#and despite himself that does mean something

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

You sit beside Xavier on the bench in the park, watching people pass by as golden afternoon light filters through the leaves. The air smells of fresh-cut grass and distant food carts. A stylish couple walks past, the woman’s laughter musical, her confidence evident in every step.

“I wish I was pretty like her,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him, your fingers absently tracing patterns on the wooden bench.

Xavier turns to you, his expression shifting to one of genuine confusion. His brows furrow deeply, eyes widening just a fraction.

“What... did you say?” he asks, his tone remaining even despite the clear puzzlement in his eyes. He shifts his body toward you, giving you his full attention.

“Nothing, just...” you gesture vaguely toward the retreating couple. “Sometimes I don’t feel very attractive. Especially around people like that.”

Xavier stares at you for a long moment, looking genuinely bewildered. The silence stretches between you, broken only by distant children’s laughter and birdsong.

“I don’t understand,” he finally says.

You start to explain, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his unwavering gaze, but he gently places his hand over yours, the warmth of his palm surprising against your skin.

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head slightly. “I mean I don’t understand why you would think that. It doesn’t make sense.” His thumb traces a small circle on the back of your hand. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he states matter-of-factly. “I’ve always thought so.”

Coming from Xavier, the sincerity in his voice makes your heart skip.

“You don’t have to say that,” you protest weakly, looking down at where his hand covers yours.

Xavier shakes his head, leaning closer. “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. I don’t...” he pauses, carefully selecting his words, “understand how you can’t see what I see.”

His fingers tighten around yours, the pressure gentle but grounding. “Every time I look at you, I...” He struggles with the words, clearly moving outside his comfort zone. A faint color touches his usually pale cheeks. “From a purely objective standpoint, the way you look—” He stops, frustrated with himself, and takes a deep breath.

“That’s not what I meant to say.” He closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, there’s a rare vulnerability there. “What I mean is that you’re beautiful. In every way that matters. Your smile when you’re excited about something. The way your eyes light up when you talk about things you care about. How your whole face changes when you’re lost in thought.”

He reaches up with his free hand, hesitating just shy of touching your face. “I’ve remembered every expression you make. I’ve studied them all.” He looks away, embarrassed by his own earnestness. “You’re beautiful. Please, don’t think otherwise.”

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, as if relieved to have expressed something he’s held inside for too long. He doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the afternoon.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

You’re helping Zayne organize his medical journals in his office as late afternoon shadows stretch across the polished floors. The pristine space feels both clinical and comforting—much like the man himself.

As you reach up to place a heavy volume on the top shelf, you catch your reflection in the large window overlooking the city. The bright lighting does you no favors.

“Ugh,” you mutter, tugging self-consciously at your clothes. “I look awful today.”

Zayne glances up from his desk where he’s been meticulously updating patient files. He sets down his pen, the soft click audible in the sudden silence. His eyes, usually so focused on his work, now study you with that penetrating gaze that seems to see beneath surfaces.

“What brought this on?” he asks, his voice filling the room.

“Nothing specific,” you say, turning away from your reflection. “Just... some days I don’t feel pretty, that’s all.”

Zayne stands. He gestures to the leather chair beside his own. “Sit.”

You comply, watching as he leans against his desk, arms folded across his chest. The setting sun through the windows casts half his face in shadow, highlighting the sharp angles of his features.

“Are you overthinking again?” he asks directly, but there’s no judgment in his tone. “Or did someone say something to you today?”

“Just overthinking, I guess,” you admit, fidgeting under his steady gaze.

He nods once, as if confirming a diagnosis. “I see.” He’s silent for a moment.

“Beauty is subjective,” he begins. “But if you’re asking for my opinion...” The corner of his mouth twitches in what might be the ghost of a smile. “You’re more than perfect. Inside and out.”

When you start to protest, he raises a hand to stop you.

“I don’t make observations lightly. You know that.” His eyes hold yours. “I’ve studied human anatomy for years. I’ve seen thousands of faces.” He leans forward slightly. “None of them affect me the way yours does.”

The admission seems to surprise even him, a rare moment of vulnerability from someone so carefully composed.

Suddenly, he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a small chocolate wrapped in gold foil. It’s from the exclusive chocolatier across town—the one he pretends not to favor.

He places it in your palm, his fingers lingering against yours longer than necessary. “Here,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Sweet for the sweet.”

Before you can respond, he leans forward and places a kiss on your forehead. The momentary closeness allows you to catch the subtle scent of his aftershave mingled with antiseptic.

“Now,” he says, straightening himself, “wait for me to finish organizing these journals so we can go home. I’m thinking of dinner at that place you like on Fifth Street.” He turns back to his desk, but not before adding, “And no more nonsense about not being pretty. I won’t have the person I care for most questioning their worth.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

You’re sitting on the private beach adjoining Rafayel’s seaside studio, watching him add final touches to a vibrant seascape painting. The ocean stretches endlessly before you, waves crashing rhythmically against the shore. The air tastes of salt and fresh breeze. Seagulls circle overhead, their calls mingling with the gentle lapping of water against sand.

Rafayel stands before his painting, completely absorbed in his work. Paint splatters decorate his rolled-up sleeves and there’s a smudge of blue across his cheekbone. The wind tousles his already disheveled hair as he captures the dance of light on water.

A group of beautiful people laugh further down the beach, their perfect silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. You glance down at yourself, then back at them, feeling suddenly out of place in this picturesque setting.

“I don’t think I’m pretty enough for this place,” you whisper, the breeze carrying your words away—or so you think.

Rafayel’s hand freezes. He turns to you slowly, paint-speckled fingers stilling on the canvas, his expression transforming from focus to complete disbelief.

“What did you just say?” His usually playful voice has an edge to it now, sharp as broken glass.

“Nothing, just thinking out loud,” you reply, regretting having spoken at all.

“No, no, no,” he sets his palette down with a clatter on the small table beside him. “You don’t get to say things like that and dismiss them as ’nothing.’” In an instant, he takes a seat on your side. “Did someone say something to you?” he demands, looking around the empty beach as if searching for culprits. “Which human do I need to have a word with?”

“No one said anything, Rafayel. It’s just how I feel sometimes,” you admit.

“That’s even worse! Your own mind betraying you like this?” He runs his fingers through his hair. “This is an emergency. A catastrophe of the highest order!”

He grabs your shoulders. “You are an absolute masterpiece. Do you understand? A masterpiece. I know art. I create art. I live and breathe beauty in all its forms. And you—” he pokes your cheek lightly, leaving a tiny dot of turquoise paint, “—are the finest creation I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

When you try to look away, embarrassed by his intensity, he gently tilts your chin back. The setting sun reflects in his eyes, turning them to liquid gold. “The ocean is jealous of your depths. The stars envy your brilliance.” His voice softens, becoming almost reverent. “And I would swim across every sea before I let you believe you’re anything less than stunning.”

He wraps his arms around you suddenly, clinging like a child. “Now don’t say such ridiculous things again. It offends my artistic sensibilities.”

He then stands, pulling you up with him. “Come on. We’re going to watch the sunset together. I’ll show you how I see you.” He places a brush in your hand, his fingers lingering. “And maybe then you’ll understand why I can’t look away.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

You stand before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows in Sylus’s penthouse suite, overlooking the sprawling N109 Zone from stories up. The city stretches below like a circuit board of neon and shadow, vehicles and people reduced to tiny moving points of light. The luxurious room behind you is bathed in the soft glow of artfully placed lamps illuminating his collection of rarities—collections plucked from across time and space.

Catching your reflection in the darkened glass, superimposed over the glittering cityscape, you murmur without thinking, “I don’t know why you keep me around. I’m not even pretty.”

The room falls silent. You hear Sylus set down whatever gem he was examining, the soft clink of crystal against metal followed by his steady steps as he approaches.

“What an odd thing to say,” he remarks, his voice silky yet sharp as a blade, “because you’re entirely incorrect.”

You turn to find him watching you, head slightly tilted.

“Did I hear you questioning your beauty?” A smirk plays on his lips, but his eyes remain serious, almost stern. “After all this time with me, you should know very well that I have exceptional taste.”

He closes the distance between you. He places his hands on your waist, positioning you both so your reflections are visible in the window. His gaze in the reflection holds nothing but admiration.

“Do you think I surround myself with anything less than perfection?” He gestures to the rare treasures adorning his collection shelf—items worth more than most people earn in a lifetime. “Do you imagine I would waste my time on someone who didn’t captivate me entirely?”

His fingers trace your jawline, feather-light. “Hundreds of rare gems, ancient artifacts, priceless paintings—I collect only the extraordinary, the unique.” His voice drops lower, more intimate. “And yet, not one of these treasures compares to your presence and beauty.”

When you start to protest, he places a finger gently against your lips. “I don’t tolerate self-deprecation from the one person in this universe I genuinely cherish.”

He turns you to face him fully now, both hands cupping your face with surprising tenderness from someone so powerful, so used to taking what he wants. Your disbelief must show on your face because he chuckles softly.

“Your beauty is not up for debate, not even by you. Challenge me on anything else if you wish, demand whatever your heart desires—but on this matter, I will not yield.”

He steps back after brushing a kiss against your forehead, apparently considering the matter settled. “Now come here and tell me what you want instead of what you think you lack. That’s much more productive, don’t you agree?”

He gestures to the plush sofa. “Sit down and tell me about your day today. I haven’t heard you talking about it.” His expression softens further. “Let’s talk about that instead.”

As you join him, he casually drapes an arm around you, pulling you closer. “And tomorrow,” he murmurs against your hair, “I’ll show you exactly how beautiful you are to me. I have something special planned—something worthy of you.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

You’re absently scrolling through your phone as you accompany Caleb while he sorts through Fleet reports in his home office. The space reflects his dual nature—military precision in the organized shelves and structured workspace, but touches of warmth in the photographs and mementos from his DAA days. The soft glow of multiple screens illuminates the room as rain patters against the windows, creating a cozy atmosphere.

Caleb sits at his desk, brow furrowed in concentration as he reviews security protocols. His uniform jacket hangs on the back of his chair, sleeves of his standard-issue shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms. Despite the late hour, his posture remains perfect—the Colonel, always on duty.

Glancing up, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflective surface of a dormant monitor. The unflattering blue light highlights every perceived imperfection.

“Ugh,” you mutter under your breath, running a self-conscious hand through your hair. “I look terrible today.”

Caleb’s head snaps up from his work. “What did you just say?” There’s a sudden alertness in his posture, as if responding to a threat.

“Just that I’m not looking my best,” you shrug, trying to downplay it, surprised by his intense reaction. 

Caleb stands, his chair rolling backward. His eyes narrow as he scans the room like he’s searching for enemies in a combat zone. “Who put that idea in your head?”

The protective edge in his voice takes you by surprise.

“No one, Caleb. It’s just how I feel sometimes.” You set down your phone, touched by his concern even as you try to ease it.

His expression darkens for a moment before he walks towards you. “Hey,” he says, crouching beside where you’re seated and taking your hands in his. “Look at me.”

When you meet his eyes, they’re filled with the same warmth they held when you were both kids, before the Fleet, before the incident—before everything changed.

“I’ve watched you grow more beautiful every single day since we were kids,” he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The calluses on his palms catch slightly against your skin. “Sometimes I still can’t believe I get to be with you.”

He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. Rain continues to drum against the windows, creating a private world just for the two of you.

“You’ve always been the prettiest person in any room to me. Always will be. Nothing compares to coming home to you.”

His smile returns. “And trust me, I’ve had plenty of people try to catch my eye over the years. None of them even came close. It’s just not possible when my mind can only think of you.”

He presses a soft kiss onto your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. “So no more of this ‘not pretty’ talk, okay? Or I’ll have to issue an official declaration about how gorgeous you are, and that would be really embarrassing for everyone involved.”

Based on this request.

[psuejo]

❥ jjk!men when u put the pussy on quarantine :c

feat. gojo, sukuna, nanami, geto, choso, n toji!

think this is obvious but GOJO isn’t lasting long at all. he’s far too needy, too desperate — even those overseas trips are enough to kill him. some might say he has a sex addiction, but he’d argue that he’s just addicted to you, his gorgeous, spectacular, amazing, goddess of a wife, and to the way both you and your cute cunt get so loud when he’s fucking you.

like now, for example — he’s balls deep inside of you, hips rutting against the fat of your ass with an almost desperate, mindless fervor. gojo is practically drooling all over your neck as he pumps into you, teeth and tongue working to leave dark, lovely hickies on your skin.

he’s like a dog finally free from its leash and ready to devour its favorite treat: you.

“t-toru, ungh— you cheater!” you huff, and your husband only chuckles, cerulean eyes glowing in the darkness of your shared bedroom.

“i never said i was gonna last, sweets.”

SUKUNA definitely thinks it’s a load of shit at first, but he tries to hold out. can’t let you one-up him so easily after all, even if he does end up crumbling within a couple days.

he can’t be blamed. what man (or, well, curse) can resist his wife? it was bound to happen; an inevitability, in his opinion.

all four hands are on your body, blunt nails digging into your skin as he grinds you against the mouth on his toned stomach. that big, drooling muscle stretches you all the way out, slurping up every dollop of slick and reaching into places you didn’t think possible.

“sukuna, w-were you really that starved—”

two thick fingers give a harsh twist to your puffy nipple, and you squeal, hips bucking and shoving that tongue even deeper.

“shut up. you knew this would happen.”

hell, he knew it too — he’d fisted both of his cocks so much that they were raw. even still, they throb in the cool air of your shared chambers, copious spurts of pre trickling down long shafts.

he can’t wait to get inside you.

initially, NANAMI would be okay with it. i mean, both of you are busy, and the chance to actually have sex properly (not just quickies in the shower or early in the morning, though he definitely enjoys those) never comes by often enough for him to really complain.

that is, until he realizes that his at minimum twice a week fix of his mouth on your pussy is something that he genuinely cannot live without.

everyone suffers for it, albeit unintentionally — coworkers (especially gojo, who’s strangely irritable himself), curses, slow ass cars on the street when all he wants to do is get home to you.

it’s a serious problem. he can’t go on like this!

“oh, fuck!”

nanami only groans, glasses crooked on his face as he bounces you in his lap. a repetitive up-down, up-down, up-down that never fails to be punctuated by a greedy clamp of your gooey walls.

