#Holy FUCK was this a lot to write!

[archive-of-the-guild]

Cali had Laila in a near bone-crushing hug with her face pressed to the sheep sinner's stomach. Laila herself was laying on her back and holding onto Cali, soothing the Imp as her body spasmed with the orgasm that overtook her.

She had never felt this sort of physical pleasure before. She had never felt the touch of another in such an intimate manner. Briefly, memories of the times when people tried to take Cali somewhere private flashed in her mind but those moments were immediately squashed by the shudders running through her body. There was no way they could compare to now.

Her breath and body were trembling and tears were falling unbidden from her eyes as she lifted her head to look back at Roako. He had just pulled his head away from her snatch and was watching her, rubbing massaging her lower back and ass while Cali calmed down. She saw the focus in his eyes directed at her. A hunger that both frightened and enticed her at the same time and, for the first time in her life, made her feel wanted.

Her body moved before her mind fully registered what she was doing. Spreading her legs and getting to her knees, she never breaks the hug with Laila as she presents herself for this man to take her.

He lines himself up and she feels the tip of one of those massive cocks. The feeling brings her back to reality for a second and panic flashes through her mind as she remembers just how big he is. Would it fit? Is it going to hurt? How much is this going to change her?! Cali wants to say something but Roako moves before she can get the chance.

Her gaze snaps forward, eyes wide and mouth open in a silent scream as she feels every inch push inside with practiced ease. Her mind struggles to catch up while her senses adjust to these new sensations but when they do, the sound that comes from her mouth sounds more like a groaning beast than anything. Her tense body finally relaxes and her eyes go half-lidded while Roako holds her in place.

He starts off slow, using his hands to hold her hips in place while he thrusts and sets the pace. Cali can't move. She doesn't WANT to move! She just wants more and Roako was all too happy to give it.

Time goes by, minutes turn to hours, and finally morning comes to find Cali being pounded and screaming in ecstasy like a seasoned whore. She lost track of the amount of orgasms she's had but couldn't care less as she feels another one approaching. Only this time, Roako was approaching his climax as well. Cali could feel it. His thrusts were fiercer, his cock was harder, his eyes screwed shut as his moans rose in pitch with hers.

He pushed as far in as he could go, stretching her more than he had over their entire romp as his knot swelled and locked them together. The feeling of his cum scalding her insides push her into her final and hardest climax yet, milking him for every drop he could give.

By the time she could think again, fatigue had overtaken them both as they moved to lay on their sides. Stuck as they were, Cali had no choice but to wait until Roako's knot deflated enough for them to separate. She didn't mind though. Laila on one side, Roako on the other, feeling warm both inside and out....

She had a feeling she was going to like living here.

[catgrandpa]

Gotham has always been weird, so when the groundskeeper at the cemetery noticed the Wayne kid’s plot was disturbed, he just chalked it up to more of the same ol’. Alright, so ‘disturbed’ may be a tad too light of a word, but what’s an empty grave in the grand scheme of Gotham? God knows in a city like this one, they could use all the burial room they could get. He figured he’d just jot it down on the website and hope nobody noticed for a while.

Too bad he didn’t account for the 13 year old boy in Bristol who periodically checks the cemetery’s website when he’s feeling particularly lonely.

Plot Removed.

Tim Drake stared at the two words under the heading for Jason Todd’s plot number. Removed? What do they mean ‘removed’? They can’t just remove a plot? That’s a person down there! That’s Robin down there! You can’t Remove Robin!

Calm down. Deep breaths. Assess the situation.

Robin has been dead for 5 months and 14 days. There is no reason for a grave to be removed that early, especially one of a member of such an affluential family. Chances are likely it’s a simple clerical issue. He can call first thing in the morning and make them aware of the mistake. He can have it all fixed in 5 hours.

Just a phone call.

In 5 hours.

…

Tim hates talking on the phone almost as much as he hates waiting.

Well it won’t be the first time he’s snuck out to head to Gotham proper at 1am. It can’t even really be considered sneaking out if there’s no one home to catch you.

Buses stop running at 2, so he layers a couple sweaters under his coat and grabs his best running sneakers so he can comfortably make the trek back.

Just a quick trip to settle his nerves. Maybe get a few shots in if he spots Batman, but really he just wants to see with his own two eyes that things are okay and Jason can rest.

It’s 1:37 by the time he gets to the headstone reading ‘Here Lies Jason Todd’ and the gaping, muddy pit in front of it.

This- This doesn’t make any sense. This is not removal. This is destruction. Desecration. Somebody did this. Somebody-

Assess the situation.

