#because if I have it my way I won't do anything. ever.

[witherby]

WOAAH!!

Flight of Fancy reached 330+ notes!

ive never seen a request of mine blow up!!!!

—🦈

You have good ideas! And because the first part reached the reblog threshold, here's:

Flight of Fancy, pt. 2

Damian x Winged!Reader

Masterlist is Here!

"This is deep, and was made with a plain-edge blade. Whoever did this to you was trying to hurt you much worse than this."

Damian looks your wound over meticulously as you sit on a chair in the cave's medical bay. "What happened?"

You shrug your good shoulder, examining the space around you with clear intrigue. The Bat Cave was incredibly interesting, with all its different sections and complicated layout. You itched to explore it in its entirety. Maybe Damian would let you when he finished patching you up.

"I wanted to be free. The men who captured me did not approve."

Damian hums. He uses a pair of surgical scissors to cut off the sleeve of your robe to further expose the injury in your shoulder, and you let him do it without fuss. He grabs a wet cloth to clean the blood away and see it all better.

"Why did they capture you in the first place?"

You frown. Your wings, which are currently tucked against your back, flex and flutter briefly. You resist the urge to pluck at your feathers.

"They hunted me down," you explain, "and took me from my home. Said they needed me for what I can do."

Damian picks up a needle and thread to begin sewing the cut closed. You don't object when he warns you of what he's about to do or flinch when he starts.

"And what can you do?" He asks.

You don't respond. Damian sees your jaw clench, eyes darting towards where you know one of the exits to be.

"Alright," he says, "that's fair. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"You are not angry with me?" You ask.

"No. We're practically strangers," he says, tying off the stitchwork and snipping off the excess thread. He grabs a roll of bandages to cover it, and you hold your arm out to give him better access. "Telling me what abilities you possess might lead to exploitation on your part. The safest move is to keep sensitive information close to your chest. I don't even know your name. I'm not angry, I'm impressed."

"Impressed indeed."

Both you and Damian look in the direction of the medical bay's entrance and find Bruce at the door, geared up in his Batman suit. To his credit, he doesn't look as mad as the boy expected.

"I'll need a word with you when you're finished, Robin."

"Of course," Damian replies. He secures your bandage and pulls away. You drop your arm. "Will you be alright alone for a few minutes?"

"I will."

Damian excuses himself, closing the door to the bay and facing his father.

"You're going to tell me off for compromising the cave, and potentially our identities," he says immediately, "and that's fair. However, I informed Red Robin ahead of time so he could hide any documentation, and the Batmobile took a scrambled route here, so they have no way of being able to track the location of the cave once they leave it. They know nothing, and they've seen nothing that can implicate any of us."

"That's not what I'm concerned about," Bruce says. "I'm wondering why you've brought them to begin with. The victims we help in the field don't come back to the cave, ever. That's the part of the protocol I need to know why you broke."

"They're a metahuman, father," Damian says, "and all of Gotham knows your rule. Where else was I supposed to bring a wounded trafficking victim if a human hospital would've turned them away the second they spotted huge wings and golden blood?"

"To the metahuman outpost on the edge of the city limits—"

"— which was being scouted and surrounded by Luthor's henchmen at the time of retrieval."

Bruce purses his lips. "You could have radioed a Leaguer to take them somewhere else."

"It's three-thirty in the morning. Half of them are asleep and won't wake up for a non-emergency summons, and the rest are either off-world, can't get here for immediate extraction, or they're busy protecting their own sectors." Damian crosses his arms and scowls at his dad. "I'm not one of your brainless coworkers incapable of any critical thought. I'm your Robin, and I know what I'm doing. This was the safest and most logical action to take for now."

Bruce sighs. He rests a palm on his hip and nods begrudgingly.

"I understand your reasoning," he says. "In the future, I'm going to update our metahuman contingencies to account for lack of recovery points. For now, you're in charge of keeping an eye on them until morning. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Good." Bruce turns away and heads for a different section of the cave. "I'll contact Superman and try to coordinate a retrieval. If he's indisposed, someone will take your place and keep watch until we can safely get them to the outpost."

Damian doesn't reply. He watches him disappear down the corridor, then reenters the medbay to find you missing from your chair.

"...hello?" He frowns, glancing around. There's only one way in and out of there, so he's not sure how you vanished. "Are you hiding?"

"No," you say. Damian looks up to find you perched on the edge of the fluorescent lighting. He has to squint to see you properly.

Your wings are out, flexing and adjusting to help you keep your balance on the light fixture. You look down at Damian with a small smile.

"I can hear many winged creatures in the adjacent rooms. There are none in here, though. I looked."

"Bats," Damian clarifies for you. "They're not allowed in this section because it has to stay well-sanitized. Bats have a tendency to carry disease."

"Is that why the bat-man could not speak with you in here?" You ask. Damian almost snorts.

"No, he's a human. He just dresses like...it's...it makes sense," Damian says, somehow embarrassed by your innocent curiosity. "His moniker is Batman. He's not a real bat. Just like my moniker is Robin, but I'm not a real bird."

You tip your body over until you fall from the light. Damian instinctively extends his arms to catch you, alarmed, but your wings flare out to their full length and help you coast gently to the floor again.

