#anyways not sure if this is cool or dumb. only one way to find out

[chinzhilla-main]

thank you mr. guzman for personally yanking me by the scruff of the neck back into this madness

[lovebugism]

how abt eddie x shy reader , she meet’s wayne accidentally & she brings like sm food for the week he LOVES HER but shes so shy

a request deep from the archives that i haven't stopped thinking about since i got it hahah please enjoy xoxo — you spend a fluffy morning in with the munsons (established relationship, fluff, 1.2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Eddie rouses from his sleep like a king on a sunken-in couch. 

Saturday morning cartoons play on the TV just ahead of him, mostly on mute ‘cause you’ve got the radio going in the kitchen. Something soft and soulful and too low for him to hear. The trailer swells with the scent of something sweet, of syrup and cooked sugar. 

Speaking of sweet…

His flushed cheek rubs against the arm of the couch when he looks up to find you. He can see you just over the top of the counter, like a scene from a movie. You’ve got a bowl of something wedged in your elbow, and you stir at it with your free hand — half-distracted because your nose is stuck in an open recipe book on the counter. Your glasses fall slowly down your nose. You try to push them up again with your shoulder, but they slip back down a second later.

Your gentle humming fills his ears, and Eddie figures this is what heaven must be like. There’s no greater nirvana than this.

He rises and stretches and walks the very short distance to the kitchen. Still warm with sleep, he wraps himself around you, chest flush to the expanse of your back. “Whatcha doin’?” he lilts, muffled into your sweater.

“Cookin’,” you answer in the same tone, only softer and a little more sheepish.

Eddie breathes hard once. You think you feel him smiling. “Dumb question, huh?”

“Did you sleep good?” 

“Too good to be passed out on the couch for an hour.” He lifts his head to prop his chin on your shoulder. It bobs against you with every word. “You were supposed to be sleeping with me, by the way.”

“I tried. But then I wanted to make you breakfast.”

“Correction. You wanted to make Wayne breakfast.”

Your giggling is as soft and sweet as the cinnamon concoction you’re stirring at. “Well, I don’t want either of you to starve, actually. So sorry for making sure the Munson’s are taken care of.”

Eddie’s chest swells. His heart starts to warm so much he’s scared it might burst. He tucks his face back into your neck and holds you tighter. “Don’t apologize, sweet thing. ‘M just being stupid.”

“That nickname’s not gonna stick, Eds,” you tease, tilting your head until your cheek meets his wild hair. “You can stop trying now.”

He scoffs and pulls back from you. His eyes, still softly swollen with sleep, are wide and glittering. “Why not?” he shouts, a bit too loudly to be so close to your ear. “You’re sweet and you’re my thing— it’s literally the perfect nickname.”

“You’re thing?” you echo with a distant laugh. “I’m not a toy, Eds.”

“Not all the time—” His boyish giggling is followed by a scoffed breath when you elbow him with your free arm. You shove him away halfheartedly, pushing him out of the tiny kitchen. “What?!” he exclaims, laughing loudly.

“Get out of the kitchen!”

“What’d I do?”

“My french toast tastes good ‘cause it’s made with love, and you’re tainting it.”

“How? I love you more than anything in the whole wide world.” He gravitates back to you despite your efforts to keep him away. He plants a smacking kiss to your lips and grins wide when he pulls away. “See? Now it’ll taste extra sweet.”

You’re glaring at him one moment, then happily accepting another one of his kisses the next.

The front door opens, squealing in protest and rushing in the cool morning air. It’s unsurprisingly Wayne. His work boots stomp heavy on the carpet. He holds a greased hand over his forehead. “My eyes are still closed,” he jokes, voice deep and gravelly. “You two have about three seconds to stop touchin’ each other.”

Eddie scoffs but steps back from you anyway. “That was one time!” he argues boyishly. “And we weren’t even doing anything!”

Wayne laughs a sharp breath, just like Eddie had, but a little bit gruffer. He forgoes the petty banter and shoots you a smile — tightlipped, barely-there, and weighed down by the exhaustion of the graveyard shift. “How ya doin’, sweetpea?”

“Good,” you answer, shrinking into your shyness. “I’m makin’ french toast.”

“That’s my favorite,” the older man grins. “How’d you know?”

“‘Cause it’s my favorite,” Eddie insists.

“It’ll be done soon,” you tell him, all quiet in your sheepishness. “If you wanna get changed or whatever.”

Wayne heads to the hallway, stopping short in the kitchen to muss at Eddie’s curls and pat you gently on the shoulder. “Thank ya, sweetpea,” he murmurs, voice dripping with fatigue. His accent always gets real heavy when he’s tired.

“You’re welcome…”

Eddie doesn’t say anything until he hears the bathroom door shut. “So Wayne can call you sweetpea, but I can call you sweet thing?” he asks, features swirled with offense.

“It’s different!”

The boy follows you to the cabinets like a lost puppy. Then, when you have trouble reaching the vanilla extract on the top shelf, he leans over you to grab it. “No, you just have favorites,” he argues, passing you the small container.

“That’s not true!”

“Whatever,” he grumbles, still pouting as he leans against the counter beside you. He mourns the lack of your attention when you give it all to the french toast mixture on the counter. You spoon in the vanilla with a practiced touch. “…Are you staying over again tonight?” he mutters, shier than you are now.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “If it’s okay with Wayne, then—”

“Wayne! Sweet thing’s staying the night— is that okay?” Eddie shouts before you can blink. The trailer rings with the volume of his voice.

“Eddie,” you scold quietly.

The bathroom door squeaks open. A grunt sounds from the hallway, a nonverbal answer you’re not totally sure what to make of. The man returns in the pajamas he pulled from the hall closet — a thin t-shirt older than Eddie is and a pair of plaid pants.

“I’ll make dinner before your shift tonight,” you tell him with a soft grin that neither of the Munsons can say no to. “I promise.”

Wayne makes another scoffing sound. A laugh, maybe. A smile hints at the corner of his bearded mouth as he pours himself a coffee across the counter — in the painted mug Eddie made him for Father’s Day, several years ago now. 

“Well— In that case, I’m afraid I have to insist on you stayin’, sweet pea.”

“Thanks, Mr. Munson.”

“Call me Wayne,” he tells you, playfully chiding in a parental sort of way. He gives you a pointed look over the cup he sips from and heads back towards the living room. “You’re feedin’ us too good to be so polite all the time.”

You smile to yourself and laugh a quiet, slightly forced laugh.

The sofa squeaks when Wayne settles onto it, sprawling out the same way Eddie had before. Too tired to reach for the remote on the coffee table, he watches He-Man re-runs with heavy eyelids.

“Alright, sweet thing— what do you need me to do?” Eddie asks with a clap of his hands, making a very pointed effort not to drop the nickname. You get all flustered when he calls you that — smiling softly to yourself and then ducking your gaze to hide it from him. You’ll have to pry the name from his cold, dead hands.

You turn to peer at him from beneath your lashes. “You dip the bread, and I’ll fry ‘em?”

“Sounds like a plan, sweet thing.”

“Eddie.”

[rainrot4me]

Eyeless Jack General Headcannons

Summary: Basic, SFW, and NSFW head-cannons. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions about Jack as a character.

TW: NSFW below the cut, minors dni! Above the cut is sfw! Mentions of gore

Words: 2.3k

Basic:

- The definition of nonchalant doesn’t convey his emotions very well at all so he lets his actions do the talking.

- Even though he may put on a front of being calculated and detailed, everything he does is purely instinctual or off the top of his head. He’s never made great plans or thought further on a problem than he had to, relying solely on time or for everything to work itself out. Ben calls it ‘thuggin it out’. He may seem all cool, calm, and collected- but really, he just doesn’t care.

- Drives a brown 1989 Ford F-250. Found it discarded on some old hunting grounds and spent the next 3 years learning about truck parts just to fix it up. It’s nothing pretty and the A/C doesn’t work half the time, but that doesn't stop the proxies from either stealing it for missions or Jeff cruising it to gas stations.

- Loves his alone time. If ‘Do Not Disturb’ was a living being.

- Incredible sense of smell, a blessing and a curse.

- Even though he doesn’t really feel emotionally tied to anyone or reliant on anyone's attention, he would never pass up a good conversation with Jeff or Toby. Finds their problems interesting (and funny).

- Even though he doesn’t have any eyes, he can still see. How? Who even knows? The demon would describe it as more of a viewing like he can detail everything that’s happening, but he can’t physically see it. Cryptic stuff even he’s too dumb to figure out.

- Despite everything, probably the most upkeep and clean member of the mansion. While eating organs and harvesting them can be messy, he doesn’t like the grime and prefers to clean off as soon as he can. The same goes for his clothes and room/office. Surprisingly tidy.

- Not as smart as he likes to present himself. Sure, he’s a medical student with more experience than anyone in a 50-mile radius, but that doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing all of the time. Whenever the proxies roll in with serious injuries, the demon shoots them full of antibiotics, cauterizes the wound, and prays it doesn’t get worse from there. He knows what he’s doing, but that doesn’t mean he knows it’ll work 100% of the time.

- A silent panicker. Will absolutely tear his brain to shreds worrying or fighting with himself, but keep a stone look on his face the entire time. Gauging his emotions is like conversing with a brick wall.

- Dry humor. Absolutely will answer your long, emotional paragraph with a thumbs-up emoji.

- In some sick way, slightly prefers the life he’s living now. It may be grotesque and depressing, but his knowledge of the medical field and human bodies is infinitely more broad than it would’ve been. He quite enjoys the freedom he has now.

- Never happier than when winter is fizzling out and the first signs of spring show up. The warmth, the colors, the vibrancy coming back. He can’t get enough of it. Absolutely will get lost just studying the snow melting from the new flower beds.

- Locked in the basement of the mansion at all times. Only comes out to eat or on the rare occasion he’s assigned a mission. The only place he truly feels comfortable.

- Will get oddly emotional when light reflects on the lake just right or the fog settles on the ridge just perfectly. You’d never guess, but he’s a big poetic bum.

- Purrs. Like a cat. Ears flick around like one too.

- With music, he’s a big lyric listener. The song could sound absolutely terrible, but as long as he resonates with the words, will enjoy it anyway.

- Unorganized organization freak. Everything has a place, even if you don’t know where that place is.

- Seriously underestimates just how overtowering he is. He’s nowhere near Slender’s height, but the demon easily doubles in the average human’s vertical. When he was human he was taller, but never like this. He’s still getting used to it.

- Lanky but quick. Limbs and features are longer, but the muscle index makes up for it. He’s seriously fit, but everything is evenly distributed. Serious muscle definition in his arms and back, though. What he lacks in strength, he makes up in speed and agility.

- Enjoys Radiohead, Cigarettes After Sex, Paramore, and Three Days Grace. Will also never admit it, but really enjoy the Twilight soundtracks.

Dating Him/SFW:

- Gift-giving love language. Loves to make you things unexpectedly and watch the surprise on your face. Steals jewelry or clothing from his victims to gift to you.

- It takes a lot for the demon to even consider you a friend let alone a potential love interest. But you best believe once he’s decided he wants you, that’s it. You take precedent, anything and everything else in his life takes a step back and you become the focal point. Heaven help if you ever change your mind about him.

- “My pretty thing… my lovely little pet… all mine…”

- Physically can not get enough of your smell. Whether it be sweet or sour, whatever emotion you dwell in, this demon will bury his nose into the crook of your neck and waste away there. It’s intoxicating to him, like an emotional tie he’s bound to.

- Like to study you. Your movements, your voice, the way you react to certain stimuli. Everything about you and your personality just intrigues him to no end.

- Possessive in the, ‘If they look at you, I’ll kill them’ way, but also is sure enough in himself and you to know he doesn’t need to go that far. Would rather lock you away for only him to see, but respects you too much.

- Has a deep-rooted fear of hurting you, so any fight or disagreement turns him distant. He’ll come back eventually, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be comfortable enough to get all touchy-feely again just yet.

