#drops this lore and goes to sleep

[mistymonster]

Trans feelings

[lu-polls]

wait op 👀 can i ask who your favorite boy is? 👀👀 (sorry im too shy to reply to the post and im curious now because of your tags)

4️⃣

[currently-dating-everything]

it's amazing that you started making headcanons!

Can you make hcs about romantic relationships with Chance?

A/N: Chance self shippers I know you're out there I'm shining a spotlight into an unruly sea

Character: Chance

Relationship: Romantic

TTRPGs are his love language, we all know this. You play G&G? He's all over it. He wants to hear ALL your opinions and all the crazy stories and hijinks you've gotten up to, all your character lore, what your favorite aspect of the game is, every single thought you've ever had about it- he could listen to you talk for hours and still want to know more, and that extends past talking about G&G.

Don't play at all? Know nothing about it? Great! He gets to explain it to you! You will regret this.

He'll try to make all his exposition easy to understand, but sometimes he gets caught up in the fixation and gets himself going on really hard to follow rants about the differences between sandbox and railroad campaigns, and the intricacies of his favorite classes (he loves playing a spellcaster, but has a soft spot for tank/fighter classes as well), and before you know it he's going a mile a minute talking your ear off, but it's always really sweet seeing him get so excited about the things he loves.

Speaking of love and tangents, he talks about you the exact same way. Every single object in the office knows everything there is to know about you because he's so easy to get going at the drop of your name. He loves talking about how smart and kind you are, how creative and funny, how much fun he has being with you and how cool you are. Lux has invested in earplugs because of this.

He's the type to wear accessories of yours if you have any. A scrunchie/hair tie/bracelet around his wrist with his various charms and dice, a necklace of yours tucked beneath his shirt, any sort of pin or clip that he can put on his collar- or even on his DM screen. He likes having a little piece of you with him throughout the day, even when you're around.

Sad to say there's no special privilege dating the dungeon master on this one. He's sweet as can be when you guys aren't playing, and even when you are he's still very considerate and attentive, but his cocky/mischievous side comes out a lot more. He's plotting to kill your character so sweetly. He wants to make your life so hard (lovingly).

Chance, at the end of a two hour long session: Wow! Wasn't that fun? You, who had your character dropped to 0 HP three times after your favorite NPC betrayed you:

Making G&G character sheets is a date activity, I stand by this. If you're not into it, he's happy to move on to other things, but there's something special about how much he lights up getting to do all the small calculations and slow sculpting that goes into building a character, and he can do it in his sleep, so he has no problem following you to other topics of conversation while he fills his sheets out. His fingers will probably be smudged with pencil led by the time you guys are done too, which is equally adorable.

It may not show all the time, but you've got him wrapped around your finger. He's such a "Yes, babe? What do you need?" kinda guy. He'll basically do anything for your attention and affection, and he's not embarrassed by it in the slightest (though he does blush super easily and very frequently because of it). There's so much he'd do with the promise of even a small kiss waiting for him, it's so bad.

He's quite physically affectionate, but struggles with knowing what you want/what's okay, and doesn't always have the courage to ask. He'll spend five minutes trying to find a subtle way to hold your hand or put an arm around you when you're not paying attention, then nearly jump out of his skin when you turn to address him. He gets better at it the longer you're together though, and appreciates you telling him upfront what's cool with you. He's also less nervous about being affectionate when he's really in the zone, or going on one of his tirades. It's a lot of grabbing you by the shoulders, squeezing your arms, looking at you with those big beautiful eyes while he talks about his homebrew ideas or the latest G&G news.

He blushes whenever you guys are playing and he has to hand something to you. "Oh...uh- you can borrow some of my dice if you need more!" Loser. Cast fireball on him and he'll get flustered handing you all those D6's.

Connected to the above, PLEASE show up him and kick his ass in-game, he finds it so ridiculously attractive. Defeat his big bad of the campaign and do a cocky one-liner and he'll drop whatever he's holding and lose the ability to speak. You'll never see his face as red as it gets when you do something cool in G&G.

[luludeluluramblings]

Bat Boys as Dads Headcanons.

Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian AND Duke included.

This could be seen as how they are as partners with child/ren, or the platonic relationship they might have with their child/ren.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Warnings: Made up Headcanons, SFW, wholesomeness

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

☁️ - Dick

The type of parent to be so excited about having a kid that they’re annoying.

And, not just to other people, but to his own kid.

This man is nothing but *proud dad noises*.

Takes pictures of every single milestone.

Crying over every single tiny moment and achievement.

Coddles even his teenage children a bit. Has a crises when his teenage kid/s find him annoying.

The devastation he gets when his kid/s goes through the I hate you dad phase. (Literally cries to Bruce.)

When his kids become adults though, they end up better appreciating him. Because he is a good dad.

If you hand him a baby, he will coo at a them and make the most ridiculous noises. But, if they cry, he will cry with them.

☁️ - Jason

This man is terrified of being a parent. Will panic up until delivery of each child he has. Even if he has like eight. Panic every time.

If he finds out he has a secret kid he will have an existential crisis that would make Bruce’s coping mechanisms look healthy.

Doesn’t know what he’s doing when parenting, but he is the cuddle master. Solves most things with hugs and jokes.

Somehow figures it out and has the closest bond with his kid/s. (Also, he accidentally curses in front of them which makes him the cool edgy dad.)

Will sometimes make excuses for his kids mentally while being strict.

Will never use physical punishment on his children. Never. If he ever has to whoop his kid/s, he would hate himself.

He is teaching them how to use a gun. And, he is buying them a gun. And, how to change a tie. And, how to hotwire a car. His dad lore is friggin nuts

Freezes when handed a baby. Goes completely still. If he doesn’t move he can’t hurt it.

☁️ - Tim

The dad that would literally be a perfect parent by the book. (He’s read eighteen parenting books, and so many peer reviewed articles about kids, and he will follow parenting blogs.)

Best routine management, hits all the milestones. Very active in making sure his child’s needs are met, even if it’s in the most unconventional ways.

Gets horrible imposter syndrome on if he’s a good dad or not. (He is, but he’s insecure.)

Absolutely terrified of emotional neglecting his child/ren. Will drop anything if he realizes he’s neglecting his kids by working too hard.

He gets the most sleep in his life when his kids fall asleep on his chest. The only time this man will sleep is if his kid curls up in his lap or if they have a nightmare.

When his kids grow up he gets misty eyed remembering they way they used to nap against his chest.

If you gave him a baby he would hold perfectly, or maybe in a weird way that somehow makes them stop crying and helps with colic or gas.

☁️ - Duke

Freaked out about being a dad, but also not. He knows he’s going to love his kid/s enough not to screw things up horribly, but the anxiety is still there.

Not gonna lie, he does his best to emulate his childhood. It could be a good habit or a bad habit.

Sucker for nastolgia and will try to recreate memories from his childhood with his kid. Taking them to a park he played in. Going on a vacation he’s been too.

Not because he wants to force them into something, but because he wants them to have the best parts of his favorite memories.

Plus, it just heals his inner child a bit seeing his kid/s happy.

Will do the “Back in my day…” as a joke, and maybe will exaggerate stuff a lil bit. Just a lil though.

So, gentle with a baby, but doesn’t coo. But, will sniff. New baby smell? Yes.

☁️ - Damian

An awkward (at first) and overprotective, yet can be too hard on his own child/ren.

Knows he didn’t have a normal upbringing, but too egotistical to admit he’s out of his depth when it comes to raising his kid/s.

(He had college degrees and kills before he hit the double digits in age. Yes, he knows he’s not like normal people, but he falls into the trap that his kid should be like that sometimes too.

When he realizes it, he does correct. But, he’s learning too.

Will sometimes push his kids too hard to do their best. But, only at the hobbies they choose. He won’t infringe on their choices.

Loves his kids in a stoic manner, but he loves them deeply and fiercely. (Won’t cry, but will get misty eyed at times.)

Deeply appreciates Bruce, Alfred, and Dick after he becomes a father. The amount of gratitude he feels is overwhelming.

Son of a bitch is natural at holding babies. Worse, they like him. (And, he likes them.)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Something I polished up to give y’all while I try to get to work on Part Four of Pregnant!Reader. Just some wholesomeness.

A/N: I had my neck tube taken out yesterday, and it’s kinda sunk in that I had cancer. (Yeah, it was confirmed. Stage one thyroid cancer, but it’s been removed.) Might have had a mild breakdown. My dad had a different cancer when I was a kid (four), so he’s been talking me through things since I have small children too.

A/N: Thank y’all for all the asks wishing me well! I really appreciate y’all so much! Bless y’all!! 💕💕

[lavellaned]

Solavellan fic recs

If you're like me and was disappointed by veilguard, here are some of my favorite post-Inquisition solavellan fics that are *chef's kiss* in my opinion.

Little Arrow by playwithdinos - post trespasser solavellan kid fic that is very angsty with some sweet, sweet papae!solas

Everything Stays by beaubashley - domestic bliss, Solas and Lavellan living in a cottage. They adopt a cat. The coziest damn fic.

Vir'vhen'an by RogueLioness - post trespasser. Well of Sorrows has actual consequences and Solas fucks up big time. Almost like the da4 regret prison but actually good.

Verhas'alhan - To Yearn for Wilderness by RosemaryBagels - Veil came down, Lavellan hides from Solas and makes a life in a little village. Solas is in prime yearning, sad, wet cat mode here.

Memory (series) by MistressDragonFlame - pre trespasser. Pure angst, hurt no comfort. Lavellan forgets all the events of Inquisition and the anchor is killing her. Solas finds out, bad times ensue.

Love Is Not A Victory March by Myrime - post trespasser, Solas and his forces are winning. Solas and Lavellan have a meeting. Angsty. Like something that I had hoped we would've gotten in da4.