"May I go see them?" You ask. "The real bats?"

"If you promise not to touch them, yes."

You pout, bottom lip jutting out slightly, but don't argue. Damian automatically thinks back on how plush your lips felt against his and looks away.

"Do you have any other injuries that need treated before we leave this room?" He asks.

"I do not," you reply, reaching for the buttons on the front of your robe, popping them open one by one. "If you must examine me..."

Damian physically turns his whole body away from you, wishing his domino mask covered more than just his eyes so he could hide the redness of his cheeks. "No I don't! That's fine, you can keep your clothes on!"

You tilt your head, but don't ask about his flustered behavior. Instead, you reach past him for the door and turn the knob, stepping into the corridor.

"Don't leave the cave," Damian says, walking after you. "It's imperative that you stay here. You're not a prisoner, but this is the safest move for you right now."

"I will not leave," you promise. You look upward as you go, scanning for signs of any bats hanging out on the ceiling. When you find a cluster of them, you spread your wings again.

Hesitating, you glance at Damian over your shoulder.

"Project Angel," you tell him. "That is what they called me, in the laboratory. It's not my real name. You may use the... moniker of Angel."

Damian watches you push off of the ground, soaring into the air with a dizzying speed to admire the animals up above.

"Angel," he whispers, watching your graceful movements with unabashed awe. "Fitting."

[rosaeh]

boyfriend!jason todd & work song by hozier

Boys workin' on empty Is that the kinda way to face the burnin' heat? I just think about my baby I'm so full of love, I could barely eat There's nothin' sweeter than my baby I'd never want once from the cherry tree 'Cause my baby's sweet as can be She'd give me toothaches just from kissin' me

late night patrol during the summer, and jason finds himself starving. but all he can think about is you. not about the food that's waiting for him in the fridge, but you. you, who -he hopes- is sleeping in bed and not waiting for him on the couch. not that he minds much. when you do wait for him -no matter how much he asked you not to- he would find you asleep on the couch, then would pick you up, and lay you down on the bed.

jason doesn't mind. he likes that you actually care enough to wait for him. likes that it gives him an excuse to hold you close.

but he doesn't actually like that you're depriving yourself of your sleep over him -you'll tell him it's really no big deal, but he wouldn't hear any of it. doesn't like that you end up sleeping on the couch, when the bed is much more comfortable, and won't cause you any pain.

anyway, he knows the minute he will be back to your shared apartment, the first thing he will do won't be eating, but crawling into bed with you. holding you close enough to fulfil his starvation.

and there is no other places he would rather be than in your arms.

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

and he knows that, if something bad were ever to happen to him, while away from you, he would crawl his way to you too. no matter what it takes him, he would come to you. even in death. because you are home to him.

after all, he already crawled his way out of a grave once, and he'll be willing to do it again for you. with you in mind ? jason knows he would do anything in his will power to come back to you. the mere thought of you is enough to motivate him to do everything. anything.

Boys, when my baby found me I was three days on a drunken sin I woke with her walls around me Nothin' in her room but an empty crib And I was burnin' up a fever I didn't care much how long I lived But I swear, I thought I dreamed her She never asked me once about the wrong I did

[...]

My babe would never fret none About what my hands and my body done If the Lord don't forgive me I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me When I was kissin' on my baby And she put her love down, soft and sweet In the low lamplight, I was free Heaven and hell were words to me

because jason does come home to you. every night. whatever happens, no matter the state he is in.

and he is much more careful about that too, now. about the state he ends up in after going out as red hood.

but he also knows that no matter the state you do found him in, you'll welcome him with open arms. willing to take care of him. keen, even, to make him feel at peace, at home. no matter how much blood tainted his hands, you would wipe it off every time.

you would calmly sit him down in the bathroom, and start tending to his wounds. standing between his legs, you would found yourself -more often than not- leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead, your hands pushing his hair back gently, your fingers tangling in his white strand.

and under your soft hands, your gentle touches, jason would feel like heaven was in your arms, because it is.

and it doesn't matter what everyone else thinks of him, as long as he has you. this heaven. his heaven. and in counterpart, for this peace you're providing him of, this love he feels radiating from you, he will always come home to you, and do anything for you to not regret it. to not regret betting on him, placing your trust into him like that.

jason is willing to defy death in your name.

[brotherwtf]

If you could add one 'missing scene' to episode 1 or 2 of the show, what would it be?

nah watch me running through the scenes in my head and being like "oo they could kiss there, oo they could kiss THERE too" if I had a choice they would be kissing every five minutes

BUT ‼️ here's the actual missing scene I would add: during the very first opening scene where it's John's last night before he goes overseas and he and Gale share a private moment and bid each other a "special goodbye"

----

John's quiet. Gale hates when John gets quiet like this, not a lapse in conversation or the enjoyment of each other's company. There's dread in this silence. Fear. Gale would be a fool to say he doesn't understand why this silence has overtaken John. Especially right now.

They're back on base in front of John's small apartment, and John stops the car with not a sound, staring blankly ahead into the Texas night.

"Are you afraid, Gale?" John whispers.

John doesn't use Gale's name, ever, not since he was christened 'Buck' at their first meeting. It causes Gale's stomach to clench in fear.

