#because i Might still be a bit obnoxious about this at least for the time being

[celestiamour]

Hello can you please do hcs for su-bong x sweet fem reader? By sweet I mean nice to everyone and loved/liked by almost everyone so people are shocked he pulled 😭 (sorry if it’s a bit specific!) Thank you!

ft. choi su-bong x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ sweetheart! reader┊0.5k words

contains: established relationship, mentioned drug use

➤ author's note: another short one served but they are so cute omg

╰₊✧ most people in the games don’t like thanos, even his fans who survived the first games are learning why “never meet your heroes” is such a popular saying. he’s obnoxious, arrogant, temperamental, unpredictable in dangerous ways (especially when high) with how he dances with death, and rarely ever considers the well-being of others unless they are part of his team. they prefer to steer clear of them as nothing good could ever come from associating with a hooligan like him, and they tell you to do the same because he would only be a bad influence.

╰₊✧ when they find out a sweetheart like you is actually his girlfriend, their jaws go slack and their eyes go round in shock. not a fling to pass the time, not a situationship, his real girlfriend whom he’s very committed to. you, the darling girl everyone loves who gives massages to the elderly and always gives her milk away to anyone who needs it, dating some fuckass rapper who is a menace to society. 

╰₊✧ while your boyfriend frequently flexes you as his partner, truth be told, he’s not sure how he pulled you either but is too scared to ask just in case you realize you can do better than him. 

╰₊✧ he’s so smitten with you, by the way, it’s almost pathetic. his personality turns a complete 180 degrees and gives kang dae-ho a run for his money in the contest of golden retriever personality, a complete and utter simp (do people even still use that word anymore) for you— you say “jump,” he asks “how high.” he would probably quit using drugs if you asked him to and supported him through withdrawals, which is probably why he’s a bit more sneaky about it and you haven’t noticed yet.

╰₊✧ never says sorry first after arguments because of how stubborn he is, but he feels so guilty when you sputter a string of apologies through tears seconds after that he might start crying too because you’re just too sweet for him. 

╰₊✧ deviates from his usual style of songwriting to write more romantic stuff dedicated to you with lots of motifs about heavenly angels and saccharine sugar. he finds the final product a little embarrassing because of just how different it is to his raps, but you always love it and listen to it at least a hundred times before adding it to your favorites. also, he has so many playlists with you in mind, he probably has a separate account for them. he puts a little too much thought into curating the perfect background music for dates, for dancing around the house, or just to listen to with headphones when he’s thinking about you in any instance.

╰₊✧ matching icons on your social media with half a heart frame so when you put them together it’s a heart around the two of you because he’ll be damned if the entire world doesn’t know that you’re his and he’s yours.

[euthymiya]

part one ; office mate! gojo ; company heir! gojo ; female intern! reader ; fluff ; pre getting together

Satoru is good at getting things he wants. It’s not because he’s spoiled (although he’s that, too) but rather, it’s because he’s persistent. Annoyingly so. Persistent in that way where he doesn’t necessarily earn what he wants, but scores it just because the other party is tired enough to cave for the sake of some peace.

Case example: you.

You sit across from him as he happily sips on his excessively expensive coffee from all the extra syrups.

“How can you have that much sugar?” You cringe.

He raises an amused brow as he hums, “Because I don’t choose to be miserable. You should try it sometime.”

Glaring, you roll your eyes before taking a sip of your own coffee. Satoru is at least nice and chivalrous enough to pay for your coffee—although, knowing what you do now, it’s not exactly as though he can’t afford it. You’re pretty sure being the heir to the company you intern for means he’s loaded in enough money that a simple iced coffee isn’t too much of a dent in his pockets.

You give him an unimpressed frown before getting to the heart of the matter. “Why didn’t you tell me your dad owns the company?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” you hiss, “I’ve been passive aggressively calling you a lazy asshole for two months!”

“Do you change your mind about that?” He asks infuriatingly calmly.

“No,” you admit. You take a long look at him before nodding in confirmation as you repeat, “No, I don’t.”

He pouts a little at that, still cute and aggravating at the same time. “Hey,” he says, only a little wounded and a whole lot excessively dramatic. You can tell he didn’t get a lot of attention growing up with the way he pulls theatrics. Something about the psychology of unmet emotional needs as a child from your one semester of psych in college comes back. “You don’t have to say it so condescendingly.”

“Well, you are lazy,” you point out. He shrugs because…well, it’s a fair point. “But now I know why.”

“So what, if you knew my old man was our big boss, you’d be nicer to me? Is that it?”

You crinkle your nose and give him a look of disbelief. “No,” you say—it’s almost amused. The first ounce of humor you’ve shown around him at all. “But I wouldn’t have wasted my energy caring that you’re a deadweight in the office.”

“Ouch,” he pouts, “I bought the coffee machine on our floor!”

“It’s getting rather faulty,” you hum, “You should consider investing in another one for us.”

Satoru likes that about you. You’re interesting. Interesting not because you’re exceptionally smart or all that impressive—not that you’re bad by any means. Being accepted as an intern here must mean your resume has a degree of prestige to it, but you’re just like any other person in the building. Except, instead of shrugging off his bratty, obnoxious self, you seem to care a great deal about what he does.

It greatly amuses him enough that you’ve sparked his interest.

“You’re fun,” he chuckles, “I like you. You’re not boring.”

“Just what every woman wants to hear,” you bat your lashes, sarcastically giving him a dreamy sigh, “Not boring. How charming of you.”

He grins wider, and something in your heart does a little bit of a clench. It’s so…pretty. Everything about him is pretty. The clean, pristine button down with perfectly ironed pants. The soft, messy hair that somehow adds to his expensive look rather than take away. Those bright, piercing blue eyes that feel like you’re lost in infinity when you look into them.

He’s pretty. Pretty annoying, too—but pretty all the same.

“I’m working on it,” he murmurs.

“What? Your manners?” You snort.

“My charm,” he corrects.

“We might be here for quite some time then,” you tease. You don’t know what it is. Falling into a bantering back and forth with him is so easy—so amusing and, if you’re honest, a tiny bit exciting.

Maybe a background of wealth and fortune makes a man appealing like that. Or maybe he’s just likable. You’re not sure yet.

“You’re saying you’ll be here waiting for me to get there?” He raises a brow, winking as he adds, “So maybe you’re charmed after all.”

“That’s a stretch,” you pretend to scoff. Nevermind the hardly hidden smile on your face—that means nothing. “I just want to watch you fail, that’s all.”

“And if I succeed?” He challenges, looking at you expectantly.

You roll your eyes, deciding to indulge him in whatever petty games he has going on. “In what, being charming?”

“Yes,” he nods, “What if I succeed in being an irresistible dreamboat of an office neighbor?”

“I doubt that’ll happen,” you bite your lip in an attempt to fight back a large, dimpled grin. It’s funny, you think—just up until a few hours ago, all he ever managed to do was pull your lips into a scowl. Now, it feels like it’s impossible not to stretch them into a smile. “But, if it does, I suppose I’ll eat my own words.”

“No,” Satoru shakes his head, lips curled into a serious, unsatisfied frown, “No that simply won’t do. I need better than that.”

“Okay,” you finally laugh. It’s radiant. It comes from your belly and vibrates through your chest. He’s somehow good at it—just one coffee grab during your lunch break, and he’s already managed to earn the sound of your joy so easily. Something about that tickles a weird, unfamiliar spot under your ribcage. “Lay out your terms.”

“You have to be my girlfriend if I manage to make your eyes turn into hearts over my handsomely unbeatable appeal.”

It’s cheeky, his grin. Wide, confident, and still boyishly hopeful. You start to wonder why you ever disliked such an easy to fall for smile.

“That’s pretty bold,” you note.

“I’m bold about the things I want.” You pretend that those words don’t make your heart do a helpless flutter.

“Okay,” you nod, agreeing as you take a final sip of your coffee and hand him the empty cup, “I’ll agree to these unlikely terms. You can start by bringing me another coffee.”

“You got it, boss,” he salutes before doing a giddy little jog to the counter and ordering you another coffee. It’s cute. It has your heart in a scarily fast chokehold.

Somewhere in the heat of the moment, as you watch him fumble over his wallet and almost drop his card while he goes to pay, you think he may have already won the terms to this ridiculous agreement.

But you won’t tell him that, you think. Just to drag out the eager, hopeful look in his eyes that dart over at you and shoot you a sly wink.

———————————

here is part two as promised for @enyathedrakaina bc they sent me cat pics

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Doctor Doctor, Gimme The News | Part II

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Doctor!Reader

Summary: You receive a particularly difficult patient by the name of Bradshaw and you try your best to resist his charms.

CW: tall Bradley, Mavdad, it's still goofy XD

WC: 1800+

Part 1 | Masterlist

You’re sitting at the bar with a drink in your hand, waiting for your friend to finish flirting with the bartender so you can pay your tab, when you hear a familiar voice from behind.

“Almost didn’t recognized you without the stethoscope.”

You glance over your shoulder wearily, instantly recognizing the tall aviator you met at the clinic earlier in the week. Bradshaw, was it? “Yeah, I get that a lot,” you say, giving him a polite smile before turning away.

Bradley doesn’t take the hint and plants himself on the barstool next to you. “So, are you gonna tell me your name? Or am I just gonna have to keep calling you Doc? Might get a bit awkward in bed.”

You snort into your drink as you’re taking a sip. Bradley grins, clearly pleased that he’s made you laugh. His slightly narrowed eyes sweep over your face with a quiet confidence, and you find yourself rather enjoying his attention. “Well, for the sake of making things less awkward,” you respond with a small smile, and then tell him your name.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, and then leans forward slightly to add, “again.”

You bite into your lip to suppress your widening grin.

“I was hoping I’d run into you, actually,” he comments, turning away to flag down the otherwise occupied bartender.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, feigning surprise.

“Yeah,” Bradley responds, tapping on his beer bottle and nodding at the bartender. He turns back to you and shrugs. “Saves me from having to fake an illness to come see you.”

You eye him somewhat reproachfully. “That would be extremely inappropriate.”

Bradley laughs. “If you think that’s inappropriate, I’m not gonna tell you what I planned on doing once I got there.”

Your eyes widen at the insinuation. “Lieutenant!” you exclaim.

Bradley continues chuckling. “Don’t worry, you’d have liked it.” He winks and then nods at the bartender who’s brought him his beer.

You stare at him because his boldness is mindboggling. “You shouldn’t be drinking with a head injury,” you point out.

He looks at you with amusement. “What head injury?”

“The one that brought you to my office?”

“You know what brought me to your office?” he says, and then points a thumb over his shoulder at a crowded table near the back of the bar. “Captain Maverick Mitchell. My self-appointed father figure,” he says in a tone that’s half-grudging, half-affectionate. “And possibly fate,” he adds as an afterthought.

You blink at him skeptically when he glances back at you. “Wow,” you say. “Pulling out the big guns.”

Bradley laughs again. “I have quite the arsenal.”

“Oh, I bet,” you say with a chuckle. “Aviator, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bradley responds proudly. Then he nods at the glass you bring to your lips. “Looks like you need a refill.”

You shake your head. “I was about to head out actually.”

Bradley purses his lips and narrows his eyes. “But then I arrived and changed your mind, right?”

You laugh slightly. “Not quite, Lieutenant,” you respond, rising from your stool and waving at the bartender. “I’ve got an early morning.”

Bradley gets out of his seat and pulls out his wallet. “Allow me, please,” he says.

“That’s not necessary,” you reply uncomfortably. You don’t like feeling indebted to anyone.

Bradley gives you a more serious look. “It’s the least I could do for nagging you this evening.”

You can’t help the smile that spreads of its own accord. You find Bradley reasonably attractive, sure. But it’s the way he carries himself that’s really got you hooked. You can hardly pull your gaze away. “Don’t forget about the part where you were the most obnoxious patient.”

Bradley lets out a hearty laugh. “That deserves a whole pint, Doc.”

You give him a smile. “Maybe another time,” you say politely. Despite his persistence, you can’t jeopardize your position at the clinic by consorting with a patient.

But before you turn to leave, Captain Mitchell approaches the bar and, upon perceiving you, he exclaims, “Oh! It’s the doctor!” He gestures in your direction while looking at Bradley.