- A lot like Edward from Twilight, he wants to taste you the most. It’s seriously a bad habit to nip at your skin or get lost in your scent because he knows how easy it would be just to take a chunk out of you. Has to be very aware and cautious of himself.

- Even though it took a long time for him to be comfortable enough to take his mask off around you, he still gets wildly conscious about it whenever you’re around. Loves nothing more than when you’re caressing his face or kissing his skin because he knows it's genuine.

- For a cannibal, he’s an insanely good cook. Will only cook for you, however. He says it's out of love, but really he knows deep down he wants to control what you eat so you have good organ health. You best believe he’ll have you hitting those core diet needs.

- Doesn’t sleep often, but when he does it's for long periods. The problem is, he likes to completely swallow you with his body and wrap around you, keeping you there until he eventually wakes up. Really enjoys the body heat you provide. Lowkey a small spoon.

- Slouches to your height.

- His favorite time is after a long day, curling up in a big chair with a book and you in his lap. You cocoon in his arms as he leans back, a blanket draped over the two of you. He’s naturally cold-blooded so he would stay there forever if he could.

- “You smell so good, pet… So good…”

- Talks in short, mumbled sentences. The mansion residents started using you as a translator because he would only say more than 3 words at a time around you.

- Absolutely never cared about how he looked before you. You taught him decent clothing styles and now he rocks the ‘dark academia/soft boy’ aesthetic like a champ.

- Made you your own special corner in his lab just because he couldn’t deal with having to be away while working.

- An intense kisser. It’s never soft pecks but full-on mouth-consuming makeouts. He’s a hungry guy who can only be satisfied if he feels like he’s swallowed enough of your tongue and lips with his own. Your lips and chin are absolutely soaked with slobber afterward.

- Firm believer in carrying you. No matter where or how far, he likes to bridal-style haul you around or have you latch onto his back.

- “I could eat you up. Just kidding… yeah…”

- Goes ridiculously insane when he can see the chubbiness on your thighs or stomach. You sitting down or lying out, you best believe he is fighting every demon internally not to take a massive bite on your skin.

Dating Him/NSFW:

- Again, skin. No better than a man during the dark times when you flash just a little too much leg or abdomen. He’s on you in seconds and clawing your clothes off to see more.

- You will never leave an encounter without cum dripping out of you. Refuses to get off anywhere else but deep inside of one of your holes. Call it a breeding kink but his animalistic tendencies just won’t let him pull out. Grunting and panting against your nape as he slams inside as far as he can to keep you from squirming away

- “You can take it, I know you can… Need you full of me… All of me…”

- A greedy kisser. Grabbing your jaw and fucking his tongues into the warm wetness of your mouth, teasing to just push them further past the tightness of your throat. Even when you squirm and gag, he just pushes them deeper, testing your resolve.

- You reach your breaking point longggg before he does. A couple of orgasms deep and he hasn’t even put his cock in yet, just milking your body for all it’s worth. It may be because he has a high sex drive, but it’s mainly because he gets off best when you’re pliable and numb to his touch. It’s a domination thing.

- A pussy worshiper. Much like his adoration for any organ, he really appreciates all of his knowledge of the female anatomy and how good he is at eating you out. If he can, or if you can take it, he’ll press all three of his tongues deep inside and spread your plush walls to his content. Likes to swap between focusing on your cunt and your clit, but mainly both at once.

- Bite marks galore. Has to be careful with how much blood he draws, but you’ll never get by without at least one good bite mark on your shoulder. Likes to possessively mark you all over just for others to see. Same feeling with claw marks.

- There’s some cognitive switch in his brain that flips when he gets to a certain point of desperation, like after not seeing you for a long period or after a particularly difficult day. It’s like a starved creature hungry and desperate for anything. He’ll ravage your body and mind, fucking you both to pure exhaustion or until he physically can’t cum anymore.

- On that note, ruts. They’re seasonal, usually coming around the first two weeks of spring and fall. He can’t control when they show up, but once started, they usually last 3 to 4 days, each day getting less intense. Since it’s such an animalistic ordeal, he loses all restraint or moral compass on how to treat you. Bites, blood, wounds, and injury are all possible. They’re not intentional, but he physically cannot control his mental or physical, blinded completely by lust. Thank god his sperm isn’t compatible with human anatomy, because that’s the only place he’ll cum.

- “I’m sorry- sorry, pet- Just one more time- just one more- Fuck- I promise-”

- Both ankles wrapped in one claw. Two claws overlapping around your waist. Yeah…

- Starts slow, so achingly slow you want to rut your hips and get him deeper. He likes the feeling of entering you, of spreading your plush cunt around his cock and finding its home deep inside. He’ll get faster eventually, but for now, he just wants to drink up the sights and smells of your desperation. That first gasp gets him every time.

- Mating press or nothing else. If you want to try something new, he’ll happily oblige, but the only way he’s truly happy is if your legs are pushed back to your shoulders and his hips are slamming down into yours. He’ll take the occasional doggy style, but only if his teeth are latched on to the back of your neck and holding you docile.

- Could watch your face come undone all day. Loves to see your eyes roll when you come, or the sweat and tears dripping off your cheeks. The dark flush of your skin gets him so hungry he has to physically restrain himself.

- “You’re so gorgeous- so fuckin’ pretty- Ah- Look at me. C’mon, don’t get shy now…”

- One time, after a particularly messy organ harvest, he couldn’t wait to get to you. He was so livid, body practically shaking with excitement when he snuck into your room that he didn’t even have time to clean himself off. Blood (not yours) stained your sheets and skin, messy claws dragging across your stomach and chest to coat you in dark red, his tongues quick to shoot out and lap at the stuff. You, covered in blood and his mess, sent him spinning. That was the fastest he’s ever came.

- Growling, panting, snarling, huffing, chittering, teeth gnashing, LOUD ASF

- Has a size thing. Comparing your hand to his makes him so horny and eager to just pick you up and fuck you. Admires how small and easy you are to just throw around like a doll.

- Absolutely has had sick fantasies of fucking your organs like a fleshlight. He’d never tell you, but the thought of cutting a slit in your abdomen to push his cock into the tangle of intestines and muscles makes him drool. He can almost imagine how warm it would be.

- Gets a high when you squirt. Feels accomplished to be covered in your juices and having you completely ruined for anyone but him.

- “You can take it for me, yeah? Go ahead and make a mess… It’s alright…”

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[moonstruckme]

Ok James but him and his slytherin girlfriend seem to come out of nowhere and the boys are supportive but are more mad at James for not telling them? Idk I loved your other fic SO MUCH

Thanks for requesting <3

part 1

cw: mention of injury, no details or anything though

James Potter x Slytherin!reader ♡ 1.5k words

You hesitate outside the doorway to the infirmary at the raised voices coming from inside. 

You don’t need to be here, strictly speaking. James told you his injury wasn’t bad, and he has his friends to help him if he needs it, but…you can’t settle yourself down. You hadn’t liked the way he’d limped off the field, nor the tiny grimace on his face when Sirius had wrapped a bracing arm under his shoulders. It would be just like James to downplay how hurt he is to make you feel better, and the longer the game had gone on without him the more your guts twisted themselves into knots over the idea that he was in pain. 

You’d seethed at yourself and your stupid soft heart all the way to the infirmary, where now you’re frozen just outside like a coward. Something inside you is coiled tight with tension at the idea of going to see James Potter, on purpose and in public, even though that’s dumb because now everyone at Hogwarts knows about the two of you anyway. Your sappy display on the quidditch pitch made sure of that. But now that you have official and widely-known claim to the girlfriend title, you have just as much right to see him as anyone else. You shove your anxiety back into your stomach where it belongs and open the door. 

As soon as you’re inside, the voices become clearer. “—like this isn’t a big deal. The Prophet’s going to be all over the two of you by tomorrow, and we had to find out with every other fucking bloke at the school!”

“Pads, you don’t think I would have told you if I could?” James sounds exhausted, and something mutinous throbs in your heart. It’s followed quickly by the more familiar twinge of irritation at the use of those moronic nicknames they all have. “She made me promise not to tell anyone, including the both of you.” 

They’re talking about you. Of course they’re talking about you. What else could possibly be more important after James has fallen a good twenty feet off his broom than his dating life? This is why you hadn’t wanted to tell people. Hogwarts wears away at private lives like dementors at souls, and the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin is too strong for your relationship with James to have any hope of remaining untainted once the gossip mill got ahold of it. 

Your instincts are screaming at you to turn around and leave before they catch sight of you, but you force yourself to keep walking. If you start letting what people think about you and James affect you now, you’ll never be able to get past it. 

Remus is the first to spot you, going still as if you’ve come to hex him, but James’ face splits into a lopsided grin that has the knots in your gut loosening very slightly. 

“Especially you,” you say to Sirius as you brush past him, perching by James' pillow and weaving your fingers into his curls. There’s a wrap around his middle. It’s very hard to appear calm and blasé when you feel like you’re going to rupture something if he doesn't promise you he’s okay right this instant. “You’d have had all of Gryffindor talking about us within an hour.” 

Sirius bristles but visibly shoves his temper aside, his voice matching your coolness as he says, “If I’d told anyone, Y/L/N, it would have been to inquire about whether anyone’s noticed you gathering ingredients for amortentia recently. James doesn’t keep things from us. Artificial infatuation is the only explanation for why he’d tolerate you and your secrets.” 

“Oi,” James says, but you pat his head placatingly. You can fight your own battles. 

“That how you got this one?” you jut your chin towards Remus, who’s looking somewhat entertained as he watches the two of you spar. “If I’m ever in need of the recipe, Black, you’ll be the first person I come to, but I don’t need to resort to such measures myself.” 

Sirius glowers at you, and James sets his hand on your shoulder just as Remus wraps a pacifying arm around his boyfriend. “Alright, I think that’s enough,” the taller boy says in his usual calm manner, and though Sirius is still tensed for a fight, he allows himself to be drawn into Remus’ side.

James nods in agreement. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys, really. I thought I’d get a chance to before everyone found out, but…” He turns up his palms helplessly. “Things didn’t go as planned.” 

“We’ll get over it,” Remus says, Sirius quietly fuming beside him. “Won’t we, love?”

Sirius looks up at Remus' face, which is clearly a mistake, because he softens like butter in the sun. “Yeah, yeah, just gimme a bit,” he grumbles halfheartedly. “Anything to keep our Prongsie happy, right?”

James beams, so clearly relieved at the settlement of the conflict that you feel a bit guilty for participating in it. He kisses you on the cheek, chuckling against your skin. “You stink.” 

“Some of us stuck around to play the whole game,” you reply.

“Ouch,” James says, but he’s grinning. “Couldn’t really help that, could I?”

You give him a look to let him know you haven’t forgotten how his negligence had gotten him hurt. “Debatable.” 

You hear Remus chuckle but don’t take your eyes off James’ face, inspecting it for signs of the pain you suspect he’s hiding. “How bad is it really?” you ask, softening your voice even though there’s no chance of his friends not hearing you. 

James worries his lip, big brown eyes looking into yours guiltily. “Pomphrey says I broke three ribs and bruised my tailbone pretty badly. Minor concussion, too, but nothing serious.” 

Sounds serious enough to you. You ghost a hand over the back of his head as if you’ll be able to find and fix his hurt. He leans into your palm though, so it’s not for nothing. “I’m sorry I walked away out there,” you all but whisper. “I should have stayed with you.” 

James eyebrows pinch together. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he promises just as softly. He knows what it costs you to talk like this in front of people, like you’re turning yourself inside out for them to judge and stab at as they please, but James has no such reservations. He dots a kiss, feather-light, at the top of your cheekbone, wrapping an arm around you protectively. “Thanks for coming, I mean it.” 

You clear your throat. “Yeah, and in my fucking quidditch gear,” you say in your normal voice, attempting to banish the heavy mood. As if your heart isn’t still beating, hummingbird-fast and fragile, in your throat. “We both need to change and shower, and then you should rest. Did Pomphrey say you could leave?”

