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a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual · 9 months

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Nimona headcanons I wrote instead of sleeping

Sometimes the boys forget that Nimona isn’t human

Like they’re used to the shifting into animals aspect of Nimona because she does it as often as she breathes

But sometimes she’ll do some really creepy shit like make her arms longer to reach something when she’s too lazy to get up

One time they shifted just their neck to be like an owl so they could turn their head 180 degrees instead of just turning around cause that was “too boring”

Or he’ll mimic people’s voices without realizing it

Sometimes he’ll tell a story and suddenly he’s using Bal’s voice

The first time she did this Bal searched the whole house cause he was convinced that Todd has snuck in

Or she’ll grow an extra arm to hold more shit and they take a moment to realize “oh yeah we adopted a little weirdo”

They get used to it after a while and the arguments surrounding it are always funny because both the boys will complain and say “I don’t sound like that” and they have to be told “No love you do you really do”

You know those videos of babies reacting to their parents shaving their facial hair or putting on glasses

That’s Nimona's reaction every single time the boys change their appearance even the smallest bit they cant shave or wear their reading glasses because if they do he freaks out

Talking some “help me Nemesis I heard bosses voice but I can’t find him” while Bal was standing right in front of them

It was the first time he shaved his face in years and he’s never doing it again

Mostly cause Ambrosius kept telling him he looked like a teenager and it was freaking him out

I feel like Bal and Ambrosius are those kinds of people who will tell people about the little injuries but neglect the big ones

Like Bal mentioned that he thinks he sprained his ankle during the fight at the institute but he won’t mention that he’s pretty sure he got a concussion

(BECAUSE THIS MAN HEAD-BUTTED TWO PEOPLE WHEN HE HAS A METAL ARM)

(I’m bout to wrap this man in bubble wrap and give him a helmet because wtf)

Ambrosius will complain the whole day about the fact that he has a paper cut

But will completely neglect to inform his doctors “Oh yeah I can’t move my left arm higher than my waist without pain and I can’t see that well out of my left eye or hear that well out of my left ear do you think that’ll be a problem?”

It isn’t until Nimona makes an off handed comment about how this super weird that the laser did basically nothing to him that he told both of them

They literally dragged him to the ER because “Who thinks those symptoms are normal Nemesis what is wrong in that pretty little head of yours!!”

When Bal tells Nimona she’s being a bit of a hypocrite (cause who refers to an arrow as a splinter?) she turns to him and says “I know you’re not saying something Mr. Human battering ram”

It took literally everything in Ambrosius not to break down laughing

After that she forces them to have frequent checkups with the doctor because these dorks wouldn’t go otherwise

Honestly I'm fully convinced that some people in the kingdom don't know who Nimona is and are constantly confused why they let this little weirdo follow them around

And finally the curiosity will eat away at them and they’ll finally ask

Sometimes the boys will give some “normal” answers like “Oh that’s Nimona” and they won’t elaborate at all

Sometimes they’ll give funnier answers like “Oh that’s a raccoon we found in the garage who turned into a person one day” “I don’t know they just showed up in our living room” and their personal best “You see her too?”

And their favorite that they only started using a couple of years down the line “Oh that’s our kid”

#nimona 2023 #nimona movie #nimona headcanon #nimona #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister x ambrosius #goldenheart #I just know these accident-prone dorks don't go to the doctor #which i respect because neither do I #Ambrosius would rather memorize the eye chart than admit he needs glasses #and that is a hill I will die on #I feel like NImona freaks out at changes in appearance because it reminds her that things don't stay the same forever #she's immortal the boys arent #she forces them into frequent checkups because she doesn’t want to find out too late that something is wrong #she wants to know that they did everything in their power as soon as they could of something does come up #and best case scenario they live very long happy lives #but I like to believe that they get reincarnated and find each other in every life #because I'm sappy like that #excuse my sleep deprived rambling #I’ve found so many issues with this post

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perpetuallyconfused10 · 8 months

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Im the one who asked about requests lol, I just have this Hotch thought and I can't stop thinking about it 🫂😭

Imagine Garcia "screaming" about a video, telling the whole team about it (except Hotch and Reader), and that video is on tiktok. When they spill something about the video, Hotch and Reader ask which video they're referring to, not knowing it's from a tiktok account where the person makes videos on Hotch x Reader (like edits taken from some interview where they look at each other, slightly touches and things like that) and it's a whole profile with a lot of videos like that! So the whole team teases them and they obviously like eachother!!

Feel free to change anything!!

Gone Viral, Gone Wrong

Thank you to this anon for submitting my first request! I might have written it (and especially Hotch) be a little (way) too sappy, but I love your idea so much and I hope I did it some type of justice! WC: 3.3K

GIF by ssa-aaron-hotch-hotchner

There must be something on your face. Toothpaste, maybe, or coffee on your shirt, or a tear in your trousers. Something to explain the numerous pairs of eyes following you as you dash for the elevator, just as you always do.

This morning’s been one for the books. Between a text from your highschool ex-boyfriend, congratulating you on your ‘newfound fame’ — whatever he means by that, you don’t know — and the incomprehensibly slurred voicemails you woke up to from your sister, you aren’t quite sure what to do with yourself.

You tell yourself you’re probably imagining it. But Anderson doesn’t say a word to you as you both make your way to the BAU, just casts you sidelong glances between the rapid texts he’s sending. You hope to God it’s not you, that he's just having an awful morning, then scold yourself for it. If you’re not off to a good start, at least somebody should be.

It’s the silence in the bullpen that confirms your suspicions. Emily, JJ, and Garcia sit huddled around Emily’s computer, squeezed onto two chairs they’ve pulled together. Morgan leans over them to look at the screen. He’s in the middle of laughing at something Garcia’s said when you walk in.

You don’t even need Reid’s not-so-subtle hiss of “Guys–” to know you’re not going crazy. The smirks that drop from their faces, the giggles that extinguish themselves as you enter through the double doors, are more than enough.

Four profilers and a technical analyst, as it turns out, can be rather terrifying when the force of their stares are directed at you.

A sheepish grin tugs at your lips as you hold up your peace offering: a tray of coffee. “Hi?”

You’ve come to know how the team works. You know exactly how they react when ambushed, how they spring to action like a well-oiled machine.

There’s something a little mechanical to them now, bared in their responses to your arrival. After giving you one of his usual tight-lipped smiles, Reid flips open a random file on his desk and begins to read. JJ grabs the computer mouse, clicks a few times, and turns away from the monitor to greet you. Morgan clocks the drinks in your hands and conjures a grin just a little wider than normal.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says as he plucks the tray from your hands, thanking you with a squeeze to your forearm.

Garcia, eyeing the gesture, nearly chokes on the end of the pen she’s chewing. She stands to usher you over to your desk, her chirpy voice a balm attempting to smooth over what has been a very odd start to your working day.

“What were you guys looking at?” You ask her, eyebrows raised. If anyone’s going to tell you what’s going on, Penelope is, without a doubt, most likely to spill.

You’re disappointed – and even more confused – when she stands her ground. Through her ramble, you just about make out the words “cat” and “spa” before she’s kissing your cheek and speeding away to your lair.

You sigh as you switch on your own computer. One thing is clear. The team doesn’t like to be ambushed. And, somehow, that is exactly what you have done.

—

After finishing off one of your consults, you suffer through a morning briefing that ends up being far more complicated than it needs to be. It’s only a paperwork day, by the looks of things. In theory, this is the ‘easiest’ your job gets; if you’re not called out on an emergency, you can bank on a day of case reports and shitty coffee.

