#for some of the things i agree i guess but

[nightingale-prompts]

Health Code Violation- DC x DP prompt

"Hold on there. You're not permitted beyond this point." The floating teenage boy said as he tucked his clipboard under his arm.

After a battle with another world-ending villain Superman was killed in action and after a short debate the decision to revive him using the Lazarus Pit was made. However, the league members who were carrying his body to the pit didn't expect it to be blocked off with caution tape. A teenage boy with stark white hair and wearing a hard hat and orange construction vest.

"What are you doing out here kid? And what is with the tape?" Barry asked shifting Clark's heavy ass body from crushing him.

"I'm here to take a look at the leak." He said pointing a thumb in the direction of the green pit.

"The leak?" Diana echoed in confusion.

"Yeah, your planet has a leak. A few actually. Our realm hasn't been managed well and now that the old king is gone we need to fix some things. Right now the leaks need to be sealed." He said. "Also what's with the dead guy?"

"We were bringing him to the Lazarus Pit to revive him." Barry said blankly.

The teen shook his head in astonishment almost dropping his clipboard.

"You are what?! With the what?!"

"The Lazarus pit...?" Hal laughed nervously his face in a half-quirked smile.

"You call it a Lazarus Pit? Guys this is a pool of contaminated ectoplasm. Basically sewage. This thing is full of dead people juice. All those leftover emotions and obsessions are stewing in there. You toss that body in these pool and you'll make a revenant full of anger. It doesn't even have an ecosystem to cleanse it. It's like stagnant water." The teen said waving his pen around before pausing "Wait a minute....you people have been using it? No wonder it's so polluted! What is wrong with you?! Are you trying to contaminate your planet? Do you want zombies?"

It was kind of weird to be scolded by a kid, for everyone but Bruce. He thought of a more pragmatic approach. He didn't like the pit but he acknowledged it's usefulness.

"I understand. But we do want to save our friend and the only way is to use the pit."

"That's a big ask. The pit is one thing but bringing back the dead willy nilly? ...But I guess that's my domain now.. "

The teen mumbled to himself before sighing.

"Look, I want to help. I really do. But the pit is unstable and there are many more on this planet with the same issue. We can't risk an apocalypse and the chance they get into the wrong hands. This is for the safety of your planet." The teen said as mannerly as possible as he dismissed the heros.

"Come on, please. Our friend is dead. You don't want our friend to die." Barry said pleadingly.

"Very mature of you. A bit of shame might help you...alright fine but don't badger me again." The silver-haired being said taking out a small syringe and taking a sample of his own blood.

"It's diluted compared to the pure stuff but 10x stronger than the stuff in the pool. It's safer and once he's kicking again it'll drain out of his system." He tossed the needle to Barry and returned to taking samples of the pit. "This biohazard requires an ecologist. I'll have to import some blob feeders to clean up the toxins. Then either seal this up or link it to the network. But these dumb mortals are just going to keep dumping bodies into it."

The teen mumbled to himself as he tried to find a solution.

A week later all the Lazarus pits had disappeared. The Al Ghuls were scrambling as the source of their powers dried up.

Clark was alive and feeling better than ever. No pit rage at all.

Eventually the boy returned.

"I had a talk with the ancients and they agreed to let you have one ecto pool. Only one thought and it has to be managed by me. As long as you don't try abusing it by going into it while alive or not asking permission I'll allow you to use it. Also, be mindful of my cleaning wisps, they work very hard to keep the natural flow of the ecto cycle going." The teen said holding up a green little ghost blob and petting it.

[ventique18]

Dragon Malleus headcanons

You're used to how he looks in his two-legged fae form. Everyone is, honestly. But the thing is, that's not really how he truly, originally looks like. And though he knows his form of flesh is just as much of who he is as his origin, there are times when he undergoes some sort of withdrawal; a primal need to be back in the skin he was molded in. So he would occasionally spend a few days living his life as a gigantic dragon.

He doesn't particularly like being in his dragon form. He knows he's glorious and takes pride in that, of course, but it's just that it's so inconvenient. He can't fit in places. He can't grab things. He can't make gargoyles. He has to eat an entire town's worth of food just to not be hungry. But most of all, he can't really feel.

He's extremely durable. He's already impervious to damage in his humanoid form, but even more so as a dragon with walls and walls of the hardest material on Twisted Wonderland permanently attached to his body. Which is great, of course-- it's essential to his survival, but it comes with the caveat that no matter how much you touch him, no matter how much you try to show physical affection towards him, he simply cannot feel.

But there is one part of him that's soft. Something that isn't covered inch to inch in scales. His tongue.

So what best to take advantage of this little weakness than to cover you head to toe in slobber, of course?

Take note that him doing so doesn't imply anything malicious (unless you want to, of course). It's just that it's so easy to feel your presence by licking you. He can touch you without accidentally hurting you. And, as much as he refuses to admit it to avoid sounding like a pervert, being able to smell your familiar scent gives him a tender comfort. A sense of welcoming even in this world that refuses to welcome him in his rawest form.

But being covered in slobber isn't exactly the best feeling in the world. When you tell him that, the... fins on his jaw draw back, and he plants himself on the ground; snout partially buried behind his curled claws. Dragons aren't particularly expressive, but you can safely guess that he's feeling guilty of bothering you.

So you offer to help him find somewhere else to touch. He's a bit hesitant-- it seems dragons don't like the idea of exploring their weaknesses, but he agrees because it's you.

And would you look at that. He can feel you when you vigorously rub his belly. The feeling isn't really as detailed as his tongue's, but he can feel something. And it feels rather... Rather... Relaxing. He's huge though, so from your perspective it's like washing a car, but with exaggerated movements as a stroke from your height's head to toe is like scratching a spot for him.

It's tiring, but you persist with the power of love.

So this becomes a habit for you. When he transforms into a dragon, he would ask you to rub his belly, or ask for your permission to be licked if you don't look like you're in a bad mood that day. All of this is done somewhere private, of course.

So when someone would walk in by accident... And witness their prince rolled over like a dog, getting petted on his tummy... It goes to say that the dragon would be gone in a flash; replaced by a very angry, very threatening unit of a man very politely asking the intruder if he saw something. Of course the answer is always "not a single thing, sir!".

You laugh, and ask if he wants to continue with what you were doing. He sighs, refuses, and says he's not in the mood for childish amusement anymore.

"But... I can think of other, more enjoyable things we can do together."

And so the dragon, now in his villainous, irresistibly devilish form, whisks his prisoner away to a place no one knows.

[deadalienspace]

i think sometimes dni lists are needed. sometimes. in case when someone says this is safe space for xyz group of ppl, it's intended to be a space only for them to interact with each other and they deserve this one space without others butting in. then sure, i get why u need dni in that case. the idea sounds cool... but do likes count as interacting, that's good question.

however if dni lists concept is overused, it loses its purpose. so yea, more likely ppl u dont want to interact with, they will come to u to annoy u on purpose. it's weird but that's true.

also sometimes it's just connected to dislikes right? then just block things u don't like. it is that easy. really. tags filter, content filter, they are here for a purpose. even for things like, words u dont like sound of. for example photosynthesis, jiggle, or even chair. put that fucking chair in both filters. done, u are free from seeing and reading it at random times now. no chair, unless u decide to click on, view post with filtered tags. u will only know it's in the post, but u will quickly scroll down, and u will save urself from feeling uncomfy. ^^

mistagging is also common, but guess what, ppl can make mistakes. it's hard to decide what to put in tags sometimes. it's easier to write first thing that seem accurate, only later to discover, it got misinterpreted as tagging it wrong on purpose. that's okay. and even if that one mutual got angry at u for that, u can just apologise and go with ur day normally. if they like and respect u as a person, they won't unfollow and block and report u for smth so stupid as accidental mistagging :>

talking abt mutuals and followers. i often follow blogs i like vibes of, i think are cool, i consider different but interesting, i dont agree with but want to know more abt stuff posted there, and we don't even have to have shared interests or similar content. if i got told by everyone here that i can't interact with them, even by liking posts i like, it would make no sense. cuz hey, i simply like what u write, im not here to attack u personally.

of course my vibes can be confusing, considering i have no idea how to describe myself accurately, idk if my interests won't change, idk what's the purpose of my blog - i simply want ppl to feel safe and entertained while reading it, and if i had dni, it would feel unfair. there was time i wrote in my bio that everyone is welcome here except for terfs, bigots "etc" but it was badly worded so i gave up on creating dni lists. now it just says that i block ppl who make me super uncomfy :)

and i don't expect each every person i follow to follow me back and like my contect same amount as i like theirs. i like ur stuff, u don't have to like mine. why not just follow each other and coexist even if there's not much shared topics? if i don't feel safe and welcomed in some spaces i will simply ignore them. if it makes me feel big big emotions, i read like two posts, think abt it, and block. that's it.

i don't respect DNIs not in the sense i go out of my way to break them but in the sense that i don't respect DNIs as a concept and consider them to be something of a red flag in general.

i'm not sure how to explain it but it's the combination of usually putting very serious issues on the same level as fandom stuff, the fact that half the time people don't even know what they're against beyond 'the bad stuff' therefore even further watering these issues down, and the idea that other people are expected to manage your online existence for you.

there's a passiveness to it that i think is actually a problem and it does not surprise me in the slightest that people with DNIs tend to view what media they consume as activism. do you get what i'm saying.

[reidsmanuscript]

Meet the Minds

Summary: 4 years after that one time in a bar, on how your character Criminal Minds was born, and maybe how something else was also borned. Pairing: mgg x actress!reader Genre: friends to lovers?, fluff, mutual pinning TW: Public Scrutiny/Fame, reader has severally parents issues, plus they are passive aggressive but it's short i swear, brief mention of cheating, mgg takes a minute to appear i know im sorry, long introduction wc: 3.7k! A/N: hopefully someone will understand what I'm aiming for with both of my dear !readers, this is with the solely purpose to treat myself i fear Masterlist!

