#especially seeing all your tags and reblogs

[dawnkiller08]

Omg thank you TwT and so sorry for my account being full of so many reblogs. I’m working on moving my art to a different blog so it’s easier to find it all lol. The tagging never annoys me :3 I love being tagged into things. We did meet on TikTok, you’re the reason why I’m on tumblr too. Thank you for helping me get out of my comfort zone and bringing me here. It’s been really great. I’m slowly beginning to live my dream of becoming a well known artist and I like to credit you since you’ve been supporting me :) Ik we don’t really talk but you hold a special place in my heart. Again thank you so much for the tag. You’ve made my day.

@snowysoong SNOWYYYY! You’re one of a kind man. I love all the convos we’ve had and all the crazy stuff you send me. I’m so glad I reached out because you’re an amazing friend. I also gotta say I don’t think I’ve seen someone so dedicated to a character before XD I don’t think anyone loves Lore more than you. Your art is also amazing. Sometimes I wanna go on a liking spree but I feel that could be annoying XD I don’t wanna spam your notifications. Oh also thank you for introducing me to that comic site I think I would’ve died without it. I also really hate the time zone difference because I’d love to game with you or just call often. When the day we finally call comes around we should watch stuff during it. Maybe an episode of TNG with Lore in it *wink wink* You always make me laugh and smile. Whenever we talk it makes my day a little better. Trust that one day we will hang out irl. Never change Snowy <3

@dream-castt HEY DUDE! You’re a new mutual and friend but I already hold many treasured moments with you. The start of our friendship will always be a funny story to me. Thank you for info dumping lore of your oc on me the first time we talk lol. Another thanks to you for introducing me to VR chat. I still can’t believe my dumbass thought you had to have VR to play XD. Playing with you is hella fun. You always got some oc lore to drop and you’re really good at impressions. Your Scout impression is my favorite it’s really good ofc alongside your Connor impression. Sorry I’m kinda bad at roleplaying lol Oh also I love the random pics of your cat you send. I’m looking forward to the next time we call :) *sending you virtual ravioli*

Anyone else I would’ve tagged were already tagged lol Most of you are in the discord server. You people are crazy XD You guys make me laugh. I’ve also read most everyone’s fanfics. Top notch stuff I gotta say. Especially yours @dataentryspecialist. To the rest of my mutuals ily guys. I don’t really interact with you but I see your posts and smile. Hopefully you know all of you are dear to me. Wishing everyone a wonderful day/evening :)

favirote moots?

(People you tag have to reblog and say their favorite moots)

Okay wait

@ibrokeurheartbcuzubrokemine @foliverfalls @allyeilishh @addisonraesbaby @emiliesblohsh @bilsslut @noodleswashere @bilsbabyy @bitchesbrokenpromises @billsdollie

[ygpgsgl-public-records-only]

📢 I'm not Autumn — but I am the one they tried to erase.

@vicecommanderhijikata

I want to make a solemn statement: the actions you describe in this article have nothing to do with me. All the "Autumn" narratives you accuse and construct are not something I participated in, nor am I responsible for. But I still have to speak out in response because everything you confess violates the most basic ethical bottom line I uphold.

You not only admit to having led, incited, and carried out systematic isolation and moral supervision of a certain creator, but you also threatened with "I have evidence" and "I will fight you until bored," attempting once again to overpower the other party with words and intimidate other potential dissenters.

You keep talking about "justice," but in reality, you enjoy the pleasure of trampling on individual existence with collective power. You are not responding to conflict; you are maintaining a fundamentally exclusive, repressive, and anti-critical circle structure, and you arrogantly call yourself a "governor."

This is not a dispute among fans, not an emotional entanglement, nor a matter of who is right or wrong. This is a question of how a community treats dissenters, a question of how a power structure enforces discipline under the guise of "maintaining the atmosphere."

I have decided to take this matter outside the circle because the language logic you and your kind use is no longer something that can be contained within "internal small circle affairs." What you have built is not a fandom, but a moral tribunal disguised under the banner of gentleness, and I am going to dismantle it.

I want everyone to see what you said:

You might have seen the drama. You might have heard of “Autumn.” But let me say this, clearly and publicly:

I am not Autumn. But I am the one they built that whole story to destroy.

They didn't misidentify me. They erased me.

They replaced my name with “Autumn.” They rewrote my articles into madness. They screenshot my words, stripped them of context, tied them to mental illness, and then passed them around like evidence in a courtroom only they preside over.

And today, the person behind that smear posted a “confession” where she proudly declares how she spent four months:

🔻 Messaging people to block me 🔻 Monitoring my every post and punishing deviation 🔻 Policing my tags, my tone, and my aesthetics 🔻 Warning mods to get me kicked out 🔻 Laughing that I still don’t know who betrayed me first

She admits this. Out loud. In public. With no shame.

She calls this "trying to help." She says this is "constructive."

No. This is organized soft power violence. This is what moral panic looks like in fandom space. And I’m done being silent about it.

🗯️ To everyone watching from the sidelines:

If you’ve ever said, “I’m just here for the drama,” If you’ve ever thought, “this seems complicated,” If you’ve ever watched without speaking because it “wasn’t your business”—

I ask you now: make it your business.

Because this isn’t about me anymore. This is about what kind of fandom you want to live in.

A fandom where critique is answered with public exile? A fandom where people brag about gatekeeping “for your own good”? A fandom where every angry woman is rebranded as mentally unstable?

Or a fandom that remembers we are allowed to disagree, dissent, resist?

🔊 I am asking you to break the script:

💥 Reblog this 💥 Add your own statement 💥 Tag others 💥 Say: “I saw this. I heard her. I believe her.”

Let’s drag this narrative out of the shadows. Let’s name what it is:

Soft speech. Hard violence. Silencing disguised as concern.

Don’t let this die in a post with no notes.

Don’t let them rewrite me again.

🌟 My Personal Statement:

[daily-odile]

1,,,, 100 days,,,,,,,,, and 800 followers,,,,,,,,,,,,,

From the bottom of my heart, thank you everyone.........!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[kedreeva]

First- chances are good if people are not following you and are reblogging from you, they are seeing your posts in the tags, or in reblogs from people. When you go to the notes, it will say if they reblog it from you, or from someone else. It's actually totally fine for them to do this, and it is in fact great! Because that means you are probably being reblogged by tag divers, and those are generally the people that others follow to find content without going into the tags, themselves. Tag divers are worth their weight in gold.

Second, following people here on tunglr.hell is not an indication of literally anything other than "this blog posts at least some content I want to regularly see." It's not a friendship meter, it's not a popularity contest indicator (your follower count and who they are is invisible to everyone but you, and some people have mods to hide it from themselves as well, that's how little it matters), it's not a slight against you if someone doesn't follow you. They're not thinking about you at all, they are curating their experience of this place. It typically has nothing to do with you as a person.

On TUMBLR, reblogs are the thing that actually matters. If people are reblogging your stuff, that's how you know they like what you're making, saying, posting, etc. I would rather have a follower count of zero and have everyone that sees my posts reblog them, than to have 100,000 followers that scroll past or only press like.

And for the love of everything, please follow blogs that post stuff you actually like, not just because someone followed you or because you want them to follow you. You are responsible for curating your experience here, and that means if you blindly follow every person that crosses your path, you're going to end up with a dashboard that has some of the worst takes known to mankind. You're going to end up seeing a bunch of stuff you don't like. you're not going to enjoy your experience. If you're in a fandom, spend the time to go through some blogs that are posting in the tags, ask around for blogs that post majority fandom content (tag divers especially, if you can find a few), and follow those blogs. They'll bring you posts by others that post fandom stuff, and you can explore those blogs to find more. But following a bunch of random people at random is a crap shoot for whether you have a good time or not.

Not really an ao3 question, more like a fandom one. So I post on my fandom blog pretty regularly, and I notice that some people reblog my posts often but they don't follow me, and (this part is really stupid) I'm a little hurt about that? Following them first seems like attention seeking (and also they might not follow back which already happened a couple of times and it's the most confusing feeling). Am I stupid and paying too much attention to things that don't matter?

*hugs* Anon, you're not stupid. But you are paying too much attention.

