#a tumblr fic writer now?

[luckycharms1701]

You’ve always loved turtles. If you’re truly pressed to say why, you would probably say that what you like about them most is the intermediate space they take up. Between land and water. Between soft and hard. Between big and small. They really do it all.

It doesn’t hurt that turtles are super cute.

So when your soulmark came in as an orange turtle on your bicep, you were beyond ecstatic. There is debate about the soulmark symbols and what they mean, but you hoped that meant your soulmate would share your same interest.

There’s really only one career choice for you.

When Channel 6 approaches you about doing a story on your turtle rescue, you are surprised to learn that reporter April O’Neil is going to be the lead. She’s an amazing investigative journalist, not known for this kind of fluff piece.

You understand when you meet her for the first time. She’s as obsessed with turtles as you are. You almost forget it’s an interview as the two of you chat and chat.

Despite the easy rapport you and April have, you are surprised when she contacts you after the piece runs. All she would say is that some people want to thank you in person, can you meet up with her? The mystery has you intrigued, so you agree.

You are not expecting four giant turtles and their rat father. Once you apologize for being rude and they insist it’s fine, open-mouthed staring is the most minor reaction they can think of, they thank you sincerely for your help with their “kinda, sorta brothers???” as the orange-banded one put it. It seems that when they saw the story your passion for your work moved them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Out of this unusual meeting friendship is born.

You, Mikey, and Raph hit it off immediately. They often sneak off during patrol to come help you with your turtle rescue, much to Leo’s chagrin. He can’t really be mad at them though, they are a huge help to you. You have employees and volunteers, but none of them can understand the turtles you rescue like the guys can.

It’s one such night when you realize that friendship isn’t the only thing on your mind when you think of Mikey.

The two of you are passing in the outdoor enclosure, him with a box of his “little bros” in hand, when you trip on a rock. Without even looking at you, he reaches out, catches you with one arm and a “Woah there angelcakes!” and spins to set you back on your feet. He turns and continues on his way, cooing down at the baby turtles in the box.

You, meanwhile, are frozen in place. The way he just… did that, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Just casually picked you up with one arm and put you back down, as if you weighed no more than a feather. The way he acted like it was normal, reminding you that he is not. The way his scales felt, cool through your shirt. Paradoxically the thought lit a fire in you.

It’s a little harder, interacting with Mikey after that. Every touch causes your heart to stutter, and Mikey likes to touch you a lot. He throws his arm around your shoulder and ruffles your hair. When you are able to successfully rehabilitate a particularly ornery softshell turtle, he picks you up in a hug and spins you around, nearly causing you to faint from the sensation.

And he’s so sweet, especially to the turtles in your care. Your heart swells three sizes whenever you see him handle the turtles with such care, as if they are made of hopes and dreams instead of shells and teeth. He doesn’t even mind when they draw his blood, simply laughing and apologizing for scaring them. Even you curse at them for biting sometimes, on your worst days.

He’s a little too perfect, and sometimes when you think of him you find your hand on your bicep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You are thinking of him while you and Raph are building an additional enclosure for a leopard tortoise that isn’t playing well with the others. You feel an itch in your bicep, possibly psychosomatic but annoying nonetheless. You push up your sleeve with the hammer in your hand and scratch at your soulmark with it while you line up the next nail.

“The fuck is that?”

You look up at Raph and blink. That was pretty abrupt, even for him. You follow his gaze to your bicep. “My soulmark?”

A kaleidoscope of emotions flash across his face, too quick to follow. He settles on exasperation. “That’s your soulmark? ‘Nd you never thought to, I dunno, talk to him?”

“Talk to who?”

Raph throws his hands in the air and stalks off. You hear a mutter that sounds suspiciously like “made for each other” as you watch him go.

Part of you wants to follow, to figure out what’s going on, but you really don’t want to have to wrestle this lumber you’re nailing back into place. It took long enough the first time. So you turn back to the task at hand, trying not to get distracted while you hammer the nail in.

It doesn’t take long for Raph to come back, his protesting little brother in tow. He comes up to where you are bandaging your finger after hitting it with the hammer and grabs you as well. He sits the two of you down on the pile of lumber.

“Bro, wha-” Mikey cuts himself off, staring as Raph lifts your sleeve and reveals your soulmark to him.

Raph steps away, letting your sleeve fall back into place, then points between you. “Talk.” He stalks off once again.

You turn to Mikey, hoping he can shed some light on what’s going on. He’s still staring at your bicep, a little slack-jawed. You wave your hand in front of his face, and his gaze snaps up to your face. He starts fumbling with the bracelets around his arm.

When he manages to push them off his wrist to reveal the matching orange turtle, it’s your turn to gape at his arm. You’re moving before you really process everything, and he meets you in the middle for a searing kiss.

“That’s not talking!” Raph’s annoyed yell comes from the other end of the enclosure. You and Mikey pull away simultaneously and start to laugh.

[cherry-pop-elf]

Kiss it Better Pt:3

Curly x Reader

AN: I am just speechless. All this support is making me tear up. Like holy shit. Thank you. Don’t worry! When this finishes(god idk how it will I’m making up as I go since yall want more chapters) I’ll make sure to post it to AO3 for easier access! Just thank you again! And uh. Don’t forget I have a Kofi and Wishlist if you wanna like tip or something. NO PRESSURE! Just a reminder to anyone who WANTS and CAN! You come first! Just. Thank you again!

SUM: You couldn’t sleep, so you try and remember things with Curly to lull you to sleep. As you do, you remember things that are important for a captain to have. Very important, and you are gonna be certain to find them

Warnings: Jimmy, sexual assault, mentions of abortion (it’s a rather calm chapter really. Take it as a pallet cleanser because the next chapter imma really show you how fucked up Jimmy is))

You just couldn’t sleep. It felt criminal to right now. So much was going through your head. So much has happened and now you had time to let it all soak in. The crash, Anya, why there was a crash, Curly’s condition, it made sleep impossible. Especially alone in that big bed that was meant for you and your husband.