Bradley gives him a flat look. “No shit,” he says.

Maverick glances between the two of you and then nods in realization. “You’ve spotted her already.”

You press your lips together to conceal a smile as Bradley brings a hand to his face like he’s thoroughly embarrassed by his ‘self-appointed father figure’. “Hello again,” you say to the captain, extending your hand.

“Good to see you, Doctor,” Maverick replies with a knowing grin, shaking your hand. “Almost didn’t recognized you without the stethoscope.”

“Oh god,” Bradley groans. “That's embarrassing.”

Maverick looks over at him with a confused expression while you giggle. “I was actually planning on scheduling him in for a follow-up,” Maverick says. “Noticed some concerning behaviors.”

You raise your eyebrows while Bradley watches Maverick’s profile incredulously.

“New behaviors?” you ask, glancing back at Bradley.

“No, no.” Maverick waves a hand nonchalantly as he settles onto a barstool. “Not new.”

Bradley shakes his head. “Why are you such a shit disturber?”

Maverick laughs and claps him on the back. “You buy the lady a drink yet?”

You drop your head slightly to hide your growing smile.

“I was trying to,” Bradley declares. “Before your ass showed up.”

You look up apologetically at the two men who are now watching you expectantly. “I’m not…thirsty.”

Maverick winces while Bradley’s shoulders visibly fall. “It’s his fault, isn’t it?” Bradley says, gesturing at Maverick with his thumb again.

“How is it my fault?” Maverick exclaims.

“It’s not his fault,” you attest, glancing at the captain.

“You should talk some more about my concerning behaviors,” Bradley retorts.

Maverick snorts. “I was kidding!” he says. “She knows!” he gestures at you. “You know, right?”

You glance between the two men patiently, wondering if they realize just how much they have in common. “Neither of you is driving tonight, right?” you ask, feeling, for some strange reason, a sense of responsibility for them.

Maverick turns to face you with a jolt. “I’m sober,” he asserts.

Bradley’s eyebrows converge in a dubious expression before he looks back at you. “He’s not driving,” he confirms.

“And you?”

“This is only my second beer!” he exclaims.

You meet his gaze with a smile because you don’t want him to feel attacked. “Okay,” you respond gently. “Drive safe.”

You start to walk away when you hear Bradley say, “Can I walk you to your car, Doc?”

You turn to face him again, about halfway to the door. “You know my name now,” you say, and he grins at you.

“I do,” he agrees. “That was for old times’ sake.”

You sigh. “Sure, Lieutenant. You can walk me to my car.”

…

Out in the parking lot, Bradley muses, “I’m thinking of maybe dislocating my shoulder next week. That’s an easy fix, right?”

You look over at him sharply. “That’s not funny.”

Bradley grins. “Not even a little?”

You roll your eyes at him and continue walking.

“Come on, Doc!” he calls after you. “My sense of humor is a good thing, remember?”

You smile to yourself and slow your pace to let him catch up. “There are other ways of getting my attention besides injuring yourself,” you remark as he falls back in step with you.

“Such as?” he asks.

You approach your car and unlock the door. “I can’t give away all the answers, can I?”

Bradley presses his lips together and grins. “Does that mean I have a shot?”

You lower your gaze coyly. “I don’t know, Lieutenant.”

“That’s not a ‘no’,” he points out.

You smile, glancing back up at him. “No,” you agree. “I suppose it’s not.”

Bradley’s eyes sparkle mischievously as he holds your gaze. “Can I take you to dinner?” he asks.

“No,” you reply almost immediately. Then, after a beat, you add, “Not yet.”

Bradley licks his lips, still grinning. “I’ll take it.”

You chuckle slightly, reaching for the door to your car.

“Can I stand here with you a little longer?” he asks, his voice a little more raspy when it isn’t bursting with confidence.

You pause, your hand still on the door, shocked at how desperately you want to oblige. How delightful it would be to just say yes on a whim. Without considering the repercussions or weighing the pros and cons. Without deliberation or apprehension. Impulsively. The word itself makes you flustered. “Okay,” you say, glancing up at him as he shifts a little closer.

Bradley smiles at you and leans his back to the car. He stands quietly for a few moments, just existing beside you, which you find both endearing and infuriating. You don’t have a lot of time on your hands and simply standing around is a colossal waste of it in your books. But something about the warm evening breeze paired with the smell of the ocean and Bradley’s crisp cologne makes the experience less harrowing, and maybe even possibly pleasant.

Still, you’re restless. “So, when you said you wanted to stand here, you actually meant stand here…” you comment.

Bradley glances down at you with an amused expression. “You got something else in mind, Doc?”

You half-snort, half-chuckle. “I just thought maybe you had something else to say. I didn’t realize we’d be standing in silence.”

Bradley grins at you. “It’s called being present.”

You study him with a slight grimace, genuinely trying to keep your cynicism at bay. Being present isn’t a kind of luxury you can often afford. Most days, you don’t even get a chance to eat sitting down. “What does that accomplish?” you ask.

Bradley, who’s still watching you with a smile, replies, “Does everything you do have a purpose?”

“Of course,” you say. “Why else would I do it?”

Bradley raises his eyebrows and puts his hands into his pockets. “That’s very practical of you.”

“It’s efficient,” you point out, trying to highlight the importance of productivity.

Bradley nods patiently. “Sounds like you need a night off, Doc.”

You laugh. “I just had a night off. But it had a purpose – my friend needed help wooing the bartender.”

Bradley chuckles. “Has the purpose ever been to just have a good time?”

You make a face and shrug. “That’s not really a priority of mine.”

“Wow, Doc, you’re a hoot,” Bradley replies facetiously.

“I warned you,” you remind him, opening your car door.

Bradley leans his arm over the frame of your car as you climb inside. “You know you leave me no choice, right?” he says, ducking his head slightly to peer into the vehicle.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“We’re going to have to rearrange your list of priorities,” he says.

You watch him for a moment, marveling at his persistence. His gaze drops briefly to your lips before flitting back up to your eyes again, and you wonder what it might feel like to be kissed by a guy like Bradley. It would probably be sexy and spontaneous. It would probably catch you off guard and possibly even offend you a little. Then again, maybe you wouldn’t mind being mildly offended if it meant kissing Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw. “I’m not sure that’s a realistic goal,” you say. Your tone might be sarcastic, but the statement is fairly accurate.

Bradley grins. “I don’t mind a challenge.”

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[yourdandelionofthedeathknell]

The Theraprism: Good or bad?

Ya know, i've never been sure how to feel on the Theraprism, as shown in the Book of Bill. This is in large part because we get very little info on it, from any perspective other then BIll's own at least (and he is...Not a reliable narrator). Personally, I see three possible interpretations and I don't know which one is correct. To be clear, I think all of these are fairly valid: 1. Their methods seem insipid, but are actually quite effective. They seem to have been effective in the past (one of Bill's fellow patients is slated for release in the near-future apparently), and the Axolotl (who, while not exactly rich characterization himself, has, generally, been portrayed as wise and benevolent) referred to it as "what [Bill] needs the most", which would be weird if it doesn't have SOME merit. I, myself, honestly prefer this one, because I think it works better with the narrative of the Book of Bill (a book which, generally, does not encourage the reader to sympathize with Bill's plight. Pity, maybe, but the framing is very clearly that he kinda deserves this) and the schadenfreude the reader is encouraged to feel if Bill's hellish afterlife is, largely if not entirely, a self-inflicted one: That it wouldn't be particularly bad if not for his own combo of being unable to accept that he lost, that he shouldn't be allowed to do whatever he wants whenever he wants to anyone he wants, inability to form meaningful bonds with others, and, most of all, his total inability to admit to being wrong. He COULD leave at any time, if he would just actually repent, but...He's Bill, so...He won't. It just works best for me if his hell is largely self-inflicted. 2. They are harmful, possibly deliberately. This does have a fair bit of support textually. Mandatory therapy is already a pretty major ethical grey area at best (a major tenant of modern psychotherapy is that you can't make someone change unless they take the first step), they definitely engage in toxic positivity, and, of course, the "Solitary Wellness Void" is...Solitary confinement, which is a practice most modern medical institutions oppose and consider to be psychological torture. So, fair bit of support for this. 3. This is what I think was probably Alex's intent: They're a bunch of oblivious obnoxiously happy morons (as Bill himself would probably describe them) whose attempts to treat eons-old eldritch horror bad guys with puppet shows and arts and crafts is meant to be amusingly-inept rather then actively malicious, and whose effectiveness (such as it is) is down to having literally eternity to try. Kinda like what Mabel might do to rehabilitate someone. To use an analogy, think Charlie Morningstar from Hazbin, at least in the first couple episodes, where the fact that she's treating adult criminals like misbehaving children is the joke and is meant to indicate incompetence rather than malice. I get that isn't that much different from the proceeding (except in terms of "how seriously are we supposed to take this"), but still. I think all three of these have support, and, to be clear, I go with the first one not because I think it's the most supported (might be the least), but because it jives most with how I think about BIll's narrative IE as a character we're meant to, at best, pity, but not really sympathize with. I think the intent is "Bill is suffering a karmic self-inflicted punishment after all the pain and suffering he's caused", not "Bill is being medically abused and we should feel bad for him". The Book of Bill does invite readers to sympathize with Bill occasionally, but mostly past Bill, not current Bill. All viewpoints are valid, this is just trying to organized some thoughts on the subject. I sincerely hope I haven't said anything harmful here. Uh, cards on the table, I am neurodivergent, but i've never had therapy, forcefully or otherwise (although I did have an irrational fear of the possibility of institutionalization for a bit), so i'm sorta going off vibes here, sorry to say. If I said anything insensitive here, I apologize.

[sweet-s0rr0w]

in the greek tradition

a little something silly for @peachydreamxx, after our chat about statues in British stately homes! with art by the lovely @faiell!😘

***

“Malfoy! Oi, Malfoy!”

Weasley’s shout is unexpected and yet somehow typically obnoxious, shattering the end-of-summer stillness as effectively as a Bludger through a window. Draco closes his novel carefully around a finger, optimistically keeping the page. “What is it?” he hisses – via Patronus, of course, since he refuses to screech back across the Manor’s gardens like an oik.

Of course, Weasley doesn’t get the hint. “Malfoy!” he bellows again, from somewhere behind the box hedge, sounding ominously full of mirth. “C’mere a moment, would you?”

Playing to an imaginary audience, Draco rolls his eyes heavenwards, testing the weight of his book in his hand and briefly considering the merits of telling Weasley to fuck off. Of course, in the end his curiosity gets the better of him, and so with a beleaguered sigh he gets to his feet and follows the sound of laughter all the way down to the herbaceous garden, where Potter and Weasley are loitering incongruously, their Auror uniforms a garish blood-red amongst the muted pastels of the foxgloves.

“Course your Patronus is a bloody great swan,” says Weasley, stating the obvious as usual, yet grinning away like he’s told the world’s funniest joke.

Beside him, Potter looks a bit sheepish. “Alright, Malfoy?” he asks, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

“What’s going on?” asks Draco, determinedly ignoring their antics.

“Right, yeah,” says Weasley, tugging his hand out of his pocket to gesture roughly past the alliums. “What we were wondering was – who’s this guy?”

Draco follows his gaze – and – ah. Weasley’s talking about the sculpture, then. The very striking, very buff, very naked marble sculpture, which towers over the garden with his wand caught dramatically mid-flourish, his head thrown back, and his eyes closed in some kind of ecstasy. Draco probably should have realised sooner, what with all the time he’d spent alone in the herbaceous garden as a sexually frustrated teen.

“What?” he asks, having now forgotten the question entirely.

“Because, right, I reckon it’s some ancient hero. Like Merlin, or something–”

“Really, Weasley? You think that’s what Merlin looked like?”

“–but Harry says it must be a Malfoy.”

Draco blinks.

 “The hair,” Potter says, quickly. “It’s the same as – you know, you’ve all got all that, like, loose, flowy, glossy… you know. Also,” he adds, “no offense, but having a sculpture of yourself in your own garden seems like kind of a Malfoy thing to do.”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “Plus you’re all dramatic as fuck. So who’s right?”