Barefaced by playwithdinos - post trespasser but also Arlathan AU. Some time travel stuff involved. Lavellan has amnesia, but Solas remembers everything. Not finished but what is there is worth the read. Lavellan is Ghilan'nain's slave. Andruil is also there.

but never doubt I love by cedarmoons - Jaws of Hakkon angst. Post Inquisition, pre trespasser but with moments during Inquisition as well. Lot of angst, hurt but with comfort this time.

the diver's wife by magesamell - Lavellan makes herself tranquil kind of Seeker-style in order to defeat Solas, then needs him to come back to herself. Angsty solavellan road trip.

Hobo Apostate by broomclosetkink - Lavellan shows up when Solas is about to tear the veil down. Points out the hilarity between hobo apostate Solas and ender-of-worlds dread wolf Solas.

It Is Not Enough by NamelessShe - This is a chonky fic but it is one of my favorite post trespasser ones. Very lore heavy, I recommend this one for anyone who laments the lost lore and story threads in da4.

sleep like this by mortaltemples - The most da4 relevant fic on this list. Lavellan is a ghost, 10/10.

I will make you whole again by amorficzna - Solas tears down the veil, kills everyone, goes back in time to the beginning of Inquisition to be with Lavellan as Solas (...as he wanted).

Between Heartbeats by houndinghell - Ameridian/Telana parallel lovers are eating so fucking good in this fic. Lavellan makes the ultimate sacrifice to stop Solas during his final veil dropping ritual. Hurts so good.

The Healer's Bloodied Hands by geekyjez - post trespasser sick-fic. Classic hurt/comfort.

i'd rather flail like a mortal (than flail like a god) by crossingwinter - post trespasser. Angsty but with a hopeful ending, more hurt/comfort, another instance of Solas coming face to face with his vhenan's mortality.

The One Where Lavellan is a Nug by Feynite - I think this is my favorite solavellan fic of all time. Just please read it if you haven't, and read it again if you have.

[theseinfernalangels]

The Home of My Home - Garrick Tavis ☀️

Synopsis: After finally finding a way to break from your outpost in Montserrat, you make it to Aretia — much worse for wear.

Includes: Garrick and Cosette lore, injuries galore, protective Garrick “My Wife” Tavis, second signet reference, emotional support besties, stuff that I haven’t written yet because I’m saving it for Garrick Week, might do a part two with Aaric? Takes place during Iron Flame.

“Just a bit further, Ríoga. Hold on!”

Seachran’s voice rings through your ears, but you barely register it through the roaring of pain that floods through the worm bandages around your side. Your thighs flex a little, but it’s only the thick bands of magic from the seat that keep you from tumbling mid-air.

You didn’t think you’d make it, honestly; the flight from Montserrat to Aretia is just over a day, and with the extent of your previous injuries, it’s only a matter of time before you drop into unconsciousness. 

Seachran, though, has other ideas.

“No,” he declares, hurdling towards the silhouette of the city faster. “You will not fade. I have alerted the riot, and your friends will be waiting for us. Keep your eyes on the light, and do not dare to look down.”

The light? Ah. He means the blazing afternoon sun that’s currently beginning to set to the west, painting the sky in an orange that matches your restless dragon. It does wonders for your focus, actually — any black spots in your vision are quickly burned by the white light that soothes your nerves.

You slide to the left with a pained hiss as Seachran begins his descent, his enormous wings folding into a dive. To anyone watching, they’d probably see him and assume he was just a dragon on a nice joyflight. However, you know better; your dragon only flies like this in the thick of battle. You could even picture that now, if you just closed your eyes—

“No!” He yells, shooting a spike of uncharacteristic panic down your bond. “Do not sleep!”

“Trying,” you whisper, slumping forward in your seat. You can make it. You have to. You haven’t spent the last few months keeping the largest secret in history just to die by blood loss. You have a family to get back to. A husband.

Gods, you have a husband.

The thought puts a lazy smile on your face as Seachran finally dips into a landing, the figures of other dragons finally coming into view. Good gods, there‘s a lot. How did they manage to rally this many riders from their posts? Unless…Unless they’re not from posts at all. A massive black shape catches your eye, making you stiffen.

“Is that…fucking Tairn?”

“It is,” your dragon confirms, slowing a little. “Many of our allies are here.”

You jolt a little as the dragon comes to a complete stop. Out of habit, you swing your leg over his back to slide, but you pause as your vision starts going spotty again. 

“Shit,” you mumble; at the same time, Seachran lowers himself close enough for you to stumble off his back. Your feet meet solid ground for the first time in over a day, but the mass does nothing for your balance.

Seachran lets out a worried little rumble right as you hear pounding footsteps.

“What the hell…?”

“Holy shit— Camden?”

Your vision clears for a moment as your eyes meet panicked, familiar brown ones.

You grin sluggishly, exposing your bloodstained teeth. “Durran. Sucks that we have to be united like this.”

You don’t even hear his reply, his words washed away into a sea of nothingness as you slump into his arms. Everything starts moving in flashes:

You facing the sky as you’re lifted off your feet.

The familiar flash of bright orange scales.

Seachran’s wide green eyes fluttering with worry.

Or— No. Those aren’t Seachran’s. That’s—

No. There’s no way. He’s back at home, safe in the palace.

…You think?

Oh. The light is nice and warm and welcoming. You frown as your vision goes spotty again, and then let out a tiny sigh of exhausted disappointment — or is it contentment? — when it all goes black, encasing you in a world of cold darkness.

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Garrick thinks he’s hallucinating when he catches sight of a familiar orange dragon perched astray from the rest of the riot. For a moment, he assumes it’s just Glane — but Glane doesn’t have that golden shine down the back of her neck, nor does she have a Morningstartail.

That’s Seachran — which means you’re here. In Aretia. Back to him.

Chradh, bless his soul, catches on much quicker and jerks him out of his stupor.

“You are not walking from this seat,” he scolds. “How are you to see your mate if your head is broken in?”

Okay. Good point.

They make a quick landing by the front steps to Riorson House,  Garrick sliding off of Chradh at a speed impressive for even a distance wielder. Before he can make it to the entrance, though, he skids to a halt as Bodhi appears in front of him.

“Shit!” He stumbles a little. “Amari, Garrick. Calm the hell down before you bowl someone over, will you?”

Garrick side-steps him easily, shaking his head. “Excuse me for being made aware that my girl is here,” he scoffs. “I’ll do my best to tone it down for you. Do you know where she is?”

Bodhi blinks, as if remembering something important. “Garrick,” he says slowly. “Take a breather, yeah? She’s not going anywhere. You just got back.”

Instantly, that raises red flags in Garrick’s brain. His eyes narrow. “Don’t try to redirect the conversation. Where is she?”

The younger boy raises his hands innocently just as Imogen comes jogging behind him, obviously out of breath. 

“Tavis,” she huffs. “You’re fucking hard to track down. Riorson wants—“

“I don’t give a shit what he wants.” Garrick stares down at the both of them with that stern, cold look he usually saves for other lieutenants. He knows something is wrong; now that he thinks about it, Seachran did look absolutely exhausted from the edge of the riot. Basgiath was eighteen hours from Aretia, and you were coming from Montserrat…

Fuck.

Bodhi curls a hand over his shoulder, drawing him back an inch. “Look, Gare. She’s fine now. The healers put her under—“

“I didn’t ask if she was fine,” Garrick snarls, shoving the younger boy away. “Where the fuckis my wife, Durran?”

Imogen, thankfully, just rolls her eyes. “The infirmary, you stubborn ass,” she tells him. “Like he’s trying to say, she was brought in about an hour ago. She flew in with injuries. No one can see her right now, so you need to give it some time.”

Garrick grits his teeth, his hazel eyes turning stormy at the prospect of you laying alone and unconscious in a place you’ve never been before. Imogen’s face softens a little in understanding.

“Hey,” she says quietly. “She’ll be okay. Bodhi and Aaric brought her up, and Sawyer helped fill in all her information. She just needs time. She was pretty beat up.”

The older boy scrubs a tired hand over his face. “Do you know what happened to her?” He asks, his voice unusually small for someone of his stature. 

Bodhi shakes his head. “She was only half-conscious when Seachran landed, and bloody as can be. If I had to guess, her squadmates must’ve found out she was deserting and got to her before she could leave.”

A jolt of panic slams through Garrick, but not before Chradh’s easy timbre slides into his mind. 

“Seachran promises your mate will be okay,” he shares, sending a wave of warmth down their kaleidoscopic bond that instantly floods Garrick with a sense of relief. “She is weak, but lives.”

He takes in a shaky breath and counts to ten. Then, he shoots an apologetic look towards Bodhi, who just nods, his gaze falling to the floor. He has to get it, too. His girl isn’t here yet, either, but it’s more likely than not that she’ll be in a similar situation, especially since she’s marked, too.

His hands drop to his sides, slightly defeated. He can’t see you until the healers allow it, which won’t be for a while, at this rate. That’s not even considering the amount of things they have to be concerned about after you wake up — acquainting you with the province, finally explaining everything new in full for you, the whole deal with Aaric…Ugh. One wrong move, and things could get ugly, fast.

Imogen catches Bodhi’s gaze and shakes her head, turning to leave. The other boy just sighs and claps a hand on Garrick’s shoulder. “Let’s get you out of here, big guy. Selene almost got kicked from the Assembly because she insulted Xaden and called Violet a bare minimum, washed up cadet.”

Garrick groans. Wonderful.

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

You can’t see anything at first. 

It’s dark — incredibly dark, much to your chagrin. You swim in between streams of calls of your name, swirls of dizziness, and a need to just sleep.

But you can’t. Not now. You finally made it to Aretia, with the rest of the revolution. You’re a part of something bigger than yourself now. You have to at least open your eyes for it.

With great reluctance, you blink yourself awake. It’s night now…How long had you been unconscious? You flex one hand, huffing quietly at the soreness in your joints, before extending the fingers of your right hand.

That’s when you register the calloused hand lightly curled around your wrist. 

It’s a bit too dark to most to see normally, but luckily for you, you can feel just a bit of strength from your rest to pull from, igniting a small light by your ear. By your bedside, a broad shape curls over and rests their head on your legs, their curls tumbling into the sheets.

