#a dramatic bitch is being dramatic

[butscrewmefirst]

❝ the blood you bleed is just the blood you owe. ❞ her voice is low, elizabeth unable to meet @viciousgold's gaze.

[wombywoo]

sick bby 🤧

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Mote in your brother's eye (dp x dc)

Danyal Al Ghul was born part of a set. Twins were a blessing he’d heard people say, but Mother’s face said otherwise. And Danyal had started seeing why when he turned four. When their instructors started praising one over the other, favouring, comparing one against the other.

It hadn’t stopped there. As they grew, it seemed everyone had decided one twin was superior to the other and though Danyal knew it wasn’t true, and he knew it wasn’t fair, it seemed nobody cared. Damian and him tried, they really did, but there was nothing to do about it and the Twins turned into the Heir and the Spare.

And when one night, Mother’s spymaster came to report that Ra’s was looking for the spare, Danyal knew it was over. Mother was a flurry of controlled movement, and his own mind was whirling at breakneck speeds, but Damian was calm. And that broke Danyal’s heart.

"Put this on," Mother said, handing them identical robes. Danyal and Damian were always given different sets of clothes, to make them easily distinguishable. It seemed Mother was banking on their identical features for additional protection. 

Danyal put it on, and Damian followed, albeit more slowly. 

"Grandfather is only looking for one of us,". his twin said calmly.

"Damian," Mother said warningly.

"Mother, there is no choice, we hav-"

"I will not hear of it," she interrupted Damian ferociously. "Now, follow me."

Dayal looked to his twin’s hard features and pale face and his eyes began to burn. It wasn’t fair.

They followed after their mother’s, silent footsteps in the high hallways.

"We will not make it out," Damian said quietly to himself, "not like this."

Danyal took a deep, steadying breath, painfully aware his twin was right. 

"Damian," he started and his twin turned to him to raise an imperious eyebrow. "Damian, I’m sorry."

His twin scoffed and turned away, hurrying towards their mother who was opening up a corner of the wall, which she had told them held a passageway leading to the outside of the compound.

"Quick," Mother said and gestured towards the hole in the wall. 

Damian went in first, looking like he wanted to grumble but was too well-trained to do so.

Once he had disappeared into the darkness, Mother looked over at Danyal. But he did not move.

"Danyal," she started.

"Mother," he said and stared back and he saw the understanding in her eyes. Her eyes flashed.

"I will go," she said.

"You cannot."

"Danyal-"

"There is no time to argue," he said. "Grandfather is not a patient man."

She held his gaze for a second longer, before her shoulder lowered. She reached for Danyal’s nape and brought him in close to kiss his forehead.

"Be quick, dearest," she said as she stroked his hair. "Make me proud."

"I will," Danyal promised. He gave her a fragile smile. "Tell Damian I love him.’

"I will," she swore and then she was gone.

As Danyal walked towards his Grandfather’s quarters, there were people stepping out of his way in the halls. The boy ignored the stares as he fixed his eyes into the distance, his chin up and proud. 

He arrived in front of his Grandfather’s intricately ornamented doors much sooner than he would’ve hoped and was let in immediately.

Grandfather was standing, his back to the door, standing in front of a desk.

"I had begun to believe you would not show, child" Grandfather said.

Danyal bowed his head deferential and did not answer.

"You are not a coward at the very least," the man said as he turned back, his piercing stare settling on Danyal. The latter had to stifle the urge to flinch.

Grandfather then turned back towards the table to grab a dagger off the desk and at this, Danyal stepped back, his own hand going to his knife.

The man smirked, seemingly amused. "Do you believe I will kill you?"

His hand still over his knife, Danyal shrugged carefully. "I do not know what to believe."

Grandfather let out a chuckle and then he moved and Danyal reacted, his hand going for his knife and in the same movement towards Grandfather’s neck when he was stopped dead by his grandfather’s dagger in his gut.

A pained grunt escaped him and he struggled to stay to his feet, but he was already unbalanced from the attack and he crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain as the dagger buried itself deeper.

"What a waste," Grandfather’s voice cut through the haze of pain. "You were a disappointment to the end, Damian."

"Get him out of my sight," was the last Danyal heard of it before he was lost to oblivion.