Draco considered the statue for a moment: even moss-stained and weather-worn, it did have excellent hair. Also, pleasingly muscular thighs. “Potter’s right,” he’s forced to admit – at this moment, his second least favourite phrase. “This is a young Xanthus Malfoy the second. An excellent hunter, by all accounts, and one of the last Malfoys to sit in the… what?” he demands, interrupting Weasley, who’s giving Potter what can only be described as a meaningful look. “What’s going on? Why are you both giggling?”

Weasley says nothing. His ears are turning pink: Draco hopes he’s getting sunburnt.

“Well,” begins Potter, nodding vaguely back towards the statue. “We were just saying that he’s… well. That he’s – that it’s a little–”

“You got that right,” Weasley mutters.

“What?”

Potter presses his lips together, avoiding Draco’s gaze. “Well,” he says, delicately. “The thing is. While I’m sure he was an excellent hunter, this particular Malfoy seems to be, well. Lacking something. Deficient, you might say. In one certain – area.”

“His cock, Malfoy,” Weasley adds, helpfully. “His cock’s miniscule, and while we’re at it, his bollocks aren’t much to write home about either. The whole package’s rather… unfortunate, I’d say. What’s going on? Are micropenises a family trait, or did they just run out of stone?”

“Marble,” Draco says, faintly. “It’s marble. And by the way, you two are children.”

“Come on, Malfoy,” says Potter, grinning. “You can’t pretend you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s deliberate, you philistine! It’s sculpted in the fucking Greek tradition!”

“Right.”

“And while we’re at it, it’s symbolic! The… diminutive penis represents mastery over one’s baser instincts. The triumph of intellectualism over… animalistic urges.”

Weasley frowns. “What you on about now?”

“I think, Ron,” Potter says, “that what Malfoy’s suggesting is that the bigger the dick, the stupider the man. Explains a lot, you know.” He smirks, eyeing Weasley in a manner that makes Draco’s brain feel like it may be the wrong size for his skull.

“Oi,” Weasley laughs, reaching out gleefully to whack Potter, who dodges sideways, then turns his ankle on the edge of a flowerbed and falls neatly into a lavender bush.

“It half makes sense,” Weasley says, offering Potter a hand to tug himself up. “The tiny prick thing. I mean, Malfoy certainly thinks he’s clever.”

“He does,” Potter chokes out, clearly on the verge of hysteria. Draco throws up his arms in frustration.

“For Merlin’s sake, Weasley!” he cries, as Potter wobbles dangerously close to the ornamental fountain. “Just because the statue’s got a–”

“It’s alright, Malfoy,” Weasley cuts in, soothingly. “I’ve heard some people are into that kind of thing. Tiny dicks, I mean.” He turns back to Potter, voice strained. “Not that I’ve met any, obviously.”

“I don’t have a tiny dick!” Draco cries, outraged. “I’ll prove it! I’ll show you both! I’ll show you both right fucking now–”

It’s unfair, and unconscionable, and somehow Draco’s hand is down his pants before he can even help himself, and that’s when Weasley finally stops laughing. “Alright, alright!” he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “Keep your fancy knickers on, Malfoy. We believe you. Right, Harry?”

Potter’s not laughing either, now, and he doesn’t reply; he’s too busy staring, as, jaw set, and mustering all the dignity he can manage, Draco releases his grip on his (perfectly decent sized) penis, and slides his hand carefully out from beneath his waistband. He glares at them both, tugging his robe tightly shut.

“Right?” Weasley repeats, louder this time. “We don’t need to see proof, eh, Harry?”

Potter’s eyes are still fixed on a point somewhere below Draco’s navel, and his cheeks are now stained a most fetching pink. The sun is rather strong today, Draco thinks, feeling his own face heating.

“Harry?”

***

tons of thanks to @tackytigerfic for looking it over 😘

[literaila]

kid megumi and gojo definitely took bubble baths together while megumi washes his hair and satoru's just yapping about how much he loves reader

“megumi,” gojo says, not even bothering to knock on the door.

it’s the boys fault, really, for leaving it open in the first place.

megumi stills, brows furrowing as his hands stop foaming the soap in his hair. “gojo?” he asks, a bit disbelieving.

he might be going crazy—it’s not uncommon for sorcerers. and megumi barely thought he would make it to fourteen and here he is, so. he should probably tell someone about the hallucinations but—

“you got it,” gojo answers, predictably, sitting on the toilet seat. “i need to talk to you.”

megumi peaks his head around the shower curtain slowly, blinking a few times to make sure the man is really there.

but he is, grinning at the tiny bit of megumi he can see, tapping his fingers on his knees obnoxiously.

megumi points a hand towards the door. “this is an invasion of privacy.”

“megumi,” gojo gives him a bland look. “i’ve seen you naked.”

“that’s creepy.”

gojo sighs, hanging his head. “we’ve known each other for so long now, and you still don’t trust me.”

“you still haven’t given me a reason to. can’t this wait? or not happen? i don’t want to talk to you.”

yes, megumi is still hanging halfway out of the shower. yes, his hair is dripping water on the floor. no, he does not care—it’s gojo’s house anyway. he can fix the ruined floorboards.

“it’s about your mother.”

at that megumi blinks. “what’d you do?“

“i didn’t do anything.”

“are you sure?”

“yes, i’m sure,” gojo scoffs, reaching out to pull his ear—which megumi expertly deflects (he almost slips and dies in the process). “am i crying on the floor right now?”

megumi considers it. then he recalls the last time you and gojo had a fight. he had to check gojo’s pulse every time he walked past the couch.

“good point. what is it?”

“as you know, her birthday is coming up—“

“are you serious?”

“megumi.” gojo���s eyes are dubious, his voice is disapproving. “your mothers birthday is very important.”

megumi rolls his eyes. “i know. i mean, are you seriously asking me about this right now? im in the shower. there’s shampoo in my hair.”

gojo nods very seriously. “it’s the only place she won’t hear.”

“she’s not even home.”

“she’s hidden cameras, megumi, i know it.”

“no she hasn’t.”

gojo pouts. “i want it to be a surprise. she always finds out about her gifts before i can give them to her.”

“that’s because you tell her.”

“the suspense is too much. i need you to buy her something for me and hide it so i don’t know what it is.”

he sounds absolutely serious, which might be the worst part of that request, actually.

and when has megumi ever done gojo a favor?

“gojo,” megumi gives him a little smirk, tilting his head. “i’m not doing that.”

gojo groans, falling onto the floor. “c’mon, megumi, we’re supposed to be friends.”

“you’re my teacher, if anything.”

“and your father,” he juts his chin, “favoritism is not cute.”

“good.”

megumi finally turns around. gojo was never going to leave, even if he’d attempted to tackle him out of the door.

and he’s used to this, anyway. there hasn’t been a day in seven years that he’s gotten some peace.

“okay,” gojo begins again, sounding like he’s won—which he hasn’t. “i was thinking some jewelry, but you know how picky she is. and besides, she’s too rough for something small. tsumiki is already getting her that chibi mug we saw in that corner store last weekend, and whatever you’re getting is off of the table too.”

“i’m not listening to this.”

“i could take her out to dinner, but that’s not a gift. and i do that anyway. maybe i should buy her a car—what kind do you think she’d like? something blue, like my eyes—“

megumi groans.

gojo pauses. “did you get soap in your eye?”

honestly, banging his head against the wall might be better than this. at least they have pain killers at the hospital.

megumi doesnt answer, no longer entertaining this, but gojo continues anyway.

“maybe we should re-do the bathroom, you know how she’s always saying that—“

god, when will it end?

[moonstruckme]

okay i absolutely NEED james with an emo/goth gf!!! it’s giving black cat reader 🤭🤭🤭 only write if you want of course ♥️♥️

Thank you for requesting lovely! I fear this ended up being more black cat than goth because I didn't really go into describing reader's aesthetic but I hope this is the attitude you were looking for <3

cw: mention of alcohol (but reader isn't explicitly drinking)

James Potter x black cat!reader ♡ 718 words

James doesn’t think you’re glaring at him, but you’re definitely glaring. 

“How’s your drink, angel?” he asks, leaning across your small table with a smile. 

You suck your teeth. “It’s good.” 

James reaches over the table for your hand. You give it to him, thundercloud expression not so much as flickering, but when he squeezes your fingers you squeeze back. 

He lowers his voice. “What’s wrong?” 

“How can you think over their racket?” The question bursts out of you like this is something you’ve been waiting to talk about. James follows the beam of your glare, turning in his seat to look at the gaggle of men sitting in the corner booth of the restaurant. They’re laughing, rambunctious, one of them having procured a deck of cards which they seem to be playing some kind of disorganized game with. Two have begun arm wrestling.

“They’re yelling so loud it’s bouncing off the walls,” you seethe. “It’s so obnoxious. I can barely hear you without you shouting.” 

James makes a face as he turns back around, feeling a tad oblivious. He’d just thought this was a louder sort of restaurant, but he sees now that the other patrons are leaning close to each other over their tables, talking as quietly as they can manage just like you. The noise is created only by that one group. 

“I think they’ve had a few.” He gives a sheepish shrug, nodding to the empty pints collecting in one corner of their table. However they might be acting, James feels awful for anyone who ends up on the other end of your wrath. “You know how it is when you get like that and sort of forget where you are.” 

“No, not really.” You start tapping an irritated finger on the table. “They could at least try to be considerate. And there’s a bar just across the street, why not go there?” 

James gives you an amused look. “Hey,” he says, leaning across the table and coaxing you in for a kiss. You relent to it, but you don’t look much improved afterwards. “It’s all in good fun, yeah? We shouldn’t let their good time ruin our good time.” 

He suspects you’re a bit peeved with him for not taking your side, but you try to overcome it. “Yeah,” you agree. You lean over to take a sip from your straw, still obviously fuming. 

And James decides something simply must be done. 

“Alright.” He gives your hand a quick squeeze, pushing back his chair as he stands. “Back in a second, lovie.” 

He can feel your eyes following as he goes over to the rowdy table and introduces himself. Every now and then as he talks to the guys, he’ll glance over to find your stare still on him, narrowed with curiosity. James has to admit, the pleasure of having your attention has never quite worn off. He sends you a wink when nobody else is looking. 

After a few minutes, the men slip out from their booth and James parts with them with a series of clapping handshakes. You watch in awe as they go out the door, your gaze moving back to your boyfriend when he sits across from you. 

“How did you do that?” you ask. 

James grins smugly. “I just got a bit chummy with them and then told them about the bar across the street. They have a pool table over there, and if you make it before eight pints are half off.” 

Your lips part slightly. It’s as close to jaw-dropping surprise as you ever get. “You seriously got them to leave by making friends with them.” 

He shrugs. “I guess. We didn’t really have time to get to know each other all that well.” 

You regard him thoughtfully for a moment, then lean across the table to kiss his cheek. James’ smile leaps up on his face. His stomach feels swarmed by butterflies far more boisterous than that table had ever been. 

“Thanks,” you say. 

James is smiling so hard it’s hurting his cheeks. “You feel better now?” 

You roll your eyes, but he spies a twitch in the corner of your lips. “Yeah, I feel better.” 

“Good.” He pecks you on your cheek in turn. You appear dangerously close to pleased. “Then you’re welcome, lovie.”

[mistakenot4892]

Disclaimer that this is a post mostly motivated by frustration at a cultural trend, not at any individual people/posters. Vagueing to avoid it seeming like a callout but I know how Tumblr is so we'll see I guess. Putting it after a read-more because I think it's going to spiral out of control.

Recent discourse around obnoxious Linux shills chiming in on posts about how difficult it can be to pick up computer literacy these days has made me feel old and tired. I get that people just want computers to Work and they don't want to have to put any extra effort into getting it to Do The Thing, that's not unreasonable, I want the same!

(I also want obnoxious Linux shills to not chip in on my posts (unless I am posting because my Linux has exploded and I need help) so I sympathise with that angle too, 'just use Linux' is not the catch-all solution you think it is my friend.)

But I keep seeing this broad sense of learned helplessness around having to learn about what the computer is actually doing without having your hand held by a massive faceless corporation, and I just feel like it isn't a healthy relationship to have with your tech.