Garrick.

Without thinking, you try and sit up, immediately regretting it when pain blooms along your side and recoiling with a grunt. Almost instantly, Garrick’s head pops up from its place on the bed, his eyes wide with panic until they settle on you.

Watching. Searching. Longing.

“Lovely,” he breathes, sliding his fingers into yours and leaning up to press a long, sweet kiss to your mouth. You receive it with a hum, tilting your head back to deepen it as much as you can stand to. Garrick groans in response, and as if it pains him, he draws back a few steps to actually look at you.

“Gods,” he murmurs, his eyes trailing up and down your blanket-clad figure. “I was so worried. I— When they told me you were in here…”

You smile weakly. “It’s okay,” you try to reply, wincing at the dryness of your throat. “I’m better now. I’m a little beat up, of course, but nothing I can’t handle, right?”

A quiet, disbelieving laugh leaves him. “Smartass, unbelievable woman.”

He gently maneuvers you to sit up with an arm under your waist and fetches you some water, cooling the harsh burn in your throat. You sigh, relaxing in his hold and allowing him to fuss over you. Even if you didn’t want it to happen, you’re still too tired to complain, anyway.

“Scared the hell out of me,” he mumbles into the crown of your hair, his hands brushing gentle strokes on your shoulders. “No one would tell me where you were at first, and then Seachran looked wiped out, and then Bodhi and Imogen told me everything…”

Your hand comes up to cup the back of his neck, swiping up and down the bone. “Sorry,” you say faintly. “I got found out right as I was leaving. Got stabbed a few times. I’m surprised I didn’t bleed out completely.”

He lets out a shaky exhale and then drops to his knees, pulling your hand to him and pressing gentle kisses across your rough palm. “No apologies,” he orders. “More than anything, I’m just glad you’re here now.”

It’s been…What, three months since you’ve seen him? Since he fought for a weekend off and came to visit you, to make sure you were alive, to slide a small citrine-clad ring down your finger in exchange for a promise to return to him? Well, you kept your promise — even if it almost took out your vital organs.

You glance down. Sure enough, the little gem glows like honey in the faint light. Another light grabs at your attention — a matching ring with a smaller gem that sits on Garrick’s finger, inlaid in a black band. Despite the delicacy of the situation, you smile.

“I love you,” you confess softly, shifting against the pillows. “Even if it almost killed me, I’d rather be with you than fighting for cowards.”

Garrick rests his chin on your thigh. “I love you, too. I can hardly believe you’re here, though. Home. Well, home to me, at least. I hope it can grow to be yours too, though.”

You close your eyes and allow yourself to sink back into the mattress a little. Garrick studies you, his gaze narrowing into that cute little observing look that creases his eyes. “Tired?”

You hum in agreement. “We have a lot to talk about, though.”

“We can,” he replies. “But you should sleep first. I know it’s a lot.”

You stroke a hand through his hair. “You need to explain it all again, more thoroughly.”

“I will.”

“And I need to see the kids.”

“They’re fine. Sorrengail’s pretty beat up, but that’s nothing new.”

“Garrick?”

He pauses, leaning into your touch. “Hm?”

You quiet a little, your brow furrowing as you try to remember those weak flashes from before you passed out in Bodhi’s arms.

“I need you to be completely honest with me.”

His gaze meets yours. “Always.”

“Was…” Your voice trails off. “Did I really see my brother here earlier? Cam?”

Garrick inhales sharply before he sighs, his eyes leaving yours. “…Yes,” he says after a moment. “Although I didn’t know it was him until Xaden told me.”

The thought makes you a little sick. Cam. Your sweet, loyal, rebellious little Cam is a rider now. It would be hypocritical to freak out, seeing as your situation is similar, but having already lost one brother to the quadrant, you weren’t exactly thrilled — although Alic’s death didn’t bother you much anymore. 

Maybe he’s meant for it, though. He wouldn’t be king unless Halden was killed, and even then, he’d probably try to pass it on to you first before he could even consider the thought. That wasn’t right, though — of the two of you, he’d suit the royal role better, as much as it would pain him.

Did he know how Alic died? Did he know that you know and aren’t bothered in the slightest?

“Is he avoiding me?” You ask carefully, noting that he’s not even in proximity to the infirmary.

Garrick brushes his lips against your thigh. “I’m not sure. You know him better than I do.”

You frown. “I think I’d like to talk to him.”

“We can arrange that.”

“Not now, though,” you interject. “I don’t want him to see me like this. I probably already scared the shit out of him.”

He chuckles. “That you did, lovely. That you did.”

His fingers intertwine with yours again as he stands. “Rest. I won’t leave until they kick me out.”

You squeeze his hand. “Promise?”

His lips find yours easily. “Always,” he whispers against your mouth. “Always, and forever.”

Taglist: @wonderstruckbyyou, @jessicalee22likestowrite, @freezerbride18, @ineednewdaggers

Want to be a part of my taglist? Leave a reply to be added!

[wonderjanga]

Billy and Bars

Now, as you probably know, most of the time Billy is ages 8 to maybe 15 (that’s what I’ve seen anyways) and of course, his Captain Marvel form looks like an adult. So, it wouldn’t be strange for an adult to ask another adult to go to a bar with them. Which is why Billy is caught in a dilemma. On one hand, he could just say no, but after a long mission where they’d all spent like two days on an alien planet under constant heavy fire from a cute and cuddly, yet surprisingly bloodthirsty race? It’d be weird not to accept. They might suspect him for being a kid! And boy, Billy does not want that. But on the other hand, he’s not of legal drinking age.

He ends up going with them anyways. Now, all the heroes are sat at a dingy bar in Central City, out of costume, of course. Though, some of them cough Bruce cough Diana cough Arthur cough and you can’t forget Billy, still in Marvel form. (He took a page out of Supe’s book and wore glasses. He’s also for some reason wearing Hawaiian print. (He didn’t have actual adult clothes and needed to borrow from a bargain bin))

Billy thankfully found a loophole for this whole mess. That’s right, this guys gonna be sipping virgin margaritas for the rest of the night. And, he try as many flavors as he wants because you wanna know the best part? Bruce is paying for everything! If Billy could jump in joy, he would. It didn’t matter that Hal was a little obnoxious when drunk off his mind. He’s dealt with worse and it’s not like it’s all that bad. He’s kinda funnier than usual this way. He gets the spend the rest of the day with people he considers friends, that’s all that really matters.

GL: “Dude, why do you keep ordering virgins?”

Crap. What does Billy say to that? Right off the bat, Billy ignores Solomon’s first, and quite frankly, wild lie to tell.

Marvel: “Hmm? Oh uh… I… like the way they taste…?”

He’s a bad liar.

Aquaman: *drinking beer* “Try again, bud.”

Okay… It looks like he might have to listen to Solomon after all. Gosh dang it.

Marvel: “Uhm… I kinda used to maybe sort of might’ve had an addiction and had to go to AA a long time ago.” *Sips drink*

He was always better at lying when the lie was already prepared.

*Whole table goes silent*

Marvel: “Uh… I’ve been sober for a while. Like…” ‘Twelve years, Billy,’ Solomon supplied in his head. “…Twelve years.”

*Table is still silent.*

Flash: *Interrupts silence by slamming hands on table* “Dude! You cannot keep dropping Marvel Lore Bombs™️ on us like this!” (Btw this is the same universe as the Marvel Compilations post. I didn’t mean to write it like it was the same universe but I might as well connect them cause why not)

Marvel: “Whaddya mean?”

Superman: “Well, Marvel…” *scratches back of head* “You kinda have this tendency to… Gosh, how do I put this?”

Martian Manhunter: “You drop obscure information about yourself at random times.”

Wonder Woman: “Then you just go about your day like you didn’t say it in the first place. For example Cap, you can’t just tell me that at some point you were an Amazonian, you were there for my birth, and then just walk off.”

GL: “Marvel, how old are you?”

Marvel: “Uuuuuuhhhhhhh….”

Batman: “You date back to having existed before Mesopotamia. I want to know the answer to that question Marvel.” *Bat-glares Billy while sipping from his drink.*

Bruce was definitely going to add the AA thing to his quite small folder on Marvel.

The night continues on with the other members of the JL grilling Billy for more information about himself, which Solomon helps with by either supplying him with lies, or with things previous champions did. By the time the night was over, Billy never wanted to go to a bar again. He unshazamed in an alley and went home to his little place. He bee-lined to his sleeping bag and just when he was about to fall asleep, something popped into his mind:

‘Why didn’t I just say I didn’t like the way it tastes?’ That thought kept him up for a couple more hours.

[spitefulsatanfics]

𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞...

— by little devil 🕯️

pairing: sam winchester x she/her reader

tone: soft angst, domestic fluff, soulbond-core tenderness, supernatural vibes

genre: canon-compliant headcanon list told through mini fanfiction scenes

rating: pg-13 for language, emotional content, and yearning synopsis: falling in love with Sam Winchester is quiet at first. And then it's everything.

📖 Waking Up to the Sound of Pages Turning

Sam doesn’t sleep much—not deeply, anyway. But when he does, it’s always with his hand on your hip and his brow still slightly furrowed, like even in his dreams he’s working something out.

When you wake, it’s to the sound of gentle page-flipping and the steam of early morning coffee. He’s at the table, glasses low on his nose, wearing the flannel you slept in last week.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice still sleep-warmed. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shuffle over and drop into his lap. He doesn’t even blink—just adjusts his book so you can read too.

🌧️ Rainy Day Research Dates in Crappy Motels

You're both cross-legged on the bed, books open, laptops glowing.

“So I’m thinking maybe it’s a Mayan vengeance spirit,” you say, frowning. “Or a Cihuateteo,” he offers. “They target families—specifically mothers.”

Outside, rain patters against the window like a lullaby. Inside, Sam passes you half a granola bar and smiles like it’s a gift from the gods.

You lean your shoulder into his. He leans back. It’s the simplest form of intimacy, but it anchors you both like magic could never do.