You tried to take in deep breaths, and just let the thoughts wash over you. There was responsibility as the Captains Spouse. You weren’t just ‘eye candy’ like Jimmy said. You had worth, and were just as much important to the team as everyone else.

Such as learning a thing or two about what Captain should do in case of an emergency.

Curly was in no state to help, and Jimmy sure as fuck won’t help either. He was the reason everyone crashed after all. He’s a loose cannon and you needed to tip toe around him. Who knows what he might do next. You weren’t even sure if telling Swansea and Daisuke about what’s going on was smart.

Swansea has little girls of his own after all. He won’t react well at all. Then there’s Daisuke. Barely nineteen and thrown into this mess. He might panic or maybe even do something crazy like confront Jimmy. There was just to many what ifs.

So you were left on your own.

You would wrap yourself up in what was once Curly’s sleep robe and grab his spare ID card. The very thing that can unlock any door, and be the one thing that can lock your bedroom door. Definitely should have Anya sleep in here for a while. She deserves to be able to sleep soundly.

While you were waiting for everyone to sleep as well you would explore the bedroom. Looking into nook and cranny to see if there was anything of use. The Captains always were given a bunch of extra shit after all. Even Pony Express had to meet some safety protocols. Curly was their best after all. Even went as far as to try and help him fine work else where. That’s what he explained to you.

Shame. Was just a normal bedroom. The only thing that made it special was it was bigger, and had a lock. Dammit all to hell.

That’s when you tried to think back on past memories of you and your husband. To try and recall any kind of special thing the ships carry. Oh how you felt so guilty for never paying enough attention. Made you feel stupid and useless, but you weren’t.

At least not in comparison to Jimmy.

With a deep breath, you managed to recall something. Something not long before the crash even. You had knocked on the cockpit door to enter it, and was greeted to your husband and Jimmy working. Curly was rambling on about something, while Jimmy kept eyeing the locker suspiciously. As if he wanted to get inside of it for some reason.

That’s your best lead now. God dammit was it a shitty one. The cockpit was stuffed to the brim with foam. But then again that’s the front of the cockpit. If you were careful, and cut the right spot, maybe you can access the locker.

It’s something. Something is better than nothing.

With the robe tossed aside, a change into your jump suit, gloves slipped on, and beanie pulled on to keep your head safe you would make your way to the kitchen. Card key tucked securely inside of your jumpsuit compared to a pocket.

Jimmy can’t know.

Can’t know that you were stealing the only knife that the ship had.

Was going to be a pain in the ass to cut that foam but you really had nothing better to do. So, you unlocked the cock pit and focused on remembering its layout.

“For Anya, for Curly, for Swansea, for Daisuke, and all our families back home.”

You would start the slow and agonizing cutting. Little by little. Just chopping away to try and reach the right side of the pit. To get to that locker and see what was inside. That locker was in the cockpit for a reason. It can only be accessed by the pilots for a reason. There was a reason.

Any time you felt like your arms would give out you thought back to Curly. How he didn’t really have arms anymore to begin with. How Anya was busy throwing up right now. How they needed you. They both needed you.

It had been well over a hour, but you managed to reach the locker. You allowed yourself a breather at the sight of it. Damn was that a pain, but it’ll be worth it. Right?

With your breather over you would use the key card to access the locker. Inside was….Honestly junk. That had you very disappointed. You were honestly ready to cry out of frustration, only to see there were a few locked cabinets inside.

Ones that needed codes.

Codes you knew.

Curly made you memorize them in case of an emergency. He just said to memorize them. That it’s meant to just unlock pin pads. That Pony Express never bothered to change them.

You went to the lower locker and typed it in.

Strange, there was nothing inside. Suppose whatever was inside was taken out. You wondered what could have been in there. Was a very small locker so maybe it was some code scanner or universal unlocking device. Just wasn’t big enough for something you hoped for.

A transmitter.

He prayed it was near the front of the ship. That a transmitter would stuck in the heart of the foam, or as far as just shatter on contact. They had to have a spare communicator. Pony Express had to follow SOME rules after all. Imagine the ship being discovered and the people who found it saw it was missing something as important as that.

So you typed in the code for the larger locker. You were kinda afraid of opening it. To be met with another empty void of metal and dust.

You took a deep breath, and opened.

There really was a god.

There was what you were looking for. A real deal communicator. It was real, it looked untouched and even had dust on it to show that Jimmy never reached it.

Before you grabbed it you made sure to close the door behind you. Just to be sure. Was the dead of night, well from what the clocks say, and everyone should be asleep. Even Jimmy had to sleep. You had to make you move now.

Remain calm, and focus.

You can’t fuck this up.

You snuggled yourself into the corner of the pit, with the communication device in your lap. You hooked the head phones onto your head, and turned it on.

As you waited for it to boot up you made sure you were positioned so that if anyone came through the door, for some reason, you’ll notice. As far as anyone was aware though this room was basically a wall. No purpose to enter. You should be safe, but you had to think ahead. Jimmy was unpredictable, and so full of himself.

Better to be over prepared than see what happens if Jimmy finds out what you are doing.

Couldn’t help but give a squeak of surprise when someone finally spoke to you.

“This is the Emergency Spaceship Retrieval Sector. What seems to be the problem?”

A woman, through the static, spoke to you. Tears of relief fell down your face but you forced yourself to remain focused. You can’t mess this up now. No way no how.

“This is Tulpar for Pony Express. We have suffered a crash about a month ago. From what I can recall we had been a little over four months into our twelve month journey-“ You immediately explained, as to best help them get an estimation on how far the ship had traveled.