Nothing is ever easy at the BAU, not even now. Everything is out of order. There’s none of the usual idle chatter that precedes a briefing, just a fragile silence. Rossi moves from his normal position to take your place between Reid and JJ. He mutters something about the chair being uncomfortable and shoos you away from your seat. Though you can’t resist the opportunity to call him an old man for his pedantics, you acquiesce and take his spot instead. You find nothing wrong with it.

Then Hotch walks in to start the briefing, and you find about a hundred reasons to curse David Rossi. He’s wearing the gray suit, again, the one he likes pairing with his red tie. That should be a crime in itself. When he takes the only seat available — his usual seat, the one now next to you — you’re almost sure you hear JJ snort. Emily pats her on the back as she conceals it with a very unconvincing cough.

Hotch frowns in your direction, probably mulling over the change in seating plan, then turns his attention to JJ. “Are you alright?”

The blonde clears her throat. “Fine. Thanks, Hotch,” she says.

Garcia rests her elbows on the table, her mouth concealed by the palm of her hand.

Hotch nods, casting another short glance your way. “Good.”

Then he launches into the briefing, and you can almost convince yourself things are perfectly normal, that your face isn’t alight with heat and you’re not avoiding looking at him, that everything is fine. When you’re dismissed, you scurry towards the door fast enough you almost miss it.

“Garcia?” His voice is quiet, his tone soft with something disapproving hiding beneath it. “My office, please.”

Everything is decidedly not fine.

—

By noon, you can’t take it anymore. “Emily Prentiss, what the fuck are you doing?”

The question comes out louder and more harshly than you’d intended. In your peripheral vision, you see Reid’s eyes widen at the desk next to yours. Emily, halfway through a sandwich, freezes.

“I’m sorry?”

The grin fades from her face.

You huff. “You’ve been looking between me and your computer for the last half-hour. What is it? Is there something on my face?” Morgan laughs from the other side of the bullpen, and you raise your voice a little in desperation. “Seriously. Have I done something wrong?”

JJ must have heard the commotion, because she pokes her head out of her office door. She takes one look at you and sighs. “Probably best to get it over with, Em.”

When Emily hesitates, your eyes narrow. “Get what over with?”

She stands and beckons you over to her desk, firing up her computer screen as you settle into her chair. JJ comes down the stairs to join you. Though they don’t move, you can practically feel Morgan and Reid staring at the three of you from across the room.

What you see projected on Emily’s screen doesn’t make things any clearer.

“That’s—” you pause, dumbfounded. “Why are you looking at me and Hotch?”

The picture is easy to place. It must have been taken a few days ago, during a small-town case. Hotch had asked you to deliver a profile to the media when JJ was working on something else. It was far from the first time you’d faced the press head-on during your time at the Bureau, but Hotch had stood by your side anyway.

You’re not sure why she’s chosen this photo, if any, to look at. The wind’s blowing your hair into your face, and you’re midway through changing expressions so it almost looks like you’re in pain.

“Just watch,” Emily says. She presses the spacebar and the picture bursts into action.

—

“—If you believe you have any information that may relate to this case, we’d appreciate you calling the following number…” you say. You proceed to rattle off the number for the tip line JJ’s set up, but only get halfway through before everything derails.

“How do we know this isn’t all just bullshit?”

The voice overpowering yours is weathered, and so is the man who pushes through the crowd of journalists to get close to you and Hotch, whose posture you see straighten in an instant. You watch as the reporters from the city turn to look at the interloper, pens out and waiting, no doubt, for either you or your boss to slip up.

For a long moment, Hotch watches the man, his face twisted in irritation. He merely restates the tip line number and your request for any potential witnesses to come forward.

But the skeptic doesn’t let up. “This guy’s an outsider. Not one of us. Everyone here knows each other, they have done for years—”

“We’re not trying to cause a panic,” you say, your tone even, “We don’t want you all to turn on each other. But the man we’re looking for knows this town. He’s confident finding his way around the forest, even the areas that haven’t been mapped out yet. He knows the shortcuts, which roads are quiet and which are too risky to take. We’re asking you to exercise caution, and to report anything suspicious if you see it.”

“So what? A few pins on a map and you’re convinced it’s one of us?”

Hotch’s jaw tightens. This case has been harder on him than most, and you can sense that he’s on the verge of responding in a way he’ll regret later. You put a hand on his forearm as he raises it to retort, squeezing it gently in the hopes he’ll get the signal you really don’t have the seniority to be sending him: stand down. He takes a deep breath, and you let your hand slide down to meet his wrist, guiding it just a fraction backwards to rest by his side. The contact lasts only a second, maybe two, before you let him be.

When he finally speaks, his voice is measured, his eyes slow to drag themselves from your face. “We’re not here to defend the science behind criminal profiling. Our priorities remain finding the person responsible for these crimes and the safety of this community until we do. If you have any information at all, please don’t hesitate to contact us. We appreciate your cooperation.”

Even the most amateur journalist would know he’s done answering questions. Hotch gives a brief nod, turns and leads you out of the Georgia heat and back into shelter of the precinct. All the time, his hand hovers over your back, his gaze searching for any potential disruptions.

Then there’s his voice, deep and almost inaudible. You feel his breath brush your earlobe. “Thank you.”

—

Oh.

Now you’re looking at it from an outsider’s perspective, you do look a little…cozy with Hotch. Not enough to walk the line of unprofessionalism, but enough for you to notice it.

Emily folds her arms, leans back in her chair. “What’s that about?”

Avoiding her eyes, you shrug. “What’s what about?”

“The canoodling,” JJ says with a smirk, and you slap her arm.

You’re a profiler. You should know your little attempt at denial isn’t going to work, but it doesn’t stop you from trying. “Canoodling? Seriously, Jen? I don’t think anyone under the age of eighty has ever said the word ‘canoodling’.”

You hear Penelope’s kitten heels clacking against the floorboards before you see her. “Doesn’t mean you’re not doing it,” she sings. Her arms wrap around your shoulders from behind.

You groan. “Penny, you know I love you, but what are you doing here?”

“I got lonely,” she says, and her expression is so genuine that you can’t even bring yourself to be upset with her. “Just wait…”

Leaning over you to press the escape button, she exits out of full screen mode and points to the corner of the screen. When you read the number she’s showing you, your breakfast threatens to make a reappearance.

“Would you look at that?” Emily laughs. “It’s gone up.”

You blink. Once, twice, three times. And once more, for good measure. “Six-hundred-and-fifty thousand people have seen that?”

It all starts to make sense. The texts, the calls, the stares, the team’s behavior…you don’t know whether to be relieved or horrified. On the bright side, you’ve done nothing wrong, nothing that could get you fired. But more than half a million people have seen you practically mooning over your boss.

Emily makes a noncommittal noise. “Half of them were probably Garcia. And a good twenty-five or so were us, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t,” You resist the urge to slam your head against the desk. You’ll have to settle for burying it in your hands instead. “Six hundred and…fuck. And they all think–?”

“—That you’re in love with our boss? And that he’s in love with you? Yes.”

“Oh, fuck.” “They think that, too,” says JJ, sounding sympathetic. If it weren’t for the frankly dastardly smile on her face, you’d think she was on your side.

Picturing the general population witnessing you make an idiot of yourself is bad enough. How do you even conceptualize that many people? How many stadiums could you fill solely with people who have seen you head over heels for your boss? Even worse is the thought of Anderson, or your parents, or – God forbid – even Strauss having seen it. You’ll be suspended. Fired. Or, even worse, be called into a mediated meeting with Hotch and HR, where they’ll ask him if you’ve been making him feel uncomfortable.

Emily’s voice pulls you from your shame spiral. “And there’s more, too.”

This world hates you. You’re certain of that as she opens Twitter, putting “FBI agents” into the search bar and bombarding you with hundreds, maybe thousands, of tweets with your image attached. Some are disturbingly sweet. Others poke fun at how obvious you are, and even more disturbingly, seem to think your feelings are reciprocated. That’s not a mental path you can allow yourself to go down.

