#absolutely feral with this fic

[strangerhands]

yes hello im rereading this beautiful perfect sweet hot lovely cute sexy soul healing fic for the millionth time :3

“No, snoring is this:” you do your very best over the top impression.

Marc laughs. “Okay.” <-i cri

"Baby," he chokes back a little half sob as heat flares along his skin, pleasure coiling tightly in his lower abdomen.

Oh this is all going too fast. If he doesn't get a grip on himself soon he's going to come in his (Steven's) sweat pants. <-

Marc shifted his hands down to your waistband. “Wanna make you feel good please?” <-

*copies and pastes Literally The Entire smut sequence* <-RAAAGHUDHWJDAJDHAHSIODSNFMAJSHAKFHG

fen. when i say that this is one of my all time favourite marc fics Ever. i mean it. everything about this is just perfection and i will come back to this another million times. forever. its just too good. i love this and him with all of my heart and soul. it just makes me feel so fuckin

thank you for this beautifulness<3

Soft Marc

That’s it that’s the request

S O F T M A R C ! Thank you so much for the ask! Ilysm!

(Thank you for an excuse to write some soft Marc! Also, oh no this turned into porn, I’m so sorry.)

Feels Nice

Marc Spector X F!Reader Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: typos (I feel like I wrote this one in a haze, I'm so sorry), swearing, Marc saying 'please', Marc being sleepy, oral sex (f receiving), P in V sex, dry humping (humping the settee)

Word Count: 1757

_______________________________________

You shifted your legs slightly as the movie ended, trying to wiggle enough to grab the remote without disrupting Marc. 

He was dead asleep, breathing softly. His head resting comfortably against your shoulder. It was the first time you’d ever seen him resting so soundly. 

You shuffled again, your movements bolder this time in a vain effort to reach the remote. 

It was the first time in ages that you’d actually watched a film on live TV, and you knew it would be only a matter of seconds before an advert that was five hundred decibels louder than an aeroplane taking off started. 

It was nearly in your reach, nearly close enough for you to grasp and-

“COMING UP NEXT!”

Marc jolted awake, springing into a sitting position. His right arm flew to the side and across your body, it made you think of a driver protecting a passenger when they had to break suddenly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” it was difficult to keep the smile out of your voice. “It’s just the TV.” You rubbed his back, trying to ease the tense muscles. 

Marc swallowed and looked around to you. He nodded once, still half asleep. A large tuff of his hair was sticking upwards from where he had rested.  

Quickly you grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. A vague silence filled the flat, punctuated by the faint buzzing of the fish tank and other electronics. 

You grinned at him, dipping your head to the side as you reached out and patted his hair, trying to smooth it back down. 

Marc hummed and closed his eyes leaning into your touch. “Feels nice.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He looked so serene, angelic in the weak light. 

Slowly, you sank your fingers further into his hair and applied a light, but firm, pressure to his scalp. 

He groaned, pushing further into your touch. The persistent force of his movement forced you further back into the settee. 

You giggled as he urged you further, guiding you to laying down on your back with him between your legs. He tried to keep most of his weight off you, caging you in with his arms, but you could feel him steadily slipping as you continued to massage his head. 

Small moans and shudders escaped his lips until he was completely in your lap, his head resting against your chest and left arm hanging limply off the side. 

“I fell asleep didn’t I?” He mumbled into your top.

You grinned, continuing the massage, “You did.”

“Was I snoring?”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Steven says I snore.” He spoke into your stomach, unintentionally shifting forwards into your touch. 

“You were sort of,” you pause for a second, thinking, before you do your best to mimic his soft breathing from before.

“That’s snoring.” 

“No, snoring is this:” you do your very best over the top impression. 

Marc laughs. “Okay.”

You continue in silence for a while, staring at the ceiling and not thinking about anything in particular. 

There is even a moment you think that maybe Marc has fallen back to sleep. His breathing is heavier than it was before, but you slowly begin to notice a slight rocking motion. 

It’s almost ignorable at first, subtle enough for you to think that you are imagining it. But as you continue to massage Marc’s scalp the movements become more and more prominent. 

You wait, counting the seconds in your head. 

His breath hitches as he tries to bite back a moan.

“Marc?” You ask, faking an impressive level of innocence, and slow your hand movements.

He lifts his head a few centimetres from you. “Please don’t stop.” His voice is low and needy, his eyes lidded. 

You push his face up a little more so that you can get a better look at him as you scrap your fingers along his skin. The sensation sparks like lightning down to his stomach.

He can’t help it as his hips rock against the settee, the inner seam of his sweatpants rubbing against his hard cock. 

He groans, the sound rumbling deep within his chest as he bites hard on his bottom lip and closes his eyes. 

The sight of him is glorious as he is wrapped up in the sensations of his own pleasure. You can’t help but run your fingers over his scalp again, firmer this time and his answering moan is instantaneous. 

WIthout really thinking you shift slightly, bringing your legs up to wrap around him and lightly dig your heels into his plump ass. You apply a little pressure in time with his thrusts, encouraging him to rut harder.

“Baby,” he chokes back a little half sob as heat flares along his skin, pleasure coiling tightly in his lower abdomen. 

