#bio-bubble break

[rottenblur]

Post workout pump|A.ANDERSON

Abby x fem reader 2.3k

Summary: Your gym rat Tinder date isn’t one to not kiss on the first date, a coffee date is much more interesting with her.

WARNINGS: public shit, public fingering??? Dirty talk, Abby being bold as hell, head!! Fingering, quick mention of that liquor. Fucking on the first date.

Abby’s Tinder profile was simple, a couple of gym rat pictures, and a couple cute candid ones someone had taken of her with a background of beautiful scenery. The one that made you swipe on her was a picture of her smiling in the forest, normally you wouldn’t go for “outdoorsy” people, you wanted someone you could comfortably rot away with.

It was her fucking smile. The way that her hair practically glowed in the sunlight peaking through the trees, how her freckles complimented every feature on her face. It wasn’t just her looks though, you weren’t that shallow. Her bio was simple, simple in a way it didn’t seem like she was faking it for people to like her.

“Will fight for you.” And you believed it with every inch of your body, she looked like fought off bears for a living. She could break you in half, part of you wanted her to.

Your conversation on the app was short, you gave her your number pretty fast, I mean she asked for it.

You got a text from a random number quickly after you gave it to her.

(7xx) 8xx-6xxx: Hey beautiful.

You replied quickly.

You: Hey.. this abby?

The typing bubbles popped up immediately, she responded fast and used punctuation, which was rare. In your experience, and probably rare to everyone on dating apps. To be honest, this was your first time on a dating app, you had too much on your plate to even think about dating since high school.

Abby: [IMAGE ATTACHED]

Abby: Sure is.

The picture was a live photo in a gym mirror, she had dumbbells resting by her feet, her body covered in a tank top and loose basketball shorts. Her muscles were huge, you didn’t think someone could be that strong, the sweat making them shiny didn’t help how hard you were staring right now.

You: oh my god…

That’s all you can get out, you have no thoughts.

You: i’m blushing

You throw your phone, you’ve only been talking to her for maybe an hour and yet she already has you wrapped around her finger.

The text bubbles pop up, she’s typing.

Abby: Aw, such a sweet girl, already blushing for me.

If you weren’t blushing before, you were now. You couldn’t stand another minute not being with her.

You: are you busy today? I need to see you

Text bubbles pop up, then disappear, come back then disappear again. Read, for ten minutes. Were you moving too fast? You put your phone down, tidying up your room to distract yourself from the stress. You get into the shower, your phone on the sink counter for music. You wash your hair when your phone starts ringing, fuck.

You grab the towel hanging up, drying off your hands and step out of the shower to pick up your phone, it’s her. You press the green accept button and put the phone up to your ear, pushing your wet hair out of the way.

“Hey.” She says. Her voice, oh my fuck, her voice. It was gentle but so heavy with intent, she sounded like she only spoke if she meant it.

“Hi.” You respond back, wrapping the towel around your body and stepping out of the bathroom to make sure she heard you well.

“God, you sound adorable. I’m not busy, just at the gym right now but I’m free in thirty minutes if you wanna go for coffee.” She says, you can hear the dumb bells banging in the back now.

Your mouth falls open, she really wants to see you? A date? Today? You forget to speak.

“Yeah, yeah please. Where to?” You respond back.

You hear her laugh slightly, then take a breath. “I’ll text you the address beautiful, you’ll like it I know you will.” God people making decisions for you was suddenly so hot.

You agree and giggle, uncontrollably. “Bye bye.”

“See ya.” She says then hangs up. Fuck you were nervous.

You get a text from her, the address was a small locally owned coffee shop just down the street from you, maybe she lived close. Surprisingly you had never been there before, maybe you could have met her sooner if you stepped out of your comfort zone more often, you would have met her sooner.

Twenty minutes had passed, you got back into the shower, finishing it and getting ready. Drying your hair and throwing on a cute fitting outfit, something easy, or just easy access, hey you weren’t against doing stuff on the first date, especially not with her.

You walk to the coffee shop, texting her when you arrive at the front doors, her assuring you she was already there. She was early, you liked that.

You walk inside and that's when you see her. She was in the back, in a booth manspreading under dimly lit lights. You walk over towards her, her hands set on the table, fiddling with a stir stick. She looks up and sees you, her blue eyes light up. She stands up, she towers over you. You look up at her, her freckles are even cuter in person.

“Hey beautiful, you look you know..beautiful.” She says looking you up and down. You smile at her muttering a greeting back. You were almost shaking, she was perfect, everything you could have ever wanted.

“You want a drink? I’ll order, just finished mine.” She says, placing a hand on your upper arm, it engulfed your arm in full. You nod and tell her your order. She smiles at you and walks off to order, you sit down scooting to the inside. A one-sided booth, leaving no choice but to sit right next to her, her boldness was attractive.

She comes back, placing your drink on the table in front of you, scooting herself right next to you placing hers next to yours. You pick up your drink taking a sip, as she lays her arm on the booth behind your back spreading her legs, getting comfortable. “Was that picture from today?” You refer to the picture she sent you earlier. She nods turning her head to look at you.

Her strawberry blond hair slightly damp presumably from a shower, her blue t-shirt clung to her arms, her jeans tight to her legs. God.

“You like what you see?” She says tilting her head at you, looking you up and down in return. You nod shyly looking away as you fiddle with the end of your skirt. She catches that, flicking your hands away, replacing them with hers. “You wear this for me? I like it, looks really good on you sweetheart.”

God the pet name, her hands on you, on your clothes. Her compliments, she has you melting. “I wore it for you Abby.” You say looking at her, she looks up from your legs to your eyes. She smiles, rubbing your cheeks, keeping one hand on your thigh. “God you’re adorable, I got you blushing already.” She takes her hand off your cheek and takes a sip of her drink.

“What made you want to talk to me?” She says as she rubs her thumb on your engulfed thigh. You’re fighting to not squeeze your thighs together. You look at her lips, and her eyes then respond. “You’re pretty, I mean you’re hot, you’re intimidating it’s attractive.” You say. She nods, humming a response to you.

“Well, I thought about how fucking cute you’d look with my head between your thighs.” She said it so innocently, her hand moving up under your skirt, you couldn’t handle it your trap her hand by squeezing your thighs together.

She clicks her tongue at you tapping your thigh with her free thumb for you to open your legs. You submit to her order, opening your legs for her. Her finger grazes your clothed clit, your panties wet from her teasing. You look at her and finally respond. “I’d like that, alot.” Your cheeks were burning up, your whole body was burning up with need.

She leans in closer to you, whispering into your ear. “You’re so perfect, so fucking ready for me, so beautiful.” A whine falls out of your mouth, uncontrollably. Her fingers continue dancing from your clit to your slit, teasing you no, torturing you.

You place one elbow on the table, the other gripping Abby’s thigh, you were dripping onto your skirt it was unbearable. You finally mutter out exactly what you need to say.

“I need you Abby, I need you.” You say. She pulls her hand away, awwing in response, turning your head towards hers with a grip on your chin. She smiles and shakes her head. “Ask nicely beautiful.” You lick your lips and nod. “I need you please, please Abby.

She lets go of your face, standing up and holding out a hand for you, you take it letting her pull you up out of the booth. Your legs were weak, even trembling, she noticed this and smirked at you.

She drove the two of you to her apartment, so fucking close to yours, her hand on your thigh the whole way there, her glances never made you blush any less each time. She parks her car and guides you up to her apartment with your hand clutched all the way there.

She unlocks her door, leading you in first, she walks in behind you, and kicks off her shoes. She grabs you, pushing you against the door connecting your lips with hers, locking the door with one hand, the other wrapped around your waist.

She pulls away, looking at you with those lustful blue eyes, they looked much brighter when you first met her but now there's nothing darker. She locks lips with you picking you up and carrying you towards her bedroom, her hands full of ass.

She’s mirroring your whimpers into the kiss with grunts, your arms wrapped around her neck. As she enters the bedroom with your legs wrapped around her, you fiddle with her braid, undoing it and running your fingers through the loose strands.

She throws you down onto the bed, the plush duvet sinking behind your back. Your quick breaths are loud in the quiet room, Abby stares are you eating you up with her eyes. “What do you want beautiful?” she says to you, stripping her jeans off revealing her grey boxer briefs, a wet spot that catches your eye. Apparently, you're not the only one worked up.

When you don't respond she hums a “hmm?” to you pulling you from your thoughts. “I want you, I want to feel you everywhere Abby.” A quiet grunt comes from the back of her throat. She leans to you, putting her knees on the bed and caging you in with her arms. She kisses you, her tongue tangled with yours. She pulls away to strip her shirt from her body, tossing it aside.

You admire her body, stripped from her tight t-shirt her muscles look even bigger. She places your hands on her shoulders pulling your shirt off. She leans down to unhook your bra and kisses you.

She scans your body, her eyes make you want her even more. She kisses your lips, pushing her knee in between your thighs applying the perfect amount of friction as she moves to make out with you.

She kisses down your bare chest sucking purple spots all the way down your stomach, your neck to your hips littered in hickeys. “So fucking good for me.” She mutters out as she flips the hem of your skirt up onto your stomach. She kisses the inside of your thighs, whines and whimpers falling out of your mouth with need.

She leaves marks leading up to your panties, now even wetter with want. She pushes them to the side, taking a quick lick and sucking on your clit then looking up at you. Her eyes, her face from the angle could make you cum right there and then.

“You taste so fucking good beautiful.” You were melting. She attaches her mouth back to your clit spiralling circles with her tongue, holding your hips down with one hand.

She rubs your hip as you fight to ride her face, take control. She sucks your clit and pushes two fingers inside, filling you so well. Her fingers found places inside you, you never knew existed.

Her tongue quickens it's pace as so does her fingers pumping in and out of you. Moans fall from the back of your throat, you can hear Abby’s grunts vibrating against your clit.

She disconnects her mouth, pumping and curling her fingers to the perfect spot at a brutal pace, she looks up at you, arched back gripping the blanket. “Such a good fucking girl.” Her praises push you over the edge. She connects her lips back pulling you quickly to your climax. You look down to her, as your thoughts dissapear.

You pulse all over her fingers, and she pulls them out, kissing your thigh. She looks back at you, as she sucks you off her fingers. “So good sweetheart, so goddamn good.” She crawls her back up to your lips kissing you gently.

She whispers into your ear. “You make such pretty noises for a slut.” That shocked you, after all those praises, she degraded you. It had you ready for round two all in eight words.

She lays next to you, looking you up and down. “Want a drink?” She asks.

You nod, she gets up tossing you her t-shirt and a fresh pair of underwear from her drawer, a pair of black boxers. They were loose resting on your hips as the shirt went to mid thighs.

She walks out of the room, and you follow her sitting on the couch as she pulls a bottle of dark liquor from her bar cart. You lay down, she sits down placing your legs on top of hers passing you the drink. She tucks her hair behind her ear and looks at you, placing her hand on your thigh.

“Wanna stay the night?”

A/N: AHHHH I wrote this really fast if there are any spelling mistakes/ grammar mistakes LOOK AWAY. I love Abby thank you.

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - The Trial - MYG

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 1.1k+

Summary: 

"Caught in a daze, I persuade her with my own complications"

Alternatively, 

You have some questions and Yoongi has no answer.

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Warnings: Angst, reader's turning point. Yoongi's suffering has began.

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

Taglist requests are closed for now

A/N: another Yoongi's pov. before we dive into reader's post miscarriage angst. also, I have tagged everyone who asked to be tagged after I closed the request for the first time but I have only tagged the blogs which have age mentioned in their bios.

Read the next chapter

“I want a daughter first and then… ummm… probably a son too. We will name her Yunri. Yoongi plus Gyuri, Yunri.” Gyuri had told him once, latching onto his arm as if it meant everything to her. 

Yoongi knew he should have felt warmth bubbling in his chest, he knew he should have felt giddy but what he felt was dread running through the entire course of his body. 

Getting married, having kids are two of the things he never planned for in life - not even when he fell in love with Gyuri, not even when he got engaged to her somewhat against his own will. 

But now he feels weird, he feels something really really uncomfortable in his chest as he stares at your weak frail form weeping while sitting at the couch. 

His own limbs feel like jelly as he realizes again that you were pregnant and the baby was his. 

A baby - his and yours. 

Why doesn’t it feel so dreadful anymore? 

Yoongi puts the entire weight of his body on his arms and pushes himself off of the ground. His toes carry his body towards you. 

But he is afraid - what if you push him away now? What if you break when he touches you? 

What if you scatter and disappear in fine dust as soon as he gets close to you? 

What if… what if… all of this is a dream? 

You don’t look at him when he silently sits beside you. It hurts him but he knows better than putting the blame on you. 

If anyone is to be blamed, then it’s him for sure. 

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something - anything. But he only gapes like a fish out of water because his thoughts don’t form a coherent sentence. 

Your face is covered with your small palms, Yoongi wants to reach out, clutch those and apologize to you until you forgive him for all the damages he has done. 

But he can’t. 

Again he is afraid to break you even more. 

“Why.. why didn’t you tell me?” Yoongi doesn’t recognize his own voice when it leaves his throat. There is much more pain than he has heard himself speak with in a while - certainly for the first time after Gyuri left. 

You sniff, then rub tears off your eyes and stare blankly at the ceiling.

The scene is awfully similar to your and his first night together. He still recalls losing himself in those dark eyes of yours little by little and then finally diving into your abyss.  

“There are tons of reasons why. But even if I did, would it change anything?” your voice is completely opposite of his - steady, firm, doesn’t bear a single hint of all the tears he has been watching you shade. 

You are truly just another version of him. 

“That doesn’t answer my question, Y/N. Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” Yoongi scoots a little closer to your body. 

You sigh, a deep, resigned sigh that says you are exhausted - both mentally and physically. 

“If I told you, wouldn’t you think that this is an excuse? For keeping you all to myself? For not letting you go back to the only woman you have ever loved? Wouldn’t you, Yoongi?” You finally look at him, eyes red with continuous crying. 

Yoongi can’t stare into your eyes now. He is ashamed because you are right. He would have thought you are just like other women out there - trying to latch onto him for god knows what. 

He licks his lips instead, prepares to say something but you cut him off again. 

“Also you said … you don’t want to have kids.” your voice trembles now. 

Again you are right - Yoongi definitely doesn’t want kids. But then why losing your and his baby tugs painfully at his heartstrings? 

Why? 

“But I am responsible for your pregnancy, I- I should have been there for you.” Yoongi tries to reach out for your hand but you move away, standing on your weak feet. 

“There’s no point of regretting now. The baby is gone.” you inhale a long breath and then continue, “but I really want to know what you are doing here? At this hour? Right after rejecting me?” 

Yoongi stands up too, somewhat hyper, “I didn’t reject you. I was- I was just shocked. You ran away before- before I got to utter a single word, Y/N. I wanted to go after you but-” 

“But then the right person came to claim you and you ended up lost in her lips, am I right?” you don’t scream but anger is evident in your voice anyway. 

Yoongi recalls the doctor asking him not to stress you out any more. 

“It was a trial, Y/N. Me and Gyuri getting back together was a trial. I knew it wasn’t a good idea but when she begged me- I- I couldn’t say no. I knew I was hurting you too and I thought getting back with her would set you free. But I- I was wrong. I wasn’t free myself. I kept thinking of you.” Yoongi stops, gulps the lump in his throat and proceeds to continue, “I know I sound selfish but I got attached to you during our time together. And it is not meaningless to me as you happen to believe. You are more meaningful than most of the people in my life… including Gyuri. I… I broke things off with her, this time forever. And I came to tell you that… that I want to try being with you. If you’d let me.” 

You scoff, “and why so? Why do you want to try being with me?” 

Your question renders Yoongi speechless. He doesn’t know the answer to your question. 

“Tell me, Yoongi, why do you want to try? What is it that you feel for me?” you press more. Your new found determination of cornering him shocks him, but he knows he is the one to blame. 

And now that he wonders the answers, he can’t find any firm sentence to offer you. 

He still doesn’t know what he feels for you. 

“I- I don’t know. I don’t know what I feel for you.” 

You laugh, dry but dripping with amusement and anger, “then I would ask you to leave. You may only come back with the thought of getting together with me when you are sure about my place in your life.” 

You slowly walk away from him, taking careful steps towards your bedroom. 

Yoongi stands there as he feels the void in his chest getting bigger and bigger. A tear escapes his eyes but he still doesn’t know what he is crying for - you? The unborn baby? Or himself? 

His real trial, probably, begins here. 

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[cryiling]

thinking about that bkdk edating in middle school trope, except they're amino boyfriends 💀

they meet on an all might amino community. katsuki is one of the community mods, and izuku is the leader of an analysis club on there. izuku's posts were often featured and very popular in the community (he was def a microcelebrity), and katsuki always gave him a ton of amino coins on his posts.

for a challenge he's hosting for his club, izuku makes a huge deep-dive post analyzing all might's rise to fame in his bronze age. this post gets close to 10k likes, and katsuki gifts him 5k amino coins on the post. when izuku sees that number, he freaks out and assumes it must be a mistake since that's a huge number, who in their right mind would give him that much money??

he messages katsuki (who's username is 𝓓𝔂𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 ⛓️💥) (LMAOOOOO) and asks if the amount of coins was a mistake + offers to give them back. katsuki tells him that there was no mistake, and that he just really liked izuku's post. izuku is really flattered that this guy liked his analysis so much, and they continue texting back and forth for a while.

they follow each other and put each other in their bios under "bffs," and a month or two after that, they officially become boyfriends. izuku buys amino+ using all the coins katsuki had given him (katsuki keeps spending his allowance to buy more amino coins so he's super rich). they start matching profile themes after that, switching to a new theme every month. they have matching profile frames and chat bubbles and everything, and izuku makes a sticker pack of all might faces to use when texting katsuki (sometimes katsuki uses the stickers too, but only when texting izuku)

everyone on all might amino knows they're dating, since they're both such high-profile people in the community. they become the community's it-couple, and people love commenting on their walls how cute their matching profiles are. katsuki comments under all of izuku's posts praising his analysis, and izuku always replies with a string of all might heart-eye stickers.