“So…” You say after a long ten minutes. “What do we do?”

Footsteps, then Rossi appears at the stop of the stairs. “You go back to work. Your break’s over.”

He’s lucky you’re so fond of him. Had it been anyone else (save maybe one person) to disrupt your shame spiral, you’d have been furious. More than furious. You’re still a little irritated now.

There was nothing wrong with his fucking chair.

—

Your mission is simple. Avoid. Deny. Deflect. The rest of your afternoon drags along in a blur of paperwork and teasing comments you choose to ignore (mostly courtesy of Morgan — JJ and Emily have decided you’re nearing your breaking point and vow to leave you alone).

Five o’clock can’t come soon enough. Even when it does, there’s no reprieve. Reid turns out to be the one to betray you as everyone else packs up to leave, their files in his hand. “Sorry,” he whispers. To his credit, he looks like he means it.

“Judas,” you hiss back, but you stand and take the reports from him anyway.

Morgan raises an eyebrow at you. “Going somewhere special?”

You flip him off, muttering something under your breath that sounds just a little like “your funeral”.

The stairs to Hotch’s office feel much longer and much steeper than usual. At every step you reconsider. Reid’s probably still heading for the elevator now. If you catch him, you can guilt him into doing this instead. But your thoughts carry you close enough for Hotch to spot your approach through the blinds. He rises from his desk, opening the door before you can even reach for the handle.

You can’t even look him in the eyes. “Hi.”

Stepping aside to let you inside, he says your name, and it sounds so warm coming from his mouth. You wonder if he knows about your newfound fame, too. He seems to be focusing his stare directly between your eyebrows.

“I just came to drop these off.”

As if your words aren’t explanation enough, you hold up the files for him to see.

“Thank you.” Hotch reaches out to take them, and you feel his fingers brush yours as he does. He stops before the exchange is over. “Are you alright? You seem distracted.”

It won’t be long now before the sun sets. It’s making its final play for glory now, golden light filtering through the window and settling over Hotch’s face. Hints of amber tones surface in his eyes, usually so dark and unreadable, making him appear much softer than usual. Safer.

You sigh. “I think some people got a little more out of that press release in Georgia than we intended them to.”

“Oh. Yes.”

“You know about that?”

You wouldn’t half mind if a wormhole opened up, right there in his office, and transported you to another universe where you don’t even have to think about this moment ever again.

“I do.” He winces. “Garcia’s computer system is the most secure in the FBI, but she doesn’t have an inside voice.”

The dry comment shocks a laugh out of you. “No, she doesn’t. But…it’ll die down, right? No one is actually going to believe that. Us being together would be—”

“Unprofessional,” Hotch supplies after a beat. “Very unprofessional.”

He reaches backwards to put the files you’ve given him on his desk, somehow managing to do so without actually taking a step away from you. If anything, he gets a little closer.

“Exactly. Strauss would kill us if we even thought about it,” you say, “Not that we would, I’m just…”

Now he looks down at you, straight into your eyes. You swear his pupils are dilated, that he slips for just a half-second and lets his attention drift down to your lips. “There’d be a lot of paperwork.”

You nod. “Too much, really. You’ve got enough already. It’d also be…”

“…Nice.”

Hotch stops breathing, lips downturned in a frown. You’re sure you’ve heard him wrong. But half a minute passes, and he doesn’t retract his statement, though he looks as if he’s close to doing so.

“I’m sorry?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He’s close enough you catch a hint of his cologne, and the woody scent of it makes your head spin.

“I can say it again,” he says through a long exhale, searching your face for any sign of discomfort as he takes another step closer. His breath ghosts your neck. “Or we can forget this ever happened.”

Your answer is almost immediate. “Let’s not do that.”

Hotch tilts your chin up so you’re forced to look at him. You lean upwards to meet him halfway in a kiss that is soft and tentative, the sort that promises everything and asks for nothing in return. One of your hands cups his jaw, and both of his find their way home to your waist, rubbing circles into your skin through your shirt. You smile against his lips. He leans forward as if to chase yours when you pull away. It hits you, now, that this is really happening. The months you've been agonizing over this - whether to make a move or to shut the part of you that cares for him away - have led you here. There's much you've got to think over: what this means for both of your careers, the risk to the team's dynamic, whether it'll even work in the long run, if Hotch wants that too. You know he's thinking the same thing; his face adopts the same mask of concentration it always does when he's considering something. You take a deep breath. It might be hard, but does that stop it from being worth a shot? In the end, you don't think it does.

“I think I’m gonna order takeout tonight,” you say quietly. “There’s a really good Thai place down the street from me.”

Hotch clears his throat. “That sounds nice.”

Shaking your head, you rest both hands on his shoulders, laugh at him. “That was my way of asking you if you wanted to join me.”

“Oh.”

His brow furrows. For a terrible moment, you think he’s about to say no. And then, “Haley has Jack tonight. I…I’d like that.”

You beam, pull back, and head towards his desk to find a pen and a scrap bit of paper. “Here’s my address.” A quick glance down into the bullpen, which is thankfully empty. “Give it ten minutes, then follow me?”

“Okay,” Hotch says. Even you can tell he’s grinning like an idiot, and you make a note of the rare expression. “Okay. I’ll see you soon?”

Squeezing his hand, you kiss his cheek and walk towards the door. “Soon.”

You feel his eyes on you until you reach the elevator.

If you got this far, thank you for reading! I've watched a lot more Dharma and Greg than CM, lately, so I have a feeling that my version of soft!Hotch is currently just a grownup version of Greg Montmgomery????

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #thomas gibson #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch hotchner #this is pure disgustingly sappy fluff I'm sorry guys #I think I'm too down bad right now to write any angst whatsoever #But maybe I'll start crying one day soon and decide to write one #who knows

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hajihiko · 1 year

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ship dynamics: the one who thinks it and the one who says it

#Ship in my own definition you know by now right. duos #Fuyuhiko is as verbally pissed and outraged as Hajime is silently. Hajime is as verbally sincere and sappy as Fuyuhiko is silently.#I guess??? Idk I'm very tired I am so very tired lol #An art. I guess.#Kuzuhina

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fag4dykestobin · 7 months

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yesterday, i wrote a little snippet of a steve coming out scene that had been living in my head for a bit, and i thought that that was it. and then i kept writing little snippets until this was nearly 3k words long <3 so. enjoy!!

Steve looks up at the popcorn ceiling, heart beating, beating, beating, nearly out of… his… chest. Steve doesn’t look at Robin, but… he… knows that Robin is looking at… her?

“Feel like we should be in the bathroom for this,” Steve croaks. Robin huffs out a laugh.

“We can move in there, if you want. My parent’s probably won’t need to use it, they’re in bed already.”

Steve shakes… her…? his. His(/her?) head. “No. I feel better in here.”

“Okay.” And then it’s quiet, between them, and it’s up to Steve to fill that silence. Awesome. Steve can do that. Well, Steve could do that, usually, but unfortunately there is something in Steve’s throat that is blocking everything and anything from coming out of it. Maybe Robin will just let him(/her?) sit here in silence forever, until they both fall asleep, and then when they wake up in the morning they can go along with their lives like there’s nothing building up in Steve’s soul, clawing and raging and desperate to come out.

Robin shifts, so that their feet, propped on the wall in front of them, are touching. It’s enough to get Steve going.

“You know when we were in the Russian base, and you said the thing about your life being one big error?”

Robin made a noise of affirmation.

“Were you talking about, like, being gay?”

Robin sits with the question for a few moments. “... Mostly,” is the answer she decides to go with. Steve waits for her to elaborate.

