#THESE WERE DRAWN WITH A COMPUTER MOUSE

[puddii-ng]

oh ggoodness…. honey i shrunk the shumikas….

[twistedchristianscience]

bunch of name tags I added as little illustrations to my Mortuary AU fic, Angry Mulch :9

YES I just realized I fucked up on wolfwoods name tag its fine. it works with his character anyway don't worry about it

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: You've been the Twins' handler for years now, and when Tangerine blows up at you one evening after a mission, he apologizes in an unconventional way.

Epilogue

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: implied fuck boy!Tangerine, bitchy!Tangerine in the beginning, reader is named Peach, unprotected sex, passionate sex, not much foreplay (they're desperate lmao), swearing, insecurities, praise kink, degradation, emotional, Tangerine is all over the place and bad with his feelings!

~ i'm so sorry i feel like this took forever <3 enjoy! @j23r23 ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

"He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not," you smile, your nails drumming on the desk as you pick at the petals of the roses in the jar near your computer. "Ah ha, he loves me. Knew you were so full of shit," you hum happily. 

"Piss off," Tangerine loudly grunts in your ear and you tilt your head, scrunching your nose. You've told him not to yell like that—you've warned him that the earpiece is sensitive and you'll lose your hearing if he continues like this—but he never listens.

Being the Twins handler for almost four years now you've learned how to deal with their quirks.

Lemon, as ruthless as he is, is too trusting. He's also loyal to a fault and he'd die for Tangerine in seconds; something you've had to account for in your missions so it doesn't happen. 

Tangerine on the other hand? Recklessness under the guise of control. He'd burn the entire world down for Lemon without hesitation, his temper as bright as the flames of a wildfire.

Unexplainably however, you were drawn to him the most.

While he pushes your buttons like no one else, you also tend to push him in ways that leave him wanting—no needing—more.

"Tan," you warn again, "don't talk so loudly, they'll hear you!"

"Stop your yapping in my ear then, luv," Tangerine snaps, his comment snarky and you hear a loud humph as it sounds like someone crashes into something.

Tangerine sounds out of breath and you use your mouse to click on the map on your computer. You zoom in and ask, "Where's Lem? You aren't supposed to meet any security for a while—"

"He's busy, darlin'. And your little shortcut turned out to be not so short after all," Tangerine says and you hear a loud grunt. It's obvious he's in the middle of a fight.

Your blood runs cold as you chew on your lip. Your hands quickly dance over the keyboard as you try and find another way for them—an easier way—

"Hey, Peach, will ya stop breathing so damn loudly, it's distracting me," Tangerine's voice interrupts your worry and you hold your breath when you hear a loud thwap and then a grunt—immediately accompanied by cursing and more hoarse shouts. 

"Tangerine!" his name spills from your lips as you hear louder blows. "Tan?" you whisper when the line disconnects and a low buzz is heard in your ear. You fumble to discard the earpiece onto the desk in front of you and then you focus on finding Lemon. 

If anyone can help Tangerine, it's Lemon.

With a frown, you activate the tracker you'd promised not to slip into Lemon's jacket, and a little red light blinks on your computer screen. He's not far from where Tangerine is. You lean over and connect to the microphone on your computer.

"Lemon?!" 

You hear a crack and then the shuffling of clothes against the microphone in the tracker. "Peach?" Lemon grunts, "Ya cheeky lil' bird, I told ya not to track me," he lets out a breathy laugh, and another smack is heard, "Fuck me, these fuckers just don't die easily!" 

"Lem? Where's Tan?" you ask, seeing that the tracker Tangerine wears voluntarily on his suit hasn't moved in a while. "Is he okay? I think the earpiece broke."

Something must have happened to his tracker too if it's malfunctioning.

"Yeah, which is why I say I should wear it—but he's bossy and he's your favorite," Lemon says. 

"I don't have favorites!" you insist, your cheeks burning.

"Sure, whatever," Lemon chuckles and then adds, "Ah, speaking of the devil—I can see 'im now. Damn, he's beat up ain't he. Bullocks. Y'know your little plan was shit, Peach, security swarmed us almost immediately!"  

You pinch your eyes and guilt settles in your stomach. "I know, I know, I'm sorry,"

You hear Tangerine's voice distantly as he grumbles, "Fuckin' arsehole broke my earpiece when he punched me—I lost contact with Peach," he complains and you hear shuffling. Your stomach fills with unwanted butterflies at the sound of his voice and how your codename rolls off his tongue. 

"She can hear ya," Lemon says, his smirk evident in his tone, "Say hello, Peach."

"She tracked ya?" 

"Yeah, and bugged me too apparently."

 "What the fuck, my tracker doesn't do that," Tangerine says and you hear an infliction in his voice. 

"Yeah, cauz you always have the earpiece."

"Because she likes me better,"

"That's what I said!!" 

"Oi, you wankers, I can still hear you," you interrupt, "Will you just come back to the van now? The mission's a bust," you finish. While they continue to bicker for a moment, Lemon finally shuts down the tracker—by breaking it you assume—idiot—and it isn't until the van door slams open that you hear and see them again. 

"Oi, now you're takin' the piss," Tangerine exclaims, glaring at his brother as he runs a hand through his mussed hair. He enters the van and you stand. Your eyes scan over his appearance; his suit is torn and bloodied and he has a gaping cut on his forehead. His ear is also bleeding from when you assume the broken earpiece had shattered. 

"Christ," you whisper and walk over to him. Lemon smirks as he walks by the both of you and collapses onto the second chair near your desk. He's less beat up than Tangerine—who'd taken on more men you assume—but you remind yourself to check on him later anyway.

Tangerine senses you come up to him and he tenses when you hold his cheeks in your hands and check his wounds. "Tan, this looks bad," you say. 

"Peach, I'm fine," he grumbles and turns his head away. He sounds grumpier than usual.

"Look, I'm sorry—I'm sorry I messed up, I—"

Suddenly, Tangerine explodes. His hand comes up around his ears as he scrunches up his nose. "Will ya just stop talkin' for one fuckin' second?!" he yells and even Lemon, who had been a silent bystander to the conversation, looks up from where he's bandaging his hand. 

Your eyes widen and you blink at Tangerine. "W-what?"

He presses his index on his temple and narrows his eyes at you. "I have a fuckin' headache 'cause of you and you talkin' my fuckin' ear off all the damn time! And now I can barely hear because it's ringing so fuckin' hard!" he points to the blood inside his ear. 

You flinch at his tone and try to control the tears threatening to spill as he harshly berates you. 

"Right," is all you say, "sorry," your voice sounds small and you push by him and out to the front of the van to start the engine. 

* * * 

When you arrive outside their house—well, your house too since you've been living with them for the past three months—you don't talk to Tangerine. You don't even look at him.

Instead, without a word, you walk up to your room, tears still brimming, and slam the door behind you. 

Your stomach hurts and your nails dig into your palms as you run a shower. You desperately want to wash away any memory of what happened tonight. 

It isn't uncommon for you and Tangerine to fight—but he's never shouted like that and never in response to your worry.

Once you finish with your shower and walk out of the bathroom, just a towel wrapped around your body, you jump when you see Tangerine standing in the middle of your room.

He'd clearly freshened up too but, unlike yours, his hair is freshly dried. You aren't surprised—you know he hates sleeping with it when it's wet. 

He's wearing a casual pair of beige slacks and a white T-shirt. The fabric strains against the muscles in his arms as he crosses them across his chest and you look up, feeling a burn in your cheeks.

Tangerine's ear has been bandaged and his cuts and bruises look kindly tended to. Lemon, you assume, he's always been soft on his brother even when he's acting like a jerk. 

Tangerine is staring at you intensely, his blue eyes shining a shade darker than usual. 

"Shit, stop being creepy," you grumble, holding your towel tightly around yourself. "Have you come to say you're sorry for acting like a prick or just stare a hole into my head?"

Tangerine's eyes narrow and he shakes his head. He stalks closer to you, pink lips parted and his hands find your hair near your nape. He pulls you in, seemingly unbothered by the squeal you make or how you're unable to move your hands to push him away. 

Not that you'd want to push him away anyway.

"The fuck you think you're doing?" you hiss, staring at him, "have you gone mad?"

Tangerine just continues to stare into your soul. "You're so damn annoying," he mutters.  

"I'll scream and Lemon will come and beat the shit out of you," you threaten, challenging him. You know Lemon would never do such a thing and you'd be a fool to scream. 

"But, fuck me, I like you so damn much," he finishes his sentence, and then his lips find yours. His hand tightens in your hair as he kisses you. There's no tenderness in his kiss, no hesitation or remorse, just pure passion as he wraps his arms around you and holds your back as he pulls your chest to his. 

You clutch the towel, making sure it feels secure, and kiss him back. You make a small sound behind his lips but you can't deny the heat in the kiss or how badly your stomach tightens just right. The steam coming from your bathroom is taunting as it surrounds you; sticky and warm. 

"Tan," you mumble as his hand comes around your jaw and he turns your head to kiss your neck. 

"Shut up," he growls, "you talk too damn much." He squeezes his eyes shut and the words fall easily from his lips as they press to your skin.

"God, you don't understand how hard it is for me; hearing your sweet voice in my ear while I'm trying not to get fuckin' stabbed or shot to death! You don't know what you do to me, darlin'. You have no fuckin' clue. It's fuckin' torture," he says as his hand tightens in your hair and you whimper.

"Tan, m-my towel," you tell him, struggling to hold it up as his body presses against yours.

This makes Tangerine snap out of whatever trance he's in for a moment and he looks down at you. His eyes have softened just a little and his tone is sultry when he asks, "Let it fall. I don't care. Do you?" His lips quirk up. "I've dreamt of you naked a thousand times, luv."

Your eyes round at the intensity of his words. You want to tell him to fuck off—that you've never thought of him like this. Never imagined his lips on yours or the way he'd feel inside you. But then you'd be a liar, and you aren't a liar. 

Instead, you drop the towel, your eyes still intensely locked onto his. The cold air sends a shiver up your spine and Tangerine's hands find the skin on your back instead of the towel. His eyes haven't left yours and he looks surprised that you'd done it. He hasn't looked down and his cheeks have turned a dusty pink. 

"What?" you move your hands up to his cheeks and hold them, "you said you'd dreamt of this. Well?" With as much confidence as you can muster, tilt his head to your naked body. You can feel your hands tremble against his cheeks, all kinds of insecurities and uncertainties bubbling inside you and just as you're going to pull away from sheer embarrassment, Tangerine speaks; 

"Fuckin' hell, you look so much better than in my imagination," his hands slide up the curves of your hips and breasts. His touch is surprisingly gentle for how passionate he'd been in the beginning.

You watch as his eyes roam around your body and he runs a hand over his jaw, staring at you with pure admiration. "You belong in a fuckin' museum," he whispers behind his hand. 

"Alright, lover boy," you roll your eyes and shift to move away but his hands find your hips and he hoists you up into his arms. You gasp, your arms finding his shoulders and your legs cling to his waist as your wet hair sprinkles water over his face. It's a weird position to be in considering you're naked.

"Tangerine!" you cry as he carries you over to your bed and you squeal when he drops you and hovers over you. 

"Let me worship you, darlin'," he whispers as his knee slides in between your legs and he kisses your lips again. He disconnects them and looks at you seriously, "Please," he pleads and your eyes widen.

Tangerine never says please.

You find yourself nodding, too lost in the haze of it all to hear the small voice in your head screaming how stupid this is.

He'll throw you away after. He doesn't care. He'll hurt you. He'll break your heart! 

You kiss him again, his lips moving against yours rhythmically. You're so lost in pleasure that when he sits up on his heels to strip his shirt, you whine and grasp at his arms. "Shhh, I'm here, dove," he chuckles, enjoying the power he has over you. When he leans over you to kiss you again, this time your hands find his abs and you can't help but explore them. 

"You countin' them, luv?" he chuckles after a moment and his lips find your nipples as he squeezes one of your breasts in his hands. You make an embarrassed sound that quickly turns into a moan when he positions your hips just right so the fabric of his slacks hits your clit. 

"I know, I know," Tangerine teases as he senses how needy you're becoming. "Shit, you're just a little slut, aren't ya, luv? Knew you'd wear those dresses to tempt me—didn't ya?"

You nod. You had. You didn't think it worked—he always played it so cool.

"You should know I would wank one out after seeing you—your thighs so visible and," he pauses and uses his hands to spread you open until he sees what he wants, "and that pretty pussy. So fuckin' pretty—

—you let me have a peek sometimes didn't you, naughty girl? Knew you did it on purpose," Tangerine says. He sounds satisfied with himself that he'd found you out and his grin widens when you nod. 

"Just for you," you whisper, looking up at him with hooded eyes. "Please, Tan," you whine, you're already so wet for him. 

"What do you want, hm? Tell me," he smirks and dips his head down to kiss your neck as his hands wander around your skin. He sits back up and removes his slacks and boxers. Your eyes downturn on his cock and you bite your lip. God, is he really this beautiful everywhere? How fucking unfair. 

Tangerine's hand comes up to your chin, "Where do you want me?" 

You look into his eyes, unsure how to ask him for what you want. Tangerine smiles, his thumb touching your lip. He's gentle, his eyes softer now, "Peach," he leans in and kisses just behind your ear. You shiver. "It's okay. Tell me where you want me," he smiles against your skin. 

"Inside me," you say, your voice small

Tangerine hums and tucks some of your hair behind your ear, "Where inside you, luv? I want to hear you say it for me."

You feel your cheeks warm and you stare up at him. "In my pussy," you say and Tangerine's eyes light up and he smirks.

"My pleasure," he says and shifts his hips until you feel his cock press against your pussy. He feels you tense as your hands tighten around his shoulder.

"Hey, it's just me," he says, pushing in slower now. He looks concerned as one of his hands finds your hair and pushes the strands away from your eyes.