James nods, still looking at you like you’ve cracked open in his hands (he might be right; it feels like you have, and it wouldn’t even be the first time today). He rubs your upper arm affectionately, but his voice is easygoing when he says, “Yup, I’m good to go.” 

Sirius steps forward, as though to remind the two of you that he is, in fact, also present. “Great. We’ll walk you back to the room.” 

You turn to him, not quite ready for your time with James to be up and aching for the opportunity to dote on him in private. “That’s okay, I can take him.” 

Sirius’ eyes narrow. “You can’t even get into our dorms.” 

“Please, like Gryffindor’s riddles are so perplexing.” 

“I don’t need an escort,” James interjects. He pushes himself up with a grimace. 

You halt him with your hands on his shoulders and Remus says, “Don’t be stupid, Prongs, you can barely walk.” 

“I’ve got him,” you say firmly. Sirius stares you down, but you don’t flinch from his stony gaze. You know he doesn’t trust you. You don’t think he’d willingly trust any Slytherin. Since you’ve been at Hogwarts, the talk in your house has always been that Sirius Black shuns his family because they’re all Slytherins. Although James assures you there’s more to the story than that, it’s still obvious to anyone that he considers his friends his true family. He won’t entrust just anyone with James’ safety. But maybe that’s one thing you can agree upon. 

He must see something of this in your face, because after a minute Sirius relents, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he says. “I wanted to stop by the kitchens anyway.”

James is looking between the two of you curiously, aware that something has transpired but not quite sure what. 

You don’t give Sirius a chance to change his mind. “Alright,” you say, gripping James' forearms and helping him to stand. “Let’s go, pretty boy.” 

James drapes his arm across your shoulders gamely, and the two of you start out the door. “I don’t think that’s the insult you think it is.”

[diorkittys]

a rock and their diamond ˚ ♡ ⋆｡ venture + [bimbo] reader {hcs}

synopsis : venture with a dumb, bimbo-ish, sexy gf… i mean c’mon it’s already canon

—TW : some nsfw hcs , slight exhibitionism , reader is very suggestively a girl , big tits (ahh boo!!!)

art credits : leesam_23

“oh cool! i had a friend obsessed with archeology back in high school; she told me i was a libra!”

“you mean astrology…?” dr. ziegler raised her brow.

“um… i don’t think it had anything to do with space.”

that was the moment sloane cameron knew you were the one.

you’re ditzy, beauty, sexy, (and tall)—quite the opposite to your venturous partner. and most could describe you two as the ‘beauty and brains’.

venture was enraptured the very second they laid their eyes on you. talk about the star of the show; everyone’s attention was focused on you the moment you walked into that dig site.

you’re tiny pink dress that hugged the curve of your waist so tight—barely covering your ass and most definitely straining against your tits (not that sloane was looking…). your long legs and plush thighs that made the archeologist gulp. tall, elegant heels which only put you on more of a pedestal. and if people weren’t already drooling over your body, your face definitely topped the cake. you were gorgeous through and through. a doll.

and, yet, through all sloane’s nervousness, they could tell you looked a tad lost.

“hi! sloane cameron. are you looking for something?” they reached a hand out which you gladly shook; venture noticing your pretty, pink acrylics.

“yes! my daddy works in the medical tent—any idea where i could find it? sure doesn’t look like a fun camping trip though.”

sloane shook the last comment off, saying they’d show you where the tent is. although the digger was dusty and smelled like minerals, you decided to follow close beside them.

that’s where they introduced you to dr ziegler. “are you a doctor too?” you’d ask. “oh, gosh, no. i’m one of the archeologists working here.” and there, the infamous moment took place.

౨ৎ

venture refers to you as various different gemstones, which you love. their go-to’s being ‘opal’, ‘angel’ (short for angelite), and, of course, diamond—your favorite.

^ “almost done w these soil samples. then omw home opal! xo” sloane would reply with to your needy texts.

^ “what’d you want f’dinner, angel?” they’d ask, wrapping scarred arms around you from behind.

^ “you look as stunning as always, diamond.” watching you give a twirl to showcase your outfit for tonight—something always a little teasing and small… not that venture had any complaints.

sloane worked late hours, fully devoted to their passion. you would usually find them hunched over at the table. slim fingers pressing circles into their shoulders, massaging away the tension. your partner would sigh, leaning back before taking your hand and guiding you into their lap. they’d explain their most recent endeavor and you would listen… even though the information went into one ear and out the other.

“ya’ know?” you, in fact, did not know, but gave a supportive nod anyways. sloane snorted, planting calloused hands on the plush of your hips as you straddled their waist. god, they wanted nothing more than to kiss that oblivious look off your face.

speaking of a suggestive kiss, does it come as a surprise that sloane just can’t get enough of you?

their hands are always on you, one way or another—how could they not? so much to grab, so much to play with.

they’d kneed your supple thighs, pinching the fat in awe. and they’d mewl as if it was their own flesh.

sometimes, venture would sit atop you in bed—spending time poking and prodding every part of you like a new toy… not caring about your excessive squirming, stifling little moans.

god, your breasts were the best part. sloane would do anything to be near them at all times. alone, the archeologist fondled your tits, squeezing your nipples between their middle and index and watching them harden. if you were a tease, sloane must be a sadist.

with you being eye candy, there was, of course, a lot of attention drawn to you. some would simply admire from afar, while others took a more brave approach.

venture isn’t a very jealous type… i mean, that’s what they’ve always believed about themselves. yet, seeing men flock to you like moths to a light—it was… irritating.

there was no such thing as ‘innocent’ conversations or ‘harmless’ touches when it came to you; everything anyone did was quite obviously intentional. and somehow, the cherry on the cake was always the follow up question, “did you come here alone?”

and as the men would compliment your hair, and subtly look at your finger for a ring, sloane would interject.

well… if you count standing a few feet away with a hot, red face staring daggers into the men’s eyes as interjection… then, yes, sloane interjected. but, the real problem solver was you, oblivious you. you, who knew you were pretty hot, but didn’t count anyone’s intentions as scandalous.

so, you’d see your partner in the distance and your eyes would immediately light up, waving your hand to call them over. maybe that’s all sloane needed, because as soon as they see that look of adoration in your face, all that anger would subside. you were theirs, after all.

don’t think those men would be off the hook, however. venture would most definitely slide an arm around your waist as you walk away… maybe slightly grabbing the round of your ass with a sly smirk on their face.

you loved to surprise your partner with visits at their job. you never minded dirt and grime and it mostly seemed like it avoided you all together.

venture would be in the middle of a log, wiping beads of sweat off their hairline after a long dig. “excavation log dash 2-3-3, this is sloane cameron speaking—my team and i just discovered a fascinating—“ “baby!!” you ran up to the archeologist, practically jumping on them as you curled your arms around their neck.

sloane would be startled before turning around and giving you an equally tight hug. others whisper about how lucky their coworker is since sloane’s face reached right between your tits. and to think your partner hated the height difference (not in the moment).

“okay, guys, hold that thought! i’ll be back!” your partner would wave.

speaking of surprises, you’d always come home with rocks for sloane. standing in front of your partner with hands behind your back, “guess.” you’d giggle. every night, the surprise was no different, but venture would entertain your enthusiasm.

“hmm… let’s see… is it… a flower?” “nope!” “candy?” “nuh uh.” “a perfectly preserved dilophosaurus spine fossil with all discs in tact?!” you looked around, “uh… i don’t think so?” venture would sigh.

you open your hands, revealing a smooth, brown rock about the size of your palm. “it’s a rock!” you smiled wide and sloane’s cheeks tinted red from how cute you could be. “thank you, diamond! i love it.” you’d sit next to them on the couch, holding onto their arm. “i found it on the sidewalk. what kind of fossil do you think it is? maybe a dinosaur one?”

sloane would pat your head, trying to refrain from explaining to you that most fossils are dinosaurs… and that you wouldn’t find one on the side walk. “angel, i think it’s just a rock—a cool rock nonetheless!” and that satisfied you enough.

honorable mention, but venture definitely buys packs of fossil dig kits for kids you could get at walmart. they keep them at their work station for when you visit because you love to be included in whatever sloane is doing.

sloane works on grid maps in their tent with you by their side, scraping down compacted sand to find your prize. “i did it!” you put down your tiny mallet. “good job, opal! what’d you get?” you pout your lips confusingly, “another rock?” venture, tiredly, rubs your shoulder, “it’s a fossil, opal…” you’re lucky, though, because this leads to a make out session.

when you do have your steamy moments in venture’s tent, it’s always the most passionate. maybe it’s the adrenaline of being caught, or the shameful thought of someone hearing you, either way, it’s exhilarating.

sloane would have you propped up on the table, pushing important papers to the ground. needy hands groping the plush flesh of your hips and your dress hitched up above your ass. your tongue grazing their chipped tooth and fingers tangling in brown hair.

of course, sloane would kiss down your neck reaching the cleavage of your breasts; their hands pushing them together, making the tops spill over the very tight fabric.

of course, you’d ask a dumb question about what if someone walks in. but, your partner is already pussy drunk and is looking up at you from between your thighs, shushing you and asking if you’d squeeze their head before going back down.

it’s very common to get odd looks when you’re both out in public. as previously mentioned, you two look complete opposites. you, in a matching pink track suit, tube top pushing against your tits, low rise sweatpants showing off the tramp stamp plastered on your lower back, g string imprinting on your hips with a cute navel piercing to go with it. you always have your makeup done, sunglasses atop your hair, and pink platform flip-flops… and venture!

venture with their hair a mess, tired eyebags from rarely sleeping, chipped tooth, a ‘we rock!’ oversized t shirt, baggy shorts that went to their knees, and old sneakers. two people you would never think you’d see together, yet holding hands and sloane pressing a kiss to your cheek whenever they could.

and, yes, it’s a little discouraging knowing no one thinks you would ever be with someone like sloane cameron. it’s an insecurity the archeologist keeps in the back of their head. but, without fail, you’ve always introduced them as yours… and that makes any doubts fade away—knowing you hold your relationship with pride.

of course, a few months into dating, venture would make sure you didn’t actually think archeology was astrology. “opal, you do know that zodiac signs are not archeology, right?” they’d raise a brow. “no, silly. i’m not dumb!” you’d giggle and sloane would sigh in relief.

“he’s that murderer—that’s true crime!”

and for sloane, their heart skipped a beat…

yeah, you’re the one.

[dawndelion-winery]

Dumb Ways To Fall in Love

The silly things they do to impress you when they're in love

Ft. Childe, Diluc, Kaeya, Dainsleif, Scaramouche

Childe:

He's always liked to think he was charming in his own odd way

And he does fully expect said "charm" to work on you

Which is why he's pretty confused as to why you don't seem smitten by his obvious attention

He cooks for you a lot! But they're normally,,,,unique dishes with whatever he fishes himself

Because he wants to impress you with how he can whip something up from scratch

Which doesn't really work out well because...well we've seen his signature dish

More often than not, the dessert is far more appetising

Please use that as motivation to finish the main course, he tried his best and it would hurt his feelings if you didn't even try it

Diluc:

He knows him being a rich, gentlemanly bachelor is a very big seeking point of his to most of the Mondstadt population

Which is why he not so subtly tries to subtly flex his wealth in front of you

Now he's already normally generous, which is what makes it so jarring when he does it with you

Because mentally he's just "Yeah, I'd do this for the average Mondstadt citizen, which means I have to one up that now"

But of course who's to determine what "one" is?

Hence the huge leap of obvious favouritism

Not even a hint of hesitation when you seem to want something from him

The number of times he's just agreed to whatever favour you've asked for before you've even specified the favour should give you an idea of what he's like

Kaeya:

He once heard you mention how you feel he's too cool and unapproachable for you, as nice as he was

So he makes an effort to slip up in front of you

Internally he thinks you'll appreciate it - "Notice me being a dumbass and find it endearing please"

Surely that should change your mind about him, right?