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Since that one time in a bar it has been 4 years. Your show City Lights has gotten big. And when you say big, it was BIG, and so did you.

You were wrapping up the third season of the show, with a renewed contract for the next season in hand and a few promising movie proposals. In the past four years, you and your friends have become famous. Not A-list famous, but enough that if any of you went out, someone would recognize you, or a few paparazzi might follow your every move.

The four of you had lived in the same apartment in New York ever since filming started on location. HBO wanted your friendship to feel authentic for the cameras, and boy, were you grateful for that… because they had become your true best friends—not just on TV, but in real life.

It was Ashley, Jack and Nathan. Something that always happens when you start a show and it gets views it’s that the whole crew becomes a big family. In the middle of the second season, you finally mustered the courage to ask the showrunner, Jeff Davis, if you could join the writers' table to pitch some ideas for your character. He agreed, and since then, some of the best storylines on the show had come from your contributions.

The thing was, your name brought in big numbers, and it had caught the attention of producers and showrunners alike. Criminal Minds had premiered a year ago, gained some traction, but they wanted to take it to the next level. So Jeff, the same creator of your show, called you and your agent to see if you could join the cast.

There were two problems. First, your schedule was already packed. Moving to L.A. for the shoot wasn’t an option—City Lights had you locked in for the fourth season, and there was a possibility you'd land the lead in a promising film. On top of that, you were still taking college classes from a foreign university at your parents' insistence. So, being a recurring character was out of the question.

Second, when they handed you the script, you hated the character. They wanted you to be the fan favorite, Spencer Reid’s love interest, and while you had no problem with that, the character itself didn’t sit right with you. She was this sweet, innocent woman, one who was a victim from one unsub, and Spencer, an addict, would find redemption through her. He’d get sober and everything would be perfectly happy. You thought it was dull.

For starters, you knew how controversial it would be for her to become his personal recovery center, but you also saw the potential in the character. So, you asked if you could rewrite her into something more dynamic, something with more depth. Given the trust Jeff had in you, he gave you free rein to make the changes.

“How’s it going?” Jack, one of your best friends and a Criminal Minds fan, asked, entering the living room.

“A surprisingly moving amount of absolute nothing,” you said jokingly, staring at the blank space.

“Oh, come on, dude! We’ve watched some of the episodes together! You know the vibe,” he said, sitting down on the couch beside you.

“Well, I know the vibe, I just don’t know how to write it.” you said throwing your hands to the air in a comically exasperated way.

“Well, I know the vibe, I just don’t know how to write it,” you said, dramatically throwing your hands in the air, exasperated.

“Guess who’s gone viral again!” Nathan breezed into the room, flashing you a grin. He played your love interest on City Lights, and the fans went wild for your on-screen chemistry. But the truth was, you two were nothing more than really good friends. There was no romance, just a strong, platonic bond.

“Ugh... please tell me it’s for the right reasons.” You shut your eyes and let your head flop back against the couch.

Nathan tossed you his phone, then leaned casually on the backrest of the couch, Jack scooting closer to get a better look.

“What is it? Another red sauce scandal?” you asked, scrunching your nose at the thought.

Let me tell you something: becoming famous at 17 or 18 leaves you with a digital footprint that you'll wish you could erase by the time you’re 23.

He handed you his phone, showing a new release from Austin, your ex-boyfriend. The song title was painfully obvious—"Still Stuck on You." The lyrics left no room for interpretation, and the message hit you like a ton of bricks. Austin had written another song about you, and this time, he made it clear.

“Oh, you've got to be kidding me! This is like the third one this year!” Your mouth hung open in disbelief as Jack, who had burst out laughing, took the phone from your hands and started scrolling through the Twitter comments.

He had been your “boyfriend” four years ago, but only for PR purposes. When you found out he’d cheated, you broke up with him. He begged and cried, and it was pathetic. Since then, Austin had turned your brief relationship into his whole persona. He released songs that were painfully obvious about you, dated women who looked eerily like you, and spent interviews throwing shade, spreading lies, all for attention. The problem? You were skyrocketing, gaining fame in ways he could never have predicted, and he—well, he was still stuck on you.

Your phone started ringing somewhere around the apartment, a FaceTime call vibrating through the cushions. You rummaged through the pillows on the couch, cursing under your breath as you came up empty.

“Seriously, how do you always lose it?” Nathan said, appearing behind you with a smirk. He found your phone wedged between the couch cushions and handed it to you just as you answered the call. As he did, you reached into your back pocket, pulling out a dollar bill and placing it in his open hand.

See, you had a special talent for losing your phone around the house, and your friends turned it into a game. Every time you misplaced it and one of them found it, you owed them a dollar.

“Bitch have you seen it?!” Ashley squealed from your phone, her voice laced with urgency. 

“It's like jumpscare! you know it’s coming but it’s always surprisingly disappointing!” you replied, rolling your eyes.

“Somebody said, ‘Are you writing a memoir or just trying to hit the ‘most dramatic ex’ award this year?’” You all chuckled at Jack’s reading.

“Gotta go, some stylist is calling me. Love ya, bye!” Ashley hung up quickly, going back to her photoshoot, leaving you to shake your head and wish her good luck.

Jack kept giggling at the comments, lost in the chaos of Austin’s latest stunt. Meanwhile, you stared blankly at your screen, the cursor blinking mockingly back at you.

Nathan gave you a playful shove. “You know what’s really offensive? The tempo on that track. It’s like he’s trying to be edgy but doesn’t understand how syncopation works.”

“Hmm, well, what else could you expect? Maybe you should make your own song about it, something with a real sense of rhythm,” You said absently, still staring at the screen, the cursor blinking in a never-ending challenge.

“And you should start writing that, maybe throw in a little revenge of your own,” he said, nudging his chin toward the computer screen with a grin. You frowned at him, your gaze drifting back to the cursor as you considered his words.

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You were studying—actually studying—sitting in the mini studio with notes scattered in front of you, calculator by your side, silently frustrated as you tried to make sense of the numbers. Ashley was on the other side of the desk in front of you, pacing and memorizing her lines, back and forth, her voice echoing in the room. Your grip tightened on your pencil, eyes flicking over the work in front of you, when your phone buzzed. Another message.

"We’ve heard about your 'plans,' but it’s hard to take them seriously when you can’t commit. It’s cute to 'explore options,' but at some point, you’ll have to stop playing around and think about your future. Don’t you want to be taken seriously?"

Maybe it was the sound of your phone tapping against the wood of the table, or the way your hand instinctively went to your eyes, trying to stop the threatening tears, that tipped Ashley off. She paused, looking up from her lines, eyes narrowing as she caught the shift in your mood, as she made it to your way, reading the message still open on your phone that had already sunk in, the familiar sting. 

Ashley didn’t hesitate. She pulled you into a hug, still standing while you were sat, one arm wrapping around your shoulders tightly as she murmured, "Fuck them. Seriously. You don’t need their crap." She squeezed you harder, as if to prove the point. "You're better than any of that. Don’t let their bullshit get to you." Her voice was fierce, a protective edge in every word.

The relationship with your parents was complicated, to say the least. You'd tried to make them proud, but it was never enough. Now, more than ever, you’d rebel when you chose to become an actress. It felt ridiculous—like you were still studying against your will, trying to prove something you didn’t even want to.

"I mean, what the fuck will it take for them to take me seriously? A fucking Oscar? Have some damn patience—I’m working on it," you spat, voice shaky, leaning into Ashley as tears threatened to spill.

She sighed, pulling you in a little tighter. “Fuck them,” she muttered, her voice low but firm. “They don’t get it, and honestly, they probably never will. But you’ve got this. You’re doing something they can’t even begin to understand. Don’t let their bullshit get to you.”

You let out a bitter chuckle. “Well, at least it wasn’t a call. I swear it’s pathetic how every time I get mad, I just cry.”

Ashley pulled you into a tight hug, her voice soft but firm. “Forget about them for a second, okay? You don’t need to study right now. You’ve been working your ass off. Take a break. You’re allowed to feel pissed off without worrying about your grades for a few minutes.” She pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. “You’re doing your best, and that’s all that matters.”

With a last shaky breath and wiping away the tears that had escaped, you nodded. Ashley sighed, her voice soft but firm. “Hey, enough with the studying for now. You’ve been pushing yourself way too hard. Wanna get cute and go out for some coffee?” She gave you a small, reassuring smile. “You deserve a break.”

You chuckled, truly this time, and shook your head. "Maybe later. You finish with your lines, and I’ll… go grab some snacks," she nodded, giving you a smile, picking up the forgotten script.

You were still shaken, even frustrated at how powerless you felt around your parents, and how you reacted to your feelings. You cried, and sometimes words became hard to find. You wished you could scream and destroy everything, just let it all out, like those female rage characters, but for now, you were left in silence.

Which gave you an idea.

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That’s how you ended up creating your character—in a fully cathartic, all-nighter frenzy, shaping her with layers of meaning. Like her nickname, “Woody,” a nod to Nathan’s favorite movie, Toy Story—a little inside joke, a quiet way of taking revenge in your own way.

She was everything you weren’t, and at the same time, everything you were.

And then there was her best friend, Austin—played by Jack, of course, since he was a huge fan of the show—who you took every opportunity to be mean to, just for the fun of it.

You’d never admit it, but the line “Austin is not my boyfriend”? Yeah, that had a little extra bite to it. A double meaning, if you will.

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The producers loved it. The depth of your character, how dark her storyline was. Because if you really want to keep the audience engaged? Give them two characters who are absolutely perfect for each other—but can’t be together.

And when the idea of adding Jack came up, they agreed immediately. What’s better than one City Lights star joining the show? Two City Lights stars.