6 months into their relationship, izuku tells katsuki he can call him by his real name. up until now, izuku had gone by the nickname "golden" in honor of all might's golden age. when izuku tells katsuki his name, though, he doesn't get a response. the next day, izuku wakes up to find that katsuki's profile has been deleted entirely.

izuku feels like throwing up. he doesn't know what happened to dynamight, if he caused this, what could have caused this. he debates deleting his account too, ashamed and confused and hurt, but ultimately decides against it. he changes his profile theme back to an aesthetic picture set of all might in his iconic golden age pose, and continues posting on all might amino as if nothing happened. he doesn't reach out to new people on amino again.

when izuku gets into ua and his workload drastically increases, he stops finding time to post on amino, eventually deleting the app entirely (his profile stays up, though).

in second year, izuku is sitting in the common room with his friends, somehow having been roped into a conversation about dating. "you've never been in a relationship before, have you, deku-kun?" uraraka asks him.

his friends' eyes all focus on him, and he blushes. "well, i had an online boyfriend in middle school, but i'm not sure if that counts." his friends gape at him, clearly surprised. some other people lingering about in the common area also tune into the conversation. katsuki is one of them.

"really, midoriya-kun?" iida says, doing his best to hide his blatant shock. "i must say, that sounds rather out of character for you!"

"did you guys break up or something?" todoroki asks.

izuku grimaces, remembering what happened. "i told him my real name, and then he deleted his account. i think it was because of my name, but I guess i don't know for sure."

uraraka frowns. "that sucks! he didn't deserve you anyway. what an asshole move." the rest of izuku's friends nod in agreement at that. out of the corner of his eye, izuku sees katsuki get up from his armchair and storm out of the room.

months later, izuku and katsuki finally start dating for real. izuku is so overwhelmed with happiness, and katsuki's eyes light up every time he sees izuku. one night, though, katsuki pulls him aside. "there's something i need to tell you."

izuku frowns in confusion. "what's up?"

katsuki takes a deep breath. "...i'm dynamight."

this does not clear izuku's confusion. "um... yeah, i know what your hero name is."

"no, it's-" katsuki cuts himself off, then starts again. "i was dynamight on amino, too."

izuku feels his heart drop. he's not sure what katsuki is saying, why he's bringing it up. "you... we were... you mean we dated back in middle school?"

katsuki nods, eyes on the floor. he doesn't say anything else.

"why did you..." izuku licks his lips in apprehension. "why did you delete your account?"

katsuki is silent for a moment. "i freaked out when i found out who you were," he finally says. "i mean, you know how i was treating you in real life back then. and we had been texting all that time, and i had been comforting you from the bullying you were going through, only to realize it was me who was- i didn't... i didn't know what to say. and obviously i was really immature at the time and wasn't ready to process my feelings yet. but that whole thing helped me realize my feelings for you, even though i didn't want to accept that at the time.

"but," katsuki continues, clearly on a roll now, "that still doesn't excuse what i did. it was a shitty move. and i know i've apologized for how i bullied you before, but i'm sorry for this, too, izuku. i know i hurt your feelings. i swear i'll be a better boyfriend this time, i promise. uh- only if... if you still want to be together."

izuku can't even think of what to say for a moment, still silently reeling at katsuki's confession. eventually he says, "no, i- i get it. we were both pretty immature at the time, and to be honest i kind of got over it a while ago. but," he smiles, "that apology really means a lot to me. and of course i still want to be with you."

he leans in to kiss katsuki briefly. izuku doesn't think he'll ever get used to that.

katsuki rests his forehead against izuku's, eyes taking in izuku's face. "i swear i'll be an even better boyfriend than dynamight was, golden."

and then they lived happily ever after :>

[sinnabum45]

Wright family 💕

[Image description: gray tone digital comic of Ace Attorney characters, Phoenix Wright and Trucy Wright. Page one: Trucy is 8 years old and she peaks into the kitchen to see Phonix slumped over the table with alcohol around him. He is crying and she watches from behind the wall. She moves away and starts crying, too. Text: “Daddy… Daddy is sad again…” Page two: Trucy looks up and clenches her fist with a determined look on her face. Text: “ I have to help Daddy become happy again! I will help daddy, then he won’t leave me!” She silently cheers with her arms up. Time passes and Trucy is fourteen. She is holding a wine bottle that Phoenix had hidden. Page three: Trucy looks at the bottle with sadness while Phoenix looks away feeling guilty. There are double boxes for the texts: “I’m sorry… I’m not good enough.” Page four: the comic is now fully colored. Time passes and Phoenix is putting his attorney’s badge onto his suit. Trucy is looking at him smiling. Phoenix turns to her and smiles back. Page five: Trucy hugs Phoenix with tears in her eyes. Phoenix hugs her back and is now crying. He says,” I’m sorry, Trucy… Daddy’s put you through a lot.” Page six: Phoenix and Trucy and smiling at each other with tears in their eyes. There are double bubbles with texts: “I love you.” End description.]

Links to help Palestine and other resources! 🇵🇸

[Plain text: Links to help Palestine and other resources! (palestine flag). End plain text.]

I have a lot of thoughts about the Wright family. Especially Trucy's experience being adopted suddenly after her father abandons her. I wanted to go into more detail about how the events in her life might have affect her, but that would've been very long-- I rarely see anyone bring it up (I could just not be seeing them of course). Her father abandoning her, then having to move in with a stranger (at first), then having to also live with and depend on Phoenix, who is struggling with his mental and physical health, and also being used by Kristoph and her adoptive dad in a way (making her turn in falsified evidence, help cheat for gambling, etc.). Also the fact that her mother disappeared and her bio dad literally getting murdered. There's so much more that happens to Trucy like-- BRUH give her a break 😭 I just feel like maybe these reasons are why she comes off like she has to shoulder a lot of responsibilities even though she is a child. She kind of takes on the parental role of scolding Phoenix when he drinks.

Of course, I don't blame Phoenix for struggling since he was also going through shit. I just also feel for Trucy as well 😢 Not every family is perfect, which is why I like how their family is portrayed! Even though they're struggling, they still know that they love each other and can depend on each other. It's still not fair to Trucy that she has to live/deal with the adults around her's mistakes and choices. I feel like she has a lot of trauma to unpack and heal from. I think that's also important to remember as well. Phoenix may not have been the best dad, but he tries and they love each other so much 😭🤲💕💕 I just love their dynamic. Especially how quick Phoenix just jumps into the father role 🥺

[akaakeis]

this is how it went.

part 2 of us without me.

cw/notes: angst,, falling out of love,, shoyo falls in love with another person while ygs are together (sorry),, named after (but not entirely based off) the beabadoobee song! || wc: 1k

your alarm clock blared, waking you up in... arguably, the worst possible way. it was a saturday, and you had the early shift at work. you begrudgingly got up, shoving your comforter aside. you pause in front of your mirror, taking in how disheveled you looked; your eyes were puffy and a tinge pink, and your hair was messed up. the events of last night all rushed back to your head as you looked at yourself.

last night...

honestly, it was a blur for you. you had gotten home around midnight from your flight, and you bawled your eyes out after you crashed into your bed. looking back on the months leading up to the break up... was it even clear that shoyo loved you?

he was distant, pulling himself away from physical affections and sweet words. after a while, all of the love filled words that you had for him died on your lips, never meeting his ears. shoyo probably wouldn't have any response to them anyway, so why would you say them?

"what are you looking at?" you'd asked him one day, peering over at his phone. you see an instagram profile- someone going by the name eden. there's a little brazilian flag in her bio, and she's your age. you don't tell him you were able to see that, though.

he looks up at you, a faint smile on his face from whatever he was looking at on his phone. he subtly pulls his phone away, replying, "nothing, just an instagram story."

how vague.

the same day, as you walk by him, you notice shoyo dming back and forth with eden. you'd guessed that he had just made a friend.

that night, at dinner, it was awfully quiet. shoyo ended up breaking the silence though, rather excited at that. 

"hey, i met this girl on instagram. she lives in brazil! isn't that cool?"

so you saw the right thing.

"hmm? brazil? that's cool," you reply. "are you gonna be friends with her or something?"

he nods. "yeah, you know how there's a chance of me moving there for volleyball and all that, right? she's gonna teach me portuguese, and she'll show me around if i end up moving there."

your stomach churns at the reminder of that prospect. brazil is so far away from here.

then, another memory passes through your mind; it occurred shortly after that last memory.

"hello? oh, hey! it's so nice to finally talk to you!" you hear shoyo say excitedly. the lilt of his voice makes you turn to look at him and raise an eyebrow.

"who're you talking to?" you ask.

he doesn't answer you at first, listening to her voice on the other end of the line. then, he turns his head and mouthes to you 'eden.'

you have a visceral reaction, furrowing your eyebrows. it's weird that he's calling her. probably doesn't mean anything though.

...and here you are now. how stupid. how could you possibly think that it meant nothing? all the texting back and forth, midday calls, everything. what on earth were you thinking?

you blow air into your cheeks, zoned out as you stare at the mirror. it's been 10 minutes since you started recalling memories from last night and months before. damn mind. your eyes were watery with regret. with bubbling frustration, you harshly wipe the tears away from your face and grab your phone. 

something must have possessed you that morning, because you immediately removed eden and shoyo's contacts from your phone, along with your socials. then, you called your boss. the line rings for 5 seconds, stalling. for a moment, you hope they won't answer and hear your wobbly, hoarse voice.

a click is heard, and it's followed with a short sigh. "hi, do you need something?"

you run and hand through your hair and shake your head absentmindedly, forgetting that they can't see you. you clear your throat, trying to sound as okay as possible. "no, i just wanted to call and let you know i won't be able to do the morning shift. i'm not feeling well. could i switch with someone and do the afternoon?"

there's a brief pause as your boss contemplates this. "...yeah, sure. feel better soon." 

"great, thanks." click.

after the phone call ended, you slumped back onto your bed, tossing your phone to the foot of it. you felt awful. everything ached. the television, which you forgot to turn off last night, continued to drone on in the background. last night, you remembered it being the first season of fruits basket; god knows what episode. now, it was on season 2 episode 8. 

irritably, you grab the remote and turn off the tv, tossing the controller to the foot of your bed as well. with a final sigh, you lay back in bed, burying yourself in your blankets.

you ended up laying in bed until about 30 minutes until your shift. you threw yourself into the shower, despite how unprepared you felt. it's not like you could bail on work.

the shift felt awfully long, too. customers were irritating, coworkers were rude, and everything seemed much too loud and bright. your bets were on shoyo and eden being home together and cooking dinner. they just wouldn't leave your mind, no matter how hard you tried.

about two hours into the shift, you get a message from the area code 11. that's são paulo. probably shoyo or eden. without looking over the message, you block the phone number. the frustration just kept bubbling up.

how could you be so stupid? naïve enough to believe that shoyo was really just becoming friends with eden? 

in your mind, it was your fault you ended up getting hurt so bad. you were more upset with yourself, and you didn't really get why. 

you just wanted to go to sleep. for a long, long time. until it stopped hurting. until you were no longer mad, whether at yourself or them.

not that you would be able to, anyway. this was progress right? it would take you a while to feel fully okay. but that's okay, too; you know that you'll be okay soon. 

⌗ LOLL hi guys i hope you're all doing ok

⌗ it's been like two weeks since i've posted any writing i'm so sorry holy shit

⌗ i had to write a speech and a magazine article and a narrative so i fear i was still writing... just not fun things...

⌗ am i beating ai allegations rn or is my wording too fancy... (ifykyk)

⌗ idk if i did the angst justice but i tried!!

⌗ i skipped drivers ed today to write this cause i told iya i would write it (+ post but i need a proofreader SO THIS IS PROBABLY COMING OUT THE DAY AFTER IM WRITING IT) before i went to sleep tonight

⌗ booo hinata 👎👎

⌗ dw guys i'll post fluff next time I PROMISEEE

⌗ if you enjoyed this (for some reason...) please consider liking, rb-ing, following, and/or checking out my masterlist!!

🏷️ :: @laughingfcx + @chososcamgirl <3

© akaakeis 2024 all rights reserved. please do not repost, edit, or translate my works on any platform.

[dekus-fellow-crybaby]

Nightmare Fuel

Summary: After venturing into the woods and stumbling across a statue, Gravity Falls’ newest resident meets her worse nightmare...or maybe her scariest wet dream.

Requested by @fivvy

Warnings: NSFW. 18+ only. Minors DNI. DARK FIC! This fic contains darker themes such as manipulation, possession, violence, dub/con, and non/con! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! Aged-up Characters, Bill x reader, Bipper x reader, slight Dipper x reader? (There's some tension), porn with plot, slight MabelxPacifica, asshole!Dipper, mind sex, mind break?, sex pollen-like symptoms?, supernatural elements, horror-like elements, fingering, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, revenge sex, choking, asphyxiation, accidental voyeurism. Lmk if I forgot anything! LAST WARNING! DARK ELEMENTS! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK AND NO MINORS!! AGES IN BIOS!! Seriously guys, it’s kinda messed up and I will block minors!

Word Count: 7.9 k

Gravity Falls. The town just west of weird. And your new home. When you were younger your family used to drive through the small, eccentric town on the way to visit family in Portland. Your parents just loved the scenic route, and the great nature of Gravity Falls was about as scenic as it got. You never stayed in the town long, but the curious corner of the world always drew you in. The people you would meet during your occasional diner stops or the stories you would hear piqued your interest. It drove you towards a love of writing and reading, just searching for vibrant characters that might match the town's local color. Which is why you decide to take a year off college and live amongst the people that initially stirred your curiosity.

Stepping off the bus, the sunlight speckles through the trees, the warmth dusting your cheeks, and you are welcomed back to the town of Gravity Falls. The scent of pine trees and maple surround you as you walk towards the town square, a suitcase rolling behind you. Checking the address on the post-it note in your hands, you make your way to the house on the edge of the woods: the Mystery Shack. It was probably more of a gamble than you should have taken to respond to the rooming ad for a place called the Mystery Shack, but it was the only available housing in the small town, so you'd just have to take your chances.

Skipping the town tour, you make your way to the tourist trap, but you take note of the town as you go. Everything seems perfectly normal. but you hoped that wouldn't remain the case. You needed something interesting to write about, something to spark a flame of inspiration in your head. So far, nothing but your new place of residence seems out of the ordinary. You make it to the Mystery Shack, surprised by the number of cars parked out front. A number of people come in and out of the house, most being led around by a dude in a suit, eyepatch, and fez. Walking closer to what you can only assume to be a tour group, you listen in on the man rifting off facts about the obviously fake attractions.

"And here we have the rock that looks like a face, dudes," the tour guide said.

"But is it a rock or is it a face?"

"No, dude, it's a rock that looks like a face," the tour guide sighs as if he got this question often. "It's-it's not an actual face." This only sparks more controversy for the guide, so you peacefully excuse yourself from the group, bypass the entrance for the indoor Mystery Museum, and trudge around to the backdoor. You're pleased to find no tourists there. From the window, you notice a few people filing around the room and you hope they were the actual residents of the house/tourist attraction. Knocking on the door, you are almost immediately met by a bubbly brunette answering with a brooding blond watching intently behind her.

"Uh, hi, I'm—"

"Are you our new roomie?!" She beams, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she ushers you in before you even give your answer. Once you’re in the room, you take in each of the girls' features. The brunette smiles at you excitedly, a pair of perfectly straight teeth flashing between glossy pink lips. Her curly hair tumbles down her back, the front of her bangs are held back by a dark pink headband which matches a pair of leggings she wore beneath a white tee with a multicolored shooting star on the front. The blond behind her has straight hair, straight-cut bangs brushing over her long, mascara-covered lashes, a light purple dusting of eyeshadow matching a purple jersey shirt with a white diamond on the front over a pair of black leggings along with a pair of big, white hooped earrings.

"Yeah, yes, hi," you breathed out, apprehension and shock in your tone as you’re pulled in. "Are you Mabel?"

"Actually...I'm your new roommate!" She squeals before deadpanning with a, “But yeah, my name is Mabel.” You can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.

"Well, it's really nice to meet you, Mabel," you say genuinely, a sigh of relief passing your lips along with a giggle.

"This is Pacifica, my gf and our other roommate," Mabel introduces. The blond nods her head, not saying a word as Mabel does all the talking. "And my brother also lives here but he's kinda...busy right now. He's sorry he couldn't be here for the greeting party though!" You brush that off. "How about we give you the tour and then we can get to know each other."

She grabs one of your two bags as she leads you to your room: a dark space with a slanted ceiling, a stained-glass window in the far-left corner which offers a muted colored light, a furnace in the far right, a bed at the center of the left wall, and a closet to the left of the bed. It’s perfect for a shut-in writer such as yourself. Mabel tells you that the room used to belong to her Grunkle Stan who was travelling the seas with his brother, her Great Uncle Ford.

Dropping the bags onto the bed, the three of you made the rounds of the house. Mabel and Pacifica share the attic, Mabel saying she has sentimental attachment to the space. While walking through their home, Pacifica tells you how she had grown up as a rich only child. Her parents had fallen on a bit of "hard times" after her dad made a bad investment in some bonds and they had to sell their mansion to the town kook, Old Man McGucket, and, yes, that is how he prefers to be called. After living with her parents until she was legally able to leave, her now living with Mabel and her brother in the Mystery Shack was not only convenient but is also like a middle finger to her oppressive parents. You learn all of this before you even make it to the living room. You really like how talkative Mabel is. Her extrovert personality counteracts your quiet tendencies.

Coming to Mabel's twin brother's room—who you found out is named Mason but is nicknamed Dipper—it’s a mess. Dirty laundry, papers, and books all scattered over every surface. You barely notice the shape of the bed or couch underneath the piles of clothing and maps. The only thing that seems to be somewhat in order was the bookshelf. It’s stacked to the brim with books except for the top shelf, where only three books rest, all with their covers facing out. Each one is a deep blue, a drawing of a silver Pinetree overlayed with a golden Big Dipper constellation and underneath is printed golden numbers 1, 2, 3. They look like journals, though you had no idea what information could be handwritten there. You gather that he’s either a brainiac or a maniac, and neither tend to have very clean tendencies. But you aren’t one to judge, knowing you could get the same way in the midst of an inspired breakthrough. Your muse could work in mysterious and very annoying ways: ergo the entire reason for moving to Gravity Falls.