“thaaaat’s it, pretty girl. missed you s-so much, shit—”

he swears heaven is a place on earth with you. how did he ever think he could survive without you and your sweet cunt?

imo GETO is sort of similar to sukuna. he thinks it’s total bullshit, and that you’ll cave before he will. you two fuck like rabbits, even with all of his cult duties. there’s no way you’ll make it past three days.

boy, was he wrong.

it’s been five days, and he seriously can’t take it anymore. work and mindless followers be damned — he has you bent over and spread out, face shoved so deep in your drooling mound that you’d think he was trying to fuse with it.

“ngh, fuck, angel,” he groans, the vibrations of his voice going right to your swollen clit and making you keen, despite your best attempts to stay quiet. “didn’t think this slutty girl could t-taste any sweeter...”

geto is a total addict, and everyone knows it.

you squirm, a taboo mix of shame and arousal lighting your body on fire. all those eyes on you, like geto is suddenly teaching ‘how to be a munch 101’ and you’re the example question. “suguru, please—”

he tuts right before delivering a harsh smack to your ass, one that has you gushing on his face with a loud moan. “there we go. let them all see what happens when my wife is naughty, hm?”

CHOSO is actually sort of okay. sure, he has a constant hard-on and he has to fight not to cream his pants whenever he sees you getting dressed or in the shower, but he’s fine. perfectly fine. resilience is key.

all that goes out the window when he catches you humping the pillow one night. he hadn’t meant to be awake, but maybe he has spidey-senses for your pussy or something, because the second you got yourself dripping wet rocking against that pillow, his body snatched itself from the realm of the unconscious.

“mm, cho, r-right there...”

he curls his fingers, the blunt tips of them caressing right against your g-spot and making your jaw drop. you swore you could do this, but going a week without your husband’s hands all over your body is just an impossible feat.

damn ovulation.

“like that?” he asks, all shy and puppy-like, but you know better. he knows he’s doing it right, just wants to hear the praise fall from your lips like some desperate whore.

and how could you not oblige?

“y-yeah, you’re doing so — hah — good.” your head falls back against the pillow, lashes fluttering. “jus’ like that, baby, mhm...”

your voice is so sweet, practically angelic. whatever you say goes, and although you haven’t told him to cum (yet), his boxers are already sticky and soaked.

oops.

out of sight, out of mind.

TOJI would be the most okay out of all them. he goes long periods without that honeyed cavern between your legs anyway, so he’s fairly used to it, but that doesn’t mean he never wants you.

because he definitely does. oh, god, he does.

pictures, sext threads, videos when you’re home alone, even the little movies he’s gotten you into making with him. all of that is what keeps him satiated while he’s away.

nothing compares to the real thing, however, and being home for two weeks without being able to even grind against you is killing him.

“ah, c-c’mon, doll.” his dick rubs between your folds, that swollen head catching on your sweet clit. “you don’t gotta... gotta be like this, ma.”

toji is pulling out all the stops: that compression shirt, the lowly slung sweatpants (both of which are discarded somewhere on the floor of your living room), your favorite snacks and little pet names.

you moan, soft and sweet, and his hips buck. “toji, hngh, y-you loser.”

he can only grin, scar stretching wide with his lips — of course this was a competition for you, and of course you won. he may be a levelheaded man, but there’s only so much a guy can take. he can’t deny himself of his wife to prove a point — he isn’t that insecure.

“yeah, baby, ‘m a loser.” he gives his freshly lubricated dick a couple of tugs before aligning the tip with your fluttering entrance. “now let this loser fuck you right, a’ight?”

[lavilavs]

୨୧ ── Stream with me!

› Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne x Streamer!Wife!Reader

› Scenario: What more could a wife who streams want other than streaming with her husband? Nothing! Maybe. It depends. But in this universe—best believe that it is all you've ever wanted! What does your husband think about it, though?

› Notes: English is not my first language + Reblogs and likes are very appreciated! + almost 6k words that's why it took me days to write TT + Cringe and unhinged alert + big poo and goobert stole the show

Bruce Wayne

Bruce lets out a deep sigh as he watches you set up before starting the stream. A warm smile adorns his face, but he's still reluctant to show up as a guest. Just why did someone suggest a wife and husband bonding time in your streams? You were overjoyed that you ended up calling him in the middle of your stream to ask him about it.

Bruce excused himself and let an executive continue the briefing. His gruff voice sounded soft when he called your name, asking why you suddenly called—not even the slightest bit of annoyance in his voice at the fact you called during a meeting.

"Honey, look at the picture I sent!" He questions what could possibly have his wife over the moon. With the monitor in his lens, the picture popped in front of him. It was a 5 dollar donation from UnkissedBrick that said—in all caps—

"MAKE A STREAM WITH YOUR HUSBAND AND MY LIFE IS YOURS !!!$%5@5@"

It started a spark within the community that they were BEGGING you to make it come true. 

A stream to make money, have fun, and be with your husband at the same time? Of course you'd agree. Best believe that Bruce had no way out of this, you barely asked anything from him—would he have the heart to decline a simple request such as this?

No! And that's why he's here sitting beside you, wearing your adorable, pink headphones. It was something entirely new in his life. Never, and I mean never, has Bruce imagined he'll be wearing this godforsaken headphone for millions to see. The only thing stopping him from taking it off was obviously you—his wife.

"Wow! Thank you all so much for coming to see this stream. There's a lot more of you today."

Bruce snaps his head in your direction, giving him a clear view of how you marveled at the screens in front of you. A thought slips into his mind, whispering thoughts that made him worry about you. 

A lot more today? 

How many more were there than usual?

He'll let anything happen, just not this. Stealing the light from you is a scenario he didn't want to occur in this very video. It's your stream, it's your channel—not his. His blood pressure spikes at the thoughts flooding his head. And yet, you didn't seem to mind, you're just thanking them.

Bruce looked at the rapid comments piling up on the screen, amazed by the speed of people commenting. Nothing's too quick for his eyes, though. Who do you take him for? He reads every single one. Despite his worries, it was drastically different from what he thought. Your fanbase was literally fighting the viewers who only came for him.

BigPoo: Coming here ONLY for the husband is soooo embarrassing

isayholAcomosta: Scram your asses outta here man

IAMBatman: LMAOO IMAGINE WATCHING FOR BRUCE WAYNE

InstantoPreggo: either support her (and him ig) or face the consequences of my 16-inch-thick, fat, JUICY HUMONGOUS D!LD0 UP YOUR ASS.

Bruce had to flinch himself away from the monitor after reading that last comment. 

He looks at you with disbelief. So this is what you were laughing at... To be fair, it is rather amusing, to say the least. The look on his face makes you laugh even more now that you've spared some time to actually look at your husband's worry corner beside you.

The chat stops when you scold them to support both of you, also instructing the mods to delete any negative comments about Bruce. Which is odd since you remember telling them to do so beforehand.

"Don't worry about them, honey. Let's just have fun."

The kiss you give on his cheek eases Bruce, his bigger hands take yours to caress it in a comforting way. But really, we know it was for him. A deep sigh escapes his lips, knowing he has nothing to worry about anymore aside from getting through this stream with you.

You've noticed him being quiet again. He should try focusing on the game you're playing so he could see how fun it is. You told him to have fun, and Bruce is trying, believe me. 

Bruce folds his arms and directs his attention to the monitor where you're playing some kind of simulator game about supermarkets. The store layout is nice, though it looks cramped, the prices are lower than the market price, the other products are understocked, and the bills were due in-game. 

"Honey, are you playing this right?" 

"Am I not?"

He's spent years managing businesses, come on. Bruce is shrewd. And seeing his dear wife fail at this supermarket simulator, no can do. He's just lucky this game is right up his alley. You let go of the keyboard and mouse unattended to listen to his suggestions. 

What was hotter than the fact that there's a hot man explaining business tactics to you? Correct, he's your husband! And a smart husband is a hot husband.

Bruce was so concerned with his strategies that he suddenly went on autopilot and grabbed the controls to show you instead of using words. You stifle a laugh behind your hand. When did he learn all those controls? He wasn't just moping around beside you, and he actually was paying attention? You might just want to request another wedding again.

His only intention was to show you how you were supposed to manage the shop. Bruce demonstrated that perfectly. So why is he still in control? His mind wants to let go. And letting go would mean he'll have to leave playing this game. The escaped chuckles from you reached his ears. With a tentative glance and muted rosy cheeks, it was like he was asking permission to keep playing.

"Go on, dear. I'll just watch you play." You mean it. Watching Bruce play a game was more enjoyable than playing, he understands it more anyways. You don't think your heart will ever feel cold when you look at him. Not ever while you're still breathing and alive to keep on loving him.

Your eyes narrow with every part of Bruce that your eyes land on. A subconscious gulp was made when you took notice of the few strands of hair that hung on top of his forehead, the way veins would pop in his forearms with a few movements when he used the keyboard and mouse, and the musky scent of his cologne that perked your senses up—you'd wonder to yourself why you didn't have at least one child with him already.

The overflowing amount of comments in the corner of your eye catches your attention. You scoot closer to read it.

Tin-a-pie: Miss ma'am is so DOWNBAD

Big Poo: "Eaaasy white chocolate"  AHH TYPE SHIIT

MMONEYY: Bruce Wayne's gonna melt 

Goobert: ON EVERYBODY'S SOUL WE ALL WANT TO BE IN BETWEEN THEM

You snort, hitting Bruce's shoulder repeatedly. The man loses focus on his game, amusement in his eyes as you stood up to sit on his lap. He catches you in his arms, holding your shaking body in amusement. Guess he didn't have to excessively worry, after all—spending time and making you happy is his priority today.

"Are you happy, my love?" Bruce pressed his forehead against yours. His forearms had a grip on your waist that felt so secure and warm that even if you melted, you'd still be in his arms.

"Very. Thank you, Bruce." Oh, how your laughter gets his heart kicking and running.

The chat floods once again with teaseful comments. Too many for you to read without getting blown by another. Not that it matters, your husband is too busy being pampered in your kisses.

Bruce's phone vibrates nonstop in his pocket. You fished it out for him and opened it to see Dick's face with an image attached to it.

I hope Mom doesn't mind the new sticker I added to the chat. Tell her I told the other mods about it. ;]

Bruce was in the middle of questioning what his first son said only to be caught off guard with you abruptly shifting your body weight against him, laughing uncontrollably. The chat was spamming a photo of Bruce from earlier when he was so focused on the supermarket simulator game.

"I didn't look like that, did I?" He stares at you deadpan, making you laugh harder.

Dick Grayson

Is this even your stream at all? How was he acting like close friends to your viewers after a few minutes? You stare at your husband dumbfounded. Although you know that Dick has a charming aura and personality, you didn't expect it to leak through the screen and into their hearts within minutes of knowing him!

When you asked Dick if he wanted to do a stream with you, he basically almost leaped with joy. Just almost—because he suddenly hugged you before he could jump up into space from the ecstasy of his dear, loving wife if he wanted to do a gaming video with you.

Actually, Dick has always wanted to. The thought of having millions see how loved you are in his arms—OH THE SEROTONIN—Dick can't wait to do so. He just waited and waited and waited—until you finally invited him.

You can't actually hide your jealousy well about the fact that he's paying more attention to the chat than you.

Goobert: I suddenly feel like a mistress caught in the act with how the missus is looking from behind you

Big Poo: NAH HE'S OUR HUSBAND NOW

TheAMAZINGpie: She's so jealous LMAOOO tease her more

Good thing Dick was staring intently at the chat, he couldn't see your secretive middle finger you're flashing at the viewers. He laughs and takes a quick glance at you over his shoulder, then back to the chat. A scoff of disbelief leaves your mouth. Those snitches!

"Yes, chat, these are the true colors of my wife. She's more barbaric when it's just us two here." The playful tone has you pinching his sides. Dick laughs and flinches away from your hand.

"See? She keeps on hurting me."

"Quit the baby voice, Dick, oh my God! Eww." 

You gag at your husband, earning yet another heartfelt laugh. It was hard to pretend you were annoyed when everything felt so warm and natural. Dick is lucky he's your husband, or else you would've strangled him out of annoyance by now.

"Horror games are overrated, let's play simple ones." He pouts at you.

"What do you suggest then?"

And that's how you found yourself playing dress-up games at the old girl games website, where you can find all of the low-quality yet nostalgic games for girls in the world. You both competed in a game where the game picks who made the better outfit.

Imagine the look of disbelief in your face when he keeps winning 5 times in a row—5 times! Dick has got to be cheating, because in no way Dick Grayson has more fashion sense than you, right? Fight him, girl!

"You are so cheating, babe! How are you the winner every round?"

Dick raised his arms in a smug way, shrugging you off to annoy you. "Ah, the loser is barking. Face it, babe. I'm better." He blows you a kiss that you playfully shooed away, pinching your nose after. Dick gasps at your action, fighting the urge to laugh and just play along.

"Still can't beat me, honey."

"Pick another game. You'll taste defeat, Grayson."

"Whatever you say, Mrs. Grayson."

That's a blow to your pride. Imagine getting flustered in the middle of your bickering. Now you let a smug grin slip on your husband's face. Girl, you better stand on business cause you are losing FACE to your viewers right now.

5 girl go games later and you're still somehow losing to Dick. It feels like your sex has been reversed because what the hell? Maybe you are a man... at heart. How are you losing to a full grown man who—mind you—suggested that you play these games! Dick might be playing these at night when you're asleep.

It was a cooking game this time. You both need to beat each other with higher scores and more satisfied customers, obviously. It was just a mystery how he still wins when you both clearly see the big, colorful letters in bold saying that the dish you prepared was perfect—and he still wins!?

"That's it! I'm convinced you are cheating." You point a finger at him.

"It's just a matter of skill, hun." He smirks at you.

The last resort—your faithful, loyal, loving chat will support you on your accusations, right? Oh no, that smile on your face was wiped when you saw an ongoing poll on the stream. Scratch what you used to describe your chat, they are being the total opposite right now.

Overthrow the queen and appoint Dickie as the new ruler!

It's worst enough that it was 99% over 1%. You look at the camera with a death stare, in disbelief that your dear fans would overthrow you like this. Is it because Dick was more charming and had a larger ass than you? Okay, maybe keep that last thought to yourself because they cannot see the down half of your bodies.