But they had asked you to keep the secret from everyone, including the current cast. Who you'll be meeting and revealing your characters to in the table reading 

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Jack and you were currently at ABC’s costume department, standing in front of a mirror while the costume designer and a wardrobe assistant made final adjustments to your outfits.

“Man, I’m boiling in here,” you groaned, peeling off the red shirt as the wardrobe assistant jotted down notes about the fit. 

Jack, meanwhile, admired himself in the mirror, dramatically flipping back the leather jacket he was trying on. “Do I look tough? Like, would you trust me with your deepest, darkest secret?” He smirked, striking a pose straight out of an action movie.

The costume designer, pinning a hem on your sleeve, barely glanced up. “You look like an extra in a bad '90s biker film.”

“You look like you're about to challenge a middle schooler to a dance battle,” you added, crossing your arms.

Jack gasped, clutching his chest. “Wow. Zero faith in me.”

“More like zero intimidation factor” You said from the changing room, a few moments later, you stepped out  wearing a white shirt and black vest, and flashed Jack a playful grin. “So, do I finally look like the child my parents can brag about?” you joked, adjusting the vest slightly.

The wardrobe assistant shot you a thumbs up, clearly impressed with the fit.

“Are you maxing out someone's card again?” A voice asked behind you. 

You turned around to see Matthew grinning. You chuckled, scrambling for a response. “Well… I’m not legally allowed to talk about it,” you said, cringing internally.

Man, you were awkward without alcohol in your veins.

He chuckled, stepping closer to pull you into a brief hug in greeting. You’d already worked together on The Beauty Inside, so the familiarity was there—comfortable, easy, playful even.

“So what are you doing here?” He asked.

“Ummm well..” You turned to Jack with panic in your eyes. Jack, ever the performer, didn’t miss a beat. “We’re actually here to stage a heist. High-stakes, top secret.” He waggled his eyebrows.

You groaned, shoving his shoulder. “We’re doing costume fittings.”

Matthew raised a brow, clearly amused. “Costume fittings, huh?” His gaze flickered to the wardrobe racks surrounding you. “For something unannounced?”

You hesitated, your lips pressing into a thin line. “I plead the fifth.”

Jack threw an arm around your shoulders. “She’s under strict secrecy orders, but between us?” He leaned in conspiratorially. “It 's big.”

“Jaaack,” you warned, dragging out the 'a' in a clear sign for him to be careful.

“Well, if you’re in it, I bet it is,” he said, smirking at you.

You chuckled, clearing your throat. “Soo, what are you doing here?”

“Well, this is kinda where I work,” he said with a shrug teasing. Right. This was where the cast of Criminal Minds did their fittings, although the producers had made sure you were not scheduled together to avoid leaks.

You raised an eyebrow, looking around the room. "Here? In the costume department?"

He grinned, clearly enjoying your confusion. "Yep, I mean, what else would I be doing here? Getting my wardrobe ready for my big role?" he added, his tone mock-serious. “What are you supposed to be, by the way? A real estate agent? I bet you’re just one property listing away from a deal of the century,” he said, eyeing your clothes.

You chuckled again. “No, um… I’m actually a very boring banker,” you said, biting your lip to keep from smiling too much. Like get a hold of yourself girlie, he’s just a tall, handsome man, with nice hair and curls and pretty eyes, and gentle. Somebody, hand me a glass of water, or wine, whichever is easier.

The costume designer called your name, already holding more clothes in her hands. "We need to finish these adjustments, sweetheart."

You nodded, trying to shake off the distraction. "Right, I’ll be right there."

Matthew smirked, taking it as his cue to leave. "I guess I'll let you continue. Good luck being a banker," he teased, giving you one last look.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. "Thanks, Matthew," you said, turning toward the designer as he walked off.

Jack, who had been quietly observing from the corner, chimed in with a grin. "Yeah, because nothing says ‘big role’ like a banker in slacks."

You shot him a playful glare. "Oh shut up, Johnny Bravo," you joked, laughing as he dramatically posed in response.

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The producers stood at the front of the room, their eyes scanning the assembled cast. There was a buzz in the air—everyone was settling in, ready for the read-through to begin. After a quick round of hellos and some introductions, one of the producers, a tall woman with a clipboard, stood up to speak.

“Alright, everyone, before we dive in, we have a very exciting addition to the cast today. You’re about to meet someone who is going to bring a lot of depth and intensity to the world of Criminal Minds.” The showrunner smiled at you, saying your names and introducing the new character you’d be bringing to life.

Jack, sitting beside you, was doing his best to keep his cool, but the way he gripped his script gave him away. His knuckles were turning white from how tightly he held the pages, and you couldn’t help but smirk. Leaning toward him, you whispered, “That’s not bubble wrap.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and he whisper-shouted, “That’s Mandy Patinkin sitting right there. Do you have any idea how my mom would react if she were here?”

You chuckled under your breath, keeping your eyes on the table. Across from you, Matthew sat diagonally, flipping through the script with a furrowed brow. When he glanced up, he shot you a mock-offended look and mouthed, “Liar.”

You choked back a laugh, quickly mouthing “Sorry” with a small shrug just as the producers began reading.

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The reading session had concluded, and you were chatting with Paget about how much you had loved her in Friends. Meanwhile, Jack was across the room, subtly—well, not so subtly—trying to get an autograph from Mandy.

From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Matthew making his way toward you, but pretended not to notice, keeping your attention on Paget. You had a feeling he was about to make some kind of remark, and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of expecting it.

“You should be careful with her, she lied to me and told me she was going to be some boring banker,” he finally said, warning Paget with a smirk, 

You turned to him with an unimpressed look. “I’ll take that as I’m good at my job”

Paget raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the exchange. “Oh, so she tricked you? That’s embarrassing, Gubler.”

Matthew placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “I was misled! Deceived! Here I was, thinking I had met a perfectly normal, unassuming banker, only to find out she’s infiltrating our world.”

She laughed and patted his shoulder before the showrunner called her, leaving you alone with him.

“Nice shoes, by the way,” he said, looking down at your mismatched Converse—one deep red and the other black, matching your red top.

You chuckled. “Thanks. People keep making fun of me on the internet, saying I must've rushed out of the house.”

He laughed and pulled up his pants, revealing his mismatched socks—one purple with yellow dots and the other blue with bananas. “Well, that’s because they’re boring.”

“Oh God, they’re so cool,” you genuinely liked how bizarre they were.

“Hey, I saw your name on the last page of the credits... Did you write those episodes?” he asked, kind of amazed.

“Well, I um... added some minor stuff, really,” you said, lying a little. “Just to make her more sarcastic and fun… like, I can’t wait to get covered in blood for the shots.”

He laughed just as Jack reappeared, clutching his freshly signed Mandy Patinkin autograph like it was the Holy Grail. “I blacked out for half of that conversation, but I think I played it cool.”

“Yeah, sure, if you say so.” You were about to say something more when a producer called for both of you.

With an apologetic smile, you said goodbye to Matthew, but before you turned around, he called out, “Can I get your number this time, or do I have to wish we get cast together again?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you handed him your number. “I guess I’ll wait for your call.”

“You better pick up. There are some scenes I think will need some rehearsal.” His words made your stomach flip, and a flush crept up your face.

Pressing your lips together to stop yourself from smiling too much, you retorted, “You better be quick. My schedule is full.” That made him chuckle.

The producer called for you again, and you made your way toward him and Jack, still feeling the warmth of the moment lingering. You once promised yourself to not-date-coworkers. Maybe if those coworkers weren’t so funny and handsome you wouldn’t reconsider your own words.

　　　　 　　   .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

If you want to find out more about the CM character click here!

Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3

[wendichester]

𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋ sweet distractions,

summary. you get paired with sam for a project and he's just the sweetest

pairing. stanford!sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 391

The library hums with the quiet rustle of pages turning, the occasional click of a pen against paper. You spot Sam Winchester before he sees you—tall, hunched slightly over the table, flipping through a thick law textbook. He looks focused, brows furrowed, but as soon as he catches sight of you, his face softens.

“Hey,” he greets, closing the book and sitting up straighter.

“Hey,” you say back, dropping your bag onto the chair beside you.

From behind his stack of books, Sam pulls out a small bar of chocolate and sets it on the table in front of you.

“For research,” he says, shrugging at your raised eyebrow. “Something about sugar keeping the brain stimulated.”

You huff a quiet laugh, picking up the chocolate and turning it over in your hands. “And here I thought we were just analyzing court cases.”

Sam smirks. “Figured we might need the boost.”

You’re supposed to be working, but it’s hard to stay focused when conversation comes so easily. One comment about the professor leads to a rant about assignments, which turns into a discussion about books, which turns into something else entirely. The research sits untouched between you, but neither of you seem to mind.

You learn that Sam prefers writing papers over multiple-choice exams, that he used to be a scranny little teen in high school, and that he drinks his coffee black but will cave and add sugar when he’s stressed.

In turn, you tell him about the best hidden coffee shop on campus, about the old dog your family had growing up, about how you always study best with some kind of background noise.

Time slips by unnoticed until the library lights flicker—a warning before closing.

Sam glances at his watch, then back at you with an apologetic smile. “Guess we didn’t get much done.”

You glance down at the untouched book, then at the empty chocolate wrapper between you. “Yeah, not exactly the most productive study session.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “But, you know… I don’t mind.”

You smile. “Me neither.”

And as you both gather your things, heading out into the cool night air, you agree to do this again. This as in a friendly harmless study session. Which you're sure won't be at all. And you're eager to see him again next Wednesday.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @s0urw00lf

[hitlikehammers]

strongly worded letter 💌

or: Eddie Munson’s long, weird road out of (the) hell(-side down) ☠️ and into love💗

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-S4, steve’s one-man search-and-rescue for eddie’s not-dead body, falling in love, fluff in surprising places, eddie’s chaotic internal monologue, alphabet magnets🧲 for the win ♥️

for @steddielovemonth day four: "I had not intended to love him. [...] He made me love him without looking at me." —Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte

To the external, uninitiated observer, Eddie is well aware his take on all of this will 100% appear both unhinged and as least vaguely self-destructive, bordering on suicidal.

