#BUT that was such a fucking cool experience. hoping we can do it again next year 😭

[pawnguild]

back from the festival! 😵‍💫 it may be a while until i catch up, but thanks everyone for the tags!

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 3 - Dreams And...

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE) - PLEASE REMEMBER TO CHECK, THIS CHAPTER IS DARKER IN TONE!

PREV - NEXT

Your hands are pruned. It’s quiet in the extravagant bathroom, other than the sound of the tap’s running water and your own shaky breathing. This was all a bit much. Your hands are more than clean now, but you absolutely do not want to go back out there.

You kind of just want to go back into one of the stalls and cry. A core girlhood experience, except you were an adult with a job and taxes. Or, you were. You think you’re some rich scion or something in this dream. Which like, cool, who wants to slave under capitalism anyways?

…You wonder if anyone would notice if you slipped out the window. You’d been gone for a while and nobody had come looking for you, since you’d totally gotten lost trying to find the bathroom. Sure, you were on the third floor, but at this point you were willing to risk it. Even if you couldn’t walk in a straight line right now, much less climb the trellises. For some reason, you could not handle your liquor today like you usually could. But once again, this was all just a very vivid dream, so it wasn’t like you could die.

To punctuate that thought, you hear someone scream.

It cuts off instantly, and then there’s quiet again. You pause, then turn off the tap, listening for any more sound. Drip, drip, drip… you press the tap down again and properly turn it off. Still no noise. Immediately, you realise you are standing directly in a horror film. You live in Gotham for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t an unlikely occurrence. You’d gotten mugged just a few days ago.

And you were alone in the bathrooms. So unbelievably drunk, and alone in the bathrooms. You were actually so dead, it was crazy. A dream, a dream…!

Your head bows, staring into the white porcelain of the sink as you focus hard on your hearing. You don’t think you could hear the party before, but you’re not sure. It’s definitely not there now. You swallow the dry pain in your throat, trying to summon a modicum of courage. Your vision spins.

You slap your wet hands to your face and then blink through your fingers. God. Okay, okay, okay. You can do this. You survived a mugging just last week with only minimal bruising. To convince yourself of your badassery, you dig your fingers into the blemishes, hoping to wake yourself up with the pain. It’s a bad habit but you have lots of those.

…Where’s the pain? Oh god, where’s the pain? Wait, don’t panic, it’s a dream! Of course, you wouldn’t have your bruises in a dream. That made total sense. And you definitely weren’t panicking.

You splash more water on your face. Time to face the music, you drunken moron. If you were going to be in a horror movie, you’d be the final girl of all final girls.

One hand on the sink, you take your heels off. They’re going to get in the way, and the sound of them clicking against the marble will give away your location. Massaging your sore ankles, you try and come up with a game plan. You don’t know what’s going on, and it really could all just be a false alarm, but better safe than sorry and all that. It’s a gala full of some of the richest people on earth, and you’re pretty sure you saw a swat team of security guards at the entrance.

So this was probably a hostage situation or a villain attack. You’d hear more noise if it was a supervillain fighting a superhero downstairs. Then you’ll bet on a hostage situation for now. Depending on who had taken you all hostage, that could be a totally fine situation where you all just end up leaving with lighter purses, or it could be the Scarecrow’s shown up and he’s about to mentally traumatise you. Like you needed any more of that.

Of course, this was all probably still a dream. Maybe if you say it enough times you’ll actually believe it. You’ll just plan ahead in case this is real (which it definitely isn’t). Plus you’d proven you could feel pain in this dream anyway, with all the times you’d slapped yourself. You hoped the fucking Tim Drake didn’t think you were too weird. Because he definitely thought you were weird.

It’s cool. You’re cool. You could handle this. You were a Gotham native after all. Totally cool. You have to force yourself not to gag on your own fear. Totally, absolutely, terrifically cool.

A few deep, calming breaths later, and you’re cracking the door of the lavatory open just an inch. You peer through the crevice, taking another deep breath when you don’t see anyone in the hallway. You push the door open a bit wider, peek your head around it to look the other way. Still empty. Another deep breath, you feel your chest rise and fall, and then you take the first step out onto the wooden floors. You wince at the slight noise the bare sole of your foot makes and hurry over to the long Persian rug to snuffle any more sounds.

And then you’re standing in the middle of the hallway in your ballgown, head swivelling back and forth as you try and catch any minuscule sounds, shoulders bunched up to your ears.

The first thing you need to check is the exits. Since you are on the third floor, and the banquet was on the first, you can assume that they’re well-guarded, but probably far away from you. Still, this is the Wayne Enterprises Tower, and there wasn’t just the party happening tonight. It was mostly empty as you’d seen but there’d been a few people you’d wandered past. They’d all seemed like late-night office workers, and the female janitor you’d bumped into was the one who had told you where the toilet was.

Was the janitor okay? Was that her scream you’d heard? Concentrate, dumbass. On airplanes, they tell you to put your mask on first before you do it for anyone else. The idea was the same here. Save yourself before you can hope to save anyone else.

That was… that was if you even needed saving. This could all still just be your own paranoia. Someone hit their knee on a ridiculously fancy side table or something. Like that scream wasn’t of pure terror. Like it didn’t sound like someone on death’s door.

Concentrate! Okay, check the stairs first. Don’t take the elevator, because you’re not an idiot. Maybe. Hopefully. Slowly but surely you creep your way back towards the entrance to the third level, where both the elevator and the stairs were. There was a map, too. You hadn’t been able to figure it out earlier, but you had a bit more incentive this time.

You make sure to place your feet carefully, aiming for the carpets and rugs. Even if your drunken steps miss half the time, you’re still mostly quiet. Every time you have to walk across a crossing you spend a minute listening, and then peer around every corner too. You’re not sure if you should be running, or if you really should try one of the windows.

Deep breaths. Keep moving. That’s the best course of action. Don’t get caught, but don’t just hide either.

It’s when you’re almost at the third-floor foyer when you hear something. There’s a crash, the sound of something breaking. No voices, though. Still, you can’t convince your body to move for a full minute. There’s a part of you that wants to go hide in an abandoned cubicle and wait, but there’s another part of you that is very aware of the rates of fires in this city. You keep going, taking a longer route to avoid the source of the crashing.

Another noise. A scream. Laughter. Spine-chilling laughter.

Shit, motherfucker. Why the hell did you get smashed at a fucking Wayne gala? Everybody knew the rogues of this city were totally obsessively in love with Bruce Wayne. Especially your own personal worst nightmare. You don’t dare even think his name, lest you summon the bastard.

Was he in Arkham right now? He should be. Like you should be at home in the Narrows getting a good night’s rest. Like you should be wearing dorky Flash pyjamas, not a dress more expensive than your rent.

He should be. It’s not nearly enough.

You realise, suddenly, that you have to make a choice here. You can walk away, pretend you didn’t hear anything, that you can’t hear anything. A woman’s cries, you think. You could leave her, save yourself. Hideaway and let whatever fate she’s facing befall her. Could you do that? Could you even stomach the idea?

In the end, the universe makes the decision for you.

“And who do we have here? What’s a pretty little thing like you doing wandering around?”

You hear your doom in his slimy voice, even though you didn’t hear him sneak up on you. Shaking, you raise your hands into the air, and slowly turn around. You see your doom in the twisted clown mask’s grin. For a second you think it’s really him, but then you notice his dark brown hair and the tanned skin under the mask. God, god, god. It’s a Joker goon. Your literal worst nightmare, given flesh. Is he here? No, no, no- You swallow down the urge to scream, to run, and do your best to keep thinking like a person and not a prey animal.

You feel like one. You think he knows that. You hope he doesn’t.

“Hey Travis, I found another one!” the man calls out, raising his gun to point at you. He jerks it, moving forward, and you turn back around obediently. The gun presses against the back of your head, and you move forward, obediently.

“Shithead, don’t say my name out loud!” another voice replies. You get to see its owner when you come around the corner and find the foyer.

There are five other people here, all tied up. Four seem to be exhausted office worker bees, who just stayed too late on the wrong day, and the last is the janitor who helped you. The kind lady gives you terrified eyes, but she’s the only one not crying among the hostages.

“Man, you worry too much. Like there aren’t hundreds of Travis’s in the city.”

“Just shut up, my god! If we leak info and it gets traced back to us, he’s docking our pay.”

Who’s he? Who’s fucking he?! He can’t be here, right? He fucking can’t be. You can’t, you can’t. God, you're going to vomit right here and now.

“Whatever. Anyway, this is the last person on this floor.”

“Check the feed again, dickhead,” the second one commands, obviously the leader between the two.

The one who caught you groans, and then you hear the sound of fabric shuffling. Is he looking at his phone? You wish you could turn around and look. You don’t dare with the barrel against you.

Your teeth dig into the side of your mouth. So did they have the security feeds? That meant you were doomed from the start. The only other option would’ve been to actually jump out one of the windows. They would’ve probably found you anyway. Hunted you down to meet their quota.

Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. This is looking like a big deal. And everybody knew Joker never left out on his big deal jobs, he enjoyed them too much. He’s probably downstairs demanding the Batman come meet him and have tea or something. Shit.

All of a sudden these goons seem like the much better end of the deal.

“Checked, checked, double-checked, triple-checked… There’s nobody else here,” the man behind you grumbles, and the one in front of you sighs.

“Alright, alright. Bring her over, I’ll tie her up, and then we can blow this joint,” the man says, and you really, really hope he’s not being serious about blowing this place. You’d had enough of explosions, thank you very much. Especially ones organised by the Joker.

The gun digs harshly into your skull, “Well, go on.”

Swallow, swallow down your fear. Don’t let it stop you. You walk forward to the other man, arms in the air shaking. When you’re in reaching distance, the second goon roughly grabs you and shoves you to your knees. He pushes your hands in front of you, not bothering to tie them behind you. You don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

The rope cuts into your skin. It’s going to leave marks, and bruises. The man finishes tying the knot and then pulls you back to your feet. Then he shoves you towards the elevator and turns to start picking up the other hostages. You turn so your back is toward the wall, not willing to have your eyes off the monsters for even a second.

It’s when he’s pushing one of the office workers towards you, that the second man speaks again.

“Hey, the boss said we had to kill one of ‘em.”

What? What did he say?

“Oh yeah, oops.”

The gunshot goes off before you can process the words. Before you can process the gunshot, the janitor’s body is crumpling to the floor. Before you can process her fall, blood is starting to seep from the wound in her chest. Before you can process any of that, the man behind you laughs.

He laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs.

The janitor lies on the floor, blood seeping into her hair and uniform. You squeeze your eyes tight, tears slipping over the lids. You refuse to look at the wound. At the gaping hole in her chest. And despite yourself, you know why they shot her, not you. Not any of the workers either.

Because she wasn’t worth the cash.

Yesterday, that would’ve been you on the floor. You were a fake wearing a fancy dress, who didn’t belong here at all. Still, they didn’t know that. You didn’t think anybody knew that. Not anyone but you, who had woken up in a world a little to the left.

“I’ll be down in a minute, Trav. I wanna play with this one for a bit,” the shooter says, and all of a sudden you’re thrown back into your body, into your frail mortality. You’re cold, your spine gives a shiver, and your horrified eyes find the wretched clown mask.

Like you said, your doom. You wish you weren’t right all the time.

“No way. She’s one of the high-profilers, we need her,” his leader replies, and you’re desperate to stick by his side. You didn’t think a Joker goon would be your saviour, but here you were.

“I’ll give you five K of my split,” he offers, not willing to let go of it. Of you.

The other one pauses, glances at you assessingly. There’s a glint of something in his eyes, something that tells you you’re not making it out of here unscathed. It’s something you recognise, something you even recognise inside yourself.

It’s greed. And it’s going to kill you. You always knew it would, you just didn’t think it’d be like this.

“Make it seven,” he finally announces, the deal for your soul made without any fuss or fanfare.

“You’re such a hardass. Fine, fine, seven it is.”

“Alright, and only thirty minutes, tops. Not a hair on her head, you understand me?” he says over his shoulder, waggling a finger at his coworker.

The group leaves through the elevator. It dings, and you watch in mute, stunned horror as the other hostages refuse to meet your gaze. As they abandon you to save their own asses. You couldn’t really blame them, as much as you wanted to. You were ready to do the same earlier.

“I think not even a hair is pushing it, right?” the creep says, finger reaching out for said hair. You jerk back out of his reach, an instinctual flinch. He grins, and lets his hand fall back to his side. You take a shaky step backward.

You’re trembling with fear. With the need to get away from this terror, this situation.

