#anyway ummm. hi

[clippy]

a heem heem... whimper....

[phoenxwright]

Taking a much needed rest with a new friend

[starry-bi-sky]

Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au

"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"

Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.

He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.

It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.

Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.

It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.

Because it really only meant one thing.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.

Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.

This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?

It would be a firestorm.

One that Vlad is not keen on starting.

It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.

It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.

His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.

"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.

Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.

He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.

The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.

He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.

"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.

Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.

But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.

Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.

"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."

Bastard.

For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.

But, well.

They all have their dark secrets.

And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.

"I see."

[cynicallyneutral]

「coward」

[heartorbit]

the star you've longed for

[askthisfishprince]

((Eridan has the magnetic allure of a soggy wet sponge 9 times out of 10. But its also up to the recipient whether or not they like what he's putting down. And what he's putting down is a pirahana with blackout anger issues and decent hair ))

[geisterzeit-art]

I CANNOT LIVE LIKE THIS NO MORE, FILLING A LIFETIME WITH REMORSE

[yayll]

Soo umm maybe angsty request but a reader who works at the agency but misses her old life? Like, family or her old self. If you wanna and like the idea!! Have fun💕

i know this is a thousand yrs late and i am so sorry abt that but also. thank you for trusting me w this request i rlly took it to heart and i cracked these damn knuckles and hopefully wrote something you'll like :') i had fun, angel. MWAH.

- a little something about emotions and Dazai's way of perceiving yours ~

"Aughhh..."

You're groaning at your desk again, face down and resting your forehead on the cold wooden surface. Lately, it's been the same cycle. You come to work and the day goes by in a blink of an eye, and suddenly... There is nothing else to look forward to but to do it all again tomorrow. It's been tough, with the agency constantly bombarded with cases and quite literally saving the world, you've forgotten to call home every week like you used to. Now it's every other month, if at all.

There are times when you go on your lunch break and think about how ordinary your life used to be, how you used to spend your time doing the opposite of what you do now. Joining the agency was a wonderful turning point in your life and you wouldn't trade it for the world, but sometimes it felt like there was too much happening, you were falling behind and not connecting enough with the foundations that made you, you. It was an overstimulating nightmare.

Your co-workers were so talented and caring and it felt like a family with the way you all worked as a unit and watched out for each other, yet the intrusive thoughts about you never quite fitting in wouldn't leave your mind. Or your face, for that matter.

This is where Dazai knew he had to get involved.

He could tell your mind was elsewhere, and he hated that. You were supposed to be wherever he was, even if you didn't fully know it yet. He constantly perceived you from across the office where he slacked off work as usual, but this time it wasn't to await his next grand revelation... It was to figure out why you seemed so distant. So far, yet so close. You always laughed at his jokes and antics, all a part of his attention seeking persona around the agency, but he could hear the way your laugh seemed to die down in your throat as if it burned to even make a sound. He recognized it as the kind of burn whiskey left behind in his own throat when he had his occasional drinks at Lupin after a particularly hard day. Dazai knew the feeling of ruminating, of feeling stuck in the past and how it could keep you from existing in the present if not dealt with properly. But he wasn't exactly the shining example of dealing with one's feelings, not when he was a walking contradiction, which is why he hesitated to bring this up to you directly.

Of course, that didn't stop him from trying, not when you're groaning so adorably within earshot.

Not when he would do anything for you to drop that fastidious attitude that won't give him the proper time of day. It was pathetic and selfish of him, but it was sincere. With a fixed smile like a Cheshire cat, he prances towards your desk and stands there for a solid minute before you realize the familiar entity looming over you.

You slowly look up, dark under eyes are the first to properly greet him, along with that cute clip in your hair that's barely holding it all together. He thinks you look even cuter this way even if you were at your worst, and that made him feel a tad guilty... just a tad. He clears his throat softly as a deceptively cheerful voice pours out of him.

"Hi! You're looking awfully exhausted today."

You hum, a weak smile adorning your lips. You didn't want to smile at all, but it was a force of habit, so why not use it on the biggest clown you knew?

"Yeah? That's real observant of you, Dazai."

His heart races as you poke back, what a precious creature you were. He responds with faux indignance, rolling his eyes and the whole bit.

"Uh yeah, of course! It's why they pay me the big bucks, silly. You should try being like me sometime."

"Ah, is that the only thing I should try being? Not very original of me, I must say."

His smile drops to a more sly smirk as he shrugs, sighing dramatically while casting his gaze elsewhere for a moment.

You should try to be mine, he thinks to himself.

He doesn't deserve that honor, but it's the truth and he can always count on delusion.

