#[I think I have a better recording device to use for this]

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

I genuinely have no clue what you're saying.

Yes, private, personal creativity is not inherently capitalist. No one is bound to selling their art, which is great. It's one of the things that makes art very freeing. But most art related hobbies cost money - pencils, markers, paint, paper, etc. and as with most other things within capitalism, those things have gotten more expensive over the years, which makes it more difficult for artists to afford their hobbies on top of being able to afford basic necessities. And there is always social pressure to use the most expensive versions of things, and often times people are mislead into believing that if you use the most expensive supplies, you will make 'better' art because of it.

(Which is not true. If you are someone who is into practical art in anyway - drawing, painting, anything in that realm, please use cheap supplies. When I do draw, I use the cheapest markers possible on cheap lined dollar store paper, and it's more fun that way.)

Also, for the record, I am not at all saying that art supplies have to be expensive or should be expensive. Use cheap art supplies, use free art supplies, use thrifted art supplies. Take things out of the garbage and use those. Because art being 'too expensive' is often an excuse Pro-AI people use, and I fucking hate AI. I am just saying that when you make art that takes supplies, you are bound to run out - but you can never run out of words on a screen.

People are often pressured and incentivised to capitalise their art and make money off it. When I used to primarily focus on drawing as my main hobby, I was constantly told 'you should sell those' 'you should do commissions' - people who knit are pressured to sell pieces, people who paint are asked to sell their work. People who have visible artistic are constantly pressured to use that talent to make money, and this can be incredibly appealing to do when your art supplies cost money and you want to make up that money in return.

And one of the huge reasons that I was drawn toward fanfiction is that it is the one hobby I can think of that is genuinely free and never requires the exchange of money anywhere. Yes, you need some kind of device to write on, and you need wi-fi to post your stories, but those are things you usually pay for anyway - so it's like saying that water is 'free' for a recipe because you pay for utilities anyway.

Also, I genuinely have no clue what you mean by this:

"And if you want to really argue it. Fanfic can be capitalistic--what do you suspect remakes and remasters are?"

Fanfiction is something that is written by a fan based on copyrighted material. In that case, it can never be monetized because it's based on coptrighted characters and universes - if you're talking about things like 50 Shades being a Twilight fanfiction or Alien: Romulus being a 'fanfiction' of the original Alien movie, that's not fanfiction. If someone removes the copyrighted aspects in order to make money, or if someone is given permission to use copyrighted characters in order to make money off it, it's not fanfiction.

I know people joke around that 'Dante's Inferno is RPF' - but it's not.

True fanfiction can never make money because of the laws around it. So fanfiction can never function as a part of capitalism. If it does, it's not fanfiction.

(The only exception I can think of is when something comes into the public domain? And often those turn into personal, more in-depth interpretations and re-tellings of a public IP rather than it being a fanfiction. That goes into 'fanfiction with the serial numbers rubbed off' territory.)

I just saw someone say "there is no ethical consumption under capitalism" as an argument for boycotting AO3

Babe AO3 is a nonprofit. They do not exist under the ethics of capitalism. Fanfiction is legal because no money is ever exchanged around it. (All the money given to AO3 is used to maintain their servers and pay their lawyers to help keep fanfiction legal.)

Fanfiction is one of the few things in this world - probably the one singular form of entertainment that does not exist within the confines of capitalism. So by your own logic, even if you hate some of the content on AO3, it's inherently the only ethical thing to consume in the whole world.

[sophiamcdougall]

You're a reasonably informed person on the internet. You've experienced things like no longer being able to get files off an old storage device, media you've downloaded suddenly going poof, sites and forums with troves full of people's thoughts and ideas vanishing forever. You've heard of cybercrime. You've read articles about lost media. You have at least a basic understanding that digital data is vulnerable, is what I'm saying. I'm guessing that you're also aware that history is, you know... important? And that it's an ongoing study, requiring ... data about how people live? And that it's not just about stanning celebrities that happen to be dead? Congratulations, you are significantly better-informed than the British government! So they're currently like "Oh hai can we destroy all these historical documents pls? To save money? Because we'll digitise them first so it's fine! That'll be easy, cheap and reliable -- right? These wills from the 1850s will totally be fine for another 170 years as a PNG or whatever, yeah? We didn't need to do an impact assesment about this because it's clearly win-win! We'd keep the physical wills of Famous People™ though because Famous People™ actually matter, unlike you plebs. We don't think there are any equalities implications about this, either! Also the only examples of Famous People™ we can think of are all white and rich, only one is a woman and she got famous because of the guy she married. Kisses!"

Yes, this is the same Government that's like "Oh no removing a statue of slave trader is erasing history :(" You have, however, until 23 February 2024 to politely inquire of them what the fuck they are smoking. And they will have to publish a summary of the responses they receive. And it will look kind of bad if the feedback is well-argued, informative and overwhelmingly negative and they go ahead and do it anyway. I currently edit documents including responses to consultations like (but significantly less insane) than this one. Responses do actually matter. I would particularly encourage British people/people based in the UK to do this, but as far as I can see it doesn't say you have to be either. If you are, say, a historian or an archivist, or someone who specialises in digital data do say so and draw on your expertise in your answers. This isn't a question of filling out a form. You have to manually compose an email answering the 12 questions in the consultation paper at the link above. I'll put my own answers under the fold. Note -- I never know if I'm being too rude in these sorts of things. You probably shouldn't be ruder than I have been.

Please do not copy and paste any of this: that would defeat the purpose. This isn't a petition, they need to see a range of individual responses. But it may give you a jumping-off point.

Question 1: Should the current law providing for the inspection of wills be preserved?

Yes. Our ability to understand our shared past is a fundamental aspect of our heritage. It is not possible for any authority to know in advance what future insights they are supporting or impeding by their treatment of material evidence. Safeguarding the historical record for future generations should be considered an extremely important duty.

Question 2: Are there any reforms you would suggest to the current law enabling wills to be inspected?

No.

Question 3: Are there any reasons why the High Court should store original paper will documents on a permanent basis, as opposed to just retaining a digitised copy of that material?

Yes. I am amazed that the recent cyber attack on the British Library, which has effectively paralysed it completely, not been sufficient to answer this question for you.  I also refer you to the fate of the Domesday Project. Digital storage is useful and can help more people access information; however, it is also inherently fragile. Malice, accident, or eventual inevitable obsolescence not merely might occur, but absolutely should be expected. It is ludicrously naive and reflects a truly unpardonable ignorance to assume that information preserved only in digital form is somehow inviolable and safe, or that a physical document once digitised, never need be digitised again..At absolute minimum, it should be understood as certain that at least some of any digital-only archive will eventually be permanently lost. It is not remotely implausible that all of it would be. Preserving the physical documents provides a crucial failsafe. It also allows any errors in reproduction -- also inevitable-- to be, eventually, seen and corrected. Note that maintaining, upgrading and replacing digital infrastructure is not free, easy or reliable. Over the long term, risks to the data concerned can only accumulate.

"Unlike the methods for preserving analog documents that have been honed over millennia, there is no deep precedence to look to regarding the management of digital records. As such, the processing, long-term storage, and distribution potential of archival digital data are highly unresolved issues. [..] the more digital data is migrated, translated, and re-compressed into new formats, the more room there is for information to be lost, be it at the microbit-level of preservation. Any failure to contend with the instability of digital storage mediums, hardware obsolescence, and software obsolescence thus meets a terminal end—the definitive loss of information. The common belief that digital data is safe so long as it is backed up according to the 3-2-1 rule (3 copies on 2 different formats with 1 copy saved off site) belies the fact that it is fundamentally unclear how long digital information can or will remain intact. What is certain is that its unique vulnerabilities do become more pertinent with age."  -- James Boyda, On Loss in the 21st Century: Digital Decay and the Archive, Introduction.

Question 4: Do you agree that after a certain time original paper documents (from 1858 onwards) may be destroyed (other than for famous individuals)? Are there any alternatives, involving the public or private sector, you can suggest to their being destroyed?

Absolutely not. And I would have hoped we were past the "great man" theory of history. Firstly, you do not know which figures will still be considered "famous" in the future and which currently obscure individuals may deserve and eventually receive greater attention. I note that of the three figures you mention here as notable enough to have their wills preserved, all are white, the majority are male (the one woman having achieved fame through marriage) and all were wealthy at the time of their death. Any such approach will certainly cull evidence of the lives of women, people of colour and the poor from the historical record, and send a clear message about whose lives you consider worth remembering.

Secondly, the famous and successsful are only a small part of our history. Understanding the realities that shaped our past and continue to mould our present requires evidence of the lives of so-called "ordinary people"!

Did you even speak to any historians before coming up with this idea?

Entrusting the documents to the private sector would be similarly disastrous. What happens when a private company goes bust or decides that preserving this material is no longer profitable? What reasonable person, confronted with our crumbling privatised water infrastructure, would willingly consign any part of our heritage to a similar fate?

Question 5: Do you agree that there is equivalence between paper and digital copies of wills so that the ECA 2000 can be used?

No. And it raises serious questions about the skill and knowledge base within HMCTS and the government that the very basic concepts of data loss and the digital dark age appear to be unknown to you. I also refer you to the Domesday Project.

Question 6: Are there any other matters directly related to the retention of digital or paper wills that are not covered by the proposed exercise of the powers in the ECA 2000 that you consider are necessary?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 7: If the Government pursues preserving permanently only a digital copy of a will document, should it seek to reform the primary legislation by introducing a Bill or do so under the ECA 2000?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 8: If the Government moves to digital only copies of original will documents, what do you think the retention period for the original paper wills should be? Please give reasons and state what you believe the minimum retention period should be and whether you consider the Government’s suggestion of 25 years to be reasonable.

There is no good version of this plan. The physical documents should be preserved.

Question 9: Do you agree with the principle that wills of famous people should be preserved in the original paper form for historic interest?

This question betrays deep ignorance of what "historic interest" actually is. The study of history is not simply glorified celebrity gossip. If anything, the physical wills of currently famous people could be considered more expendable as it is likely that their contents are so widely diffused as to be relatively "safe", whereas the wills of so-called "ordinary people" will, especially in aggregate, provide insights that have not yet been explored.

Question 10: Do you have any initial suggestions on the criteria which should be adopted for identifying famous/historic figures whose original paper will document should be preserved permanently?

Abandon this entire lamentable plan. As previously discussed, you do not and cannot know who will be considered "famous" in the future, and fame is a profoundly flawed criterion of historical significance.

Question 11: Do you agree that the Probate Registries should only permanently retain wills and codicils from the documents submitted in support of a probate application? Please explain, if setting out the case for retention of any other documents.

No, all the documents should be preserved indefinitely.

Question 12: Do you agree that we have correctly identified the range and extent of the equalities impacts under each of these proposals set out in this consultation? Please give reasons and supply evidence of further equalities impacts as appropriate.

No. You appear to have neglected equalities impacts entirely. As discussed, in your drive to prioritise "famous people", your plan will certainly prioritise the white, wealthy and mostly the male, as your "Charles Dickens, Charles Darwin and Princess Diana" examples amply indicate. This plan will create a two-tier system where evidence of the lives of the privileged is carefully preserved while information regarding people of colour, women, the working class and other disadvantaged groups is disproportionately abandoned to digital decay and eventual loss. Current and future historians from, or specialising in the history of minority groups will be especially impoverished by this.  

[synvil]

light as a feather // bf! rafe cameron

synopsis : you hesitant to ask your boyfriend to try a trend your friends show you, afraid of being too heavy, but he proves you wrong. mentions of insecurity.

“have you seen this trend around, [name]?”

tilting her phone towards you so you can view the screen better, a tiktok compilation began to play.

it’s a compilation of various couples with pretty much the same thing, all the boyfriends lifting their partners onto their shoulders, while an audio edit of rihanna’s breakin’ dishes plays in the background.

“uh, i think I’ve seen one or two of it. why?” you ask, pulling your cup to your lips and taking a sip through the straw. “have you considered asking rafe to try it with you?” kie asks and you furrow your brows. “why would i do that?”

“because it’s fun! you can see if rafe is strong.” kie laughs as sarah pulls out her own phone and the two girls scroll through their device. “we did it too!”

in sync, the two turn their phones your way and the audio plays, with john b lifting sarah while she crosses her leg and flashes a confident smile, while jj does the same for kie, with the two grinning proudly and laughing in the video.

the sight makes you smile as you chuckle and pull away. “how cute.”

“c’mon, you should try it with rafe! make a video and send it to us and we can post it on our socials~!” sarah beams and you sigh, swirling your beverage. “i don’t know, rafe isn’t really into the stuff.. and besides i might be too heavy for him.”

“don’t be silly, rafe is probably stronger than both john b and jj, honestly.” kie grunts out, not particularly thrilled about her compliment to rafe but you laugh at that.

“maybe, but still.. we’ll see.”

“hey, rafe?”

“yeah, baby?” glancing up from his phone, his eyes travel to you standing from the doorway of the living room entrance and you smile faintly, taking a stride towards your boyfriend seated on the couch.

instinctively, he opens his arms and you climb into his lap and pull out your phone. “have you seen this?” you show him the same compilation video from earlier.

rafe watches it and scrunches his nose briefly before returning to his normal neutral expression. “yeah, what about it? topper told me about it. he struggled lifting ruthie a bit.” he scoffs.

“can we try it?..” the hesitance in your voice makes him confused. “why are you being so shy about it, baby?”

your lips unconsciously curl into a small frown as you rest on his chest. “I don’t know.. I might be too heavy for you.. but kie and sarah want me to do this tiktok thing and-“

rafe suddenly brings his hands to your hips, firmly gripping the flesh before standing up and lifting you with ease into the air, high up making you squeal and clutch onto him. “rafe!”

your boyfriend grins at your reaction as he carefully places you onto his shoulder, hand resting atop of your thighs while the other holds yours to steady you.