A hole in the ground, approximately 1.5 feet in diameter.

Mud and grass flung outward but with little force.

Large chunks of earth turned over and shoved away.

No signs of tool marks or clean lines of entry into the dirt.

Dragging claw marks.

Staggering, shuffled pairs of foot prints in the mud.

A trail of dirt.

Something… Something large clawed its way out of the ground here. Something large and bipedal and- and humanoid.

Tim refuses to jump to any conclusions he can see all the facts laid in front of him. He’s going to cautiously follow the trail and simply hope to any god listening that he isn’t the world’s first line of defense against the zombie apocalypse.

He’s been walking for 23 minutes and there’s good news and undecided news. Good news: he’s closing in on the target and the trail isn’t taking him out of the way so his trip home won’t be prolonged. Undecided news: The potential Zombie Robin is heading directly for Wayne Manor.

As zombie apocalypse news, this is very bad. From Tim’s collected observational evidence, his not-so-professional opinion is that Batman, faced with a horror movie level zombie of his dead son, would not respond well, and would likely not fight back.

In Batman and Robin news? Tim’s unsure. If Jason is simply back? What could that mean for them? Batman can have his Robin. He wouldn’t have to continue nearly killing others and himself every night in his grief. Jason could-

No. Stop. Do not jump to conclusions.

Hope only brings heartbreak.

What would Batman do? Get close and see if the target is a threat.

Target is male. Mid-teens. Dark hair. Pale skin. Leaning against surfaces as he walks. Appears injured and disoriented.

Minimal risk assessed. Approaching and attempting contact.

Target identity confirmed: Jason Todd.

“J-Jason?” It comes out as a croaked whisper. Jason shows no sign of acknowledgment.

Tim clears his throat, steps right in front of his path, and tries again.

“Jason. Jason, stop I want to help you.” Still nothing.

“Please, Jason. I can help, I promise I can help!”

Why isn’t this working?! Why can’t he just do something right for once?! He wants this to work, he wants to help Bruce, he wants to fix Batman, he wants to not be alone, he wants-

“Robin!”

Robin jerks to a stop.

Tim reached out his hand.

“Robin. Robin please, I’m sorry you’re going through this, it’s really scary, I’m really scared. But I just want to help you. Help you find Batman. Help you get home.”

Jason just stares at him. Of course he does. Of course it’s not going to work. Why did he even bother hoping he could help?

Hope only brings heartbreak.

His sight blurs as his eyes fill with tears and he starts to lower his outstretched hand.

His arm is slowed as a cold hand weakly grasps his own.

“Don’t… scared… Bat… help… Dad… help.”

A relieved sob tears out from Tim’s chest and he gathers himself together. He yanks his extra sweater off and gently pulls it over Jason’s cold shoulders. Jason lets Tim drag his arm over his shoulders to try and carry some of his weight.

“Okay, Robin. Yeah. Your dad will help us.”

Batman will solve everything once Tim gets Robin home.

[katabay]

ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WAS A KNIGHT...

the visual inspiration for this was a combination of Frederic William Burton's Meeting on the Turret Stairs and also Bernardo Cavallino's The vision of St. Dominic receiving the Rosary from the Virgin

this was supposed to be just a one off illustration to get the thoughts out of my system, but then I started thinking about medieval politics and warfare and plagues and a castle and home as both a place of refuge, a prison, and a tomb, so perhaps they will end up as ex voto characters as well.

you may say, hey! that rosary looks like it has too many beads! it's a fifteen decade rosary, probably. dominicans are really into marian devotions. it works out.

also. spiral style stair cases. oh boy. it was that unexpectedly more difficult than I originally thought it would be to draw. the more I think about it, the less I understand them, even though I had a million photos of the stairs in front of me while I was drawing it.

⭐ I have a tip jar (ko-fi)!

⭐ and other places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app

[wasyago]

uhh umm uhm random stuff

[mrzombielover]

- slow ride ch2

feat. sinner!adam x fem!hotel worker!reader

previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter (wip)

warnings: NSFW, more substance use in this one, a bit of angst?, readers emotional issues

a/n: i feel like my writing sucks esp in this chapter cause im sorta rusty and sick so i cant even tell if this makes sense but oh well😭😭😭 anyway pls send me hazbin reqs!!!!! having the worst brainrot lately esp for this horrible man!!!

wc: 2.9k

“I'm not breaking up inside / I'm much to proud to moan / Baby, please come home”

Oh my god. What did I just do? Why did I do this?

You turn your head to look at Adam where he’s lying on the other side of the bed, and find his expression closely mirrors your own. Pure disbelief is written on his features, and you grimace, turning to look back at the ceiling.