"Yes and no. It's war, John. We're gonna do some good over there, but you and I both know the consequences of it," Gale whispers back.

Gale knows they're both thrumming with excitement, both itching to take their training and put it to good use, to do some good in stopping the Krauts from spreading their evil regime. But Gale also knows that war takes and takes and takes, sparing no one, leaving every single person with a scar or a memory. John's getting a headstart, something unprecedented in their relationship. Everything they have always done has been done together.

John turns towards Gale, eyes bright in the moonlight. Gale offers him a small smile, a kindness, something he and John have exchanged since they met.

"Don't forget me, okay? If I die over there, I don't want you to forget me," John says and Gale's struck by how horribly terrified it sounds.

John's always been for a bombast, always had something positive to say and while everyone was congratulating him on his deployment he took it with a smile, said he gets all the good Jerry's for himself, hell, the war could be over before anyone else can get over there all because of Bucky. But now John sounds terrified, he sounds almost like a child. And Gale knows he will be the only person to see this terror and fright, he'll be the only one that John will ever confess this too.

Gale reaches across with a cautious hand and runs his fingers through John's styled hair, loosening it from its pomade and feeling the softness return. He always loved John's hair.

"John, I don't think I could forget you if I tried," Gale confesses.

He doesn't try to deny John's apprehension of death. Telling him false pleasantries of "you'll be fine, you won't die or get hurt" is foolish and a waste of air. He can't promise anything, and he knows John can't either.

John's smile, a soft version of the one he uses with the other soldiers, one reserved only for Gale. He shifts over in the open seat of the army Jeep that he stole for the night until he's pressed up against Gale's side, that smile spreading even farther across his face as Gale returns it. It's a much quieter, muted version of that smile, but John has gone on and on about how much he loves it regardless. He puts an arm on the back of the Jeeps seat, forearm touching Gale's shoulder as he brings himself closer.

Gale couldn't care less that they're exposed, could be seen if someone so much as opens their window and looked out onto the road, all that he cares about is when John leans forward and presses his lips to Gale's, soft and tender and filled with things unsaid, things they're both too afraid to say yet. Gale keeps his hand in John's hair and leans into the soft press of their lips, relishing in the sweetness of it. He loves the way John's nose presses into his cheek and the way his mustache scratches against his lips. He doesn't think he could forget that in this lifetime.

It's sweet and tender and short, and when John pulls away it feels right, but Gale can't help but start to feel dread pooling in his stomach. In a couple of hours, John will be overseas. In a couple of hours, he and John will be in the belly of the beast.

"I'll see you in a week, my love," John whispers, quiet and tender.

Gale smiles, pressing a kiss to John's cheek and stays there for a moment.

"Leave some Jerry's for me while you're at it," Gale says and feels John's laugh bubble from underneath his lips.

[georgegraphys]

The GPDA director role (and the GPDA union itself as a whole) is such an underrated thing because it is often still misunderstood by people and people actually think such a job is easy to handle.

I always find it concerning how some people continously dismiss George's statements or denounce his feelings like when he just shared how he did not expect being a GPDA director could be this political. Many said it's just him chickening out or him being "all talks no walks" when (IMO) it is actually alright to acknowledge how hard things can be and by means "political" is the way the Sulayem-led FIA has been operating. Quoting him directly, "I don't really understand any of this side of the sport. And it was more from a sporting perspective and safety perspective that I wanted to get my hands dirty with. Whereas, now, it seems all we're talking about is the politics of the sport. (...) But I think what it's raised [is that] all the drives are united, that solely we want the best for the sport. We want transparency. And we want to help the FIA and as simple as that"

In that statement, he did not mention a single thing about the job being tiring or burdensome nor he ever tries to humbly brag or act like a martyr by bringing up anything about doing more than other drivers in the job. I don't get the constant glorification of "suffering" in the world of Formula One where if one complains then it means they are weak and "not cut out for it" because "rEaL mEn NEVER complains and this is the pInNacLe of motorsport". This isn't the 1950s anymore. Get over those ways of thinking, won't you? Sometimes people all want drivers to be transparent with their feelings and thoughts but the moment they say things like this or (in George's case) things close to that, people get mad and try to denounce their feelings here and there.

In my opinion, George has all the rights in the world if he wanted to say the GPDA job is "tiring" or "stressful" because that IS the reality of the job especially with the current Sulayem-led FIA. Denouncing his heavy roles, thoughts, opinions, and effort while constantly expecting more of him is ridiculous. I cannot stress how much "weight" he has on his shoulder on top of racing for his own and his team, the endless (±90) schedules he does in a span of less than 11 months between races and his own breaks, the GPDA role, and much much more that I probably couldn't mention as I am merely an observer of his actions through the media, which is probably only 10% of the actual reality.