It's normal to look for meaning in actions when we don't have a reason why something is or isn't happening. You don't know why people aren't following your blog, so you're currently grasping at straws to figure out why that could possibly be.

If you want a reason why folks reblog you without following you, I'm going to point you to the For You tab. Someone in your fandom can easily see your fandom posts there because the content of your For You tab is floated to you based on your likes and reblogs. If you're using tags or writing about content that they otherwise like, they'll see you there.

Following someone's tumblr account is not a cry for attention. It is normal behaviour on a website where people post and share content. Likewise, not following back is not a rejection of you, the person. Some folks only follow people they know from other places. Some people have notifications filtered or reduced and won't know when someone follows them. Some people just scroll on past the notif and continue on their way.

I don't think your problem is about reblogging and following, though, anon. I think you're lonely and wishing that you had more fandom friends here on tumblr. That's a pretty common feeling, judging by my inbox (and the history of this blog since I started it years ago).

My advice is scary, but keep in mind that your tumblr url is not connected to your offline identity. Even if someone does reject you outright, they only ever know your screenname. They don't know you.

Follow first. Reblog with chatty tags. Send asks. Reblog prompt memes and asks memes. Send prompts and asks when other people post them.

And above all, do not keep track of who is following you and how many followers you have. Numbers and stats will drive you crazy if you pay attention to them. Instead, focus in on making one or two acquaintances that you can grow into friends and expand out from there.

*hugs* I hope you find your people, anon. I really do 💗

[tethered-heartstrings]

reposting content (especially art/creations) that isn't yours is theft. reposting content saying "not mine" without credit is still theft. saving content that isn't yours to your phone or computer or copy/pasting and making a post without credit is fucking theft. it isn't accidental. there were intentional steps involved. why is this difficult to comprehend. imagine how it would feel to have something you made (especially for free, often in the case of fandom) stolen and someone else taking credit for it or at the very least not giving you the credit you deserve for having made it in the first place

[lordmushroomkat]

Was just thinking about shadowpeach and I remembered a line from a song that fits them so well in the way that it absolutely cuts to the bone.

So anyway here's the lyrics to Elsa's Song by The Amazing Devil so you can think about it with me.

I can hear the cannons calling as though across a dream

And I can smell the smoke of hell in every stitch and seam

And like flowers, the bodies tumble around this muddied lot

I cannot hear them scream, "Forget me not",

Your voice, it carries over the hubbub and the hum

And it paints the sky and circles high like the beating of a drum

You will scream, "I won't forget you, " but I'll cover my cold ears

It cannot be a lie if no one hears

'Cause although you say good day to me, I know I don't belong

And although you hold my hand and say, "I love you, " you are wrong

Because love does not exist here, in this garden, there's no feeling

And you say the words so often that I barely know the meaning

And when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot

I'll scream, but you won't hear, "Forget me not"

And in years to come, you'll wander to the place up on our hill

And then you'll cry to our painted sky, "I loved him then, I love him still!"

And you'll strew some sage and lilies and roses where I rot

Of all the flowers you picked, I knew you would forget

Forget-me-nots

Just. The war with heaven, the loss, the separation, the death, the mourning, the coming back to life but still feeling dead, the distance, the love that was real but hadn't mattered when it needed to, the grief.

I'm gonna cry, I swear to the gods. If someone doesn't make an animatic for this I'm gonna be so upset. It's perfect!! (I guess I could try??? Ugh I have too many projects already, I don't need this!)

[dellamortte]

there are things going on in the da fandom that i simply have no idea about omgggg i’m just over here keeping to my own little bubble and enjoying myself 😌 y’all stay safe tho

[hvackisser]

Hey guys!! Sorry I've been quiet today/yesterday, my energy has been real low but I see all the posts people have tagged me in for the event and even though it's small I wanna thank everyone who's participated so far and continues to tag me in their gushing/art/writing 🥺🥺💖💘💖💘💖 it means the most to me and maybe sometime we'll do something like this again!

I love yall and your female f/os love you too, I don't wanna see the love stop even after this week, ok?

[thefrogdalorian]

Having of those moments where I wish to yeet the like button into the sun or maybe make it so there was setting you could turn on so that people can only reblog posts (even better with the minimum requirement of adding at least one tag)!!

It's kind of absurd that one of my fics is getting close to 500 notes while simultaneously being one I've had the least actual human interactions come from. Like...... come on, that's now how it should be AT ALL!

Don't get me wrong, I'm so thrilled people are clearly finding it and I guess enjoying it(??) but just having endless likes without people letting me know what they enjoyed about it or even if they liked it kind of makes me sad. That's not why I want to share my writing here!

I love having those little human connections with others. I don't ever want my writing to feel transactional. I would love to talk to more people about things I've written. It's truly one of the best feelings and I would hate to lose that, the more I write or the more notes my fics get. Please don't be shy!! I get the social anxiety, but there is no reason to be. I am truly just a Din Djarin obsessed loser.

Anyway, whine over. I don't want to focus on the negatives here and I appreciate every single person who has ever left a positive interaction with something I've written. You are truly a light!

[terrifying-acceptance]

Some fanart i made of the rebRANd (see what i did there?)

[ceramini]

DAMN IT NERD ⋆˚࿔ ARE YOU LISTENING?

pair loser!jake x hot!reader ͡ ͘◡ ꫶᳝᳜᳝᳜᳝᳜৯ tags creampie, cockwarming, overstim, dirty talk = nerd talk, jake likes legos ✿ scene jake is sweet, dumb, and accidentally packing a weapon between his legs. no one understands how he landed his insanely hot gf, not even him. but she loves him anyway, even if he won’t shut up about legos, star wars, or his ridiculous love for her… especially during sex. note let’s pretend jake likes star wars ─── library ⊹ ࣪

like + reblog appreciated <3 click to join taglist

You’re not even sure how you got here.

Well, no… you do know. You were in bed, legs tossed over Jake’s shoulders, back arched, spine pressed into the mattress like a damn sticker. He was inside you. Deep. Relentlessly deep, like he was on a fucking mission.

You weren’t sure what the mission was, but Jake clearly was.

He was, talking.

Still.

“You know the Republic Gunship set?” he pants, rocking into you a little too slow for how breathless he sounds. “I’ve been saving up for it. It’s so cool. It has, like—twenty clone troopers. Twenty. And they all have these little helmets that come off. I didn’t even know they did that until—until I watched this review last week—shit, you feel so good—wait, so anyway—”

You cut him off with a groan, fisting the sheets. “Jake.”

“Huh?” He looks down at you, blinking like a golden retriever who just got caught chewing drywall. “What?”

“You’re talking about Legos again.”

“Oh.” He pushes his hips forward with a little whine. “Sorry. You’re just so warm and I was thinking about that set and how cool it’d be to build it with you while we watch Clone Wars and—and—fuck, you’re squeezing me again.”

You squeeze him on purpose this time. “That’s because you’re babbling about minifigs while you’re raw inside me, Jake.”

His eyes go big. “You like when I’m raw inside you.”

“I did. Before you compared it to building a Lego set.”

“Okay, okay, fair.” He nuzzles your neck like he’s not splitting you in half. “But also? You’re kinda like a Lego set.”

You stare at him. “Jake.”

“I mean that lovingly.”

You drop your head back against the pillow. “I swear to God, if this is going where I think it’s going—”

“Because like. You’ve got all these beautiful little pieces. And I wanna learn how they all fit together. Every time I touch you it’s like I’m figuring out where the next part goes—”

“Jake.”

“—like, do I kiss here?” He sucks a hickey under your jaw. “Touch here?” Trails his hand between your legs. “Or maybe—fuck—maybe I just fuck you and see what happens.”

You’re clenching again. Hard. And you hate that it works.

He beams. “See? You do like my metaphors.”

“I like your dick,” you hiss, arching as he thrusts up and hits that spot. “I tolerate your metaphors.”

“You love my metaphors,” he says smugly, fucking deeper like he’s trying to prove it.

You moan into the heel of your palm. “You’re insufferable.”

Jake whimpers, forehead tipping to yours. “You’re so hot when you’re mean to me.”

“You’re hot when you shut up.”

He slows, just a little, and looks genuinely wounded. “You don’t like when I talk?”

“I love when you talk,” you gasp. “Just not when I’m trying to come and you’re talking about fucking battle packs.”