“don’t underestimate me again, sweetheart. you’re light as a feather.”

bonus : you managed to convince rafe to do it for a tiktok video, even though he wasn’t particularly excited about recording himself doing it, he did it anyways to make you happy.

as the audio plays, rafe tosses you up and lands you in his shoulder without so much of a flinch, and he’s smirking while you hide your flushed face in embarrassment.

sending the video to kie and sarah, the three of you posted your individual videos to your socials and garnered quite the view count.

rafe who saw, hums curiously. “i suppose doing more to expand your followers couldn’t hurt.”

a/n : hope you enjoy! i’m tryna think of tiktok trends lol these short things w rafe seem so cute :)) let me know your thoughts! <3

[rafesangelita]

♡ WHEN YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW - PROLOGUE :: nothing could’ve ever prepared you for the handsome kook that came crashing into your life.. quite literally. it’s hard to think that at one point you and rafe didn’t know one another, especially since you two have spent every passing day together for the last four months.

warnings: drug use, driving under the influence, reckless driving, rafe arguing with ward, descriptions of a mild injury, mentions of addiction and sobriety, blood, reader tends to rafe’s wounds, fluff, opposite of slowburn, forced proximity (?), time skip (from four months ago to the current day), slight angst

a/n: ahhhhh!! it’s finally here, and i couldn’t be more excited to share this with all of you!! all feedback is deeply appreciated <3 feel free to ask to be added to the taglist if you’d like!

links: series masterlist | next chapter

wc: 2.8k

rafe set a new record for himself tonight, and he wasn’t proud of it. not only did he lose count of the lines he snorted off of topper’s coffee table, he also had ward blowing up his phone. “aye, man, i don’t think you should be driving.” topper slurred, downing the alcohol in his glass. cleaning the residue from his nose, rafe shook him off, stumbling through the crowd of people in the living room before hopping in his truck and peeling out of the packed street.

jaw ticking, rafe cursed to himself when his phone started ringing, ward’s contact lighting up the screen. “i’m going home already, alright? yes— yes, dad! i know we have a meeting with some investors in the morning.. what? no i’m not fuckin’ high!” he rambled on, feigning offense when his father called his bluff. “just stop— i know, okay? i’ll be there in a minute—” before rafe could finish his sentence, he took a sharp turn, swerving onto the curb before hitting a light pole.

you were locking up the icecream parlor when you heard the high pitched squeal of tires against the pavement, a loud crash making you jump from your spot in front of the door. spinning on your heels, your eyes widened when you saw a black truck just feet away from the main street, smoke billowing from under the hood. unsure of what to do, you looked around to see if anyone was nearby, but of course, the strip was always empty at this time of the night.

“son of a bitch!” you heard someone groan before they tumbled out of the front seat, falling face down against the concrete. you gasped, dropping your purse before running across the street. “are you okay?!” you helped the stranger sit up, wincing when you saw blood dripping from his nose. he stared at you wide eyed, his pupils blown as you kneeled in front of him. he opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.

“it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” you reassured him, slipping off your cardigan before holding it against his nose. you noticed the open gash on his brow, your heart sinking when you saw his eyes soften. “we really need to get you to the emergency, do you have a phone?” rafe shook his head, leaning back against the tire of his truck. “no. well, yes, i have a phone.. somewhere.. but i can’t go to the emergency, not like this.” just then, rafe felt a sharp pain shoot up to his temple from his neck.

“yes, like this! you’re all scraped up.” you said incredulously. “no, i mean i’m not sober.” as if he was waiting for you to judge him, rafe watched as your expression didn’t falter. “i promise you, going to the emergency and getting help from a professional is a lot more better than not going at all. your truck can always be replaced; you can’t.” your words lit a fire in his chest, the sincerity in your tone making him crack a pained smile.

“i’ll go to jail for this, and i just can’t do that right now. i have to be somewhere in the morning, my dad will kill me if he finds out..” remembering that he was on the phone with ward before he crashed, he scrambled up to find the device, only to groan and plop back down on the street. still holding the pink cardigan to his head, you guided his hand to hold it for you. “what are you looking for? i can try to find it.” rafe let out a shaky breath, mumbling “my phone.” before you got up and spotted it near the tire.

turning it over, you held it up for him to see. it was completely shattered. “i don’t think it’s going to work..” you handed it to him, a bitter laugh falling from his lips. “what the fuck?” he breathed out, holding his head in his hands. you’ve never seen someone look so defeated before, your feet moving on their own before you could think. “do you think you can walk? my place is only five minutes away.” rafe looked up like he couldn’t believe the words that just came out of your mouth.

“your place?” he repeated, half shocked and half confused as to why you’d offer him help. “yes,” you nodded, taking his hand in yours, “i don’t have a phone there, but i can at least get you cleaned up..” rafe tried to weigh out his options, only to realize he didn’t have any. “are you sure?” he was truly at your mercy. “yes. here— just keep holding this to your head, let me go get my purse and we can be on our way.” you left him with your cardigan, running across the street and grabbing your bag before getting him up.

“i’m a lot stronger than i thought.” you joked, attempting to lighten the mood as you wrapped one of rafe’s arms around your shoulders. “fuck, what about my truck?” rafe leaned his weight on you, nearly making you topple over before you took a step. “someone will find it and call a tow, you could call the towing company tomorrow,” you explained to him, “do you have anything valuable in there?” rafe laughed, shaking his head. “just my piece of shit phone that has no value now.” he grunted, walking with a slight limp.

“hey, uhm, what’s your name?” rafe looked down at you, both of you sharing a glance before he looked away. despite him not being in the right state of mind, there was no doubting how insanely pretty you were. “y/n.. and yours?” why on earth were you getting butterflies right now? “rafe.” was all he replied before he started asking you an abundant amount of questions. rafe learned a lot about you in the short five minute walk to your camper. what you did for a living, where you currently worked for some extra money, what your hobbies consisted of.. along with being a pogue.

“so.. you live all alone in this pink camper in the middle of the woods? aren’t you scared some psycho will come across it and want to know who’s inside?” he asked, genuinely concerned. “a psycho?” you flashed him a playful smile, “like you?” rafe watched as you unlocked the small screen door, a chuckle threatening to slip from his throat. “i would laugh if it didn’t feel like i had a thousand needles stabbing me in my brain right now.” he swallowed thickly, accepting the hand you offered him to step in.

he was immediately hit with the smell of freshly baked cake and vanilla frosting. he loved it. “i know it’s really small in here, but you could just take a seat right there on that little couch and i’ll go get my first aid kit.” rafe did as you said, eyes darting around your space. pink florals, white lace trim, usually he’d be irked by this kind of decor, but for some reason unbeknownst to him, he didn’t mind it this time. rafe leaned back on the soft sofa, settling into the cushions while you scrambled for the little first aid kit somewhere in your bathroom.

spotting the small box on your little shelf, you grabbed it before making your way back to where rafe was sitting. he opened his eyes momentarily, finding you even more pretty now that darkness didn’t surround you two. he kept his gaze on you, watching as you took your bottom lip between your teeth. “sorry about this..” rafe took the pink cardigan away from his head, the fabric now stained with blood. “oh, don’t worry about it,” you smiled, “you needed it more than i did.”

pressing a damp cloth to his nose, rafe groaned when you applied the slightest bit of pressure. “i’m sorry!” you pouted, taking a seat next to him. rafe reassured you he was alright, a groan leaving his lips as he clutched his stomach. eyebrows knitting in confusion, you lifted his shirt, your eyes widening at the sight. he was scraped and bruised, a small wound adorning his lower abdomen. “here, lets get this off.” you pulled rafe’s t-shirt over his head, both of your cheeks heating at the compromising position.

“we could stop if this is too weird for you—” you shook your head, taking an ice pack out of your freezer. “no, it’s okay.” you pressed the cold bag to his skin, still wiping away the dried blood on his face. “i’m not sure how far you live, but i don’t think it’s a good idea for you to walk anywhere.” your voice was barely above a whisper, the sound of it soothing rafe more than any kind of medicine he could take right now. “don’t worry about me, i’ll be fine.” rafe watched your fingers dance across his stomach, your nails sparkling underneath the dim lighting of your camper.

you thought for a moment. “i guess what i’m trying to say is; i think you’re better off staying the night here..” you trailed off, meeting his gaze, “you’ll be able to get to a phone in the morning and call whoever you need to. you should just get some rest right now.” rafe was stunned. you wanted him to stay? “i don’t know..” he sounded uneasy, not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t help but feel like he was imposing. “it’s okay, i swear! you could take my bed since there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep on this little thing.”

“no, no way, i’m fine with sleeping on the floor.” you smiled at him, eyes flickering down to his lips. “no, really, it’s okay, rafe.” he liked the way his name sounded rolling off of your tongue, “i’ve fallen asleep plenty of times over here, i’ll be fine on the couch.” you got up, wringing out the towel you were using to clean him up. “i just have one rule, though,” rafe held the ice pack to his stomach, humming as you grabbed some ointment and a couple of bandages.

“you can only lay in my bed if you’re clean.. and you need a shower.” the corner of rafe’s lips quirked. “if you want to see me naked all you have to do is ask.” you blinked, pushing his chest softly. “that’s not what i meant.” you giggled. “i’ll get you a change of clothes, just get in there for right now.” rafe was already too far in to look back. getting up with your assistance, you guided rafe to the bathroom before shutting the door behind him. “there’s clean towels and wash rags on the shelf!” you called from the kitchen, yawning as all of tonight’s events started to catch up with you.

rafe didn’t know what to make of all of this. one minute he was high out of his mind, crashing into a light pole with his dad on the phone, and the next he was inside some gorgeous girl’s camper getting tended to before using a strawberry scented body wash in her shower. what the fuck was his luck? taking his time in the shower, rafe thought about how he’d explain everything to ward tomorrow, from the towed truck to the cuts and bruises.

he wondered if ward would even care.

by the time rafe was done, he was stepping out of the bathroom smelling like a slice of strawberry cake with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. he glanced over at the couch, your back facing him as you slept soundlessly. moving aside the pink curtain that concealed the doorway to your room, rafe slipped into the sweatpants you left out for him, settling underneath your silky soft sheets shortly after.

how was it that you just happened to be the only person around when he crashed? how did he crash right in front of where you worked? and why were you being so nice to him? rafe had so many questions and couldn’t think of any logical answers. he didn’t believe in fate, but looking back on it, that seems to be the only explanation. the next day he woke up to his clothes freshly washed and wearable again, your music playing softly in the kitchen. “good morning!” you chirped, your hair and makeup already done for the day.

“hey..” rafe was still shirtless, his eyes following your every move. “what time is it?” he took a seat at the little booth by the wall, his head no longer pounding the way it did last night. “it’s about to be ten. i was debating if whether or not i should’ve woken you up earlier, but you really needed to sleep.” you leaned back against the counter, admiring the handsome man in your camper. “your wallet should also be with your clothes there on that chair,” you started, “..so i was thinking; the little store just right outside of these woods has a pay phone that you can use.”

rafe nodded. “yeah, that sounds good.” he couldn’t think of the last time he woke up without not wanting the day to be over with already. “hey, listen— uhm, i owe you a huge one for everything you’ve done for me.. i apologize if it was an inconvenience in any way, but i really do appreciate you.” rafe got up, grabbing his wallet from your room. “here. please take it.” you looked down at the hundred dollar bills tucked between his fingers, shaking your head as you moved his hands away.

“absolutely not.” you laughed. “no, please, take it.” rafe got closer, opening one of your palms before closing it around the bills. “rafe, i don’t want it!” you backed away, “i’m serious.” rafe let out a sigh. he already knew how this would go, so instead of urging you to keep it, he placed the money on your dresser after he was done changing. “well i guess i’ll be leaving now.” you masked the disappointment on your face by offering him a smile. “yeah, i guess so..” without saying a word, you and rafe stared at each other before he wrapped his arms around you, the action giving you butterflies.

before you could say or do anything, he pulled away and left, leaving your camper feeling more emptier than usual. you walked over to the door where you watched him walk away until you couldn’t see him anymore, a pout on your lips as you did so. while you were sure that you would more than likely never see him again, you couldn’t have been more wrong. that day was the first of approximately one hundred and twenty one days, and counting, that you two would spend together. rafe came back to you the next day with a brand new pink cardigan to replace the other one you so selflessly let him ruin.

one icecream date turned into several, which then progressed into him coming over to your place with an overnight bag, his very own toothbrush now taking a spot next to yours. which then led to him picking you up and dropping you off at work, and so on until he finally said that you were his. you two spent the entire summer underneath the trees, rolling around in the grass as you two gasped each other’s names into your mouths, sharing sweet kisses and an even sweeter love that continued to grow with no intentions of ever stopping.

rafe had gotten sober out of fear that he wouldn’t remember what a love like this felt like if he was high all the time, and without judgement, you were there with him every step of the way. you stayed by his side when he felt like all hope was lost, and for that he could never thank you enough. although ward wondered where rafe would go off to, he didn’t bring himself to care as long as he was doing what he needed to do for the family business. with his dad off of his back, and you to come ‘home’ to everyday, he could say that he was finally, truly happy.

even now as you two sat in your favorite diner, sharing a milkshake and laughing at whatever the other was saying, you felt no worries when you and rafe were together, your heart threatening to burst at the seams everytime you looked at him. everything was perfect.. at least for now. all good things must come to an end, and when you two are threatened by none other than ward himself, the love bubble you two have been mindlessly floating in is suddenly popped.

taglist: @percysley @oceandriveab @archiveofvirtue @weirdowithnobeardo @mattyskies @ankoluvly @cnnamongrl @b3bybunny @littlelamy @nemesyaaa @lovinqbella @jeonmochi99-blog @corpsebridenightamare @whorelaud @mymvlody @idontknowwhyimhere33 @ursovaine

[reidmotif]

I’ve Got My Eye On You

Summary: Reader is a Special Surveillance agent assigned to spy on Spencer. He manages to see through her cover, and thoroughly enjoys the confrontation that follows.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: voyeurism, oral (f!receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, f!masturbation, slight dubcon regarding recorded sex, heavily based on that one scene in scandal, iykyk.

Word Count: 3.5k

Masterlist

I’d always been good at watching people. 

My life had been spent mostly to myself, divulging the information people offered without even realizing. When you talk less, you learn that body language, passing remarks, or even the quirk of an eyebrow gives away more than anyone ever realized– maybe more than an actual conversation at times. 

And I took it all in stride, not a single detail left unanalyzed. People were always surprised when I’d mention my observations, finding a way to explain a seemingly unexplainable situation, those around me wondering how on Earth I could’ve been privy to that. I’d always shrug at their queries. 

Pay more attention, I guess. 

It wasn’t a surprise that I’d ended up here, I suppose, in the end, as an Investigative Specialist for the FBI. I doubt that my listening skills were exactly what landed me the job, but I’d like to believe they contributed more than they actually did. Regardless, I’d never expected the result of the decisions I’d made over the years to lead to this– involved in spying on an agent of our own. 

The infamous "Dr Reid".

His specific circumstances had been shrouded in secrecy and mystery, apparently having just been let out of prison. (Prison? How’s he an agent then? Anyway, not my problem).

 The Bureau had been curious about erratic behavior on his part, and the string of discrepancies involving the unit he was involved in. Apparently, there had been multiple unforeseen and unprecedented events all occurring under the same team in a relatively small time-frame, and despite smaller investigations, nothing came out of them to warrant any real disciplinary action.  Probably why they brought me in, in the hopes of changing that. 