It's not about him "chickening out" or "running away from his responsibility". It's about how people should have a better understanding of the internal and external role that George held as a GPDA director and as his own person, as a driver. This glorification of "suffering" in the world of Formula One where one couldn't complain just because they are paid hundreds of dollars per week and that they are "real tough men" is weird. How do you demand and "encourage" for a "real, no gimmick, no DTS drama" Formula One while at the same time denouncing every ounce of reality every time it comes out from the drivers themselves? I feel like some people just want the GPDA to be more involved in the FIA political drama just for the sake of their thirst for fights and teas rather than THE actual GPDA advocacy for safety and sporting protocols because every time the GPDA actually does it's job (advocating for safety in F1) a lot of people complains about how "F1 has became soft" and how it "ruins the essence" of F1.

[peaceinpanem]

drarry - fake dating - muggle au

“Repeat what I just said back to me,” Draco instructed.

"Narcissa is your mother. I need to be polite, but not overly so because she can detect insincerity. Lucius is your father and is to be ignored at all costs. Ted is your uncle and a sworn enemy of your father, so they won't interact much, meaning he'll probably sit next to me at the table. Andromeda, the cool aunt, is sharp and may catch on to our act. Dora, the cousin, is laid-back and won't mention anything if they notice something is off. And then, of course, there's the forbidden aunt, Bellatrix. No mentions whatsoever. By the way, why bring up someone we're not allowed to talk about? I wouldn't have mentioned someone I didn't even know existed," Harry recited, kicking his feet up onto the immaculately clean dashboard of Draco’s obscenely expensive car.

Draco swatted at Harry's legs, admonishing, "That's dangerous, Potter. Ever heard of airbags?" as he navigated the sleek car through the winding, frosty country roads.

Rolling his eyes, Harry had a quip ready, but Draco continued his lecture before he could respond, "I told you about Bellatrix because forewarned is forearmed, Potter. It's better you know exactly what not to say instead of asking some insipid question like 'Do you have any other siblings?'" Draco explained, glancing briefly at Harry before returning to the road.

Harry leaned back in his seat, a smirk playing on his lips. "Harry."

Draco shot him a sidelong glance. "What?"

"Harry. You need to call me Harry, not Potter. I am your boyfriend, after all."

“Must I?”

Harry chuckled, “Well if you want this charade to be even the slightest bit convincing, you’ll have to make an effort. Wouldn’t want your family thinking we’re not madly in love, now would we?”

“Madly in love? Let’s not get carried away. Tolerably in a relationship is already pushing it,” Draco’s glare was piercing.

Harry grinned at the sharpness in Draco's words, the rigid posture he maintained, hands perfectly placed at 10 and 2 on the wheel. Pretending to be in love with the arrogant bloke would be a breeze, Harry thought; his real challenge was acting like he wasn't most days.

"So, does that mean open-mouthed kissing is off the table in front of your parents?" Harry asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"I can't believe I agreed to this," Draco muttered, taking a sharp left turn.

Harry instinctively grabbed the handle, suppressing a grin. "Agreed? Malfoy, you practically begged me in the locker rooms to do this."

"Begged? I did no such thing. It was merely a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Harry raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Mutually beneficial? So, what's the benefit for me, exactly?"

Draco scoffed. "The pleasure of my exquisite company, obviously."

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “You are insufferable, you know that?”

Draco ignored his insult, opting instead to reach for the dial to turn the music up a bit louder. 'It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas' filled the car with a sweet, smooth voice and tinkling bells. Harry turned to rest his head against the cool glass of the car window, taking a moment to enjoy the views.

The road was narrow, and every visible surface was coated in fresh white snow. Tree branches bent under the weight, and small bits of flurry fell from the sky. In the distance, cottages with windows aglow and smoke puffing from their chimneys added to the picturesque scene.

It was a pleasant surprise, spending time with Malfoy like this. Three years into playing on their university football team together, this was the first time they had spent any time alone, just the two of them, not surrounded by their teammates, coaches, and friends.

“How did your parents take it when you told them?” Harry asked.

“Told them what?”

“That you’re gay.” Harry chuckled, “I always wonder how my parents would have reacted, you know? Like if they were still here.”

“Potter, are you dense? This is me telling them.”

[ajokeformur-ray]

So I knit and crochet as a hobby and I’m dying to know, how do you think our dear Mr. Fleck would react to having someone give him a handmade gift? Like a sweater or a hat or scarf or something they knit or crochet for him.

I love that you knit and crochet, that's amazing!! I tried learning how to knit when I was a teen but I could never fully get into it. My grandmother spent hours and hours teaching me but I always dropped stitches and in the end I gave up😭I admire people who can do it and I know Arthur would too!!

Our dearest Arthur will receive the wrapped gift with trembling hands and you can tell just by looking at him that he's trying to ground himself. His breaths quiver just like his hands, his gorgeous emerald eyes are darting all over the place, trying to count five things he can see - and, oh, the way he's counting this gift five times because he just can't fathom the fact that you got him a gift!! You!! - the way he's smoothing his hands all over the gift, the paper crinkling under his reverent touch.

You are content to let him take his time, even after all these years together he's still always just as surprised when you do something nice for him as he was the first time you ever got him a gift.

Slowly, gently, Arthur undoes all of the tape holding the paper together, and tries his very best to unwrap the soft gift without tearing any of the paper. You know he will carefully fold it up and put it in a box stored safely under the bed, for sentimental purposes as well as reassurance during those moments he's unsure if you and your life together is real or not.