Until he overhears another of your opinions on him and how you (affectionately) called him a goofball playing a suave captain

Which he couldn't quite refute but he wasn't entirely sure if that was positive

Leading him back to his initial bravado, once again creating that rift because the dork you thought you noticed had disappeared

And then he panics again because you seem distant again

And the cycle repeats itself until he gets some sense slapped into him or you take a chance and ask him out

Dainsleif:

It wasn't easy being captain of the royal guard

But it was somehow easier than baring his heart to you

Brings you fruits and flowers as he travels with you

Definitely the type to silently bring you cut and peeled fruit as a nonverbal "I love you"

He's gotten really good at food presentation because of it, and adds little edible flowers as decoration

If you ever decide to take a break and read, he offers to feed you the fruit

Honestly at some point it's more like you would naturally assume y'all are dating?? But he doesn't really get the memo and keeps wondering why you never bring it up like is he not being obvious enough for you?

In pain whenever you snuggle up to him assuming you think it's platonic but accepts it nonetheless because it's nice to be able to hold you and be held

Scaramouche:

All people do is disappoint so why put in the effort to woo you?

So he says as he proceeds to try impress you anyway

Subtly flexes quite literally every strength he has in front of you

For no apparent reason he'll cook over a campfire he started out of nowhere just because

Yeah, y'know, just to show he can work with what he's got, he's very resourceful

You're not entirely sure what his intentions are though, since he's more of proving his usefulness instead of showing you he cares about you

And you'd probably only pick up on that if you knew his past

He does pick up on what makes you feel loved and enjoy his presence over time though, so give him a little adjustment time to work out how to best express himself to you

Taglist[send an ask to be added/removed]: @myluvkeiji @pluvioseprince @aqui-soba @favonius-captain @tiredsleep @raincxtter @gensimping-for-all @irethepotato @almond-adeptus @mx-kamisato @yuzuricebun @chaosinanutshell @heizours @haliyamori @callmemeelah @sadlonelybagel @plinkuro @thevictoriousmoon @mastering-procrastinating @lovers-on-the-eiffel @cxlrosii @miss-fantazmagoria @lychme @kokomist @lemonswriting @eowinthetraveller @ajaxstar @boundedbyfate

[ohitsthemindstuffagain]

Wade: Logan!

He turned around and Wade was there on the sidewalk looking at him with that big eyes of his. And so the annoying bastard was running to him as if he was a girl in a romantic movie.

Wade: Wait.

Logan: Whats it?

Wade: I’ve fallen in love. I’m an ordinary woman. I didn’t think such violent things could happen to ordinary people.

Logan: Excuse me?

Wade: I wanted it to be you, I wanted it to be you so badly.

Logan: Woah… I…

Wade: So it’s not gonna be easy. It’s gonna be really hard. We’re gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, you and me, every day.

Logan: Wade, what are you…

Wade: I wish I knew how to quit you.

Logan: Well…

Wade: I could die right now. I'm just… happy. I've never felt that before. I'm just exactly where I want to be.

Logan:

Wade: You had me at hello.

Logan:

Wade: I guess when you’re young, you just believe there’ll be many people…you’ll connect with. Later in life, you realize it only happens a few times.

Logan:

Wade: Listen to me, mister. You’re my knight in shining armor. Don’t you forget it.

Logan: I think I got it.

Wade: I think I'd miss you even if we'd never met.

Logan: I said I got it.

Wade: I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme. I hate it, I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

Logan: Oh, my god, what are you even about?

Wade: You could make it true. What are legends anyway but stories about ordinary people doing extraordinary things? Of course, it takes courage and imagination… not everybody has that. I may be an old fraud, Logan, but I do know this: something that two people who are in love create together against impossible odds, can hold them together… forever.

Logan: Oh…

Wade: You liked that one, I see. Good movie, really. No, I… just wanted to say I'm sorry.

Logan: What about?

Wade: You know the whole kind of kidnapping thing, dragging you from your world against your will and I'm really dead sorry we can't fix what happened.

Logan: Okay, two things. One, it wasnt kind of kidnapping, you really kidnapped me. Two, I'm cool with all this, even if it feels very crazy.

Wade: You are?

Logan: Yeah. No hard feelings, actually very good feelings. I'm glad we could team up.

Wade: Oh, ooh. Nice. It's very nice. So, I was wondering…

Logan: Just say it.

Wade: You wanna stay at mine for a while? Just till you, you know, find out where you wanna go.

Logan: Sure.

Wade: I knew it.. WHAT?

Logan: I would like that.

Wade: Really?

Logan: Yes and also someone has to keep an eye on you, so you don't get into trouble, right?

Wade: So you're saying you wanna live with me so you can look at me all the time?

Logan: Well. Thats a way to put it.

Wade: Oh my god!

Logan: Shut up.

He takes hold of one of Wades hands, the one not holding the dog.

Logan: Lets see how this goes.

They start to walk together.

Logan: That first line was from 'Brief Encounter' right?

Wade: Do you like romantic movies?

Logan: You will find out I like a lot of things.

Wade:

[vanya-evergreen]

Something new,

Okay since I can't write HTR am going to be posting bs ideas.

Starting with this- Reader x platonic batfam where the reader has huge texture issues, especially when it comes to fabrics.

Like the moment when they feel a texture they don't like, they have to do something to get the feeling off their hands.

Like ususal: no use of y/n

Cw: very very small descriptions of reader getting hurt

So like if you are a vigilante that is in the batfam , you probably have your own homemade suit at first, so you know it's fabrics that you love and adored. But in a fight parts of you suit gets rips and tears, that just reinforce the quality of it. So when Batfam decides that they won't that 'no' for an answer about a new suit, you are not happy.

"I am not wearing that." You had come to the same place you would meet the everyday like normal, only to be given a new suit with a horrid texture. You needed it out of you hands in less than 3 minutes, or else your burning it. "Why would you even make that for me?"

"We just thought that it was time you had qand upgrade for a change" Nightwing was trying to be nice about, he knew that you didn't want them to make you a new suit. "I mean you have been fighting with us for a while and your suit always gets damaged the most." He was right, you never would admit it. You had spent most of your day stitching up your suit, it was torn in you fight against killer croc the day before, so you could probably use a new suit.

"Still not gonna wear it." You hand (almost throw) the suit back to nightwing. He is hesitant to accept it, but he takes it from you, you immediately wipe your hands on your jacket. "I don't know how many time I will you not to make a suit." Nightwing is offended by your words. "Oh get over it, bat and co. Makes good suits, just not for me. So let's get moving okay?"

You hate it when Batfam asks you about a your suit, it was always an up hill battle to keep their current one(even if Batfam makes suits better for the be a vigilante.) This was the first time batfam had actually made one though. The only reason you held it was to see it the fabric was better than it seemed (it was one of the worst textures you had ever felt).

Batman was not happy that you had decided to, sort of, politely decline the new suit. He even sent Nightwing who you always seemed closer to. When he saw you after you went up against killer croc, he was surprised that the clothes was even still of your body. The suit was so mangled (not to mention the cut that could have been less severe if you had a better suit) that he thought you would surely accept the new suit. He wasn't going to give up on this, not this time. You was going to find a way to make you to wear it.

"Again? I said no." Batman was more persistent this time, normally it would come once in a while, not two days in a row. "I thought you didn't do Batman's dirty work anyways, Redhood." You and Redhood were eating Batburger (of course you took off everything you couldn't stand) after your night of patrol and he showed up out of nowhere with it. so imagine your surprise when to see him pull out the same suit from yestday. You never would've thought that Batman would rope Redhood into this, or you though Redhood wouldn't let him.

"I don't but, I just happen to agree with him on this." Redhood sounds so humiliated just by saying he agrees with Batman. You squint you eyes at him, "I do, this time at least."

"No," you were blunt. This had only happened once, when you first started working with them, but they learned not to do this because you ended up doing very dumb things in you frustration with them. "I think it looks cool but no."

"Come on. You don't even know how it will feel fighting in it." Redhood was always more of the level headed one, or that how he was with you. "Just put it on and jump around, run and throw a few kicks and punches. You might like it" he pushed the suit towards you. You couldn't have moved faster while trying to avoid contact with something. "Huh?"

"Yeah no thanks. Tell Batman thanks for the offer but I am good." You quickly stuff the rest of your food and pick up your drink to go. You walk to the fire escape before turning back to Redhood. "Also this is not a good look for you dude. Be more consistent in your stances on people." You start climbing down before he could get another word in.

When Jason returned with the suit Bruce was even more confused now. You said no to the two closest people under your vigilante persona. He thought about putting you on the bench untill you said yes, but that wasn't as effective as it is with the rest do the family. So he was going to have to get creative, but for now he was just going to continue to sent different members untill the opportunity presents itself.

But on a different note, You still don't know the identity of the Batfam, but they knew your identity really quickly. So when some of the Wayne kids started coming in to your place of work it was shocking. Even when you switched jobs or went without a job for a couple of weeks they would somehow be nearby. Bruce Wayne even showed his face a couple of times at your different jobs.

(You always seemed to be the one to help him too)

Eventually you became friend with a few of them after they found talked to you enough. They were far more relaxed than you thought they would be, it was kinda cool even. But little to your knowledge Batman was going to use this connection quickly.

"I don't know man, my boss is just not letting this go this time." This how you talked about you vigilante problems in your civilian life, mostly with your friends. Duke, Cass, Steph and Barbra. "He is just so..."

"Annoying? Steph blurted out as she returns with drinks and some type of food from the amusement park concession stand.

"Stubborn?" Duke adds on grabbing his drink from Steph before she can place them down. Steph gives him an evil as she places the rest of drink on the table.

"Paranoid?" Barbra grabs Cass's and her own drink after Steph sat down next to you. You take your drink and take a long frustrated sip before slamming it down on the table.

"All of the above." You rest the side of you face on you hand as you continue to take smaller sips from your drink. "I just don't know what to do, he has sent different co-worker for the past week to try and convince me to change my uniforms. He still has yet to show his face to me yet."

"Maybe he has a good reason to ask you change you uniform." Cass didn't speak often so you always listened when she did. "I mean have you asked why?"

"Yeah, I know why and understand why, its very reasonable too" you knew Batman was right to make you a new suit but you hates that fabric more than anything you had disliked anything in recent years. The suit was an instant top ten worst textures you had ten displeasure of feeling.

"So then why do you refuse to wear it?" Barbra takes a portion of the food Steph brought before pushing it to Steph. "You seem to be pretty understanding with the reason."

"Yeah, you were ranting to so much at about him just a moment ago, but now you are okay with the reason?" Steph eating her portion quickly before passing it to you. You take a bite, you spilt out the food into a napkin after just a few bites, and push it to Duke.

"You good?" Duke pats your back as you chug your drink to get that texture out of your mouth. "Did it taste back?" He hesitates to eat it .

"I'm good and it didn't taste bad." You use another napkin to wipe away the drink. "But to answer your question, its the same reason why I spit out the food, Texture." You could see as a little bulb went off in all of their heads.

"So that why you refuse the new uniform" Cass takes a sip of her drink as Duke finishes of the rest of the food. You nod your head as all of them share a look between all of them.

Bruce felt so dumb for not realizing it sooner, it wasn't even the fact you didn't want a new suit it was that you hated the frabic it was made out of. But he didn't know what fabric you liked, and he couldn't suddenly approach you asking what textures you did like. So to find out he would need to send in someone else to find out

It was peak out at your current job at a coffee shop. You were operating on auto pilot, always in your best customers service voice your could muster. So you barely had time to look at who you were talking to before you spoke."Hello how may I-" but when finally who it was you could dropped the customer service voice "Tim, how lovely of you to come in at our rush hour." You said with to much joy for it to be genuine. "What have you come to bother me about?"

"Hello to you too. Well if you must know I wanted a coffee and to interview you for a survey for Wayne enterprises new clothing line." You scoff and lower your eyebrows before putting his six shot of expresso and coffee with an ungodly amount of creamer and a croissant "come on it will take like maybe 15 minutes tops."

"Uh huh okay. So you thought it would appropriate to come in at this time of day, when we are at our busiest? For a survey?" You turn the screen to him for him to pay. "6.46 please. Plus I thought Wayne enterprises didn do clothes."