Oh this is all going too fast. If he doesn’t get a grip on himself soon he’s going to come in his (Steven’s) sweat pants.

He moves quickly, trying to not completely lose himself and give into the sweet sensations, and sits up a little.

You go to take your hands away from his head, and move your legs. Already starting to form an apology on your tongue, believing that you stepped over a boundary. 

“No, no, no,” he mutters quickly, grabbing hold of your hands and pressing them firmly against his hair. “Continue, continue please.” His voice cracks with ache and want, his eyes half lidded and pupils blown wide. His skin is so warm, burning as if he had drunk just a little too much. 

You nod quickly, in awe of how wrecked he looks.

Marc shifted his hands down to your waistband. “Wanna make you feel good please?” 

How can you relist when he asks you so nicely? 

You nod again, barely finishing the movement before he is ripping your trousers and underwear off you and throwing them somewhere to the side. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t send them flying into the TV and knocking it over. 

Throughout you try your best to continue the massage, rubbing your thumbs and fingers along his skin in a now ingrained pattern you know he likes. 

Marc lifts both of your thighs over his shoulders and settles down, causing you to have to curl up a little to keep your hands in his hair. 

He puts his right hand just underneath your lower back, positioning it ever so slightly so that your hips cant upwards, and wraps his left around your leg so that he can rub your clit. 

You let out a small shaky sigh as he touches you, so light and barely there. 

“Fuck.” His hisses, his hot breath hitting your outer thighs as he leans into you. “Ugh, you’re so wet.” 

He runs his nose up and down through your folds, groaning as your slick coats his skin. 

“Marc-” You cut yourself off with a string of expletives as he lightly grazes your clit with his teeth before plunging his tongue into your cunt. 

You pull tightly on his hair, the action involuntary and Marc lets out a beautiful high pinched wine as he grinds himself harder against the settee. 

His cock is throbbing, burning for attention as he laps at you, rocking you back and forward with his right hand as he encourages you to fuck his face in time with the rock of his hips. 

You’re achingly close already, pleasure sparking up and flooding your veins under his skilled actions. He continues to roll your clit between his left thumb and forefinger, pinching ever so slightly at seemingly random intervals.

You let out a gasped yelp, struggling to think, so overwhelmed with sensations and the need to continue to rub your hands through his hair. 

“Marc, fuck, shit,” you can feel it building quickly, a crescendo threatening to pull you down with it. 

Marc groans into you in response, fucking his tongue harder against you as he picks up the pace of his hips. 

Your legs begin to shake, your stomach muscles clenching. Just a little more and-

He pulls away quickly, kneeling with your wetness shining all over the bottom of his face. He grabs his cock, barely pulling his sweatpants down. 

“Can-I?” His words are so rushed that they come out all together. 

“Yes, yes, pleas-”

You cry out as he surges forward and pushes into you in one swift movement. His left hand guiding the base of his cock and then pushing your leg to the side, spreading you wide so that it’s half dangling off the settee. 

You grab at his biceps, screwing up your eyes as he fills you so perfectly. 

He lets out a long moan, his eyebrows pinched together as he feels you squeeze down on him. 

“Hands, hands,” he mutters, so mumbled and slurred that it takes your brain a second to catch up. “Please, baby, please.” He moans again as you rock against him, his own hips still. 

You sink your fingers back into his hair, whimpering as you buck again. 

“Stay still for me, just for a second, just for a second…”

You wine, but do what he asks. Your orgasm is so close, you taste it. Feel the edges of it running along your skin. 

“Marc, please.”

He opens his eyes and nods. But he still doesn’t move his hips. Instead he reaches down and circles your clit with his fingers, rubbing soft small circles that match the speed and pressure of your own hands in his hair. 

You gasp and change direction and so does he. You scrap your nails against his skin and he lightly pinches. 

He can’t help but rock ever so slightly, barely moving out of you, needing to feel every single flutter against the length of his cock. 

“Need to feel you squeeze me, need you to- shit,” he gasps as you come, your orgasm hitting you like a surge of electricity. 

You moan out his name. Your back aching and grabbing hold of fistfuls of his hair, dragging him on top of you. 

He sobs as you pulse around him, milking him for everything he could give as he comes, following you down into that mind shattering ecstasy as you pull on his hair. 

Sweat begins to cool on your skin as you come back to yourself, breathing heavily. It’s only then that you realise both of you are still mostly dressed, and that you still have a death grip on Marc’s hair.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” You release him quickly. But he just murmurs sleepily into your neck. 

“It’s fine. Feels nice.” 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @welcometostayingawake @mbakubabe @solobagginses @melodygatesauthor @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley

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[4sh-n4]

AU where bruce and co. (his entire hoarde of kids, even jason in disguise) are at a gala. And it's a really big gala, party of the year type of thing in Gotham, absolutely unmissable. And usually, even the rogues know that this night is off limits, so it's relatively safe. So, they're all at this gala, right?