“I guess it was like, well. Some of it had to do with how we ended up in the Russian base, right? It didn’t feel real. Or like it was supposed to happen. But it also felt like just one more thing in my life that went wrong, and I kinda connect all the bad things that happen to me with me being a lesbian.” There’s a beat of silence. “Which I know isn’t really good. But I’ve been doing it for a while, so it’s hard to stop.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you feel like that? About being, um, half-gay?” The term they’ve landed on for Steve’s sexuality is kind of ridiculous, but neither of them could think of anything better for it. And it’s not like they really refer to it by name outside of hushed and rare conversations like this one.

“I guess?” Steve thinks on it a little. “Not really. Not like you, at least. It’s, like…” Steve lets himself(/herself?) brush against the problem in his(/her?) brain. Think about it for more than a fleeting moment.

Terror envelopes him(/her?)(cut that shit out pick one and stick to it). Steve tries to think through it, but it’s kind of hard to breathe.

“It’s more about, um. I don’t know. I… It feels stupid.” It feels wrong. It feels criminal.

“I won’t think you’re stupid,” Robin says, so earnestly, like she believes it. Oh, that’s horrible to think about her. Steve screws his eyes shut. Steve screws her eyes shut.

Pick one. (pick he.) And stick to it.

“Sometimes I… mmm. Sometimes I… Robin, if you—” Steve cuts himself off. This feels evil, what he’s about to say. Maybe more evil than what he is. “If I what?” Robin sounds concerned. Like, worried concerned. It makes Steve want to stop everything and wrap her up in a big hug and never talk about this again. Besides, what was Steve even going to say? Robin, if you hate me after this… what? What does he want her to do? Robin, if you hate me after what I say, please don’t.

If Robin hated Steve for this, he might just die.

“Steve? Are you okay?” Robin takes her legs down from the wall and sits up, leans over Steve, trying to get a good look at his face. Steve covers his eyes with his hands.

“I don’t know. I don’t— eugh.” Steve gulps in a big breath, “Robin, if you— hate me, um—”

“No! No no no no no! No! Steve, look at me! Right now!” Steve wants to, but that might make him actually cry. Steve digs her palms into her eyes. No. His palms, his eyes.

God.

“Steve, Evie, please. Please.” The nickname makes Steve’s eyes water. He swipes at them to make them go away, but they keep flowing. Okay, this is going a bit disastrously. The most important thing to do right now is keep his eyes closed and not look at Robin, or else he might shatter into a million little pieces.

“No, I— let me just— I don’t want you to—”

“I won’t hate you, ever. For anything. Are you okay?” Robin sounds miserably anxious. You can’t promise that, Steve wants to bite out. He swallows it. Steve has to trust Robin, because if she can’t, maybe she truly isn’t meant to be like this. Maybe Robin won’t hate him, maybe Robin will help him fix it.

“Sometimes I think about being a girl.”

The words sit heavy between them. Steve kind of wants to throw up about it.

“... Okay.” Robin says. She sounds a little breathless. Steve tries to imagine the look on her face, but can’t imagine it through the fuzz of terror. And like hell will he open his eyes.

“... Okay?” Steve croaks, after Robin fails to elaborate.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” She still has that breathless note in her voice, but it’s more like an aftermath-of-anxiety breathlessness than still-actively-anxious breathlessness.

Steve worries that he’s(.../she’s?) downplayed the problem here. Steve swallows, mouth dry, throat dry.

“No, I, I don’t just think about it, I like thinking about it. I like it when, um, the kids make fun of me by calling me, a, a mom, and I like when you or Max or El paints my nails, and I, I think about stealing your clothes sometimes and it makes me want to kill myself but I can’t, I can’t stop, I…” Steve is now hyperventilating.

Robin tackles Steve, and Steve’s horrible, traitorous mind wonders if she’ll wrap her hands around his(/her?) throat and kill her(/him?) rather than let him(her?) leave this room.

Steve opens her(/his?) mouth to, who knows, tell her that it’s okay? That he(/she?) understands? That she(/he?) loves her? But nothing comes out, and after a second, Steve realizes that it’s a hug. Obviously. And then Steve starts sobbing.

It takes a few minutes for Steve to stop losing… his? her? God, the thought of either makes Steve want to puke. It takes a few minutes for Steve to stop losing Steve’s mind. And Robin strokes Steve’s hair the whole time, and holds Steve the whole time, and whispers that it’s okay and that she loves Steve, the whole time. It kind of prolongs the sobbing, in a way, because Steve just can’t believe it. But Steve does eventually calm down.

“Steve,” Robin whispers.

Steve sniffles and swallows thickly. “Yeah?”

“It’s fine. You’re fine.”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Well,” says Robin, and then she pauses, like she’s thinking. Steve lets her. There’s a headache brewing in Steve’s temple, and the silence is nice, in a way.

“Well,” Robin starts up again. “I don’t think you’re weird, or messed up, and I definitely don’t hate you. We’ve seen bad things and bad people. And you’re not bad.”

“Well, I… if I’m not bad, or weird, for this, I don’t know what I am.” Steve can hardly believe how well Robin is taking this. It really shouldn’t surprise Steve at all, because Robin is so, so good, but this is something that Steve hates, and they’re usually a united front on that, when it really matters.

So… maybe Robin is right.

Robin climbs off of Steve, lays down next to Steve again. But instead of propping her legs up on the wall, like Steve for some goddamn reason is still doing, she curls next to Steve, facing Steve. Looking at Steve. Still holding Steve’s hands.

“We’ll figure it out.” She squeezes. Steve squeezes right back, and keeps the grip tight.

“Okay.”

They sit in silence, and Steve just… breathes. Tries to will the headache away; not happening, ugh. Drops the legs from the wall. Steve plays with Robin’s fingers, not even trying to process what had happened yet. That can wait til later.

After a few minutes, Robin speaks up again. “Are you okay with questions? If not, that’s fine.” And Steve knows she means it. She will totally drop it for the night and let them settle down and watch a movie or three. But Steve doesn’t really want that right now. Steve wants to stay in this space where, at least for now, what Steve is feeling is fine, and alright. Steve’s never had that before, for this.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “They’re okay.” Maybe they can do the figuring out thing right now. Maybe all of Steve’s problems will be solved tonight. Wouldn’t that be a relief? Robin pulls her hands away, and Steve hears the rasping of her shirt material being rubbed together between her fingers.

“So… do you want to be a girl?” The question doesn’t sound harsh leaving Robin’s mouth, but the words are heavy. It makes alarm bells ring in Steve’s head, forbidden question! Don’t think about it! Don’t think about it! Years of routine repression make it hard for Steve to even consider the question, but Steve tries. Slowly and agonizingly, Steve thinks about it. It genuinely takes a few minutes, but Robin can clearly sense that Steve is thinking about it, so she doesn’t interrupt. Steve loves her so much.

“Kinda,” Steve whispers. “It’s… I don’t know. Really. It’s stupid.”

“Nuh-uh. No stupid stuff right now. Just say how you feel.”

“I kinda wanna be half-girl. Like how I’m half-gay.” It feels stupid. It feels evil. It feels way too indulgent. Even in a perfect world, it’s one or the other. Steve can’t, like, hog them both. They cancel each other out. Right?

“Uh-huh?” Robin is prompting Steve to go on. Oh God.

“Um. Like. I still… like the guy parts of me, you know? I still like being a guy.” That feels really important to emphasize. Steve feels kind of insane, talking like this, actually getting Steve’s thoughts out into the real world. But Robin is still listening, no judgment. It kind of makes Steve want to cry again, but that would make the headache worse so, no thanks. “But I… I like the girl parts, too. I like when you call me Evie, but I don’t want you to stop calling me Steve.”