But here’s the thing: if Eddie had been truly suicidal, the million times he could have just stood and let the mobs take him—bigots or mutant bats or a lichy-ballsac that made people float—he wouldn’t have even bothered fighting. Maybe he was questionably attached to self-preservation, but actively wanting to pack it in? Even the thought of sparing his poor uncle his bullshit—finally—hadn’t been a sweet enough deal. Nope: Eddie is selfishly attached to the whole living thing.

Which is why he is begging for it to be understood, in no uncertain terms:

He’d rather know for sure that he was dead in the endless, silent grey hellscape he’s been left in, than wandering in this half-formless, half-collapsing nothing-burger version of the town he grudgingly called home, unsure where he stands on the mortality-scale either way.

—

Here’s the deal.

Vents? Foolishly overlooked.

Epic concert? Rocked, no notes.

Bat-chow? Do no recommend.

Henderson sobbing? Recommend even less.

Being tagged as a corpse? Perfectly fine if that’s what you are; dead weight in an apocalypse simply cannot be justified.

The issue is when you’re tagged as a corpse, and you…aren’t one.

So you’re left behind.

Which brings Eddie to:

Meeting what they’ve been calling a demogorgon this whole time but that resembles no such thing, those goddamn lying liars: not fucking cool.

Having…enough demobat saliva or venom or poison or whatever, probably, where the misleading-as-fuck demogorgon sniffs at you like a dog with her puppies instead of eating you with those fucking petal teeth?

Neutral. Probably wouldn’t order it again.

Getting licked all over by said Petal Teeth, all lioness-grooming-its-young style? Disgusting.

Disgusting.

Figuring out demogorgon saliva has some kinda magical mystical healing properties and you’re basically just covered in fairly-smooth scar tissue now that looks months old rather than hours, and plus you got a bath out of it so most of the dried blood’s gone too?

Fine, okay, he’d leave a tip for service.

But now Eddie is as alive as he can think to test being—and he’s been running all the monster-category tests and he doesn’t pass for vampire, zombie, or any various other undead creatures, he’s hungry but mostly for like, Chicken McNuggets, and—

Stuck. He’s stuck here.

And he thinks they must have won, the Party that is, because nothing’s really happening except…things are falling apart, like rotting in slow motion.

Which is a concern. But. Cool, if it means they did in fact make the motherfucker pay.

But that also means nobody has any reason to be strolling back in to fight demons anymore, and come across his not-so-dead ass. Plus also, the place is probably going to keep crumbling—if a master of a realm is axed, the realm doesn’t typically survive. Mordor fell apparent when Barad-dûr came down. And he…

He did agree to go into Mordor.

Well, fuck him.

—

He mostly wanders around and pokes at random shit, collects some books, ignores the fact that the reality he’s looting is on borrowed time.

He doesn’t know if it’s healthier to deal with that part head on or keep pretending it’s not there, but he honestly could not give a fuck.

Because it’s just him. Save the demogorgon who gave him a tongue bath, he’s seen nothing living. Sometimes there’s a stray screech but it’s too distant to even guess where he’d find whatever made it, stumble upon whatever caused it. There’s not even a breeze to move the decaying trees.

There is nothing.

And it’s starting to drive him fucking insane. He might lose it before the reality caves in on him, actually, just for the sheer…void of it all.

He’s on the edge of that—losing it entirely—when he hears it, sees it.

Who the fuck took that magazine, it’s like three years old, only kept it for the tips on…

And then an echo, like a projection in the air, and it’s fleeting and its faint but where that voice what pretty unmistakable already, the coif of chestnut and the peek of a polo collar, and the seizing in Eddie pulse for both together—it’s almost more undeniable.

That’s fucking Harrington.

—

The vision is, seconds. At most.

But it shifts Eddie’s priorities entirely.

He starts the day—he’s guessing it’s the start of the day, it’s always fucking grey here but he’s just going off of when he’s hungry so—but he looks for cereal in one of these decrepit houses and eats it out of the box as he tries to get his bearings.

Tries also to remember all the weird shit the kids used to say before Eddie knew they were making any of it up.

Context clues give him that this is Hawkins. 1983 or thereabouts—makes sense for the magazine.

But what makes more sense, and is more helpful: Steve had bitched the magazine was moved.

And Eddie’s definitely the one who had it in his hand when he heard said bitching.

So there’s still some connection. Hope’s not totally lost.

Mostly, maybe. But not totally.

—

He decides to go back to Harrington’s and just wait until he goes there to sleep so he can tail him, have some sense of how he can try and make contact from his own side, let someone know he’s still here.

It takes forever; Eddie wonders just how different time runs, here, save that when he finally hears something, the vision is clearer in the air, ghostly but more complete.

And Steve looks fucking wrecked.

Like he hasn’t slept in days, like he’s about to fucking cry, like he—

He’s still the most beautiful guy Eddie’s seen in person, if this counts as in-person, but like—that was never not-true.

“Rob, I don’t know! I just, I just feel like—“

“I will handcuff you to your bed.”

Eddie tries to feel excited that whatever’s happening is strong enough that two voices come through, that Robin’s here, she’s safe too—

But he’s more invested in what’s causing the shouting.

”I know how to pick a fucking lock, Jesus,” and Eddie doesn’t not think about the lock he’s worn more than once around Steve at his belt, nope, he does not—

”The gates are closed, Steve. It’s over.”

Well. Fuck.

There goes the hope thing.

”Not all of them. Not totally.”

Or maybe not.

”Steve, I will hunt you down, I will dog your steps, I will follow you every single moment if you think I am leaving big you even consider going back to—��

“I love you, Robs, but you still can’t drive. Think you’ll beat me on your Schwinn?”

“I will slash your tires.”

“Sorry, birdie, got AAA to save me.”

And that’s all Eddie gets, but…

It almost feels like he’s got one single snowball’s chance in hell, here. Still. Just one, true, but.

If he’s learned anything the last few days, it’s that Steve Harrington’s maybe the most reliable snowball he could ask for.

His chest is all tingly about it, even—fucking traitor.

—

Eddie doesn’t even really have to follow where Steve goes next. In that he knows exactly where it is, just not why the fuck Steve wants to be there.

Especially since even the lack of evidence in ‘83’s version of the trailer still makes him look up at the ceiling and feel like he’s gonna puke.

”Oh sure Mister Munson sir, I just want to borrow your dead nephew’s cassettes, that are definitely in the trailer the fed have locked down to be sent to Area 51 or wherever, just in case he’s not entirelydead in another dimension, and he can hear me because I’m definitely not losing my fucking mind, and definitely not because being called ‘Big Boy’ didn’t fuck with my head more than mutant bats ever did…”

Steve’s frankly endearing muttering, and that last bit especially, distract Eddie enough from the fact that Steve is actively rummaging through his room.

Through his room, Jesus, Eddie moves because he even clocks that lunging at Steve here won’t do shit there to stop the questionable literature Steve’s already sifting through.

At least Steve can’t see him blush across planes of existence. Hopefully.

“Oh,” and Steve sounds shocked, but then looks…gutted?

”One more for the ‘you suck’ column,” and Eddie decides right then that he fucking does not approve of that tone, at all; ”not like I had a chance, definitely not his type…”

“But my type’s the paladin who protects everyone and needs a faithful bard to tend his wound and keep his bed!” Eddie blurts out into the nothing on his side of the divide.

“My type’s been you since fucking junior year!”

Because Junior-Eddie was admittedly much more lust-driven. Let that be said.

Now-Eddie’s equally if not more invested in the heart of a man.

And Steve Harrington, even remotely thinking that he isn’t Eddie’s type?

Maybe Eddie really is dead. And this is hell.

—

”Why do I need them?”

Eddie’s got a new box of cereal—Kix, could definitely be better—and has now trailed Steve to what looks like…the edge of town, which, who lives there…

”Nah, kid, nothing bad. Just want to see something. Promise.”

One of the kids. Maybe this is where the Byerses are, now, if they were right and they’d been on their way back? Because Eddie knows where the rest of them live, and this ain’t it.

Theresa are footsteps in one direction, and Steve wanders in the other, where Eddie sees a girl with a buzz cut he doesn’t know, but who stares Steve down in a way that…Eddie can kinda guess.

They’d all alluded to the super powered kiddo more than once.

”Can you look? Like, just to see if he’s—”

Eddie’s neck turns fast when he turns back in to the conversation, less for the words and more for how timid, how cowed Steve sounds and he…

Eddie just wants, more than anything really, to be able to reach out and touch. To comfort. To do…

Something.

”…would not feel him even if he was there. The connection is gone. The Upside Down is dead.”

And Steve deflates, and Eddie…Eddie remembers the lights didn’t they have to be emotionally unstable, kinda, to make the lights flicker, to let someone know they’re there, and Eddie’s definitely there because—

Not fucking all of it, not yet, Eddie wants to scream; or maybe yes all of it but I’m still fucking here.

Also: that man is 100% my type and I want a fucking shot, I want my snowball’s chance in hell, I want to bite him and call him sweetheart like I mean it and I want, I want, I want—

Also that.

Steve leaves with some…fucking magnets.

And the lights didn’t do jack shit.

—

Eddie spends most of that night playing with magnets.

Well, not at first.

First, he tries yelling, sobbing, focusing like a Force-user, really anything he could think of to get Steve’s lights to flicker. No such luck.

So then Eddie makes a side quest, after having dutifully made certain not to leave Steve’s side for…however many days.

He pops to Melvald’s because of anyone’s got kiddie alphabet magnets, it’s gotta be them.

And score. Definitely not the worst thing Eddie’s stolen. Plus this place is on the way out. Not really relevant, here, if he cared.