Yeah, that's the issue, you want to tell him but you just nod, squeezing your eyes shut. 

"Look at me," he says as he pushes inside you fully. You gasp, arching into him and your breathing becomes harsh. He's so thick and long. Tangerine doesn't move and you let out a whine, your eyelids fluttering. "I said, look at me. I won't move until you look at me, darlin'," he whispers sternly. 

When you finally look at him he smiles, "Do you trust me? I'm not gonna hurt you—promise." 

You nod, biting your lip. Of course, you trust him. "I trust you," you answer breathlessly. 

"Good girl," Tangerine praises and kisses your forehead. He starts to move his hips, pulling in and out of you with torturous strokes. He feels so good.

As he fucks you, he leans his forehead on yours, occasionally whispering praises into your ear as he tells you how pretty you look with him buried inside you. 

"So fuckin' pretty with my cock inside your pussy, hmm," he grunts, continuing the pounding of his hips. "You close, luv? Already?" He teases you with a smirk and kisses your lips. You let out small moans, skin warm and sticky as you nod. 

"Good," he smiles and uses his thumb to rub your clit, adding pressure as he fucks into you. "So good for me. All for me, hmm?" 

"Y-yes," you groan, squeezing your eyes shut. 

"Open your eyes, Peach," he demands and you do so instantly. "I want to look into your eyes when you come apart around me."

With that, the tension breaks inside you. Your body feels weak from the pleasure and your chest rises and falls rapidly once your high finishes. You let yourself relax into the mattress for a moment, ignoring the sudden stream of thoughts—good and bad—that race into your mind. Tangerine's lips touch your forehead again and then he pulls out, finishing on your stomach with a grunt. 

You blink, feeling the bed dip and then his warmth disappears. You panic a little but you're too weak to move. If he wants to leave, let him, you convince yourself as you stare at the ceiling. However, when you feel something cold and wet across your stomach, you flinch and scramble to sit up. 

Your eyes are wide and Tangerine pauses, removing the washcloth from your skin. He frowns a little, "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks softly. You stare at him. He's still shirtless but he's pulled up his trousers.

"You aren't leaving?" you ask, looking around the room and you suddenly feel very bare. 

Tangerine's frown deepens but he doesn't speak for a moment as he washes away his cum from your skin and, after discarding the washcloth, he reaches behind him to hand you his shirt. You accept it without thinking and put it on, wrapping your arms around yourself as you continue to stare at him. 

He shifts, sitting beside you with one leg off the bed. He still hasn't answered and you start to feel an impending pit in your stomach. 

"Why would I leave?" he asks calmly, his voice doesn't have a hint of concern in its tone. 

You fiddle nervously with the hem of his shirt, looking down. Your hair, now half-dried, is a mess from the pillows and you push it down and around your ears in an effort to compose yourself in front of him. "Well, I- I just assumed that you would—" 

Tangerine tilts his head. "You think I would fuck and ditch, did ya? Ya think so low of me, Peach?" It feels like he sounds almost amused.

You shake your head but your nerves don't stop. "I mean, what do you expect me to think, Tangerine?" you look into his eyes and continue, "You come in here, all pissed at me—you yelled at me earlier and made me feel all shitty about myself—and then out of nowhere you kiss me and then we—"

"Fuck." Tangerine finishes bluntly. 

You narrow your eyes at him. "Yeah, that," you let out a breath, "So, please, tell me. What am I supposed to think? What do you want from me now? Because I can't be one of your fuck toys, Tan. I refuse to be that girl. I- I care about you—" you feel your emotions get caught in your throat and you feel your eyes sting. Furiously, you wipe your eyes with your hands, refusing to cry in front of him. 

Tangerine hasn't said a word. He's looking at you but you can't read his expression. You hate it. You shut your eyes, ready to call it quits, and tell him to leave, but then you feel the bed dip again and you feel his hands cup your cheeks. Your eyes snap open.

"Don't cry," he whispers, his thumb sliding under your eyes and catching your tears, "Please, don't cry because of a stupid bastard like me," he cracks a smile, hoping you'll smile too but when you don't and he sighs, "Okay, I was a dick, a real fuckin' dick, and you didn't deserve any of that. I'm sorry." 

You nod, still listening to him, "You really were a dick," you whisper. 

Tangerine chuckles and nods too. "Yeah. I was," he pauses and moves his thumb across your cheeks as if admiring you some more, "Do ya really believe I'd fuck ya for this to be a one-time thing, luv? That I'd just throw ya away after?"

Your cheeks feel warm. "I- I don't know," 

"You do know. You think I would do that to ya," Tangerine says, his voice low. 

"I mean—that's what you do don't you? I've known you for years, Tan. All those girls—"

Tangerine suddenly laughs and his hands drop from your face. "Peach, you aren't those girls," he says, suddenly serious, "I wasn't just making it up when I said how hard it is for me to listen to you in my ear all the time. Not because you're annoying—which sometimes you are but that's beside the point—but because I haven't been able to stop thinking about you for years. You're all I goddamn think about. Do you understand how hard that is for me?"

You just frown, shaking your head a little. "No. This doesn't make sense. Why now—why not yesterday? Or months ago? Or years ago?"

 Tangerine runs a hand in his hair and lets out a breath. "Because I didn't want to but I snapped, I snapped, okay? I'm not fuckin' proud of it. I yelled at you and I felt so bad after I didn't know what to do with myself anymore—

—you're always there for Lem and me, and I realized, after that fuckin' earpiece broke, that I hated not having your pretty voice in my ear anymore. It felt like I'd lost you—do you have any idea how scared that made me feel, even when I knew it was irrational and that you were completely safe?" His words come out jumbled and strained. "I fuckin' hated it, I hated feeling like that so I snapped," he finishes. 

You stare at him, his words hitting you hard. You've never seen him like this and it scares you, but it also turns you on some more. Why does he have to be so fucking hot? "And I'm sorry. I am. I would never throw you away. I don't want to throw you away after this—especially after fucking you—that's the last thing I would want! I– I-" 

You stare at him some more, your eyes wide, "You what—?"

Tangerine pauses, "I love you," he says, articulating every word so you hear him clearly. 

"You love me?"

"Yes."

"As in love love?"

"Fuckin' hell Peach, ya want me to scream it at ya or somethin'? I'm in love with ya. I love ya more than anythin' I fuckin' have. You're my everything. I love you so damn much."

All your anger, doubt, and shame instantly vanished into thin air. He loves you. All this time he'd loved and he was just shit at expressing his emotions? You laugh, covering your mouth with your hand as happiness overwhelms you. 

"Are ya laughing at me?" Tangerine's voice cuts in the air and you focus on him. He looks surprised and hurt. 

Your smile falters and you shake your head. There is so much you want to tell him that you're at a loss for words. He looks so pretty like this, sitting in front of you, and your hands find his cheek instead of using words.

Your fingers skim the bandage that's still wrapped around his ear and you want to ask him if it still hurts. You want to ask him so many things. He's staring at you, chest heaving, and you don't think as you kiss him. 

It's softer than the previous passionate kiss you'd shared. Only, Tangerine reacts with as much eagerness as earlier. His hands find your back and he presses you against him, your lips sliding against yours. It's intense and lovely all in the same. 

"I love you too," you say quietly between kisses. 

"Say it louder," Tangerine suddenly hums, his eyes shut in pleasure. You think he needs you to talk louder because one of his ears is bandaged and hurt.

So, you do as he asks and it earns you another kiss, however when Tangerine mutters, "I wanna hear ya say it again," you know he heard you fine. His voice is so love sick you just grin and wrap your arms around him, your hands bunching in his curls.

"I love you, Tangerine," you say breathlessly, "I love you."

"You have no idea how happy ya just made ma, luv," he responds instantly, running his hand over your cheek as he looks into your eyes. "God, I'd die for ya," he mutters and you frown, slapping his arm a little. 

"Don't talk about you dying, you git," you reprimand, and Tangerine smirks. 

He kisses your neck and with a teasing tone he reassures you, "Ya have nothin' to worry about, luv. I'd much rather live for you. You have all of my heart, darlin'. It's all yours," he guides your hand to press your palm against his chest and you feel how quickly his heart is beating.

"This beats for you."

You smile and kiss his lips once more as you bring his other hand to your chest too. "And I'm yours," you whisper. "Only yours."

And until then, you'd never seen Tangerine's grin widen as widely as it did when you said those words. 

[madaqueue]

TEAR MY FLESH, HOLD MY HAND, FEEL MY WARMTH

the weight that lies in a pinky promise

pairing: suguru geto x gn!reader

themes/content: curse/canon au. fluff, angst. mentions of fights/difficult childhood. (wk: 3.2k)

a/n: this was originally gonna be for flufftober but it got a lil angsty teehee so here we are :) also the mouse on my computer stopped working so i did all this formatting on my phone bc i'm that dedicated to serving you guys this fic

Suguru was a soft child. Chubby hands, round cheeks, gentle steps.

He was sweet in all the ways a child ought to be, at least according to your parents - sweet in all the ways you weren’t.

You, on the other hand, were loud, jarring, unreserved. “A handful,” you were always described as by those who attempted to care for you. Perhaps that’s why they allowed you such a great extent of freedom, tugging against the length of a leash they tried to place around you, but they’d need stronger chains to tie you down.

And yet, you and Suguru found your similarities - you were both unencumbered by expectations. I am who I am. In spite of everyone, in spite of the ways they tried to dig their tight hands around you and force you into something you weren’t. You are who you are.

The first time you met him, all you saw were tiny feet kicking the air, unable to reach the ground from where he perched upon the park bench. He was the only one not screaming, something you appreciated, something novel. Your life had held such chaos, constant arguments, slamming doors. The peace that wrapped around his small frame seemed to exude a comfort you craved, even if it couldn’t be articulated by your six-year-old mind, you were drawn to it. To him.

“Hi,” you chirped, lifting yourself next to him.

“Hi.”

When you grinned widely at him, he returned a thin-lipped smile, as though he had been trained by wild dogs who took eagerness as a threat, who wouldn’t dare snarl unless as a warning.

(He noticed your absence of fear immediately - how could you approach him so easily? Had you not been taught to be wary?)

(You had been taught. “Avoid strangers, they’ll hurt you.” But you would never choose the harm of the monsters you knew. Better to take your chances in the wild.)

Averting your gaze, your dirtied fingernails began absentmindedly picking at the green paint coating the wood beneath your legs. Your eyes landed on his knees, scuffed and bloody.

“Did that hurt?”

Without looking at you, he shakes his head. “No, I’m just clumsy. I fell off my bike.”

“That’s okay,” you hum, “I get bruises all the time. You must be pretty tough if it didn’t hurt.”

And this time, he giggles, crooked teeth poking through. “Anyone can get hurt, it doesn’t make me tough.”

Leaves rustle overhead as you let out a thoughtful sigh, allowing the sounds of the breeze to fill the silence. It’s comfortable, you realize, no tension hanging in the air like there always seems to be at home, no threat looming around the other side of the kitchen counter.

You tug with all the strength your muscles can muster at a large strip of paint. With a final pull, your palm catches along the fraying wood, splinters digging under your flesh as you let out a choked cry.

Immediately, the boy’s small hands wrap around your wrist, pulling it to his face. Worried eyes inspect the wound. “Are you okay?” he asks without looking up.

A small whimper falls from your throat, lower lip trembling as you hold back tears. “Y-yeah,” your voice wobbles.

You’re lying. He knows you’re lying - you aren’t particularly hard to read, he grows to learn, somehow always wearing your heart on your sleeve. It’s a trait he admires (perhaps because he’s never quite able to place his there so visibly).

When he frowns, you almost giggle at the sight - no child should frown like that. It’s endearing, the way his eyebrows furrow, mouth tugged downward.

“Can I make it better?”

It takes very little to make you trust him, but you believe he wouldn’t hurt you. Just as animals seem able to sense intent, an implicit knowledge that the human freeing them from a cage won’t inflict additional pain, you know that his stubby fingers won’t dig at your flesh and make you bleed.

So, you nod.

Determined eyes turn from your visibly pained face to your aching palm. Slowly, he removes the shards of wood from your skin. When you wince, he pauses immediately, waiting for your shoulders to relax before he continues. By the time he’s finished, your bottom lip is red from biting into it but the pain isn’t even noticeable, not when every nerve in your body seems focused on the warmth coming from his fingertips still lingering on your wrist.

“There,” he breathes through the softest smile, “all done.”

“Thanks,” and you can’t help but grin back.

“And see!” He’s beaming now. “You were very tough!”

Your laugh is brighter than the sun, more calming than the birds chirping overhead, a sound he can’t help but mirror. His desire to cheer you up, to comfort you through it all, makes your cheeks warm.

“I’m Suguru, by the way.”

He opens up easily to you, an honor you don’t quite understand yet. When you introduce yourself, he repeats your name back slowly, the vowels sweet like the flowers blooming nearby. It sounds good in his voice.

A whistle cuts through the humidity, immediately drawing Suguru’s attention.

“I gotta go,” his face draws into that adorable pout again.

“Oh.” Dropping your attention, it falls to your freshly healed hands resting in your lap. “Can you do me a favor?”

Expectant eyes meet yours.

“Promise me I’ll see you again?”

This time, he smiles so wide his cheeks push up into his eyes, crinkling at the corners. Holding out a hand, he gently grasps yours as he intertwines your fingers.

“Pinky promise,” he grins, linking them together with a shake.

Through a giggle, you mimic, “pinky promise.”

He shuffles off the bench, clumsy feet landing on the ground before he hobbles off to the waiting arms of a parent who seems to love him. Your heart aches for a moment before it stills - you’re happy he has someone to take care of him, to pull the splinters from his hands and clean off the scrapes on his knees.

