#Sort of but not really

[popfizzles]

midas :)

[thegroundhogdidit]

crying screaming throwing up the parallels and character foiling between shawn and lassie like these are two low empathy autistic men who made best friendships with high empathy autistic people and both probably wanted to be detectives growing up and both have trauma and no real understanding of boundaries but one of them grew up constantly being controlled while the other has a strong desire to control his environment and it means that they bash heads with each other because they both want to be in control of the situation i'm putting my head through a brick wall rn

[defectivehero]

Please write about a nb hero who is big on "not owing anyone money" and "its my problem and weight, let me carry it" and "please let me pay u back" and "its your money even if you spend it on me"

And a nb snarky millionaire (by evil methods) villain who is obsessed with their hero and is like "let me spoil u bbg" and *casually throws money around for hero* and very big on "I WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR U" but hero is too fucking dense to actually believe rhe villain.

this snippet completely spiraled out of my control (as most things do).

It all started with that damned news article. In hindsight, perhaps the hero shouldn't have been as forthcoming as they were. But, they wanted the world to know that the life of a hero wasn't always glamorous. They just... didn't expect for the journalist to capitalize on the single remark they made, the single huff of laughter they let out when asked about the wages. Days later, when the article released, the hero was stunned.

Heroism: A Thankless Job

The hero remembers the dread coiling in their chest as they opened the newspaper to find the article, apprehension increasing as they digested the information. That picture of their apartment complex... they don't remember consenting to release that information. Granted, the journalist kept them as a nameless, anonymous hero. But, it wouldn't take a huge leap in logic to connect the dots—to find the building's tenants and cross-reference those names with the hero agencies nearby. The hero just hoped an average reader wouldn't take the incentive to do something like that. They spent the rest of that day struggling to keep their paranoia at bay. It took them a while to fall asleep that night.

Fortunately, they slept well and their anxieties seemed to fade. The hero stumbled through their morning routine and opened their front door an hour later, ready to greet the day, only to nearly trip on a package. They had frowned and taken the package inside, unable to shake the recognition that they hadn't ordered anything to be delivered. Upon opening the package, they found a single unmarked envelope. Their jaw had dropped to the floor once they found the bills inside—an amount more than their typical paychecks.

Little did the hero know, this would be far from the last time they received an unmarked package with a far too generous, entirely unexplained gift inside. At first, the gifts were just small things: a collection of medical grade bandages and antiseptic, a new sweater after they spilled coffee on theirs at work, a care package with things like cough medicine and tissues that appeared the day they got sick. The hero was still profoundly uncomfortable with the idea of some mysterious benefactor providing them with these things, but at least the packages were small. The magnitude of the first gift hadn't been matched since, and the hero couldn't help but feel grateful.

Amidst their hero work and their daily life, the hero found their mind quickly returning to the question of their gift-giver's identity. It had to be someone they interacted with fairly often, considering the far too accurate timing of several of the gifts. One time could be dismissed as a mere coincidence; a box of cough medicine a mere hour after they found themself bedridden, however... That is an entirely different story.

The gifts continue, but, thankfully, they are small in scale. The hero still feels horribly guilty about being entirely unable to pay this person back, but there's almost nothing they can do. Their benefactor clearly doesn't want to make themself known, and that's fine. Really, it is.

Until there is another envelope. This time, their mystery patron doesn't bother concealing their gift within a package. Instead, the hero opens their mailbox to find an unmarked burgundy envelope. Dread coiling in their chest, they look around—foolishly hoping that their gift giver would somehow have a change of heart and decide to show themself—before heading back inside. The hero sits on their sofa and takes a deep breath, before opening the envelope with care.

What they see is enough to make their hands tremble and their grip falter, allowing the envelope to slip down to the floor. They hold their present in disbelief.

It's a check—for more money than they could possibly fathom having. This sum is so large that the hero wouldn't have to work another day in their life. They would be able to live comfortably without earning so much as a single penny on their own.

The thought sickens them. "I can't accept this," the hero breathes aloud. They look down at their apartment's hardwood flooring as if it will give them the answers they're looking for.

"I don't recall asking you to." The hero jumps, looking up to find the villain standing before them. How they got there, the hero doesn't have the faintest idea. They blink at them for a moment, wondering how they didn't connect the mysterious gifts to the villain sooner. Their enemy has always had access to extremely high-tech weaponry and state of the art medicine (judging from their utter lack of scars despite their numerous fights); not to mention, they've had an inexplicable disregard for finances for as long as the hero can remember. It's all beginning to make sense now.