Which he fervently does not.

And proves by grabbing two fifths of tequila on the way out. Hah.

He finds Steve passed out on top of his comforter, plaid monstrosity that it is, and he tries very hard to brush his hair back—nothing.

And then Eddie…somehow that’s the straw that breaks the pack-mule’s back. Something in him just fucking snaps.

Because he distinctly remembers this whole fiasco being tied to the labs owned by the fucking Department of Energy, right?

And they can’t even keep the electrical connection between dimensions working?

That’s…that’s unacceptable.

He’s gonna…he’s gonna file a fucking complaint. He’s gonna show up at a picket line. He’s gonna write a strongly worded letter. He’s…

Actually, he’s got all night if the way Steve’s sprawled says anything for how long he’s gonna stay conked out. And he’s also got these handy alphabet magnets.

Letter it is.

—

”What the fuck?”

d3ar 3nergy d3pt he4d i ju5+ wan+ed to te11 th15 guy i w4n+ t0 b1+3 him but n00 y0u c4nt e73n d0 +h4t i h8 u

Eddie trips over some empty bottles, the answer of how they got there pounding in his head real quick—oh, hey, hangovers do transcend dimensions, seems suspicious—but yeah, okay, he does remember getting creative with the abundance of math magnets in the poorly-labeled alphabet pack last night, misleading to lead on letters by default on the packaging. He does recall being very convinced a sideways ‘7’ was a passable ‘V’. But.

He’s not looking at his side of things. He’s looking at Steve’s.

And so is Steve.

And then Steve—who Eddie wants to bite but also kiss and maybe just hold in his arms chest to chest to feel his warmth because when his control broke last night it conveniently knocked him upside the head with the clear realization of that fact that Steve Harrington?

Is doing all this shit for him. On the hope of a maybe.

And Steve Harrington had been disappointed not to have found his lookalike in Eddie’s porn rags.

And Eddie wrote a letter to the fucking DoE in magnets about it, and Steve can see it, stuck to his fridge in 1986 as clear as Eddie slapped it there in 1983.

”…Eddie?”

Steve’s voice is so small and so fearful to be wrong. His chest is heaving, he’s scared.

Eddie scrambles for the magnets left on the floor and smacks them violently to the refrigerator door in record time, prays to everything he doesn’t believe in that Steve can feel his relief spelled out in the bulky primary colors:

h3y 61g b0y v3

And goddamnit, when Steve falls to the floor with his jaw dropped loose, Eddie is 100% sold:

A ‘V’ turned on its side absolutely makes the bottom half of a heart for the three to butt-up to.

—

“Got these to play so if you were there, and couldhear me, you could find your way, if,” and Steve, Steve has been talking to Eddie since they both woke up and found those magnets, even if they haven’t been able to replicate anything, not the letter nor the faulty lighting trick Eddie’d complains about on the fridge in the first place: it could just be a fluke. Steve has no reason to believe Eddie’s alive, that Eddie did that, that Steve didn’t sleepwalk into sleep-spelling, that Eddie even alive in some form would be following his every move.

Of course he is, but. Steve can’t know.

It’s all on faith. For Eddie.

And fuck is Eddie’s heart doesn’t go playing ping pong with his ribs for how much it hits him, how wide and warm it swells in his chest like hope, only second to affection, to want, to—

“Vecna’s not gone, but he’s like, one step from it. I don’t know he can get you but,” Steve taps to the Walkman, to the headphone he gets on just one ear so he can hear and also so someone else—so Eddie—can hear Megadeath as Steve bustles around his house, packing a duffle that reminds Eddie of when they were peeping to storm the castle—

That’s what Steve’s doing. That, that’s what Steve is doing right now.

“I just,” Steve heaves a deep breath, hands on his hips before one pinches between his eyes; “I felt like you were still there, I can’t explain it,” and Eddie’s shaken to his core right now in the best possible way so when he blurts out in a croon:

“Power of loooove, Stevie!”

He can’t be blamed for that. He can’t. He’s…

This man is going down into hell, has not grantee of what Eddie knows in it being largely innocuous, now, save…undead Vecna lurking somewhere, so weak he’s not even noticed.

“But we know music works though, so.”

Steve’s still narrating his plan; Eddie is just staring. Wants to…wants so fucking bad to touch.

“We have to wait for night, for me to get down there. They’re shitty with security on the graveyard shift.” Then Steve’s smirking, and fuck, he’s so pretty.

”Plus Robin sleeps like the dead, she won’t have a chance to notice what I’m doing even on the off chance word got out.”

And the fact that Steve is willing to defy his own platonic soulmate for Eddie—barely knows him in terms of days and hours but at least, if it’s the same as Eddie’s realising more and more that he feels, and unshakable too: it’s like his soul knows Steve, and that cannot care a lick for how time runs, it’s bigger than that.

There’s too much of a sense of potential, a crackling possibility just being in his proximity, even with the distance of other goddamn dimensions—there’s too much swirling in Eddie already for it to mean nothing.

Plus, like: flip the script. Steve is risking everything on a whim, for him.

It cannot be nothing.

“I’m hoping you’re where we left you, which,” and Steve’s voice catches, he pauses, looks around like he’s hoping Eddie might pop into the visible spectrum, so he can see and know, but then he just looks up at the ceiling like—oh, fuck, like it’ll make sure no tears fall out and:

“I can’t fucking tell you how sorry—“ Steve starts to say be Eddie can’t bear watching like this, strides over in an instant and grabs Steve’s hand.

And Steve stills.

And Eddie can feel his pulse in his wrist.

“Is that you?” Steve barely breathes, stares now at his arm where…Eddie can only see the kind of glimmering overlap that means two things are happening in the same place on different planes, he’s grown used to that. But.

If Steve can feel him, if there are moments here that are probably limited where Eddie can prove some little tiny bit that he’s here and he’s listen and he’s with Steve—

He pulls Steve’s hand and drags him into the kind of full body hug he’s been aching for for…fuck.

Too fucking long.

“Eddie,” Steve sighs out, and Eddie can’t help himself. He runs hands through Steve’s hair, and holy fuck: Steve leans in.

Steve feels it enough to lean in.

“It feels like I’ve been falling for a ghost, man.”

Steve says it on a whisper, like he’s still not sold entirely, or else maybe afraid to break a spell. Eddie gets that second part.

“But I guess it kinda started before that, so maybe it’s not as fucking crazy,” Steve laughs a little wet with it and…Eddie has to, because what if he never gets another chance, and hell—if he does, how can he deprive them both the chance to know whatever the sensation will be, like this?

Eddie’s not up to risk never knowing what a cross-dimensional lip lock feels like, okay?

So he doesn’t.

“Please don’t be a ghost,” Steve breathes out and fuck, Eddie can’t taste it but he can feel the way the air moves and it’s, it is; ”I think if you are, I’ll live the rest of my life trying to make it work anyway, I,” and Steve doesn’t get to finish because Eddie pushes in again, and Steve’s as good as his reputation and then some, on wholly separate planes of being.

Eddie cannot fucking wait to feel it flesh to flesh.

“I fall fast, man, but this is kinda insane,” Steve pants, arms out awkward with any indication where to hold. He’s adorable.

He’s delectable.

“But you did say you wanted to bite me, assuming you were talking about me,” Steve smirks but then his eyes go wide:

“Oh, shit, are you a vampire?”

And Eddie has no idea how long he’s been down here alone, surrounding by the silence and the darkness and just the projection level overlay of Steve when he’s lucky, but Jesus H. Christ—

“Is that you laughing?” Steve chokes on his own kinda-giggle as he braces against an unseen and unseeable force barrelling into him: of course it’s Eddie.

Of course he’s fucking cackling.

Because however long it’s been, he definitely hasn’t laughed at any point at all in that span of time—and fuck if he didn’t need it.

—

Steve slips down the last burbling gate not without effort, not without lava-hot road rash no doubt fucking with his already not-yet-healed stomach.

When he’s tackled, thrown straight to the ground, weight pinning him to the ground that’s more dry, more deadened than Steve remembers from just days ago: when his back hits the ground—none of it matters.

“It was me laughing.”

And then Eddie’s mouth is on his—it’s the echo he was afraid he’d imagined that morning, just like the hand on his wrist, just like the laughter wrapped around him.

“You’re an even better kisser in person, holy shit, even your fucking glowing reputation shortchanged you.”

And Steve’s kinda breathless, not just for getting smooshed to the dirt; but then Eddie’s kissing him again, and breathing seems really kind low on Steve’s list of giving a shit.

“You are so my type it’s not even funny,” Eddie says, before diving back into kiss with a bruising kind of force, an unmistakable kind of intent; “I think my type has fully migrated to include kinda just you.”

And Steve’s heartbeat kinda stutters at that because…that’s new.

No one’s ever…well.

It’s just new.

“You weren’t wrong to leave me behind, you don’t ever have to apologize,” and then he’s kissing along Steve’s jaw, and it’s Steve’s laughter now, the tickle of dirty curls dragging at his stubble; “you got out, you’re safe, you’re here,” and Eddie sounds almost overcome with feeling, with relief, and then in the end, bubbling with joy. And somehow Steve can tell it’s not because Steve’s here to save him, bring him home.

It’s just because Steve’s here and that, that is—

Steve’s heartbeat’s just gonna do that tripping thing for the foreseeable future he thinks, at this point. Probably.

“I was trying to convince myself otherwise, because I didn’t think there could ever be a shot in hell but I was falling before it all fell apart, too,” Eddie says in a rush, leaning again to kiss the corners of Steve’s lips, like talking is just an inconvenient interruption to better ways of using his mouth and given how goddamn much Eddie Munson’s always talked, that fucking says something:

“And ever since, it’s felt like I was falling in love through a movie screen,” and he cups Steve’s face to angle it just so as he breathes, those eyes endless and glistening; “could see but never reach, until,” and then he’s kissing him straight on the lips again, a full-frontal assault, tongue seeking teeth, looking for the depths of his goddamn soul of something.