🐺 Sam’s Protective Streak is Quiet but Deadly

“He was looking at you weird,” Sam says after the hunt, jaw clenched. “He was the bartender, Sam.” “Still.”

He doesn’t snap or growl or flex. He just goes still—that eerie, watchful calm that only Sam Winchester can pull off. But when someone threatens you? That calm becomes a calculated, terrifying storm.

��Touch her again,” he says to the creature in the alley, “and you’ll never see daylight again.”

You’ve never seen anything die so fast.

🌌 Midnight Talks That Spiral Into Existential Philosophy and Hand-Holding

You’re lying on your backs in a field post-hunt. The stars are out in full force, and you both smell like sulfur and smoke and victory.

“Do you ever think about fate?” you ask. “Every day,” he replies, voice low. “Especially since I met you.”

You turn to look at him. He’s already watching you.

Your pinkies brush. Then your hands thread together like you’ve always known how.

🥣 Surprise Domesticity That Feels Like a Lifetime in a Moment

You come back from the laundromat and Sam’s in the tiny kitchenette making soup. The kind with real vegetables, not just noodles and hope.

He looks up, sheepish.

“Thought you might be hungry.”

You stare at him in his hoodie and bare feet, stirring soup like some impossibly tall dream. Something about the whole thing hits you like a truck.

“Marry me.” “What?” he laughs, blinking. “Nothing. Just—thank you.”

You’ll ask him for real someday. Probably. Maybe.

📚 Reading You to Sleep Because He Absolutely Does That

He picks out classics and mythologies—stuff he knows you like. Sometimes it’s lore, sometimes it’s poetry, sometimes it's just his voice.

“And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting—” “—on the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,” you murmur sleepily.

He smiles and closes the book, letting his fingers brush your hair back.

“Goodnight, Poe girl.”

🧃 Remembering the Smallest, Strangest Details About You

You once mentioned you liked grape juice. Like... once. In passing. Six towns and three hunts later, he places one beside your coffee.

“They had it at the gas station,” he shrugs, eyes gleaming. “Thought of you.”

Sam Winchester doesn’t just remember anniversaries. He remembers the way your nose scrunches when you’re concentrating, the time you cried during that one commercial, and the exact brand of pens you like.

🩹 Tending to Your Wounds With Holy Water and Shaking Hands

He’s patching you up. Again. You’re making jokes to distract him, but his eyes are locked on the wound and his jaw is tight.

“Sam, I’m fine—” “You almost weren’t.”

His hands pause. His voice breaks.

“I—I can’t lose you, Y/N. I won’t. I won’t survive it.”

You take his hand, press it to your ribs where your heart still beats. He closes his eyes like it’s the only sound keeping him sane.

✍🏻 Writing in His Journal About You (Even If He’ll Never Admit It)

There’s a page with your name on it. You catch a glimpse once when you’re looking for lore on a curse. Just your name. A few bullet points. Little things.

Makes really good coffee when she tries

Calls me out when I overwork myself

Laughs in her sleep

Beautiful even when she’s pissed at me

Might be it for me

You don’t say anything. Just press a kiss to his shoulder and pretend you never saw it.

🕯️ The Quiet Kind of Love That Fills the Cracks in Your Soul

Sam Winchester won’t shout it from the rooftops. He doesn’t need to. His love is in the way he double-checks your seatbelt, the way he hands you the good pillow, the way he says your name like it’s a prayer.

“You’re it for me,” he whispers one night, voice barely there. “If I get to keep one thing, just one… I want it to be you.”

And you know—no matter how dark the road gets, how bloody the work becomes—his hand will find yours in the dark. Every time.

𓆩📖𓆪 Loving Sam Winchester feels like ancient poetry, like library dust on fingertips, like firelight and absolution.

He doesn’t just love you. He believes in you. In your goodness. In your strength. In the fact that maybe—just maybe—you’re the only light worth following.

𓆩📖𓆪

[lavshaze]

Can't sleep, love

✧ contains ⤐ fluff, marriage sweetness, a fix-it au of sorts where silco becomes a councilor without deviating much from the original lore, things just work out lol, councilor silco learns the price of buying his wife a really good book. w.c. ~ 1.5k

Ao3 version

It starts out innocently. 

Silco, in Piltover to deal with business as the one Zaunite member of the council, comes across the newly published romance novel that’s taking the reading community by storm. He stands by to scrutinize it, monologuing about Piltovians’ idealized image of romance — much to Sevika’s dismay— then halts in thought when the image of you flashes through his mind. His lovely wife who adores love stories, nearly as much as she adores him. His resolve falters. 

He ends up buying a copy, a signed copy. 

Sevika disguises her snort with a fake cough, and they don’t bring it up on the way home. 

You meet him in front of The Last Drop the minute he’s out of his carriage, engulfing him in a public display of affection. He doesn’t have time to recover before Jinx piles on with another hug that threatens to send him to his grave. He wonders what he did in another life to deserve two amazing women in his life. 

Upstairs, after he sheds his coat and starts undoing his tie with a sigh of relief, he brings up the novel. The humiliation ritual with Sevika suddenly seems worth it when he catches the glimmer of interest in your eyes. He places the book on his coffee table and you kiss him breathless before you snatch it up like a starving artist. 

That’s when it starts. 

It’s only 8 at night when you begin reading the book, legs folded under a blanket as you settle comfortably on the office couch. He has no complaints as he has to do some paperwork and he quite enjoys the sight of you in his office, a sight for sore, overworked eyes. The office falls silent safe for the sound of flipping paper from both your sides. 

Around an hour later, Silco realizes that you haven’t been pausing to go on tangents explaining the events of the book to him, like you usually would. His eyes flicker to your form only to see that you’re extremely immersed in the object in your hands, his scarred lips curl in amusement and he goes back to work. 

But by the time he’s done, and it’s nearly midnight, you continue to be lost in the book he bought you. For once, he’s the one trying to bring you to bed, and that’s a problem he’s never had in the many years you’ve been together. 

“Just a few more pages, Sil.” You mumble dismissively as he blinks at you in disbelief. 

When he doesn’t respond, you glance up to meet his eyes—  and gods he’s missed having your gaze on him— and very sweetly say, “you can go ahead, I’ll join you soon.” 

Baffled, he walks to your bedroom to get ready for bed, alone for the first time in years. Is this what you feel like when he’s too stubborn to stop working late into the night? There’s a newfound appreciation for your patience forming within him.  

He sits in bed, freshly showered and ready to drift off, but he can’t seem to get comfortable. No matter how much he tosses and turns, trying different positions, the bed is too empty and cold without your presence. He feels like a petulant child. At 43 years of age, he’s unable to fall asleep alone. How the mighty have fallen. 

He begrudgingly pushes the covers off and makes his way back into the office. You haven’t moved an inch, hands still around that cursed Piltovian novel, stuck in the exact same position. He’s glad that your chest still rises and falls with each breath, because he wouldn’t be able to tell if you’re alive otherwise.

He clears his throat, “darling.” 

You hum, not looking up. 

“It’s late, come to bed.” 

“Few more minutes.” 

He scoffs, “you said that an hour ago. Bed, now.” 

That catches your attention. Perking up at that familiar commanding tone, your eyes finally leave the words on the page to look at him. He smiles to himself, practically singing in glee when you move to get up, until he realizes that your hands are not leaving the book. No.

You walk over and plant a sweet kiss on his mouth that distracts him from the impending danger, then you slip past him into your bedroom with the cursed book still in your hands. He watches as you place it down just to change into your sleepwear, then picking it back up to settle into your spot on the bed. 

You sit with your legs crossed under the covers, back against the headboard, and look at him expectantly, like he’s the one behaving abnormally. He grumbles to himself and makes his way to lay down next to you, shutting the door behind him. 

In bed, he watches as you turn on the bedside lamp and get sucked back into reading the book. He lays helplessly next to you, observing you for a few silent minutes as he admits defeat. 

It is much easier to fall asleep with you by his side at least. 

The next time his eyes open, it’s still dark outside. The bedroom is lit by the lamp at your side but he can clearly see the sun hasn’t risen. His good eye moves to the clock and he groggily reads the time, four in the morning. The sound of you flipping a page behind him testifies that you’re still very much awake. 

He turns to face you. His sweet angel of a wife who just won’t go the fuck to sleep. 

Against his better judgement, he falls victim to how lovely you look in the soft golden light, disheveled but determined to keep reading. Your hair falls over your face like a frame around artwork and he sighs in bliss, feeling incredibly lucky to witness such a sight. The frustration seeps out of his body and all that’s left is undying devotion. 

“Lovely,” he speaks groggily. You turn to him, slightly startled that he’s awake again. “Will you be done anytime soon?” You blink slowly, buffering at his words, then smile. You raise the arm holding the book, revealing a few remaining pages. “Almost done.” 

He hums, moving to place his hand on your bare knee, rubbing mindless circles as he continues, “you seem to enjoy this book tremendously.” 

“I do, it’s a lovely gift, Silco. Thank you.” You close the book around one finger and move it aside to lean down and plant a much appreciated kiss on his forehead. He’s pleased when you keep your attention on him, running your fingers through his hair. “What’s it about?” 

You giggle, “you bought it without knowing what it’s about?” 

“It’s very early in the morning, darling. Refresh my memory.” 

You look deep in thought, fingers tracing invisible patterns into his scalp, “it’s about a young revolutionary who falls in love with a bakery owner. Well, she’s not the owner at the beginning, but she ends up owning it,” you sigh, suddenly crestfallen, “it takes them years to be happy.” 

“I know a thing or two about revolutions,” he says against your bare thigh, “I’m sure they found happiness in the process.” 

You look at him, a wistful look in your eyes, “they did.” 

Then you turn to rummage through your bedside table and pull out a bookmark. You place it inside the book and put it down on the table, then readjust yourself to lay down on the bed. He frowns at you in disapproval.

“What?” 

“Hours of reading and you’re going to stop a few pages before the end?” 