After a moment, you sit up, grabbing your box of cigarettes and a lighter off your bedside table. Once lit, you swing your feet off the bed to reach for shirt and now ripped panties, standing up when you’re partially dressed. You hear Adam sit up behind you.

“Soo, that was… uhhh…” He trails off, mouth hanging open as he thinks of what to say.

“Let’s… not speak about this again,” You say carefully as you turn back to face him.

“Yeah. yeah, i’m good with that,” He says quickly, finding his robes off the floor. You’re surprised he doesn’t say anything about the smoke.

You cross the room to get your pants off the floor, pulling them up as Adam grabs his jacket. You pull up your fly, and look up to see Adam’s staring at you with an expression you can’t read. His eyes flicker to your lips, and he starts to lean closer.

“Kiss me and i’ll cut your fuckin’ tongue out,” you say as you turn your head away.

“Oookay then. I’ll, uh, see ya,” For once, he has no snarky comment or crude joke to make as he straightens up and leaves your room.

After that, you told yourself never again. It happened once, it’s out of your system, it’s done. A one time thing.

But then it happens a second time.

“It’s a disgusting habit! All your clothes, your whole room fuckin’ reeks!”

“Are you tryin’ to get me to loose my temper here? ‘Cause i’m about to shove you out that fucking window!”

“And look how angry you get, you fucking fiend, it’s been like 2 hours!”

“Why don’t you mind your goddamn business?”

You raise an arm to hit him, but he catches your elbow, twisting you around so your back is to him and he can hold you in place. You struggle to break from his grip, when suddenly-

“Oh my god,” You deadpan, but your voice doesn’t come out as disgusted as you expected at the feeling of something hard poking into your lower back.

“Okay, this is not my fault-“ Adam says quickly.

“You- fucking perv!” You spit, but your words hold no weight when he flips you again and lifts you up, placing you on the counter and you make no effort to struggle. You spread your legs so he can slot between them as items pushed out of the way cascade off the counter, falling to the floor with loud crashes.

You then told yourself that would be the last time. But not even you fully believed yourself. And once it happened a third, fourth, and fifth time, you just accepted this is something that happens now. You’re not proud of it- some of you hates yourself, but another part of you finds a a sick, primal pleasure in it. It’s the only guaranteed way for you to get him to shut up, if only for a few minutes. The fight for dominance- fuuck you’re messed up, huh?

Thinking of the humiliation you’d feel if any of the others found out- oh god, how could you look Alastor in the eyes again- you change absolutely nothing about your behavior around Adam. On the surface, nothing has changed at all. You two still bicker and argue all the time, if anything, worse than ever. Yet the other members can feel something’s up, that something changed. Adam’s insults feel more hollow. He always said shit just to rile you up, but there was usually an undertone of truth to his words. Not anymore- it’s all stupid shit that everybody can tell he doesn’t care about. Nobody says anything about it, though, until-

“What the fuck are you smilin’ for?” Angel’s voice makes Adam jump as he enters, sitting down on the couch beside him.

“What-? I wasn’t smiling,” Adam quickly denies. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh my god- are you’re gettin’ laid?” Angel grins, sitting up. The look on Adam’s face tells him everything, and he can’t help but laugh. “Oh, you so are! No wonder you’ve been in such a good mood lately,”

“Uh, duh i’m getting laid, I’m Adam, I’m the origin-“

“Yeah, yeah, original dick. But that’s not what I mean and you know it.” Angel grins widely, and Adam can feel his face heating up. Oh god- why is he blushing? Since when does he care? He pushes the thought from his head.

“…You don’t know her,” Adam decides to say, crossing his arms and turning back to face the TV, hoping Angel will just leave it at that.

“Try me,” Angel leans closer, looking intently at Adam’s expression. When Adam says nothing, Angel laughs again.

“Oh my god I so know her,”

Adam grits his teeth but says nothing as Angel laughs.

“Okay, fine, don’t tell me who you’re havin’ weird secret kinky sex with,” Angel shrugs, turning to face the TV. “I’ll find out eventually,”

That makes Adam sweat.

You can’t help but laugh, nearly spitting whisky everywhere while Husk chuckles to himself. Sure, it’s a bit trite, ranting to the bartender about your shitty day while he pours you a stiff drink, but Husk could always make you laugh about it, and call you out on your bullshit if needed. He was real, and you liked that about him. Plus, it beat drinking alone when none of your other friends wanted to party on a Wednesday.

“-and not a crazy bitch like I’m a crazy bitch, crazy like she lit her mom’s hair on fir-“

“Husk holy shit!”

