#I have no idea if the fandom is still alive but I really hope it is

[blog-of-reaction]

If Charlie dies I am never going to forgive the writers. Like she is the best. I love her almost as much as I love Juliet O’Hara, and that’s saying something.

[streetlamp-amber]

never ending night

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

word count: 1.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: pregnancy, pure fluff NOTES: hello hi i’m ailís and i’ve been meaning to start a blog where i can post some one shots that i’ve been thinking of as a way to motivate myself to finally write down my ideas so this is it. i’ll be double posting my stuff on ao3 (which you can find in my bio) and will eventually make a masterlist as well as a navigation post with a list of fandoms/characters i write for. also, english isn’t my first language.

It was close to three in the morning when Bruce finally joined you in bed after a long night of patrolling and fighting bottom of the barrel criminals all night. He showered in the bathroom on the first floor of the manor to avoid making too much noise and waking you up, but when he finally walked in your shared bedroom, you were already awake, sitting up against the headboard.

“Darling, what are you doing still up?” Bruce asked you as he reached his side of the bed.

The room was dark par for the moonlight filtering through the gap between the curtains, meaning your husband had yet to notice the state you were in.

“Dick had a nightmare,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper due to how tired you were. “It took me two hours to get him to fall back asleep and when I finally came back here, this little one started kickboxing me and keeping me awake for another hour,” you continued rubbing your round belly in hopes of soothing your baby to finally catch some sleep.

“I’m sorry I wasn't here to help,” Bruce apologised, planting a kiss on your temple as he held you close to his body.

“It’s alright, Gotham needs you,” you dismissed, not at all angry.

“Still, you’re six months pregnant. You’re growing our child inside your body, you need all the rest you can get,” he softly argued. “I would've come home earlier but all the amateur criminals came out tonight.”

“Bruce, it’s fine,” you brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned his head into your touch. “You’ve already been cutting your patrols shorter since we found out about the baby. As long as you keep coming back home to us, alive, then I’m not mad.”

Not knowing what to say – his gratefulness for having someone so accepting of his duty as Batman was almost overwhelming, even after all those years – Bruce kissed your palm while staring at you with the same look full of love that he has been sporting since the first time he met you six years ago.

“How’d I get so lucky to fall in love with the most understanding and selfless person I know?” He asked while grabbing your hand on his cheek, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing them gently.

“Now that’s a lie,” you rebutted, a loving smile on your lips, lowering your joined hands on the bed. “You’re more selfless than I am. You’re the most selfless man in the world.”

“Let’s not start this never ending argument again,” Bruce chuckled, now his turn to hold your face as he brought you in for a kiss.

You happily sighed against his lips, the feeling of home that overtook you every time you tasted them was a nice welcome in this interminable night. But the kiss was cut short as you felt your baby kick again and you let your head fall back as you groaned.

“She’s still kicking?” Bruce asked you, he couldn't see the movements under your skin due to the darkness of the room and your hand on your belly.

“We don't know it's a she,” you reminded him instead of answering. You had both decided to wait until the birth to know the gender.

“And I’m telling you, I know it's a girl,” your husband repeated for what could be the hundredth time.

You also secretly hoped it was a girl, but Dick really wanted a little brother. Bruce and you were still in the process of warming him up to the idea of a little sister and it was slowly starting to work.

“As long as she doesn't come in my room,” your eight year old son had said last week, with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips.

“I doubt she’ll be doing that for the first few years, chum,” Bruce reassured him, fighting off a slightly amused grin.

“And the baby will have its own room with its own toys,” you added.

“Will I still be able to play with the baby?” Dick asked after a moment, uncrossing his arms and a hopeful look filling up his blue eyes.

“Of course you will, bubs,” you said, your fingers threading through his black hair that fell over his forehead.

“But only with her toys at first, some of yours are not suited for a baby,” Bruce pointed out, ever the overprotective father.

Bruce had lowered himself down under the blanket so he could be laying head levelled with your belly, his hand now replacing yours over the bump.

“Hey trouble,” he whispered to your child and the baby kicked again, making him smile lovingly at the movement he felt under his hand. “You shouldn't be awake this late at night, you know.”

“You're one to talk,” you commented, tone almost reprimanding.

“She doesn't know that,” Bruce looked up at you as he defended himself before his gaze fell back on your belly. “Mommy is really tired,” he continued talking to your baby, his hand now rubbing soothingly over your round stomach, “and she needs her rest to do all the work so you can come out all healthy and beautiful. Well, you're definitely gonna be the most beautiful baby if you end up looking like your mother, but that's not the point.”

You smiled at the cheesy comment and your fingers found their place in Bruce’s hair, brushing through it and nails occasionally scratching his scalp.

“Your brother Dick can't wait for you to come around,” he carried on. “Said he will teach you all sorts of acrobatic tricks once you know how to walk. And he asked Alfred if he could help paint the nursery when we finally decide on a colour.”

“And I keep telling you we should do soft green,” you argued.

“I’m not changing my mind from primrose pink,” he told you with a sly grin.

“The room won’t be pink, even if it’s a girl. And that’s final,” you firmly said. Your husband will not be winning this one argument, no sir.

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes before focusing back on your belly. “I hope you’re not as stubborn as your mother,” he whispered to the baby, as if he was having a private conversation with them and that you weren’t there. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with her, but I won’t be able to say no to you even when I have to, so it would save me a lot of reprimanding from Mommy if you’re not as tenacious as her.”

You smiled to yourself as you continued listening to your husband talk to your unborn child as you threaded your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness it had after a shower. Bruce usually gelled his hair to appear more professional when he was working in the day, and then it would get all mixed up with his sweat under his cowl when he was working as Batman. When he would come back to you after the day was over, you would refuse to touch his hair until he had showered, the texture of the gel and sweat too gross on your fingers for you to ignore.

As Bruce continued talking to your baby, his voice started lulling the two of you to sleep. The baby hadn’t kicked in over almost ten minutes now, and the peace you had waited for so long to arrive made you aware of how heavy your eyelids were. You slowly lowered yourself down the bed, getting in a comfortable position with Bruce’s help where you could finally lay your head on your pillow and it didn’t take long for sleep to catch up on you.

At the sound of your soft, barely audible snores, Bruce turned his head away from your bump to find you asleep with your free hand raised next to your head on your pillow, the other one still tangled in his hair.

He planted a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your belly, eyes closed as he took a moment to absorb the fact that a baby that was half you and half him would be joining your world in a little more than three months. Bruce wasn't known to cry, the only time you ever saw him cry was as you walked down the aisle at your wedding, but tonight, a lonesome tear rolled down his cheek and fell on your stomach, where your child was growing, because Bruce never believed he would ever get to experience again the amount of love he hadn't felt since he was eight years old.

As he observed you, sleeping soundly with his child coming to life inside you, after you comforted Dick back to sleep, Bruce, for a moment, felt overwhelmed by all the love in his life. When he became Batman, he crossed out the idea of ever having a family (other than Alfred), of settling down with someone he loved and who loved him back.

But somehow, the universe put you on his path, as a miracle or a guardian angel or simply as an anchor to life outside of Batman, he didn't know. You walked into his home, into his life, to remind him that he, Bruce Wayne, was also deserving of love, of family, of happiness. Then Dick came along, rather unexpectedly but still no less welcomed, and Bruce started entertaining the idea of having children with you. He definitely wasn't opposed to it, but it wasn't something he wanted to jump right into, especially with Dick having just entered your lives. You were both young, he in his early thirties and you in your late twenties, you could allow yourselves a couple of years just the three of you (four with Alfred) before expanding the family.

So it was rather shocking when two months after you and Bruce had officially adopted Dick that you found out you were pregnant. It both took you by surprise but after talking through it together, you couldn't be happier. And the two of you haven't stopped being happy about this new little addition ever since.

Bruce rose up from his position next to your belly, your limp hand fell from his head as he did so, and he laid on the bed next to you. He delicately kissed your forehead, then your nose before falling back on his pillow and whispered “I love you” as he curled around your body, his hand resting on your belly as he fell asleep.

[mimipolo]

Can u write headcanons for the sakamoto days characters as the animes coming out on Saturday. For ur bestie friendie 😆😆

Sakamoto days x reader headcanons

Yes I will, happy birthday to you. You should be ecstatic rn.

Is the Sakamoto days fandom alive on here??? Hope so.

Shin

He's really obvious about the fact he like you, like reallyyy obvious

Puts extra effort into every little action he does so you think he's cool(he's really not),if you two met in the JCC he'd make sure his entire routine for group assassination missions is basically flawless.

Can't help being curious about what you thought and tunes into your thoughts and has to pretend his face isn't growing hotter by the second as he walks back in line, your inner thoughts of admiration replaying in his head.

Has at least one person(Mr Sakamoto) who he talks to endlessly about you, if he was still an assassin he'd have found it unbearable but now he sits blissfully with a ramen cup in hand as Shin talks away, when his mind wanders to young love and then eventually his wife, Shin snaps at him to pay attention.

Knows a lot about you (most without you knowing but sh), sometimes he just comes up to you and reminds you of something you're about to forget or a question too niche for him to ask and you're like "huh?" and he just blinks at you before going "huh-?"

Takes a deep breath and does that silly shake thing guys do when they're about to run when he's determined to talk to you, ends up folding anyway because he's geeked you asked to eat with him today.

Does the absolute most to keep you out of danger, at the JCC and at the shop, enemies seem to be popping up from anywhere now he and Sakamoto had dropped from the ranks and he didn't want you wrapped up in that.

Cannot flirt, he cannot and it's so embarassing, it's sweet when he tries though, the moment he sees you trying to hold your laugh he just gives up and holds his flushed face as you double over laughing. At least you said he was cute(internally.)

I can imagine you two in his or your room on a hot day, the windows wide open and the fan is blasting in your faces as you split twin popsicles, he thinks you look beautiful even as you sweat profusely and fan your face with your hand.

Nagumo

So annoying, to the point it's almost driving you mad, makes every excuse under the sun to come see you, be it day or night. People often ask how you deal with his unprecedented visits and you can only drag out a sigh and shrug.

Terrible gift giver but it's clear he tries, hands you a beaten up rubber duck and looks at you expectantly when you're not immediately ecstatic (cause what??). He'll explain like some expertise in the science of you that he saw you cooing and feeding ducks one day in the summer five years ago. You look down at the small colourful bird and decide it's actually quite cute, it can go in your random trinket box.

Naturally touchy guy, an arm around your shoulder is not a rare thing but one thing he does get nervous about is holding your hand. Yes he could hold you against his chest for ages as you read out something to him but the idea of holding your has his head in his hands as he squats on the floor.

Would love it if you liked his stupid jokes but would love it even more if you made it your goal to absolutely despite them. He finds the dynamic quite funny. Actively enjoys seeing the way your face crumples up when he cracks a joke at the absolute worst time, something dumb about grannies as the both of you are still panting and painted in blood in a care home of all places.

Not that jealous or possessive but will feel left out when he notices you're hanging out with someone a bit more than him. Will insert himself between you and this new person, mostly unaware he's acting on self preservation to keep himself in your sights.

Shishiba

He's so calm and collected all the time, the concept of him liking someone and that person possibly being you had never crossed your mind and it probably never will.

He likes to praise your work ethic a lot, "Looks good." , "You cleaned them up yourself?" You just nod back with a smile and he's convinced he made the boldest move in the books.

Would want to make absolute certain you like him before saying anything life threateningly risky. Pretty traditional with it, asks you out to eat after work and lets you choose the place. Insists he pays because he earns more than you but he just wanted to treat you. Has a list on his phone of the places you two enjoyed the most and pins them on Maps in case you want to go again.

The type to stare daggers into you while you're busy talking to someone else, when you're done talking he's still looking your way and waits for you to acknowledge him. Sometimes he announces himself, sometimes he'll just walk up beside you and hands your new assignment over which honestly startles you at times.