The industry is getting worse and worse in their lack of respect to the consumer every quarter. Microsoft is comfortable pivoting their entire business to push AI on every part of their infrastructure and in every service, in part because their customers aren't going anywhere and won't push back in the numbers that might make a difference. Windows 11 has hidden even more functionality behind layers of streamlining and obfuscation and integrated even more spyware and telemetry that won't tell you shit about what it's doing and that you can't turn off without violating the EULA. They're going to keep pursuing this kind of shit in more and more obvious ways because that's all they can do in the quest for endless year on year growth.

Unfortunately, switching to Linux will force you to learn how to use it. That sucks when it's being pushed as an immediate solution to a specific problem you're having! Not going to deny that. FOSS folks need to realise that 'just pivot your entire day to day workflow to a new suite of tools designed by hobby engineers with really specific chips on their shoulders' does not work as a method of evangelism. But if you approach it more like learning to understand and control your tech, I think maybe it could be a bit more palatable? It's more like a set of techniques and strategies than learning a specific workflow. Once you pick up the basic patterns, you can apply them to the novel problems that inevitably crop up. It's still painful, particularly if you're messing around with audio or graphics drivers, but importantly, you are always the one in control. You might not know how to drive, and the engine might be on fire, but you're not locked in a burning Tesla.

Now that I write this it sounds more like a set of coping mechanisms, but to be honest I do not have a healthy relationship with xorg.conf and probably should seek therapy.

It's a bit of a stretch but I almost feel like a bit of friction with tech is necessary to develop a good relationship with it? Growing up on MS-DOS and earlier versions of Windows has given me a healthy suspicion of any time my computer does something without me telling it to, and if I can't then see what it did, something's very off. If I can't get at the setting and properties panel for something, my immediate inclination is to uninstall it and do without.

And like yeah as a final note, I too find it frustrating when Linux decides to shit itself and the latest relevant thread I can find on the matter is from 2006 and every participant has been Raptured since, but at least threads exist. At least they're not Microsoft Community hellscapes where every second response is a sales rep telling them to open a support ticket. At least there's some transparency and openness around how the operating system is made and how it works. At least you have alternatives if one doesn't do the job for you.

This is long and meandering and probably misses the point of the discourse I'm dragging but I felt obligated to make it. Ubuntu Noble Numbat is pretty good and I haven't had any issues with it out of the box (compared to EndeavourOS becoming a hellscape whenever I wanted my computer to make a sound or render a graphic) so I recommend it. Yay FOSS.

[the-s1lly-corner]

HH cast crushing on the reader 2/3

Forgot to mention in the previous post alastor will be excluded for this prompt. "But admin you write for him-" I tend to approach his writing with queer platonic ideas and while I do think this prompt can still work with that, idk how to put it into words

Characters: Lucifer, Adam, Lute, Emily, Velvette, Rosie

Notes: reader is GN, mostly focuses on canon characters, if your character isnt here check the other parts unless I dont write for them

CWs: none

LUCIFER

On one hand he wants to be with you. But on the other I feel he is still a bit hung up on Lilith. It's wouldn't be fair to you to pursue someone else when there's already someone else in his heart. He flipflops between approaching you and shutting you off. It's going to take a lot and you might have to ask him if there's something going on or if you did something wrong. He's crushed that you think you did something wrong. Baby steps with him, give him some time and the two of you could possibly make something. He finds himself sitting at his workspace making art (ducks) based off of you.

ADAM

Oh he is so open about it and it's kind of obnoxious. Well.. open isn't the right word. He's very up front with making sure you know that he thinks you're... desirable to put it lightly. But to actually be soft and vulnerable and say he wants to be with you for more than just wanting to bang you? It's going to be like pulling teeth to get an actual confession from him. He teases you a lot more, and makes comments about you and he leans into it if you're receptive. Just know that if you catch feelings first and he notices, he's going to hold it over your head and use it as ammo.

LUTE

Similar to Vaggie in the previous part, she's going to get... closed off. Unlike Vaggie, she's going to totally close herself off from you and try to bury herself deeper into her heavenly duties. She's hardwired and trained to devote herself to Heaven and she believes she doesn't have time for you. She almost feels like it's a betrayal to have these feelings in the first place. She won't confess, at least not out of looking for a relationship. I can see her doing it as a way to release her feelings in hopes that saying it out loud will somehow get rid of them. It's a little sad when you sit and think about it, but I do think with enough time and patience you two might be able to build something.

EMILY

Very giddy and very quick to telling you how she feels. She takes time out of her day to check in on you, as well as giving you something she knows you like or something that reminded her of you. Noticeably happier around you and perks up at the mere mention of your name. She always has time for you, she makes room in her schedule for you. She's a lot like Charlie in regard to her being a bit overbearing and clingy, but she really does mean well with her intentions! Just let her know if she needs to scale it back!

VELVETTE

I can totally see Velvette being the type to hide her feelings and translate to something else. Bonus points if you're a rival of hers in the industry, all the more reason for her to try to twist her feelings. I guess in a way you can call her a tsundere. Even through the meaner things she says, there are some teasing words slipped in here and there in your interactions that admittedly leave you feeling a little conflicted and confused. If you shut it down and be firm you miiiight get her to cut the act, but it is not a guarantee because she's grown to like the game.

ROSIE

She doesn't throw herself at your feet, she has some dignity. She is polite and kind towards you, though... but just because you've got her attention doesn't mean she's going to date you just yet. Think of it as her giving you a chance to show yourself off to her. She sometimes does small favors for you in town, even giving you some special privileges thanks to her status as an overlord. Waits for you to confess, if you're showing your signals as well. There will be subtle hints, though, even if she's not outright flirting with you... most of the time... she can't resist sometimes, even with the above stated. Really it just depends on the circumstance and how you are as a person.

[goblinontour]

Your Thoughts Pairin’ Up With Mine

you’re so pretty and i’m so shy

warnings: fetus!al, fluff, it’s just cute, weed, matthew.

word count: 5.9k

Alex was cute. Really cute. But you’d never admit that. Not to him, not to anyone — not even to yourself half the time. It was easier this way, keeping whatever you were feeling locked up, because at least you still got to see him like this. Be around him like this. If he…well, if he didn’t feel the same way, you weren’t sure you’d be able to handle it. So it was better to leave things unsaid. 

What you didn’t know was that Alex was doing the exact same thing. Or maybe you did know, but you weren’t sure. You never could be sure with boys, and you definitely didn’t want to get your hopes up.

But when his friends teased him about you — like now — it was impossible not to feel that spark, the one you worked so hard to keep buried. The butterflies came up to your throat, and you had to fight them down.

“Ohhh, leaving together, I see, I see you, Turner!” Matthew yelled from behind as he too got out the school gates, his voice loud. Too loud. You cringed inwardly but kept walking, knowing he’d catch up in a second. And he did. 

He slung an arm around your shoulders, another around Alex’s, squeezing you both into an awkward three-person hug as he wedged himself in between. “Shut up, Matt.” Alex muttered, his face pinched into a frown. His brows furrowed in a way that made you bite back a smile, his frustration somehow making him even cuter.

You didn’t say anything. You often didn’t when it came to this stuff — afraid that if you opened your mouth, something embarrassing might slip out. So instead, you just gave a soft laugh, hoping no one could hear the nervous edge to it. You had to wonder if Alex was just as frustrated as you were by the now Matthew-shaped barrier between the two of you.

“Where are you going, then?” Matthew asked, eyes darting between the two of you like he already knew the answer.

“‘Round mine for a bit.” Alex answered, shrugging lightly, like this was something you did all the time. It wasn’t, but he acted so casual about it, and that made it easier for you to play along.

“Is that right? Leaving me behind, eh?” Matthew waggled his eyebrows, grinning like a fool before he finally unhooked his arms and took a step back. “I’ll leave you to it then. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You felt your face warm at the implication, but Alex just rolled his eyes, muttering, “You’re an idiot.” as he shook his head.

Before Matthew left, though, he leaned in, whispering something into Alex’s ear. Whatever it was, it made Alex’s face tighten with annoyance, his lips pressing into a thin line. You couldn’t catch what was said, but it was enough to make Matthew laugh — a big, loud sound that seemed to echo around the nearly but not quite empty street. He ruffled Alex’s hair, and Alex barely had a second to swat his hand away before Matthew planted the biggest, sloppiest kiss on his cheek.

It was obnoxious. Completely unnecessary. But as much as you tried to keep your face neutral, you couldn’t help the small smile that slipped through. Matthew was irritating, but they were cute. Alex was cute. You would’ve liked to be the one kissing him, though, in a much different way than Matthew just had.

“See you two later.” Matthew said with a wink before jogging off down the street, leaving you and Alex standing awkwardly in his wake.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just stood there, the space between you feeling too wide all of a sudden without the loud presence between you.

You kicked at a loose stone on the pavement. “Your friends are weird.” you said, hoping to break the tension.

Alex snorted. “Tell me about it.” He wiped his cheek where Matthew had kissed him, still scowling but with a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll get him back for that.”

“I don’t doubt it.” you said, glancing over at him. He met your eyes for a second longer than usual, and your stomach did that stupid flip again.

He looked like he was about to say something else, but he just cleared his throat and shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets. “So, uh…you wanna go, then?” 

You nodded quickly, too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

The two of you started walking in step, the awkward tension still hanging between you. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an electricity to it, like both of you were waiting for the other to say something important, but neither of you dared.

“So, what did Matthew say to you back there?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Alex tensed slightly beside you, then gave a small shrug. “Nothing, really.”

It wasn’t convincing, but you didn’t push. If he didn’t want to tell you, you weren’t going to make him. Besides, your heart was already racing just being this close to him, your shoulder brushing against his every now and then. That was enough. For now.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if either of you ever did say something. If he liked you back, would it change anything? Or would it ruin everything?

You glanced at him again, taking in the way his fringe kept falling into his eyes, the curve of his lips, the way he looked like he was deep in thought. Maybe he was thinking about the same thing.

But just like every other time, you pushed the thought away, focusing on the present—on getting to spend time with him, even if nothing ever came of it. Because being close to him like this, even without the words, was enough.

His room was the way you’d expect it to be: a little messy but in a charming, lived-in way. You would probably find anything he did charming. Band posters were tacked to the walls, a few records stacked near his stereo, and clothes scattered around like he hadn’t decided what to wear that morning and then gave up entirely. It was the kind of space where you felt instantly comfortable, but now that you were here, lying next to him on his bed, comfort was the last thing on your mind.

The bed dipped slightly under your weight as you shifted, pulling your knees up to your chest. You weren’t exactly sure where to put your hands, so they settled awkwardly in your lap, fingers fiddling with a loose thread on your jeans. Alex was lying right next to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, and every time you breathed in, it felt like the air was too thick. 

It was quiet between you, the kind of quiet that hummed with unspoken tension. You could feel his presence next to you, every tiny movement, every breath. You told yourself to act normal, to just be cool about it, but it was hard to think clearly when all you could focus on was the fact that Alex Turner was lying in a bed next to you. 

“Uh…” Alex said suddenly, breaking the silence, his voice soft but cutting through the quiet like it carried more weight than it should. “D’you wanna smoke?”

Your brain lagged behind his question for a second, unsure if you’d heard him right. You blinked, turning to look at him. “Smoke?”

He nodded, looking more nervous than you expected. “Yeah. I mean, I, uh…I’ve got some.” He was fumbling for words, like he hadn’t quite planned out how this conversation would go. “If you want. No pressure or anything.”

“Where’d you get it?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. This was new — Alex, offering to smoke?

He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “Uh, from Jamie. He had some on him last week, and I dunno…I just thought I’d give it a try, y’know?”

You hesitated, glancing down at your hands. You didn’t know if you were the kind of person who smoked, but then again, you didn’t know if Alex was either. The thought of it, of doing something so out of the ordinary with him, made your heart race for a different reason now. 

“You’ve done it before?” you asked, more curious than anything.

Alex shook his head quickly, his face turning slightly red. “Nah. Not really. I mean, I haven’t-” He stopped, then let out a breath. “I’ve never smoked either, actually. I just…I dunno. Thought it might be fun to try. But only if you want.”