Steve can feel Robin shift, like she’s nodding. “Okay,” she says again.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. You can… you can be a half-girl, half-guy.” And it sounds simple and a little obscene, when she says it. Maybe not obscene. Maybe more like tantalizing.

“I don’t know,” Steve whispers. “Is that, like… allowed?”

Steve finally turns to look at Robin. Her eyes are big and full of thought. It feels stupid, thinking like that, but there’s nothing else to describe it. Steve can see the thoughts dancing around in her pupils and irises and whatever else is in an eye. It’s so beautiful. Steve loves her so much.

“... I think that you can do whatever you want,” Robin whispers back. “And be whatever you want.”

Steve’s face crumples, just a little bit. Not enough that it means tears, but enough to bring the idea to mind. Steve pinches Steve’s nose. “It can’t be that simple, though.”

Robin tilts her head in a way that can only be described as birdlike. She hates when people compare her to birds, just because of her name, but it fits right now, in the secrecy of Steve’s brain. She looks serious and intent. “Why not?”

“Nobody has ever done this before. I think.”

“Nobody that we know of. We live in Hawkins, Steve, we know like, 500 people. There are probably people in New York, or Chicago, or whatever, that feel exactly like you.”

Steve can’t reconcile with that. It feels so lonely, being like this. It feels inherently lonely.

“And even if you are the only one in the world that feels like this… Well, that’s fine! You can be whoever you want! Especially around me.” Robin grabs Steve’s hands in her own. Her hands are always so cold. Steve loves to hold them and feel them warm up bit by bit. It’s grounding, especially right now.

“I don’t want you to hide yourself. Not from me. I hid for so long, around everyone else, and it was killing me.” Robin’s eyes bore into Steve’s. “And I didn’t know it was killing me, but looking back, it’s like, wow, I was going to die.” Her voice cracks, just a little bit, and Steve makes an involuntary noise. Holds her hands just a little tighter. The warmth is already equalizing between them. “And, I don’t know. I don’t want you to get there. Or, if… you’re there already, I don’t want you getting any further.”

Sometimes it astounds Steve, just how much Robin gets things. This isn’t one of those times, though. It feels deeply right, and deeply sad.

“Alright,” Steve says.

“You won’t hide this from me? After this?”

A shake of the head. “No.” And it sounds so easy, promising this. Maybe it can be easy. Steve hopes it will be easy.

“I love you,” Robin says, and she pulls Steve into a hug. Steve melts into it. Robin gives very bony and kinda twitchy hugs, minute movements every few seconds, and Steve loves them. Robin, a while ago, maybe a couple months after Starcourt, had expressed anxiety about her hugs being ‘godawful uncomfortable,’ her words, but Steve had denied that fiercely. Her hugs were God’s gift to mankind, and if everyone else hated it, fine. More for Steve.

“I love you too,” Steve says into her chest.

They lapse into silence again. Steve thinks about asking for some water, but that would mean one or both of them leaving this room, and all possible configurations seem worse than the lack of water, right now. Steve presses closer into Robin.

“Another question.”

“Yeah?”

“So, you like Steve and Evie, and you’re a girl and a guy. Do you like he and she?”

There’s the dreaded question. Steve can’t hold back a groan. “I don’t know,” Steve says into her chest. “I’ve kinda, thought about it a bit, but… both of them feel weird, by themselves. I guess I like both, but only when they’re next to each other. I can’t really decide on one.”

Robin hums in consideration. “I mean, we’re making all this up as we go. If they don’t feel right by themselves, then why do they have to be by themselves?”

Steve thinks about it. “It feels like they’re supposed to cancel each other out,” Steve says, voicing a thought from earlier.

“They clearly don’t, at least in your case.” Robin presses her cheek to the top of Steve’s head, flattening the hair there. “Don’t think about how things should be. Think about what you want.”

What Steve wants. Okay.

He thinks about he. She thinks about she. And how, apart, they really only feel like half of himself, but together, they feel like they tell the whole story and show the whole picture.

Steve can’t help but think about those optical illusions Dustin had shown her a while back. The one with the two faces. If you concentrated, you see whichever one you wanted at will. And they seemed so opposed, yet so intertwined, and you couldn’t have one face without the other. Maybe he’s an optical illusion. It’s better than being evil.

“Okay. Yeah. Both are good.” Steve can feel Robin smile into her hair.

“Do you want me to use them both?”

Steve feels a flash of panic. “Um— augh. Not… not around other people, um, but—”

Robin squeezes him closer. “Oh, God, obviously!” she says, and Steve is so grateful that they’re on the same page, like, 90% of the time, and that this falls into that 90%. “I can sneak them into conversations between us. Pronouns don’t really pop up in conversations between two people, but maybe if we got a cat or a goldfish or a turtle I could talk to it about you in front of you. Or is that weird? Hm. It might be weird.”

Steve can’t help the smile dawning on her face. Maybe everything will be okay. “It’s kinda weird. But we should do it anyway.”

Robin laughs, and Steve still has his face buried in her chest, so he can feel it. “Yeah,” she says fondly. “I guess that hasn’t stopped us before.”

#steve harrington #robin buckley #stobin #trans steve harrington #genderqueer steve harrington #bigender steve harrington #stranger things #little by little. everyone will believe in my vision of bigender steve #and okay this wasn't really 'edited' or whatever the kids are saying these days but thats fine i'm still proud of this :)#i just love them so much <3 steve and robin figuring things out...#do not know how to write them without having a sappy ending its kinda just inherent in the stobin of it all #anyway ENJOYYYY me and my girlfriend are gonna go out and have a date day :)#quincy.txt #my fics

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steveharringtonsstrugglemeals · 1 year

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Ok, based on this post about a bunch of college dudes putting up a craigslist ad for a "BBQ Dad" to attend their backyard barbecue:

A No-Upside-Down AU where the Party is in college, freshly of legal drinking age, and they decide to throw an end-end-of-year backyard barbecue bash. However, as a group composed primarily of hardcore nerds (many of them lacking in paternal figures), they're not exactly the most qualified when it comes to top-tier grilling. More than that, they need someone who can bring the 'it-factor,' someone who can work a crowd and really get the party going. So naturally, Dustin claims, the logical move is to put an ad out in the paper.

Robin is the one who finds it — she buys a paper every day, reads Nancy's articles, then skips to the funnies and the advice column and finally the classifieds. Obviously she has to show Steve — c'mon, he'd be perfect! Steve can work a mean grill, he listens to dad music, he yells at sports on TV and wears khakis... He may only be pushing 30, but Steve has the energy of a middle-aged father-of-three.

Steve is embarrassed, but he's never one to turn down one of Robin's dares, so he writes a reply. It's not like those kids are actually going to respond to him anyway, they're probably looking for someone older, a real dad. Right?

The Party proves him wrong (for the first time but not the last) — they call him almost immediately and officially invite him to the barbecue. And Steve is a sucker who can't turn down such a nice group of kids, so the next thing he knows, he and Robin are loading his grill into the back of Eddie's van and headed across town to the shabby little house shared by Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Max.

(Eddie, by the way, is a grad student and friend of the Party's. He may be a 'real adult,' but he has no BBQ Dad vibes whatsoever and he downright refuses to be caught dead manning a grill.)

As far as the Party is concerned, Steve is the 'prophesied-hero' of paternal figures. He's the stuff of legends, the kind of father (in spirit) that all dads aspire to be. He shows up wearing khaki shorts and a polo shirt. He brings not only his own grill and grilling tools, but also a sun-powered radio already tuned to the local baseball broadcast. He calls the Party members 'kiddo' without a hint of irony on his face, and has the lamest but most contagious sense of humor they've ever heard. Just standing next to Steve (and what name is more dad-like than 'Steve'?) feels like shooting hoops on your driveway until the sun goes down, or washing the car as an excuse to hose off on a 90-degree day, or getting picked up after soccer practice, dirt-stained and weary, but happy down to the bone. And yes, his burgers and brats really are that good.