"Yeah, my brother tends to be a bit...hazardous when he gets in the work zone," Mabel explains sheepishly. "If it's not his room, it’s the basement that's a mess. Or both. Mostly both."

You’ve stayed relatively quiet the entirety of the tour but your curiosity itches at you brain, prompting an inquisitive, "What does your brother do?"

"Science research...of sorts," she answers through thin lips.

"Of sort?" Your brows scrunch together at the vague implication.

"Yeah, I'm not entirely sure the specifics of his work, just that he has a few Ph.D.'s," she shrugs, a nervous laugh bubbling in her throat, as if it wasn't a great feat to have multiple Ph.D.'s before the ripe age of twenty-four.

"Wow, that's...really impressive," you breath, not knowing exactly how to respond to her nonchalance over the subject.

"Yeah, proud of my bro-bro, just wish he would wash his clothes," she chuckles, faking(?) a grimace and pulling a laugh out of you and Pacifica.

The rest of the tour went on like this, sharing stories and taking cracks at one another, giving you an idea of the nature of the relationship between your new housemates. Mabel went on and on about how much the house means to them, and how much their great uncles mean to them as well. It’s really sweet, and you believe that you’ve found yourself some interesting characters to write about.

Mabel is really nice and, while Pacifica had a very hard exterior, you can see her softer side in the moments when she lets herself slip out of that tough exterior to laugh for Mabel. They both help you unpack quickly, even brightening up the space with a lamp Mabel had decorated herself—crystals hot glued to the base, refracting a cascade of rainbows around the room. You feel so welcomed already.

An ear-shattering bang shakes the house, dust drizzling from the ceiling and effectively startling you awake.

"Fuck!" A voice screams. You follow it with a heart-pounding urgency, leading you to the gift shop where smoke billows into the room. The vending machine swings open, and you startle, a small squeak leaping out of your throat. A figure emerge from the smoke, coughing and waving his arms with a cap in one hand to clear out the black cloud surrounding him. When the smog clears enough for you to get a good look at the man, the first thing you saw was the mop of curly brown hair, much like Mabel's, that is powdered with soot and debris. His pale skin is marred by the caking of dirt over his exposed arms and cheeks, yet the dark circles underneath his eyes were still prominent despite only being illuminated by the moonlight seeping in through glass windows. The dark grayish-green tee with a black question mark on the front was also frosted in a layer of powder. The red flannel tied around his waist seems relatively unscathed until he uses the material to wipe what is still on his face. His arms lifted to rub off the grime, showcasing the ink markings on his forearms. You can’t help but stare at him and the opened vending machine entrance, mouth hanging open at the scene. You wonder if you’re dreaming.

"Trying to catch flies, sunshine?" His deep voice rattles. You know he’s speaking to you despite him refusing to look your way.

"Excuse me?"

"No?" He smugly questions, the sarcasm dripping from his voice that is riddled with sleep deprivation and husky from his dust-coated throat. He finally looks over at you, allowing you to meet his chocolate brown eyes. "Then you should close your mouth." You wrinkle your nose at the snark of his tone. Before you can reply, the girls come down from the attic.

"Nice going, Dipstick, what did you blow up this time?" The blonde grumbles. You make a mental note to never wake the girl from her beauty sleep lest you receive the same venomous tone.

"None of your business, Pacifica," he sighs.

"I don't know why you're in such a piss mood when you were the one to wake everyone up at three in the morning, moron," she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest and rolling her eyes so far back into her head that you’re sure she caught a glimpse of her brain.

"I know that you, more than anyone, need your precious beauty sleep, Pacifica, but my lab is not any of your concern," Dipper snaps back.

"Shut up, Dipshit."

"Buy my silence then, rich bitch."

The tangible tension in the room surrounds the house residents as Pacifica's eye twitch and her nostrils flare. Pacifica, not wanting to put up with his attitude any longer at three in the morning, mumbles a quiet, "Whatever," and turns on her heel, heading back upstairs. You can’t help but admire the great restraint on her part.

"Mason, go to sleep," Mabel utters firmly, tiredly, pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance as she speaks. "You're a dick when you haven't slept in a few days." He knows better than to talk back to Mabel when she calls him out like that, especially so when there is a significant lack of a nickname.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he groans, his hand dragging down his face, smearing black back onto the skin he'd just half-heartedly cleaned off.

"And you will apologize tomorrow." It’s not a question from Mabel, the no-nonsense tone leaving little room for debate.

"Yeah, I will," he mutters, followed by a nearly silent, "When Waddles learns to fly."

"Well, he already did," she argues, leaving you absolutely confused. "I'll see if I can't get her to apologize for the ‘dipshit’ comment but yours was worse so you have to make the first move."

"I know the drill, Mabel." She nods at his compliance, turning to you.

"I'm sorry that this is your first impression of my brother," she says sheepishly, though her tone scolds him still.

"This is the Ph.D. guy?" You choke out the inquiry softly towards Mabel, shock clear in your tone. She shrugs, nods, then goes off to find Pacifica.

"You must be the new roommate," he smiles then, though it’s more condescending than friendly. Despite that, he still holds out his hand for you to shake. "Nice to meet you. Stay out of my lab."

"Noted," you scoffs, taking his hand as if in a daze.

"Nice pjs," he smirks, instantly turning your cheeks red as you remember what you wore to bed. Nothing more than a thin T-shirt that barely covers your backside. You snatch your hand back from his hold. "Oh, and welcome to Gravity Falls."

Looking around, you take in the black-and-white space surrounding you. The trees still, despite the breeze grazing your skin; the birds hover in the air, wings wide spread; the wildlife turn their heads towards you yet don't move an inch otherwise. It’s like walking into a vintage photograph. Your mind wanders as your feet carry you deeper into the forest, following the gentle stream. The only color illuminating the monochrome forest is yourself and the image of a floating yellow-

"Mabel! I've said it once, I've said it a million times! I don't want any Mabel juice!" The sound of Pacifica's shrieking voice stirs you out of sleep, pulling you from the odd dream.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you walk into the den full of commotion. "What the hell is Mabel juice?" You ask sleepily, mid-yawn. You’re met with coos about how adorable the action was from Mabel, to which you blush and sheepishly wave off, already getting the sense that Mabel found cuteness in almost anything.

"Mabel juice!" Mabel announces proudly and far too loudly for so early in the morning. "A beverage of my own invention!" She shows off, presenting the drink in question that looked like a hot pink choking hazard. "Want some?"

"Hmm," you hum in thought at her hopeful intent. "Thank you, Mabel, but I think I'll stick with coffee. I do appreciate the offer though." She just shrugs, still beaming, and pours herself a glass. The sweet smell of pancakes wafts around the room as you sit at the kitchen table. "Something smells good."

"It's my ultra-chocolate-chip pancakes with sprinkles!" Mabel announces, sliding a plate over to Pacifica with a nicely decorated array of rainbow colors over a cloud of whipped cream in the shape of the Smiledip puppy.

"Wow, is this what breakfast is always like here?" You wonder aloud, Pacifica shrugs, hesitates in thought, and then nods.

"How many pancakes, Sunshine?" Mabel hums, the nickname falling easily from her lips. She obviously makes attachments very quickly.

"One, please," you say politely. Mabel is quick to oblige, whipping up similar masterpieces that look like a kitten judge, complete with chocolate syrup whiskers, a powdered sugar powdered wig, and a bacon gavel. "Mabel, this is really incredible." You can’t even remember the last time you had a hot breakfast. Or any breakfast for that matter. You didn't exactly practice a habit of self-care while taking your college courses...or any basic needs really like a regular eating schedule or exercise.

"Why thank you, Cutie-Patootie." You would respond if your mouth wasn't currently stuffed with the bacon gavel. "Sleep well?"

"For the most part." You nod slowly before your mind drifts back to the three a.m. incident. "Can I ask you something though?"

"Shoot."

"Is your brother always like that?" Pacifica snorts derivatively beside you, as if laughing at her own inside joke echoing in her head.

"Well, if you mean pushing the reasonable boundaries of his own health to finish his current hyper fixation…then yes," Mabel sighs, offering a sad smile. "But the bitchiness, no. He’s usually sweet, just sassy. But he tends to slip into bitchy mode when he hasn't gotten enough sleep…which now that I think about it is whenever he’s on the edge of a breakthrough…So to answer your question: yes."

"Hmm, that seems so stupid, though," you hum around a mouthful of the sugar drowned pancake bite.

"Pardon?" The voice comes from behind you, startling you with a bite of pastry cat judge halfway in your mouth. You would have choked if you'd taken a bigger bite. Turning your head, syrup almost dripping off your pouting bottom lip, you see Dipper. He obviously showered which was quite the improvement from last night. Now that his face is clean you can take notice of his features. You remember the big brown eyes but now, without the smudges of grease and grime on his forehead, you notice the pair of bushy eyebrows and fluffy curls that rest above those chocolate orbs. It looks like he hasn't shaved in a while, a shadow of scruff shading his chin. Instead of the question mark tee from last night, he’s wearing a dark blue sweater with the words "Disco Girl" in bubbled sky-blue font that reminds you of a 70s aesthetic mood board which he accompanies with a pair of grey sweats. You think it an odd outfit choice for the moody man in front of you, the juxtaposition boggling your mind. He cocks his head and raises a bushy brow in question when you take your time to answer.

"I mean, it just doesn't seem very productive," you shrug when you finally shallow the breakfast bite that was stuffing your mouth, the hypocrisy dripping off your words as much as the syrup. "When you don't get enough sleep your neuroreceptors lose their sensitivity to serotonin and norepinephrine which leads to impaired cognitive function. I thought you were supposed to be a genius or something." You mumble the last part while sipping on your cup of coffee. Pacifica snorts out of laugh, Mabel has to slap her hand over her mouth to cover the traitorous smile, and Dipper stares at you with his nose wrinkled and his brows drawn together, taking in your words and frowning at the implication.

"I'm going back to bed," he announces, immediately turning on his heel. “Save me a pancake gnome, Mabel!”

"Are you a science buff too, Sunshine?" Mabel asks once Dipper has turned the corner. Peering past the wall, you check to make sure he was really gone.

"Nope," you popped the 'p'. "I got that off a tv show. I just wanted to stump him." All three of you erupt in laughter.

"Okay, I’ve decided to like you," Pacifica giggles, leaning back in her chair and giving you an approving once over. "On a trail basis, of course. We’ll see how it goes."

"Honored," you chuckle.

"So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day?" Mabel asks. She turns the stove off, carrying over a plate with a llama pancake for Pacifica and her own her has a pancake shaped like a dolphin…with muscular arms instead of fins?

"Well, I wanted to check out the town a bit," you answer with a mouthful of the syrupy breakfast. "Maybe walk around the forest a bit…Any good landmarks to check out?”

"Want a tour guide?"

"Yeah, that’d be great, Mabel," you answer gratefully.

The three of you make a day of exploring the town. Mabel and Pacifica show off every aspect and share all the quirky attributes of the small town. Considering the size of the town, the tour doesn't take long. The last stop is Greasy's Diner where Pacifica works. The three of you eat lunch before Pacifica clocks into work. Mabel offers to walk with you back to the Mystery Shack before she goes back out to the craft shop for more knitting supplies. You politely decline, saying that you can find your way back on your own. You part ways and you take your own time strolling back to the house, taking the long way through the mysterious woods you've been itching to explore.

After living with the trio for a few weeks, you caught on to a few things. Mabel is a being of pure chaos, but she makes it work. She channels most of her energy into her creativity, her job consisting of running an Etsy shop selling knitted sweaters. Pacifica is actually a very chill person. She was rather reserved, and you'd catch her people watching often, especially when Mabel's friends Candy and Grenda would come over. She would often observe them with a small smile playing on her glossy lips. She seemed like the perfect balance for Mabel's wildness. And Dipper hates your guts. You're not sure why, but you frequently found him glaring at you. You're not sure what you did, but the guy always has an evil eye for you. Especially when you get back from your daily walks through the woods.

That's another thing about your time in Gravity Falls that seems odd to you. You're not sure why, but you're drawn to the wilderness. It's as if something in the forest was calling out to you.

Your mind wanders as your feet carry you deeper into the forest. Your surroundings blur and blend into the verdant brush or golden glow of the setting sun. You don't even realize how long you've been traveling until your limbs begin to ache and nothing around you is familiar anymore. You hear and see nothing resembling that of a human touch, only the steady thrum of the natural world you've stepped into. The final rays of the evening sun light your path as you venture further, a meager attempt to find your way back to civilization. However, you curiously find yourself stumbling upon a mossy mass of stone, and time seems to slow down the moment you do. The trees still, despite the breeze grazing your skin; the birds hover in the air, wings widespread; the wildlife turn their heads towards you yet don't move an inch otherwise. Coming closer, you see a scrawny statue arm reach out to you welcomingly. Your eyes travel over the attached body, the monument shaped like a personified pyramid. You tiptoe around the monolith, studying the odd artwork. A breeze sweeps over you, a shiver working its way down your spine. There's a sudden subtle tickle at the back of your brain and a slight paranoia settles across your skin. Your eyes find the granite gaze of the one-eyed creature, and goose bumps bloom over your flesh. You don't understand it, but you feel a simultaneous urge to flee as well as an overwhelming draw towards the inanimate figure. The contradiction creates a harsh turmoil within you, and you feel frozen, granting your surroundings the perfect opportunity to whisper advice into the wind. You can almost hear an audible "Run!" from the wood, but you can't bring yourself to follow the orders. Instead, your hand hesitantly reaches out to the outstretched hand, your fingers gingerly grasping the stone and wrapping your digits around the stony hand. However, just as your palm settles against the carved rock, fingers grip your wrist and yank you away, pulling you back into a hard chest. And suddenly, time is back on track. You're ripped from your daze as you're spun around to meet a pair of frantic chestnut eyes.

"What did you do?" he screams, shaking you by the shoulders. His face goes pale, deathly so, and the new ghostly shade causes the dusting of freckles over his nose and cheeks to drain along with his rosy completion. You unconsciously frown at that realization.

"What?" you mutter in a trance, your mind rousing slowly from the mental fog.

"What did you do?" he repeats in a panic, the desperation in his voice snapping you out of your stupor.

"Nothing!" you squeak out in defense.

"You don't touch this!" he wails in your face. "Don't ever touch this!"

"I won't!" you cry out, hands pushing at his shoulders and clawing at his fingers gripping painfully at your arms. His eyes are searching, scanning your face and person manically. Looking for what, you don't know. But he stares into your eyes as if expecting something new. Well, new to you, at least. You get the feeling that whatever he thinks he'll find swimming in your irises is something that he is plenty familiar with. When he seems satisfied enough, he pushes you away softly. Instead, he turns to gaze at the granite figure once more. A shaky hand cards through his curly bangs, showing off the constellation of freckles that were previously hidden. The movement nearly nudges his hat off his head, letting it rest haphazardly on his head. After a moment, it seems as though he settles the argument that has been playing out in his head. He grabs your bicep and starts dragging you back to the house, ignoring your protests.

When you make it back to the Mystery Shack, Dipper drags you through the attraction side of the house, stopping in front of a vending machine. He punches in a code before pushing you through the entrance that reveals itself. You're welcomed into a dark, dusty hallway lit only by a gas lantern. You then ride down in a creaking elevator, watching the numbers change through broken display glass. Once the metal elevator gate opens up again, another room is unveiled, and you soon realize that it's the basement laboratory, the one that he specifically, in no uncertain terms, told you to stay out of. You believe it was the first sentence he said to you, actually.

This room is by far more well-kept than his bedroom, but it also seems more lived in. There are contraptions, books, papers, and writing utensils scattered over every surface, but it at least seems like there is controlled chaos.

He maneuvers you to sit on an uncomfortable wooden stool in front of a wall of monitors and computer keyboards. You don't know why you've let him direct you so easily thus far, but you might be more afraid of what would happen if you resisted. He seemed so shaken, unstable even after you touched the statue.

You nearly jump out of your skin as you feel cold metal atop your scalp. You whip around to see Dipper attempting to fit a rusty colander with tubes sticking out of it over your head. You jump up finally, drawing a line in the sand.

"What the hell is going on?" You screech, a heaviness weighing on you as the fog is finally gone and you begin to understand the possible gravity of the situation.

"Relax," he sighs. "It's a cranium scanner. It's harmless. It's just meant to scan your thoughts."

You scoff. "Why do you need to do that? Why should I believe that's what you say it is? Why were you so freaked out about that statue? Why were you even there? Were you following me? You need to work on your communication because you just drag me down here and try to hook up some terrifying machine to me without my permission and without explaining and this is freaking me the fuck out!"

His jaw ticks with every word that quickly leaves your lips. Silently, he lifts the device to his head and fits it on his scalp. The moment he does the monitor comes to life. Green words dance across the screen and mumbles buzz from the speakers. You see and hear phrases like "Fuck, this girl is annoying...I need to run these tests...We have to hurry...gotta make sure he's not back...keep everyone safe, have to keep everyone safe...Man, I'm starving...When was the last time I did laundry?...Nah, that's a waste of time...Disco girllll, coming throughhhh, that girl is youuu...Shit, now that I look at her she's kinda cut—" He rips the machine off his head and clears his throat before shrugging his shoulders and waving his hands as if to say "I told you so" in a single motion. "See? Harmless. Now put this on."

You shake your head. "I still need an explanation."

He sighs out in frustration, taking the stool for himself as he runs a trembling hand over his exhausted features. "Look, this town...it's not normal, okay? There are things here...things that can't be explained...including that statue." You stare at him tentatively, noticing the way his fingers fidget together and his brow shines with sweat. "Just...do this and we will never speak of this again." You watch him for a moment, trying to gauge whether the knot in your stomach is intuition or just nerves over his odd behavior. You don't think you can trust him...but you feel like he needs this...whatever it is. And you hope that it'll calm his erratic behavior. Plus, you're a little amazed by the mindreading device, and you kind of want to know if it's accurate or not. You cautiously step forward, nodding minutely. He rises from the seat and allows you to take it. You do, wiggling around a bit to get comfortable on the incredibly irritating wood panels.