Steve isn’t even embarrassed for how he arches up, how he fucking moans. No one could ever feel this and do anything less.

Like: fucking impossible.

“I liked your letter to the editor,” Steve gasps when Eddie breaks apart and concedes to needing air, presses kisses up and down Steve’s throat while he regroups.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie’s face pops back up—dirt smears and ruddy and in need of a shower but on the whole in way better shape than Steve last remembers having to walk away from, and fuck, fuck—he’s never walking away from it again; “can we send that to the Post? No edits, I want my numbers intact, let them try to figure it out like Zodiac.”

Steve snorts, because god he really is half in love with this nerd, and he’s not a ghost, he’s sold and his chest is heaving into Steve’s and he’s grinning wills and he’s here and they’re here and this is realand—

He yells when the sting clamps through his much-less-extensive uniform of his Members Only jacket despite the weather—it’s freezing, but like, the gates were just cracks, he had to move like a ninja!

Just not a bite-proof ninja, apparently.

“You know, I should have expected that,” Steve deadpans, but his smile gives him away as Eddie pulls his mouth back from the stretch of Steve’s neck that runs to his shoulder, where honestly Steve thinks Eddie punctured the coat in the process. Fucking feral gremlin.

Steve really wants to keep him. Like, indefinitely.

“You really, really should have,” Eddie agrees, beaming like the sun when there’s only dark around them, making it all feel so warm in the chill.

“Honestly should have expect nothing less,” Eddie’s smile curls a little dangerous as he leans in again, apparently satisfied with having caught his breath enough as he mouths wet against Steve’s lips:

“Big boy.”

And then, again: he pounces.

♥️

also on ao3💫

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

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[nugatorysheep]

What your favorite SU character says about you but it's just mean as fuck

Steven — How is being a mentally ill, people-pleasing queer going for you? Did your mommy issues and anxiety resolve themselves yet or are you still avoiding therapy?

You either disliked or were neutral about him until he got a neck. You think Future is peak cinema (correct) and can't understand why everyone else hates it. You have a better grasp on this show's characters and themes than most of the people who watched it.

Connie — You were likely the gifted kid in school but a total burn-out now. You either see a lot of yourself in this character (How are those helicopter parents of yours doing? Have you gone no-contact yet?) or you're a normie and boring to sandbox with. Probably both.

You've got a lot of Feelings™️about her and if people don't agree it causes Problems™️. In case no one has told you yet, stop caring what other people think. Your constant virtue signaling to appeal to other normies is a crutch that's just holding you back. It's okay to have fun!!

Stevonnie — You want to fuck this character, though you'd never say that out loud. You like Steven and Connie; maybe you like one more than the other, but you like both at least a little. If you're using them for shipping you're the only person in the entire fandom doing whatever hyper-specific ship you've latched onto.

Rose and or Pink — You really suck as a person! Or you used to suck but you've gotten a lot better and we stan! If you're the former you almost certainly have terrible takes on this show (but not in the way people might think), sorry, I don’t make the rules. Either way, you gotta stop finding ways to bring her back, dawg. She's gone.

Greg — You're a man (positive) and gay as hell. Gentleman on the streets and a fucking freak in the sheets. We stan. Pop off king <3

Garnet — If you headcanon her as acespec she is not actually your favorite, Ruby and Sapphire are your favorite, but you like them both equally so you just say you like Garnet. If you headcanon her as anything else you're definitely shipping her with one of the other gems, probably Pearl or Jasper.

Amethyst — Super chill person. Would be in most people's dream blunt rotation. You're a live and let live kinda guy and I respect that, but you also have no hills you'd die on so you're not the first person anyone goes to if they need serious support. You can get away with misinterpreting this character (on purpose or accidentally) because it's hard to say things about her that most people won't just shrug at and go "yeah that sounds right I guess"

Pearl — You're annoying as hell. You see yourself in this character and that's not a good thing. Your social media presence gives off the same energy as every white woman's Instagram profile. If being a victim was a contest you'd take home the gold.

You think everyone is out to get you. They're not.

You think you're being persecuted. You're not.

Most people who see you from a distance and don't know better think you're alright, so you're probably pretty well-liked in public. The only people you will get along with in close quarters are all walking mean lesbian stereotypes.

Peridot — You're annoying as hell for a different reason. You see yourself in this character too and that is a terrible, terrible thing.

She's your pfp on every website and app that will allow it. Your lifeblood is this fucking character and e v e r y o n e will know it. You're weirdly possessive of her and the hyper specific headcanons you made for her (even if you don't say that) despite every grass-fearing autistic person on the internet projecting onto her, so ironically you don't like other Peridot fans, which always ends up with you sitting alone even on websites with millions of people on them.

90% chance you're a furry, otherkin, therian or think you have DID. You think you're misunderstood, and in some ways you are, but the reality is most people don't speak dog and don't have the time or energy to learn. You need to go outside and learn to speak cat whether you want to or not

Lapis — You don't like Peridot fans or kinnies, which is weirdly in-character. You're the biggest hater but you don't hide it and I can respect that. You think Lapis is a victim, but you're only half right. You would probably fall for propaganda if it was dressed up fancy enough.

Jasper — You want to fuck this character, full stop. There's a 50/50 chance you're chill af or the most insufferable person on the planet. If you're the former you're friends with a lot of people. You float easily from one group to another, but a jack of all trades is a master of none, and you're no one's first pick if they're looking for someone close. You probably hate Lapis and her fans but you should really just let that shit go ngl

Spinel — You need therapy (derogatory) and you're making that everyone else's problem. Despite the clown aesthetic you're not very funny to be around and you should get a better sense of humor. You project onto this character way too hard and it shows in your fandom habits and headcanons, but most of the time that's fine

Like Spinel, you're a little two-faced. Some people pick up on that right away and some don't. The people who do hold you at arms length until you make it clear which clown you'd rather be. You hate it when people ship Spinel with any character besides your favorite pairing, but you'll never say that out loud unless it's a ship the people you're talking to don't like.

Blue Diamond — You're a man (derogatory) or a minor who doesn't actually understand anything about this character yet, and would immediately fall for any and all forms of propaganda

Yellow Diamond — If you think she is wearing a helmet you're a man (derogatory) and you expected things out of SU that were never gonna happen. If you think it's just hair you have a much better grasp on this character than 90% percent of SU's fandom and I'm platonically kissing you on the mouth.

White Diamond — You're a man (derogatory) or an incredibly based and sexy queer.

The Zircons — You like Ace Attorney, or would like it if you haven't played it yet. You're making them kiss sloppy style. UwU

Lars — You probably didn't like him until after he died. You will defend this boy with your fucking life. Also you should just…. go watch Star Trek if you haven't. Seriously what are you doing—

Sadie — You're an oddball. Very lax though. You have complicated feelings about Shep

Peedee — You're a little quirky, a little freaky, but you're too scared to just say that. You desperately need some fun in your life, but the people around you make that difficult. Eventually you'll find the folks that are worth hanging around. See you on the flip side :)

Ronaldo — You're the type of person this character is based on and you take it in stride. If you're shipping him with Lars, you're the only person who's opinion on this character matters.

Kevin — I dunno who hurt you but you have a terrible taste in men. You only have fun in bed if it involves a damn near human rights violation

Mayor Dewey — You're normalbirb

Any other townie — This is a trick question! No one has these as their favorite lmao

[marlynnofmany]

Aiming the Machismo

I’m on the tall end of our ship’s lineup. Not the biggest by any means, but with half the crew short enough to elbow in the head accidentally, and the others only that tall when they stand on tentacle-tip, it’s easy to think of myself as one of the big ones.

Sometimes we make deliveries to people who enforce that impression. Today was not one of those times.

“Move aside,” said the deepest voice, echoing from the opaque helmet of a Smasher in an armored suit. “Official business goes first.” His companion was just as hulking, with shoulders that looked like they wrestled buffalo for fun and hands that could crush a coconut.

I was glad he wasn’t talking to me.

“Official, huh?” demanded an Armorlite, sticking his dinosaurian face in close to bare teeth at the helmet. His voice sounded normal by comparison. “We’re official too, and we were here first. Get in line.” He was backed up by a half dozen similarly beefy individuals — a surprising collection, really: big Frillians and a couple extremely jacked humans. They made a wall of sneers worthy of any gym bro turf war.

The Smashers weren’t impressed. But at least they weren’t taking out any weapons. “Rule violators who are wanted in several systems have been spotted nearby. We’re here to capture them for the greater good. Move aside.”

The Armorlite laughed in his face, saying that they were bounty hunters too, and they weren’t about to let anyone get ship fuel before they did. The air was full of jeers and testosterone, or the alien equivalent. Some of the macho individuals were female. It made no difference.

It was unfortunate, though, since this mess was between us and the front counter, where a single put-upon Heatseeker stood behind a sign about repairs. I saw why none of the bounty hunters had gotten their fuel yet; apparently the dispensing nozzle for midsize ships was broken.

Good news. That’s what we were here to deliver, among other things.

I looked past the hoversled full of heavy machinery at the two most muscle-bound members of our crew, whose body language was currently more timid than usual. I guess they knew their place in the macho pecking order. Blip was glancing from one face to another as if trying to predict a winner, while Blop stood at attention and stared into the middle distance. All of their many frills were slicked back as if trying not to draw attention.

Well, I was a slender breakable twig compared to everybody except the little Heatseeker, and none of that was my problem. “Guys,” I said. “Let’s yell ‘delivery’ on three.”

They both looked at me instead of the nonsense. Blip nodded, standing taller and relaxing her frills into a more normal position. Blop took a deep breath that it sounded like he needed.

“One, two, three. DELIVERY!”

The argument stopped, and multiple dangerous faces turned in our direction.