There was something almost endearing about how flustered he was. He wasn’t his usual cool, laid-back self. Instead, he was fidgety, his fingers drumming lightly against the bedspread. It reminded you that, for all his confidence, Alex wasn’t always as sure of himself as he let on. 

You swallowed, feeling the tension shift between you. “Okay.” you said quietly, surprising even yourself with how casual you sounded. “Let’s do it.”

He blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to agree so easily. “Yeah? You sure?”

You nodded, though your heart was pounding in your chest. “Yeah, why not?”

Alex smiled, and it was that shy one. “Alright, cool.” He pushed himself up off the bed, crossing the room to rummage through his drawer. His movements were a little too quick, like he was trying to keep himself busy so he didn’t have to think about what he was actually doing.

But after a few seconds of shuffling through the clutter, it was clear he wasn’t having much luck. His brow furrowed, frustration creeping in as he yanked the drawer open wider, hoping it might magically appear. When nothing turned up, he muttered something under his breath and moved toward his dresser instead.

You sat up slightly, watching as he stood in front of it, his eyes scanning the top shelf. It was just high enough that he needed to stretch, standing on his toes to reach it. His arms extended, fingers brushing against the edge of the shelf, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his shirt rode up as he reached – just enough for a glimpse of the pale skin of his waist.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him like this before. Alex was never the type to worry about things like that. But in this moment, with the tension of everything that had happened, the tiny sliver of exposed skin felt like something you shouldn’t look at…and something you couldn’t stop looking at.

Your eyes flicked down to his waist, catching the way the waistband of his jeans sat low on his hips, and you felt a surge of warmth flood your chest. You didn’t want to stare — God, the last thing you needed was for him to notice — but there was something about how effortless it was. The way he didn’t even realise the effect he had on you. You bit your lip, forcing yourself to look away before he could turn around, but your gaze kept drifting back.

He grunted softly, still trying to feel for whatever it was he thought was hidden up there, and his shirt rode up even further. You held your breath, trying to focus on anything else — the ceiling, the walls, the posters on his door — but your eyes kept finding their way back to that patch of skin.

You could hear him muttering to himself as he fumbled around, his voice tinged with the slightest hint of panic. “I swear it was here…somewhere…” He sounded a little desperate now. 

Then, with a sharp exhale of relief, Alex’s fingers brushed against something tucked behind a pile of old CDs. “Ah, found it.” he muttered, more to himself than to you. He grabbed hold of the small, crumpled packet and pulled it out from the back of the shelf. The effort had him nearly off-balance for a moment as he pushed up onto his toes one last time, stretching to reach it.

He stepped back onto flat ground and looked at the pack in his hands like it was a strange, foreign object he wasn’t sure he knew how to deal with. “Well, that was a bit more of a hunt than I expected.” he said, shaking his head with a self-deprecating smile. His cheeks were still a little flushed from the effort, and he quickly tugged his shirt back down, like he suddenly realised how much of himself he’d been exposing.

You laughed softly, more out of nervousness than anything, watching as he got back on his feet properly and ran a hand through his hair. “Glad you found it, then.” you teased lightly, hoping it would help ease the slight awkwardness. 

Alex chuckled softly. “Yeah, me too.” he muttered, making his way back to the bed. He sat down beside you, the mattress dipping. His leg brushed lightly against yours, close enough to feel the warmth through your jeans, and you couldn’t help but tense up slightly at the contact. He noticed, of course — he always seemed to notice — and he looked at you, eyes soft and searching again. He was nervous too, that much was obvious, but in that small moment, the silence between you felt less awkward and more like…anticipation.

Alex cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. “You, uh…you still up for this?” 

You nodded. He opened the packet, pulling out a single joint. It looked almost out of place in his hands. “Jamie said it wasn’t, like, strong or anything.” he mumbled, still not quite meeting your eyes. “Just…normal, I guess.”

You nodded again, not trusting yourself to say much. The reality of the situation was starting to hit you — here you were, sitting on his bed, about to smoke together, and neither of you had a clue what you were doing.

He fumbled with the lighter, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed it to you. “You wanna light it?” he asked, his voice a little quieter now, like he was suddenly aware of how close the two of you were.

“Sure.” you whispered, taking the lighter from him, your heart thudding loudly in your ears.

You weren’t really sure what you were doing, but you tried to act like you did, flicking the lighter on and bringing it to the end of the joint. The flame caught, and for a moment, you just stared at it, unsure what to do next. 

Alex’s hand hovered near yours, almost like he wanted to guide you, but he hesitated, looking just as unsure as you felt. “Here.” he said softly, taking the joint from you and raising it to his lips. He took a tentative drag, then immediately coughed, doubling over slightly as he waved his hand in front of his face, trying to clear the smoke.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your nerves momentarily forgotten. “You okay?” you asked, grinning.

He shot you a sheepish look, still coughing a bit. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just…stronger than I thought, I guess.”

You were still smiling, but something in your chest tightened at how utterly human he was — no pretence, no act. Just Alex. 

He handed the joint back to you, his fingers brushing yours again, and you took it, feeling the warmth of his touch linger longer than it should have. “Your turn.” he said, his voice low, almost teasing now.

You raised it to your lips, taking a small drag just like you’d seen him do. The smoke filled your lungs, harsher than you’d expected, but you fought back the urge to cough, forcing yourself to exhale slowly.

Alex was watching you, his eyes wide and a little amazed, and for a moment. It felt a little surreal, like time had slowed down just enough for you to feel the shift in the room. He seemed closer than before, and it was impossible not to be hyper-aware of every little thing about him — the soft sound of his breathing, the way his knee barely brushed against yours, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the lingering smoke in the air.

You passed the joint back to him, and he took it carefully, like he was still trying to figure out what to do with it. He took another drag, this one more controlled, and exhaled with a little less coughing this time. He looked over at you with a shy grin, like he was proud of himself for getting it right.

“So…” he started, leaning back a little, his head resting against the wall behind the bed. “You ever think about how, like…in music, the bass is what really ties everything together? Like, no one really notices it, but if you took it out, everything would just…fall apart.”

You blinked. The sudden switch to music theory caught you off guard. “Uh…yeah.” you said, nodding automatically. “Totally.”

He took another drag, looking thoughtful now, like he was unlocking some deep mystery of the universe. “I mean, think about it. People always talk about the guitar or the vocals, right? But no one gives the bass enough credit. It’s always there, just…holding everything down. Like the glue, y’know? It’s kind of poetic, in a way.”

You nodded again, not entirely sure where he was going with this, but still following along. “Yeah, definitely poetic.” you echoed. 

Alex kept talking, his voice picking up speed as he got more animated. “And, like…what if the bass player feels like that too, you know? Like they’re just there, in the background, doing all this important work but no one ever notices. But without them, everything would fall apart. That’s kinda how life feels sometimes, doesn’t it? Like, you do all this stuff, but it’s not the stuff people notice. They just notice when it goes wrong.”

You nodded again, a little slower this time. You weren’t sure if the smoke was making everything feel more intense or if it was just Alex’s passion for bass players, but you were struggling to keep up. “Yeah, I get what you mean.”

He took another drag, the joint burning down a little more, and his hand brushed against yours when he handed it back. You noticed his fingers lingering a little longer this time, like he was testing the waters.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.” he continued, eyes distant now as he stared up at the ceiling. “Like, who’s the bass player in my life, y’know? Who’s holding everything down when I don’t even realise it? Maybe it’s my mum, or maybe it’s Jamie, or maybe it’s-”

He stopped mid-sentence, glancing at you. “What d’you think?”

You blinked again, caught off guard. “About…bass players?”

He let out a quiet laugh, his voice soft but teasing. “No, about life. About who holds everything down.”

You didn’t have an answer ready, and for a second, you just stared at him, trying to come up with something coherent to say. But before you could, he tilted his head, studying you with a curious look.

“You’ve been nodding at everything I say, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice playful but with a slight edge of realisation. 

Your heart skipped. “No, I- what do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” he said, a grin tugging at his lips now. “I could’ve said the dumbest thing just now, and you’d have nodded and agreed.”

You laughed nervously, feeling your cheeks heat up. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah?” His smile widened as he sat up a little straighter. “Alright, let’s test that theory. What if I said…” He paused for dramatic effect, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping. “What if I said…I think I’d be a great astronaut. Like, I could just leave Earth behind tomorrow and float around in space, no problem. Would you agree with that?”

You tried to hold back your smile, but it was impossible. “You’d be a terrible astronaut.” you said, shaking your head.

He gasped, placing a hand on his chest in mock offence. “Terrible? I’d be brilliant! Have you seen me in zero gravity?”

“Alex, you get motion sick on the swings at the park. There’s no way you’d survive space.”

He laughed, a full, genuine laugh that made your chest tighten a little. “Okay, fine. Maybe space isn’t for me.” he conceded, still grinning. “But seriously, you’ve just been nodding along the whole time. Haven’t you?”

You sighed, finally giving in. “Maybe a little.”

“Why?” he asked, and there was something softer in his voice now, a little more curious. “You don’t have to agree with everything I say, you know.”

You shrugged, feeling a little exposed under his gaze. “I don’t know. I guess…I just like listening to you talk. Even if I don’t know what to say back.”

That caught him off guard. “Yeah?”

You nodded, more genuinely this time. “Yeah. I like…hearing what you’re thinking about. Even if it’s bass players or space.”

“I like talking to you.” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even when I’m rambling.”

You felt your heart skip again, and before you could stop yourself, you asked, “Why?”

He smiled, a little shy this time, like he wasn’t used to being this honest. “I dunno.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the way he was looking at you now, like he was trying to say something more without actually saying it.

You swallowed, your voice barely steady. “I don’t mind the nonsense.”

At some point, without either of you deciding it, you laid down on the bed. It was as if the weight of the conversation, the closeness, the atmosphere, all pulled you both into it. You shifted until your head was resting on his pillow, your back sinking into the mattress, and the reality of it hit you – Alex’s pillow smelled like him. Everywhere you turned, it was his scent, that familiar mix of soap, his laundry detergent, and something else that was just him. There was no escaping it, no escaping him. No matter where you turned, he was there. 

He didn’t stay sitting for long, either. After a brief hesitation, like he was figuring out how to move without making it awkward, Alex followed, lying down next to you, closer than before. His body seemed to move on instinct, and before you knew it, his head was on your chest. You froze for a second, unsure if this was actually happening. 

You told yourself to calm down, to breathe slower, but the harder you tried, the louder your heartbeat became. His hair brushed against your chin, and his weight, warm and solid, settled into you like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t say anything, just stared up at the ceiling with you, like it wasn’t a big deal at all that he was now lying with his head on your chest, while your heart felt like it was about to beat out of control. You couldn’t tell if he noticed or if he was pretending not to, but the silence between you now was so thick it felt like it was buzzing.

It felt like you were both waiting for something to happen, but neither of you wanted to be the first to break the moment. His arm was draped across your stomach, his fingers barely grazing your side, and you could feel every tiny movement he made. You wanted to say something, anything, to fill the space, but nothing felt right. 

You could feel the warmth of him through your shirt, his head resting just above your heart, and suddenly you were hyper-aware of everything. How close he was. How your hand was lying so close to his arm that you could feel the heat radiating off him. How your heart was hammering against your ribs, far too loud and fast. 

You wondered if he noticed it too, this feeling of inescapable closeness, or if it was just something you couldn’t get out of your head. It was too much. Too intimate. Too easy for him to realise how much he affected you. 

Your hand hovered awkwardly for a second, unsure of where to go, before you cautiously let it rest near his shoulder, your fingers grazing the fabric of his shirt. You didn’t know if it was okay to move, if this was a normal thing to do with your best friend. But somehow, it felt like the right thing to do.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy. Your heart kept racing, and you bit the inside of your cheek, worried he might feel it through his cheek pressed against you. It felt like a countdown ticking in your chest, counting down to some moment you weren’t ready for. 

After what felt like an eternity, Alex broke the silence. His voice was quiet, a little unsure, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was about to say. “Do you ever think about…stuff?” he started, his words vague and hesitant.

You blinked, unsure where he was going with that. “Stuff?” you echoed, trying to sound casual despite the way your pulse was still racing.