"Can I at least get a better chair?" you grumble.

He actually chuckles, a breath of relief leaving his lips as he nods. He drags an old, velvet-upholstered chair that sits next to a chess table. He smacks the cushion and allows a layer of dust previously caked on the fabric to fly into the air. You can live with it more than the splintering stool. You settle into the seat and allow Dipper to place the appliance on your head.

First comes the shock as all your thoughts are displayed on the monitor at a mile a minute, including the thoughts of your shock. Next comes the processing as you watch Dipper take a seat and start scribbling notes as he observes the monitors. You watch as every one of your thoughts is displayed and you begin to feel exposed as every one of your anxieties are advertised. Taking a deep breath, you let your eyes flutter close, trying your best to relax.

The next moment you open your eyes again something feels off. You scrunch your brow as you look around the room, trying to figure out what's different. Looking over to Dipper, you notice that he's stopped writing. Instead, he sits staring up at the screen. You miss how the screen no longer projects your every thought and only produces static. Your skin bubbles with pins and needles, a sudden chill filling your bones as Dipper remains unmoving with his chin resting on his intertwined fingers. You can't see his face and that alone unnerves you as the silence persists.

You hesitate to speak. "Dipper?"

His hands separate, palms placed flat on the keyboard top. Other than his arms moving, nothing else does. The anxiety is slowly pressing into your chest as you patiently wait for his next action or word. You're beginning to think you should run.

"Y'know," he starts. His voice sounds different, higher pitched, and echoing slightly. "The human mind is such a delicate thing...so fragile and easy to manipulate." He stands then but still doesn't face you. When he turns towards you slowly, his features backlit by the sinister green glow of the monitor, his movements are casual, and he leans back against the desktop with his arms crossed. You can see his eyes. They're different from the chocolate chip orbs that you saw before. Now his pupils consume the entirety of his irises, and it seems as if they're slanted like cat eyes. They almost glow yellow. They nearly remind you of...

He laughs suddenly, wobbily stalking towards you as he shakes his head mockingly. His voice morphs as he continues to make the maniacal sound. It becomes high and pitchy, echoing a shrill, unsettling quality in the sinister cackle that makes your stomach drop. "I mean, look at you! Look at how easy it was to lead you to this moment. You didn't even fight it!" Your hair stands on end at his words and your limbs tremble as you're reminded that you were worried that this would happen. Is it possible to tell yourself 'told you so'? "You just followed me through the woods. I didn't even have to trick you into taking my hand, you curious little thing!" You flinch as Dipper cages you between him and the seat, his face inches from yours as his eyes study you.

"What are you talking about?" You squeak out, your voice finally working once again. Now that he's so close, you know exactly where you've seen such odd eyes before. The statue in the woods.

"Ahh, there it is," he giggles. A hand comes up and grips your chin between his thumb and index. He shakes your head from side to side while pouting at you derisively. "Figure it out?"

"What—how?"

"Hmm, maybe not," he chuckles. He taps a finger into your temple slowly, but the gentle touch feels far more frightening to you, as if it's the calm right before the raging storm. "And here I thought you were a smart girl." His voice has morphed once again, two voices bleeding into one. You hear Dipper's voice being overtaken by that discordant tone that he laughed at you with. His eyes drag down your body then, a darkness seeming to seep into those unsettling ellipse pupils. "It's always odd to look through two eyes. Everything seems so much more...third dimensional. Much more graphic. For instance," his hand cups your throat, the touch so gentle and soft, but there was an obvious threat there, "if I squeeze, I'd be able to see your skin turn red and maybe even blue if I cut off your air for long enough." He absently chuckles, as if lost in the image of what he's imagining. He leans in closer, running his nose along your jaw. "I'd be able to see your veins popping out. Maybe I'd feel your windpipe crushing too." His eyes drift up to yours, as if only now remembering that you're there. He offers a smile that could possibly resemble something sweet, but it only turned your stomach. "Don't worry, Sunshine," he whispers, gently pecking your cheek, "that's not what I want."

"What do you want then?" you ask, your voice surprisingly harsh despite how your insides knot up and your throat feels as if it's closing up.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he pulls his gaze away from your temptingly delicate throat.

"Just saying hi to an old friend," he answers, releasing his hold on your neck and placing his hands on either side of your head. As he leans into you it's as if you're witnessing a real-life glitch as the man in front of you shifts from Dipper to a lanky, tan blonde. Wild locks peek out from a tiny top hat atop his head and sweep over his bangs that cover one of his eyes. He'd look like a normal person if he weren't wearing such a predatory grin that reminds you more of a monster instead of a man, the ethereal yellow glow that radiates off his skin, or the cracks at the edges of his face with a galaxy peeking through the unnatural jagged breaks of flesh. But just as quickly as the image of the new man appeared, it was replaced by Dipper once again. He wiggles his fingers in a small wave. "Isn't that right, Pine Tree?" He stares into your eyes but it's as if he's looking through you, instead. He's not talking to you.

Suddenly, his fingers clamp over the nape of your neck, the painful pressure causing your muscles to tense and you're at his mercy. He uses this to throw you towards the dusty couch along the wall. Now that you're out of his immediate vicinity you try to get up and run but he moves like lightning and he's over you in an instant.

"Sorry, Sunshine," he says as he swings a leg over yours, locking your body in place as it's trapped between his thighs. The image of his body continuously glitches from Dipper to the person you saw before. Your arms thrash as you squirm and kick and try to get away, but he pays no mind to your struggle, capturing your wrists easily in his grasp. His fingers dig into your skin as he grips your jaw painfully. "It's nothing personal. Well, not towards you, at least." He laughs as if he said something so funny, an inside joke only for him. "Actually, I should be thanking you. You freed me, your pretty little mind is going to be my new home. And in light of that, I think you deserve a little treat, huh?" Despite your struggle, the man easily held you down with a hand wrapped around your wrists. His other hand smooths down your sides, goosebumps raising in the wake of his touch. His fingers dig into your cheeks as he presses an open-mouthed kiss against your lips, his tongue slipping in and scavenging your mouth. And the taste of his tongue rubbing against yours is…intoxicating.

It’s like the sweetest of ambrosia seeping into your tastebuds. You feel like you should be fighting more, struggling harder against the man's advances. You feel the way your veins fill with ice at the realization of what he is planning to do. But your mind feels foggy, your movements sluggish and out of your control; the same way you felt while walking in the woods. Your mind is only consumed by the taste of his lips and how it fills your every being. You need more. Your skin feels hot, burning but in the best ways possible. The feeling slowly begins to thaw the ice in your bloodstream as his touch lights your nerves. You vaguely hear the light chuckle in his voice as your lids flutter halfway and you focus on the featherlike trail his fingertips left over your skin.

You open your mouth, but no words leave your lips, and that shrill laugh rings out again.

"See?" he coos, a mixture of Dipper and the other high-pitched voice resonating through the small room. "So easy." His hand releases your wrists, but your limbs stay in place, unmoving even with their newfound freedom. His thumbs knead into your sides as they slip underneath your shirt, slowly rolling the fabric up your body. "Bet Pinetree is squirming in his seat right now. Better give him a show, huh, Sunshine?" Despite every alarm bell in the back of your mind going off, you find yourself agreeing with the strange entity, knowing nothing but the need for more, more, more. His lips curl up into a sinister smirk as he watches the confusion etch into your brows but you do nothing to stop him.

His shirt is ripped over his head in an instant, displaying Dipper’s pale skin and the curly brown hair of his happy trail before his image shift into a mirage of the other man. Golden brick-like tattoo lines and crack of glowing galaxies along his body mar the perfectly tan skin of the unfamiliar man. And the glitches stop, you notice. He is no longer Dipper. He is only the fabricated personified image of the statue in the woods.

Dark fingers the look like they were dipped in ink and absorbed up to his elbows drag over your frame, cutting away each scrap of clothing covering your body. They fall away so smoothly, as if they were merely delicates drapes just waiting for a breeze to brush them away in a gentle sigh. You want to move your hands and cover yourself but you can’t bring your limbs to listen. They belong to him now. All of you belongs to him now. And the smirk on his face tells you he knows that.

"Wish I had a real body to truly enjoy this, y'know?" He murmurs, gaze hungrily roving over you. He unhurriedly brings himself to lay on the couch chest down between your legs, the dark tendrils of his hands curling below your hips as his head nuzzles into the side of one of your plush thighs. His hair is soft, you notice. Softer than any earthly object. And you are choosing to focus all of your attention on that fact rather than the hungrily look he gives you. "But taste is more of a mental construct, isn’t it? I don’t need a real tongue to thoroughly enjoy a meal." It’s the only warning you receive before a devilish tongue is ravishing your inner walls. Despite his initial nonchalance, he moves quickly to pick you apart with only one muscle. Your eyes flutter shut at the pleasure but just as q uickly, a fist closes around your throat and your eyelids fly open once again. "Eyes on me." And you listen, keeping your eyes on the golden iris trained in you as your jaw drops open in a silent scream while he brings you to completion under his skilled tongue. You don’t make a sound until his hand claps down in your thigh, signaling the need for an audible response to your climax. You oblige, letting a high-pitched moan escape your lips. He looks satisfied enough as he comes off of you with a wolffish grin.

You keep your eyes trained on him as he leans over you once again, as if you are incapable of closing them again. You’re not entirely sure if that inability is because of your own will or because of his command. Either way, you watch as the man hovers over you, causing you to jerk when his cock surprisingly taps your sensitive entrance. You look down then, watching the angry red, mushroom head sliding between your folds. Your body seems conflicted, trying both to get away from the friction and seeking to catch the bulbous tip on your weeping opening. You realize that he’s teasing you, however. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that he won’t do anything until you beg for it. He wants you to beg for it.

You listen to his sinister chuckle, the maddening sound bouncing inside your head…or are you both already inside your head…?

"Oh, you figured it out, Sunshine!" He chuckles in that echoing voice of his. "Now you know what I want, so do it." Your mouth opens without your permission but no words escape. "Oh, c’mon, Sunshine. I know you want it too…just give in."

"Please," the word is barely audible as it escapes your lips, but he hears it, perking up at the sound.

"Please what?"

"Please…please fuck me!" You can’t keep the whine out of your voice as you finally plead for what this has all been building up to. You don’t know this man—Creature? Ethereal being?—or what kind of spell he put on you. All you know is that you need it. Everything will be better once you feel his cock pummeling in and out of you. And that’s exactly what he does, plunging into you the second the last syllable leaves your lips.

The stretch is painful and you aren’t sure if the scream you release is because of the pain of his dick tearing through you or the pleasurable drag you feel on your inner walls. It’s like you want to scream, cry, push him out, but you can’t. You can only take it, take it, take it, just as he orders you to while he snaps his hips into you. You realize that you are crying, but again, you have no idea if the tears are from the wonderful stimulation or the searing shame of this moment. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if Dipper knows. You ask yourself what he thinks of you in this moment and if you even care when you’re being speared on a fat cock.

Again that demented laughter rings in your ears, reminding you of the demon you’ve officially sold your soul to that’s treating your body like his personal property. Maybe that’s his now too, along with your sanity. You can’t seem to say much besides moans and whines and pleas for something you’re not sure you want.

"Oh, I really wish you could see her face right now, Pinetree," he giggles, as if talking to himself. "You’d fucking love it. I know I do." He chuckles then, like he made an inside joke before his hand curls around your throat and makes sure your eyes are on him solely. And he speaks but not to you, to something he’s looking at through you. "But I really wish I could see your face right now. You getting off on this, Little Dipper? I bet you are. Freaks like you and me, we gotta enjoy these little moments when we get them." His grip tightens on your throat then and the panic sets in again. Whatever it was that lulled you into a false state of complacency is gone. You feel the oxygen struggling to fill your lungs as his hips snap faster in and out of you, his lanky fingers bullying your button as you’re starting to swim in asphyxiation.

There’s a twinkle in his eye that was never there before as he watches you struggle. You realize that his sadistic demon is getting off more on torturing you than he has this entire time. The smile that spreads across his face is one you know will haunt your very being. And you hate yourself as his digits circling your clit brings you to release just as your vision blackens at the edges. You barely register the warmth flooding your insides as you’re finally allowed to close your eyes.

You wake again with a start, your body shooting up in the chair again, the odd helmet once again gracing your crown. Your eyes land on Dipper whose back is turned to you and you wander if the nightmare is only restarting again. But when he turns around, you see the dark dusting of color on his cheeks and know that this isn’t the demon you just dealt with. But if the boner in his jeans is anything to go by, you do know that he watched the whole thing.

Dipper clears his throat, awkwardly shifting as he faces you, his hands fruitlessly hovering over his crotch and his eyes refusing to meet yours. "Umm," he squeaks. "I think we need to talk."

[apocalypse-shuffle]

RED HOOD | BATFAMILY (assorted canon)

—

“Long Overdue” (Jason Todd & Batmom!Reader) and (background Bruce Wayne x Batmom!Reader)

| Reader was with Bruce in the past but grew distant after Jason’s death. No one tells her when he comes back from the dead until Bruce is forced to bring her in on a raid when they’re overwhelmed. -Jason and Batmom!Reader reunion.

| SFW, canon typical action/violence, cursing?, crying?

| This is like half fanon half UTRH/Batman:Hush. I’m really just fucking around with canon rn. Also the pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (pic source - Batman: Three Jokers comic)

| 2k+ words

| parts: one, spurt, two, three, four, five, six/six point five, seven.

Ma. God, no one called you that anymore. The way your eyes begin to prickle is a clear indication.

With you Dick wasn’t the type. Once he’d worked himself up to it he’d called you mom; slightly different from the few ways he referred to his bio mother, but something shared between the two of you all the same.

And Tim? Well he wasn’t your child plain and simple. Tim still had his parents for one, and for two he was intrinsically Bruce’s. By the time he’d figured his way into the Batcave you’d been gone, most of your shit moved out of the manor, and desperately waving divorce papers Bruce refused to acknowledge in the air. You didn’t have anything to do with his indoctrination outside of exactly one instance of him finding you to ask if you’d reconsider the separation. Some Batman needed a Robin and Bruce Wayne needed his wife type shit.

Either way Tim didn’t call you any rendition of mom because you weren’t his. The most you got was him addressing you by your maiden name and then eventually your first and you were content with that.

Then if he didn’t call you mom, the girls sure as hell didn’t either. Outside of Barbara the others never even became regular conversation partners. Cass was a rare sighting in your life and Stephanie and you’s relationship would never progress past the casual advocacy you tried giving her because she was another dead Robin to add to what’s now technically a list.

At the end of the day, out of all the people who considered you a mother, only Jason added that ‘a’ and you wanted to grip that name tight and hold it to you. Break your ribs open and force it into your chest cavity. The need to fulfill that ache cuts deep and you take a step forward.

Jason startles though, undoing all his own forward progress, and you falter. That’s right. Jason didn’t like for people to touch him. Definitely didn’t like hugs either. Not surprise ones at least. Before his death you’d gotten close enough he didn’t mind when you swooped in, but now?

“Can I-? Can I hug you?” You press trembling lips together for another horrible swallow. “Please…?”

Jason jerks, two hastily aborted movements at once, before his obstructed voice meets your ears.

“Fine.”

You practically fall on him before pulling him into you. Unfortunately he’s just as stiff as his voice and you have to take a second to figure out how to slot against him.

Jason fits in your arms differently than he used to - broader and taller by a mile - but after a few beats he relaxes into them just the same. The subtle addition of weight makes a sob bubble up your throat.

You rap your knuckles on the side of the helmet.

“Take this shit off.”

He hesitates and a sharp pang manages to worm its way into the already shitty cocktail of emotions you’re feeling. It hits your spine like lightning, forces you up and has you an arms length away in half an inhale.

Maybe before now you’d been going through too much all at once for the trepidation to hit, but it was hitting now. You’d never seen Hood without- well without the Hood. Only Jumbie raised from the dead the way Jason did, and while you’d take your son anyway you could get him you wouldn’t accept some Thing parading around in his skin.

Reading your burst of movement for what it is, Jason backtracks, rising arms dropping to his sides. “Maybe I shouldn’t…”

“Jason Peter-” you inhale deeply, catching yourself, and hold a hand up to stop him. You both ignore the obvious way it trembles. “-only… if…if you want to. I’m not trying to force anything.”

He’s slow to nod, weight shifting from his left to his right leg and back again before he says something too low for you to hear. You’re about to ask him to repeat when he speaks up, this time aiming his voice somewhere around your shoulder while bowing his head.

“No, I- Alright. Just hold on.”

Haunches suitably raised and heart in your throat you pay close attention as the helmet comes up, Jason having released some catch in the back.

It goes over, the helmet clatters to the ground, and the man who stares back at you is…hard to place.

The low fluorescent lighting of the narrow room combined with the concrete walls casts soft enough shadows over his face that while his features are warped they’re not discernible. Which means you can’t completely rule out the uncanniness wafting off of him as just your brain (along with your entire perception of the universe) splinting in half.

It makes your face heat up. He looks familiar, but you can’t say you wouldn’t have passed him straight if you’d seen him on the street. He’s too big for one, even for how you’d all imagined he’d look grown up, standing more than a foot taller than the last day you saw him. Taller than malnourishment would’ve ever let him be.

The sob you let out makes you both flinch.

One hand snaps to your mouth, the other waving him off.

“I’m sorry I- I don’t-. This is just-”

Even with the way he’s leaning away from you he shakes his head. “I get it, it's fine.”

His voice is faint, cut up and hoarse like he hasn’t used it in a while, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve heard in ages.

“Oh,” you laugh. The wet kind that makes your throat sticky. You can only stare at him, blurry form and all, words lost to you.

Eventually, after watching your fervent effort to wipe away tears that are in no way inclined to give you a break, arms crossed Jason takes a half step forward with a shrug.

“We can…try again?”

The next little laugh you let out you practically choke on but you nod all the same.

When Jason’s the first to move your heart starts speeding away like an overexcited middle school drumline. You roll with it though, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes so they’re dry enough for you to actually see him clearly for a few seconds.