I tugged the hoversled forward and spoke into the brief silence. “Repairs, so everybody can get their fuel faster!”

What do you know, the sea of biceps and teeth parted to let us through. With Blip and Blop pushing from behind even though the sled didn’t need it, I led the way past everybody taller than me to where the green-scaled Heatseeker waited.

“Thank you,” he said in relief. “That nozzle broke right after our regular supply ship left. Do you have time to stop by our sister colony on the fourth planet? We ordered extra of one of those other parts, and it sounds like they need it.”

“I think we can manage that,” I said with a glance at Blip and Blop. “Let me just check with the captain. Are the same rates okay?” Behind me, the arguing was getting loud again.

The Heatseeker agreed readily over the noise, and called somebody else up to the front to confirm everything. Instead of shouting into my phone or trying to get past all the competing pectorals twice more, I sent texts and invoices to whoever was in the cockpit.

Surprisingly enough, the boisterous voices moved their debate outside while we worked. By the time we got the delivery unloaded except for the part going to the sister colony, the room was quiet. I was glad for that, though worried about what we’d find when we left.

I asked the Heatseeker at the counter, “Have those bounty hunters been here before?”

He shook his scaly head. “No. I hope they finish their business soon and move on.”

I agreed. We said our goodbyes, then the twins and I maneuvered the nearly-empty hoversled back to the door. The only thing left on it was a bundle of cables for some sort of electronics. Thoroughly packaged to keep out dust, and tied down in case of unexpected jostles to the sled. I hoped there wouldn’t be any of those on the way to the ship. With a glance at Blip and Blop, I moved forward to open the door.

Cheers, grunts, and thuds greeted me. After one cautious step out onto the rural spaceport, I saw how the meatheads had decided to resolve their differences. It wasn’t by fighting. It also wasn’t a dance-off, which I’d seen once before. No, they were taking turns picking up empty fuel tanks and seeing how far they could throw them. It was very far.

“Let’s take the long way around,” I suggested.

“No kidding,” Blip agreed, pushing the sled faster. “Before they decide to throw us.”

I stepped quickly. “That’s an option to them?”

“Probably.”

Blop said, “I hope the sister colony is quieter.”

“Me too,” I agreed as we hurried to our ship with roars of triumph filling the air.

Surprisingly enough, the three of us got to see that sister colony ourselves shortly after. Usually our crew trades off in who hands over the deliveries, so it should have been Paint and Mur doing this second dropoff, but this was an unplanned one and they were busy helping deep clean the medical bay. So I went again with the Blip and Blop, and we got to appreciate a similar reception area with no slabs of beef causing trouble.

“This is a lovely place,” I told the Heatseeker with deep blue scales at the desk. Windows lined every wall here, giving us a view of rolling hills where cloud shadows drifted over bushy trees and equally bushy sheeplike things. The scent of spicy flowers wafted through.

“It is,” she replied, looking tired. “The aromatic moss on the trees is particularly beautiful.”

The other Heatseeker checking over the cables said, “Too bad the locals weren't making up their monster stories. If those were actually fake, I’d be a lot happier.”

“What monster stories?” I asked. Blip and Blop got more alert behind me.

At the same time, the first Heatseeker asked, “They’re not? Are we sure?”

The guy with lighter blue scales straightened up. “We’re sure. Another set of their livestock got killed last night, and more personal accounts of missing people have turned up now that we’re actually looking into it.” He gave me a glance. “We don’t know what kind of monster we’re talking about, but I have theories.”

I looked out the windows again. The scenery didn’t seem quite as welcoming now. “Is there a local predator eating people?”

The receptionist hurried to clarify, “Nothing gets eaten. The people always turn up again, and the animals are damaged but not taken away.”

Blip asked, “Have you put up security cameras?”

“Yes, that’s what this cable is for. We’re putting up more, and making sure they’re connected to a proper power supply.”

“But did the first ones see anything?” Blip insisted.

“Not the culprits,” said the darker Heatseeker. “We need to aim higher, I think. And adjust for light fluctuations. Whoever is doing this brings spotlights to upset the cameras. Or else it’s some sort of natural bioluminescence on a grand scale.”

The pale guy shook his head. “It’s definitely somebody in a ship. Creatures on foot wouldn’t be able to make those patterns in the plants, at least not that quickly.”

I whipped my head around. “Crop circles?”

“They are circular, yes.”

“So people are being taken,” I repeated. “Abducted, then returned, while livestock is getting mutilated and there are circles in their crops?”

“That’s about the size of it.” The guy gave me a sharp look. “You’ve seen this before?”

“Not personally,” I said with a frown. “But my planet sure has.”

“Oh!” said Blop. “It’s those little gray guys, right? I’ve heard about them. No morals at all.”

“Yes, them.” I felt my frown turning into a proper scowl. “They harassed my planet for generations, and never answered for it. They only left when we made contact with the broader galaxy. The frill-tearing mud eggs.” I made sure to insult them in both Frillian and Heatseeker terminology, to make sure we were all on the same page.

The darker Heatseeker looked appropriately scandalized. “That would fit with the way only the locals have seen them here. They must be avoiding us.”

“But maybe they’re about to leave soon, right?” asked the paler one. “Since they only like uncontacted prey who can’t report them?”

“Probably,” I said. I turned back to tap a finger on the payment tablet. “Let’s finish up quickly. I know just who to tell about this, and these little gray bastards are exactly the kind of rule-breaker they’ll outdo each other trying to catch.”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[im4rmy]

bf!jaemin x fem!reader (idol AU) II

IMAGINE: you call him crying after a tough shift.

tw: mention of death and grief⚠️

• you step out of the hospital with heavy steps, you can barely breathe while you reach your car parked not too far. you unlock it and sit inside at lightning speed, throwing your bag in the back without care.

• today was horrible, the worst day of your life, for real. and all you wanna do now is... crying your heart out. and so you do. you cling to the steering wheel and sob for like 10 minutes before you decide that you'll not be able to drive home in this state.

• you take your phone and scroll down your contact list and... you linger on a specific name. would it be weird to call him? you two are kinda official now... kinda. you slept together, you had tone of dates but you never even went to his house or viceversa.

• you know he would be perfect about it, of course he would. but still- he didn't see you barefaced, ever, and now you are still in your uniform, your tired face wet from your tears. fuck it, you desperately need to go away from this place.

• 📞"hello?" "h-hi... mhh am i b-bothering you? *sniff*" "not at all, i'm at the gym- is everything okay?"

• you try to answer but everything that comes out from your mouth is a pathetic sob.

• jaemin stills in front of the gym bench where jeno's already exercising, with a concerned expression and his phone pressed to his ear.

• 📞"are you crying?"

• you just sniff a few times in response, still unable to talk.

• 📞"what's wrong? are you okay?"

• he's now packing his things, ready to leave and getting his gym buddy's attention.

• 📞"i- just, i can't drive. would you- can you come pick me up?" "of course honey. where are you?" "i'm still at t-the hospital" "wait for me okay?" "mhmh"

• you hang up immediately and resume your crying session against the steering wheel.

• jeno looked at jaemin confused. "what's happening?" "i need to take home y/n from work" "why?" "i don't know, she's- not feeling well i guess. she was crying"

• "her job must be so hard, i could never" "i agree but- she doesn't look stressed or tired, never. i don't know if she just masks it very well... anyway, gotta go"

• when you spot the black and expensive car pulling up in front of the staff entrance of the hospital, you stand up from your seat on the concrete and wipe your cheeks for the hundredth time. you walk to the car door and go in trying to regain some composure.

• "hi" "hi"

• jaemin doesn't say or ask anything before starting to drive away. you try to speak a few times but you REALLY don't know what to say, plus you're sure you would end up crying.

• "are you hungry?" you just nod and jaemin mumbles a soft 'okay'

• you just focus on your breathing keeping your gaze out of the car window, until you notice where you are: a drive-through. jaemin stops his car next to the menu stand and looks at you.

• "what do you want?" you take a deep breath. "the burger menu, large. and a chocolate donut... please"

• jaemin lets out a little chuckle before pressing the mic button to order. then he wears a random black face mask found somewhere and drives till the payment spot.

• in ten minutes, you're parked in a super-market parking lot, deserted. it would've been creepy if you weren't with the sweetest man you ever met, biting on the biggest (and free!) burger you ever had in your life, watching variety show on his phone on youtube.

• giggles and big ass laughs escape both your mouths while you finish the cheapest meal you had with him, used to take you to fancy restaurant and hotels.

• but when the episode is over and your burger as well, you know it's time to give him an explanation, even if he wouldn't dare to ask why were you in such a state.

• "thank you... for coming, i mean. and for the food, of course" he just smiles looking at you sweetly "are you feeling any better?"

• you nod and sigh, facing in front of you. "today- um, a-a child... he came in almost two months ago" you feel tears approaching again, "he died today. we couldn't save him" you press your hands on your eyes and let out a sob.

• "oh y/n, i'm so sorry" you feel his warm arms around you in no time, letting yourself cry in his embrace while you grieve the loss of your patient.

• "he was eight and the sweetest human being on earth... why- how can something like this happen?" "i really don't know, i'm so sorry baby"

• he keeps on holding you untill you calm down, giving you some kisses here and there. "what can i do for you?"

• you sniff and think about it: you don't want him to leave. "can you stay with me?" "of course princess. what if we go at mine, i can prepare you a warm bath, you can wear my clothes and we can cuddle on my king-sized bed. what do you think?" "i love it"

• and that's how you understood that na jaemin was one to keep close. and you met his cats that night!

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

masterlist

Taglist: @carelessshootanonymous

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

[db0xtae]

Winning the Breakup | Epilogue 1/2

- Minho (Xo Kitty) X Reader

ৎ୭ Summary : Y/N, a talented and athletic after an intense breakup, Y/N reluctantly agrees to fake date Minho, to make their exes jealous. What begins as a mutual arrangement soon turns complicated when their fake relationship starts to feel all too real. With humor, bickering, and tender moments, Minho and Y/N's journey proves that sometimes the best way to heal from heartbreak is to allow yourself to fall in love.