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

atp phil’s like “ffs i wish i could hit you with a car then i wouldn’t have to be stuck with your annoying dramatic ass 🙄”

[time-slink]

rock lee u are the world 2 me….

[nintendont2502]

I'm gonna be a little bitch for a second GOD it's so so so fucking exhausting being a non USAmerican online. Like. Jesus fucking christ the levels of defaultism are just,,,, god. The 'default' audience for every post is Americans. American pop culture is universal obviously, and god forbid you bring up a show from your own country because no ones ever watched that! The millions of kids in your country don't count clearly. When American places are mentioned it's always Town, State, Country, but when anywhere else is mentioned you're lucky to get State, Country, or the closest major city if you're really lucky. Fahrenheit and MM/DD/YY and American spellings dominate even though they're the only country that uses them. People constantly talk about how x and y 'breaks the law'. They mean American laws, because those are obviously universal. American news and American politics are everywhere. You *have* to care about this. If you don't, you're a monster. The only time my country makes it is when we're literally burning to the ground, and even then they don't even touch the political side of things. Even international incidents somehow get brought back to America - call your representative (I dont have one). Go to these protests (they're on the other side of the world). Sign this petition (it's for US residents only). Im going to go insane.

[yourgalgremlin]

SIRIUS: It’s brat summer.

REG: Then why are you being such a bitch?

JAMES: Now work it out on the remix 🎶

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Vine_Boom.mp3

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[adharastarlight]

sirius, running into reg's room in panic: reggie!!! something terrible's happened!

reg: what!? whats happened!? are you okay!?

sirius: I've run out of black nail polish

reg: ...

reg: I was worried, you prick

@literally-the-prettiest-star you're an ass

[hbdttg]

Part 1 / tag list below the cut

“I’m quitting,” Eddie declares, “I’m out. Call me a tree, ‘cause I’m leaving. Call me a banana, ‘cause I’m splitting. T-t-t-t-that’s all, folks!” he adds, doing his best impression of Porky Pig’s signature stammering.

Chrissy’s laser focus doesn’t stray from her monitor, even when Eddie bodily throws himself into the chair across her desk with a long, strangled groan. Wordlessly, she raises her left index finger at him in a silencing gesture. With her brows furrowed in concentration, she drags her mouse around on its pad and double-clicks something on her screen before nodding decisively to herself. After another few clicks, she finally lowers her finger, raises her eyes, and meets Eddie’s gaze.

“Would you mind grabbing what I just printed? Please?” she asks, smiling at him imploringly.

Chrissy could ask Eddie to bleach his hair and shave off an eyebrow and he’d do it. She’s actually who he has to thank for landing such a cushy job with HHH—a referral from a trusted associate like her goes a long way in a place like this.

And despite Eddie’s many complaints about becoming a corporate sellout, he can’t deny that it certainly has its perks. The office is only a ten-minute commute from his apartment, the compensation agreement he signed amounted to more money than his last two jobs combined, his benefits package is frankly ridiculous, and he gets to work with one of his best friends in the world. Overall, not a bad gig.

Even so, he makes a show of sighing, loud and longsuffering, before doing as Chrissy asks, leaving her office to grab her job off the printer. Eddie knows she works in HR and some of her stuff can get pretty confidential, so he doesn’t even try to skim the contents of the page as he walks it back over to her.

“Here,” he says, thrusting the paper at Chrissy facedown.

“Thanks!” she says. She makes no moves to take it from him. “That’s for you, actually.”

Curious, Eddie takes the paper back and flips it over. In the center of the page is a graphic of safety sign one might find in a cartoon factory, though Chrissy had edited the original from “[___] Days Since Last Accident” to “[___] Days Since Eddie Last Threatened to Quit His Job”. There’s a big red zero in the counter box.

Eddie tries to glower down at Chrissy, but it’s sort of hard to maintain when she bursts into laughter. It’s been years, but the sound of Chrissy laughing like this, all bright and breathless and unrestrained, never fails to transport him back to his (third) senior year of high school, when they first became friends over a failed drug deal.

“Don’t be cute,” Eddie says with a laughable lack of authority, dropping heavily back down into the chair.