Wish he could've met you under different circumstances, wherever you're in his line of work or not. He'll never be truly satisfied with the way things are, constantly weighing the options.

For now he's enjoying watching you enjoy your favourite snacks and his heart warms when you offer him a generous bite.

Kashimo

Doesn't know what he's feeling towards you, the only thing he knew was his loyalty to Slur and you were gradually changing that one situation at a time.

It started when you'd apply ointments to where his body disconnected even though he was literally designed to be able to be broken and put back together with no effort. But you put in that effort, insisting he should let you and it'd be beneficial in the long wrong, he liked to believe you.

Often shows up to your cubicle at work just to say good morning then walk away, not even waiting for you to respond. You find it oddly charming and he just likes hearing your giggle as he leaves the office.

He believes you're also one of those people whose never done anything worth damning in their entire life. You're so kind and considerate of him he couldn't even fathom you doing anything wrong. Sometimes he hopes he's still capable of dying just so it could be alongside you, doesn't understand what that means fully though, it's just an ideal.

Likes it when you hold his arm, patting it slightly as you give some feedback on the latest mission. Doesn't understand the point in it but is far from complaining, he enjoys your attention and doting words.

Doesn't like to hold delicate things, like cats he really likes them but has a lingering fear he'd accidentally hurt the small thing. Instead he likes watching you hold these fragile things, pointing to them and you pick them up with a questioning look on your face, he makes a motion for you to scratch it's ears, he's pleased when you do.

(Y'all know like those slime stimboard monkey vids💀💀)

He considers you to also be delicate, so you'll never catch him making a move to touch you even though sometimes his bones ache to, he's fine with the brief touches you give him he couldn't ask for anything more.

Heisuke

He's also helplessly down bad for you, instead he tries his best to be helpful to you but you always seem to one up him in that area, especially when you let him crash at your place. Like a true angel.

Doesn't bother with pickup lines he's tried them out and they're not really his thing but sometimes he says something so heartmoving you pause all together. When he notices your reaction he's completely oblivious he's successfully shot his shot, "Pfft look at ya face."

Piisuke loves you because he does, it's like their brains are interlinked. The bird will catch small sight of you and immediately rush over to perch itself on your shoulder and snuggle its beak into your cheek, it hurts but how could you say no. Heisuke already knows that whenever his small partner did this you were likely around, so he's walking up to you bashfully and taking Piisuke back (he's secretly setting the two of you up.)

Showers you with compliments and praise likes it's nothing, words of affirmation is definitely one of his top love languages on hopefully getting you to like him back. But the moment you reciprocate, admiring his terrifyingly precise sniping skill he's so flushed and hot and fumbling his words he just has to slap a hand over his mouth. Needs a minute before he's chucking softly, his hands smoothly over the rough build of the artillery as he thanks you.

The forgetful sort but not when it comes to you, suddenly he remembers everything. Sometimes he comes to you to say something he needs to remember because it's so much easier when it's your face and voice he remembers reprimanding him.

Dreams of a soft domestic life with you, maybe, if you like, a kid or two to complete the picture and of course the family pet as Piisuke. Grins stupidly to himself at the idea of how he'd propose to you (you're not even together yet.)

[landograndprix]

╰┈➤ ❝ desire • l.n c.l c.s ❞ II

part i - part iii

➪ Charles hasn't paid much attention to you after your daughter was born but a certain Brit does.

➪ Charles is not trying to do his best to safe your relationship but a new friendship is blossoming between you and lando.

➪ established relationship mom!reader x dad!Charles x lando

➪ thank you so much for the love this fic us getting, it honestly was just a silly idea i had, absolutely insane 😭 google translate is my bestest friend

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y/nusername

📍 Monte-Carlo, Monaco

liked by landonorris, manon_roux and 412,322 others

y/nusername the day after hits different when you've got a mini you 🍷

tagged: manon_roux, noellepicard

view all 1,523 comments

manon_roux hangover central over here😩

↳ y/nusername I would too if I drank about every drink available

noellepicard nobody told you to down all that tequila

manon_roux thanks for the support you guys

formulaonef1 Manon being the wildest of them all is not something I expected 💀

julieeeexo oh yeah the day after a night out definitely hits different, I know all about it!

charlieferrari zoë with her little bow 😭

hannahh how do you have time to read? I have a 8 month old and I'm barely able to read 2 pages a day!

↳ y/nusername I'm very lucky with a daughter who never skips a single nap and loves her sleep 😅

joris__trouche just like her mother

y/nusername oh definitely 🥰

landonorizzzz the fact that joris has been paying more attention to y/n than I've seen Charles do in the last couple of weeks is fucking hilarious to me

landoscar and its all too much for little zoë leclerc 😴

carlito55 did you and charles break up?

robyn_diaz had so much fun last night, so glad we got ti meet! 🤩

↳ norrizz isn't this lando's gf? 😂

norry4 unfortunately 😂

norrizz unfortunately??

norry4 she didn't really hide the fact that she's dating lando just for her 5 seconds of fame and money 💀

oscarpastry they're robably just fwb, lando said he was single in an interview couple weeks back

noellepicard mom's big night out, great success

landonorris still alive?

↳ y/nusername barely

landonorris I know the feeling

carlandooo lando...what are you doing here? 👀

charlesherve oh god watch this be the new ship of the fandom 🙄

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y/nusername posted to their story

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y/nusername

📍 Monte-Carlo, Monaco

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc and 526,009 others

y/nusername les derniers jours de l'été ☀ (the last days of summer)

tagged: charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc

view 1,562 comments

thurthur gotta love the leclerc family 😭

manon_roux mademoiselle fille passe une journée difficile, je vois 😴 (miss girl having a tough day i see)

↳ y/nusername c'est un travail difficile d'être un bébé (it's a tough job being a baby)

manon_roux ..et quelqu'un doit le faire 🥰 (..and someone's gotta do it)

bott_ass take me to Monaco pls

joris__trouche still not an invite? 😔

↳ sharl16 joris being abandoned by his boyfriend and his boyfriends girlfriend 😔

arthurlec omg arthur and charles 😭

noellepicard j'espère que tu as passé une bonne journée, hottie ❤️ (hope you had a great day, hottie)

↳ y/nusername toujours 😘 (always)

arthur_leclerc you need to lock your phone better

↳ y/nusername or you could leave it alone?

arthur_leclerc yeah but that's not fun ☺

thurthur stop bullying your brothers girlfriend 😭

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y/nusername posted to their story

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Everything taglist; @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @honethatty12 @cixrosie @parkersmjs @ireadthensuetheauthors @celestialams @be-your-coffee-pot @heli991113 @kodzuvk @reality-is-a-con @bibissparkles @myescapefromthislife @lanando4 @elliegrey2803 @ravisinghs-wife @harrysdimple05 @minkyungseokie @pretty-little-bunny382728 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @severewobblerlightfdragon

Desire taglist; @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @writingworlds @chezmardybum @lewisvinga @xjval @fanficweasley @rockyhayzkid @aundercover @thecubanator2 @minchedchilli @crimeshowjunkie @alisoncasey21 @eeviepepi08 @shamelesspotatos @sleepybrokenmelle @leireggsworld @janeholt3 @iamahalucinationn @dessxoxsworld @kapsylia @22yuki @dark-night-sky-99 @sheslikeacurse @nerdreader @champagneproblems17 @norwayxo @sunny44 @honeymoonelvis47 @forevertcaffeinated-lee @amalialeclerc

Lando taglist: @simp-for-fictional-people @landossainz @christianpulisic10 @bored-brunette2

[alllgator-blood]

Disappeared for a bit but I'm still here, I just got overwhelmed and learned I should probably take this blog less seriously

I'm using the new year as an excuse to come back on here and try to not ditch my account for another 6 months-- I'm NOT good at posting stuff online to a crowd of more than like 5-20 followers, I originally wrote a huge long-winded draft describing all of my thoughts in great detail. It was too long. I guess all I want people to know is I'm somebody who's spent years making art that I knew nobody will ever see, so it's incredible and overwhelming to have thousands of eyes on my art all of a sudden? It's both the coolest thing and the scariest thing ever to me simultaneously, I'm by no means a Popular Artist but I went from virtually no interaction for years to suddenly tens of thousands of cumulative notes on my posts so it's huge for me. And I haven't adjusted super well to it, entirely due to my own shitty brain chemistry.

I don't want anyone to feel like I'm ignoring their messages or like I don't appreciate the fact they go out of their way to give me their thoughts/send me ideas, genuinely this is the most support I've *ever* had for my art and it's so so fucking cool. It's led me to create so much more than I thought possible! I used to run ask blogs for a couple very niche video game fandoms, and I prided myself on being able to draw full comics for EVERY ask I got, answer EVERY message and went into this blog assuming I could still do that. Um....safe to say I cannot....I have like 200+ asks and I think I drafted a dozen or more that I answered but felt my art was too low effort. I felt so bad I couldn't put maximum effort into everything, and I've been beating myself up over it to a point where *no* asks are getting answered, and this blog went from a really fun thing I actually woke up early just to check on, to something I wanted to avoid like the plague for the past week out of guilt. DUE TO NOBODY'S FAULT BUT MY OWN, everyone has been so chill when I've had to take breaks so idk why I feel the need to hold myself hostage.

So I'm gonna try and take it easier, give myself a break when my personal life goes horribly, close my ask box periodically if I feel overwhelmed, maybe hop on here like once or twice a day rather than compulsively refreshing every 5 minutes...I hope that makes things better. I realize I should probably just *do* that without announcing it, but I have no self discipline and unless I announce I'm gonna do something, it's not gonna fuckin happen lmao.

Anyway if you read this far, here's the first panel of a sequel comic I made to the christmas one I posted last time I was on here, this one is *very* representative of my mindset the last week and will hopefully not reflect how I feel now that I survived december. I know for a fact there's mentions I haven't gotten to check yet so I'm gonna do that after laying down for a bit, here's to a chill 2025 where my social anxiety doesn't eat me alive

[alikuarso]

To answer your question about Fresh: Fresh is actually a parasite! He dresses in his 90's-themed clothes and speaks in a silly way so that others underestimate him. His main and utmost goal is to Survive, and the way he does that is by infecting other people with his parasites and draining the life from their souls. Being seen as harmless lets him get closer to them and gives him easier access for possession. He hopes to eventually take over the multiverse, spreading his parasites in every corner of it and having absolute control.

He also has no emotions. He is capable of them, but for whatever reason he is unable to feel much, besides the rare instance of anger. He does frequently feel fear, though.

He is a bit sadistic, and he likes seeing others suffer. This is because when he takes over someone he drains their soul of life, which causes them pain. And to him, taking someone's body means safety, it means he can survive a bit longer as long as he's snatched their body. So he's come to associate the pain of others as something good.

And he's also aware of the creators/viewers, thanks to an event called the Loveball, which is canon to his character.

Going to copy and paste my own words for this [I was talking to a friend about Loveball]:

"So, like seven years ago there was a fandom-wide event called the Loveball, where people gathered their OCs and had them all attend an UTMV dancing ball. Fresh went, of course. There, he met a Frisk called Pacifrisk. Even knowing who he really was [90's parasite], they still believed he could be good. Before this, he hadn't ever really felt a connection to anyone, or even positive emotions in general. But Pacifrisk's faith in him made him feel positively towards them. This freaked him out. [No Fr@ns though, don't worry. That wasn't the intention for this plot.]

As a result, not only did he try to kill them, but he also went through with his plans: the Fresh Takeover [I forget what it's actually called]. His true reason for attending the ball. OCs were either possessed by the parasites or tried to fight against them. Apparently, some people used alcohol to ward the virus off, as Fresh hates substances such as that.

Fresh wanted to take over the multiverse, with this Loveball being the first step for his total domination.