Naturally, Dustin immediately takes credit for finding him and doesn't hesitate to crow about it.

By the end of the evening, they've already made plans to throw another barbecue in a few weeks. Steve quickly becomes the official Party Dad, an inseparable member of the group. He doesn't just do barbecues either — whether they need a reliable ride, some sage advice, or a necktie tied, Steve is there for his kids.

#this got sappy oops but i'm a sucker for that shit #steve harrington #stranger things #dustin henderson #robin buckley #eddie munson #steddie #ronance #yes it's only lightly implied shh i know i'm sorry #dad steve harrington #shsm writes

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toasteaa · 1 month

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It's White Day, which means I get to go super sappy and think about how you gave Neuvillette a single rainbow rose for Valentine's Day with the excuse of it brightening up his office and matching his eyes just a bit, and now you've just come into your office to a bouquet of rainbow roses with no obvious sender, but a little note nestled within the blooms with that familiar, elegantly looping script that just says "Thank you".

Is it a confession? A confirmation of mutual attraction? Or is he just mimicking what he's seen other humans do before? You don't really know and you don't really want to overthink the possibilities; just sit at your desk and watch how the roses seem to sparkle lightly in the filtered sunlight streaming into the room.

#toast talks #genshin impacted #I don't know what's happening to me I'm getting so sappy and lovesick eueueue #I just want...to get a bouquet of rainbow roses...even just a single one because they're so pretty...#this is the single scenario that will get me through the work day today. I can feel it hhhh #genshin x reader #genshin x you #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #yeah yeah I know it's not as long as my usual Neuvillette thoughts but...I just wanna give him flowers 🥺

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30-3am · 9 months

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it's the 3rd of august on this side of the world so...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY MOST FAVOURITE MAN IN THE WORLD!!!

love this old man to pieces.

wouldn't know what to do if i didn't have him to cry over <33

thank you jamie for feeding my delusions and fuelling my writing.

oh and thanks for calling me baby and winking at me. made my whole year. i don't go a day without thinking about it.

love you so much 🤗🤗

my favourite 60 year old...

#james hetfield #metallica #happy fucking birthday baby #just so everyone knows #i would've given him the best birthday head #...#anyways #i'm saying this shit so i don't get too sappy on main #fuck it i'm always sappy on main #i love this man #he's helped me through so much shit #everyone says it #but i don't think i'd be here without him or his music #and i adore him #seriously adore him #i can't believe he's 60 #i hope he has such a good birthday #he seriously deserves the world and my heart #okay i'm gonna stop 😭

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blatantlyhidden · 18 days

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forever grateful for the community we've built and the friends i've made here <3

#the fact that i know so many of you by name makes it feel like a family to me #as cheesy as it may sound #i'm sorry but it's sappy hours #and i love you all #käärijä

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starflungwaddledee · 2 months

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this is a long shot and i'm sorry to ask, but if you don't mind, can mutuals (or contacts or regulars... just... this community) of mine who aren't jumping ship like... let me know? will any of us still be here? is it over? i'm trying to know if this really is it or what's... even happening. i hate to reassurance seek but i'm feeling pretty miserable and confused.

edit: felt like i was being really pitiful and fragile making this but everybody is being so nice to me and responding so patiently with all your thoughts and i'm in tears of gratitude thank you thank you thank you 💖

#i glanced and thought they brought out a feature so that we could turn off ai access #that seemed... okay? i thought? but now i'm really confused. i don't know. i'm so tired and scared. i just can't... keep doing this #i know this is stupid but this feels like it's my fault.#it happens every time i find something. if i'm happy somewhere. it just.... poof. goes away. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry #on the edit: i would only *ever* think this about myself. double standards that i hold for myself are high. i expect emotional control #& performance from myself only. i would never think badly of anyone else being stressed about this or anything. thank you for your kindness #this community has been so beautiful and kind at every turn. i'm so grateful to get to be here and meet you all #okay... being really sappy now. y'all get to see my anxiety first hand today!! whee!! anyway. i'll get it together. haha! thank you.

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 8 days

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I've always felt that it'd be Killua who initiates the first hug we see between him and Gon

#i have my reasons for this #i feel like i'm in the minority though... i know gon is honest and much more emotionally expressive #but he's not actually more tactile than killua #i... i actually do think that it's killua who initiates much of the contact between them (fistbumps and poking and hand on shoulder)#if i'm not mistaken anyways #and he's very tactile with alluka and nanika (carrying + hugs + handholding)#granted that's his sister(s) but still. killua is far from touch averse - his getting embarrassed is a cute trait to be sure #but i do think he'll get a bit better at accepting that kind of thing once he's had some time with alluka and nanika #a lot of that does come after all from his feelings of unworthiness - and now that his sisters need open affection after so long being alon #he's going to have to gain at least some comfort with giving and receiving love #gon and mito go for hugs either at the same time or mito initiates. gon hugs leorio in the scene right after he's revived #but idk idk i just feel like he won't be the first to initiate a hug with killua especially since i suspect he still feels quite guilty #i think it would show growth on both their parts. not to mention it'd be very sweet to have gon a bit blindsided + happily surprised #as he's the one typically honest and forthright with appreciation and compliments while killua is. not. lmao #i think he should receive a nice hug from his best friend. and then i think they would both know it's gonna be ok. :')#storyrambles #hunter x hunter #hxh #killua zoldyck #gon freecss #this is so sappy. what's wrong with me. this is what they do to me.

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spaceratprodigy · 6 months

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i JUST saw ur ask prompt so i hopee this ask is still okay butttt 📺 - tbh im getting a little weepy thinking about delilah and iris in the dark on the couch with their blankies :') who would be the scaredy cat and who would be the one thats too cool to be scared (but maybe not too cool to comfort her scared friend 🥺) ???

@oldworldwidgets — [ autumnal prompts ]

I have been nonstop thinking about my favoritest ladies in the commonwealth being besties all snuggly on the couch!! I love them sm!! Thank u for this banger prompt ily 💖💕

#hello I am going to need this painted on the insides of my eyelids so I can look at them forever #I am weeping I am on the floor I am holding the girls so gently in my hands #they deserve good things they deserve cozy time together on the couch they deserve to hug and know everything is going to be okay #I know I was all sappy last night but!! I love delilah sm!! I love her!! our girls have stolen my whole ass heart and soul #I'm always delighted to see her and hear abt her and read abt her and eeeee I'm so excited to have drawn her now!!#ily friend ur always so wonderful #also I've said it once but I'll say it again 😤#sorry deacon but that's her girl now ✌😔#my art #friend oc #sole survivor #fallout #fallout 4 #fo4

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a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual · 9 months

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Nimona headcanons cause I love this chaotic little family

I’ve seen a lot of people say Ambrosius is a morning person and Bal is a night owl

And I have to respectfully disagree

Will Bal pull some all-nighters in the lab? Absolutely

But this man is the most early bird coded character I’ve ever seen in my entire life

When he isn't fully invested in a project he can't stay up past 10 pm

He wakes up at 6 am refreshed and barely needs caffeine

I’ve also seen a lot of people say he’s a dedicated coffee drinker but something about this man screams “Coffee gives me migraines”

Ambrosius on the other hand

That’s an insomniac if I’ve ever seen one

He’ll get ready for bed around 9 and then stay up til 3 in the morning

Poor babe needs coffee in an IV

He used to wake up really early back in the institute cause he was forced to run a mile every minute he was late to class