“Oh.” He slips out almost entirely, just to push in again, hard. You cry out. His ears go pink. “Noted.”

You try to glare. You really do. But he leans down to kiss you and his stupid soft lips and stupid tongue make you forget how to breathe, let alone stay mad.

And the way he’s throbbing inside you doesn’t help.

Jake pulls away with a dumb little grin. “I think I’m gonna come. Can I stay in? I know I asked earlier but I wanna make sure it’s still okay—”

“Jake, yes, God, yes—”

He sinks into you one last time and shudders, full-body, like he’s short-circuiting. You feel him twitch, warm and heavy, and moan his name as his hand clutches at your waist like he’s scared you’ll float away.

He comes like he’s overwhelmed. Pretty and flushed, forehead pressed to your collarbone, one hand gripping your thigh like a lifeline.

You’re both panting. Slick. Shaking a little.

And then.

“Did you know the Lego Titanic set is almost four feet long—”

“Jake.”

“Sorry! I’m just—still inside you and happy and thinking about boats and I love you and—”

You grab his face and kiss him hard. He whimpers against your mouth, cock twitching again, not soft at all.

You pull back. “You’re gonna shut up now, right?”

“Totally,” he breathes, blinking fast. “Except—can I keep talking if it’s just about you?”

You blink. “Maybe.”

Jake buries his face in your neck. “Cool. ‘Cause I was gonna say, you’re prettier than every minifig I’ve ever owned. Like, if you were a collectible, I’d never take you out of the box.”

You groan. “That’s not romantic, Jake.”

He laughs. “I thought it was.”

You wrap your legs tighter around him and sigh. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“I’m lucky you let me fuck you.”

He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then, very slowly, starts moving again. Just a little. Deep and slow, the kind of rhythm that makes your eyes roll back.

“Can I stay in?” he murmurs. “Just for a bit?”

You nod.

He smiles. “Cool. You feel better than any Lego set.”

You cover his mouth. “Just fuck me.”

You don’t know why you let him stay inside. You really don’t.

Maybe it’s the way he’s so big, the way he fills you up like you were made for it. Maybe it’s the post-orgasm brain melt. Maybe it’s the genuinely tragic puppy-dog look he gave you when he asked if he could just stay for a little while longer.

You said yes. Like a fool.

And now he’s talking again.

“Okay, but hear me out,” he mumbles against your collarbone. “If you were a Lego piece, I feel like you’d be one of those rare ones that only come in, like, three sets. And I’d trade my whole collection just to have two of you.”

“Jake.”

“Or like, like if I was building a Millennium Falcon and your piece wasn’t in the box? I’d cry. Like actual tears. I’d email Lego Customer Support and tell them it was a tragedy. I’d say my girlfriend is missing. That I can’t build without her. That it’s ruining my life—”

“You’re still inside me.”

“I know. That’s why I’m being romantic.”

You groan and throw an arm over your face. “Your idea of romance is comparing my vagina to missing plastic.”

“It’s not just plastic, it’s—hey, wait—” He props himself up on an elbow, wide-eyed. “Are you getting mad again?”

“I’m not mad,” you sigh. “I’m just. So full. And so tired. And you’re talking about spaceships and crying and clone troopers while your dick is still hitting my goddamn cervix.”

Jake flushes. Hard. “Oh. Sorry. I’m just…this is like, peak life for me. Like, I don’t know what I did to deserve you but I think about it a lot and it makes me feel like I should be doing more. Like, you’re smart, and you wear those little skirts that make my brain short-circuit, and you never make fun of me for how much I love Star Wars even when I definitely deserve it—”

“Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you getting hard again?”

He pauses. You feel him twitch inside you.

“…Maybe.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I can’t help it!” he whines, and somehow he sounds genuinely upset about it. “You’re so warm and soft and I like how you clench when I say dumb stuff, and I know I’m not supposed to keep talking, but I love you and I’m having a feelings crisis and also your tits are out and I didn’t even mention them yet.”

You uncover your eyes and glare. “Don’t.”

Jake glances down at your chest. Immediately goes pink. “Too late.”

You shift under him and he moans, a soft, helpless sound like he’s ashamed to have made it. You can feel him starting to get hard again, slow and steady like a threat.

And the worst part is? You like it. Your body’s already reacting. He’s still so thick, so deep, and now he’s whining like he can’t help but want more of you.

“God, you’re pretty,” he whispers, like he’s confessing something serious. “And I’m, ugh, I’m such a loser, I know. Everyone always asks how I got you and I never have an answer. They’re like, ‘is she into Legos too?’ and I have to lie and say yes, just so they don’t try to hit on you.”

You laugh. You shouldn’t, but you do. “So you lie about me being into Legos to keep me safe?”

He nods solemnly. “It’s the only way.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Jake beams. “Your idiot.”

He leans down and kisses you again, sloppy, soft, so sweet it makes your stomach flip, and you groan against his mouth when he accidentally rocks his hips.

And just like that, you’re clenching again. Wanting him. Wanting it all over again.

He breaks the kiss with a gasp. “Oh. That was—yeah. We’re doing it again, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Not if you keep talking.”

“I can be quiet!”

“You can’t.”

“I can. Watch—” He places a hand over his own mouth.

You raise a brow. “You look ridiculous.”

He wiggles his brows, nods, then thrusts.

You gasp. His hand flies off his mouth. “Oh fuck, that was hot—”

“Jake.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” He puts it back. Mutters behind his palm, “I just love you so much.”

You stare at him, flushed, wrecked, still hard and inside you, his hand awkwardly slapped over his own mouth, and you realize something terrible.

You’re gonna marry this dumbass.

You sigh, toss your head back, and say, “Fine. Just shut up and fuck me again.”

Jake nods furiously. Slips his hand from his face and whispers, “Yes, Captain.”

You sigh into the pillow.

🪷 ─── @gyarumindd

[blueivyy99]

Calm and Serenity (Part 4)

Sylus x Non!MC

summary: you didn't know what sylus saw in you. he said you were calm, quiet and serene and that's what he needs. you believed it. he showed it. not until little miss hunter came. she's everything you're not. news that she's in danger can make the ever so calm sylus to run and leave everything behind. it made you think, would he do that for you as well?

tags: angst, romance, hurt and comfort, confused sylus, non-mc reader, mentions of death/dying, cursing

taglist: @fcknblsht @aboobie @nin10doo @ixloom819 @damatically @sylusgirlie7 @stellisangelicus-world @kira-loves0905 @wanderlustingcastaway @browneyedgirl22 @lumieresdreams @babygirl-panda19 @picnicinthegarden @96jnie @xxfaithlynxx @wrimaira @reni502 @lazypostfandomer @augustdxjiminx @hey-airam @vevlvtcherie @marquitas-en-verano @ma-cherie-lovely @zeskyzed @imnikki @shiorihoshino @mentaltrouble2201 @sylustoru @imaginarytheatre

note: OMG hi here's the promised update. ALSOOO BIG THANK YOU to all your reaction/comment/reblogs huhuhu im so happy reading your comments and im glad that you liked this little piece of mine. i hope you enjoy this one as well (i actually want to hide in a corner lol)

Series Masterlist

Sylus can't shake the eerie feeling that's been bugging his chest since he left you in Elysium. He knows that you're upset. He can see it in your eyes, he can feel it in his bones.

But what can he do? Miss Hunter is in danger and his body just autopilots to go to her. Does he want to? No. Not really because if he were to choose, he'd rather be beside you all the time but the bond is not letting him. Whenever he's trying to resist, the energy linkage on his wrist would constrict and a painful sensation is shooting up on his chest making it harder for him to say no to her.

It's been a pain in his ass and he didn't know what to do especially when he first met her. Past memories, past emotions, past tragedies suddenly flooded him and for a moment he faltered.

For a moment, all those feelings came back. He missed her, honestly speaking after all, she has half of his soul and finding her again in N109 Zone felt like his soul is whole again.

It was like he was in a daze. All his goals were reduced to mere thoughts and he was obligated to make a connection with her that he got too busy helping her get the aether core and making her remember everything, too busy resonating with her and he made you wait for him every day only to be given a mere fraction of his attention.