He gestures with his gun, pointing back in the direction of the branching hallways.

“Well, go on. Run.”

And God help you, you do.

Spinning on your heel, you flee to the echoing sound of his laughter. Your feet fall rhythmically against the marble floors, the sound of your bare soles far too loud. You can’t even do anything about it. There’s no option for stealth here, only the sort of hunt you’d expect to find in the woods.

Not here in civilised mankind’s territory. But this was Gotham, and the monsters often looked human.

You dart into a large room filled with tiny square cubicles. A call centre or something, a maze of low walls that are too small to hide behind. You keep going, teeth-gritting when his laughter cuts off. He’s taking this seriously, hunting you down. You think he’s done this before. ‘Played’ with people.

You can’t worry about those other poor victims, lest you become his next one.

Another crash, this time to your left. Your head snaps to the side, eyes wide, but when you look there’s only a broken lamp on the floor. You have to swallow down the urge to cry. He is. He’s playing with you. He’s having fun with it.

You keep running, passing by halls and offices and don’t stop running till you can’t. Out of breath. You’re out of breath. You bend over, the stitch in your side too much for you to stand. Why are you out of breath? You can run more than this. You often run more than this when you’re late for your morning train.

What’s going on? What’s happening to you?

A bang, behind you. You spin around. Don’t see anything.

He’s nearby. Right under your nose. You need to keep running, you have to. Through your panting you hear his laughter again, and that’s enough fear to get you moving again. Maybe you were in Arkham, arms strapped to your side and screams wailing down the halls.

You didn’t believe it. No, not in this moment. Not right now, as you run for your life. If you lived through this, you’d probably go back to thinking it was all a dream or a delusion.

But with that monster nearby, there’s nothing this could be but real. With sweat dripping down your neck, smearing your makeup. With the feeling of your heart beating out of your chest, in your ears. With the blind, all-consuming panic you’re in.

He’s real. And he’s coming for you.

You lift your tied hands and press them to your lips, muffling the sound of your harsh breathing and soft sobs. Heart beating out of your ribcage, you push your body even as it screams for you to stop. You’re flagging. Vision’s swimming, and you can feel bile creeping up your throat. You can’t keep doing this. You need to keep doing this.

For a moment, you stop to catch your breath. And he catches you too.

You scream, tugging at the rough grip on him. He swings you around into a wall, and again, you cry out. Side throbbing with pain, singing with it. Still, you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not safe, not safe, not safe. You push back against him, and he pushes back against you. Your drunken state is no match, and you tumble down onto the carpet. When he laughs, you look up at him, and he down at you.

The goon’s plastic mask merges with the Joker’s mutilated face, until you can’t tell the difference.

You aren’t the type to fight back. It’s just not instinctual to you. But when you hear his belt buckle clack, your foot kicks out before you can even think. You hit him squarely in the stomach, knocking him backward, and then you scramble away from underneath him.

“You bitch!”

He grabs you by the nape of your neck, yanking you backwards. You choke, hands grasping desperately at the grip around your throat, but he offers no relent. You’ve pissed him off. That doesn’t mean you can stop, can give up. You can’t stop fighting. Can’t stop struggling. Can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t stop-

The gun clicks. You freeze.

“Yeah, figured you’d be more obedient if I did that. Now, get up,” his voice is breathy, from the high of the chase or the hit you delivered, you’re not sure.

You hope it’s the latter. You hope this fucker drops and dies, right on the spot. You’re not that lucky, though.

Ah, your hands are hurting again. Not just the one, but both. Maybe you touched something. An allergic reaction of some sort. It shouldn’t be distracting you, it shouldn’t even be noticeable in the situation you’re in but god. The itchy heat is nearly as unbearable as the evil cretin in front of you.

“You think you’re gonna get away with that? I’m so fucking sick and tired of you whores who think you matter anything. You don’t, and I’m going to help you realise that,” he rants. His eyes are red through the tiny slits in the mask. Angry, dangerous, on the edge.

“Please, look I’m sorry,” you stutter out, stinging hands in the air. You want to run, but you think he’ll shoot if you do.

“You’re lucky I don’t fuck corpses.”

No, that doesn’t sound very lucky at all, actually. No, this seems like maybe it might turn out to be the new worst moment of your life. You don’t think it can get much worse than this, than the next moments that will pass. And it’s too much. It’s too, too much. Your palms are itchy and there’s a gun pointed between your eyes and the goon’s licking his lips and oh my god you’re going to die from an allergy before the bullet and-

And you just want it all to stop. You want it so desperately. You want the man in front of you to disappear, to never exist again, to go right down to hell where he belongs. You just want him gone.

Your hands stop hurting. The burning heat disappears. It’s quiet again. You can’t hear him laughing, the awful slick sound of him licking his lips. You can’t feel the cool iron on your forehead, the heat from his body so close. You can’t smell his sweaty stench. Your eyes open.

…There’s no gun. There’s no man.

You crumple to the ground with a relieved sob. Fisted hands lift to your eyes, as big blubbery tears stream down your face. Your shoulders shake with your cries. Your heart is screaming in your chest, trying to beat out of it. He’s gone, somehow. You’re alive, somehow. You’re not dead with a bullet in your brain, somehow. Somehow, somehow, somehow.

An impossibility. It’s an impossibility, and you’re so goddamn grateful for it.

As always, you don’t give yourself long to cry. Even as your tears still fall, even as you lick them off your mouth, tasting salt and lipstick and fear, you push to your feet shakily. You almost fall over with your hands still tied, shouldering the wall next to you for balance. You don’t have time to cry. No time to process what just happened. You need to get to safety.

You creep back into the main area, heart pounding in your ears, breath hiccuping. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get there. Ten minutes, thirty, maybe even an hour. When you try the staircase door, it doesn’t open. You yank on the handle, grab a chair and try and smash it in, but it stands strong. Fuck. You try the elevator as a last-ditch effort, but the buttons don’t respond.

You press your overheated forehead to the cool metal. Okay. Okay. Okay, okay, okay.

You turn around and storm back into the cubicle space, find one at the edge of the room with a clear view of all the doors, and tuck yourself under the desk. Pulling your knees to your chest, you resist the urge to rock yourself like a baby.

And you sit there, and you watch, and you wait. It doesn’t matter how many hours pass, you are not moving from this spot. It doesn’t matter how heavy your lids feel, how the adrenaline leaving your body has you sagging.

You’re not going to sleep. It’s not safe, and you’re not dying today. You’re simply not.\

You’re not allowed to.

-

A hand touches your shoulder, and you snap awake. Your fist slings out at the would-be attacker, but they dodge it smoothly. When you rear up for another, they move back, hands in the air in a show of surrender. Panting, you don’t lower the fist, your vision swimming.

It’s the Joker. But the Joker wouldn’t back up, right? And the Joker isn’t red, he’s green and purple.

It takes a while for the Joker’s pale, laughing face to disappear. But when you blink and he’s gone, you find someone else underneath. A red mask, a man you think you recognise from TV. A vigilante. God, you hated the vigilantes in Gotham.

Not more than the Joker. Not more than him.

The man stays a safe distance away, gloved hands firmly in the air. He’s tall, really tall. Broad-shouldered, scary. But he’s a vigilante, right?

Is he here to save you? Someone should've by now. The bastard's late then.

He says your name, you think. You can’t hear him properly. Wait no, it’s a nickname, one you haven’t heard in years. You could barely remember your mother calling you that as she tucked you in, as she told you she loved you over the phone, as she disappeared from the world entirely.

You hadn’t let anyone call you that since.

How does he know that name? How does this bastard know your name?

“-hurt? Hey, hey. Listen to me, are you hurt anywhere?” his voice is deep and warbled through the red metal mask, his eyes peering down at you through his domino. You just stare at him, eyes wide, barely breathing.

You need to know how he knows. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to him, and after a moment, he takes it in his own firm grip. It’s awkward, as you’re still sitting half under the desk and he’s trying to stay as far away from you as possible. Still, his hand is warm through the leather, grounding, keeping you from drifting off into panic and fear. Into your worst nightmares come to life.

Because this was real. It didn’t matter that it was impossible, it was real. You simply couldn’t deny it any longer, this was all real.

You stare at this stranger’s gloved hand like it holds the answers to the universe. It might, in the end. It really just might. It wasn’t like the universe was making much sense at the moment.

“She seems fine. Uninjured, if a bit shocked. Doesn’t seem to have a concussion. Hardly responding anyway,” Red Hood speaks, but not to you. An earbud, you think. Superheroes used wiretaps and things like that all the time, right?

If you could even consider Red Hood a superhero. Everybody knew he had his own gang. Of course, even as your very life is being saved, it’s by a morally grey hero who runs around with crowbars and guns. Ah, you’re crying again.

You told yourself a long time ago that you wouldn’t let yourself cry anymore. And you’d managed it, mostly. You think you’ll give yourself a pass for today, just a little one. You hold this stranger’s hand, and you cry.

You just cry. You cry, and you hold the hand of some stranger you hate, because you have to.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[dollarbils]

break up with him | b.e.

billie eilish x fem!reader

context. you and billie are broken up. but despite your new relationship, when you meet at a party, the feelings you both swore were gone, seem to resurface.

warnings. suggestive, arguing, mentions of alcohol, cheating (with billie)

masterlist

your hand flew to your face in a weak effort to block the rays of sun, tempting you to wake up. you shifted your body and tried to lift your head but it started pounding violently, reminding you of the events that had transpired the night before. trying to roll out of bed proved to be useless, as you became conscious of an arm holding you back from doing so. you looked down to see billie's hand holding your bare tit. you’d recognise her rings anywhere. and her other hand, littered with fairies, was draped over your naked stomach. you silently cursed yourself. you’d been here before, it wasn’t new.

"what the fuck." you whispered and she stirred. you carefully lifted her hand from your breast, the loss of contact evident in the cool morning air, and you slowly got out of bed. you quickly found your shirt and jeans on the ground along with your bra. you found the bathroom, quickly heading to the sink to splash your face with water and put your clothes back on, not allowing yourself to give the reason they were off, a second of your thoughts.

"i have to admit, you’re exactly who i expected to see." billie said, groggily, as you walked out of the bathroom, she was covering herself with the sheets, her clothes bunched up on the floor next to her. you were really hoping she would've still been sleeping.

"uh, yeah. here we are again." you held your forehead in your hand as you tried to fight the incoming headache.

"you can’t seem to keep away from me, can you?" she grinned at you and you crossed your arms.

"this isn't funny bils, you're enjoying this?"

"a little. you can't tell me you didn't." she admitted still smirking.

"fortunately I don't seem to have vivid memories of the experience." you huffed, gathering some of the things that had spilt out of your bag when you’d dumped it on the floor.

"fortunately? that's an exaggeration, I can remind you." she smiled, widening her eyes, her finger tracing the skin on your shoulder.

"billie, I can't do this with you." you stepped away from her, regaining your self control.

"well your drunk self seems to think otherwise." she got up not bothering to keep covering herself as she picked up her clothes. when you turned away she spoke again. "come on, it's nothing you haven't seen before." your predicament was obviously amusing to her. you shuffled through your jeans and in the sheets looking for your phone.

"your boyfriend called," billie, now fully dressed, held up your phone which she'd found on the floor, "eight times." she swung your phone in her hand and you took it from her checking through it to see eight missed calls from your boyfriend, who you’d forgotten about until this very moment.

"fuck, fuck, fuck. why didn't you stop us if you knew I'm in a relationship?" you raised your voice slightly.

"don't come blaming me, i was drunk too." she raised her hands up in defense.

“fuck.” you repeated.

"hey, it's okay," she held your face as your brain caught up to heart, which was racing violently. "calm down, angel." she whispered sweetly.

"no it's not okay bils i don't cheat, i'm not a cheater.” she stopped herself from laughing but a silent giggle slipped out.

“cut the crap. this is what? the third time you’ve woken up here with the same reaction?”

“i’m in a relationship, get over it. i'm sorry if I got your hopes up, don't call me." you grabbed your bag from the foot of the bed and exited the room.

"wait" she called, and it took all of your strength to ignore it and close the bedroom door behind you. as you crossed the hall you figured out you were in billie’s house, it hadn’t changed much since you were last here. but before you could leave, billies arm pulled you back into the room you’d woken up in.

“we’re not done talking.” she said sternly, before closing the door again. locking it so that you couldn’t escape without her stopping you.

“i’m quite done. we broke up billie, months ago.” you told her, trying to loosen the grip she had on your arms, but to no avail.

“it sure didn’t take you long to move on.” she spat back, matching your own attitude to the situation. her face moving impossibly closer to yours.

