#both the memory and the dvd

[coquelicoq]

out with a friend tonight who reminded me of a thing i did probably over 15 years ago and COMPLETELY forgot about. i can't say exactly what it was without doxxing myself but. it was not exactly stand-up but it was stand-up adjacent...now it is making so much more sense to me the memory i do have of my other friend's mom (who was in the audience for this i think?) telling me that i should do stand-up. i've always remembered her saying that and have always been ??? about it, like doing stand-up does not sound like something i would be at all good at, but damn i forgot about the time i kind of did stand-up. so she did not completely pull that out of her ass as i have been assuming this whole time. lol.

[thisbluespirit]

Endless list of ships: Colin Beale/Matty Firman (Wish Me Luck LWT 1988).

"Never slept with anyone I liked before." // "Well, I've never slept with anyone whose name I didn't know."

[takumisshorttemper]

Being the only one in my friend circle that still has all the physical media I consumed as a child feels so weird. They always react with "what do you do with all of that" or "i gave it all away/my parents threw it out years ago".

I have the whole collection of VHS my father had neatly stored right alongside the CDs that had been passed down to me by my mother (and i would've also kept all of her music cassettes if they still worked) and all the DVDs I used to watch as a kid. And this is just audiovisual media, i also still have all the books and magazines from my childhood on my bookshelf (or the great majority of it at least). I love all those possessions so dearly and the idea of getting rid of part of it or selling it or giving it away in some form pains me so much merely because of the memories, even though I might not be constantly in that media or maybe there is some of it that I don't like or even despise.

But at the same time i feel bad for holding onto it. i would like to be able to share it, to see it used instead of "gathering dust" but i cannot let go.

[amfstargirl]

Yandere batfam x neglected reader

Standing in the yard, dressed like a kid, the house is white and the lawn is dead ⋆·˚ ༘ *

You stood firm on the ground, eyes stern and unwavering. In front of you was a place all too familiar—the "shelter" where you grew up, the house that had been your home for five years of your childhood. As you stood there, memories flooded your mind, both the happy ones and the melancholy ones. Your eyes roamed around the place, taking in every detail before you finally decided to enter, lest anyone mistake you for some kind of lunatic loitering outside someone's house.

As your feet mindlessly carried you into the room, a heavy, shaky sigh escaped your quivering lips. It hadn't even been five seconds since you entered, yet you already felt the urge to cry. Oh well, that's what memories do to you. You gently caressed the dirty white wall adorned with your old, fading doodles. Most of them were pink—your favorite color then and even now as an adult. You smiled sadly as the memories of your time in the house flooded back, making you nostalgic. You scoffed sarcastically at the irony that you missed this place more than the manor where you'd spent a longer time.

Perhaps it was because the old you—the innocent, sweet, and pure one—was still within these thin walls that had sheltered them through all the bad times. You could feel their giggles and laughter lingering in the air. Tears streamed down your face as you stared at every sticker, doodle, and writing spread across the walls. Somehow, you cried out of joy, relishing the fact that the child you left behind in this house was still here in some way. Still innocent, still unaware of the harm the world could do.

In the manor, all the love you ever knew came from the man who introduced himself as the family butler but whom you soon came to know as your father. He was the love you craved and begged for at Bruce's feet. He fed you, took care of you, and taught you the things you needed to know. He attended family days, PTA meetings, and other events that your biological father should have been at. Under Alfred's shelter, you did everything you could to try to level with your siblings' talents—learning acrobatics, martial arts, drawing, baking, and more.

Yet it was Alfred who, in the dead of night, under the whispers of the cold wind whipping past your teary face, assured you that you would never need any of those skills to truly earn your family's love. All you needed was to be yourself. You allowed yourself to believe his words and lived them as your truth for a short time, but soon gave up on the idea, accepting that they wouldn't truly see you.

Now, dwelling on your lingering past and memories outside the manor, you remembered those you knew before coming to live with them. You reminisced on the thought of your mother. You remembered her.

You remembered how poverty ate your mother away and that she couldn't provide necessary needs for you but you, sweet, beautiful, angel you never complained.

You remembered how much you loved those barbie shows and movies but couldn't afford the dvds and even a proper functioning television so you sometimes watched it from your window across your neighbors, and while watching you saw a glimpse of their life. Their happy, perfect family life. How they cuddled their daughter and watched those silly barbie movies together. Your eyes softened as you thought "I wanted that" the little you hoped that maybe one day momma will get better and finally love me. Your tears poured from your eyes at the thought.

You remembered while you were doing your homework alone, you heard a whimper outside your window near the alley. As you peeked your tiny head outside, your braids flowing with the cold, harsh wind, your eyes searching for the source of noise. As you let your gaze travel through every corner of the alley, you saw a dirty, poor puppy whimpering, alone, calling out for its mother, its father, anyone. You ran hastily outside and collected its tiny and fragile form gently in your arms. "I'm here, I'm okay, you're safe," you whispered softly to the creature. And from. That very day you fed it and kept it sheltered secretly from your mother. You named her Amara. It suited her. You didn't have much play mates so you sometimes play with her by the yard where you and her would either run together or lay down. You never really got to say goodbye to her. From "that" moment on, you never got to go back to your house. You wondered how she was. Was she well fed? Did she think you abandoned her? Does she miss you? The guilt of living her ate you up the longer you dwelt on the past. You shook your head and sighed, trying to forget about all of it. You mourned every version of you. And this was your most treasured one. Thinking back on all the memories you had of the old you, of her. You thanked them for being so forgiving, for being so brave, for being so content with what she had, and for never trading anything for it.

They Were such a kind soul. And you're glad that they gets to stay where they were the happiest despite the nightmare they endured those days. You will always look up to them. They were and will always be a part of you. You took one last look at the house, the drawings, the dirty corners of the room, and released a breath as you closed your eyes. This was it. You'll finally get to say goodbye-

Whimper

You froze as you heard a familiar whimper. You turned around and slowly walked towards the opened door, and you saw her. Amara, your friend. You can't help but let the tears fall as her once brown fluffy appearance is now old and grey. You wondered how even in the light of old age she somehow still seems so youthful. She was still your baby. With a shaky voice, you tested the name. "Amara...?" she wags her tail in delight as a response to the familiar name she's been waiting to be called for so many years. You kneeled down and gently caressed her. "Oh, baby. You've been waiting for me, haven't you?" she whimpered as if answering you. You noticed her trying to catch her breath and her body growing weaker. You glance at her tail and see its wagging has become more frail and slow. You glance at your eyes, and you know. You smiled at her and whispered, "It's okay, baby. You can rest now." Her face weakly lit up, and she slowly closed her eyes, calm and loved, finally in your embrace.

After some time, you tenderly wrapped her body in a blanket. You carried her to the yard where you both used to play together as kids, a place where you ran freely without a care in the world. Borrowing a shovel from a tenant in the apartment, you buried her there, in the spot where you both were the happiest.

You whispered silent prayers for your companion and left with the memories. This was it. You've made your peace with the old you. Almost. There was one more thing you have to do.

You used believed that your mother could have been so much more. She was a beautiful woman. Smart, even if other would beg to disagree. But, you knew that she knew how to play her cards right to get what she desired for. She would have been so powerful if she used her sharp mind to something much more.. Productive. Yet she chose to sleep with men, abandon her daughter, and let herself be eaten by poverty and lust. Well, you didn't really mind if she abandoned you. You've always felt like you were the burden, the barrier to her way of succeeding and the chain locked onto her feet, keeping her from truly running away to what she has become. You've seen it in her eyes, the thought of running away and living a new life, but when she looks at you.. She saw a mistake she could never be freed of. A mistake. If only you weren't born, she would have been so happy.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink. "Ma'am?" the nurse asked. Suddenly, you were back to reality. You blinked again, processing her words. You glanced at her expectant expression and blurted out, "Y-yes, yes, uhm. Yeah. I'm ready." She smiled and said, "Great. Let's go this way, ma'am." You followed her hurriedly, not wanting to test her patience. As you walked, dissociating and thinking of all the possible outcomes, the nurse suddenly stopped in front of a room and said, "We're here. You can enter now." You nodded and thanked her silently.

Facing the door, you chanted in your mind, "You can do this," with a mix of determination and uncertainty. Taking a deep breath, you exhaled and opened the door. There she was—your mother, in all her glory. Bare-faced and vulnerable in her comfy hospital gown. You almost choked on your saliva, seeing her this... bare. You had always seen her so filtered, her face adorned with colors, her clothes tight and bright. Awkwardly, you shifted in your place and slowly sat beside her bed as her gaze followed your every move. You cleared your throat, preparing to speak, but she beat you to it.

“I know you.” you widen your eyes at her as she continues “you're my child.” you weren't shocked at the fact that she acknowledged you but the fact that she called you Her child, and the softness in her eyes. You were starting to think that maybe this isn't your mother, because she never looked at you like that. Never in years of living together has she even glance at you.

She chuckled at the sight of your confused and shocked state, bringing you out of your thoughts. "What? Shocked? Of course, I still remember you, Y/n," she weakly said, her voice small and quite different from the harsh tone she used to yell at you with. You inhaled sharply, trying to stop your tears from falling. What the heck? Were you about to cry again?

"I thought with how much resentment you harbor for me, you would have forgotten about me by now," you smiled sadly at her, watching her face drop slightly but still smiling weakly.

"Oh, Y/n," you almost crumbled right then and there. Oh, how much you had longed to be called so sweetly by your mother's voice. "I never hated you... that much," she said bitterly, and you stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue. "I just wasn't born to be a mother, no—at least not in this life. I'm a mess and I always will be. And I'm sorry I couldn't change for you because nothing can and nothing will change me anymore."

Your lips frowned at her words. "I always thought that maybe you could have been better without me," you said. You miss her, and you will always miss her. She was your whole world, but now seeing her and talking to her made you realize her world was clearly much different from yours. Her world was something one could not escape. You knew you couldn't live like that, and it seems that she cannot live any other way. They said that a mother and children exist as wretched mirrors of each other. You were all she could have been and she was all you might have been.

She closed the distance between you and embraced you for the first time. "You never were. It was me. I was the problem. You were just a child. In another life, I would've been able to care for you." You didn't question her on why she couldn't do it in this life because you knew. You knew she didn't have the capability to be a good mother and a morally good person now, and that was okay. You couldn't live with The fact that she will never truly care for you and will always hold secret animosity towards you if you force her to be a mother to you. You closed your eyes for a minute and silently took in the feeling of a mother's embrace for the first and last time.

"This is the last time you're ever gonna see me again," you said. Your mother chuckled bitterly and replied, "I know. Good for you, kid. Leave everything behind and start anew. You deserve it."

You soon moved out of her arms and held her hands tightly, looking into her eyes. With a deep exhale, you walked out of the hospital. This was it—you were finally free from your past. You had made your peace with it, and now it was time for you to move forward. You knew that if you didn't confront the horrors of your past, they would haunt you for the rest of your life. You had made a good choice.

As you stepped outside, the cool breeze greeted you, and you felt a sense of liberation wash over you. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over everything. It was as if the universe itself was acknowledging your newfound freedom. You took a moment to breathe in the fresh air, savoring the feeling of lightness that now enveloped you. Walking down the street, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. The city seemed different somehow—brighter, more alive. You noticed the little things that you had overlooked before: the vibrant colors of the flowers in the park, the laughter of children playing, the distant hum of traffic. It was as if you were seeing the world with fresh eyes, unburdened by the weight of your past.

For the first time in a long time, you felt at peace. The past no longer held you captive. You were free to live your life, to pursue your passions, and to surround yourself with people who truly cared for you. It was the beginning of a new chapter. You get home to your apartment and sit at your couch grabbing some blankets and making hot cocoa. You thought to yourself that this is what you exactly needed. Watching barbie movies in your new cozy apartment without any burden past onto your shoulders, the little you would have been so proud, making you smile at the thought. This was it. Nothing was going to stop you now.

That's what you thought.

It has been 2 weeks since you've moved in your apartment and you're getting ready for your ballet rehearsal. You were especially excited about this as you were going to perform swan lake when you got to enact one of the most important and famous characters, how cool was that? As you were about to grab your pink bowed pointe shoes a sudden “ping!” notification was heard from your phone. You turned your head and went to grab it expecting a message from one of your close friends or even your ballet mates but all you were met with was a message from a person you least wanted a one from.

Dick. Your supposed older brother is asking you to hang out with him. At this very moment. You dropped your phone and stared at nothing while breathing heavily. You feel your heartbeat rapidly breathing, the knot in your stomach growing more tighter and tighter each minute you let the thought sink into your brain. You almost tripped at your foot as a result of your vision disfigured, as if you were looking through a fish-eye lens. This wasn't right, this wasn't supposed to happen. When-how?-why?! Why was this happening now? You were only starting to feel like everything in your life was finally starting to go your way. Why did this have to happen? It was as if the universe was mocking you. You bit your lips until it bled but you couldn't care less. You were numb. You hadn't even realized that you were nowate for today's rehearsals. With trembling hands you reached for your phone and shakily pressed the button “block” as you silently prayed that he-they would never come in contact with you ever again.

Of Course that wouldn't happen though. The universe was never really on your side.

Dick? What's happening here?

A sudden deep voice spoke, bringing Dick out of his deep trance. He turned around and saw his father standing outside the door, looking suspiciously at him. He stared at his father and saw the look on his face—full of confusion and unfamiliarity, not towards him but the room he was in. "I-it's Y/n," he stuttered, the name tasting so sweet on his tongue. He wanted to roll around in the scent of you. Was that weird? No—he just missed you, that's all.

"What about them?" Bruce's voice carried a nonchalance that almost made Dick angry. How could he be so indifferent about his precious sibling? With a hard voice, Dick replied, "They're gone." Bruce's eyes widened slightly at the response. What did he mean you were gone? You were just here when... Wait, when? He worriedly glanced at Dick, and as if understanding, Dick answered, "I know."