But when he's alone and he's contemplating the decisions he has been making as of late, he will be reminded of you. Of how you slowly grew quieter and your gaze was always on him, waiting and anticipating for him to initiate something that would make up for the time he's been wasting with Miss Hunter.

It did cross his mind to let you go. He understands that what he's doing is completely unfair to you, but when the thought of you leaving and potentially finding someone else crosses his mind, he almost went crazy.

He can't. He just can't.

He won't allow it.

He won't let that happen.

You're the only thing in his life that he can call his “voluntary choice". Ever since he lived all his lives, everything seemed out of control, it seemed like everything was a cycle.

Sylus, I curse your soul to never fade away. You'll always be tied to me. This is my curse. Only I can grant you true death.

Soulbound. That's him and Miss Hunter. The first few lives he lived, he can accept dying in her arms as long as it's with her. That's how powerful his love is and he doesn't mind waiting even if it takes a couple of millenia he wouldn't mind because it's her. He even put traces of her in every corner of N109 Zone, even sent Mephisto to stalk her every move when she first became a hunter. So it's safe to say that in the earlier years in this life, he did wait for her.

But then, YOU came.

Someone unexpected. Someone so pure despite the filth in this underworld. You saw him like a normal person and made him feel human. You didn't treat him like the leader of Onychinus.

You treated him as Sylus. Just Sylus. A weak, vulnerable and could-be-hurt Sylus.

In you, he found his humanity.

In you he found love and peace. For the first time in eons, there is tranquility.

He wanted to deny it at first. He can't entertain the thought of you and him together. He knows he can't have you. He can't have that luxury because he will have to let you go eventually when Miss Hunter comes to the picture, the cycle will repeat again. He will die in her arms and he will live another life only to be met with the same ending.

He had given up on anything and everything at this point, so little by little he's letting you go.

But when you came to his rescue, fighting for him even with your limited fighting experience when he was caught off guard by one of his enemies he let himself indulge in you.

Maybe this time will be different.

He let himself be under the shade of your warmth. Happy that in this life he gets to experience this. To experience a love that felt like it could last forever. A love that makes him want to live for as long as he can.

So when he made sure that Miss Hunter is alive and breathing, he is quick on his feet to leave.

“Sylus, can you stay with me for a while?" her voice begging.

And there it was again. The tug on the energy linkage in his wrist. At the mere thought of him denying her request, he can feel it tighten in his wrist that it hurts almost like his hands were going to be cut off.

The sensation in his chest is there again.

But no. He can't stay.

He won't.

“I can't," he answered not even looking back at her. “Y/N is waiting for me.”

He steadied his breathing. He needs to calm himself despite the overbearing pain.

"I will find a way to sever our connection and put an end to this curse. I want to live a life for myself not tied down to any of this destiny bullshit.”

He left after saying that. He's sure that she will understand what he meant.

If she doesn't? Then that's on her.

But for now he wants to come home to you.

To make things right. To tell you everything to ask for more time to figure things out. To tell you that he's been trying to figure out how to sever the connection that he and Miss Hunter have.

To explain that what he did to you was beyond what he can control. That he is under a curse and his choices are influenced by the repeating cycle of his lives. Clouded by the thought that there's no way out of this mess and sooner or later he will find his lifeless body in Miss Hunter's hands.

To tell you that this time he wants to fight back.

He wants to own his life again. He wants to make a decision for himself again.

Sylus respects the idea of soulmates. He even loved the idea of it before. But now it's different. Because if being soulmates with Miss Hunter means losing you, then he doesn't want it.

He will die trying as long as he's with you.

In record time, he's back in Onychinus’s base and the air feels different. It feels heavy. Something is not right.

Sylus is quick on his feet to walk (run) to your shared bedroom and you're not there. He felt a lump on his throat.

No. No.

“Sweetie? Where are you?" He called out. The mighty Sylus’s voice quivers at the end of his sentence. He roamed around the base trying to find you.

“Darling?"

In the bathroom? None.

“Little fox?"

Kitchen? It's empty.

"Baby?”

The guest room? Deafening quiet.

“Y/N?"

He searched in every corner but you're not there. He tried to call you but it seemed like your phone was off.

He called Luke and Kieran, they quickly answered his call and their words made his world crumble. “Boss! The Madame is gone. We can't find her anywhere. Elysium's owner told us she left quickly after you were gone. We searched everywhere we could but we couldn't find her.”

“Keep patrolling the area. Find her."

He dropped the call and quickly sent Mephisto to wander all around the N109 zone.

His mind is reeling back to the events that happened before he left. It can't be.

What happened? Why did you run away? Did someone take you?

Did you leave him?

No, gods please no.

You can't be gone.

No. Not now. Not when he figured out what he wanted.

“Please, come back.”

Part 5 the next day if im not busyyyy (no promises) reaction and comments are welcome 🤗

[salemssimblr]

This is so well-said and such a good exercise! I'll be doing the same moving forward.

maybe i'm wrong about this but i feel like we don't take seriously enough how little comments on a post can change someone's entire day. of course we don't have to comment on everything everytime but if we all did it a little more i'm sure the community would be waaay more fun and enjoyable. the amount of incredible posts i see that have literally no comments is just baffling me. i consider myself really lucky to have this kind of interactions on my blog, and i try my best to pass it on, but my comments are just tiny drops in the ocean of countless lonesome posts, and i feel genuinely sad about it. if anyone comments something i've made from now on i've decided i'll do the same for them! it's just common online courtesy and i think that everyone here needs a great deal of warmth and appreciation ♡

[vingtetunmars]

A New Heartbeat

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel Miller never thought he'd get another chance at building a family—especially not at his age, especially not after everything.

Tags: Fluff, pregnancy fic, domestic fluff, birthday surprise, emotional feels, warm, age gap (reader is early 30s, Joel is 58-59), set between season 1 and 2, jackson!Joel Miller, soft joel miller. No physical description of reader. No use of Y/N.

A/N: Thank you @dedicatedfangirl2001 for inspiring me! So this is technically a continuation of this fic, but it can also be read as a stand alone. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 3.3k

masterlist

You didn’t think much of it at first.

Between the early mornings at the stables and the evenings spent passed out on the couch beside Joel, days had started to blur into each other. Your body always felt tired this time of year—mud season clinging to your boots, cold air snapping at your fingertips even under gloves. You’d chalked the nausea up to bad stew from the dining hall. But when your headache lingered past the usual, when the scent of hay and leather turned sour in your nose, it hit you.

You hadn’t had your period.

You stood in the feed room, half-empty bucket of oats dangling from your hand, the realization sitting heavy in your stomach. The math rolled around in your head, tumbling over itself. It had been… what? Over a month? Maybe more. You weren’t exactly counting days when every morning looked the same—Joel sipping black coffee, Ellie stealing bits of toast, and you rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you layered up for work.

But now, standing there, the silence of the stable around you, something clicked. You set the bucket down on the ground a little too quickly, pressing your palm to your stomach. No pain. No bloat. Just… a quiet sort of stillness.

The horses shuffled in their stalls. One of the younger colts let out a soft snort. You leaned your back against the wall, heart hammering in your chest.

You weren’t sure. But something deep in your bones told you—you already knew.

You didn’t tell anyone where you were going that morning.

Said you had errands to run—needed new gloves, maybe stop by the library. Joel didn’t press. He’d kissed your cheek, grumbled something about checking in with Tommy about a busted water heater, and told you he’d see you for dinner.

You walked to the clinic with your hands jammed deep into your jacket pockets. The cold bit at your cheeks, and every step felt heavier than the last. Not from dread exactly, but from the weight of maybe.

The clinic wasn’t much to look at. Two rooms, patched-together equipment, and a nurse named Carla who used to be a vet before the world ended. She was kind, though, and knew how to keep her mouth shut. You told her you wanted to rule something out. She just nodded, handed you a cup, and pointed toward the bathroom.

You stared at the strip of plastic on the counter like it held your whole future.

Five minutes. That’s all it took.

Carla didn’t say anything right away. She just looked down at the test in her hand, then back up at you, her expression soft.

“Well,” she said, “you’re pregnant.”

The room didn’t spin. It didn’t crash down on you, either. Instead, everything went still—like the moment before a horse takes off into a gallop. Heart pounding, lungs full of something sharp and sweet.