“don’t do that.” you looked away from her, considering it a low blow.

“don’t do what? tell you the truth? you need a fucking wake up call. you can’t keep avoiding your feelings.” you were silenced, not knowing how to clap back at her argument. she took your cheeks in her hands when you didn’t answer, forcing you to look at her.

“don’t tell me last night was just a drunken mistake to you.” there was an undertone of hurt in her voice.

“it was.” you replied, lying through your teeth.

“i don’t believe you.” she challenged.

“believe what you want.” it was a shitty response. a non answer to a statement you didn’t want to face.

“you wouldn’t do it again if it was just a mistake.”

“believe what you want.” you repeated and she clicked her tongue, shaking her head in disbelief.

“do you regret it?” she asked, hesitant.

“yes.” her demeanour changed as she contemplated whether she believed you or not. you instantly regretted it though, you didn’t want to hurt her, despite everything. “not because of you bils, because of him.”

“because of him? what does that even mean?” her hands left your body and suddenly you craved for them to return.

“i can’t keep cheating on him with you.” she was laughing out of anger, disbelief planted on her face.

“break up with him.” she suggested, and it took you a while to realise she was dead serious.

“for you?” you asked her to clarify what she meant. she nodded and you sighed, “I don’t know, billie.” you said honestly.

“admit it, he’s just an excuse for you not to date me.”

“your in over you head.”

“you’re going to tell me you haven’t missed me?” she asked, her eyes filled with emotions you didn’t have the courage to face.

“of course, but that’s not why.” she came closer, lifting your chin when she spoke.

“don’t you go home every time you wake up here cursing yourself because you can’t stop thinking of me?” she was sincere now, the fight forgotten.

“billie stop.”

“then tell me why, angel. i’ll make it better, i’ll try my best.”

“you hurt me, you became distant all of a sudden and practically ghosted me.” you recounted the events of your breakup.

“i wasn’t in the right place.” she explained but to you, it still felt like an empty excuse.

“how can i trust that you are now?” your head was spinning with the possibility of being with her again.

“i’ll show you, let me show you.” she whispered on your skin as she kissed down your neck. she made you weak and she knew it.

“i have a boyfriend.” the statement was false in so many ways except literal.

“break up with him.” she repeated. her hands travelling lower and her lips marking your skin.

“billie.” you said her name. like a chant, like a plea, like you hadn’t said it in years.

“baby?” she questioned your call for her attention as she left your neck, the feeling of her lips still lingering. she looked into your eyes when you didn’t speak.

“do you still love me?” she questioned, her eyes never leaving yours. it was hard to look at her and withhold the truth.

“i-” the words were at the tip of your tongue but it was as if you were frozen, her compelling gaze keeping you in place.

“hm?” it was a soft sound, grounding you.

“of course i do.” you gave in and she smiled, her teeth showing.

“you better break up with him after this.” she said before pulling your lips to hers, and they followed like a magnet. your chest tightened as your hands met her black hair, pulling harder than you’d wanted them to. she groaned, her mouth opening, inviting your tongue in. in the end, you’d always find yourself giving in, going back to her. ready to let her hurt you all over again. but you didn’t care. at least not in the moment.

part 2

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Spaghetti Squash (The Surprise, Part 12)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: pregnancy times, established relationship, literally so much fluff, just fluff on fluff on fluff, some explicit language (please let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.4k

Summary: As your pregnancy progresses, Emily starts to feel disconnected from the experience, sad that she can't feel what you're feeling. She tries to control what she can, but you help her see that letting go isn't the worst thing in the world.

Week 22: The Spaghetti Squash

“What about that one, Em? It’s pretty.”

You pointed to Emily’s laptop screen, at a nice, oval crib, made of natural wood. Very modern looking. 

“Honey, I don’t care if it’s pretty. I care that it’s safe.”

“Well, I care if it's pretty. Click on it and see!” you badgered her, yawning.

You leaned heavily on Emily’s shoulder, trying hard to keep your eyes open. You’d been scrolling through baby site after baby site for nearly two hours now, checking things off Emily’s ridiculously extensive shopping list. Normally, you’d be interested. The problem was that Emily had to do a solid half hour of research into each and every item.

“Bossy…” Emily mumbled, lifting up her arm so you could snuggle into her chest. She scrolled through the page, looking at all of the crib’s features.

“Look!” You pointed at the screen. “It converts to a toddler bed and a kid bed. So it can grow up with her.”

“And it’s GreenGuard Gold Certified!”

“Wow.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm. “Adorable.”

“Hey,” she protested, pinching the skin under your arm. You squirmed and giggled. “I’m keeping him safe. You can keep him cute.”

You yawned again, shutting your eyes for a moment and sinking into her.

“Y/N,” Emily cooed, cupping your cheek and rubbing her thumb against it. “Stay awake, baby. You promised we’d get through five things tonight.”

You groaned, noncommittal.

“Y/N,” she prompted again, this time patting your face lightly.

“I didn’t know it was gonna take literal hours…” you grumbled.

“Here,” she said, lifting you up a bit and kissing your cheek. “You can pick what we look for next. Something fun.”

You squinted at her.

Her eyes were huge, and she had that hopeful, pleading half-smile that she knew would get you to do anything. As a final blow, she bit the corner of her lip. Fuck. She was just too irresistible, it wasn’t fair.

“Ugh. Fine.” You stretched and sat up as Emily placed the laptop in your hands.

“What do you want to look for?” she asked, looping her arm around yours and rubbing her thumb against your bare skin. She placed a quick kiss on your shoulder and nuzzled into your neck.

“Crib sheets?” you suggested, perking up. “I found a brand I really like.”

“Are they–”

“Green, gold, whatever-the-fuck certified?”

She blushed a bit. “Yes,” she said softly.

At this rate, you'd spend another hour and a half with Emily deep-diving on crib sheets.

“Emily,” you sighed, turning to look at her. “You are the love of my life and the mother of my child and I love you more than breathing. But for fuck’s sake, you’ve gotta cool it a little bit.”

Her eyes turned a little sad, a little embarrassed.

You continued, a bit softer now. “I know it’s just because you love her and you want to keep her safe. And I know it’s hard for you right now because I’m the one who’s carrying and I can feel her moving and this is the only thing you can control. But, baby, I promise you that a couple of 100% organic cotton crib sheets that might not have that super special certification aren’t gonna kill her.”

Emily was quiet. You turned to hold her face in your hands, tracing her angles, all her lines–you knew them better than you knew your own body. She smiled a little as you brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her forehead.

“Maybe you should be a profiler,” she chuckled, leaning into you and looking at the website you’d pulled up. “Goddamn.”

“Sorry,” you said, drawing her to your chest and tucking her head under your chin. “That was a little harsh.”

“No, you’re right.” Emily exhaled deeply and nodded. “Alright, let’s see these sheets.”

Your stomach did a little flip, excited to share one of your finds with Emily. So far, she’d picked most of the things, and you’d let her, knowing that the lack of control was hard for her.

“Okay.” You scrolled and clicked on a crib sheet, crisp white and covered with tiny dinosaurs. “I mean, look! It’s got little brontosauruses!”

In a rare show of letting go, Emily squeezed your arm and said, “Add it to the cart.”

“Really!?” you squealed.

“Yeah, of course, honey. It's cute.”

You kept scrolling, but Emily stopped your wrist. “Oh, baby, look at that one! It’s got bananas!”

“Adding it,” you decided with a dramatic click.

After a few more minutes of looking through crib sheets, you’d placed your order and shut the laptop for the evening, proud to have made it through all five of Emily’s predetermined list items. You knew you both needed to go to bed, but you were just so comfy sprawled on the couch. Emily’s head rested on your baby bump, and you carded your fingers through her hair.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so controlling about the shopping,” she whispered out of the blue.

“It’s okay, honey,” you said, softly massaging her head.

“No, it’s not,” she sighed. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t letting you pick anything.”

“Em, I promise it’s okay.”

She didn’t answer, instead running her hands along the side of your belly, as if feeling for something, anything.

“Has he been moving tonight?” she asked, her voice almost sad.

“Mmhm.” You hated to see her sad. You wished so desperately that she could feel what you were feeling. You didn’t want her to feel left out of the pregnancy. You didn’t want her to feel any less the baby’s mom than you were.

“Tell me what it feels like.”

You thought for a moment. “Mm… kind of like butterflies. Or, like, when you’re nervous and your stomach does a flip.”

She was quiet again, and you pulled her face up to your chest, pressing kisses to the top of her head. “It’s gonna be okay, Em. You’re her mom, too.”

“I know,” she mumbled.

“You know, I think the baby can feel you.”

“What?” She lifted her head a bit, looking at you quizzically.

“Maybe you can’t feel her yet, but I bet she can feel you. She can hear you, and I read today that babies feel their mom’s emotions.”

Emily looked up at you, her eyes shining a bit.

“I always feel happy and safe and loved when you’re with me. And that’s what she feels, too. She can hear you and she feels those things when you’re around because I feel them. So she knows you’re here. She can feel you.”

Emily blinked back a few tears and pressed her face to your stomach, planting a few kisses on your baby bump.

“I love you,” she whispered to your stomach, and you thought you might cry, too.

“Can you hear me, little one? I love you. Maman loves you so much.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying not to cry, trying (and mostly failing) not to let your overwhelming love for this woman turn you into an absolute puddle. For neither the first time nor the last, you were utterly flabbergasted that this was your life. That there was a baby inside you, growing strong and healthy. That the baby would have two moms, something you’d never thought possible when you were growing up, imagining your future. And, best of all, that you had Emily. Sweet, strong, beautiful Emily. Who loved you so well. Who made you so happy you sometimes thought you'd explode with it. How did you get so lucky? How was it that, despite it all, despite all the tragedies, big and small, along the way, you’d somehow stumbled into a life so good that it was, quite literally, beyond your wildest dreams?

“I love you, Em,” you blurted out, unable to stop yourself or stop the tears from brimming in your eyes.

She looked up at you, and you could tell she was happy, truly happy. And if you could do nothing else in your entire life except make this woman happy, you’d die satisfied.

She sat up a bit, pulling on the collar of your shirt to draw you into a kiss. A soft kiss, one that you melted into, one that reminded you of your very first. All butterflies and excitement for what was to come.

“I love you, too,” she said, pressing her forehead to yours. “So much.”

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Writing Prompt #10

Damian wakes up to low-pitched arguing, and in his daze thinks the hand running through his hair is Richard's.

"S'rry," he murmurs, turning his cheek into the hand. His head hurts, and Richard's hand is cool against his cheek, delicate nails ghosting over his scalp.

Hm. Richard does not have delicate nails. Nor a woman's voice.

"-lty is to Danny, all you've done is put a bigger target on our backs!"

"So be it," the young woman says, voice measured. It's her hand that's in Damian's hair. He'd pull away but his body is weighed down, eyelids barely ably to slip open to grab a glimpse of ginger hair before slamming shut again.

He's...drugged. He thinks. Nothing he recognizes immediately, but it's been a while since his poisoning sessions and thinking right now is difficult. His mask is still on, which means his identity is intact. There's nothing he can do except hope it will stay that way.

And so he sinks back under.

Some time later, he resurfaces with more lucidity. He's still costumed, mask on. His body still feels heavy, but this time he can wedge his eyes open enough to catch three figures next to the bed he now lies on. The redhead stands closest.

"--you an out," she is saying, her back to Damian. The other two, a pale girl with pitch black hair and a boy wearing a red cap, look at each other.

"That's not what we're asking for, and you know it!" The pale girl yells.

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't take it." The woman says, her voice extremely level in comparison. This only seems to agitate the girl further.

"Team Phantom means we make decisions as a team, Jazz." The boy says through grit teeth. "And if you had run this by us, we would've,"

"Said no--" the pale girl says, meanly.

"--At least figured out a better way," the boy says, head turning sharply towards the girl. "Between this and Jefferson you've been making really rash choices. We can't find Danny if we get caught by the Justice Loogies--"

"Team Phantom," the redhead interrupts. She turns towards Damian, and if she notices he's awake, she doesn't say anything. "You really don't get it, do you. There is no Team Phantom, because Danny's gone. We're not going to find him."

"Stop eating their bs--"

"Stop living in denial, Sam. Both of you. We can't find Danny because Danny's not anywhere to be found."

"They wouldn't get rid of him--"

"Why wouldn't they? Don't you see?" Jazz says, whirling around. She waves a blurry arm in Damian's direction.

"They can recreate the experiment anytime they want. And they do want. They found his genetic doppelgänger when they got their hands on Robin's blood. That's what they had on file in Jefferson."