It’s a miracle when you both get placed at Jujutsu Tech. It takes very little for you to abandon the place you called home, having jumped at the first chance to leave your childhood behind, but having Suguru there makes it even easier when you get approached by a strange man with dark hair and glasses who touts himself as the principal of some elusive school a few hours away. They’ll pay for your housing, your food, anything you need to survive for the next four years so long as you agree to train and work for them. It was an easy yes - you would have done more for less.

And of course, there was your so-called “power.” The two of you had danced around the subject for years, hesitantly testing each other’s experiences to not unload worry onto the other. That was the thing about Suguru - he was always looking out for you, and you, him. He never needed to ask if you were thirsty, he’d just bring you tea; you never had to ask if he was lonely, you’d just find him sitting alone on the same park bench.

It was Suguru who finally broke on his thirteenth birthday while the two of you made your way through town, snowflakes hanging in the air.

“Do you ever…see things?” he asked, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket in a futile search for warmth.

From the corner of your vision, you caught the faintest glimmer of fear in his eyes. And you understood immediately.

“Yes.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed, hot breath puffing into the air. “Thank god,” he murmured.

Again, it wasn’t a surprise, per se - the two of you had shared everything. It only seemed natural that you would share this ability to see curses, the monsters hiding in the shadows.

“Do they ever…scare you?” Your voice felt small as you asked - you hadn’t yet reached relief, or at the very least, neutrality towards these things.

And he sees it in you, too - the dread he felt when he first saw them, the pang of terror that shoots up his spine when he catches one moving in the dark. He’s grown more accustomed to their presence, but there’s still that thread of fear lingering, choking him when he gets tangled in it.

“Yes.”

Cold fingers lace through yours, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

“But I’ll always keep you safe,” he smiles that sweet, soft smile, “pinky promise.”

The training wasn’t easy. You hadn’t expected it to be, obviously, but fuck was it hard.

Suguru excelled initially, as he did with everything. The others in your small class also show great potential, Satoru in particular, but Shoko’s abilities develop in her own way, too.

It’s nice to finally feel like you have a place where you belong, to have people to return to, people who care about you, who love you. It’s nice to be here, even if it pushes you to your limits everyday, because you know you’ll always have someone to come home to - to know you’ll always have Suguru to come home to.

It hits you on a sunny day in October when you’re watching him spar with Satoru. Fists fly, a mix of black and white flashing across the grass. When Gojo lands a particularly well-timed punch, Suguru’s body lands with a thud in the dirt.

You’re on your feet in less than a second, shoving Satoru out of the way as you stand over the dazed boy on the ground. He looks beautiful like this, you think - his hair splayed out around him, blood trickling from his nose, lips tugged into an awestruck smirk - before you shake the thought aside.

“Are you okay?”

Panicked hands run over his torso, checking for injuries before they land on his face. Cupping his jaw, he can’t help but breathe a laugh at the worry painted across your features. His palms come to rest along your wrists, dark eyes meeting yours.

“I’m okay,” he sighs. Now that you’re here. “I’m tough, remember?”

Every muscle in your body releases tension just at hearing his voice, his calming aura once again blanketing you, bringing you under the warmth of his peace.

With a playful punch to his shoulder, he feigns a dramatic wince. “Just don’t get hurt again, okay?”

He knows it’s impossible - it’s the nature of the job, of the responsibilities he holds. He will be hit and bruised and battered and brought to the brink of death again and again, but right now, that’s not what you need to hear. Because you know it’s impossible too; and you also know Suguru is strong.

“I pinky promise,” he halfheartedly grins. He promises to at least try. For you.

Wrapping your finger around his, you let the heat of your bodies fill the air, vibrating in tune with the cicadas lining the trees. His hand is soft in yours. It feels like coming home - the familiar walk up the steps, the paint on the front door cracking from where palms had rubbed against it time and time again as the handle turned. The wooden floors are worn in with the path you take through each other’s lives, from the kitchen to the living room to the windows, gazing over the backyard.

Suguru had a swingset, you remember. You figured out how to use it the first time you ever sat on the sun-worn rubber, going higher and higher and higher until the toes of your shoes scraped the sky. But Suguru always struggled - he couldn’t quite move his body in the right way to grant him flight. He would get frustrated with it rather easily, until your small hands rested against his back. With a firm push, you set him free into the air, his feet kicking perfectly with all the momentum a child’s body could hold.

Maybe gravity was discovered by children on the playground. There had to be a reason they couldn’t swing forever; there had to be a reason they couldn’t reach the sun.

The problem is, though, that a star’s heat dissipates with distance. It can’t always warm you, not when your feet land back on the ground.

Over the next year, Satoru began going on more missions alone, and Shoko stayed behind to hone her healing, leaving you and Suguru in the purgatory between power and nothingness. And most days, you feel closer to nothing.

It’s eating at him, you realize. The missions, the responsibility, the whole fucking thing is taking bites out of his soul with sharpened teeth and leaving nothing behind but a bloodied mess of torn expectations. It makes him smaller and smaller, pulling pieces of him until there’s nothing left.

You can see it in the way his clothes hang loose on his body. His shoulders slump forward, the shadows beneath his eyes growing darker each night he spends with his gaze locked on the ceiling.

The foundation of his soul is crumbling, the front door barricaded closed. The windows are boarded up. You can’t see your childhood anymore. All the grass in the front yard is dead.

You miss when the sun’s rays shone through him.

You miss when he was warm.

Finding him resting on one of the old benches in the school’s courtyard, it creaks beneath your weight as you sit, the only sound breaking the stagnant silence of the summer air. That’s another thing you’ve noticed - sometimes, Suguru is so quiet you aren’t even sure he exists. If you weren’t here watching his chest rise and fall, could you even prove he was breathing?

He says nothing when you rest your head on his shoulder, not that he needs to, of course. He hasn’t said much lately, mostly responding to everyone else’s overflowing conversations with empty smiles and sad eyes.

You aren’t sure how much longer you can take it.

“Suguru?”

His body doesn’t even shift in response to hearing his name, but you feel his eyes on you even though you can’t see them, your gaze instead focused on your hands resting in his lap. Picking at the skin along your nails, you continue.

“Are you okay?”

He’s grateful you can’t hear the way his heartbeat stutters (because then you’d already have the answer to your question).

“Mhm,” he hums, his lips never parting. You miss the way they used to curl into that childlike grin, it’s been so long since you’ve seen it.

You know he’s lying, but unfortunately, you want to believe him. You want to believe him so badly it feels like you’re trapped underground, buried under your love for him, banging on the floorboards overhead, but there’s no one around to hear. There’s dirt in your lungs and you can’t breathe. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

Silently, you hold your hand in front of him, pinky raised in a question.

Would you promise?

On instinct, his own hand lifts from his side. It hovers just inches from yours, but he hesitates. The gap between them grows farther with each second they don’t intertwine, stars pushing one another apart, unable to collide. The steadiness in him wavers for a moment as you watch his fingers shake.

He can’t.

When he collapses into you, everything falls apart. Arms wrap around your frame, hands grabbing fistfuls of your uniform. He clings to you like a lifeline, the only thing keeping him from drowning. Because as a child, no one ever taught him how to swim - maybe they didn’t see the point in learning such a useless skill, or maybe they thought they were protecting him. But now, he’s been thrown into relentless waves of grief and with each breath more briney water fills his chest and he’s gasping and scared and he doesn’t know what to do except hold you. The tears falling from his eyes taste like the sea and they burn his throat, but at least for a moment his legs can stop kicking. For a moment, he has someone who can keep him afloat.

Your palms rub slow circles into his back as he cries. The sound is sharp and painful, carving into the still-beating flesh of your heart, but at least it exists. At least he’s here. At least he’s alive.

Placing your lips to the top of his head, you let them rest there as his body shakes.

“It’ll be okay, I’ve got you,” you whisper into his skin, surrounded by small strands of hair pulled loose and warm from the sun. “I promise.”

As things tend to do, they eventually get easier.

You and Suguru talk to the higher ups about changing his schedule, only going on missions with at least one other sorcerer so he’s not doing all the work by himself. They bargain and ultimately even agree to grant him dedicated days off to rest. And finally, you feel as though you’ve been granted your miracle, the scales of fate begrudgingly tipping in your favor.

(If all your pain meant that Suguru’s would be lessened for even a moment you would do it over again a million times. If all your suffering meant that Suguru wouldn’t have to endure it for a second longer, you would suffer for eternity.)

Even as fall returns and the sun shines through the sky less and less, things feel brighter. The two of you find yourselves in the school’s cafeteria making tea every night, and he learns he sleeps better with you in his arms.

When the four of you gather around a picnic table outside to recap your recent assignments, you tell some stupid joke, one that makes Satoru groan and Shoko roll her eyes through a smirk, and you hear it: Suguru laughs. And for a moment, the world stops spinning.

You all exchange glances before turning to face him, his cheeks pushed up and pink, eyes closed in bliss. You can’t contain yourselves as you join him, fits of giggles lilting through the crisp air.

That night, he welcomes you into bed with open arms waiting beneath the covers. His lips are curved into a grin as he places a gentle kiss to your forehead, a newer part of your routine, one that makes your entire body vibrate.

Snuggling against him, the warmth of his chest radiates into your skin, each beat of his heart a welcome melody.

“Hey Suguru?” you murmur.

His voice is laced with sleep as he answers into the darkness, “Yeah?”

“You’re really strong, y’know that?”

Letting out an airy chuckle, he rolls his eyes. “I’m nothing compared to Satoru-”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

You can hear the air entering his lungs with each breath. He takes in three before he responds. “I know.”

Long fingers trace circles into the bare skin of your arm.

“Suguru?”

You know what you have to tell him - you’ve been holding it for years, keeping it close to you, carrying its weight through each day until you barely notice it anymore. Maybe it’s the change of the seasons, a different density to the air, but suddenly it has begun to feel heavy in your hands.

“Yeah?”

His hands make their way up your neck until they rest along your cheek, guiding your gaze to him through the dark.

Three breaths in, three breaths out.

“I love you.”

You can’t see him smile, but you feel it. The warmth of his palm leaves your face for a moment until you feel it again along your hand. He intertwines his pinky with yours. “I love you, too.”

[nivisdreaming]

Kinktober Day 4: Thigh Riding - Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

WC: 1k

CW: Dom!Miguel, sub!reader, light degradation, spanking, dry humping, thigh riding, marking, biting, nippleplay, praise, excessive use of petnames

Miguel O’Hara is a busy man. He practically runs the Spider Society on his own for god sake, he’s got a lot on his plate. He wishes it could all be missions and adventure, but a grueling portion of it is paperwork. Boring old paperwork that takes up too much of his time and attention, especially for your liking.

It’s not odd for you to creep into his home office long after dark, attempting to lure him to bed, only to find him hunched over his desk and buried in spreadsheets and reports. That’s exactly where you find him tonight, face lit by his computer screen as he endlessly scrolls through a document.

You sneak up behind him, hands creeping up his shoulders and rubbing gently, working the knots that lie beneath the skin. His eyes flit up to you for only a moment, grumbling a hello without pausing his reading. You frown at his negligence and lean forward to rest your chin atop your head. You clear your throat and mutter, “Are you almost finished here? It’s late.”

Miguel’s lips press into a thin line as he glances up at you. “I’m sorry, mi vida, but I’ve still got a couple of reports to check off my list.” His hand comes up to pat your hair for a second before returning to his computer mouse. You sigh heavily and debate your options. You could be good and go wait for him in your room. Or you could be bad and try to bother him into paying you attention now. One of these options seemed to provide a much more immediate reward, and you were nothing if not impatient.

You started slow, a small peck to his forehead and your arms creeping to wrap around his torso. He gave no response, assuming you were just feeling clingy from the late hour and lack of time together that day. Annoyed with his continued focus on his work, you worked your kisses down to his cheek, and then further down to the sensitive spot directly behind his ear. You nipped and licked, eliciting a shiver from him before he grabbed the wrist of your hand that had begun to wander lower on his waist. “Mi amor, exactly what is it you think you’re doing?” He growled as you kept up your assault, moving to mark up his neck with hickeys.

You pulled back for a moment to speak, “Winning your attention from the dumb paperwork, Miggy.” You shifted in front of him, throwing a leg over his lap and pressing into him in a straddle. You maintain no subtlety in grinding your hips forward, a delicious shock running up your spine as you find him already beginning to strain against his slacks. He groans as you shamelessly dry-hump him, allowing himself a few moments to get lost in the feeling of your warmth before grabbing ahold of your hips.

“You know better than to distract me from work, brat.” He lands a hard slap on your ass, chuckling at the whine it pulls from you. “You need me that badly, baby?” He presses his fingertips in harder, threatening to bruise until you give a pitiful nod and whimper. He wastes no time in shifting you to rest atop his right thigh, the bulky muscle pressing up into your core. You look up at him with confusion, and he gives you another spank. “You need to cum so bad? Then you can do it while you ride my thigh.”

You roll your hips instinctively, and the friction on your clit rips a pathetic moan from you. Miguel turns to continue his work and you give a drawn-out whine, but the feeling of humiliation only encourages your helpless grinding. You burrow your face into the crook of his neck, strings of mewls falling from your lips as he tenses and bounces his thigh underneath you, the only sign that he’s even aware of your desperate behavior.

Your legs begin to tremble as you barely hold on to your pleasure, the layers of fabric frustrating you, and the lack of attention from Miguel becoming more and more infuriating. In a moment of anger, you sink your teeth into his neck, chomping down on his pulse point to force his gaze onto you. It clearly works, as he threads a hand into the back of your hair and wrenches you off his neck to stare into predatory eyes.