Bruce inhaled sharply and stepped inside the room, your lingering scent greeting him. Your trophies adorned the walls. This was your room? No, it couldn't be. This was too little. This was just... not it. The difference between his other childrens bedrooms and yours was so noticeable. You didn't have any fancy chandelier decorating yours. You didn't have your own bathroom.

Bruce's eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail. The neatly arranged trophies, the faded posters on the walls, and the small bed that seemed too empty now. He walked over to the desk and picked up a framed photo of you, when was this? You look so.. Grown? How old were you? Were you old enough to live alone? How come he didn't know? Did you have a job-were you even allowed to have one? he clenches his fist as he stares at the sight of your image and sees your bright smile. His heart ached at the sight. How had he missed this? How had he not noticed the signs?

Dick watched his father, a mix of emotions swirling within him. He wanted to scream, to demand why Bruce hadn't paid more attention, why he hadn't been there for you. But he knew he wasn't any better than his adoptive father was. Besides, it wouldn't change anything. The damage was done.

Bruce set the photo back down and turned to Dick, his expression a mix of regret and determination. He saw the tiny diary and other papers scattered across the floor and picked them up, reading them one by one as he slowly spiraled into regret and guilt. Dick watched as he knew this was going to make him understand. Today made it all clear to him. Why there was a nagging feeling inside of him saying that there was something missing in the manor. It was why the sweet muffled music of the orchestra haunted the manor, the same kind of music haunting their bedroom. Like it was a reminder, a warning. That something special was lost. The soothing sound of humming, light footsteps around the manor now gone. The pink bows tied around the handles of the stairs, the love that the plants receive now nowhere to be found. It was because you took that love with you.

"We need to find them," Bruce spoke, his voice steady but filled with urgency. His knees bounce as his Jaws tighten anxiously.

Dick nodded, his resolve matching his father's. "We'll find them," he replied, his voice firm. "And we'll make things right."

As they left the room, Bruce carrying the framed image of you tightly, almost as if he was paranoid that something would take it from him, and dick gently running his thumb through the texture of your pink, bowed, bright diary, the weight of their mission settled on their shoulders. They knew it wouldn't be easy, but they were determined to bring you back. The silence of the manor was a stark reminder of what they had lost, and they were ready to do whatever it took to make amends.

Bruce was anxious. He didn't have a plan. Ironic, because Batman always had a plan. It was an unspoken rule—Batman was always prepared. But now, he found himself at a loss, his mind racing with uncertainty. Perhaps it was because he knew every single person in Gotham. As the guardian of Lady Gotham, he prided himself on understanding the intricate web of connections and motives that defined the city's inhabitants. He calculated every person's actions, paid attention to every detail, and watched from the heart of Gotham.

He paid extensive attention to everyone... except you.

It wasn't intentional. He had always been consumed by the weight of his responsibilities, the never-ending battle against crime, and the need to protect the city. But now, standing in your room, surrounded by the remnants of your presence, he realized his failure. The irony of it all struck him—Batman, the meticulous planner, had overlooked the most important person in his life.

Now he was desperate, he may not have a plan but he was desperate. He'll do anything to get you back. Any possible way to get back all the times he failed you, when he failed to be a father to you. He swore to protect you and never let you out of his sight ever again.

Dick wasn't any better. As he walked, his thoughts played tricks on him, but in a way he almost relished. His mind insisted that you must be so scared without him, without your older brother to protect you. He didn't even consider the possibility that you could be an independent, fully functioning individual on your own, or the fact that you had grown and most likely abandoned the thought of "bonding" with him. In this moment, his mind was consumed by the image of you and the curiosity of what more you had within yourself that he had neglected. His anxiousness grew, causing him to bite his nails and run his hands through his hair in frustration. His breathing became ragged, and his heart pounded in his chest. It was as if he had turned feral, his bloodshot blue eyes itching to be blessed with a vision of your face.

The more he thought about it, the more his mind played tricks on him. He imagined you scared and alone, wondering why your older brother wasn't there to protect you. He couldn't bear the thought of you suffering because of his neglect. His thoughts raced, each one more frantic than the last. What if you were hurt? What if you were in danger? What if you had given up on ever reconnecting with him?

The guilt gnawed at him, making it hard to focus on anything else. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed you, that he had missed so many opportunities to be there for you. His heart ached at the thought of all the moments you had spent alone, craving the attention and love that he hadn't given.

As he continued to walk, his thoughts became more erratic. He imagined you thriving without him, having found your own path and your own sense of independence. The possibility that you no longer needed him stung, but it also filled him with a strange sense of pride. You had grown, despite everything, and that was something to be admired.

Still, his mind couldn't rest. He needed to see you, to know that you were okay. The uncertainty was driving him to the brink of madness. His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists, determined to find you and make amends.

he wouldn't rest until he saw you again.

Both Bruce and Dick disregarded everything around them, unaware of the curious look Tim gave them. He followed quietly behind their backs, raising an eyebrow as he wondered why they hadn't noticed his presence yet. Normally, these two were incredibly guarded, so Tim was shocked by their lack of awareness. What could have made them so unfocused?

Bruce—the Batman—and Dick—the first Robin and now Nightwing—were both engrossed in a particular object. They seemed to be completely absorbed, their usual vigilance overshadowed by their intense fixation. Tim watched as Bruce's eyes remained glued to a framed photo on the desk, his expression a mix of regret and determination. Meanwhile, Dick's gaze was fixed on the pink notebook in his hands, his fingers gently tracing the glittery cover.

Tim couldn't help but wonder what was so important about these items that it made two of the most vigilant people he knew drop their guard. The framed photo of you, smiling brightly, seemed to hold Bruce in a trance, while the pink notebook, adorned with bows and glitters, seemed to capture all of Dick's attention. They were so consumed by these objects that they had let down the walls they had built through years of vigilantism.

It had to be something incredibly significant—something better yet, special.

“What are you two doing?” asked Tim, suddenly breaking the silence between the three of them as he watched the father and son duo flinch, obviously flabbergasted at his sudden interruption at their deep trance. He observed as their face turned from shock to going back to their frowning faces making him mirror the same expression. Dick clenches his jaw and exhales sharply preparing himself to speak when he is suddenly interrupted by a familiar voice he would always recognize.

"What is going on here?" a figure with deep forest-green eyes asked, standing tall in the shadows, his cold demeanor unwavering. Dick's eyes met his, and he said his name. "Damian. Wha—"

"You have deliberately abandoned your promise to train with me today. Why?" Damian's voice was sharp, full of accusation. Shoot. That was right. Dick had forgotten to train with his younger brother today. But it didn't matter now; his other sibling needed him, and it was about time they knew about them too. He glanced at Bruce's unfocused state, feral and restless.

"It's about Y/n," Dick said firmly.

Tim stood still for a moment, trying to figure out who "Y/n" was, while Damian immediately sneered at the mention of his "rival." He couldn't pinpoint why your presence angered him so much. Maybe it was because he had to share the title of being the Wayne heir with someone so... normal, someone so far below his level. You both were so different. Perhaps he was jealous of you for being so normal, for not having to worry about tainting your hands with blood and painting others black and blue. What did you even do? He didn't know, but he bet it was something a normal civilian would.

Meanwhile, his peripheral vision caught Tim standing still, deep in thought. Damian saw him processing quickly, his mind running fast as he tried to figure out who you were and why you were so relevant at the moment. Then suddenly—aha! Tim remembered now! You were the kid who had pestered him non-stop about some game.

Tim's eyes widened as he recalled the memory. The realization hit him like a wave. He had been so dismissive back then, but now he understood the significance. Guilt washed over him, mixing with curiosity and concern. What had happened to you? Why were you so important now?

Damian's sneer softened slightly, replaced with a look of contemplation. “What about them?” asked damian. While Tim wondered the same. Suddenly Bruce's cold and deep voice said “they're gone.” Damian raising an eyebrow of his response, and Tim answering “gone? Gone how?” switching his gaze from dick and Bruce's form awaiting for one of them to answer his question as the tension in the room thickens. “I mean that they're gone. All their things not found in their room, no trace of them not in the mansion, and not even a goodbye.” Tim and Damian frowned at the same time. Damian scoffed and thought you were probably just making a big scene so the attention would be on you. Bruce said “we need to find them. Now.” his voice left no choice for them to abide by his command.

Now alone in the CCTV room, Tim let his bored gaze wander over the footage from a long time ago, his palm supporting his head. Suddenly, something caught his attention. He watched as you sat, his fingers tapping the keyboard to increase the volume. You hummed lightly at the footage, a simple gesture but not to him. Your voice was so familiar to him. His eyes dilated as you continued humming, your voice sweet as honey, as light as a mother's touch trying to lull her baby to sleep.

He zoomed the footage closer and closer, almost as if he wanted to go through the screen just to hear your sweet, angelic, melancholic voice. Your voice was like a soft fur blanket to him. He didn't know if he was hallucinating from sleep deprivation, but he swore you were covered by a soft light, hugging your form and kissing your skin gently.

Tim sat in your "presence" for a bit, soaking in your voice. As he listened, memories flooded back. He recalled distant muffled sounds within the thin walls, lulling him to sleep, chasing away the demons that kept him awake at night. He had so desperately wanted to close his eyes and rest, and he remembered thinking maybe it was just a voice in his head, or maybe a real-life angel offering him salvation from suffering and the sweet pleasure of sleep. Now he knew, the angel was called "Y/n."

His fingers tightened around the edge of the desk as he leaned in closer, his breathing steadying as he watched the footage. The realization hit him hard. How had he missed this before? How had he not recognized that comforting voice? The gentle humming, the presence that had brought him solace on sleepless nights—it was all you.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he continued to watch, his heart aching with a mix of regret and longing. He remembered the nights he had spent tormented by nightmares, the countless times he had struggled to find peace. Your voice had been his lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness.

He couldn't shake the feeling of guilt. How had he been so blind? How had he not seen the importance of your presence in the manor? Tim's thoughts spiraled as he recalled the moments he had dismissed you, the times he had been too wrapped up in his own world to notice you reaching out. He needed to see you. To hear your voice, to take you back, to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness as his forehead kisses the cold, dirty floor, or to maybe steal you back without a word. He didn't know, he just had to see you.

The footage continued to play, your voice a soothing balm to his troubled mind. He sat there, never unwavering, always in awe of your voice and never taking his attention off you. He sat there,Unaware that he had been playing the same footage for hours and hours. His dilated eyes worshipping you as if you were a god.

He felt a deep sense of loss, realizing that you were gone, and he hadn't even had the chance to thank you for all the nights you had unknowingly saved him. Determined, he knew he had to find you. He had to make things right.

After some time, finally. Tim's resolve hardened as he stood up, his eyes never leaving the screen. He would find you, and he would make sure you knew how much you meant to him. With renewed purpose, he left the CCTV room, ready to join Bruce and Dick in their search. Together, they would bring you back and rebuild the bond that had been neglected for far too long.

With much focus on the object of his obsession attention, he failed to notice a tall figure in the shadows, watchin. Thinking after all these years they have finally come to their senses, realizing the greatest gift of all was right under their noses.

Damian was a dangerous person. To be fair, he was raised to be an assassin and an heir to the throne from the moment he was born. Not even a moment out of the womb did he catch a glimpse of the normal life he so desperately wanted. He trained day and night, month after month, year after year, to become the perfect product of the world's greatest detective and the daughter of the king of assassins. Imagine the inner turmoil within him when he didn't meet the expectations set upon his shoulders. All his life, all he knew was to fight. In any situation, his first instinct was to fight and guard himself for his life.

Sometimes, he wondered how they expected a child to lead thousands of assassins to create a bloodbath. Behind his pride and arrogance was a deep-seated anger towards those in charge of his fate. He was furious that his innocence had been stripped away, clawing its way back to him, but ultimately, they succeeded in giving him a future burdened with the weight of guilt for painting the young and innocent red.

Damian's upbringing left him with a constant battle within himself. The expectations placed upon him were immense, and he often felt like he was suffocating under the pressure. The relentless training, the unyielding discipline, and the need to prove himself consumed his every waking moment. The anger he felt was not just directed at those who shaped his fate but also at himself for not being able to escape it. Many didn't know of it but he found it hard to be Robin. The conflict between leaning to your instincts or “your- now- morals” was hard. To kill and to save was wrong and somehow to save and to forgive was right.

Despite his impressive skills and abilities, there was a part of him that longed for something more—something normal. He envied those who lived ordinary lives, free from the burden of bloodshed and violence. He wondered what it would have been like to have a childhood filled with laughter and innocence rather than combat and survival. As to why he wonders what more could you possibly want? He was so sure that you had so much wonderful time living such a luxurious life in the manor and never having to prove yourself to be worthy of something in being able to get the object of your desire. How could you run away from this life? From your life? You were so unfair, so selfish.

As he continued to grapple with these conflicting emotions, Damian's exterior remained cold and guarded. He rarely allowed anyone to see the vulnerable side of him, the side that yearned for a different life. But deep down, the scars of his past lingered, a constant reminder of the life he was forced into and the innocence that was stolen from him.

He shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and released a heavy sigh. What a bother. Making his way to every corner of the manor to "inspect" and see if you had left any trace of yourself there. As he walked down the path, letting his bored state guide him, he glanced at the thick walls and noticed some unfamiliar works of art. His gaze roamed around the room, settling on various paintings he had never noticed before. It was as if the paintings spoke for themselves, screaming out for anyone to notice and appreciate them. The different textures, colors, shapes, and stories behind the art captivated him.

Damian liked to think that he noticed everything and had the ability to be highly aware of his surroundings, whether he was familiar with them or not. But at this moment, he paused, questioning himself. If he was truly aware, how had he managed to overlook these breathtaking canvases filled with bright colors that made him... feel things? He took a step forward and saw a tiny signature on the left side of one of the canvases. He brought his hand up to softly caress the painting, gently and carefully, as if he were afraid that a mere touch could destroy it.