And then the joker crashes it because he has no respect for Gotham traditions. Breaks in through a window, yada yada. He starts to go on this whole villain speech as per usual, and everyone is waiting for the heroes to come. But all the heroes are at the gala, in their civilian identities, with a thousand eyes on them. No one can reasonably slip away, except for maybe jason, who's already seething mad and ready to attack. But with the chaos and people trying to get away, all the exits are blocked, and his helmet is at home.

Bruce is at the front of the crowd, facing the Joker. Joker sees him and makes a comment about Jason, and goes on about how Bruce must've felt when his baby died. And then he brings up how he killed the little birdie too, just a few days before the terrorist attacks that allegedly killed Jason. And he mentions how much he tortured Robin before his death, and Bruce snaps.

He leaps forward, absolutely hammering the shit out of the joker. Beats him up so bad, no finesse or technique to it, just pure rage. His kids try to pull him off, to no avail. No one else even tries. By the end of it, by the time the police arrive, the joker is more blood than body, and Bruce has finally calmed down. Everyone is just staring at him in shock, understandably. (The joker ends up in hospital, paralysed and in a coma)

His kids all drag Bruce home and give him an entire lecture about his persona and how his cover has probably been blown. About excessive violence and how he refused to kill joker but then pulled this in public?? They're all worried about the fallout in the news the next day.

No one sleeps that night, for various reasons, but then when the newspaper comes out the next morning... there's just nothing bad written?? The headline is something about Bruce being a hero for saving everyone from the joker, but there's no other mention about Batman or anything else.

Turns out, no one in Gotham is surprised that Brucie Wayne, no 1 airhead, beat up the joker because "did you SEE him as a teenager?? We were all just glad when he came from his travels pretending to be stupid instead of picking fights with everyone. If anything, it's understandable that he snapped, I would too if a clown started bragging about killing my son." The only reason no one brought up his violent past is because they were worried he would revert back to that behaviour.

[foxstens]

andrew always being at kevin's side because kevin needs it and andrew driving kevin to night practice and andrew patting kevin down to check for injuries and andrew promising kevin it'll be fine and andrew looking awake, interested because of kevin and andrew conserving his energy for kevin's quiet meltdown and andrew smiling for the first time without the drugs because of kevin and andrew always picking up when kevin calls

[ghostbsuter]

The house of Nightingale & Constantine ( P. 1 )

> next part

.・゜-: ✧ :-

You know, when Batman reassured him (was it tho? His way of using words is a bit... confusing.) of bringing in a third person for their common problem, Phantom, Danny, didn't press nor worry.

He regrets it now, just a little bit.

—

Dick liked Danny.

The small guy has been an absolute delight!

(He isn't grinning when he and Damian duke it out, doesnt watch fondly when Danny and Jason exchange the most weirdest ways of insulting someone or when He and Steph gossip, Cass sitting behind him with her hands in his hair.)

(He can see from the corner of his eye the way Tim hides a grin behind his hand, texting Danny someone rapidly and their Guest laughing at random times, the way even Duke, despite wearing the sunglasses, seems to warm up pretty quickly to their new brother friend.)

(It's doesn't help that he has black hair and blue eyes either.)

Danny has been living with them for some time now, temporarily as it may be, and grew on them all pretty quickly.

Bruce told them when Constantine arrived at the cave, seemingly irritated for unknown reasons, and they all were ushered to the elevator.

There is no noise as they arrive, Danny few feet off the ground and engaged on a hot topic with Steph as they go down the stairs.

The moment Constantine is in sight however, has their resident ghost snapping out of the conversation and zooming in on the man from afar.

It's kind of funny? The way his black hair fluffs up like in a Ghibli Movie, the way his eyes narrow to slits, glowing a faint green.

Many shout in alarm at the sight of agitation (?), Dick sees Constantines own eyes glow a eery gold??

It's like two cats staring down one another, a showdown.

(Someone should record this.)

The two meet down in the middle of the cave, Danny is bristling and John scowling.

"Really Bats? A Nightingale?" The blond man scoffs, pushing his hands into the pockets of his coat, hands roaming for cigarettes probably.

"Excuse me? I thought the line of Constantine died out back then, with the way you handle your stuff." The teen hisses back, a hand running through his poofed up hair.

"Hah!" The Hellblazer gives a mocking laugh, cigar already in hand and lit. "'With the way we handle our stuff'? Weren't the Nightingales out of commission not so long ago?"

The glow might have died out, but the tension only rose higher.

Danny turns to Batman, glowering.

"Asking for the help of the house of Constantine? Are you crazy? Those nutjobs have no self-preservation!"

John's eye twitches at the remark.

"No self-preservation, my ass. Nightingales do nothing but mess with stuff they shouldn't, talk about self-preservation when you have it yourself, pipsqueak."

And Danny? Danny growls.

"All you do is trick every being to do your bidding! One day all of this will catch up to your house and me? I will watch as it burns."

The blonds cigarette snaps in his grip.

"Burn? Me? Doesn't the house if Nightingales hunt the beings we 'trick'? It seems to me that your lineage is already going down as we speak."

The argument (?) continues and the batclan does nothing but watch as if its a particularly interesting tennis match.

(John looks like he's about 5 seconds away from strangling Danny and the teen about to bite off John's head.)

"What's going on?" Finally, Batman steps in.

