couldn’t tell, this is a collab with mod owl from @daily-grian , if you aren’t already, go follow em!!)

#according to mod owl this grian is a peregrine falcon #I know nothing about birds so I am in no place to contest this!#ethoslab fanart #etho fanart #day 126 #it was super cool to see pieces of peoples art process behind the scenes and all that #hermitcraft #ethoslab #etho #grian #collab!#hermitcraft fanart #if you guys want to see these kinds of collabs more often lmk cause this was super fun!#answered #anon

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a2dare · 8 months

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Hello! I participated in @tf-bigbang for the first time and got to collaborate with @skywarp206, where I had the chance to create some illustrations for her fic! And yes, Skold and Waspinator are the main characters 👀

These are the previews of my illustrations. The full results of our collaboration will be posted around September 22-24!

#transformers #tf big bang #beast wars #skold #waspinator #transformers idw #really enjoyed drawing them!!!#babies..#gambarnyaasse #collab!

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shiraishi-mai · 2 years

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[1:55pm]

“You sure about this sweetheart?”

Your eyes were wide and you turned to stare at him. Suna looked at you in alarm.

“y/n, hello earth to y/n.”

“Right,” you said, blinking and shaking yourself a bit.”No, I’m fine.” You gave him a reassuring smile. Or at least what you hoped was a reassuring smile. To be honest, your heart was beating quicker than normal, and one of your hands clutched at the fabric covering your knees, bunching it up and probably leaving wrinkles.

He frowned unhappily. “You know, we can always go back.”

You looked down at the white tulle that pooled at your feet, covering a good portion of the floor in the dirty subway car you two were sitting in, and then at the veil you had grasped in your other hand. You looked back up at him and both of you burst out laughing.

“Yeah I think it’s a bit too late for that.”

He snorted and pried your fist off of your skirt. He intertwined your fingers and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. “So get away somewhere far first or courthouse first?” His eyes were bright, clearer than you’d ever seen before. His normal straight-faced expression was nowhere to be found - rather his entire face was lit up in delight.

“Let’s run.”

He nodded. “Done. I hear Okinawa is nice this time of year.”

You giggled and shook your head. “My father is going to be furious.”

He winced. “Think he’ll ever forgive me?”

“I wouldn’t count on it for a very long time.” He groaned and slumped in his seat in response, tugging his already loose tie further down. You bit your lip at the sight. Loose tie, blazer cast to the side, white sleeves rolled up, and mussed dark hair. Yum.

Despite your happiness, however, a dark thought rolled through your mind.

“I’m more worried about Shin forgiving me.”

Suna’s hand squeezed yours.

“He’s going to be so angry.” You said, hushed. “We’ve known each other forever and I made him a promise you know. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to get past this…” Groaning, you pressed your face against Suna’s shoulder. “Ugh, his grandmother is going to be so disappointed in me. She was so excited for us.”

Suna made a face. “Yeah, I’m not sure I’ll be forgiven either.”

You both thought for a second about what was waiting for you when you returned home before Suna sighed and brushed his lips against your hair.

“Why is it that Kita was more invested in our wedding than we were?”

“You know he’s a control freak and overprotective of me,” you said, making a face. “And he knows I hate planning this kind of thing, so before I knew it he was shoving all these papers in front of me and asking a hundred questions on what kind of wedding I wanted. Ah and his grandma even came with me and mom to pick out the wedding dress.” You looked down in shame. Kita was your neighbour growing up and best friend for as long as you could remember. You had promised to be each other’s best man/bridesmaid back in middle school, and after you had helped plan his wedding (or well tried to help), he was more than eager to help you with yours.

“Remember when he threatened you before our first date?”

“Right, something about being a former teammate not meaning he wasn’t going to hold back if I broke your heart,” he said drily.

“I wonder what he would’ve done. I can’t see him getting physical?”

“He’d probably have me kneel on the floor with my hands raised and lecture me for hours,” Suna shuddered. “That’s much worse. I’d rather him hit me.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t break my heart then,” you said, face lifting to give him a wide smile. His face softened into a lovesick expression and he gave you a soft kiss on your lips.