The villain takes a step closer and the hero remembers their remark. "I'm serious," they say with a frown. "Why are you doing this? Do you want me to owe you? ...Is that what this is? Want to, I don't know, kick me while I'm down? You're such a good person, helping the needy." The latter statement is spoken with venom.

"No, of course not," The villain argues.

"Then why?" The hero repeats, the volume of their voice rising as they get more frustrated. They take a deep breath and clench their fist at their side. They're still holding the check in their other hand, and despite the fact that it's nearly weightless, they can feel a pressure pushing their hand down. "And, more importantly, how in the hell did you get this much money?" The hero hears themself ask.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to," the villain says lightly. There's a darkness to their eyes that suggests the hero should cease this line of questioning. They take another deep breath.

"You're assuming I'll just... accept this," the hero realizes aloud. That familiar itching feeling is rising to meet their skin, and they're becoming less convinced that they should stop it.

"Perhaps."

The hero blinks at them once, twice. The villain refuses to break eye contact; their gaze almost urging them to do it—to use their powers to turn the check to ash. The hero gives into the flames prickling along their skin and summons their fire in the palm of their hand. It will only take a moment, maybe two, for the bottom of the paper to char. From there, it will only be a matter of time. The hero watches in anticipation.

...But nothing happens.

"Did you really think I'd be foolish enough to give you a check you could just burst into flame?"

The hero stares ahead blankly, their ears ringing. The villain's expression blurs into a twisted smile. A figment of their imagination or reality? The hero hears their breaths, ragged and half-panicked in their ears.

"I don't understand," the hero repeats hollowly. They don't understand anything that's happening—anything that happened that led them to this very moment, standing before the villain and holding a check that their enemy gave them.

"You don't have to understand," the villain says, crossing their arms over their chest. "I'm not asking you to understand. Hell, I'm not asking you to do anything. I'm ordering you to cash this check."

The hero's tongue is ironed to the roof of their mouth. Even if they desired to speak, they don't think they'd be able to.

The villain notices their speechlessness and sighs. "I didn't want things to come to this, but..." They break off. "As I predicted, you're stubborn as hell, and self-sacrificing to a fault." The hero doesn't have the energy to be offended or outraged.

"So," the villain drawls, their arm falling to their side quickly. The hero blinks and they're suddenly being held at gunpoint. "Go to your bank. Now." The hero suspects the weapon is more than a gun—and they don't care to find out just what it can do. It appears they really have no choice. The villain is forcing their hand.

An hour later, the hero is walking out of the bank with sunken shoulders. "There," the villain says, clapping a hand on their shoulder and leading them out of the building. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?" Upon closer examination, the villain's weapon is nowhere in sight—as if it simply vanished in thin air. The unlikely pair walks down the street and heads back to the hero's car. The hero ignores the domesticity of it all, securing their seatbelt over themself. The villain doesn't seem keen to wear their seatbelt, so the hero reaches across and buckles their rival's seatbelt for them before they can object.

"I'll transfer the money back to you tomorrow," the hero announces as they're driving down the street, back towards their apartment. Their eyes are locked on the road, yet they somehow know that the villain's gaze is fixated on them with frightening focus.

"We both know you won't," the villain hums with certainty. The hero hates that they're right, hates that their rival can read them so damn easily. Their hands tighten around the steering wheel and the rest of the ride is suffocated with a horrible silence.

When the hero arrives back home, they can't shake the realization that the villain seems deeply pleased. They say as much to their enemy, who hums.

"Of course I'm pleased," the villain says, "If I knew this was all it would take to get you to accept a much-needed gift, I would've done it eons ago."

The hero takes a deep breath, struggling not to cry. It's been a long day, and they're reaching their limit. "I think you've humiliated me enough today," they announce. "Can you leave?" Please, the hero thinks to themself.

"I suppose," the villain sighs dramatically. They take one step to the door, then another. Just before their hand can clasp the doorknob, the hero feels one last objection fall from their lips.

"That money could go to far more deserving people and causes," the hero chokes out. They're choking on their own pride, choking on the simultaneous acknowledgment that they need money and the horrible knowledge that almost no one in their situation has an out like the one they were just presented with.