I’d been assigned to put up small, virtually undetectable cameras and listening devices within his apartment. 24/7 home surveillance, no exceptions. I couldn’t help but think that the guy really should invest in better apartment security, despite how easy his naivete made my job. His lack of caution surprised me, given the details I’d been given. For a guy who had a penchant for being framed by the ghosts of his past, he sure didn’t live like it.  Even as an FBI agent, he essentially had no technology to counter my own, and the height of his protection was a standard deadbolt. Was he insane? Unaware, somehow? Only time would tell, I suppose. And I had plenty of that, to watch and deduce the nature of his mind on my own terms. 

My time spent with Spencer resulted in one, overwhelming conclusion. Spencer Reid lived a relatively quiet life. His apartment was barely used, honestly, given the sporadic nature of his job. (Which was a shame, in my opinion, because it’s a nice apartment).  When he was at home, he seemed to remain quite unassuming. The positions I’d see him assume often were that of being hunched over on an aging leather sofa, pouring himself into grading papers, or creating lesson plans for his students. Oh, right. Did I mention he was also a professor? He is. I’d assume he likes the job, given how much of himself he gives into it, or maybe that was just who he was as a person. I wasn’t sure yet. 

I monitored his life outside of the apartment occasionally as well, just to see what intel I could gather with further investigation. There wasn’t much. Coffee shops. Book shops. Coffee. Books. Coffee- God, does the guy do anything else with his life? 

Most days, though, I’d liken him to butter spread too thinly over toast. Sleepless from nightmares that would have him walking around his apartment until daylight broke through the window panes. I felt exhausted just watching the guy, and it seemed insane that he could continue to live on when he left that apartment at the break of dawn. It didn’t seem like he had anyone to talk to, honestly. From what I was seeing, he wasn’t a threat to the Bureau, just a sad, middle-aged man who’d been dealt the most unfair of hands in life. 

I’m sure there’s a moral somewhere in all that. To waste your potential on something that gives so little back. Oh, well. My report was nearly finished at this point, and the most I could recommend the higher-ups was to get Spencer a better therapist, maybe. This one wasn’t really helping, it seemed. Besides that, his personal behavior wasn’t indicative of anything worrying to the interests of those managing him. 

At long last, it was my final night of watching him. Coincidentally, the date lined up with Halloween, and I couldn’t be more thrilled to finally be free of this specific survey job. Don’t get me wrong, Spencer seemed nice- but God, his life was boring. I don’t want to say it was like watching paint dry,  out of respect, but previous targets had offered at least some part of their life to be interested within. Spencer had nothing. No friends over, no gossip-like phone conversations, no drunk wanderings home. Nothing! I know he didn’t sign up to be watched, but God. 

Like, come on. Give me anything here. 

Needless to say, I’d become accustomed to the quiet, and this night was no different. If he was following schedule, he should be home right about … now. 

Now? 

Now… 

Silence. 

Spencer was definitely a creature of habit, so to not see him adhere to the routine he’d so meticulously stuck to in the past was a bit jarring, but I assumed he was just running late. 

A few hours later, I reasoned he must be running really really late. It was bordering on midnight, and he still wasn’t home. I checked train schedules, possible reports of a car crash, just about anything that could keep him from his scheduled appearance at home. 

I was just about to call my supervisor to look into whether or not he’d been called out on a surprise case, but that’s when the door of his apartment creaked open, and I felt my shoulders deflate in relief. Okay, he was home. He was going to go to bed and- 

He wasn’t alone. 

Spencer was dressed in all black, a leather belt adorned with a gold belt buckle being the only color his outfit brought. He wore tiny devil’s ears upon his head, the headband pushing down on the mop of curls that sat atop his head. He looked absolutely delicious, if I must say myself, and it seemed the woman in his arms would agree with me. 

He practically pulled her into his apartment, kicking his door in with his leg before slightly fumbling with the lock. As soon as the mechanism slipped into place, his hands were all over her, pressing her flush against his body, as if he couldn’t bear to have any space between them. 

For all the time I’d been watching him, none of his behavior indicated the presence of any kind of significant other, so this girl must be a stranger. If this is how Spencer treated strangers though, I was surprised he didn’t have a barrage of women lining up at his door every night. 

His lips absolutely devoured the girl, his hand cradling the side of her face, before his thigh slipped in between her legs, possibly to soothe a building ache that had built up there in the time they’d spent together, which I found entirely possible, considering I, personally, was heated from simply watching. 

I watched the pixels on the screen with such precision, innocuous shades of red, green and blue painting the most sinful of images. I found myself noting the way his hand snuck up the girls’ dress, the way her breathing hitched as she pulled back, watching as Spencer presumably played with her clit. I could feel myself squeezing my thighs together, recognizing just how wrong it was to be turned on by the scene in front of me, but I couldn’t stop myself. It wasn’t as if this was the first time a target had behaved sexually in front of me. (Or in front of the camera, I suppose.) I’d seen and heard just about anything you could think of, but this was different- in a way. To see Spencer so filthy, so confident, so- interesting. It lit a fire in me that burned with every passing moment he touched this girl. 

I’m able to watch him circle over her panties in a way that has her groaning directly into his ear, a smug grin plastering his face as he watches her every reaction. 

“Like that?” He murmurs, and I’ve never heard his voice so fucking deep.

She nods frantically, and it only serves to widen his grin. I can feel myself rocking slightly in my own chair, doing anything to try and soothe the fast growing arousal within me, unable to stop from imagining myself in her place. His hands, the feel of hot breath down my neck- 

I’m stopped dead in my tracks, however, when his eyes suddenly shift to the camera closest to him, his eyebrow raising, as if in challenge. He continues to whisper in the girl’s ear, and has the galls to wink. I’m horrified, a very sudden and intense heat rising to my cheeks. I can only watch for a second more, before he’s suddenly pulling her away, and I realize he’s taken her  within one of the only blind spots within the apartment. 

I’m scrambling to turn off the feed, stunned into silence whilst, my heart beating uncontrollably and eccentrically. Oh god. He knew. He knew and he did that?! 

I stare into the empty space, a multitude of thoughts inhabiting my brainscape. On one hand, the aplomb shown in that situation was commendable, since most people would react to the knowledge that they’d been secretly watched in their own home for the past few months in a much more hostile way. On the other hand, how did he even acquire that knowledge? The cameras were virtually undetectable, and he’d never let on that he was aware of their presence, and I’d know, considering how closely I’d watched him. 

I shake off the thoughts, focusing on something other than the overwhelming mortification coursing through me now.  

Alright, tomorrow, get into his apartment, remove the cameras, and hopefully never have to look at the man again. In any capacity, honestly. 

When daylight broke, I turned on the cameras for the final time, a bit more sheepish, knowing he was aware of the devices plaguing his home. However, it seemed like he was once again pretending like he wasn’t aware of the looming existence of them, sending his female companion off her merry way once they woke up, before going about his normal routine, heading out of the apartment for what was most likely his morning coffee and then afternoon lecture at the university. 

That was my cue. I turned off the cameras,  quickly making my way out to sneak into his residence, the heavy door offering little resistance to my advances, my movements quiet and undetectable. 

I’m  in the process of removing the final camera I had placed in his bedroom, hidden behind a copy of  The Sign of Four. Doyle. He had good taste, I could give him that. 

I’m just about to turn around and get the hell out of there, when I hear a voice behind me. 

“I noticed that one first, you know.”

I turn around slowly, embarrassed and slightly fearful to find Spencer’s eyes meeting mine. I’d watched him for so long, but seeing him now– his eyes were so beautiful. The camera didn’t do him justice.

He continues, despite the silence. “The other ones were harder to spot, I’ll give you that, but once I knew where they were, it was a bit obvious, don’t you think?” 

I’m speechless. My mouth is agape, and all he seems to do is smile at my lack of prose. 

“Don’t look so surprised. I know this apartment. I’m not here a lot, but I spend enough time to know when things have been shifted around.” His tone is cheeky, and he pauses, almost theatrically to add on:

“I’m sure you knew that though.”  His smile turns into more of a smirk. 

God, did he have to be so hot?

“Are you going to complain to the Bureau?” I manage out, keeping my eyes steady on him. 

“Did you find anything of note to tell them?” He responds, tilting his head with curiosity. 

I shake my head vehemently. “No, um. Nothing pertinent to say.” I get my words out in a hurry, my gaze continually trained on him. 

He meets my eyes with the same stare. “Then I don’t have much of a reason to complain.” 

I nod solemnly. I’m wondering where this situation will lead- what either of our next moves are. Before I can ponder long though, he surprises me and takes a step closer.

“I saw you, you know.” He says. “Thought I was going insane when the same pretty girl kept showing up at the bookstore and coffee shop out of the blue, but I’ve never been one to believe in coincidences.” 

“Oh.” I whisper. I really wasn’t as good as I thought I was. 

“You really shouldn’t beat yourself up.” He says, chuckling with some mirth. “Again, I’m observant. I notice these things. That, and you’re pretty.” He says, forward. “So, more of a reason to notice.” 

“Oh.” I reply, yet again, dumbfounded by the events currently transpiring. 

“Yes, oh.” He chuckles, before he starts to move closer yet again. “Tell me. Were you watching last night?” He murmurs, his voice dropping a bit deeper as he directly addresses the elephant in the room. 

I give a movement of affirmation, because at this point, what could he do? What could I do? 

“So you saw.” He mumbles, moving to position himself right in front of me, his eyes darkened and laser focused on my figure. 

“Yes.” I whisper, my voice hushed as our proximity decreased, his breath fanning out over my face now. I’d be uncomfortable, if I wasn’t so distracted. 

“Tell me.” He whispers, letting his calloused finger finally touch my skin, running down my neck. “Did it turn you on? Watching me with her?” 

I feel the familiar heat of embarrassment rise to my cheeks, my eyes suddenly widening not only due to the sudden proximity, but also the scandalous nature of his words. Did he mean for me to watch? Was that his plan all along? What was this sick and twisted game he was playing?

“Did it.. get you off?” He whispers, his lips leaning in to kiss lightly at the side of my neck where his finger once was. 

I freeze, leaning into his touch and going statue-like all at once. I can’t help the shakiness of my voice when I reply. “I.. wasn’t neutral.” 

“Mm.” He murmurs, kissing now at my jawline. “Did you get off? When she did?” He whispers.

“I didn’t watch that long.” I reply, helplessly, as I feel his hands start to envelop my waist, pulling me closer to him. 

“What a shame.” He mumbles. “I think you would’ve liked the show. I did it for you.” 

At this point, I can barely speak, a slight moan escaping me instead of a coherent reply as his lips continue to leave warm, wet kisses on the expanse of my flesh. 

“I’m sure you’re curious.” He says, his voice soft and seductive. “Would you like me to show you what we did?”

There’s no hesitation, finally, a resounding thought I can translate from brain-to-mouth for him, in complete certainty.

“Yes.” I manage out, breathlessly. 

He makes a noise of satisfaction, quickly pushing me onto the bed. 

“I’d already gotten her wet by touching her before, but if my suspicions are correct.” He murmurs, his hands working deftly to undo my jeans and feel the wetness that had accumulated in between my thighs. “You already are.” He finishes. 

I let out a small whimper as his fingers touch the heated flesh, unable to help my sensitivity to his small, calculated strokes over my clit through my underwear. His fingers starts to move a bit more aggressively, upon feeling the wet patch that had formed there, the flimsy fabric doing little to hide the stickiness he was now collecting on his fingers. He quickly pulls them off as well though, bringing his slightly damp fingers to his mouth, tasting the hint of my arousal that had accumulated there. His eyes were dark, watching my face for any reaction, and in that moment, I know all he can see is pure want. 

I can see the same hunger within his eyes, and I feel a rush of pride as the approval radiates off of him. 

“What next?” I whisper, already desperate for his next slew of ministrations. I don’t care how needy I looked. I was needy. I’d spent so long watching him, and now he was here.

“She wanted my mouth.” He murmurs, kneeling at the edge of the bed. His thumb brushes over my clit, his tongue running against plump, pink lips, wetting them, watching over me with a predatory gaze. 

Before I can respond, he’s suddenly everywhere, ducking his head and allowing his tongue to brush over my sex in broad, wet strokes. My response is immediate, my hips bucking up to meet him in a frenzied motion. It seems that he relishes in whatever control he can have in this situation, because he quickly holds down my hips in a firm grip, squeezing the fat there while he continued to ravage me. 

I can barely look at him, pretty brown locks splayed in his face, his lips moving hypnotically against my cunt. Little whimpers escape me, absolutely aching for more. He seems to catch on, and flicks his tongue over me, before suckling against my clit. It’s wet, messy, and the picture of debauchery– and it’s enough to drive me over the edge, my hands gripping the sheets as I cry out his name. 

He seems to be unaffected, getting off his knees, his mouth glistening with my release. The sight makes me wish he could do it again, but before I can get a word in, he’s positioning himself over me, caging me against the bed. 

“Then I fucked her.” He whispers, starting to undo his belt with his free hand. “Can I?” 

I nod, feeling a wave of anticipation, before registering the sensation of the head of his cock nudging my entrance. I feel my chest tighten, watching him with bated breath, absolutely exhilarated. 

“Relax.” He whispers, kissing the lobe of my ear. “You’re in good hands.” 

He utters the last word, before sliding into me, a hushed gasp leaving the both of us. He groans in pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the feel of my warm, wet cunt around him. He takes a moment, before he’s setting a steady pace, his hips bucking rhythmically into me in a way that’s designed to bring us both so much pleasure. 

I can’t help the string of moans that come out with every slide of his cock inside me, my legs wrapping around his waist, urging him closer than he already is. My hands grip onto his shirt, clawing onto the fabric to find any purchase, wanting– no, needing him on me. 

Is it odd to wish a stranger could crawl into your skin itself? 

“Fuck, Spencer.” I moan, unabashedly. “You feel so good.”

“You do too.” He groans, his arms braced on either side of my head before gently lowering himself to crash his lips against mine in a messy kiss. 

I can feel myself barreling towards release, as is he, if the twitch of his cock inside me were to mean anything. It’s not long before his hand reaches in between where our bodies are met, rubbing my clit in fast, small circles. It’s intense in the best way possible, my body barely being able to process how good it felt in the moment. 

“Come for me.” He moans, in between kisses. “Wanna feel you around me. Please.”

I can’t help but obey his words, my cunt convulsing around him in obedience as he subsequently finds his release inside me, groaning loudly as his hips thrust erratically. 

He pulls out, and we’re a tangle of limbs, sweaty and sated, breathing heavy. 

Of course, it’s him, yet again, to break the silence. 

“Two things.” He mumbles, breathlessly. 

“Mm.” I reply, weakly, my head a mess of airiness and complacency after the orgasm he’d just brought me to. 