And an annoying donation comes in the heat of the moment...

Daywalk donated 5$  

I'm looking at the most breathtaking, marvelous, amazing, pretty, kind, majestic, beautiful, attractive, sexy, hot, and gorjus (idk how to spell) right now and oh—I didn't realize you were here, sweetheart

Dick was giggling uncontrollably beside you with his phone in his hands. You saw the stream on his screen split seconds before he hid it beside him where you can't reach it. Did he really think you wouldn't notice it was him with this shitty ass username?

"Really, Dick? Daywalk? That's the best you could come up with?" You bury your face in your hand, imitating a facepalm to hide your laughter. You hate how he can easily make you laugh with the stupidest things.

"I am a fan of Nightwing, Babe. He has such good hair, good facial features, and that goddamn juicy ass of his. Have you seen his—"

"Dick."

"Okay, okay, sheesh, God forbid a man uplift his fellow man." He raised his hands in mock defeat. Backing away from that look of yours.

Dick Grayson is audacious. Partly one of the reasons why you married this man. 

You gave up, rolled your eyes, and just gave him a kiss to shut him up.

Jason Todd

"Oh come on, baby, you know you're happy to be here." 

You snicker at the scowl on his face. Jason looked like he wanted to drop a smoke bomb to escape the stream, but of course he wouldn't! What you said is true—he is ecstatic to be here. He refused your offer several times before caving in... and just a little secret, he just wanted to see how bad you want him to be in one.

In fact, he had the stream planned out already. In the span of the 3 days where you begged him to stream with you, Jason used it as a time to search for games to play, imagine scenarios, and other cute stuff that he wants to make happen today.

First things first, seem tough enough to place boundaries through his stare and seem friendly enough to joke around with him. Check. The chat was respectful to Jason and some joked around that this looked like Doomguy and Isabelle looking relationship.

"Oh please, it's more switched. This guy's a baby." Jason's eyes widen when you pull his chair to ruffle on his hair like a little kid. He glares up at you. Okay—maybe, this is tolerable, it has a loving effect to the viewers. Yes, this is fine. 

"Jason, don't bob your head like that onto my boob." You snort and push his head away. Ah, he thought he was nodding inside his head.

Big Poo: He's kinda weird... I like him

Goobert: We accept weird big guy and queen dynamics

Ignoring that small weird display of his, it's time for phase 2—urge you to play horror games of his choice. He didn't binge watch couples playing horror games last night just for you to play other games. A mischievous grin is fighting it's way to make itself appear on his lips. Jason expects you to get scared, cling to him, and show off the muscles he spent the few days toning. 

And as if he wasn't toned enough, Jason plans to show that this muscles of his won't be just for show if they decided to mug you in the streets while he's around. Anyone who's watching this stream would be a warning for parasocial freaks who'll try something with you.

"How about we play this one, babe?" He points at the game he searched up.

With a look of disbelief, you could only sigh at your husband's antics. He couldn't have been more obvious than this. The longer reps of his biceps workouts? Yeah, he's definitely planning something to show it off.

You sigh, and start the game up. The chat snitches on him smiling widely behind you as the game starts. It quickly disappears when you turn around, then reappears when you don't look. He gives the chat a playful motion of slicing his neck then points at the camera with a finger placed on his lips.

With a discreet glance behind you, there, you saw your husband doing a face that could kill that's accompanied by creepy giggles. In all of the years you've been together, not once could a sight like this ever cross your mind. Why is he having internet beef with your viewers?

Does he also think you can't see him through your stream view at your other monitor? You also stare at the gummy smile on your face, still having no resistance in finding everything he does as cute.

Heck, even if he snapped someone's neck in front of you with a sassy remark after, you'll still find it cute. Fucked up, yes, but hey, it's not like you haven't had body counts of your own in your other line of work.

Jason lets out an amused scoff at your unwavering focus to navigate through the dark cellar. There hasn't been a single jumpscare since you started. But because of his horror game video marathon, he's got every single one memorized. 

It'll take some time before the first one. In the meanwhile, he knows what to do to get you to warm up for the big scare.

His hands snakes itself downward, right past his own chair. You were focused on getting out of the sealed room that the chat's warnings fell to deaf ears... or eyes. Jason inches his chair closer to yours, carefully, so that his chair won't bump into yours.

An annoying habit of his that once made his teeth bleed from your punch. He waits until you're about to turn around a corner to strike—Jason bolts your body with an abrupt push on your shoulder. "Boo!"

The most he got from you was a loud curse and your middle finger in the middle of his face.

"Jason—We agreed on never doing that again. Fuck you, honestly." You glare at him through the monitor, not wasting another second to look back at the game. Your ears perk at the loud laugh that seeps through your headphones. 

"Oh please, you're not too much of a pussy to get scared from that, aren't you?" 

"Is that a challenge?" 

Jason waits for suspense, waiting until he knows you're almost near the first jumpscare of the game to throw you off. His hands once again find the liberty to make you jolt, making you lose focus and lightly smack your husband beside you.

Once you get back to the game, a horrifying figure appears on the screen, taking almost all of the pixels it offers. You flinch back and shield your eyes away the moment Jason tries to cover you from the screen.

It all happened suddenly. But it was if time moved slower for Jason.

One minute he was about to hug you.

The next, your fist connects with his face.

Jason didn't budge but hell—your punch still hurts as when you first met!

"You promised to never punch me again!" Jason whines.

Another promise was broken. As if Jason didn't break his earlier? He's sure his jaw also is. With a grimace and a guilty heart, you caressed his face softly. It was your way of apologizing. Oh well, it's both of your faults so let's just get back to gaming.

Big Poo: Leave Doomguy and Isabelle, bro. They're Mr. and Mrs. Smith at this point

Goobert: They're both tryna survive from each other

So what if Jason's plans failed? His jaw is aching—that's fine! He still has other ways... A plan B if you will. As long as his biceps will have a spotlight. He asks you, sweetly, if he could play instead. Jason smirks triumphantly as he knows you can't resist his weirdly adorable, beaten-up face.

He was actually doing so well for someone who's allegedly never saw or played this game before. Jason passed through each trial with flying colors.

When another jumpscare had shown itself, you were suprised to see your husband inch his shoulder closer to the monitor.

"Not flexin! But look at these chills man." He's definitely flexing.

The chat goes crazy! Comments pile up regarding your 'done-with-the-bullshit-face' at the back and mostly about Jason's muscles. He yaps about the non existent chills on his biceps that the chat eats up.

Big Poo: HOLY MOTHER OF GOD—PLEASE HEADLOCK ME

Goobert: I was unfamiliar with your game, Jason. Forgive me (pls flex more)

TheCrowbar: The crowbar approves of this marriage.

"We already are married, bud. If you wanted to say no, you could've done so 4 years ago." Jason rolls his eyes at the comment.

Yeah, he's definitely not warning everyone with that sass.

Tim Drake

"How is everyone mistaking me as your brother?"

Tim glares the chat through the screen. Evidently pissed at the teasing comments towards him. They knew who he was. How could they not? You always mention him and even introduced him at the start of the stream.

He gently grabs your left hand, raising it to show your matching rings.

Big Poo: AWWW! Such a cute sibling promise rings

Goobert: He loves his sister so much. ackk its so cute!!1!!

You try your best not to laugh. It might set Tim off and make him leave without creating any content. Despite wanting to see him get teased and pissed, you had to stop the chat with a few words.

"That's enough teasing my husband, guys. He doesn't like it." But you do. Your viewers seem to caught on your interest from the way you smile and stare at him earlier. Thankfully, they play along at the moment.

"What game do you guys want to see us play?"

Ah, you shouldn't have asked them. Your husband is a geek for video games! He's better than you at every game you guys play. He was more a tower defense, strategic, and board games type of guy. Doesn't make him any less of a weak player when it comes to games like Nekket, Super Smash Sis, though.

You drag Tim along with you to read some comments. He's impressed at the rapid comment speed your viewers have. Can you read a lot from this on a daily basis? There's a lot of unhinged comments slipping through his eyes too.

"Horror games? That sounds good."

What!

Tim snaps his eyes beside you, wide with surprise.

Before you could even ask for his opinion, your husband was already shaking his head sideways. He even had his arms crossed to match with his disagreement towards the suggestion. Tim does not want horror games this late at night. Absolutely not. Not inside this household when he's around.

He knows you're questioning him. But Tim can't tell you he watched the new horror movie you've been getting him to watch with you—alone. In his defense, he didn't want you to waste money on another shitty movie like last time, so, he scavenged alone to determine if it is as good as they say.

This is the result of his little secret mission from you. It's not his fault he hasn't recovered! You didn't see how terrifying it was for yourself... and not that he plans on letting you know.

Your viewers feed on his terror, already laughing to themselves behind their screens. Tim is just unlucky that you have wealthy viewers ready to make an offer you both can't resist. Like what do you mean two people named Big Poo and Goobert paid $10,000 each just for Tim to play?

And that's how the unlucky Timothy Drake found himself hiding behind your frame, occasionally peeking behind your hair to see how his wife is doing.

Everytime you turn into a corner, flashes of that horrible face appear in front of him. God, why are the lights turned off in your room? He doesn't even want to stand up to turn it on. He's aware he's a grown man, but God forbid a man like him can't get scared.

He takes a peek at the comments at the side.

HoelessRomantic: You shouldn't go there if I were you...

Tin-a-pie: GIRL DON'T

Goobert: You're purposely going there to scare baby bro

Baby bro?! This Goobert did not just say that. It felt like all his fear went away. He pushed himself away from your back. You weren't kidding that saying anymore brother jokes will tick him off.

"You may have beaten me at suggestions, but you won't defeat me in terms of winning over my wife!" He scowls at the monitor, taking you and your viewers aback. "I'm looking at you, Goobert... This is a threat." He smiles maniacally.

Tim sweetly smiles at you. One of the things you can't resist.

"Okay... okay.. calm down, Baby. What game do you want?"

"Oh trust me, you'll love it, honey." Tim presses a kiss on your forehead as he takes control.

You love Tim.

You know him well enough considering he's your husband for 4 years now.

But you guess you didn't know him well enough to expect him to suddenly exit the game and pull out a whole ass board game between you guys. Was it sitting there unnoticed the whole time? No matter, you recognized it to be one of his favorite board games.

He excitedly sets it up on the desk for the chat to see. A smug grin on his face to show off his pre-ordered game with freebies. Tim's so excited to share a game he's mastered.

"I bet you kids don't know this. Back in my days, this was the bomb." He proudly boasts.

Big Poo: Bro pulled out his last resort

Goobert: He had to gain back some aura obv

MMONEYY: Are you sure he gained some?

Ignoring their comments, Tim starts on the basics on how to play the game. Here comes the hardest part in being his wife—listening to his long, heartfelt explanation of Dungeons and Reptiles for the second time.

Nonetheless, you were blessed to hear his voice chip at every detail of the game. To see how the love of your life's eyes gleam to share facts to the viewers you tell about Tim everyday. They knew he was a nerd from your stories—but to see and hear it real time is something else.

Tim looked like a grandparent telling stories of his youth. The stories that seemed boring, but you can't help but listen in to. Although the comments complained that it was boring, and he's like an old man, the viewer count didn't decrease. 

They all listened intently with you. Do they see the vision on why you fell in love with Tim? Definitely.

Big Poo: All in vote of Tim being promoted to Husband, say aye.

Goobert: AYEEE

HoelessRomantic: Aye.

Tin-a-pie: Aye!!!

and a million others more.

"Oh so now I'm officially seen as the husband?" Tim laughs, stopping his yap about the game. He gives you a warm look and pulls you towards him. "I guess it's better than being the little brother, babe." He kisses you passionately while covering your eyes to raise his ring finger alone to the chat.

Tim must have the last laugh after all that teasing.

Damian Wayne

Damian has never been this clingy before. Is it because he's finally out in the open with you for millions to watch behind the safety of their screens? He doesn't know—only that he needs to make sure you're his only.

You can see how red his ears are on the monitor, his body boiling at the simple, cute gesture of having you in his lap while you introduced yourself and him to your viewers. This isn't PDA, he knows you're both technically alone in your shared room. 

Still, he isn't used to it. He's been in the spotlight several times, sure—he's Damian Wayne, hello! Son of Bruce Wayne? You get my point, but, he hasn't really been out with you to the media except the time you got married. Damian's more of a private, but not secret type of guy, you know? 

It wasn't difficult to make him agree. With a simple kiss, doe eyes, and a sweet smile, Damian would say yes without a thought!

Oh, but your chat was the mischievous type. One look at Damian and they all knew he was a guy who'd go boom for his lady. And what type of Boom you may ask? Well...

Big Poo: She is NOT going anywhere blud, calm dowwwnnnnn

Goobert: Acting like a damn dog who doesn't want to share the tree he peed on in 2025 is crazy

HoelessRomantic: Let OUR wife go you madman

"Our wife?" He growls, glaring at the camera. Damian would've stood up from his seat if you weren't on his lap. 

He had ignored the first two comments above that, choosing to focus on a comment about his wife. Like—that's his wife! Not hard to understand. He had everything to prove it. Pictures of your wedding day, legal certificates, your wedding rings, and a lot more!

Instead, he snaps his head to the side, acting like he was looking at a physical body to scan up and down with a warning glare. Possessive and explosive... The chat likes that. They'll have the night of their lives dedicated to set Damian off.

"They're normally like that. Don't mind them, Honey." 

He would've let it pass, and listened to your coo. And yet you let him hear you use the word, normally. Normally—as in, you listen to these goofs call you their wife? He doesn't want that. He'll create online beef for you.

And so it began, the chat and Damian's cold war.

The purpose of gaming is gone. Only Damian's sassy remarks and the viewers saying flirty stuff to get on his nerves becomes the content and entertainment. So much for the games you thought you were gonna play today.

But this? You'd pay to watch the whole day. Judging by that smug smirk on your husband's lips, he's aware that they were just teasing him. What can you say... after being with a wife who ragebaits for fun can train you into tolerating bullshit.

And what's a good way to tolerate bullshit? Fight it with your own bullshit, of course. And laughs—to show that he and you are joking. We're trying not to get banned here. So much for the millions of followers if it all ended because of his unhinged comments.