“You little bitch. You’re really gonna be so damn impatient tonight?” He growls. His free hand locks on your hip, forcing you to resume your grinding with a newfound vigor as he pushes you into him. The increased pressure causes you to cry out, euphoria starting to coil in your stomach. You squirm in his grasp, yelps of his name forced from you as he moves to pinch at your nipples and eventually lowers his mouth to lathe his tongue over them.

Your eyes roll back into your skull, the band in your lower belly snapping without warning when Miguel gives one last tense of the muscle under you. Fireworks explode in your vision and throughout your body, forcing you forward to lean fully on the man holding you as you twitch and buck.

He soothes up and down your back until you are still, whispering soft praises in your ear while you recover. “Good girl, that’s my good girl. You did well, mi amor, I’m so proud of you,” he mutters. You peel your eyes open to look at him, and he shoots you a soft smile and places a gentle kiss to your lips. “Go back to our room, baby, I’ll be there in just a few minutes and then you can put that show on without anything covering you up, okay?”

[cluelessandsenseless]

Gotham girl

Damian Wayne x shy!reader

Y/N works a crappy job in a crappy Diner in a crappy neighbourhood with a crappy boss, at least the hours are decent. She wants to quit but she wouldn’t survive a week with out a job. She’s trying to get out of the Narrows but she learnt not to dream too big. Stays on her side of the city.

She goes to GCU on scholarship, takes morning classes and study’s at night while she’s at work. Met U was her dream school but she couldn’t afford tuition and accommodation even with a partial scholarship so she lives at home with her parents.

Y/N had a summer internship at Wayne enterprise and met Damian Wayne (who also went to GCU when they met) when she worked in the tech department. She never expected to get such a good internship (maybe at a computer store but Wayne enterprise?!?!). Still she knows it’s best to keep her head down and stays quiet, she doesn’t need to step on anyone’s toes.

Y/N spent two weeks pay on clothes to wear to her internship. She wanted people to take her seriously.

Damian kept his distance at first like with anyone else but there’s something about her maybe it’s that she is not afraid of eye contact despite her shyness or how pretty she is when she smiles in his direction but he knows he’s drawn to you and he doesn’t know if he wants to give in to new feelings or run from them.

She would pass by the top floor of the Wayne building to help executives with their over heating computers even if it is an underestimation of her computer knowledge.

Y/N is so quiet that no one notices her but Damian’s does and his brothers notice the way he looks at her, the little mouse who scatters in and out of rooms. Dick encouraged him to talk to you, so one day he went from giving polite nods to asking Y/N for her number. He was in denial at first but he would never regret asking her out.

Damian Wayne is quite cold and she’s pretty quiet so they get along (as much at two people who never talk can). Damian was used to hiding his feelings but with Y/N he couldn’t stand the distance between them.

Damian was Y/N’s one ally at Wayne enterprise she felt more comfortable in a room with him there since they had become friends. Damian Wayne wasn’t normally nervous but with Y/N he feels a way he never allowed himself, yet he still goes against his better judgement to be near her.

“Y/N hello, how have you been.. since this morning.” He said the last part awkwardly wanting to kick himself for even adding it.

“I’ve been great, thank you Damian. How are you?” She said smiling down at her feet. He thought she was so sweet, why is she so sweet to him?

“Better- good, I mean. It’s been stressful. But it’s better now.” He almost said better becasue he finally got to see her.

She looks up through her lashes right at him. “I understand being here is so much pressure, right? Even if your last name is on the building,”

“well.” He pauses.

“Oh.. Sorry- I didn’t mean it like that.”

Damian’s eyes shift behind her noticing the elevator opening and Tim stepping out. “No, I understand. I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“Goodbye.” She’s mortified, she thought he probably couldn’t wait to get away from her after what she said to him.

She’s so much more out going with him she makes jokes that make him frown in disapproval. They’re very different people but they have mutual understanding of each other’s differences. They were together before either of them even fully realised how much they felt for each other.

He calls her “Beloved” and “habibi” his usually guarded expression and stand offishness gone. She sometimes thinks he doesn’t like her as mush as he says he does and that leads to her being stand offish but he’s always quick to reassure her that she has no reason to worry.

Damian isn’t the most affectionate but he always has a hand on her back, hip or around her waist. He’s not afraid of PDA he just doesn’t find it necessary. Y/N says I love you first and Damian reciprocates instantly, he was waiting for her to say it lest he be rejected and have his heart break. He loves her and he try’s to express that despite how hard it is for him to move past his own pride.

[bloombubs]

— blurb ; " what are we?" notes: reader x adrian chase / adrian being a lil idiot / making out and touching / idk how to end it i just had this little scene in my head. wc: 1k

“What are we?” Y/N asked, a bit breathless as she pulled away from the kiss. The lamp on Harcourt’s desk dimly lit the headquarters that highlighted the scattered paperwork, files, and abandoned computer mouse and keyboard from Y/N’s workstation. She sat on the edge of the desk, the cold surface a stark contrast to the heat growing between her and Adrian. The open room bore witness to their impulsive passion after a mission together, unable to keep their hands to themselves long enough to get back to either or’s apartment.

Adrian stood between her legs, the worn tiles beneath his boots feeling cool against the soles. His hands, calloused from missions and personal training, squeezed the softness of her upper thigh and the curve of her side. The tension and desire between the two were palpable, the air mixed with adrenaline and the faint scent of metal from the shots fired tonight.

Y/N’s hands cupped Adrian’s jaw, her thumbs caressing his cheeks. She noted how Adrian’s glasses sat crookedly on the bridge of his nose—the lenses bearing smudge marks from the close contact of their faces. 

“Work colleagues. What else?” Adrian’s brows furrowed together, his eyes flickering around her face, taking in all her details. Headlights of cars flickered through the drawn blinds, occasionally filling the room with light.

Y/N cocked her eyebrow at his answer, tilting her head to the side. The flickering of Harcourt’s lamp caught her attention for a moment, accentuating the playful gleam in Y/N’s eyes. Out of all the possible responses, Adrian’s matter-of-fact tone caught her by surprise. She almost anticipated him saying something along the lines of ‘friends with benefits’--but with a more lewd phrasing that would only cause her to roll her eyes and have a smile tug on her lips.

“Do you makeout with your coworkers at Fennel Fields like this?”

“Nope.”

“What about anyone on this team?”

“Just you.” Adrian’s gaze held hers, his hand now running up and down the fabric on her thigh. He pinched and rolled the fabric between his fingers, almost tugging at it. The two were both in their uniforms, her uniform more similar to Harcourt’s, while he was in his Vigilante gear. Y/N’s hands slipped down to his chest. His soft curls bounded as he admired her body, his weight shifting between his legs. 

“I don’t think we’re just work colleagues,” even the phrase leaving her lips sounded off. Colleagues? Not even partners in crime?

Adrian’s eyes widened, his grasp pulling her closer. He felt like he was losing her in this conversation. He yanked her hips to be closer to him, her butt barely sitting on the edge of her desk. The movement caused her to squeak, looking at Adrian with confusion based on his sudden movements. “What? Why?” 

“Adrian, I don’t just want to be…work colleagues–I want something more than this–” Y/N started off, her heart beating as she felt his grip tighten on her waist.

“What, like people who enjoy-getting-freaky-with-each-other-on-and-off-the-clock-and-have-sleepovers?” His question made Y/N groan, tilting her head back, which led to Adrian attaching his lips to her neck, trailing kisses down her skin, nipping and tugging at her flesh. His hand slipped around to her lower back, trying to support her. Almost as if he was worried about her changing his mind about him–he didn’t want whatever they had to stop.

“I think we’re already friends with benefits.” She gasped at the feeling of Adrian’s teeth grazing her neck, her nails digging into the padding of his suit. Adrian’s lips explored the delicate skin of her neck, she found herself caught between surrendering to the desire and pushing for something more profound.

“I want more–” Her voice trembled with a mixture of vulnerability and anticipation, her confession hanging in the air like a charged current. 

“More of what? The neck biting? The groping? I can take off my pants right now, Y/N–” Adrian’s voice held a note of confusion, but his hands, still exploring her, betrayed an underlying yearning. His touch conveyed a silent plea for clarity, an attempt to understand her statement.

“Holy shit, Adrian–I like you. I want to be more than this!” She exclaimed, pushing him away from the nook of her neck. The distance she created left him with a lingering ache.

Y/N’s heart raced, the air in the office space held palpable tension. Her eyes, wide and searching, met Adrian’s, silently urging him to comprehend the weight of her words and what she was trying to convey. She swallowed the lump in her throat, her gaze exposing her vulnerability–in fear of risking what they had for the possibility of something deeper.

“Like what?” Adrian’s face turned slightly red, a flush of emotion–more than he would ever be able to identify. He stumbled over his words, avoiding direct eye contact–yet, his fingers traced up and down her wrist, despite all his uncertainty, he was certain he still wanted to be with her. Y/N was an anomaly in his life, and in that moment, he grappled with the unfamiliar territory of an emotional connection. 

The nights where Y/N wasn’t curled up beside him lingered in Adrian’s mind, a sense of longing in his chest. The fantasies of waking up with her, sharing mundane moments and making her his echo in the soft strokes of his fingers on her wrist. He liked the idea of waking up to her almost everyday, being there to take showers with her, to brush her hair, to have movie marathons and eat the take out from his job–or to flirt with her in the grocery shop aisles, teach her DND, admire her figure from across the gym without feeling like a creep because Y/N would be his. 

“Like my girlfriend?” He asked softly, the question hanging in the air—a vulnerable plea for reciprocation. There was a shift in his tone, perhaps the most serious one Y/N’s ever heard from him. It hinted at the genuine desire to be closer to her. 

“Yea–boyfriend and girlfriend. I feel like we already do most of that stuff anyways–” She was interrupted as she felt his hands cup her face, kissing her passionately. The kiss held more emotion, his touch soft and yearning. 

No one at Fennel Fields would believe Adrian Chase has a girlfriend. 

[loupy-mongoose]

I've discovered a treasure trove of old art...

Specifically, the years around 2010, apparently.

Thank goodness for the techy peeps in my life!

With my recent endeavors relating to my old Soul Silver team, I'd been thinking of old art that I'd drawn of them.

Well... It turns out we have the hardrive of that laptop. My first laptop. And the means necessary to poke through it on computers and my ipad.

This is the foundation of my digital art life. Back when I was drawing with a touchpad, and maybe mouse here and there. I might have had a tablet for a few of these, but I don't know for sure.

These were each drawn on one of three programs--MS Paint, Paint.NET, or GIMP.

And then some of the arts that have been floating around in my noggin for a bit now...

I'm defs gonna redraw that one with Quince on fire! Maybe a few others, too~

The one with Quince and the Tyranitar is poking fun at the sprites of HGSS being one of two sizes--human, or massive. XD

[tymime]

Public Domain cartoon characters from Golden Age comic books

Mickey Mouse, Winnie the Pooh, and Oswald the Lucky Rabbit going (mostly) into the public domain is a pretty big deal. In the next ten years a lot of animation from the 1930s will wind up in the hands of all artists who want to use them. But did you know there's a huge amount of cartoon characters from the 1940s that are totally free to use? It isn't just cartoons that starred on the silver screen that have fallen out of copyright. (Of course, I'm using the word "cartoon" somewhat loosely...)

See, when US copyright law was revised in 1976 and went into effect in 1978, works created before 1964 were required to have their copyright renewed before the end of 1980, or else they would become public domain. Hundreds if not thousands of Hollywood movies and other types of media had been made by studios and publishing companies that went bankrupt and were completely dissolved decades prior to this new law. This included the cartoons made by studios such as Bray, Van Beuren, and many others- but it also included comic books.

If you weren't a big comic book company like DC or Marvel, chances are you shuttered your doors sometime in the 1950s or early 1960s. And during the 1940s, with the rise in popularity of Looney Tunes, Woody Woodpecker, Tom and Jerry, and Droopy, comic book publishers were printing tons and tons of comic books starring wacky, slapstick-oriented animal characters. Most of these titles went out of copyright, and there are lots of fun and interesting characters to be found in them.

One of the most historically notable is Supermouse. When the first Mighty Mouse cartoon premiered, he was called Supermouse, but what they didn't know was that Pines comics had already taken the name, and successfully sued for copyright infringement even though they were both parodies of Superman.

One of the most interesting titles I've come across is Funny Films. The conceit of the series is that these are actually cartoons you can watch in a movie theater, except it's a comic book. A bit confusing, I know.

The end result is a series of fourth wall breaks so absolutely thorough in their scope that the fourth wall really doesn't exist anymore, barring actually jumping out of the page (or your computer screen) and blowing up your living room. They talk to the audience, jump out of the screen, and even show up late for the cartoon to start. This is of course the bookends to a whole bunch of slapstick gags and goofy dialogue.

Another interesting series, especially if you're a fan of Archie, is Hi-Jinx. They basically took the premise of teeny-boppers in high school and made them into funny animals. Most of the stories have something to do with swing music and dancing.

And although they're crudely drawn, one of the more unique character concepts is Pussy Katnip, found in various titles scattered across the mid-1940s, usually buried amongst a bunch of more normal stories with ordinary human characters. Pussy Katnip looks like one of your classic film noir glamorous beauties, except she's an anthropomorphic cat. Think Minerva Mink but feline. She may appear to be a femme fatale at first, but she's actually a crimefighter. To do this she chugs a mysterious beverage that gives her enhanced strength and intelligence. She's sort of a mystery-solving superhero.

Her appearances are random and kind of hard to find. Here are the titles of the ones currently circulating online: All Your Comics (1944 issue) All Top Comics (one-shot) All Good Comics Everybody’s Comics (1944 issue) Green Mask v1 #11 Ribtickler v1 #1 All Great Comics (1945 issue) Book of All-Comics Green Mask v2 #2 Rocket Kelly #2 Zoot Comics #1

Often these comics, especially in the early '40s, remind me of the artwork of underground comics of the '70s- not quite rubberhose, not quite Looney Tunes. The kind of thing you might find on a punkabilly album cover.