Engrossed in admiring the paintings, he failed to notice the tall figure beside him. It was only when the man spoke, "Master Damian," addressing him, that he flinched slightly.

"Ah, Alfred. My apologies, I was a bit distracted by the art adorning the walls, which seems to be... unfamiliar to me. Would you mind telling me where my father keeps buying these paintings? I must say I'm quite... impressed."

Alfred frowned and smiled sadly at the youngest Wayne. "Well, Master Damian, these paintings are actually not your father's doing. Rather, they are Master Y/n's work of art."

Damian's eyes widened in surprise. He turned back to the paintings and said "Y/n did these?" he asked, almost incredulous. The realization that you had created such beautiful and meaningful art struck him deeply. He didn't even know that you could draw much less create such.. Beautiful art. While he was thinking about it he realize that he had complimented you, you!

"Indeed, Master Damian," Alfred confirmed. "Y/n spent countless hours creating these pieces. Each one holds a story, a piece of their heart."

Damian felt a pang of emotion through his chest, he couldn't pinpoint what it was but it was somehow nagging him about something, or rather someone. His fingers traced the brushstrokes with a newfound reverence, as if trying to understand the emotions you had captured on canvas.

"I never knew..." Damian whispered, more to himself than to Alfred. The layers of vibrant colors, the delicate details, and the raw emotions conveyed through your art were all a testament to the depth of your soul. He felt a connection to you that he hadn't realized before, a sense of camaraderie and understanding. And he was totally not dissing you just minutes ago.

Alfred placed a comforting hand on Damian's shoulder. "Art has a way of speaking to us, Master Damian. It reveals truths that words often cannot. Y/n's art is a reflection of their experiences, their joys, and their sorrows. It is a part of them that they have shared with the world."

Damian nodded, taking a step back to fully appreciate the entirety of your work. Your art had opened a door to a deeper connection, and he was willing to walk through it. He didn't know why but in a way this was proof that you had always had some kind of connection to him.

As Damian and Alfred stood there, surrounded by the masterpieces you had created, a sense of resolve settled over Damian. He frowns and takes a look around all the work of your art. His style doesn't differ much from yours. the caress of brush ever so slightly seen, and the emotions behind the soul of your paintings, like his. What made you so similar to him? And that, he will not know until he finds you.

He knew that finding you and bringing you back was not just about making amends—it was about recognizing and celebrating the unique and irreplaceable person you were.

Y/n considered themselves a keen observer, attuned to the delicate nuances of the world around them. They noticed the gentle yet sometimes harsh swaying of the wind as it danced with the leaves, creating a symphony of nature's whispers. They noticed the lady sitting on the park bench, quietly absorbing the view of the home she once grew up in, her memories interwoven with the present. They noticed the ducks by the pond, gracefully gliding through the water alongside their mother, a portrait of serene tranquility.

Y/n noticed everything, yet no one noticed them. And it was fine. They had long accepted this reality, enduring the loneliness of being invisible in a world where they saw so much. The weight of being unnoticed had become a familiar companion, a constant presence that shaped their existence. In the silent spaces between moments, Y/n found solace in their observations, finding beauty in the overlooked and meaning in the mundane.

So why were they just noticing you just now? Why? When you have just started to accept and move on. Why must they bring the horrors of the past when your current life is filled with hope arraying a new journey, now destroyed.

Why couldn’t Dick just let you be, drifting away in the silence you’d crafted? Why couldn’t he leave you to fade quietly, just as you had promised yourself you would, a ghost of your former self, untouched and unbothered? Yet there he was, an ever-present weight, his hands—rough, calloused, scarred by years of untold burdens—forcing your face into the past, as if his touch could rewrite history. His fingers dug into your skin, twisted into the soft contours of your face, tearing through the years of numbness, of denial, dragging you back to a place you had sworn you’d never return.

And then, Tim. Oh, Tim. The boy who once didn’t even see you, who barely even remembered your name when it lingered in the air of the manor. Now, he’s relentless, his fingers tapping into your phone with the same quiet insistence that his presence once had in the dark halls of that place you used to call home. You want to scream, to rip the silence apart, to do anything but feel what you’re feeling now—this suffocating pull to return to them, to face them, even when you know you never should have to again.

The ache swells, the lump in your throat is a tangible thing now, a choking presence you can’t swallow down. It’s the same searing pain that’s lingered, festering, hidden beneath layers of what you pretended was healing. How cruel it is, to have spent so much time trying to break free, only to find that some things, some people, are never quite done with you.

The ghost of them lingers, burrows deeper, with every unanswered message. They still haunt you, even from afar. You hate them for it, for still holding the power to break you open, to make you bleed from places you thought had long scarred over. It feels like a thousand wounds opening up again—slow, deliberate, bleeding you dry in a way you don’t know how to stop.

You stared blankly into the emptiness, feeling numb, when suddenly a hand rested on your shoulder. You flinched instinctively and turned to see who it was. Your eyes widened as you recognized your ballet teacher standing behind you. "Miss Kavinsky! I-I... Hi! I’m—" you stammered, but she quickly cut you off with a smile.

"Y/N L/N-Wayne, I know," she said with a warm tone. "It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you."

You winced slightly, the sound barely audible, but Miss Kavinsky didn’t seem to notice. "Come on, let’s meet the other dancers. I’m sure they’re eager to meet you."

The surprise hit you hard, and you stuttered, "M-me?" You couldn’t help but feel like an idiot.

She grinned, a playful mix of amusement and mild disbelief on her face. "Yes, you. You're kind of a celebrity here, Wayne. Not surprised with a talent like yours."

Her words lingered in the air, but you went quiet, caught off guard by the compliment. You couldn’t fully process it, the idea of anyone looking up to you seemed so foreign, so distant. And somewhere in the haze, you barely registered the way she had called you "Wayne.”

As you and the other dancers gathered at the stage, a wave of anxiety washed over you. The weight of thoughts about Tim and Dick pressed heavily on your mind, and the pressure of the moment only made it worse. Just as your mind started to spiral, a voice cut through the chaos.

"Hey! You're Y/N, right? I'm Desiree, but you can just call me Des."

You forced a smile, barely hearing Miss Kavinsky as her voice faded into the background, announcing something about attendance. Your attention was now solely focused on Des, who had just broken the ice. You shook her hand and smiled more genuinely, the tension in your body loosening up a bit.

"Hi, Des. Yeah, you already know who I am. Nice to meet you."

You both exchanged a quiet laugh, and the chatter around you faded as you continued talking. For a moment, you felt like you could breathe again. You asked the usual questions: "How old are you?" "What's your favorite ballet?" The conversation flowed easily, but when your name was suddenly called for attendance, you were snapped back to reality.

"Here!" you called out, your voice getting lost in the sea of dancers.

But then Des said something that made you freeze.

"So, are you excited that both of you are here?" she asked with a playful giggle, her smile sweet and innocent.

You blinked, confused, but smiled through it. "Both of us...?" you repeated, trying to follow along.

Des chuckled softly at your puzzled expression. "You and your sister, silly! It must be so nice to perform together. My brother wouldn't even try to get into ballet, you know?"

Her words, lighthearted as they were, suddenly made your world feel like it was crashing down around you. You felt a cold panic begin to rise. Your fingers instinctively dug into your palms, almost drawing blood. Your smile wavered, barely holding on, while your eyes fluttered, teetering on the edge of tears. Des’s voice became distant, her words fading into a muffled blur as your thoughts spiraled out of control, bloodshot eyes starting to sting with unshed tears. Your heart raced, and the chaos inside you was too much to contain.

In that very moment, her name echoed through the air, sharp and clear. Without thinking, your gaze shifted, and you locked eyes with her. Her wide, unblinking stare pierced through the noise, anchoring you in place. For a fleeting second, you wondered if she had been watching you all along—since the instant your name was called, or perhaps even before. You couldn't be sure.

What you did know, however, was that the weight of her gaze felt like a force, pulling you into a quiet abyss. It made you feel small, fragile—as if you were prey beneath the steady, unyielding gaze of a predator. A shiver ran through you, and suddenly, all you wanted was to escape, to flee from the suffocating intensity of her eyes, which seemed to strip away every layer of protection you had left.

The fates were clearly playing with you now.

Cassandra was an exceptionally gifted individual, much like her siblings, each of whom possessed their own unique abilities. From the moment she first pursued ballet, her family showered her with unwavering love and support. She had access to training that most could only dream of—privileges afforded to her not because of her wealth, but because she was no ordinary person. She was Batgirl, the daughter of Batman by choice, a mantle she wore with pride. So, when an invitation arrived for her to join the prestigious Swan Lake performance alongside other top-tier dancers, it hardly came as a surprise. After all, excellence was something she had always embraced, both on the stage and off.

As she gets ready for her first rehearsal she can't help but notice that some of her siblings are missing. She shook it off and ate her food but also not abandoning the thought of asking about the absence of her siblings and father, to a familiar companion of their family:Alfred. As where Alfred only replies with them being busy about.. Something, yet said to her to fret not and just worry her mind about her ballet play, quickly chasing away her concerns for her family with a smile that made her feel lighthearted. With a chuckle she got up and made her way to the location of where the dancers were told to meet.

Cass had always believed she was the only one in her family who truly appreciated the delicate artistry of ballet. Her passion for the graceful movements, the precision of each step, and the beauty of the performances had always felt like a private world to her, a world she inhabited alone. She couldn’t recall a single moment where anyone in her family shared even the slightest interest in it. So, when she entered the crowded theater that evening, expecting to be surrounded only by fellow ballet enthusiasts, she was taken aback by something unexpected.

Amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, she spotted you. For a fleeting moment, her heart skipped a beat, not from the rush of seeing someone in the crowd, but from an overwhelming sense of familiarity that washed over her. There you were, standing like a ghost from a forgotten past, an unexplainable connection sparking between you both. Cass couldn’t place it, but it was as though she had known you forever, even though your paths had never crossed before.

Her mind wandered, replaying the memories that had been buried deep within her. A distant image flashed across her thoughts: she was standing in a room filled with soft, pastel-colored fabrics, the scent of leather and polish hanging in the air. Two pairs of pointe shoes rested beside one another on the floor—one was familiar, worn and well-loved, the other brand new, the laces still fresh and untangled. The second pair, the one that felt entirely foreign, immediately piqued her curiosity. She was certain it wasn’t hers, yet the connection to it lingered, something so subtle but undeniable.

The realization hit her like a wave. She didn’t know you, not consciously, but somehow she felt bound to you, as if fate had woven your lives together in some strange, invisible thread long before either of you had even been aware of it.

The entire day she watched and observed you. She paid extra attention to every detail of your expressions, body language, and posture. She didn't know why but you seemed to be very clear–in her case, in distress, like you were panicking over something. And she didn't know why she somehow hated seeing you that way. As the minutes passed, she found herself simply just staring at you. Not even for a fleeting moment had she taken her gaze of you. She watched and observed tensely at every person who looks at you, who talks to you, who breathes near you. Almost as if she was guarding you. As they were told to gather she followed silently after the crowd and placed herself purposely in front of the other side from you. She scoffs in amusement as you barely notice her, too focused on your own little world. As minutes continued to pass, suddenly a girl broke you out of her thoughts with her voice making you flinch. Her breath hitched as irritation started to crawl their way through her chest. Why couldn't the girl be more gentle with you? Can't she see that you were clearly stressed? She frowns slightly at the girl, surprising herself by the sudden change of mood. She holds her breath and watches you like a hawk would at its prey. Her vision was filled with your now loosen frame, giggling with the girl who approached you earlier. A new feeling started to claw its way through her chest, now bigger and stronger. The green monster eating her up when suddenly the call of her voice brought her out of her thoughts as she, for a moment took her eyes off of you to answer quietly to her name and as she bring back her gaze to you, quickly to not miss anything she might take the pleasure in seeing, suddenly your eyes are on her too. Her eyes couldn't leave the sight of your gaze who held such horror in them, as if seeing her was too much for you. As she was your living nightmare sitting right in front of you.

The remaining time the dancers practiced, you avoided her gaze and her presence. The more you avoided her, the more she itched to be in your presence alone, to be near you. The whole time at the practice she was, for the first time, distracted. Her thoughts are consumed by you. Her thoughts came up with every question she could ask about her and your current situation. What were you doing here? Why didn't she know? Were you at the manor? No, if you were she would've known.. Right? Okay if you weren't, then why weren't you? Those questions alone made her uneasy and frustrated. As it was time to go home, she watched as you hurriedly got out and quickly went home to wherever your home was. The nagging feeling screamed at her to follow you but decided against it and thought that going home and bringing the news to her family might help more. After all, they were stronger together.

She stormed into the manor, urgency in her every step, and sought out Alfred with a single, breathless demand: "Boys. Where?" Without hesitation, he led her to them. Her gaze fell upon them, intense and unyielding, her pupils trembling with an unspoken storm. She whispered a single name, a breathless, haunting utterance: "Y/N." The boys, in unison, responded, "We know."

A deep breath escaped her, the weight of their actions—venturing after you without so much as a word—forgotten for the moment. She snatched a laptop, her fingers flying over the keys in a frantic dance of their own. The screen flickered to life, revealing a video that stole the breath from the room. There you were, dancing—each movement a testament to grace, each step more captivating than the last.

The world had already fallen under your spell. The internet buzzed with adoration, praising the way your every turn, every leap, every pause held the audience in thrall. Under the stage lights, you seemed more than human—a celestial being, your form bathed in soft light, glowing like an ethereal angel, kissed by the very air around you. The boys stood frozen, their gaze fixed upon you, entranced.

Your presence was no illusion. You were a goddess of their own making, and in that moment, they knew: they were already devoted, bound by the silent understanding that they would worship you, body and soul.