Big Poo: Pull up on roblox right now old geezer or lose husband rights to the whole chat

Goobert: OOOOOH SHITS GOING DOWN

HoelessRomantic: Millions of games and you choose roblox

Tin-a-pie: Imagine losing husband rights to a roblox game...

As soon as you read the chat's algorithm, you shake your head no at Damian. He shouldn't pick a fight over a game he doesn't know. 

It was too late though.

"Challenge accepted." Damian points at the camera. 

Hold on—his smugness falters. You raise a brow over the abrupt change of mood.

"Babe, do you have a roblox account?" He was so adamant in that petty challenge, it was hard to say no at this point. "You better win, loser."

"Do I look like one?" If he has the energy to roll his eyes at you, he might have the energy to kick butt on a game.

You're still appalled that it's roblox of all games. How old was this Big Poo viewer of yours to pick this one specifically? You sure hope it's not a 15 year old... or worse, they could be in the single digits! Oh God, where are this kid's parents?

"In what game will we settle this, Big Poo?" 

Big Poo: Tower of hell :>

Goobert: I honestly thought you'd pick murder mystery 

Big Poo: Let the old man get a taste of the... OBBY MASTERRR

Hey, hey—is this even your stream anymore or Big Poo and Goobert's private chats?

Tower of hell isn't hard. You've played it before. It was just a matter of skill to climb the tower. Damian listens intently to your instructions while waiting for the game to load where Big Poo's avatar was waiting.

"Listen, Dami, just jump over the glowing blocks and shiftlock when needed, okay? You got this, dear!" 

Damian pats on his lips repeatedly until you figure out his motions. With a sigh and a chuckle, you move closer to give him a peck—just a peck! But your beloved had other plans. He pulls you by your hand and smashes his lips against yours. Your quick reflexes immediately covered the camera.

"I can't fathom how I'm in need of a kiss over a lego game."

"Me too. I feel so stupid."

You both laugh, parting away from each other when Big Poo starts to countdown in game.

It was going so well! Damian was in the lead. He's actually pretty good with obbies even if he's a noob. Mind you, he had no practice before the match. Did his training in life transfer to your roblox avatar right now? How is he moving and advancing so fast.

The chat goes crazy with a notable presence—Goobert. The poor guy was screaming their bestfriend's name so bad. They almost looked like a desperate wife wishing their soldier husband to come back home safely.

The whole chat was amazed to see Damian—a noob—winning. And he knows he is.

Goobert: USE THE SECRET WEAPON HERMANO

Damian arrives at the last platform. You marvel at the close gap between him and Big Poo. He's actually gonna win this stupid roblox bet? But what—why did Damian suddenly stop? Don't tell me he's about to—

He types fast in-game, a smug smirk on his face as he watches Big Poo's avatar inch closer to his. In just a few thumbs away, Damian sends his message.

Husband rights defended! ;p

And it was silent—the time went slow. The crowd was astounded when Big Poo suddenly had a stick with a hand at the end. It happened in slow motion. Especially for Damian who worked his way up to the top. 

No matter how fast his reflexes are... it wasn't the same with the wifi.

As your roblox character fell, Damian looked dead in the camera.

"Big Poo..." 

Uh oh

"I BETTER NOT SEE YOU HERE IN GOTHAM OR ELSE I WILL—"

The stream has ended.

extra scene!

In another universe...

In the timeline of Young Justice...

Jaime and Bart were laughing their asses off. Each had their own unique device that hasn't been seen by humankind other than them. It's a mystery how they even got it. Well, it was just on the table... so, it won't hurt to touch, right?

They've both been at it all day long. Lucky for them to have the day off, honestly. Or else they would've missed this multidimensional device that shows different universes. Never in their life would they see 5 of the batfamily like that.

Although 1 of them is unfamilliar, and the second Robin has changed so much.

In a span of 18 hours, all they did was watch the streams.

"How'd you even come up with Big Poo, Ese?"

"You don't wanna know what happened yesterday." Bart snickers. "Well, how about you, Goobert?"

"Don't ask me, it was Scarab's idea."

They both went silent—reminiscing the streams they just watched.

"Do you think M'gann will notice the missing $20,000 from the funds?"

"Don't worry about M'gann, worry about—"

"What $20,000?" Tim's voice springs behind them.

Great.

It just had to be the Robin who the $20,000 went to in another universe.

They better explain well or else they'll be in an interrogation room with the whole Bat Family listening in.

[vera-vera-vera-lynn]

Need to rant because this post ignited something beastly inside me :P

|| ๋࣭⭑

As a philosophy major, seeing that ad actually drove me fucking nuts, because I know a lot of people in my school's humanities department (as well as some in the Philosophy course itself) would actually use it.

In my city Philosophy is already considered something of a dying humanities major as it doesn't hold as much attractive options as, say, Communications, Psychology, or Political Science—so barely anyone even takes it seriously anymore. In fact, my university came so goddamn close to shutting down the Philo course entirely.

Our department's barely holding it together, and seeing other humanities majors actively thriving despite taking advantage of something like this is such a huge slap to the face.

We have maybe 15–20 students left in the entire programme, and most of them didn't even choose Philo out of genuine interest—they either just got redirected here, or decided on it as a last-minute resort. It's become such a fucking joke what with how people began seeing it as a dumping ground for has-beens and do-no-betters. It's treated as the goddamn lobby for rejects and undecideds; or worse yet, some will stay for a month to a year, only to dip out at the end when they realise how unaligned they actually are with the course. Bitch; if you wanted an easy way out, why are you here?

There's only one constant professor teaching every subject across every year level. And I say the word constant loosely—because while he technically holds the position, he's also our adviser, a.k.a. our last line of defense anytime the department's on the chopping block. The catch? He's part-time. That man is barely hanging on himself, with multiple teaching gigs at other universities; which means we only get scraps of his time, and even then, he's already usually burnt out. He's not just underpaid. The man's old, overextended, and chronically tired. The worst part? He's good. He's actually a damn good philosopher and an even better teacher. If we lose him, it's fucking over. An algorithm isn't going to help you or your professor. You're silencing the very people who've helped you develop your critical thinking skills.

The people here tend to have this preconceived notion that Philosophy is something of a 'high-brow art'—hence the lack of engagement. This is utter bullshit, by the way, because that's just double-edged classism. The whole point of it is critical access to thought—not intellectual gatekeeping. Call me petty and salty for this but this is one of the reasons why I hate it when bitches say shit like 'I'm too small-brained for this'—like, no. You're not. The fact that you're even recognising your own limitations is already a huge move in itself. You just need to put in the goddamn effort.

There's zero funding for conferences or outreach unless we tie ourselves to other, more 'useful' disciplines (our dean does what she can, but God, it's nowhere near enough; and I know damn well what our department is capable of given how much favouritism Psych and PolSci gets).

As the VP of our org, it's humiliating to have to cosplay as other departments just to get a foot in the door. And the worst part is: admin eats this shit up. They love to say things like relevance and fucking real-world application while simultaneously gutting any space we might’ve had to show how philosophy is deeply relevant, precisely because it questions the frameworks everyone else takes for granted.

Don't even get me started on AI. Half the 'cutting-edge' discourse around machine ethics, bias, decision-making, sentience, consciousness, language—all of it—is stolen straight out of philosophy. Hell, some of these LLMs are trained on archives of our papers and books. But none of y'all are hiring philosophers. No one's inviting us to panels unless we're there to play the silly widdle ethics people and make everything sound profound for five minutes before the principal takes back the mic. We're useful enough to train the machine. We're relevant enough to pad your datasets. But God motherfucking forbid you actually pay a specialist to teach or contextualise those ideas.

I felt worse rereading all the points I made considering my dad just piped in and essentially confirmed what I already knew. The bastard saw me typing and fucking laughed, saying it's just not profitable anymore. At one point in history Philosophy was regarded as the greatest of all sciences. Then religion commodified it, and soon after that technology virtually killed it. Who needs it when the people most rewarded for thinking are the ones who do it loudest, fastest, and with just enough fake nuance to sound profound in under sixty seconds?

Genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, fuck AI.

I've been begging my professor to change our output formats for these very reasons. I told him to give all of these fucking essays a break because theoretical knowledge isn't going to solve everything. Nobody gives a shit about deep dive papers on Kant when they can't even pay their rent, much less have the energy for critical theory after working a shift at some minimum-wage job.

I suppose the biggest issue about Philosophy is that it isn't as 'practical' as other subjects are. The main problem with its presence in the modern world is that it's mostly just those writing about things that won't pay the bills, won't solve the climate crisis, and sure as hell won't put food on the table. We're not necessarily equipping ourselves to survive in the world as it is right now.

But neither are we reaching anyone like this, nor are we making any true progress no matter how wonderfully the concept of AI services is presented. We are actually losing relevance in real time. We're sitting on centuries of intellectual legacy and presenting it like goddamn expired toast. Philosophy was revered for its ability to interrogate meaning and question the frameworks that govern society. And now philosophers are being asked to hand its intellectual power over to algorithms and systems that don't even feel.

People forget that that's the real kicker: companies want philosophy specialists to 'work with' AI, but what in the giggling goddamn fuck does that even mean?

Some of y'all say we're supposed to fix AI with the same academia we've spent years honing. But instead of doing the deep, reflective work philosophy was built on, we're now just handing over centuries of intellectual labour, programming our thoughts into a machine, and hoping this utter parasite of a system works. Yes, artificial intelligence may have its benefits—but that doesn't take away the fact that you're letting automatons belittle all the history and all the hard work that built the foundations of human understanding.

Stop pretending like AI can actually solve problems. They don't. They can't. They can get as humanlike as they can, they can mimic our speech and our processes to sharper degrees, but at the end of the day they're soulless machines. They don't have the same capabilities you or I do. Stop it. Just stop.

this ad wants to hire philosophy specialists to train their AI.

in philosophy.

they want to train the machine that can't think on the subject that's literally thinking about thinking.

someone smarter than me write in the comments how the classical philosophers are freaking out in the afterlife

(diogenes brandishing a texting autocomplete feature: Behold, a man!)

[itelya]

Nanami always pays for everything. A complete pushover. The restaurant bill, your classes, your hygiene products, sometimes even part of your rent. Every time, he's the one who pulls out the card, as if it were the most natural thing to do. And even though he does it without hesitation, it weighs on you.

He often tells you that you deserve it all, that you're his priority. That he can more than afford to buy things himself. He says it with such sincerity that it's almost soothing. Almost. Despite his words, guilt whispers to you that he's giving too much and that you're taking advantage of it.

Every time, you thank him. With smiles, tender gestures, grateful 'thank yous'. But deep down, you have this need to give back even a little of everything he gives you. To show him, in your own way, that you love him as much as he loves you.

So you decide to give him a gift. Not something you buy, something you can find in stores or online, not something expensive. Just something personal, real, sincere.

So, you poured your heart into a handmade notebook, filled with photos of the two of you, of him, of shared memories. On each page, a little note, a handwritten memory, surrounded by sweet and simple decorations. You added a letter at the end, filled with your feelings for him, and a bracelet you woven in his favorite colors, delicately attached to the notebook. Then, a small bouquet of paper flowers, all wrapped in a discreet, modest ribbon.

That evening, after yet another dinner he paid for without paying, you went to his house, the gift in your hands. He didn't suspect a thing. When you handed it to him, he looked at you with slight surprise, then gently took the package.

He opened it slowly. His eyes scanned the pages. And then, a smile appeared on his face. One of those he didn't often show. A sweet, rare, sincere smile.

"You didn't have to do all that..." he murmurs, his voice a little lower with emotion.

You lower your head slightly, embarrassed but happier, your cheeks a little warm. "I wanted you to know how much you mean to me... and to thank you. It's not much, but it's all I did with my heart."

He places the notebook next to him and moves closer. And before you can say another word, he takes you in his arms. A long, gentle hug, his scent invading you and reassuring you.

"You make me so happy, you know?"

You smile against his shoulder, realizing it more and more, but you're so happy with him too.

"I should be the one saying that."

a/n: i love nanami sm omg.. ⟢﹒ masterlist

[marauder-misprint]

Hey! I had a Sirius x reader request where the reader is James sister and in a secret relationship with Sirius and the marauders are trying to guess who Sirius’s secret girlfriend is and Sirius is just like “you know her VERY well” and ofc James flips out when he finds out LOL

Hi! Thank you for this request! ❤︎ I love love love a good fluffy piece. Lowkey oblivious Sirius, but let's be real - when aren't boys oblivious?

Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

'Acceptable company'

Sirius Black x Potter!reader

3.5k words

cw: fluff, secret relationship, pining if you squint

You didn’t mean to fall for Sirius Black. It’s embarrassing, really. Predictable. Your older brother’s best friend? Of course he’s the one who makes your heart flutter. You tried to ignore it, push the feelings down so far that maybe they’d just vanish.

They did not. 

Sirius also didn’t mean to fall for you. He didn’t realize he was falling for you until he was in too deep. In his defense, when you arrived at Hogwarts and got sorted into Gryffindor, his first thought was ‘Oh, sweet, another Potter!’ 

For the first few years, you’d occasionally enter Sirius’ orbit. James would complain about how annoying you were, but Sirius never saw it. You were alright. You would give him a small smile while waiting for James to get you whatever you had requested. Sometimes you’d ask Remus for help on homework when Lily was busy; Sirius thought it was amusing that you refused to ask James for help. And until he joined the quidditch team himself, you sat with Sirius in the stands during matches and practices. You offered him your snacks and sounded like James when you spouted quidditch facts and critiqued the team’s form. Even when Sirius visited the Potter’s home during the summer months, you didn’t hang around him and James much. 

Sirius didn’t know what to do with himself when he found himself wishing you would hang around them. When he started looking for you in the stands at his quidditch games and practices. When he suddenly offered to help you with an assignment because Lily and Remus had prefect duties. When he got uncharacteristically upset when you got your first boyfriend. When he realized that he was upset because it wasn’t him. 

Luckily for Sirius, it didn’t last. Something about you not giving him enough of your time. You ranted about it in the common room. Loudly. Sirius could recall you saying, “Merlin forbid a girl has friends. And friends that I don’t have any classes with! Sorry I don’t want to eat dinner with him every evening!” James gave you your space despite his muttered threats about this boy.