“One. I want your name.” He says, rolling to his side to get a better look at my face. 

“That can be arranged.” I murmur, nodding dreamily. 

“Second.” He whispers, kissing my cheek. His voice takes on a teasing quality to it, before leaning to brush his lips against my ear.  

“You missed a camera. Behind the plant. They don’t stop recording, do they?” 

okay wowww. clearly this was meant for halloween, if you couldn't tell! this is one of those pieces where i'm like.. hmm .. do i like this? question mark? do i want to put it out? hmm .. but regardless, i hope you guys enjoyed it!! please, please like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed!!! it is sooo important as an author that i get some feedback and know what you guys think, in any capacity. i truly appreciate all of it <33 thank you for reading, thank you for everything!!!

[dontbesoweirdkira]

There's just so much potential for platonic !yan Tim Drake that isn't really explored. This post may flop but I like to imagine that yan! Tim Drake is actually the worse out of all his brothers...

Masterlist

Requests: always open

Look...you and i both know that Tim is canonically unhinged. But Batsis!reader doesn't. It's so easy for you to forget that your brother Tim is so dangerous. I mean he doesn't really seem all that different from any other nerdy 19 year old. His body doesn't loom over you like the more bulky of your brothers, and his presence is rather...calming? I mean there's still a bit of uneasiness there but it's so subtle that you can brush it off

He's normal when he interacts with you. He doesn't bug you to spend time with him or uncomfortably touch you like Dick does. He is sweet and gentle...He knows how you prefer to be engaged with and respects what you don't like.

But, that's what makes him so dangerous. He knows you. Every. Last. Detail. He's gotten so good at being a nasty little fly on the wall that sometimes you forget he's even in the room. He's always around you, observing and collecting data. He's got you wrapped around his fingers and you don't realize it.

But it's not your fault. It's hard to even imagine that someone as mellow as Tim could ever share the same traits as his brothers.

Yan! Tim fully picked up just how intuitive you are and how you can spot red flags easily. He's so calculated and careful with every interaction. It's amazing how natural he makes these conversations flow. Well, they better. He's spent hours analyzing and practicing how to speak to you. His heart is pounding with anticipation, as every shred of information you give him is going right into his files on you.

Oh! The files he has on you? When Jason and Dick asked him about how many he had, he said only 4. Which is true. but those 4 files have much more information and pictures of you than they could comprehend. ...and he wasn't accounting for the hard drives and physical stacks of papers he stole. I believe Tim knows more about you than you do. When was the last time you've seen your medical records? Passports? Birth certificate? Is your ID even in your wallet? Don't worry, your brother Tim is keeping them safe for you.

Yan! Tim is a little stalker who may or may not have put a tracking/listening devices in your bag so he can keep tabs on you. <33 That's why he's always wearing headphones so he cab listen in. A small piece of missed information could cost him so much. Don't be mad, batsis! He cannot risk making you suspicious of him by asking you invasive questions so this is the only way.

I Like to think you automatically sit by him. whether it be during breakfast, watching a movie or in the car. You feel safer with him and it's a better option in your head than being with Dick who will be overbearing. Tim always acts cool, even a little annoyed by you at times but inside he's screaming. Your scent, your small smiles at him and nudge his shoulders when he makes a funny remark all send him into overdrive.

But i must say, it's exhausting for him to hold back his obsession all of the time. Sometimes he envies his siblings and how shameless they are in their obsessions. Tim Drake thinks about how great it would to be to just be hugged by you or for you to want to fall asleep on him like you do with Jason.

Sometimes, our creepy detective will slip up. He will say or do something that is odd to you

"I cannot remember the name of that song i used to listen to...what was it.."

"It's this one by that local band, sis."

"oh, yeah! wait...how did you-"

"I know you better than i know myself..."

"...what?"

*an incident happened where dick basically forced you to say i love you back. Tim was there and he was so so jealous*

"You love me the most though, right?"

You laughed, thinking it was a joke\

"Sure, Tim. You are my favorite Robin."

*Tim is very visibly becoming feral. Almost in the same way as Dick and you are slightly alarmed*

"...I'm your favorite Robin? So you do love me more than them."

"0-o"

He repeats it over and over again in his mind. If he was recording it like he does with many of your interaction, it will be on instant replay every morning as an affirmation.

That one time you were chilling in the study with Tim. His head was ducked, low into the computer. It was super late by this time and you didn't really want to bother him so you ended up leaving without saying anything, and headed to your room. Tim was beyond hurt that you were breaking his version of bonding time and you had the audacity to not even announce your exit. He's so swift that it startled you when he grabbed your wrist from behind. His grip was....strong.... to say the least..... and he questioned why you were leaving him.

speaking of his strength, Tim is so skinny that you forget he is well trained with a nice bit of muscle. Maybe not as strong as his brothers or Bruce but he can easily subdue you.

He's definitely broken a lock or two, to get into your room at the dead of night and watch you sleep. This is the only time when he can be as fucked up as he wants to. The unhinged look in his eyes while going through your things and taking what's interesting..The adrenaline that you might catch him, excites him. He can't help but to sickly smile as he makes his way over to you and observes. A gentle hand caresses the sides of your face. You're so perfect. He whispers on and on things he wishes he could tell you while you were awake and wouldn't think it was weird....

Maybe even once he's crawled into bed with you, wrapping his arms around you. So happy to be able to finally be able to cuddle like this.

And if you happened to wake up, and realize your dear brother, Tim was there...he has a plan for that. He knows how to play mind games on you and makes you seem like the crazy one. No one would believe you anyways. The locks are all fixed by the morning.

[demonic0angel]

Hi!!! I just wanted to tell you thank you!!! Like, every time you post a dpxdc something, I just go feral. I come here after screeching at one your posts like a pterodactyl....inna good way I mean! Your writing just makes days better and brings a smile on my face when I need it. So, thank you for feeding my gremlin brain and sustaining my dark soul!

Anyways! My ask is if the recently posted 'Tim thinks Danny is a vampire but cute' would get a 2nd part????

Thank you!!!!!!!!!😄😄😄😄

(Wahhh tysm! I’m glad you like my stuff :D)

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4

Tim leaned on a fist as he watched Danny doodle on his notebook instead of taking notes. He was drawing constellations and cartoony stars everywhere, his face dazed even through the camera screen. Tim stared at him, knowing that no matter what Jason said, he was still extremely suspicious and needed a careful eye.

A figure suddenly approached Danny, a tall boy with red hair, freckles, and a face that oddly looked similar to Danny’s. He gathered Danny’s stuff without another word, even as Danny jumped up with a start to protest.

Danny floundered. Tim began reading his lips with narrowed eyes. ‘What! Hey, what’re you doing?’

‘We have to go,’ the boy said tugging on Danny’s wrist. His familiarity with him made Tim bristle as he opened another tab to look into the school records and use his face recognition program to find out whoever the hell this was.

A girl with a bandanna pulling back her curly hair then strode towards Danny. She reached over to hold Danny’s hand and pulled him away from the other boy, both of them urgent. Danny asked her something, his face tilted away enough that Tim couldn’t decipher his words.

Hissing, Tim hurriedly changed perspectives so he could catch the tail of his words. When did Danny have so many friends?! After weeks of watching him, Danny hardly interacted with many people at all! These two people were ones that Tim had seen often lingering about, but how did they know Danny?! And why were they so close to him?!

‘— see something?’

The girl nodded hurriedly, her eyebrows furrowed. ‘Someone’s watching you. We need to get you to safety.’

Tim’s heart dropped into his feet. He stood up from his seat to focus as he clicked on his mouse, trying to figure out what was happening. Were they onto him? But how? His cameras were the state of the art in tech and none of it should’ve been detectable!

Unless they were all vampires…? Or maybe his hypothesis was wrong and Danny was even worse than a bloodsucking creature.

In the cameras, Danny froze. Then he turned and all three of them looked at the camera that Tim had chosen to watch them, making direct eye contact with Tim behind the screen.

In an instant, Tim self destructed all of his cameras, listening devices and trackers (which honestly hadn’t worked at all since he attached them to various belongings of Danny.)

He was sweating as he erased all of his tracks expertly. When he was done, he cursed. All of his tech was destroyed completely and none of it could be traced back to him, but now he didn’t have a way to observe Danny.

He sighed and drew a hand through his hair. He picked up his phone and gave a call.

“Hey, Steph? Can you find a way for me to get into Gotham University right now?”

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ teaching choso how to use a phone hcs

ᨳ♡₊➳ choso x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ pure crack with fluff

₊⊹. You finally convinced Choso to get a smartphone because, honestly, the idea of your 150-year-old, half-cursed spirit boyfriend wandering the city without a way to contact you was stressing you out. Unfortunately, the first time he activates Siri, he immediately becomes obsessed. He spends the next hour having a full conversation with her, convinced she’s some omniscient, all-knowing woman trapped inside the device.

“Who is this? How does she know the weather?” he asks, genuinely amazed.

You try to explain AI, but he just frowns. “So she’s… not real?”

You confirm, but he doesn’t believe you. He starts saying “please” and “thank you” to her, thinking it’s the polite thing to do, and when Siri responds with “I live to serve,” he turns to you with wide eyes. “She’s loyal. I respect her.”

Later, you catch him whispering to Siri at 2 AM. “Siri, what is rizz?” She gives him a Wikipedia definition, and he nods solemnly, as if she just revealed the meaning of life.

₊⊹. When Choso first opens the front camera it's purely by accident and he jumps because he thinks someone is staring at him.

It takes you ten minutes to explain that it’s his own face.

He looks at the screen, frowning. “Why do I look like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought I looked…better.”

₊⊹. You teach Choso how to properly use the camera app, and he’s instantly hooked. The problem? He has zero concept of angles. Every selfie he sends you looks like it was taken by a dad who just discovered Facebook.

One is a close-up of his forehead. Another is 90% his nose. A few are taken at such an unflattering angle that you physically recoil. You try to guide him, but he insists that “this is my true form.”

The worst part? He never realizes he’s sending them. He just accidentally spams you with the most nightmarish, low-quality images imaginable. One time, he sends you a blurry picture of his eye, and when you ask what it means, he just responds, “I see you.”

You live in fear of opening your notifications.

₊⊹. At first, Choso types like an old man who just discovered the internet. Every message is unnecessarily formal and it takes him fifteen minutes to type a single one. “I hope this message finds you well. I am currently at the grocery store. Do you require anything?” You tell him he doesn’t have to type like he’s drafting a letter in the 1800s, but he doesn’t get it.

₊⊹. You made the grave mistake of teaching Choso how to use Google, and now he types full, grammatically correct sentences into the search bar like it’s a formal letter.

“Dear Google, can you die from drinking too much orange juice? Sincerely, Choso.”

At one point, he panics because he thinks he’s talking to a real person at Google.

“Dear Google, do you sleep? Do you need a break? I worry for you. Sincerely, Choso."

₊⊹. One day, you introduce Choso to the concept of voice messages because he struggles with typing. He loves it. But because his voice is naturally deep and monotone, everything he sends sounds like a mafia boss delivering an ultimatum.

You: “Hey, what do you want to eat?”

Choso: "Stay put. I will find you.”

You: “Do you need anything from the store?”

Choso: “It is already too late.”

He never means it that way. He’s just bad at tone. One time, he accidentally holds down the record button for three minutes, so all you get is the sound of him breathing heavily while a distant microwave beeps.

Another time, he sends you a 15-second voice memo that is just him sighing deeply followed by:

“…I saw a pigeon today.”

Then he sends another:

“…It was looking at me weird.”

Then another:

“…I don’t trust it.”

That’s it. No context. You’re in the middle of work and have to excuse yourself because you’re laughing too hard.

₊⊹. The first time Choso sends an email, he notices the little “Sent from my iPhone” signature at the bottom. You forget to explain that it’s automatic, so he thinks he has to manually type it out every single time, email or text.

It doesn’t matter what the message is.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well? Sent from my iPhone.”

“Do you want McDonald’s? Sent from my iPhone.”

You don’t have the heart to correct him.

₊⊹. He also discovers autocorrect. One time, he meant to text “Good night.” but autocorrect changed it to “God nut.” You have never known fear like receiving a 2 AM message from him that just says "God nut." with no context.

₊⊹. You introduce Choso to the concept of online shopping, thinking it’ll be harmless. It is not. He immediately becomes addicted to buying the weirdest things. He orders a 200-pack of rubber ducks. He doesn’t even like rubber ducks that much. He just thought it was fun.

₊⊹. Choso has zero understanding of what’s a scam. He clicks on everything. Every pop-up, every link, every “Congratulations! You’ve won a free iPad!” ad. He has installed seven viruses in one week. He sends you a link: “Look! This website is selling a brand-new TV for only $5!” You tell him it’s a scam. He doesn’t believe you. “No, see, it says ‘totally real, not a scam’ in the description.”

At one point, he proudly tells you he got a message saying he won $1,000,000, and all he has to do is send them his bank details.

“Choso, no.”

“But they said—”

“Choso, please block them.”

“But what if—”

“Block them.”

He sulks like a kicked puppy and mutters about how it seemed like a good opportunity.

₊⊹. Choso doesn’t trust “the ghost box” (your Bluetooth speaker). The first time you paired it to your own phone, the automated voice said, “Connected.” Choso froze. Looked you dead in the eye.

“Who was that. WHO WAS THAT."

₊⊹. The first time Choso accidentally took a screenshot, he thought he broke the phone.

He ran to you, panicked and waving his phone around.

“I don’t know what I did, but the screen—it remembers.”

You explain that it’s just a screenshot and show him how to do it on purpose. Now, he takes screenshots of everything like an old man who doesn’t trust the internet.

“What if they delete this? I need to keep evidence.” (It’s just a recipe for banana bread.)

₊⊹. One time, he accidentally took a picture of your face mid-sneeze and he decided to set it as his lock screen. Now, every time he unlocks his phone, he sees your cursed sneeze face.

He refuses to change it. He says it’s sentimental.

“It reminds me of your strength.”

₊⊹. Choso does not understand emojis. At all. You try to explain their meanings, but he insists on using them his own way.

Example: He once texted you, “Thinking about you. ❤️🛐🔥🔪🐍🚬”

You immediately call him, asking if this is a threat. He is confused. “What? No. The heart means I like you. The prayer hands mean I respect you. The fire means you’re attractive. The knife means I’d protect you. The snake means you’re clever. The cigarette means you’re cool.”

₊⊹. Despite all of this, Choso is genuinely trying. He wants to learn because he likes talking to you, his brother, and staying connected. He still struggles, but he remembers what you teach him. He still sends weird messages, but they’re sweet and he means well. And when he finally figures out FaceTime, he lights up.

“Now I can see you anytime,” he says softly. “That’s nice.”