When he’s directly in front of you your hands come up slowly, giving him plenty of opportunity to move away. Or maybe to vanish.

When he does neither, only giving you a guarded look, you allow yourself to touch.

Problem is, the domino mask he’s wearing very quickly gets in your way and on your nerves when you move to frame his face. Quickly feels like if it’s not gone, if you can’t see his eyes, you’ll throw up.

To stop yourself from taking the risk and ripping it off you have to take a deep breath. Have to force down the thick build up of saliva gathering in your mouth so it pushes back the bile climbing up your throat.

“I’d like to see my son, Jason. All of you.”

To emphasize your point you tap the tip of your nail against the mask. There’s no intention on your part to cross his boundary but Jason’s hands snap up to hold onto your wrists all the same.

You look into the white lenses of his domino, fingers buzzing along the corner of the mask closest to them. His mouth twists into a frown.

“Please?”

You beg with the same ferocity a grieving mother once used when begging for her child back.

“You’re asking for a lot.”

He lets go and he takes a couple steps back and you don’t cry.

No, instead you swing your hands behind you. Clasping them together in a poor attempt to stop the buzzing sensation that travels from the tips of your fingers to take over your entire hand.

“Mmm,” you incline your head. “Well. I did help a boy get over first date jitters with a made up song once. Let that same boy talk me through an entire dissertations’ worth of his analysis of Their Eyes Were Watching God - as choppy as it was - because TWMS wouldn’t allow him to present it in class. Let him skip going to that same school and cry to me for hours after the death of Gloria Stanson. Remember a knife hidden in the corner on the highest shelf in his closet, and I remember not revealing any of that when I gave his eulogy because he once asked me to keep the important things between the two of us. So you don’t have to show me, but I think I make a pretty good qualifier when it comes to keeping this safe.”

You point straight to where his heart is tucked safely behind layers of gray armor before shrugging.

From the way his brows furrow over the domino you know he’s at least thinking about it so you step away to pick up your disregarded mask and stuff it in your waistband.

One blink. Six.

“You remember Rena?”

In front of him again, you rock back on your heels. “Mhm. And the ‘how to tie a tie’ lessons me and Bruce walked you through even though you didn’t wear a suit to that date. Remember that too.”

Jason’s smile is crooked on his face but it’s nonetheless present as he makes a noise of agreement.

“I’d just wanted to spend time with you two, I was never planning on wearing a suit to go to the skating rink.”

“We figured.”

You’re rolling onto the balls of your feet when that small smile drops and he shakes his head.

“I’m not that same boy anymore.”

You take in the way he could raise his hand and so easily touch the ceiling without having to jump. You clear the phlegm from your throat.

“I can tell.”

Jason grunts and makes a general gesture indicating something somewhere behind you.

“And I got no interest in trying to live up to whatever fucked up embalment Bruce’s got going on with my burnt suit in that case.”

That suit. Bruce’s memorial. His warning. Your breath hitches as you think of the smell of crisped blood and methanol. If Jason didn’t want to talk about it you sure as shit weren’t going to.

“I will one hundred percent take that into account.” You keep it simple, rocking on your heels again. He wasn’t asking for anything unreasonable so there wasn’t really any debate to be had. “You wanna be treated as you are? I can do that.”

Moments pass once you’ve said your peace where Jason does nothing but stare at you. The only indication he’s at all alive being his shoulders still moving - and you are watching. Eyeing that tell tale up and down like your own life will end at its falter. The pattern is slow enough to come off as pacivity but the time between each rise and fall is too measured to be uncontrolled. Exactly three point eleven seconds one way and three point eleven seconds the other. Every time.

Then he sighs, curses, and the little veil of dissolvent for the adhesive that adheres the mask to his face is in his hand. A different vial and color than when he was Robin; you don’t know why you thought it’d be the same. Or why it makes your heart clench that it’s not.

Between one thrum of the fluorescent lights and the next Jason is peeling away the domino, and you would be lying if you claimed to know where it disappeared to after that. Too caught up on what he’d been hiding to track it.

Blue. Nothing more and nothing less. Just blessedly familiar, vibrant blue. Not the dull gray they’d become by the time you were given the chance to put a gruesome sight of a child six feet under.

The “Oh wow,” tumbles from you without permission and then there’s zero hope for the waterworks you’d been holding back. The levee fails and you’re bawling before you know it. Barely holding back snot and who knows what else since you already feel like screaming.

At that point there’s no carefully thought out sentence for you to spew, no more hesitancy, no more measured breathing, and linear thought. Just the crushing need to have him close to you again.

You’re rushing forward before you know.

Wrapping your arms around Jason the next go around is both the best and the worst thing. You accommodate his new size faster, already writing over the ways he used to fit against you with the ways he does so now, but he’s still so stiff and he’s not reciprocating the hug either.

Maybe you should let go. You crossed the boundary too fast. Were too reckless. You literally have training on this and now you’re crowding him.

Okay, you’re pulling away. It’s a herculean effort but you’re forcing your arms from around his middle. You’ve got to, you don’t want to scare him off. Not when you just got him back.

There’s a soft “Not yet,” mumbled into your shoulder and then arms finally come around yours and you don’t hesitate to snap your own back into place.

He’s hugging you back.

You cry a little harder and bring one of your arms up to drape across his shoulders, pulling him closer. When you start rocking and Jason copies your momentum you press a kiss onto his temple.

“Hi,” you stutter out. Another sob. “Hi baby.”

Since he’s finally letting his arms wrap around you you don’t hesitate to run dark fingers through the truly unruly mass of black curls on his head. His hairs’ damp - most likely from sweat - but cool. Probably being tempered by the cold air blowing into the room.

It’s when you press a kiss to his forehead that you feel something else wet and your breath stutters.

“It’s okay. I got you, everything’s okay,” you whisper.

“God Ma-” his voice cracks and then you can hear the sobs he’s trying to muffle into your suit. “No it’s not.”

“I know,” you sob. “I’m sorry- so so fucking sorry.”

You sniffle and pull away to see him better. Jason’s face is flushed, his eyes wet, and cheeks streaked with tears shed. You hold your hands up to frame his face for a second time and run your thumbs through the tear tracks. His chest heaves as his body tries to regulate his breathing.

Jason clears his throat, gaze boring into yours. “Hi,” he says.

You smile, finally beginning to map out his face. First you move to frame his cheeks, too feel the warmth in them. To see if they still feel familiar. They don’t; you force yourself to accept that fact without letting it show in your expression, letting out a measured exhale before continuing. You find his jaw is more defined now too, cheeks devoid of the baby fat of five years prior.

From then on brushing your thumbs along his brows, over the bridge of his nose, traveling over his ears and skirting around his hairline - it all fills your mind with incoherent cheers.

Your thumbs hover over Jason’s eyes and you hum when he closes them for you.

The skin underneath your shaved off pads is soft. The thin layer of protection allows you to feel how his eyeballs shift, to see the way his veins show stark under light skin, to clock the life thrumming through him.

It makes your heart feel so goddamn light. You can’t stop smiling at the sight of him. Eyes still wet but clear.

“I feel like such a horrible mother,” you hiccup, hands slide down so you can once again cup his face. “I barely recognize you.”

Jason’s breathing shakes nearly in tandem with yours and his eyes squeeze tighter shut, head turning away.

“Don’t.” He takes a second to look up. Look right through you. Lashes wet and glassy eyes open, voice grating over his next words. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame any of you for that, but especially not you.”

What you want to do is argue. You should’ve never let him put on that suit in the first place, one fucked up son should’ve been the end of it. You should’ve dropped the case you were working the second you’d heard he’d run away and you should’ve found him. Instead you keep your thoughts personal, pinning them to your brain as if it’s a cushion so that you’ll never forget, and pull your son closer. An action which he allows, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you whisper into his hair. The way he instantly shakes his head makes the cool strands tickle your jawline.

“You can’t mean that.”

“If I didn’t mean it I wouldn’t have said it, Jay.”

Jason tenses before responding, words spewing without warning.

“Yeah except I’ve killed people, and I don’t regret it, and Bruce hates that - and you probably do too - but his way isn’t good enough. The people in this city deserve better so I’m doing what’s necessary-”

And that has you bristling. He must notice too because he stops short and edges away, face steeping. Caught somewhere between wanting to leave and wanting to fully kick start an argument.

…TBC

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! I had to split this bitch in two cause it was 5,000+ words and I’m not in the business of under-indulging myself.

Listen, I’ve looked into it. Every mother/mother figure Jason’s ever had he’s referred to as “Mom”, but me personally, I didn’t grow up addressing my own mother that way so I wanted to play around with “Ma” (differentiate a little). What's funny though, is that I’ve read Dick referring to his mother as both “Ma” and “Mom” so that’s fun.

• TWMS = Thomas Wayne Middle School

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it. this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

Tagged: @aarinisreading, @niphredil-14, @mxtokko, @calsjack, @brunnetteiwik

[therealflickerman]

Split Lips (tasm!peter parker x reader)

Part one

series summary: Its simple hating peter parker, the cocky asshole who has made it his mission to one up you every chance he gets. In the same vein, its simple loving spiderman, the sweet masked vigilante who has made it his mission to ensure your safety. How simple will it be when the two worlds meet.

______________________________________________________________

chapter summary: you finally get the chance to one up peter and officially have the honour of meeting the friendly neighbourhood spiderman that everyone has been talking about.

word count: 2.3k

contents: reader is intended to be fem! (she's briefly described as such in this chapter), possible emetophobia warning?, tiny blood warning, language, a little banter and a little fluff, possible OOC peter? idk..., reader is anxious and clumbsy #selfprojecting, i'm not american which means i may get things wrong, please bare with me!!.

note: this is my first fic ever but let me cook!! thank u charlie for editing.

masterlist

series masterlist

chapter one / chapter two / chapter three / chapter four (ongoing!)

Your lip sits between your teeth, occupying them with the task of removing dead skin, it was a poor habit, something you’d done to settle nerves from a young age. You’re sure you’ll draw blood any second now as Miss Ritter works her way around the classroom, handing test results to uninterested students. A large part of you envies the way their eyes merely skim the front page of the test paper, you could only pray to care that little.

Your teeth continue their assault on your lip as you feel the usual pair of eyes boring into the side of your head. You truly do almost entertain the idea of meeting his gaze but you can’t bring yourself to give him the satisfaction. 

“You’re gonna have an aneurysm over there if you don’t chill out”

You’re not entirely sure what you did to deserve a seat next to Peter Parker, but every day for the past month you’d apologised to all possible gods for whatever sin it was that you had committed.

You avoid his gaze and he lets out a humoured scoff. 

Your foot taps against the floor as Miss Ritter now approaches your desk. She stands in front of you sorting through the test papers antagonising slowly, and for a second you’re sure she's teasing. 

“Well done” She offers a sweet smile, although it goes unnoticed as you scramble to pick up the paper from your desk.

98% 

Your eyes meet Peters,

“What did you get,” you ask, your lips leave your teeth for the first time that period and you try to suppress the cocky grin growing on your face but you’re not sure it’s possible. You watch his smirk widen and for a moment you feel yours falter.

“96%” 

A laugh of relief bubbles from your chest,

“Thank you god,” you tease and your laughter dies down.

You’re met with an eye roll. 

"What happened to the bravado, huh?" You give him a light poke in the arm, teasingly.

"Ouch... okay, I get it," he grumbles, his brows furrow slightly,  though a hint of a smile remains on his lips.

“We have a bio test on Monday don’t get so cocky” 

You shrug dismissively as you flip through your test results.

______________________________________________________________

You’re just about done with everything.

Work had practically doubled after your coworker had puked all over the break room, leaving you to scrub her throw-up from the divots in the tiled floor, and cover the two hours she had left of her shift. 

You swore you could still smell it.

You shift from foot to foot, feeling suffocated in the subway. It's packed to the brim with football fans, dressed in the colours of their respective teams and once again you’re apologising to any and all gods out there for whatever you did to deserve this. 

You’re so very close to getting your elbows involved as you push through the crowds, making it off the subway several stops early, to simply give yourself a moment of peace.

Making it to a familiar back street you take a moment to check your watch, the long hand sits just after six and the shorter one points between ten and eleven.

Silently, you curse your stupid, sickly coworker and your own poor decision-making. Your feet throb against the leather of your work shoes and you almost begin to miss the subway's scent of beer breath and football stand food. 

Your teeth catch your lip again, this time they draw blood and you wince at the sudden stinging. 

“Shit” you groan in a hushed whisper, you curse the habit as you bring your hand to your lip, examining the damage. A drop of red colours your fingertip as you touch it to the nick and pull it away so you can see. 

You roll your eyes at your luck and rub the blood from your fingers before continuing with your walk, wishing you’d simply seen the subway through and stayed on until a stop closer to home. 

“You’re out awfully late miss” 

You just about jump out of your skin at the voice. It's eerily mechanical as though it’s meant to be disguised, under the circumstances, it sends chills up your spine. 

“Holy shit, you scared the fuck out of me” you hold your hand to your chest in an attempt to calm the beating of your heart. You turn and your eyes meet big ovals of tinted glass, adorning a red mask. It hits you that they belong to those of Spiderman and suddenly the voice makes all the sense. 

“Don’t… don’t creep up on people like that, especially not,” you pause to find the words, “unsuspecting women… alone at night” you let out awkwardly, your furrowed brows ease up as you take in a deep breath. 

He lets out a small laugh from behind the mask, head tilting to the side as he manages to lock eyes with you even though you can't quite meet his gaze.

“Sorry, sorry” he lifts his hands defensively, “just making sure you’re okay”. There's a grin evident in his voice.

“No, I’m…” you let out a breath. “I’m so sorry, it’s been a rough day”, You offer an awkward smile and silently curse yourself for being an asshole to some guy that spends his life-saving people. 

“Don’t stress,” he brushes it off. 

‘Your…”, he raises his hand to where his lips would sit behind his mask, “... lip is bleeding.”

“Shit… yeah” you mumble, bringing your own hand to your lips. You lick your fingertip and wipe both the fresh and dried blood from the cut. You suddenly wonder how silly you may have looked with a trickle of blood gathering on the rim of your lip.

“I bite ‘em… my lips, when I’m anxious” you clarify, offering another awkward smile. 

“You wanna talk about it?” he offers with a shrug, taking a step in the direction you were walking when he had first approached. 

“My lip biting?” You question furrowing your brows and following his footsteps. 

“Your day” he humours you. 

“Right,” you let out a sheepish laugh and you feel your cheeks flush. “You do that?” you question, skipping a step to keep up. 

“Do what?” he asks, his brows furrow behind the mask. 

“Give out free therapy.” Your eyes lock on the ground as the two of you walk side by side. 

He chuckles, “not often… I make exceptions.”

“I’ll walk you home, you just talk” he offers. 

You accept the offer, quite gladly. It felt strange, though nice, talking to someone as a friend without the, ‘what do they think of me’ barrier. For all you knew you’d never see Spiderman again. 

You hadn’t particularly been one for friends. Not that you hadn’t wanted them, it was rather that no one seemed to fill that hole. You’d had friends throughout middle school, some in the early stages of high school but each time you’d simply fall out of friendship, and that was that. 

It was nice to talk rather than listen.

“Then my coworker, Kaylie, she threw up all over the break room,” you rambled,

Spiderman gags at the thought, ‘Not you too’ you murmur softly, though he catches what you say and lets out a chuckle.  

Your lips press into a smile, satisfied with his laughter you continue your story.

 “My asshole of a boss made me clean it,” you emphasise, “then made me stay back and cover her shift, now it's… what” You lift the sleeve of your jacket checking the time, “10:39 pm and Spiderman, of all people, is walking me home”. You send him a small smile with a shrug. 

“Well firstly your boss sounds like a jackass” he adds, almost as if stating a fact, “but at least you got to meet Spiderman', he nudges you faintly, pulling another soft giggle from your lips. You agree with a hum and a nod, once again making eye contact with the floor.

“Oh, I got a 98 on this English test,” you add looking up at him, “so, y’know… hasn’t all been bad”. 

“Wow look at you,” his grin peaks through his voice.

‘“What can I say?” you giggle with a sheepish shrug. 

“Peter, this kid in my class,” you clarify, “has been one upping me all semester, and I have finally,” you emphasise, “gotten a better grade than him”.

‘We don’t like this Peter?” he asks, studying your face as you answer. 

You smile at his use of ‘we’. 

“He’s…” your words die on your tongue as you think for just a moment, “kind of an asshole,” you nod, “but sweet…enough” you shrug with a sweet grin and meet Spiderman’s ‘eyes’. 

“He’s funny I’ll give him that” 

Unbeknownst to you, Spiderman’s lips curl into a grin. 

“As long as he’s being nice,” he adds. 

“I don’t know if I’d say nice” you giggle. 

______________________________________________________________

“Well Spidey, this is almost me” you beam, pointing to the apartment building across the street with your head, your hands are kept inside the pockets of your jacket where the cold New York air can’t reach them. 

“Thanks for, you know… walking me home, letting me talk, I don’t really do that too often” you smile up at him, meeting his hidden eyes.

“What, you don't get to talk a lot? I doubt that” he laughs, watching as you roll your eyes. 

A soft ‘shut up,’ rolls off your tongue with a smile. Your cheeks are flushed against the crisp of the night and you feel your grin grow. 

‘I better…’ your words die on your tongue as you point to the apartment block. 

He lets out a hum of approval with a short, knowing nod. 

You take a step or two backwards, sending him a wave and a sweet smile, though forgetting to look both ways as you cross the seemingly empty road. 

Spiderman's voice rings out as you turn, faced with a fast-paced car. The owner honks its horn, sending you an angry glare as it drives past you. You quickly place your extended foot back onto the safety of the curb and send Spidey a sheepish smile. 

“You need me to carry you to bed and tuck you in?” He jokes with a shake of his head. 

“I’m good thank you,” heat rushes to your cheeks and the tips of your ears, reddening them further as you turn to look both ways. 

“That’s a good start” his voice rings from the other side of the street, watching you cross the road more safely this time around. 

You wave him off with an eye roll, not turning to look at the vigilante as you trot to your apartment complex. 

______________________________________________________________

“Is that you love?” Your mother rings out from the couch.