As the video played, the room fell into a hushed reverence. The boys, once brimming with urgency and tension, now stood motionless, their eyes locked onto the screen, as if spellbound. Every fluid movement you made seemed to breathe life into the very air around them. They couldn’t look away; they didn’t want to. Your every step, every pirouette, was poetry in motion, a delicate balance of strength and grace that made their hearts race.

The way you arched your back mid-spin, the soft brush of your fingertips against your skin, the quiet breath you took before every leap—it all drew them in, slowly, methodically, as though they were witnessing something far beyond the ordinary. Each turn of your body mirrored the very rhythm of their own hearts, synchronized with the ethereal pulse of the music, and they couldn’t help but feel as if the entire world had narrowed down to this one sacred moment.

Your eyes, though focused on the stage, seemed to flicker with a spark of something far deeper, something they couldn't quite place but could almost taste. It was like watching a dream unfold, where every movement became a metaphor—each glide across the stage spoke to something eternal, something untouchable. They found themselves lost in the elegance of your form, the way your body seemed to move with a natural fluidity that defied the laws of physics.

The lights above you softened, caressing your silhouette, painting you in a divine glow. And in that moment, they felt small, insignificant even, as if you had been carved out of stardust itself, too perfect to comprehend, yet impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just the skill of your dance—it was your presence, your essence that held them captive.

They felt an almost primal pull, as though your every movement was speaking directly to their souls. The way your body spoke without words—your elegance and power blending seamlessly—rendered them speechless. They were entranced by the aura you carried, intoxicated by your beauty and the mystery you exuded, a beauty that wasn’t merely skin-deep but radiated from within, a force of nature.

For a fleeting moment, they could almost believe that you were more than human, that you were something higher, something divine. They stood there, wide-eyed and breathless, as if they had been granted a glimpse of something sacred—something that no one else could understand. And in that moment, they knew that they would follow you, worship you, in a devotion that transcended mere admiration. You weren’t just captivating; you were everything. They couldn't believe that someone like you had been overlooked by then.

Bruce now understands that with no plan in mind he would still follow you till the end of the earth. Oh his little baby. He would do anything to earn your love and affection for him. To see you and to bask under the ray of sunshine your smile brings. To feel your presence alone.

Dick now understands that he owes you more than a few dinners or dates as siblings. No. He owes you the world. As guilt eats his flesh up one by one, mourning all the versions of you that he could have witnessed right before his eyes are now long gone. But that's okay, he'll make it up to you.

Tim now understands that you were surely his angel. His savior. His form of salvation. He could watch you all day and never get bored. He could listen to you all day until his ears bled but never say a word.

Damian now understands that the disbelief he felt when looking at your paintings full of emotions overflowing with a sense of overwhelming feel, was now long gone because he knew that only such being like you, almost like a supernatural being, could be the only one who has the ability to capture such deep emotions in one painting, to be able to create such beautiful, breathtaking object.

Cassandra now understands why she felt like she somehow had a connection to you and that was because she was your sister. And as she was a daughter to batman by choice, that she will also be a sister by choice to you. She was an observer, someone who guards-and she will guard you with her life for all eternity.

As the overwhelming tension fills the room Alfred stands at the corner with a small smile. “apologies master y/n had I done this sooner, you would have not slipped through my grasp dear child. Do not fret for your family is coming to get you.”

Ah, Alfred, the mastermind. He knew this would happen. He just needed to intertwine a little. He did not worry because he knew. He knew that leaving your bedroom door open the moment he knew Dick was coming over to the manor while the others were busy, and knowing Dick's tendency to wander off in the vast expanse of Wayne Manor, the chances of him finding your room were high. He knew that rearranging your trophies inside your room (which you had told him to get rid of) would pique the interest of your family even more. He knew that decorating your hidden paintings around the minimalist and empty walls of the house would catch the attention of the youngest Wayne. He knew that playing those soft melodies of your voice through the small TV in the kitchen would enchant a certain sleep-deprived boy, making him miss the sweet sound of your voice.

Alfred knew that when Cassandra was called for the big ballet play, you would be at the same play too, as you had told him over the phone, giggling and excited with a high-pitched voice. He didn't bother to tell you about your sister's similar invitation, nor did he inform your sister about yours. He knew every single detail, every thread that needed to be woven together to create this intricate tapestry of reconnection.

Alfred's wisdom was like a silent symphony, orchestrating events with a delicate touch. He understood the nuances of each family member, their strengths, their weaknesses, and their desires. He knew that Dick's curiosity would lead him to your room, where the trophies would spark memories and questions. He knew that Damian's keen eye for detail would be drawn to the vibrant paintings, each brushstroke a testament to your hidden talents. He knew that Tim, in his sleep-deprived state, would be captivated by the melodies of your voice, a soothing balm to his restless mind.

Alfred's heart ached with the knowledge of your absence, but he also held hope. Hope that these carefully placed breadcrumbs would lead your family back to you, to the realization of what they had lost and the determination to make amends. He knew that the path to reconciliation was not an easy one, but it was a journey worth taking.

As the days passed, Alfred watched with a knowing smile as the pieces began to fall into place. He saw the flicker of recognition in Dick's eyes, the softening of Damian's demeanor, and the spark of determination in Tim's gaze. He knew that the seeds he had planted were beginning to grow, and soon, the family would be whole again.

Alfred was getting old and he couldn't bare the vision of his children Bruce and you, drifting away from each other, and you from him. Maybe it was his own selfish reason but he couldn't help it. He raised you from the moment you got to the manor. Teached you everything he knew and gave you all the love he could. He watched you grew up and maybe it was a moment of rush that he allowed himself to be selfish and turn the tables around.

In the quiet moments, Alfred allowed himself a moment of reflection. He thought of you, the child who had brought so much light into his life. He knew that you deserved to be seen, to be cherished, and to be loved. And he would do everything in his power to ensure that you found your way back to the family that needed you just as much as you needed them.

Authors note: I'm sorry I took so long in writing this! I hope yall enjoy the 10k+ words I wrote. One tip tho is to read and observe the details very carefully! Dw I'm gonna explain it soon tho. Hope yall enjoy this cuz imma take a break after this.

[ikkyfics]

I have an idea! Reader and dave have to share a bed. They have no problem with it but they didn't know that they couldn't keep their hands to themselves (not in a sexual way) but they could wake up in the middle of the night finding the other one cuddled up to them haha ​​something sweet and tender

Sleeping Spooning

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: Dave was so close it seemed impossible to believe you had started the night with all that space between you. His face was buried in your neck, his dark curls falling on your skin in a soft, almost lazy way. His arms were around you, one of them wrapped possessively around your waist, while your legs were intertwined in a way that seemed as though they were made for this.

Warnings: none

A/N: hi love, hope you can like it <333

Masterlist

You’ve known Dave for as long as you can remember. It’s hard to find a memory that doesn’t include him. Whether it was when you both were kids, sitting on the doorstep of his house, waiting for the ice cream truck to pass so you could find comfort on hot days, or when you got a telescope and spent nights searching for stars in the sky. Dave was always, always there.

But things started to change. Suddenly, the boy who was always slightly shorter than you started growing, to the point that you now had to look up to see him. And when you nudged him to get his attention, you could feel muscles under those nerdy graphic tees.

And, oh, his hands. It was concerning that you paid attention to that, but you couldn’t help it.

Not that you’d ever talked about feelings or anything like that. That definitely hadn’t happened, but you couldn’t stop imagining what would happen if it did. Your heart stumbled imagining Dave, your best friend, returning your feelings. But you wouldn’t dare reveal any of this.

Today, you’d asked Dave to stay over at your house, and although that might sound like the plot of a low-budget porno movie, there was absolutely nothing indecent about your request. Your parents had traveled, and you didn’t want to be home alone. Plus, it would be the perfect opportunity for you both to watch The Amazing Spider-Man (again)—you’d made sure to buy the DVD as soon as it hit stores.

When Dave arrived, you had everything ready: a cozy blanket on the couch, a dizzying amount of popcorn, and sugar-loaded candy. It didn’t take long for you two to sprawl out on the couch, the TV being the only source of light in the room.

“Andrew was born to be Spidey,” you sighed.

Dave, on the other side of the couch, furrowed his brow. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” you answered without thinking. “I mean, I like Tobey, and it’s fun to see Bully Maguire in action, but Andrew is amazing,” you laughed at your silly pun. “And he’s cute,” the words left your mouth before you realized it.

“Cute, huh?” Dave asked, his tone playful, though there was something behind his words. “So you like brunettes?”

Your eyes quickly went to his hair. The dark curls falling gently across his forehead, and you wanted to run your fingers through them, feel if they were as soft as they looked. You closed your hands on your lap, smiling awkwardly before answering, “Maybe.”

The dim light didn’t allow you to see, but you knew his face had reddened. And you swore you saw the corner of his mouth curl into one of those crooked smiles you loved.

You both kept watching the movie, sporadic comments followed by muffled laughs so as not to interrupt the scene. It was easy to talk to Dave. It always had been. He made even the simplest moments feel special, and that night was no exception. The slight, almost imperceptible tension between you two seemed to be part of the natural chemistry that had always existed.

When the movie ended, the credits rolling on the screen in an endless cascade of names, you stretched, feeling your muscles complain after being in the same position for so long. “I think it’s late... we can go to my room,” you suggested, the words coming as naturally as any other request you’d ever made to him.

Dave hesitated for a second, something that didn’t go unnoticed. He looked away, adjusting his glasses that were slipping down his nose.

“Dave?” you called, your voice tinged with slight concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” he answered quickly, but the way he messed with his hair gave away his nervousness.

“Dave,” you repeated, your tone now firmer, but with a touch of tenderness. “We’ve slept together before, remember? There’s no reason to be nervous.”

“I know,” he replied, letting out an awkward laugh as he put his hands in his pants pockets. “But, I don’t know... it’s different now.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Different? What did he mean by that? But you didn’t have the courage to ask. Instead, you simply nodded, trying not to get lost in the avalanche of thoughts that flooded your mind.

In your room, you turned on a lamp, casting a soft glow around the room. Dave stopped in the doorway for a moment, looking around as if it were the first time he’d been there—which, of course, wasn’t true. He looked a little lost, so you pointed to the bed with a calm smile.

“It’s just a bed, Dave,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I know,” he replied, but the way he rubbed the back of his neck showed that he wasn’t as relaxed as he was trying to appear.

As he moved closer, you adjusted the pillow on the left side of the bed, an automatic gesture that he observed with a small smile. You both lay down side by side, each occupying your own comfortable space. There was more than enough space between you, but... for just a moment, just for a moment, you wished it were a single bed. Just so he’d be closer.

The thought hit you like a shock, and you felt your cheeks burn. What was wrong with you? It was just Dave. Your Dave.

You turned to the other side, trying to push the thought away, but it was hard when you knew he was right there, so close, yet so far.

“Are you comfortable?” his voice broke the silence, soft and a little hoarse from the tiredness.

"Yeah," you replied quickly, turning to look at him. He was lying on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, but you could see he was biting his lip, a nervous gesture he’d been doing since childhood.

"You?" you asked back.

He finally turned his head to you, his eyes meeting yours. In the soft light, the blue of his eyes seemed even deeper, like a sea you wanted to explore. "I am," he answered, but there was something more in the way he said it. Something that made your heart beat faster.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stayed there, staring at each other. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it carried a different energy, a sweet tension that made everything feel more intense.

You knew you should say something, break the mood before it went too far. But at the same time, part of you didn’t want that moment to end. So, you just smiled, a small smile, but full of meanings you hoped he would understand.

And Dave... He returned the smile. That crooked, charming smile that made your heart stumble, and you realized, once again, that he was your best friend. And, maybe, just maybe, he was something more.

The night was quiet, with only the soft wind tapping against the window. The sky was starting to show the first signs that the dawn was nearing its end, the dark blue tinged with an almost imperceptible gray. You slowly opened your eyes, feeling the comfort of the mattress, the blanket, and... something else.

That’s when you noticed.

Dave was so close it seemed impossible to believe you had started the night with all that space between you. His face was buried in your neck, his dark curls falling on your skin in a soft, almost lazy way. His arms were around you, one of them wrapped possessively around your waist, while your legs were intertwined in a way that seemed as though they were made for this.

Your heart immediately raced, but not out of fear or discomfort. It was something deeper, something that made your breath hitch and your face warm. With every exhale from Dave, his breath brushed against your skin, sending shivers up your spine that were almost impossible to ignore.

You tried to tell yourself not to move, not to do anything that could wake him, but that thought faded when your eyes landed on his hair, the dark strands tousled and falling over his forehead. Without even realizing it, your hand started to move, hesitant, until your fingers finally touched the curls. They were as soft as you imagined.

And that’s when you lost it. Your fingers gently curled into his hair, a delicate, almost reverent touch. You felt a small, involuntary smile form on your lips, your heart still beating out of rhythm as you absorbed every detail of that moment.

Dave murmured something incoherent, a muffled sound that seemed like a satisfied sigh. Before you could pull away, his arm around your waist tightened, pulling you closer. You held your breath, but didn’t have time to think because he let out a sound that was almost... a purr?

Your face became hot enough to melt any ice. He wasn’t fully awake—yet. He seemed caught between the dream world and reality, his expression calm and relaxed as he pressed his face closer to your neck, as if seeking even more contact.

“Dave,” you murmured softly, more to test your own voice than to call him.

That was enough. He moved again, his eyes blinking slowly as his consciousness finally started to arrive. His body gave a small jolt before freezing completely. You could feel when he realized.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and low, as if still half in the dream world. He started to pull away, but his arms seemed reluctant to let you go completely.

“Wait,” you said quickly, your hand still in his hair.

His eyes met yours for the first time. Even in the dim light, you could see the confusion and insecurity mixed with something softer, something more vulnerable.

“It’s okay,” you added, your voice so gentle it even surprised you. “You... can stay.”

Dave seemed to process your words for a moment, his mouth opening as if he wanted to protest, but giving up almost immediately. He relaxed, still embarrassed, but giving in to your touch, as if he didn’t have the strength to fight it—and maybe he didn’t want to.