But then right in the middle of things, a Sans AU [which I totally forget the name of X,D] grabbed Fresh and basically yeeted him into an alternate state of being. One where he could see the creators, all staring at him. An audience.

The Sans revealed the nature of Fresh's existence: That he was simply a character in a story. And if the creators got bored of him, he could easily be written aside and forgotten. Erased. His conquest didn't matter, in the end.

Predictably, this gave him an existential crisis. I'm not sure what happened after, but he stopped invading and went somewhere to contemplate his existence in a depressed state.

Afterwards, he had a new goal: To entertain. To convince the creators that he was worth keeping around. Similar to his previous goal of survival, but now with more dire stakes."

His creator @loverofpiggies has some posts about the Loveball, tagged under either the 'fresh sans' tag or the 'loveball' tag, which I recommend you check out! ^^

But yeah, to answer your question: The reason Fresh fought Ink was probably 1: because he saw it as a good way to keep himself alive and 2: So that he could be relevant and interesting to the viewers.

Hope this answered any questions you might have about him! ^w^

THANK YOU BECAUSE THERE'S NO WAY I WOULD HAVE FOUND ABOUT ANY OF THIS OTHERWISE😭😭😭 THAT'S A LOT

Now I want to draw fresh existential crisis mood, That's something I never would have imagined existed

Im still a bit confused about fresh not having emotions¿ but I think I got the idea, but still, why does he feel fear?

I think fresh is becoming my favorite now, help, error do something

(Thank you again for your time✨️)

[undersprite]

It begins once again...!

Look alive, sunshine!

That's right, we're back to remind you that this party's still happening and everyone's still invited. I'm once again your gracious host @chaos-fantazy, ready to leave last year behind me and do everything in my power to make this our biggest AU contest yet. I'm joined by Differentopic owner @gonzalogamer128, co-creator of last year's winner "Knock Knock," @starlightshore, and @g0at0ad, who has too many potential claims to fame that listing them all here would take far too long.

You'll notice I didn't say "AU comic contest," though. That's because, for the first time, we will be running a second contest in parallel to our usual comic contest—an AU character design contest, the perfect way for you to participate even if you don't have the time to write a full comic. Spearheading the judge panel for that contest is @creatoonz, Flaredust and r2d2kx100. That contest will begin on Saturday, May 10th, about a month from now—but you can go ahead and start your preparations now!

If you'd like to know more, join our Discord server to find the full rules and keep up-to date on everything...or find more info under the cut!

Huh? What? AU Contest???

This contest is dedicated to celebrating how this fandom told stories to each other when it was first starting out—sprite comics, which, as their name implies, are a web comic that uses sprites rather than drawn artwork as the main means of depicting its subjects. They're commonly done to produce fan comics for video games, and Undertale is no exception—many prolific AUs, including @invertedfate, began as sprite comics.

Like a game jam, this contest invites people to produce Undertale/Deltarune AU comics (And design AU characters!). Being a contest, there are prizes and glory on the line for the winners, but in the end, what it's really about is the chance for people to get creative. If you’ve ever had an idea for a story you want to tell using these games’ characters or setting, but could never justify dedicating time to telling it…this is the excuse you need!

Sorry, you mentioned prizes?

After last year, to minimize potential complications, I've been working with the judge panel to establish our prize pool ahead of time:

The character design contest is slated to have four categories; the winner of each category will have their winning character illustrated by one of our judges. (Who will draw which exactly is still a bit up in the air, but they'll definitely be available!)

The second- and third-place comics will receive an illustration from either G0at0ad or r2d2kx100 of a character of their choice, with simple background.

The grand prize for the winning comic will be a full-scale illustration from Starlight, complete with a background and up to two characters—giving you the opportunity to see one of your favorite scenes from the comic brought to life!

Sounds cool! How do I participate?

I'm glad you asked! Our official Discord server is not only the proper avenue to send a submission, it also contains all the official rules regarding the production and submission thereof.

The character design contest begins on May 10th and will run up through the end of June—slightly overlapping with the comic contest, which will start at the beginning of June and end at the end of August. I'll make announcement posts here when each contest begins and close to when they're ending, too.

It's my sincerest hope to see all of you there!

[astrids-blog333]

Last One Standing

Lucius Verus Aurelius x Reader

Fandom: Gladiator II

Summary: You were never meant to leave the arena alive. They tied you to the centre post and set monsters loose, with only one to protect you.

Warnings: graphic violence, blood and injury, descriptions of gore, death, arena combat, threat of execution, imprisonment.

A/N: This is a classic damsel in distress situation, based on a brilliant idea from @londonalozzy. I hope you like it, I had a lot of fun writing this, also sorry for any potential errors in the fighting, I've never murdered someone so I'm not up to date on the details lmao.

MASTERLIST - REQUESTS (OPEN)

WC: 3.2k

The cell is quiet.

Stone walls press in on you, the weight of what’s coming pressing heavier still. Outside, you can hear the crowd already gathering in the arena, distant and ravenous, chanting for blood.

Your blood.

Lucius stands by the weapons bench, strapping on his armour with calm, measured movements. His back is to you, wide and scarred.

You swallow, your palms clammy. “They said… they said it starts soon.”

He doesn’t turn. “It does.”

You’re not sure what you expect from him, comfort? Rage? But he gives neither. Only silence, and the metallic click of a buckle being fastened tight.

Your eyes fall to the armour pieces still on the bench beside him, his shoulder guard, the second bracer, the chest straps that cross over his back. His hands move to reach for one, but stall. It’s the kind of fastening that requires another person.

You step forward before you can second-guess yourself.

“Let me help.” That makes him pause. He glances over his shoulder, dark eyes unreadable. Not suspicious, but not grateful either. Just watchful.

“I’ve done it before,” you add quickly, voice a little steadier than you feel. Still, he doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t stop you either.

You take it as permission.

Crossing the final distance between you, you pick up the leather strap and step close. Close enough to smell the steel and leather and blood on him, and something warmer underneath. The heat of a man forged to survive.

His skin is still marked from wounds that are not fully healed. A shallow gash runs across his ribs, angry and red. You try not to look at it for too long.

Silently, you loop the straps across his chest. Fasten the buckles. Tighten each one with careful fingers.

“You’ve done this before?” he murmurs, low and rough. You glance up. “My brother fought, I helped him prepare.”

His gaze lingers on you. Then he looks ahead again.

You fasten the last buckle, fingers brushing his shoulder. You mean to step back. But something keeps you there.

The silence stretches.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say suddenly, too suddenly. “Fight for me.”

Lucius turns then. Fully. And now he’s looking at you, really looking. His eyes flicker down your face, your jaw, the quiver in your breath you try to hide.

“I was ordered to,” he says simply.

You nod. “I know.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he leans down, slightly, enough for his voice to drop to something dangerous.

“Stay behind me,” he says. Not a plea. Not a suggestion.

A command.

Your throat tightens, and you look away.

But as you turn to leave the cell to face the horror waiting outside, he catches your wrist.

You freeze.

You meet his eyes. And nod once.

The sunlight is blinding.

It hits your face the second they shove you through the gate, and you stumble into the harsh glare of the arena, bare, unarmed, wrists bound, dust clouding the hem of your thin tunic.

The roar that greets you could rival thunder.

It rolls down from the stands like a wave crashing over your body, your bones, your lungs. Thousands of people, all screaming. Not in protest. Not in horror.

In excitement.

You keep your head down. If you look up, you might see their eager, bloodthirsty faces. You don’t want to see the two brothers who decided your life was worth less than their entertainment.

Your breath hitches as they drag you to a wooden post buried in the sand at the centre of the arena. The iron shackles at your wrists are undone only long enough to pull your arms behind the post, and then you are tied, this time with a rough rope. You flinch as they tighten, eroding into your skin.

The guard spits at your feet as he steps back.

“You’ll last longer if you scream,” he grins.

The sun scorches your skin. The sand already burns through the soles of your sandals. And the crowd is still cheering, but not for you.

More gates open, one after the other. And they step out.

Gladiators.

Not the raw recruits you’ve seen training in the lower pits. No, these are monsters of the Colosseum. Men the crowd knows by name. Men with kill-counts like legends.

They move into the ring one by one, forming a loose circle around you, all muscle, scars, metal and malice. Some laugh. Some twirl their weapons lazily. One cracks his knuckles and grins at you like he’s imagining how you’ll scream.

Your mouth is dry. Your knees want to buckle.

But you don’t give them the satisfaction.

Not yet. Not until the last gate creaks open.

Not until the crowd goes silent.

Because they do, suddenly. As if a single breath is sucked from every chest at once. You turn your head, and there he is.

Lucius.

He steps out alone.

Armoured in iron and leather, shoulders broad beneath the glinting pauldrons you helped him tie. His sword is sheathed for now, slung low on his hip. His hair is still damp from the morning’s rinse, but the breeze lifts the edges as he walks forward with the same measured stride you’ve seen in every corridor, every shadowed courtyard.

Except this time, he doesn’t look at the crowd.

He looks at you.

His face is unreadable. Calm. Hard. But you know what you see.

The crowd stirs again, whispering now, not cheering. This wasn’t what they expected. This wasn’t in the script.

You can hear it in the shift of bodies, the calls between nobles.

They don’t understand, and Lucius doesn’t care.

From above, a lazy voice cuts through the noise.

“People of Rome,” calls Geta, already drunk on wine and cruelty. “Today’s games shall honour the gods, the empire, and the cleansing of traitors.”

The crowd yells, on cue.

Next to him, Caracalla lifts his goblet, smirking. “This girl,” he says, gesturing down at you like you’re meat on display, “well, her father stands accused of conspiring against the crown. Of betrayal. Of secrets too dangerous to be left alive.”

The cheer this time is deafening.

“And so,” Geta continues, lounging back in his seat, “we offer her a gift, the chance to die like a soldier, like we gave to her brother.”

Caracalla grins. “In the sand.”

“With lions?” someone shouts from the crowd.

“No,” says Caracalla. “With something far more entertaining.”

His hand sweeps toward the circle of gladiators. Toward Lucius.

“And with one... protector.” The word echoes like a bad joke.

The gladiators jeer. One of them, the biggest, laughs and slaps his sword against his palm.

“She’s not gonna make it five minutes,” he yells, eyes never leaving you. “Even with him.”

Lucius doesn’t respond; he hasn’t moved since stepping onto the sand.

You see the twitch of his fingers near the hilt of his blade. The set of his jaw. The storm gathering behind his deep, blue eyes.

And still, he looks at you. Never at them.

Just you.

The sand feels even hotter now.

He steps toward you, slow, deliberate, as if he’s measured every step in his mind, every inch of ground he’s crossed to get to you. You’re tied to the post, but he doesn’t stop when he reaches you. His hand lands on your arm, gently, like a warning.

He shifts you without a word, turning you just slightly.

"Remember, stay behind me," he murmurs, the words soft but unwavering. His hand is still on your arm, a firm touch. But now it feels like an anchor, pulling you into something more than just the madness of this moment. He doesn’t need to look at you again. His stance is already perfect, his focus absolute.

The crowd is deafening. Roaring. The nobles jeer, the commoners scream in fevered anticipation. Then, a single gladiator steps forward.

The loudest, the cockiest, the one who thinks this will be easy.

His movements are arrogant as he steps into the sand, shaking his wrists out. He looks at you with a sneer, as if you’re already dead. He doesn't know who he’s up against.

Lucius does.

His hand grips his sword, and you see the tension coil in his body, the slow breath he takes before he lets it out in a near-silent exhale.

The crowd goes silent. The gladiator takes another step forward.

And Lucius moves.

It’s a blur. A flash of steel and muscle, so fast, so precise, it’s almost impossible to track. One second, the other gladiator is advancing with his weapon raised. The next, Lucius’s blade is already inside his guard, the tip of it biting into his ribs, just beneath the man’s arm.

The gladiator gasps, eyes wide in shock, but Lucius doesn’t stop. There’s no mercy here. No hesitation.