The apartment is dimly lit, the glow from the tv lights up your mothers features as you approach her. She sits in her pyjamas, a glass of red wine in her hand, which is expected on a friday night. ‘Dirty Dancing’ plays loudly on the TV, you’ve seen the film a million times over because it’s her favourite. 

You slide your backpack off of your shoulder, lean it carefully against the couch, and collapse down next to her. 

“Hi love,” your mothers lips press against your forehead, placing a soft kiss. 

You hum, closing your eyes. 

You feel her pull away, she replaces her lips with a hand and lets out a worried hum. 

“You’re warm” her brows furrow and you feel your blush spread further. 

You’re grateful she can’t see your flushed cheeks in the darkness of the apartment. 

“Ran home,” you simply smile with a nod, “gonna go to bed.” 

She nods, giving you a tight hug and wishing you sweet dreams. 

You let your eyes close as your head lolls against the cool of your bedroom door, taking in the stillness of your room. You begin to untie your work shoes, leaving your eyes shut as you place them neatly by the doorway. 

You let out a yawn, rub your eyes and stand up from the carpeted floor. Taking a seat on your neatly made bed, your hands find the buttons of your work blouse and slowly unbutton them one by one. 

Your mind drifts and a smile curls onto your face as you think of the sweet, masked man that had walked you home. 

You wonder about his features, the colour of his hair and skin, if his face is freckles or if he has little moles that litter his body. You wonder how old he is, if he has lived his life, seen things and loved, or if he’s young, possibly even your age. If he puts the rest of his life on the line each night he puts on the suit. You frown at the possibility. 

Your teeth once again catch your lip, tongue grazing the dried metallic blood, you wince at the taste you’ve grown familiar to. Scolding yourself softly, you make a small mental note to quit the habit before putting on pyjamas and slipping into fresh sheets. 

A soft smile adorns your face as you stare up at the ceiling, you realise you had forgotten to tell your mother about your English test, how you’d gotten the highest grade in the class, and you keep in mind to tell her over breakfast. 

Your mind slips back to Spiderman. There's an unfamiliar tug in your chest and you selfishly wish to see him again, despite how busy he may be with truly important things. You think of his gentle nature and the gut feeling, a disgusting mix of guilt and longing, spreads.

Guilt for both wishing something from a man that wasn’t fair, and for allowing yourself this wish. 

You want him to be there the next time you get a higher grade than Parker, which will hopefully be sooner than later, or the next time your coworker lets her lunch out onto the table where you sit and eat, which you pray will never happen again. 

You feels a moment of guilt for your wishful thinking before rolling over to get some sleep. 

[ivoryisking]

tim wright headcanons

The Operator’s effects on him are strong

He’s always popping pills to fight them

He plays the leader, but will always follow Brian’s advice

He’s a tank- more brawn than brain

For the most part, he’s not multi-faceted; behind the mask, he’s pretty much the same

However, that really is him blacking out, and being unresponsive to Reader is not him ignoring cries, he is unable to break out of the state on his own

The Operator has to release him, he’s mentally weak compared to the entity

He does still follow you to work and home, but mostly for security measures, and he does not take pictures and send them to you.

He’s emotionally unintelligent/constipated

That sideburn hasn’t been shaved since the beginning of time

Dadbod 24/7

He’s not stupid, he’s just not EJ and Brian smart

Gruff as hell, but not as truly icy as Brian

He loves his sarcasm though

He’s a walking cigarette

Takes his coffee black

No fucking cheesecake, you psychopath fanons. That was a jibe at calling his actor fat. 

Thinks he’s the hot shit 

Pretends he doesn’t care if people like him or not, but it bothers him on the inside

Reader has to knock his ass down a few notches

He’s triumphant as hell when he finds out Reader likes him

But then he doesn’t know how to proceed

First kiss with him will leave him lying on the floor like an idiot

Shows he cares by existing in the same room

He handles physical contact okay, he just prefers his personal bubble

He kind of sucks at comfort, but tries and succeeds most of the time, albeit awkwardly

The actor played guitar, but Tim should like it too. He wears flannel. That speaks for itself.

He’ll play angsty or angry music if he’s mad at Reader

If not, he’ll play anything and everything they request if he can

He’s a teddy bear in an grumpy old man body

the drabble that comes with it can be found on any of the platforms i use; ao3, quotev, and wattpad- linktree in my bio if you find my works anywhere else, please let me know!

[bfpnola]

Abolition For Beginners (2023 Edition)

In honor of Tyre Nichols and all others we have lost to policing and imprisonment. In honor of Black History Month. In honor of Better Future Program's mission to educate and serve marginalized youth globally... Let's break down abolition, again. (As usual on Tumblr, tap for better quality.)

Better Future Program's Linktr.ee | Donate | Liberation Library | Open Leadership Positions | Staff Application | Discord Server

Image description below. Written by @reaux07. Proofread by the volunteers and supporters of @bfpnola.

Image Description:

[ID: All of the following slides use a wrinkled, black fabric as their background with black text (bolded red added for emphasis) on top of white boxes with rounded corners. “@bfpnola” is written in the top right corner and the sources for the slide are in the bottom left corner. 

Title Slide (No. 1):

Written in red text, “UPDATED FROM 2021 EDITION.” The outlines of the word “ABOLITION” is written line by line 8 times in light grey with the year “2023” written on top in bold, white lettering. Below, written in red within a white bubble and red arrow, it reads “FOR BEGINNERS*.” Across from the bubble, “@BFPNOLA” is in red. Below, in red again, the asterisk mentioned before leads to the following note: “This post is heavily text-based so if you do not learn best by reading, feel free to utilize our Abolition Study Guide in our bio under "Social Justice Resources" instead!” Lastly, white stars and outlines of grey circles can be seen in each corner of the slide.

Slide No. 2 reads:

Abolition is an anti-capitalist, intersectional framework that aims to not only destroy the cages created by various “industrial complexes,” but to create inclusive, effective alternatives for addressing harm. As defined by Dr. Jennie Wang-Hall, an “industrial complex (IC) is a system that creates profit through embedding into social inequities and providing an ineffective product that keeps consumers under-resourced and returning for more.”

The most common examples of such systems? Prison and policing, psychiatry, foster care/family policing, the military, and even the Family (as an institution, not kinship altogether).

Despite common misconceptions, abolition is not just a negation of what currently exists, but an active evolution of what community-based support can and has looked like. Abolition is about the radical working-class imagination, about Black and Indigenous imagination.

If individualistic, reactive, punishment-based strategies are maintained, true accountability and rehabilitation will never exist. Instead, we can choose to be proactive, analyze the circumstances that perpetuate violence, and address harm at the root! Of course, no one is saying that harm will completely cease to exist, but to paraphrase butch anarchist Lee Shevek, wouldn’t it be a profound improvement to expand our capacity to respond to harm and challenge our abusers, rather than being restricted to system-granted authority? Especially when such systems deliberately ignore the suffering of marginalized communities (e.g. people of color, queer and trans folks, women and femmes, Mad and disabled folks, and so on) to begin with?

Sources: @Dr.JennieWH, @ButchAnarchy, Stella Akua Mensah, Erin Miles Cloud, @WokeScientist

Slide No. 3 reads:

Before we continue any further, let’s destroy the myth that cops actually stop violence. First off, we can’t depend on crime stats at face value because this begs the question of who exactly gets to define what counts as a “crime” and why (e.g. drug possession and sleeping in public vs. tax evasion of the wealthy and wage theft). Continuing, crime rates often only reflect violations that have actually been reported, chosen to be shown, and deemed out of line. By this logic, crime rates are simply reflections of cops’ perceptions, not of the material and emotional realities of the proletariat (i.e. the working-class).

As for perpetuating violence, “US law enforcement killed at least 1,183 people in 2022, making it the deadliest year on record for police violence.” (And those are just the deaths that were reported. In our home state of Louisiana, turns out the Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s Office, as of January 12, 2023, has been unlawfully destroying records of officer misconduct for at least 10 years.) Many (69%) of these murders were cases in which no offense was alleged, were mental health or welfare checks, or involved traffic violations and other nonviolent offenses.

This is, of course, without even touching on the involuntary servitude (i.e. enslavement) and maltreatment ongoing in American prisons. How many more deaths must occur before the general public says enough is enough? Or is this acceptable since these are working-class, disabled, Mad, non-white, queer, and trans lives being lost?

Sources: @InterruptCrim, The Guardian, Mapping Police Violence, @VeriteNewsNola

Slide No. 4 reads:

So we agree police are harmful. Why abolition instead of reform? Historically, reforms have either provided further funding to the prison, foster care, and psychiatric industrial complexes and/or just reinforced harmful ideologies surrounding policing as a whole. And trust us, these systems already have more than enough money. In the fiscal year of 2021, at least $277,153,670,501 were spent on federal law enforcement and prisons as well as on police and prisons by state and local governments. Can you even conceptualize a number that large? We could end all American medical debt with that much money. We could even provide clean water and waste disposal to everyone on Earth!

Continuing, reforms like body cameras are pitched as making officers more accountable, that if “done right” policing will actually keep people safe, and that those who do not use excessive force are suddenly no longer guilty of perpetuating centuries worth of systemic oppression. In reality, body cameras require further funding and increase surveillance!

Similarly, civilian oversight boards and the push to “jail killer cops” reinforce the belief that cases of murder, assault, falsifying information, and so on are exceptional occurrences rather than intrinsic to the very nature of policing itself. This is where the phrase “All Cops Are Bastards” comes into play, stating that while the individual character of some officers may be morally permissible, all cops are part of a “bastardized,” or corrupt, system.

Sources: Security Policy Reform Institute, Matt Korostoff, @CriticalResistance 

Slide No. 5 reads: 

Even laws don’t prevent police violence, e.g. the murder of Eric Garner despite the NYPD passing a policy against chokeholds, or the murder of Daunte Wright despite the passing of the George Floyd Law Enforcement Trust and Integrity Act and a separate Justice in Policing Act of 2020.

Alternatively, we can advocate against the expansion of policing “responsibilities,” i.e. not allowing officers to address Mad individuals in vulnerable states, the housing crisis, or people who use drugs (PWUD). We can reroute funding into non-coercive, peer-led initiatives for harm reduction, de-escalation, first aid, and self-defense. And maybe most importantly, we can reaffirm that EXTENSIVE power can, in fact, be found amongst everyday folks like you and me!

Abolition is not a one-and-done sort of deal but rather a progression of steps toward an infinite future of improvements. The act of building parallel infrastructures and modes of governance while the previous ones still exist is known as dual power. Abolition must begin as dual power. We can start today!

And in building such, these steps cannot: legitimize or expand oppressive systems we aim to dismantle, create divisions between “deserving” and “underserving” people, preserve existing power relations, or utilize exclusionary, one-size-fits-all, standardized treatments.

Sources: @ProjectLets, @HarmReductionCoalition, CrimethInc., Survived & Punished NY

Slide No. 6 reads:

One of the main questions brought up, though, is what abolitionists plan to do in the case of homicide, rape, domestic violence, and other harms. While this is entirely valid, this question seems to imply that 1) police are already effectively responding to such harms rather than perpetuating and/or ignoring them and 2) that there is one collective abolitionist response.

For one, the majority of sexual assault, for example, goes unreported and less than 0.5% of perpetrators are incarcerated. (And this assumes that through the reporting process and incarceration, survivors will somehow find healing, perpetrators will find understanding, and that sexual assault does not continue within prisons.) Meanwhile, let’s use our hometown as one example of many, a complaint of sexual violence is filed against a New Orleans Police Department officer every 10 days and nearly 1 in 5 NOPD officers have been reported for sexual and/or intimate partner violence. 

And secondly, we have a plethora of organizations like Critical Resistance and cultures like that of the Diné (Navajo) to learn from and build upon. We don’t have to be stuck within this false dilemma fallacy, that there is only policing or total chaos. Don’t you see that that is the state’s way of constricting communal power?

Sources: @RAINN, @CopWatchNola, @WokeScientist

Slide No. 7 reads:

To expand this conversation, abolition heavily aligns with the political ideal of “anarchism.” Anarchism supports the absence of government and absolute freedom of the individual. And despite its negative connotations, anarchy also reflects an evolution of community-based care rather than just a deconstruction of what currently exists.

A simplified version of its 6 agreed-upon principles are:

Autonomy and Horizontality: define yourself on your own terms, we stand on an equal footing

Mutual Aid: bonds of solidarity form a stronger social glue than fear, support your community

Voluntary Association: associate or don't associate with whomever you wish

Direct Action: accomplish goals directly rather than depending on representatives or authorities

Revolution: overthrow those in power who enforce coercive hierarchies (ex. white supremacy)

Self-Liberation: you must be at the forefront of your own liberation, freedom must be taken

While being an abolitionist does not require alignment with anarchism, it is worth considering how the state plays such an enduring role in various social harms. Concurrently, whenever you treat other living beings with consideration and respect, come to reasonable compromise rather than coercion, and decide to share or delegate tasks, you are already living by anarchist principles.

Sources: Peter Gelderloos, David Graeber

Slide No. 8 reads:

So, how can you get involved? How do we continue the efforts already being made by activists worldwide? After such an overload of information and even more to learn, we understand how political frameworks like abolition can seem daunting, but they don't have to be! Here are some general next steps:

Read the "8toAbolition" steps.

Look into "podmapping" so you know whom to run to when you have been harmed or perpetuate harm.

See if there are any pre-existing mutual aid networks in your community, and if not, start one with your neighbors or peers!

Begin to research issues affecting communities other than your own. Abolition is intrinsically tied to all of us as we are all surveilled. For example, do you understand how prison and policing further ableism, transphobia, or the sex trade? What about policing internationally (see our allies in: the Kingdom of Hawai'i, Palestine, Artsakh, Kashmir...)?

Research the differences between capitalism, socialism, and communism. Abolition and anti-capitalism are foundational to one another as well.

Look into the other industrial complexes we named in the beginning (psychiatry, foster care, the military, the Family...).

Volunteer (remotely or in-person) with organizations like Better Future Program (@bfpnola) to both educate yourself and directly serve your community!

And if you're looking for further reading/listening, BFP offers over 3,000 FREE social justice, mental health, and academic resources in our Linktr.ee, including study guides for beginners. While we can't promise that the struggle for liberation will always be easy, BFP will always do its best to support you in whatever way we know how.

End ID.]

[soongyeopsal]

Judgement Call

Summary: You only have 1 job: Don’t let the werewolf out of the basement.

▸ Pairing: werewolf!DK/Seokmin x F!reader

▸ Rating / Genre / AU: 18+ / pwp (smut) / established relationship, supernatural If you are a minor AND/OR if your account has no age in the bio, you will be blocked upon interacting (liking/reblogging) with this post.

▸ Warnings: breeding, a bucket of drool, biting

▸ Word Count: 1.2k

▸ A/N: This is my entry for KBCS’s Blood and Bane event! 🐺 The prompt ofc being: breeding kink. Thank you @shuadotcom for your beta services (no pun intended lol) as always!

Read more at the top because grown up words are in the first paragraph.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Dokyeom is a gentle giant with too much self control. Everything about him is oversized. Yet, the way he keeps his palm to the small of your back in public is reassuring. He holds you in your shared bed delicately, as if you’re a baby bird. He fucks you as if every thrust could break you. 

Holy shit, you wish he would break you. Just once.

You both know that he could. It’s not that Dokyeom has to set out to either; quite the opposite. Dokyeom is always holding back for fear of hurting you. 

As the days bleed together and the nights inch closer and closer to a full moon, he gets a little careless. His canines linger on the fleshy part of your thighs and the pressure teeters on painful. Long digits grip small, purple bruises into your hips. Enormous palms force your legs up to dangle your feet near your head for so long that your hips feel it in the morning.

Then, when the moon has reached its full magnificence for all to witness, Dokyeom is gone. He’s not far; just in the basement actually. You huff and roll your eyes every time your scheduled Rules meeting rolls around, but your boyfriend still insists on reviewing everything thoroughly and consistently.

The Rules:

Double-check the restraints.

Double-check the basement door lock.

Do not investigate any sounds.

Do not come to the basement for any reason before 8am.

Tonight, you exaggerate your pout as you salute him playfully on the landing of the basement stairs. You pout even harder when you step back after locking him in heavy metal wristlets chained to the floor. Dokyeom flashes his signature LED smile and sunny “love you”. It doesn’t make you any less upset about having to lock him away, but you’re forgiving enough to just go along with it.

What Dokyeom isn’t aware of is that you’re also forgiving enough to take whatever he dishes out when you head downstairs in nothing but a nightgown and a key around your neck at half past midnight.

You only make it halfway down the stairs when the chains rattle, then clang as they’re pulled taut. A cautious, deep rumble from Dokyeom’s chest cuts through the darkness. When you reach the bottom and flick the lightswitch on, he’s only a few feet from the steps – it’s as close as he can get with the cuffs on. Crimson eyes stare you down, unblinking and predatory as Dokyeom’s gaze roots you to the spot. You should be worried and you should be fearful and you should go upstairs, but when you look past his fangs and claws, there’s an unmistakable tent in his basketball shorts that makes the sensible part of your brain shut down immediately.

“Out.” Your boyfriend's voice is deeper and so much more gravelly than you would have expected. It’s as if he hasn’t spoken in eons and nearly forgot which language he speaks. 

One thing’s for sure: his tone is speaking directly to your pussy.

“Out!”

Dokyeom growls again, straining against the chains as you disrobe where you stand, skin instantly pebbling with goosebumps from the draft. His expression keeps changing in a kaleidoscope of contradicting emotions, but it’s clear which one wins out the second you dare to enter his personal bubble.

The hook of Dokyeom’s nails threatens to puncture as his fingers curl around your wrist and yank you toward him. It’s not exactly tender, but he’s reasonably careful as he lowers your down onto the blanket – the only “amenity” here, at his request – so you’re laid bare beneath him. The two of you stay frozen, Dokyeom panting above you as he scrutinizes every inch of your body. 

It’s not until your hand reaches to cup the side of his face that he lets go. He leans into the touch before mouthing your hand, leaving a trail of drool in your palm. There’s no time to complain – he’s got to be only half-listening at best, anyway – with how he’s yanked your legs apart so he can slot himself in to rut against your cunt sloppily.