Both of you look in the direction of Angel Dust’s voice as he runs from the hallway towards you both. He leans over the bar, eager to share whatever news he had.

“Adam’s fucking somebody- somebody here!”

You choke on your whisky, spitting it back into the glass. Angel and Husk both look at you with a raised brow.

“My bad,” is all you say. you can’t think of anything else that would play it off, so you just quietly wipe off your face while Angel recounts his encounter with Adam. You feel an eye twitch- you could strangle that prick for being so conspicuous.

“You’re quiet, Y/N,” Angel says in a teasing tone.

“I just could not care less if I tried,” You say back, firmly but with a shrug, and you hope it suffices as an acceptable explanation, and that you come off as your usual apathetic self. You finish your whisky, and luckily, Angel doesn’t give you any more shit. Slightly unsettled by that interaction, you avoid Adam for the next few days.

Late one evening, everybody’s gone up to their rooms and the hotel is quiet. You’ve already eaten, smoked, brushed your teeth and put on pajamas, but there’s nothing good on TV and you’re bored and high and just want a task to keep busy. So you wander aimlessly into the kitchen and find yourself doing the dishes that Charlie was too stressed out to do earlier.

As you scrub brown charred bits off a pan, you find your stupid weed-addled brain wandering to Adam. You haven’t fought with him in a while, mostly because you’d run away before he had the chance to start, but still. It feels weird, being so calm lately. No wonder you’re bored. It’s the way things used to be at the hotel, before he arrived. You guess you hadn’t realized how used to his presence you’ve gotten. Gross. You cringe at the thought.

Luckily, your phone starts to vibrate on the counter, giving you a distraction. You pick up and hold it between your ear and shoulder without looking at the caller ID.

“Yo, where are you right now?”

Of course.

“Adam? What the fuck, when did you get a phone?” You snort. When you realize you’re smiling you clear your throat and force your face to relax.

“Whatever. Can you come upstairs?”

You pause. He sounds slightly odd.

“What, like, to your room?” You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

“ohmyfuckinggod- can you not be difficult for fucking once and just do what I ask?” Then, as an afterthought, he adds “Please?”

Damn, okay. You don’t say anything for a moment, thinking maybe you’re just smacked and he’s being normal.

“Suuuure… Just uh, gimme a minute,” You say carefully, putting the dishes down. Then, he hangs up on you. What a dick.

Unbeknownst to you, while you’ve been thinking about him, he’s been thinking about you way more.

You’ve been avoiding him- obviously. Not unexpected, but it pissed him off to no end. He’s fucking Adam! Who are you to ignore him? Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on him, anyway?

By now, the others have started to accept him- including them in their plans, drinking with him, no longer leaving a room when he enters- so he doesn’t really need a chaperone anymore. Despite this, it still feels wrong. Even in a room with every other patron of the hotel, he’d started to notice when you weren’t there.

He didn’t even notice he was starting to miss you at first. It wasn’t until he and Charlie were seated at the bar, and he drank more than he probably should have, that he mentioned you were avoiding him.

“What’dya, miss her?” Husk asked.

“Awww, Adam!” He still remembers the look on her and Husker’s faces. “You are starting to change! That’s so sweet of you!”

And then because she was drunk she kept rambling about it for like 30 minutes, but he doesn’t remember the rest of what she said, just the utter humiliation he felt. He shut up for the rest of the night to avoid spilling his guts any more, but Husk- the annoying fucker- still gives him knowing looks every now and then.

And after Nifty had washed his sheets, and he’d noticed that his pillows lost the scent of cigarettes, perfume, and shampoo you’d left behind, he knew he was royally fucked.

The worst of all, though, is that he feels helpless to feeling these emotions- and even worse, he doesn’t want to stop feeling them. Before he’d even noticed it, he was thinking about you all the time, and he was fine with it. The embarrassment was killing him, even though, supposedly, nobody knew.

On this particular night, he’d probably had just a tad too much beer with his dinner, because when he’d returned to his room and flopped on his bed, there was a little bug in the back of his brain that kept whining about how empty it felt. He tossed and turned for a bit, just wanting to sleep it off, but he eventually gave up, reaching for his phone.

“Adam?” Before you’re finished knocking, Adam jumps up to get the door, pulling you inside quickly. You make a noise of surprise as he scoops you up immediately, not saying anything as he carries you to his bed.

“Damn, needy, huh?” You laugh. This time, it’s him telling you to shut up as he tosses you onto the bed and crawls over you.

You sit up slightly to help him get your shirt off, and then his lips are on your neck, trailing down to your chest as he unclips your bra.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” He says with a casual shrug as his hands run up your torso to grope at your tits.