The villain turns around to face them, clearly moments away from rolling their eyes. "Do I look like a philanthropist to you?" The hero shakes their head, their throat burning. Their enemy nods in confirmation and turns back around. They twist the doorknob and tug the door open.

"You deserve nice things, you know." The villain's parting remark is murmured so quietly that the hero convinces themself they imagine it. The hero watches their front door close and waits a few moments before locking it. They turn around, their back to the door, and slide down to the ground with their head in their hands.

©2024, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

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[cadiebug]

I've got unlimited access to photoshop, and I will be making unhinged edited photos of them -

[danieyells]

Jin Kamurai Character Stories Affinities 2-10

8 AND THE TEXT FOR TEN ARE IN THE REBLOGS BECAUSE OF THE IMAGE LIMIT.

Screenshots for 2-8, text only for 10 because I don't have it in-game yet.

For in-person components to stories, screenshots are of the log, not the actual visual novel content because of the 30 image limit.

Right now my plan with character stories is to do Jin's because someone(whom I'm pretty sure I gave the raw text to instead but I won't discount the possibility it was a different person) asked for his 6 and 8 months ago, and then I'm doing a few based on my preference(Taiga, Romeo, and Leo) and then I'll probably do them in order unless otherwise requested. I'll make a placeholder masterlist once I've finished this one. Maybe in the future I can record them but Tumblr ruins the quality of any recordings I upload, so. . .probably not. Anyway, under the cut.

Jin's 10 is one of my favorites lmao. Spoiled boy.

Affinity 2 - Jin Chapter 1

Affinity 4 - Jin Chapter 2

Affinity 6 - Jin and Tohma Chapter 1

[splinnters]

animal (5.7k words)

Scott didn’t like the way the new Wolverine was looking at him.

It was a look of disbelief, first and foremost. What with the way he was clutching Wade Wilson’s hand, it could have even been apprehension. But there was a small touch of something else in his eyes. What it was, Scott couldn’t tell.

Logan had always had these big, elaborate emotions. He laughed loud and screamed louder. But every so often he’d act a certain way that Scott just couldn’t figure out.

Or, Scott can't figure out the new Logan, and he doesn't like it.

[undead-knick-knack]

[thecrimsonvalley-creates]

~ That chest ~ Yeah me and @nattravn-art had to use the boob meme again for these two! Look no one can resist the pull of Dale's chest, least of all David!

[hurkules]

Karlach knows how you feel about getting intimate. It’s never had good connotations for you. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want you, but she wouldn’t dare speak those words out loud. She wouldn’t dare make you feel like you owed her something.

Some alone time would more than suffice which is why she’s ecstatic when you decide to splurge on an inn once you arrive in the city. There wasn’t one complaint from anyone in the group: how could anyone be upset about a warm bath and an actual bed for once. Well…Halsin could, but he didn’t mind too much given everyone else’s excitement.

You get everyone their own room, but end up wondering into Karlach’s after everyone has bathed, and you know she’s settled in. You’ll ask if she’s okay and comfortable, meanwhile she’s giving you the biggest smile and bouncing with laughter.

Eventually, you’ll slink over to her and plant a kiss on her lips. Before you know it, she’s on top of you kissing with all the passion she can muster. You don’t stop her. Instead your hands roam, you’re trying to get as a close to her as you can, and you find yourself moaning. It be a shame to die without the pleasure of her, she’ll think to herself, but this is pretty fucking good.

She’ll position herself more between your legs and grip the back of your thigh before jolting back with horror. “I’m sorry…that was—,” she’ll start at a loss. Embarrassed and terrified, she’ll add “I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t mean to. I know how you feel. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t do that.” She’s searching your eyes for anger, disgust, or maybe even tears. Instead, she’s meant with tender eyes and a loving smile.

You’ll pull her back down to you and kiss her deeply and softly, a way that you hope conveys the love you have for her. “It’s okay, Karlach. I want this. I want you.”

She’ll look at you speechless, and a little scared to move. She wants nothing more than to have to you, to feel your skin against hers, to have her name spill from your lips in the sweetest symphony, to fall asleep in the moonlight next to you, to have you in her arms, and to wake with the sun warming the both of you.

You give her another kiss as confirmation and she’s elated. Slow down, Karlach! Don’t ruin this for her, she’s reminding herself, Go slow!

[manicpixie-edits]

Free to use manic pixie dream person and manic pixie nightmare person flags.