That night Sirius couldn’t sleep. So he did what everyone does when they can’t sleep: he went to sit by the fire in the common room. And by chance, you were already sitting on the couch, legs tucked underneath you, as you stared into the dancing flames. 

“Am I acceptable company?” Sirius asked, standing off to the side. 

“Why wouldn’t you be?” you responded. You didn’t even look away from the fire. 

He sat down on the other side of the couch before casting a wary glance your way.

“Maybe you have a vendetta against all blokes now. Dunno.”

You gave a dry laugh. “No. Just against gits.”

“Hmm, surprised I don’t qualify for that.” Sirius would be an idiot if he didn’t know that he could use some work on himself. 

“Yeah… well… I have nothing against you.”

With your gaze set on the fire, Sirius took the opportunity to watch you. Because why had he been so happy to know that you broke up with that boy? Why had his heart skipped a beat when he saw you sitting by the fire in the deserted common room? Why did he want to smile when you said you have nothing against him? Coming to terms with how much he liked you was more difficult than he’d ever admit. 

“I can feel you staring, Sirius.”

“‘M not,” Sirius said, immediately looking at the fire.

You sighed and turned your body so you could face Sirius. He looked back at you, his body still facing forward.

“I know I’m not wrong for wanting to be my own person. I’m not a… a… a thing to be flaunted,” you said, sounding and looking frustrated.

Sirius nodded. “Right.”

“And Sam couldn’t accept that. That’s on him. Not me.” You paused and your expression shifted. “Right?”

“Yes. Some blokes are a bit dense.”

You sighed. Then you fell forward, resting your forehead against the side of his shoulder. He gave you a slightly confused look.

“Are you alright?” You mumbled something into his shoulder. “You know I didn’t understand that.”

With a dramatic sigh, you sat up, but only to move closer to Sirius so you could rest your head on his shoulder without blocking your face. 

“Getting there. I’m getting there.”

You sat like that for a while, neither of you saying anything. When you were ready, you thanked Sirius and then went to bed. He sat there for a little bit longer before heading back up to his dorm. He wanted the moment to have lasted longer. Sitting in that easy silence with you was something else. 

For a few days, you regretted that night in the common room. Your brain was telling you that you had been too much, an annoying little sister who put Sirius in an uncomfortable position. You should’ve just let him stare and not said anything. Now that you’ve made him uncomfortable, you can tell that he’s avoiding your gaze whenever you’re near each other. Before, when you’d make eye contact with him across the room, you would exchange polite smiles. There was an acknowledgement. Not anymore. He won’t meet your eyes. 

You needed to apologize for it, tell him not to worry about you. You’d find him after quidditch practice. You would keep it casual. Because you were James’ cool, confident, easy-going little sister. Not an annoying one. 

Like usual, you watched the practice from the stands. You tried to watch all of the players equally, but you kept returning to Sirius. His flying was sloppy and he was missing easy hits. He was obviously distracted and Jame was biting his head off for it. It felt like the practice dragged on forever. But when it was done, you lingered just out of sight of the locker room door. You knew you had to ambush Sirius to get him to talk to you; the only thing that would prevent him from listening to you would be if James walked back with him. Maybe it was good that Sirius was distracted during practice – he wouldn’t want to leave with the guy who yelled at him for like ten minutes straight while on a broom. 

You listened as the door opened and closed. James left with Marlene, both ranting about how the practice wasn’t their best work. Perfect. With James gone, you waited a little closer to the door. The seeker left, followed by the other beater, the keeper and the last chaser. Sirius was the last one. You waited for about five minutes before you started getting nervous. You had to keep your wits about you. 

You opened the locker room door and knocked on it loudly, to announce your presence. 

“Sirius?” you called, looking around. 

“What?” he snapped from around the corner.

“Can we talk?”

He peeked his head around the corner, hair dripping and not wearing a shirt. 

“Potter? Shit, what are you doing in here?” he asked, his voice suddenly much nicer and almost nervous. 

“I was waiting for you,” you said. “Should I go back outside?” 

“Um, no, just give me one minute.”

You sat down on the bench in between the rows of lockers and fidgeted with your fingers. You could hear Sirius muttering to himself but the only things you could make out were swears. When he came around the corner, he was wearing pants and pulling a shirt over his head. 

“What’s up? Everything okay?” he asked, standing in front of you. 

“I, erm, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable the other night. I’m good. Fine.” You nodded with a small smile on your lips. 

Sirius furrowed his brows in confusion. “What made you think I was uncomfortable?” 

He didn’t think he had shifted at all when you had your head on his shoulder. Maybe you mistook the quiet as awkwardness, rather than the easiness he felt. 

“Oh, um, you haven’t been able to look at me?” Your throat tensed. “Kind of felt like you were avoiding me.”

Sirius nervously rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from you. “I have been avoiding you, but-” He clicked his tongue. “-not because I was uncomfortable.”

“Then why?”

“Because I was comfortable.” You tilted your head in confusion. “Too comfortable.”

“Okay?”

You weren’t getting it. Why was him being comfortable around you a bad thing? Why did it make him avoid you?

“Godric… screw it! Every time I look at you, I want to kiss you. I want to treat you how you deserve to be treated, so much better than how that git treated you. But I can’t ‘cause you’re James’ sister.” 

You stared up at him with wide eyes. Oh. You stood up, making Sirius take a step backwards. He thought you were going to slap him. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your pounding heart. 

“What if… I wanted you to kiss me?” Your heart was trying to escape out your throat. “We could just not tell James.”

“Not tell James…” he repeated. His eyes flicked between your eyes and your lips. 

You took a step toward Sirius and he didn’t take a step back. Instead, he gently took your face in his hands and kissed you. It was soft and gentle and you wasted no time in kissing him back. You were about to thread your fingers through his hair when he pulled back.

“Are you sure?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yes.”

Not telling James ended up becoming not telling anyone. It was too risky. If you told anyone, how could you guarantee that they wouldn’t tell him? 

In public, you were just James’ little sister and his best friend. Polite. Cordial. Sharing smiles and eye rolls from across the room. In the privacy of the common room late at night, when you knew his dorm would be empty, in random broom closets, in unused classrooms and the locker room after quidditch practices, you were more than friends. It was more than snogging too. He would read to you. You would bring snacks and have a makeshift picnic. You would sit next to each other, talking about your day and anything else on your mind. But yes, there was snogging. 

You were doing a good job at keeping it secret. At least, good enough. Your friends caught on pretty quickly that you had a new someone – it was the only explanation of where you were disappearing to so often and how smiley you were when you returned. Sirius was proud of himself for keeping it from James, given that they had the map. He made sure that he had it with him whenever he was meeting up with you. Remus was the only one who seemed suspicious of his keeping the map so close, but he didn’t say anything. 

But then one night after quidditch practice and a heated session with you, Sirius tied his hair up before heading up to his dorm. You had made a good habit of returning to the common room at different times after practice to prevent any rumors. So you weren’t with him to see that you had left a mark. Well, several marks along his neck. 

“Merlin’s balls, Padfoot!” Remus gasped when he walked through the door. 

“What?” Sirius asked, not looking at Remus.

“Did you get attacked by a colony of leeches?” he asked, now attempting to stifle his laughter as Sirius’ hand flew to his neck. 

He forced a laugh. “Something like that.”

“Who is it?” James asked, sitting up a little straighter on his bed. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sirius answered.

“Hiding his latest conquest… That’s new,” Remus muttered, turning back to homework although he was smirking. 

“Yeah, since when don’t you tell us who you’re snogging?” Peter asked.

Sirius put his stuff away in his trunk and got out his own homework. “Since she asked me not to.” 

James and Peter exchanged a look that Sirius chose to ignore. He wanted them to drop the topic. If they asked him to describe the girl, it would only take so long before they put two and two together. They did drop it. For that night.

The next day, walking to class, Remus asked, “So who is it?”

“Huh?” 

“The girl giving you hickeys.”

“Told you last night. I’m not saying.”

“Ah, come on, Padfoot. It’s just me.”

Sirius shook his head. “Mate, drop it. I’m not telling you.”

“You’ve always told us who you’re with. Never had any shame in it. Why you getting all shy with it now?”

“I said drop it. She asked me not to tell you and… I like her. So I’m not going to tell you anything until she wants to.”

Sirius quickened his pace to get to class, leaving Remus behind. He watched him go with a curious expression on his face. Sirius usually bragged about who he took into broom closets, but he was being protective of this girl and that only made Remus want to know more. 

The boys badgered Sirius about his mystery girlfriend more than your friends did with you. It went on for weeks after that night with the hickeys. Whenever Sirius came back to the dorm alone, various questions were launched at him.

“Same girl?” “Any visible hickeys?” “How far you’d get?” “Where’d you snog? The greenhouses? Quidditch pitch? Back of the library?” “What’s she like?”

Sirius brushed them off every time. He wasn’t going to give them anything, but that seemed to egg them on. They were determined to find out who it was. One evening, they started asking Sirius about the girl in the common room.

“Alright, Sirius, is she a Slytherin? Is that you’re so secretive about it?” Peter asked, shoving his Potions homework away from him.

Sirius didn’t answer. 

“Is she in our year? Older? Younger?” James asked. More silence from Sirius.

“Ah, give us something,” Remus begged. “You’ve been seeing her for weeks and you’ve told us nothing!”

You entered the common room and Peter, James and Remus’ voices reached your ears. They weren’t being quiet with their interrogation of Sirius. So, naturally, you walked over to them.

“You’re being loud,” you said matter-of-factly. 

“We have reason,” James said with an eye roll. 

“And that reason is…”

He sighed. “Sirius here has been seeing this girl for weeks and he won’t tell us who it is. He won’t even describe her.”

You smirked and turned toward Sirius, who was already looking at you with a rehearsed neutral look on his face. 

“Aw, that’s kind of cute. But come on, Sirius. It’s just the boys,” you said, gesturing to them. “Give ‘em something to get them off your back.”

Sirius swallowed thickly. You had just given him permission to say something. He tried to cover his shock with an exaggerated sigh.

“Fine.” He looked around the group, trying to figure out what to say. “Ah, got it. You lot know her very well.”

“Oh, that narrows it down,” you laughed, turning to leave the group, but you didn’t go far. You picked a spot on the couch nearby and took out your Charms book. You wanted to eavesdrop. 

“That’s rubbish!” Peter exclaimed. “We know a lot of people!”

“It’s not rubbish,” Sirius defended with crossed arms. “I just eliminated practically all of the Slytherins.”

“And a fair amount of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs,” Remus added. James and Peter gave him stern looks. “What? He said we know her very well. We know eagles and badgers, but I wouldn’t say we know them all that well.”

“So she’s a Gryffindor?” James asked, turning his attention back to Sirius.

He gave him no answer. Not even a facial expression. 

“I think we can assume that much,” Remus said. “And it’s certainly not Lily. I know that much.”

“How?” James asked. 

“Been studying with her when Padfoot returns from his rendezvous.”

“She can’t be more than a year on either side of us,” Peter said. “Younger they get, the more scared of us they are.”

“Valid,” James said with a solemn nod.

Sirius just rolled his eyes. He didn’t know if he could relax, but he needed to have a relaxed air about him. He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned backwards, supporting himself with straight arms. 

“Right, so that leaves us with what, twelve girls? We can narrow it down,” James said after mentally counting the girls in their year, the year above and year below. “We’ve already checked off Lily and we can check off my sister and Marlene.”

You hid behind your book so the boys couldn’t see your smile if they looked over at you. James dismissed you as an option right off the bat. They would never get it right at this rate. 

“Cross off anyone he’s already been with. There’d be no point hiding it from us if they’ve done it before,” Remus said, waving a hand at James.

Sirius snuck a worried glance your way. He thought his hint was clever, but his friends were going to run through the girls quickly. And once they did, they’d have to go back over the list. There was no telling if they’d come to the conclusion that it was you. You flexed your eyebrows. He needed to turn back around.

You found it amusing as the boys tossed around names and found each one not feeling right. Sirius looked more or less mortified. He lost his relaxed air when he looked at you and couldn’t get it back. It was only getting worse as they moved on from girl to girl and then started renaming girls.

“We’ve listed everyone,” Peter said, sounding defeated. “Are we sure that he didn’t fall into the lake and is just too proud to tell us?” 

“Why would he be by the lake after quidditch practice?” James sighed. 

Something about what James said made something click in Remus’ head. After quidditch practice. He looked at you, at first with wide eyes of realization and then the wicked smirk of someone about to unleash hell.

“I know who it is,” Remus said firmly, not looking away from you.

All three boys looked at Remus, and then they followed his gaze to you. Sirius went pale. James turned red. And Peter laughed. 

“Oh, that’s rich.”

“We do know her quite well,” Remus said. 

“Padfoot,” James growled. “For the love of Merlin, tell me that Remus is wrong.”

You looked up slowly. You knew they were looking at you. You heard it go down. 

“I can’t,” Sirius said in a small voice. 

“At least he had a good reason for not telling us,” Peter said between fits of laughter.

“Yeah, Wormtail? What’s his reason?” Remus asked, clearly enjoying the building tension between James and Sirius.

“He loves his life. Because Prongs is going to murder him.”

“My bloody sister? You are mental?” James yelled, jumping up.

Sirius immediately mirrored him. “Maybe, yeah.”

James turned on you. “You! What do you have to say about this?” 

You hummed and flipped a page in your book, as if you were disinterested in their conversation, as if it didn’t completely concern you. 

“What the others say is true: he’s good at snogging.” 

Sirius broke into a stupid smile because that answer was so you. A little bit of sass to your brother. It was also a compliment to him. James, however, did not like that answer as he turned a darker shade of red. 

“I… argh! That’s my little sister!” James shouted at Sirius, and then turning back to you, “My goddamn best friend? Could you have chosen anyone else?”

Still feeling unbothered, you leaned forward and looked at Remus. “Remus is kind of cute.”

“Oi!” Sirius said. 

“I said kind of!”

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!” James roared.

He glared at you and then at Sirius before storming off to their dorm. You broke into your fit of laughter when he started up the stairs. 

“I think he took that well.”

“So, you’re really… together?” Remus asked, watching Sirius run a hand down his face as he stared at the stairs James disappeared up.

You nodded. “When you’d figure out Sirius was seeing someone?”

“Few weeks ago. You left a mark.”

You tilted your head in slight confusion. You left marks on Sirius before only a few weeks ago.