"Tt-" you squeeze your eyes tightly shut, you knew who the that was before he could even speak. "You didn't get my order." Damian, you loved talking with him outside of work about art and shows/music you would make him get into but he was alway very particular about his drink.

"Hello Damian, let me guess a hot chocolate with only two pumps of chocolate syrup with a bit of coffee and extra whipped cream," Damian was about to interrupt you "with a warmly toasted egg sandwich for protein with a cake pop?" He looks at you with a somewhat defeat look, you got some satisfaction out of this.

"Yes and you-" he starts

"better be the one making it because you are the only one who makes it right in this lowbrow place." You and him said in unison, he only seems to be more shocked.

"Of course your royal highness, anything for you, Dami" you always said this with most antagonizing way possible. when he orders his drink from you, it was funny when you see him get embarrassed when you called him by his nickname. "Now your new total is 16.79. Pay when you're ready."

"Anyways," Damian clears his throat "it is not just any survey, it is a survey that will help Wayne enterprises for years to come." You rested your hand on counter still not impressed by this offer. They were not good sales pitches for someone like you.

"We will give you a free sample after we produce the first prototypes of it." Tim takes out Bruce's card and pays with it. You perk at the prospect of getting free clothes that could be made to your taste of texture.

"Give me a half an hour, I need to make sure I help my co-workers give through this rush hour and then i will take my lunch and we can talk as I eat." You yell back as you turned back to go make Damian's food and drink.

The 'survey' was filled with alot of questions about textures of fabric, the cut of some types of clothes. They even brought a few fabric samples too, some of which you liked, most you didn't mind and afew you hated. There was just one that you adored, is felt just right on your skin and it seems durable enough for you wear when on patrol once you got the samples. Maybe it would get the bats off your back.

Tim thanked you for participation in a survey that was only made for you. Damian had just sat the silently judging but also impressed with how well you describe the feel and texture of the fabrics. When Tim gave Bruce the results he almost right away on your new suit. He had already decided to give it to you himself.

You brush you hand over your jacket that had gotten a new rip in it, along with a pretty nasty cut that was probably gonna leave a nasty scar. "Damn it, another day off down the drain." You take out a small first aid kit patch up your cut. You were half way down when you finally noticed the ominous presence behind you. "Is that you bats? Or orphan?"

"It's me." Batman steps out from the shadows and stands over you as you continue to wrap up your cut. "I really think you should just take the suit we made you." There he goes again, you stop mid wrap and look up at him.

"Are we going to do this cycle again?" You tear and then tied up the bandage. "You say I need a new suit I say no, you insist. Then I threaten to go rouge with Redhood." Batman wears his annoyance very obviously. "Oh come one it's always fun." You tease him as you stand up.

"Maybe to you." Batman give you the side eye "but no I am not here to do that." You know what's coming. You roll your eyes and fold you arms. "You have to wear the new suit."

"Why would I?" You knew he never held anything over you "what are you going to do if I don't?" He always gave empty threats of putting you 'on the bench' as he said, but you would run off an just join the rouges for maybe a week or two, hell, you even joined a gang. So he learn quickly not to do that.

"Because am tired of seeing someone I care about get hurt some much because of something fixable." Shit- he is really serious this time, he's sharing his thoughts and feelings with you too. This was a impossiblity untill tonight's "so please just put it on, and try it out we can fix any problems with it." He pulls out a new suit.

"Fine, but I am going to be a pain in the ass with it." You extended your to grab it very carefully you out your hand on it. You knew the fabric, you had fallen in love with this fabric. "Wow..." you snatched its out his hands as you continue to feel the fabric. It was perfect, fabric wise. You stopped, how did he know... "it good quality."

"That's good, you try it on before you continue patrol to night.." he turns to leave but you grab onto his cape as you start to connect the dots. The way he kept try, and then the hang out with Steph, Cass, Duke, and Barbra. The Survey for Wayne enterprises was the last nail in the coffin.

"You are Bruce fucking Wayne"

Batman tried denying it but it was all for not. So when you learn of all of the trouble he went through for you. You teased him for a while after. Everyone joined in too, even Damian took stab at him with it. But it really touched your to think he cared so much.

[suashii]

— 𝒾 𝓈𝓅𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝑒𝓎𝑒 ౨ৎ

itoshi rin x reader. 1.4k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ spy au ﾉ spy!rin ﾉ spy!reader ﾉ rivalry ﾉ reader is quite infatuated with rin ﾉ a lil suggestive if you read between the lines :3

the glitz and glamor of the event you’ve found yourself at is blinding. between the crystal chandeliers and the light glinting off of everyone’s expensive accessories, you doubt that you’re going to find who you’re looking for—though, the thought only lingers for a mere moment.

there’s no way you could ever miss him.

whether it be keenly trained eyes or your personal interest, it doesn’t take your wandering gaze more than a couple of minutes to find your target within the crowd. he’s dressed to blend in with everyone else in black tie attire, slim-fit suit hugging the curve of his waist, highlighting his muscles. and he’s worn his hair just the way you like it, slicked back to expose his forehead, though some stubborn strands have strayed from the rest, turning the neat look into something more casual—sexy.

you watch from afar with a champagne float in hand and silently wonder who he put in so much effort for. saying you know rin well would be a gross overstatement—you’ve only become familiar with him through your missions, although you can confidently say you’ve never witnessed him dressed to the nines. it’s a good look on him.

swallowing the rest of your bubbly, you set the empty glass on a passing tray and look down to check your reflection on the shiny marble floor. as much as you’d love to stand here and observe rin all night, you have work to do.

your task is simple—intercept the handoff of a hard drive containing sensitive information.

you usually wouldn’t take on such a lackluster job but you jumped at the opportunity when rin’s name was mentioned. he’s representing the party meant to be receiving the intel—it’s a shame you’ll have to make his life harder by meddling in his affairs but it’s one part of the job you consider fun, even if it is at his expense.

you’re sure to stay out of his line of sight as you navigate the large ballroom in search of another character involved in the exchange. not much time passes before you spot the man and his presence alone is evidence that you're still on schedule—the handoff hasn’t happened yet.

the carrier is a new face, one you’ve never seen before. if his worrisome, flitting gaze is proof of anything, it’s that he’s never done this before. the fact that his people were dumb (or confident) enough to send an amateur makes you snort. but you won’t complain, after all, they’re making this process a whole lot easier for you.

and once you’ve got that hard drive, that’s when the real fun starts.

you quickly formulate your strategy before setting off to execute it. light steps carry you toward the man and while you're careful not to bump into anyone along the way, you purposefully knock into his shoulder once you finally reach him.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry!” you exclaim, holding onto his wrists with your apology. there’s something hard tucked beneath his right sleeve and you have to stop your lips from pulling up in a smirk. so predictable. “are you okay?”

“uh, yeah, i’m fine.” he seems distracted, like your collision disrupted his train of thought. that’s all the better for you, your deft fingers inching up between the sleeves of his jacket and shirt to snag the thumb drive.

“i’m just so clumsy,” you laugh to punctuate your statement, concealing the stolen item in your fist once you pull away. “well, you enjoy the rest of your night!” 

you slip into the crowd with a bit more urgency than you had before, eager to get the drive where it needs to be and make your exit without any problems.

when the cool air outside the venue meets your face, your mission is over—well, everything official about it, anyway. you’re still waiting on one planned aspect as you mosey around the back of the building and the sound of shoes scraping against pavement alerts you that it—he—is on the way.

you spin around to meet him face to face but as swiftly as you do, the man has you pinned up against the wall. the impact draws out a gasp at first, then a giggle. you didn’t predict that he’d be this rough but you quickly grow comfortable with his forearm against your collarbone.

he smells good, warm like cinnamon. it makes you wonder if he tastes like it, too.

“where do you think you’re going?” he spits out, brows etched together in a frown. it’s an intimidating expression, one you’re sure would have others in your position trembling, but instead of feeling any sense of unease or nervousness, you consider yourself lucky to see this side of him. it’s a far cry from his typical cool and collected exterior and while most would think that a scowl isn’t something you want to be on the receiving end of, the sight is nothing short of alluring to you.

“nowhere,” you tell him, tilting your head to the side and letting a smile take over your face, “i’m right where i want to be.”

his lip twitches in annoyance at that. “you have something i want. hand it over.”

“my heart? aw, rin, it’s already yours~”

he doesn’t seem to appreciate your nonchalance on the matter. “the hard drive. i saw you swipe it, now give it to me.”

“of course you did,” you say with a grin. this little interaction wouldn’t have been possible if you didn’t bank on the fact that rin would be keeping track of his collaborator’s movements. maybe you know him a bit better than you thought you did.

you sigh and meet his glowing teal gaze. “but i don’t have it on me.”

“where? where is it?”

“don’t worry, it’s safe in the hands of my associate.” you’re lucky that rin didn’t see you slip the information to a trusted friend on your way out. “and i’m willing to hand it over, but it’ll come at a price.”

rin’s irritation is palpable but his hold on you eases up as he considers your words. “how much?”

“it’s nothing really.” you roll your shoulders now that there’s a small gap between you and the building—not enough for you to leave, rin made sure of that much. you hold up your index finger. “one date. you and me.”

he scoffs. “you have to be joking.”

“i’m serious,” you tell him, not able to hold back the pout that graces your lips. “take me out to dinner and i’ll make sure those files get back to you without any trouble.”

without any trouble—the two of you must have different ideas on what defines “trouble” because going out on a date with you sounds fairly troublesome to rin. but he knows it’ll be his ass on the line if he turns up at the agency empty-handed. as troublesome as a date with you comes across as, facing a reprimanding sounds even worse.

“tomorrow night.” rin lets his arm fall to his side, freeing you from his cage. 

your hand comes up to touch your collarbone that’s now cold with rin’s absence. you wouldn’t mind having stayed that way a little while longer, though, his reluctant acceptance of your offer leaves you more than content.

getting him to spend a night with you is the real reason you took on this commission to begin with.

“that works for me,” you let rin know with a smile, stepping forward to stuff a card with your contact information into his pocket. tipping your head up to meet his eyes, you offer him one last sentence. “call me and i’ll tell you where to pick me up.”

you wiggle your fingers in a wave as you take your leave, only pulling your phone out when rin’s figure disappears into the night. the device rings upon clicking the contact of your associate. she picks up after two of them.

“hello?”

“hey. is that duplicate drive going to be ready by tomorrow morning?”

the woman snorts. “who do you take me for? it’ll be done in an hour.”

as much as you’re interested in rin, you can’t risk losing your job over romantic feelings. hopefully he won’t mind you having a copy of that information, too.

“good. the boss will have my head if i don’t bring that intel back.”

thanks for giving this a read! consider reblogging or commenting if you enjoyed ‪‪❤︎‬ (perhaps i will write about the date?)

[mangoshorthand]

ugh, ok listen. its stupid and cheesy and overplayed but i love the caught under the mistletoe trope. its stupidly corny and as annoying as christmas is, my dumb ass falls for it everytime. you’re my favourite writer for five, and if you could write something for this (or hit me with a bat to improve my taste) that’d be rlly cool. if not, dw and happy holidays.

Stupid, cheesy and overplayed? You just described my entire body of work! I've struggled writing for a while so I hope people enjoy this. Merry Christmas, weirdos x

Twelve Feet Away From the Mistletoe | Five Hargreeves / F Reader 2.8k words

Viktor was a friend of a friend who gradually became your own. 

He was supportive when you lost your job in September, and was even more practical help when you lost your apartment around Halloween. 

“There are like forty spare bedrooms. Technically I can do what I like with six of those since I own a seventh of the house. Plus you wouldn’t get in anyone’s way. There’s like…so much room. 

“Viktor, that’s kind but I’ll be fine. My parents say -”

“Don’t your parents live outside the city?” he interrupted, “I think it would be easier to find work if you’re here.”

“Yeah, it would, but I can’t pay any rent.”

“I don’t want rent. Stay a few months. Be my guest. I could use someone to help me deal with my crazy family anyway. It’s weird being back in that house.”