When your handmade gift reveals itself, whether it's a sweater, hat, scarf, or anything else, you hear his quiet gasp, the soft intake of breath which catches in his lungs, you see how his fingers almost seem to fly away from the gift before he flexes them and holds the gift tighter, like he's scared that too hard of a touch will disintegrate the gift like memory in the sands of time.

"Y/N," Arthur whispers, his gorgeous eyes filling with tears, "did you make this?"

You nod, his great display of emotion and overwhelming disbelief and gratitude threatening to make you cry, and you smile at him. "I made it for you, angel." A pause, your own anxiety rising now because you put hours into this gift, forgoing sleep and basic needs just to make sure it was done in time, "do you like it?"

Arthur nods, and then his eyes widened, panicking is he, for he thinks he has given you a lackluster response in comparison to the enormity of the gift, "I love it. Thank you so much." Arthur strokes the handmade item and puts it on himself, running his hands all over to feel it, to memorise how it feels, how the warmth is already spreading, "Thank you."

Arthur won't take it off much over the next few days, and every time it has to be washed, Arthur is there practically trying to yank the washing machine door off in his excitement to get the article out of the machine and into the dryer; the quicker it dries, the sooner he can wear it. He never wants to take it off, not ever, and he feels sad every time he has to. To Arthur's mind, it almost feels like a betrayal.

Whether you make him one handmade item or five hundred, all of them are cherished, protected, and loved with every fibre in Arthur's being. They're proof of you, proof of your love for him, and proof that even when you're not with him, you're protecting him with the warmth you gifted him.

After all, isn't that what our angel deserves?

[theunaveragepsychoticbitch]

Drunker, But Still In Love

[A rewrite of an old fav of mine. Human Barbatos, dirty talk, creampie, multiple orgasms, friends to lovers, drunk sex lol, masturbation, dubious consent since reader's a fair bit more sober, AFAB Barbs, AMAB Reader. Enjoy]

You were no stranger to peering down the necks of empty bottles with Barbatos, hours lost to liquor and smokes as you talked about everything and nothing at all. You'd known him years, knew him like the back of of your hand, so you never thought there'd come a day when he surprises you.

Yet, as he sips from his wine glass, simultaneously reaching for the bottle again, you begin to think the day was finally upon you.

Right before he reaches it, you snatch it out of range, having to catch both the bottle and your jaw when he whines.

Whines. The Barbatos, your Barbatos, whining. Hell must be getting snow right now.

"What...?" You've effectively been rendered speechless.

Setting the glass down, he pouts. Was God okay? Can somebody check on him? How do you call an ambulance for heaven?

"[Name]..." Your name slips from his lips like a snake in the grass, a myriad of emotions fitted into so many little letters. "Pleaseee... Can I have it back?"

Wobbly as he is, he barely manages to lean towards you without nearly tumbling off the couch. You grab his shirt, yanking him to safety only to have his limp form crash into you. You drop the bottle, but luckily, it doesn't break. Unluckily, however, you may not be able to say the same for your friend's nose.

"Barbatos? Are you okay? What is up with you?"

"[Name], please... Just give it back. I won't do it again."

Gods, you are way out of your element here. It only worsens when his fingers, so weak and trembly, grasp your thin T-shirt in a show of drunken strength, the holds leverage for him to lift himself up till he's nose-to-nose with you.

Well, it's definitely not broken, at least.

"Barbatos, I don't know what you're talking about, but I definitely think you've had enough."

"Is it because of the way I look at you?"

You stop, both eyebrows rising in shock before one drops in confusion. He continues, tears beginning to flow and obscure cloudy emerald-green eyes.

"I'm sorry. It's not my fault. I want you so bad and every time you look at me my heart jumps and every time we hold hands I wonder how they'd feel anywhere, everywhere else on my body." He sniffs, his eyebrows scrunch in what is soon revealed to be frustration.

"But you. You never noticed anything. You go on and on, every week, a new lover this, a crazy ex that. You've made your way around every "friend" I've ever seen you have, but you won't so much as kiss me on a dare!"

Ho. Ly. Shit. He was talking about last week, when the two of you once again engaged in the habit of destroying your liver, but with a bit more company. A game of truth or dare had started up, one that got dirty quick. Soon, you'd chosen dare, and the decree had been passed: Kiss Barbatos on the lips.

They didn't ask for tongue, or give a time limit. A simple peck would have sufficed. But as the hopeful green-eyed man turned towards you, he found you shaking your head, waving your hand, laughing like such a thing was utter nonsense.

"No can do, Barbie's my best friend. Nothing more."

Nothing more. Such damning words. He didn't need to fake sick after you said them; his stomach turned with regret and self pity immediately, and he spent the rest of the night home alone, seemingly molded to the bed. Every day with you has felt like hell since then, a quiet, unseen one of his own creation. Yet, he craved your touch more than ever now. It was driving him insane. It drove him here.

"[Name], please. I'm begging you. Let me drown my sorrows. I don't want to love you any more."

Despite the many other revelations tonight, you still somehow had the capacity to be surprised. He loves you. Barbatos, your sweetest, dearest, bestest friend, loves you.

"Barbatos... I, I don't know what to say."