“Oh, he put his hair up.”

“Ah,” you said. Then you looked at Sirius. “He’ll get over it. Let him cool down and come to terms with it. You’ll be fine.”

“He’s pretty pissed,” Sirius said, voice low. 

“For now. He’ll get over it.”

“He’s pissed at me.”

“Mate, relax. She’s right. He blows up, but he always cools down,” Remus said.

“Yeah… right…” Sirius muttered before collapsing on the couch next to you. “At least I can kiss you in public now.”

“That’s what you’re excited about? I can’t wait to go on a real date-date with you.”

“Oh, gross… Maybe they should’ve kept it a secret,” Peter said to Remus.

tags: @navs-bhat, @bruxa0007

[alchemicaladarna]

I think part of the reason why I love HolyWater duo so much is because the level of care and compassion that tr!water has for tr!bad is so unfamiliar that it's sad but also really refreshing and cathartic. Now, I'm not saying that other people's hostility towards him isn't justified, because their villainous perception of him is valid to some degree, considering that he did terrorize a lot of people. I'm also not saying that before tr!water, he hasn't experienced kindness from other people on The Realm, because he had tr!pangi, tr!mocha, and tr!ros to some degree. He also still has tr!Lukey as his day old doughnut hamster self as far as tr!bad knows. And, despite everyone's perception of him lately, tr!Aimsey has also been regularly checking up on him and making sure he's fine even though he tries to hide his true feelings and push them away as well.

!Bad has so many issues and walls that he put up around himself for millennia- the only time he was more vulnerable being on Quesadilla Island when he was taking care of the eggs. And yet, from day 1, tr!water has figured him out instantly through simple patience and careful observance. She now knows many aspects about himself that people have spent months trying and failing to figure out. Tr!water is slowly breaking down tr!Bad's walls, but she does so without force and without judgement because she can relate to him to some degree.

Tr!bad gives her armor, tools, weapons, and gifts that will help her survive- like he usually does with anyone who asks- but then she also doesn't want to burden him further by asking him for more resources. Tr!water first saw him as someone who could help her level up and gain power in this realm, but as she spent more time with him, she began to see him as more than a resource, a monster, or a means to an end. She perceives him as his own person and a genuine friend. I think tr!Bad also cares for her more than he is willing to admit, if the super op armor and his reaction to her potentially dying because she wasn't wearing the armor doesn't say it already.

Many people have already pointed this out, and I'm sure my early morning ramblings don't make much sense, but something about tr!bad finally being seen by someone as more than the resources and exploits he could hand out to people, more than the deals he could make with them, and more than the terrible villain he's usually painted as, just really tugs at my heartstrings and makes me so goddamn emotional.

[reit0o]

CALEB'S ACCIDENTAL DEBUT

✎ pairings- caleb x f!reader ✎ wc- 1,037 words ✎ summary- caleb was just a kid with a grudge against a boy group. he didn’t mean to become their biggest competition (or a lowkey fan). (old days) authors note. hi this is my first time properly posting on tumblr so I'm still trying to navigate my way around. this is just a silly hc I have on the origin of caleb's dancing skills, bc I can totally see a jealous young caleb sweating out in his room to impress mc. anways enjoy reading <3

Caleb didn't even bother hiding the sour expression on his face. He glared at the TV screen, eyes shooting daggers at the current obsession that had somehow bewitched her.

Linkon's newest boy group had taken the nation by storm. Despite debuting only recently, they’d already amassed a massive female fan base — and she was no exception.

He watched as a blue-haired member winked at the camera, earning a high-pitched squeal from her. Caleb couldn't for the life of him see what was so special about them. His eyes narrowed as they launched into another round of overly energetic, syncopated choreography

Surely, these guys weren’t that impressive.

Every day after school, she would grab him by the arm and drag him home, eager to catch their latest performance. Each stage had its own over-the-top concept—one week it was soft schoolboy crushes, the next, dark brooding themes with vampires, demons and angels. Sometimes even dyeing their hair in bold, eye-catching colours to fit the theme.

It would be all that she would talk about on the walk home. She’d pull out new merch, showing off the photo cards she exchanged with her friends at lunch, and gush about how handsome one of the members looked in a baseball uniform.

It made Caleb want to pluck out his eyebrows one by one, but he always made sure to plaster on a smile.

Caleb hadn't minded her new obsession—at first. But when she started skipping games with him, or nearly choking on her food just to finish faster and catch their performance, that’s when it started to bother him.

"Pipsqueak, you promised to hang out with me this afternoon", he whined, a ball in hand.

"Not now, Caleb, I'll play with you later", she swatted him away without looking up, her eyes locked on the screen as she kicked her feet in the air.

Caleb had been the main male figure in her life for as long as he could remember. And now, all of a sudden, that spot had been snatched away—by seven men in glittery jackets.

He felt bitter.

He wasn't used to feeling cast aside.

It wasn't the first occurrence either. Lately, every time he suggested something for them to do together, she would just absentmindedly turn him away, barely listening to what he had in mind.

That had become Caleb’s usual routine lately—alone, playing by himself. Like now, in the backyard, muttering under his breath while half-heartedly kicking the ball against the wall. Every now and again, a soft giggle would escape through the kitchen window.

Caleb huffed.

"What does she even see in them anyway? It's not like they're even that good-looking. Anyone can throw on fancy clothes and sing and dance—I'll show her."

That night, Caleb went to bed early. Or at least, that’s what he told her. In truth, he was in his room, typing their name into the search bar, staring at the group that had stolen all her attention.

Over the next week, Caleb made it his life's mission to memorise all the dances—purely out of spite. Every evening, he'd lock this door and throw himself into memorising each routine, determined to hit every mark perfectly.

“Watch me outdance every single one of them! Let’s see who she talks about then.”

She’d sometimes ask why he was always so sweaty before bed, and he’d just laugh it off, brushing her off with some excuse.

But he had a goal. He had to burn the dances into his memory. He needed to prove that he was better than those ridiculous men in their ugly outfits.

Sometimes she’d hum their songs around the house, singing to herself as she moved from room to room. And slowly, almost without realising, he started humming along. Every time he caught himself, he was mortified. He’d quietly slip out of the room before she could notice.

As much as he hated to admit it… underneath all the glitter and flare, their songs were kind of catchy.

One quiet afternoon, Caleb was clearing the remains of their lunch while the radio played one of their latest songs. He floated around the room, softly singing to himself, slipping in a move here and there without thinking.

He was so caught up, he didn’t hear her stumble into the kitchen.

"AHA!!"

He froze.

"Caleb, I didn't know you were secretly a fanboy", she said smugly, wiggling her shoulders like she’d caught him red-handed.

Caleb’s face turned bright red. "N-No! It's just cause this song’s everywhere! And you play it all the time around the house.”

To his surprise, she didn't tease him further. Instead, she turned up the volume and jumped, singing along at the top of her lungs.

Caleb watched her flail her arms, wildly missing half the choreography—if he was being honest. But she didn't care. She was smiling, beaming, singing her heart out.

And in that moment, Caleb realised something: sharing her joy felt a lot better than trying to compete for it.

So they sang together in the kitchen, off-key and laughing, butchering the ad-libs as they made their afternoon snack.

Their afternoons quickly turned into a mix of lighthearted teasing and non-stop chatter. She’d pull up funny montages, encouraging him to watch, rambling about her favourite members and their different personalities.

Caleb smiled along—this time, a genuine smile, happy to see her talk so passionately.

Did he still dislike them?

Yes.

Very much.

But not as much as before—especially after seeing how happy they made her.

They even started dressing up together, re-enacting scenes from music videos (her idea, obviously) and filming their dramatic reenactments. Caleb was always cast as the hopeless romantic, chasing after the girl—played by her, of course.

They didn’t get many views. But Caleb, hidden under his covers at night, would watch them anyway.

The view count crept up, little by little, each day.

One morning, as he was shovelling cereal into his mouth, she shoved her phone into his face.

"Look, Caleb! We already have 42 views!! We're gonna be popular in no time.”

She beamed, eyes sparkling with excitement. “One day we'll be famous enough… and we'll get to see them in real life!"

[creamyhoneycookie]

Ok, but what about a yan!reader? Someone who was interested in history and found document of the Beasts back when they were still the virtues. Becoming absolutely obsessed until realizing that they're still alive?!! Even if they've changed, that doesn't mean anything to our dear little yan!reader! They'll love the Beasts all the same!

(Preferably dif scenario's with all three but if I can only do one than shadow milk :3 )

These are going to be a little shorter, but this kept me UP last night thinking. Thankfully, espresso!

CONTENT WARNINGS: Obsession, stalking, predator/prey dynamics, unhealthy relationship dynamics

Regardless of who you fall for, it starts the same: research in a library so old, the statues of grand Witches still have faces. Legends tell of great heroes- a woman so kind and gracious that she grants the wishes of those who come to her, a general who revolutionized the lands he visited, the scholar who created magic itself... All across the darkest seas. It's such a hard journey, but... doesn't love persist?

Mystic Flour Cookie doesn't know what brings this strange cookie to her pagoda, but she does not care. Not until Cloud Haetae Cookie comes to her, reporting- you have no desire, no wish to ask of her- no greedy heart to tear into her heart, but you've spent all day sweeping the grounds, dusting and repairing the pagoda. Even if you're actually very bad at it. Eventually, she descends from her chambers, watching you quietly- she does not expect the adoration in your eyes, she soft flush of your cheeks.

"My Lady... I've journeyed far to join you...! You don't have to worry. I'll help from now on. You've done so much, you can rest- oh, but, I made tea! Won't you join me?"

... Strange. Mystic Flour Cookie isn't sure why... but despite this pure love... something weighs heavily from your words. But she cannot give it a name.

Burning Spice Cookie you find at his army encampment, and he takes you as just one of many followers easily... either you serve him as one more soldier, or you die in these conquests. He does not care. Except... once you arrive, he feels your eyes on him, constantly. Being watched, even when he's alone- it shouldn't unnerve him so, but it does.

And it thrills him. He has always been the hunter, the beast- for something, someone to make him feel like the prey? It's... EXCITING. He throws himself into figuring out who his hunter is- and when it's you? Oh, it's incredible. The dynamic shifts, cat and mouse constantly, and you both know it. This is love! It must be love! No one else can get each other's heart racing like this, and when you have him cornered, crawling into his lap like a lion about to strike, he adores it.

Shadow Milk Cookie isn't sure where you came from. First you were in the town outside the Spire. Then you were at the gates. And then- then you were making your way inside. He's hostile at first, prickly- one bitten, twice shy, you might say. (Nevermind the fact that he bit first, more often and refused to believe Pure Vanilla Cookie when he actually did tell the truth.)

He bullies you, toys with you, puts you through all kinds of tests: but every time you speak the truth:

I really do love you!

... And if he knows lies, he also knows truth. Eventually, he'll have no choice to believe you. ... Aaaaaaat which point, he's delighted, actually! He's terribly lonely, you know. Once he knows that you're the real deal, he'll accept your twisted love with glee; so long as you stay with him, he'll accept it all. ... Even if he gets a little snarky about it sometimes. Like, he already had Candy Apple Cookie, and now there's you? --Please don't kill each other he loves his minions.

[bbina]

it was nice that kun wanted to treat you out for lunch to celebrate your first month of successfully working and dealing with chenle because last time he checked, all previous assistants didn't even last a full week

"a toast to y/n" kun raises his glass up in the air. you let out a chuckle, wiping your mouth with a napkin as you too raise your own glass

"to being overworked" you chirp, clinking your glass with kun, side eyeing chenle who rolls his eyes but raises his glass nonetheless

"i'm literally not overworking you but okay" chenle murmurs, clinking his glass against yours and kun

you and kun both share a laugh of disbelief. him not overworking you? yeah right. says the same man who makes you work overtime just to finish an unfinished report he had given you 5 minutes before you had to clock out

"so, y/n.." kun starts, "any complaints, reviews or what not that you've kept to yourself for the past month about working with chenle here?" kun nods his head towards chenle's direction who glares at him

because in his defense, why do people keep saying that he's such an evil boss?

you take a good look at chenle and kun before you try to formulate your answer. if you had to be honest, you had a lot to say about working under chenle

first of all, he was unpredictable. you literally cannot guess if the day was gonna be a calm day because most of the time, it won't be one

second, there are times that he's so moody but maybe that's what running a company does to you at such a young age. you do admit that you commend him for such feat. it isn't easy being a young and successful ceo. you can say that now because you literally work with him

sure there are some positive sides working with him but it's mostly with chenle's overall character that you still can't quite get a hold of properly but given that it's been a month and chenle hasn't fired you despite talking back to him more now, then that should be a good sign itself

"oh she's thinking. there must be a lot" kun comments, shooting chenle a look to which the latter brushes off

"let's not get ahead of ourselves. we already know what she feels about me.. right, y/n?" chenle smirks, clearly referencing to your viral tweet. its been two weeks since the incident but it seems like he's the only one still holding onto the comment

"i bet you liked the compliment since it clearly got to your head" you murmured, sipping on your water as you look at chenle

kun snorts at your answer, clearly amused by the way you talk to your boss. it's honestly so refreshing to see someone who isn't afraid of chenle. maybe that's why his previous assistants didn't last long, or so he thinks

"but seriously though. it's an actual miracle that you lasted this long. chenle here had 3 assistants and they all ran the way" kun recalls, reminiscing the three assistants that only caused them more work than help since they all just left without a trace, "so you still being here has to mean something" he smiles, reaching over to pat your shoulder

"so sir zhong is the problem?" you ask, obviously a joke but the way you say it makes it sound like you were being genuine causing chenle to glare at you across the table and kun to laugh his ass off

chenle scoffs, remembering those dark times (not really) at the company where he and kun managed everything themselves. how he had to constantly rely on kun for the smallest of things because he couldn't keep track of anything anymore with everything going on all at once. how he had to balance his work and life balance all himself. review all those slides, papers, reports all on his own because he couldn't find competent people to actually help him and get the job done

it wasn't easy at the time but now, things have felt so much lighter now that you stuck around

not that chenle will full on admit that out loud. so what if you lasted a month with him? so what if you just magically get the shit he dumps on you done before the day ends even if it costs you to work over time (little did you know, he actually takes notes of the hours you spent working over time and adds it to your paycheck as incentives. huge incentives at that. his own silent way of thanking you for your hard work but you don't have to know that)

"i'm not hard to work with" chenle grumbles, eyes straying to you, "it's just that the previous assistants didn't do their job properly"

"so you're saying i do my job properly in your standards? thanks for the praise boss. i'll be sure to remember this forever" you coo dramatically, putting your hands on your chest as you smile at chenle

"thin ice. ms. jung. thin ice" chenle warns, eyes narrowing slightly at your playful remark. he would rather die than to admit that right now

"you said that earlier but look at you treating me out for lunch to celebrate me dealing with you" you retort

"you mean kun is treating you. not me because if i did, i would've chose the cheapest thing on the menu here"

"yeah sir kun did. with your company card so thanks anyway" you smile fakely at your boss

kun could only watch the way you two bounce off each other. even if it sounded like you two hate each other, the banter was something else. you actually match his energy. maybe that's why chenle keeps you around

"you two get along so well" kun comments, smiling between you and chenle

"no we don't" you and chenle both say at the same time. you let out a little gasp as chenle turns away huffing

"my point exactly" kun grins, seemingly happy at the situation. chenle had found his perfect assistant for him

BUSINESS PROPOSAL ᝰ.ᐟ . . . A MONTH

✎ . . . things aren't going as planned the way you thought it was going to be. especially the part where you find yourself falling in love with your own boss– which was definitely not part of the agreed proposal.