"What's going on? What's going on?? You said you'd bring in a third person! Not a constantine!"

The bat shows no signs of anything really, when both teen and man whip around to face him.

"I thought you'd know better than to involve yourself with the house of Nightingales."

"I was here first! No take backs!"

"And yet I know bats longer, don't I, pipsqueak?"

"Foolish trickster!"

"Imprudent necromancer!"

(Apparently, beef between two houses of dark exists and they had the chance to experience it first hand.)

(This is one of the many occurrences.)

[fettuccin-e]

Think About It

Kinktober Day 23: Dirty Talk

Tags: Santiago Garcia x Reader, talk of Frankie Morales x Reader x Santiago Garcia (ie. talk of threesome), unprotected piv (pls wrap it in real life I beg of you), dacryphilia, plenty of dirty talk like it's a lot, light degradation, breeding kink whoopsie, Santiago Garcia is a filthy motherfucker do Not blame me for this (w/c: 1.3K)

A/N: So this may have gotten out of hand a tad so do Not fucking look at me okay??? Santiago Garcia the man that you are I love you sm and also there are so many Frankie mentions in this fic so it could be a prelude to this fic I wrote earlier this month where they actually have a threesome (For Kinktober I have been using this list from flightlessangelwings!)

Santiago Garcia doesn’t get overwhelmed easily. He’s a soldier; he’s been conditioned to withstand the harshest conditions, brave horrible situations without breaking, without letting his hard exterior crack.

But fuck, when he’s with you like this, that exterior shatters like fragile glass, all over the floor in front of your shared bed.

You’re so fucking tight and wet around him as he keeps a hard grip on your hips, yanking you back on his cock, plunging himself as deep as he can fucking get.

“God damn it, baby, taking me so fucking good,” he grits, yanking your hips up further, your face pressed into the pillows as you scrabble at the sheets, clinging for purchase against Santi’s onslaught. “This pussy’s so goddamn wet, she’s fucking leaking around my cock, baby. Making a goddamn mess.”

“Santi,” you whine, “You can’t just-”

He lands a swift smack to your ass, watching as your skin recoils against him. It’s hypnotizing, makes him want to fuck you into these sheets for hours, just to watch your gorgeous body react to him over and over.

“What, baby?” He growls, leaning close and fucking into you hard enough that the headboard smacks against the wall. “Can’t what? Can’t tell you how fucking tight your little pussy is? Can’t tell you that she’s fucking sucking my cock in like you can’t get enough?”

You whine, loud and high-pitched, burying your face in the pillows. Santi snarls in return, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail and yanking your head up until you’re gasping air into your lungs. He fucks you harder, slamming into you violent and fucking reckless. His careful control has burned to ashes before him, lost in the heat of your body.

“Look at you, fucking desperate slut just sobbing on my cock. It’s spreading you so wide, honey, ‘s gonna split you apart,” he snarls, and you hiccup over your moans. “Think this is enough for you baby? This needy pussy just needs more and more and more.”

Your hips will probably bruise under the strength of his grip, but God, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think you do either, with the way you moan, high and wonton every time he buries himself so deep.

“Should get Frankie, fill you up even more, get you all fucked and loose on two cocks,” he grits, and Christ, the way your cunt clenches around him has him biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from busting inside of you right fucking now.

He chuckles darkly, and you squeak softly when he leans close to you, covering your back with his warm body. “Oh, you like that idea, don’t you?” he grins, and you shiver beneath him.

“Fuck, I don’t- I don’t know,” you whine, pushing yourself back and fucking yourself on Santi’s cock. 

“I do, baby. I know you want it,” he growls, leaning back up again to fuck into you hard enough that you scream. “Could get Fish and we could both fuck you so good, hermosa. Get him buried in this sweet little pussy while I,” he pulls your asscheeks apart to expose that little hole buried between. You jerk and moan when he brushes a finger over it. “I could take this sweet little ass.”

You sob into the sheets, humping involuntarily back into Santi’s harsh thrusts into your heaving body. Tears are dripping down your face and landing on the pillow below you.

Santi groans, fucking lost to it, rambling as he fucks into you like a man possessed.

He leans over you again, wrapping his strong arms around your body and pulling you up until you’re only pressed against him, your tits exposed to the air while he humps up into your cunt.

“I could eat your pretty cunt while Frankie fucks this mouth, show him what a good little cocksucker you are,” he murmurs into your ear, and you gasp his name.

He pulls his arms tighter around you, holding you so fucking tight as he gets so deep into your hot cunt. You’re dripping all over his thighs, his thrusts making lewd snapping noises when his thighs stick to yours every time he shoves his hips in, in, in.

“We talk about you, baby, me n' Frankie,” he mutters, and you can’t do anything but let your mouth gape open as he forces little moans out of your mouth. “Talk about how pretty you look, how good you fucking taste. Frankie needs a taste baby, wants to bury his tongue in this sweet pussy still you’re fucking drowning him.”

“Jesus, Santi, fuck- ah, oh my God,” you slur between labored breaths, and you can feel Santi’s cocky grin against your neck, before he bites sharply into it.