In one smooth motion, Lucius twists his body, his sword ripping through the man’s ribs, cutting clean.

The man stumbles back, his breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. He tries to lift his sword, but his arm goes slack, blood spilling from the wound as he crumples. He falls to the sand, groaning, twitching.

The gladiator is dead before he hits the sand, and the crowd goes silent again.

Lucius stands over him, blade in hand, breathing hard. But there’s no visible strain in him. No sweat, no sign of exhaustion. His eyes lock onto the next opponent, daring them to try their luck.

The gladiators around him shift, eyes darting from one another, unsure who will make the first move.

But Lucius stands still. His gaze is unwavering, cold, calculating. And then, like a switch has been flipped, the chaos erupts.

They charge.

Two, three at once. A flood of bodies, weapons flashing, claws reaching. The sound of swords scraping against shields, feet pounding the sand. The arena suddenly comes alive with brutal violence, the kind that makes your blood pump harder and faster.

Lucius doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t hesitate.

He moves like a machine, methodical and ruthless. A flash of steel as he slices through one man’s ribs, a brutal strike to another’s head. He doesn’t fight to entertain.

He fights to destroy.

The gladiators around him seem to falter as they realise the fight isn’t going their way. They come in waves, but Lucius is always one step ahead, cutting them down with cold efficiency.

His muscles flex with every blow. His body moves with the fluidity of a predator. There’s no pause, no mercy, just the relentless assault of a man who knows what it’s like to fight for his life. And he does it effortlessly, as if it were second nature to him.

You can only watch, tied to the post, your heart pounding as you try to steady your breath. The noise of the arena fades as you lock your gaze on Lucius.

The world around you is a blur of steel and blood.

But then, a gladiator breaks through the chaos.

He's charging toward you, faster than you can react, faster than you thought possible. His face is a mask of fury, his weapon raised high, and for a split second, you think you’re done.

You flinch, expecting the worst. You brace for impact, the cold steel that you know is coming, that will end it all.

But then there’s a roar, not a loud one, but a primal sound that cuts through the noise, and in the next instant, everything shifts.

Lucius is there.

He moves faster than the eye can follow. He’s on the gladiator in the blink of an eye, his hands wrapping around the man’s skull with a sickening crack.

You hear it before you see it. A sickening, bone-crushing sound that seems to echo in the very air around you.

Lucius’s grip tightens, and with one brutal motion, he twists the man’s head, snapping his neck like a twig.

The gladiator crumples to the ground in an instant, lifeless.

Blood splatters your cheek before you even realise what’s happened. Warm, thick, it lands on your skin like a reminder that this is real, that there is no escape. You can feel the pulse of it, and for a moment, the world goes silent.

You freeze, heart hammering in your chest, your mind racing to catch up with what just happened.

Lucius stands above the body, chest heaving, his expression dark, feral, something primal inside him unchained. His hands are covered in blood, the man’s skull still in his grip, like a trophy, a symbol of the rage he’s unleashed. His eyes flicker toward you, but you’re too stunned, too shaken by the brutality to fully comprehend what you’re seeing.

The remaining gladiators back off, circling Lucius but not daring to approach too closely. The roar of the crowd grows louder, more fevered, but it sounds distant to you.

But it’s not over yet.

The others begin to regroup, rallying around him. They may have faltered, but they are not stupid. They’ve seen the kind of man they’re dealing with. They’re calculating now, biding their time, knowing that they can’t make their move too soon.

His bloodied hands clutch his sword again, his eyes scanning the arena as he waits.

Then it starts again.

It's a cacophony of clashing swords, grunts, and the desperate sound of men fighting for their lives. Lucius stands amidst it all, a bloodied, towering figure in the centre of the storm.

You know he’s taken more than a few hits, his chest heaves with each breath, his muscles strained with exhaustion, his movements slower now, heavier. His once-perfect form is marred by blood, sweat, and the harsh reality of the fight.

He’s still standing, though. Still moving.

The crowd roars, but you barely hear them. All you hear is the pounding of your own heart, the feeling of dread tightening in your chest with every passing second.

Lucius’s gaze flickers to the other gladiators circling him. His eyes are sharp, but you see the strain beneath them. The fatigue is starting to catch up with him.

He swings his sword again, cleaving through a gladiator’s defenses, pushing him back with a powerful strike. Another one moves in, but Lucius doesn’t flinch. He fights like an animal backed into a corner, his movements more violent now, his fury carrying him through the pain.

You watch, eyes wide, heart racing. Every time Lucius takes another blow, it’s as if you feel it too, the impact, the cost.

But you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

He’s a force in motion, unstoppable, a whirlwind of muscle and death.

And yet, you see the strain, the way he’s slowing down, limping as he sidesteps another blow, the blood soaking through his tunic and pooling in the sand beneath him.

Your stomach drops, fear settling deep.

A gladiator, one you hadn’t even noticed, moves swiftly behind him. Lucius doesn’t see him coming; his back is turned, his attention focused on the others still trying to land a blow. The gladiator is nearly there, his weapon raised, and for one terrible, gut-wrenching second, you think this is it.

This is how you die.

You don’t even think about the fear that’s gripping your heart. You don’t think about the consequences of what might happen. The only thought in your mind is that Lucius, your protector, the man who has kept you safe this long, is about to be overwhelmed.

The gladiator raises his weapon, his steps silent in the chaos around them. His eyes glint with victory, but you know better.

This is the moment when everything changes.

You brace yourself, not sure if you can bear witness to the brutality about to unfold. Your breath catches in your throat.

Before you can even react, you see it in slow motion. Lucius’s hand moves, as swift and sure as ever. A dagger is in his grip, and with the precision of a man who’s spent years mastering death, he throws it.

The dagger spins through the air, its trajectory perfect. The blade catches him in the throat with a sickening thud, and he falls to the ground, his blood splattering the sand in a sudden, brutal burst.

You gasp, your hands clenching into fists at the sight, your breath escaping in a rush. Lucius doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t stop.

He’s already moving again, stepping over the fallen body like it’s nothing, his sword raised high as he engages with the next opponent.

It’s like the world has stopped spinning for a moment, and then the noise comes rushing back. The crowd roars, but it sounds distant, muffled as if you’re underwater.

You don't know how long it continued, but now the arena is still.

The chaotic roar of the crowd, the clashing swords, the grunts of the fallen gladiators, all of it has quieted. It’s as if the world itself has come to a halt, held in the suspended silence of what’s just occurred. The dust swirls in the air, the blood-soaked sand beneath your feet a cruel reminder of the carnage that just unfolded.

All the others are dead.

You’re still tied to the post, your arms aching from the restraints, your body tense.

Lucius is standing in the centre of the arena. His chest rises and falls with each laboured breath, blood dripping from his form like a war-torn flag.

His sword is slick with crimson, his tunic ripped, the cuts and bruises from the fight still fresh on his skin. His face is a mask of exhaustion, but his eyes? His eyes are focused on you, unwavering.

You thought the fight would take him down. That he might fall. But here he is, standing tall in the aftermath, the last man standing.

Lucius doesn’t acknowledge the crowd. Doesn’t look at the emperors, who are too stunned to even speak. He doesn’t wait for cheers or shouts.

The silence stretches on, unbearable, until Lucius starts moving toward you.

The space between you is closing quickly, and then, without a word, he’s at your side. His arms reach out, his grip firm and steady as he unties the ropes that bind you to the post. The rough touch of his hands on your skin sends a shiver through you, but there’s no time to think about it.

Lucius doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to.

He lifts you effortlessly into his arms. Your body presses against him, blood slick between you. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, the power in his arms, but also the exhaustion. All that matters is that he’s carrying you, and that you’re finally leaving this cursed place.

His steps are sure as he carries you toward the gates, the crowd silent behind you. The emperors don’t make a sound. No one moves.

Lucius doesn’t wait for permission. He doesn’t need to. There’s no one left who can stop him. He doesn’t look back at the bloodied arena, at the bodies strewn across the sand.

He’s already made his choice.

[enterthetadpole]

Enterthetadpole's "Long Awaited" Solo Completed Sherlock BBC Fandom Stories List

Hi everyone!

Now that I am really trying to put focused effort on completing my WIPs, I have decided it may be helpful to create a list of my (for now) finished solo and collaboration stories in the Sherlock fandom. There will be links below, along with a little blurb about the story, and as an extra bit of fun, I will also add some trivia/BTS about the story itself.

As far as the collabs, they will go in a separate post because my collab partners deserve their own posts for me to gush on and on about.

But first, here are the stories that I have battled alone with the help of many cheerleaders.

Ok then, let's go!

Completed Solo Stories

Far Away From Casual

Summary:

One-night stands aren't something that John does anymore. He's too old and Afghanistan took more out of him than he thought was possible. Unfortunately, a night of laughs and lots of drinks changes things.

Words: 19,828 Chapters: 18/18

Johnlock AU Different meeting. Light and comical with a fairly emotionally mature Sherlock, a "still figuring himself out" John, and Harry, Mike and Mycroft in the mix.

Fun Facts/BTS: I spent the better part of a year and a half just trying to get an idea of what this story was going to be about. It was a Fandom Trumps Hate auction story, and I struggled hard as to a plot to go with. Then finally it came to me one day. The visual was of Sherlock Holmes, asleep in bed , naked with a bruise in the shape of a hand on his ass. I laughed, couldn't get the image out of my mind, and a fic was born!

Just Before Christmas

Words: 1,014 Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

John left the clinic after a long Christmas Eve shift to come back to a dark and empty flat.

Small little ficlet about the warmth that comes from caring about the people you are with, and how a little tree can make a big difference. John and Sherlock are friends only, with maybe a little bit of wondering under the surface.

Fun Facts/BTS: This story came after a long bit of writer's block that was helped along by me reading the stories of Berty and listening to @podfixx. The inspiration for the tree came from my own little store bought tree gotten that same year. The book cover for this ficlet also is a photo of that same tree.

Through the Silence

Words: 11,547 Chapters: 12/12

Summary:

John watched the best man he ever knew fall from the rooftop of St. Bart's but refused to give up hope that somehow Sherlock may still be alive. If he was, John would find him. No matter what or who stood in his way.

Fairly heavy angst. John Watson in pain and self-destructive. Multiple POV shifts for the first half of the story. Post Reichenbach.

Fun Facts/BTS: This story was a very difficult one for me to write, not because of the subject matter itself, but because of the mood I would need to be in/get into to keep the overall flow of the story intact. The story is one of my first real attempts at more descriptive and poetic prose. Also, perhaps it isn't noticed, but the POV changes to only John's POV after a very specific realization occurs.

The Sh- Word

Words: 1,971 Chapters:1/1

Summary:

What happens when Sherlock accidentally has both a tranquilizer dart and a John Watson in the same flat? Chaos, and perhaps something more.

Pure crack fic. Out of his depth Sherlock and Understandably Oblivious John.

Fun Facts/BTS: This is technically part of a two-part prompt connected to @elldotsee. I actually used my spouse as a "test body" for this story. My spouse is a wonderful person who knows the insane writer they married.

The Theoretical Argument of Cats and Cake

Words: 575 Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Cats, cakes, John's exasperation and Sherlock deducing everything. In no particular order.

Small ficlet about John and Sherlock being essentially John and Sherlock. Also featuring Molly's cats.

Fun Facts/BTS: This ficlet was completed at my first @221bcon, and I share Molly's love of cats as a fellow cat mom myself. Have a problem with it? Fight me.

Detachable

Words: 2,563 Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

John has only been dating Sherlock for three weeks. He doesn't deserve this type of humiliation, and yet here we are. Poor John...

More pure crack. Sherlock being peak Sherlock. John being baffled, embarrassed, but still in it for the long haul.