“mm,” You hum, arching your back into his touch. “missed this?” You smile sarcastically. Missed you, he thinks.

“Sure missed these,” He pushes the thought away and grins back, squeezing your chest for emphasis. He pulls back briefly to rid himself of his own shirt, then bends back down to press more kisses to your flesh. He looks up, staring at your expression as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, reveling in the whimper he’s rewarded with.

“fuckin’ perfect tits…” He mumbles into your chest before nipping at your skin. You let your eyes shut as his free hand slides down, under the band of your shorts and his finger brushes the hot skin beneath, skimming over your lips. Adam thumbs at your clit through your panties, relishing in the whine he rips from your throat.

Impatiently, you shift your hips up to slide off your shorts and panties, then reach to tug at his belt loops to signal he should do the same. When he looks up and sees the desperate look on your face, he decides not to keep you waiting, and pulls back to rip off his pants and boxers.

You guess avoiding him these past few days has affected you, too, because you’re surprisingly desperate. You sit up, wrapping your fingers around his cock, smearing his arousal across his length, and whatever he had been planning to say dies and comes out a needy garble of nonsense that makes you snicker.

To your surprise, he has no quip as he crawls over you and pushes himself between your legs. He bites back a gasp when you rub the head of his cock between your folds, a groan following a moment after as he begins pushing into you.

Your thighs are trembling by the time he’s fully inside of you, and you wrap your legs around his waist weakly while you adjust to the stretch.

He sits up fully, and from this view, you look stunning. The way you're laid back on his pillow, tears pricking in your eyes, he thinks you look more angelic than anything he ever saw in heaven.

“fuuuck,” He groans, letting his head fall onto the bed as he starts to move his hips.

“Adam!” The way you whine his name is truly sinful, and he feels his dick twitch in response.

“holyfuck, ‘s so big,” The slight burn makes you regret your impatience now, and his face makes you regret stroking his ego. You make a point to ignore his self satisfied laugh, focusing instead on how his cock stretched you open, making you to tighten and release around him. You turn your head, looking at his wicked fucked-out smile that grew wider and wider as his movements got deeper.

You can’t speak, you just moan helplessly as your hands search for anything to grab onto to steady yourself. You throw your hands around his neck and bury them in his now dark wings, in the way you always did. You gripped the feathers tightly and let out a moan and oh, god, he’s not going to last long, he thinks, with you gripping the sensitive feathers like that. He groans again, then his lips find your shoulder, where he leaves messy, open-mouthed kisses trailing towards your neck.

“so fuckin’ sexy, so, so good for me,” you barley even register that he’s speaking, with your entire focus being on the way he moved in and out of you.

“you’re- so beautiful,” he says between grunts. your eyes widen.

“wha-ahh-“ before you can question that, a particularly hard thrust makes the words die in your throat, and you’re clawing to his biceps again.

A warmth of pride erupts in your chest at the way his breathing has turned labored and his grip on you tightens. An arm snakes around your waist, the other under your head, pulling you impossibly tighter against him as he continues to desperately pound into you. The proud smirk you wore is wiped off your face when you feel one hand releases you and his hand trails down, eventually pressing a thumb your clit, rubbing small circles that make you moan and twitch beneath him.

You can’t even warn him before your whole body erupts. You spill over, you lose sense of where and who you are, all the while, Adam pounds into you, strokes you inside and out. You vaguely hear a sudden crash and him mumbling, thanking god that you came before him because seconds later, he’s spilling his own cum inside you with a broken wanton groan.

Adam stills for a moment, panting as he holds you close. When he rolls off you, he keeps one arm around you, pulling you against his chest. Huh. That’s new.

Neither of you say anything. That was… different, than you’re used to with him. You furrow your brows as you think, and find yourself confused. The cogs in your head turning something terrible in your mind, questioning his intentions.

Once you’ve caught your breath, you sit up, pushing away his arm as you go to find your clothes. He frowns, watching you pick your shirt up from the ground and pull it over your head. You looked guarded, like a cornered doe, like you were just waiting for the chance to sprint away.

Adam grabs his own boxers from the floor and pulls them on, quickly crossing the room to where you were. He looks down at you, and feels an odd, tightening in his chest, something he’s felt a lot since falling to hell.

He leans against the door, putting on a cocky smile.

“Soo… this was like a booty call, huh?”

“…Yeah, whatever. See ya,”

[reddamselette]

“We need to know less about each other,” Leo whispered against Jason’s lips. He swallowed dryly, closing his eyes for a simple moment before he dropped his head onto Jason’s shoulder and breathed.