You shrug, “I have a feeling I already know the ending, and I’d like to read it when I’m fully awake. Besides, I passed all the important events so I know there probably won’t be any spin-offs, I can sleep peacefully now.” 

He laughs in disbelief, “you’re unbelievable.” Then he leans forward to wrap his arms around you, lazily planting a kiss against your open mouth. You retaliate much stronger, cupping his face to bring him in for a proper kiss. “And you’re going to drive me crazy,” he purrs against your lips. You hum, “you love it.” 

“I’m not sure if I love my hair graying at such a fast pace.” 

Your fingers brush over the hair above his ears, “why not? It’s incredibly attractive.” You pause to admire the gray streaks in his hair, fingers trailing over each strand. “Janna, I can’t wait for your hair to go completely white.” 

The tree of affection that you’ve planted in his chest cavity years ago continues to grow, constantly nurtured by your love and care, but especially by such ridiculous declarations whispered against his lips at four in the morning. 

“You’d like to achieve that all on your own, wouldn’t you?” 

You smile, mischief in your eyes illuminating the darkness of the room, “I’m sure Jinx would be happy to help.” 

Maybe Silco knows exactly what he did in his past life to deserve the two of you in this one.

Note: the 'book' I referenced in this is actually just another Silco fic that kept me up until four am, this fic by @a-gal-with-taste, you need to read it because it will change your life, do it at a reasonable time though and break this curse

[boltthunders]

Random New Avengers Tower Headcanons:

Ava refuses to use doors and will just phase through rooms. She has given Walker many heart attacks by doing this.

Walker made a schedule for the training room but no one sticks to it. This greatly pisses him off.

Alexei has 100% tried to start streaming as apart of advertising for the New Avengers. He has been banned from Twitch for accidentally doxing himself multiple times.

Yelena somehow makes the BEST hot chocolate. Bob is begging for it every rainy/snowy night.

Bob has gotten everyone to create a Minecraft server. Bucky rage quit after he fell into a ravine, and Walker kept dying after trying to raid a Woodland Mansion with only an iron sword.

Bucky is the unofficial/official leader despite his wishes to just be a grumpy old man.

Val attempts to create team bonding activities but they always fail spectacularly.

The last one was playing Uno and Yelena almost strangled Walker to death over a +4.

Yelena’s Guinea Pig often joins everyone for meals. Bob even gives them a little plate of greens so they can participate in group meals.

Bob drops crazy methhead lore at random intervals and then just leaves.

Alexei has been trying to teach Bob how to speak Russian so he can join in on secret conversations himself, Yelena, and Bucky.

The Void is 100% haunting the tower like an analog horror creature. Just standing in the corner of the hallway, white unblinking eyes.

Then your turn on the light and BAM. Bob.

Alexei is 100% the dad of the group. The big embarrassing dad who shows everyone Yelena’s baby pictures.

Ava sometimes sleep walks, then sleep phases into other’s rooms by accident.

Walker is very into reality tv but he watches it in secret. But everyone knows the secret.

Bucky brought Alpine to live with him in the tower and now Alpine is the face of the New Avengers.

Bob created an instagram account for Alpine since Bucky refuses to use social media.

Ava is very particular about what hair care products she uses. She regularly hides her shampoo and conditioner so others won’t use it.

Val has gotten PR packages for makeup brands sent to Yelena and Ava to help increase public relations. They act ungrateful but secretly they’re screaming with joy on the inside.

Val is like everyone’s estranged wine aunt who they just sorta tolerate because she drops a shit ton of cash on them.

Walker can’t cook for shit UNLESS he is asked to make a grill cheese. Man can make a godly grill cheese.

Void collects trauma, but Bob collects trinkets.

Alexei still is running his limo service. Despite everyone’s wishes.

Ava goes missing for days at a time. She always comes back though. Where is she going? No one knows. She’s like a barn cat.

Yelena’s room is Natasha’s old room. The closet still has the old paint from Natasha, and Yelena refuses to repaint it. It’s like a piece of her is still here with her.

[holyblonded]

does azulita ever tell olga and alexia about her life back in la with like gangs and street fights and stuff like that and if so what would their reaction be like and i feel like azulita would just say it so casually

— she’s like a parent that randomly drops their lore 😭

— but azulita is a hot headed person. she had made her fair share of enemies

— azulita doesn’t sit them down to tell them about her past. there’s no dramatic reveal or emotional monologue. she just drops things mid-conversation like they’re facts about the weather. like “oh yeah, that scar? some girl tried to stab me once behind the 7-eleven” while peeling an orange.

— olga’s reaction the first time is slow. like her brain refuses to process what was just said. she blinks, tilts her head a little, and goes “i’m sorry, she tried to what?” and azulita just shrugs. “i was winning the fight. she didn’t like that.”

— alexia chokes on her coffee when azulita casually mentions being jumped after practice in LA once, completely unbothered. “they got the first hit in. i got the last.” she says it like she’s describing a weather delay, not a literal brawl.

— it takes a while for them to realize this isn’t her being dramatic or trying to act tough. it’s just her reality. it was her life. street violence, empty fridges, her mom passed out on the couch (when she was there), the constant hum of sirens. it was normal. or at least, it became normal to her.

— sometimes she’ll mention old friends and alexia will smile, until azulita adds something like “he’s in juvie now” or “she ran with a crew, real loyal though.” and olga just stares like her entire sense of reality is warping.

— she talks about fighting the same way other kids talk about group projects. like “i never picked fights. but i always finished them. sometimes people needed to be reminded not to talk sideways.” and alexia’s like reminded? girl.

— the only time it really hits olga is when azulita says, offhandedly, “i used to sleep in my shoes some days. just in case something happened and i had to run.”

— that’s when olga goes quiet. like truly quiet. she walks into her room, sits on her bed, and doesn’t move for a solid hour. later that night, she buys azulita five pairs of brand-new sneakers and leaves them by her door.

— alexia handles it by doing research. she starts reading about LA neighborhoods and school systems and violence in the area. she doesn’t say anything about it, just starts watching azulita more. noticing how often she scans a room. how she won’t sit with her back to a window. how she flinches when someone closes a cabinet too loud.

— the thing is, azulita never tells these stories to be pitied. she tells them because she doesn’t think they’re unusual. because in her world, that was growing up. and part of her still hasn’t fully accepted that it’s over.

— but alexia and olga, once the shock wears off, don’t pity her. they hold it all gently. they never make her feel like she’s damaged or scary or too much. they just start making sure she knows she’s safe now.

— even when azulita rolls her eyes and says “i can take care of myself,” they still lock the doors an extra time at night. they still make sure she always knows where her room is. they still keep the lights on in the hallway.

— because even if she never asks for it, they know she deserves a life that doesn’t feel like survival.

[wendichester]

ꔛ. a soul for a dime 𓂃˖ ࣪ masterlist ⭒ chapter one ⭒ next part

It was supposed to be a simple case. A three-day job. In and out. A few dead veterans, strange markings, probably a demon. But nothing about this town sits right, and the deeper they dig, the darker it gets. Dean’s distracted. Sam can feel it in his gut. Something old is watching. Something hungry. And it’s already started collecting. Secrets don’t stay buried, love doesn’t change fate, and time is running out. 

「 𝒜 𝒯𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝐵𝓁𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐵𝑜𝓃𝑒 」

in this chapter... sam and dean arrive in elderspring, a quiet town that seems forgotten to the rest of the world. a series of ritualistic murders. they're in for a ride.

wordcount. 2334 type. mysterious, eerie vibes going on

warnings. descriptions of murder and mutilation (off-page but detailed), ritualistic imagery and sigils, mild language, creepy small-town atmosphere, themes of trauma and death (military-related), subtle horror elements.

notes. i am actually nervous scheduling this because !!! it's a story i've been thinking about for so god damn long and now it's coming out and i really hope you guys like it. all feedback is welcomed. a chapter per week, every sunday. don't miss it 'cause otherwise i'll miss u (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

The Impala cuts through the thick morning fog like a blade, engine low and growling as if it knew they were heading somewhere they shouldn’t. Elderspring wasn’t marked on most maps, and maybe that was for the best.

Tucked away between dense pine woods and hills that rolled like the bones of sleeping giants, the town looked quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that sat in your chest like a weight. Houses slumped behind overgrown yards, mailboxes crooked, paint curling from porches. Even the gas station they had passed looked abandoned, a single rusting pump swaying gently in the breeze like it was trying to whisper them away. 

Dean drums his fingers against the steering wheel, eyes squinting against the low-hanging gray. “Hell of a welcome party,” he mutters.

Sam doesn’t answer right away. He’s leaning against the passenger door, nose buried in a thick stack of lore and crime scene printouts, brow furrowed so deep it looks like it might crack. Every so often, he glances out the window, as if expecting something to jump out of the trees. 

Dean noticed. Of course, he noticed. But instead of saying Hey man, you okay?, he settled for a classic. 

“Let me guess—you’ve got that special Sam tingle? Something’s off?” He should read the room. Keep his mouth shut. He decides on the complete opposite. “Ominous vibe? Demonic aura with a twist of lime for dear ol’ Sammy?”

Sam shoots him a look. “Dean, this isn’t funny. Three dead veterans. All carved up, bodies mutilated like ritual sacrifices. You saw the photos. That lost one—his heart was missing.” 

Dean shrugged, one hand still on the wheel. “Yeah. I’m thinking demon. Low-level, showing off for Hell’s big leagues. Probably feeding off trauma or something nasty like that.”

“You always think it’s a demon.” 

“Because it usually is,” Dean says, turning onto the cracked asphalt road that leads to the town center. “Look, we’ll find some sulfur, toss around holy water, stab the bastard, and be back on the road by Friday. Easy case.” 

Sam goes quiet again, but it wasn’t the fine, I’ll drop it kind of quiet. It was that I’m calculating something deeply disturbing silence that always ended with a very emotional aura and lots of brooding.

Dean sighs, softer this time. “Okay, spill. What’s got your hair standing on end?” 