Dokyeom was not small to begin with, but his bulge is noticeably bigger now. Is it harder, too? Is that possible? Yes and yes, you confirm as you (barely) manage to slide your hand between your bodies and catch the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down to expose his hips. 

A shaky, high-pitched sigh/whine lets you know how much he appreciates the gesture as he lines his tip up with your weeping entrance. Dokyeom is physically shaking as he does so, eyes screwed shut as he begins to enter as slowly as he can bear. The bliss of your heat keeps his mouth hanging open in a silent groan, letting more saliva fall from the gape like a faucet that douses the link between your bodies. 

If you’d had a chance to study his cock as it is now, there’s a good chance you would have chickened out. With your hubris and his reduced impulse control, though, you make it work. Once he’s fully inside of you, you’re only given a few seconds before he’s thrusting. Dokyeom’s cock fills you deep, deep, deeper than you’ve ever felt before. In your daydreams, you’d pictured yourself full, yet still dainty, arms above your head as you sigh with pleasure. In reality, you barely sound human yourself as you hiss and yelp beneath him while the shape of his cock projects itself in the pouch of your lower belly, clawing at his sides because he’s too wide to even get your arms around him in this form.

Dokyeom has never been shy about letting you know how good you feel, but he’s so vocal like this. You know he’s close, even without words. Grunts smooth themselves into whimpers and growls slip into the beginnings of a howl. 

You’re close too and you tell him so, but he doesn’t seem to acknowledge it at first. The way you ragdoll in Dokyeom’s grasp as he suddenly hoists you up by the waist to fuck into you harder would be comical if you could see yourself, but your eyes are too busy rolling into the back of your skull. He pins you down with his full weight, nearly taking the wind out of you as his thrusts become short and sharp. 

He rests his lips on your shoulder, breath almost searing as he murmurs, “Love you, breed you.” It’s not clear if he’s asking or telling you, honestly, but you wouldn’t be here in this moment if that mattered to you. 

Dokyeom is yours and you are his. It’s sealed when you cum on his cock and he drives into you one last time, howl muffled into your shoulder as fangs compress and then perforate your delicate skin. It should hurt and you’ll certainly need to patch yourself up later, but the pain only pushes you deeper into euphoria as he floods your pussy with hot cum. 

Just like when you started, the two of you suspend your movements, catching your breath. This is the part where you both come down together and Dokyeom pulls you into his chest lovingly. 

There’s just one little detail you didn’t consider in your excitement leading up to tonight: Werewolf Dokyeom doesn’t just want to breed you; he has to. And one session is simply not enough to get the job done.

[genericpuff]

Rachel did a live Q&A in the LO Discord server and gave some news about the Animated Series, it’s still happening! (Surprisingly) Any thoughts on that or things you’d like to see from it?

Right, like every other time she's said it's "still happening" with no evidence to actually support it. That's always been the issue and still is.

Sorry, that's not me being snarky at you, I'm more so frustrated and absolutely fucking done with all the empty promises and platitudes.

Best case scenario with what was said during the Q&A was that she said "it's still happening" (worst case was that she didn't address it at all).

Like, how is this:

"I can say that… we are currently doing work on it… and it is going well.. and that it looks really cool and that I wish everyone could see what we’ve done because it looks really really really cool, and it’s happening, but that’s all I can say at this point… I can say, making tv shows takes a really long time, it takes so long" (last night's Q&A)

Any different than this:

Any different than this:

“Um, it’s been really interesting. It’s been educational for me. So, what I—what has been done so far is beautiful. Like, if I could share it, I would. But I can’t. Because it’s very naughty.” - Girl Wonder SDCC (July 2023)

She's been saying this for the last two years since people started getting suspicious it wasn't happening in the first place, and despite all the reassurances that "it's still happening", it doesn't seem to have anything to show for itself. Cast list? Nope. Director? Nope. Writers? Nah. Just a showrunner whose bio still says "TBA" and who, despite having a whole ass 40 minute long interview with Girl Wonder, still didn't have anything to show for what's to come, just more empty promises that it's "still happening" (and a lot of banter about Stephanie's life, rather than her involvement with LO).

In fact, most of what Stephanie talks about in the podcast concerning LO is pitching it, not developing it. And this interview happened just a few months ago. Go listen to it yourself if you don't believe me.

So at this point, I see "it's still happening" as "don't panic" corporate speak for "we're still pitching it and trying to find a network for it so we can actually move onto development." Yes, animation takes a long time, even Hazbin Hotel took about three and a half years to finally release after Prime bought the rights to it in 2020. But LO, again, clearly hasn't even started the animation process yet. And while we're comparing it to Hazbin, note that HH actually had LOADS to show for itself along the way of being developed and did a much, MUCH better job at staying relevant and pulling in new people and hyping it up. Even people who never watched Hazbin before in its indie days on Youtube were hearing about it, it made an active effort to sell itself to new viewers and break out of its bubble on Youtube. Is LO doing that? No, not really. Most of the people who know about it are diehard fans who refuse to read anything that isn't shown directly to them on Webtoons, and diehard haters who are tired of the garbage that gets advertised on Webtoons. Ask anyone who doesn't use Webtoons, and best case, they'll know someone who reads LO, worst case, they won't even know what a webtoon is.

Shit, even the new upcoming Zelda movie has names attached to it, including Avi Arad, Wes Ball, and Derek Connolly. And my god, it's gonna SUCK DICK with that bad of a line-up (the guy who ruined the OG Spiderman trilogy and created Morbius, the guy who directed the Maze Runner films, and one of the leading storywriters behind Rise of Skywalker, fucking YIKES) but hey, at least it has more than one name attached to it.

But okay, if we're gonna play the comparison game, let's be fair and compare LO to some other works in its own lane. Let's Play announced last year that it would be getting an animated adaption, and it already has a studio backing it that is FAR more suited for it than JHC is to LO - OLM, the same studio whose animated for massive franchises like Pokemon, Yo-Kai, and Gudetama. JHC meanwhile has animated... motion capture kid shows like Word Party. Because that's the only kind of animation they actually specialize in when it comes to their in-house services. Sure, they also have Harriet the Spy, but that wasn't animated by them, that was animated by Titmouse Inc (heh sorry).

I'm the Grim Reaper recently had its own animated adaption announced, and who's in charge of it? Oh, only SAM FUCKING RAIMI-

And look, maybe the Let's Play and I'm the Grim Reaper adaptions won't happen either. I just think it's ironic that they both have more to show for themselves in terms of credible names attached to them than what LO has managed to scrape up after five years of promising that it's "still happening" (especially when one of those series is nowhere near as big as LO and the one that WAS as big as LO walked away from Webtoons entirely). For Webtoons' own "worldwide phenomenon", they sure have given LO the shit end of the stick by pairing it with a family-with-kids-under-10 production studio that doesn't specialize in animation and a showrunner who got her start with the Cosmopolitan (weird how LO has so many plugs with Cosmo, huh? Why is JHC producing the show again?)

At the end of the day, nothing's changed. It's still just the ole' "it's still happening" record on a loop, while the comic itself falls further out of favor with people. And it's likely gonna be going behind DailyPass soon, so just think about what that's gonna do to its relevancy after it gets sent away to the equivalent of the Webtoons graveyard.

As I've said countless times before every time this topic comes up, at best, if it is still happening, and I'm wrong about all of this, they are doing the worst job I've ever seen at hyping people up and keeping them informed. It is NOT a good thing that people have to keep asking Rachel if it's still happening.

As for worst case... you wanna know what other projects come to my mind that have fallen into the same state of development hell and decay as LO's TV show? YandereSim and Cryamore. What do you think the popular opinion is about those works and their creators now? Because if you don't know either of those names and are about to google them, let me give you a heads up warning - it's not positive.

If it happens, it happens. It will hopefully be before I get all the therapy I need to undo what LO has done to my brain so that I don't have to make repeat visits LOL But if it's after, hey, maybe the show will be good! Assuming Rachel doesn't, y'know, E.L. James the whole thing. Because frankly, the show will need to cut and rework a LOT of stuff to be any good IMO and I don't think that will be possible if Rachel gets directly involved. But I'm not even hoping for that scenario because there's literally NOTHING to give me that hope, "it's still happening" is nothing more than "don't panic" corporate speak to me at this point. It's cynical, but I just can't waste my energy caring about it anymore.

[cozzzynook]

Rodimus giving birth and feeling something is wrong. There's so much blood and his little one isn't coming out. Ratchet ends up breaking his leg to get their sparkling out.

-Bread.

This ask took so long because I wanted it to be one of the best things I could go back and read. I wanted this to be long.

-

Carrying was…both a beautiful and difficult thing.

The beauty in this was growing a life in his forge tanks that was combined of his own cna and his partners Drift and Ratchet.

The two were conjunx and he was their partner they planned on conjunxing, though he had plenty doubts of being conjunx to them or it lasting long since he was more than a few servo fulls. The two immediately rejected such ideals and told him to get those thoughts from his processor.

Try as he might to hide this insecurity and fear getting sparked made it impossible to do so. He had no choice but to work on the unrelenting pressure that was his thoughts and feelings. And it was all thanks to the result of a glowing orange bio fluid that covered the small pipe rod that he slipped into his valve and rested on the edges of his gestation tank that led directly to his forge.

The glowing light meant one thing and one thing only.

He was sparked.

His frame was so heavy and tired because it no longer worked for only himself but another life that was steadily growing and forming inside him. Made up of Ratchets cna and transfluid and Drifts energon and spark energy.

Truly the bitlet had a mix of all these things from each of them. But he always deep dived the intricacies of it this way. It felt more romantic, more connecting, this way.

He was not as connected during his first few weeks of knowing as he was now.

The first few days he was in denial and determined each of the eighteen tests he took were all flukes.

Then he moved onto the stage of sobbing his fragging optics out and getting angry punching his desk while static bubbles caught his windpipe because he didn’t think they’d want a sparkling and he knows he’s a mess he doesn’t want another person fragged up because of it. Bad enough his now courting conjunx had to deal with it, he didn’t want to burden a fresh new spark with himself too.

Of course Drift found him crying in the lower decks during the dead shift.

Rodimus snuck from berth because he was now hungry and couldn’t recharge without eating.

He hated how he gave in so easily to the cravings, consuming energon just the way Ratchet liked it while eating thick and bitter shaved metals, one of Drifts favorite snacks.

The mech took one look at him as he was crying on the floor eating and put it together so fast Rodimus didn’t have time to sniffle twice or blink the tears away.

Drifts reaction was a helm turner because he was immediately so happy and excited at having a sparkling to being completely concerned about Rodimus and what he wanted.

…he ended up crying into Drifts shoulders while eating because he was still sad and worried while so happy Drift accepted their sparkling but he was also still incredibly hungry and wanted more fuel.

Thats how Ratchet found them half an hour later.

Drift smiling at Rodimus like he had a bolt loose while Rodimus was blubbering as he fueled.

Ratchets processor was still sharp as ever so he could understand what Rodimus was saying pretty well and all things considered he handled the news fairly well.

Did he have to sit down in shock?

Yes.

But did he pull Rodimus and Drift into a tight hug before something clicked in his helm and he was berating Rodimus for keeping it hidden for so long and immediately ran diagnostics on Rodimus calling him a sparked bolt brain?

Yes.

It made Rodimus’s blubbering heavier but it was a good heavy all things considered.

After that Rodimus was never alone seeing as Ratchet or Drift or both mechs were continuously glued to his side.

In the day during his shift Rodimus was with either Drift or Ratchet who stayed next to him on the bridge. If it was after his shift he went to the medbay with Ratchet or the training room with Drift. He hardly spent time by himself save for napping in berth when he didn’t feel like being around either of them or felt a burden. He would not admit a third option of not being able to stay awake because his frame was heavy and tired and his optics would close on their own. He refused to admit such a thing.

Not that he would need to anyway.

Ratchet and Drift knew by how hard he now slept and how often he’d fall into recharge in the middle of watching tv, while sitting for longer than a few kliks, in the wash racks when they took baths together or when he was almost done fueling.

Ratchet and Drift thought they were hilarious putting his fuel or metals under his olfactory sensors and watching him start to eat while still asleep just before waking up and yawning.

That annoyed him every time and he still wishes he could pretend to choke just so they’d stop.

He didn’t want to endanger his sparkling so he didn’t but he really wanted to scare them and get his own laugh. So he decided pranking them in a different way would be better.

It took some patience, quite a bit actually their species carry for a very very long time, but he did it. He got the two back when he was almost a month away from emergence.

He needed their help getting up since he was so big he couldn’t see his own pedes anymore let alone a wide space of the floor in front of him.

The two didn’t ever complain about having to lift him but they did grunt from the strain.

The first few times made him angry at nothing and everything but after that it just made him cry. Another thing he finds himself doing as he looks back.

The prank he played didn’t require tears per se but they did require a real enough facial expression of pain.

Something he did almost perfectly when he stood up and used expired easy clean up energon to pretend his forge fluid broke and that the sparkling was coming.

The look on both their face plates was a memory he couldn’t wait to share with their bitty and a memory that made him almost pee himself with how hard he laughed.

Making it to the bathroom doesn’t count as peeing on one’s self. Ratchet was completely wrong about that just like he was wrong about his assumptions moments that felt and were long ago.

It was mid afternoon when he woke from a surprise nap he didn’t feel coming. He yawned, stretched his arms a tad, shifted uncomfortably with great effort and looked around the room as he felt cramps tangling his tanks.

His forge felt lower and heavier than before and his sparkling was wiggling in an odd position they’ve never done before.

He thought something was off but he didn’t want to raise alarm and it was nothing so he kept himself on guard for anything else strange and decided to get up and waddle around.

Maybe his sparkling just needed some exercise?

Whatever it was he hoped he was doing the right thing.

Getting up took a lot of effort and since Drift was on shift and Ratchet was probably in the medbay he had to get up himself. It proved as challenging as he thought it would and after five minutes he gave up.

His lower back struts were beginning to hurt and his hips were aching from the strain while internally punishing him. He could feel pain strike across his tanks but he’s been feeling that for a while so he’s figuring it was false pulses again.

He was ready to start tearing up at being stuck and immobile when he heard pede steps and Ratchet came into the berthroom.

“Kid? Ya alright?”

Ratchet had an optic ridge raised as he looked him over and he sighed in relief, holding his hands out with an apologetic look Ratchet told him to quit with.

“Yer sparked kid, of course ya need help and I’m old but not that old,” his conjunx growled out, a lot less grumpy than usual.

“Sorry Ratch,” he laughed a tad breathless once standing at an awkward angle to get some comfort. The pain felt like it was growing and the locations were both normal and odd compared to what Ratchet and the books told him.

He was starting to wonder if something was really wrong when he felt the sudden urge to empty his waste tanks.

He hissed, holding his heavy and definitely low tanks as he bent forward, deeply venting as he attempted to ground himself in the pain while Ratchet asked what was wrong with panic in his voice.

He decided to voice his concerns to Ratchet but before he could his modesty panels opened on their own and he felt his waste and forge tanks release themselves without his permission and he gasped from both shock, embarrassment and pain.

“Oh frag, yer in labor kid. Alright, they’re a tad early but this is completely normal and safe. What I want you to do is breathe for me kid, can ya do that?”

He nodded his helm as he remained bent over holding Ratchet’s servo as he called First aid to prep the medbay for emergence and then called Drift who yelled so loud Rodimus could hear it.

The mech got an earful from Ratchet who was helping him slowly waddle towards the wash racks to clean himself off since emergence took a while and he didn’t want him sitting in his own waste, neither did Rodimus, as they waited for Drift to speed inside.

Ratchet was talking to help him stay grounded as they got inside their large bath tub that had room for four mechs when Drift came panting in the door way.

“Bout time ya got here,” Ratchet grouched playfully as he let Drift hold Rodimus up who was still in pain that seemed to only be growing with every passing minute.

“Ratty, it took me less than three minutes and I was on the other side of the ship. Cut me some slack like Roddy. You breathing alright Roddy?”

Drift’s words would’ve been soothing and comforting if not for the steady pain that was becoming so unbearable he grit his denta and now Drifts servo.

“Roddy?”

He felt something drop inside him and with it his knee struts.

Drift caught him at an odd angle but kept him from hitting the ground as Ratchet rushed over to scan him.

“Kid!”

He felt something burning within his tanks and inside his valve that didn’t at all feel like the description he read about in the books and felt the need to push but couldn’t because something felt wrong and his spark knew not to do anything.

But everything hurt so much and it felt like he was on fire from the inside as he felt the weight pressing against his valve tighten and constrict before wiggling and he felt his optics flicker making his vision black as he realized he was screaming in intense pain that momentarily blacked him out.

He was on his back in the water with Drift holding him up bracing him on both sides of his stabilizers while Ratchet looked worried as he felt around his valve and tried to put a servo inside him only for it to be blocked.

“Frag!”

Rodimus felt his spark drop at the loud curse and he screamed gripping Drifts servo at the next pulse that felt worse than the last.

He felt his tanks constrict and something pushed against his hip making him scream out in agony as something moved the wrong way against his internals, hip mesh and valve making it feel like it would rip.

It took five kliks for the pulse to end and by that time he struggled to open his optics and hear what Ratchet was trying to tell him.

“Listen to me kid. This is gonna hurt bad, real bad but its the only way I can make the pain go away and get our sparkling here and keep you alive. I promise, you will be fine after this,” Ratchet promised for all their sakes.

Rodimus understood what he was saying but another pulse came and he tightened his grip almost crushing Drift’s servo but the mech just comforted him and braced him for what he knew was coming.

“Okay kid, on the count of three yer gonna be in extreme pain but Drift’s gonna run you to the medbay where we can fix ya and the sparkling, alright love?”

He sobbed and nodded his helm.

The pain was making his spark hurt and he wanted to comfort Ratchet who never used that name unless he was scared but he couldn’t.

He was just so hot and hurting he couldn’t do anything but try to breathe.

“One,” Ratchet was tense and making optic contact with Drift who felt terrified but had to trust Ratchet, “two,” Rodimus felt a pulse coming on and grit his teeth groaning at the pain as he felt it pass after seven kliks. His frame growing weak as he noticed the glowing life energon in the water.