You were going to have a baby.

Joel’s baby.

Carla asked if you were okay. You nodded before you really even felt it, voice rough when you said, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

The walk back home was slower. Like you were afraid to jostle the news loose, or maybe afraid it still wasn’t real. But your hand drifted down to your stomach more than once, resting there in quiet awe.

Now, all that was left was telling him.

And with his birthday just a few days away, you couldn’t help but wonder how in the world you were going to tell him.

Joel didn’t like birthdays.

He never made a big deal out of them before the world ended, and now… well, now they just felt like reminders. Reminders of what he’d lost. Of how much older he was getting. Of how goddamn long he’d been carrying around all this weight.

He’d never forget waking up on that birthday—the one that split his life into a before and after. Many years later, the world had changed, but the ache hadn’t. Not really.

Still, this morning started like any other. The early light crept in through the crack in the curtains, soft and gray-blue. Beside him, you were curled under the blanket, one arm slung across his stomach, your face tucked against his shoulder. Warm. Familiar. Home.

He didn’t move at first. Just lay there, eyes on the ceiling, listening to the quiet. The muffled sound of someone in the street. A rooster off in the distance. You breathing slow and steady beside him.

You made it better—this day, this life. You had a way of pulling him back from the edge without even trying. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that, to deserve you, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to take it for granted.

Your fingers twitched slightly against his chest. You were starting to stir.

He turned his head just enough to watch you, that soft haze of sleep still in your features. He found himself smiling, just a little. The lines in his face stayed, though. The ones that came from time and sorrow and holding it all in for too long.

You blinked up at him.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

“Happy birthday,” you whispered back, eyes warm and knowing.

He groaned, turning his face away slightly. “Don’t remind me.”

You gave a quiet laugh, but didn’t tease him for it. You never did. You just leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw, fingers brushing along his ribs, gentle and grounding.

“I’m makin’ you pancakes,” you added softly. “Don’t fight me on it.”

He huffed, but it wasn’t real. “‘Course you are.”

He didn’t need gifts. Didn’t want anyone making a fuss. But if the day started like this—your warmth, your voice, your lips on his skin—then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Even if he still carried the ghosts, this morning... it felt different. Like maybe something was waiting on the horizon, and he wasn’t sure what—but he trusted you’d tell him when the time was right.

You flipped the last pancake onto the plate, steam rising as you added a handful of thawed berries—ones you’d carefully saved from the last supply run. They weren’t exactly fresh, but they were sweet enough, and they made the stack look a little more festive.

Birthday pancakes.

Joel would pretend to grumble about it, but you knew he appreciated it. The small gestures. The quiet kind of love. You’d learned early on not to make a big deal of his birthday. Not out loud, anyway. But that didn’t mean you’d let it pass by like any other morning.

“Damn, something smells good,” Ellie mumbled as she shuffled into the kitchen, hair sticking up in five different directions, sleeves too long for her arms. She plopped down at the table, blinking slowly. “Is it somebody’s birthday or somethin’?”

You smirked as you slid a plate in front of her. “Could be.”

Joel followed behind her a second later, moving slower, like his body hadn’t quite forgiven him for being nearly sixty.

He rubbed at the back of his neck as he sat down across from her, eyes drifting to the plate you set in front of him.

Pancakes. Berries. A little dab of honey. No candles, no singing—just the kind of breakfast you didn’t make unless the day meant something.

He glanced at you, brow raised.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said.

“I wanted to,” you replied, brushing your hand over his shoulder as you passed. “Don’t argue with me on your birthday, Miller.”

Ellie shoveled a bite into her mouth. “Holy shit,” she mumbled. “Are these the blueberries?”

Joel chuckled under his breath, fork already in hand. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he took his first bite. You saw the tension ease in his shoulders, just a little. Maybe the day still carried shadows for him, but right now? With a warm plate in front of him and people who loved him on either side?

He was okay.

You sat down beside him, resting your hand on your lap, feeling the thrum of nerves underneath your skin.

A knock on the door broke through the calm.

Joel looked up, chewing his last bite with a quiet grunt. You stood up to answer it, already guessing who it was. Sure enough, when you opened the door, Tommy stood there with a crooked grin and two hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.

“Mornin’, birthday boy,” he called past you, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “You look real good for a hundred.”

Joel let out a groan, dragging a hand over his face. “You had to come by, didn’t you?”

“You think I’m missin’ the one day a year I get to remind you I’m younger and prettier?” Tommy grinned, clapping his brother on the back as he passed by.

“Debatable,” Ellie chimed in, still chewing. “And you missed the berries.”

Tommy’s eyes lit up. “Berries?”

“Yup,” you said with an apologetic shrug, walking back to the stove. “Saved 'em for Joel. There’s still pancakes, though.”

Tommy sniffed the air like a bloodhound. “You spoil this man.”

“Someone has to,” you quipped, already grabbing another plate.

You served him a healthy stack—no berries this time, just a bit of honey and some leftover butter—and slid into your seat again. Joel was watching you, his eyes soft beneath the usual weight. He hadn’t said much, but you could feel it in the way his hand drifted to your knee under the table. Just a gentle touch. A quiet thanks.

Tommy shoveled in a bite and made a loud, satisfied sound. “Hot damn. You better marry her before someone else do.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You wanna lose a tooth today?”

You laughed, elbow resting on the table, chin in your hand. The teasing, the warmth, the way Ellie rolled her eyes and asked if she could have seconds—it all made the house feel full in a way you never took for granted.

Still, under it all, the secret sat in your chest like a fluttering heartbeat.

You’d give it a moment. Let them finish breakfast. Let Joel have this calm before you turned his world upside down.

In a good way, you hoped.

The house felt quieter once the door shut behind Ellie and Tommy. The laughter lingered in the walls for a moment, then faded, replaced by the gentle creak of wood and the soft clink of dishes as you rinsed them off.

Joel was still finishing the last of his coffee, sitting back in his chair, watching you. He looked more relaxed now—shoulders looser, lines around his mouth softened. Birthdays were hard for him, but this one… it hadn’t been bad.

You dried your hands on a dish towel, heart thudding steady but loud. You knew you couldn’t wait any longer.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping toward him. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

His brow knit slightly, but he nodded, setting the mug down. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” you breathed, sitting down across from him, your hands resting in your lap. “Not wrong. Just… big.”

Joel leaned forward, elbows on the table. You reached for his hand without thinking, grounding yourself in the warmth of his calloused fingers.

“I didn’t know how to bring this up earlier. Didn’t wanna spring it on you in front of everyone,” you started, voice quiet. “But I’ve been feelin’… off. The past few weeks.”

His expression shifted—concern flickering behind his eyes, guarded like always. “You sick?”

You shook your head, a nervous smile tugging at your lips. “No. I went to the clinic yesterday. Ran a test.” You swallowed, heart climbing to your throat. “Joel… I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like dust caught in sunlight.

Joel blinked. Once. Twice. He didn’t say anything—just stared at you, eyes wide, unreadable. Then slowly, without a word, he stood up from the table and took a step back, hand resting on the edge of the counter like he needed something to hold onto.

“You’re… you’re sure sure?” he asked, voice hoarse. “I mean—are they sure?”

You gave a soft laugh, heart aching with affection. “Yeah. They’re sure. I’m late, the test was positive, and… I feel it. I know it.”

Joel let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years. His shoulders dropped as he sat back down, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I just—I didn’t think—I mean, hell, at my age?” he muttered, almost to himself, eyes wide and almost dazed. “I didn’t think that was even possible anymore.”

You reached for his hand again, thumb brushing the top of his knuckles. “Well… apparently it is.”

He looked at you then—really looked at you. And something shifted in his face. Like the ground underneath him had tilted, but he was choosing to stay standing anyway.

“You’re… you’re okay with this?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “I wouldn’t have told you today if I wasn’t. I know it’s gonna be a lot, but… yeah. I’m okay with it. More than okay.”

Joel’s eyes started to glisten, and he cleared his throat hard, blinking fast as he turned his face away for a second. When he looked back at you, his voice was thick.

“Thank you,” he said.

It broke something open in you.

“For what?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“For this. For you. For givin’ me a reason to think there’s still more life out there for me than just survivin’.”