He sniffs again, and instinctively, you cup his face, wiping his tears and searching for a napkin for his nose. You find one, stained with grease from the pizza box, but intact. He blows his nose as you pet his hair, before tossing it to makeshift trash bag you've set up.

"Every time you describe what you do with randoms, I wish it was me."

"Barbie, why don't you slow down and tell me about this when you're sober? This is a lot to take in–"

"I want to 'take in' you." There it was, that pout again, paired with a sassiness you know well. He looks adorable, his eyes nearly closed under the weight of the lids, his face so flushed that with the green hair, there were a number of fruits you could call him. His eyes were still a bit watery, but he wipes them on his own this time, continuing.

"I wanna feel you bad. I want you on top of me, holding my legs however you wish as you split me in two. I wanna be chest-to-chest, your hands on my hips helping me ride you. I want you on every inch of my skin, in the bed, on the wall in the kitchen on the couch. Just fuck me."

His hands roam his own body, roughly palming his chest until his nipples peak through his shirt, his fingers twisting and pinching the peaks as he cries about his fantasies.

"I touch myself to you every night."

Fuck. What an erotic confession. "I stuff myself full looking for the stretch you'd give me, but it's not enough. It's never enough. I can't cum off it, no matter how hard I try and pretend it's you there, fucking me senseless, whispering lusty nonsense in my ear. I can't even do hook ups, because they'll never be you. All I want is you, even if you'll only have me tonight, even if I'm sloppy and drunk and desperate." His voice is frustrated and breathy, his face contorting as the anger at how badly his body needs you meets the pleasure his own fingers give him.

"It's not the same..." He sighs defeatedly, seemingly referring to his own touch compared to how he imagined yours.

Your breath hasn't come in at a steady pace for a while now. His monologue was a summoned imagery of a long list of filthy acts done with you in mind, the confession of lust like something you'd read about in a book. He was stripping himself, his shirt tossed to the floor, his pants bunched around his thighs as his pussy, covered by only a tuft of green hair, was spread wide by his own fingers. Right where you could see it.

Already he was sopping wet, clear arousal dripping onto the couch as the lewd squish of his fingers entering his hole met your ears. Somehow, he'd gotten even redder, and now the blush had spread down his neck and chest, reaching for his navel.

"[Nameeeee]." He called, nuzzling into your chest.

"Don't you want to feel me too? I promise I feel good. I'll make you feel so good. You'll never need anyone else ever again. I promise. Fuck me, Hon."

The calm, collected, and careful Barbatos was no more. In his place, a desperate slut who needed your cock to save his life. You've never treated him the way you treated others, out of respect for your friendship. You didn't keep him around for sex, or for partying. He was one of the few genuine connections you had, and more than anything, more than you wanted to touch and taste and feel him, you wanted him to be happy.

You thought that you'd been keeping him happy. But if he'd find the most joy in a night with you, no, a life with you, you'd give him all of yours in a heartbeat.

In a flurry of movement, his back hits the couch. His fingers leave his cunt with a wet pop as you make quick work of his bottoms, spreading his legs wide so you can fit yourself between them.

"Really?" His eyes are wide, a wobbly smile growing on his features. "You'll do it? You'll do me?"

Your eyes narrow as you pull him impossibly closer, your clothed boner resting on his bare cunt. "I'll do anything you want to you, Barbatos. Ask, and you shall receive."

Your voice is deep and raunchy, something blatantly primal coming over you. You were the predator, and he was prey, all too eager to jump into your maw, to feel your teeth pierce skin and muscle and bone as you devour him whole.

How didn't you realize it before? You were the predator, but it was he who was starving.

"I want you to cum inside me. I'll take it all, every drop you give me."

You needed no further persuading. Two sets of hands work to relieve you of your clothes, and then, blessedly, you're skin to skin. Barbatos can feel himself overheating, his heartbeat like a drum in his ears. There's no way this was really happening. In a few moments, you'd put it in, and in his excitement he'd wake himself up, only to be covered in his own cum and drenched in sweat.

Your pants hit the floor, and finally, his savior was freed. Your cock stood proud, a bead of precum on the tip. It was just like he imagined: heavy, with a thick odor that made his mouth water and prominent veins all along the underside. As he stared at it longer, he blushed. It was the exact color he'd imagined too.

You pressed the tip to his entrance, but he stopped you. "Wait! I, um, can I..."

This sudden bout of bashfulness threw you more off guard than anything else he'd done tonight. He takes a second to build his courage before meeting your gaze. "Can I put it in?"

You would have fucked him long ago if you knew it'd be this hot. The perfect mix of shy and slutty, saying such dirty things while looking at you like that.

You don't even respond, simply allow him to straddle your lap, taking your length in hand pressing it back to his entrance. "May I ask one more thing?"

"Anything in the world, Barbatos."

"Will you kiss me?"

'Of course'

You don't say it, rather, you let your actions speak for you. You take him by the cheek, bringing him in for a kiss as he takes you all in one go, the slap of skin as he sits on your dick making you throb.

Twin moans morph and mix in your mouths, passion making you sloppy as he sets an unforgiving pace for himself. Your hands find his hips, but he doesn't need any help, pure instinct carrying him farther than you could ever go.