“Alright, who may I be speaking to at this moment?”

Deep breaths.

“I am the Spouse to Captain Curly. It is me, Jimmy the co-pilot, Anya the nurse, Swansea the mechanic, and Daisuke our intern.” Deep breaths, keep things quick and to the point.

“Are you all in any immediate danger?”

You had to think about that a moment. Jimmy is a dangerous man. Who knows what he might do next if you don’t play along. So, you had to be honest. You felt guilty for telling the operator what happened. That Curly suffered greatly and needed immediate medical attention, how Anya was a victim of assault and required an abortion as soon as possible, and that the reason for it all was because of Jimmy. He crashed the ship, he raped Anya, he destroyed Curly, and god knows what he will do next.

“Estimated arrival time will be about a month. We have your exact location thanks to the communicator. Remain calm, and know that help is on the way. We have logged this down in the report. Take care of your crew the best you can, Captain.”

And she would log off. You would let your head thump back, and simply cried. Cried in pure relief and joy. That a real person heard you, and was aware of what’s going on. That if anything did go wrong that at least someone knows. Someone will know what happened.

There was hope.

Now was a matter of survival.

One month.

You all needed to survive one month.

One Month Until Rescue…

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@dinkyzoop @danart501 @spudfromspace @niyamamiya

[teencopandthesourwolf]

“Please.”

Stiles stands there, chewing on his pretty crimson lips, pleading.

Derek isn't fully clued in yet, but honestly, the kid is kind of vaguely breaking his heart.

“Please, Derek, I'm really sorry about this, but please just—just don't say anything, okay? And just—let me?”

Stiles had texted Derek earlier, at 3.17am, presumably just before he’d set off from his house to drive his jeep to the loft.

Derek had been lying awake in bed, unable to sleep.

His messages had read:

> dude, i rlly need to come over. that ok?

And:

> ill let myself in if thats cool?

And after a few moments, in quick succession one after the other and before Derek had a chance to respond:

> and i rlly need u to just like. not get out of bed. presuming yr already in bed

> all shall be revealed

> lol i don't know why i put that

> and obvs tell me if any of this is not ok. ok?

> as if you wouldn't lol

> #sourwolf

> and yeah i know im being a weirdo but thats why you like me

And then, a few seconds later:

> right?

Derek had stared at the flurry of messages for a minute or so, then texted back:

Okay, weirdo <

About ten minutes later, Stiles had let himself into the building. Derek listened to the kid muttering away to himself as he rode the old service elevator—except it wasn't really himself he was talking to.

“God, I hope I'm not wrong about this. Like, I think we're close enough now for it not to be weird. I mean, at least I hope we are. I'm just so fucking tired, man, and have got to get me some sleep. Anyways, just—don't get up, okay? Or, like, can you get into bed if you're not already in bed? Sorry, I know I texted you this already, I just really need you to trust me. You do know you can trust me… Right, big guy?”

Derek's trust of Stiles was implicit.

When the steel door had unlocked and slid open, Derek smelled fresh, mostly unscented shower gel over the base notes of Stiles's own cinnamon scent, mixed with the very definite chemo-signals that indicated fear, restlessness, apprehension—and also, the strongest of them all; hope.

Let me.

Here, now, Derek still doesn't know what the kid needs.

Let him what?

Derek doesn't have any more time to wonder, though, because Stiles is taking off his sneakers and pants and is slowly, very slowly—as if giving Derek the chance to protest—climbing into bed next to him.

Stiles is now in Derek's loft in the small hours, in Derek's bed, fully under Derek's covers, with Derek wearing only his grey tank and black boxer-briefs and a probably terrified look on his face.

He silently thanks the universe for the cover of night.

“Like, you should obviously say something if this is completely heinous or whatever, but otherwise just—let me do this?”

And all Derek can think is shit, he's freezing, at the same time he is going into a some sort of dumbstruck shock because Stiles is now wrapping his entire sinewy, beautiful body around the entirety of Derek's.

“This okay?” Stiles asks, the air around them spiking with the smell of his anxiety as he Big-Spoons Derek like some human-shaped octopus, skinny but strong limbs astonishingly everywhere.

And he sounds so unsure, and so small, and Derek can't bear it.

Not giving the stoic part of his brain any opportunity to talk him out of doing this, Derek takes ahold of Stiles's wrist from where the kid had draped one of his long arms around Derek's midriff, and hangs on as firmly but gently as he can, manoeuvring them both around in the bed so that Stiles is now the Little Spoon.

“This okay?” he asks gingerly, mirroring Stiles because his own words are failing him.

Stiles says, “Yeah. Even better,” and his anxiety is melting away into something much more pleasing; something like relief.

Derek breathes out the word, “Good,” and feels a little dizzy and a lot amazed, and kind of like his heart is beating wildly in his throat.

The only reason he knows it isn't, is because Stiles says, “I can feel your heart thumping away in your chest, man. But, uh, I don't have wolfy senses, so… I can't tell if it's good thumping or bad thumping.”

Then he promptly stops breathing.

Derek resists the desperate, learnt urge to run away from this. He mentally shakes himself and figures: After so many years fighting monsters together, maybe he and Stiles can fight this one together, too?

He gives himself a moment to ride out the panic, then screws his eyes shut and, praying to nobody in particular, whispers, “Good thumping,” into the shell of Stiles's ear.

Stiles shivers and breathes again, but doesn't say anything else. For once, he doesn't need to. He just needs to sleep.

As the kid settles into Derek's bed and Derek's embrace and, hopefully, Derek's life, he smells like a mix of serene and content and promise—and also, wonderfully, of Derek, now.