He reached out, cupped your cheek with a rough hand, his thumb brushing just under your eye.

“I didn’t think I’d get a second chance,” he murmured. “Not with someone like you. Not like this.”

You leaned into his palm, smiling through the tears that started to slip down your cheeks.

“Well… surprise,” you whispered.

Joel gave a breath of a laugh, then leaned in and kissed you—slow, steady, reverent. The kind of kiss that said everything his words couldn’t. The kind of kiss that promised he would be here for all of it.

For you.

For the baby.

For the life you were building together, one quiet moment at a time.

Sunday dinner was loud in the best way.

Tommy and Joel had spent the afternoon repairing one of the water lines near the edge of town, and both were still rubbing their lower backs like old men. Maria was bouncing little Benji on her knee, spoon-feeding him mashed carrots between exaggerated airplane noises, while Ellie recounted an incident involving a runaway chicken and a pitchfork.

You’d always loved these nights—long tables, shared food, laughter that made the walls feel smaller in the best way. But tonight, your hands kept drifting to your lap, nerves curling in your stomach even though you’d done this a dozen times in your head.

Joel’s knee brushed yours beneath the table.

He glanced at you, gave a small nod.

It was time.

You reached for your glass and gently tapped your spoon against it. “Uh… can I say something real quick?”

The table quieted. Benji let out a soft squeak and tried to grab a carrot off Maria’s plate.

Joel cleared his throat. “We’ve got some news.”

Maria looked up first, brows raised. Ellie paused mid-chew.

You smiled nervously, heart thumping. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, no one said a word. Then—

“What?” Ellie blurted, voice cracking halfway through the word.

Joel chuckled low under his breath, his hand slipping onto your thigh, grounding. Ellie set her fork down slowly, blinking like she hadn’t quite heard you right.

“You mean like… an actual baby?” she asked, eyes wide. “Your baby?”

You nodded, leaning closer to Joel's side. “Yeah. Our baby.”

Ellie opened her mouth, closed it, then reached for her water like her brain needed a reboot. “Holy shit.”

“Language,” Joel murmured.

“I’m gonna be a big sister?” she asked softly, blinking hard. And then her face cracked into a smile—wide and kind of watery. “I’m gonna be a big sister.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair and let out a low whistle, grinning ear to ear. “Joel, buddy. You still got swimmers at your age?”

Joel groaned loudly. “Tommy, I swear—”

“I mean, damn! You’re nearly sixty and still makin’ babies? What’s in the water over at your place?”

You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand. Joel muttered something under his breath, but he was smiling, too, shaking his head as Tommy clapped him on the back.

Maria just laughed and leaned her cheek against Benji’s soft hair. “Honestly, I had a feeling.”

Joel looked at her sideways. “You did?”

“You turned down a glass of wine at dinner last week,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You. You never turn down wine.”

You shrugged with a grin. “Was trying to be subtle.”

“Well, I’m glad you told us now,” she said, smiling warmly. “Benji’s gonna need a little buddy to boss around.”

Benji cooed like he somehow approved.

Then Maria stood and crossed the space to pull you into a hug, tight and full of warmth. Ellie joined a second later, throwing her arms around both of you, mumbling something like “I’m not crying” even though she very much was.

Tommy wrapped an arm around Joel with a playful shake and muttered, “Old man,” while Joel just rolled his eyes and let it happen.

In the middle of it all—arms tangled, laughter echoing, and that familiar scent of home-cooked food still hanging in the air—you felt it.

Family.

Not perfect. Not always easy. But real. Rooted. Growing.

And you were bringing another piece into it.

Dinner had long passed. The dishes were done, the laughter faded into memory, and Ellie had gone back to her room with a final hug that lingered just a little longer than usual.

Now, the two of you were tucked beneath the soft quilt, the chill of Jackson’s night air kept at bay by Joel’s familiar warmth beside you. The house creaked gently, like it was settling in for the night too.

You lay on your side, facing him, his arm already around you. The bedside lamp was off, but the moonlight spilling through the window was enough to catch the faint lines on his face—the quiet, thoughtful ones that only ever appeared when he let his guard down.

He hadn’t said much since the others left. Not out of hesitation, but the way he always got when something mattered so much it felt sacred.

His fingers brushed your stomach lightly under your shirt. Slow. Careful.

There wasn’t much of a bump yet—just the slightest swell, barely there—but his touch was reverent, like he was afraid to miss even a second of it.

“That’s really ours in there,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. “Whole little person. Just... growin’.”

Your hand covered his. “Yeah. They’re in there.”

He shifted closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then just above your temple.

“I keep thinkin’ I’ll wake up,” he murmured. “That this is some dream I’m gonna lose. But then I touch you, and it’s real.”

You turned your face to kiss the underside of his jaw, voice soft. “It’s real, Joel. You’re here. I’m here. We’re here.”

He nodded, throat tight. His palm stayed resting on your belly, like it anchored him.

“I ever tell you how much I love you?” he asked, voice thick with quiet emotion.

You smiled. “You show me every day.”

“Gonna say it anyway,” he whispered, kissing you again. “I love you, darlin’. More than I got words for.”

The two of you fell asleep like that—his hand over the life you were building together, your fingers laced with his, hearts beating steady in the dark.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Joel Miller didn’t feel haunted by his past.

He felt ready for the future.

[hanimanny]

SHE'S BARBIE, AND HES JUST… TIM?

a.k.a Bruce notices the many upgrades Tim's been getting since your arrival.

tags: Tim Drake x reader (established relationship), Bruce Wayne x platonic!reader, crack, pretty bird is a certified genius!!!

word count: 2.2k , likes + comments + reblogs appreciated

It first started when Bruce and Tim—in the furry persona—went out on a reconnaissance mission gone wrong.

It was a trap! The blueprints for a deadly android able to possess and control whatever tech exists was rumored to be lurking around this area is nowhere to be seen, and instead, they were greeted with an army of robots. Old prototypes, tank-like and bulky, nothing like they were searching for but still extremely difficult to deal with. 

The robots had surrounded them, and the usual method of overloading them wouldn't work, not with this kind—they were clearly built to take a beating. 

While Batman fights expertly as he does, brute-forcing his way through by ripping out their motherboards, Red Robin takes a different approach. 

He takes his bo-staff, which looks a bit different from his usual one—glowing a faint blue light at its tips—and hums as it spins (yes, like a lightsaber) and tags the robots. 

He rapidly taps the bots with his staff while simultaneously avoiding the attacks targeted at him until he reaches the other side of the warehouse, tagging at least half of the robots. 

With a click of his bo-staff, all the robots drop dead, as if life has been sucked out of them. 

Strange, what the heck did Red Robin do? 

Soon, like a domino effect, the nearby robots to the dead ones drop as well, as if they were infected with the same virus Tim had infected them with. 

“Batman, the nano-virus will only incapacitate them; they’ll wake up in the next hour,” Red Robin informs as he takes the end of his bo-staff and stabs it through a robot's chest—destroying the motherboard.

Nanovirus? When did he come up with that? Sure, the idea of nanotech was prevalent, especially in this day and age, but quick-acting nanotechnology that was able to instantly incapacitate any tech—be it only for an hour—is incredible. 

Batman nods, keeping it in mind to question Red Robin during the debrief, and continues to destroy the robots. 

But the debrief wasn’t helpful at all. Tim was being as elusive as ever, which he thinks he picked up from himself. Saying that the Nano-Virus was a random project that he wanted to try out, that it wasn’t supposed to work this well. 

Overcompensating. Tim’s trying to hide something. He may be great at keeping his tone varied and avoiding detailed explanations that would definitely raise flags, but Bruce is the greatest detective alive and can see through anything. 

Bruce gives Tim a stern scolding. Tell him that he needs to be informed of anything, even if he’s just on a trial. It may have worked this time, but the future is always unforeseen, then dismisses him. 

He’ll get to the bottom of this. 

The next time Bruce sees changes, it’s in Tim’s demeanor. 

He’s been brighter; not that he wasn’t happy before, but Tim has been more chipper. He could assume that was from having a girlfriend—the girl who works as one of the lead biotechnology engineers at Wayne Enterprises, who somehow pulled a Tim (it’s what the kids are calling it) and discovered all their identity in the first week of meeting them. Bruce would lie if he said he wasn’t impressed, especially with how you had no prior experience with being a detective (aside from doxxing people in your teenage years). 