“My gorgeous fucking girl, can’t believe you’re fucking mine,” he snarls snapping his hips up, up up. You dig your nails into his forearms as he breaks you apart, jamming the thick head of his cock up into that little spot that makes you cry so beautiful for him.

“Gonna knock you up, just like this, baby, wouldn’t you like that?” he says, and you hiccup a little yes that has him growling, one of his hands coming down to clutch over your stomach, pawing at your skin.

“I’ll pump this sweet pussy full of my cum, make sure it fucking takes.” You sob like you’re dying, blinking fat tears from your eyes. “And if it doesn’t,” he continues, “I’ll keep fucking you, over and over, flood this cunt till you’re dripping everywhere, leaking down your fucking thighs.”

“Santi, I can’t, I can’t, I’m gonna-”

Santi talks like he can’t hear you, maybe he fucking can’t, too lost in the heat and wetness and the need to hold back his own orgasm brewing deep in his bones. “I’ll fuck this pussy everywhere, I’ll make sure that you have a baby, watch you so round and goddamn beautiful baby, you’ll fucking glow, I just know it. Shit, I’ll fuck you in the kitchen, the goddamn shower, keep you nice and full of me no matter what. I’ll make you nice and loose so you can take my cock all the time, no matter what, just give me the word, sweet girl, and I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll see stars.”

You scream, wordless and overwhelmed, when you cum, your pussy gushing all over Santi’s thighs even as he ruts into you like a goddamn animal. He growls, littering your neck with kisses and bites and licks. The guys will give him shit when you see them next, but he can already picture it: the way Frankie will eye the marks, his pupils blown wide, and Santi will fucking know.

“Please cum, Santi, please fill me up, give me a baby,” you whimper as you shake through your orgasm, and who is Santi to refuse you?

He groans, shoving himself hard into you, as deep as he can get, and floods your cunt with his cum. He hopes the first time will take, that he’ll be able to see the way you get rounder and rounder, carrying your beautiful baby.

When you’re both finally wrung dry, he keeps you hugged tight to him as he lowers you both to your sides. He keeps himself buried deep inside, not wanting a drop to slip out.

“Fucking Christ, Santi,” you mutter, running your hands over his forearms as he buries his face into your hair. He groans, but stays mostly quiet. “Gonna blow your knees out if you keep fucking me like that,” you giggle.

“Worth it,” he mutters, and grins into your hair. “But if I do, we can always call in Fish to keep you satisfied.”

“Shut up,” you chuckle, but Santi doesn’t miss the way you clench around his soft cock at the prospect.

He files the thought away for later.

[lunarayx]

THIS IS SO CUTE I LOVE HIM

[blorbopostingtime]

Alr so maybeee this is a bad opinion but tbh I rlly can't keep it in anymore so imma just say it.

WE NEED MORE ANGRY BRANCH CONTENT!!!!!

Like sure in the first movie he could be classified as angry but. ITS SO MUCH MORE GRUMP AND ANNOYANCE THAN ACTUAL ANGER?!?!?!?!?!??!

I want more fics, more comics, more fanart, more everything, where Branch just flat out looses his fucking shit.

At anyone, everyone I do not have a specific thing.

Get this grump ass bitch angry at the way the village treated him for fucking years when he was grey, get him fucking angry at his brothers for leaving and abandoning both him and their grandmother, get him angry at the bergens who he lived in fear of for so so so fucking long (SINCE HE WAS BORN TILL HE WAS ATLEAST FUCKING 20. THAT IS ALL HIS FUCKING CHILDHOOD. TEENAGE YEARS, EVERYTHING. AND FOR ALL THOSE YEARS MINUS 4 IT WAS ALSO HIS BROTHERS, THE VILLAGE AND HIS GRANDMA), his grandmother for sacrificing herself to save him and leaving him grey and alone (HE WAS A CHILD. FOUR OR FIVE AND HE WATCHED HER DIE FOR HIM. DO NOT TELL ME HE DOESNT HAVE ANY SURVIVAL GUILT OR RESENTMENT AT THE FACT THAT THIS CAUSED HIM TO TURN GREY AND BE AN OUTCAST IN THE VILLAGE. I DO NOT GAF ABT HOW MUCH HE LOVES HER YOU DO NOW MOVE ON FROM SHIT LIKE THAT WITHOUT IT), his parents for never being there (whole other thing but! Still think it should be a bigger thing.): EVERYONE.

"Oh, but he got angry at his brothers in the 3rd movie!"

NOT FOR FUCKING REAL.

YOU TELLING ME THAT MOSTLY CALM ASS, SAD AND A BIT SPITEFUL SPEECH WAS PURE UNFILTERED RAGE FROM 16+ YEARS OF BEING ABANDONED, BULLIED, ALONE, AFRAID AND DEPRESSED ?!?!?!?!?!?

HUH?!?!?!?!?!??

CUZ ITS FUCKING NOT!!!!!!!!!!!

AND THATS NOT EVEN MENTIONING THE FACT THAT HE LIVED OUT IN THE WILDERNESS FOR THE FUCKING MAJORITY OF HIS LIFE TOO!!!!!