Derek is a strange combination of relaxed and freaking-the-fuck-out because that's just the way he's made. His brain won't stop whirring at a speed of a million miles an hour, worrying about everything and nothing, all at once, and before he can bite into his lip to stop himself, he blurts out, “Cora says I sometimes dream-talk about Cajun Gumbo recipes.”

Stiles's only sighs, then hums quietly, his breathing already evening out almost to the point of sleep.

Just when Derek thinks he's not going to get any sort of real answer, Stiles mumbles, “Okay, weirdo,” on an exhale, and then he's drifting off into unconsciousness.

Derek settles then, and smiles into the nighttime thinking that maybe, finally, he might get a good night's sleep, too.

.

for @shealynn88, the bestest of friends. i love you and miss you always... <3 (unedited btw—forgive me!)

[secretidentie]

Bruce finally feels settled in his role as batman. Dick just went to college, the Justice league is doing well and he's got a new Robin. So he decides it's finally time he made his parents proud and finish medical school (and totally not because he wants to be in college at the same time as dick, that's ridiculous Alfred).

Obviously since he's the prince of Gotham he can't really go to Gotham U without being recognized or harassed and since he owns half the buildings he knows he won't be treated fairly so he decides to study in Metropolis.

This is how he ends up in a communication and ethics elective class with a Clark kent, a journalist for the daily planet who is getting his PhD. They slowly develop from strangers to study buddies and maybe even more while Bruce balances academic pressure, with being batman and a dad to dick 2.0 jason.

As the year goes on and he has to deal with assignments, group projects, literal teenagers and not always being perfect Clark's apartment slowly becomes a safe space as he learns to ask for help and accept change.

[defectivehero]

If you'd like, please write about an injured hero who needs to be carried around by villain! >:D

“One more complaint and I’m dropping you,” the villain announces, briefly readjusting their grip. They have one arm looped under the hero's knee and the other supporting their enemy's back.

The hero has been steadily avoiding eye contact, instead looking ahead. They look a bit flustered, for some reason. “This is humiliating,” the hero sighs, looking down at their ankle with a menacing glare.

“Yes, it is humiliating,” the villain agrees, an annoyed expression on their face as they stare ahead. They thank the stars that they're walking down a rather narrow and abandoned side street. They wouldn't be able to do this downtown, in broad daylight—both because they're too prideful, and because someone may recognize them. “Maybe if you had paid attention instead of tripping over nothing-”

“Hey, that’s not very nice bedside manner,” the hero interjects. The villain has to take a moment to process that statement.

“Bedside manner is for people who are ill or dying,” the villain sighs, “You’re just dramatic.” Gods, why do they even bother? They could be at home right now, washing the dried blood from their skin and melting under the warm water from their shower. Instead, they're carrying the hero across town as if they're some sort of delivery service. Absolutely ridiculous.

“You haven’t dropped me,” the hero points out. They look far too smug for the villain's liking. Indeed, their next remark nearly makes the villain's jaw crack from how hard they're gritting their teeth. “So I must be doing something right.”

The villain takes a deep breath, trying to maintain their composure. Leave it to their enemy to make a simple act of kindness so painful, overcomplicated, and tedious. “You’re clinging onto my neck so tightly that I’ll get whiplash if I drop you,” the villain feels the need to point out.

“Fair enough,” the hero acquiesces. After a moment’s contemplation, they loosen their grip on their neck. The villain can almost feel the weight slowly seeping from their shoulders. They had underestimated the hero's grip strength, it seems.

They expect the hero to be still once more, but their enemy doesn't relax. It only takes a few moments for them to snap. "Stop squirming," the villain demands.

"I was loosening my grip, asshole-" The hero seethes irritatedly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, what was that?" The villain asks, making a show of looking around at the empty street around them. "Was I just insulted for helping my enemy back to their agency—which, might I say, is an entirely voluntary and selfless act of heroism?"

The hero scoffs and rolls their eyes. "Oh, please," they huff. The villain gets the feeling that, if their arms were free, they'd cross them over their chest in indignation. "You wouldn't know heroism if it punched you in the face."

The villain just stares at them, waiting for them to catch on to what they just said. The hero connects the dots moments later, as they evidently realize that they themself have indeed punched the villain in the face before.

An awkward tension clings to the air. The villain continues walking down the street towards the hero's agency, internally cursing their pure heart. If this is how inconvenient it is to be a hero, then they don't plan on doing anything remotely good ever again.

Mercifully, the building begins to appear in the distance. As the villain crosses the street, the hero begins to murmur. “Let’s go in through the back,” they say, “Just turn the corner, there’s a door back there-”

“Oh, absolutely not,” the villain interjects immediately. "If we're doing this, then we're doing this." They readjust their grip once more and stroll towards the elaborate front doors of the city's top superhero agency. They can feel the hero stiffen in their arms.

“Please, no,” the hero begs them. The villain doesn’t bother listening, instead continuing to walk purposefully towards the entrance. The security is laughably lax at this hour. It's when they cross the threshold of the entrance that the hero attempts to break free from their grasp. Thankfully, the villain had been expecting them to do just that, and they manage to hold tight.

The villain pointedly clears their throat, satisfied with the way the occupants of the foyer immediately swivel around and stare with gazes of recognition. “I think I have something of yours,” they announce, looking down at the hero in their arms. At this point, the hero is positively wriggling in their arms—desperate for escape. The villain finally decides to take pity on them and they release their grip, leaving the hero to fall to the ground.

“Ouch.” The hero mutters once they hit the ground. The villain rolls their eyes, knowing that the hero managed to break their fall with a tactical roll and land without injury. They push themselves to stand on one foot and someone nearby rushes to their side, providing them adequate support to remain balanced on one side.