“Thank god you chose to stay.”

“As if I could leave,” you made a face. “You have so many blackmail photos against me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ah so that’s the real reason why you agreed to marry me. The truth finally comes out.” He feigned hurt.

“That and you’re very, very pretty.”

“I’m satisfied with that,” he said, “The idea of being a trophy husband sounds very nice.”

You laughed and felt your heart swell as you marvelled once again at how Suna was all yours. Forever.

“Speaking of, let’s document our daring escapade.” He held his phone up to your faces and you threw up a peace sign.

Looking at both of your faces through the screen, you smiled at how both you and Suna’s eyes seemed to sparkle with happiness.

“Say cheese.”

He turned to press his lips against your cheek, and you giggled, eyes squinting in delight.

“Look at you,” he said with a slightly stunned expression as he lowered his phone and stared at the selfie.

“Hey,” you pouted, “The real thing is right here.”

He laughed (yes, Suna Rintaro gave a real laugh) and pressed his lips against yours again, then to your cheek and finally rested his forehead against yours. You stared into each other’s eyes, probably looking like crazy grinning fools to everyone else in the subway car.

“Maybe we should go to the courthouse first,” he breathed.

You nodded. “Okinawa can wait.”

Fin.

*bonus*

“Wow, how does Kita make it sound like he’s swearing at you without actually using swear words.” You said as Suna sat, white-faced, after hanging up the phone. “He sounded scarier than dad did, and dad did swear.”

“In retrospect, I think sending the photo to him was not a good idea,” he said faintly. You snorted but then flinched and felt your hands grow clammy. Your phone had begun to vibrate and flashing on the screen was Kita's caller id.

[part of @eunoji 's collaboration <3]

#tohaveandtohold💍#collab!#suna rintaro drabbles #suna rintaro #suna x reader #suna fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyu fluff #haikyuu drabble #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro x y/n #suna scenarios #suna rintarou #suna rintarou fluff #suna rintarou x you

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abandoned-dezxyre · 11 months

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OUR FIRST PROPER MAGMA!!! :D

We had a lot of fun watching others draw, even if this was our only contribution!

Joined @zkev 's Moony boi just sittin and chillin!

(Layering doesn't work well on mobile so I'm uncolored lol-)

- Glow!!

#fnaf #fnaf security breach #sun and moon show #tsams #magma doodles #magma!#zkev #collab!#sams #tsams alter #tsams lunar #lunar alter #drawing #art #artwork #digital art #enjoy!

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nginiamhim · 1 year

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HAPPEE BIRTHDAY, TOXEEC!! Master, nitrus brio and i cooked you up sometheeng special for your beeg day... HOOREY, HOOREY!! @toxic-gin @drnitrusbrio-science @cortexrules

#collab!#happee birthday #toxic

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radio-to-trenchcoat-demons · 1 year

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AYYYOOOOOO!!!! NEW COLLAB JUST DROPPED!!!!

Bienvenidos a México tontos

in the STUFF artspace w/@paradox-hq

left is mine right is theirs

Translations:

¿por qué llevas un sombrero y un poncho mexicanos?( why are you wearing a mexican hat and poncho?)

Los Mexicanos saludan. (the mexicans say hi)

#COLLAB!#Demon art!#paradox-hq #my art #SLAYY

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fanficwriter284 · 9 months

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Hey fan!! Just wanted to pop in!!!

So sorry for not replying to your part on our collab yet! I've been a wee bit busy w stuff, I'll get to it soon!!

But anyways, how've you been?

HEY ROZ!!! I've been okay!!! And don't worry!! It's totally okay! I understand!!! I'm just happy to be collabing with you!! How have you been!?

#Collab!#Roz!!#It's fine!!#Don't worry about it!!!

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orchidyoonkook · 9 months

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y'all. the way i am so excited for this new upcoming project with my darling co-writer. it's going to be so good. LIKE SO GOOD. I'm stoked

#yoon writes #yoon writes with friends #collab!

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seabunnies-sideblog · 1 year

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It's all put together!

The beans!