Let Branch go feral with rage, let him scream at all the ways people have failed him from the top of his normally quiet lungs, let his vision go tinted red with rage, let him fight and punch and kick and elbow and growl and bite and hurt all the people who left him, like an animal gone abandoned in the wilderness and left for dead, who manages to not only survive but fucking THRIVE as a feral beast.

Show me a Branch who screams a sound so primal the nearby birds fly from the trees, let him be louder than any other troll in the village from living in the wild surrounded by creatures that the trolls were still learning about anf befriending who may or may not havr wanted to kill him, and yet talk about how afterwards he could barely speak because after 20 years of quiet speech if that his voice still isn't used to being loud.

Show us how much Branch is ready, able and willing to to use all the weapons he makes, the rocks he collects as projectiles and bluguons, the whittled stakes and knives, the sheer everything that comes with having lived on his own in the wilderness, angry and scared and so fucking alone.

... Ahem.

Anyways, thanks for listening to my rant and

ANGRY, FERAL AND APESHIT BRANCH PLEASE!!!!!!

[bbonbonss]

✸ If Stolas went to a rodeo instead of the circus ✸

[wycroftie]

Some fan art for an absolutely GOATED fanfic by the lovely @rancid-zinnia-onthepatio <3 (You tentacle my fancy)

I am frothing at the mouth I can’t wait until more chapters come out :33333

[marvelsgirl616]

The way he says “I need to remember you” while firmly yet desperately sniffing it 😩

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Btw if anyone was ever wondering what my favourite Jily fic of all time was, it's this

[chaosgremlinmunson]

"Middle of the night and have to nurse-maid for a sick relative?

Why not make pigs in a blanket?

It's fast, easy, and delicious.

Pigs in a blanket, the late night snack that anyone can make."

Steve scoffed at his television, so yeah he was a nurse maid for his very sick platonic soulmate, her wife and his husband. But c'mon now, it was 2:48 in the goddamn morning, who needed snacks?!

"Dingusss, I'm hungry and need to take my medicine. It says I have to eat with it!" Robin's congested voice called from the puppy pile on the huge the pillow forte made in their living room.

"Ooooh, snacks?" Came Eddie's raspy voice next, "Stevie, can we have snacks? I want a cuddly piggy in a bankie!"

The chorus of the three rose up and before Steve knew it he was at the fridge grabbing the croissant dough and Vienna sausages with shredded cheese and a herb butter he'd prepared. Yeah, he'd make this God forsaken thing they wanted but he was going to make it taste good, damn it.

He got started making the snacks and came back in the room with the platter and a stack of paper plates snuggling in next to Eddie before dishing out everyone's food and meds.

"You're the best Stevie" Eddie said mouth full as he leaned against Steve's chest while eating.

"Damn right I am, achooo!!" Steve sneezed, "well shit." Now Steve was sick too, great.

[tinseltownie]

The thoughts I am thinking

[wizardofahz]

Saw a Criminal Minds gifset and suddenly started thinking about canon vs. fanon JJ.

TL; DR: Fanon JJ is the facade canon JJ puts on to hide trauma.

(This discusses JJ's sister, so content warning for suicide)

The obvious starting point for understanding JJ's characterization is her sister's suicide. That's a traumatic event for anyone, and even more so for an eleven year old child. So it's quite understandable that JJ decides she will do whatever she can to avoid experiencing hurt like that again.

In episode 3.17, JJ tells Will about their relationship, "I didn't want to tell anyone because the minute I do it becomes real, and when it becomes real, people get hurt, and I've always run from getting hurt. Always."

But JJ didn't only lose her sister.

In episode 14.12, JJ's mom admits, "I got so caught up in all my troubles that I forgot there was another little girl under my roof who had just lost her sister. You needed me, and I wasn't there."

At eleven years old, JJ was a traumatized child without a support system. So she learned to rely on herself. Other people were just avenues for hurt, and she decided that wasn't worth it.

All of which leads to this confession from JJ in the season 14 finale: "There are only four people I trust in this world."

My three non-negotiables are Will, Hotch, and Emily. The fourth is between Reid and Garcia, but I lean towards the former given Garcia's penchant for invading people's privacy.

Even if anyone disagrees with that list, there's not a lot of room for choice. At any given time, the BAU usually has seven members, and given the amount of turnover they've had, JJ hasn't learned to trust most of them.

Do they know that? They probably know her facade masks trauma, but I doubt they know the extent of it. There's a reason that episode starts with the team playing poker, and JJ showing Reid he doesn't know her as well as he thinks he does.

So let's talk about that facade. In contrast to Reid, who wears his trauma on his sleeve, JJ buries hers as deeply as she can. She takes care of the people around her, and while it's not disingenuous, it's part of a prettily painted reinforced fortress wall that says, "hey, look at me, such a put-together person that doesn't have problems of my own, so I can help with yours."

And it does the job because it has fandom fooled too.

[princeanxious]

Fear the Daycare attendants all you like, but say one mean word to their faces and their handler will swoop in at a moments notice with a silent rage fueled by the many months of mental and emotional rehabilitation these three went through to ensure they could handle being re-released to the public.