The stress of not needing to hide who and what you are from the person you love is surely elating, but that wasn’t it (maybe partially). 

Maybe bright isn’t the term to describe it… It’s more like he’s free. 

Tim sat on the couch, nursing a large bright red Stanley cup in one hand—probably filled with an ungodly amount of caffeine—and the TV remote in the other. 

“You normally watch in your room.” Bruce's voice breaks the silence between Tim and the paused movie on the flatscreen. Tim peaks over his shoulder, as if he had to make sure that the deep stoic voice belonged to Bruce. 

“Sup B, I do, but Birdie wants the big screen experience—like my room doesn’t have it,” he scoffs as he takes a glug of his drink. 

Bruce nods as he observes Tim further. “You seem less stressed,” he prompts. 

“Yeah, Birdie came up with an A.I able to sort the paperwork and get background checks on every company that wants to make a proposal with WE, so I got less on my plate.” Tim sighs, as if he doesn’t have a pile of untouched cases back at the batcave. “Did you know we have at least 250 fraudulent companies trying to make deals with us? Insane,” he mumbles before his lips are back in the cup. 

“Also, she has me drinking more than 8 cups of water a day; I’ve never felt more alive.” Tim rattles the Stanley cup, hearing the clashing of ice against its metal walls, before again, taking a fat swig. 

Bruce’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and not because of Tim’s unhealthy habits (maybe just a little actually). Not only were you able to convince Tim away from his horrible caffeine addiction, although he was still skeptical about the front, but you were able to come up with a program that passes Tim’s savant expectations. 

You would be a great asset to the league, especially now because you know their identities. 

You walk into the living room, startled, as you’d been dead in your tracks at the doorway. 

Your eyes flick towards Bruce, then Tim, then back at Bruce, then Tim. and then—

You’ll never get used to Bruce’s intimidating aura. 

“H-hello, Mr. Bruce Wayne, sir,” you stumble out and… bow? What the heck! You inwardly cringe at your action as you pull yourself up, gripping the bowl of popcorn with an unprecedented amount of strength. 

Tim chuckles at your words, and Bruce settles a gentle smile on his lips because—after an extensive background check on—you truly are as sweet as Tim describes. 

“Didn’t I say to call me, Bruce?”

Your face pales as if you’ve committed the greatest sin alive, as you visibly gulp (at least he still has his intimidation skills). “Yes, Bruce Wayne—I mean, just Bruce,” you nod as your eyes flick at Tim, who reads your mind (but I mean, it’s clear what you’re trying to do). 

“Say, Bruce, do you want to join us for our movie date?” Tim asks, and your face loses all its color at this point. Bruce laughs softly at the comedy of the moment and shakes his head for your sake: “It’s okay, you kids have fun.” 

You wait for Bruce to take his leave, bowing again (seriously, would you stop doing that!). before you scurry off to Tim’s welcoming side, letting out a mixture between a whine and a groan of embarrassment. 

Bruce will save the interrogation for later, saving you the trouble of passing out due to fear and embarrassment. 

Before he's completely out of earshot, Bruce picks up the lingering conversation between the two of you. 

“He's my boss!”

“I’m your boss.”

“That’s different; you’re a loser.” 

“rude”

“Cry about it, furry.”

“Technically, Bruce calls himself Batman, so he’s also—

“If you ever tell him I said that, I'll be sure to put laxatives in all your foods.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The last innovation that goes under his nose happens, literally, under his nose. or more so the batcave. 

Scarecrow escaped, fear gas smothering the streets, and everyone is in the bat cave preparing to leave for the battlefield. 

Gearing up in his quarters, Bruce—moments before the cowl is up—sees you whispering frantically to Tim, who’s dressed in his own kevlar gear—besides the mask—consoling you gently. 

You seem nervous, more nervous than you normally are when he’s in your vicinity. You’re holding a metallic case to your chest, mumbling something he can’t quite hear. 

Then Tim speaks up, “Bruce!” Not just Bruce looks at him; the others do too—Dick, Damian, and Alfred. Tim then ushers you in front of him, and the way you clutch onto the briefcase makes you seem like a little bird. 

“Come on, pretty bird, you know it’ll work,” he encourages, and you take the deepest breath known to man. 

“I made a vaccination for fear gas.” You start, your shoulders squaring as you stare directly at Bruce, “It blocks any foreign neurotransmitters from pursuing infiltration, so think of it as antibodies for a virus. You inhale it just like fear gas, and you will be immune; it's viable for any variation of fear gas—because I designed it to be fast-adapting—for 24 hrs.”

“Of course, it does vary between everyone’s metabolism, and it must adapt to you first, so for it to work I need to infuse it with your DNA,” you mumble the last part out. 

“And how are you sure it’ll work?”

“I tested it out on myself, which is a very invalid trial, but I promise you, Bruce W.-Bruce, it’ll work.” There's a glint of determination in your eye. Bruce pauses at that and stares at you with his iconic glare. “We’ll discuss this when we get back; how do you administer the DNA?”

Your meek demeanor slowly leaves you as you perk at his acceptance, scurrying away from Tim and towards Bruce. “You just need to prick your finger, wait a minute for everything to infuse, and use it like you use an inhaler,” you instruct as you crouch down to open the case. 

You get to work, pricking Bruce first, then Dick, and with much reluctance from Damian, him as well. 

“Why isn’t Drake taking one?” Damian calls out as you hand the inhaler to the boy. 

You glance over to Tim, who's already looking at you: “Umm… I kinda sorta… already took it.” Bruce deadpans and glares and sighs all at the same time. Tim braces himself for a lecture, but it doesn't come. 

“We don't have time. Let's go.

Bruce turns away, pulling his cowl on, but not before he sees you launch yourself into Tim’s arms in a fit of relief. 

“I can't believe I did that.”

“I can. You're one of a kind, Pretty Bird.”

Bruce huffs and shakes his head. 

…

When they all return, they are much less banged up than they normally are. Your vaccine worked wonders; although temporary, this innovation is amazing! The pathways that have opened are endless; you truly are incredible.

Bruce, of course, forces you to sit through the debrief, which was actually not that bad. Hearing that your vaccine worked way better than expected fills your chest with pride. You can't help but steal glances from Tim, who is fully locked in Red Robin mode right now and doesn't even spare you a glance, but he does give your thigh a little squeeze, something to tell you that he is proud. 

The lectures you receive, on the other hand… You don't know how Tim does it; sit through it with a straight face. You're sitting with your wits tight, breath held, and sweat dripping down your temple. You blink in a daze as you listen to Batman drone about safety, teamwork, and the ethics of self-experimentation and how you should definitely not do it. 

You don't notice the pause in the lecture, zoned out completely to save your heart the trouble of all the anxiety. Although your name coming out of Batman’s mouth surely draws you back into reality. Your eyes focus again, and you’re met with Batman’s infamous gaze.

“Yes?” You squeak out, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Do you want to work for me?” 

You blink owlishly, and your brows furrow in confusion, giving Tim a glance, who only shrugs in response. 

“Um, Mr. Bruce… I already am… working for you— I mean.

“No, as a family physician, I've seen all your degrees: board-certified doctor, surgeon, and PhD in multiple fields. You can work from the manor as well. It's convenient that you already know all our identities and the inner workings of this family. I've also seen the tech upgrades you've given Tim. I believe you will be a great asset.” 

Tim clears his throat, and Bruce spares him a glance. 

“Great addition,” he corrects himself. 

You're bubbling in your spot next to Tim, like a volcano ready to erupt. 

“I would love to work with you all,” you reply back, but it's obvious you're trying to keep your composure in front of Bruce. 

“You can let loose, Pretty Bird, B doesn't bite,” you erupt with permission from Tim. But what neither man expects is for you to launch yourself into Bruce, squeeze him like a giant teddy bear, and let out a string of thank yous. 

Tim is stuck between a state of horror, adoration, and relief watching you hug Bruce with all your might. He didn't know whether to stop you, cheer you on, or simply pass out. 

“I won't let you down, Bruce!” You pull away, and there's a bright gleam in your eye, something that Gotham lacks entirely. 