“Sorry,” he murmured after a while, his face still close to yours.

“Why?” you asked, your fingers now gently stroking his hair almost unconsciously.

“For, I don’t know, invading your space,” he replied, his tone hesitant.

You chuckled softly, the sound gentle in the silence of the room. “Dave, you didn’t invade anything. It was nice...” The last word came out almost as a whisper, but you knew he heard it. His face turned redder than you thought possible, but still, he smiled. A small smile, but so genuine that it made something inside you warm even more.

The room remained submerged in quiet, only interrupted by the soft sound of your breathing and the occasional rustling of the blankets when either of you made a hesitant movement. Dave was still so close that you could feel the heat radiating from him, and the proximity felt both suffocating and comforting at the same time.

His eyes dropped for a moment, and you followed his gaze, realizing that he was paying attention to your breathing—or more specifically, to how your chest rose and fell against him. That’s when you noticed.

He was so close to your chest that it was impossible for him not to hear your heart hammering against your ribs.

“I can hear it,” he said quietly, his voice filled with surprise, but also with a gentleness that only he seemed capable of reaching.

"Listen to what?" you asked, even though you knew exactly what he meant.

He hesitated for a moment before answering, his eyes rising again to meet yours. "Your heart."

The confession made something inside of you crumble and rebuild at the same time. The warmth that spread to your face was instant, but you tried to hide it, offering a small, nervous smile.

"That's kind of unfair, you know?" you murmured, your fingers still playing with his curls, even though a part of you was screaming to stop. "What can I do if I have a thing for brunettes?"

His jaw dropped slightly, and you saw his cheeks turn an even deeper shade of red—something you didn't think was possible.

"You... talking about me?" The question came out hesitant, his vulnerability so evident that it made your chest tighten.

"No, about Andrew Garfield," you joked, trying to ease the tension, but your expression soon softened. "Of course, I'm talking about you, Dave."

He blinked a few times, as if he needed a second to process that, then let out a low, almost incredulous laugh. His forehead gently rested against your shoulder, and you felt him take a deep breath, as if trying to calm his own heart.

"You're going to kill me," he murmured against your skin, his voice muffled but full of sweetness.

The smile that formed on your lips was automatic, and your hand slid from his curls to his face, your fingers gently caressing his warm cheek. He lifted his face slightly, his blue eyes meeting yours in a look that felt like a shared secret.

Neither of you seemed to want to move away. On the contrary, your bodies remained so close that you could feel every detail, from the texture of his T-shirt to the rhythm of his breathing, which seemed as out of sync as yours.

"Dave," you whispered, not really knowing what you wanted to say but feeling that you needed to say something.

"Mm?" His voice was low and husky, and he tilted his head slightly to the side as if he wanted to hear better.

"Are you going to stay?"

The question slipped out before you could stop it, and for a moment, you almost wished you could take the words back. But the way he looked at you—like he was trying to memorize every detail of your face—made the anxiety turn into something softer, more confident.

"I'm already here, aren't I?" He smiled crookedly, that smile of his, so typically him. "And, as far as I'm concerned... I'm not going anywhere."

The way he said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, made your heart stumble again.

Without thinking, you let your forehead rest against his, your eyes closing for a brief moment. "Good," you murmured, the warmth of his face blending with yours. "Because I like having you here."

Dave stayed still for a moment, as if absorbing what you'd just said. You could feel his breathing slow a little, as if he were trying to control the storm inside him. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low whisper, full of emotion.

"I like being here... with you."

His words were simple but carried a weight that made your heart race even faster. He moved his forehead just enough to look directly into your eyes, their blue so soft and full of tenderness that it made your legs feel like jelly—even while lying down.

You didn’t respond right away, feeling like words weren’t necessary. Instead, your fingers slid gently from his face back to his curls, the light touch that made him sigh involuntarily. Dave closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch, and you couldn’t help but smile at how adorable he looked.

"You know your heart is racing again, right?" he commented, his voice soft but with that slightly playful tone you knew so well.

"And whose fault is that, huh?" you shot back, raising an eyebrow while trying to look serious, but the laugh that escaped his lips completely disarmed you.

"Me?" He pointed to himself, the smile widening as he pretended to be innocent. "I'm just a guy trying to sleep."

"A guy who makes me nervous," you corrected, feeling the warmth rise again to your face.

Dave tilted his head to the side as if pondering your words. Then, with the utmost casualness, he leaned in just enough to brush his nose lightly against yours, a touch so delicate it almost felt like a dream.

"Maybe because you make me nervous too," he confessed softly, the smile now smaller but even more sincere.

The confession made your breath falter, and before you could think too much, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. There was no room for hesitation in that moment; everything felt as natural as breathing.

"Good," you whispered, your heart racing once more. "Because I don’t want you to go anywhere."

He smiled, and the way his eyes shone in that moment was something you knew you would never forget.

"I don’t want to go either."

And as you both stayed there, tangled up in each other, the world seemed to disappear completely. Just the two of you, sharing a moment so simple, yet so full of meaning, that anything beyond that seemed unnecessary.

The last thought that crossed your mind before you closed your eyes again was that, for the first time, you felt everything was exactly as it should be—with Dave by your side.

[brodygold]

Boyfriend, BROfriend

Asher sulked as he laid back on the couch, too upset to notice the television was displaying static. His girlfriend had just dumped him that morning and his best friend Thorn was completely MIA. He'd gone to investigate the local sports legends, the "Gold Troopers" or something like that. Thorn often lived up to his name, being a thorn in Asher's side, but he still wanted his support in these rough times. Asher had invited him over to rant about chicks like they usually did after a breakup but he hadn't even read the damn message. He'd already drunk several cans of cheap beer waiting for the guy and was starting to feel the buzz.

Asher was pulled out of his buzzed state (well, slightly at least) with a knock on his door. "Finally," he thought, "took the asshole long enough to get here." He threw himself off the couch and walked over to the front door.

Opening it, Asher could tell something was a bit off. Thorn's usual wild and spiky hair was tamed, giving him a sporty look.

"What's with the hair, man? Where's your wild side?"

Thorn let out a little laugh. "Oh, don't worry about that, bro. I still have my wild side. Just trying something new."

Asher looked Thorn up and down. Nothing else seemed off about him. Besides maybe him saying "bro." He still had that characteristic smirk on his face, and the leather jacket on him screamed "punk." He was too drunk for this.

"If you say so, man. Get in here so we can gripe about Maya."

"Thanks, bro. I got just the thing for you actually." He held up his hand, holding a golden DVD. "One of my new bros gave me something to help you get over your ex."

Asher looked at him suspiciously, his hands in his jean pockets. "What's a movie gonna do for me?"

"Trust me, bro. He showed it to me when I met him and it's almost life-changing in a way."

"If you say so. Can you put it in? I'm a bit drunk."

"Sure thing bro."

Thorn put the disc into the player, turning the TV off the static. In its place was a shiny golden spiral, drawing Asher in instantly. The gold swirled in his eyes, mixed with a bit of white and brown. Images of naked women appeared in the background behind it.

Asher lost himself in the spiral, staring at it mindlessly. His mind went completely blank. All he could do was stare at the spiral. Stare, and obey.

Thorn removed his leather jacket, revealing a shiny golden soccer jersey underneath with "Trey" on the back. He smirked looking at Ashter's blank stare. "That's it bro, just stare at the pretty spiral. You'll be a true bro soon."

Ashtor reached down into his jeans and started stroking, just as the spiral commanded him to. As he continued, his clothes started changing. His black t-shirt glowed gold, transforming into a shiny gold soccer jersey with his true name on the back. His jeans turned into a set of golden shorts, giving him more room to stroke as he pulled them down further. His wild and crazy hair got tapered down into a classy, sporty look that matched Trey's.

Ashton's mind was being rewritten at the same time, his old self going into his balls with every stroke. His name change was solidified first, the first piece of his new identity. The images of women changed into men stroking themselves just like he was, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He found himself admiring their forms and their strokes, eyeing the big packages. Thoughts of being with women and loving their bodies head to toe vanished completely. Only men would satisfy him now.

Trey leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Ashton could feel himself blush as he continued stroking. Memories of being with Trey as boyfriends, serving the Golden Army together both on and off the field. They sure knew how to party together in the locker room...

"Cum for me, babe"

The spiral finally ended as Ashton came, spurting his old self out onto the floor in front of him. Trey would be sure to clean that up later.

"Come on babe. We have practice in 30 minutes!"

Ashton looked up at his boyfriend and smiled. "Sure thing babe. Let's get going. But first..." He walked over, placing a hand on his shoulder and smiling a sinister smile.

"How about a quick round 2?"

[joicecubes]

this started as a twitter post but it got way too long

i feel. INSANE. ABOUT FIDDLESTAN YOU GUYS. i’ll admit i didn’t get it at first, like the original concept seems kinda bonkers, they never interact! what a silly rarepair! BUT NO. I SAW A SINGLE PIECE OF FANART AND IT WAS OVER FOR ME. IM HOOKED. im sorry i need to talk about them

my favorite set-up for fiddlestan, and the one i see most people going with, is the idea that fiddleford comes back to ford’s house after ford’s already been sucked through the portal, so he finds stan instead. and thats like such perfect/devastating (depending on how you look at it) timing because their wounds from ford are both so raw.

i feel like this is gonna get long so. gay rambling under the cut

on the one hand, they get from each other what they never got from ford. or at least, what they lost from ford. fiddleford wants love, he wants his unwavering devotion to ford to be reciprocated. and stan, being such a deeply lonely person, can give him that! what he wants is companionship. he wants a friend, like what he had in his brother. he wants forgiveness. and god, fiddleford is one of the kindest, most forgiving characters in the show. if anyone will see where stan is coming from, if anyone can extend forgiveness and understanding where ford fell flat, it’s fiddleford.

and while this exemplifies just how deeply they would need each other in this scenario, when you think about how tightly they both clung to ford, there presents a very real possibility that one or both of them would feel like ford’s replacement.

stan is ford’s twin. people have played with the idea that fiddleford would see a lot ford in stan, even though they may not be very similar in demeanor. they look the same. and deep down, they do have similarities. alex hirsch said in a dvd commentary that there is more of ford in stan than he even realizes, and fiddleford would probably see that. not to mention just how deeply he would miss him.

and when stan has always felt like a worse version of ford, you can imagine he might feel like a stand-in, especially as him and fiddleford get closer. fiddleford, whether he means to or not, would definitely see his best friend in stan. he has his face for god’s sake!! and would stan just accept it? would he be upset to be seen in this light, to act as a replacement, or would he accept that he’ll always be second to ford? either way is just. DEVASTATING. for fiddleford to unintentionally confirm all of stan’s deepest fears and insecurities…

and then there’s what fiddleford is to stan. while i don’t think fiddleford would feel as deeply a replacement as stan does, he IS a big fucking nerd. and stan probably begged him for help getting ford back when he found out that fiddleford is not only a scientist, but worked on the portal in the first place. and he of course wants ford back too, but it wouldn’t surprise me if fiddleford ends up feeling like stan only keeps him around for that purpose and that purpose alone. to learn more about ford, to live vicariously through him as ford’s best friend. because stan is desperate to know more about him, to satiate this need, this wound of missing his brother for over a decade.

god and all the little things too… fiddleford being riddled with anxiety and stan being able to ground him, to knock some much-needed sense into him the next time he wants to pick up that memory gun. stan struggling to take care of himself, to see his own self worth, and fiddleford being there to make sure he eats enough food, reminds him to shower, helps wash or cut his unkempt hair. falling asleep holding each other, because they need that comfort, that warmth, that heartbeat, to feel okay enough to rest.

ugh you could do sooo much with these bitches it drives me up the wall. i feel so unwell just thinking about them. i could yap even more but i’ll keep that for another post

[obstinaterixatrix]

anyway did you know that someone uploaded the tv-n subs for toqger on archive.org

it has all the episodes, plus the gaim crossover episode that’s supposed to be watched sometime early on. the gaim crossover can be skipped, there’s like one (1) funny scene that got big on tumblr so just look at that post and that’s all you need. it does *not* have the films or specials, but this upload does

Galaxy Line SOS, listed as ‘Ressha Sentai Toqger Movie’: takes place between eps 20 and 21, it’s a cute and fun movie :)

Farewell, Ticket! The Wasteland Super ToQ Battle!!, listed as ‘Ressha Sentai Toqger Special DVD’: takes place between ep 26 and 27 and is MANDATORY

ToQger vs. Kyoryuger, listed basically as-is: takes place between ep 35 and 36, a character from Galaxy Line S.O.S comes back for a cameo, also a cute and fun movie

Ninninger vs. ToQger - post-series, I don’t remember this one and it’s not on the playlist so it’s probably not important

They Went and Came Back Again Ressha Sentai ToQGer: Super ToQ 7gou of Dreams, listed as ‘Ressha Sentai Toqger Returns’: post series, also pretty mandatory

as for ‘why toei’s baby train toy commercial is worth watching’:

It’s written for children in an intelligent way, there are a lot of lessons that I thought were delivered kindly and conscientiously

It’s written intelligently in general, both the heroes and the villains have goals with a lot of room for interesting progression; the heroes start with trying to regain their memories, the villains start with trying to resurrect the emperor of darkness, and both storylines are balanced really well. Some of those twists and developments Got Me

It’s mostly lighthearted, very sincere, and some of the emotional beats are really devastating… episode 32 does make me tear up every watch

The fight choreography is fun! Since the theme is imagination, they can get pretty goofy/playful in some eps

One of the gimmicks is that the sentai team can switch colors, which means while it has a traditionally structured sentai team—male red, 2 girls and 3 guys—there are times where the gals are red and the guys are pink, and I like that :)

The villain aesthetics

[karasukarei]

Wind Breaker DVD/BR Vol. 6 bonus content – Boufuurin Vs Shishitoren Maruhi ㊙ Talk and Battle - Part 1

This is the translation of the vol. 6 bonus with the DVD/Bluray! I did not buy it for the bonus. I did buy it because Umemiya is featured on the cover. I have my priorities right.