He shifted slightly, his head tilting just a little on your chest, like he was thinking hard about what to say next. “Yeah, like…stuff. Like people. And…things changing. Or, like, not changing.”

You bit your lip, trying to decode his rambling. “I guess…yeah, sometimes. What kind of stuff, though?”

Alex hesitated, and you could feel him tensing slightly. He didn’t look at you, his eyes still focused on the ceiling. “Like… I dunno. Sometimes it’s just hard to figure out how things are supposed to go, y’know? Or what people are supposed to say to each other.”

Was he talking about you? Was this his way of trying to say something? “Yeah, I get that.” you said softly, not trusting yourself to say more than that.

He let out a soft breath, his hand now fiddling with the hem of his shirt absentmindedly. “Like…sometimes you wanna say something, but you don’t know if you should. Or how the other person’s gonna take it. And then you just…end up overthinking it.”

“Yeah…” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper now. “I think everyone feels like that sometimes.”

Alex nodded slightly, still not meeting your gaze. “Yeah. I guess. It’s just…harder when it’s someone you really care about, y’know? Like…when you don’t wanna screw things up.”

Your heart was pounding so loud now you were sure he could hear it. His head was still resting on your chest, and every thud felt like it was echoing straight into him. You didn’t know what to say, terrified that whatever words came out of your mouth might break the delicate moment you were in.

Alex swallowed, his voice dropping lower. “It’s like…you don’t know how to tell someone that they’re-” He stopped abruptly, his hand tightening slightly in the fabric of his shirt. “That they mean something to you. And you don’t know if they feel the same. So you just…don’t say anything.”

You were holding your breath, trying to process his words without jumping to conclusions. He was so vague, so careful with his phrasing, but you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach twisted in response. 

Was this his way of admitting something? Or were you reading too much into it because you wanted him to be talking about you?

You felt like you were walking a tightrope between saying something and saying nothing, afraid of tipping too far either way. 

“I think…I think sometimes people just need to hear it.” you said quietly, your voice shaky but soft. “Even if it’s scary.”

“Maybe.” he mumbled. “It’s hard to know what’s right.” He shifted slightly, adjusting himself. You swallowed hard, your chest rising and falling a little too quickly. You were so focused on trying to keep your heartbeat under control, you almost missed it when he spoke. “I’ve, uh…” He started, but then stopped, clearing his throat like he was trying to figure out where he wanted to go with the sentence. “I’ve been thinking about something.”

Your eyes flickered down to him, your hands now resting awkwardly at your sides. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” he said quietly, his voice a little muffled against you. “It’s…it’s stupid, though.”

“It’s not.” you replied, even though you had no idea what he was about to say. You did, but you weren’t ready for it. “What is it?”

He sighed softly. “It’s just…I’ve been thinking about how much I like spending time with you.”

“I like spending time with you too.” you said, hoping your voice sounded steady.

“No, but I mean…like, really like it.” he said, his voice even quieter now. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.” he continued, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of your shirt. “Like, when we’re not together, I keep wondering what you’re doing, or if you’re thinking about me. And then when we are together, it just…it feels good, y’know? Better than it does with anyone else.”

Was this it? 

“I don’t know if that makes sense.” he said, laughing softly, though it was nervous, almost like he was unsure of himself. “It’s probably stupid. I mean, it’s not like- I’m not saying…I don’t know what I’m saying.”

You wanted to say something, to respond in a way that might encourage him to keep going, but you were too scared of saying the wrong thing, of ruining whatever fragile moment this was.

His cheek pressed a little more firmly into your chest. “I just…” he started again, his voice more hesitant than ever. “I just feel like there’s something here, y’know? Like…between us. But I don’t know if I’m just imagining it, or if…maybe you feel it too?”

Your breath caught in your throat, your entire body tensing as the weight of his words hit you. You didn’t know what to say. Of course, you felt it too – you’d felt it for a long time, but you’d buried it, convinced yourself it wasn’t real, that it was just in your head. And now here he was, lying against you, telling you that maybe he felt it too.

You could hear the nervousness in his voice, the way he was trying to say something without saying it directly, to see if you’d meet him halfway. You could feel the tension between you reaching its peak, like there was no turning back now, like you were standing on the edge of something, and all it would take was one small step to change everything.

“I don’t know.” he mumbled again, shifting slightly. “Maybe I’m just overthinking it. Maybe it’s nothing.”

You felt a sudden, sharp pang in your chest at the idea that he might backtrack, that he might take it all back before you had a chance to say something, to do something. But the words were stuck in your throat, tangled up.

Alex let out a breath, and you could feel his shoulders relax a little, like he was giving up on the idea of saying whatever it was he’d wanted to say. “Forget it.” he murmured, his voice barely audible now. “It’s probably just me being weird.”

You stared up at the ceiling, your heart still hammering in your chest, trying to find the courage to respond. Finally, you managed to say, quietly, “It’s not just you.”

He froze. You felt him still completely against you, like he was holding his breath, like he was waiting for you to continue.

“I feel it too.” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “I just didn’t know if you did.”

There was a beat of silence, then he shifted again, lifting his head slightly to look at you, his eyes wide and searching, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“You do?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with disbelief.

You nodded, unable to look away from him now. “Yeah. I’ve been feeling it for a while.”

His face softened, the tension in his expression melting away as a small smile tugged at his lips. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You laughed softly, feeling the tension finally start to ease from your chest. “Because I didn’t want to be wrong.”

Slowly, carefully, he shifted from where he was resting against you, his body lifting slightly as he propped himself up on one elbow. His face was closer now, his breath warm and uneven as he hovered above you, his eyes searching yours as if asking permission without saying it out loud.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, and you didn’t move, didn’t dare break the moment. You could see the hesitation in his eyes, the way he was battling his own nerves, but he didn’t pull back. Instead, he leaned in until his face was just inches from yours. 

You’d imagined this before, in fleeting moments you’d never admitted to anyone, but now that it was happening, it felt both exhilarating and terrifying. Would it be as perfect as you’d imagined? 

His nose brushed against yours as he closed the gap between you. His lips hovered above yours, so close you could feel the warmth of them without even touching. He hesitated for a second, his breath shaky, his eyes flicking up to meet yours one last time, as if making sure you were still okay with this.

And then, finally, he bent down and kissed you.

The kiss was soft, a little awkward – the way first kisses often are. His lips pressed gently against yours, almost unsure, like he was still afraid of doing it wrong. You could feel his uncertainty in the way his mouth moved, waiting to see if you’d pull away or if this was really happening.

But you didn’t pull away. You kissed him back, your hand finding its way to his shoulder, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt. Your heart was still racing, but it wasn’t from fear anymore. It was from the warmth of him, the way his lips felt against yours, the way his body seemed to relax the moment you kissed him back.

It was a little clumsy, the way you tilted your head slightly too late, your noses bumping awkwardly for a second. But instead of ending it, Alex let out a soft, nervous laugh against your mouth, and the sound made your heart swell. You couldn’t help but smile too, the tension breaking for a moment as you both realised how imperfectly perfect it was.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face flushed, his eyes wide. “Sorry.” he mumbled, his voice low and a little breathless. “That was…I don’t know if I did that right.”

You laughed softly, feeling a strange kind of giddiness bubbling up inside you. “It was fine.” you reassured him.

He smiled, a little crooked and shy. “Yeah?” he asked, still hovering close, his eyes flicking down to your lips again, like he couldn’t quite believe he’d just kissed you.

“Yeah.” you whispered back, your heart still beating wildly in your chest.

Without another word, he leaned in again, this time with a little more confidence, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that felt much sweeter, for sure. 

a/n: based on this request. don’t have anything else to add.

[speedforce-zoomies]

I’ve seen a lot of posts about the Batfam wearing the others merch recently

So I would like to add for consideration- the ultimate act of acknowledgment from Tim is him adding a sticker of your hero identity on his skateboard (list based roughly in the order he would have met them)

Prior to becoming Robin his skateboard only had stickers of the Batman, Nightwing, Robin, & Batgirl symbols (either NW Dick + R Jason or both for Dick idk if he would but you can’t tell me Dick’s biggest fan wouldn’t have at least consider it lol)

Then he becomes Robin and he slowly starts adding on to it

Oracle & Huntress get stickers added on super quick after their introductions though at the time he might have needed to custom make Oracle’s- maybe Huntress’s as well?

Spoiler hit him in the face with a brick when they first meet so even though he forgave her pretty quick it still takes him a moment to make/add her sticker on. (How long do vigilantes need to be on the scene before people start making merch, do y’all think?)

Impluse gets added on pretty quickly after Tim meets him. Superboy gets added on a while after their meeting because the two annoyed the HECK out of each other when they first met and Tim’s petty like that.

Tim was a bit suspicious when he first met Cass but AS SOON AS he gets over it he’s adding on a sticker. Like immediately.

While he meet Secret before the rest of YJ I’m not sure those meetings would have led him to making a sticker for her but once she joins the team I think he would.

Wonder Girl, Arrowette, & Empress like Impluse, gets their stickers added on pretty soon on after he meets them.

He later makes a custom one for Slobo.

Ray gets one too but not as quickly as the others & both Ray & Slobo get one quicker than Superboy did, relatively. It makes Superboy fume a bit lol in a way he didn’t with the girls lol.

Every time Red Hood is close to get his sticker added he does something that pushes the time table back lol. Sometimes Jason tried adding his own sticker but the skateboard is never where he can find it when he tries.

He added one for Batwoman, BlueBird, & The Question (Reene) because he thinks they’re cool (+ without even realizing that he also felt a communal pull to do so)

It took a bit of time after the whole “I left Gotham in search of Bruce who was lost in the time-stream” thing for things with Damian to settle. Tim added his Robin randomly without any fanfare and Damian pretended he doesn’t care (but he does obnoxiously brag about it when annoyed by Jason to bother him in return)

Tim was MIA & considered dead when Duke became Signal (if I’m recalling correctly) but Dick tells him about The Skateboard and when Tim comes back Dukes already ready and hands him a Signal symbol sticker. Tim is amused and immediately puts it on. Jason is frustrated.

When he starts working with Sparrow he makes one for her.

Also every time Nightwing changes his suit, a new sticker gets added on which makes everyone complain and say they should get more than one sticker if they’ve had more than one suit/super identity.

Tim responds by adding more Nightwing stickers

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

“I really hate when you do that”

Various Golden Wind antagonists x reader and their habits you don’t like

Headcanons style

Content, plz read: MEAN and aggressive behavior, toxic behaviors, creepy behaviors (I mean Melone is here he’s kinda a warning in his own right), slightly suggestive

Characters: all of La Squadra (no Sorbet and Gelato), Squalo+Tiziano (they’re a couple+reader), Diavolo/Doppio

-Formaggio: Besides the blatant animal abuse, he also does that really obnoxious thing where he eats whipped cream right out of the can. Staring at him with horror or disgust will not dissuade him, might even encourage him honestly. He likes doing stuff just to get a reaction out of you, which is Another problem. Sometimes he’ll shrink your furniture just to mess with you. And he totally shrinks you too, but only a bit, and only when he thinks it’s funny, such as when you’re trying to reach something on a high up shelf. Jerk.

-Illuso: He’ll just invite himself into your apartment whenever he wants. You’ll get home, and hear your shower running, and unfortunately he’s done this enough times you don’t bother with freaking out or rushing him to get out of your shower or begging him to not use all your shampoo this time. You just go in there while he’s showering and flush the toilet so the shower water gets really hot for a minute. He has SOME NERVE getting mad at you for that. Doesn’t he have his OWN shower somewhere?? But Nooooo it’s More Romantic and intimate or something to use yours, and the bastard even uses your towel-

You curse that he is a professional assassin…no matter how thoroughly you locked the doors, Illuso would find a way in, and make himself right at home.

-Prosciutto: He never learns how to speak nicely to you, smh. Sure he’s not as horribly harsh as when you were just acquaintances, but he’s still very. Mean. It’s just how he is…you gotta wonder if he even hears himself sometimes. Whether it be mean names, bossing you around, or just generally talking harshly to you he is Always so MEAN in a way that definitely goes past “tough love”. And he gets very dismissive if you try to say anything, but at least he can tell when he goes too far and severely hurts your feelings, and he’ll Try to tone it down just a bit for the sake of his marriage. Getting an apology out of him is nigh impossible but at least he’s not bullying you over nothing constantly anymore.