Fun Facts/BTS: The other ficlet that was directly connected to @elldotsee. There is a podfic that goes with this story that I adore so much. This is also one of the fic pieces I direct readers to who are interested in my stories, but unsure of what to read first. This story is my writing style in a small, digestible package. I suggest not swimming for at least three hours after consumption.

The Christmas Notes

Words: 2,821 Chapters: 25/25

Summary:

Sherlock writes notes to John. John tries not to strangle Sherlock. Insanity ensues.

Grumpy Sherlock. Patient John. Feelings realized through passive-aggressive notes.

Fun Facts/BTS: This was a series of writing prompts by Kat for the Xmas 2020 Collection. It was fun having to think of a different letter idea for every day in December up to Christmas. Would do it again. 10/10 no notes.

A Spark of Clarity in a Very Specific Moment in Time

Words: 927 Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

John is a very observant man. When one lives with Sherlock Holmes, one has to be...

Another crack ficlet, starring Sherlock's slumbering nudity and John's internal screaming. I regret nothing.

Fun Facts/BTS: This story came to life because of a photo of Benedict as Sherlock sleeping on the BBC Sherlock famous sofa. Sherlock being starkers was added by me. You're welcome.

Dissecting The Universe

Words: 37,163 Chapters: 29/29

Summary:

Series Four of Sherlock and so much pain has left what Benedict and Martin had in nothing but ruins. However, perhaps things can change if a series of events occur to make everything good, bad and unspoken float back up to the surface.

A real person fanfic that I still placed in the BBC Sherlock section because it is Freebatch (Benedict Cumberbatch/Martin Freeman) but it is centered around the Sherlock series. Lots of inside jokes and behind the scenes plot points.

Fun Facts/BTS: It was a lot of fun switching between character perspectives in this story, and how Ben and Martin may have dealt with the fandom and fallout. I understand that RPF isn't for everyone, but I did try to make this story as respectful as possible, and none of Ben or Martin's children ever directly appear in the story.

However Improbable

Words: 15,748 Chapters: 15/15

Summary:

Dr. John Watson had been through many things in his life, but can anyone truly prepare for meeting the world's only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes?

This is a different first meeting AU. John is freshly out as Bisexual, and Sherlock is very direct about his feelings. Also Harry has both an attitude and a cat.

Fun Facts/BTS: Harry's cat Ginger ended up becoming a real-life cat for me. We adopted an orange cat about two years after this story began, who ended up being named Ginger before we changed her name to Mousaka. However, unlike the Ginger in the story, Saka is a lot less grumpy but just as feral.

Thank you for taking the time to read my fandom stories. I appreciate all, and reblogging is always such a help. Please let me know if you want to be tagged or not be tagged!

@peanitbear @copperplatebeech @naefelldaurk @dragonnan @lisbeth-kk @sgam76 @kettykika78 @binx72 @butterflygrl62 @dw91165 @izhunny @helloliriels @starkraivennemad @wizama @jobooksncoffee @safedistancefrombeingsmart @totallysilvergirl @johnyouareamazingyouarefantastic @discordantwords @ghostofnuggetspast @notjustamumj @friday411 @calaisreno @mydogwatson @redmondcollege @daziechane @chinike @ninasnakie @whatsnext2020 @writeoutloud @kccarmine @lololollywrites @chocolamousse @kittenmadnessandtea @lolcarina @chriscalledmesweetie @7-percent @jbaillier @missdeliadili @meetinginsamarra @khorazir @cumbercurly-blog @13monkton @thalialunacy @221beloved @johnlockismyreligion @imnova @notjustamumj @a-victorian-girl @onesmallfamily @snowfilly1 @readingwithgwen @izhunny

[loganspet]

Any personal Bigby Wolf headcanons you have? Desperate to keep this fandom alive lol

Yes of course!! Anon I hope you enjoy this? I rarely write out headcanons so bare with me please.

A few drabbles :3 near the end couldn’t help it

── BIGBY. WOLF. HEADCANONS ׂ ✦ ♡. 𓈒

──

𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐛𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟

⋆ Werewolf traits that carry off body runs hot – He probably radiates warmth like a furnace, even in cold weather.

⋆ Prefers the cold – The heat makes him restless, but the cold? That’s when he’s at his best.

⋆ Sometimes wakes up with his fangs showing – If he’s had a stressful night, he’ll wake up with his claws slightly extended or his canines bared. His eyes flash gold when he’s emotional – Anger, desire, or pain can make his wolf instincts show. His pupils dilate , making him see clearer. It’s why his eyes sometimes glow yellow

──

𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐛𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟

⋆ Loves the rain He’s been through enough crap that rain doesn’t bother him. In fact, it’s almost like he finds peace in it, walking through the wet streets alone, just listening to the rhythm of it.

⋆ If you were there with Bigby? He might not say much, but you’d feel it in the way he keeps you close, in the way his arm lingers around you under a shared umbrella. His body runs warm, so even in the cold rain, he’s like a furnace beside you. Maybe he’d grumble about getting wet, but he wouldn’t let go. If anything, he’d walk slower, savoring the moment

⋆ Has an unshakable need to move He doesn’t like being confined to one place for too long. The city walls press in on him sometimes, making his skin itch. That’s why he takes long walks at night, disappearing into the dark with nothing but the sound of his shoes and the distant hum of traffic.

──

𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐛𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟

⋆ Tilts head slightly while listening, similar to a wolf picking up on something.

⋆ Has a habit of running his hand through his hair – When he’s frustrated, thinking, or just in a moment of solitude,

⋆ Doesn't sit still unless he's really comfy. He was constantly shifting his weight and rolling his shoulders.

⋆ Stands with hands in pockets or arms crossed. It makes him appear more closed-off than he is, but that is simply how he stands.

⋆ Even when he could say more, he gives short answers - "Yeah." "No." "Maybe." He will say as little as possible to convey his message.

⋆ Stares at people while trying to figure them out. It seems to loom over them. He's just inherently imposing.

⋆ Has a very slight smirk when he finds something amusing Not a full grin, just a barely-there twitch of his lips.

⋆ Keeps his head down in crowds – Bigby doesn’t like to be the center of attention. He’s not the type to draw eyes to himself, and he avoids crowds when he can. When he does have to be around people, he’ll keep his head low and move fast—he prefers to slip by unnoticed.

⋆ A tendency to growl when annoyed – It’s not always a loud thing, but when he’s irritated or impatient, there’s a low growl that slips out. It’s involuntary—he won’t even realize he’s doing it until someone else reacts to it.

──

𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐛𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟

⋆ Has a low-key territorial streak He won’t admit it, but if someone sits in his usual spot at the Trip Trap, it annoys him more than it should. Same goes for his apartment—he doesn’t like people in his space unless he trusts them.

⋆ Hates the idea of someone else’s scent on you – If you come home smelling like another person (even just a coworker’s pheromones from a handshake), he notices—and it irritates him more than he’d admit.

⋆ Bigby likes when you wear his clothes or when his scent lingers on you after being close. He probably loves when you use his jacket.

──

𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐛𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟

⋆ His viciousness never extends to you. No matter how brutal he can be with others, he’s always gentle with you softening up to your company

⋆ No matter how violent he can be with others, he’s never rough with you. Even when he’s frustrated, his hands are always gentle.

⋆ Loves the sound of your heartbeat – If you’re lying together, he’ll subconsciously listen to your heartbeat—it calms him.

⋆ Lets you play with his hair – He’d act annoyed about it, but if you ran your fingers through his hair while lying in bed, he’d go completely still and secretly love it.

⋆ And when he nuzzles into your neck, it’s a habit that he can’t control, almost like a wolf instinct pulling him closer. He does it without thinking, seeking the comfort of your presence, especially when the weight of the world feels too heavy. In those moments, with his face buried against your skin, he’s not the sheriff or the big bad wolf he’s just a man.

…

Drabbles

Bigby would probably keep his distance, giving you a rough nod or a grunt when he hands over the money for your ride. He doesn’t make a big deal of it, but the subtle insistence that he can and he will make sure you’re safe shows his protectiveness.

“Take the damn cab,” he’d say, voice gruff, like it’s a simple favor. “You need to get home. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

He wouldn’t sugarcoat anything or try to make it seem like it’s anything more than him just doing what’s right—because that’s Bigby’s way. But deep down, it’s clear he’s looking out for you in his own way. He’s a creature of habit and instinct, and when it comes to those he cares about—whether he admits it or not—he wants to make sure you’re safe, no matter the cost.

He might not say “I care about your safety” directly, but the way he watches the taxi drive off, the slight tension in his jaw as he sees you leave, betrays what he won’t admit out loud. His protective side kicks in, not because it’s his job, but because he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. And no matter how much he grumbles about his actions afterward.

…

You’re walking down a street late at night, unsure if you want to be alone right now. A car pulls up beside you, and you turn, surprised to see Bigby behind the wheel.

“Where you headed?” he asks, like it’s no big deal.

“I’m fine,” you start to say, but Bigby gives you a look—one that says, Don’t make me repeat myself.

You hesitate, then slide into the passenger seat. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay, he doesn’t prod. But you know he’s been following you for a while, making sure you’re safe. He doesn’t need to say it, but you can tell: he wants to make sure you get home without any trouble.

As the drive continues, there’s silence. No small talk, no expectations—just him, quietly ensuring you’re safe, even when you don’t ask for it.

…

A cold night outside the Trip Trap was cool, the scent of wet pavement mixing with the stale whiskey on your breath. You leaned against the brick wall, rolling a cigarette between your fingers as Bigby took a slow drag of his own. The ember glowed in the dim light, casting fleeting shadows across his sharp features.

“Got a light?” you asked, tilting your head toward him.

Bigby exhaled smoke through his nose, nodding as he patted down his pockets. His fingers searched through crumpled bills, a pack of smokes, and his lighter—probably buried deep in his coat.

You huffed, patience wearing thin. “Forget it.”

Before he could react, you pushed forward, closing the space between you in one smooth motion. The tip of your cigarette pressed against the smoldering end of his, a tiny spark jumping between them. The warmth of his breath, the scent of tobacco and something unmistakably him—it was intoxicating.

Bigby stilled. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but nothing came out. His amber eyes flickered, locked on yours, scanning your face as if trying to decide if you were teasing or if this was something else entirely.

Your cigarette caught, the ember flaring between you. But you didn’t pull away, not immediately. You let the moment stretch, your lips just a breath from his, the heat of the burn lingering like an unspoken invitation.

Bigby inhaled deeply, his jaw tightening. “That,” he murmured, voice lower than before, “was a hell of a way to ask for a light.”

You smirked, taking a slow drag as you finally leaned back. Smoke curled between you, the space charged with something unsaid, something felt.

“Yeah?” you exhaled, tilting your head. “Didn’t hear you complain.”

Bigby chuckled, shaking his head as he took another drag, eyes never leaving yours. “Didn’t say I was.”

Bigby isn’t the sentimental type—or so he likes to tell himself. He’s rough around the edges, always carrying the weight of his past, his responsibilities, and the ever-present struggle of keeping the Wolf in check. But when it comes to you, there’s something about the way you light your cigarette off his that makes his instincts stir in a way he can’t quite ignore.

At first, it catches him off guard.

He raises an eyebrow, exhales smoke through his nose, and mutters, “Impatient, huh?” But his eyes linger—watching the way your lips part as you take that first drag, the way the glow of the burn flickers between you both. He tells himself it’s nothing. Just a habit. A little quirk of yours.

Then it happens again. And again.

And every damn time, he notices how close you are—how your breath mingles with his, how your fingers sometimes brush against his when you steady yourself. He notices how you don’t pull away immediately, how you let the ember burn just a second too long between you both.

And worse? He lets you.

Maybe it’s the primal part of him that enjoys it—the quiet, unspoken claiming of it. Sharing a flame with you feels like something only he gets to do. It’s subtle, but it’s intimate.

And Bigby? He never says it out loud, but he doesn’t just let it happen.

He loves it.