There's 3 (4?) main parts to this - (1) Boufuurin x Shishitoren talk, (2) Hiiragi x Sako talk + (3) battle, (4) Boufuurin x Shishitoren battle. The battles are kinda hard to understand without the video, so I'll leave that aside for now and focus on just the talks.

As these are more like talk shows, there's quite a few areas where multiple people are talking over each other; in such instances, I will be omitting some of the stuff being said if it's repetitions or if they do not add on to the main stuff being spoken.

Important: A lot of what NakaYuu says will seem very cold/ indifferent on paper, and unfortunately this is one of those things that get lost in translation. In context, he's actually playing the deadpan fool like his pal Sugitan.

For the rest of my translations, see this post!

Boufuurin x Shishitoren talk

Sakura (CV: Uchida Yuuma - Yuuma)

Umemiya (CV: Nakamura Yuuichi - NakaYuu)

Choji (CV: Totani Toya Kikunosuke - Toya) (t/n: there's this running gag that has an origin I'm unaware of, apparently some people read his name wrongly and called him Totani instead and I admit that for the longest time I really thought it was read as Totani. The 谷 in 戸谷 can be read as either "ya" or "tani", and both are pretty common readings, hence the confusion)

(if anyone wants to hear me ramble about multiple readings for names please DM me I will be so happy to go on this long shpiel about meeting 3 people with 3 different readings of the same character before)

Togame (CV: Umehara Yuuichirou - Umechan) (t/n: yes I'm here to confuse the heck out of you)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yuuma: Hello everyone! I'm the voice actor of Sakura Haruka for the television anime Wind Breaker, Uchida Yuuma!

NakaYuu: Umemiya Hajime's Nakamura Yuuichi! (t/n: he was drawling a lot here wwww)

Toya: Tomiyama Choji's Toya Kikunosuke! (t/n: he is really so cute I want to protecc) (I also cannot emphasise enough just how talented he is; he sounds NOTHING like Choji irl)

Umechan: Togame Jo's Umehara Yuuichiro, thanks for having me.

Everyone: Thanks for having us! (t/n: it's the usual yoroshiku onegaishimasu greeting and I can never figure out how to properly translate it)

Yuuma: Speaking of, to everyone who bought the anime package (i.e. the DVD or blu-ray), will be receiving this special bonus, ehhh. ~It's Wind Breaker~ (comes with sparkles too) everyone.

NakaYuu: That's right.

(everyone chuckles)

Toya: We've even worn these jackets!

NakaYuu: Why are you doing it? (t/n: LMAO)

*everyone laughs*

Umechan: On the other hand, *points at Yuuma and NakaYuu* you're here like this?

Toya: It feels different there. (t/n: this is not an entirely accurate translation, but i'm pretty tired today and don't feel like explaining now. What he said was 気合違いますよ which has a bit more nuance; I'll explain in an edit next time.)

Yuuma: This is my regular...

Umechan: Gakuran? (t/n: this is the style of school uniforms worn by Boufuurin)

NakaYuu: It's not that. *very seriously*

Toya: Yuuma-san's clothes actually of give off a bit of the feel of gakurans...

Yuuma: It's not a gakuran ^_^

***

Yuuma: With that, the four of us from Wind Breaker, Shishitouren and Boufuurin will have a talk with each other.

Everyone (i think): Yes!

Yuuma: It's been a while since we've recorded our lines, and I think there'll be lots of memories we'll be reminiscing upon, but in Wind Breaker, there's often talk of speaking with our fists; Nakamura-san and I first joined from the PV, it's been a while, hasn't it? (t/n: They're referring to a special video they recorded for an event in Shibuya in 2021)

NakaYuu: It's a while back, isn't it?

Yuuma: Around 2021, yes.

NakaYuu: About two years before the anime, I think.

Umechan: It's from before the anime?

NakaYuu: Yes yes yes, when you get to our level it's like that. (t/n: this is absolutely dripping in sarcasm fyi; NakaYuu can only get away with a joke like this cos he's the oldest here) You start getting involved even before the anime is announced.

Yuuma: As for the two of you (Shishitoren), you guys auditioned?

Umechan: Yes...

Toya: We auditioned and received our roles.

Yuuma: You two make a great combo, how was it like performing together?

Umechan: It's my first time working with Toya-kun.

Toya: Yes it is.

Umechan: It was really refreshing. The other cast members, I've met them quite often at other places, so I sort of know how things will turn out with them. It's only Toya-kun I don't know anything about.

Toya: For me, it's my first time meeting most of the cast members, I remember that during the first recording I was really really nervous.

Umechan: I didn't know how it would turn out, but he was very Tomiyama-ish.

Yuuma: That's the matching being done (t/n: this might be a mistranslation; he literally uses "matching" in katakana, I'm not sure if there's an alternative meaning I'm missing out.)

NakaYuu: There's difficulty in reading him. (i.e. in reading his character)

***

Yuuma: Next is the visual commentary part, where we watch the anime while giving comments on it. First up, is this match!

T/N: I'm going to skip some parts and summarise some parts, as it's going to be pretty much impossible to match the dialogue and scene one on one without video

Sakura vs Togame

When Umechan first recorded for Togame, he spoke so slowly he was surprised, and in the end that take was used for the anime. It got easier to speak slowly as he practiced more, but at first he had to make a conscious effort to go slow.

Togame's script also had a lot of markings at the end of words (e.g. dashes), to indicate that the words should be drawn out / spoken slowly.

While filming the fight scenes, they thought quite a lot about what to ad lib and how to draw breaths in between lines. They were told it wasn't necessary to do it for everything, but on the day of recording they decided that they did want to include the ad libs and breaths for the whole thing.

NakaYuu, at the point when Sakura is kicked by Togame with his geta on: Getting kicked by the geta looks bad. (t/n: NO SHIT SHERLOCK)

Umechan: I would've preferred him to wear sneakers, it can absorb the impact a bit.

Yuuma: The geta is really hard.

NakaYuu: Of course it is.

NakaYuu, at the point when Sakura's head is stomped on by Togame with his Geta: That looks bad.

Yuuma: He's a real beast!

Umechan: Everyone, this is fiction.

Yuuma: Please don't try the same thing at home.

Umechan, at the point when Togame took off his geta: If he hadn't taken off his geta, I think he would have won. (t/n: LMAO)

NakaYuu: This is a power down event.

Umechan: His reach is now one geta shorter.

NakaYuui: His reach and power have both dropped. But his grip is stronger now

Umechan: It would've been fine if he hadn't taken it off.

NakaYuu: It's probably cos it feels strange using a weapon when he wants to fight fair and square.

t/n: WHY ARE THEY FEEDING INTO EACH OTHER'S CHAOS

Everyone in turn, when Sakura and Togame kicked each other in the face: The geta. the geta!

Yuuma: It's a good thing he's not wearing the geta.

NakaYuu: If he was wearing the geta he would've won.

Yuuma: Togame is a really great guy, fighting for Choji's sake. Thanks for the great battle! Next is this battle!

TO BE CONTINUED

[snshineandgnpwdr]

quickie

pairing - Joel Miller x f!reader

word count - 750ish

warnings - idk, I'm always bad at this part....all I can think of is a few curse words and allusions to minors being sexually active, let me know if I missed anything....

author's notes - this is a no outbreak, nothing hurts AU where Joel gets to have both of his daughters and they get to grow up together. Reader is a physical blank slate, but it is implied that she is at least Sarah's biological mother, you get to decide how Ellie joined the family. 💕

"Joel, babe, come sit down. Stop being a creeper. Sarah will be in soon enough. She's not so grown yet that she'll miss movie night."

He turns from the front window - the one that on a clear day provides a perfect view of the driveway - to face you, hands on his hips and scowl on his handsome face and you have to bite your lip to keep from outright laughing at him.

"Forget movie night. Our baby is outside in a car with a boy we barely know, probably rounding second base by now, how the hell are you so calm?"

"One, it's pouring down rain, what do you even think you're gonna see and why would you want to see it anyway? And two- I may have already run a background check on this kid and his whole family," you shrug. "They're all pretty clean."

"Well, that's fucking great, honey, really. Fantastic use of the firm's resources--"

"My resources. It's not like I'd bill the firm for my own personal snooping."

"I'm so glad this Paul character doesn't have a criminal record," Joel continues like you hadn't even interrupted him. "But do you know what teenage boys do in the back of their SUVs?"

"Mmmm.....," you smile up at him. "I do have some pretty fond memories of one teenage boy and the cab of his old beat up pickup truck...."

"Can you take this seriously? All that fumbling around in my truck you're so fond of is what landed us here."

"Oh, you were pretty fond of it too if I remember correctly, Mr Miller. And here's not so bad, is it? Nice house, successful careers, two beautiful and intelligent daughters. I think we've done pretty good for ourselves."

That almost gets a smile out of him before he glances back at the window and the scowl returns.

"But Sarah--"

"Is not us, Joel. She's smart. And she makes better choices. Besides," you laugh. "It's not like she's going to have a quickie in the back of a 20 year old Chevy Blazer in her parents driveway anyway."

Joel drops down the couch next to you, face pale beneath his tan. "Sex? Our baby's having sex?"

"Jesus, Joel," you sigh. "That's not--"

"Technically," Ellie interrupts, wiggling to squeeze onto the couch between you and Joel and not spill the giant bowl of popcorn she brought with her. "I'm the baby. And I'm not currently boinking anyone."

"Currently?" Joel splutters, eyes wide as he looks between you and Ellie. "Currently?? Implying what exactly here, missy?"

"Nothing, geez," Ellie scoffs. "Relax, old man. Besides, even if I was, it's not like--"

Ellie's interrupted by the front door slamming and you and Joel share a knowing look over her head -she's so close, you just know she'll officially tell you about Riley any day now- before both of you turn your attention to her older sister as she dramatically flops down into the oversized armchair next to the sofa.

"Boys are stupid. I'm never dating again," she announces to the room, earning a grin from her father and an eye roll from you. "What are we watching tonight anyway?"

"Ellie got to pick since you were otherwise occupied," Joel says pointedly as he fires up the DVD player and starts the movie.

"Noooooo," Sarah groans. "Please tell me she didn't pick The Martian again? Ugh. Matt Damon is so gross. If I have to suffer through this again, at least come over here and share the popcorn, nerd."

"Shoulda been here sooner instead of swapping spit with Paul, ho-bag," Ellie laughingly teases as she wiggles up from her seat on the couch and goes to squish onto the armchair with Sarah.

You take the opportunity to scoot closer to your husband and he throws an arm around your shoulder and tucks you close to his side.

Forty minutes later the girls are still trading barbs and Mark Watney is sciencing the shit out of things and you tilt your head up to whisper in Joel's ear.

"What do you say we go out to your truck and see if you've still got it?" you ask, nipping at his ear and tracing your fingers along the inseam of his jean clad thigh.

"Hell no, woman," he whispers back. "I'm too old for that shit now. But I could follow you up the stairs to that nice soft bed we have in our nice private room."

"Sounds like a winner to me," you laugh, taking his hand and doing just that.

[according2thelore]

they don’t know it, but as of today, dean dies in one year.

to them, it’s another day on the calendar, and dean spends it working on a busted-up ford in the garage. sam spends it on the phone with one of garth's contacts, filling them in on kitsune lore. in the afternoon, they both take miracle on a trip into town to get another bag of kibble and argue over buying another bag of tennis balls to replace the ones he keeps losing.

they eat leftover meatloaf tonight for dinner, and sit in front of a the mentalist rerun. dean's not happy with the meatloaf that he made the night before, stating that he should've seasoned it more, but sam insists that it's fine. they make plans to go up to the lake this weekend, because they haven't been in a while.

chuck is gone. life is good. life is short, but neither of them realize how short, quite yet.

sam doesn't know that next month, he and dean will have their last christmas. he doesn't know that these are the last fits dean will pitch over the strength of the eggnog and the quality of the tree they chop down. he doesn't know the debate of which beer to pair with their christmas dinner that he's rolling his eyes over now will be a memory that'll he'll think about for every christmas for the rest of his life.

dean doesn't know that he has one more birthday with his brother, sam sliding him a year's membership to a DVD rental service, and that he will be thrilled. he already has everything he could want. but he still insists they request the full james bond collection first.

they don't know, of course.

but the night is pleasantly quiet and cool, and they trade their goodnights in front of dean's door.

dean has three hundred sixty four days to live, and he trips over a discarded pair of jeans on his floor. damn, he's getting old.

[kaymarie-bell]

Diasomnia Spoilers, Chapter 8 (JP)

part 1

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After Idia finishes his explanation of the plan, he makes our Magic Stones able to switch our clothes (like a character customization screen / magical girls lmfao) and we use Silver’s UM to start moving around. The first dream we see is Epel’s

Epel's dream:

In his dream, Epel has a buff body but the same face (also his steps sound like a giant walking lmfao.)

We go to talk to him, but he picks a fight with Sebek. In Epel’s dream he’s taller than both Sebek and Jack (😭). We have to convince him that this dream isn’t really what he wants in order to wake him up. He kinda loses it once we mention Vil.

We get blot clones of Vil and Rook that are trying to convince him to stay inside the dream, telling him how much Leona praises him as the best rookie in the magift team and how he embodies the strength and beauty of Pomefiore.

Grim snaps and reminds him of his wish to defeat Neige as the “poisoned apple” after the VDC.

Epel finally wakes up and accepts his true appearance. We fight against the fake Vil and Rook. Epel uses his UM to win. After that, Idia (in tablet form) explains the situation him.

Idia gives him the invitation he prepared, and we leave a fake copy of Epel’s body in the dream (the buff one 😭) to keep Malleus from finding out too soon.