That alone makes it all worth it.

[requiemforthepoets]

hey, are you still there? ⟢ LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: you know yourself that it’s sad that you settled on being a backburner, but you didn’t mind crisping up on lando’s backburner as long as he still think of you.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, unrequited love(?), open ending, insecurities, reader being treated as a backburner, childhood best friends, christmas angst, luisa, typos, and few grammatical errors.

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i had always wanted to write this for so long, but i’m not sure how to pen it, but finally, here it is! so far, i’m satisfied. i don’t know much about luisa, but i’m sorry that luisa is kind of villainized in this 🥲 i’m sorry. this is like another christmas one shot, sooo haha i intentionally made it as an open ending bc i want to leave the ending to you, and let me apologize now bc this one shot won’t have a part 2. it just felt right for me to leave it as an open ending and leave the ending up to you. so i hope you’ll enjoy this one!

The glow of the snowy afternoon sun filtered through your apartment windows, casting long, golden shadows across the floor as you sat cross-legged amidst a pile of forgotten keepsakes.

Your plan was simple, really. To declutter, toss out what no longer sparked happiness, and finally reclaim some much-needed space in your small New York apartment. But simplicity soon faded the moment you stumbled upon a memory box that was buried beneath old blankets in the closet. You hadn’t thought about it in years, the worn out wooden edges now slightly faded, but just holding the box again made you feel something deep in your chest.

Sliding the lid of the box open, the faint scent of nostalgia greeted you. There was a mixture of paper and dust that carried you back to another time, another place. Polaroid photographs, ticket stubs, concert tickets, and tiny trinkets spilled out as you began to sift through the box’s contents, fingers brushing against fragments of a life you had once shared with someone who knew you better than anyone. Then you saw it—the camcorder.

It sat nestled at the bottom of the box, its black casing slightly scuffed but still intact, as though it had been waiting for you all these years. The sight of it made your breath catch, fingers hesitant as they wrapped around the familiar shape. A small laugh escaped you, soft and bittersweet, as a wave of memories washed over you.

The camcorder had been a gift from your parents, given to you when you were just a teen. At the time, you had rolled your eyes at the thought of having a camcorder. You were not exactly the type to obsess over gadgets or record everything, but your parents had insisted, saying something along the lines of making memories worth keeping.

You hadn’t even opened the box properly before you had told him about it. Lando had always had a thing for photography, an almost childlike fascination with capturing the world around him. Naturally, he had lit up at the mention of the camcorder. You remembered the way his face had brightened, how he had practically snatched it from your hands when he saw it, excitement radiating from him like it was Christmas morning.

“Trust me,” he said, voice brimming with certainty as he flipped the device open with ease. “This is going to be so much fun, you’ll see.”

And it was.

The camcorder had quickly become his, in everything but name. Lando had used it more than you ever had, his artistic streak shining through in the way he would capture the smallest, most mundane moments and make them feel extraordinary. But what stood out the most was his favorite subject. You.

Every time you hung out, or visited a new place, his focus would inevitably turn to you. At first, you had protested, laughing and batting the camcorder away, but over time, it became a rhythm of sorts. Lando, behind the lens, coaxing your laughter and teasing your smile, and you, rolling your eyes but secretly loving the way he saw you. Through the lens, even the quietest days seemed to feel alive.

You traced a finger along the camcorder’s edges, the faint outline of his fingerprints etched invisibly into its surface. Four years. It had been four years since you had left the UK—four years since you had left him. You told yourself that what you did was for the best, that you needed to grow, chase bigger dreams.

Part of it all was true, but the other part, the one which you didn’t say out loud, was the reason why your chest tightened even now. Was because Lando made you feel too much, and you were not sure you could bear it any longer.

You grabbed your laptop, briefly hesitated over the laptop’s keyboard before finally connecting the camcorder. The familiar chime of recognition echoed through the room as your laptop detected the device, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of nervous anticipation.

It had been years since you last thought about these videos, let alone watched them. As the files began to load, thumbnails filled the screen—tiny, burry windows into the past. You clicked on the first one, and the second is the screen lit up with a younger version of yourself, smiling awkwardly into the lens. Lando’s voice filled the room almost immediately.

“Come on, you can smile better than that!” he teased from behind the camera, chuckling.

Without even realizing it, a small smile tugged at your lips as you watched. The video playing one after another, each one showed a snapshot of your lives back then. There were clips of you on spontaneous trips—forests, city streets, karting, and endless car rides with Lando singing loudly and off-key while you laughed at him.

There were also quieter moments—rainy afternoon when you were sat by your bedroom window, lost in thought, while he filmed you from across the room, calling it aesthetic. Lando captured everything, from the highs to the lows.

The memories felt vivid, almost too vivid, as if you could reach through the screen and relieve those moments. It was the year he had started his Formula 1 career, and the first time you saw him truly chasing his dreams with everything he had, and were beyond proud of him. At the same time, it was also the year you were filling out endless applications to universities in America, unsure of where you wanted to go or what you wanted to do in life. It was like you were both standing on the edge of something new, something big, and it was both thrilling and terrifying.

It was also the year you finally admitted to yourself that what you felt for Lando was no longer just friendship. You had been so close for so long that the shift felt almost imperceptible at first—lingering glance here, flutter in your chest there. But you acknowledged it, there was no going back.

You found yourself looking at him differently, noticing the little things about him that had always been there but suddenly felt so significant. The way how his eyes crinkled when he laughed, his curly hair, aquamarine eyes, the quiet focus he had when working on something he cared about, and most of all, the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say to make you feel better.

But you kept it to yourself. You couldn’t tell Lando, not when he had told you so casually, like it was nothing that he liked someone.

“I don’t even know if she feels the same,” he had said, voice laced with uncertainty.

For a brief moment, a hope sparked in you. Maybe after all this time, Lando felt the same way about you. Maybe this was the moment that you had finally been waiting for.

But that hope shattered almost immediately when he pulled out his phone and showed you a photo. The girl’s name was Luisa, and she was stunning. She was everything that you were not—model, successful, gorgeous, has a radiant smile and a presence that seemed magnetic. Luisa was exactly Lando’s type, and you knew it.

The realization hit you harder than you had expected. You felt dumb and foolish, for even thinking one second that Lando could ever see you that way. You were not like Luisa, you were not the kind of girl who turned heads or made people stop in their tracks. You were just…you. Lando’s best friend. The person he could have a joke with, confide in, and lean on, but will never see you anything as more.

So you stayed quiet. Buried your feelings deep, gaslighting yourself that everything was better the way it is. The less you talk, the less you risked losing him. Maybe if you kept on pretending that everything was fine, you could learn to let him go.

A new clip began to play. You were seated on the edge of a bench, face scrunched in frustration as you ran a hand through your hair. The sound of Lando’s laughter crackled through the speakers, light and teasing, as he zoomed in on your expression from behind the camera.

“You’re such a drama queen,” he said, voice laced with amusement.

It was clear that from that clip that he was trying to cheer you up. It had been one of those moments when everything felt overwhelming. Your plans, future, and feelings. Yet, even in your frustration, Lando had managed to make you laugh. He always did. Watching it now, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at how young and naïve you looked.

But the video carried more weight than just a frustration afternoon. That day, you had a front-row seat to another chapter in Lando’s pursuit of Luisa. It was the day he told you that he finally confessed his feeling to her, and you could still remember how his voice sounded. It was a mix of hope and vulnerability as he recounted every detail, but his excitement had quickly dimmed when Lando explained how his confession had met an uncertainty from Luisa, not really sure how she felt about Lando.

You remembered how that hurt him, even if he tried to hide it behind his usual bravado. It was one of the few times you had seen Lando genuinely shaken, his confidence chipped away by a single sentence. Still, it did not stop him, if anything, it only made him more determined to win her over.

This is exactly what Lando is—relentless, persistent, unwilling to let go of something he wanted.

Then there was you, caught in the orbit of it all. A pattern had started to form, one you did not want to acknowledge but couldn’t ignore. Whenever Luisa turned her back on him, when his texts went unanswered, or her attention drifted elsewhere, Lando would always find his way to you. His calls would come late at night, voice low and tinged with sadness as he stumbled through excuses to keep you on the line, and you, despite knowing better, would always answer.

Those were the moments you chastised yourself for loving. When Lando was hurt, when he felt small and alone, he always came to you. You were the person he confided in, one he leaned on. It almost felt like you mattered to him in the way you wanted to. Even if you knew, deep down, that it was not that. That it was temporary, a band-aid for his bruised ego—you couldn’t help but savor the attention.

But then, inevitably, Luisa would give him the smallest bit of her time, and you would become invisible to him again. The calls would stop, texts would taper off, and Lando would be lost in the glow of her half-hearted affection. You would feel the ache of being left behind, sting of knowing you were nothing more than a safety net, a placeholder, a convenient fallback plan.

It was a never ending cycle you despised, one that made you look at yourself with pity as you played into it. But whether it was out of hope or some cruel sense of inevitability, you stayed. You let it happen. Time and time again, picking up the pieces when Lando fell apart, only to watch him hand them back to her the moment she glanced his way.

It was always like this. It had always been like this, and somehow, despite everything, you definitely hadn’t learned your lesson.

The video continued to play, the faint static of old footage mixing with Lando’s voice can be heard, his laughter like a distant echo from another life. As you watched yourself on the screen—smiling, frowning, existing in a world where everything felt so much simpler—memories came rushing back, faster and heavier than you had expected. They were not just simple memories of moments, they were reminders of how deeply you felt, how much your life revolved around Lando without you even realizing it.

Your feelings for him had always been the silent undercurrent of your friendship, unspoken but ever-present. You had spent so much time trying to convince yourself that it was just a phase, that you would grow out of it, but you never did.

Instead, those feelings rooted themselves deeper, becoming a part of you. You wondered if the reason you hadn’t moved on was not because you could not, but because you hadn’t really tried at all. Maybe you were afraid, maybe life felt easier when you let it stay messy, undefined—when you clung to the hope that Lando might see you differently someday.

But the reality of it all was far less romantic. You had become his backburner, a place he turned to only when he had nowhere else to go, and the most pathetic part? You didn’t even mind. You let yourself burn quietly on his backburner, knowing full well you would never be the main thing in his life.

No matter how many times you say to yourself that it was okay, that you could handle it, deep down it ate you. There wasn’t anyone else you wanted, there hadn’t been for years. It was always him, it will always be Lando—his laugh, his voice, his stupid smile that made you forget the pain he caused by just being himself. You hated it, and yet you couldn’t even let it go.

Your memory reeled in to that one particular night, a night etched into your memory like a scar. Lando had called you on facetime, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone. His eyes were red, voice trembling with raw emotions as he told you what happened with Luisa.

She had hurt him again, made him feel small in a way that he couldn’t quite put into words. Lando looked so broken, so unlike himself, that it made your heart twist in ways that you did not want to admit.

And yet, you couldn’t help but tease him. You told him how he looked ugly when he cried, masking your own hurt with humor. But inside, there was a flicker of something else—something cruel and selfish. You felt happy that he thought of you in that moment, that you were the person he called when everything else in his life fell apart. It was sick and twisted, and you couldn’t have hated yourself more for it, but it was the truth.

At the same time, you felt conflicted, torn between two versions of yourself. Part of you wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much he had hurt you by treating you like an afterthought. But the other part of you, the part that still believed in him, in the friendship you had shared since you were kids—wanted to comfort him, to be there for him even if it meant breaking yourself in the process.

You always knew how it would go. In a week or so, Lando would be back on his feet, back in Luisa’s orbit, and you would fade into the background again. He would stop calling, texting, and you would be left alone again, waiting for the next time he needed you. You wished you could stop caring, that you could let him go and just move on, but you couldn’t. You cared too much, loved him too deeply, and it was destroying you.

You stayed. You stayed because even though it hurt, even though it made you feel small and invisible, there was still a part of you that believed in him. In the boy who had once held your camcorder, laughing as he filmed you spinning in circles in the park. In the friend who had always been there, even when it felt like the rest of the world wasn’t. You believed in him, even if it meant you couldn’t believe in yourself.

You checked the timestamp on the video and realized it was nearing the end. The final clips began to play, taking you back to a day you remembered so clearly—the beach trip. The screen filled with bright sunlight and sand, camera jerking slightly as Lando filmed you running along the shoreline, wearing one of his bucket hats and sunglasses, your laughter ringing out over the crashing waves.

You watched yourself as if through someone else’s eyes—carefree, alive, darting back and forth like a puppy with boundless energy. Lando’s voice came from behind the camera, teasing you for your antics, and you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the memory.

It was one of those days you had hoped would change everything. Lando wasn’t thinking about Luisa then. He was with you, laughing, joking, making you feel like maybe you mattered more to him than you let yourself believe. You had clung to that slight flicker of hope every time he drifted back into your orbit, telling yourself that the moments he spent with you would eventually outweigh the hold Luisa had over him. But you know then, deep down, you knew better. You had always known better.

The last clip began to play. The two of you were in one of his cars, the camera shakily capturing the scene as he handed it to you. Lando had insisted you try driving it, grinning with the kind of reckless confidence that was so quintessentially him. You know that he hated someone driving him, especially that it was his car, but he didn’t even hesitated when it came to you.

The video was cut to him standing outside, filming you through the windshield as you tried to maneuver his car into a parking spot, and it was a disaster. He zoomed in on your face, flushed and irritated, as you waved frantically at him to get back inside of his car and help you. Your lips moved as you shouted something at him, your expression twisted in mock anger, but it only made him laugh.

That sound, the sound of his laughter—echoed through the room as you watched yourself scowling at him, completely oblivious to how the moment would look years later.

When the video finally faded to black, you sat there in silence, staring at the black screen of your laptop. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as a sad smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. The memories left a bittersweet feeling in their wake, filling your chest with an ache that never really went away.

You always knew the truth. You would always be in Lando’s corner, even when it felt like he had forgotten you existed. You would stay, waiting in the shadows, knowing full well you were his second choice, or maybe not even a choice at all. Yet, you couldn’t really bring yourself to care, you had settled on being Lando’s backburner long ago, content to exist where he had placed you, because even the smallest scraps of his attention felt like more than you deserved. You knew it would never be enough, but it was all you had.

When you left the UK, you had never properly said goodbye to Lando. You couldn’t face him—not after everything. It had been the hardest thing you had ever done, leaving the place where you grew up and leaving the person that mattered to you the most.

The day you were about to board the plane to America was supposed to be the start of something new for you. But it also turned out to be the same day Lando and Luisa had finally gotten together. It didn’t make sense at first, you had been too wrapped up in your own plans to notice anything strange.