Where the hell did Tim find this girl?

“Let's go, Duckie!” 

And you're off, pulling Tim along, who’s sporting a lovesick grin. 

The adventures of Pretty bird (shenanigans revolving you and Tim's family)

[rafedarling]

Rustyn goes through a phase where he is very clingy towards the reader and wants to hug and kiss his mother all the time and whenever Drew approaches or kisses the reader, Rustyn becomes irritable because his mother is only for him ,sorry if he gets too involved English is not my first language

𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐚, 𝐧𝐨

pairing: dad!drew starkey x fem!reader

summary: drew loves teasing his little buddy especially now that rustyn has entered a clingy phase. he insists on being the sole recipient of your affection, becoming hilariously territorial whenever drew so much as gives you a kiss.

warning(s): fluff, teasing banter, a possessive toddler, mild suggestive humor between parents, and lots of adorable family dynamics.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe

Rustyn just woke up from his nap as you sat comfortably on the couch, cradling Rustyn in your arms. At two years old, your son was growing fast, but right now, he seemed small and vulnerable as he snuggled against you, freshly awake from his nap. His tiny arms wrapped securely around your neck, and his head rested on your chest, soaking in your warmth.

“You have a good nap, sweetheart?” you murmured softly, running your fingers through his messy hair.

Rustyn nodded sleepily, his body still heavy with the haze of sleep. He hummed contentedly, nestling even closer.

From across the room, Drew’s familiar voice broke the peace.

“Baby,” he called, his tone laced with affection.

You looked up to find your husband leaning casually against the doorway, his blue eyes sparkling as they met yours. He wore his usual easy grin, the kind that made your heart flutter even after all these how many years.

“Hmm?” you replied, your lips curling into a smile.

Drew crossed the room in a few strides, leaning down to kiss you. His lips brushed yours softly.

Before you could reciprocate, however, a firm “No!” interrupted the moment.

You pulled back slightly, startled, and glanced down to see Rustyn glaring up at Drew. His tiny hand shot up, attempting to push Drew away from you.

“Excuse me?” Drew asked, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. He crouched down to Rustyn’s level, resting his forearms on his knees.

“Are you trying to tell me I can’t kiss Mommy?”

Rustyn nodded solemnly, his blue eyes narrowing in determination.

“Mommy’s mine,” he declared, his voice firm despite its high-pitched sweetness.

Drew chuckled, straightening up and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, really? Well, fyi ‘for your information’, little man, Mommy was my woman first. Before you even existed.”

Rustyn’s face twisted into an exaggerated pout, his small arms tightening possessively around your neck.

“No. Mommy’s mine,” he repeated, his tone unwavering.

You stifled a laugh, brushing a hand over Rustyn’s curls.

“Drew, stop teasing him. He just woke up.”

“But it’s so easy,” Drew said with a grin, leaning down to kiss your temple.

Rustyn immediately reacted, a whiny “No!” escaping him as he pushed at Drew’s shoulder with all his might.

“Alright, alright,” Drew said, stepping back with his hands raised in surrender.

“I’ll back off for now.”

Rustyn gave him a triumphant look, his little chest puffed out as he settled back against you.

You shook your head, biting back a smile.

“You know you’re just making it worse, right?”

“Yeah,” Drew admitted, plopping down on the couch beside you.

“But come on, look at him. He’s like a tiny bodyguard.”

Rustyn’s eyes darted suspiciously toward Drew, as though ensuring he wouldn’t try anything again.

Drew leaned closer to you, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“You think he’s gonna start charging me a toll just to kiss my own wife?”

You laughed quietly, careful not to disturb Rustyn.

“Wouldn’t surprise me. He’s been attached to me like glue all week.”

“Bathroom glue?” Drew asked, raising an eyebrow.

You groaned.

“Yes, even bathroom glue.”

Drew whistled, shaking his head.

“Man, he’s really got me beat.”

The next morning, Drew woke up to the sound of giggles coming from the living room. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and padded down the hallway, stopping in his tracks when he saw you and Rustyn sitting on the floor.

You were still in your pjs, your hair loosely tied back, as Rustyn sat in your lap, clumsily stacking blocks. He was giggling uncontrollably.

Drew leaned against the doorway, with a fond smile across his face.

“Well, don’t I feel left out?”

Rustyn’s laughter ceased abruptly as he looked up, his expression instantly turning wary.

“Good morning, you two,” Drew said, stepping into the room.

He crouched down beside you and reached out to ruffle Rustyn’s hair.

“Morning,” you replied with a smile, tilting your head to kiss Drew on the cheek.

Rustyn, however, wasn’t having it. He quickly turned to block Drew’s path, wrapping his arms around you protectively.

“Mine!” he declared, his voice carrying the authority of someone much older than three.

Drew snorted. “Here we go… again.”

You tried to smooth things over, rubbing Rustyn’s back.

“Rustyn, sweetie, Dada’s just saying good morning.”

“No,” Rustyn said stubbornly, glaring at Drew.

“Wow, sassy” Drew said, sitting back on his heels.

“You really don’t want to share, huh?”

Rustyn shook his head firmly, burying his face in your shoulder.

You sighed, giving Drew an apologetic look.

“He’s in full cling mode right now. It’s a phase.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll remember this when he’s a teenager and wants nothing to do with either of us,” Drew said, though his tone was light.

Rustyn peeked out at Drew, his pout softening slightly.

“Mommy’s mine,” he whispered, as if reiterating his claim.

“Alright, alright, she’s all yours” Drew said, holding up his hands.

Rustyn grinned, clearly satisfied with his victory.

Drew shook his head, chuckling.

“You know, for someone so small, he’s got a lot of attitude.”

“Wonder where he gets it from,” you teased, raising an eyebrow at Drew.

Drew smirked. “Definitely you.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. Moments like this were your favorite.

By the afternoon, Drew decided it was time to reclaim some territory. While Rustyn was busy playing with his toy cars, Drew sidled up to you in the kitchen.

You were chopping vegetables for lunch when he slipped his arms around your waist from behind.

“Hi,” he murmured against your ear.

“Hello,” you replied, smiling as you leaned into him.

“You know,” Drew began, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, “I don’t think Rustyn’s watching right now.”

You turned your head to look at him.

“Drew,” you warned, though your tone lacked any real conviction.

“What? Can’t a husband show his wife some affection?” he asked innocently.

Before you could respond, the sound of tiny feet padding into the kitchen reached your ears.

Rustyn appeared in the doorway, his eyes narrowing when he saw Drew holding you.

“No!”

Drew sighed dramatically, releasing you and turning to face Rustyn. “Really? I can’t even hug Mommy now?”

Rustyn marched over, his little fists balled up at his sides.

“No, Dada! Mommy’s mine!”

Drew knelt down to his son’s level, shaking his head.

“You’ve got some nerve, kid.”

Rustyn crossed his arms, his pout deepening.

“Mommy loves me more.”

Drew gasped, clutching his chest as though Rustyn’s words had physically wounded him.

“Oh, that’s cold, buddy. Real cold.”

You laughed, leaning against the counter.

“You walked right into that one.”

Drew looked up at you, his expression mock-wounded.

“You’re supposed to have my back.”

“I’m just enjoying the show,” you teased.

Rustyn, now satisfied that Drew had been properly put in his place, turned back to you and raised his arms. “Mama up, pleaze.”

You obliged, scooping him up and resting him on your hip.

Drew shook his head as he stood. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Rusty.”

Rustyn stuck his tongue out at Drew, prompting you to scold him gently. “Rustyn, be nice to Dada.”

“Yeah, listen to Mommy,” Drew said, grinning.

Rustyn huffed but leaned his head against your shoulder, clearly unwilling to share you anytime soon.

Drew stepped closer, placing a hand on your back.

“One day, buddy, you’re gonna regret pushing me away. You’ll want my advice on girls, sports, life…and I might just remind you of this moment.”

Rustyn didn’t respond, already drifting off into another nap.

You smiled at Drew, your heart full. “You know he loves you, right?”

“Oh, I know,” Drew said, his grin softening into a tender smile.

“But right now, he’s a mommy’s boy so...”

“And you wouldn’t have it any other way,” you added knowingly.

Drew nodded, wrapping an arm around you both.

“Not for a second.”