And ocassionally you'll come across characters with a suspiciously familiar name:

One thing to watch out for is the occasional Donald Duck knock-off, some more obvious than others.

Now you may be asking: Where can I read these comics? Simple: https://digitalcomicmuseum.com/ Just be sure you have the right software to read them. I use cooViewer. Another incredibly useful resource is www.comics.org.

So if you're like me and you're too impatient to wait for Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck to fall out of copyright, and you want to do something more unusual and unexpected, there are dozens and dozens of comic books with silly, wacky characters that can be utilized in your own original stories, cartoons, and what have you- and you can monetize them too!

[blushstories]

I’m back…I’ ve had mote thoughts. If possible please can you write something with Butcher and reader + the boys like figuring something out and reader makes a really good point or gives really useful information and Billy just gets really excited and snogs the living daylights out of her in the middle of the room. Like cheek grabbing full on. idk…i just UGH. I have too many thoughts about this man djkdke. Thank you!!!

you know what ME TOO!!! at first i wondered whether he was the type to do this but i think i made it work!!

“Oh, we’re dead,” Hughie hasn’t blinked for a few seconds. “We’re so, so dead.”

Butcher tuts, running a hand over his jaw, his beard. He tugs a little at the hairs by his ear, a nervous habit you’ve noticed kicking around recently.

Your tongue presses against the roof of your mouth, winding up your jaw with it. Your heart stutters as you try to gather your courage to speak in the testosterone-heavy room.

“No, we ain’t. You ‘aven’t got a clue if they know,” Butcher insists. He’s got Hughie to work his computer magic to connect to a Vought server, and Hughie completely believes that they’ll track his connection.

“What are we even looking for? Do you know how this stuff works?” Hughie says, voice taut and pitch wobbly.

“Not one bleedin’ idea. Not like I give a fuck anyhow, that’s what you’re for,” Butcher says with mock cheerfulness.

“Guys—“ You’re immediately spoken over.

“Oh, great. Here I thought we were friends. So much for canary.”

“You might want to—“

“Oh, give over.”

“You know what, Butcher, I—“

“Hello?!”You say, loud and sharp. As if buckets of ice water sloshed onto their heads, they paused. You take a deep breath and smile.

“Great, thanks. I just wanted to say, you might want to check that folder,” you point to a spot on the screen. “Annie told me it’s where Homelander saves promotion emails, under-the-table emails, everything. He’s not as secretive as he should be.” You watch with silent delight, Butcher’s eyes flashing with recognition, plans being drawn up in his mind’s eye, creases by one eye introduced by an enlightened smirk.

Double click of the mouse.

“It’s password protected,” Hughie frowns.

“Oh, it’s biggestdick2,” you say. Butcher scoffs with amusement, then snickers when Hughie inputs it… and it works. He’s silent for a moment, rolls Hughie’s chair over and he scrolls and scans some documents, before freezing and looking up at you with glee in his eyes.

When he stands, the ends of his coat almost can’t keep up with his movements, and then there’s warmth on your cheeks and his lips are on yours and he kisses you with everything he has. It’s passion and love and admiration and relief.

You’re breathless and giddy when he pulls away, shoulders heaving, “That’s my girl.”

[liljakonvalj]

I watched the Great Mouse Detective tonight and as someone who loves this movie, here's some of my thoughts:

First of all and this cannot be overstated: Best. Sherlock. Holmes. Adaptation.

I was today years old when i discovered that Olivia and her dad are Scottish (which explains her father talking about catching a train at the end of the movie)

(I grew up with the swedish vhs and watched it in english for the first time today. in swedish none of the character's have any particular dialect )

The aesthetic of Victorian human London but with mice having a miniature society mirroring it?? Love that!!

Despite Basil being the titular character and being the main character in so far that he's the one going on a personal journey and change through the movie- Dawson is the POV character for most of the movie which I find interesting

The transitions when Basil tells them about Ratigan and then showing the audience what he's up to and then back to Basil's apartment are stellar

All the songs are sung in universe - I think this is the only disney movie to do this??

And two of them sung by the villain?! Outstanding move

(It should be mentioned that the remaining song was sung by sexy, stripper mice in a bar)

The heroes drink alcohol, get drugged, enjoy a strip tease and accidentaly causes a bar fight all in the same scene

Yes, the toy store was both entrancing and scary to me as a child. The first doll they see when they enter? That doll whose face smashes and nearly kills Basil and Watson? The toys from which Fidget steals the mechanics? All super terrifying

Ratigan is the only character to have a human-like five-fingered hand, all the others have standard animated four-fingered hands

Ratigan mention a that he thought basil would be 15 minutes quicker to find his lair - which he uses to taunt his enemy but it also means he cannot be there to observe his machine killing his captives. That gives them the opportunity to escape unseen. If Basil and Dawson hadn't been late they probably wouldn't have survived, just saying

The clock tower sequence!! I actually clapped when it started

The cogwheels were computer animated while the mice were drawn by hand - which makes for a really dynamic moving camera

(The man who talked about this in the extras were so enthusiastic about this. Love that for him)

Speaking of moving camera - I greatly enjoyed the camera movement when Rattigan jumped over the citizens to reach the balcony with Olivia and the bat after his plan had been foiled at Buckingham palace. It was really fluent and full of angles

Back to the clocktower: when Ratigan snaps and you can see the angry pen strokes?? They simply don't make movies like this anymore

That was of course very scary too as a child

The final battle outside on the clock hands? Give this movie all awards !!

When Basil comes cycling on that little propeller thing? Link in Tears of the kingdom wishes he could do that

In the extras someone mentioned that they'd made extensive backstories of all the characters: why Rattigan became evil, how it was for Basil to grow up so smart etc. And i desperately want to read that

I know no one cares about the swedish voice actors but I found the different performances of both Basil and Rattigan interesting. I know Vincent Price is much beloved as Ratigan (justly so) but idk if it is nostalgia speaking but I think swedish Ratigan really held up. There were actually some lines that I knew by heart in swedish where the delivery was preferable to the English one for me. After looking it up i saw that the swedish VA is an opera singer (base) which really isn't a surprise given his performance. Basil's voices were really similar normally (so similar I didn't hear the change when I switched between languages - which i did one time to freshen up the swedish voices) but the VA in swedish goes up in falsetto quite often which gives a quite manic impression. Swedish!Basil's sanity is hung by a thread in his restless pursuit of his arch nemesis - which makes his devastation when Ratigan bests him more believable imo. English!Basil is much more a proper, brittish gentleman throughout. All performances were great, I just found the differences interesting.

I have some Core visuals from this movie living rent free in my mind since childhood which are: when Basil compares the two bullets, the closeups as Fidget jumps out at the audience, when Dawson pulls out the glass door with his finger, Ratigan squishing Olivia's doll, Basils machine when analyzing the paper, when Toby makes a stair out of his ear, that flag/balloon/matchbox contraption they used to chase Ratigan at the end, the end fight on the clock arms.

Did i miss your favourite part of the movie? Any core memories from this movie for you?

[chaosbarelycontained]

See Me Go Through Changes

North Country Boy Chapter 4

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x AFAB!OC

TW: Swearing

Words: 2k

Synopsis: Price gives Jules access to much more than her usual tech and Ghost gets the third degree.

“You need a medic?” Price asked gruffly once the Lieutenant had left the gym.

“No sir, I’m good,” Jules responded, resisting the urge to rub her aching jaw, instead placing her beret back onto her head.

Price nodded once and set off at a brisk pace. Jules followed the Captain down stark corridors, each taking them deeper and deeper into the bowels of Stirling Lines barracks. They encountered a myriad of soldiers on their journey, most of them wearing the caps and badges of the SAS or the SRR, and all of them saluted Price as they passed.

They must have taken a circuitous route that Jules hadn’t used before but they ended up in a wing that was familiar to her and where she’d spent a lot of her time during her SRR training. Stopping before a closed, unmarked door, Price paused with his hand on the door knob. He turned to Jules with a devilish look in his eye.

“Now before we go in, just remember, I don’t want you to get all over-excited on me, Sergeant, understood?”

“Understood,” Jules replied, but her tone was raised, as if her response were a question.

Price pushed open the door and then stepped aside to reveal a bank of monitors and some of the most advanced computing and remote surveillance equipment Jules had ever seen. She stepped into the room with a soft gasp and ran her fingers delicately across the top of the monitors. Her skin prickled with goosebumps in the air-conditioned coolness and she turned back to Price with a genuine smile of joy.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell! Are you flirtin’ with me, Sir?” she teased, earning her a deep, rumbling chuckle.

“If I wanted to flirt with you, Tiger, you’d know about it. I take it you like the set-up?”

“Like it? It’s mint!” Jules exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Good. I need you to make sure it's got everything you need. If anything’s missing then there needs to be a list on my desk by 0800 hrs tomorrow. Anything, Sergeant. If you need it, just ask.”

“Absolutely, Sir,” Jules said, but already sounded distracted as her attention was drawn back to the equipment before her.

“One more thing,” Price stated, pulling her focus back to him.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Lieutenant Riley,” Price began and Jules immediately stiffened. “I don’t know what’s gone on and I don’t need to, unless it compromises my team. Will it compromise my team, Sergeant?”

“N-no, Sir,” she replied, her face flushing with embarrassment at her very public loss of control.

“Good. See that it stays that way,” he ordered, but then his face softened. “Go on then, have at it,” he nodded towards the monitors and left Jules to it.

She slid into the comfortable wheeled chair, removed her beret, and lifted the headset onto her head. One swipe of the mouse and the screens before her lit up to show the familiar MOD log in screen. She tapped in her credentials but the homescreen she was expecting to see didn't appear. Instead of the SRR logo with the Corinthian helmet and sword there was a design she hadn’t seen before. The centre of the logo still featured a sword but instead of the helmet there was a skull and they were bordered by a pair of feathered wings and a laurel wreath. The only text visible was under the hilt of the sword and all it stated were the numerals 141.

Moving the cursor over the logo, Jules left-clicked on it and the screen dissolved to show a desktop layout that wouldn’t look out of place in any office in the country but a closer look at the icons showed programs that the majority of people wouldn’t even know existed. There were flight scanners, access portals to world-wide air traffic controls, drone programming systems, access to civilian emergency service and CCTV networks, both radio wave and microwave detector systems for communications interceptions, banking network portals, and pretty much anything else she would need. There, at her fingertips, were the tools she needed to monitor and even start incursions the world over. There was even the Spotify app, which made her huff out a chuckle.

Even with only the most cursory of glances over the system, Jules couldn’t see anything that was conspicuous by its absence. Her list for the Captain was, for the moment, unpopulated. Checking the time on the clock in the bottom left of the screen she noticed a small icon that she recognised but had never had the opportunity to use.

“You’re shittin’ me,” she breathed, before double-clicking on the tiny image.

The screen darkened for a moment before lighting up with a soft blue glow. An electronic chirp sounded from one of the desk drawers and Jules opened it to reveal a high end VR headset resting on a magnetic charging dock.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” she squealed, picking up the tech and cradling it in her hands.

Swallowing down the knot of excitement in her throat she removed the headset she was wearing and slowly replaced it with the VR gear. Sighing in satisfaction at the new accessibility she had gained she weaved her hands through the air in a graceful pattern, relishing the lack of need for hand controllers. A few gestures later and she was walking through the streets of Kyiv and then, in a flash, had been transported to favelas of Rio. Throwing her head back and letting out an excited laugh she allowed herself to get lost in the advanced technology that she loved.

* * * * * *

“Geek,” Rob said affectionately, scrubbing his hand over the top of her head. “Computer Science though, Jules? Why the fuck did you pick that?”

“Cause I like it, knobhead,” she replied, shoving his hand away and batting at his shoulder.

The pub in Preston wasn’t that busy for a Saturday afternoon and the train ride up from Manchester that morning had been uneventful. It had mainly consisted of Jules trying to study for a seminar whilst Simon did his best to antagonise her once he’d finished with the copy of FHM he’d picked up at Piccadilly Station.

“She’s good at it too,” Simon added, catching her eye over the rim of his pint glass. “Got some mint grades on your last assignments, didn’t y’Jules?”

“Yeah, suppose so,” she nodded, flushing a little at his praise.

Rob’s eyes flickered between the pair of them and narrowed in suspicion.

“Is there summat going on wi’ you two?' ' he asked.

“Nah!” Jules exclaimed hurriedly, spluttering around her cider and blackcurrant whilst Simon just let out a short laugh and shook his head.

“Just seem a bit pally, that’s all,” Rob hummed, draining his pint.

“Y’said to look out for her while y’were away,” Simon shrugged.

“I can look out for my own bloody self, Jesus,” Jules muttered. “Fuckin’ cavemen.”

After a chippy tea and a farewell to her brother, Jules and Simon made their way back to the station. He seemed lost in thought, not speaking much as they walked onto the platform to wait. Jules leaned back against the red brick wall and wrapped her arms around herself to stave off the chill of the evening.

A shadow fell across her, blocking the light from the station floodlights as Simon leaned over her, caging her in with a devilish smile.

“Didn’t realise the thought of bein’ wi’ me was so bad,” he rumbled, one hand propped against the wall above her head whilst the other came to rest at her waist.

“Was I wrong though?” she protested with a tilt of her chin. “We’re not exactly seein’ each other are we?”

“Well I’m not seein’ anyone else, Jules,” he said, his face turning slightly more serious.

“What’re y’sayin’ Si?” she breathed.

“Just think we should start bein’ honest with ourselves, that’s all,” he replied, his chestnut eyes trailing over her face.

“What about Rob?”

“I reckon he’d be alright with it,” he said, raising his hand to cup her face.

“I reckon he would too, but I think he’d kick your arse first,” Jules laughed softly.