You were so focused on your own future, dreams, and adventure that lay ahead. But the moment you realized what had really happened, the gut-wrenching truth hit you all at once. Despite everything, despite all the years of friendship, despite the deep feelings you had kept buried, Lando had never said a word to you.

The first sign came two weeks before your departure, when you noticed he had not contacted you. Not once. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had spoken, and then, one evening, it hit you. While youwere scrolling through instagram, lost in the sea of photos and videos, you saw it.

Lando and Luisa standing together in a sunlit paradise. They were everywhere—clinging to each other, smiling like they had always been this happy. Their arms wrapped around each other, looking like the couple everyone thought they were meant to be, living out the kind of romance you had always imagined for yourself—only, it was not with you.

It stung more that you could have imagined. It felt like a cruel grip and punch to the stomach—seeing them together, seeing him in a way you never thought you would. There they were, living life, having fun in Dubai, while you had been silently fading into the background, unable to say anything, unable to be anything more than just a shadow.

It suddenly made the decision easier for you. Maybe it was petty, or childish. But at that moment, it felt like it was the only way to protect yourself. You didn’t need to say goodbye, or talk to him again. You didn’t think that talking or saying goodbye to him would even change anything. You didn’t want to face the truth anymore—didn’t want to admit how much it hurts to be forgotten, be pushed aside while he moved on.

So, you did what you had to do. You packed up everything, every piece of your life that had been tangled with Lando’s, and left. You left without a word, without any explanation. The silence between you felt so final, so complete, as if you were never even meant to matter.

When you landed in America, you didn’t waste any second. You changed your number, blocked him on social media, deleted every trace of him from your phone, from your mind, from your life. It was easier that way, right? No more reminders of what you could never have. No more wondering if he still thought about you. It was better to start fresh, even if starting over meant leaving everything you knew behind. You never looked back, at least that’s what you told yourself.

You gently closed your laptop, the soft click of the screen snapping shut, and disconnected the camcorder. You wanted to throw it away, erase it from your life entirely, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the hope that one day, you could look at it without all the pain attached to it, or maybe it was the attachment to something that had once meant so much.

With a deep sigh, you placed it back in the memory box, careful not to let it settle to heavily among the other momentos you had packed away. You knew you wouldn’t be able to part with it—not yet at least. Instead, you pushed the box deeper into your storage room, where it would sit quietly for now, out of sight but never far from your mind.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the box as if it might somehow speak to you, but all it did was remain silent, like everything else in your life that you had tried to put behind you. The soft sound of snow falling outside caught your attention, and you moved toward the window, your gaze drawn to the soft flurry of while blanketing the streets below.

Christmas was approaching in just a week, and for a brief moment, you wished you could go home, back to your family, to the familiar comfort of the holiday season. But the thought quickly passed. Home felt too far now, and you had your own life to navigate, a life in New York that, for all its challenges, had become a place you had grown to love.

You turned away from the window and began to change, pulling on warm clothes fit for the snow outside. It wasn’t much, just a quick errand to stock up on groceries before it got too dark. You didn’t mind the task, it gave you a reason to get out, to take in the city and its wintry charm. The air was fresh and crisp as you made your way out of your apartment, locking the door behind you with a soft click.

The world around you was calm as you stepped out into the quiet of the snowy streets, snowflakes falling gently around you, almost like a veil between you and the hustle of city life. New York felt different in the winter, quieter somehow, even as the holiday decorations began to shine brighter. Streetlights casting long shadows across the snow, and you admired the festive cheer that the city wore like a second skin. You had seen the Christmas tree lighting at the New Haven Green just last week, a tradition that always brought a sense of warmth despite the chill in the air.

Walking through the snow, you felt a small sense of contentment, something you had been searching for but hadn’t fully realized was within reach. The lights, crisp air—all of it made you feel like you had carved out a space of your own here. You hoped that it would stay that way, that the peace you had found wouldn’t be disturbed, even as the holiday season and all its chaos loomed on the horizon.

The grocery store was just a few blocks away, but your thoughts drifted to other things—nothing too heavy, just the soft hum of city life. It had been a peaceful walk, but then, you froze.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of something, or rather someone, someone so familiar in the distance. Curly hair that you could picture in your sleep. At first, you thought it was a trick of the light, a resemblance that your mind conjured up after hours of rewatching old videos. You quickly dismissed the thought, trying to shake it off. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be here.

But then, as if the universe had conspired to pull the past back into your life. The person looked up, and everything in your world stopped. It was him.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. The air around you seemed to thicken, sounds of the city dimming in the background as you took in the sight of him. Lando. In New York. Of all places he can be in right now, why was he here?

It had taken a long time to convince yourself, year after year, that you were fine, that you had moved on, that everything was better this way. Yet here he was, standing only a few meters away from you, the same familiar figure that had been a part of your life for so long.

You both stood there, frozen in place, just staring at each other as people around passed you by. Neither of you moved, as if the moment held too much weight to let anything else happen. It was like time had bent around you, your mind racing, questions swirling, but none of them found their way to your lips. You couldn’t speak, you weren’t even sure you could breathe.

Lando stood there too, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that everything else feel irrelevant. You knew he hadn’t expected to see you. Not here, not like this. Yet, there he was—right in front of you, a ghost from your past made flesh, making the familiar ache in your chest resurface.

You had thought you were done with him, that you had moved on, but standing here, with him so close and yet so far, you realized that maybe you had not moved on as much as you thought.

The world around you seemed to hold its breath.

[gamblersdoll]

You should make a Drabble of katsuki looking so vulnerable and saying cute things to reader and doesn’t know she’s recording him and when he finds out he jumps off the bed and starts yelling at her and acting all manly 😭 I Just saw this on TikTok and wanted you to write it bc I love ur works

“whats up with you, baby?” you finally look down at him, hes been knocking on your book for five minutes. “whatt?”

“miss you.” he mumbles, digging his head from your stomach to your lap. “give me attention.” he feels seen, in a way. he also feels embarrassed, embarrassed about asking for such a thing.. he shouldnt have to! youre his girl now, so he demands your eyes and thought process on him. “what could be more important than me in yer book?”

“nothing, my love. you know we both read.” he does forget that, and surprisingly— he is a book worm. whether it be romance or a action book. hes also a big mystery person, some of the things being applied to real life.

“… am i boring to you?” he asks, finally looking you in your eyes and he looks like he could break at any point. “do i not make you happy anymore? is it because of my ranking?”

oh, baby.

you toss your book, cupping his face in a swift motion. “why do you think that?!” now you’re panicked, because you know what its like to feel that way.

“i dunno, just thought..” he trails off, looking away and fidgeting with his thumbs. “just thought that i lacked in some areas, yknow?”

no, you dont.

“bakugou,” you start, him pouting when you use his government. “youre my favorite person, of course i still love you—“ it would be sweet, but it was ruined by his ridiculous attempt to not smile. “youre a dick.” he laughs, pulling your hands into his hair. “boy— thats what you wanted?”

“got yer attention now.” he giggles, his foot twitching and he softens up. “it feels so damn good.”

you smirk, his eyes closed and relaxed. “you going to be a good boy now?” you ask, his face turning red and he nods. “yeah?”

“mhm..” he mumbles, his head following your fingers at each scratch. he was no better than kirishima. “just fer you.”

“hm?”

“— be a good boy just fer you..” he repeats, opening his eyes to the worlds biggest betrayal. your phone hovering over him and he glares at you through the device. “im going to jail.”

“for what?”

“beatin yer ass, thats what.” he has yet to move, still kicked back into your lap. “you better not post it. i swear i will beat your bitch ass.”

“yeah? what happened to my good boy?”

he stammers on his words, the evening of today ending in him biting your ankles and knuckles, and also tossing you around until both your brains were spinning.

[witherby]

Hello! I was just wondering if we could get some more Punchline + Joker Junior content? I absolutely loved the first fic you did about them. Take all the time you need, don't rush 💓

I loooove these two and I'm happy to write for them some more! Hope you enjoy!

Punchline: Bonded Pair

3900+ words

⚠️ mention of unsafe living conditions, lack of self preservation instincts, parentification, technically kidnapping?, and threats of death/injury ⚠️

Masterlist is Here!

Popsy's been gone for more than two days, which means Batsy hauled him off to the loony bin again.

You and your brother have to fend for yourselves until he comes back, which is fine. It's a monthly occurrence. You know you have to lie low and not cause trouble when Popsy's away because that's Popsy's job. The best little kiddos are the ones that are neither seen nor heard unless otherwise ordered, he always says, and you're the best of the best!

So, instead of prepping explosives and building elaborate traps, you walk soundlessly across the hideaway to go find your most favoritest person in the whole world.

The concrete of the warehouse is cold under your bare feet and you can hear sirens in the distance. You dance around barrels of firearms and explosive materials, dodge the scurrying rats and roaches littering the floor, and climb up walls and broken ladders with ease to reach the upper floors where your brother is hiding.

Getting up onto the rafters, you spread your arms for balance and toe along the beams. You spot your target hunched over a small pile of scraps and tech across the way and approach him with a grin. You hold in a snicker as you make to leap on top of him, but at the last second he turns and grabs you around the waist with a grin.

"Gotcha!" He cheers. You squirm in his hold, laughing.

"No fair! No fair! How'd ya know I was coming!?"

"Felt the bar wobbling." JJ sets you down and taps the rafter. You feel the subtle vibrations under your hands when you touch the metal and click your tongue, disappointed. You'd get him next time. "What's up? Besides us, ha!"

"Bored!" You scurry past him and grab up what he was working on, holding it up to the moonlight trickling between the busted roof panels. "Whatcha makin' today? Can I help? Can I, can I?"

JJ chuckles and beckons for the device. You comply, handing it over and sitting down right next to him. He holds it in such a way that you can see everything he's doing, always happy to share with you and always happy to explain. That's one of the reasons you adore him so much.

"This is a signal jammer," he explains, flipping the little gadget over to show you the wiring on the back. "This panel here is programmed to send out a frequency that makes technology go all wiley! Radios can't broadcast, cameras can't record, cellphones can't call, yadda yadda."

"But how's the jammer know not to jam itself?" You ask, leaning down to examine the paneling more closely, as if it'll help you understand it any better. It's practically gibberish to you no matter how you think about it.

JJ giggles. "D'ya want me to tell you all the boring specifics, or do you wanna go play tag again?"

You hide your grin behind your hand and kick your feet, giddy. Your big brother always knows you prefer to be more active when you're left to your own devices. He's so smart! JJ can read and write and work on tech and strategize with Popsy — he's the coolest clown in town!

"You're It!" You cry, pinching his arm, then leap off the rafters.

Or, at least you try. A hand clutches your wrist, quick as lightning, which stops your momentum. You tip your head back to find JJ holding you up and staring at you with wide, blue eyes. His smile is thin and wobbly and his breathing is sharp.

"Punchline!!" He cries. "We're eighty feet in the air!"

You snort, hanging limp in his grasp, and make no move to help him lift you back up.

"I can't get hurt, remember?" You swing your legs back and forth, rocking your body. His grip gets tighter on your hand, registering the change of pressure without the pain, which just proves your point. "You're silly! This doesn't count, you have to let me get a headstart when you're It!"

JJ leans back and pulls on you with all his might, groaning from the effort. His voice echoes throughout the warehouse and you can see his arms straining under his shirt sleeves. Slowly but surely, he's able to get you high enough to pull you back onto the beam, and wraps his arms around your waist.

"Let's play on the ground," he says like it's a suggestion, but you know by the tone of his voice that it's not. It's his "no more nonsense" tone, the one he uses when Popsy's in a bad mood or when you have to be quiet when relocating to a new secret base. You've learned to obey that tone very well. That tone keeps you safe.

When he stands, he hauls you over his shoulder like a rag doll. You huff and whine and complain without actually putting up a struggle, but his arms lock around you like a vise anyway, so you just pick at a loose thread on the back of his collar as he makes the journey back down the rafters.

"No fun," you grumble, "no fun, no fun."

"Just because you can't feel when a bone breaks means you should break it," Junior says. He adjusts his grip on you as he starts to climb down some old scaffolding, shimmying carefully to the ground. "Harder to play when you can't walk."

"I guess..." You concede. You can walk on broken legs just fine. You've done it before, but it was admittedly much easier when they weren't broken.

"Glad we agree!"

Despite your protests, you giggle. When your brother's feet touch the floor, he puts you down and forces you to put your shoes on, citing that glass and rusty nails in your feet is still a nuisance even if it doesn't hurt. Once the laces are fastened you immediately take off in a sprint, starting the game.

JJ's always taken great care of you even though you don't really need it anymore. It's been his job since you were born. Popsy doesn't do babies. They're a lot of effort and time he doesn't have, especially when he's busy building the next great game for the Bat and his Birds to play. While Popsy plays with them, you and JJ entertain each other! It's always been that way, and it's lots of fun coming up with new games during the downtime.

"Ten..." JJ calls, smirking as he watches you go. "Nine...eight...sevensixfive —"

"Cheater!" You squeal, hearing his footsteps kick up behind you, and run faster. "Play fair!"

"Fourthreetwoone!" He laughs, sprinting for you. "IIII'm comiiiing, P!!"

You hop over a crate of weaponry and shriek with laughter when your brother follows suit a few seconds later, vaulting and jumping and running after you through the warehouse with only moonlight to guide your way. His past as a Bird makes him exceptionally fast and agile, but he's taught you enough tricks that you can generally keep him at bay for a bit.

You weave between two barrels that he flips over. You dart past a pallet propped against the wall and flip it down behind you, forcing him to duck under it. You squeeze into a dusty air vent he's just a hair too big to fit, his arm reaching uselessly for your hunched figure.

"Cheater," he pants, winded from the chase. His grin is softer. Authentic. You feel yours shift to match. The genuine mirth buzzes around in your chest like a moth around light.

"Takes one to know one," you sing-song, wiggling your fingers just out of his reach. He makes a strong attempt at grabbing you, but you draw back and giggle. "Truce?"

"Yeah," he quickly agrees. "You're It next?"

You nod. When he moves out of the way, you crawl out of the vent and sit on the floor beside him, shoulders touching, and catch your breath together. You tip your head in his direction since he's sitting on your right, in case he has something to say. He notices and props his chin on top of your head.

"Ready?" He asks after a few minutes. You nod, and together you climb to your feet. "Alright. Tag!"

He gently touches your shoulder then takes off across the warehouse. A few mice scatter on his approach and he's careful not to trample any.

"Ten, nine, eight," you call, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. Unlike your silly older brother, you're going to play fair and square so you can rub your victory in his face.

"Seven, six, five..."

You lose sight of JJ, but that's fine. The game's more fun when it turns into Hide and Tag.

"Four, three, two, one! HERE I COME, JJ!"