Jason rested his head back against the wall behind him, staring up at the shining and twinkling stars and constellations in the dark blue blanket of a sky. His hands were cradling Leo’s head, fingers tangled in brown curls. His heart thudded in his chest, his cheeks burning and flushed with crimson red as the blood rushed to his face.

It was unfair, he thought.

How easy it was for Leo take his heart and shatter it like a stick hitting a drum, lightning crackling from the ground into the clouds. They were outside by the bar, celebrating with the others late on a summer night where it was hot enough during the day but worse once the sun had set. It was unfair, he thought, how Leo could say that after so long. “I can’t know less about you, Leo.”

Jason could never forget or unlearn what has been engraved in his mind like etchings on stone tablets. He would always remember the slightest shine in big brown eyes when he would gesture wildly with his hands as he spoke about something he was passionate about or the curl of his lips that would spread into a grin that was the most beautiful thing he could witness.

The touches that were searing hot and burned his fingertips into Jason’s skin, every nerve tingling until he was on fire. Jason memorized the specific pattern of Leo’s heartbeat underneath his palm, the scars on his arm that were shaped like a constellation, and how every curl hung over his eyes or curled up on the crown of his head; fluffy, soft curls that felt like he could fly running his hands through each strand and twirling it between his fingers.

He could never know less about Leo Valdez because his very soul was made to absorb every detail about him like the fact he would chew on his lip a few times before biting the inside of his cheek when he was overwhelmed. Leo had the habit of tapping his finger, whistling or humming to himself in concentration. How his voice was smooth but there was quirks of an accent, a rasp with certain words and a slip into the swirls of the Spanish language.

Leo pulled away, his hands sliding off of Jason’s waist to the wall on either side of his head, caging him in as if his mind and mouth was saying one thing but his body and heart were saying another. “This was a mistake.”

Jason looked at him with sad eyes, gripping his hair between his fingers as he shook his head. “Was it? Or are you saying that because you feel guilty? I don’t want to be strangers, don’t do that to me.”

“We should’ve stayed strangers since the very beginning, Jason.” Leo sighed and hovered his hand near Jason’s cheek, heat radiating from the close vicinity of his palm to his skin before he leaned away and gently removed Jason’s hands from his hair. “You’re everything to me, you know.”

“Am I? It doesn’t seem like it.”

“You are.”

“I hate you,” Jason lied and he lied painfully. His body was resting against the wall, using it as support as he stared into Leo’s features, sky blue irises roaming over his figure, his hands, his hair, his lips. He could never truly hate him because he fell in love with him but it wasn’t enough. Jason would never be enough.

Leo didn’t reply for several moments. His hands were limp at his sides, the area was barely illuminated and masked his fingers curling into his palms, nails digging into his skin and created crescent shapes. He knew Jason would never hate him but he wished he would. Leo deserved it for hurting him in such a way, for cradling him and embracing him the way lovers of so many years do. They weren’t official, they never would be, but it hurt. It ripped Leo apart. It was as if smoke infiltrated his lungs and drowned out the oxygen, stealing away his ability to breathe. “I know.”

[sutherlins]

♡ DOWN IN THE HEART ♡ ↝ SydCarmy | Rated: E mdni | Complete | Word Count: 170K+ | [READ HERE]

Summary: Post S3 Finale. After almost losing Sydney to Shapiro, Carmy is determined to make a change. Eager to rebuild their friendship, they decide to spend the day together at Carmy's doing some recipe development but an accidental peek inside Carmy's notebook changes everything for them. In the midst of navigating trauma, therapy, grief, and their new relationship, they try to keep their thing a secret from everyone else at The Bear for six months.

♡ any reblogs/kudos/comments are all so appreciated!! ♡

[cluescorner]

I gave myself a writing challenge and I am fascinated by it

So basically I put the robins in a randomizer to give them a new order/role (because I just...kinda wanted to see what would happen + I like role-reversal AUs) and got results that are giving me a fucking brain blast.

Stephanie, the first sidekick who defines the role

Tim, the sidekick who dies and comes back wrong

Dick, the sidekick who saves Batman from himself

Damian, the sidekick who was never supposed to be a sidekick but would go on to prove everyone wrong

Jason, the youngest sidekick who is still the Kid Wonder

...So this is fucking wild. I've got some ideas and several of these fit perfectly (Dick's role is pretty similar to his one in canon), but some of these are fucking INCREDIBLE to explore (Steph being the first Robin is something I never even considered but tbh I kinda love it).