Sam flips a page. “It’s the symbols. Bobby’s been digging through every type of grimoire, and some of the carvings match pre-Christian war sigils. Some don’t match anything. Not demons. Not witches. Not anything we’ve ever seen.” 

“Well, that’s comforting,” Dean mutters. An uneasy silence falls over them, one that Dean isn’t sure he should cover with turning up the volume or trying to pick more at his brother’s uneasy brain. He eventually decides on the latter. “Okay, so… we’ve got mutilated vets and unknown sigils. Wanna tell me what’s not demon-y about that?”

Sam shakes his head. Groans lightly. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I can’t shake the feeling that this is bigger than it looks.”

Dean doesn’t say anything right away. The Impala continues to cruise slowly into the center of Elderspring, where a faded diner sat like a relic from the 60s, its neon sign flickering out a barely-there COFF_E. A few dusty pickup trucks were parked along the curb, and a breeze kicked up the smell of pine, damp earth, and something faintly metallic. 

Dean finally speaks, his voice low. “Look. We do the rounds, talk to the sheriff, and poke through the files. If this is something big, we’ll know soon enough.” 

“And if it’s not?” 

Dean gives him a sideways smirk. “Then I get pie and we get outta here. Easy. Out by Friday.” 

Sam rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, he looks out the window again. Trees loom tall beyond the diner, their branches skeletal against the overcast sky. A black bird sat perched on a telephone wire, watching.

Dean kills the engine. The silence that follows is deafening. 

“You buying breakfast?” he asks. 

Sam blinks out of his thoughts. “You’re the one who wanted pie.” 

Dean grins. “That’s dessert. I’m talking some pancakes, a side of pig. Real breakfast, Sammy.” 

He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, Dean steps out of the Impala like he owns the place, shoulders loose, face unreadable but already scanning—first the diner windows, then the rooftops, and finally Sam, who’s still got his lore goggles on.

“Let’s pretend for five minutes that you’re not possessed by the spirit of a librarian,” Dean mutters, slamming the car door shut. “You might even enjoy your eggs.”

Sam follows him up the steps, muttering something about cholesterol and decapitated corpses, but Dean isn’t listening anymore.

The bell above the door jingles as they walk in.

It’s warm inside—way too warm. The kind of warmth that sticks to the back of your neck and makes you feel like someone’s watching. It contrasts drastically with the January air that looms outside. 

The diner is all linoleum and chrome, red vinyl booths cracked at the seams, a jukebox in the corner that probably hasn’t worked since Nirvana topped the charts. A couple of locals nurse mugs at the counter, heads low. No one looks up.

And then she turns around.

She’s behind the counter, half-hidden by the coffee machine, a pencil tucked behind one ear and a notepad in her hand. Honey brown hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Big eyes, lashes for days. That pretty kind of tired that says she hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in years, but still managed to put on mascara and lip gloss this morning.

Dean’s mouth quirks before she even says a word.

She walks over with practiced ease, hips swaying just enough to be natural, not enough to be trying. Her voice is warm when she speaks.

Her name tag reads Livie.

“Morning, gentleman. Coffee?”

Dean smiles. “That depends. Is it fresh, or does it double as motor oil?”

The waitress smiles. “Depends. You want it to taste good or wake you up?”

Dean lets out a quiet laugh, eyes following her a little too closely as she pours. “I like you already.”

Sam clears his throat—loudly.

Dean waves him off like a gnat.

Olivia finishes pouring, filling up the mugs in front of them. “Menu’s a little outdated, but the cook still knows what he’s doing. Mostly. I recommend the pancakes. And, uh… don’t ask about the sausage.”

Dean grins, eyes roaming the diner. “Sounds exotic. I’ll take the pancakes, extra bacon. And make it quick—we’re on official business.”

She glances at Sam. “And for you?”

Sam lifts his gaze from his folder, surprised. “Um… eggs over easy, and black coffee. Please.”

She nods, jotting it down. Dean smiles, pleased that his brother did get the eggs despite the cholesterol. But before he can quip at him, the girl turns on her wheels once more to face them.

“Official business?”

Dean’s eyebrow quirks. “Yeah. Federal Bureau of—everything.” He winks, leaning back. “Big fans of paperwork and federal-issued badges.”

Sam clears his throat, his frown deepening by the second, following the urge to smack his brother across the head. “We’re actually here investigating a series of homicides. Low-profile. Just following leads.”

The waitress’s lips lift in a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Gotcha. Well, the sheriff’s office is two blocks down if you need backup. And, uh, welcome to Elderspring, Agents.”

Dean reaches into his jacket. “What gave us away?” He tucks his hand away before Sam can stop him—no real badges, but they’re good at the charade.

“Clean clothes. No local accent. And you’re not scared to look people in the eye.”

That lands heavier than it should. Sam stiffens slightly, catching her tone—but she’s already walking off, ponytail bouncing, calling their order back to the kitchen like she didn’t just drop the most ominous comment in waitress history.

Dean watches her go, still half-smiling. “Well, damn.”

Sam shoots him a flat look over his coffee. “Dean.” It’s that tone again. The one he always uses to scold his older brother.

Dean leans back in the booth, arms stretched across the top like a man settling into temptation. “What? I’m just appreciating the local talent.”

“She said you weren’t scared to look people in the eye,” Sam mutters. “Normal people don’t say stuff like that.”

Dean shrugs, still watching the counter. “Yeah, well. Maybe this place just breeds spooky waitresses. It’s the vibe.”

But even he doesn’t fully believe that. Something about her doesn’t match the rest of this town. She’s not worn down like the buildings, not dulled at the edges like everyone else. She’s sharp. Awake, in a way Dean can’t explain.

For now, though, he just knows he wants to see her smile again. Or the sway of her hips. Any would be fine.

Their plates hit their table ten minutes later. Olivia returns with a smile on her lips—practiced, but easy, nonetheless. She sets their plates down with care—Sam’s eggs perfectly intact, Dean’s pancakes stacked like a carbohydrate monument to the American dream.

“Now, Agent, I do promise you,” Her gaze meets Dean’s, teasing smile in place. “Pancakes’ll change your life.” 

Dean leans back with a grin that could power a small city. “Sweetheart, you already did.” 

She laughs. Not the polite, tight-lipped kind you give to a stranger at a gas station, but something warmer, more alive. It’s quick, unguarded. Dean looks like he might frame the sound and hang it in the Impala.

Sam sighs into his coffee like he’s been personally wronged by the entire interaction.

Olivia lingers at the edge of the booth, resting one hand on her hip. She’s clearly in no rush, and neither are they. Outside, the town continues to press in around them—silent, stale, strange. But in here, it feels almost normal.

Almost.

“So,” Sam starts, careful, like he’s testing if it’s safe to walk on ice. “Has the town always been this quiet?”

Olivia tilts her head a little, ponytail swaying. “Depends on what you mean by quiet.”

He glances out the window, watching a single truck roll slowly down the street. “No tourists. Barely any locals. Kind of feels like it’s… holding its breath.”

She considers that for a second, then shrugs. “Elderspring’s always been the kind of place that minds its business. People don’t come here for excitement.”

Dean cuts in, fork already halfway to his mouth. “Unless they’re after life-altering pancakes.”

She gives him a look, then turns back to Sam. “The sheriff’s your best bet if you’re looking for answers. He’s not big on chit-chat, though you didn’t hear this from me.”

“We heard he’s been keeping things under wraps,” Sam says, watching her closely. “Doesn’t want attention from the outside.”

Her eyes flicker, just for a breath. “Can’t really blame him. Folks around here spook easily. Rumors spread faster than fires in August.”

There’s something in her voice—not fear, not quite—but awareness. She’s saying something without saying it, and Sam hears it clear as day. She knows. Maybe not everything, but something.

Dean’s already pushing his plate aside, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, hands folded like a man about to make a confession—or a pass.

“So if, hypothetically, we wanted to hear more things we didn’t hear from you,” he says, eyes twinkling, “what’s the best way to reach you?”

Olivia raises one brow, amused. She pulls a pen from behind her ear and scribbles something on the back of their receipt. “Try not to call after midnight,” she says, sliding it across the table. “I’ve got a sacred relationship with my pillow.”

Dean takes it like it’s gold-plated. “Duly noted.”

Before Sam can fire off a sarcastic remark, she’s already turning away, ponytail bouncing as she approaches a new table of locals.

Dean’s still watching her go when Sam mutters, “You do realize we’re here for a case, right?”

Dean grins, tucking the note into his inner jacket pocket like it’s a love letter. “What, I can’t enjoy the scenery?”

“She’s not part of the tour.”

“Says you.” He stretches like a cat, arms draped over the back of the booth. “I’m just blending in with the locals. Doing fieldwork.”

Sam groans. “Just don’t get distracted.”

“I’m not distracted.” He stands, tosses some cash on the table. “I’m extremely focused. Hyper-aware. Sharpened by potential romance and perfectly cooked bacon.”

Outside, the sky is even grayer than before. The kind of overcast that makes everything feel like it's holding its breath. The breeze carries a mix of pine needles, damp concrete, and something faintly metallic.

Dean stuffs his hands into his pockets, practically skipping down the steps of the diner.

“So, what now?” Sam asks, glancing at the sheriff’s office two blocks down.

The building is squat and unimpressive, tucked between a shuttered barber shop and a thrift store with mannequins faded from decades of sun. A single cruiser sits parked out front, empty. No one comes or goes. The blinds are drawn.

Dean’s grin falters, just slightly.

“We go knock on doors,” he says, voice low again. “Start with the sheriff, see what he’s hiding. Town this small? Someone knows something.”

Sam nods, tightening his grip on the folder under his arm. “Assuming he even lets us in.”

Dean shrugs. “We’ve got fake badges, real charm, and a trail of bodies. We’ll get in.”

They cross the street side by side, boots hitting pavement in quiet sync. Elderspring watches them pass—silent windows, drawn curtains, porch swings swaying with no one in them. It’s the kind of place that looks like it remembers being alive, but somewhere along the line just… stopped trying.