Jefferson, Damian thinks. It's familiar. Information starts to filter in. It's not a person, but a place. There was an explosion at a government facility. Blew up three city blocks. 45 Casualties.

The redhead's a terrorist. He thinks. Redhead.

Fuck. She'd been getting mugged. He'd rescued her. Her face had been bruised.

She'd wanted to go to the hospital. Held onto his cape for dear life. Flinched back from Richard.

He'd smirked at Grayson before offering to escort her.

He'd felt important.

...He'd been an idiot.

"--You really think he'd just hand him over?"

"I don't know anything about Batman," the girl says. "But I'm not letting another brother die."

There's a sharp inhale, and neither side speaks.

"So that's it," the pale girl says. "You give up and immediately go get a replacement?"

"Sam..." the boy says warningly.

"Danny would want me to protect him," Jazz says. "So that's what I'm going to do. And you are free to leave."

"You're acting fucking crazy," Sam says. "And you're too deep in your grief to realize it. Danny would want none of this."

"Well then maybe it's a good thing he's not here," Jazz says, "Maybe I should be thanking you two instead."

The resulting silence is so sharp Damian hears only the sound of his own breaths.

"Fuck you," the girl spits, a door slamming a split second later. The boy doesn't say a word, crossing over to Damian.

"I'm going to keep looking, Jazz," he says, after a long moment. "I'm going to find him. Because he's alive."

Jazz doesn't respond.

"Listen, they found Robin's blood, right? They don't know who he is, so if we tell him to stop with the costume, lay low-"

"They'll finger prick all of Gotham if they have to. You know that. They can't get to him here, not with the portals and research destroyed. Even if they catch Mom and Dad, the ghosts will rip them to pieces if they ever step foot in the zone."

Jazz steps closer to Damian. "Here, Superman won't be able to hear his heartbeat."

"What happens when he wakes up? Wants to go home? He must have a family out there, he can't be Robin 24/7."

"You know I used to read to Danny?" Jazz says. Her voice is distant. "Every night before bed. He'd never heard a fairy tale before. He could read, of course, but he liked the way—" Jazz swallows. "He liked the way I did the voices. We were supposed to be in bed by 9 but when Mom would come to check on us we'd just pretend we were asleep. Danny was really good at it, but I could always tell when he was pretending."

A hand brushes through his hair again.

"You really are his twin, Damian."

Damian opens his eyes and sits up as the boy, a teenager his own age, takes a startled step back. Jazz, yes, the woman he'd 'rescued', smiles warmly at him.

He's in a canopied bed, surrounded by rich fabrics and what looks to be purple-bricked walls. There's a green tinted window to his right. Bookshelves with old looking tomes lines the walls and a suit of armor stands by the door. He notes the mace in its hands. With any luck, it won't be welded to the gloves.

"Danyal is dead," he says shortly. Jazz's smile turns sad.

"Yes," she takes his hand. "I'm so sorry you had to find out this way. He was so brave—,"

Damian yanks his hand away. "No, he's not newly dead, he's been dead. For years."

Jazz shakes her head, that same sad condescending smile on her face. "No, Danny didn't die. He escaped the League. He told me all about you. He," her voice wobbles, "he loved you very much."

Damian's blood churns. "You're lying."

"He lived, and he was a hero, like you. He helped people. And then he became a King," Jazz says. She continues to smile, even as tears start to trail down her face. "Which makes you a prince."

She sounds, to quote Sam, fucking crazy. And now that he can see the manic gleam in her eyes, she looks it too. Damian shoots an incredulous glance at the boy, but he refuses to make eye contact.

Jazz stands up and opens her arms out, gesturing to the room. "This was his home. And now it's yours."

Damian weighs his responses. Remembers Dick's lessons in diplomacy.

And still chooses the nuclear option: "If you know of the League then you know what it means to be the heir of Ra's Al Ghul. I will not be made into a prisoner and if you attempt to keep me here, you will be sorry."

The boy mouths "the league" to himself, questioningly, but Jazz doesn't so much as flinch.

"I know this is a long to take in," she says, voice dripping with sympathy. "But I promise, it will all make sense, and in time you'll come to adjust. Let's let Damian rest, Tucker."

The boy, Tucker, looks at him now with a troubled gaze, but when Jazz opens the door he reluctantly walks out. Jazz pauses in the doorway.

"Damian," she says, that same far off tone in her voice, her back to him. "Danny used to tell me about the League's code. Hunting down those that threatened its power without ceasing. Ensuring every target was dead. No mission left uncompleted. No failure tolerated."

Jazz looks back at him, a small serene smile on her face. "I'm going to avenge our brother Damian. I'm going to hunt down every last one of them. Without ceasing. Without failure. You have my word."

She cocks her head at him thoughtfully. "Danny loved macadamia nut muffins. I'll pick us up some on my way back. A welcome home present."

She strides out the door. Damian waits to hear a lock turn, but there is nothing but the sound of her fading footsteps. He waits until the noise has fully faded before he attempts to stand, glaring at his legs until they sluggishly begin to respond.

A squeaking noise erupts from the far wall and he watches in disbelief as the suit of armor creakily moves to stand in front of the door. Sufficiently positioned, it ceases all movement once more. However, now Damian can make out the two glowing red dots staring straight through the slits of its helm.

Damian's lip curls up in a wicked snarl that Jason calls feral as it becomes clear the guard is not going to attack but rather...guard. He heads for the window instead and stops short as he gets his first peek of the outside.

The window is not tinted green at all. Instead, for as far as he can see, there is an unnatural, electric green. Blobs of more of the green float and drift through the expanse, as if he is trapped in a lava lamp.

Here, Superman won't be able to hear his heartbeat.

"Where am I?" Damian asks, staring out into the void. This whole time he's been angry, and embarrassed, and annoyed. But for the first time since this ordeal began, he feels afraid.

"Where am I?"

[pursuitseternal]

“Your body’s already given you away:” life-saving, body heat smut for “Bites in the Night”

Spawn!Astarion x F!Reader |E| 4K

🎨by @zuzanamariana, @qveenofthorns on Twt— NSFW full version under the cut

Summary: Storms come quickly in the Mountain Pass, and they are brutally cold. What if your only chance for survival was in the hands of your well-fed Vampire love…

CW: oral sex, near deaths experience, fighting hypothermia, Astarion is bad at feelings, PiV, possessive, protective Astarion, a rescue mission that wishes they hadn’t found them the next morning.

Ao3 link |Series ao3 link| Masterlist

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Night falls fast in the Mountain Pass, the thin air makes you struggle a bit harder to breathe… that, or it’s the way Astarion licks your folds clean of your mixture of cum after your rigorous coupling… Some hunting and foraging mission… you laugh at yourself. He lifts his head, lapping the blood on his chin from where he’s fed from you, cleaning himself of all that mess you made together.

“The camp might go hungry, darling… but I assuredly have not,” he flashes that wicked smirk as he moves to hover over your half-dressed body as you lay on the ground.

“You’ve never been a selfless one,” you tease, wiping your thumb to clean one last spot of blood from the side of his cheek.

“We only said we would try to find something to eat…” he runs a finger through the trail of blood on your neck that still dries and sucks his fingers clean. “I have found something to eat… and it was oh so delicious.” His voice is pure velvety seduction, and you’re sure you would risk anything in this cool Mountain Pass if he asked to take you again, one more time under the bright stars.

But as you open your eyes, you don’t see stars… you see a flash of light…. A rumble of thunder follows in the distance. “Shit,” you panic, shoving him off of you as you scramble to pull your breeches back on and fix your tunic and jacket. “We are a long way from camp… we need to beat the storm.”

Astarion only lays completely naked on the ground, smirking up at you. “The way your heart just pounds when you’re afraid is truly delightful, you know,” he taunts you, seemingly unwilling to leave. His hand reaches for yours as if to pull you back down for more of his attention, but you bat it away.

“No games, my vampire. Mountain storms are no laughing matter, not that you would know, city boy…”

He raises a defensive, ostentatious finger at you and waves it. “I’ll have you know, I didn’t always…”

A burst of light, a crack of thunder silences even his sass. A few drops of rain start to fall, and you just shake your head at your careless, foolish vampire as he tries to scramble into all his clothes. Picking up the packs of supplies, you start down the trail of the mountain, his feet hastening behind you as you make turn after turn.

Rain falls harder and harder until you can barely see. All that keeps you together is his vice-like grip on your elbow to keep you sure footed, a trait you characteristically lack without him. “We have to get out of the rain!” you scream at him, right for his pointy ear, as lighting illuminates the mountain path around you.

“Any brilliant ideas?” he belts back at you.

“You’re the elf, the vampire… what do your sharp eyes see?”

“Oh, same as yours, I imagine,” he snipes in reply. “Lots of fucking rain.” Suddenly he feels you shaking in his hand… You’re shivering and chattering, lips blue as the rain pours over your whole body. “What in the hells?” he asks himself more than you. “You… can’t be…” he watches your eyes rolling back in your head as your body collapses. “Oh for fucks sake, why can’t you also be undead for these sorts of things?” He teases exasperatedly to the silence, but only because his heart aches, his soul made heavy as he throws you over his shoulder and makes his way to the mountain side.

There’s a quick burst of lighting, just enough to reveal the mouth of a cave, and Astarion hopes it’s warm and dry and safe. He manages to fumble his way into the dark, every sense inside him scans for danger, but he hears nothing and smells nothing. He carefully sets your shivering body down. Sticks scattered around the cave floor are easy for him to collect; a simple spell casts enough fire to get a little warmth started. The storm rages just outside the shallow cave… and the light is enough for him to scan your face, your eyes shut and lips trembling and blue from the mountain chill and rain.

“Godsdammit, wake up,” he shakes you. His hands pull you against his chest. But both your bodies are soaked. His mind whirs, every instinct for survival kicking in. He searches through the pack; a single blanket near the bottom isn’t soaked. His hands work quickly over your own nearly-corpse-cold body to pull off your wet clothes from your numb limbs. Carefully he cradles your head, pulling you closer to the fire and wrapping you in the one dry thing he’s found.

Gods… this must be how I look… he stares at your ephemeral beauty, your skin devoid of color, chilling to the touch. The only differences are the slow rush of chattering breath in your lungs and the slightly faster beat of your heart than his own. Not that he’s counting every pulse that rushes in your carotid to make sure you’re still alive.

For your own sake. Not his…. He shakes his head in further denial.

But still, you shiver, moaning and mumbling to yourself, and not in that cute way you do when you sleep heavily in your mortal sleep as he watches you in his bedroll. This is… sickly… frail. Your skin is cold, even to him.

But if you are cold to his touch… he must be warmer. He pulls off his own wet clothes. Trying to dry his skin off as much as possible, he lays under the blanket beside you, covering your back with his flesh, and pressing you closer to the fire. Thank whatever gods were listening that he fed on you and fed so well before.. giving him just enough bloom of life in his undead body to share your body heat back with you.

“What good is a living, beating heart if you give up now?” He hisses vehemently to himself, taking your right arm, he rubs it, getting the blood to flow to warm your fingers, colder than he is in undeath. Huffing his mildly warm breath on his palms, he does the same with the other arm. Then he raises up the blanket, repeating that attentive rubbing and shaking with your legs. The scent of your coupling at the apex of your thighs makes his stomach turn. What in the hells had he been thinking…. Making you both stay out so far from camp…

That sharp slice of guilt gets pushed down quickly as he touches your thigh and rubs. Then your other leg. They both twitch, your breath starts to come a bit more pronounced.

Quickly, he throws two more large branches on the fire and slides under the blanket, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He slinks one hand under your nose to make certain you’re breathing. “For fucks sake,” he snarls. “You had better not die, don’t be selfish, darling…”

That’s when your eyes finally open, hearing that edge of sass in his voice. “Ast…ar…” your voice shakes as your teeth chatter still.

“Shh, back from the grips of death,” he smirks a bit cocky, “at least that’s one of us,” he gives that high-pitched, inane giggle. You struggle to sit up, but that arm just braces you back to the ground…

…not unlike the moment you met this Vampire. But your mind struggles to make sense of reality, the memories of that wreckage and the warm sun… the chill that still creeps over your bones.

You shiver hard, and he only holds you closer to his body, scooting you closer to the fire. “Please don’t insist on being stupid. Just hold still. We had the good sense to let me feed so much from… all those parts of you…” he feels you shiver at the memory of his tongue on your neck and between your thighs, “it’s given me enough of your blood in my veins to correct your foolishness.”