"Eh, who cares about originality? That's what writers use as an excuse to torture themselves. It's no fun, You might as well jump off a bridge with me instead."

You raise an eyebrow at that, your fake smile becoming a bit more genuine now.

"I think I'll pass on that, Dazai."

He pouts, and you hate that he resembles a puppy with the way his eyes comically droop.

"Such a shame. I was hoping we could share that experience together. It would be quite the work bonding exercise, don't you think?~"

You nod, your voice laced with what he hopes is a playful retort, but it is much too deadpan.

"I'm sure it would."

"You know, you're surprisingly hard to torment."

You hum once more, shrugging as you look back down at the files on your desk, unable to hold his dark eyes that seem to penetrate your very soul.

"... Well I suppose I could say the same about you."

Before you know it, you feel his warm breath against your cheek, having leaned down to your level to murmur in your ear. It's velvety and far too intimate for the middle of the workday, tempting like the devil himself.

"Like I said, we could always drown our sorrows in the river. That always helps."

You slowly turn your head to meet his gaze, a slight flush begins to burn your cheeks and you wish you hadn't turned at all. It's sick the way every once in a while he'll test your boundaries to see if you'll let him in, if you'll see past the charm and the self destructive tendencies that might just seal his fate one day.

But you need him right now! And you clearly need a bit more of a push rather than just jokes, so he makes a point to grill you until you have no choice but to run into his hypothetical arms. In that instant, he catches your phone light up, the word 'MOM' is as clear as the red that spreads through your face.

Ah, so that's it.

"Seems like you should take that."

Your eyes widen as you flicker between him and your phone. Shit.

"Maybe later. I'm not really in the headspace for a call right now... Might go out for some lunch and get some air."

"I like air. Perhaps we can get some together? You might have too much and need someone to resuscitate you."

You snort softly and immediately feel embarrassed for being so casual out of your own human weakness. Yet somehow Dazai's ridiculous jokes always manage to get you to play along and forget that very embarrassment.

"CPR involves air, Dazai. You'd kill me in the process."

He clutches his chest, letting out a dreamy breath.

"Ahhh. Romantic, don't you think? I'd follow you immediately, of course~"

You shake your head as you stand up to walk out for your much needed reprieve from the inescapable thoughts you can't shake.

"You're impossible."

He stands back to give you your space and sticks his hands into his coat pockets, beginning to follow right behind you. He taps your shoulder when your back is fully turned to him, clearing his throat as he says your name in the most sinful way.

"Ahem. You forgot your phone."

You freeze in your tracks. You want to so badly do what your mind is screaming to do, but you can't bring yourself to do it. The battle between wanting to grab that bit of normalcy you miss and wanting to avoid it like the plague is the fear of the commitment to acknowledge it. You slowly turn to face him holding out your phone for you and yet again... It stings when he looks at you like that. Like he actually cares. It makes you feel drunk on the sensation of being seen on a deeper level, the butterflies in your stomach keep saying so. You sigh, and mumble back.

"Leave it. I don't need it right now."

He steps a little closer, way too close for comfort. His voice drops to a more serious tone, yet it's nothing but gentle, firm. It's a Dazai you don't think you've ever heard except when on a mission. Even then it always felt performative. But not now. He takes your hand in his bandaged one and holds it out for a moment with your palm facing up. His desire for you to make amends with your troubles is far more important than proper customs, so he needs to do this and do it now before you drown any deeper and he loses his self control.

He can save you even if you're too stuck in your own self pity to see the brightness of your own future. How you shine like a diamond in the rough, if only you'd just let yourself live in the now. He whispers to you.

"I think she'd like to know how you're doing. Family, they're the only normalcy you can have sometimes... Especially in this line of work. I think you know that."

You gaze into his dark eyes, and for the first time are not afraid to hold eye contact as you realize you actually want to hear more. Finally, a real piece of him is being shown to you?

"... Is that something you relate to, Dazai?"

He almost winces at that, a flashback of two friends he once considered family flash into his mind. Maybe today is a Lupin day. He could imitate your angelic laughter as the whiskey burns his throat. He hides all of this with a nasty little smirk, elusive as ever as he lies through his teeth.

"Absolutely not."

You seem a bit disappointed at first, but before you can dwell on it too much, your thoughts flicker back to the phone call you realize it might be time to make. Your mood is instantly different. Hopeful, even. Dazai places your phone in your palm, slowly closing your hand into a small fist. His hand lingers on top of your knuckles for a second too long, and you realize you are, in fact, unable to keep looking him in the eye like this or else you might just collapse knowing he'd catch you. The concept alone is intoxicating.