And he’s a heavy sleeper so after the wall came down and he quit being a knight he wouldn't wake up before 1 pm even with Bals help

And Nimona is just as bad

Most nights Ambrosius will leave the room because he moves a lot when he can’t sleep and Bal is a light sleeper

He’ll sit in the living room watching tv while trying to sleep and most of the time Nimona will join him

Every once and a while Bal will find them laying on top of each other on the couch and will take them back to their respective beds

And if you’re wondering what their favorite show to watch together is it’s those house-flipping shows

But not for the reason you think

Most people watch those shows cause they think it’s inspiring

Ambrosius and Nimona talk about how terrible these people are at their jobs

They’ll go on hour-long rants about how these people are stripping the houses of everything that made them a home

(Ambrosius is a sentimental bitch and would be a maximalist after leaving the institute prove me wrong)

When Nimona is bored she’ll go into the city disguised as Bal or Ambrosius

And she’ll fool literally everyone it’s a pretty common occurrence for the boys to be at home and then they hear the other swearing like a damn sailor because there are already news articles about it

The only people she can’t fool are Bal and Ambrosius

Bal will shut them down almost immediately

They’ll walk over to Bal and won’t even get a word out before Bal says “Shift back Nim you’re freaking me out”

They always make a big deal out of being caught making big decorations like “I’m getting better and one day I’ll fool you”

And he’ll hum in agreement but he knows that it doesn’t matter how good he gets or how observant he is he’ll be able to fully copy every little detail

The details that Bal has spent the past decade and a half remembering

You know the little things like how he can’t say Bal or Nimona’s names without smiling even when he’s pissed

Or how he scrunches his nose when he laughs

Ambrosius always acts like Nimona tricked him

He’ll let them get comfortable in the character and then he’ll drop the bomb

Something small and inconspicuous like “Hey Nim do you want pizza for dinner?” and they’ll excitedly proclaim “Hell yeah pizza!”

It takes them a second to realize they’ve been played and when they do they never make a big deal about it

They normally just mumble a curse or two and walk away with their tail between their legs (literally)

The first time Nimona tried to trick Ambrosius was when he was having one of those days

You know the days when even breathing feels like a fucking battle

This was in a really awkward period too

Like right after Nimona and Ambrosius started trusting each other but right before they really started to get to know each other

But she knew the boys well enough to know if Bal came home to a sad Ambrosius then he’d be in a bad mood for the rest of the day

And she knows that the only thing that can cure a mopey Ambrosius is Bal

She walked into the room and started talking to Ambrosius and was kind of surprised and a little bit peeved about how well she was fooling him

Until he said “You can drop the act Nim I know it’s you”

They kind of just sat in that silence for a minute until Nimona said the first thing that came to her mind

“You want me to find my sax?”

Bal shouldn’t have been surprised to find Nimona disguised as him serenading Ambrosius with the worst freestyle jazz he’s ever heard (which is saying something)

He didn’t even say anything he just sat down and cuddled the love of his life while watching their kid try and play the sax while breakdancing

#nimona 2023 #nimona movie #nimona headcanon #nimona #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister x ambrosius #goldenheart #those dorks know each other better than they know themselves #I'm fully convinced Bal has spent days counting the freckles and beauty marks on Ambrosius' face #Cause they're sappy like that #Nimona isn't the best at comforting people #it's a real learning curve #especially cause these boys have a sadness that runs crazy deep #I'm sending all of these poor traumatized bubs to therapy #this is so long #I think it’s the longest post I’ve made in a while

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cuubism · 1 year

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Derivation

followup to Complex Mathematics

----

“Dream,” calls Death, coming through the front door of their flat, “it’s two in the afternoon, if you’re still asleep I swear to God—”

She skids to a stop in the kitchen, grocery bags swinging in her hands.

“Oh, hey Death,” greets Hob, casually, from where he’s standing at the stove… cooking? He’s barefoot, hair unkempt, t-shirt and jeans loose and rumpled.

“Uh,” says Death, then collects herself enough to keep walking, depositing her groceries on the counter. “Hi, Hob?”

Death doesn’t really invite people over to their flat. Dream doesn’t like it and she does try to respect at least some of his wishes. It’s because of her he doesn’t live alone in the first place, so it’s the least she can do.

(Although if he could get it together enough to manage even a semblance of a functional human life without continual supervision, neither of them would have this problem in the first place.)

So someone being here is… unexpected, to say the least.

Hob looks up at her with a smile, but there’s some tightness to it, as if he’s not sure if she’ll be upset with him being here. She isn’t, of course. It’s not like Hob is some stranger.

She is confused, though.

“Need any… help there?” she asks, sitting at the kitchen table. What is he cooking, anyway? It looks like… crepes?

He chuckles, shoulders relaxing. “Nah, almost finished. You want some coffee? Tea?”

Still feeling knocked askew, Death says, “Sure. Coffee’s great.”

Hob hands her a mug, black, because of course he knows how she takes it. He’s just… like that. How someone like that actually managed to squirm under her brother’s defenses is still a mystery, but Death is glad of it.

She’d had the fleeting thought, the first time Hob had mentioned running into Dream, before he’d even known he was Death’s brother – “met the weirdest bloke the other day, why is it always the weird ones that are the most compelling?” – that there might be… something. That his sheer determination to be fascinated with Dream, despite Dream’s continued efforts to make sure no one got close enough to become fascinated, might at least get her brother to socialize and get out of the house.

Hob and Dream were complete opposites, of course. Hob’s interests were varied and diverse – he and Death had met by bonding over obscure historical trivia that no one else knew nor cared about, after all – while Dream was myopic to the point of fault; Hob got out and socialized and engaged in activities while Dream kept to himself unless he was forced to be somewhere; Hob was cheerful and engaging and Dream was… well… Dream.

And yet.

“Sorry for just… being in your flat,” Hob says with a tiny laugh.

“I’m sure you have your reasons,” Death says sagely, and Hob flashes her a caught-out sort of look, but not without amusement in it.

Death isn’t blind. She’d sussed out Hob’s developing feelings for her brother pretty quick. He was quite possibly the only man insane enough to have feelings that got stronger over time, instead of fracturing the first time Dream sent a withering glare his way. Whether Dream would ever get with the program had been the real question.

She hadn’t thought in a million years that Hob would get him on the same page this fast. Clearly, he has Dream-whispering powers she hadn’t thought possible.

Except.

“Wait, is he—”

“He’s fine,” Hob says quickly, and Death lets out a relieved breath. It’s the only other reason Hob might be randomly in her flat in the close-to-morning hours. If something had happened. “Still sleeping, though. Creature of the night and all.”

Death laughs. “He’s not a vampire.”

“No?” Hob says with a grin. “I’ve never been totally sure.”

The door to Dream’s bedroom creaks open. Oh, Death thinks, sipping her coffee. This will be interesting.

“Hob,” Dream groans, voice still rough with sleep. Death hears him coming irritatedly down the hall before she sees him. “It is early and you are being loud.”

“It’s two p.m.,” says Death, just as he reaches the kitchen, a horrible, gleeful grin on her face.

Dream stops just at the threshold of the kitchen doorway, swaying forward with the force of it. He stares at her, and Death sees the minute thought of fuck flash behind his eyes.

It only makes her laugh. “Come on. I’m only going to make fun of you a little. What are big sisters for, if not that?”

“For leaving me alone,” Dream grumbles. Hob steps over and presses a cup of coffee into his numb hands, then wraps his arms around him, swaying him a little with it, kissing his cheek. Death thinks she hears him murmur good morning into his skin. He gets a tiny smile out of Dream for his efforts.

Death watches with wide eyes. Is this… her brother… allowing a hug without being bribed into it?