“My f-f-foolishness?” you fight the stutter on your tongue. You lie there, looking up at him as he lifts that haughty, grinning face to hover over yours. Head resting on his palm, elbow bent right beside your ear, he traces that lukewarm touch over the top of your arm.

“You’re in no condition to debate me, darling,” he smirks down at you. “Maybe you should save your strength and just let me try to warm you up for once.” He shakes his head, a disparaging grin as he raises up even higher, keeping those taunting, crimson eyes focused on the way his fingers run up and down your skin. “They say rubbing helps….” He flashes you that fanged grin and leans his face into yours. “Anywhere in particular you really want me to warm you up?”

You shiver still under his hand that is drawing your blood to pound a little warmer, a little more lively. “Fuck you,” you snipe back at him, managing not to chatter your teeth for once.

“Oh, you’re not ready for that again, my dear.” His voice is warmer than the fire, and makes your skin prickle more than the feeling that slowly returns to your body. If you weren’t still blue in the lips and weak in the hands, you’d be torn between slapping that conceited grin or kissing those irritating and attractively curling lips. “Now hush,” he furrows his brows as if he can chastise your thoughts, “and let me make you feel hot… all… over.”

“I hate you,” you hiss, his hands indeed dragging a lukewarm touch over your collarbone to trace around your upper body. He manages to touch you everywhere but your breasts, and even still your nipples seem to harden even more.

He tuts his tongue at you, leering now with an increasingly predatory gleam. “No, you don’t…” he gives a low, deep throated laugh, the likes of which you hear rarely, only in these moments when you feel totally played under his fingertips, that little edge of danger flitting behind his eyes. That wandering, teasing touch wanders lower, still touching you with a little hint of warmth and friction, but never anywhere you crave for it to brush.

“I… notice I’m naked…” you say as he brushes his fingers over your smooth skin.

“A necessity,” he grunts, feeling you shift your back against him more deliberately. “Wet clothes would only make it harder for you to thaw.”

“…and I notice you’re naked too…”

“Well,” he hems, his hand pausing right on the crest of your hip, “skin to skin is the best method of sharing heat, and given how little I am warmed even after your delicious blood today…”

“Seems like one of us is doing well for thems-s-selves,” you shiver hard one more time, your ass brushing against his belly, but he lacks that familiar prod of his erection against the backs of your thighs. Uncharacteristically soft.

He scoots back the moment he feels you brush him there… a tell-tale clearing of his throat as his hand starts to rub your side… your collarbone… harder and faster. “Ahhh,” he sighs dramatically, starting to press his lips to your pulse point, “there’s that merry dancing of your heart, darling. And all it took was a crooked touch…” he smirks down at you, “…easy…” He purrs in that same voice he uses to gloat when he cracks open a chest of loot.

Only the loot now is your life.

You do in fact sense the tingling beginning to fade, the numbness thawing in your hands and feet. You reach to catch his hand in yours. The shock of your cold touch makes him jump slightly for once. And you smirk a bit at the reversal, your moment of revenge. Pressing those magical lengths of his fingers to your lips, you breathe across the top of them. “A good thing you’re just so skilled with these, my rogue, even if, given the circumstances, you were more nervous today…”

“Nervous?” he scoffs at the words, letting you hold his hand to your lips again. “I am never nervous, darling. I knew you’d come around, knew you’d wake back up with the right tender care.” Those crimson eyes flicker as he inhales sharply, determinedly reaching his hand from your soft lips to grip your chin and turn your smirking face up into his.

But you just snicker softly, sliding your back until you’re flush against him. “Nervous,” you insist, another deliberate grind of your backside against his lower body, still stirring to life. “When have you ever held me naked in your arms and not been…”

“Alright, hush you,” his eyes narrow, a bit intimidating and playful at once, as he moves that grip on your chin to close your mouth. “Some way of thanking your saviour…” he smirks, tip twisting to that rakish angle. “It was cold…”

You nod your head, matching his gaze with an insolent one.

“…I was distracted, focused on keeping that pretty little heart of yours beating…”

“Uh huh…” you nod again, lifting your head a bit to close that distance on his defensive, impish half-smile.

“How dare you,” he hisses dramatically. “I am a vampire, forever young, seduction incarnate. I need but a drop of blood to make myself harder and as beautiful as marble sculptures.”

You grind against his hips, that cock of his still only semi-hard, cradled by those perfect balls of his.

“Seems like you could use a top off of my blood then…” you taunt with another grind of your ass cheek.

“Please…” he snips with a suck of his teeth. “I’m doing you a favor, I know how insatiable you are when I’m that excited. And you were in no state for rigorous activity.”

Another rub of your rear against his, your hand reaches to grip into that perfect arch of his own ass. Your voice sounds rough with need and edged with sultry mockery: “Alright, Mister Seduction Incarnate… ”

“Tut tut, you can’t tell me you disagree.” He brushes his lips to your ear, his breath cool again, your own pulse strong enough to thrum behind his voice as he rasps that familiar line: “Your body’s already given you away…. Warming up so quickly under my touch, coming back to life for your undead lover…”

Now it’s your turn to suck your teeth and act condescending. “Tch, you’re not that hot you know.”

“Now that your blood has receded I suppose my touch is cooler again, my heart beating so slow once more…” you feel his legs hook yours, slipping between your thighs, one rakish devil of a knee pushing your legs apart. “Unless you meant my ruinous good looks, in which case,” he pushes you into the dirt, the blanket and the campfire no longer the only things making your body warmed all over. “Good thing you’re not so freezing any more so I can prove it to you otherwise.”

He presses his mouth to your ear, his lips sucking the shell of your ear, fangs dragging over the soft lobe at the bottom. “All that grinding you did… you tease… that’s the thanks I get for saving your life.”

“I needed friction…” you pout, a little bratty in your tone.

He presses harder, his pelvis against yours. “Likely story from someone who thinks themselves oh so charming…” Bucking harder, you feel that revealing twitch against your mound. “Show me how lively you are now, darling, and I’m sure we can both warm up wonderfully.”

You arch your back into the dirt of the cave, a blush barely starting to bloom over your cheeks as he looks down at you, like you’re something precious and delicious all at once. That silken touch traces your rosy cheek, and for all his bravado and taunting, you see a light of relief in the deep crimson of his eyes. But before you can let it sink in how much he just might care for you… he dives for your neck and bites again.

For as sudden as his teeth break your sin, his lips and tongue caress you, delicate laps and tender little suckles. Just enough to bring an edge of warmth back in his hands that roams your collarbone and wanders down to clutch around your breast. The moment your blood hits his veins, you feel that hardness thicken.

You grin as he lifts that scarlet smile from your neck. “Seems like someone is happy to see me alive,” you taunt, raising your hips to rub against his increasing erection that prods up to your navel.

Astarion chuckles, that well practiced smile masking his thoughts as he slowly, agonizingly drags his length forward… and back… over your mound. Fingers tease your nipples, softly plucking them to little hard pebbles. “A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss,” he rasps down at you, watching you grow pinker under his caresses with an eagerness that draws his face that much sharper.

“Say it…” you sigh as he continues to hump that mass of curls between your thighs so slowly. “Admit it.” Your voice is insistent, your hands grip into that perfect roundness of his ass.

“I’ll admit,” he gives that peeved little sigh, “you were trouble to carry over my shoulders in the rain. A miracle I didn’t drop you.” Nails dig slightly into your breast. “

“Insufferable,” you sigh, baiting him as your own hand slips between where he hovers over you to catch those perfectly rounded, smooth and velvety balls of his. “Admit you were… nervous.”

“I’m more nervous now that you’ve got those in your grip, darling,” he gives a pleasured, breathless laugh as you toy with them slowly.

“So you were a little nervous before, when I was nearly lifeless in your arms?” you push him with your words, a slightly rougher tug on his balls to emphasize your point.

He grabs for your wrist and pulls your hand to rest on his chest, an adoring little kiss on your palm before he puts it where his heart would be beating. For a moment he gives you a wordless answer, it’s small and subtle: just a softening of those taunting creases at the corner of his eyes as they go tender and wide. It’s just a hint of what had been raging inside, the inner tempest of his fear siphoning off to a single tear that remains unshed in the corner of his blood-red eyes.

A flash of his fangs in his smile, and it’s gone, that worry. He doesn’t even let you dwell on it, not as he grinds suddenly harder against your folds, angling perfectly to drag that rock hard, velvety length over your clit until…

…you gasp, suddenly filled to the brim as he slides his way inside. As if he would be unnoticed.

He laughs deep in his chest as you arch, receiving the welcome intrusion. Gripping the back of your knees, he splays you wide, that blanket long shrugged off now, leaving just your skin to glow in the firelight and the fading flashes of lighting from the cave mouth. “Well… it seems something has made you all hot and bothered, darling…” he purrs down at you, raising your right leg even higher as he makes slow, deliberate thrusts into your slick.

“Yeah, you did to make sure I didn’t slip away permanently on you…” you try to make light of your own near-death.

That softness returns for a moment. “Can you blame me?” he barely makes enough sound to be heard, something quieter, more secretive than a whisper. Then he shakes his head, returning to smirking and pounding harder into you, arm wrapped tightly around your leg to keep your folds close to him. “Or rather, can you thank me?” That haughty, velvet tone returns.

You reach a hand for his smirking, arrogant, gorgeous face, your lips softly smiling as he stills for a moment as you brush his cheek. “Thank you,” is all your whisper.

Floodgates burst, he lowers that leg and covers you with his body. Arms snug around your shoulders, legs pressed beneath yours to push your thighs high and wide for him. An embrace of lust… of a little death, where every inch of his body is aimed to possess you. Protect you.

He won’t say it outloud, his mouth too busy deeply diving into yours, dancing his tongue and consuming your every breath before it leaves your lips. Every slap of his body into yours makes your teeth rattle and your neck tight. Or maybe that’s the way he has one hand clawed into your hair at the nape of your neck, two fingers pressed into your pulse point. As if he’s just making triple sure your heart beats, alive still and always for him.

A wave of pleasure crashes into you, you didn’t even recognize where it began, barely feeling where it ends. It seems constant, a simultaneous rending and refilling of your body under his taught frame as he fucks you. His lips suck yours, as if he needs to know you breathe. His hand claws your left breast, as if he needs to feel the thumping of your living heart beneath it. Fangs grit, hips erratic, he drives into you harder and faster. A burst of wet, a groan in your mouth, and you finally feel him stilling and shuddering as he fills you with his seed. His full weight presses you into the cave floor, a smile of relief spreads on his lips as he nuzzles into the top of your breasts, squashed as they are under his shoulders.

“Warmer?” he grumbles, half into his trance already. “After all that hard work of mine, I sure hope so…” His sleepy voice warms your heart more than even his body could blushed with life from feeding.

“Mmhmm,” I all you manage to say against the tufted top of his white curls as you nod off too.

Before you know it, you’re waking up again to the sounds of birdsong outside the cave, the scent of faded fire in your nose, that meager pile of logs long gutted out. His mussy, unkempt hair tickles your face as you realize he’s still tranced on top of you. That when you hear soft laughter from the mouth of the cave.

Your companions… your rescue party, come to lend a hand… until they find you with more than a hand at your service.

“Hmm,” Gale’s blustering and flustered voice brings you soundly out of your sleep. “Seems a rescue mission wasn’t necessary after all…”

“And here we thought we’d play the hero,” Wyll’s good-humored laugh is tinged just a bit judgy.

Astarion grumbles as he comes too as well, naked body still blanketing yours beneath your single cover.

“No, no,” Shadowheart’s chortle irks you as you feel Astarion shift enough to raise his sleepy head… and reveal your bare breasts that had served as his pillow, “seems like the Vampire remembered that skin to skin is the best way to exchange body heat. Not that he has any, mind you…”

“They’re just jealous I saved your life, darling,” his voice crackles still with sleep even as he shifts to cover you naked body from their view with his own.

“Yes, I’m sure they totally buy the fact that you’re warming me with your corpse-cold body….” You taunt him with that sharp sarcasm of yours and run your hands under the blanket to squeeze his ass. ��Even with your good looks, you’re not that convincing.” You kiss him, a simple caress he eagerly accepts and quickly turns deeper and ravenous as he groans between your lips….

…and the rest of your companions groan too as they leave you two to it.

[kcrossvine-art]

hi birds of paradise and of prey! I sincerely hope your 2024 has been kind to you so far, and if it hasn't, I hope it starts being fucking nicer soon. We got eyes on it and are ready to take it out should it fail.