Everyone's eyes are on them, as if they're waiting for the villain to do something. "You may carry on," the villain orders, when a few seconds pass and the onlookers continue to stare expectantly. Their voice seems to break through the confusion and anticipation, and the people scattered around the space return to whatever they were doing. "I've done my civic duty for the year." They mutter to themself, turning on their heel and heading for the door.

"Hey." The hero's voice makes them freeze in place. The villain inhales slowly, summoning more patience. They turn around and manifest a calm expression.

"What?" They ask, struggling to keep the frustration from their voice.

"Thanks." The hero smiles.

"Just- don't let it happen again," the villain answers, looking away from the hero's far-too-bright smile. They turn on their heel and walk away, pushing away any and all feelings born from their enemy's gratitude.

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

endnotes below!

the villain, holding the hero by the scruff of their neck: look what i foundddd!

the villain: this heroism stuff sucks. the hero: *expresses their gratitude and smiles* the villain, visibly flustered: now hold on a second...

this dynamic really amuses me. I can't get rid of the mental image of the villain holding the hero by the scruff of the neck like a kitten, and the hero just kind of hanging there in defeat. good stuff.

the villain lies awake that night, unable to stop thinking about the hero. :3

and thanks to the anon who sent this request! I posted a cry for help yesterday very briefly and then got embarrassed and deleted it, but! the original point still stands: my ask box is open! send me stuff and i *may* write it!

if ur reading this, ily <3 hehe

tag list: @lateuplight @wit-is-wisdom @greengableswriting @whump-me-all-night-long @noawhite @rekhyt-of-arcadia @the-blind-one-speaks @sufferfictionalcharacters @basically-psyduck @alexkolax @subval01 @emerald-blade @felicia609 @surplus-of-sarcasm @ilickedanenvelopeandilikedit @a-chaotic-gremlin @unknownogre @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @whatwhumpcomments @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @agayprince @starsick1979 @a-lonely-little-ghost @agayprince @plum-tello

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[flori-doodles]

"Your hair looks nice, by the way."

The first chapter of What's the point of Running (when my steps always lead back to you)? Is up!!! Yippee!!

@kale-of-the-forbidden-cities

@cutebisexualmess

@camelspit

@writingandwritten

@honey-the-dinosaur-ate-our-kid

@isecretlywishiwasyn

@thebestbookshelf

@malewifegradyruewen

@pyromaniac-on-caffeine

@appleflv

@bylerlve

@that-glasses-dog

@overthinksinbisexual

@katniss-elizabeth-chase

@abubble125

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@you-have-been-frizzled

@kamikothe1and0nly

@just-a-honey-badger

@hyperdragonthings

@deulalune

@drama-llamaaa

@tastetherainbow290

[rainbowsuitcase]

*extremely tired writer voice* this was supposed to be a short gen fic but now they're horny

[moonibinbon]

Missing writing them (blorbos) but need to focus on other things (life under capitalism)

[grailknightmonty]

"the moon will sing a song of chaos"

She had leapt down onto the fortress gracefully like a meteor having mastered its landing, and ran past them way quicker than either of the two could have reacted. Eyes ablaze, as Pearl ran past Skizz she scooped up the wither skull at his feet which he had just leaned down to grab.

"Wh-HEY!"

"Sorry mate, tasks's a task!"

She threw the Ianitee a salute and a wink as she took off in the opposite, soon being followed by both Skizz and Impulse who spun around to start chasing her down the crimson brick bridge. She could hear Impulse shouting something, but she was far too focused to make out exactly what. As she came to the edge of the fortress, she paused for a moment to brandish her dual scythes, giving Impulse a chance to swing at her, only narrowly missing as she parried his axe and knocked him slightly backwards with the swing of her other weapon. She swiftly turned and dived off downwards towards the lava- fire resistance pot already downed well before she had even approached the duo- trails of flames coming off the diamond blades, and her singed crimson cloak billowing behind her.

Skizz ran past Impulse to rush to the edge, and as he watched her fall, he swore he could see the outline of the god of chaos appear in between the strikes of flame, eyes judging, but ever curious at the player below.

Heard that Pearl is a Mianite enjoyer and I haven't looked back 👀 She would make the perfect Dianitee

[marlsswrites]

Summer camp AU, part 23!!

July 23rd <3

Attitude - @jegulus-microfic - words: 494

First part Previous part

The thing is, Regulus liked being alone. He liked the solidarity of it, not having to socialise, not having to worry about what to say, he could just relax.

But also, he didn’t like being lonely. There’s a stark difference of being alone versus being lonely.

Now, this is one of the things that makes him fall even further over his heels for James. The boy always made sure Regulus was up for talking, no matter what attitude the younger gave to him or not, he’d always stick around in silence of Regulus just wanted to be in the presence of someone.

It made Regulus feel bad sometimes, doesn’t he want to be hanging out with this friends? Not the sad lad he shares a cabin with, because, who would?

So now here he was, sat idly on his bed, swiping through the pages of his book. James’ eyes felt like fire how they glued onto the back of his head, and he loved it, having James’ gaze on him.

The music James had in the background grew louder and louder, until the sound of a phone ringing stopped it entirely as Regulus groaned and snapped his head towards James as the phone ringing irritated his ears. “Are you going to answer that?”

“Yeah-“ He scrambled for his phone, picking it up and pressing it to his ear. “Sirius? Yeah- yes? I’m with Reggie, yes, Regulus.” He emphasised the last word, his face showing morphs of different emotions, all of them including a slight redness to his cheeks. Yet all he could hear from the phone was Sirius’ laughing and mumbled words.

In the meantime, Regulus has walked himself over to the small kitchen area to grab himself a drink. He grabbed a glass, filling it with a flow of water from the tap before he heard his name being called.