You run in the direction you saw him last, moonlight your only guide, and keep your eyes peeled for any motion in your periphery. So far it's just wood and metal all around you, nothing but your shoes clicking against the floor as you go.

"I'm gonna geeeet youuuu~" you coo, perking up when a shadow shifts a few yards ahead. You rush toward the motion and swerve to avoid crashing into the stacked bottles of acid your Popsy had you collect the other day. "A-ha!"

A Bird stares at you, wide-eyed and dead silent as he white-knuckles a small cluster of papers in his hands. You recognize them as Popsy and JJ's blueprints for some future trap designs. His jaw is practically on the floor, as though believing his garish colors and obvious movement in your living space weren't going to get him noticed. Granted, you thought you'd noticed your brother, but that's a moot point.

Neither of you moves for a few seconds, just staring at each other with incredulity. You've never met another person that wasn't Popsy, JJ, or one of Popsy's henchmen before. You don't know what to do.

"J-Junior," you stammer, grin crooked and heart thundering in your ear. You take a step back, and the Bird seems to come back to himself at that. "Junior!!"

"I won't hurt you," the Bird says, quickly tucking the papers into a pocket. He reaches a hand out to you and steps forward. You turn and bolt, running for your mallet. "Wait!"

"Beat it, Birdy!!" You shout, grabbing the handle of your weapon and swinging wide. The intruder just barely avoids getting his skull caved in. He takes a combative stance, hands balled into fists as he finally gets the hint and puts some distance between you.

"This is not the move to make," he says, scowling now. You sneer at him and twirl the mallet between your hands, glancing left and right for any signs of your brother. "I didn't come here to fight. We can discuss this peacefully."

"Are you deaf?" You taunt, running towards him. You kick a discarded pipe at his face, forcing him to block it, then while he's distracted use a crate as your launch pad to jump at him with your weapon poised to swing down with as much momentum as possible. "I said BEAT IT!!"

The Bird flips backwards to avoid collision. Your mallet hits the concrete with thunderous impact, leaving cracks behind.

You take the offensive, stalking after the Bird and steering him towards the exit. You won't kill him — Popsy's drilled (sometimes literally) into you enough times that if a Bat is gonna die, it's gonna be by his hand — but the sooner he leaves, the sooner you and JJ can round up whatever you can carry and rush to the next hideaway.

"Nightwing, where are you?" The Bird says, pressing two fingers to his ear as you continue to swing at him. "There's a child on the premises with the Joker's motif all over her. I could use someone with your annoying people skills."

He dodges another swipe of your hammer and you see his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, stiffening like a board.

"Timothy?" He blurts. Your already frantic heartbeat kicks up even faster.

It makes sense now why JJ wouldn't answer your call — that Nightwing guy must have found him. These stupid Birds have invaded your home and accosted your big brother, and now they're deadnaming him like they've got the right to reclaim your family! Like they've got the right to take him from you! Like they've got the right to intrude on your business!

"His name," you hiss, more snarling than smiling as you kick your leg out and bring the Bird to his knees in surprise, "is JJ!!"

You swing again, hitting him in the stomach, and send the Birdy flying across the warehouse. He hits the ground several yards away and rolls, groaning in pain. You stalk after him with furrowed brows and bared teeth.

"What'd ya do with my big bro!?" You demand. "Tell me quickly before I break Popsy's rule and turn your face into mashed potatoes!!"

The intruder pushes himself up by his hands with a grunt, glaring up at you through the lenses of his domino mask. You lift your mallet in warning.

"Where is he!? I'll give ya to the count of three!"

You bring your mallet down right next to the bird's head, making him flinch back.

"One!"

You do it again, this time just barely missing his knee as he tries to get to his feet. He stumbles back and lands on his ass, hurriedly crab-walking away from you.

"Two!"

"Three."

Something pricks your neck, the sensation startling. You flinch and drop the mallet, lifting your hand to touch the needle stuck in your skin. The room starts spinning and swirling, becoming a shadowy merry-go-round in the darkness of the warehouse. You stumble to the side and run into the big, bad Bat himself, who materializes out of nowhere to wrap his arms around you and frown at your slumping body.

Whoops. Probably should've double-checked your surroundings a little better. JJ's situational awareness was always stronger than yours. You'll tell him that when you break out of Arkham with Popsy.

"OhHHhh," you mumble, consciousness fading fast. "BaTSy's here...no...nO fuN...go 'way and...and gimME BAck my...broOotherrrrr..."

Your eyes roll back, your bones turn to jelly, and you're gone.

--

You do not wake up in Arkham. You groggily peel your eyes open to find a plain, beige cell all around you. To your left is a bed, on the back wall is a curtain hiding a toilet and a showerhead, and there's a sink in the right corner. On the ceiling, you lock eyes with a security camera, and when you push yourself into an upright position, you look through the clear, cell door to see a dark corridor clearly carved into a cave.

You're in a cell in the Batcave. How curious.

You push yourself to your feet, shaky from the leftover effects of the sedative, and press your hands against the door, pushing against it with a quiet grunt. It doesn't yield and, based off the panels you've worked with when Popsy's building a new trap, feels bulletproof.

With that avenue of escape gone, you wander to the center of the room and sink to your knees, wrapping your arms around yourself and sighing wistfully as your head gently rests against the wall.

You aren't used to being alone. Is JJ also in the cave, or did the Bats put him somewhere else? Maybe he escaped and he's on his way to Arkham to go get Popsy before they swing back around for you. No, they probably put him somewhere else; they called JJ by his old name, so they must want him for something. You don't know what for, and the lack of anything you can do in here is making your skin buzz. You just want to go back to the warehouse and play Hide and Tag with your family.

You must have dozed off again, because the next thing you know you're jolted awake by animalistic screaming down the hall and several, panicked voices are shouting at someone to calm down. You hear something shatter and a batarang goes flying past your door, which startles you.

"Get the fucking sedative out!!"

"I'M WORKIN' ON IT, ASSHOLE, JUST KEEP HIM STILL!"

You watch Batman rush past your door without sparing you a glance, jaw clenched and hands formed into fists. The shrieking gets even louder and the sounds of struggle more intense.

"WHERE IS SHE!?"

Oh, that shrieking is JJ. A wave of discomfort rolls down your spine and makes your fingers and toes numb. Is he upset because you haven't broken out of your cell yet? You're normally pretty fast at escaping bonds and cages, you've had lots of practice, but the sedative had made you so sleepy! That's not your fault!

"Tim, please calm —"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Your brother shouts. There's another hard thump and sounds of a struggle. A syringe rolls down the hallway and stops in front of your door. "WHERE IS SHE!? WHERE'S MY SISTER!!"

It's worry, you realize. JJ is worried for you. He takes his role as your big brother very seriously, so much so that this is the longest you've ever spent apart, and you're still just in the same building. You don't want him to be worried.

"JJ!" You call, pressing your hands to the glass. "I'm here!"

Everything quiets for a moment. You don't move. You don't breathe. You hold your good ear to the glass to listen.

"Punchline?" He calls.

"I'm in here, JJ!" You respond.

"C'mere," your brother immediately says, in his no-nonsense tone. You glance at the door and the keypad you have no hopes of hacking. The complicated, techy stuff is beyond you. You're the muscle and he's the brains, a dynamic you've been very comfortable with until now.

"I can't," you admit. "I can't get out!"

"...Tim, don't —"

More scuffling. Someone groans in pain. It's not JJ; you know what his pain sounds like, and that's not it.

"Let her go."

"One of you please go grab the goddamn sedative!"

"Give my sister back to me, right now."

"There's no need for violence. Get the knife away from your brother's throat —"

"I DON'T HAVE ANY BROTHERS!" JJ shouts. "GIVE MY LITTLE SISTER BACK TO ME NOW!"

You're so absorbed in the conversation down the corridor that you completely miss the man in the suit in front of your cell. He presses a few buttons on the keypad and you step back from him when the door slides open.

It's a geezer. What little hair is left on his head is snow white and he's dressed up in a fancy schmancy tuxedo. His gaze is piercing, but non-threatening as he looks at you.

"Terribly sorry to disturb you, madam," he says, voice gentle as he offers you a hand, palm up. "My name is Alfred Pennyworth. Might I request your aid? Your brother seems to be in quite the fright, and I think we've made a grievous error in separating such a bonded pair. Please, allow me to correct that at once."

"...what?" You blurt, smile thin. "You wanna give me AIDS?"

Alfred's expression gets a little tight. He takes a deep breath and starts talking again.

"Apologies for the confusion. I'd like to bring you to your brother. May I?"

Oh! Finally, somebody talking sense! You grin and take his hand, stepping out of the cell and turning your head towards the commotion.

JJ is standing tall and has a Bird on his knees in front of him, one hand fisted in his hair and the other holding a blade to his throat. You're pretty sure it's the one called Nightwing, but you wouldn't bet on it. The shorter Bird you fought in the warehouse is standing next to Batman and holding his dislocated shoulder while a thin line of blood runs down his temple. A big guy, like beefy as shit, in a red helmet is aiming a gun at your brother's head. And Batman is standing with his hands up in placation, trying and failing to take the pacifist route.

"JJ!" You exclaim, happy he's okay. Five heads turn to face you, and you let go of Alfred's hand to run to his side.

JJ lets go of the hand in the Bird's hair to hug you tight, then ushers you to stand behind him. The other hand keeps the knife in place.

"You hurt?"

"Silly question," you mumble, but indulge him anyway. "I'm right as rain, now that you're here!"

He nods, ice blue eyes roaming across all the birdies in the hall with you. Everyone else stares right back, tense and motionless.

"We're bottlenecked, P," he murmurs eventually. "Might haveta enjoy a little vacation in one of these cells 'till Popsy breaks out again."

You shrug, threading your fingers with his free hand. "Together?"

"Together," he says firmly. The fancy butler nods easily, waving his arm.

"You won't be separated again," Alfred promises. "Please, let's cease the violent altercations and all take a rest. Let me move you to a bigger room you two can share."

JJ gives you his full attention. You read the silent question in his gaze.

It's up to you to decide. You can fight your way to freedom or let them herd you into another box for the time being.

You quirk your lips, considering, then shake your head. The warehouse was getting a little boring anyway, and a fight could get your brother hurt.

"Lead the way, Penny Wenny!"

The knife is discarded and Nightwing quickly moves to the side, rubbing his neck and shooting your brother a weird look. The beefy guy lowers his gun. You keep your hands linked and follow the fancy butler to a larger cell with a bigger bed, which JJ tugs you to, and you curl up in his lap while he watches the door with a pensive quirk of his lips. Alfred bows and then leaves, the only sounds now being hushed conversation down the hall.

"You're not hurt?" JJ asks again. You shake your head. "Okay."

"Sorry, JJ," you sigh. "I tried t'get the baby bird to tell me where ya were, but then they pricked me and I woke up here. I wasn't payin' good enough attention..."

JJ gives you a gentle squeeze, resting his chin on the top of your head.

"Not your fault. These guys ain't no joke, P. I would know. I won't let them separate us again."

You hum, knocking your feet together as you come to terms with your new, temporary living space. You can adapt anywhere as long as your brother is around.

Click. Click. Click.

[rqbossman]

Hey Alex, hope you’re having a good day :)

Just finished listening to MAG Protocol Episode 37 and was absolutely blown away, what a phenomenal episode. No spoilers, just fantastic stuff. Especially with a particular character appearance ;)

Were you always interested in the script writing side of things? What inspired you to have a go at writing for Protocol?

Thank you (& Jonny & the RQ Team) for all the hard work and spooks!

Thanks for the kind words! So fun fact, I am actually a formally trained script-writer with an MA from CSSD and I think there's probably a bit more of me in the Magnus Archives scripts than people might think. I'd develop the story with @jonnywaistcoat before writing then after he wrote first drafts I would redraft the episodes with him before recording. Statements were normally only small changes but dialogue and character work was a bit more full on especially in later seasons. Don't get me wrong though, @jonnywaistcoat is very much the horror guy of the two of us. For Protocol though, @jonnywaistcoat explicitly asked that I generate the metaphysics (fancy word for fear logic etc.) and so I offered to co-write and that means getting to do first drafts. Personally, I think I am probably better at writing than I am directing but I suspect directing is a rarer skillset so I get more work in that vein. Left to my own devices I would probably do a lot more writing, I've wanted to write a YA series for years not to mention a dark fantasy trilogy and some sci fi but there's just not the time for me to sustain something like Rusty Quill and write novels so I guess your stuck with me podcasting for a while yet.

[harrywavycurly]

You Should Probably Hang Up: A Long Hair Harry Blurb✨

CW: Angst, drinking, language

AN: I got this idea from the song You should probably hang up by the Nightly and it’s been sitting in my head for a while so enjoy some long haired Harry angst!

Tag List: @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @tulips4harry @gmikaelson @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @namoreno

Summary: Harry gets drunk and calls you at 3 in the morning✨

“Oh f’uckin hell.” Harry groans as he tries to open the main door of your apartment, the one that leads him to the set of stairs that will eventually land him at your door after he somehow figures out how to climb up the three flights it takes to get there. He lets out a frustrated sigh when he tugs on the door handle one more time just to find it really is locked making him pat his back pockets for his keyring that has a set of keys to both your apartment door and this door mixed in with ones to his own house.

“What the fuck is go’n on?” He mumbles as he feels his brows pinch together while he searches the keyring for the tacky gold key for the door he’s standing in front of. When he comes up empty after the third round of looking at every key he lets out a frustrated sigh because he doesn’t know when or where he could’ve lost it because he swears he just used it two days ago.

He tries to dig through his fuzzy mind for the last time he saw you, surely it had to be before he left for the dinner he got invited to tonight by some up and coming producer that wanted to try to butter Harry up enough to get him to agree to working on his upcoming record. You always like to give him a proper send off that consists of a kiss and a few encouraging words when you decide to opt out of whatever event he’s rushing off to and he doesn’t see why tonight would be any different. But for the life of him he can’t remember seeing you tonight or even for the last few days and it makes his heart begin to beat faster as a weird swirl of anxiety starts to whirl around in the pit of his tummy. Coming to the conclusion he has no other choice, he looks up towards the window he knows belongs to your bedroom and lets out a sigh as he pats his hand over the front of his dress pants.

“She’s go’na be so annoyed.” His words are a bit rushed and slurred as he pulls his phone from his front pocked and scrolls to your name so he can hit call. He turns around and leans his back against the door as he brings the phone up to his ear hoping you aren’t too far off in dreamland so you can still hear that god awful ringtone you have set for him and be able to answer the phone.

“Please don’t let her be too mad.” He thinks to himself as he slides the useless keyring back into his pocket while he waits for you to answer the phone.