──

[blackkatmagic]

This is rather small compared to most things in “We Have Heard Them Sing the Dark Alive” but something I kept thinking about is the way you write Luke’s thoughts about forgiving Anakin. How it’s not an easy choice to do, obviously, but he still did it. Luke rejected hate to the point he forgives his father because forgiveness is first and foremost for the person who gives it.

It’s a type of closure that many cannot do and it just shows how well you write him. Luke is kind down to his very soul and more than that he is strong enough to forgive someone despite all the harm they have done. It is a very powerful trait to give a character and I really enjoy the way you write that.

I'm really glad that comes across! I truly love Luke's moment of personal forgiveness and the fact that it saves everyone, because it's such a brave, hopeful, defiant thing to do. Vader and the empire are responsible for the deaths of the people who raised him, and Vader is directly responsible for maiming him, and Luke still can stand there and choose not to hate, even after everything that's been done to him.

And related to it being personal: I do think a lot of the fandom sort of... disregards Luke's type of empathy. I get really tired of takes where he's bewildered and horrified that Leia won't immediately forgive Vader, or where he gets upset with her for it, and my take on him is...kind of a jab at that idea? Because Luke is empathetic and understanding and angry a lot of the time, and I think he would completely understand Leia making the choice not to forgive. Just - I love Luke a LOT, and I get really tired of the way fandom tends to assume he is with little basis.

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

re: being unable to predict twow and maybe being upset it doesn't do what fandom wants it to, were there any things in adwd you remember being surprised by and that went against common fandom interpretation at the time? :3

I'm not quite sure what was common fandom interpretation at the time, since after I finished AFFC in 2005 I tried the westeros.org forums and was extremely repelled by them and their hate for my favorite characters - and indeed, most female characters - and avoided them thereafter. (And somehow I never thought to check the Livejournal communities at the time, alas, which would've been more up my alley.) I did devour worg's Citadel (their pre-wiki, including the So Spake Martin archive) and fanart collection though lol.

But of course I was still surprised by things in ADWD. Like, I had no expectation whatsoever that Bloodraven was still alive, let alone that he was the three-eyed crow. Or heck, that the children of the forest definitely exist and appear on page as actual characters! I did not expect a Varamyr prologue POV in the slightest, or his warg/skinchanger lore reveals. And I did not expect the Aegon reveal at all, though checking the SSMs afterwards (as well as this ancient pre-AFFC FAQ) showed me that some people had been wondering from day 1 if he had survived. And for that matter, Jon Connington's survival was surprising (at least my memory is very good, so the griffin thing and Tyrion's suspicions of him being a Westeros lord had me leaping back to Jaime's conversation with Ronnet), as well as Jon's POV (including his sexual orientation) and the greyscale thing. Oh man, the whole stone men scene was all new fascinating worldbuilding.

As for existing POVs and known plots, I certainly never expected Theon's state as Reek (tortured, yes, but not reduced to that, though I probably should have), or that he would be a POV again, or that I would find his narrative so heartwrenching or that he would become a favorite character. (From reading a bunch of pre-ADWD fanfics, I don't think the fandom expected Ramsay to be so abusive of Jeyne either, but for that I have no idea why.) I was surprised by Cersei's walk of shame, though I probably should have expected some sort of religion-based sexual humiliation. (Actually, I don't think most people expected the returning AFFC POVs because of the book split, though I'm glad GRRM chose to update us on some of its cliffhangers - like, at least Brienne is no longer hanging from a tree!) I did not expect Tyrion's POV and mental state to be so dark, but again, I probably should have. I also didn't expect him to link up with Jorah (I don't recall what I imagined Jorah to do in his exile but not that - maybe lurk around the fringes of Meereen?) or the slavery plot at all.

I think the fandom in general expected more... plot-advancement, I guess, more battles involving KL again, more movement of Dany towards Westeros, though they always have, lol. (There are ACOK-era theories that she'd come to Westeros right away, marry Robb and destroy the Lannisters together, etc.) I'm sure some expected Stannis conquering Winterfell and getting the Boltons out, though at least there they were mostly right, as the battle of ice (as well as the battle of fire) got cut from ADWD last minute. As for plot advancement expectations from me, I personally hoped that Marwyn would reach Dany in ADWD, though considering he leaves at the end of the last chapter of AFFC and the distances involved, I really should have known better. But I did expect to hear at least a little about Rickon, and Davos learning he's on Skagos (and getting sent to retrieve him) was a pleasant semi-resolution there.

Anyway, hope that helps! If/when we get TWOW, despite the fandom doing like 15 years of speculation and theories (not to mention the show), I'm sure there will be plenty of surprises, both positive ones and disappointments, as well as completely unexpected things.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

hello! so i’ve got 2 questions:

1. what do you think james and lily would be doing career wise if they were still alive? what about sirius?

2. i know shipping is definitely subjective and anything can be done well given the right circumstances, but i really love your character analysis, so i was wondering what you think about harry/regulus — given their canonical traits? it’s that kind of rare pair ship that i’ve heard close to no one talk about, but in my eyes it’s a little bit similar to draco/harry

Hello 👋

1. According to Lily's teachers she was really talented with an intuitive grasp of various magical fields, specifically — Charms and Potions. So, I would like to give her a job that leans into her talents. Like, low-key, if they lived, I live the idea of Lily being the Hogwarts Potions professor instead of Snape.

As for James, most of the fandom headcanons being an auror for him, and I actually think it suits James. He would be a pretty insubordinate auror, but just good enough and influential enough to get away with it. He really has a passion for hunting down anything he considers dark magic, so, yeah, I see it.

2. Regulus/Harry is a rare pair I never really thought of.

Like, I think the dynamic of Harry/Regulus would actually be pretty different from Harry/Draco. Like, Draco and Regulus have some similarities in their stories, but I think their personalities and dispositions are different. I wrote about Regulus' character here, but let's look at this dynamic.

my first question would be how the fuck does this happen? Harry travels back in time to the 1970s? Regulus survives, somehow, and is out of Azkaban? Is Sirius in Azkaban in this AU? Does Harry accidentally raise him from the dead? Is it infri Regulus, because I hope not?

Like, the fic circumstances would affect the dynamic between them a lot.

Now, Harry considers Regulus a less attractive Sirius, but he's still handsome, because Sirius is, like, Tom Riddle levels handsome. So, we have a basis of Harry thinking he's kinda hot, which is a good start.

Regulus is pretentious, prideful, obsessed with Voldemort and blood purity, and probably a good student (since he wants to make his parents proud and his brother gets good grades). Unlike Draco, Regulus has much more to prove. He isn't his parents' perfect son, but he wants to be so bad. He was likely less spoiled and received less positive attention from his parents than Draco did. Like, he was spoiled in terms of material possessions, but not when it came to affection. Like, Draco's parents adore him, Lucius willingly suffers through listening to him prattle about Potter for an entire summer — Walburga, would not.

Regulus, like both Draco and Harry, was a Quidditch Seeker. He was probably in Slytherin because of his desire to prove himself as better than his brother. To show his parents he can be the heir and that he isn't going to rebel.

Sirius describes Regulus as "soft". And I think he did have a moment like Draco in which he realised he can't really be a Death Eater and hurt people, as much as he believed in blood purity. And Regulus cared about Kreacher more than Sirius did, and I think that says something about him too — that he treated a house elf with care and compassion. That he cared about a House Elf getting hurt as much as he would a wizard. And yes, it is a specific house elf, but it's still interesting and indicates an underlying compassion in Regulus.

Now, would Regulus and Harry make a good couple?

As you said, shipping is very subjective, but in this case, because of how little we have about Regulus, it really depends on how you see him. I actually like Regulus/Harry better than Draco/Harry because I think Regulus was less obnoxious and quieter than a younger Draco was (Sirius was the louder one when they were younger, I think) while still having a cruel edge (he is a Black, after all). But I think, as I mentioned in the past, Regulus never really stopped believing in blood purity, even when he died to help end Voldemort, which Harry isn't going to be fine with. Regulus is said to have been clever (Slughorn mentioned it), just not as much as Sirius, but it still means he's pretty clever, so there's something to work with. I mean, I think Regulus had some little shit tendencies in him as I mentioned in my longer post about him, so I think he and Harry could match in sarcasm and humor.

I'm not particularly passionate about this pair, but I think it could be fun for a time-travel fic. Maybe they go Horcrux hunting with the knowledge Harry has from book 7. And he takes Regulus because Harry doesn't want to endanger/bother Sirius, James, and Lily, whom he cares for more at first. I think you could write something compelling with this premise. Two people who want to end Voldemort for very different reasons, who both consider themselves dead men in a way. So, yeah, I could get behind that.

[persephoneprice]

gratitude for the new year

(inspired by @the-sun-and-the-sea)

over this past year, i have had so much fun on here with all of you. i appreciate everyone on here- the mutuals, the lurkers, the og trilogy fans that for some reason put up with the nonsense! all of you have made this year so much easier for someone who was struggling elsewhere in life <3

i hope we can all continue to be silly, fun, creative, and a little a lot unhinged into the next year. this fandom is such a lovely and supportive little corner. i’ve been inspired to do things i never thought i’d do- writing fanfiction, doing a fic exchange, unhinged cannibalism thoughts- the usual.

(under the cut for the gratitude things!)

- i want to start out by saying how much i appreciate anyone who sent me and ask over this past year! especially you my lovely anon friends! it’s been so much fun and in my…far too many years on tumblr i’ve never been able to interact with so many people! i cannot overstate how nice it is so have so many people will to engage about our silly little guys.

- i also want to say how much i appreciate the corso creatures discord as a whole! when we made it, i’m not going to lie, i really thought that would fizzle out quickly. so i’m so happy to see it thriving and everyone having fun on there together. thank you again, @coryo for helping make a place where can all truly be together and be ourselves!

now onto some people who have made this year so wonderful for me:

@the-sun-and-the-sea - i remember messaging you for the first time and honestly being so intimidated! you seemed like such a cool and popular blog + so many amazing fics and seemed wayyyy too cool to be talking to the weird tbosas girl. i couldn’t have been more wrong! you’re the sweetest, most genuine, and supportive person i’ve had the privilege of being friends with this year.

@felixravinstills - you have inspired me so much over the past year! before i started this blog i was so embarrassed by my interests and i felt so silly and stupid. then i met you, who was so talented and creative and insane about you little guy! and it made me feel more okay with being open about my little guys and to be a little weird about it! please forever stay the person you are <3

@fairyhagmother - my appalachian friend (in my head. you are one of us.) i was so, so excited when someone on here was so educated on appalachia and wanted to talk about it! i never would have thought at the time that in just a few months we could be talking about…coriolanus snow’s grandma’am and toxic yuri. i still think about that festus/pippa/liv ballet post you did btw. love u my friend.

@ylvisruinedmylife - hannah i couldn’t possibly fit how much i appreciate you into a post! i love bouncing off insane ideas with you and torturing hils together. i’m always amazed by how intelligent and creative and talented you are…and you’re still so friendly and supportive! your support, especially with my jessup nonsense, means the world. thank you for not killing you know who in you know what. i hope treemina never frees you.

@moreespressoformydepresso - fun fact: i also was lowkey intimidated by you for a while! imagine my surprise when you wanted to befriend me and dm and tell me about all of your fun aus! now, i couldn’t imagine my fandom experience without you. thank you for being so friendly and supportive and down to yap with me <3 you’ll never escape me 😤

@spiralling-thoughts - i love how you keep the tribute fandom alive and give so much life to all the minor tributes! you’re one of the first friends i had on here, and i really appreciate you sticking with my over this year! please always feel free to tell me all of your ideas, i love hearing them!

@majorsoapfan - AH you’re so sweet and talented! i love yapping with you in the dms and coming up with silly ideas! not to mention the absolute masterpieces of works you create!

@sparklebear11 - you fr are the maude ivory to my barb azure! you’re so silly and fun, please never change that about you. i hope the covey haunts you forever so you’ll stick around with us!