Collabs with @galaktianexplosion

#kirby ocs #collab!#🌑light&shade🌕

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sakura-fraust · 12 days

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SURPRISE MONDAY STREAM! I'm gonna be playing Overcooked! with Kaya, Jem, and Kelso! It will be chaotic and it will be glorious >:3c Hope to see y'all there!

twitch_live

#sakura plays #Overcooked All you can eat #collab!

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roetrolls · 1 year

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(This drabble was a full-blown collab between me and Chase @sasster!! Did it on a shared google doc and everything !!!)

Can You Hear the Thunder?

As much as Orfuse has been hoping to prolong the inevitable, the conversation he needs to have simply cannot be put off any longer. It’s unfair, isn't it? As comfortable as he has gotten bouncing from Aderae, to Lazali, to even Maelia’s hive over the last few weeks, he cannot avoid the truth forever. He’s made his beloved moirail wait for far too long, and it’s about time he made room in his new life for Harlan.

Orfuse stands in front of the church, heart in his throat and his free hand fiddling about with a loose thread from his sweater. Perhaps there was no new life, and he had instead been summoned to suffer some eternal torment. This feels nothing short of torture. Before him the church looms high; Cold, unyielding, uncaring. Unlike the troll that accompanies him, the one who doesn’t seem to mind the deathlike clutch with which Orfuse hangs onto his shirt.

Though the fuchsia looks bored with the circumstance, his body language suggests quite the opposite. He stands with an arm wrapped around the brownbloods shoulder and his tail hovering around his waist, a stance Orfuse would usually observe him taking with Lazali whenever he caught someone unfavorable staring a little too hard. The truth is, Maelia is entirely unlike anything that the oracle assumed of him, and nothing like what awaits him on the other side of that door

The thought tugs at his heart.

“Harly, uhm. He’d be beside himself if he saw us like this.” He mumbles, shrugging out from under the larger troll and closer to the church doors. “He wouldn’t like it.”

“‘Course he wouldn’t.” Maelia says seemingly unfazed, shrugging his own shoulders as he places a cigarette between his lips. “Hurry up in there. Laz is waiting.”

Orfuse nods once and turns to face the oversized entryway. There is a moment of hesitation before he pushes his way in, into the church he’d only seen in visions of his moirail at his worst.

Doubt starts to prick at his resolve almost immediately.

Maybe this was a mistake.

If the church’s facade was daunting, its interior is downright inhospitable. How much effort did it take, to drain this place so completely of warmth?

Orfuse hugs his arms to his chest, though it does little to dispel the chill that flitters up his spine.

I can’t imagine my Harly in a place like this.

It’s what he wants to think. But he can’t, not honestly. It is all too easy to picture Harlan traipsing through these halls, and that knowledge breaks his heart even more.

His fingers curl around the fabric of his sweater, grounding him as they poke through the gaps in the wool. He keeps his eyes trained on the floor, unwilling to view the chapel in its entirety. He cannot bring himself to see the throne. Does not have the will to gaze upon Harlan’s likeness, stern and severe in the looming towers of stained glass.

He is saving his resolve for the real thing.

Fortunately—or perhaps not—he is not made to wait long. For a man Harlan’s size, speed was never much of a concern. He could move quicker than most even at his most leisurely pace, and Orfuse had never known him to hurry.

Which is why it is so jarring to see him barreling into the church at a run, skidding to a halt just beyond the threshold to the compound as he enters the room.

For a moment Orfuse stays stuck in place, drinking in all of Harlan as he stands before him. This is unfair, it is cruel the way his heart begins thrumming in his chest. It’s him, it’s his Harly, kissed by age. What he wouldn’t give to let himself be wrapped up in his arms. To be enveloped by the behemoth before him. What was it Lazali called it?

Losing himself to Harlan. How easy would it be to lose himself again?

Harlan's mouth moves as he drinks in the sight of the oracle just the same with those haunting, pink accented eyes, but it seems that whatever he means to say is trapped within his throat.

Orfuse does not like the glow of his voodoos, they make his stomach turn and, by some twist of fate, help him patch the holes in his already crumbling resolve. He straightens up and gives his arms a squeeze for reassurance.