And so, you’d accepted. It was hard to refuse Viktor anything. 

‘Crazy’ was one word to describe his family. ‘Volatile’, ‘noisy’ and ‘infuriating’ were some others. 

And none were more infuriating than Number Five. 

You met him the first night you stayed, while Viktor was thrashing you at pool as the pair of you got gradually drunker on Moscow Mules. You weren’t really enjoying the game, but you were enjoying hanging out with him, and you’d just mis-cued spectacularly as Five entered the room.

The first thing you noticed was his scowl. The second, third, fourth and fifth thing you noticed was his looks. 

Dark. Pale. Jaw a razor lined angle, nose long and imperious. He moved with quick, confident grace as he crossed the room. It was as if every thread of carpet his shoes touched had been waiting until that moment, just to pave his way, and now all other treads to come would be incidental to the floor’s true purpose. Hands thrust self-assuredly in his pockets, he seemed to look down on you as if from a great height, although he was barely an inch taller. 

Cold green eyes looked you up and down.  

He cut a fine figure, but an arrogant one. Despite his looks, your overriding impression was only of rudeness, so you met the challenge of his gaze unflinchingly. 

After a moment surveying you, he turned to Viktor.

“Luther’s looking for you.”

“Why?” Viktor asked.

“No idea. I’m not your secretary.”

As Five’s gaze shifted back to you, Viktor took the hint and introduced you.

“She’s a friend of mine,” he said, by way of explanation, “she’s lost her apartment so she’ll be staying for a while.”

Five sighed at this, shaking his head at you with a dark chuckle.

“Is there a problem?” you asked, politely. 

“No. No problem,” he said, though his tone making it clear that there was, “It’s only that I’ve seen this play out a dozen times: my brother has a habit of picking up waifs and strays.”

“Don’t be dickhead,” Viktor murmured.

Five shrugged, smirking.

“Letting me stay for a few weeks because we’re friends is hardly ‘picking me up’, you said, bristling, “I’m sure Viktor will ask for your opinion when he wants it.”

Five smiled that infuriating, sarcastic smile of his. Even then, when you were angry with him, looking into his eyes was an experience you noticed for the way it made your heart beat.

“I guess I’m just a little protective,” Five said, delicately, “I know how susceptible he is to a sob story."

He looked at you insolently for a beat longer before addressing his next words to Viktor.

"Don’t let her take advantage of you.”

“Come on, Five,” said Viktor, almost wearily, “I can decide who’s taking advantage for myself.”

Five scoffed, at this, expressing doubt as clearly as if he'd spoken it.

Stinging with the injustice of Five’s snap judgment and his infantilization of his brother, you ground your teeth. You knew Viktor had a tough time as ‘Number Seven’ (always being told he wasn’t good enough), and for a moment you thought you could see that in Five’s treatment of him.

“Your brother’s a grown man. So why don’t you fuck off and go back to torturing small mammals, planning your next school shooting or whatever your We Need to Talk About Kevin - looking ass likes to do?”

Five looked back at you, in slight surprise, studying your angry face. After a short moment, he gave a tiny shrug and made a small noise of assent.

Then, looking back at Viktor:

“Do you want Thai food later?”

When he was gone, Viktor assured you that you’d just made as good an impression as it was possible to make. 

You doubted this, however. Five rarely spoke to you beyond a good morning and a good night. He was polite, but nevertheless guarded. 

It was strange, on the few occasions he had deigned to strike up a conversation with you, he took two routes: he'd either draw you out for no reason other than to challenge you on your opinions, or else ask odd combinations of questions. There was nothing odd in themselves, but in aggregate they felt...strategic. He asked what you liked to do, whether you lived with a roommate or partner in your last place, how you and Viktor met, how well you knew each other…the list went on. 

Perhaps he was still scrutinizing you, ensuring that you weren’t trying to use his brother in any way. 

It stung to feel that he still suspected you when you’d done nothing but accept a friend’s offer of help, but you were soon able to put it from your mind in the wake of the enjoyment you got from staying there and hanging out with the rest of Viktor’s family. Over the few weeks you were there, you indulged Luther, chatted animatedly with Diego, and laughed with Klaus and Lila. 

But still, and despite his polite superciliousness, only the oldest brother drew your eye as soon as he entered any room.

He unnerved as well as attracted you. Sometimes, you thought you caught him watching you, peering over whatever book he was reading with a steady look of contemplation. As soon as you noticed it, however, you concluded it was probably just absent-mindedness: you found him staring into space or at one of siblings just as often. 

You found a new job by mid-November, but Viktor persuaded you to wait for your first month’s paycheck to come in before you put down a deposit on a new place, so when it came to your last night staying with them there were half-assed string lights and tinsel hung haphazardly around Hargreeves manor. 

Those on the tree and the fire crackling in the grate were the living room’s only light. In the flickering, warm glow, even Luther’s piss-poor attempt at decoration looked passable.

With Christmas music playing softly in the background, the booze had been flowing. Ill-advised mulled wine followed ill-advised eggnog followed ill-advised mimosas, leading Luther and Sloane to already stagger off to bed.

Sprawled on one of the couches, Viktor leaned towards you, lowering his voice so as not to be heard over the noise of Klaus and Diego arguing over who had most right to the final gingerbread man. 

“I'll miss you, but at least when you're gone Five's crush might calm down."

“What?” you asked, too quickly to pass off as true ignorance.

“Come on, he’s been staring at you for the past three weeks.” Viktor smiled, teasing in his tipsiness, I’ve never seen him like this,” he added, fondly.

“Yeah, whatever.” you said, brushing this off with a roll of your eyes, “If he’s been staring at me, it’s probably only because I piss him off more than anyone else in the room.”

“We all piss him off.” Viktor said, reasonably, “Everyone he likes pisses him off.”

You looked at him doubtfully.

“Pretty weird way to be.”

Viktor shrugged.

“Well, he's definitely interested. The other day he asked if there was anything between you and me. Why else would he ask me that?"

You looked at Five covertly from the corner of your eye.

“Probably just checking I’m not some gold-digger moving in on that sweet sweet Hargreeves dough.”

“I don’t think he cares about the Hargreeves dough,” Viktor replied. 

“Yeah, well,” you murmured, hoping that this would be the end of the conversation. 

But Viktor didn’t oblige you in this. The drink was making him uncharacteristically tenacious.

“He’s into you. I’m sure of it. So you don’t like him?”

You sighed deeply, your own mild intoxication making it harder to bullshit him.

“I’m not saying he isn’t hot,” (Viktor visibly cringed at this remark), “but why would I be into someone who looks at me like I’m a problem?”

“I think that’s just his face,” Viktor said, more uncertain now, “but I hear you.”

The conversation moved on, and you chatted with the family lazily as, one by one they all filtered off to bed. Soon, it was just you, Five and Viktor who, when you turned to look at him after Klaus’s departure, had fallen asleep on the couch. 

Five caught sight of this and let out a small laughing breath. At the sound, you caught his eye and smiled, sharing the moment of humor.

At this reception, he got slowly up from his armchair and moved over to your couch. His usually confident movements were smaller than usual. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought he was uncertain in this approach. 

“Too much eggnog,” you said, as he sat down, nodding at his snoring brother.

“Mhm.” Five agreed, “There’s not much of him and he’s no drinker.”

You fell back into silence. He was only a few inches from you now, and it was awkward; strangely awkward. you were just thinking how best to excuse yourself and whether you should wake Viktor, when Five spoke again. 

“So, you’re moving into your new place tomorrow?”

You cleared your throat. There should be nothing uncomfortable about this. This was just small-talk with your friend’s brother.

...Your friend's brother who apparently hated your guts yet had also appeared in your dreams virtually every night since you met him in varying states of undress.

Pulling yourself together, you turned to face him with a passable impression of ease. 

“Yeah. I’m all packed. The moving van will be here around 11.”

“Hm,” Five said.

It was a single syllable, yet its ambiguity in tone made you look at him more closely.

He noticed.

“Will you decorate the new place for christmas?” he asked, quickly.

“Probably not,” you said, trying to keep your tone conversational, “my parents are away this year so I’ll be doing Christmas alone. There’s no point in unpacking it all just to put it away again in a few days.”

Giving himself thinking time, Five shifted, letting out a little sigh as he repositioned himself. Holding his glass of whisky on his knee, he leaned back, resting his head against the couch cushions and watching you from beneath the dark hair now falling over his eyes. 

“That seems a shame,” he said, finally.

You shrugged, mirroring him unconsciously, leaning back against the cushions so that your faces were just over a foot apart

“There’s always next year.”

“You’d be welcome here.” he said, seriously, “It was nice having you for Thanksgiving.”

“I’d never assume Viktor would invite me.”

“But I’m inviting you.”

You looked at him with a confused expression, which he interpreted correctly:

“What? Is it too much to imagine I want you to be there?”

'Yes', you wanted to say.

“You called me a deluded hippy at Thanksgiving.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing. You’re a progressive…an idealistic progressive.” 

He smiled, and your eyes flicked uncontrollably down to his lips. 

“And I only said that because you called me a fascist,” he continued, unaware of your unruly gaze flicking guiltily away from his mouth, “I know you weren’t being serious, but I don’t take that sort of accusation lightly.”

He responded to the question posed by your expression:

“I spent a lot of time in 1930s Munich. Not nice.”

You stole another glance at him and caught his grim face; handsome features clouded by too many dark memories.  

“I’m sorry,” you said, more softly than you’d ever spoken to him before. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, “I guess I’ve not given you the best impression.”

“No,” you said, disclaiming the idea unconvincingly, “it’s not exactly that…”

He raised an eyebrow skeptically, and you chuckled slightly.

“Well, I got the impression you wouldn’t like me to come to another family celebration, anyway.”

“And now I want to correct that impression.” he said, seriously, “I’d like to spend christmas with you. With all of us, I mean.”

You’d been looking into his eyes for too long now, fine lashes framing them, his pupils blown in the low light. Somehow, those eyes always gave you the impression you were being assessed.

…And for the first time, it occurred to you that perhaps you were being assessed: just not in the way you’d assumed.

You blinked and looked down, though you didn’t move your head from beside his.

“Thanks Five,” you replied, after a silence of seconds that felt like minutes. “I’d like that.” 

He smiled again, the corners of his mouth just twitching. It was as if he was trying to conceal just how much you accepting his invitation meant, but the lines around his eyes betrayed him. As you smiled in return, he couldn’t contain it further, and those gorgeous lips broke into a genuine, unrestrained smile.

And somehow, over the course of the conversation, your heads had shifted to a distance of no more than six inches apart.

You could feel his exhales on your cheeks. 

“I heard you and Viktor talking tonight.” he said, voice low, “He’s right about me.”

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks as he continued.

“I don’t think you’re a problem. Far from it, actually.”

“Oh,” you said. It was all you could say as he inched ever closer to you. 

You could have counted each of his eyelashes.

“And I also know that you think I’m hot,” he said, emphasizing the word with the ghost of his usual shit-eating grin back in his eyes, “so why not take the opportunity of being under the mistletoe and kiss me?”

You looked up to where he’d indicated. Across the room, above the fireplace, there was indeed a bunch of felt mistletoe, tied with a red, velvet bow: exactly the sort of decoration Luther would buy. 

“But we’re not under the mistletoe,” you said, hoping to give your racing mind and beating heart some time to take stock of this, “it’s twelve feet away.”

Five’s eyebrows twitched, and he looked quickly from you to the mistletoe and back again.

“Let me fix that,” he said, and suddenly your upper arms were caught in his grip.

Air crushed in on you as you both disappeared in a flash of blue, and then rushed away as you rematerialized beside the fireplace, mistletoe hanging overheard. You swayed from the surprise of unexpected teleportation, holding onto Five’s lapels for dear life as you tried to stay upright.

But his arms were around you, strong and solid. And his mouth was on yours, soft and yielding. You breathed his breath; tasted the sweet burn of scotch on his lips and felt yourself kissing him back, responding to a careful passion that you could sense might go further but for his self-restraint. 