Taking a sip from the glass, he held it carefully in his fingers as he walked back towards James. “Do you want pizza?” James asked as Regulus leant on the wall next to James’ bed, his attention catching on the way the brunettes gaze caught on Regulus’ hands.

Testing the waters, he circled his ringed, pale, finger around the rim of the glass as he stopped in false thought. “James?” He heard his brothers voice calling through the phone. “Prongs!” Yet James eyes and focus seemed glued to one thing and one thing only, Regulus smirked in triumph.

“I think he’s a bit- distracted.” Regulus coughed out, leaning his head closer to the speaker, and evidently closer to James’ awe struck face. He could practically hear a shaky exhale of breath from the older as Regulus’ curls brushed against his god like arm.

“What’s he distracted with, Regulus?” Sirius asked slowly.

“I wouldn’t know.” He replied slyly. “And yes, I’ll have pepperoni.” Was the last thing he said before stalking away, making sure to brush his hand along James’ leg as he left.

Next part

[makemeimmortalwithahug]

Shocking news: Local disaster can actually write more than ten words in an hour when she turns off her phone and writes in an actual notebook!

[luxinwonderland]

why's Cody looking at him like that??

how dare he be this cute?!!

my ♥️ can't take it !

& the way Randy looks at him is SICK too

ps., I’m working on a new chapter for the Candyland Arc ( goal is to publish it Dec. 1st )

& I’m revising Heart Work vol. 1, stay tuned treasured readers!

[gothamite-rambler]

Selina and Bruce being my OTP

Cheetah (british accent, on a phone call with Selina): So, you're with a rich man?

Selina: Yeah, we've been together for... um, years.

Cheetah: Color me intrigued, is he hot?

Selina (with a brief pause, then eagerly): …Super hot!

Cheetah: Yas queen! Wait, is he daddy?

Selina (giddy): Oh, yeah, he is.

Cheetah: Good for you! As long as he matches your freakiness in a healthy, consenting way, I totally support it.

Selina: He is all of those things. Thanks, girl.

Cheetah: Girl, us cat girls have to stick together.

____________________________

Damian (coloring in his book): Selina, we need to work on your thieving. You’re dating a rich man; why keep stealing gems?

Selina turned to Bruce with a raised eyebrow.

Bruce: He's read your case file because he knows I'm not dumping you anytime soon.

Selina: And he's worried I'll be crazier than Talia?

Bruce and Damian: Yes.

Selina: Right, well I'm working on it, but gemstones and jewels are perfect to keep and collect at times.

Bruce (deadpan): And you get distracted by shiny objects.

Selina: No, I don’t—

Bruce slid an open jewelry box in front of her, filled with assorted necklaces, rings, and earrings sparkling with gemstones.

Selina (mesmerized): It sparkles, shimmers, and shines! I want it!

Bruce closed the jewelry box and took it away.

Selina (sheepish): Okay, fine, it may be linked to my attraction to pretty, shiny things, but the money comes first.

Bruce: Give me my great aunt's ring back.

Selina giggled as she handed the ring back to him. She blushed covering her face slightly embarrassed.

Bruce: At least you stopped stealing my parents jewelry.

Selina: In the past... Sorry about that, by the way.

Damian chuckled while still coloring.

Damian: You apologized, which is a step up from my mom at times.

____________________________

Ivy (spiteful): You ever worry you're making a colossal mistake with who you’re dating?

Selina (eating her salad): I have many issues, but I have standards, thank you very much.

Ivy (raised voice): You're dating Batman!

Selina (smirking): You haven't brought up my mistakes yet.

Cheetah: Her jealousy is showing, girl. Ignore her.

Ivy: Cheetah, shut up! Why are you supporting this insanity?

Cheetah: Because from what she's told me, he's a perfect man for her. Now, I'm not sure why you're unhappy about that when you have Harley, but leave her alone, or I’ll say something that really hurts your feelings.

Selina (chewing): What she said.

____________________________

Bruce and Selina were in her apartment in the middle of foreplay. Selina saw the scratch marks on his neck and touched them gently, making Bruce moan as he rested on her chest.

Selina: Okay, I'm just gonna say it. I love you, and I like that you enjoy BDSM, but I'm slightly concerned you get aroused by certain pains.

Bruce (composing himself): Hm... does it help that I only enjoy them when they're directed at me?

Selina (not sure how to react): Oh… Wow… That's something to talk about later, but that is slightly reassuring considering your side business. All right, ready?

Selina cracked her whip in the air, and Bruce perked up, nodding enthusiastically. Smiling, Selina took his hand and led him to her bedroom.

____________________________

Selina: Hot Girl Summer is over. It's time for Haunted Hoe Halloween.

Selina walked out in a sexy witch costume.

Selina: What do you think?

Bruce (flustered): I think I’m a very lucky man.

Selina (waving her hand with a smile): Aww, stop.

____________________________

Selina: So, it was when he took off his shirt, and I thought, 'Yas daddy!' He smiled—such a cute smile. I couldn't resist him anymore. I… my whole body—

Ivy (interrupting): That's something you should share with a therapist, not me.

Selina: You've never had that moment?

Ivy (visibly disgusted): Not with Batman!

Selina: Hmm, you're really missing out. And I'm not telling you who he is.

Ivy (angrily): Come on! I treated you to drinks!

Selina (taking a sip from her martini): That's thoughtful of you. Now, for the next part—his big, circumcised—

Ivy groaned in disgust, covering her eyes as Selina dove into that section of the story. On the other hand, Cheetah was enthralled; she didn’t fight Batman that much and felt no hatred towards him, especially with how Selina described their intimate moments.

____________________________

Bruce and Selina on a trip to Italy get ready for a relaxing night together, but there's one thing on Bruce's mind.

Bruce: Can you stop calling me that?

Selina (resting on his bed in sexy lingerie): Pookie?