“Harly, you won’t be very happy with me.” He manages. The attempt to stick to his guns is weak at best, his voice small. Though, that couldn’t possibly be an issue with the way he holds all of the purple blood's attention.

Harlan is silent for a moment as he processes his words, perhaps taken by the sound of his dear moirail, the confirmation that this is all in fact real. Then, without warning, he moves forward to close the distance between them with two large, effortless strides, and just as quickly as he entered the room he is on his knees, cupping a hand around the smaller trolls face.

The scent of pine fills Orfuses nose. He feels at home.

“To think I could be anything but thrilled to hold you once again…”

The smoothness of his voice hits Orfuse the same way his smell did, and the oracle finds himself leaning into his touch. Would it be so bad to lose himself to Harlan again?

He shakes his head to expel the thought. It is a selfish one.

“I miss you so much, Harly…” He reaches up to cup what he can of Harlan’s hand. “But I can’t stay.”

Harlan nearly recoils, reacting to Orfuse’s words as if he has been slapped. He searches the smaller man’s face with incredulity, brows knitting together to spell his confusion and concern. With the smallest shake of the head, he takes Orfuse’s free hand in his, stroking his cheek with one tender thumb.

He opens his mouth to speak, then pauses, noticing for the first time how the lights of his eyes poison his beloved moirail’s face. He blinks, taking a deep breath into his lungs. Then, for the first time since losing Orfuse, the Dominion turns his powers off.

“My Orfuse…” He whispers, swallowing hard. “You can. You must.”

It is not an order, but a pained, desperate plea, and it compels Orfuse more than Harlan’s voodoos ever could.

Now staring into the eyes of his Harlan, without that insidious glow blocking his view, he softens. So too does his resolve.

Orfuse takes his hand from around Harlans and reaches to touch his face gingerly. How could he stand to hurt Harlan like this? Harlan never hurt him, for as long as they’ve known each other.

He swallows as he lets his thumb stroke the side of his face, lingering along the edge of the wrinkles that crown his eye.

“I want to, I really do.” Memories of the last time he denied Harlan start to dredge up, and already tears begin to sting at the corners of his eyes. “But I can’t. I… Harly. Your dominion. It’s not for me.”

His voice is low, barely above a whisper itself. Harlan must know how hard it is to deny him. Why, then, is he making it harder?

“Harly. It’s for the best..” Is it?

Harlan’s expression tightens almost imperceptibly as he studies his moirail’s face for an explanation. Because surely there is an explanation. So carefully he squeezes Orfuses hand in his, the desperation in his eyes masking whatever else he might be feeling in the moment.

“Best for whom?” This one is a demand, but it is so saturated in concern that Orfuse barely registers it as one.

“For me?” He does not sound as sure as he’d like to, having already lost himself in those eyes.

Harlan’s jaw hardens, but his touch remains gentle as ever. He sweeps a lock of hair from Orfuse’s face and stares at him with intent, focus flickering from freckle to freckle as if checking that each cluster is accounted for.

“Do you truly believe that?”

Orfuse doesn’t respond, certain that his silence is the only thing keeping his tears at bay. He drops his head to stare at his feet, though a light touch on his chin guides his gaze back to Harlan and those deep, purple eyes.

“Please,” the giant mutters, “reconsider.”

“You know I’ll always love you,” he offers weakly.

That grips Harlan, a spark of genuine worry flashing across his face. He is beginning to understand that this resistance is not just for show.

“Orfuse,” he tries again, desperation seeping into his voice.

“Harlan… It’s… This is already difficult.” Orfuse averts his eyes again, and this time Harlan allows it.

“Would you rather it be easy?” There is so much hurt in his voice. Orfuse can’t bear to look at him, wishing desperately that he could sink into the cold tiled floor beneath his feet.

“No… But I… Would like it if you weren’t committed to making it harder.”