His hands left your arms and came to cup your jaw, rising gooseflesh following the path of his fingers at the nape of your neck. You shivered at the sensation and deepened the kiss, your fingers automatically starting to gently tug into his soft, eucalyptus-smelling hair.

He made a low, appreciative sound against your lips but then, perhaps conscious of his brother sleeping on the couch, broke the kiss and stepped away.

You could do nothing but stand there: surprised, dazed, yet anxious to recapture his lips. The kiss had felt like one, shining, crystalline moment as it happened, but now it had already retreated too far over the horizon for you to stay satisfied.

You opened your mouth to say…you didn’t know what, but, grinning his infuriating grin, he held up a single finger to silence you.

“I'll see you on Christmas Eve. Stay a couple of nights.”

You nodded, mutely.

“It’s forecast to be cold though, so if you get cold in one of the spare bedrooms you could always-”

Now it was your turn to hold up a finger and silence him:

“Don’t ruin this with a crappy pickup line.”

He nodded sagely.

“Noted.” 

And with a small wink, he vanished in another of those blue flashes. 

Read part 2 >>

Request masterlist >> HERE

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed): @thebearmage, @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee

NOTE: I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See masterlist for request status and more.

[natelia-aldelliz]

"So what's his damage," Soap whispers to him as he's floating above Ghost's sleeping form, in the plane on their way to Mexico.

Roach snorts. "Would be faster to tell you what's not broken, honestly. Though I guess his fiancé dying on him was probably the final straw, what convinced him to just... Close off, I guess."

Soap's face contorts in earnest empathy. "Ah shit, sorry," he says. "Did ye know them well?"

Roach just stares at him. From the little he's seen of him in the field, he's extremely competent, smart and resourceful. He's also apparently quite dumb. He's lucky that's exactly the kind of person Roach likes.

He sees the exact moment the realisation hits him, his pretty blue eyes going wide. "Oh, you're the- okay, damn, sorry man."

Roach chuckles. "You should have said 'that's rough, buddy'. It's been five years, I've accepted my fate. I'd just... Like for him to do the same."

Soap hums. "It's a complicated issue," he whispers. "But I have to say, most ghosts that haunt their partners like it better when they haven't moved on."

"Why would I want that," Roach frowns. "I want him to be happy. I want him to have friends. I want him to live his life."

Soap smiles.

"I'll have ye know I'm trying really hard to be his friend," he says.

"Don't take it personally when he treats you like an arsehole, it's on purpose, to make you flee and allow him to keep wallowing in his misery."

Soap nods. "Thanks for the tip."

"... You really mean it? You really wanna be his friend?"

Roach finds out right now and then that Soap's smile holds the power of the fucking sun.

"Yeah! He seems really cool and I love making friends."

That's a golden retriever in human form, Roach is sure of it now. A really pretty human form as well. Anyway-

"He's also really hot under his mask." Why did he say that?? Roach tries really hard not to facepalm. The man just met them, it doesn't matter if he knows he's Simon's type (and his), he just wants to be friends, what is he doing... He doesn't even know if he likes men! He can only blame that on the five years he spent without social interaction.

Not that he was that good at social interaction when he was alive, but that's not the point.

Soap sputters for a few seconds, cheeks pinker. That's... Interesting. Damn, he really has a one track mind sometimes...

"Hum, guid tae knaw," Soap says finally, his accent thicker. Is he that flustered? Does that mean Simon has his chances?

If someone had told him years ago that he would be flirting with a co-worker, as a ghost, on behalf of his unaware still living fiancé, he'd have laughed probably.

[theredpharaoah]

Dare I say we give Giles too much. I think him not giving Buffy the Slayer Handbook was dumb and ignorant. The Handbook didn’t just have rules for the Slayer, it was the definitive guide to magic on Earth and its history. The fact they never pull it out again after the first episode irritates the hell out of me. How helpful would that have been for all the Scoobies - Willow could’ve picked up magic way quicker. It probably would’ve helped Buffy hone the psychic abilities she never really developed. Remember how she’s supposed to be able to sense vampires and stuff? And in the comics, Erin had access to all the Slayer memories(I’m pretty sure) because he inherited the psychic side of the lineage. Again, that could’ve been cool to see and very helpful.

I also feel - as stated many times before - Giles completely failed with Faith. People talk about how Buffy built up that rapport with Giles and her friends - that she made their relationship the way it was. But that’s irrelevant because the relationship was present and stable at the time of Faith’s arrival. We see when Kendra comes that even the Giles is a bit taken-aback to her very by-the-book approach to being a slayer. So when Faith came - who is extremely similar to Buffy - how did Giles not immediately feel that paternal instinct he has with Buffy, Willow, and Xander? That sort of instinct comes easier the more people you consider to be your “children”. I mean it’s crazy that The Mayor had to take Faith out of that nasty ass motel. A literal demon had to go “that’s no place for a young girl”. And sure he had a motive but the fact that none of the decent people had already said it? And the way they handled the accidental kill of the evil assistant to the mayor? First of all, the Slayer killing humans is frowned upon but it’s not a hard and fast rule. I’m not saying they should just go around killing ppl, but I’m not going to feel bad that Faith killed a man who was working for demons anyway. And compare that to how they reacted to Buffy Killing Ted(when they thought she had); completely different reaction. And Buffy had exhibited far more animosity towards Ted, than Faith had for some random who got in the way.

Giles as an adult - and something of an educator - should’ve immediately clocked that Faith did not have the same upbringing as the other 3, that the Scoobies were falling into their childish instincts and alienating her, and he should’ve gone out of his way to include her and impress upon the others why they needed to accept her. Especially after they found out about her Watcher’s death and saw how terrified she was of Kakistos. Why did Buffy and Angel have to be the ones to find out Faith needed to be fought for - that she needed help to deal with her trauma. I was really disappointed in Buffy as she’d lost her watcher and relocated just like Faith. She also understood how lonely and dangerous it is being a Slayer. But I can’t blame Buffy all that much cuz she’s a kid. And Giles willing all of his things to Faith in the comics and only the Slayer Handbook to Buffy did not move me. Giles considered Buffy to be the “One True Slayer” was not a gag. Everyone considers her to be that, giving her this handbook after she’s been a Slayer for damn near a decade is insulting. She don’t need that shit no more - she had to learn it all on the job. And giving Faith his money so she could retire from violence? Faith’s violence wasn’t the issue, her relationship to it was. The whole thing read as very melodramatic and self-absorbed.

Giles was very childish and we see it all throughout the series, but especially in the later seasons. I mean when you actually think about it, he’s so ridiculous. Buffy was 22 at the end of the series. 22 and she has to take care of a teen sister, pay mortgage, bills, etc. Could you imagine that amount of responsibility at that age? Our society still considers 22 year olds to be pseudo-teens for the most part. And he left cuz he “didn’t want her to become dependent on him”…what type of shit? She was already dependent on you - you’d been her Father Figure since she was 16 and throughout a boatload of trauma. You pretty much raised the girl. And you know that - that’s why you had a dream of taking child Buffy to the fair. He’s human, but that doesn’t excuse the level of cowardice he exhibited for me.

Also, I think instead of killing Jenny in Passions, they should’ve had her live. I think she would’ve been great as Faith’s mentor. And while she didn’t take the Scoobies to task for blaming her about Angel and alienating her, I definitely think she would’ve gotten them together for their treatment of Faith. I also think she would’ve pointed out Giles’ differential treatments of the two.

[jupitersfall]

cate hc’s? 😁😁 with a fem!reader who has water powers, and maybe they met in class instead of her and luke yk

Cate Dunlap Headcanons !

you met her in mr. brink's class when you sat next to her

mainly cause you didn't know anybody yet and you didn't want to look dumb sitting by yourself

but also cause you thought she was pretty

when class started, you realized you had forgotten a pencil

so you had to ask cate for one

which sparked a conversation

because who could be dumb enough to forget a pencil on the first day of class?

you, apparently

after that, the two of you continued to sit next to each other

and eventually became each other's first friend

loser!cate hehehe she's cute

over time you realized your feelings weren't so platonic

cue awkward flirting and shy giggling

staring at her while she talks about stuff cause when did she get so smart? when did her voice get so soothing?

cate didn't find out about your powers until she'd spilt her water bottle all over your notebook

gaping at the water as it floats off the table and into the air

she thought it was so cool though

making her favorite animals or different shapes out of water to impress her...

or so you could see her smile

who said that?! not me

one day you guys are talking in your dorm, and she mentions luke and all the sudden you're like what?? fire?? you like fire???

feeling very betrayed after 😞

jk lol but you were definitely a little bitter

"water is, like, way better than fire, you know. i would totally beat him in a fight."

like four months of pining later, and then the two of you are at a party, and you're a little too drunk, and cate is looking a little too pretty

and the two of you are alone, and she's staring up at you with those pretty blue eyes

and all of the sudden, you're leaning in to kiss her like you've done it a million times before

you were pretty sure it was just the alcohol in her system, because cate kissed you back

and then again, and again, until the two of you were making out in the back of this party, hands wandering over clothes like you were starving

the next morning you woke up in your dorm with a killer headache, and cate was beside you, drinking a cup of coffee and scrolling through her phone

"hey, finally. i was wondering when you were gonna wake up. don't worry, we didn't sleep together."

good, you wanted to be sober for that

but there was a long talk after, which didn't help your headache

after that day, the two of you were closer

it was a very unspoken change

you weren't sure why, but it didn't matter to you

you still got to kiss her, and touch her, and be with her

you didn't know when you became official, that had been pretty unspoken too

you only started noticing differences when girls would actively avoid you

jordan was the one that brought it up

"you're like a human magnet except you repel every girl at this school."

you go walking off to cate to ask her about it, cause who else could be the reason?

she acts innocent at first, all doe eyed and confused

"what're you talking about? maybe they just dont want to get in the way of us."

but she's got that sly little smirk on her face, and of course she'd be the cause

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry. i couldn't help myself, i thought it was funny. ill stop, though. promise you're mine?"

and of course you said yes. how could you even think about another girl when she's right in front of you?

not possible

anyways she's my baby

[ghostboneswrites2]

To help break free of writers block, I’m doing these. Enjoy 🍓

Young Daryl Dixon x Strawberry Reader

(a short little drabble)

(Fem!Reader) (Reader descriptions: freckles, hair long enough to be messy and put in a hair tie - no race or body type mentioned)

-18+ MDNI-

Masterlist

In his early twenties, Daryl had only two friends he dared to associate with. One of them was Gunner, a man of few words with a short fuse. The other, a guy called Wylie, like the cartoon coyote. He earned that nickname for a few reasons, but mostly due to his poor luck with women. The joke was that he’d chase them forever but he’d never actually catch them. The only girl in the entire town that would associate with him was his little sister, Y/N.

She was only a year younger than he was, but she was smarter than him by far. He was a dumb boy, with not much going on behind those bug-ish.

All in all, they were a trio of losers. Daryl had been the only attractive one of the bunch, and even he had zero game. The three of them would often hang out by the lake. A lake which had no name, proudly referred to by the locals as ‘The Lake.’

They’d lean against Daryl’s beat up old Ford, the same truck he’d always been working on in his dad’s driveway in high school. Merle always told him it was a lost cause — that they should have just junked it for a quick dime. Daryl was insistent, though, that he could get it running, and sure enough he did. It only costed him two years of his life and a handful of dead end jobs to afford the parts and pieces it required.

With a functional vehicle, a young man in his prime was surely unstoppable. As often as he could manage, Daryl would scoop up his two friends and find some kind of trouble to get into. That particular day, they opted for a dip in the lake. Georgian summers were no joke, but this particular summer was more than any of them could have anticipated. The record high temperatures had rendered many air conditioning units useless. The only HVAC company in the county couldn’t keep up with the calls. In simpler terms, it was hot as fuck outside.

“Hotter than a damn dingle berry in the devil’s ass-crack, I’ll tell ya that much.” Wylie joked, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the dingy old Metallica shirt he’d just taken off.