"I'm gonna take this, okay?"

His smirk softens, almost boyish with the way he instantly relaxes and reverts back to his usual self. The mood shifts back to how it felt before, and Dazai nods in reassurance.

"You go get some air. I'll be here."

He waves you off as you flash him one last smile before exiting the office. That'll keep him going for a while, he thinks. You look so beautiful when you're full of life, he hopes it rubs off on him too. He stands there for a long time in deep thought, simply smiling at the floor. At some point your hair clip fell out without you noticing, and so he picks it up, pocketing it. He'll consider this the consummation of your relationship.

An hour passes by and you walk back into the office, eager to tell Dazai about your call back home and how refreshed you feel. That he was right, and you wanted to share this new found perspective that he helped you approach and conquer. You find the office is completely empty, and when your eyes glance at your desk, there's a sticky note left on one of the many trinkets you display on it. You read it out loud to yourself.

"You long for the past, so perhaps we can recreate it. Maybe a nice long walk by the river, or we could always try a more private solution.

Either way, I'm at your mercy.

- Osamu"

You can't help but want to kick your feet at the little heart he doodled next to his messy handwriting and make a mental note to properly give him your contact info next time. You'd make sure to take a call from him, because you know he'd make it worth your while.

He always does.

[feelo-fick]

WHY DID I RUN MY MOUTH LIKE AN IDIOT?! I WAS JUST FINE BEFORE!

-

(dialogue inspired by legends of avantris)

yeah so idk what i was thinking with this one i heard this dialogue while listening to a compilation and then i blacked out and this happened

pushes him towards you. jealous chilchuck. kill him.

(part 2)

[halflifebutawesome]

hey 👽

[lefthandarm-man]

Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanoff Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014)

[idontmindifuforgetme]

I complain about wanting male attention bc of my daddy issues and then when I get perceived in any sort of way by a man I’m like I’ve been doubly victimized …. This is the worst, most blasphemous thing to have ever happened to me ……. The nerve on you to think you can speak to me …………….

[soybean-official]

I know the tale and I know it too well...

[gio-cosmo]

I think abt this every single day btw. Just saying.

[altcvnningham]

picture frame {request}

adler x f!reader (pregnant!reader)

request: for anon, who asked for pregnant!reader x adler who does nottt wanna get on reader's bad side!!

tags: fluff, pregnant!reader, reader is ex-cia, domestic, so domestic it's practically an au, adler is ooc but let him be happy, future girldad!adler, author is feeling christmassy so christmas mention wc: 1.3k

a/n: i'm not usually a fan of pregnancy fics or fluff without underlying angst but i enjoyed this one, it was so comforting to write!! i hope i did this justice!! adler is a bit ooc but i don't wanna succumb poor reader to deadbeat dadler, so this is like post-bo6. also had to bind my hands to make sure i didn’t veer off writing an honorary uncle woods segment….. that man already has a whole david mason to worry about never mind miss adler junior. anyway enjoy !!

There isn’t a thing Adler fears in this world, but if he had to choose whose bad side he’d rather avoid getting on, it’s yours.

And that being said, it’s a fear coupled with excitement that verges on delirium- the ex clandestine special officer had never thought himself fit for married life, given his failed attempt in the past, and had all but given up on the faraway white picket-fence dream long ago.

There existed an Adler once, Russ, soft-faced and scarless, who’d dedicated such a dream to a snippet he’d spied once in a magazine; some schlocky, oversaturated Home Style issue perched upon a grocery store counter, featuring a staged photograph of an all-American nuclear family on some Christmas morning by the tree. Husband kicked back in a recliner with a cigar and eggnog, pregnant-bellied wife tinkering with baubles on the tree, two bright-eyed girls at her feet in matching pyjamas tearing into red-ribboned gifts. So sweet and saccharine a picture it verged on tooth-rotting.

A man of twenty or so at the time, already welded to the army fatigues he donned like a second skin, he’d rolled his eyes, checked out his pack of cigarettes, and went on his way. But he’d never forgotten the picture, or the bittersweet sadness lodged in his chest beside it. Perhaps partly knowing that such a life could never be his, fictitious and just out of reach. Were he a different man- a better man- maybe he’d wake up one morning to a pretty wife sleeping beside him, kids giggling down the hall, his hands soft and bloodless. Were he a better man, maybe he’d deserve such a thing.

And Adler is not a better man. Certainly no more than he was the day he’d seen that picture, and even then he doesn’t reckon he was wholly good. So God knows what he’d done to deserve this.