@keeperofsecretsunderthehill - i wish i had the creativity that you do! you’re always coming with such different, yet equally interesting, ideas! cranedove ceo always <3

@xtabithanala - not only did you create one of my favorite fics and help me love liv even more- you’re also so kind and supportive to me?? an angel! i hope we can talk more over this next year and get to know each other better!

i’m so looking forward to getting to know all of you guys better over this next year! @thatthingilovewith (can’t wait for more bobbin), @tumblingghosts (i miss yapping with you!, @meekmedea (always such a lovely presence but i’d love to talk to you more!), @little-de-vil (please keep yapping about the d2 lore in my dms forever), @ilovepersephoneprice (pippa friend!!!! we have so much more yapping to do!), @vampirehizzies (my mizzen sized mutual that i am so proud of!), @solar-halos (love u girlie let’s yap more), @mr-nauseam (you’re a great friend and your kindness and patience is amazing!), @ritalinrae (let’s yap more!), @threestargirls (i’m so looking forward to yapping with you in the new year!), @mollywog (we don’t often interact but i love when we do- i still think about that playground thing you said!), @jinglebellpeppre (how have we not yapped together about miz?), @julietasgf (talented artist queen) <3

if i forgot some please feel free to yell at me and i’ll tell you how much i appreciate you and why

(honorary mention to bel who i miss dearly)

have a lovely new year everyone <3

[cas-readsandwrites]

Lavender: Interludes

Set in Jackson post TLOU S1 in the Lavender universe by @justagalwhowrites, a few little scenes of Joel, Doc, and the fam in Jackson. Listen I am not pregnant, I have no desire to be pregnant, so I don't know WHERE this came from, but I love soft Joel healing from his trauma and finding love and joy in his family! Content: Reader is described as pregnant. There is smut. And fluff. And love. Grab some ice cream and your heating pads if you're in the same time of the month as me. Minors DNI. 3.6k words

I am not quiet about the fact that Lavender is one of my favorite fanfics, in my two decades popping in and out of various fandoms. Doc and Joel are my distraction and angst and comfort when I need it. Sometimes my imagination runs a little wild.... many many thanks to Kit for creating these characters and being totally cool with the fact that I wrote a little fanfic of her fanfic :D So here we go!

~~~

Joel had walked into the house late one evening, after patrol had gone long and he had to wait to give report to the next crew going out. He was extra antsy and wanted to get home, now more than ever. This was his last patrol for the next several months, as he would not need to leave the walls of the town during the last month of your pregnancy and hopefully not for a month or two afterwards. He would be put on extra shifts on guard duty or with the carpenter crew, but as long as he was within a quick run down the street or an ear-shot of someone yelling for him with news of you, he was fine with that. 

Anyway, when he had come home, you had been standing in the middle of the living room, seemingly all the sheets and blankets from the house around you and stacked in a laundry basket at the bottom of the stairs. All of the glasses and mugs were sitting out drying on the counter, as well as the few baby bottles you had brought home from the clinic (just in case you had said, hopeful that you would be able to breastfeed). All of the lights were still on upstairs. 

“Baby,” he said, matter-of-factly, “what the hell are you doin’?”

You spun around, holding a fitted sheet in your hands, fresh from the laundry line outside. The town was encouraged to use the communal laundry whenever possible, to limit wear and tear on the machines in the houses, but understandably many families had middle-of-the-night unexpected messes or heavy loads that they would do at home if the mechanicals still worked. The dryer in their house was still inconsistent, as much as Joel took it apart and banged on it and put it back together, it gave them a few good spins before shuddering to a halt again. Thankfully Tommy and Maria’s across the street was still functional, adding to the growing list of ways that he felt like he was in… well, a commune, with his brother as their lives and households continually overlapped, something he suspected would only increase after the baby was born.

“I think I’m nesting,” you answered back, looking around at the piles of fabric and wiggling your fingers in the sheets. “It seemed like a good idea to have all the linens clean, and then I was hand-washing some things in the kitchen, so it seemed like a good idea to clean off some of the dishes and things we haven’t really used, they were kind of dusty and I didn’t want it getting in the bottles…” you trailed off and sighed. “Ok, it looks ridiculous, but trust me, it needed to be done!” 

Joel wasn’t about to fight you on that, as much as he worried about your health and safety in what he viewed as an extra-fragile state, it seemed like you had come even more alive with an extra vivacity throughout your pregnancy. Even when you were throwing up, or cranky with hormones, you were even more feisty. Which was saying something, considering all the times you had verbally sparred back in Boston, along the road to Jackson, even back when you were taking care of yourself and your grandmother all alone. “Ok, well… can I help you?” he asked. “Seems like you got it in hand, but please don’t tell me you’ve been carrying laundry around all day.” 

You waved your hands again, corners of the sheet scrunching around your fingers. “Ellie put up with me for a while and did the heavy lifting with the wet things. She wanted to go out for the evening, though, so it’s just been me and the folded piles tonight.” You looked around as you tucked the corners across and into each other, neatly snapping the sheet and folding the edges in. “I guess if you can take these all back up into the closet upstairs, then it will be mostly done.” 

You looked around at the folded pile in the basket, mentally cataloguing your task, before seeming to snap out of it and look back at him. “But you just got home! I’m so sorry, blame my brain for being wired towards this.” You waded through the piles and threw yourself into his arms, even with your stomach grown with his baby, still fitting in just right where he could wrap around your shoulders and your back and you could lean into that space against his chest. Joel ran his hand up and down your back, around your side, warm palm against the place where your child grew. You hummed as he kissed the top of your head, centering himself as he always did when coming home on your scent and the warm gravity of you in his arms. 

“Why don’t you go up to bed?” he murmured against your temple. “I’ll get the rest of this. You’ve been on your feet a lot. Please go lay down? I’d love to just… be with you tonight.” You nodded, tipping your head back to kiss him. He anchored himself to you, the press of your lips against his. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” you said, squeezing him again before stepping away and looking around at the living room before walking upstairs.

They had been in this house for several months, well-established in Jackson, but he couldn’t shake the nighttime routines yet, circling the first floor of the house, checking that the exits were clear, locked, lights off, locking his rifle in the downstairs closet, keeping his sidearm in the nightstand next to his side of the bed. He heard you moving around the bathroom and treading the hallway into the bedroom. Thankfully, Ellie came home not too soon after as he was finished folding. She shrugged and tilted her head with an eyebrow raised in a nonverbal I don’t know, man, it wasn’t my idea. He handed her the basket and wordlessly gestured up the stairs. She just as silently tilted her forehead against his arm as she passed in a greeting and good-night, and they trooped up the stairs together. “Good night, Ellie!” he heard you call across the hall.

He showered, washing off the road and sweat, before climbing in bed behind you, already nested in your structure of pillows. “Mmmf,” you murmured, nestling back into his chest. He traced the line of the back of your neck with one hand and looped his arm around your front, resting on your stomach. You traced the back of his hand with your fingers in the dark. It didn’t seem to take much, even at this stage in your pregnancy, and soon you were bringing his hand below the slope of your stomach to that place between your legs that seemed so much more sensitive nowadays. 

“Baby,” he murmured in your ear, “you gonna be ok? Don’t want to hurt you…”

You moaned quietly as his fingertips traced your clit, leading down to your center, tracing your entrance and just dipping inside. You gasped and tilted your hips, moving your leg to open that space for him. “Please, Joel,” you breathed, trying to be quiet, mindful of Ellie down the hall. “I trust you, I know you won’t hurt me, I want to feel you, please…”

He kissed the space below your ear, the scratch of his beard tickling the back of your shoulder. “Don’t gotta beg for me, sweetheart, always gonna give you what you need.”

Urged by your own hand, he felt the wetness from your entrance already, dipping his fingers in to coat them, coming back to your clit, warm and aching. It didn’t take long for the pressure from his fingers, alternating between circling and lightly pressing on your sensitive areas, before he felt you throbbing, heard your tiny gasps as you tugged on the corner of your pillow, thrusting your hips back into his as he brought you to your edge. Even after months of your reassurance that you knew he wouldn’t hurt you, had never done so, and you still obviously wanted him, he waited for your cues. He tried to ignore his hardening cock, but your thrust backwards had nestled him into the soft flesh of your ass, so warm and delightfully more from pregnancy, and he couldn't help as he rocked against you. Even as you came down, you pushed his hand back towards your center, hitching your top leg up to rest on his, reaching behind for his hip, holding him close.

He ran his hand down your leg, gripping your thigh against him as he moved to push himself against you, the heat and wetness from your center drawing him in. He lined the tip of him with your center, your body grasping to pull him in, as if promises over decades and the proof of your love growing inside you weren’t enough. He stopped only long enough to ask, “this ok, baby? You feel alright?” 

You whimpered, tilting your head back towards him, and he ran his nose along what he could reach of your jaw, kissing the side of your neck, breathing against the edge of your ear. “Feels so good, please, don’t stop,” you whispered, rocking just so the tip of him slid in. He closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of you around him, pressed against him, as he slid inside you from behind. You bit your lip to stop from crying out, rocking back into him with abandon. He had to focus to stop from coming immediately - how could he not, the softness of the most round, plush parts of you pressed against his body and in his hands, your warmth even more enveloping. He focused instead on the lines of your body, kissing your shoulder, gripping your hip as he thrust in and out, syncing with the rocking of your hips. His hand slipped around your front to the top of your legs again, circling and rubbing against your clit. You were so lost in your pleasure, grasping at the blanket in front of you, and he wanted this to last as long as you needed. Unable to see your face or kiss you, giving himself into your body wherever you would take him, he used his words instead, punctuated by his own groans and pleasure. Words of praise and promise, your beauty, the sensation of your body, goddess that you were, holding both himself and your child together deep inside yourself. 

-finally, “oh, fuck, there you go baby, I can feel you, so ready, come on-” and you turned your face down into your pillow, breathing heavily, as your body fairly shook with your orgasm, clenching and rippling around him, and he held on tight and rode it out with you, thrusting up once, twice, one more time until he felt himself come apart deeply and at home in your body. 

The two of you lay together in the tangle of blankets and blankets, now kicked down around your legs and askew around you, his chest heaving with deep breaths against yours. He felt you melt into the mattress. After a moment he checked himself, not wanting you to need to move, and cautiously lifted an arm to brace himself against the mattress. You made a little noise and tilted your head back against him again. He reach in front of you and sat partway up, leaning over you to kiss you at an angle, reassuring you, and himself that you were still alright, that he hadn’t hurt you or pushed you too much in some way that he would have no way of knowing about, his memories of the only other pregnant woman in his life so far distant and embroiled in its own tinge of sadness and self-doubt that none of it was to be trusted. Only you, here, your daughter for all intents and purposes down the hall, the solidity of this house, was what he could count on. 

He kissed you again and nuzzled against your forehead. “Lay down, baby, I got you. Need anything?” he felt you shake your head and settled against your pillow. He smiled. You often had a hard time falling asleep and staying asleep as you advanced in your pregnancy, but something about the release of sex would turn you into goo and put you to sleep afterwards almost right away. 

He carefully sat all the way up, leaning over you to reset your pillows where you liked them, against the pressure of your knees, hips and belly supported against the mattress, under your arm, one against the small of your back. When you were tucked in and covered, he quietly stepped down the hall to fill your glass of water and set it down next to you, checking again the lights outside and the door to Ellie’s room, before sliding carefully back in behind you. Not able to get as close through your fortress of pillows, he rested an arm along your hip, breathing in the scent of your hair that always seemed to end up draped across his pillow.

He heard you sigh and shuffle, and was about to ask what else you needed, before you spoke quietly, through the cloud of sleep he knew was almost ready to carry you off. “I love you,” you murmured into the soft darkness of the bedroom. He leaned his head forward, resting his forehead on the space between your shoulderblades, just behind your heart. “Love you so much, baby,” he whispered, squeezing your hip, before sleep claimed you both. 