[ PREV / NEXT ]

✎ AUTHORS NOTE . . . we're getting somewhere + i think this might be the last implied timeskip chapters for now. ive only been doing that to establish how theyre getting closer lol

✎ TAGLIST . . . @mrkleelvr @jenodigital @https-dandelion @rik0shii @spacejip @yyangj3lly @multifandomania @taroddori @222brainrot @amouriu @defzcl @va1entinaa @carelessshootanonymous @onlywonb @flaminghotyourmom @do-you-remember-summer-127 @grimlinshere @yayayaiheardyouthefirsttime @hoeingthefuckup @meltinghershey @alwayswook @dutifullyannoyingstrawberrie @dudekiss3r @sibwol @planetmarlowe @doraemiz @morklee02 @httpsxnox @firydst @yuyita-rosier @ayukas @cottonjaems @monomya @neocults26 @greenyweirdo

[dntaed]

❛ HOW HE LOVES & BOYFRIEND HCS ❜ ; D. WAYNE—AL GHUL.

SYNOPSIS: how does Damian Wayne show his love and what is it like when he’s your partner?

A/N: on my old account this was my first part of the “how he loves” series for the bat-boys. So, again this is a repost of my old writing.

REDAMANCY: The endless labyrinth of your minds has been unlocked and explored by both of you. Words are unnecessary for Damian to understand what you want and need. Your presence has left an indelible mark on his heart.

It’s the way the two of you gradually reshape your speech, crafting a language of your own—how a glance across a crowded room signals that you want to leave, and he’s at your side in an instant. Your hand finds his. Together, you’re out the door. He knows your routine by heart. He knows you’ll come home tired, so he’s already queued up your favorite show on the DVR, snacks spread out on the table.

UNSPOKEN ACTIONS: Damian doesn’t express his love through words or elaborate phrases woven with sophistication. His love shows in his actions—the subtle ways he tries to brighten your everyday life. It’s the way he washes your hair when you’re too exhausted, how he wakes up early to prepare you something to eat, how he ties your shoelaces when they come undone, how he straightens your outfit with care.

💬: I’ll do it. Only because you asked me to.

ONLY YOU: Damian only sees you. The crowd fades to a dull blur, while you stand out like the sun. You’re his choice, the one he wants to share every moment with.

Waking up, getting ready, cooking, strolling to the grocery store, wandering through the park at dusk—all of it is with you. He can’t imagine it any other way.

💬: You—you are the exception.

THE DETAILS: Nothing escapes his notice. It’s the way he brews two cups of coffee for you both, the way he listens to every word you say as though it’s etched in his mind, even if it’s as simple as how your day went. After particularly hard days, he stays close. He peels a piece of fruit, splitting it in half to share, because everything tastes better when it’s with you. Damian cares for the small things.

💬: You’re definitely the only person I’d do this for.

A LOOK IN:

Initially uncomfortable with casual touches and public displays of affection, but gradually becomes more comfortable with you.

Despite his prickly exterior, he might research and perform elaborate traditional romantic gestures, believing relationships should be conducted “properly”, (he’s trying, give him a chance).

He believes himself to get a proper gentleman, so expect flowers every time you meet eachother, opening the door for you, carrying your things for you and so on.

I can imagine Damian quietly using Arabic terms of endearment for you without ever explaining their meaning, (I apologise if this is the wrong translation).

Referring to you as "حبيبي" (habibi/habibti - my love) under his breath ; Whispering "قلبي" (qalbi - my heart) when you’re not paying attention.

He loves sparring with you if you’re into it. Even if you're not a fighter, he’ll teach you little self-defense moves — mostly so he can say he’s “protecting you,” but really, it’s an excuse to spend more time with you.

He won’t smother you, but you’ll notice little things — walking on the outside of the sidewalk, casually steering you away from crowds, giving you his jacket without saying anything if it’s cold.

In public, he’s proud and composed. In private? He will practically lay on top of you like a cat, insisting he’s “simply resting” while he traps you under his weight.

The first time he introduces you to Titus, he watches like a hawk for your reaction. If Titus likes you, it’s practically a marriage proposal in Damian's mind.

Damian doesn’t date casually. If he’s with you, it’s serious. He thinks about the future with you — marriage, building a life, what he wants to protect with you by his side.

© dntaed | all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are not allowed to be reposted, translated, or modified. viewer discretion is advised.

[voidofthevoidmv]

TAKING SHIFTS- A classic Stanley Pines adopts the shapeshifter AU-> Little info dump

Basic gist of it is that post portal accident, Stanley is trying his damndest to get his brother back by fixing the portal- Which logically requires that Stanley get all the journals so that he actually has a full blueprint to look at.

However, in his search for any of the journals, he discovers some kind of top secret tree bunker- Classic Ford antics. He investigates the bunker, only to find some kind of kid monster, who is under the impression that Stan is his own brother and tries to kill him. The only thing that convinces the creature that Stan is NOT Ford, is the fact that Stan has a mullet and his brother does not. Would you be surprised to discover that the mullet would play a deeper role in things than at first glance? Not me, but I think it’s very funny anyways.

The monster kid is revealed to be some kind of alien shapeshifter thing, and upon realizing that Stanley is some kind of Ford doppleganger, the shapeshifter suddenly becomes the most clingy kid ever, following Stan around throughout the bunker like a lost duckling. Stanley tries to be chill about it, but the memories of being attacked are still pretty fresh in his brain.

After a bit the two will leave the bunker, yadda yadda yadda dialogue, and Stanley will be concerned to find that this kid hasn’t had the best upbringing in the world so far- If the limited English and big eyed staring at the sky was anything to go by. While Stan has half a mind to leave this monster kid to the wild, he apparently has these weird issues with abandonment. Something about seeing himself in the little monster kid. So he takes him back to the shack, helping the shapeshifter pick a name that isn’t a weird number. They eventually land on Simon, which is a play on Simon Says, because of course any name idea Stanley has it just HAS to be a pun.

And of course, taking in this shapeshifter will trigger changes to the timeline that will affect how things will go from here on out. A lot of wholesome, father kid bonding and found family stuff.

Other unmentioned information and idea snippets:

-The journals are found much sooner than in canon, which means Ford is brought back sooner than in canon. Journal 2 is found first, due to the fact that Stanley has Simon (Shifty) enrolled in elementary school, which just so happens to be were one of the journals are hidden. Simon finds it and recognizes it- And Stan is so proud. Meanwhile, later on journal 3 is found by Soos in a situation similar to canon, but like- Soosified.

-Stanley is constantly wracked with guilt as time goes on, because he will hear about of make a realization about the poor treatment of Simon by Ford and his assistant in the past- All while Stanley is still actively working to bring him back. Simon doesn’t know that it’s FORD that Stan is trying to bring back, which will only result in some betrayal later on when Ford inevitably returns.

-Simon, Tate, and Soos act almost as siblings, due to circumstances that bring them together at different points in time. Tate is Simon’s best friend, a friendship which had blossomed when Emma-May showed up to the Pines cabin door, demanding that she see her ex husband and that she has some WORDS to say to the homewrecking scientist who ruined everything. Stanley had never been more confused about anything- But while Stanley is trying his best to save the situation, Tate and Simon hit it off quickly despite the broken language barrier. Meanwhile, Soos come in later when both Simon and Stan are a bit older. Stan and Soos’s relationship is similar to how it played out in canon, but Simon gets really jealous. May or may not try to kill Soos because of it- But it’s ok cuz once Soos’s natural charm infects Simon, the big brother little brother dynamic is born.

-Simon practically idolizes Stan, and makes it a point to have his human form reflect that. He has a mullet, and it reminds him that Stan is Stan- Even after Stan cuts the mullet off so he could be a bit more business appropriate. Simon also has little freckles cuz he saw the little baby Boyish Dan and just immediately was like- Oh I want those too-

-The shapeshifter will also have his own little book of “forms” he could take. He has photos and information of various creatures, things, and people- I want you to envision how this book looks and is treated like a Pokémon card collection binder. The shapeshifter may get into photography. By the time the little twins Dipper and Mable show up, it’s not the journals that they find- But Simon’s shifting scrapbook. Which is how they find themselves getting involved in the spooky stuff in the first place.

-Because of Simon and Fords earlier arrival, the younger Pines twins adventures in Gravity Falls are a tad bit tweaked. Simon is a very powerful shapeshifter who is plenty protective of his little niblings- The Mcguckets are somewhat healthy with the whole divorced situation, and Bill is not an issue alongside Gideon… Everything else is free game though. Pretty silly.

- The way that Fiddleford is introduced to the duo is that at some point, Stan gets his memories of Simon wiped causing severe emotional distress- And it’s lowkey kinda heartbreaking. (The blind eye sees Simon shifting in front of Stan and assumes the worst.) Once Stan gets his memories back, it’s the beginning of a warpath. (And also the end of Fiddlefords crazy cultist arc- Which is good for Tate who really likes hanging around his bestie.)

-Hijinks WILL ensue, especially after Ford comes back. Probably some other tidbits I’m missing, but that’s a problem for another day- If this interest you folks anyways- Lemmy know if this is interesting or anything and feel free to ask questions. I haven’t thought so much as to how Bill gets defeated earlier and everything- But if anyone has any cool ideas I’d be open to it. Unsure if I’ll ever get to writing this one 😂

[bubbleguppies42]

mmm we share a love for perv wilson… i would love to hear more of your thoughts on him. ;)

-💌

anon can we makeout instead? I'm not asking for a friend I asking for ME because we're too alike

YESSSS GIVE ME PERV WILSON ALL DAY HES SO UGHH

like this man is so so nasty in the bedroom and I LOVE it. I think that he would be very different in bed compared to his usual people pleasing, kind attitude. instead he would be mean and sadistic. he tell you that you're nothing but a slut for him, he'd made you cry, he'd slap you and then kiss your cheek because he's still himself in the end.

you're his release. his play thing. his toy. and let me tell you, he does NOT share. (house can be an exception on occasion) if he sees you talking to another guy, or if you mention one of your male coworkers, his jealousy goes insane. the best part about his jealousy is the way he fucks you after. he's rough, careless, and unforgiving. (he never loses his pleasure dom ways you're still going to cum atleast 3 times) he throws you around like you're weightless, he fucks your face until you're sure you're going to throw up. he'd leave the most disgusting hickeys on you, in places that are impossible to cover up. (house does more of this imo lmk if I should dedicate a post to him) he would make you beg for him, make you beg for him to touch you.

he loves how much you'll do for him. he thinks it's the hottest thing in the world. he'll buy you slutty outfits to wear around his friends, knowing that you’ll do anything he asks, just so he can show off what's his. (this led to a fun night with him and house)

if he had a bad day you better be waiting in bed when he gets home. because he has no mercy, taking all of his frustrations out on you. if you do something he doesn't think is appropriate, he'd be so mean that you'd cry while he fucks you. if you get too loud he'd shove his thumb in your mouth and tell you how much of a slut you are since you can't seem to shut up, how you must want everyone in the building to know what he's doing to you. (though I think he is a bit of an exhibitionist and he also wants everyone to know what he's doing to you, he gets off more on the control of forcing you to be quiet)

more on his exhibitionism, he'd love doing things to you in his office. that could be fingering you, eating you out, or fucking you. this all started with you sucking his dick in his office, under his desk while he was doing paperwork. it was amazing until house barged into his office, demanding to know why his door was locked and complaining that he was forced to use the balcony door. Wilson hadn't been thinking about locking that door since it never gets used. he starts to panic, knowing how house reads people, especially him. he glances back down at his paperwork, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. you continue to suck his dick despite his pulling of your hair. he swallows his moans with clenched teeth. house suddenly stops his sentence, turning his full attention to Wilson. "what's got you so flustered?" house says with a smirk before unlocking Wilson's door and hobbling down the hallway. for once, closing the door behind him.

he's so insecure, but it somehow adds to his appeal

okay 💌 anon I love you

[tinwe-the-local-assassin]

Hide & Seek

“Are you sad, Uncle nolo?”

Nolofinwë jumped despite himself, before looking around for the source of the squeaky voice belonging to one tiny elfling with silver hair.

The prince sighed and massaged his aching eyes before managing a smile.

“Tyelko…no, pitya. I'm just…thinking.”

“Thinking about sad things?”

Nolofinwë wasn't sure what he was expecting. Certainly shouldn't have been entertaining the idea of Tyelkormo giving up so easily. The child was too curious for his own good.

“Some, yes.”

Tyelkormo’s lips pouted, and his faint, silvery white brows drew together in a thoughtful frown. It took everything in Nolofinwë’s power to not scoop him up in his arms and give him a hug.

Both he and Findekáno were in that age when they insisted to be treated like grown ups, but while Findekáno still accepted hugs and affection with grace, he doubted he would have the same luck with Tyelkormo.

Instead, he patted his lap gently and Tyelkormo, after looking around and finding no other comfortable place in that deserted hallway of his Haru’s palace, empty of any seats but the chair he himself occupied, came forward and climbed up his lap with some effort. Nolofinwë was not stupid enough to think about offering any assistance.