"Baby, fuck, slow down!" You choke past your gasps, each slam of his hips stealing your breath away. He's gone in the head, his eyes glazed over as the grip on your shoulders gets tighter and tighter, his blunt nails still managing to stab you as he chases the climax he's been denied for months now.

It starts as drunken nonsense between sharp breaths, but soon, he's chanting your name, spewing your praises like a man spared a pain.

"I feel good, right? Tell me you love me. Tell me you'll stay here and fuck me forever baby." If you didn't know any better, you'd say his pupils were little hearts right now.

"Can you feel how bad I need you? Every second you're not inside me is hell, and every second you are is paradise. My pussy has your name on it, forever, till the end of time. Please, fill it up, mark it as yours. Cum inside me baby."

You obey the wicked temptress that'd taken over your (typically far more docile) bestie's body, capturing his hips at the deepest point, ensuring that he feels you in the farthest parts of him. You cum, your mind going blank as he clenches down, squealing from somewhere far away. The hypnotic pulse of his walls as he cums drags your seed deeper, your dick being hugged so tightly his cunt would surely remember the shape.

You release him, and to your horror, he's up again, slamming his body back down onto your sensitive cock. The sounds you make are raw and filter-less, the sweet pain of overstimulation making you shake. Barbatos is in no better shape; he's too sensitive to maintain the pace he had before, but too greedy to come to a stop. He wants you, more of you, all of you.

Through your daze, you hear him, feel fat tear droplets begin to pepper your abdomen. "No, no, nooo.... Not yet... I'm not ready yet." His sobs are so sweet, so innocent compared to the greedy, leaky cunt the words stemmed from. Even as he cried, he rode you, his pussy bright red from the self-inflicted beating.

Fuck. How the hell did he manage to hide this from you for so long? How the hell did you not notice?!

A bout of Herculean strength switches your positions, his back once again landing on the couch. You don't give him time to breathe, ravaging his remains like the starved man you are. He wanted you to mark him, to make him yours, and you'd do so.

His screams were music to your ears, pleas for mercy and more blending until they were mere babbles. His nails raked down your back, clawed at whatever they could find as his walls spasmed, the stimulation just too much for one man. You cup his neck, pulling him into your lap and capturing him in a kiss as you begin to bounce him, using his body weight against him. Your other hand releases his waist, leaving his two trembling arms to support his wait as you begin another attack on his clit.

As expected, he crumbles. Three quick circles and he's convulsing, his arms failing him as he collapses partially onto the chair arm, partially into your lap. Once again, the pull of his pussy as he cums is too much for you, and you fill him up again, the feeling of your own cum leaking out of him, dripping down your shaft onto the ruined chair below almost enough to entice you into another round.

Poor Barbatos. He's half conscious, babbling thank you's. You rest your head on his shoulder, tuning him out until you had enough strength to pull out.

It took a while, but you did. His walls fluttered awake, clenching weakly as though they truly couldn't bare to see you go. You escape rather reluctantly, and find Barbs dead sleep. You carry him to the bedroom, falling into bed and only stay awake long enough to cover him with blankets

When you awaken, he's covered you too. His face is blushed already, thoughts of last night, the way he acted, and your response having played in his mind for hours before you opened your eyes. Seeing you in bed the next day made it real in a way the dull throb of his pussy couldn't. It really was you.

"I wanted to apologize for-"

"Sheesh, man, can I get a good morning first?"

You pull him into your arms, amused by the stark contrast to the side you saw last night. "We can talk about everything later. Much, much later. Like, tomorrow, later. Until then, just rest. There's no way you're fully recovered already."

He wasn't. In fact, his head still beat with a hellish hangover, not aided by his own massive mortification. But, he couldn't sleep quite yet.

"[Name], just, let me say this one thing."

You give him your full attention, your eyes locked on his. "I... I meant everything I said last night. I really don't want you to think I just wanted sex, I really do..."

"Love you."

You smile, dragging him into a kiss as bubbles float around your soul. "I never doubted you for a second, Barbie. I love you too."

His joy is palpable, raw and genuine. He kisses you this time, and for the rest of the morning, no one else matters.

-----

Eek! Did you enjoy ? I wanted the story to make more sense, the sex to feel more rewarding. Like yeah in the og he's drunk n horny and that's fun, but like, he's drunk and the love of his life is right next to him without a clue. He'd be horny AND sad, fs. And I feel it's more in character for Barbatos to be a sad drunk. TN is horny and desperate sober

[quadrantadvisor]

I'm taking adderall for the first time in two years and my brain is freaking out but in a different way from before so.... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[butterflysonnets]

yes i'm rooting for m*leven breakup because byler is neat but mostly? i'm rooting for m*leven breakup for the sake of el and mike.

to me, their romance was always a puppy love born out of a combination of social pressures, naïve curiosity, and a lack of true understanding regarding intimacy and romantic love and what it really is. it was real in that they do truly, deeply care about each other and they are close friends, maybe even shared an attraction, but a maturing romance is so much more than that. they've grown up and out of being boyfriend/girlfriend, and that's okay! i think television/film needs to show more often that most of us don't have definite "soulmates" or first childhood loves that we spend our whole lives with. it doesn't mean these relationships meant nothing and didn't impact us, it just means they've run their course and that something else is in the cards, and this is part of life!