We then move on to Rook’s dream:

Just as the new SSR showed: we are in a dream where Rook is still a Savanaclaw student. He is not a first year. He recognizes Epel and wonders if Leona asked to see him because of magift.

We try the “Vil would be mad if he saw you looking like that” strategy on Rook, however he doesn’t understand why it would concern him since Vil is an RSA student (‼️)

Vil is also Neige’s best friend (‼️‼️‼️)

Rook begins his fanboy rant about Vil and Neige’s “friendship.” He always imagined them as besties, and he keeps talking about their interviews and how they behave with each other. Sebek snaps at him and gets him to shut up for a bit, Rook is apologetic for getting too excited since he doesn’t have anyone to talk about this topic in Savanaclaw (😭)

Ortho wants us to go into Rook’s room to get more information about this version of him to wake him up. Rook tries to stop us but we manage to get inside.

His room is decorated floor to ceiling with Neige’s merch on the left and Vil’s on the right (😭😭😭😭)

Sebek voice: what kind of rituals are you performing here?

Rook has been keeping his room a secret for all of his three years at NRC. He says he can’t let us go now…without looking at his oshis’ DVD collection first (😭😭😭😭😭😭😭)

5 hours later. Everyone is tired, and Silver even fell asleep for the first time since we got stuck in these dreams.

Epel tries to make him remember the VDC, but in this Rook’s memory Neige sang Minna de Yahoo! alongside Vil. He tells us goodnight and we leave his room.

The group starts to wonder if this dream means that Rook would’ve preferred to not be friends with Vil, but Epel is against that idea. He thinks that Rook is still thinking about Vil’s overblot, and maybe he believes that if Vil and Neige weren’t rivals then Vil wouldn’t have gone through all that.

Our plan to make Rook wake up involves going to the Coliseum / VDC stage and sing Absolutely Beautiful (new rhythmic!)

We get a flashback of how we rehearsed the song. Epel guided us and assigned our places. Epel -> Vil / Ortho -> Jamil / Sebek -> Epel / Silver and Grim -> Adeuce combo / Yuu -> Kalim / Idia -> Audience and judge.

Idia is happy to take this role, since he is very strict about idol performances (😭) he also offered to get everything ready

Epel: ✨Really? Thank you, Idia-san! ✨

Idia: Ugh! It’s too dazzling! For a moment I thought I’d been reincarnated into an idol training game-

Idia: Pomefiore is frightening….

Idia: I mean, doesn’t this kinda make me a manager or a boys' idol group P?

Idia: “Idia Manager”….”Shroud P”…..Hah! It doesn’t sound too bad~

note: in the type of idol games Idia is talking about, the P stands for “Producer” (time to Ensemble our Stars)

Rook begins to wake up, but blot clones of Vil and Neige appear. They begin to sing Minna de Yahoo! and Rook gets distracted again. Epel starts to scream at him

Epel: Look closely! The real Vil-san looks more wicked, and his eyebrows are so angled! His eyes are so sharp that his stare will make your heart skip a beat!

Epel: Your Roi de Poison! Our Queen! He is far more Poisonous and Beautiful [than the fake]!

Rook: Poisonous…Beautiful…?

Epel: Don’t you dare give out the words Vil-san wanted the most that day to those fakes! You’re a worse traitor now than when you voted for the Royal Sword Academy! (ouch)

Epel: Come on, wake up! ROOK HUNTEEEER!

Rook: One vote for RSA…traitor…ugh!

Rook: Ugh!….that’s right…in this world…the most beautiful thing in this world is…ARGH!

Rook wakes up, but the fakes are still trying to distract him. ( shoutout to Vil’s VA, this Vil speaks in a more…princely? manner. Definitely not Our Vil)

Rook knows this is a dream, but he still feels guilty about pointing his arrow at them

(Groovy spoiler for Rook's new SSR)

Fake Vil voice: Neige get behind me!

✨MAGICAL GIRL TRANSFORMATION✨

We defeat the blot clones, and Rook and Epel have their reunion

Meanwhile Sebek and Idia:

Sebek: I can’t believe it…you’re not only making me fight, but also dance.

Idia: Hehe. I managed to get a good recording of the magnificent Sebek-shi waving his arms and feet in such a clumsy manner.

Sebek: You-! Turn that off! If you show this to anyone, I will not let you get away with it!

Rook notices Idia and is moved by him “guiding the underclassmen as a Dorm Leader” (😭)

Idia is like “eh? Not really…I’m more of a P or a manager…”

Rook asks him to explain what happened at Lilia’s farewell party. Idia shows him the video too. Rook joins our party, receives the invitation, and leaves a clone behind. We move onto the next dream.

[metalmonki]

A Well Kept Secret Part 2

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

1.8k word count

Summary You and Spencer have been in a secret relationship for a year. When you unexpectedly become pregnant it becomes harder to keep that secret.

fluff

Warnings mention of cheating while drunk.

Part 1

Six and a half months had crawled by since the life-altering night. Exhaustion clung to you like a second skin, your belly a growing testament to the little miracle nestled within. Today was the day you were finally going on leave, a bittersweet escape from the whirlwind of the BAU. No one knew the true story of the baby's father, a secret that gnawed at your conscience with every passing day.

Spencer had been a constant source of support, his gentle nature a balm to the storm brewing inside you. You'd even discussed godparents, a picture-perfect tableau of the BAU family surrounding your child.

"So how are you feeling?" Hotch asked as you lumbered into the office, the weight of the baby making every step a conscious effort.

"Fat and tired, but okay," You replied, managing a weak smile.

"How much longer will you be with us?" he inquired.

"Just here to pick up some things, then I'm heading home," You explained.

"Did you drive yourself?" he asked, a furrow appearing in his brow.

"No, Spencer dropped me off," You replied, your stomach clenching at the thought of the conversation that loomed.

"Well, get him to drive your home, then tell him he can have the day off too," Hotch said with a rare smile.

"Thanks, Hotch. See you when I get back, I guess," You shrugged.

Gathering your belongings felt like an eternity, each familiar object a reminder of the life you were leaving behind, at least temporarily. Stepping back out into the crisp morning air, you found Spencer waiting by the car.

"Ready to go home?" You asked, the words heavy on your tongue.

"Let's get you settled in, then I'll get back to work," he replied, his voice neutral.

The ride home was a tense symphony of silence. Every stolen glance at Spencer revealed a growing distance, a hurt you understood all too well. You kept your eyes glued to the ever-expanding landscape, the weight of your secret threatening to crush you.

Reaching the house, you managed to drag a box inside before collapsing onto the couch, the familiar ache in your back a dull throb. Spencer entered a few moments later, placing a bowl of popcorn and two drinks on the coffee table before settling the DVD player.

"What are you doing?" You finally managed, surprised by the sudden break in the tension.

"Well, if we both have the day off, why not spend it together before the baby comes?" he offered, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

Relief flooded you, warm and welcome. "Good idea," You whispered, scooting across the couch to lean against him.

"There's something I've been wanting to talk about," You began, your voice barely above a whisper.

"What is it?" he asked, his gaze holding yours.

"It's about the baby's father," You confessed, bracing yourself for the storm that might follow.

"I thought I was the father," he said, his voice betraying a flicker of uncertainty.

"You were," you stammered, "but there's something you need to know..."

The words caught in your throat, the memory a bitter pill to swallow. Taking a deep breath, you blurted out, "There was someone else."

"I don't know," you choked out, tears welling in your eyes. "The night we were together, I...I had a little too much to drink, and then the next morning..." Your voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, the memory a blur of self-loathing.

Spencer stood abruptly, his entire body radiating anger and hurt. The air crackled with unspoken accusations. "So, you're saying the baby could be Morgan's?"

"I don't know," you repeated, tears spilling down your cheeks now. "The timing just…lines up with that night. But you're the one I wanted, Spencer. You're the one I..." Your voice broke, unable to express the depth of your feelings or the regret that gnawed at you.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. You both knew the implications. The life you'd envisioned, the little family you were building – it all hung precariously in the balance.

He stood abruptly, his entire body radiating anger and hurt. "We need to get this figured out."

Relief warred with fear in your chest. At least he wasn't walking out. "I thought maybe a paternity test…"

"Yeah," he snapped, his voice tight. "Let's do it."

The drive to the clinic was a blur. Neither of you spoke, the unspoken questions hanging heavy in the air. The sterile atmosphere of the clinic did little to ease your anxiety. Spencer held your hand silently as the nurse drew blood, his grip tight enough to leave white marks on your skin.

"How long will it take to get the results?" Spencer finally asked, breaking the tense silence.

The nurse glanced at a chart on the wall. "Typically, paternity tests take about a week to come back," she explained. "We'll call you as soon as we have them."

A week. Seven days stretched before you, an agonizing limbo. The weight of the unknown settled in your chest, a leaden companion. Looking at Spencer, you saw a similar worry etched on his face.

"What are we going to do until then?" you asked, the question barely a whisper.

He squeezed your hand, a silent reassurance. "We wait," he said, his voice gruff but determined. "And we try to focus on the good news, no matter what the results are."

"The good news?" you echoed, a flicker of hope igniting in your chest.

He offered a strained smile. "That you're finally on maternity leave, and we have a little miracle on the way, one way or another."

The forced cheer in his voice couldn't quite mask the underlying tension. You both knew the good news could turn sour depending on the test results. But for now, you clung to that fragile hope, a lifeline in the storm of uncertainty.

The following days were a blur. The house felt suffocating, the silence punctuated only by the tick of the clock. Every ring of the phone sent your heart racing, only to plummet when it wasn't the clinic. Spencer tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy, even taking a rare day off work to keep you company.

One afternoon, while flipping through baby magazines, you stumbled upon a section on twins. Double the bottles, double the diapers, double the trouble. A nervous laugh escaped your lips. The possibility of twins, once a distant thought, now loomed large, a complication layered on top of the paternity question.

Looking up, you saw Spencer watching you, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Thinking about double trouble?" he asked.

You managed a weak smile. "The doctor mentioned it as a possibility, didn't she?"

He nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Maybe that explains why you've been so exhausted lately."

His words brought a faint blush to your cheeks. The exhaustion was real, but so was the constant worry gnawing at you. You both knew the weight of the wait, the unspoken fear that hung heavy in the air. But for now, in the face of uncertainty, you clung to the possibility of a future, a future with a baby, or maybe even two, on the way.

You'd watch movies, fold tiny baby clothes, and talk about nursery paint colours, all the while a dark cloud of uncertainty hung over you.

One afternoon, while attempting to assemble a ridiculously complicated crib (courtesy of Rossi's overenthusiastic gift-giving), the phone rang. Spencer, closer to the receiver, snatched it up with a speed that belied his usual composure.

"Hello?" he answered, his voice tight. A beat of silence followed, then a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Yes, this is SSA Spencer Reid. Yes, I've been expecting your call."

Your breath hitched in your throat. The crib parts clattered to the floor as you scrambled to his side, your gaze locked on his face. He listened intently, nodding occasionally, before finally murmuring, "Thank you. We'll be there shortly."

He hung up the phone, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, they were a stormy gray, reflecting the turmoil within him. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, a smile that reached his eyes and banished the shadows.

"We need to get going," he said, his voice surprisingly calm.

"The results?" you stammered, your voice thick with anticipation.

He took your hand, his grip firm but gentle. "The good news, the bad news, or both? We'll find out at the clinic."

The car ride was a tense dance of silence and stolen glances. Your mind raced with possibilities; each one tinged with a sliver of fear. Would the results confirm your worst nightmare, shattering the fragile hope you'd built? Or would they clear the air, allowing you to move forward with a future you could finally embrace?

Pulling into the familiar parking lot of the clinic, you felt a wave of nausea wash over you. Spencer squeezed your hand reassuringly, his silent support the only anchor in the storm of emotions threatening to engulf you.

You walked into the clinic hand-in-hand, a united front despite the uncertainty gnawing at you. The receptionist, recognizing you, offered a sympathetic smile. "Dr. Lee will see you now," she said, her voice gentle.

Following the nurse down a sterile hallway, you entered the doctor's office. Dr. Lee, a woman with kind eyes and a calming demeanour, greeted you warmly. "Please, have a seat," she said, gesturing towards two chairs in front of her desk.

You sat, the silence deafening. Dr. Lee placed a file on the desk and took a deep breath. "I'm happy to report that we have the results of your paternity test, Mr. Reid. Okay, so do you want the good news or the bad news first?" the doctor asked, a small smile playing on her lips.

"The good news," you squeaked out, your voice barely audible.

"Spencer's the father," the doctor announced with a warm smile.

A wave of relief washed over you, so intense it almost knocked you off your feet. Spencer, however, remained silent, his expression unreadable.

"And the bad news?" he finally inquired; his voice low.

"It's twins," the doctor replied, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Your jaw dropped. Twins? That would explain the constant exhaustion and the way your clothes seemed to be shrinking daily. Looking at Spencer, you saw a mixture of shock and a hint of amusement flicker across his face.

"Well, that explains a lot," you finally managed, a shaky laugh escaping your lips.

"Double trouble," the doctor chuckled, her eyes twinkling.

Spencer chuckled too; the sound rough around the edges. Then, in a gesture that surprised you, he reached out and took your hand in his. "You got that right," he said, a newfound determination in his voice. "We can do this, together."

Leaving the clinic, hand in hand, the weight of the secret lifted. You were the happy (albeit slightly terrified) parents of twins, a future both daunting and exhilarating. There was still a lot to work through, the memory of Morgan a lingering shadow. But for now, the knowledge that Spencer was by your side, ready to face whatever came, was all the comfort you needed.

[adripakoffee]

Headcanon that all of the Batfam are at least aware of Rocky Horror. Like most of them haven't seen the movie but they know of it's existence. Except for Jason for some reason. Not only does he have it on DVD and own a CD which is always in the radio at his house, he also has the lips tattooed somewhere. He knows all the callbacks and he will shout all of them even if no one else will.