-Pesci: He’s honestly not that bad, but you really wish he was a bit more confident in himself and a bit less attached to his big brother. Like, he’s hard to plan stuff with, because he often has plans with Prosciutto…oh but…you can come along too, his big brother probably won’t mind…

You really don’t want to hang out with both of them though. Just Pesci. And you honestly don’t really like Prosciutto, suspecting his smothering type of “tough love” is much more of a burden for Pesci than a help. But you have literally no idea how to approach that conversation without sounding like the bad guy. No matter how you cut it, at this point in your relationship, Pesci is much more likely to listen to Prosciutto’s logic than yours, much to your irritation.

-Melone: WHERE TO START. He says everything that comes to mind when he’s around you. Every. Thing. He does not hold back, licking his lips, ALWAYS in your personal space while he makes weird comments about you. You swear if he could he’d just fuse himself to you so he could always be physically close to you. He practically crawls into your lap when he gets the opportunity to sit close to you, and he takes asking him to back up or give you space as a joke until you’ve been pushed far enough to consider smacking him away. And he is very, very obsessive, remembering every detail about you in a creepy way. And also one time early in your relationship before you had Ever even started discussing sharing a bed with him you woke up to him just IN YOUR BED WITH YOU?! And he was genuinely confused when you yelled at him and kicked him out of your bedroom. He’s your boyfriend, right??? Why are you chasing him out???? It’s romantic and normal for couples to share a bed right??? What does it matter if you’ve only been on 1.5 dates??

You had Nero talk with him about leaving you alone at night until when you were ready to proceed to that point with him. He really doesn’t understand but at least he doesn’t argue with his boss.

Oh and he totally steals your recently worn clothes. It’s “romantic” to put them under his pillow at night, smh.

-Ghiaccio: If you didn’t know he had a temper when you started dating him, I’m afraid that’s on you at this point lol. He gets angry SO easily over EVERYTHING, and YEAH you are not immune to his rage just because you’re his sweetheart. He doesn’t put his hands on you when he gets into his awful moods (he’s got enough sense to know that would end Extremely badly for everyone involved) but everything else around you is fair game. Expect him to trash his or your apartment when he’s in one of his (frequent) foul moods, flipping and throwing furniture, punching holes in the walls, purposefully breaking anything he can get his hands on…most of your arguments aren’t even about his temper directly, more often about the amount of money he’s costing both of you with his outbursts.

And the YELLING. He talks so fast and so loud and expects you to hear every word…a man who goes into frequent rants…you love him a lot but sometimes he talks way too much. And eventually you get somewhat used to it but…Ghiaccio even rants and twitches in his sleep (he has got to be one of THE most unpleasant men to sleep next to oml). Snoring would be one thing, sleep talking too, but Ghiaccio sleep yells at some invisible offender. Never in your life had you considered smothering him with a pillow until you hear him yelling full freaking sentences for five straight minutes in his sleep.

-Risotto Nero: He is SO stoic, no matter how he Feels about something he’s barely going to show any sort of reaction at all. You absolutely cannot surprise this man or make him smile no matter what you do. The worst part is he picks up on your frustrations that he doesn’t really emote or laugh or anything like that, so he’ll fake reactions, but he’s Not a very good actor, so you totally know he’s just pretending for you. And it’s honestly kinda creepy watching him fake smile or fake laugh, like, “ew, Risotto what are you doing with your face?” He sounds like he’s…barking slowly when he tries to fake a laugh. You tell him he does Not have to do that but for some reason he feels obligated to fake such things for your sake. Honestly you find it a little bit hurtful he thinks he has to change his mannerisms for your sake, but it is admittedly a bit funny when he freaks out the rest of his team by trying to react to you.

-Squalo and Tiziano: Squalo can be SO impulsive sometimes, SO impulsive. He takes it Very personally when he thinks either you or Tiziano have been disrespected, and that means he might freak out a bit since he feels like he’s the one who has to protect the two of you, for whatever reason. You and Tiziano often have to calm him down before things Escalate. And Tiziano…he frequently explains things to you and Squalo that you really don’t need explained. And he’s almost always very levelheaded, which can make him feel a bit condescending when Squalo or you get upset but you both know he’s just trying to help when he doesn’t give in to your more fiery emotions. He won’t usually let the two of you just let it all out when you’re stressed, expect him to always give advice even when you just want to rant.

-Diavolo/Doppio: The paranoia drives you Insane. Diavolo is a very smothering partner, always hovering around you, keeping those poisonous green eyes on you, watching for any sign of betrayal or malicious intent from you…any hint that you’re scheming something, any excuse to cut you down and finally reach that perfect anonymity. But as long as he enjoys your companionship, without any real motivation he won’t kill you. And Doppio is frustrating to deal with, in charge of keeping you entertained when Diavolo was not in the mood to deal with you. If he was going to be such a loner, you didn’t see the point of him practically handcuffing you to him. Most often you only had Doppio for company. He was sweet but even with his understanding of the situation, he wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. How far was he supposed to go to keep you happy? The Boss said to just buy you whatever you asked for, and give in to all your demands but…eventually you were gonna get experimental with what you would ask for, right? It’s very annoying that every time you ask for anything, he gets a call from Diavolo telling him if it’s okay or not to comply with what you wish for. If it’s not okay, you’re certain to get into an unpleasant argument with the Boss about it when he’s finally ready to appear in front of you again. Sometimes he’ll disappear behind Doppio for weeks or even months, but you know he’s always watching and listening. You really wish he’d put some effort to being a little less elusive with you, given that you were the only person actually allowed to look at him.

[suzukiblu]

Day five of fic NaNoWriMo; obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

The Superboy problem is a problem, but it's a backburner problem. There isn't really much Tim can do about it, after all. Bruce isn't gonna accept "hey so I know secret identities and maintaining the Bat-mystique and everything but could you just like . . . take in an extremely high-profile teenage superhero with no vested interest in maintaining any kind of secret identity of his own, maybe?" as a plan. Tim needs something better. Something more functional. And also something Kon will actually go for.

And there's just no way that Tim can just walk up to a notoriously independent and proud and defensive teammate who barely considers him an acquaintance and say "do you want an apartment and monthly living expenses and maybe also an allowance, no strings attached?"

That would be weird, definitely.

Like. Very definitely.

Tim's still tempted to try it, mind. It's not like he couldn't afford it, with a little bit of abuse of his trust fund and a lot of lying to his dad. And really, would that even be an abuse? If helping his teammate live his fucking life outside of a fucking lab counts as an abuse . . .

Well, maybe he really will move up his supervillain timeline, that's all.

But it's a backburner problem, still, and Tim isn't actually thinking about it at all when his best chance to solve it pops up. What Tim is doing is suffering through a field trip to a Metropolis art museum, because the school board is full of cowards and thinks sending his grade to an outside-Gotham museum will decrease the chances of said field trip being interrupted by a museum robbery.

Obviously it will, but come on, they're from Gotham. Like they can't handle a museum robbery.

Also all the art here is pretentious. Like, in obnoxious Metropolis-type ways.

If Tim has to look at one more stylized interpretation of the sun reflecting on a skyscraper while a "subtle" caped figure flies by in the background, he will actually choke. Like literally, actually choke.

Get one original thought. Please. Someone. Anyone.

(No, the stylized interpretations of the moon reflecting on a Gothic building while a subtle caped figure looms among the gargoyles are not equally uncreative, thank you very much. At least duplicating Gotham architecture involves some actual artistry beyond "paint a few straight lines and add a lens flare".)

Tim takes some half-assed notes about the boringly generic exhibit they're here to see and then goes looking for literally anything more interesting than said exhibit. There's got to be some photography somewhere in this place, right? Or at least some loaner art that somebody outside of Metropolis put together before Superman's public debut. Or something.

He ends up in the ancient Mesopotamian exhibit mostly by trying to avoid people and, unfortunately, immediately runs straight into a magical artifact. He doesn't actually know it's magic at the time, but the assholes who are about to blow in an outside wall in pursuit of it sure do.

Tim, unfortunately oblivious to phenomenal cosmic power in clay form, thinks it looks kind of like a cute little toy goat and is just grateful it isn't another skyscraper.

Then the wall gets blown in.

"The school board deserves this," Tim mutters, closing his notebook and sticking it back in his bag because sure, why not. This might as well happen.

Ugh.

The very obvious thieves rush in through the gap in the wall. A few people scream–Tim assumes to be polite, since this is already the most unimpressive museum robbery he's seen in months–and the civilians scatter as the guards rush forward. Tim wonders why anyone's even bothering, given that this is Metropolis. What, are they worried the thieves aren't gonna validate their parking for them?

Seriously, Tim knows all the robbery statistics in this city. Even when Superman doesn't show up, the injury and fatality rates are shockingly low. It's statistically more dangerous to go for a walk in Gotham Park mid-afternoon than it is to be present for an armed robbery in Metropolis.

Which is funny, considering the people doing armed robberies in Metropolis come armed for Superman.

Look, Tim doesn't understand the statistics, he just records them.

The thieves tie up the guards first, which seems like a waste of time to Tim when time is of the essence but probably will be for the best if they get pinned down in the gallery, he supposes. Then again, that'd likely end up in a hostage situation anyway, so why worry about containing a couple of unarmed guards over saving thirty seconds when you're doing a smash and grab?

Seems inefficient to him, considering.

He keeps assessing the situation and taking mental notes as he ushers various classmates and museum-goers towards comparative safety, since a successful supervillain timeline requires appropriate research and development. And also, Metropolis-based criminals should know how to work around Superman, at least in theory, so it's best to keep an eye on what does and doesn't work for them.

Not for any specific reason, obviously.

Definitely not.

One of the thieves goes for the little clay goat, smashing its glass display case with their armored elbow, and only then do the museum alarms start screaming. Seems like a stupid design choice when an exploding wall doesn't set them off, but whatever, at least there are alarms.

Honestly, if it were him, Tim would have a silent alarm and a secondary alarm set to a specifically Superman-discernable frequency, though he's sure Superman would get sick of that quick in non-life-threatening situations, so maybe there are local regulations about that or something, who knows. He should look into that, actually. Or just play something annoying on a frequency normal human hearing can’t discern and see what happens, if nothing else.

They make sonic fences to keep dogs in and teenagers out, don't they? Same theory.

The thieves are all yelling orders to each other and arguing; no clear chain of command and a poorly-established plan, Tim notes. Most of the civilians are clear or behind cover, so if he just–

Right, Tim remembers belatedly as one of the thieves makes a grab for him. He's currently wearing civilian wear, isn't he.

That probably means he needs to let this incredibly clumsy grab work, doesn't it, he reflects resignedly. Definitely it does, actually.

Ugh.

Tim, dubiously, lets the thief grab him and debates how upset he's supposed to look about this situation. A Gothamite can't look too freaked out over a Metropolis criminal, obviously; he'd never live it down at school. Seriously, is this guy even armed, he–

Ah, never mind. Definitely armed.

And an idiot with no concept of trigger safety, judging by the way he's holding the gun he's currently jamming into Tim's temple.

Great. Just great.

What does this moron even think he's doing, anyway? The guards are all tied up, as far as he knows there's no superheroes on scene, and nobody's actually trying to stop them. If he accidentally murders a civilian right now, they're all going to be in way, way worse trouble than just stealing a little clay goat would entail.

Tim resists the urge to point that out since there is, again, a gun to his head right now and the person holding it there is in fact a moron with no concept of trigger safety. Not an ideal time to start a conversation, especially not to criticize said moron.

It's tempting, just again, not ideal.

"The fuck are you doing?!" one of the thieves yells to the one going to a really unnecessary amount of effort to drag Tim along. "You were supposed to grab a little kid for the hostage!"

"There's no little kids, Mark!" the thief holding Tim protests petulantly. "I'm doing my best here, man!"

"No names, asshole!" the apparent "Mark" yells back at him.

Tim is pretty sure these thieves are just not very good at crime in general. Or possibly just not very good at anything at all.