I'm coming to the end of my list here soon, so if anyone has ideas on what they'd like to see next, please do hit me up! Even if its just a piece of media with interesting food in it and not a specific dish you wanna see. My roommate got me a recipe book from that TikTok fantasy tavern guy, "recipes from the lucky gryphon"? So we could also take a shot at a few of those, although im not really familiar with his work. Regardless-

We will be making Stuffed Cabbage from Lord of the Rings Online today!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to this Stuffed Cabbage?” YOU MIGHT ASKYou cant kinda put whatever you want for seasonings and even the meat filling. I used ground beef but pork and lamb are also stellar candidates.

Yellow onion

Garlic

2 eggs

Ground beef

Rice

A head of cabbage

Oregano

Thyme

Red pepper flakes

Cumin

Crushed tomato

Tomato sauce

AND, “what does this Stuffed Cabbage taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKBa bawsa

Very, very filling wow

2 rolls filled me up for a meal and i made about 20-ish from one head of cabage

A bit plain tbh, the texture is great but I'd really double up on the seasonings

A blank canvas for you to impart your spice preferences onto

Reheating makes it taste almost identical to fresh

Would pair well with a hot sauce dip

could also go well with an artichoke dip

If you run out of room and need to layer the rolls, I'd try experimenting with pouring some of the crushed tomato and sauce inbetween the stacked rolls. Otherwise the ones at the bottom lack a lot of the tomato flavor. However it might make the bottoms on the rolls laying ontop soggy?

. Where rice called for, used long grain white rice

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I've never blanched anything before. Theres not much western food that calls for it, meanwhile whenever my friend from malaysia shows a dish they ate, 9 times out of 10 the vegetables are blanched. Much easier process than the fancy name might suggest- boil water and dunk the thing in until its done. Whatever 'done' may be for the thing you are cooking.

Also for the ground beef (or whichever meat you use) you don't have to cook it beforehand, but in doing two tries at making these cabbage rolls i would recommend you at least season your meat before mixing it with everything else. The meat will cook to a safe temperature inside the cabbage rolls, i just prefer the taste and texture of it when cooked twice.

I give this recipe a meandering 7/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) I want to review more horrible recipes, truly i do, so that the rating scale isnt always a 6 and above, but whenever i try something horrible its like "why the fuck would i put all the effort into making and sharing a review of this thing i Do Not Want others to eat????" yknow?? Would people be interested in roasting horrible recipes? 

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

1 yellow onion

6 cloves of garlic

2 eggs

2 lbs ground beef

1 1/2 cup cooked rice

1 large head of cabbage

28oz crushed tomato

14oz tomato sauce

Oregano

Thyme

Red pepper flakes

Cumin

Salt/pepper

Method:

Saute garlic and onion in butter over medium heat until onions are caramelized. When done, remove from heat and let cool.

Season the beef to your liking with cumin, red pepper, and salt. Very, very lightly cook the beef in the same pan used for the garlic and onions. Cook until it starts to brown, but dont let it darken. 

Beat eggs thoroughly with oregano, thyme, salt, and pepper.

Add all of the above ingredients together in a bowl with (cooked!) rice. Mix thoroughly then cover and let rest in the fridge.

Core and blanche your cabbage in boiling water, peeling them off as they become limp.

Once you've separated all the leaves, cut off any thick stems that would prevent the leaf from folding.

Put roughly 2 tablespoons of meat filling into each leaf. Fold the sides of the leaf inwards and roll it up. Place each cabbage roll seam-down into a casserole dish.

If they don't all fit in one layer, its more than okay to stack. Try not to stack more than 2 layers though.

Once you've used all the cabbage, take your can of tomatos and pour them over the rolls. Mix some oregano into the tomato sauce and pour that over the rolls as well.

Bake uncovered in the oven at 350 for about 2 hours. Dont worry if a bit of tomato on top looks burnt.

IF REHEATING LEFTOVERS: Bake 10 cabbage rolls in the oven at 320 for about 40 minutes. Reduce time for less rolls.

[espercognitive]

She was a Seamstress, He was an actor.

Timothée Chalamet x Fem!Reader Pt1

This is my first fic on here! I've been like hiding in the shadows but i have to force myself to write! so I'm just experimenting with fic writing. This is probably gonna be a series about theater! your character is theater technician so all the cool behind the scenes stuff is there. You work in costume and you are assigned to Timothée's character! The reader is fem presenting and has female pronouns! I'm going to include gender neutral readers in the future!(also should I put Timothee or Timothée?)

TW: Swearing, Mild mention nudity, Some sexual tension.

Word count: 1.18k

Show season had finally begun for your theater. After training in high school, you got picked to be a seamstress for a well known theater in New York. Your work was paying off and you could finally see your work being used to its full potential. Going from small local high school productions, you had now gotten the opportunity to work with real actors and actresses. People who you were going to help bring a character to life. Especially for the show 'Anything Goes'

But what you hadn't expected was being assigned to Timothée Chalamet.

Unfortunately, you knew who he was. He had been an actor when you were in high school, but even with the familiarity, you still couldn't help but be a bit frustrated. This wasn't the first time you had to work with him, it'd actually be the second time. The first time made you swear you'd never work with him again. Sophomore year had been going smoothly, that was until your theater department had decided to do Sweet Charity. After working with him that show, hearing the name Oscar Lindquist made you shudder. He had been a senior, and he had been popular in the theater department since his freshman year. You were excited to dress a popular actor, but it was the complete opposite of what you had imagined. Instead of a wonderful maybe even flirtatious encounter

Until you got the character assignments, and you see his name right next to yours.

'Oh fuck' you thought to yourself. You sighed as you walked into the costume shop. You had hope that he had grown out of his annoying behavior, but when he walked in to get measurements done, you figured that probably wasn't the case. He strutted into the costume shop, dopey smile on his face, and that same white boy swag he had in his senior year. You felt sophomore you cringe as he walked over to you.

"Y/N right?" he questioned.

"Yes." you mumbled.

You picked up the measuring tape and started to take his measurements. Typically this wouldn't be such a big deal, that was until you had to measure his waist and crotch area. Now back in high school, this wasn't such a big deal. They had the male costumers take those measurements for the actors and female costumers for the actresses. But this wasn't high school anymore, and you had a big girl job, in which you were responsible for getting this right. You crouched down, face to dick, trying to distract yourself from how close the two of you were when you heard him say,

"Do I know you from somewhere? I normally can recognize a cute face wherever I go, but i can't put a name on you."

"Yea we actually went to the same high school together."

"Really? Were you a seamstress then, or did you start now?"

You sighed and answered almost finished with the rest of his measurements.

"Uh yea I was. I was your costumer when we did Sweet Charity."

He jumped messing up your placement as you tried again.

"Hey can you not move so muc-" He cut you off before you could finish your request.

"OH! I remember you! You were that shy little sophomore. I remember how you never yelled no matter how many times I fucked up my costume" He smiled to himself as he finished bringing up that frustrating memory.

"Yea. I probably should've. Ok Stop moving I'm almost done."

"Ok Ok. Seems like you've gotten more a fire to you at least" He mumbled that last part, a little afraid to say it out loud. You gave him a look.

"Ok I finished. I'm gonna pull some stuff and then tomorrow I'll have you come and try some stuff on." You walked off refusing to look at him in the eyes, grabbing your paper with the measurements.

"Yea ok. Thats cool. See you tomorrow Y/N"

You figured this was going to be an interesting show. Only 2 more months till the show opened.

The next day

You had spent all day yesterday pulling close that would fit him. It was weird doing the same thing again. You thought about how frustrated you were in your sophomore year. But maybe he could be different. You would be lying if the crush you had on him still lingered around. Maybe you could get close this time the way you had wanted to in high school.

Nope. Don't start those thoughts. He's your coworker. Nothing more.

You laid out the pants and clothes you needed him to try. Of course as the character Billy, you'd need every one of his outfits to be different and unique. But you'd have to make a sailor costume from scratch. Which meant for the next few weeks, there'd be many fittings. But you just needed to focus on what you had right now, which was being delayed as Timothée was late.

After distracting and helping some other seamstresses, the man or the hour finally decided to make his appearance.

"Hey Y/N. Woah whats up with the face?" He questioned.

"Well your an hour late. I have to go in like an hour for a doctors appointment so we have to make this fast."

"Oh sorry. Well uh I got you a drink. You used to drink apple juice all the time during Sweet Charity so I figured you'd want this."

You look up into his eyes, he seemed genuine. You smiled as you took the bottle.

"Thank you Timothée. If you bring me an apple juice every time you're late, I'll make sure no one finds out." You smiled at him.

"Really? Thats a deal then."

"Ok. Its time to try on all of these outfits I have laid out. If they don't fit, don't worry about it. I can fix some of the sizes on the pants too."

"Ok, but small problem. Theres a lot of people in the dressing rooms, I don't know if we'll have room to do this."

"Oh fuck. Hmm. Crap I have to get this done."

"I can try and find somethin-" You cut him off with an idea.

"Actually, theres a couch room upstairs in the theater. It's pretty empty normally so you should have enough room to change in there." You smiled as you felt satisfied with that idea, until he said,

"Oh a couch room? You want to watch me undress in the couch room? You're definitely not that shy little sophomore anymore apple."

"Apple? Also thats not what I meant! I do not want to be apart of the reason the couches cannot be looked at under a black light."

He giggled as he grabbed the clothes.

"Yea apple. Like apple juice. I don't know, just thought I'd be cute for you."

you laughed as you responded "and I'm not the shy one anymore."

The two of you made it up the stairs and got into the couch room to just try on clothes. Definitely just try on clothes. Nothing else was going to happen...

[eowynstwin]

Hi everyone. It's been a while—exactly a month since I last posted to this blog. How have you been?

A month isn't really all that long, but it's enough time to be able to look at everything that happened and understand it better. In the end, the whole situation (I've been calling it The Fuckening in my head) really didn't have anything to do with me. I was unlucky enough to run across someone willing to hurt anyone they could for attention, but also lucky enough that everyone who mattered to me in this fandom went to bat for me.

So I’ve decided to come back to this blog. I'll be posting about call of duty again as well as posting my writing. I also plan to blog about other fandoms (I’d already been doing it anyway); I've been getting back into rdr2, for example, and there's some writing I'd like to do for that.

There’s more context which I’ll put below the cut, but that’s the most important part of what I have to say; I often regret how long winded I can be, so the rest is just self indulgence if you can forgive it. I’ve thought a lot about this choice and I’m satisfied with my decision. I hope none of you will mind.

So, lol, things were not great outside of fandom stuff when it all kicked off, though I didn’t mention it publicly because we all know by now that asking for any sympathy when you’re the target of a mob is more likely to just get you raked over the coals harder. I’m still not entirely sure about talking about all of this, but I have a bad tendency to clam up when I really should be asking for support. So:

I mentioned briefly before the accusations started flying that I was dealing with bedbugs—turns out it was actually something else, but leading up to a doctor’s visit I was convinced I had an infestation, and I was stripping my bed every day to look for them. I had alarms set to wake me up twice a night to see if I could catch them, so I was not sleeping all that well. I couldn’t find anything, but I had no other explanation, and it was driving me fucking crazy. Post doctor visit it turns out I had a viral infection. No idea where I caught it, and nothing to do but wait it out. I had a massive, gnarly looking rash all over my body, and to add insult to injury I developed a fever that took me out for a whole weekend. (I’m recovered now but I have a nifty new scar on my hip from getting a biopsy.)

Next to that, I was having some PTSD flareups of my own. This was (mostly) unrelated to The Fuckening. Now, I understand that that might be hard to believe, given “Myka’s” claims, and I can’t make you believe me. Nor will I provide details to convince you, other than to say there were some things going on in my neighborhood that recalled a period of time in my life that was extremely unstable, and I found myself irrationally terrified to go home every day. For those of you who don’t experience the symptoms of PTSD, I think it’s appropriate to note that it isn’t just emotional turmoil; I, personally, experience physical pain in my entire body that lingers for hours, days, or even weeks after being triggered. (Everything regarding this, too, is fine now. I have a great therapist and a supportive family.)

All of this to say, I wasn’t exactly thinking rationally when I decided to leave this blog and fandom. And I regretted the decision almost instantly.

However, I didn’t want to let grief make any decisions for me, and also I was still VERY scared Myka was going to hunt down my personal information and either dox or harass me elsewhere. I think this fear was justified; it has happened to other writers in this fandom before.* So I decided to take some time to cool off and watch the situation develop without me.