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” Chrissy counters, brow raised archly.

Eddie rolls his eyes, crumpling the page into a ball and lobbing it in between them.

Chrissy lets the ball land harmlessly on her desk before sweeping it into the trashcan by her feet.  “Just so you know, I’ve had that saved on my desktop since Monday—and I haven’t had to edit the days count a single time.”

Eddie scoffs, but it’s hard to defend himself when this current visit marks the fifth day in a row he’s floundered into her office, vainly announcing his resignation. “Yeah, well,” he says weakly, “printing it seems like a gross misuse of company resources.”

“What are you going to do, report me?” Chrissy says with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

“Let me guess: you’re the one who receives those reports?” Eddie says dryly.

“Yep!” she says cheerfully. “Now, go on and tell me about your latest trainwreck of an interaction with Steve Harrington.”

“Christ, Chris!” Eddie hisses, leaping to his feet and immediately spinning around to check if anyone was around to hear her damning words. The coast is clear, luckily, but he still scrambles to shut her office door before falling back into his chair. “You can’t just go around saying his name all willy-nilly.”

“He’s not gonna suddenly appear if you say his name three times, Eddie. See, watch. Steve. Steve. St—”

“Don’t risk it!” Eddie squawks loudly, cutting her off.

“You’re an absolute mess,” she says through a laugh, shaking her head at him.

And well, Chrissy’s not wrong.

Eddie’s been a mess since Monday morning, when he unknowingly produced, directed, and starred in The Roast of Steve Harrington. He blames his shitty memory for forgetting what floor his new office was on—if he’d known he was sharing the elevator with someone he could have potentially worked with (let alone someone whose surname made up a third of the company name), he wouldn’t have opened his big, fat mouth in the first place.

When he finally gathered the courage to make it back down to the fifty-second floor and show his face at the HHH office, he kicked off his onboarding with Chrissy with a strangled, “I know it’s my first day and I technically just started ten minutes ago, but I quit. Thank you for the opportunity and good-bye forever.”

Chrissy, the traitor, spent a full five minutes laughing in his face over his shamefully recounted story before patting him twice on the head and informing him he wasn’t allowed to quit for at least six months. The overly saccharine tone of her voice alone told Eddie there was no room for argument there.

Still, that didn’t stop him from following her into her office after the all-hands meeting on Tuesday, all the while whining in her ear, “I can’t thrive in these conditions, Chrissy. Please, I beg of you—accept my sincere and humble resignation from this cursed hellscape.”

‘These conditions’ consisted of any rooms and/or conversations that contained Steve Harrington. Eddie hadn’t been expecting to see the guy doting over the catering when he walked into the conference room that afternoon, and he certainly wasn’t expecting his supervisor and trainer, Murray, to lead him over to Steve to introduce the two of them (though that was likely just an excuse to head straight for the sandwiches that were laid out for the meeting).

While Eddie choked on his own tongue trying to spit out some generic, inoffensive greeting, Steve merely watched him with an amused smirk before thrusting his hand out and offering a perfectly friendly “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie, I’m Steve”, as if Eddie didn’t have Steve’s name and face (and stupidly fit body—who the fuck looks that good in a pair of khakis?!) burnt into his memory from the day prior.

Afterward, Murray, who most assuredly did not have a filter of any kind, bluntly commented on Eddie’s awkwardness, then spent the next five minutes trying to determine if it was normal, strangers-meeting-for-the-first time awkwardness, or something more sensational. Eddie stubbornly kept his mouth shut until the meeting started.

Wednesday followed a similar pattern, with Eddie flouncing into Chrissy’s office with a dramatic “I choose to break my blood oath. At this point I’d welcome the sweet release of death if it meant I didn’t have to work here anymore.”

Chrissy just corrected him, patiently explaining that he was employed at-will, rather than by blood oath, and that if he left before his sixth month, she’d personally skin him alive. Eddie had to pause and weigh the pros and cons of being skinless. Surely it couldn’t be worse than his latest exchange with Steve—via email this time, mercifully.

He’d just learned how to field helpdesk tickets and received one from Steve Harrington himself. It was a simple enough software request ticket, so he assigned it to himself and replied with next steps, asking Steve for a code so he could remote into his computer and install the program.