They don’t speak as they approach the sheriff’s door. The air feels thicker somehow, like they’re pushing through something invisible.

Dean reaches for the handle.

“Easy job,” he mutters, half to himself. “In and out.”

Sam doesn’t answer.

Because he knows better.

And deep down, Dean does too.

─ ⊹ ⊱ next part ⊰ ⊹ ─

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all works ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[heartsforjohnnycake]

more outsiders hcs !! <3

(tw for ed mention, nothing detailed js a mention)

johnny will bring the most random objects into the curtis house and none of them know how when or where he got them. he’ll walk in carrying a tutu, pom-poms, he’s walked in carrying cherry’s cheer bag before and just. not acknowledged it. continued walking to pony’s room like it’s no big deal. he always does this when ponyboy’s not home too

johnny and cherry are secretly bffs and have been since middle school . cherry is also johnny’s sugar mommy against his will he’ll be like “oh dw i can pay for my own things i have enough money!!” when he literally has enough money and she’s just like “no! no im paying! im paying idc what you say!” and forcefully pay. they hang out at cherry’s house

darry can literally pop like every bone in his body. and it’s LOUD, like you can hear it the next room over. it scares all of them sometimes

on the other hand, two-bit can’t pop any bone in his body. not a single bone. no matter what happens, that boy’s bones just will not pop, darry is STUNNED by this

johnny drops the most random lore like it’s nothing on a tuesday night. he says shit like “did i ever tell yall about the time i almost got killed by an axe murderer??” and they’re all like “NO YOU DIDNT??? UR NEVER SLEEPING IN THE LOT AGAIN??” and johnny’s response is literally “no it was when i was home alone a couple years ago! its ok i made it somewhere safe, i have this giant scar tho” and pulls up his shirt to show like an eight-inch long really deep scar on his hip/sidew

when soda goes out late at night johnny will sleep with ponyboy and that boy literally sinks into the bed. him and pony will also cuddle so sodapop will come into the room at like 4 am to see them with their cheeks smushed together and literally so closr like they’re trying to become one being

dallas has never broken a bone. like, ever. no one knows how. even dally himself questions it, he’s been stabbed but never broken a bone. it’s literally insane to everyone in the gang

johnny would pick up the most random hobbies if he had the money. he has a little notebook paper that’s a list of things he wants to do when he moves out, like fly-tying, leather work (like making things with leather not freaky things), forging, knitting, literally the most random things ever.

dally, steve, and ponyboy all can’t swim. dally refuses to ever get in the water or get wet, steve just doesn’t want to, and ponyboy can’t figure out how, he tries he just can’t. darry doesn’t know how they’ve made it this far in life without swimming

two-bit is insecure of his body fat, but doesn’t know how to lose the weight. post-book he def developed bulimia

johnny has this little tan teddy bear from his parents that he named “junie” when he was four. he still has it, he takes it everywhere that’s not public (like sleepovers nd around the house he’s staying at) bc it reminds him of when his parents loved him. it’s real beat up, and it has a button eye and a regular eye. it’s his favorite thing he owns

johnny’s room was pretty cool when he was like 13, it had nice furniture and cool posters, the only issue is his parents. he loved it so much tho, sometimes he literally went over while his parents were home to look at it. his mom got mad at him and trashed it one day though, nd he never put the posters back together or fixed the furniture

rip curtis gang yall would’ve hated when darry installed life360 on yalls phones 🙏🙏

dally highkey fw like two songs by the beetles, he’ll never tell tho

steve loves hearing people sing live, all the curtis bros + johnny have half-decent singing voices and he loves listening to them sing, especially when they harmonize??? his ass js saw angels

post-book pony developed his own friend group, like no matter if johnny and dally lived or died he developed his own social life outside of the gang

anyways guys!! sorry its alot i literally convinced myself it wasnt (it was)

[zeondraws]

ZEON THIS IS KU I JUST SENT YOU A MESSAGE ON THE WIKI DAN PINCHBECK UPLOADED THE ORIGINAL SWTD SCRIPT TO HIS WEBSITE AND IT HAS MORE ROGER DIALOGUE AND FULL NAMES FOR SOME OF THE CHARACTERS!!!

HELLO KU THANK YOU FOR THESE AMAZING NEWS EARLIER TODAY AAAAAA.

Okay Fellas, what basically happened today, was Ku found a script written by Dan Pinchbeck (former Studio Head/Creative Director and founder of TCR). This was apparently all back when the game was in Alpha and just before he left the studio in Spring 2023.

The cool thing about the script is that a lot of these lines can be found as audio files within the game. Some of these are shown in my Muir/Innes video. But finally having the proper CONTEXT to these lines brings them to a whole new level.

We also know the names of Finlay (Eileen) and Brodie (Albert). I am honestly bewildered that his name is Albert.

Interestingly there is a different spelling for McLeary in the script (McClery), which is also a cool small detail (Me going bananas over the smallest details in existence IHIUEDHLIUDHWLIUWS).

I'll leave a direct link to the word file down here and then I'll show a few screenshots and yap for a while!

Fair warning there is slight NSFW content in the script, some of which I'll show as screenshots down below.

Word file:

I was so happy when I saw that Roy is indeed called "MacNair" in the script, like omg so the name shown on the ingame door was correct!!

I am wheezing, the description of Roy someone help me-

And apparently Finlay is a welder!!! Like!!! Also she was a WRESTLER? She'd be yeeting everyone off the rig if someone breathed incorrectly. Mad respect.

Just a huge lore drop of Brodie my jaw is dropping.

Let's not forget the super interesting info of Caz and Suze:

I feel sorry for Suze, she's lost so much, but she's also a fighter. Crazy to think Caz's dad got him into boxing.

Rennick is... holy shit he let two divers die

Hearing how the control room is his domain and remembering Brodie saying "Roper's control room" make me think, dear god what was Rennick stirring up in there. I can imagine Roper must've been smoking much more to handle it, or rolling his eyes so much until they fall out.

Also I swear I am giggling at Scooby after reading some things in the script. And him being called "a total gobshite" LMAOO

I'm doing three backflips while reading this, heeeeeeeeeeeelp.

Two things that make me breath manually is additional dialouge of Roper and this man just has dad energy radiating from him.

Please just... look at this convo.. and Scooby is a fucking ballbag mates. What the fuck hahahah

It goes on for longer, but that's all I shall show for the post. Also Trots being called mum by O'Conner has me exhaling sharply BWAHAHAH.

Also the biggest mystery I have to figure out is Dunbar. If he is the pilot, why is there someone called Archie ingame? Or is that literally just Dunbar? Does that mean I need to merge their wiki pages and make a big text stating what the mystery is about. They call him Dobbar or Dobbie sometimes! This is getting even more confusing!

I see no Dobbie in the script, just Dunbar. So they probably replaced him with another character in that scene later on. I feel like this is a big rabbit hole I need to get my head around.

Also finally knowing and being able to vividly picture the old Marine Control scene makes me so happy. Just look at it!

I like how.. Roper is just pretending he can smoke ewodhweoid. Roper seems way more passive here and friendly. This poor wee lad stuck in a chair and just observing what is happening.

And apparently after this scene is when the Geological scene should've taken place? If I understood it correctly.

I need to stop myself from reading the entire script tonight, because I have therapy tomorrow and that pushes my sleep schedule. Screaming, crying, throwing hands in the air lemme reaaaaaaaaad.

There is more stuff I can yap about, like Dan was apparently in a podcast and talked about the Shape in further detail. I nEEEEDD to listen to that asap.

And I also need to edit Roper's wiki page tomorrow. The silly guyyyy

Okay I won't say more now!! Go and dive into the script and yap about the details!!! We are EATING good this week Fellas.

.

.

.

Also fuck you Rennick, I now have context to one of the audio files but also he was def supposed to eat Muir in a previous version-

[ysaefinn]

actually wanted to send an ask for a while but you need it now so...

VALE, MAKE MORE WOLF!SUGURU AND LAMB!READER CONTENT AND MY LIFE IS YOURRRRS 🛐🛐

DEAEST ANON MY SAVIOR!!! I plan i plan i plan to expand on this and turn it into a fic but for now i will be dropping some lore.

As previously mentioned, he's very subservient and overprotective and literally thinks he was placed on this planet to serve and protect you. He really does wholeheartedly believe that you're the purest life form there is and understands that you're capable and clever, but he's so desperate to be of use to you. Is actually restless if he's not doing things for you.

He somehow manages to balance between seeing you as this precious devine entity in need of constant servitude and also respecting the shit out of you??? He's pretty fucking weird icl 😭😭

I have this wip of an idea that the whole meeting happened when you left your flock and wandered into the forest as it's something you do quiet often (not very approved of by your peers, but i want lamb!reader to be a powerful independent presence) and he catches a glimpse of you and is immediately intrigued lol, his infatuation only grows when he approaches you and you completely shut down his attempts for a conversation, you came here to be alone remember? You stay on his mind long after you return back home and he is left to wonder when you'll be back.

I feel like you wouldn't pay any mind to him at first. He'll have to work for your attention, lmaoo, but when you do, eventually get together (it starts with you visiting him in the forest more often and even staying at his own place) or even just reciprocate a fraction of his feelings, he goes apeshit and probably oversteps 😭😭 like an overprotective mother he starts INSISTING you stay at his house so he could take care of you better and sleep well, catches bunnies for you and crashes out when you refuse to let him hand feed you what he cooked, will be placing both of ur food portions in the same plate<- this is a fixation of his, coaxes you to sleep in his arms, the whole overbearing husband experience, he's very clingy and doting tbh, he really wants to tend to you. Also he's obsessed with your ears.

You could try to ghost him, but he would definitely just destroy your reputation to have you return to him, starts to show up on front of your home like a crazy ex and gives everyone else a heart attack, eventually the other lambs associate you two together and choose to "sacrifice you" to the vicious beast in the forest. That way, in hopes of getting rid of him once and for all. This way you have nowhere else to go. You'll have to let him tend to you properly.