I don’t think I need to get into the details—although if you’re interested in them, @fulltacs has been keeping track of the drama. Given the most recent development with the four obviously sock puppet blogs that popped up and immediately began stirring shit up again, I realized Myka probably would have done what she did with or without me. I just so happened to give her the ammunition she needed to do something REALLY big. It was pure bad luck.

(Also—and I’m sorry if this is just stirring the pot, but after everything they did to me I feel I deserve to make the accusation—I’ve suspected for a while that the two loudest blogs leading the witch hunt against me were far more involved in this farce than anyone has assumed. I have no proof and I do not want anyone to do anything about it on my behalf, leave them the fuck alone. But I will not forget the distress they caused me for a long fucking time, and the only way for me to let this go is to say my piece. So there. Done. Let that be the end of it.)

Having this hindsight, I feel comfortable coming back. I’m still very touched by everyone’s support, which in the end was louder than the harassment. I also think it’s important for people who care about fighting racism in any community not to run at the first sign of trouble, which I did, and I feel pretty sorry for.

That’s the gist of things. If you’ve read all of this, thank you for doing so!

*I was going to add a paragraph about halfmoth-halfman’s situation but decided against it. For one thing, she wants to be left alone, and for another, talking about the experiences of fans of color, particularly black fans, deserves its own post separate from my white experience, if I should even post about it at all.

[archangeldyke-all]

If you're still taking requests, we have one if that's ok!

So we've never heard of anyone experiencing the same thing but we remember the first time we had an orgasm, it was too much. Like it was the most amount of pleasure that we've ever felt and it was so so much that we didn't know what to do with ourselves that for a second we thought that we did not want to have another orgasm ever again because it was that overwhelming.

We're wondering if you could write something about that where the reader experiences this during her first time with Sevika?

i'm always taking requests !! <3 thank you for the request, i hope u like it!!

men and minors dni

you're in heaven. sevika's above you, kissing you sweetly, her flesh hand between your legs making you writhe, her mechanical hand gently holding your chin. you've never felt this good before.

"sev--" you choke out. she hums against your lips, smiling.

"feels good?" she asks. you whimper, nodding. she grins. "gonna cum?" she asks. you whimper and nod again. she laughs. "hold on. wanna show you something." she says, removing her hand from between your legs. you pout. she rearranges above you, shoving her mechanical hand between your thighs, her flesh hand coming up to gently trace patterns on your cheek. the cold metal of her hand on your cunt makes you jump, squeaking. she laughs.

"'s cold." you whisper. she's gentle as she pushes her claws against you. "sev what are you-- oh!" you gasp as her fingers start vibrating against your clit. "what--" you cut yourself off with another moan. sevika laughs above you.

"the sword and the shimmer are cool and all," sevika says against your lips as you tremble beneath her. "but this is my favorite feature of my arm." she finishes. you whine.

"'s so--"

"i know baby." she says. the pleasure becomes overwhelming. you gasp. "gonna cum?" sevika teases. you can't choke out the words. you can't figure out if you should push her hand away or pull it closer. the intensity of the vibrations kicks up a notch. you gasp. "cum for me."

you do. pleasure courses through your veins, quickly overwhelming you. sevika's hand is unmoving, working you through the most intense orgasm you've ever had. tears well up in your eyes.

above you, sevika is pressing kisses to any part of your body she can reach, whispering praises to you. you're still cumming. you aren't sure you'll ever stop. "sevika." you choke out. she freezes above you.

"you okay?" she asks. you let out a little sob.

"'s too much!" you cry.

her mechanical hand pulls away swiftly. above you, sevika straddles you, looking down on you as you shake and cry. "honey, look at me." she commands.

you blink open your eyes, tears rolling down your cheeks. sevika's heart breaks. she leans down to kiss the tears off your cheeks. "'m sorry." she whispers against you. she wraps her arms around your body, settling down on top of you. the weight of her body crushing yours is comforting, grounding. the kisses she presses into your skin are sweet and chaste. "'m so sorry honey." she whispers again. beneath her, your shaking ceases.

"that was a lot." you mumble. she nods above you.

"too much?"

"i think so." you whimper. "i'm sorry, sevika." you cry. she scrambles above you.

"what are you sorry for, honey? i'm sorry!"

"you were just tryna make me feel good." you say. "but it felt..."

"intense?" she tries. you nod.

"overwhelming." you add on. she pouts down at you.

"you know we never have to have sex again if you don't want to. i love you. i... fucking adore your body but... not more than i love you. i'll never touch you again if that's what you want."

below her, you huff a laugh. the pounding of your heartbeat in your cunt, chest and head has all calmed down. the fuzz of the orgasm has worn off, and relaxation has set in. you yawn. "i don't want that sev." you say. she sighs in relief above you. you chuckle.

"okay. next time, we'll take it slower." she says, nodding down at you. "and you'll tell me when it starts feeling too much." you nod up at her. "and... i'll stick to the flesh fingers until you're ready for more." she chuckles, embarrassed. you laugh.

"it is a cool feature." you say. sevika laughs. "just... think you need to work me up to it."

"i love you." she says suddenly. you smile.

"i love you too."

"are you feeling better?"

"still a little... dizzy?" you try, looking for the proper word to describe the uncomfortable pleasure that's slowly leaving your body. sevika pouts down at you. "don't say sorry again." you command. she bites her lip. "just... hold me for a while longer?" you ask. she smiles.

"course baby. i'd hold you forever if you let me." she says, settling down on top of you again. you nuzzle into her body, and slowly drift off to sleep, safe in the arms of your love.

[emmie-writes-stuff]

Okay!!!

New blue lock chapter!!!!!

Time for Emmie’s semi-regular ramble

Rin is one of my favourites so most of the screenshots I took this time are just of him-

I KNEW WE WOULD GET KILL MODE RIN SOMETIME DURING THIS GAME LETS FUCKING GOOOO

And looking at his eyes compared to how he was in the U20 match, this time, Rin is more in control of himself and not so zeroed in on Sae (even though he still flashes back to childhood this chapter, at least Sae isn’t here so he’s able to focus on the game more instead of his complex emotions about his brother)

Lick

HIORIN CRUMBS

I swear, I’m on the floor scavenging at this point-

I wish that we could’ve gotten more of them playing against each other, considering Hiori has had his playstyle and attitude towards soccer compared to Sae multiple times

It would’ve been cool to see, not just from a shipping perspective, but also from a story perspective, since the two meshed up real well during the third selection playoffs

Buuuuut they’re also two of my favourite characters and I much prefer to see them play against each other than see Isagi and Rin play against each other

Fucking freak-

Is there any better way you could’ve phrased that?????

Go wild you uncontrollable storm!!!!!!!

I’m legit so hyped to see Rin play, it’s giving me life!!!!!

I love seeing more of these two as kids

The way that Sae interacts with Rin gives me a strange sense of nostalgia

I’m the oldest in my family and I had to kind of do all the little things for my brothers and keep them from getting in trouble (I was the scapegoat child but we don’t need to get into my relationship with my parents-)

I practically raised the younger two, so seeing how Sae is with Rin when they were kids is so nostalgic to me and gives me too many emotions to put to words

I really need to know what happened in Spain to have Sae completely flip his switch

There’s a lot of ideas I have when it comes to Sae and how he really feels about Rin and why he does what he does, but that’s a different post for a different day

For now, we get to see them as children before everything went all upside down and sideways

AGAIN???

How many times have they got mad at Rin???

Sad parent backstory introduced

I’ve had this idea that their parents kinda were busy with stuff and that’s the reason that they weren’t around in the other flashbacks aside from seeing Sae off at the airport, but this gives me so many different ideas

I can only include ten screenshots so I have to skip the brothers with ice cream, but Sae saying that he’s always gonna be by Rin’s side, knowing how they are in the current time makes me feel bittersweet about everything

Like, I REALLY hope we get to see Sae’s experience in Spain and what took him from a hyped up 13 year old to the defeated 17 year old we saw in the flashbacks, to the completely numb Sae we have now

Also, THAT CLIFF HANGER OF WHAT RIN’S EGO IS HOLY SHIT I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER NOW

I skipped over all the Isagi categorizing folks stuff because it’s not the reason I read and I’m much more interested in the brothers, but it’s a little intristing how he’s putting everyone in little boxes

I just don’t care enough to cover it-

Anyways, that’s all for now!!

[aemehhh]

Gyro boyfriend HCs!!

there is way too little on my man Gyro. He's my favorite blondie and I love him to no end. Might be a little self-indulgent, but I hope you don't mind! Also, not beta'd, we die like men. Also also, English isn't my first language, I apologize for any mistakes ;;

Hope you like it!~

Gyro is exciting. Being with him always leaves you breathless and your heart feeling as though it is going to burst from all the adrenaline.

Expect him to grab you by your waist with one hand as his other hand grabs your own, pulling you into a dance when you're in a bar after reaching the end of a stage.

Let's say you are riding along with him and Johnny in the SBR; contrary to popular belief, he wouldn't flirt with you immediately, he would actually be quite hostile and rude. An actual asshole, to be frank. Hell, Johnny would be a lot nicer to you than Gyro in the beginning.

However, the more you guys experience, the closer you get. Gyro starts taking a liking to you.

It is definitely a "you fell first, he fell harder" situation.

He is a tough guy to crack. Not in the sense that he doesn't seem cool, or funny, but in the way that he fundamentally doesn't believe he is a good person. He is, but he doesn't think he is.

Once you guys actually are together, he'll be bold. Very, very bold.

We all know he is a jokester, he'd make up a million cheese songs just for you to crack a smile.

Gyro also doesn't mind PDA; he'd be absolutely shameless. Kissing you in front of others? Of course, why not?

Hands are on you. All the time. If you're not on your horses, he'll have his arm around your shoulders or your waist.

Forehead kisses. He loves them. You always get one before you guys mount your horses. After all, it could be the last time he gives you one.

Speaking of, you get a fucking heart attack way too often for your own good. Gyro gets injured really bad in 90% of SBR fights, so of course you worry about him! Once he is okay again he'll tease you about it though.

"Aww, were you worried about me, tesoro?" With his big fucking smirk. Asshole.

Yes. You were. You punch his shoulder before you break down in small sobs.

His face will fall for a moment, seeing you like that. It still doesn't feel right for him to have someone worry about him that way, so it might be a little awkward for him to handle at first.

He'll hug you though! And he'll give you another forehead kiss and tell you he's okay.

I imagine Gyro's love language to be acts of service. He can't express his feelings well with words, it's too awkward for him and he isn't used to that. So instead, he'll do things to show you he cares.

So, of course, Gyro will cook for you whenever he gets the chance to. Gyro doesn't trust Johnny to do it, and he feels as though it is at least one way he can spoil you.

When you say you like something, expect it to appear in the next 3-5 business days. It always depends on if you reach a town or not, but he will definitely try everything in his power to show that he remembers what you tell him. After all, Gyro is quite attentive when it comes down to it. His ass might act like a dumbass a lot, but he cares about you, and he wants you to be aware of it.

You'd definitely be the first one to tell him that you love him.

And it will be the first time he's speechless in your presence. He'd be frozen and try to process the information.

It would take a while for him to say it back. But he will get there, eventually.

The day he tells you he loves you, is also the day that you get to know his real name. It's a nice moment, and you thank him for being vulnerable with a soft kiss to his lips.

He is definitely smitten for you, if you ever get hurt, he WILL panic internally and do everything in his power to treat your wounds before he treats his own. (yes, even if he were to be actively bleeding out.)

All in all, being with Gyro would be filled with A LOT of different emotions, and you wouldn't trade it for a thing.

Bonus: no, you're not allowed to ride Valkyrie. Why would you need to? You have your own horse.

[captainaikus]

I love your work so much and it has been like 2 hours since i discovered it aghhh ><

(Nsfw) ik you're on hiatus but just a quick idea(thought it was cool sorry TT). Itoshi rin as a butler and the reader as royalty, reader initiates things by teasing rin but rin rejects because of their differneces in class but eventually give in and lets out his inner yandere 🙏 they have sex secretly with rin degrading reader for being such a whore even though shes royality🤦‍♀️ (you can write it in any way you want ill be satisfied anyways) please ignore if you dont like it im not trying to force you to write this 🙏 love you hope everything's fine!

tysm doll 💜 i'm glad you enjoy my works :p

wc : 1.0k, not proofread.

warnings : dark themes, mentions of nudity, rin has a temper, degradation, mentions of sadness, y/n having a break down, fingering, mentions of alcohol and use of poison, intended for murder. based in victorian period.