The boys all mumbled in agreement as they stripped down into their trunks, excited to take a dip in the cool water.

“Least we picked the spot with the best view.” Gunner snickered as he looked around. The Lake was busy that day, as it had been all summer.

Young people and small families lined the bank of the water. Kids played and splashed, young couples took turns on the rope swing, women laid out on their towels and floats to soak up some sun.

One particularly bright young lady caught Daryl’s eye among the crowd, with her bright red top and torn up daisy dukes. The sun left a radiant glow on her skin as she shook out her messy hair from its previous updo. Freckles littered her skin like strawberry seeds, especially on a sunny day. It took him little time to realize she was Y/N, Wylie’s previously mentioned younger sister.

She notice the gang of merry idiots as soon as they noticed her. She rolled her eyes and strode over to them, glaring them down as she ate a fresh strawberry.

“And just what the hell are you three tit-for-brains doin’ here today?” She questioned suspiciously.

“Swimmin’, cause it’s hot. Just like everybody else out here.” Wylie defended.

“Surely it’s not ‘cause you knew I was comin’ out here with my friends today.” She pressed on. “Always followin’ us around like puppy dogs to catch a glimpse of my friends.”

Her eyes scanned over Gunner, then Wylie, before landing mischievously on Daryl. “Or, me.” She teased. Daryl scoffed.

“Yeah right.” He waved her off. His dismissive facade couldn’t hide the way his eyes lingered on her glossy lips as she sucked her finger clean of strawberry juices. He cleared his throat and gulped. “The hell y’all doin’ out here anyway? Y’ain’t got nothin else to do, like doin’ your hair and talkin’ ‘bout boys?”

“Ain’t no boys worth talkin’ about in this town, Dixon.” She fired back.

“I could think of a few.” Wylie chimed in, smirking at a pair of girls as they walked past in their bikinis.

“Please.” She snorted. “Ain’t a single lady in the state of Georgia that would touch any one o’ you buffoons with a ten foot pole.”

“That ain’t what your friend Gina said the other night.” Wylie said with confidence.

“Oh, that’s right!” Y/N snapped her fingers, as if attempting to recall something. “I believe what she said was… that your breath smelled so bad she nearly fainted tryin’ to hold her breath.”

Gunner and Daryl stifled their laughter as their friend had his ego torn apart once again by his little sister.

“Whatever, man. Let’s just go swim.” Wylie grumbled as he shuffled toward the water. Gunner followed after him, followed by Daryl. Y/N matched her pace to the young Dixon, eying him curiously through the corners of her lashes.

“Why do you even hang around with those two dimwits, Dixon?” She asked him, just as they reached the edge of the water where Wylie and Gunner were acclimating to the cold.

“There my friends.” Daryl shrugged, kicking off his shoes.

“Mm. Dead weight is what they are.”

“Wha’s that mean?” Daryl arched a brow curiously.

“Just that…” She trailed off, looking him up and down once more before she smirked. “It can be hard to appreciate a nice thing when it’s surrounded by garbage, that’s all.”

With that, she winked at him, and walked back over to her friends. She left him in disbelief for a moment, before he’d shake his head and follow his friends into the lake.

For the rest of the afternoon, he’d splash and joke with his buddies, occasionally leaving the water to pull a beer from their cooler and return. Sneakily, he’d pass a glance toward Y/N, but somehow she always caught him looking. Conveniently, she’d make sure to stretch it bend over just as he did, batting her eyes and licking her lips each time.

[dollywheeler]

October 24th, 1996

Mike is such a DOUCHEBAG! What? Just because he’s back in town he thinks he can dictate how I live my fucking life?! I knew this would happen! Knew he would just go back to looking at me like the goddamn 5 year old he couldn't give a damn about! That was nothing but a nuisance!

As if I can’t take care of myself! God, if he thinks I give a shit about his opinion he’s going to be sorely disappointed! Sure, not jumping four feet in the air and possibly breaking my neck at seven in the morning where no one will find me for at least another hour, made sense. That I can place and admit to being dangerous! But just running? What? I’m so fragile I might twist my ankle?

Fuck, and the way he yelled at me? Like I’m some dumb child that should know better?? I do know better! Which is why I always leave a note with my exact route and expected time of return - not even because I think anything might happen, but because I have common human decency and don’t want mom to worry when she wakes up to find me gone! Something he could’t give a rat’s ass about!!

Seriously, it’s so fucking rich that he thinks he has the right to scold me about running around Hawkins - Hawkins of all places, as if there are more boring towns than this! - in the dark without adult supervision! I’m so mad it’s insane. I don’t think I’ve ever been this pissed off before, it’s genuinely quite impressive.

To think that an hour ago I was so content to wake up early and go for a run before school. I was in such a good mood too - he ruined it.

He just doesn’t understand! I already can’t practice my routine - not the full, difficult parts of it - so the least I can do is work on my cardio and stamina! But when I tell him that he’s all like “just ask a friend to come along next time!” And I try to tell him that’s not an option but he just - ugh. He doesn’t get it. There’s no point in practicing extra when everyone knows you’re doing it. It will just make everyone think I’m being a try-hard or a suck-up or whatever! Or just think I’m being weird for needing the extra practice!

Great, now I’m crying again because I'm pathetic! Fucking Mike. Fuck this shit.

Okay, so I didn’t actually finish this entry, for many reasons. I didn’t even start it properly - not that the “dear diary” really matters, I guess, but it’s the principle of the thing.

Anyway, even though it’s been hours, I’m still pissed off, don’t worry, but at least now I have the time and state of mind to finish. I’m skipping English as I’m writing this down - I know it’s terrible for a lot of reasons.

1, my school record, but what is Mike going to do? Report me? Fuck that. And fuck him.

2, It’s letting him win. I recognise that. But I guess I’m weak because I really can’t deal with seeing him right now. God I hate him.

3, Danny is probably wondering where I am, which means I’ll have to tell him what happened.

Damn - maybe I didn’t think this through. I can probably spin it - say I wasn’t feeling well or something. Except I don’t want to lie to him either… Well, it’s not technically a lie. Still, I’ll probably just tell him some part of the truth - he can know I was pissed at Mike. He doesn’t have any siblings but he’ll probably understand anyway.

To think that for a while I considered myself an only child… tragic. I was so fucking close to just having a cool older sister that was too far away to meddle in my life. I was in control of my life - I still am!

Mike just thinks he has a say all of a sudden - which he doesn’t. Two weeks of being civil does not a brother make!

Seriously, it was so disorientating to just be running one minute, thinking nice thoughts, wondering about the english assignment, only for Mr. Wheeler himself to actually see me and come storming out freaking out about me running in the dark! It's Hawkins in October! It's dark all the time!

I was so shocked, I could barely defend myself. God, the neighbours will probably have wondered what the fuck was going on - If our shouting match didn’t wake them I’m sure they’re dead.

The worst part was that I still had to go to school after… I'm sure everyone could tell I was off. Or at least Dylan would have, if she hadn't been a thousand miles away today herself. I'm kind of glad for it. Danny sending me worried glances was more than enough, and just getting to listen to Whitney rattle on about yearbook and today's lunch and whatever else was not living up to her standard was nice. Distracting.

Still, I wish I could just go home already - I want to lie down and mope and pretend like it's still three months ago when Mike was far far away! Then I wouldn't have to deal with his judgement and his meddling and his passive-aggressiveness towards mom and dad. And I could just kiss my boyfriend in school without fearing he might see.

Sadly, I still have cheer practice and I can't skip it. It's already bad enough that Dylan has a brace around her wrist again.

This just reminded me I'm still wearing Mike's bracelet - it really shouldn't make me feel better but it does. It's petty as hell, and he probably doesn't even remember it exists, but whatever.

He should just go back to not remembering me.

- Holly

[secretmellowblog]

I hope tumblr doesn’t die because No other social media site is as good for long, thoughtful, nuanced analyses of media. Yeah tumblr is also full of dumb shallow hot takes and shitposts, but you can make dumb shallow hot takes and shitposts anywhere —-there are no other popular social media sites that let you easily format and share long essays on the media you enjoy, and then have conversations around those long essays.

Fandom on all the other big social websites just seems so utterly …shallow. And it’s not because people on other websites aren’t thoughtful or don’t have deep things to say, but because these sites’ formats do not allow for any kind of long nuanced conversations.

Tiktok? Things have to be crammed into a super short video with an attention grabbing headline, and you can’t hyperlink sources. Instagram? Everything has to be in an image format with strict limits on length, and nothing will be shown to your followers anyway because of how Instagram’s algorithm works, and also no hyperlinks. Twitter? Strict character limits, and if you split it into threads it means someone can retweet a part of your essay completely out of context, and also very little freedom with formatting.

It frustrates me so much. If I go into the Tumblr Les Mis fandom I’ll find really compelling long essays on the original novel (including essays being written for the ongoing book club) on the story’s historical context, or the parallels between different characters and their narrative foils, or the way the politics were defanged for certain adaptations, or the way Victor Hugo’s personal life and failings affected the novel. But on tiktok I’ll get the same five shallow stale jokes from 2013 over and over, or maybe the same “DID U KNO THAT IN THE MUSICAL JAVERT AND VALJEAN SING THE SAME LEITMOTIF” style of basic Intro To Les Mis 101 For Babies media analysis (which is what Tiktok considers deep media analysis), or stale “LOL JAVERT ACTS GAY” style jokes as if we’re living in the early 2000s and calling a character gay is still a funny punchline. And it’s impossible to have any kind of deeper thoughtful discussions than “DID U KNOW <x Kool Fact>” or “lol <shallow observational joke>” on tiktok because the platform just isn’t built for building niche communities around in depth conversations. it’s built to churn out bland generic content for as wide an audience as possible, which means pointing out a small detail like an Easter egg and calling it “cool” is deep media analysis, because you cant have longer more in depth conversations without alienating people. And I hate it. Bc like, it’s not because there aren’t smart clever thoughtful people on Tiktok— there are—it’s because Tiktok isn’t built for these conversations, and anyone who wants to have them has to really fight against the things the website encourages or prioritizes!

Or like, if I go into the LOTR fandom on Tumblr, I’ll find tons of extremely long analysis and fanfic, and analysis of queer readings of the story. On Instagram people will still shriek in terror if you suggest the characters are gay, and most of the popular lotr posts are stale memes recycled from like 2007. There’s really no room for thoughtful media analysis, and even if you did create it, instagram’s algorithm would make sure no one saw your post anyway.

And everyone’s going to say “the algorithm shows you what you’ve seen before so maybe it’s your fault ~” or whatever but i do look for things I want! I do! “The algorithm” doesn’t know me or what I want or value or care about beyond this meaningless surface level.

The only thing that was worthwhile about these sites was the great visual art people were creating, but now the websites are overwhelmed with meaningless soulless machine-generated AI glurge, and it sucks. It just really, really sucks.

I’m honestly confused about why people don’t use tumblr….There’s no character limits! You have freedom with post formatting, and can insert images throughout textposts to illustrate specific points you’re making beneath the paragraphs where they’re necessary! You can add hyperlinks, linking to your sources! People can reblog your entire essay and share it, and then add on with commentary that then becomes part of a larger conversation! People can find your stuff through the tagging system! Reblogging means posts stay in circulation for years instead of being dead 30 minutes after they’re uploaded! If you want to have genuinely interesting text conversations about a piece of media, there really isn’t a better social media website for it anywhere.

To be clear, I’m definitely not saying Tumblr media analysis is *always* clever and thoughtful or etc etc. there are shitposts and nonsense here too (plenty of which I’ve created lol.) I’m saying that Tumblr gives people the tools for in-depth insightful analysis to happen. Whether people choose to do it or not is their own decision XD. But the reason lengthy in-depth conversations and book clubs are even possible here is because Tumblr is built for allowing these conversations to happen, in a way other sites simply aren’t.

It’d really suck if it died, because it’d be a huge blow to…being able to easily find long insightful in-depth media analysis written by fans. I currently don’t think there’s anything that could replace it.