Fazbear Entertainment might turn a blind eye to the animatronic rights movements that their highly specialized world renowned technology is absolutely a contribution towards, but this stout little animatronic handler didn’t pour their blood sweat and tears into helping rebuild these bots’ self confidence from the ground up every single day, for over half a year, to just let some entitled prick try and stomp over all the boys hardwork and progress at the drop of the hat.

Faz.Co can deal with the consequences of letting their two most expensive animatronics bond to one specific emotional support human whose made of like 70% protective feral rage at any given moment.

A good fit for the daycare, to be sure, but also a solid reminder that humans are just as capable of being the danger so many others label animatronics to be. (Moon is holding onto their handler for a reason, you know.)

(Edit: second take here)

[mx-myth]

Okay so I've had some meta thoughts about Laurence's amnesia and how it relates to his relationship with Tharkay sitting in my drafts for like over a year now so I figured I'd finally clean it up and post it. Heads up it's really long.

Laurence finally consciously realises that he loves Tharkay (or is in love with him, whatever nuance you'd like) after "knew him, and knew himself." But at this point he's completely in pieces as a person (more on this next paragraph). Post-amnesia, he's an entirely different man. Pre-Temeraire Laurence is the harshest, strictest version both of and with himself. He follows the rules to the letter, basically takes Temeraire only out of duty in the beginning, and even keeps the promise between him and Edith despite there being no formal arrangement at all. Post-Temeraire but pre-amnesia Laurence has softened. He's putting less emphasis on the rules and more on his morals (see: treason). He has more leeway but still carries that honor/duty/order with himself.

Which is why post-amnesia Laurence is the version of himself that discovers that he loves Tharkay. In the wake of losing his memories and then regaining them he's lost and unmoored. Both of his past selves are so different and therefore so distant. They're both true but it's too jarring for him - especially in his current circumstances, much less the overall war - so Laurence becomes a new person. This is Laurence at his most vulnerable, his most unguarded, who smiles more often now because he doesn't really know that he didn't smile that much before. He has two major tethers to his personhood: Temeraire and Tharkay (I hesitate to say only tethers, simply because Laurence's life isn't that small, but repeatedly these two are the ones who have had the biggest impact on his life, who have kept him going). Obviously he loves Temeraire, he's never going to stop loving Temeraire, he just isn't capable of it, but seeing Temeraire didn't bring back his memories (I can't imagine how Temeraire must have felt, meeting a version of Laurence who had never met him). Laurence loves Temeraire in the most unconditional, selfless way - to be very Greek about it, his philia. But I think when he finally comprehends how Tharkay was the catalyst behind this radical change of his self he dives into his memories again and goes over them in excruciating detail (and he was definitely doing that already, but now he's doing it with a lens exclusively focused on Tharkay). At some point he comes to the realisation that Tharkay loves him, and that he loves him, and that he's been unconsciously shoving it down every time it's surfaced (past-Laurence was saying no homo while actively homo-ing). And with the benefit of being an new version of the same person (and also some hindsight, finally), this Laurence says, I've committed treason. My country sees me as a traitor but they still need me to serve them as a tool. I lost myself once in a war (see: "what are you doing?") that's still being fought. Time is short and there's no guarantee I won't lose my memories again, that I will still be the person I am right now. What do I have to lose?

(And on some level, this Laurence thinks, what can stop me?)

He begins giving to Tharkay what Tharkay always had given to him. His acts of devotions start small (relative to Tharkay's; transporting too many ferals is obviously a little outside of what Laurence can feasibly do). He cares for Tharkay once he wakes ("have you noticed the top of your head appears likely to come off?"), he helps him eat and drink, he massages his hands once they heal, he stays with him through the nightmares that come to haunt him. And he continues doing these little things for Tharkay, hoping that he understands (he's willing to wait, Tharkay waited for him after all, and Laurence doesn't want to push him, especially as he's healing). But I think the act that hits Tharkay like, oh, it's different this time is when Laurence bargains his freedom to Napoleon. I feel like that carries unspeakable meaning for Tharkay, who was ostracized growing up and ended up never having a "permanent" home since he travelled so much. I can't imagine that he hasn't been in a similar situation before, but he's probably always been expected to weasel his way out of it without any outside help. He's trained himself out of expecting someone to help him, to care enough about him to save him. Yet part of the man who turned to treason simply so the dragons of France wouldn't die in pain lives on in this Laurence. Pre-Temeraire Laurence is rules and post-Temeraire pre-amnesia Laurence is morals, but post-amnesia Laurence is all heart. There was never a way he was going to leave Tharkay behind.

So Tharkay starts watching him. He watches Laurence continue to devote himself to him, again and again. He brings him his coat on cold days. When it rains and their scars ache he curls around his hands and rubs lotion into them. When he goes into town he always brings Tharkay back a little gift. He starts growing vegetables in the garden and he learns how to cook non-wartime foods and how to knit (because he is a man forged by war and what does one even do during peacetime when one's dragon is busy reforming the government, anyway?) and suddenly he's providing for Tharkay like never before. He looked away for one moment and suddenly Laurence's prescence and all that he does has made the manor a home.