“I’d let him if it got me wi’ you,” he laughed with her as his thumb brushed gently over her cheek.

“Dick’ead,” she murmured, her tongue darting out across her bottom lip as he lifted her chin and tilted his head down to capture her lips with his.

* * * * * *

Ghost waited at the door to Price’s office, outwardly presenting the model of military perfection but his mind whirled in a mess of guilt and confusion. He regretted pushing Jules as far as he had, and there wasn’t much in his life he did regret. Strange how a lot of it involved her though…

“Si, stopppp!” she laughed, batting his arm away from her waist.

Price rounded the corner of the corridor, his face drawing into a scowl as he spotted Ghost. He didn’t need to say a word, simply making a gesture to enter that Ghost followed without question.

The scent of patchouli permeated his nose as they climbed the uneven stone steps of the old drapery building that housed Affleck’s Palace.

He stood at ease before the Captain’s desk as Price sat and deliberately took his time making himself comfo​​rtable. Opening his top drawer he pulled out a cigar, clipped the end with a silver clipper that Ghost himself had gifted him and then lit the tobacco. He stared at his Lieutenant with an ambiguous expression as he waited for Ghost to break the silence.

“It’s on the top floor innit?” he asked, groaning at her pseudo-innocent face.

‘I didn’t know! I swear down!” she gasped out a giggle, grabbing his wrist and hauling up the stairs behind her.

“She’ll do,” Ghost rumbled, scrunching his nose a little under his mask which made the drying blood crack away from his skin.

“And is that your professional opinion?” Price asked, a hint of sarcasm making its way into his words.

“Yeah,” Ghost nodded once.

“Si! I found ‘em!” Jules squealed, bouncing over to him with four small figurines and a beaming smile on her face.

“Want to talk about it?” the Captain probed but Ghost shook his head.

“Negative.”

“Just going to throw this out there Simon, but maybe you need to talk to her.”

Ghost shook his head again but found himself unable to meet Price’s stare. They remained in their non-verbal standoff as the seconds ticked by but Price eventually let out a huff and shook his head in defeat.

“Go on then, dismissed. Just…stop being an arse to her, yeah?”

“It’s like you don’t even know me,” Ghost retorted, trying to lighten the atmosphere a little before leaving the office.

Slipping unseen into an empty room along the corridor, Ghost locked the door and then leaned back against it before sliding to the floor. Pulling his balaclava off over his head he ran his hand through his short blond hair and probed at his throbbing nose. It wasn’t broken, although it wouldn’t have been the first time. Resting his arms on his raised knees he dropped his head and let out a deep sigh.

They had to pass through the cafe on their way back to the stairs that would take them out of the building. Jules walked beside him clutching the paper bag that held her treasured purchase. He didn’t want to leave just yet, desperate to spend more time with her.

“D’you fancy a hot chocolate?” he asked, nodding his head towards the cafe’s counter.

“Umm, yeah, we could do that,” she replied.

He ordered for them whilst she found them two seats, near the window so they could watch the world go by below.

“Here y’are,” he said, placing a mug of hot chocolate topped with all the trimmings before her.

“Cheers, Si,” Jules muttered, but he could tell she was distracted.

“What’s up, chuck?” he asked, nudging her knee under the table.

“Y’don’t…y’don’t think it’s a stupid present?” she asked timidly, nodding towards the paper bag on the table.

“Don’t be daft Jules, he’s gonna love ‘em, and if he doesn’t, I’ll ‘av ‘em,” Simon grinned, trying to reassure her. “If someone bought me Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle figures for my 19th I’d be made up!”

“Is that a hint?” Jules laughed, “‘cause I’m not buyin’ you Turtles for your birthday.”

Taglist: @aykxz98

[prismuffin]

I don't know why this is so funny to me, but how do you think the rest of the male Justice league members, would react to a Gotham rouge Reader moving out of Gotham and setting up base in their City instead.

The biggest complaint the reader has is that it's cramped in Gotham and he can't do his petty schemes in peace. (Ex: Stealing a broken street sign, so the city is forced to replace it with a brand new sign.)

- Crow

A/n: SO sorry this took a minute Crow! I just got off of work not too long ago and my computer was acting up! I kinda turned this into you being kinda a "villain", (but not really but you do commit crimes) and attempting to make them go back to being a hero after they leave. But anyway, I think-

Wally would probably think you did it on purpose, (you totally did, don't lie to me). He'd be annoyed but amused? Like he's curious as to why you left Gotham, and after hearing that getting beaten to a pulp for something as simple as littering wasn't ideal for you he'd just laugh and agreed. He told you not to get into too much trouble but that'd be very boring. Wally tried to ignore your growing threatening presence in his town but it was as if you were testing his patience specifically, and you were but still. If you actually did enough to make him go back to being kid flash he'd probably resent you for a while but would quickly find the little cat and mouse game you guys have going on fun.

Bruce immediately knew you did it on purpose, of course you would try and make him become Batman again. He probably wouldn't necessarily care as to why you left Gotham because he thinks he knows the whole reason. But after explaining that it's not all about him and that Gotham was just a shithole in general then he'd just be annoyed. Like out of all the places to move to you moved to the one place where he was?? He left Gotham because of the crime rate and yet here you were dragging that crime with you. He wouldn't try and stop you even if you taunted him specifically but he'd definitely keep up with any news about you and if you were close to being caught.

Superman would probably just think it was a coincidence, finding you in the same city as him. He would probably be the quickest to return to his mantle, though not officially. He'd stop you from your petty crimes and ask what you were really doing in his city. When you explain that you just wanted to leave Gotham because you can't do your crimes in peace he'd probably reply with something cheesy like "Well it seems you won't be able to do them at all, not with me here." He'd probably turn you in to the police then get annoyed when you break out and taunt him. To you, it's a bit of a joke especially since you already completed your mission of making him because Superman again. To him however, it's a lot more serious. He's gonna take you down and keep you down. You find it so funny cause you really aren't doing anything too bad.

Flash would initially be a bit like Bruce. He knows why your here and no he's not gonna let you get to him. However he finds himself drawn to things like newspapers addressing your recent crimes for small rewards or warnings that come on TV about your vandalism and such. Seeing you taunt him practically every day while not getting caught is almost angering him. Yeahhhh he definitely let you get to him. He literally doesn't care why you left Gotham honestly. He kinda goes from Bruce to Wally in a way, at first he was very annoyed but after catching you a couple of times, he ends up getting back into the groove of being the Flash pretty quickly.

( i'm so tired i'm sorry if this is short!! )

———

Directory

[amberlynnmurdock]

The Good In You (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Benjamin Poindexter x Reader

Chapter Summary: Dex keeps his distance like he was ordered to, but not so far he can't keep an eye on her.

Genres/Warnings: small self inflicted wound (literally a paper cut lol), fluff, angst

Words: 2.6k

Tags: @danzer8705 @reblog-reblog666 @pcrushinnerd

Ao3 Link

Dex sat quietly at his desk, an untouched cup of black coffee in front of him, the screen of his computer buzzing in the silence of the office. No one ever came to the office as early as he did. It wasn’t a requirement to come in early—Dex just couldn’t find it in himself to sleep. He rubbed his eyes and adjusted himself in the uncomfortable office chair. Only a few other people were at the Bureau this early, and she wasn’t one of them. 

Down the hall, just on the right side, was her exam room. Her name was posted on the outside of the door with the title “In House Nurse” underneath. Dex had been keeping a close eye on her recently after the events at the bar unfolded. A comfortable distance, hidden in plain sight. He mostly paid attention whenever he saw someone enter her room—especially if it was Beckett.  

He gripped his pencil a little tighter and stiffened in his seat whenever he saw Beckett walk by. Hattley had ordered Dex, in private, to keep his distance from Beckett, as a way to keep the peace in the office. Dex wanted to scoff at her right there—since when was he the problem? Beckett was the one who paraded around like he owned the Bureau, paraded around like no one could not like him. But it was Dex who had to keep his distance? 

Sure. 

So Dex did as he was told—kept his distance, but never too far out of sight. Never too far to keep an eye on her. 

His fingers twitched over the keyboard as his attention was drawn to the FBI’s database built into every computer. Only certain level agents had clearance to navigate the application, and Dex was one of them. He swiveled the mouse a few times, contemplating his next moves, until ultimately his impulse won him over and he clicked the application to log in. 

He can search for anyone and any place with their database. Dex wasted no time in typing her name in the engine. He leaned forward on the desk and hunched his shoulders to cover the screen. Even though there wasn’t anyone else near him, he felt the urge to keep what he was doing hidden. 

The system loaded for a few seconds until all the matches with her name popped up. When he saw a picture of her after the fourth click, he opened her file. 

Originally from Upstate New York, she graduated from a small-town high school and went to Columbia University School of Nursing. She lives just outside of Hell’s Kitchen at a nice apartment complex not too far from Dex’s. Her family still lives upstate, so it’s just her in the city. 

Dex continued to scroll through her file, curiosity getting the better of him. He’s confident he hasn’t even blinked yet from all the information he was taking in about her. She worked at Metro-General before becoming a nurse at the FBI. She was there for only two years. She’s been at the FBI only half a year. Dex can’t remember the first day she started—he often ignored the new people who started at the FBI because he didn’t see a point in conversing with them if it would never get farther than just being coworkers. But he does remember the first time he had to see her in her room. Friendly, smiling, kind. She offered numerous attempts at conversation that Dex didn’t take up. He remembers sitting quietly and letting her work on him. He preferred it that way, but now, he tried to engage with her whenever he was in her room. That was the most he could do. Try. 

He clicks out of her file as he hears the doors of the Bureau open. It was nearly eight in the morning, so people were starting to arrive at the office. Looking over his shoulder, he sees her among the small crowd of employees walking in. Something coats his chest at the sight of her: anxiety. 

She’s walking with her head down until she looks up from her phone and sees Dex sitting at a desk with a small smile on his face. She immediately lightens up at the sight of him and smiles, making a beeline to come talk to him. Dex takes a deep breath and takes one last look at his computer to make sure all the windows are closed.

“Good morning, Agent Poindexter,” she beams, and Dex is amused by how she has so much energy this early in the morning, while everyone else who walked in behind her practically dragged their feet—even him, when he first got here. 

“Good morning, __,” Dex leans on the desk with his elbows to speak to her. “How are you?”

“I’m doin’ alright. You?”

“Same,” Dex said. 

“You’re here early,” she notes and adjusts her tote bag on her shoulder. “Do you get to leave early too?”

“No,” Dex shakes his head. “Doesn’t work like that. Honestly, I couldn’t sleep so I figured I could get a head start on the day.”

“I understand,” she nods, looking away from him. Dex watches her break eye contact. He tries not to let his FBI training get in the middle of his interactions with her, but when someone breaks eye contact the way she did just now, it means she’s nervous to talk to him. Why would she be nervous? 

“Did you uh—get coffee on your way in?” Dex asks her softly, a way to make her not feel nervous. 

She meets his eyes again, and this time it’s Dex who feels uneasy. “I didn’t. I was going to brew a fresh pot here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dex waves his hand. “I’ll make it for you and bring it to your office.”

She smiles, holding his eye contact. “Well, okay. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says. Dex watches as she walks away and into her exam room. His first task of the day wasn’t what he was supposed to do: it wasn’t to prep files and do investigative work. None of that mattered to him. What mattered was bringing her a fresh cup of coffee and knowing it was a job well done when she smiled at the sight of him holding it for her in the doorway. 

◎◎◎

The rest of the day was easy for Dex to get through until Beckett came in and immediately shifted the energy of the office, specifically for Dex. Beckett practically waltzed in, glad to see Dex sitting at his desk following orders to keep a distance, while it was fair and free for Beckett to do as he pleased. Dex’s fingers twitched over the pencil he was holding, gently tracing the pencil tip over the pad of his thumb. 

He directed his attention to his screen again and clenched his jaw. Even the sound of Beckett talking was enough for Dex to become incredibly annoyed. He hears him jeering with other agents, making small talk—it’s all just noise to Dex. It’s not until he catches Beckett’s eyes by mistake that an icy feeling coats his heart. Beckett glares at him right before knocking on her door. 

Dex swallows hard as she opens the door and lets him inside. The door closes, and Dex lets out the breath he was holding. His heartbeat is in his ears and he shuts his eyes to calm himself down. Control the rage. The rage doesn’t control you. Dex wasn’t sure what Beckett’s motive was, but he knew it couldn’t be good. He wants to find her immediately and ask if she’s all right, if Beckett did anything to her in private, and the anticipation of their meeting ending almost drives Dex into a frenzy. 

After a long five minutes, Beckett finally exits her exam room, looking less than pleased, to Dex’s delight. Dex can’t go in there right away though—he has to play his cards right to not look suspicious. Beckett disappears down the hallway and outside the Bureau, seemingly leaving for a meeting. 

Dex doesn’t want to make it obvious that he watched that interaction unfold, and he doesn’t want her to think he’s been watching her office all day. He can’t just go to her office and ask what Beckett wanted. He needs an excuse. Dex searches the desk for anything he could use to give himself a small wound to see her, but finds nothing other than pencils and papers. 

He takes a piece of paper and looks around to ensure no one’s watching. Under the desk, he slides the edge of the paper over his left pointer finger and cuts his skin open. Hiding the grimace on his face, Dex crumbles the paper and throws it in the trash. The small cut on his finger stings as air meets the open wound, drawing a small amount of blood. It was juvenile, but enough to get him to go to her room for a bandaid. 

Dex gets up from his desk and walks consciously to her door. It was half open, and she was sitting at her desk looking at her computer. Dex knocks on the door softly. 

“Dex,” she greets with a smile, “what’s up?”

Dex blushes and looks away sheepishly. “I may have a serious injury that needs to be checked out.” He holds up his finger and the laugh that emits from her is enough to calm him down. 