You feel an odd vibration under your head as you roll over onto your stomach with a groan as the sound of muffled voices fills your ears. It takes you a moment to realize where the sudden disturbance to your relatively peaceful sleep is coming from, but when you slide your hand under the pillow your head in laying on you quickly find the object responsible for making you leave your lovely dream and be tossed back into reality. You don’t bother looking at the screen as you give it a frustrated few taps before the vibrating and muffled singing is put to an end by you bringing the device up to your ear.

“It’s three in the morning so you better be dead or dying.” Your voice is rough and full of sleep as your eyes close while you stay laying down with the phone pressed to the side of your face.

“M’sorry baby but m’not dead’r dying jus-”

“Harry?” Your eyes shoot open as you almost drop the phone from trying to sit up too fast, having not expected to hear his voice coming through the other end of the line. You hear him let out a laugh as you turn to look at your alarm clock on your nightstand and after rubbing your eyes a bit you can read it more clearly just to see it says three in the morning making you very aware as to why he’s calling you right now.

“Who else would it be hmmm? N’less you got yer’self another boyfriend I don’t know bout?” You let out a sigh as you run a hand through your hair while Harry jokes and chuckles at himself. “I lost my keys so ne-need to be buzzed in.” He explains with a huff making you raise an eyebrow as you toss the covers over your legs so you can climb out of bed and head for the window.

“You’re outside?”

“I am. I missed you.” You look out your window that faces the street and feel your heart drop when you spot him. He’s sitting with his back against the door with his knees bent and his hair in a messy bun letting you see his eyes are closed as you watch him lean his head back so it’s also resting against the door. He’s dressed in a suit making you assume he was at an event earlier and hasn’t been home yet.

“Harry I can’t-”

“Can’t what? Are you okay?” He asks with such concern etched in his voice it makes you have to look away from him and walk back towards your bed so you can sit on the edge of it.

“I’m fine I just-”

“Baby just buzz me in and we can talk bout it m’kay? M’a bit sleepy and want cuddles.”

“I can’t buzz you in Harry.” You try to hide the emotion in your voice by whispering your words through the phone. Harry quirks a brow and purses his lips utter confusion as he opens his eyes and looks up towards your widow.

“Are you home?” He wonders as he slowly stands up trying not to make himself dizzy in the process.

“Yes I’m home.” You close your eyes as you feel the lump begin to form in your throat at the idea of having the explain to him why you can’t just buzz him in. You hear Harry let out a sigh and you know he’s running a ring clad hand over his face and shaking his head thinking this is just you acting out due to the silly little argument you two regularly have over his lifestyle and how much he loves attending a good party rather than spending quality time with you.

“M’sorry love.” You swallow back the emotions that are building up in your throat as Harry lets out a deep sigh. “I swear m’gonna get better for you-for us jus please let me in and we can talk bout it.” He sounds so sincere you almost consider just letting him in and dealing with the emotional consequences later but you don’t, instead you just let out a shaky breath and clear your throat.

“I can’t buzz you in because we aren’t together anymore Harry.” There’s a silence on the other end of the phone making you wonder if he even heard you.

“Wh-what are you talking about? Baby I was just with you two days ago.”

“I know. You came over to drop off my keys and my box of stuff from your house.”

“N-no no that’s-we didn’t breakup we-we are meant to be together forever remember? That’s-that’s what we’ve always said.” Harry swallows thickly as he begins pacing in front of your complex door.

“It’s been a week Harry.” You say with a sniffle as you feel a few tears slide down your face. “You’re just drunk and don’t remember.”

“No this-this is a mistake.”

“You should-”

“I love you.” The words sting as you feel your bottom lip begin to quiver because you know he means it, he wasn’t the one who wanted this breakup but you couldn’t continue to be pushed aside for his social life no matter how much you loved him. “I love you so-fuck I love you so much M’sorry I’ll-I’ll stop partying and-and please baby just let me in and we can-”

“Go home Harry.” You hear his breathing get uneven through the phone and when you hear a few sniffles you know he has his own river of tears streaming down his face. “I-I can’t-”

“I’m sorry. Can’t-can’t we talk about it? Please sweetheart just let-let me in.” You take the phone away from your ear so you can let out a deep shaky breath at how hurt and confused he sounds as he begs you to just buzz him in.

“Harry please go home.” Your voice is strained as you do your best to keep your emotions in check for a few more minutes until you can get him off the phone.

“Is that what you want? You-you want me t’go home?” He asks as he turns his head up in the direction of your window as he lets the tears freely flow down his face. His eyes are puffy and bloodshot from the tears and from the drinks he had prior to showing up at your door.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You let out a deep sigh as you open your eyes and get off the bed so you can go look out the window to see if he really is going to leave and go home. “M’not gonna let this be the end of us.” It’s as if he can see you standing there looking down at him but you know he can’t with how dark it is in your room and the slight tint to the window itself.

“I don’t think you should call me anymore.” You watch his eyes go wide and for a brief second you swear they meet yours but then he’s looking away from the window and down at his shoes while you hear him let out a shaky breath.

“How can I fix this if I can’t call you?”

“You can’t fix it Harry.” You feel like your heart is breaking all over again as you have to tell him the same thing you told him when you ended the relationship a week ago. “So next time you think you want to call me just do me a favor and hang up.”

“Fuck that.”

“Harry you-”

“I can fix this-you you just have to let me try baby please just-just let me try to be better.”

“I can’t do this.” You cover your face with your hand as you turn away from the window and slide down the wall until your bottom hits the floor. “I have-have to go.” You don’t give him the chance to say anything before you end the call and slide your phone across the floor. You cover your face with your hands as a choked sob breaks out from your chest as a fresh new wave of tears falls from your eyes. You know this isn’t the last time you’re going to hear from Harry and you just hope that each time he calls it gets a little easier for you to hang up until eventually you just don’t answer him at all.

[fleshengine]

I think the main reason The Magnus Archives got the attention it did, in contrast to other, better, horror podcasts was 1. because there's two gay men in the core cast, and 2. something I've taken to calling the Sorting Hat Effect.

If a piece of young adult fiction has different categories the characters fall into, typically without their knowledge, consent, or involvement in the matter, people will go crazy with making sonas and OCs about it. Look at Percy Jackson, with the kids all having different godly parents and that designating what cabin they live in, and what powers if any they have. Look at Divergent with the different groups decided by some arbitrary and arcane test, I don't remember what they're called because it's been over a decade since I read it and I didn't like Divergent, next example. Look at Harry Potter with the Hogwarts Houses, chosen by magic hat and indicative of the character's soul or some shit.

All of these things are basically the fast track to characterization. They act as base templates for fans to build characters off of, and they're things that people can easily speculate on about themselves. If someone likes the piece of media they may even start to identify with the category. How many times have you seen someone with their hogwarts house proudly displayed?

The Magnus Archives uses this phenomenon extremely well. Smirke's 14 are teased out from from Season 1 but it isn't until episode 111 that all of them, their names, and their rituals, are explicitly told to the viewer. That's near the end of season 3, and shortly before the fandom began to really explode (from what I've gathered). The interesting thing about the world of TMA is that each character can belong to an entity among Smirke's 14, and simultaneously be haunted by one or more other entities.

When compared side by side with other horror podcasts, The Magnus Archives's horror is mid, its writing is mid, its characters are mid, its queerness is mid, and it owes its success to a writing device that suckles growing fandoms better than anything else I've ever seen. In short, 7.5/10, a decent gateway drug to better things.

Go listen to The Silt Verses, The White Vault, Hello From The Hallowoods, Archive 81, and Wolf 359. They're better.

(Oh and for the record I haven't listened to The Magnus Protocol yet)

[anniflamma]

Okay… I’m going to rant about a book that I read a while ago.... And I can’t deny it anymore… it was a bad book.

The Passion of Sergius and Bacchus by David Reddish. It’s a romantic retelling of the Christian saints Sergius and Bacchus.

To tell the story briefly about these saints, Sergius and Bacchus were third-century Roman soldiers and Christian martyrs. The oldest record of their martyrdom describes them as erastai (Greek for “lovers”). Scholars believe they may have been united in the rite of adelphopoiesis, a kind of early Christian same-sex union. When their Christian faith became known, after they refused to attend sacrifices to Zeus, Sergius and Bacchus were arrested and paraded through the streets in women’s clothing in an unsuccessful effort to humiliate them. The reason it failed was that the duo didn’t feel humiliated being dressed as women. After that they were both executed. Bacchus was beaten to death and Sergius was forced to walk in inward-iron-spiked metal shoes to another town and there was executed.

So, of course, when I found out there was a book retelling about them, I bought it immediately and obviously ignored the negative reviews. I read it with rose-tinted glasses on and loved it! Sure, I could see some red flags, but I ignored them, and to be honest, there are some parts of the book that is very good.

But here’s the problem with it: Reddish’s way of portraying women is… very questionable. For example, there are only two named female characters in the book. Only two. The first one is Helen, whose personality traits are that she’s pregnant and stupid. Im not kidding. Not that she actually does anything dumb, the narrative just tells us she’s stupid. She don't do anything, like she takes parts in some conversations with the other male characters but other than that, nothing. But the book itself and the maincharacters acts like she is the most dumb person there is. Later in the book, she dies, motivating another male character to make irrational decisions out of grief. Her only purpose is to serve as a plot device when she dies.....

The second named female character is Miriam (I remember right...), and she’s a homophobe. She does have a small arc where she recognizes she’s wrong, the next chapter she’s back to being homophobic again, and the narrative nor other characters doesn’t acknowledge her regression.

Trigger warning for the topic of rape.

Then there’s another female character who appears in the book. She doesn’t have a name. She’s basically just a narrative device to show that Sergius is a good person. There’s a scene where Sergius finds a group of Roman men raping a 14-year-old girl. He kills them and saves her. He doesn’t speak to her, she have no speaking lines, and then… Sergius just leaves and continues with whatever he was doing before. The plot moves on, and it’s never mentioned again....This entire scene happens in less than one page. At first, I thought it would come back to bite Sergius, you know, because he just killed four Roman men.... but nope! It was just there to show that Sergius thinks rape is bad and that he’s a skilled fighter who can take down four men at once. That’s all. Wtf?

This is why I hate stories that use rape as a tool to make a male character look good...

And then there’s the moment when Sergius and Bacchus were forced to be dressed in women’s clothing… In this retelling book, it’s portrayed as deeply shameful. Sergius has a long inner monologue about how awful he feels seeing Bacchus in women’s clothing, blah blah blah.

Like… this book shits on every single female character it has, and when it reaches the part where, in the original story, the men proudly embrace being “Brides of Christ,” it does the exact opposite. Yet Sergius is described as empathetic toward women’s suffering, that guy have inner monologues about how much he thinks that women should be treated better but at the same time he’d rather be physically tortured than wear women’s clothing.... And Sergius nor the narrative never questions why Sergius feel that way.... Talk about the irony... a modern retelling of an ancient story about two men who proudly embrace becoming "Brides of Christ" which leads to their death, yet in this version, it’s portrayed as something shameful.

How do you, as an author, take an old story from the freaking third century and potray it like this? There is no women in the legend so all these female characters are made up by the author... I can't help it but it feels like this author just simply don't like women... I really wanted to like this book... but once you see it without the redtinded glasses... it's really hard for me to recommend it... Stay away guys.

[bonbonly]

Sooooo first of all you haven't seen me here imagining things for lando bc I was not, somebody took over my account and i'm sending this thot to you bc it would be a shame to not share whatever my friend has cooked up there (it started out as a charles thot but the more my friend thought about it it fit better to a certain papaya twink than to our reigning ferrari princess) ANYWAY...

Streamer!Lando but also only fans creator!lando. Started out with CoD streams, maybe a bit of Rainbow Six, is decently successful with it. has a blast with his mates online but after some time he's frustrated with it bc he'd love to create something of his own. not just stream and showcase other people's work, do something himself yk?

So he starts a little photography account where he posts some impressions from his daily life and his fans love it but it just doesn't hit the spot for him. Nothing really does until one time when he's about to send some low effort nudes to some random girl he thinks fuck it and puts some effort into it, poses himself, adjusts the lighting, sets up the tripod to get some special angles and what can i say…

He likes it. Loves it even. Loves it more than the nudes he gets back. Just thinking about staging himself gets him hard again. So he does what every normal human being with a voyeurism kink does, opens an only fans. But on the down low. Nobody needs to know that it's him. He starts simple, nothing explicit yet, just his chiseled abs and pecs on display, a bedsheet draped delicately low across his lap, showcasing his tiny waist beautifully, his head just out of frame.

Then he upgrades to videos. the best microphone on the market, catching up every little moan and gasp he makes imagining the hundreds of people watching him jerk off. a high-quality camera recording every little droplet of sweat running down his torso when he's bouncing on a big silicone dick later. Mood-lighting, that makes every spurt of cum on his stomach glisten in the camera.

He does numbers on the platform, skyrocketing to the top 1% of creators in less than a month. He gets off on the thought that maybe some of his Twitch fans are unknowingly watching him on OF too. But he's not afraid of being discovered. He's careful not to mix the two worlds. He has it handled.

That is until you stumble over some pics of an OF creator that look suspiciously like some nudes you got a while ago from a certain high-profile streamer…

- 🍪

well 🍪 anon, you've outdone yourself and for that im going to ask you to start building a house on my campsite (im never letting you leave) can imagine the way your brows must furrow when you glance at your phone, your laptop and then back to your phone. maybe you even hold the devices side by side and notice the same details.

the glistening torso, the veins on his cock as his hands wrap around it. and lets say he - as a streamer - never responded back to you after he sent you those nudes, it was just a small thrill anyway for him so nothing too serious so you raise an eyebrow and think to yourself what would be the best way to get this man's attention again, he didn't even respond to you when you sent him your nudes back!

so using the same name you had on twitch - which was how you even met lando since you had donated a hefty amount to his stream - you subscribe to his OF and send him a donation there, maybe a teasing message only meant for him to see, but the message is clear.

you know it's him. and he might've been a bit confused at first until he finally realized that this was the very girl that made him understand himself better to starting that OF page. he probably smirks, tugging at his curls and thinking about how to approach this because obviously these two worlds have to be separate.

so after one night when he places a plug up his ass, his stomach coated with his cum, he might give you the honor of sending you more personal photos, just for you since you're doing such a good job at keeping his secret. he'll ask for you to send some back and there's probably no conversation going on, no hi how are you? hey what'd you think of this video?

because he knows you're watching each one, knows you're probably touching yourself on your bed thinking its his hand and not yours thats covered in your slick. he has the videos of you himself, your fingers deep in your cunt moaning his name while watching his videos. that knowledge alone is enough to keep him going, as long as you don't try to reveal his true identity.

little does he know that you miiiiiiight be a bit influenced from your own greed to try and make him bend for a more... personal fan interaction.