Steve replied back, asking where he was supposed to find the code. It was an innocuous enough question, but then Eddie noticed something a little off about his email signature: his last name was bolded.

Eddie ignored it, assuming it was a stylistic choice—nothing to read into, surely—but then Steve sent another email shortly after to let him know to disregard his last email; he’d found the right app and was just waiting for it to generate a code. This time, Harrington was bolded and at least two sizes bigger than his first name.

Then, in Steve’s third email, sent not a minute later with the requested code, Harrington was bolded, two sizes bigger than his first name, and highlighted yellow—a tactic Chrissy found so hilarious that she had to shoo Eddie out of her office with tears in her eyes so that she could compose herself and actually get some work done.

Thursday was a blessed reprieve from Steve’s unique brand of psychological warfare, but Eddie still somehow managed to royally humiliate himself in front of him. After he slunk into her office and silently pushed a scribbled-on napkin across her desk—

Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as Systems Analyst II at HHH, effective immediately. Effective yesterday. In fact, I’ll pay you back the entirety of my wages earned if we just forget I ever worked here.

—Chrissy tutted at him sympathetically before taking the napkin and reaching over to dab it at the large wet stain on his shirt.

He’d been walking back to his desk from the breakroom when he rounded a corner and bumped into Steve in the hallway. Literally bumped into, bodily contact and surprised yelps and everything. And it probably wouldn’t have been such a big deal, really, if not for the fact that he had a newly refilled mug of coffee in his hand.

“Eddie, oh my god, are you okay?”

No, Eddie wasn’t okay, because he just splashed himself with hot fucking coffee and now Steve Harrington was worriedly fussing over him and tentatively trying to mop up the liquid with his own fucking hands for some reason, and he was embarrassed (and a little turned on?) and he had to get the fuck out of there now.

“I’m okay, sorry, it’s fine—” he managed to squeak before whirling around and scurrying to the bathroom.

So yes, Eddie’s been an absolute mess the past few days, and today is no different.

…Actually, scratch that. Today is different. Today is worse.

“Okay, now spill,” Chrissy says. “What happened?”

With another drawn-out, pitiful groan, Eddie sinks down in his seat and lets his neck hang off the backrest, blinking up at the ceiling.

“Talk to me, Eds,” Chrissy says, concern starting to bleed into her voice. “If he’s actually bullying you, you can file a complaint. I have a form here somewhere.”

Eddie hears her open one of her desk drawers and reluctantly sits up. “He’s not bullying me, Mom,” he says with a huff. “We actually…we talked.”

“You talked?” Chrissy asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, about the elevator. Buried the hatchet and everything. I said sorry, we laughed about it, it’s over and done with.” Eddie’s gaze darts around Chrissy’s desk, searching for something to distract him from the warm and fuzzy feeling growing in his stomach at the memory of their conversation.

“That’s great, I’m so proud of you!” Chrissy says cheerfully. “But wait, if you two are good now…”

Eddie doesn’t want her to ask what she’s about to ask, because the answer might be more embarrassing than all of his other Steve stories combined.

“Why are you still going on about quitting?”

Eddie drops his face into his hands, feeling totally and utterly pathetic. “Um, because I think I’m sort of, kind of, just a little bit…in love with him?”

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

tbh I didn’t think I’d be writing a second part, but if strangers on the internet validate me enough, I guess I’ll do anything~

Y’ALL. I’m blown away by the response to part one of this silly lil au. I didn’t reply to any of the lovely comments or tags, but please know if you engaged in any way (or even if you just read the fic and snorted a little through your nose at a bit you found funny) I love you with my entire heart and you’ve made my entire life.

[Now for the tag list, which I’ve never done before. Sorry if you didn’t actually want to be on here! Or, sorry if you’re stumbling upon this post on your own after asking to be tagged and I missed you oops.]