Bruce: No.

Selina: Batsy?

Bruce: No.

Selina: Brucie?

Bruce: No, you're the only one who can call me that.

Selina: Oh, is it eggplant?

Bruce: No… I actually admire the appreciation there. You're getting close. It has to do with the fact that I'm a parent.

Selina: Hmm, you mean daddy?

Bruce sighed, covering his eyes.

Bruce: Why do you say it like that?

Selina: To distinguish it from an actual dad or father. I’m not calling you that because you're a dad and it turns me on. It’s just cute slang.

Bruce: I still don’t understand slang, but this one in particular bothers me. Please pick something else, especially before my kids find out. I can’t… I just can’t.

Selina smiled at the sight of her man blushing, then rolled onto her stomach, kicking her legs back and forth while thinking.

Selina: What about zaddy? It’s basically an older, sexy man who's fashionable and charismatic.

Bruce (not realizing it’s a similar term): That’s better, but I want to keep this between us. I enjoy our pet names, but—

Selina (winking): I gotcha.

____________________________

Ivy: How can I convince you to stop fucking my friend before you fuck her life up?

Batman quickly covered his son's ears, making the young hero grumble in annoyance.

Batman: She was a cat burglar before I got involved with her. She's someone I genuinely care about, and I've done everything to show her that I love her. I am not messing up her life because you're jealous.

Ivy (stammering): I am… not jealous of you!

Batman: Lying is unbecoming of you.

Ivy (dryly): At least I don't wear a stupid bat suit.

Ivy turned and walked off. Robin blinked, growing angry at the plant woman.

Robin: Father, I can handle her.

Batman: She’s not worth it.

____________________________

Cheetah (on the phone with Selina): So, how was your trip with the rich man?

Selina: He found out about the word daddy, but I recovered. Now it’s zaddy, which he fits perfectly.

Cheetah: Nice compromise! I imagine he hasn’t realized it sounds similar to daddy?

Selina and Cheetah laughed without Selina having to answer.

Cheetah: What happened after that? How was the sex? I’m super bored and love your stories.

Selina: Aww, thanks! Well, he took the lead last night and said, 'Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.' But like—

Cheetah (eagerly): Oh my God, don’t be!

Selina: I know, right? He forgets I have the same level of pain tolerance he does.

Cheetah: Yeah, but you know how rich people can be. I grew up rich too so I have seen some skeevy and freaky ones. He's not into… "cheese pizza" is he?

Selina (laughing): Oh no, thankfully not! When I first met his kid, I was concerned, but he's just an oddly good dad.

Cheetah: Get out! He’s a daddy and also a father?

Selina: Yeah, and a pretty good one.

Cheetah (snapping her fingers supportively): Yes, queen! You found a potential good man.

Selina (lovingly): I’m grateful every day.

____________________________

Wonder Woman: Catwoman, my enemy Cheetah, for saving my people, we shall celebrate this in the ancient tradition of the Amazons!

Cheetah (leaning towards her sworn enemy, but smiling): Are we going to have a fucking rager?

Wonder Woman: We’re going to have a fucking rager!

Cheetah: Finally! We're on good terms for the night Wonder Woman!

Catwoman (Selina): I should probably tell my boyfriend I'm going to be here for a while.

Cheetah (whispering to Catwoman): She’s dating a rich man who matches her freak.

Wonder Woman (pretending not to know): Oh my Zeus… I did not see that coming.

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

A henchman of the Joker held Catwoman with a knife to her head. She wasn't terrified; her expression was more annoyed than anything. Batman, however, showed worry, but it was mostly concern for the goon.

Goon: I will gut her like a… cat. A stupid cat! Give up, or she dies!

Catwoman (annoyed): How am I giving off damsel in distress vibes that you think this is smart to do?

Batman (agreeing): I was about to ask the same question.

Goon: I mean, look at how you're dressed.

Batman took a step back, surprised when he saw his girlfriend's face turn red with anger.

Catwoman: Okay, fine. We really doing this? Cool.

With a swift motion, Catwoman forcibly twisted the man's knife hand, flipping him to the ground. She kicked him in the crotch three times as the goon begged her to stop. She swiped the knife lying next to him as well.

Catwoman (walking towards Bruce): Okay, what were you asking about the party at Diana's place?

Batman: Did she ask you anything about our sex life?

Catwoman: Yes, I kept it vague.

Batman: Thank you for that. And did you ever find out if she was the one who stole my wallet?

Catwoman: I swiped it back for you. When we get back to my place, you can take it with you when you leave in the morning.

Batman: Thank you… you know I'm lucky to have you?

Batman kissed her on the cheek making her smile.

Catwoman: I feel the same about you.

[thelaurenshippen]

genuinely think it's good and healthy to follow at least one person in each of your fandoms who reblogs good gifsets but has just...absolutely dogshit takes on the show, or who ships that ship you despise. keeps things fresh. keeps things grounded. you gotta stay humble

[dawnthefluffyduck]

Doodles based on "Yet Another Nightmare" by Catroic on Ao3 (highly recommend reading, its very good)

[defectivehero]

home where

"Are those single-use plastic bags?" The villain huffs, leaning forward from the hero's open windowsill. The hero's heart leaps out of their chest and they stumble backwards, very nearly falling over in bewilderment.

They place a hand over their chest as they regain their breath. "What the hell are you doing here?" The hero demands, staring at the villain casually sitting in their window.

"You really shouldn't leave your window open unless you want visitors," the villain sighs in lieu of an answer. "Practically asking me to break in." They tap their fingers along the frame of the window.

"Wow, okay, blaming the victim," the hero huffs, their mind spinning. They are somewhat convinced that they're dreaming—and that they'll wake up in a few hours, sweat-soaked and gasping for breath underneath their linen sheets. "And what was that about the bags?" They ask.