“I can’t lose you.” He releases Orfuse’s hand to brush a knuckle across the smaller man’s cheek, the slightest tremor running through his weathered palms. “Not again…”

For a moment, Orfuse stops breathing as he once again reaches up to take Harlan’s hand into his. This time, he wraps them both around it, and as upsetting as it is to admit, the action turns out to be a very grounding one. Slowly he expels the breath that trapped itself in his lungs as he starts to stroke along the detail of the giant’s hand. Along every imperfection that reminds him what he was robbed of.

They were supposed to grow old together, that was the plan.

“I don’t want to lose you again either, Harlan.” He finally admits, tears flowing freely now. What is the point in hiding them? He never could with Harlan at any rate.

“You do not have to.” Harlan says, fingers curling around the smaller troll's hands in an effort to keep them still. It sounds so simple on his silver tongue. Smooth, effortless coercion. “Who says that you must?”

“I have to. There’s no…There’s no space for me here. It’s. Everything..” Suddenly Orfuse screws his eyes shut and his features shift into an unpleasant expression. He pulls a hand back to press the heel of the palm into his temple, an attempt to disperse the pool of visions his mind pulls forward from his memory. “Everything happened here. I can’t stay.”

Harlan does not release the other hand, he instead rubs his thumb over the back of it in small circles. Just as soothing as everything else about him, he reaps the benefits of a lifetime to learning how to ground the man.

“How could I explain my decision to stay to them?”

The ghost of something sinister passes over Harlan’s face. It is not often that his actions have consequences.

“Them,” he echoes, expression sour. “What need have you to explain yourself to them? Punishing me will not undo their suffering.”

“I’m not… Punishing you,” Orfuse warbles helplessly.

“There is space,” Harlan interjects, free hand moving to join the other in holding him. Kneeling in front of the oracle with his palms clasped together, it nearly looks like prayer. “There is space.”

Orfuse feels the corners of his mouth pull into a troubled frown, lips pressing themselves into a thin line. He starts to shake his head.

“There has always been space— In here, in me,” Harlan pleads, jabbing five curled fingers into his chest. “To have all this and you, my darling… It is all I have ever wanted.”

He sounds almost breathless, and Orfuse can’t quite swallow the lump growing in his throat.

Harlan’s jaw seems to grind slightly, tongue moving in his mouth as he grasps for what to say. There is a ferocity in his eyes, a terrible certainty that if he can only find the correct words to speak, then at last he will have everything.

His gaze softens. “If I had known that this was where you drew the line… If I had only had you here to temper me…” Gently, he squeezes the smaller man’s hands, his voice so smooth it makes Orfuse’s heart ache with longing. “I need you, beloved. Who else can stop me?”

Harlan’s words ring louder in his ears than the visions that his mind conjured, the larger than life hands around his own root him back to reality.

There’s a valid point. No one can take care of Harlan quite like him. And is the reverse not also true? For no one really knows what Orfuse needs better than Harlan.

He swallows around the lump in his throat, considerable effort going into getting it down. With his vision blurred by his tears, he searches Harlan’s face for any sign that there is remorse for his actions, that there is anything left of his beloved moirail.

Before him stands a behemoth, the vessel of his childhood love that, prior to this exact moment, was smugly satisfied with the terror he had wrought. Upset not because he has caused great harm, but because he is being made to answer for those crimes. Does he even care about the effects his actions have had on the oracle? Orfuse digs around for his voice again, and when he finds it it is pathetic and small. A cry dies in his throat. Instead, he steals a quick glance over his shoulder at the door he’d entered through, worry creasing his browline.

What happens if he stays? Maelia would not return empty handed. His love for Lazali, the care for his well being extended much further than even his own self preservation. How unfair is that? What is stopping Harlan from being that for him? They’ve known each other a fraction of the time.

When Orfuse’s attention drifts back to Harlan, there is a shift in the atmosphere. The air is heavy enough that it all but threatens to suffocate. Something dark dances behind those deep, purple eyes, as though in that brief second, he’d been able to make some connections.

Harlan watches Orfuse with a set jaw.