@messrs-weasley @n0-1-important @bornonthesavage @thing-a-ling @eddiemunsonswife @changenamelater @ispyblu @thesuninyaface

@invisibleflame812 @4nemo1egend @ikolanatari @mavernanche @songbird-garden @trashpocket @original-cypher @over7joyed 

@commonxsenss @justdyingontheinside @mojowitchcraft @maya-custodios-dionach @justmiiriam @imzadidragonfly @lillemilly @gay-stranger-things @child-of-cthulhu @bleedingoptimism @lemanzanabizarra @melaniehere91

@iswearitsjustme @silver-snaffles @csinnamon-fox @paint-music-with-me @epicsteddieficrecs @sweetcreaturetm @hxneyfarms @bossyknow-it-all @vecnuthy @stevethehairington @anything-thats-rock-and-roll @nburkhardt

@gayngerthings @patchworkgargoyle @violetsteve @henderdads @2btheanswertothequestion

[ultravioletbrit]

“pain” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 289 words

Regulus is coming back from the bedroom after grabbing a jumper, but as soon as he steps into the living room he feels a sharp pain in his foot that travels up his leg and sends a shiver through his entire body.

“Fucking hell!” He yelps. “What the fuck?!”

“What happened?” James quickly stands up to get to Regulus.

Regulus hops back and looks down at the floor and sees a blue Lego on the carpet. He glares at the Lego then shifts his glare to James.

“This is your fault.” Regulus growls at him.

“How is this my fault? I didn’t put it there.” James tries to hold in his chuckle as Regulus rubs his foot. Regulus is being a little dramatic.

“Fuck, that hurt worse than a Crucio.” Okay, Regulus is being a lot dramatic, James thinks as he bends down to pick up the Lego.

“Not funny.” James tells him when he stands back up.  

“I wasn’t being funny.” Regulus says and James gives him a stern look.

“Fine, it hurt almost as bad as a Crucio.” Regulus huffs and James narrows his eyes at him but walks back to the coffee table.

They both sit down on the floor and James puts the blue Lego on the table with the others. Regulus crosses his arms and continues to glare at the offending Lego.

“Regulus–” James starts.

“I don’t want to build anymore.” Regulus pouts.

“Reg, you can’t take it out on the entire set just because of one piece.” James tells him.

“Fine.” Regulus says reluctantly after a moment as he pushes the blue Lego over to James. “But you deal with that one.” He says, still scowling at the Lego.

“Okay love.” James smiles fondly and slightly amused at Regulus’ dramatics.

[francy-sketches]

Rhaena and her pink barbie dragon 🎀

[nocturnalrat]

toxic fwb w prowler! miles (earth 42)?

reader wants to end the fwb agreement w miles bc she’s falling in love but he’s not cs he’s got hella other girls as well. miles gaslights reader to stop her from ending the fwb agreement js cs he doesn’t want to let her go and reader tries to leave him but he only keeps kissing her lips, cutting her off mid sentence as miles successfully gets reader back into his bed🥰🤷🏻‍♀️

anon i love you! this was so much fun to write, i hope you like it

slight dubcon warning!

In retrospect, you should have known.  

The mere fact that you guys had first met each other in a dirty club downtown, with alcohol in your blood and your self-control dwindling. You had made some small talk with him, an exchange of trivial phrases, before he had given you a look that had shattered the foundation of your very being and all your self-restraint.

That first night with him had been incomparable with anything else you had experience up until that point. Breathtaking and intoxicating and better than any drug you could have gotten on the market.  

You had exchanged numbers, and to your own surprise, he had contacted you two weeks later with a ‘wanna come over?’

Needless to say, you did.

That's how you two ended up becoming friends with certain benefits.

A friendship that you now had to end because the inevitable had happened: You had developed feelings. Who could have blamed you? Miles was aloof, attractive, desirable, mysterious.

Given the long list of his lovers, he was also someone who knew how to separate love from lust, unlike you.

You were lost in your thoughts when the door opened.

"Fucking finally," you said, trying not to sound too accusatory. You had to keep reminding yourself that you weren't in a real relationship with him, that Miles’ bustling personal life was none of your business, and that he didn't owe you an explanation as to why he was late to your date.

Having feelings for him meant one thing and one thing only: unavoidable pain.

"You wanted to talk?" His voice was monotone and indifferent as always.

There was no need to beat around the bush for too long. "We need to end this.”

Once the words left you, you felt relief wash over you. Saying it hadn’t been as difficult as you had expected.

He just raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. "Why?" Short on words as ever.