They sat like that for a while, watching the reflection of Laurelin’s light on the great pond in the western garden. 

Until Tyelkormo, having sat still for too long, started fidgeting, throwing him careful glances with the same frowning face. Until he could not bear the silence any longer.

“Did what Atya said earlier make you sad?”

Nolofinwë froze in his place, not daring to look down and meet the eyes of a child.

How Tyelkormo had come to hear their conversation? True, it was not anything Fëanáro would think twice about before saying it in front of children, but Nolofinwë found it uncomfortable.

And it was not something he had not heard before, either.

You're not my brother, and no son of my father. Stop calling me that, Indis Son. I don't need to be your charity case. I have all the family I need.

But for some reason, today was one of those days that his heart decided to allow itself to feel the hurt. And by his luck, his little nephew was also privy to the hurtful words and his own broken heart.

“You were not supposed to hear that, Tyelkormo.”

He allowed so sternness to cloud his voice, and he felt Tyelkormo’s nervous shifting.

“I…Finno and I were playing hide and seek. I didn't want to eavesdrop. I know it's not something a good elfling does.”

Nolofinwë couldn't help but smile.

“No. It's not. And what should you do now, sweet one?”

Tyelkormo’s hand fell on his, where it rested protectively over the child's waist.

“I'm sorry, Uncle. Will you forgive me?”

Nolofinwë looked down to find huge blue eyes staring at him, shame and guilt evident, but there was some hope also.

He kissed his head, and if Tyelkormo was mad, then he could deal with it.

“Forgiven and forgotten.”

Relief washed over Tyelkormo's face, and he grinned and hugged his middle as much as his small arms could reach.

Nolofinwë returned it, and just like that, his pain was forgotten, even if for a little while.

Tyelkormo raised his head all of a sudden, his eyes nervous and he quickly looked away when his eyes found him. He clearly had something to say, but wasn't sure if he was allowed to.

People often called him a brat and inconsiderate, but if not blinded with anger, the child knew when to say what, and when he couldn't.

“You have something to say. Say it, my boy. I won't be mad.”

Tyelkormo’s gaze found his quickly, not any less nervous, but definitely more confident. He nodded, nonetheless, and what exited his mouth was a welcoming surprise.

“Atya lies. He wants brothers. No, he needs brothers! Being a big brother is great! And Curvo also loves me like you love Atya. I think…I think he's saying that because he feels like being mean, and you're the one closest to him. I do that sometimes, but I always apologize, because I don't want Káno or Moryo to be sad because of me.”

Nolofinwë’s jaw hung open, and despite himself, he could feel his eyes swimming with tears he had refused to shed until then.

Tyelkormo's proud smile fell when he saw that, and a look of immense guilt overcame him. He could see the child's lip starting to tremble slightly, frustration at himself bringing tears to his eyes.

But before he could, Nolofinwë’s arms tightened around him in an embrace, so that his face was buried in his stomach. He couldn't bear to look at him.

“Why Moryo? And Kano? Why not Nelyafinwë? Or even Curvo?”

He found himself asking before he could think. He didn't know why it mattered, and his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own.

Tyelkormo took a minute to respond, and when he did, his voice came out muffled, but with stuttering or hesitation.

“Because…they get mad. And they get sad, so I know they care.”

They get sad…so I know they care.

Arafinwë cared not for their eldest brother’s affection. He did not insist on calling Fëanáro brother. He was just as proud as their mother. He didn't beg.

Not like Nolofinwë did.

They get sad…so I know they care.

Curious how the answer to years of pain and heartache came from the mouth of a child barely out of toddlerhood. But maybe it should not have been so, for what is their disagreements and arguments but two brothers butting heads and scuffling like mere children?

“Tyelko! I'm gonna get you! And then your candies will be all mine!”

Findekáno giggled loudly from across the hallway, still out of sight.

Tyelkormo tensed and started struggling to get out of his arms, and Nolofinwë let him. He slid down his lap, held a finger to his lips to silence him, and disappeared down the other end of the hall like a silver tornado.

Nolofinwë sat there, unmoving but for the fond smile growing on his lips.

Findekáno did not take long to appear, small, bare feet soundless against the carpeted floor.

His eyes lit up the moment he saw him, and he bounded towards him with sweet giggles and wide arms, ready for a hug, and how could Nolofinwë deny him?

His son was scooped up in his arms easily, his slight figure disappearing amidst his own long and stuffy robes.

“Atya! Have you seen Tyelko? I've been seeking for hours! I can't keep seeking!”

He exclaimed loudly, and if Nolofinwë strained his ears, he was sure he hear the squeaky giggles of another child, hiding somewhere down the hallway.

Nolofinwë grinned, and held a finger to his lips.

“Can't say. It wouldn't be fair now, would it? I believe in you. Go find him and get your ransom, son!”

And he set him on his feet again, and sent him away with a pat to his back. Findekáno pouted at first but seeing his serious face, determination replaced his sour expression and with a small wave of his hand, he was gone.

And Nolofinwë sat there, no longer solemn but full of hope he had not felt in a long time.

Fëanáro could hide behind his fake hatred and disgust as long as he wanted, and Nolofinwë was going to keep seeking for his love, until he found it.

[pearlywritings]

Blade + the erhu, please and thank you!

(Miss pearly, is that another reference to the phantom of the opera? Just asking)

Crazy but this prompt was asked for Blade twice! And once again - yep, that's the reference! (hopefully you all are not fed up with me yet--) On side note - it's been always a challenge to write for this man and every single time I pray that I didn't fuck up his character,,,,,,,

Always there

pairing: Blade x reader

prompt: "I will wait for you"

word count: 812 words

~ The Music of the Night event ~

The ever-sullen Stellaron Hunter has always had a hard time understanding your reasons to stay by his side. It isn't obnoxious clinging or following him wherever he goes, or even intentional lingering in the shadows nearby like you are some kind of a stalker.

No, it is none of that. You are just… there.

Obviously you are always there - working for Elio at the base as the Hunter’s personal chef quite literally predestines it. Blade doesn't remember the details, but it had probably something to do with Kafka and her complaints about Silver Wolf’s eating routine. And his. And the fact you poisoned someone to the point of royally pissing the IPC, which put “Wanted” posters across the universe with your face on them and landed you in the care of Destiny's Slave.

What he means is…you are strangely there for him.

You notice the dishes he takes liking in (despite him dodging all your questions) and cook him those when you think he looks especially gloomy. Every time he departs on a mission, somehow you manage to send him off with a packed meal - either you slip it into his luggage, or pass it on through his assigned partner or simply distract with conversation and thrust the container right into his hands. Lately, as you two got closer, you also started adding self-made sedatives and sleeping medicine to his meals. Did he try to kill you for that? No, but he did suggest adding poison next time.

Which you never did.

Why did his sleep get better?

Of course, you’ve grown to be caring towards every member of the crew - making Kafka her favorites whenever she had a shitty day, gently but sternly forcing Silver Wolf to eat properly, coming up with ways to feed Firefly delicious food too and letting her help in the kitchen, and managing to fulfil wild requests Elio sometimes has.

But Blade feels like he is special to you. Even if it took him half a year to admit it to himself.

“I’ll be here as long as you need me,” you once told him, as you were stirring the pot and Blade came to the kitchen to hide from the girls who, led by Kafka, wanted to mess with him. Too focused on wrapping clean bandages around the fingers of his left hand, the man didn’t let the thought sink at first, but once he did, he said nothing.

Something told him these were not the words you said to everyone.

Why did they bring him an allusive sense of peace?

Later on he started spending time with you - in training. Being a chef and knowing your way with the knife is good, but, as you reasonably noted, you are a part of the Stellaron Hunters now. It’ll never hurt to learn to defend yourself. 

Blade has never been known to be gentle. No matter if you are a sword master or a newbie - he’d go hard on you anyway, putting you through a hell of a routine. He was honestly thinking you would’ve soon realized that such harsh treatment wasn’t for you and turned to one of the female members. However, every day he’s at the base, you come. You whine and huff from exhaustion, but don’t complain. You listen carefully to his instructions whenever he stops the fight to give them (and he does so rarely, preferring the learning through the ‘life or death’ combat). You lie on the floor of the training area every single time the training ends, look up at him holding his sword and boring his red-hot coals of the eyes into you, and promise with a shaky smile, that ‘ten more minutes, a shower, and I’ll go make us an after-workout snack’.

Usually it’s more than ten minutes. Occasionally he has to carry your body to the showers, and you go limp on his shoulder on purpose. He quite often waits for you after he’s done with his own clean up. He rarely misses your cooking afterwards.

When did he start standing close to you as you cook, looming over you, staring at your hands over your shoulder?

He also doesn’t know how you two ended up sharing a living space, a bed even. Once, twice, a week, a month… At some point he just accepted it as a part of his life now. After all, you are not making it worse.

He is sane enough to be honest with himself - it got a little bit better.

You kiss his scars and run your fingers through his hair to calm him.

He lets you.

You are not clingy though.

He turned out to be one.

“I want you to see me as the place where you can always return to.”

He…bitterly laughs, but doesn’t say anything against.

“I will be waiting for you.”

…

He chooses to believe you.

[bradleysass]

list - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 944

The kitchen is too warm for comfort, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to the back of Regulus' neck despite the shade drawn across the windows. The light filters in anyway, soft and golden and far too romantic for the conversation currently unfolding over chipped teacups and mismatched chairs.

Regulus is pretending to read the Daily Prophet, though it’s upside down. Evan is slicing a pear with surgical precision, and Barty—Barty is dangerously close to being bored.

Which is never a good thing.

“I’m so tired of your secrets,” Barty drawls, kicking Regulus under the table. “You always act like you're plotting something sinister, but it’s probably just more brooding about your hair or James Potter’s forearms.”

Regulus flinches. A rookie mistake. He tries to cover it with a scoff, but Barty’s eyes are already glittering. “You’re deranged.”

“And you’re obvious,” Barty counters. “Seriously, do you think no one notices the way you go completely catatonic when Potter walks into the room?”

Regulus stiffens. “I don’t.”

“You do,” Evan says mildly, setting the knife down. “The other day he asked you what time it was and you gave him your family tree.”

Regulus glares at both of them. “I’m never telling either of you anything again.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Barty says sweetly. “I already know everything. Like, for instance…” He leans suddenly, plucking the folded parchment from under Regulus’ hand like a magician pulling a coin from behind someone’s ear. “This little gem.”

“Barty—” Regulus reaches, too late. The paper is already unfolding, and Barty’s smirk is widening by the second.

“‘Top Ten People I’d Shag,’” he reads aloud, eyebrows raising with each word. “Underlined? Oh, Reggie.”

Regulus is halfway out of his chair. “Give. It. Back.”

“Relax,” Barty says, holding the paper out of reach like he’s taunting a first-year with a levitating quill. “Let’s see… who made the cut?”

Evan takes a sip of tea, utterly unbothered. “Skip to number one. That’s where the real shame lives.”

Barty grins like a shark. “Ah, yes. The crown jewel. The man of the hour. The Gryffindor Golden Boy himself… James Potter.”

Regulus practically vibrates with indignation. “It’s not—he’s not—I was just—”

“You were just ranking people you definitely haven’t fantasized about in the showers?” Barty supplies helpfully. “Sure.”

“I didn’t mean for anyone to read it!” Regulus snaps, face burning. “It was just… a joke.”

“Funny how you only wrote it for yourself and yet underlined the title twice,” Evan muses. “Do you often joke in calligraphy?”

Regulus groans and buries his face in his hands. “I hate both of you.”

Barty swings his legs under the table. “You know what I think?” he says, ignoring the pointed look Evan gives him that says please don’t ruin his life in the next thirty seconds. “I think you wrote this list hoping someone would find it.”

“I did not—”

“Subconsciously,” Barty cuts in. “You wanted to be caught. And not by us,” he adds, glancing at the parchment. “You wanted him to find it. To see his name, right there, number one. Maybe he’d laugh. Maybe he’d get that stupid smug grin he gets when someone flirts with him. Maybe—just maybe—he’d kiss you.”

Regulus is silent. He doesn’t deny it.

Evan, ever the merciful executioner, changes the subject—sort of. “He does flirt with you, you know,” he says conversationally. “Every time you walk into a room he perks up like a dog hearing his owner’s voice.”

“He flirts with everyone,” Regulus mumbles through his hands. “That’s not special.”

“It’s different with you,” Evan says simply. “He waits for your reaction.”

Regulus doesn’t speak.

He can’t.

Because of course he’s noticed. The way James leans closer when he talks to him, like he’s bracing for impact. The way he ruffles his already chaotic hair when Regulus is around. The way he says his name—Regulus, like it’s a spell he’s trying to master, over and over, until he gets it right.

But it’s not real, is it?

It’s James Potter.

And Regulus is… not.

Not that kind of brave. Not that kind of bold. Not the kind of person who admits what he wants, let alone writes it down and lets his friends laugh about it over breakfast.

He stays quiet long enough for Barty to roll his eyes.

“I’m telling him,” Barty announces.

“No,” Regulus says, leaping up so fast he nearly trips over his chair.

“I’m writing him a list,” Barty continues, already reaching for a quill. “Top ten things Regulus wants to do to you, and surprise, all of them are variations on—”

“Touch that quill and I will hex your fingers off.”

“Worth it.”

Evan plucks the quill away and hands it to Regulus. “Leave him alone, Barty.”

“He’s pining. Pathetically.”

“I am right here,” Regulus mutters.

Barty sighs and flops back dramatically in his chair. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But when you die of unresolved sexual tension, don’t come crying to me.”

“I won’t. I’ll be dead.”

“Exactly.”

The kitchen falls into a quieter rhythm again, the tension softening like butter on toast. Evan goes back to slicing fruit. Regulus folds the list, carefully this time, and tucks it deep into his pocket.

He will burn it later.

Probably.

Unless he doesn’t.

Unless he gives it to James one day, maybe years from now, maybe when it doesn’t make his stomach turn upside down. Maybe when he’s ready.

Until then, it stays folded. Safe. Just a stupid list in his pocket, with a stupid name at the top.

James Potter.

God, he’s such an idiot.

But at least he’s not alone.

Not completely.