“A paper cut? Goodness, we’ll have to have that checked out immediately. Close the door,” she jokes as she stands up to meet him. Dex shuts the door behind him and holds up his hand for her to examine. He watches her behind his hazel eyes and sees the feigned concern on her face. She holds his hand in hers and holds his finger up to the light. 

“This will require some serious surgery. Wash your hands at the sink.”

Dex stands over the sink as she reaches up into a cabinet to fetch a bandaid for him. Dex takes a seat at the exam table and she walks over to him, opening the bandaid. 

Before she puts the bandaid on him, she holds his finger again and inspects the cut that is perfectly in the middle of his finger. Dex is a puddle inside, feeling her holding his hand in concern. It seems she’s not joking like she was before and was worried about the cut. He can’t remember the last time anyone ever showed that much concern, even over a small paper cut. 

“You gotta be careful handling those files,” she meets his hazel eyes and says in a low voice. “They may be small, but paper cuts have a mighty sting.”

“I know,” Dex shrugs, “they do hurt.”

She gently wraps the bandaid perfectly around his finger, holding his hand carefully in hers. When she’s done, she places his hand against his chest and smiles. 

“All set.”

"Thank you,” Dex smiles in return, not wanting to leave but also not wanting to remain this close to her. She retreats slightly to give him room to get up but he doesn’t move. 

“How’s your day going?” She asks, another attempt at conversation. 

“Almost over,” Dex replies. “You?”

  “Same,” she nods. “I’m happy you came by. A better visitor than I had before, just between me and you.”

Dex is somewhat relieved she brought up Beckett first. It’s really what he came in here for, to find out what it was he wanted. “Nurse-patient confidentiality,” Dex jokes. “Uh, what was it he wanted anyway?”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “He asked to be my date for the gala in a few weeks.”

“The gala?” Dex asked, furrowing his brows. Then it dawned on him slowly. “Oh, right. The annual gala.” It didn’t occur to him at first because every year, Dex ignores the invite and doesn’t go. It’s a way to thank the agents and staff for all their hard work the year prior with fancy drinks and food, hosted at a banquet in the city. Frankly, Dex’s worst nightmare. To be stuck in an environment shaking hands with people he hardly knew, putting on a facade the whole night. Sure, he could’ve gone in the past and sat at a table with Nadeem, but Nadeem had his wife and Dex wasn’t too excited to third-wheel an event. He never had a reason to go. 

Work was work. Why should he be awarded for simply doing his job? 

“Yeah,” she sighed. 

“Well, what did you say?”

“I said no, of course. I don’t ‘date’ coworkers. And I especially wouldn’t go to that with him.”

“But you are going?” Dex asks her. 

She nodded. “Yeah. It sounds fun. Are you going?” 

Dex immediately shakes his head and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, I don’t see myself going to that. I’ve never been.” 

“Of all the years you’ve worked here you’ve never attended?” She asked incredulously.

Dex shook his head softly. “No.” 

“Well, I for one love an excuse to get dressed up and eat free food, so I’m going. And I think I’d love to have you to hang out with me there.”

Dex smiled to himself, wishing it were easy for him to consider something like this. He might consider it, just for her. He must’ve been silent for a while and avoiding looking at her because she speaks again. 

“I only feel close with you and Nadeem,” she admits, “we could all sit at the same table. If we can choose.”

“Nadeem will bring his wife,” Dex tells her, a way to make an excuse for this reality to not happen, even though deep down he wants to. 

“So?” She smiles, “we’ll have a big table.”

“Other agents will probably have plus ones,” Dex tries to reason again. 

“So then why don’t you be mine?” She asks in return. “Then the ratio won’t be awkward.” 

Dex smiles and looks away from her again. 

He just can’t do it. 

“I thought you said you don’t date coworkers.”

“It’s not a date,” she corrects, “just a plus one as a friend.”

Friend. 

“I don’t think I’m going,” Dex tells her honestly—regretfully. “I’ve never gone and I don’t know if it’s my scene.”

The look of disappointment that crosses her face is almost enough for Dex to feign more pain to stay in her office and make it better but ultimately, it isn’t. He’s beginning to like the idea of whatever it is she has in mind of who he is, but he’s not sure he can live up to it. He can’t risk more disappointment. But what he does know is that she’s the person he’s been searching for recently. Someone who does see something in him, even though he doesn’t entirely understand what that may be. 

“Okay, Dex,” she sighs in defeat, “but just know I’ll still be looking for you there.”

He smiles as he gets up from the exam table. Their time together is almost up, for now, and the day is almost done. He already can’t wait to see her tomorrow, as annoying as that feeling of hope is. 

◎◎◎

That night in bed, after tossing and turning and unable to sleep, he opens his email for the Gala’s RSVP. Dex’s thumb hovers over the “Going” button, and it goes back and forth over the “Can’t Make It.” 

But just know I’ll still be looking for you there.

While it’s not a guarantee he will show up to the gala, Dex clicks the “Going” button and sighs in relief, a hopeful feeling growing deep in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, he could be that person she thinks he is. 

[mekkyz-dubz]

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Update: 7/9/2023 (I will update the listings if they are added to the stores.)

Drawing Tablet Buyer's Guide 2023

Are you looking for help to get into digital art? Are you confused for what models would you pick? Do you want success in your art career? Then this blog is for you. These are the buyer's guide for artists who wanted to take approach on digital art. As always, you don't need a latest and greatest tools just to make good art. Your handy mouse and a trusty old tablet can do fine art at the time. My Intuos 4 L still works today, even if it was released on 2009.

Here are the basic categories you'll fit into: Beginner, Intermediate and Professional.

Beginner - This is where you start making digital art for the first time.

Intermediate - These are experienced artists who are on mid-range level at a greater value.

Professional - These are same as intermediate but who are on to take approach an high-end level to mimic the meaning art.

There are three types of pen tablets for you to decide. These have pros and cons on these tablets.

Pen Tablet - A pen tablet doesn't require a screen and can benefit for a user experience such as good posture, portability and pricing, but this requires hand-eye coordination as this type of tablet has a steep learning curve and drawing on it feels unnatural to use.

Pen Display - A pen display is a monitor that can be drawn into. It is easier to learn how to use pen displays and can mimic a sketchbook you were drawing. However, there are issues such as bad posture, expensive pricing and limited portability. Sometimes, your hand gets in the way through pinpoint cursor while drawing.

Pen Computer - These are pen tablets that can be used by themselves and don't require a computer, it can be portable for travel use. However, they are very expensive, limited to none upgradability, difficult and costly repairs and have a short battery life. As such, I do not recommend getting these pen computers for these reasons above and instead look for other mobile tablet alternatives such as iPad Pro, Surface Pro 8 or Samsung Galaxy Tab.

Here are the list of drawing tablet recommendations based on three categories.

NOTE: Prices may vary due to sale discounts so I only put links to the official store from drawing tablet brands so I'm gonna keep the original price for future references. However, Amazon is safer for returns and good units and eBay is the way to go for second hand offers.

If you're an osu! player looking for a pen tablet, I'd suggest getting an Intuos Pen and Touch Small 2013 (PTH-480) on eBay. One by Wacom Small (CTL-472) has the same performance yet cheaper. The only good alternative that doesn't suck is Gaomon S620. I recommend getting OpenTabletDriver for that purpose.

If you want to invest digital art, I highly recommend getting a medium size tablet for larger hand gestures.

Beginner

Pen Tablet: $30-100 Range

Wacom:

One by Wacom Small (CTL-472) - $49.95

One by Wacom Medium (CTL-672) - $99.95

Huion:

Huion HS611 - $79.99

Huion Inspiroy H1161 - $89.99

Huion Inspiroy 2 S/M/L - $49.99 - $89.99

Huion Inspiroy H640P - $49.99

Huion Inspiroy H950P - $59.99

XP-Pen:

XP-Pen Deco Fun XS/S/L - $29.99- $49.99

XP-Pen Deco 01 V2 - $59.99

XP-Pen Deco M/MW - $49.99 - $69.99

XP-Pen Deco L/LW - $69.99 - $89.99

Pen Display: $170-420 Range

Wacom:

Wacom One (DTC-133) - $399.95

Huion:

Huion Kamvas 12 - $239.99 w/ stand

Huion Kamvas 13 - $264.99 w/ stand

Huion Kamvas 16 (2021) - $419 w/ stand

XP-Pen:

XP-Pen Artist 10 (Gen 2) - $169.99

XP-Pen Artist 12 (Gen 2) - $249.99

XP-Pen Artist 13 (Gen 2) - $299.99

XP-Pen Artist 16 (Gen 2) - $399.99

Intermediate

Pen Tablet: $100-200 Range

Wacom:

Wacom Intuos Small Wireless (4100WL) - $59.95

Wacom Intuos Medium Wireless (6100WL) - $199.95

Huion:

Huion Inspiroy Dial 2 - $139.99

Huion Inspiroy Giano - $199.99

Huion Inspiroy Q11K V2 - $139.99

XP-Pen:

XP-Pen Deco Pro S/SW - $99.99 - $129.99

XP-Pen Deco Pro M/MW - $129.99 - $159.99

Pen Display: $260-1300 Range

Wacom:

Wacom Cintiq 16 (DTK-1660) - $799.95 ($649.95 on Amazon)

Wacom Cintiq 22 (DTK-2260) - $1299.95

Huion:

Huion Kamvas Pro 13 2.5K - $399.99

Huion Kamvas Pro 16 2.5K - $599.99

Huion Kamvas 22 Plus - $549

Huion Kamvas 24 Plus - $899

XP-Pen:

XP-Pen Artist 12 Pro (2019) - $259.99

XP-Pen Artist 13.3 Pro (2019) - $279.99

XP-Pen Artist 15.6 Pro (2019) - $369.99

XP-Pen Artist Pro 16 (2021) - $449.99

XP-Pen Artist 22R Pro (2020) - $599.99

XP-Pen Artist 22 (Gen 2) (2021) - $499.99

XP-Pen Artist 24 Pro (2020) - $899.99

XP-Pen Artist 24 (2021) - $799.99

Professional

Pen Tablet: $140-500 Range

Wacom:

Wacom Intuos Pro Small (PTH-461) - $249.95

Wacom Intuos Pro Medium (PTH-661) - $379.95

Wacom Intuos Pro Large (PTH-861) - $499.95

XP-Pen:

XP-Pen Deco Pro MW (Gen 2) - $139.99

XP-Pen Deco Pro LW (Gen 2) - $179.99

XP-Pen Deco Pro XLW (Gen 2) - $199.99

Xencelabs:

Xencelabs Pen Tablet Small - $199.99

Xencelabs Pen Tablet Medium - $279.99 for standard, $359.99 for bundle, $379.99 for special edition

Pen Display: $800-3500 Range

Wacom:

Wacom Cintiq Pro 13 (DTH-1320) - Formerly $799.95 but less than $379.99 on eBay

Wacom Cintiq Pro 16 (2021) (DTH-167) - $1599.95 ($1529.99 on B&H Photo Video and Amazon)

Wacom Cintiq Pro 24 (DTK-2420) - $2199.95

Wacom Cintiq Pro 24 Touch (DTH-2420) - $2699.95

Wacom Cintiq Pro 27 (DTH-271) - $3499.95

Huion:

Huion Kamvas Pro 16 4K Plus - $899

Huion Kamvas Pro 24 4K - $1299

XP-Pen:

XP-Pen Artist Pro 14 (Gen 2) - $419.99

XP-Pen Artist Pro 16TP - $899.99

Xencelabs:

Xencelabs Pen Display 24 - $1899

Resources:

Brad Colbow: YouTube | Brad.site

Teoh Yi Chie: YouTube | 2nd Channel | Parka Blogs

The Seven Pens: YouTube | Website

[jokeringcutio]

The Librarian and the Clown - Arthur Fleck/Joker x You

The Librarian and the Clown Fandom: Joker 2019, Arthur Fleck/Joker x (f) Reader Rating: Teen and up. Warnings: Age Gap, Older man/younger woman, Reader x Villain, Reader x Killer Clown, mention of blood, Mention of violence, Mention of bank robbery, disguise, Reader joining the villain, No explicit smut.

1.

The library was your sanctuary, a place where the outside world ceased to exist as you lost yourself in the pages of countless books. As the librarian, your curiosity and kindhearted nature made you the perfect steward for this haven of knowledge. You had an uncanny ability to recommend just the right book for any patron, and your warm smile turned even the most timid souls into avid readers.

It was on one such quiet afternoon that Arthur Fleck first walked through the heavy wooden doors of the library. The man in his forties seemed painfully shy but polite as he approached the information desk. He was lean, slender, with beautiful green eyes and shoulder-length chestnut brown hair. His simple clothes, always in earthy colors, gave him an air of unpretentiousness that you found intriguing.

"Excuse me," he murmured, his gaze hardly leaving yours, "I need some help using the computers."

"Of course," you replied, leading him to the row of machines lining one wall.

You helped him buy a ticket, noticing all the while how his strong hands fidgeted. He seemed nervous, ill at ease, but whenever he caught your sight he smiled as if to reassure you that he was doing fine. And you couldn’t help but notice how strong his hands looked, even though they seemed elegant. Nails well kept. Not a scruff on the man’s chin. He was looking after himself, yet he seemed so frail and insecure.

There was something special about him. It wasn’t just his looks that caught your eye and made you feel flustered. Or his voice that sent deep tingles down your core. He awoke an ache inside of you that you thought you were incapable of possessing.

And when your gazes met you could swear you saw your desire mirrored in his.

It was quiet, and you had plenty of time to help Arthur complete all the steps. From logging into the computer to opening the files he needed to work on. You explained everything with patience and took the computer mouse whenever he allowed you to so you could show him all the steps that followed.