i've always felt el was at her best and most confident self when broken up with mike, discovering who she was and what she liked alongside another girl her age instead of just relying on mike for mentorship on how to live in the real world. she deserves more of an opportunity to find herself, her autonomy, and her independence, and to love who she is, and she's made it clear she's felt insecure in the relationship with mike because she isn't being loved and understood the way she wants, needs, and deserves from someone who is her partner.

also, it's okay if mike doesn't love her in "the way he should". he is not obligated to love her romantically and stay in a relationship with her just because she's a girl, because she "needed someone", or because he cares about her a lot. he shouldn't be pressured into a romance if it's not truly coming from his heart. he deserves freedom to find out and honour who he is, too, instead of just staying in his non-functional first relationship — one he got into as a child, essentially — and defining himself that way because it's what's expected when a boy and a girl are close. he loves her in some way, yes, but it's okay if he doesn't feel comfortable or secure being her boyfriend anymore, for whatever reason that is. he's felt insecure too, and that's valid and it matters.

they are their own people and are steadily growing and changing every day. they need time to figure out who those people are, and it's become clear (at least in my opinion) that those people aren't meant to be a couple at this stage.

they deserve freedom. they deserve to grow up and be authentic to themselves and not feel like they need to lie for the sake of a relationship. they deserve to move on from this version of their relationship that isn't making them happy and rekindle the best part of their bond: their strong, beautiful friendship. they don't have to be a couple if it doesn't make them stronger and better and happier people.

i think it would be healthy and wonderful for a show, especially one consumed frequently by young adults, to show a relationship starting, progressing, and ending on good terms in this way. sometimes things don't work out, and that is okay.

[astralhope]

Rank 55: Yuma Jets!!

[girlivealwaysbean]

it's not sinking in that today might be the last day in my house and town for many months to come

[july-19th-club]

favorite type of villanous characters are the ones whose motivations boil down to

like they dont even have to have any stakes in the broader situation. they just have take pleasure in destruction

[grimm-the-tiger]

My FL main went through some really weird, organic development over the...oh god, I think it's been five years since I started playing now.

So my main is named Skadi Larkin. They are a little bastard. They started out extremely 2D; I named them after my favorite Norse goddess and the protagonist of the book I was reading at the time. I originally wanted to make them female like both of their namesakes, but the second I saw the third-gender option, I thought it was too good to pass up. This is where they got their primary base characterization as a mad scientist who wanted to Cause Problems.

Then I started the Nemesis ambition and forgot which option I'd chosen for who I was trying to avenge, so they lost both their lover and their older brother under tragic circumstances (only the lover was killed by Nemesis's antagonist, though).

Then I got an Exceptional Friendship and had to give my tragic backstory in order to gain entry to the House of Chimes. Skadi pulled said tragic backstory (orphaned in a hansom accident) more or less out of their ass, but it did establish that their parents are dead.

Somewhere down the line, I realized that technically Skadi is a linguist, since the Correspondence is a language, and I made that their profession on the Surface as well.

Around this time, I started working on character designs for my fan comic. I got really into messing around with skin tone, and somewhere along the line thought it would be fun to draw Skadi (who was originally white) with darker skin, and it stuck.

Then I abruptly realized I was taking a lot of options that increased my Melancholy, and almost all of them were based on the Surface. So now Skadi has a longing for the Surface.

I left the game for a few years, but somewhere during this stretch of time, and I don't know how this happened, but I decided Skadi was now Native American; specifically, Metis. I changed their design to incorporate a sash woven in a style characteristic of the Metis, which also added a bit of color to their design (which was mostly black or grey at this point).

During this time, I started incorporating Skadi into my fan comic. This would eventually lead me to actually flesh out their backstory in greater detail. When I started playing the game again, I also created my first alt by total accident (long story), and I decided to weave her backstory with Skadi's.

So Skadi is in the interesting position of being an Indigenous person who is what we'd probably consider Two-Spirit today but they'd just call "Bollocks to that gender crap". They never belonged on the Surface, since the Metis are in a bit of a liminal space compared to other tribes due to their interesting background (the Metis are the descendants of French settlers and Indigenous inhabitants, mostly Cree), and Skadi exists in a liminal space within that liminal space due to only being half-Metis and raised primarily in white culture, although they still maintained a connection to it through their late mother. They also never belonged because no one else on the Surface outside of the communities they already felt isolated from would ever accept them for their gender. London gave them a chance to express one of those, but not both, and despite knowing that the Surface hates them just for existing, they still long to return.

[here-there-were-dragons]

i have to wonder what super hardcore militant vegans think should be done about obligate carnivore animals, because in all my painfully-rapidly-approaching-30-years i've literally never actually seen anyone give a clear consistent much less halfway feasible answer on that

[the-lark-ascending69]

Had this moment of extreme anger and aggression out of nowhere and ended up hurting myself and then i wrote about it, went out to get some coffee, chatted w the coffee lady for 5 minutes, watched an episode of amphibia and now i feel weirdly refreshed and hopeful about life and the future??

[imminent-danger-came]

I really am so sad I don't like isat. The themeing was very good