~~~

Joel and Tommy watched as you and Maria talked in the living room of Tommy and Maria’s house after dinner, while they stood in the doorway of the kitchen drinking whiskey, judiciously keeping the scent of alcohol away from your pregnant self and Maria’s breastfeeding. Well, Tommy was watching Joel as Joel watched you shuffle on the couch, gently positioning yourself to rest your lower back. “She doin’ ok?” Tommy asked, trying to catch Joel’s eye. 

Joel glanced over at his brother like he was unaware they were even in a conversation together. “Oh- yeah. She said her legs and back are starting to get real tired. Tried telling her to rest more, but you know her, says moving is actually better and she doesn’t want to leave the clinic yet.”

Tommy nodded, knowing this brand of his sister-in-law’s stubbornness and resilient streak. “You ever try doin’ the thing where you stand behind her and lift up her stomach?”

Now Joel was really looking at his brother. “What?” he asked. They didn’t really… talk girls. Joel did his best when Tommy was growing up to have The Talk (that went pretty well, living embodiment of the consequences of Joel’s actions usually screaming in her high chair in the background of those conversations when Tommy would be headed out the door to pick up yet another date) as well as trying to make sure his brother was generally a respectful and polite person to a partner, but other than that, they didn’t really talk about the ins and outs of each other’s relationships. Until you. Even way back when, yours and Joel’s relationship had been more real, more recognized, tangible, than most other things in his life.

“Yeah,” Tommy said, “you know, like you’re gonna hug her from behind or somethin?” He demonstrated in the air in front of him. “Get your arms around her and under her stomach, towards the bottom, where Maria always said was the most sore because it was heavy, stretching out some muscles, and just-” he linked his fingers together, glass carefully balanced in one bear-paw of a hand- “hup.” He demonstrated gently lifting a beach ball in front of him.

Joel watched his brother looking like he was trying to hula hoop in the middle of his kitchen. “Sure it doesn’t hurt her?” Tommy laughed and patted his brother on his arm. “Be gentle, man. Naw, Maria loved it. Would have walked around behind her for the whole last month for her if I could’ve.” Joel nodded, regretting already the time he missed in his brother’s life, refusing to accept his new marriage to Maria, blocking out the thoughts of his brother becoming a father, when all his brother had done for him was to step into Joel’s own life and take on Joel’s burdens as his own. By the time Joel and his girls had made it back to Jackson, several months had passed and Maria had already given birth. 

Tommy patted his arm again. “She knows you’d do anything for her. Maria and I will, too. Need a babysitter or an extra hand when it’s time, just holler.” He gestured with his glass towards their window that overlooked the street, across which your home with Joel was softly illuminated by the front door light, waiting for you to come home. You caught Tommy’s movement out of the corner of your eye, looking up and smiling at your husband and your brother-in-law together again, as they should be.

The next day, you were walking slowly around the house while getting ready for a shift at the clinic. You were still the only doctor in town, though they had gained a few additional staff that, while not quite trained as well as you’d hoped nurses would be, were improving as medical assistants and able to triage and take histories and help with physical exams. One of the more senior nurses who had been in town for a while had taken on the heavier medical work before you had arrived. She had taken to your education and you had recently “graduated” her from your unofficial training and dubbed her a nurse practitioner, only needing to sign off with you on certain types of cases. The extra help meant that at least you could sit more and slow your pace to see a few less patients, but for now you said your brain and your energy were fine, and you weren’t going to let a few bodyaches get in the way of being present for the people who needed the knowledge that only you had. 

Joel watched as you stood in front of your dresser, choosing which top to go over your precious few pairs of pants they had found to be modified with a maternity band. You sighed and rested your hands on the small of your back, leaning just so, trying to stretch - well, everything. 

Joel begrudgingly remembered his brother’s words, knowing he was going to be eating shit for a while, Tommy being more of an expert in the “pregnancy and infancy caregiver in the apocalypse” duties. Joel still had him beat in the teenager department at least. For now, though, he walked up behind you to kiss your temple, slipping his arms around you as he often did to trace the contours of your body, holding your hips or placing a palm to feel the baby.

“Wish you would call it at the clinic, baby, I really do,” he murmured. 

“I know,” you sighed, “not yet, though. My mind feels fine. I’m taking it as easy as I can there, I promise, and you know I’m in the right place if I need anything.” You looked down at his hands gently circling your stomach. “I know by now it’s useless to ask you to not worry, but please, take it easy on yourself, too,” you said, placing your hand on his.

Joel wanted to bury his face in your hair, carry you to bed, hold on to you and rub your feet and bring you tea for the next four weeks. He didn’t deserve you, mindful as you were towards his worries and the health of the entire town. “You’re askin’ for the impossible, babe, you know that.” 

You laughed lightly. “I know. I can try. At least I didn’t leverage doctor’s orders this time.” You tilted your head back, resting on his chest. “I’ll take a few more days, keep making some plans with the staff, and see how I feel later this week. ‘kay?”

“ ‘kay,” he echoed. You moved to step forward and reach for a dresser drawer again, but Joel followed and gently tugged you back against him. You opened your mouth to softly protest - you did need to get moving, after all - but Joel slid his hands firmly under your stomach, warm and sturdy, and without even realizing what was happening, you felt the pressure in his hands increase and a blessed lightness spread across the top of your hips and your pelvic muscles. 

Joel leaned back just slightly, the weight of your belly in his hands, and he heard you make a noise he had never even heard you make in bed. “Oh God,” you groaned, drawing it out in a soft sigh. “I didn't even realize how much that- please don't move, I just want to stay-” you let your arms drop, thoughts of a shirt vanishing as you let yourself be cradled in this temporary, bodily gravity defying relief. 

Joel wanted to chuckle at your words, but the deep instinct to simultaneously protect you while bringing you so close, around him, be inside you, kicked up again. He could only rest his forehead on the crown of your head, remind himself that you were here and whole and healthy, and marvel at your innate strength and abundant spirit to allow your body to be changed for him and for your family. He would always strive to be worthy of you, he knew that now. For now, that meant standing quietly in your home together, swaying gently, holding you and your child, your whole universe in his hands.

[thattimdrakeguy]

I HAVE BEEN READING ZDARSKY BATMAN, AND I HAVE DECLARED: I FREAKING LOVE IT!!

I'm reading the Batman Zdarsky run in reverse. That way if I see any bull I can back out at anytime: and to be honest--besides a few things. I really enjoy it

LIKE YO, THAT IS JUST STRAIGHT UP TIM DRAKE RIGHT THERE. It knows who he is as a character. his motives, it's great.

Screw the people complaining "oh why is tim still robin :((", THIS IS WHY HE IS STILL ROBIN. Because this is when he's at his BEST. When he gets to hit his character purpose, WHEN HE GETS TO BE HIM AT HIS MOST HIM. It's FANTASTIC.

Reading in reverse because I know I hated the first story, it was so contrived and ridiculous.

But this--this is some good shit.

Tim being an underdog fighter, having to use his wits to win the fight? MY DAWG, MY DUDE, MY GUYS, MY GALS, MY THEMS, MY THEYS, THIS IS SO TIMMY DRAKE. This is so damn Tim Drake, guys. Oh, my gosh, I am loving this so far.

Dick has his temper back? And trust me, he isn't normally like this. But he's hitting a limit AND IT'S SOMETHING NEW, NOT JUST A REFERENCE. HE'S ACTUALLY DOING SOMETHING HE'D DO, 'CAUSE HE'S AT HIS LIMIT. That's wonderful, man. That is so wonderful.

Plus Tim is the heart of the Bat-Family again? This feels like someone actually went back to read these characters before writing it. I'm not saying everything is perfect of course, but these high marks are exceeding all my expectations. And I STOPPED reading comics because of how the beginning of this run destroyed any hope I had.

You guys have no idea how much I'm enjoying the few issues I've read. Besides the cussing (I remember after a bit they decided Tim was someone who used funny words instead of proper cusses), this feels like the Tim I know and love during the era I especially loved him.

Tim comparing himself to his predecessors? Tim not being a natural? A WRITER REMEMBERING THAT?? It's been so long since I've seen that! Most writers treat him like he was another prodigy when he wasn't. AND THIS GUY REMEMBERED THAT!

I shouldn't be so happy at just seeing Tim do Tim things, and serving his character purpose. BUT YOU GUYS HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG IT'S BEEN SINCE A WRITER KNEW WHAT TIM WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE.

Only complaints I have is that Jason feels like a typical Bat-Family member, and not the sketchy outsider that he is. Making him so close makes his character more bland in my opinion. And Steph is--also generic af unless she's wacky quirky...which is a characterization I hate for her, because she started off so damn interesting, but they made her a freaking trope instead, which is such a disservice to her, but she barely does anything so far, so whatever I guess. Doesn't mean much.

--

This is the first honest thing I've seen that I hated.

No

Not this

This isn't the Bat-Family

This is a sitcom world the fandom wants to be the Bat-Family and some comply with

They're not a sitcom. The conflicts, and uniqueness of the characters is what makes things feel alive and well.

This stuff is cheap fanservice for the fanon demographic that doesn't buy comics to begin with.

Fanon doesn't belong in canon.

--

I mean sure Tim could be drawn smaller, the gag of him looking 12 when he's nearly 18 doesn't work when he's bigger than Damian who is 15 (and contrary to some bullshit comics isn't meant to be small. that was a random thing added for writers who aren't clever to write better humor. it actually contradicts things that were already established).

Don't see the big deal though for most of this.

Can't wait to find it, though. Oh boy.

This whole obsession with Zur Batman, is way over done though. So--I wouldn't be shocked if that was the problem, because my golly does that plot point not seem to be stopping--and it was there from the start and part of the reason why I didn't read it 'til now.

Good Tim tho, at least. So heehee, yey for that--I think--I guess.

Oh, well.

It let me peak at a pseudo-version of an AU I made up years ago. So that's pretty freaking cool.

Always a plus.

And redoing Red Robin story beats but better? Normally I'd hate references to Red Robin, 'cause that changed the perception of so many characters for the worst, but ayy, a bit of redemption isn't bad.

Man, just seeing simple stuff like Tim and Bruce being good ol' classic Batman and Robin warms my heart. It's been so long since Batman and Robin has acted like a proper classic Batman and Robin. It's dynamic that's been sorely missed by many.

OH, MY GOSH, WHY DID THE FIRST STORY HAVE TO STINK SO BAD. THIS STUFF IS GREAT.

Like, DUDE, this is such a Tim thing for him to do!!

And he's showing emotion?? He's crying like how he does?? Because he's not a typical Bat-Family member who just angsts his way through?? THEY'RE MAKING HIM STAND-OUT AGAIN BY MAKING HIM, HIM??

WHY DID THE FIRST STORY HAVE TO SUCK SO BAD?? THIS IS GOOD SHIT.

Like this part is why I originally stopped reading, not because Bruce should think Tim is his soldier, and not his son, THE FREAKING OPPOSITE.

But because the original story has Bruce acting weird when unneeded, just to say this was so unneeded, and adding in all these stupid corny Bat-Family moments was so groan worthy.

This run started off with a story that was a total turn off for me.

To end up being a run that could've kept me enjoying DC, rather than running away from it from as far as I have.

Chip Zdarsky started off awful, but really, he ended up great.

And I've seen people complain about his run, and TRUST ME, there's stuff to complain about. But I have only ever seen the stuff worth complaining about, or stuff I WOULD complain about.

WHEN MOST OF THE RUN IS GOOD

At least when Tim is around.

Go figure.

Maybe I should've paid sole attention to how he wrote Tim and nothing else at the very least for that first story.

'Cause even in the first story, Tim was well-written--it's how cheap the rest of the story telling was in that first story that turned me off--and the weird knew about the movie plans that I am still fully judging harshly. (Love the new Superman film suit, though)