“You don’t want to be stopped,” the oracle finally breaks the silence that worked so hard to choke him out. “You never wanted to be stopped before.” “Who brought you here?” Another demand from the giant as he focuses his gaze on the door. The darkness that grew in his eyes evolves into an unreadable and dangerous expression that crosses his features. Once again his jaw seems to grind as he searches for the words to say. “Who is waiting on you?”

The implication is clear, anyone who knew the pair would be able to see that Orfuse could never willingly give up his Harlan. Someone got into his head, the only question that remains of that mystery is who.

“No one!” He doesn’t shout, the response is more like a high pitched squeal. A desperate squeak. “It doesn’t matter. I asked them to bring me.”

“It matters that they would subject you to this torture, my love.” There it is again. Effortless, smooth coercion. “It is unfair to you.”

Suddenly, indignance curls itself around Orfuse’s heart like a fist, and it’s his turn to recoil. For a split second, he feels anger. It flashes across his face.

“Is it so hard to believe that I could stand up on my own?” The anger that started hot in his chest starts to fizzle out, and he loses the steam needed to maintain it just as quickly as he’d collected it. Still, he presses on. “That I could operate based on my own morals just this once?” They both know the answer to that question. He would never choose to abandon him on his own accord.

Why would he?

Harlan watches him for a moment, eyes darting around his face to once again soak him in. He reaches to wipe the tears away.

Orfuse lets him.

“Don’t do this.”

“I have to…”

Harlan’s frown deepens. “You truly feel that you are better off without me?” The hurt in his voice nearly conceals his mounting frustration.

“No,” Orfuse whimpers. “I don’t. I’m not…”

“Then stay.”

“I can’t,” he cries, wrapping a hand around Harlan’s thumb.

“Why did you come here, love, if not to be persuaded?” He asks quietly, wrinkles highlighted by the furrow in his brow.

“To say goodbye.”

“To break my heart,” Harlan says forcefully, loath to be fighting a losing battle. He takes a deep breath, gathering back his composure, and speaks softly once more. “My dearest Orfuse… I beg you. Stay.”

Orfuse lets his gaze sweep across Harlan’s face, taking in as much of him as he possibly can while he struggles to get his legs working. This is it, after all, he came and said what needed to be said.

Now he just needs to leave.

Why can’t he leave?

He opens his mouth to speak, but before the words find their way out, Harlan shifts to wrap him up in both arms. All at once, he becomes the smaller troll’s entire world.

Becomes? No, this only serves as a reminder.

Harlan is his whole world. He always has been, he always will be.

When he speaks, his voice rumbles through him.

“My love, you must stay with me. What am I meant to do without you?”

Orfuse leans into him, selfishly drinking in every ounce of his beloved moirail that he can. His scent, his strength, the way the coldness of his skin permeates and lingers on his clothes, the sorrow concealing frustration in his voice.

“Harlan,” his shaky voice is muffled into the giant's chest. He sucks in a deep breath. “I love you so much more than my heart can take. But I have to. Please, Harly, please let me go.”

As he begs, he grips tightly onto the purple blood’s shirt with trembling hands.

“Please, let this departure be on good terms.” He would die otherwise. “Please.”

Harlan places a hand on the back of Orfuse’s head, pressing the smaller man into his body as if trying to absorb him.

“If you leave I will be furious,” he warns, voice low. “But not with you. Never with you.”

He draws back to gaze upon his lover once more, grasping his chin with a finger and thumb. His eyes are misty.

“Go, if you are set on it. Your place will be waiting for you.” Slowly, he brings his face close to Orfuse’s, all but devouring him with deep, tired eyes. “You know you are mine, my love. You know I will always be yours.”

Orfuse could not respond if he wanted to, but he does not get the chance to try before Harlan’s lips are on his, soft, cool, and intoxicating. He holds him there for a moment far too short, then pulls away and rises to his feet.

“Leave, then. Before it can be said I did not let you."

#HARFUSE REUNION COME N GET IT #writing #harlan mahkir #the dominion #guest star!#HEHEHEHE UMMM #collab!#let's see how much i use that tag going forward #tongues and teeth #also uhhh #the title is a song that felt very applicable #:)))#by animal sun!! same ppl as girl in blue hehe #harlan writing

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