He starts calculating the best place to "trip" out of this guy's arms and "accidentally" elbow him in the dick–off-camera, obviously, he doesn't want to leave any footage for anyone to review later–and pretends to be a good little hostage in the meantime, if not a particularly cowed one. Again: Gothamite. He can't actually let it look like a Metropolis criminal did anything worse than mildly annoy him.

Okay, maybe like, Lex Luthor or Brainiac could get a Gothamite past "mildly annoyed", but not a half-assed handful of petty thieves with a shitty plan and an even shittier exit strategy. They would've been better off running in, grabbing what they wanted, and then just scattering; even Superman can't be everywhere at once, especially if the thieves all blended into the crowd or had a couple of getaway cars waiting or something similar. Multiple targets, it'd be easy for him to miss the right one until it was too late.

That would require actual skill and planning and genuine forethought, though, which are very clearly not things this crew has bothered with either developing in themselves or outsourcing to someone competent.

Tim is going to be so fucking embarrassed if he dies to a low-level Metropolis criminal's craptastic trigger discipline. At least the Joker got Jason. There was a plan and actual malicious intent there, and also intentional targeting of specifically him. Tim has apparently just been tagged as "person who looks easiest to hold hostage", which he guesses he could take as a good sign for his acting abilities but honestly is more likely just this guy being a fucking dumbass with less brains than a mummified limpet.

God, imagine what his classmates would put in the yearbook if he died on a Metropolis field trip, too. Actually, no, never mind, he doesn't even want to think about it. Too fucking mortifying a possibility.

The thief drags Tim closer to suitable "tripping" territory, Tim debates how hard he can elbow him and still claim it was accidental, and somebody says, "Are you fucking serious, man?"

Somebody, specifically, is Kon. He's standing in the middle of the hole in the wall in the full leather jacket and S-shield combo, hands on his hips and expression exasperated. Tim has a weird, irrational moment of thinking he actually recognizes him and wants to know how he fucked up this bad, but Kon's eyeing the thieves, not him.

"You know I'm gonna get blamed for this, right," Kon says, gesturing meaningfully at the smashed-in wall. "I always get blamed for the property damage."

"Back off or I'll shoot!" the thief holding Tim yells, jamming the barrel of his gun annoyingly hard into his temple.

"Does 'faster than a speeding bullet' mean nothing to you people?" Kon asks, tilting his head just enough to make it obvious that he's rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

"Superman is faster than a speeding bullet," another thief snaps. "Not you, you shitty little poser."

"I mean, you could try testing me and then get attempted murder on your crime bingo cards for absolutely zero reason," Kon suggests conversationally, smirking in amusement. "Security cameras still running in here?"

Tim guesses he's saved, technically, but this definitely means he can never tell Young Justice his secret identity, because if Kon recognizes him he will never, ever let him live this down.

Also, everybody at school is going to give him so much shit for getting saved by a Super.

[lucifers-rubber-duck]

im back with more chaotic modern reader x hazbin crew... 👀👀

just imagine a reader who cannot take things seriously. like, oh you're sad? their response is either "not a slay" or "that didn't eat". oh Angel and Husk are having yet another argument and the rest of the hotel is tense (-Alastor)? reader just obnoxiously sips tea. oh Adam is going on his "I'm better than you all" rant during the fight? reader just obnoxiously chews popcorn.

A/N: I rewrote this a few times because I had too many ideas on what to do but didn't want it to be too long. Anyways, hope you enjoy Anon!

• You just don't get why people make such a fuss about stupid things, they're already in hell, what are they whining about? This place isn't even that bad, it is way different from what you were teached at least, you actually enjoy being here.

• You're not the most reliable person to go to when it comes to having a serious conversation, you just don't give two shits about anything, why should you? Does it really matter in this place, even if some demon gets angry at you, it's not like you can die again.

• You saw Charlie crying or just really stressed out about the hotel, you either tell her to suck it up or don't even bother engaging and go call Vaggie to deal with it, not your girlfriend, not your problem. Sir Pentious says his sinceres sorries to you? You tell him to go fuck himself and still gives him death stares for a week, he destroyed the wall Alastor made you clean up earlier that day and you hold grudges very easily.

• Husker and Angel are having a discussion? You're filming it and whispering “Fight fight fight” in the back, you'll take any drama that happens at the hotel. And when they come back all friendly and even being gross with each other you put your head on the bar's counter and let out a disappointed sigh; “You two are flirting now? For fuck sake, I can't have jackshit in this hotel can I?”

• Lucifer is coming to the Hotel? You cared at first, but then realized he was not as hot as you imagined the king of Hell would be and decided that you won't mind, you only really pay attention to when he and Alastor are fighting. Your eyes did tear up a little bit when Lucifer and Charlie solved things with each other but you won't ever say that out loud.

• When Vaggie finally revealed that she was a angel to everyone, you took it as the biggest gossip of the year instead of and actual emotional moment and did not understand why Charlie was so shocked at this information, like, c'mon, that shit was the best.

• When the final battle is close, the one that you can actually kill you for good, you don't get all emotional, your side has a army of cannibals, Alastor and the princess of Hell, why should you worry? Still, you find yourself drinking with your hotel mates the night before the fight, you find yourself talking happily to Charlie and Vaggie, telling Sir Pentious to just kiss Cherri Bomb already, you congratulate Angel and his future relationship with Husker which makes him laugh.

• This is Hell, you're here because you deserve it, but tomorrow is another day that no one can tell what happens so might as well enjoy it while it lasts, but you totally don't care about the hotel, yeah… Totally don't care.

[lacrimosathedark]

The Radioapple Haters™️ are at it again.

This time they're attacking shippers with the newly released Playbill.

There's so many issues with that. Beyond harassing people for ships is dumb.

This is what people are pointing at.

This is on the cast info page. It says Lucifer misses his wife.

So, three things about that.

Firstly, We Been Knew, babe.

His very first appearance, after his daughter says her parents split up, he's in a room covered in pictures of not just said daughter, but her mother too, and he's still wearing a presumed wedding band. If that's not "showing not telling" with a goddamn airhorn, idk how more clear it could get without Lucifer flat out saying he misses Lilith. So like...this is not new info. So there's nothing to really rub in. We knew this.

Secondly, this is in-character Lucifer saying this.

I'm not a professional, but when I was in high school performances, we wrote our own little Playbill bio info things. That seems to carry into professional ones too. If you can read the actual cast, some of the the actors less entrenched in the fandom culture have basically an IMDB of their relevant previous roles, while the ones you see at cons are more personable. Those were written by the actors. So, logically, the character bios are written as if by the characters. This could not be made more obvious.

So, logically, you can read that little above as Lucifer himself actually saying he misses his wife. Which leads me to--

Third, break-ups are messy and painful and Lucifer not moving on, unwilling to remove his ring or call Lilith his ex, doesn't mean they are still together. Hell, they could still even be technically married, doesn't mean they're still romantically entangled.

Look, I know the only seeming one-sided relationships in the show is Vox/Alastor and Adam/Lilith and every other "pair" are together or at least friendly (Chaggie, Huskerdust, Cherrisnake, Staticmoth, Guitarspear) but not every separation has to be a violent resentful split. Lucifer is explicitly Depressed™️ which can be hard for any partner to deal with, especially someone as ambitious as Lilith. It wouldn't be surprising if she, not even cruelly, thought she'd be more successful away from him even if he still loves her.

And all this is on top of the fact that most Radioapple shippers don't expect their ship to happen (some hope it does, some hope it doesn't, I'm personally neutral on the concept), and that a lot of writers and artists explicitly acknowledge and use Lucifer's love for Lilith in Radioapple because people love the drama.

I have several posts listing why one might ship Radioapple so I won't go off about it here, but suffice to say the entanglement between Lilith and Alastor and how the two are similar and different makes interacting with Lucifer interesting from any angle.

This also hurts me personally a bit because a lot of these people are Lucilith shippers and, yall, I'm one of you. I don't want them to get back together for many reasons, but I would love to see endless flashbacks of them obnoxiously in love. Most of my favorite works of fanart aren't even Radioapple, my primary ship, but Lucilith, in large part because of how adorable they are. How indulgent or smitten Lilith can look. How adorably excited or flustered or just happy Lucifer can be.

I love Lucilith. I adore Lucifer. I just also think his interactions with Alastor are funny and intriguing.

We don't need to hate each other. We can try to keep our little sandboxes separate, but we can play nice when we spill into each other, can't we?

I am really just so sick of the silly in-fighting. It costs zero dollars and zero energy to not be a dick. Need to type out a rant to get it out and off your chest? cool. But you can post it privately or delete it instead of going into peoples' ask boxes and and posts to be nasty. Not having the self control and wherewithal to not go out of your way to be a dick to people is honestly pretty pathetic. If you think you're so much better, prove it by being better, or being smug in your space. Making people feel like shit for a nonexistent fictional relationship does literally nothing for anyone and makes YOU look worse.

Dislike the ship all you want. No one cares either way. Just don't waste your limited time in this life making your distaste everyone else's problem.

[mountainficss]

heyy .. IVE BEEN THINKING AGAIN … FRAT CHEOL ??? like nothing really specific just… frat cheol.😊

- 🦈

!! mentions of: multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, marking

🦈 ANON STOP HAVING SUCH GOOD IDEAS??? i’m not too knowledgeable on frat boys but from what i hear they’re crazy and they party a LOT. or so the stereotype says 👀

i feel like cheollie wouldn’t be super obnoxious, but he would try to annoy you a bit. definitely not the brightest in college but at the very least makes an effort. very into sports and drinking. you’d probably meet him at some frat party your friend dragged you to, and you’d definitely catch his attention. since he doesn’t know how to deal with his little crush on you he’d just bug you the whole night. annoying little flirt for sure. would throw his arm around your shoulder while you’re sitting on the couch sipping punch from your plastic cup because you didn’t want alcohol. would shamelessly ask if you looked just as pretty without clothes on, and that would earn him a hard punch to the arm 😳 you’d never even consider sleeping with seungcheol! right?

wrong! in fact, you’d probably consider it more than once over the span of an hour. you’d let yourself give in, let yourself indulge in your temptations just this once. besides, he might be a good fuck! :) he’d drag you off to an unoccupied bathroom and would absolutely fuck your brains out, probably making you cum more times than any of your past lovers combined could. he even helped you fix your clothes and smooth out your hair after. you let yourself enjoy this moment with him for the night, but cut all ties with him afterwards. you didn’t fuck him again, didn’t contact him again, didn’t even go to another frat party because you didn’t want to risk seeing him again. you refused to let yourself get played, because he definitely wasn’t thinking about seeing you again! right?

wrong! he started magically appearing outside your classes, telling you that he asked around for your schedule so he could see you more often. you’d be skeptical of the fact that pretty frat boy seungcheol was asking around for your schedule, so you’d keep your guard up for a bit. but when he continued to walk you to your classes and sit with you while you study, you kind of grew to like him. even though you tried to avoid him before, he still looked for you. it made you wonder why he was so insistent on spending time with you, even though the reason is blatantly obvious. he definitely likes you. it’s very noticeable when he looks for you everywhere he goes and follows around you like some protective guard dog.

it’s also very noticeable when he fucks you sensually in your own bed while your roommate is away :( you promised yourself you’d never give in to seungcheol again, but you just couldn’t help it :( almost every time he’s walked you back to your dorm room you’ve dragged him inside with you. and he just fucks you so good—he fucks you like he’s in love with you, rutting into you slowly and holding your hands while he does it. he’d suck a bunch of pretty hickeys onto your neck, marking and claiming you. not only that, but he’d beg you to mark him, beg you to bite and suck every part of his neck so you two can have pretty matching marks. you wouldn’t think he’d want you to mark him, knowing that he was well-known on campus for being popular with women. but you’d never argue, marking his neck almost as much as he marked yours.

what you still fail to notice is that seungcheol likes you and likes you a lot. you figured that he was just the campus whore and you were one of his many toys. you’d assume you would be just another fuck-and-go for him, but that was far from the truth. he was attracted to not only your body, but your strong personality too. he’d always want to see you outside of fucking, whether it be walking you to your classes or just tagging along while you study. he genuinely enjoys your company, and he’d continue to try and prove it to you even though you’re oblivious <3