Yet Tharkay, for years, has told himself so many times that Laurence is off-limits, untouchable, that he can love him but that there's no chance that Laurence will love him back. The only way he can love Laurence is silently, nearly from afar, and so he tried to do that. But he can't just stand by and so every time he finds himself committing a deux ex Tharkay (see: ferals, again). He understands that there's some shit Laurence needs to learn himself (and god is this series very good about character development for Laurence) but he's not going to do nothing when the man in about to die. For him it's about caring and providing for Laurence even if he doesn't know it. He learns to content himself with the knowledge that, even if nothing comes of it, he can still be by Laurence's side.

But then the amnesia plot happens (which he only learns of after all of it goes down) and suddenly there is a half-stranger wearing the skin of the man he loves (loved, he tells himself) looking at him with those familiar blue eyes filled with a completely unfamiliar emotion. He's relieved that Laurence remembers but he's said that his Laurence is gone that he's even thinking of it like that (Tharkay has a lot of anger, both at himself and others and the world). Laurence is right in front of him, he's not gone at all, but he's gone in a way that matters. But also this new Laurence is by his side all the time. He's feeding him and helping him drink and dress and he sleeps on the floor by his bedside. Tharkay is so confused because this has to be some kind of fantasy dream he's having. He must still be in the cave (and it's believable that he is, because he returns there every night in his dreams). But he isn't and he has to struggle to come to terms with this new Laurence.

So every time Laurence does something even remotely nice he hyper-analyses it and rationalizes it to himself. He deludes himself into thinking that this is normal for Laurence now. It's normal for Laurence to fuss and hen over him now; it's normal for him to smile at him with that emotion written plainly on his face that Tharkay still hasn't (refuses) to decipher. And he does this well into post-canon.

For that reason he only gets with the program when Laurence has to leave the manor (leave home) for a long while (probably with Temeraire) and suddenly Tharkay is all alone in this huge manor. He's wearing the socks Laurence knitted for him and eating food Laurence grew and walking into rooms and seeing little parts of him scattered everywhere. There's a novel he's reading left on the table by the chair he prefers in the library. There's a cookbook in the kitchen in which he's bookmarked recipes he thinks he might like. Tharkay finds a handwritten list of things they need to buy in town left out for him. He left his pillows on Tharkay's bed because he knows he likes sleeping with a ton of pillows (and they smell like him, and Tharkay pretends he doesn't bury his face in him, that he doesn't miss him while he's gone). When Tharkay wakes up in the morning he makes two cups of tea and waits for Laurence to come in from talking with Temeraire before remembering that neither of them are here (home). He expects Laurence to appear in the evenings to ask if he wants to go on a walk through the grounds with him (and he always ends up saying yes). Tharkay learns that the manor is too big for one man who has always been a little too lonely in his life.

So until Laurence returns home he plots and plans and agonizes. After a week once Laurence has come home (and the first thing he had said to him was welcome home, and Laurence had beamed at him, and it was so unbelievably natural to say it) Tharkay begins his attempts at reciprocating. He wakes up earlier so that he can brew Laurence tea so he can take it out to sit with Temeraire. He says that he cooked some of the recipes from Laurence's cookbook and insists on making them for Laurence (he had to figure out his system of marking which recipes were Laurence's favourites). He gifts him a sturdy, functional, and beautifully crafted knife to wear around the house for daily use; he specifically makes sure the knife is up to Temeraire's standards. In fact, Tharkay talks to Temeraire about everything, and Temeraire tells him, with no minced words while completely drawing his own conclusions, that it's very nice that Tharkay is asking him for his blessing, but does he really need it at this point? Haven't they been courting long enough? He's always approved of Tharkay, because he makes Laurence happy.

That's how Tharkay realises he and Laurence have been dancing around each other like shy birds, both of them subtly showing off but not making the first move. And maybe he realises that Laurence is thinking how he used to think - that it's okay as long as he can be by his side, that he doesn't need his love reciprocated (it's a very long chain of Tharkay loving Laurence, Laurence knowing Tharkay loves him and loving him back, and Tharkay loving Laurence and knowing he knows he loves him and loves him back). And of course Tharkay wasn't going to make the first move back then, and if Laurence hasn't by now, then maybe he should borrow some of Temeraire's courage.

It's something small. The words come later, given how action-forward both Laurence and Tharkay are. They don't even need words. Maybe Tharkay takes Laurence's hand during dinner and intertwines their fingers, maybe he touches Laurence's cheek after he's braided his hair as their eyes meet in the mirror, maybe as they pack away the port and piquet he kisses him good night. Whatever it is, they look at each other and simply know. Tharkay sees Laurence slowly start to smile, a huge one that spreads across his entire face, one that he's only seen on Laurence when he thinks he's alone with Temeraire. He seems to brighten, almost radiating light.

For his part, Laurence reciprocates. He squeezes Tharkay's hand, he turns his cheek into Tharkay's touch, he pulls him in for another kiss. He watches as something seems to drop from Tharkay, something that he hadn't even known he was carrying. He becomes loose and relaxed, his body language more open as he looks at Laurence with one of his little smiles, a bit of shyness that he's never seen before evident on his face. He tells Tharkay that he's the most beautiful person he's ever seen.