“Three!”

He felt Ratchet’s servo shoot and wiggle inside his valve and push what he realized was their sparkling back and he smashed his other palm down on the center of his hip and yanked it outward before pulling their sparkling out.

He wailed in agony from the sudden onslaught of pain that wouldn’t grant him the empathy of blacking out.

He stayed awake wailing from the nano klik Ratchet broke his hip to free their sparkling that was stuck to the nano klik he was being laid on the medberth and given powerful sedatives that almost failed to cut through his pain.

The very first thing he saw when he woke was Ratchet and Drift curled up on either side of him while two tiny bundles laid on his chassis.

He woke them with his crying as he touched along their delicate mesh face plates, feeling their dermas, olfactory sensors, optic ridges and the softest part of their closed optics that began to twitch and flicker from his touches as a tiny arm cane up and tried to move him.

They had all their digits and Drifts frame type with his claws.

Their helms had finials just like Drift but they had Ratchets optic color and shape. They even had his scowl which made Rodimus laugh the two sires awake.

They worried over him, Ratchets love language of fussing came full force as he told Rodimus he should’ve woken him immediately while not really meaning it as he checked him over.

Drift helped make it easy for him to hold the twin sparklings that had Ratchets mesh coloring and biolights.

He felt sad they didn’t get anything from him and he was the one who did the hard part, how unfair.

“Beautiful,” he cried, careful not to move since his frame was in a mess of pain and still healing. It would be for a long time Ratchet explained.

The sparklings dropped together and were coming out together which is why it felt so wrong and hurt so much and how they got stuck.

Turns out one mech was hiding behind the other and in true split spark fashion they had the same spark beat down to the last detail almost.

Its easy to miss and thats why no one saw the other or could tell.

He smiled, kissing both their helms.

“You sure made an entrance,” he joked.

Drift and Ratchet weren’t as thrilled by his joke and truthfully he was riding on carrier after emergence high. By the evening or next day he would be a traumatized mess.

But for now, he just wanted to enjoy being with his conjunxs and sparklings.

Primus knows he won’t be doing this again.

[eveistdiepommes]

Classes Start ! SideTrack A !

Hellloooooo everyone! I’m back with more college au! Omg omg, okay, I had so much fun with these designs and coming up with the majors! So! Welcome to SideTrack A! SideTrack drawings and chapters will be sprinkled in amongst the main character art and chapters! This is the first SideTrack, but I have a couple others in mind (Mostly the Nordics, which I hint at :3) Welcome our newest additions!

(Character bios and info below, as usual! :D)

Who has time for gender when you’re this smart? Feliks Łukasiewicz is a bonafide genius, their pink, glittery clothes might just distract you from that fact! Feliks is beyond talkative, they love chatting about anything and everything and anyone and everyone! They basically got this friend group together, albeit very pushy-ily and stubbornly. They can be pretty demanding, pretty bossy, and maybe even pretty arrogant, but that’s mostly for show! Their brain is constantly moving, constantly thinking, and if they had to be left alone with ruminating thoughts, they’d surely get overwhelmed! Feliks is incredibly kind at their core, they’ve just built up a lot of layers of self importance for safety.

And Toris didn’t even mean to break through those layers! Toris is a straight A, top of the top student! He keeps to himself, he greets people with a polite smile and tilt of the head, he is mild and generally unnoticed. Well… he was… Feliks attached themself to Toris. They share many classes together, and one day, in a whirlwind of pink hoodie and fragrant body spray, Feliks declared they were friends! Neither of them expected to actually develop feelings for each other. Feliks had initially approached Toris because he seemed lonely (and he needed to loosen up) and Toris stuck around because, well, he was lonely. But, the closer they got, the closer Toris got to Feliks’ core, Toris felt bubbling adoration. And to Feliks’ surprise, Toris was the one who confessed first, which really really really meant a lot to Feliks!

The two are a couple, one people wouldn’t expect! Feliks is loud and flashy, Toris is introverted and seemingly always nervous. But they both swell with pride knowing they know each other’s true colors. Toris hushes Feliks’ anxious and fearful thoughts, Feliks cherishes Toris’ strength and secretly fiery nature. Together, they are an odd display of opposites attract!

Dimitri is used to just getting by in life. He doesn’t ask for much, and he doesn’t want to! He’s a sweet guy who just wants to do his best and expects nothing in return! Okay well… maybe he wants a little something in return! But not much! Dimitri has dreams of attending the World Academy, but thanks to his financial and family background, he isn’t exactly an immediate candidate. So! He works at the frozen yogurt place in the mall to raise money! He and his coworker, Natalya have grown quite close, and thanks to her help, he gets to understand what to expect from the world academy! The only thing about being so close, however… is that Natalya is quite involved with Dimitri’s interest in a frequent customer…

Mihai frequents the mall constantly! He loves anything dark and gloomy, which explains why he’s friends with Natalya! Mihai, like his best friend, has a very eccentric fashion sense, 2000s scene and emo inspired! Despite his dark looks, however, he is the brightest and warmest person! He’s always smiling, always so happy looking! He honestly didn’t even want frozen yogurt the first day he went up to the counter, he just figured he’d get something since Natalya could give him a discount! But… when he got up to the counter and saw an incredibly handsome guy with dark hair and pretty eyes ready to take his order, it was hard to contain his excitement! Ever since then, whenever he’s at the mall, he gets frozen yogurt! And he’ll never get sick of it!!

Little do both of these dorks know, Natalya is playing matchmaker behind the scenes. She purposely goes on break when she sees Mihai approaching (and Dimitri is starting to catch on), she drops hints that Dimitri is interested in Mihai when they are in class together, and she might perform a spell or two just to make sure her efforts are not wasted. She had frequently spent her life worrying about love for herself, but once she met her… everything fell into place. Natalya is devoted to both her girlfriend and her friends, hoping to bring them all happiness in her own, eccentric way. Many are scared of Natalya, rumors surround her because of her dark and off color remarks, but she is the sweetest and most thoughtful person. Just don’t end up on her bad side. She could get away with murder!

[kairiscorner]

my art teacher and last year bio teacher inspired me to do this (and ofc @binibinileonara did too, as always <333)

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

miguel o'hara x gn!reader (teacher au)

hunched over at his desk, busy checking and encircling items quickly with his red pen as his hazel brown eyes scanned the page for the answers written by the students in all kinds of handwriting. he sighed as he shook his head, the test he gave the students were probably way too hard... or these kids were always lying whenever he'd ask them if they understood what he was saying.

"what are these kids even putting on the blanks spaces? i'm surprised their brains are better teachers than me–coming up with their own answers..." he muttered under his breath as he kept encircling the answers on one whole page for this one student's paper. as he felt his eyes drooping from the fatigue he got from the amount of incorrect answers he had to correct, he also felt a light tap on his shoulder. he turned his head wearily to look at the one who tapped his shoulder, coming face to face with your beaming face. "oh, miguel, you okay?" you asked him with a gentle voice as miguel nodded, groaning slightly under his breath as he did; he was okay physically, but emotionally, he was incredibly dejected and disappointed by his students' performance in his tests.

"lemme guess, your students breezed through your quizzes again?" you asked him with a sympathetic grin as miguel nodded weakly again. "they can't even bring themselves to put out any effort for my sake. i spend countless hours being wide awake at 2 AM, triple checking my quizzes to make sure it's just right for them–not too easy that i'll get questioned by the admins if i'm taking my job seriously, but not too hard that they're plotting to give me a bad rating for the evaluation to get back at me. it's... so difficult." he said with a sigh as he shook his head, trying to shake the sleepiness from his all-nighters away. you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, hoping that you could help him in any way–you and miguel were in different departments, with you being an elementary art teacher and him being a high school biology teacher.

it was much easier for you since the kids in your class were very fond of your bright, bubbly personality and your open-mindedness when it came to art; the kids assigned to you were also very obedient and would strive hard to impress you, to make you proud. meanwhile, miguel's class was harder to manage since he was dealing with hormonal teenagers that think they know everything they've doing. you pitied him so badly, the kids he was handling were seriously not gonna give him a break and at least make his job a bit easier by listening. "sorry, mig..." "it's fine, it's fine, i'll... test them again this week. that extra unscheduled quiz and printing costs will come out of my paycheck, sure, but i need to make sure they understand what i'm saying." he said with a sigh as you moved your chair closer to him.

you placed your hand over miguel's that was clutching the red pen and lightly gripped it. he looked up at you in response to your touch and widened his eyes at the fact you were touching him. "what?" he asked you with a quizzical look in his eyes, reflecting the bright, beaming shine in your own eyes. "if you ever need any help with these kids, ever need someone to listen to you, i'm here for you, miggy–from one teacher to another." you said with a sweet smile, which made miguel's face contort into one of surprise. his face heated up at your kind words, with him nodding hurriedly and facing away from you–his face growing ever more flustered as he dwelled on your words. "um... thank you, a lot." he said with a hushed, flustered voice.

"i know a few therapeutic art techniques, i'm gonna teach the students about that for the next few weeks–wanna try them with me?" you asked him, hoping he'd agree. surprisingly, your hopeful wish was heard and granted–miguel looked at you, and with a slight, bashful grin, he told you, "sure. i haven't done anything creative for... a good long while in my life. it might just help with the stress and migraines i've been getting lately. um, hit me up? if you're, y'know, gonna start. that is what they say nowadays, right? 'hit me up'?" he asked you awkwardly as your stifled laugh when he said those three words exploded into peals of laughter at him being confused about gen z jargon.

miguel chuckled slightly to himself at his little blunder, but his chuckle of embarrassment then became one of fluster as you offered to help him check the heaps of test papers he had piled up. miguel didn't know what he did to deserve such a sweet, caring friend like you–with more patience than he could ever muster in his whole lifetime. if you would have him, maybe... he could take you out sometime and help you forget about computing grades and checking papers for one night?

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @luvstarrstruck @melovetitties @arachnoia @ophanimgold @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @simsrandomstuff @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok

[moongothic]

You know. If Crocodad Real. How would Luffy even react if he found out. Like really, how the fuck would he feel about it.

'Cause like how I went over in this post (briefly at the end), we don't even know how Luffy feels about Crocodile as he is right now, so can you imagine how that bombshell would impact things

Like my running theory is that Luffy still hates Crocodile but maybe not quite as much as pre-Impel Down since he kiiinda owes him etc

And Luffy does not seem to give a shit about blood connections, at least not that much. Like don't get me wrong, Luffy's family are the people who were there for him when he was a child, those are the people he cares about and his bio-parents don't really matter. But also, honestly, I think the reason Luffy doesn't give a shit about who his parents are is because he doesn't know them. Luffy cares about people who he knows and likes, and while he doesn't give a shit about Dragon right now, it's arguably because he simply just doesn't know him. If the two actually get to meet and know each other, like if Luffy takes a liking Dragon, he'll probably accept Dragon as his dad and as his family. But on his own terms. It's up to Luffy to decide

And that's why like. How would Luffy react to finding out he has another dad and that one is fucking Crocodile. Because he already hates the man. It would not be happy news for him I'm sure

The other thing is that normally Luffy does not give a flying fuck about people's sad backstories. He didn't care to hear what happened to Nami and her village for example, because what really mattered was that there was a person he cared about who was deeply hurt and in danger and he wanted to help said person. And that's where I'm so torn. Because on one hand, it would be perfectly on-brand for Luffy to not give a shit of Crocodile had a sob story to tell. But also, I could imagine Luffy being so fucking confused over the news that he'd want to hear the truth of like, who what where how why, in detail. So that, you know, he could make his own decision and figure out if he wants to considder Crocodile is other dad or disown him.

Like, both feel like things Luffy would do

So really, would the real deciding factor might be just... the circumstances where Luffy finds out???

God knows, I can not imagine Crocodile himself telling Luffy anything ever. The kid already hates him, he knows it, so he'd probably think it'd be for the best if Luffy never found out

So how else could Luffy find out then?

As far as we know, the only other person who could confirm it would be Dragon himself, and considdering how he probably feels about his ex (see: Alabasta Coup Attempt), I can't imagine him wanting to talk about Crocodile to Luffy in lenght or in a positive light. Like I can't imagine Dragon wanting to tell Luffy at all is the point, not unless he wanted to like apologize to Luffy because it is arguably his fault Luffy and Crocodile fought in Alabasta to near-death to begin with. (Sidenote since we don't know how the break-up happened to begin with, it's totally possible Crocodile could've asked Dragon to never let their kid find out what happened to his "mom")

And now, this is where I'm gonna go completely off the rails, but. As I was wondering if there was any other way Luffy could find out...

S-Croc is made with Crocodile's DNA.

(And actually before I even go into S-Croc, super quick sidenote: If Kuma can extract memories out of people and allow other people to literally see them... Like I can't tell if Kuma's memories got absorbed by Bonney when she looked into them or if Kuma's Memory Bubble is still on Egghead, but if viewing the memories isn't the same as having them inserted into a vessel permanently... Like if Kuma isn't turbo-dead, could there be a scenario where we have Kuma (or S-Bear) yeet out Croc's memories and have Luffy just look into them? Because god knows Crocodile might just refuse to speak about it and that could be the only way to get The Whole Truth if Dragon doesn't want to talk about it either?) (Of course, Crocodile would understand just How Persistent Luffy is so if Luffy just kept on annoying him about it, Crocodile could maybe give up eventually because he knows he can't get Luffy to piss off until he spills the beans)

So currently the Strawhat's plan is for them to go and escort the Vegapunks to Elbaf (if nothing goes funny after the flashback is over, which remains to be seen)

2. There is the mystery of what sex S-Croc is going to be, because there is a possibility that if Crocodile is trans then his Seraphim could be pre-T (though this entirely depends on whether or not Ivankov's HRT changes even the DNA of person. Since it's MAGIC HRT I would prefer it to, not gonna lie, and I would not appreciate any "you may look different but your DNA will tell the truth!" rhetoric in the story but I may be asking too much from Oda)

3. And there's also the mystery of what Devil Fruit ability S-Croc might have, since all the Seraphim have been given Fruit powers, and we know Vegapunk can't replicate Crocodile's Sand Logia.

All things considdered, I think the actual, most likely known ability S-Croc might end up with would be like, Mr 3's wax powers (hilariously), mainly because I could imagine it being flexible enough to work in Crocodile's fighting style, so it'd be the easiest for S-Croc to adapt to (like if you can make anything from wax, then why not sharp blades to fling at people) (Also we know Vegapunk would have access to this power since Mr 3 was in Impel Down, when they also got Daz' powers)

But also I had joked before how it'd be funny if S-Croc was a Crocodile Zoan for no reason. Like it'd be fitting since Crocodile was already the Only Logia of the OG Shichibukai, so making his Seraphim the Only Zoan would be funny as hell (if it's even possible, which we can't say if it will/won't be). Additionally, making him a Crocodile Zoan would be hysterically on-the-nose.

(Sidenote: If there was a crocodile Zoan Fruit, what sub-category do you think it'd fall into? Like would it be Ryu Ryu like all the dinosaur-themed Zoans are, or maybe even a different model of Uo Uo (same as Kaidou)? Since "wani" could be considdered a different type of serpent-dragon, and if Vegapunk was researching how to recreate Kaidou's fruit, it's plausible he might've accidentally recreated some other related-fruit in the process or afterwards?? (Also since Kaidou's Uo Uo is a specific model (Seiryu) it would make sense if there was another Uo Uo model Fruit, and this could be an excelent opportunity to use it))

The thing about Zoans though is that, as it's been brought up once or twice before, Zoan fruits can kind of have a "mind of their own" and influence the user in unexpected ways.

And as all we Crocodad Truthers know.

Crocodiles are protective of their babies.

ALSO: The Seraphim do have enough personal will-power that they may (slightly) disobey orders they've been given. Case-and-point, S-Snake undoing the Petrification on the Strawhats after Luffy asked her to, since S-Snake is fond of Luffy just like Hancock is

Sidenote, it was kind of made a point how Vegapunk considdered his artificial replica of Kaidou's dragon fruit a compete failure simply because instead of a blue dragon, the user would turn into a pink one instead. So if Vegapunk tried to make a Seraphim of Crocodile, knowing full-well he couldn't even give the Seraphim the same ability as the OG, and then the Seraphim turns out the wrong sex for no reason?? I could see him being confused as hell and considder S-Croc "a failed Seraphim"

So really, all we'd really need to happen would be for the Strawhats to somehow encounter the remaining three Seraphim while escorting the Vegapunks to Elbaf. Mind you, IDK how that could even happen since as far as we know they've been deployed the Emptee Bluffs

And then just have S-Croc either disobey orders to hunt Luffy or even even have him be protective of Luffy (following that Zoan Instinct, one even he can't explain, it's just Instinct). Have Sanji be like "hey why the fuck is this one a girl, isn't it supposed to be Crocodile", followed by Vegapunk explaining this Seraphim was a failure for reasons even he can't understand

Then have Jinbei remember the conversation Crocodile and Ivankov had at Impel Down (suspicious considdering Ivankov's abilities and this "failed Seraphim"), and maybe if Crocodile had any involvement with the Revolutionaries and Robin was suspicious of him she could even bring that up

Along with any other minor details that may be bothering the crew about the whole deal

And so if the Strawhats and Vegapunk just put all their braincells together and rubbed them real hard, they could maybe come to a hypothesis as to why S-Croc is a "failure" and protective of Luffy, and maybe even a potential explanation as to why The Real Crocodile was protective of Luffy in Marineford for no fucking reason

And maybe, just maybe, Vegapunk could confirm that suspicion with a DNA test. All he needs to do is check Luffy's and compare it to Crocodile's.

Not sure Luffy would want to do the DNA test, like knowing Luffy he might prefer to just ask Crocodile in person if they ever ran to each other again

But boy, if he somehow did agree to a DNA test, and there was a match... oh boy

But again. This entire scenario is BEYOND off-the-rails. Technically plausible! But honestly if Luffy is ever gonna find out (assuming Crocodad Real) then it's gonna be from Dragon

I just wanted to get the theoretical scenario out of my system okay, I had to get the brainworms out of my brain