You jerked back as he approached you, because you couldn't have stood being physically close to him at this moment. It would have been too much. "Because I don't want to see you anymore." Because I don't want to be hurt anymore, you added internally.  

Crossing your arms, you tried to build a confident stance, but when he stopped in front of your, you slumped your shoulders.  

He was tall - taller and stronger than you were, and his dominance in combination with his charisma made you feel small and insecure in his presence.

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" The corners of his mouth lifted into the hint of a grin.

"I don't care what you believe," you said with flushed cheeks. "It doesn’t matter. I've come to realize that this kind of friendship that we..." You fell silent. His hand had grabbed your chin and he had started stroking your lower lip with his thumb.

Oh, you knew that look in his eyes too well. Lust-filled and burning; he wanted you.

"Yeah? Go ahead," he said with nonchalance, but your heartbeat had doubled and every rational thought had been swept from your brain.

“A-Anyway… What I was trying to say was… I realized this kind of friendship isn't for me," you whispered with a trembling voice. He leaned down and placed his lips on the sensitive area of your neck, right where your pulse was. "Miles, what are you -" The rest of the sentence was lost in a moan as he began to suck on your skin.

"You were saying?" he mumbled.

He was so smug and self-satisfied, and the worst part was that he had every right to be.  

"I was saying that -"

You were interrupted again. He was kissing you. Fiercely, beguilingly - it was not an innocent kiss.

Your knees gave way. He caught you, grinning against your lips, and you felt his hands close around your waist.  Even if you had wanted to, you couldn't have escaped his strong embrace.

Well. So much for ending your friends with benefits arrangement.

"Miles - "

"Yes?"

But you didn’t get a chance to answer. His hands roamed over your body, taking your face in his hands. His lips were everywhere - on your cheeks, your chin, your throat, your neck.

"This is not - not a good idea," you managed to say between his kisses.

Before you knew it, he had tossed you over his shoulder and carried you onto his bed, leaning over you and looking at you with dark and lust-veiled eyes.

"And why is that?” He ran his hand over the exposed skin on your stomach where your shirt had slid up. “Why do you want to stop seeing me?”

Goosebumps came over you, and you felt your resolve vanish into thin air. You didn't want to admit that you had feelings for him; it was kind of embarrassing.

He pulled your shirt over your head and began to kiss every part of your exposed body. You half-heartedly tried to push him away from you, but to no avail.

"I asked you a question," he said, and you were so devoted to him, physically and mentally, that you would have done anything for him at that moment.

"Because I -" A gasp escaped you as his hand slipped into your pants.

"Because you…?"

You were wet enough for him to slide two fingers inside you right away. You threw your head back, and curled your fingers into his broad shoulders.

"Say it," he demanded.

God, he was so unnerving, but also all-encompassing and persuasive at the same time. All you could do was tell the truth. "Because I...” You swallowed. “Because I have feelings for you."

The haughty grin that appeared on his face told you everything you needed to know.

"But you already knew that, huh?" you asked.

Instead of answering, he leaned down again and pressed his lips against yours. It didn't take long for you to come - it never did when you were with him.

He always knew which buttons to push, which places on your body to touch to drive you to the brink of desperation and madness.

"Good girl," he said, and something inside you broke.

He was everything you wanted, and at the same time everything you would never have.

But the way he held you, the way he said your name… it almost sounded like you were something he didn't want to lose.

Hope was for fools, and you had never been one of the wise ones.

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

phillies i really get it. he’s so perfect. like i understand and if i had better taste and more self respect i’d be right there with you because look at him. he’s so silly and dumb. exquisite.

[oceanwithouthermoon]

maybe its just me but i cant stand when people are like "it just doesn't sit right with me how teruhashi thought about aiura 🥺" like yes... its not supposed to ??? because her thinking badly of other girls and prioritizing male validation over everything is one of her main flaws ??? can we talk about that WITHOUT making it seem like shes not allowed to have a single actual flaw without suddenly becoming an awful person? nobody can handle complex female characters at all and its so fucking annoying

[chained-sweater]

after losing another argument with darry

sodapop: don't take it too hard, pone.

ponyboy, already in the grave he dug and in the process of piling dirt on himself: i'm not.