So it's movie night and it's finally Jason’s choice and he chooses Rocky Horror, mainly because Damian is off somewhere else and he doesn't know when next he could bless his families eyes with this film.

Jason, putting the DVD into the player: You guys are gonna thank me for this, this is the greatest movie ever.

Bruce, who Jason forces to watch this at least twice a year, whispering to Dick: It's not.

Tim looking at the DVD case: This is a musical, right? What happens in it that makes it rated R?

Jason, starting the movie: Raunchy gay stuff. You virgins are about to be blessed. Bruce, you have to do the callbacks too.

Bruce, who committed them all to memory for Jason but has never done this in front of others: oh... okay.

Steph: Callbacks?

Jason: Audience lines.

He sits back as the opening song starts playing. The first verse plays with no interruptions but when the chorus hits Jason starts to add lines. It's not a lot, if all the callbacks are like this, Tim thinks he can manage. But then the movie starts playing. When Jason calls Brad an asshole, everyone thinks its just because he does something later in the movie. Then Janet is introduced.

Jason, all ready throughly enjoying himself: Slut!

Bruce, quietly: She's not a slut yet, give her a chance.

Jason: Gave her a chance last week and she blew it!!

Dick, eyes wide, looking between his father and little brother: ...w h a t?

Dick, locking eyes with Cass: what?

Cass: *shrugs*

Dammit Janet plays and it becomes increasingly apparent this will be a long movie. As soon as the outcome for the song ends, Jason shouts.

Jason: The man in the next scene has NO FUCKING NECK!!!

Jason, relaxing into his seat: I should've got you guys the props.

Tim: Props?

Jason: Yeah this is the greatest movie ever.

The movie is long, the rest of the fam hears things they never thought they'd hear from Bruce’s mouth.

Janet: Oh, what the matter Brad, darling?

Bruce, without thinking: I came on the windshield.

The sound that comes from Cass can only be described as suffocating on laughter.

.

Tim, when they get to Frank's lab: Okay, so he's Frankenstein-ing a sex doll.

Dick: That what it seems like.

Tim, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees: Hm...

Jason: Do you know about gay sex?

Frank: I have knowledge...

.

Brad: Why you! What have you done with Janet?!

Bruce and Jason: Fucked the shit out of her.

Frank: Nothing.

Bruce, whos much more into this than he would ever admit: Liar!

.

They get to the part where everyone starts saying each other’s names.

Dick, tentatively after Janet said Brad: ... asshole?

Jason, throwing a piece of popcorn at Dick: Not during this part, Dickwing, shut up.

.

Magenta: I ask for nothing... nothing...

Bruce, who gave up pretending this wasn't also one of his favorite movies like 10 minutes ago: Under 12 inches.

.

Riff Raf: Say goodbye to all this,

Jason and Bruce: Goodbye, all this!

Riff Raf: and hello

Jason and Bruce: Hello!

Riff Raf: to oblivion.

Jason, smiling at Bruce because this is one of the nicest moments they've had in a while: Hi, oblivion. How's the wife and kids?

.

The movie ends and Tim leans back in his seat.

Tim, takes a deep breath: You were right, that was the greatest movie ever.

Cass nods in agreement and Dick gawks at them.

Steph: That was insane. Both of you are insane. I can't believe you guys.

Cass, signing: You loved it, I heard you laughing.

Steph: Shut up.

Dick, still reeling from hearing Bruce say "when's the orgy and who's invited": I just... How often do you two watch this?

Jason: As often as possible.

Bruce: Anytime Jason wants.

They all leave with their views of Bruce fundamentally changed, Jason not so much

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

Bernard Hill is the only actor to have the distinction of appearing in two movies that have won 11 Oscars - Titanic (1997) and Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003), both of which are special to me and are my absolute favourite movies of all time.

My earliest memory of seeing him is watching Titanic on DVD for the first time when I was 9 years old and immediately feeling at ease whenever I saw this older experienced captain - Bernard Hill’s portrayal of Captain Edward J. Smith really captured how the real life Captain Smith was for the passengers on Titanic: a trustworthy seasoned Captain you could rely on, one who went down with his ship.

I’ve always thought, however, that my favourite moment of his comes from this behind-the-scenes video of Lord of the Rings, where he’s having a laugh throwing fruit into Dominic Monaghan’s mouth as the cast get dressed. I don’t know why I love this clip so much, but it always brings a smile to my face.

Rest in Peace, Theoden King, Captain 💔

[gxr25256]

The Return Visit - Thundercraker x reader (2)

🌵 Hello, I'm back. After a few days of treatment, I felt better and was able to continue working.

🌵 Forgive me if there are any mistakes 😊

-------------------------------

The next time you approached the abandoned building, your heart beat a little faster. The memory of Thundercracker’s towering figure was still fresh in your mind, but there was a strange comfort in knowing you’d promised to return. In one hand, you carried a bag packed with things you thought might interest him: a few DVDs, some snacks, and a USB drive filled with movies. The blanket draped over your other arm wasn’t just for practicality—you figured it might help make the cold, crumbling space feel a little cozier.

When you entered the building, you spotted him immediately. Thundercracker was seated in the same spot, his broad frame bathed in the flickering glow of the cobbled-together television. The instant his optics landed on you, they brightened—a subtle yet undeniable flicker of recognition and something else… expectation?

“You actually came back,” he said, his tone neutral, though the subtle lift of his wings betrayed his guarded relief.

“I said I would,” you replied with a small smile, holding up the bag. “And I brought some stuff. Thought it might make things a little more... fun?”

He tilted his helm, clearly intrigued but hesitant. “What did you bring?”

“Just… some stuff,” you said, lifting the bag for emphasis. “Movies, snacks—you probably can’t eat them, but I thought I’d bring them anyway—and a blanket, so I don’t freeze sitting here.”

He blinked slowly, his optics narrowing in mild confusion. “You brought things… for me?” The question sounded foreign on his tongue, as though he couldn’t quite process the idea.

You set the bag down carefully, shrugging. “Well, yeah. Friends do that for each other, don’t they?”

“Friends?” he echoed, the word lingering in the air like a spark.

“Or something like that,” you added quickly, feeling a bit self-conscious under his intense gaze. Realize how silly you are for calling him—an alien robot—your friend, even though you haven't known each other for more than a week.

Thundercracker seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding faintly. “I see.” His wings twitched—a small movement, but one that hinted at his awkward gratitude.

You spread out the blanket on the floor and took a seat, pulling a DVD from the bag. “Alright, I brought a few options. Thought we could start with a classic—maybe something lighthearted? Or do you want another detective story?”

Thundercracker arched an optic ridge, a hint of amusement flickering across his face. “Surprise me,” he said, leaning back slightly as he settled into a more relaxed posture.

“Alright!” You inserted the disc into a portable DVD player you’d brought, connecting it to the makeshift TV with some effort. As the first movie began, you both fell into an easy silence. The hum of the television filled the space, mingling with the faint rustle of wind outside. You’d chosen something lighthearted—a comedy—to ease any lingering tension, and while Thundercracker didn’t laugh, you noticed the occasional flicker of his optics or the slight twitch of his wings during the funnier moments.

Halfway through the movie, you noticed the distant rumble of thunder. It started as a low growl, barely noticeable over the film’s dialogue, but it grew louder, closer, until the first droplets of rain began tapping against the broken windows. You glanced up from the DVD player you were fiddling with, sensing the change outside.

Thundercracker was sitting beside you, his large frame still as ever, but he looks strange. Perhaps it was the rain, or perhaps it was just the quiet of the building, his optics dimming as they followed the storm brewing outside.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” you said lightly, gesturing to the rain, hoping the weather would spark some conversation.

He shifted his weight, just a slight movement. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“You don’t mind the rain, do you?” You asked, glancing at him.

Thundercracker’s wings twitched, a subtle motion that didn’t escape your notice. His voice, when it came, was deep but soft. “It’s fine. Storms are... familiar.”

He didn’t elaborate, and you weren’t sure how to press. For a moment, you both just sat there in the dim light, the sound of the storm mixing with the background hum of the movie.

The silence between you felt comfortable in a way, but also heavy, like there was something unsaid. You found yourself stealing glances at him. He wasn’t anything like you’d expected from the Decepticons—the way he spoke, slow and measured, with a hint of thoughtfulness, made him seem more like a puzzle than a threat.

After a few minutes, you broke the silence, you ventured. “So, you like storms, huh? What’s that about?”

Thundercracker seemed to hesitate for a moment before he responded, his optics shifting back to the window as another thunderclap sounded. “They remind me of… flying.”

“Flying?” you repeated, intrigued.

His voice dropped, quieter now. “There’s something about it. "The thunder, the wind—feels like the world is… changing. You know, when you're flying? The sky’s always shifting. Never still. It’s freeing.”

You furrowed your brow, trying to imagine it. “Liberating? But all the chaos of a storm… that doesn’t seem like freedom.”

His lips twitched, but it was almost imperceptible. “Maybe to you. But to me, it’s all the same."

Before you could voice it, the storm outside intensified, the rain now falling in sheets, drumming harder against the glass.

Thundercracker, however, didn’t seem bothered by it. He sat back, as if settling into the storm itself, lost in thought, his posture is almost relaxed, as though the chaos outside mirrored something within him.

“What about you?” he asked suddenly, his voice quiet but probing. “Do you like storms?”

You didn’t immediately answer, unsure of what to say. “I don’t know,” you finally admitted. “They make me feel small. Like I’m trapped in something I can’t escape. And they always feel kind of sad. Lonely.”

“Lonely?” he asked, his voice softer now. “Is that how you feel?”

For a second, you weren’t sure how to respond. “I guess so,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze for a moment. “Uhm...... I mean, look at it. Everything feels so distant in a storm. The rain keeps people apart, the thunder feels like it’s warning you to stay away… it’s just isolating.”

There was a long pause before he spoke again, his tone quieter. “I know that feeling.”

You turned to him. “You do?”

His wings drooped slightly, and his optics dimmed. “I’ve spent more time alone than I care to admit. Even with my trine… even in the middle of battle, there was always a part of me that felt… separate. Like I didn’t belong.”

You looked at him, gently asked. “A trine?”

His voice was distant, as if lost in a memory. “Yeah. Starscream, Skywarp, and me. But things change.” He let out a breath that almost sounded like a sigh, a sound that felt too human for something so mechanical. "We were... close. Or I thought we were. But now…” He let out a quiet chuckle, though it didn’t sound particularly amused.

You noticed the way his shoulders sagged, the weight of his words pressing down on him. “Now what?” you prompted gently.

“But now? Now, I’m not so sure. One of them shot me in the face, and the other…” He trailed off, letting the unsaid words hang in the air. You could hear the venom in his voice even as it softened. “I don’t think they’d care if I disappeared.”

The way he said it hit you harder than you expected. “That sounds… awful. I’m sorry.”

Thundercracker’s optics flickered toward you, a faint hint of surprise in his gaze. “Why would you care? You barely know me.”

“Maybe,” you said, your voice steady, “but I know what it’s like to feel alone. And I don’t think anyone deserves that.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it was heavy, yes, but in a way that felt meaningful. The storm outside raged on, the wind howling through the cracks in the building, but it only seemed to draw the two of you closer together.

As the rain continued to fall, Thundercracker found himself speaking more than he usually would. He spoke not out of any expectation but because the quiet atmosphere of the abandoned building, combined with the soothing rhythm of the rain, made it feel easier to open up. He described the war, the battles that had shaped him, the unrelenting conflicts that seemed endless, the moments of betrayal, and the constant shifting of alliances.

His voice was steady, though calm, revealed the battle within him, a part of him still scarred by what had happened, by the choices he'd made, and the things he’d been forced to leave behind. He spoke of his trine, the bond that had once meant everything, and the cold emptiness that had replaced it. The storm outside seemed to mirror his words—violent, unpredictable, a reflection of the chaos he had known.

You listen quietly and attentively. When he finished, you swallowed, uncertain of what to say. Hesitating for a moment. "That was... a lot," you said quietly, meeting his optics. "I had no idea."

Thundercracker didn't respond immediately, his optics dimming slightly as he looked away, as though he had realized he'd revealed so much. Then, he did something you hadn't expected—he shifted subtly, almost as though instinctively, leaning toward you as the storm outside unleashed a particularly loud thunderclap. His arm came up slightly, a protective gesture, not as if he thought you were in immediate danger, but as if he wanted to shield you from the sound. The thunder was deafening, but Thundercracker's reaction was softer, more human than you anticipated. His optics flickered, and his voice was quieter, almost apologetic.

"Didn't mean to... bring that all up," he muttered, though his body remained tense, alert. "The war, the past... it’s hard not to think about it when everything goes quiet."

You blink slowly, still trying to process everything. "Thank you" the words escaped your lips even quieter than a whisper.

"What?" He tilted his head slightly in confusion, optics focused on you.

"Thank you, Thundercracker," you said softly, your voice a little shaky. "For... protecting me. "

Thundercracker looked at you for a moment, his optics flickering, but the faintest hint of a smile crossed his lips. " You're welcome. It's not really a threat anyway."

The movie had long since ended, but neither of you seemed to notice. The storm began to quiet, the rain tapering off into a gentle drizzle, and the room felt warmer somehow, despite the lingering chill.

When it was time for you to leave, you gathered your things, pausing at the doorway before stepping out into the damp, cool night. The rain had subsided slightly, but the air still carried a weight, a lingering sense of the storm's power. You hesitated, feeling an unfamiliar tug in your chest as you turned back to look at him. "I’ll be back," you said, your voice quieter than you intended, meeting his gaze. "If that’s okay."

Thundercracker’s response came in the form of a small, almost reluctant nod. “It’s… okay.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance back, catching one last glimpse of him watching you go. There was something in his expression that stayed with you—a quiet gratitude, a flicker of hope. For the first time in a long while, you felt like you’d made a real connection. And judging by the way his optics lingered on you as you disappeared into the night, you weren’t the only one.

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