“No, no, a little to the left,” you say as you gesture with a rolled up interior design magazine, lips pursed in a sigh. A hand caressing your belly, crumpling your agitated, paint-flecked face, you’d been working on the nursery for hours.

Adler won’t admit how his aged back strains when he holds the picture frame up to the wall, nor can he hide the amused smile that starts to unfold when he catches wind of your ire. Balancing effortlessly atop the stepladder, he throws you a look back over his shoulder.

“Any more to the left and it’ll be goin’ out the window. You’re asking me to move mountains here.”

“And I’ll be asking you to move out if you don’t get that picture straight,” you tease, half a smile. “I’m not telling our daughter that she can’t know what gramma and pop looked like ‘cause you couldn’t hang a picture frame.”

Adler raises a hand in a surrender as he blithely succumbs to your demands, moving the frame leftward and fastening it exactly as you’d asked. He knows not to provoke your anger, a little pricklier now in your last few months of pregnancy, and though it’s all in good fun he could almost swear he’d near lose his head last week when he’d made a joke about your odd cravings, your empty coffee cup primed and ready to be launched at him.

But he’s as loving as any man with a blackened heart like him could possibly be, doting on you to a degree of obsession that was nigh unimaginable; both of you a world removed from your respective lives within the CIA, a far cry from having to dig out the odd bullet from one another and patch each other up in the midst of gunfights, sheltering for cover behind old splintered buildings. Domestic life wasn’t exactly a warzone, but it had been hard to settle into a vague sense of normalcy, almost like adopting new identities entirely. A prospect he’d joked about, now he was no longer officially CIA, changing your names to Mr. and Mrs. John Doe. Yeah, you’d groused, good luck hiding anywhere with that scar.

Still, it was fair game when he chose to get on your bad side. You’d once laughed, pelting him with your oven mitt after he’d thought it wise to joke about your cooking- your fault for getting caught in the crossfire.

“There,” he groans as he descends from the stepladder, shuffling back next to you so he could glimpse the frame from your perspective. “How’s that please you?”

It was a lovely thing. Not just the picture frame now hanging perfectly above the undecorated cot, but everything. This, your quaint home in the suburbs, away from the noise, playing your little game of house. Between the odd intel request from Woods, who’d jokingly insist he’d trade your help deciphering transcripts for him hosting the next Fourth of July cookout in your backyard, it was, relatively, a normal life. One that in truth you never thought you’d live to see.

It’s the little things, you suppose. Like the picture frame above the cot, in the little pale blue and pink nursery, half-complete.

You caress an idle hand over your tummy, feeling Russell’s own waver on the small of your back. Admiring your shared handiwork, you tilt your head with a smile.

“Mm. Perfect. Looks nice with the walls- wouldn’t have picked it for a girl but I think the duck-egg blue is just right.”

If Adler had resisted the urge to snidely tease just to get under your skin, he’d sorely lost. And if hours of sifting mindlessly through paint swatches had taught him anything, it’s that you took the choice of particular hues deathly seriously. He smirks.

“Oh? I thought it was periwinkle.”

There’s a deafening beat of silence before Adler flings his arms up in defence, warding off your attacks as you smack at him with the rolled up magazine; no amount of time out of the CIA had made your right hook any weaker, and you’re relentless with your barrage of attacks, met only by sounds of feigned agony and raspy laughter.

He doesn’t much remember what that picture in that old Home Style magazine had looked like, as his life slowly assumed the shape of you. He had everything he needed right here, and wanted for very little else. Wasn’t exactly choice to be excommunicated from the CIA after the mess in Panama, but he’s happy working for himself, for Marshall, teaming back up with Woods for the occasional op, only now he has an excuse to actually watch his own six, knowing who and what he had waiting at home for him. Home. A foreign word. It almost frightens him, to think how simple and easy a life he’s got between all the blood and the mess, how undeserving he feels of even a lick of it.

But a month or so later, come Christmas morning, he gets struck with the strangest frisson of déjà vu. Over a glass of eggnog, helping you fix the tinsel that had fallen from the tree again, he looks at you and he sees it. Feels it, some nameless void in him suddenly filled. A blink in the back of his mind and he sees that faded magazine article, only it’s you, rosy-cheeked and smiling as you are now, tinsel tumbling from your hands as you rush wobbling to his side. You let out a frantic gasp, seizing his wrist, and pull his hand to press against your belly, insisting that you feel a kick. And all he can do is laugh, teasing with a dry smile.

“Look at that. Just as strong n’ mean as her mama.”

[sholmeser]

conversations on a walk to nowhere