I probably won't write a fic or anything because tbh I don't like publishing my writing that much, but I might expand this into a full AU and post about it. I might randomize other stuff too (ie, stuff that I cannot change vs stuff that I cannot keep the same) but this fucking rules as a starting point.

[stardustedknuckles]

"A dyke, according to geology, is a sheet of magma born in a fracture. Dykes are best understood as the veins of a volcano, coursing hot and varicose toward the surface to erupt. Because of this, dykes are always younger than the body of rock in which they’ve made their home. Born differently than the mother rock, they make their presence known in rebel coloration: black against white, striped against mottled, crystal against sand. Geologists consider dykes intrusive formations, in part because they were formed underground until exposed."

-From Dyke (Geology) by Sabrina Imbler

[the-way-astray]

Stria continued to walk down the street. She was trying to get back to her house. It was getting late in the day, and she wanted to be home before dark.

However, she wasn't paying attention as to where she was going. She only dazed out of lala land when she accid ran into somebody.

She was about to apologize, but the words died on her tongue when she saw who she ran into. He had tousled blonde hair and ice of almost ice.

Blush ran across her cheeks.

"Sorry," the guy whispered.

"Oh, no," she insisted. "I'm sorry. I wasn't looking."

She studied him further. He looked like he hadn't slept. He had his voice low when he spoke to her. Was everything alright?

She held out her hand. "I'm Stria," she introduced herself.

The boy returned the handshake. "Keefe." His voice was still soft.

After a moment of hesitation, she finally asked, "Is everything alright? You look worried about something."

Keefe shrugged. "Just... hectic right now. I'm having a hard time finding somewhere to stay."

"Oh."

What was she supposed to do? Leave him there.

"Follow me," she told him. "You can crash on my couch."

Part 2? 👀

this is so wattpad-onian. why.

"Stria continued to walk down the street. She was trying to get back to her house. It was getting late in the day, and she wanted to be home before dark."

clearly this is a snippet of a greater work, because i am "continu[ing]" to walk down the street. i'm intrigued. where am i walking from?

"However, she wasn't paying attention as to where she was going. She only dazed out of lala land when she accid ran into somebody."

okay this part is pretty accurate to me. i'm the sort of person to get stuck in my own head when i'm walking between familiar places. i think this is why people accuse me of having a thousand yard dead-looking stare.

"She was about to apologize, but the words died on her tongue when she saw who she ran into. He had tousled blonde hair and ice of almost ice."

not accurate to real life me! my apologies are instantaneous when i run into someone. like pressing a button (running into someone) that causes an immediate reaction (saying sorry). i also put my hand up like a stop sign in apology. also i'm horrible with not only eye contact, but also even looking at a person's top half in general. i'm a knee-starer. true story: i once worked with a woman almost everyday and six months in i couldn't tell you her hair or eye color. it's that bad. so it's very likely i wouldn't even notice how hot keefe is, unless he has some spectacularly good-looking knees. this is where the y/n-ness officially begins. also i'm not sophie who can tell us the fucking hex code of everyone's eyes. i would literally just notice his eyes were blue and that's it (if i looked into them, which i would not). also i don't really use the word "tousled". "messy" is more accurate.

"Blush ran across her cheeks."

i don't blush. okay, actually that's not true. i don't let my blush show up on my face (yay for brown skin!). and i'm very good at controlling my facial features to keep a blush from showing up that way, too. keefe would not be able to tell in this scenario if i was blushing. but i guess this gets a pass, since you didn't say he did.

"Sorry," the guy whispered. "Oh, no," she insisted. "I'm sorry. I wasn't looking."

i don't talk like this. i'm very awkward. it would be more like "sorry . . . i. i didn't. wasn't. run- uh, looking where i was . . . " *trails off out of embarrassment* this happens regardless of who i'm talking to, but mostly with authority figures and strangers. inaccurate once again! also i don't use "oh, no" like this.

"She studied him further. He looked like he hadn't slept. He had his voice low when he spoke to her. Was everything alright?"

i don't know how to identify whether someone has slept or not. i'm terrible at judging people based on appearances in general. and i wouldn't think it was weird that he had his voice low when he talked. i would just think he was awkward, like me. i tend to do that when i feel particularly awkward. and seeing as how i am a stranger to him, it makes sense.

"She held out her hand. "I'm Stria," she introduced herself. The boy returned the handshake. "Keefe." His voice was still soft."

i don't shake hands unless the other person initiates, nor do i offer my name to random strangers without being prompted. this entire interaction would be me running into him, apologizing, and being on my way, realistically speaking.