"Look at that bag of bags," the villain points at the clever contraption hanging on one of the drawers of their kitchen, turning their nose up at it. "Disgusting. And everyone thinks I'm the villain." The hero tries to process that statement for a moment.

"You are," the hero responds, staring at them in disbelief. "You kill people. All the time." Hence their appearance on several old-fashioned "wanted" posters and more modern newscasts.

"At least I'm not killing the entire earth," the villain gestures flippantly. "Get some reusable bags, you monster."

The hero promptly ignores the latter half of their statement, instead focusing on their accusation. "That's a huge exaggeration," the hero sighs.

"Okay." The villain shrugs. "Don't say I didn't warn you. Complacency is very dangerous when it comes to protecting the environment."

"You're such a fucking hypocrite," the hero responds, crossing their arms over their chest. "Your invention last week probably created enough nuclear waste to sink this entire city."

"Okay, rude," the villain scoffs. "I use sustainable energy sources, of course. Nuclear power is a no-no."

The hero blinks at them once, twice. "This is so weird." They remark aloud, bringing a hand to their arm and pinching at it hard. Surprisingly, nothing happens. Either this is a very vivid lucid dream... or it's reality. The hero isn't sure which would be worse.

"Your dreaming mind isn't nearly quick enough to predict me, dear," the villain says, swinging out of the window and landing on the floor noiselessly. "Besides, knowing you... your dreams are probably plagued with memories of the people you couldn't save."

A ragged breath is torn out of the hero's lips at the unexpected remark. The reminder is entirely unwelcome. They don't want to think of all the victims they failed—all the families they ruined. The hero desperately tries to suppress their quickly spiraling thoughts. "Why are you here?" Their voice is slightly more breathless; the villain is quick to notice.

"Do I need a reason to visit my enemy?" The villain grins, leaning closer. The hero doesn't bother hiding their discomfort, stepping to the side to enforce the distance between them.

"When you visit my home, yes," the hero remembers to answer in a few seconds. The villain's grin morphs into a dangerous smirk, and the hero is suddenly assaulted with the inexplicable conviction that they've made a grave mistake.

"Oh, you don't have to pretend this is the first time I've visited," the villain remarks casually, rhythmically tapping their fingers against the counter. "I've always known where you lived. You should know that by now."

Everything—the dull hum of their kitchen appliances, the traffic outside—descends to a tense silence. The hero's stomach churns as they think back to the inexplicable occurrences that have taken place throughout the past months: their water bill going up without reason; groceries going missing; takeout food appearing when they don't remember buying it. They had dismissed them as slips in their memory—they've been busy at the agency. But now that they really think about it...

"That was you," the hero chokes. Their heart is suddenly racing in their chest. They have never truly had privacy, have they? They suddenly feel very vulnerable. "Why do you keep sneaking in here?!"

"Well," the villain drawls, as if the answer is obvious. "It's easy, for one. You don't even have locks on these windows." The villain laughs as their eyes find the several windows in the room. "It's closer, sometimes. You have a lot more first aid materials than I do... You get the idea." They shrug nonchalantly.

The hero stares at them in shocked silence. "You've practically been living here," they breathe, a note of frustration leaking into their voice. Their head is spinning. Pain is starting to stretch through their temple and down their jaw from from how hard they've been gritting their teeth.

"Okay, now you're the one exaggerating," the villain says. "I'd hardly associate a few house visits with living here." They pick at their nails, as if entirely unbothered by this turn in conversation. It's clear they're entirely unapologetic about invading the hero's space.

The hero still feels the visceral need to convince the villain of the gravity of their invasive actions. "You used my shower," the hero accuses, with equal sentiments of embarrassment and irritation.

"I was bloody," the villain shrugs. "And your shampoo is nicer than mine."

The hero frowns. The farther they look back, the more they realize just how long the villain has been visiting. The villain's visits explain everything: things left in slightly different places than the hero remembers; doors unlocked when they should be locked; and... "Oh my gods, that's why my fucking washer hasn't been working! You broke it, you asshole!" They exclaim.

"I didn't break it!" The villain immediately argues, having the audacity to look offended. A guilty expression rises on their face as they avert their eyes. "I just... didn't know how to use it." They trail off, a sheepish grimace on their face.

The hero focuses on taking a deep breath in, exhaling slowly. When they speak again, their voice is deceptively calm. "Get out." They point to the window from which the villain entered.

The villain doesn't look surprised by the sudden dismissal, and somehow, they are agreeable enough to head over to the window to leave. "I'll be back," the villain says when they reach the windowsill, glancing over their shoulder and sending the hero an unreadable look.

"I know." The hero says defeatedly, letting out a long-suffering sigh. A hint of fondness escapes their voice and they hope their enemy doesn't notice. They know there's no convincing their enemy: it would be a futile effort. They have never been able to persuade the villain to do anything—and the hero doubts that will change now.

"Oh," the villain responds, staring at them in mild surprise, as if they hadn't expected them to admit it. "Okay then. Bye." They send an awkward wave over their shoulder and disappear. The hero stares at the empty window for longer than they should, before closing it and locking it. They're not sure why they're bothering to lock it—a simple lock won't keep the villain away.

Sure enough, three days later, the hero wakes up and walks out to their kitchen to find a pile of reusable bags on their counter. "You really need to get your priorities in order." The hero says. There is no one in sight—yet, somehow, they know the villain is listening.

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

_______

me, unloading the groceries this morning: damn it, i forgot to buy reusable bags. i've been meaning to buy those. me, an hour later, sitting in front of my computer: what the fuck did I just write. and why did I write it.

did I overdo it with the banter? probably. do I care? ......only a little.

is the title from the sir chloe song? ....i plead the fifth.

thanks for reading!

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