Oh, oh, this is excellent, this is delightful.

He crumples into a seat beside Death at the table as Hob returns to the stove, plating his crepes, or whatever they are. Dream’s hair is flattened on one side by his pillow, and a complete mess elsewhere. He’s wearing a sweater that definitely does not belong to him.

It’s the best thing that Death has seen in her entire life. She’s going to buy Hob dinner for weeks.

“So,” she says, with barely restrained glee, leaning on the table and propping her head in her hands. “This is a development.”

Hob shoots her a smile. Dream shoots her a murderous glare.

Hob sits down at the table, passing them both plates of crepes. Death digs into hers. They’re delicious, layered and full of strawberries and cream. Dream, meanwhile, stares at his plate like the concept of food personally offends him.

Hob pokes his arm.

Dream picks up his fork.

Death grins around her next bite of crepes.

“So…” she starts again. “Seems like you two had an interesting day yesterday.”

“Yeah, Dream solved an iconic maths problem,” Hob says, sidestepping her real query with a shit-eating grin. “How many years did that go unsolved, Dream?”

“Eighty-five,” Dream grumbles around a mouthful of crepes. He slants a look at Death. “Please, do not ask.”

A startled laugh jumps up the back of Death’s throat. “Did I just hear a please come out of your mouth? Have I stepped into an alternate universe?”

Dream just keeps staring at her, gaze hard, but with a pinch of anxiety at the corners of his eyes. Wow, this really matters to him, enough that he wants to protect it from even Death’s good-natured probing.

This thing with him and Hob, whatever it is, is new and fragile, at least in Dream’s eyes. And Death knows well the way emotions challenge and weigh on her brother.

She relents, laying her hand on Dream’s upper arm and meeting his eyes in reassurance. Come now, you know I’d never truly try to upset you. “Talk to me sometime soon, yeah?”

He nods, relaxing, and turns back to his crepes.

Hob watches them, bemused but fond, not questioning them. But he takes Dream’s hand on the tabletop, running his thumb back and forth over his knuckles.

Death takes a sip of her coffee and smiles into the mug.

------

She corners Hob in the hallway as she’s on her way back out to work. He leans against the wall, hands in his pockets, casual and easy.

“Is this where I get a shovel talk?” he asks.

Death scoffs. “If anyone needs that, it’s Dream.”

Hob laughs, sharp and surprised. “Well. I guess I’ll count myself lucky. I can imagine your kind of shovel talk, and it’s terrifying.”

It’s sort of gratifying to know she can be intimidating when needed. “In that case, we definitely don’t need to have that discussion. I’ll let the imagined me do the talking. But in all seriousness, Hob, it’s not needed. I know you.”

Hob tugs at his ear, fidgeting under the compliment. His gaze drifts automatically back towards the kitchen, where Dream is still sitting, out of earshot. Then he flashes Death a guilty little grin and whispers conspiratorially, “I’m kind of obsessed with him, you know.”

Death smiles. “I’m aware.”

Dream is categorically obsessed with him as well, Death has heard about it at length – but she’ll let him admit that to Hob himself.

------

When Hob returns to the kitchen, Dream is still sitting at the kitchen table, deliberating whether he should eat the rest of the crepes. On the one hand, Dream is not generally in the habit of eating regularly. On the other hand, it would certainly make Hob happy if he did so.

This, his feelings for Hob, this… relationship, such that it is – it is a far more complicated problem than any mathematical proof.

Dream is not… good at relationships. But it’s already becoming far too tempting to let himself pretend this one won’t end in fire like the others.

Hob wraps his arms around Dream’s shoulders, tucking his face into the crook of Dream’s neck. He’s very physically affectionate now that he feels he’s allowed to be so. Dream can’t help but soak it in like he’s been out in the cold and Hob is long sought-after warmth. He tips his head into Hob’s temple.

“Is it really so horrible for your sister to know about us?” Hob murmurs against his skin, stubble scratching Dream’s jaw.

“No,” says Dream. Death cares, he knows, and he trusts her – a rare thing. It’s just— “I merely want to… think about it. For myself, first.”

Hob is… Dream had meant it when he’d said Hob was stymying. He is hard for Dream to wrap his mind around, and his own feelings for him even more so. He’s not like Dream’s previous romantic entanglements. He makes Dream feel… settled.

“Ah, keep it in its little bubble, I see,” Hob says, and Dream nods. More teasing now, Hob adds, “Keep the problem in your head until you can solve it.”

Unlike so many others, Hob understands. But not because he feels the same. It's because he listens, and believes what Dream says about his own feelings, whether they make outward sense or not.

“Yes,” says Dream. “You know I do not care to work aloud.”

Hob steps around the chair so he’s facing him, and holds Dream’s face between his hands. He looks softer and more rumpled than Dream is used to seeing him, and an echo of the heat of Hob’s bare skin as he held Dream through the night flashes through him. Dream tips his face up to meet his gaze.

“This matters a lot to you, doesn’t it?” Hob says, thumbs stroking back and forth over his cheeks.

Dream hesitates, then nods. The admission is worth it for the way a brilliant smile spreads across Hob’s face. He has a mesmerizing smile; his eyes literally sparkle. It’s completely unreasonable.

Hob kisses him, still smiling. Dream doesn’t know how to reciprocate that kind of outward expression of feeling, so he doesn’t try. He just kisses Hob back.

“God, you’re so pretty,” Hob says, when they’ve separated. He runs a hand through Dream’s hair and it flies up in all directions.

“Am I?”

“Mmhmm. Your eyeliner’s all smudgy right now, though.”

Dream pouts, and Hob laughs. “Don’t worry, it’s cute.”

Dream studies him. The scattered swoop of his hair, still disheveled from sleep, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, his broad shoulders, the grounding warmth of his hands where they still hold Dream’s face.

“Pretty is not the right word for you,” he decides.

Hob laughs so loudly, just pure shock and glee, and— ah. This is another one of those instances when Dream has said something unintentionally insulting. Hob never seems to take true offense to it, though.

“What is the right word, then?” he asks, when he’s calmed down.

“Vital,” Dream tells him. “It has two meanings, as you know. Full of life. And—”

“Important,” Hob says, smile softening.

“Necessary,” Dream corrects. “To me,” he adds, in case that clarification is needed.

Hob keeps smiling at him like that, and Dream ducks his head. Hob kisses his cheek. “You’re just a sap deep down, aren’t you?”

“I resent that,” Dream says, but doesn’t move him away.

“You resent everything,” Hob replies. “Kiss me.”

Dream lets Hob drag him to his feet and into another kiss. Hob holds him in his arms, swaying him back and forth. Which one of them is the sap, exactly?

He lets Hob do it, though. Pulling away from Hob’s touch is an effort Dream’s not capable of at the moment.

“I think we should keep working on this problem,” Hob says. “Give you some more time to figure it out.”

“Oh?”

Hob tugs him backwards, grinning. “Didn’t make enough progress last night, I don’t think.”

Dream follows him with slow steps, raising an eyebrow. “You are very mathematically inclined at the moment, Hob.”

“Oh, love, you have no idea.” Hob smiles at him, warm and teasing, eyes crinkling at the corners. It’s far more effective at getting Dream's heartbeat to tick up than any attempt at seduction would be. “You have no idea just how mathematically inclined I am right now.”

“Perhaps not,” Dream admits, voice low. He squeezes Hob’s hands. “But I would like to find out.”

#this is like. unnacceptably sappy. it's too much #physically hurt myself with how enamored dream is with hob in this #ack #dream when hob smiles at him: i'm gonna die help #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling #death's name is still death bc honestly who cares i dont #maybe it's a nickname or like her gamer handle or something who knows XD #my writing #complex mathematics

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