"After a moment of hesitation, she finally asked, "Is everything alright? You look worried about something." Keefe shrugged. "Just... hectic right now. I'm having a hard time finding somewhere to stay.""

if i had noticed that keefe looked out of the ordinary somehow, i would not make conversation about it. i would be trying to get out of this situation with a stranger as fast as possible. i'm terrible at asking people what they want/using pleasantries/going out of my way to make sure people are okay (trying to be better about it, but yeah). and if i did decide to make conversation about it, i would be so incredibly awkward with that sentence. it would be more like "hey are you like. uh. i mean. are you okay? you look kinda . . . like not weird. i mean. like. worried. you look worried- uh i mean . . . " *trails off as i realize i'm being nosy and also that i don't actually care about this total stranger's life* also why is keefe willing to tell a complete stranger that he's having a hard time finding a place to stay?

""Oh." What was she supposed to do? Leave him there. "Follow me," she told him. "You can crash on my couch.""

if keefe did tell me he's having a hard time finding a place to stay, i cannot even begin to describe the levels of awkward i would reach. personal details from strangers make me a unique sort of uncomfortable, because like, what are you even supposed to say? i would see him as like. subtly asking for a place to stay with me, or feel guilty that i have a place to stay and he doesn't, or think that he hates me because i'm in a better situation than him. and then that would affect the way i spoke to him for the rest of the conversation. and i would try to find a way to politely end this conversation as soon as possible and get away. the last thing i would do is offer my place to a complete and utter stranger. what if he kills me? you guys don't understand the amount of paranoid i am when it comes to stranger danger.

and the terrible grammar/puncuation/spelling/diction/word choice is topping this off for me. so, so wattpad. idk if it was intentional (i assume it was) but. it's so . . . y/n. it oozes bad fanfiction. i assume that was your goal. but also like. why. if you make a part two it might kill me. just so you know.

in conclusion: dni fanfic writers

[electricfied-wolf]

Shoutout to famous teenagers with ponytails from kids media in which its revealed that both teenagers definitely have Some Issues that will likely never be elaborated on or solved.

[uncanny-tranny]

This might be controversial to some, but you cannot "tough love" your way to preventing suicide. You cannot have the attitude that people who complete suicide are selfish or are ungrateful or immature. If your mindset about suicide isn't coming from compassion rather than judgment, it won't help suicidal people. You will never help us with a slap on the wrist and a lecture about how we're awful for even thinking about completing suicide.

Suicide intervention starts with compassion and care.

[solradguy]

Do you think one could attain decent-ish ability to read Japanese just by studying kanji? Specifically asking because the kanji learnin' service "wanikani" is the single Japanese resource that works best with my brain, but then there are separate resources for grammar and vocab and and and.....

You will get REAAAALLLLLYYY far knowing only the kanji but you're going to have to know hiragana and katakana at some point too. Tofugu, the company that did Wanikani, has two mnemonics-based guides for the kana that are basically Wanikani Lite. They're how I learned the kana and I swear by them.

Here's hiragana: https://www.tofugu.com/japanese/learn-hiragana/

And katakana: https://www.tofugu.com/japanese/learn-katakana/

Hiragana are especially vital to learning kanji; you won't be able to use 99% of Japanese-English dictionaries without them. BUT they're pretty easy and the rules for using them are consistent. You won't have to remember any irregular exceptions for any of them.

I haven't tried it yet, but I've heard really good things about the Crystal Hunters manga series as a fun/low stress way to learning Japanese vocab and grammar. It eases the reader into new concepts and then repeats them throughout the chapter so you remember them. There are free vocab and study guides/lists for each chapter too. Might be worth checking out once you get some kanji and the kana under your belt? The first book is also free.

Official site: https://crystalhuntersmanga.com/

Good luck!!

[whollyjoly]

for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise. 

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone. 

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert. 

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury. 

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

~~

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides. 

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope. 

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat. 

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth. 

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal. 

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

[raviollies]

Was scrolling through your posts, wanted to show some dnd memes to my players. Why did you decided to delete the majority of cos memes?

I wanted to show Raha with a frog...

To keep it short - they made me sad. I didn't want to scroll through my archive and constantly see them, reminding me of how hurt I felt over his things went down. I kept the art I was proud of and that's it.

Art for me always has been an expression of things I love and want to share. Seeing notifications of those posts felt like being haunted, and a reminder of a hyperfixation that felt dangled like a carrot and then ripped away from me.

I'm sorry to those that liked that memes, tumblr doesn't delete other people's reblogs of them so I'm sure they can still be found. I just genuinely don't want anything to do with the module because of what happened....I hope you can understand that.

[phasewashere]

i need to write vdm