He smiled up at you, warmly, green eyes sparkling. “Thank you, milady,” he said with a smirk, raising an eyebrow as if to silently ask you for your name. You gave it willingly, even though you normally were more hesitant to have visitors know your full name. He took it with another thank you and then set to work.

You headed back to the counter to get the list of reservations. Spending time helping Arthur had put you behind schedule, but you knew you were an efficient worker so you’d make up for it. As you stood behind the counter, pencil in your hand to strike out the books that you’d already collected from the shelves, you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes kept drifting back to you.

He was watching you. And that knowledge alone made you smile for days to come.

Over time, Arthur's visits to the library became more frequent, and your connection with him grew stronger. You began to look forward to the days when he would appear at the door, a hesitant smile crossing his face as he caught sight of you. His soft-spoken questions about literature transformed into conversations about life, dreams, and desires. Each shared moment felt like a secret treasure, precious and rare.

"Have you read this one?" he asked one day, holding up a tattered copy of 'Wuthering Heights.'

"I have," you answered, feeling a sudden warmth in your cheeks. "It's a dark romance, filled with passion and tragedy."

"Sounds like my kind of story," he said, a hint of a grin playing on his lips.

As Arthur's eyes lingered on yours, you couldn't help but feel drawn to him, like two magnets pulling together. There was something about his quiet, mysterious demeanor that captivated you. And though your rational mind warned you of the potential danger of getting too close to this enigmatic stranger, your heart ached for a deeper connection.

"Thank you for the recommendation," he said softly, turning to leave. "I'll see you soon."

"Take care, Arthur," you whispered, watching him walk away, your heart fluttering in your chest.

As the days went by, you found yourself anticipating Arthur's visits more and more. The library, once a refuge of quiet orderliness, now felt charged with an electric undercurrent whenever he was near. Your conversations took on new depths, exploring personal philosophies and hidden dreams. The more you learned about him, the more you craved his company.

"Have you ever thought about leaving this city?" Arthur asked one afternoon, his green eyes searching yours for an answer.

In front of him, a large window stretched the entire width of the room, showing the rain falling outside in Gotham City. You stood with your back to the view, leaning against the desk that Arthur was seated at. In front of you stood the old wooden pulley you used to collect books that had a reservation put on them.

"Sometimes," you admitted, your fingers tracing the worn spines of the books in front of you. "But I'm not sure where I'd go."

"Anywhere but here, right?" he said, a wistful smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Maybe," you whispered, feeling a sudden longing to follow him to the ends of the earth, wherever that might be.

Each conversation with Arthur left you breathless, like a swimmer breaking the surface after a deep dive. Your feelings for him grew stronger, blossoming from curiosity into something deeper, more dangerous. But before you could fully understand the nature of your emotions, the unthinkable happened: Arthur stopped coming to the library.

Days turned into weeks, and still, there was no sign of him. Out on the streets the situation turned foul. Politics turned bad, people were angry and went into the streets to protest. And on top of it all, a new criminal emerged. A man dressed as a clown, fighting for justice in the rotten hell-hole that was Gotham. The Joker.

You tried to lose yourself in the familiar routine of your work, but the quiet corners of the library only served as a reminder of Arthur’s absence. You longed to talk to him again, ask him about his opinion of the news. What did he think of what was going on in Gotham? Did the situation scare him? Was that why he never stopped by anymore?

But it was more than that. Not only did you miss your conversations, to share everything there was in your heart and on your mind with a man you considered a good friend, but you also longed to hear his voice again, see his smile, drown in his eyes. You’d fallen in love with him and being without him for long felt like suffocating. How could he bear to be without you for so long? Had he not felt the same?

Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of turning pages seemed to mock your unspoken longing.

"Arthur... where are you?" you murmured to yourself as you shelved books, each title a haunting echo of your memories together.

Your heart ached for his presence, the sound of his voice, the warmth of his gaze. It was as if a part of you had been locked away, and only he held the key. But as the days stretched on without a word or a glimpse, a growing sense of unease crept into your thoughts. What if something had happened to him? What if he had left the city without telling you?

"Please come back," you whispered into the silence, a desperate plea that went unanswered.

Your once-peaceful sanctuary was transformed into a prison of doubt and longing, each day spent waiting for Arthur's return. And as the shadows lengthened and the library's walls closed in around you, you couldn't help but wonder: would he ever come back, or were you destined to be haunted by the ghost of unspoken love?

2.

A cacophony of sirens pierced the air, drawing you away from your tasks. It was an ordinary day like all others, weeks after you had last seen him. Your Arthur. You looked up from the book in your hands, startled by the sudden disruption. The once tranquil library was now filled with tension as patrons exchanged worried glances and whispers.

"Something's happening outside," a man murmured to his neighbor, staring out the window at the chaos unfolding beyond the glass.

You edged closer, curiosity driving you to peer past the shelves for a better view. Police cars swarmed the streets, their flashing lights painting the scene in red and blue. A bank robbery had occurred just down the block, and an unnerving sense of danger hung heavy in the air.

"Everyone, please remain calm and stay inside until further notice!" you called out, trying to maintain order amid the growing unease.

"Help me," a voice gasped, breathless and urgent.

Your heart leaped into your throat as a man dressed as a clown stumbled through the library doors, gun in his left hand, a wild desperation in his eyes. The Joker – a name that sent shivers down your spine. You fought back the urge to flee, focusing instead on the fragile humanity beneath the paint-smeared grin.

"Please," he repeated, his gaze locking onto yours. You noticed how he held a gun in his left hand but held it slightly lowered, pointing away from you. He wasn’t aiming. "I need your help."

You watched with fearful eyes as he lowered his right arm. A heavy-looking bag with blood spatters covering the fabric caught your eye. Was that where he kept the money? Had he maimed someone to get it? Had he hurt someone?

"Wh-what do you want?" you stammered, taking an involuntary step back. His presence felt like a violation of your sanctuary, but there was something about him – something achingly familiar that made it impossible to turn away.

"Hide me," he whispered, urgency lacing every word. "They're coming."

His plea tugged at your heartstrings, despite the fear that threatened to swallow you whole. And as the sirens grew louder and the footsteps of armed officers echoed through the halls, you knew there was no turning back.

"Follow me," you said softly, leading him towards the hidden corners of the library. The weight of your decision hung heavy on your shoulders, but there was no room for doubt – you could always tell the police he had threatened you with a gun. That you weren’t doing this voluntarily. That it wasn’t something about his voice that made you feel like helping him was the right thing to do.

"Thank you," he breathed as you ushered him into the shadows, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of gratitude and something else – something that made your pulse race and your breath catch in your chest.

"Stay here," you whispered, fighting the urge to linger. "I'll handle the police."

As you turned to leave, he reached out to grasp your hand, stopping you in your tracks. For a moment, time stood still as you locked eyes with the Joker, the danger outside forgotten in the electric charge that passed between you.

You gently extricated your hand from his grasp. A shiver ran down your spine as you stared into the Joker's frantic eyes, feeling as if time had frozen. A strange familiarity gnawed at the edges of your mind, and it hit you like a tidal wave – those green eyes, the chestnut hair peeking out from beneath his colorful wig... You knew this man.

"Arthur?" you whispered, your voice barely audible even to yourself. The disbelief that clouded your thoughts was mirrored on his face, but as recognition dawned in his eyes, you knew the truth. This man, this criminal who brought chaos and destruction with him, was the same gentle soul who had captured your heart within the quiet confines of the library.

"Y-yes," he stammered, his vulnerability shining through despite the garish makeup smeared across his face. "Please, I… I need your help."

Your heart ached, torn between loyalty to the law and compassion for the man before you, a man whose pain you had come to understand. You hesitated, your mind racing with the possible consequences of your actions. But love was a force stronger than logic, and you couldn't abandon him now.

"Alright," you agreed, swallowing hard. "Staying here will be your death sentence. They are bound to find you. The backdoor is too obvious; they'll be watching it." Your eyes darted around the room, locking onto a small cabinet nestled among the bookshelves. "There's a better way."

You led him to the cabinet, your pulse pounding in your ears as you prayed for a miracle. Opening the cabinet revealed two rows of keys. You quickly took one out with a blue label, spinning around to face Gotham’s famous Killer Clown. He didn’t look threatening to you now as he stood there, waiting with a glow of hope in his eyes. Meek and patient in the midst of chaos. He trusted you, you realized with a shock. He trusted you, and you could betray that trust by handing him over to the police, be a hero. You held all the power in this moment, and you could decide how things would end.

Biting your lip, you quickly walked past him, your shoulders brushing for just the slightest of moments. But it was enough. You felt the spark deep within your core at the touch and heard his sharp intake of breath. You had not imagined it. Whatever was between the two of you, it was real.

“Come on,” you said, not looking at him, afraid that seeing him would distract you from what you were about to do. You heard his footsteps as he followed after you, through the hallway and up the stairs.

The route you took led through a quiet part of the library. Most visitors stood near the windows, gazing at the cops outside. Some of the policemen who had entered the library were still downstairs, you could hear their voices as they talked and shouted. They were on the hunt, and it was only a matter of time before they would find their target.

You came to a halt in front of the bookshelves that stored thrillers and suspense novels. How fitting, you thought ironically before you raised the key and inserted it into the keyhole that was hardly visible in the space between two shelves. A door opened, revealing a lit hallway behind it.

"Take this route," you instructed, trying to keep your voice steady. But your hand was trembling. You hoped Arthur wouldn’t see. "It'll lead you through the museum that is adjacent to the library. It’s an emergency exit, hardly ever used. I don’t think they’ll even think of it. Most colleagues don’t even know this exists. You can exit on the other side of the building. It's safer."

With eyes averted, you waited till you heard Arthur’s footsteps. You half expected him to run through the door, taking the opportunity to escape without a second thought. But instead of hearing his footsteps rush by, you heard them come to a halt in front of you and saw the blood-specked clown shoes emerge within your vision.

Hot fingers gently raised your chin until your eyes met his. "Thank you," Arthur whispered, his piercing eyes locking onto yours. There was an undeniable connection between you, one that had been growing ever since his first visit to the library. And now, in the midst of danger and uncertainty, it was stronger than ever. His gaze was intense, filled with a mix of fear and desire, and you couldn't help but feel drawn to him, even as sirens wailed in the distance.

"Be safe," you murmured, your voice barely audible above the commotion outside. Your heart pounded in your chest as you regarded Arthur's painted face before you, the colors smeared but his eyes still holding that familiar longing.

Something changed within his gaze then. Like a switch being flicked. His gaze hardened, his jaw locked. Determination taking over.

"Come with me," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. His thumb gently stroked past your chin, lovingly. There was no demand, no ultimatum—just an offering extended to you, the choice yours to make. But you could tell from the glimmer in his eyes how much he prayed for a certain answer.

Was this real, you wondered? Was this truly happening? For a moment, you hesitated. The world outside seemed to collapse in on itself, and within this hidden corner of the library, you and Arthur stood at the precipice of something unknown. Yet, despite the danger and the uncertainty, your decision came swiftly, the words tumbling from your lips with barely a thought. "Yes."

His eyes widened in surprise, and he reached for your hand, his grip warm and strong. He pulled you along.  

"Are you sure?" he asked one last time, pausing in the doorway to look at you. His body was now pressed close to yours and you could feel the warmth of his chest against your own, feel his heartbeat in the chaos, and the gun he had hidden behind his waistband just so he could hold you.

“If you come with me, the life you knew will be gone. I’ll keep you safe, treat you well, be so, so good to you,” he murmured, his lips slowly inching closer to your ear. “But you’ll still be with me. A convict. A criminal on the run. Think you could do that? Want to give up your stable and safe home to be with a man like me?”

Answering him took no time at all. “I’m sure,” the words escaped you almost breathlessly, just in time to feel his lips curl into a smile next to your ear. A little peck of his lips against your cheeks and a deep growl from his chest with a promise: “Can’t wait to show you how good I’ll be to you, sweetheart.” And then he spun you around and, with his hand pushing gently at the small of your back, guided you out of the library and into the adjacent museum.

As the door closed behind you, sealing away the world you had once known, the reality of your choice settled around you like a cloak. The future may have been uncertain, but in that moment, all that mattered was the man beside you and the journey that lay ahead. You’d chosen him. And that decision would decide the rest of your life.

Your footsteps echoed through the narrow passage, the only sound amidst the silence that enveloped you both. Paintings emerged in the distinctly different hallway in front of you. No longer the library you worked at.

Arthur grasped a set of coats from one of the displays, a lucky exhibition for the two of you to have sauntered into as the piece of art fell apart to provide the two of you with disguises. He ushered you into the restroom to dress, taking a quick moment to wash his face and hide the wig in one of his pockets. The bag with stolen money was given to you and you held it under your coat as if you were with child.

Walking out seemed ridiculously easy. Policemen surrounded the premises but were entirely focused on the museum. They expected one Joker to come through. They didn’t expect to see a seemingly upset couple exit the museum next to the library. Arthur walked up straight towards one of the policemen to show his distress, mustering all his acting skills in an attempt to get you away from the scene as quickly as possible.

“Whatever is going on?” he asked the cop. “My wife and I were enjoying the fine art when suddenly, alarms went blaring.”

At the sneer as to why you hadn’t left the museum earlier, Arthur replied wittingly that his pregnant wife had to use the loo, and that because of the stress, it seemed that the baby wanted to come early. Shocked and visibly uncertain what to do, the now pale policeman blabbered something hardly audible about you being allowed to pass, wishing you luck when Arthur claimed he was going to take you directly to the hospital for a check-up.

They forgot to take your names.

You walked away from the crime scene just like that. Easily.

Once the policemen’s scrutinizing eyes were no longer upon the two of you, you started running. Arthur led you to a getaway car and helped you in. Finally seated, the two of you turned to each other with a smile. This was the start of something new. And you loved it. ~ FIN ~

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