Please note! These flags were made for those with personality disorders (primarily BPD) and other disabilities to reclaim the often sexist and ableist "manic pixie" archetype perpetuated in fiction. This can be for any reason including deconstruction, coping, genuine identity, etc. Folks of any gender are welcome to use this flag!

Icon source

Read more about the Manic Pixie trope here

[quokkafoxtrot]

This is so fkn cute it makes you forget you’re doing a quicktime event to eat food.

[writerownstory]

Charlie visiting the beach where they filmed this band is back 🥺🤧 wish I could clown and pretend that meant something for season 2

[dansconcepts]

A Perfect Storm (HoO Drabble)

I love Percy and Annabeth, but something about Percy and Jason piqued my interest (aka I got sucked into reading fics of them and turned out to ship it and only even considered it bc of their dynamic in the books). This is for that.

It is raining. A small plop hits his glasses and he looks up. He feels a surge strengthening his grin as he urges the air to pick up ever so slightly, so the gray clouds can fully cover the expanse of the sky at Camp Half-Blood. It strains him a little, but it’s not like the adrenaline-filled provocation spurred from being chased. Just like then, the burden isn’t his alone. Blue eyes make their way to black hair, whose voice bubbles out mirth. They stretch their arms out toward the clouds. His tongue is outstretched and droplets of water stain his tongue and dampen his hair. It could be washed away, both of them knew, but neither had a reason to, because having the water drop around them was exactly what they needed.

︶⊹︶︶⛈︶︶⊹︶

Jason eyed down his opponent- a friend, of course, but was then his opponent- and witnessed the rolling and stretching of lean muscles before they sprawled themselves like a starfish on the ground, sword clanking on the ground next to him. There was a telltale smirk on his face and Jason couldn’t help but call out, “Does that mean I win? I’m still stand-” 

He hit the ground with a resounding thump. His laugh came easily.

“Perce.” He groaned, and yet he couldn’t seem to stop smiling. 

“What?” Percy grinned back and Jason wanted to wipe it off his face. “Since we’re both on the ground, guess there’s really no official winner, huh?”  

“I was the one who knocked you down first!”

“If you’ll remember correctly, I wanted to be on the ground, not because I was tired. And now I have you here to chill with me.” 

Internally, Jason knew that both just started in their fight and neither were tired or even really got going. He knew Percy only challenged him to a fight because it seemed to be the only way they could see each other lately. Amidst having to take care of other campers, fun yet threatening camp activities, and enjoying the downtime that was not dealing with a quest (for once), they settled into their respective friend groups with the only thing bringing them together was the need to exercise their strength.

It satiated him, somewhat, this dance of swords between them, but something in him urged for more during their fights. 

He remembered the sheer power it took him and Percy to create an amazing storm. The air and the water convulged to work together under their pure strength. Even though it was tiring and exhausting afterwards, the thrill of it was something he felt hammered through him in times where he wished he could go all out again.

“Do you think-” He turned to Percy, who he realized was already facing him, and he wondered if those sea green eyes were staring at him the whole time. He felt himself gulp at the thought. “-we could try something?”

Percy blinked. He seemed to study his face, before his lips pulled upward at finding whatever it was looking for. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we could try using our powers together again. There was something about that time, going all out, that I want to go back to when we aren’t fighting for our lives. I think it’d be fun.”

There’s a moment of silence. Percy’s face seemed to tinge darker, as if getting sunburnt (which was impossible), and his hand seemed to unconsciously reach for rubbing his neck. “Oh.”

Jason raised an eyebrow at this very odd response. The only reason Percy would act like this was because he was embarrassed. He smirked. “What did you think I was going to say?”

“I don’t know.” Percy immediately spat out.

“Your idea seems really cool. It’d be awesome to combine our powers again.” 

Percy got up suddenly, and looked down at Jason earnestly. “Dude, I need this. We gotta make this happen.”

Jason couldn’t help feeling pleased about his behaviour. The moment they agreed on something always felt monumental to him.

He took the other boy’s outstretched hand. “Great. Let’s make a storm.” 

[missygoesmeow]

full sketch of this - i have so many wips lmao

this a scene from this fic.

[mandaloriandragontrainer]

All right whoever edited the Shipping Wiki, I just wanna talk….

[pepperf]

Most important question: what do we think Diego named his van?

ETA: GODDAMMIT apparently the name has already been confirmed in an article I didn’t read in case of spoilers! See I told you it was the most important question!