Rin is the butler of the house and has been your childhood friend. Considers himself to be distinct from you, he makes his bed on mornings, getting into his suit. Over the years it was the same routine, making your bed, telling you your schedule for the day, reminding you to dab the corner of your mouth when you ate something, giving you a glare when you picked up the wrong fork or when you were crass, even telling you to sit up straight when you slouched.

He is a strict disciplinarian, going harsh and hard on you, sometimes even pushing you to the verge of tears yet he was also the shoulder you cried on certain nights, finding solace in his stiff posture, not daring to touch you. He knew the two of you couldn't be in the same world. You were the princess while he was your butler. A gentle hand like yours wouldn't want his scarred one, he would think, staring into his glass of wine on the kitchen counter. little did he know that you liked him and had found adoration for him over the years.

Just when Rin couldn't seem to shake you out of his head, things got worse. Your bed was messy than usual - taking him hours to spread it over. Your behavior became more crass and you became more defiant, shooting back at him.

the last straw was when you demanded that he bathe you, extending a foot towards him, your breasts covered with the milkiness of the soaped water in the large bath, the sunlight reflecting off your skin making you look tempting to man. "Go on. Clean me, Rin." you tempted, waving your foot of at him.

Throwing the sponge on the ground, he had had enough, getting into the water with you, his shirt becoming soaked and transparent. Holding you by the throat, he leans in menacingly towards you. "I can tolerate having to do chores. But what I won't tolerate is you disrespecting me. Try that again and I'll make sure that you are punished. I might be a mere butler, but remember. I know you like the back of my hand and these years of experience have given me enough knowledge about you. The next time you disrespect me, I will make sure to take you over my fucking knee. Are we clear about that princess?"

You don't talk to him for weeks, while he adjusts to you until he was in the courtroom, summoned by your mother the queen. "Make sure that she fits into the finest of gowns you can find and that she attends to the tailor to have her measurements taken." she commanded. "She has to impress her suitors." The dreaded instance. You were in your early twenties, bound to be married. He was upset that night, going to town once the sun went down to drown his sorrows in his glasses of wine for he hated beer. As the week passed by, he noticed instances of your courtship with the prince of a neighboring kingdom whose name and face he did not bother to remember.

It wasn't until one bold night he couldn't hold it in anymore, watching you give him lust and desired filled glances despite the fiancé of your parents choosing giving you attention with lavish gifts. He came to your chambers that night demanding answers.

"You just love pushing my buttons, don't you princess. What kind of a whorish upbringing did you even have to start behaving like this?" he taunted you as he thrust two fingers into your soaking wet cunt. "Do you just love seducing men and then not giving them what they want? Do enjoy torturing me?" He watched as you turned your head from side to side, refusing to meet his eyes. "Can't even see me. Aren't you even the least bit ashamed of yourself?" he prodded further. You refused to answer, your lips sealed.

Getting on top of you, he grinds his knee into your pussy, making you moan, his hands firmly holding yours above your head.

"Tell me princess, do you like driving a man to the verge of insanity ? Making him watch you with your future husband yet letting him fuck you in this bed ? Just how low has your dignity fallen princess? You're not even worth a common whore, in fact you're worse." he sneered, gathering your hands into his wrist whilst the other was holding the flesh of your thigh. "What other choice do I have?! My parents want me to marry someone of royal stature, yet they care less about me. You've seen how ruthless my kin can be, marrying off my sisters to gain more lands. You think I'm happy ?! huh?! Do you ?!" you cry. He felt nothing more than to make your anguish disappear. Words of love were exchanged that night. "I'm here." "I'm not leaving you." The usual gruff and strict disciplinarian of a butler had turned into a lover, giving you words of affirmation with every thrust, moaning into your ear and kissing every part of your body that his lips could reach, losing his sanity over and over again as your drew him into your warm welcoming arms. The thought of you being with someone else being pushed into the back of his mind replaced with how good you were clenching around him while your nails drew lines down his back, his hand swiping at your clit to give you your release. Lying in the same bed with you he kissed your forehead while his hand pet your hair a sign of a short goodbye as he was to leave early the next morning.

He watched as you pretended to be interested in the talks your fiancé was giving, with the occasional smile you gave him along with a playful tap. Looking into the tray of wines, he knew the prince's glass, slipping a poison into it. You would weep perhaps from shock and sadness over the loss of a life. But in the end,

you would always turn to his shoulder for solace just as you had in good old days.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

hello! I really liked that one ask where the farmer was a dragon, can we have that one with all the sdv bachelors? even some npcs and/or the bachelorettes if you want? thanks!

Heya! You mean the reaction to Dragon!Farmer? Sure, why not! ☺️ (Hope you don't mind if I'll do sdv bachelors only).

Only that past ask specified a male Farmer, but since there's no clarification here, I made Farmer neutral (they/them). Thanks for the ask!

_________________________________________

"Well, now I know exactly what I'm going to call the next chapter of my autobiography." Farmer had to give Elliott credit: their ginger haired husband held his own, not fainting or screaming in terror when they appeared before him in dragon form. Though they realized from the exhausted smile and pale face that it was better to stay close to catch the writer's body at any moment.

Shane kind of quit drinking.... And he never took any of other stuff thar can make so hallucinate. Then why the hell is there a giant reptile flying over his head right now calling him "darling?" That's what only the Farmer calls him.... And now this overgrown lizard landed in front of him and turned to his favorite spouse again, looking at him with a guilty smile. Just a regular Tuesday for Shane, for fuck's sake...

A tense moment for the Farmer themselves as they finally reveal true form to Sebastian, love of their life. They wait for his reaction, what he will respond, shock and horror on the emo's face. But in the end, Sebby's brain goes to autopilot and he spews out, "I've seen bigger." What... Now it was Farmer's turn to gasp in shock. "Have you seen other dragons?" Farmers don't know if they asked it out of surprise or even jealousy, while Sebastian was still stunned.

It seems that Sam's bewilderment and shock passed very quickly, because anyone else would have started showering him with questions: how long or why didn't you tell me before? But not the young guitarist, because the first thing that came to his mind was "Will you take me for a ride? This would be cool!" On the other hand, things got around without panic, so that's good.

Harvey, as a doctor with experience, was mentally prepared for anything. Apparently, not everything, because the poor man fainted at the sight of a huge dragon on the place where just a minute ago Farmer was standing. The local doctor wakes up with a headache, and the first thing he sees is Farmer's worried face, already in human form. Phew, so Harvey was imagining things and it was just a dream, right? Heh, poor Harvey...

"Now what am I going to tell my grandma?" Somewhat surprisingly, Alex uttered those words not because he was surprised by the Farmer's true form itself, but because they scared him so badly that the athlete dropped a dozen eggs. "Honey, we live on a farm, we have plenty of eggs. And anyway - there's a dragon in front of you." "Dragons later, chicken eggs for Grandma first." And he added that they were the weirdest and coolest person in the whole world, and that he loved them. But don't let the Farmer scare him like that again.

[oodlyenough]

arcane s2 act 1

alright might as well collect my thoughts for posterity

first and foremost: obviously the triumphant cackle i was doing the entire hexcore scene. huge W for me, personally. did it always feel like the most logical and narratively satisfying extension from s1? sure. do i trust television to do the most narratively satisfying thing? no. especially not after fandom spent years of the hiatus trying to convince me otherwise

really all the jayvik scenes were, more or less, exactly what i expected/wanted and very satisfying lmaooo. i knew jayce wouldn't give a fuck about the shimmer or unethical experiments. i win!

other stuff i liked:

in the hiatus i've now seen all of yellowjackets and it has made me fonder of ella purnell and by extension jinx, lol. i love sevika and i think their grudging alliance in the wake of silco's death is a fun direction. jinx finding a random dumpster baby and adopting them immediately, silco would be so proud lmfao

i love caitlyn's dictator arc. i have to be honest i found her disney princess schtick in s1 pretty boring, so this is finally something more flawed and dynamic for me to invest in. yes girl get worse

ambessa rules. i was a little rolling my eyes at the "wow she was pulling the strings all along" reveal, bc it was so obvious and i was sort of hoping they'd do something more interesting with her. but this show has never been subtle. either way it still seems ambessa believes she's protecting mel? so i AM curious about how that plays out

i don't know shit about the league lore around the black rose stuff and don't want to <3 knowing league lore has never improved my arcane experience. but those sequences were very cool and took me by surprise. some good body horror with elora. good luck in the nightmare labyrinth mel!

stuff i liked less:

i think the stylized music video sequences are being a little overused. maybe s1 did them as frequently and I forget? anyhow, the police brutality one really worked for me, because it's the kind of info that def needs to be montaged, and the style was cool and engaging. cassandra's funeral ... i understand why they did it but i didn't like the regular arcane models mixed with the charcoal bgs, i found it distracted me from what was meant to be the emotion of the moment. and the jinx montage i found kind of mid.

i do think the pacing feels as breakneck as ever, to its detriment. i said above the jayvik stuff all played out basically as i wanted, which is more-or-less true, but viktor just be like I Have To Go Now was a bit abrupt. i can excuse a lot of that on the basis that i don't think viktor is really himself anymore because of the hexcore -- very flat emotionally, etc. and i assume we'll see them butt heads again later in the season. but still, the hextech weapons, the nonconsensual hexcoring, etc, would've expected something a little more explosive lol

plus, then we shift from that scene to the Furby Comedy Hour and jayce and heimerdinger having like a nonreaction to each other despite how acrimoniously they parted or how emotionally charged jayce must be sleeping next to viktor's empty cocoon etc... felt whiplash-y to me. but i hate heimerdinger and ekko teaming up to begin with lmao (and ofc ekko directs his frustrations with piltover to jayce, and not the 300 year president furby he has no beef with for some reason)

this extends to vi's decision to pick up the badge, etc. stuff just happens really quick and the fact that the passage of time in the show isn't very clear doesn't really help. i can understand why riot didn't want to spend two decades making five seasons of this show, but 2 seasons will probably feel too short imo.

[evilkitten3]

when you think about it. madara is just. so. niasndladnsndlnls

as soon as he shows up he starts his "can't rely on any of these losers smh" crap and he keeps doing it. he constantly has to do things himself bc his minions are all fuck-ups or have entirely separate agendas or are fuck-ups with entirely separate agendas. and yet

again and again and again and AGAIN he trusts people. not even for good reasons sometimes. he genuinely seems to believe he can't rely on anyone other than himself and yet he repeatedly puts faith in people. some of them are complete strangers

"oh yeah this kid i trapped in my divorce dungeon after replacing half his body with my ex's dna? i'm going to psychologically traumatize him, sell him my identity, and hope he takes care of things while i'm busy being dead for the next couple decades. even tho he has no reason to bring me back, hates my guts, and as far as either of us is aware could probably pull off our masterplan without any more help from me. i am also going to assume that the version of him in his 30s is the same as the teenager version of him i knew even tho not only have i myself been through puberty but also i have firsthand experience of how people can change from when they were teenagers bc my ex broke up with me via literally stabbing me in the back and killing me when i realized our dream wasn't going where we wanted. he knew to go for my back bc i told him it was my weakness as a child. also i don't wear armor there bc i don't usually need it. i'm sure this kid would never do that to oh hey he's stabbing me"

"hey this weird plant zombie thing showed up and said he's an extension of my will or something. i have absolutely no way of verifying this but i am cool as hell so i'm just going to assume it's telling the truth and not using me as a pawn in some greater plan as it is encouraging me to do to others. it would never do that to ah hell in the back again"

"my brother is dead but my only friend who is now my enemy and who is also the older brother of my brother's killer wants to make an alliance even tho our families hate each other and my family also hates me and i also hate me and would rather he just kill me already which is also what everyone else wants. except for him bc we're ninja romeo and juliet but with fascism and if romeo had been able to put aside tybalt killing mercutio and if juliet had instead of drinking poison stabbed romeo to death with a sword. and then tybalt took over the city after she died and made decisions which eventually led to all the montagues except one getting massacred by his shitidiot older brother on a propaganda high. but hashirama would not ever do that to me and if i pushed him to a place where he needed me dead he would surely do it honorably and not in the back and that's a wood clone isn't it"

"hello small uzumaki child that i have not ever spoken to and do not intend to interact with directly i am going to break into your home and steal your eyeballs and replace them with my own significantly cooler eyeballs (they used to be my little brother's so please be careful with them) and you can play around with them while you do my minion/replacement's bidding until you use them to bring me back to life even though this will kill you and you don't even know me and will in fact think that someone else is me anyway and why is this edo tensei wtf do you mean nagato's dead. who the fuck is naruto"

it's like if the "rip to ur grandma but i'm different" meme was a person. and that person was simultaneously the speaker, the person being addressed, and the grandma.