He will whimper and pout like a puppy when you freak out on him about it, bcuz really he doesn't wnat to upset you ever, but he sees this as necessary evil or some form of tough love? but really, what can you do? At the end of the day, he's the only person who doesn't think you're a bad Oman.

[islandofsages]

HEYY!! I love your writing from what i've read and i was wondering if i could ask for a gn reader (yuu) teaching the housewardens about like classic fandom lore- like imagine them turning into matpat to explain fnaf and undertale!! 😭😭 feel free to not do this and have a good day!! Thanks :D

characters: housewardens x gn!yuu

tags: platonic, fluff, crack kinda, imagines format

warnings: swearing

author's notes: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG also all the fandoms mentioned here are all fandoms ive been in at some point :D fun times mhm

Riddle Rosehearts

He knows you’re very passionate about fandom culture but you never really had the chance to infodump about it to him

Until one day, you drop by Heartslabyul for a leisurely visit, when you see a not-so-clearly distressed Riddle sitting in the lounge

Not-so-clearly meaning he’s holding a teacup in his hand yet not drinking it, eyes closed as if he’s holding in all his emotions

You grow worried at this sight and slide next to him on the couch where he is seated, hoping you can help alleviate some of that stress

He sees you and he allows himself a sigh, then musters up a smile for you. He greets you and you cut straight to the point - can you help him with anything?

He releases a second sigh and shakes his head, telling you he only needs some sort of distraction. He just had a long day and needs to take his mind off things

You take a second to think of things that you can distract him with – that’s when a lightbulb goes off in your head. This is a prime opportunity for you

“Okay, I’m guessing you haven’t heard of Five Nights at Freddy’s since it’s a franchise from my world and all but the lore is crazy. So it starts like this…”

He wasn’t expecting to be paying much attention to the contents of what you’re saying but sooner or later, he ends up leaning towards you with his hand cupping his chin, mouth slightly agape at the story you’re telling

This inspires you to dump even more information about the media somehow at the rate that you’re going

By the end of it, he’s completely forgotten what he was so worried about. His head is full of creepy pizzerias for kids and haunted animatronics

He ends up having some trouble sleeping that night though. He’ll get you for that later.

Leona Kingscholar

He won’t lie, your interest in fandoms is too reminiscent of Idia for him – he doesn’t admit this to you obviously, since he hasn’t had the chance to

But on one particularly boring day, you decide to skip class with him and he lets you tag along for the hell of it

In the span of three seconds, he’s already off in dreamland. Sometimes you wish you had such a skill

Since you have nothing better to do and he’s way too deep in his sleep to even care anyway, you start rambling to yourself and a slumbering Leona

“Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about Undertale lately so I need to dump it all somewhere. So basically you play as this kid…”

Little do you know halfway through his nap, he wakes up from how much you’re talking. At first, he’s annoyed by your yapping but then he grows interest in what you’re saying

He’s almost tempted to try that game for himself and almost disappointed that it’s not available in Twisted Wonderland. Emphasis on almost.

When you’re done rambling, that’s when he stretches his arms over his head and yawn, commenting how noisy you were

You shrug it off. You're used to him complaining about you yapping instead of napping alongside him

…But then he asks you to tell him more about Undertale, if there's any more information you’re keeping from him out of the kindness of your heart

You smile smugly at this and his expression seems to say “don't make me regret asking” but oh, you definitely will make him regret even being friends with you in the first place

Needless to say, regrets were not the only thing he held at the end of that day.

Azul Ashengrotto

Similar to Leona, your fixation on fandom culture reminds him too much of Idia. not that that’s necessarily a bad thing - it’s more of an observation

And he gets more than an observation when you get the chance to show him what you’re made of: useless fandom culture and gaming knowledge

Speaking of Idia, he goes to you as a last resort to ask you to help him understand whatever the hell Idia’s talking about

You don’t know too much about Twisted Wonderland’s fandom culture just yet but when Azul explains the premise of a certain game and its fandom, it gives you an idea

“Sounds pretty similar to Yandere Simulator. Ooh, that one has a lot of history. Let me tell you about it…”

Unfortunately for him, he ended up unlocking your geekiness instead of having you address the things he was confused with

But at least your story makes it a bit easier to understand? He’s yet to decide that really but at least it sounds like you’re taking his lack of slang knowledge into consideration

Your infodump really gripped his attention though - it’s interesting to know another side of human culture, even if it’s not the humans of Twisted Wonderland

He would nod understandingly (or at least, politely) and thank you and your geekiness

He relays your story to Idia and finds it intriguing how similar fandom culture is in both Twisted Wonderland and your world

He would invite you to Board Game Club meetings so that you can rave and find out more about Twisted Wonderland’s fandom culture with Idia

He’d realize that was a big mistake and he may or may not have created the nerdiest pair in the world - but you guys are his nerdiest pair in the world.

Kalim Al-Asim

He’s very curious about fandom culture - he doesn’t know too much about it nor anyone who knows a lot about it so almost all the fandom information in his head are from you

He really wants to know more!!! So of course that warrants a hangout session fabricated as a study session to get Jamil’s stamp of approval

So there you are in his room, books laid out in front of the two of you but most importantly, a laptop

You two watch about a dozen videos on Twisted Wonderland’s fandom culture and as you absorb all the very-much-useful information, you sneak in tidbits from the culture of your world

“This one in particular is reminiscent of Danganronpa. Man, that one was a wild ride…”

It’s exciting to be able to talk about it with someone you trust wholeheartedly, especially Kalim, whom you know wouldn’t be so judging

He only nods in understanding at every point you made, his eyes sparkling with all the curiosity in his body

You were on your thirteenth video when you two are interrupted by a rap on the door and an unfortunately-familiar voice

So obviously you and your bestie hurriedly rush to close all the tabs on your laptop and open up something more academically-inclined

Which is obviously a…dictionary site

Jamil blinks twice at this, says nothing (but probably noting how it makes sense for you guys since you two are bumbling idiots) and walks away

If there’s any dictionary being read that day, it’d be a dictionary of fandom terminology, that’s for sure.

Vil Schoenheit

He doesn’t know too much about it - and doesn’t bother to learn much about it since he has better things to do - but since it’s you, he tries his best to be a good listener

The two of you sit down in the courtyard one day, the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves music to your ears; beauty truly is everywhere around you when you’re next to him

He’s talking about something. You’re not sure what because you’re entranced by the way his hair hangs above his eyes so elegantly. He notices this and calls you out for it

You shrug and excuse how you can’t help it - he’s like a dating simulator love interest in the real. He asks you what you mean by this. Now’s your chance to shine!

“Hmm, you know, something like Mystic Messenger? Hehe, let me tell you a bit about it…”

Unluckily for him, your “a bit” turns out to be a four-hour long ramble about the aforementioned dating simulator a little too reminiscent of Rook for his liking too

Despite his reservations, he really did enjoy hearing you talk so passionately about your interest; it’s a bonus that the topic itself is interesting

He tells you he wouldn’t mind trying out the game or at least finding out more about it though unfortunately it’s not available in Twisted Wonderland

You share his shame - until he says he’ll pitch the concept of the game to some authorities he know and perhaps make it a reality

Sorry, he’s going to what now?

You’re a little shaken. Sometimes you forget he’s a world-class model, despite his looks and mannerisms. You save your nerves for if a Twisted Wonderland version of Mystic Messenger actually ends up happening

He thanks you for enlightening him about fandom and video gaming culture. You use this as a cue to add another four hours of ranting about V’s route in the game.

Idia Shroud

You’re another victim for him to taint… or so he thought. You’re more of an ally than a victim at this point, considering how nerdy you are

He’d dump fandom lore on you and you’d reciprocate it right back. He’s genuinely so impressed with your knowledge, even if they differ by some degree due to being from different worlds

He gets more impressed when you pull up with knowledge about Twisted Wonderland’s fandom culture like damn, you really brushed up on your talking points already

Friendly rivalry aside, he really does enjoy talking about fandom culture with you and hearing about the things from your world - every story you tell adds a little color into his world

One day, the two of you are leaning on each other, on your phones because of course you are, even if you two are friends, talking still isn’t Idia’s strong suit

That’s when you blurt it out–

“Hey, wanna hear about this game called Persona? It’s a turn-based RPG and…”

Regardless of his response to your question, you ended up babbling away either way. It’s how conversations start between the two of you

You’re speaking so fast, he would have mistaken you for a rapper - or a doppelganger of himself even

Consider him entertained - he finds himself smiling by the end of your yapping and intrigued by your story

He then obviously starts to relate it to something from Twisted Wonderland, passing the listener baton to you

You don’t mind – you can stay there for hours and hours, just going back and forth with your fellow nerdy-ass friend.

Malleus Draconia

This man barely knows how to use a smartphone so you had to be a little patient with him when guiding him through the fandom culture trenches

He’s happy that you trust and cherish him enough to talk about your interests with no reservations or shame – and the feeling is mutual

On a certain weekend, the two of you are hanging out as usual. Chatting as friends would do

You don’t know why but the conversation reminded you of a certain fandom

“It’s kinda like Genshin’s community, I guess. They’re a riot, let me tell you that.”

Oh? What’s a Genshin and why is its community a riot?

You’re glad he asked – because you’ve prepared a 100-slide presentation on the history of the game and its fans

He asks you why and how did you find the time to make that. You tell him to shut up and that it doesn’t matter, he just needs to listen to you

You start and it feels like you’ll never stop – there’s just so much to say and Malleus has so much time in the world

Seeing his reactions to certain events makes you crack up and at times, you’d laugh at his shocked expressions (or sigh exhaustively, depending on the event you’re explaining)

When you finally stop, he gives you a one-man standing ovation. You blush a little at the attention and unexpected reaction but you appreciate his sentiment nonetheless. He tells you that your presentation has been very informative for him

You’re relieved to have been able to get that off your chest… and Malleus is more than ecstatic to relay the information to everyone he’s ever known. You obviously pretend that you had no involvement in his sudden investment of a game from another world.