ৎ୭ Warnings : None

ৎ୭ WC : 1,129



ৎ୭ Previous Chapters : 14

ৎ୭ A/N : Hope you guys enjoy this is part one of the special chapters.

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Epilogue: A New Beginning

The cold breeze of early spring swept through the KISS campus as students filed into the building for the first day of the new semester. The sun was still low in the sky, casting a soft glow over the school grounds, signaling the start of a new chapter not just in their academic lives, but in the lives of Minho and Y/N.

The last few months had been a whirlwind. After their New Year’s Eve marathon—which turned into an unforgettable night of laughs, snacks, and stolen kisses—things had settled into a comfortable rhythm. They were no longer just a couple pretending for the sake of exes, nor were they two people fumbling through their feelings. No, they were together, fully, and it was as easy as breathing.

They were still Minho and Y/N, the two people who started off fake dating as a joke. But now, there was no joke. There was love. There was the shared morning coffee before classes, the late-night walks when everything felt like it was just the two of them in the world, and the sweet, unspoken understanding that no matter how chaotic life got, they had each other.

As Y/N stood in front of her dorm room, organizing her books for the day, her phone buzzed with a text from Minho.

Minho: “You ready for the first day back? Or are you still in denial that break is over?”

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly before typing a response.

Y/N: “Just getting my life together. Give me five minutes, I’ll be ready.”

She hit send and slipped her phone into her bag, giving herself a once-over in the mirror before grabbing her jacket and heading out the door.

When she arrived at the school’s main entrance, there was Minho, standing casually by a bench, hands in his pockets, waiting for her with that signature half-smile that always made her heart skip. It had only been a few months since they’d admitted their feelings, but it already felt like he’d always been in her life.

“Morning,” Y/N greeted, her voice warm with affection.

Minho’s eyes lit up as he stepped forward, his lips curling into a smile. “Morning, sleepyhead. Did you actually get some sleep last night, or were you busy planning for your next Netflix binge?”

Y/N laughed. “I slept for five hours, thank you very much.”

“Five hours? You’re lucky if I got that much,” Minho said dramatically, though his voice softened when he added, “but I guess I’d rather be here with you than anywhere else.”

Y/N smiled, her cheeks tinged with pink. It had been so easy to fall for him, and in a way, she couldn’t believe how much she had grown to rely on him. Their relationship had blossomed in the most natural of ways, with each of them supporting the other, helping each other grow, and loving each other fiercely.

As they walked through the campus toward their first class of the semester, they reminisced about the past few months.

“Can you believe it’s been almost four months since we started… all of this?” Y/N asked, gesturing between the two of them.

Minho smirked. “It’s been four months of ‘fake dating’ that turned into real dating, huh?”

Y/N playfully nudged him with her elbow. “You were the one who wanted to keep up the ‘fake dating’ act for the longest time.”

Minho raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I wasn’t the one who couldn’t keep her hands off me. Who could blame me for going along with it?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the playful spark in her gaze gave away how much she enjoyed their back-and-forth banter. “You are so full of yourself, Minho.”

“Only when I’m talking about you,” he teased, leaning in just enough to steal a quick kiss on the cheek. “Besides, I think I’ve earned it.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Y/N teased back, giving him a playful shove. “Now, are you ready for this semester?”

Minho grinned, slipping his hand into hers. “Ready as I’ll ever be. With you by my side, I can handle anything KISS throws our way.”

As they entered the classroom, they were greeted by their friends—Kitty, Dae, Q, Yuri, and the rest of the crew. There was an undeniable change in the air. It wasn’t just that Minho and Y/N were dating; it was that they were dating openly, confidently, and without hesitation. They didn’t need to hide anymore. No more awkward silences or secret glances. The friends had all gotten used to the idea, and more importantly, they had embraced it.

“You guys are officially the cutest couple ever,” Kitty said, flashing a teasing smile as she winked at Y/N.

“Seriously,” Dae chimed in, his voice low but playful. “I can’t believe you two managed to make it through all that fake dating nonsense and end up together. That’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming.”

Yuri just shook her head with a fond smile. “Honestly, I thought you’d both be too stubborn to admit it. But here we are.”

Q grinned from his seat. “If you two break up, I swear I’m going to call a drama writer and have you both star in a show about the ultimate love story. It’ll be legendary.”

Minho chuckled, his fingers still intertwined with Y/N’s as he sat beside her. “As long as there are no love triangles involved, I’m in.”

Y/N leaned into him, her gaze shifting to her friends as she spoke. “We’re not going anywhere, you know. We’ve been through a lot together already. If we can survive fake dating, we can handle anything.”

“True,” Yuri said, smiling gently. “You two are solid.”

The bell rang, signaling the start of class, and the group settled into their seats, but the atmosphere felt different. Lighter. There was a sense of comfort, of peace that came with knowing that Minho and Y/N were no longer pretending. They were real.

As the class progressed, Minho and Y/N exchanged small glances and secret smiles, their hearts light with the knowledge that they had something special. They weren’t just a couple of friends anymore, not pretending for the sake of others. They were them—two people who had found each other through chaos and confusion, and now they were navigating this thing called life together.

When the class ended, Minho and Y/N walked out together, hand in hand, ready for the semester ahead. There was so much to look forward to—more memories to make, more moments to share, and more love to give.

And as they stepped into the busy halls of KISS, they knew that whatever happened, they would face it together. Because the hardest part was already behind them.

The rest? It was just the beginning.

[burningembers91]

I'll Bring You Flowers - Ryu Su-Yeol/K x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

Chalk and Cheese

Synopsis: When K hears you're having a bad day, he orders you some flowers to cheer you up. But he finds it hard to keep his distance from the girl who makes him feel so alive.

A/N: After i'd finished writing this i realised i'd also used the broken boiler in my Hwang In-Ho fic. I guess i'm just a sucker for a damsel in distress and a man who know his way around a toolbox

The flowers were waiting for you when you got home. A large, beautiful bouquet, filled with the most stunning pastel petals. The muted pinks, blues and purples were complimented by the cream vase, with a small note attached to one of the stems. I hope your days become brighter soon, was all the note said. There was no name, no indication of who’d sent you such a thoughtful gift. You’d been having such a terrible day, but you hadn’t told anyone about it.

It had all started that morning, waking up to a text from a guy you’d been casually dating, saying he didn’t see your relationship going anywhere and he thought it was best if you broke it off. You weren’t upset because you particularly liked the man, it was more frustration at the fact that yet again, you simply weren’t good enough for someone. Your boiler then broke as you were halfway through your shower, the water turning ice cold in a matter of seconds, leaving you screaming as you scrambled to exit the Arctic conditions. Your favourite coffee place was closed, meaning you had to skip your usual morning latte, and you were passed over for a promotion, losing out to a man who wouldn’t know a hard day’s work if it punched him in the face. You couldn’t figure out who had sent you such a beautiful gift, but it had brightened your day.

K watched you through the peephole of the apartment door as you picked up the vase. He was buzzing, practically vibrating with joy as he saw the small smile flicker across your face. The flowers had been expensive, a lot more than he’d planned to spend, but that was a problem for Su-Yeol to worry about. He’d heard you this morning through the walls of the apartment, crying as you turned the shower on. He heard you scream, heard the cascade of swear words fall from your lips as you cursed every God under the sun. He wondered what had happened to you, and he’d have gone marching straight to your door if Su-Yeol hadn’t fronted and stopped him in his tracks.

K still couldn’t figure out why Su-Yeol didn’t want you the way he did. They both agreed you were beautiful, kind, funny, and feisty. You were K’s dream woman, and he knew you were Su-Yeol’s perfect girl too. “Just take her out for dinner,” K insisted one night during another of their childish bickering matches. “No,” Su-Yeol had snapped back, trying his hardest to ignore his more passionate alter ego. “Then let me take her out! I’ll show her how a real man should treat a woman.” K stood up, puffing his chest out as he paraded around the living room. “I’ll wine her, I’ll dine her, I’ll sixty-nine-” “Absolutely not,” Su-Yeol cut him off before he could finish, desperately trying to rid his mind of the image of you spread out on his bed.

But K wasn’t giving up. He waited until Su-Yeol was asleep before fronting and ordering an excessively expensive bouquet of flowers. He paid extra for the vase, hoping his extravagant purchase would teach Su-Yeol a lesson. He was wasting his life, punishing himself for things that weren’t his fault. K didn’t want to spend his entire existence alone, and he knew Su-Yeol didn’t either. But K had always been the brave one, and it was time they stopped living in the shadows.

He waited until you were heading out on your run, something he noticed you always did when you’d had a stressful day. It hadn’t been easy to overpower Su-Yeol, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d maintain control, but he had to know if you liked the gift. He waited until you were almost passed the door before he flung it open, his smile wide. “Did you like the flowers?” he cried, throwing his arms wide out to the side, a huge floppy grin plastered to his face.

“Jesus Christ!” The sound of your neighbour’s voice scared the living daylights out of you, and you jumped back, knocking your phone and earbuds clean out of your hand. “Wait, it was you?” you asked, fumbling to pick up your belongings. “You got me the flowers?” “Yes,” K nodded, “I heard you crying. You sounded very sad.” You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, could feel the beet red burn of embarrassment. “Oh, right,” you mumbled, fumbling for an excuse. “And then I heard you scream,” K said. “And you said “fuck” quite a lot. I figured you could use a little pick-me-up.”

You couldn’t help but smile at your mysteriously odd neighbour, who was quite clearly in one of his better moods this evening. His smile was wide, his floppy hair falling so effortlessly into his big, brown eyes. He wore a royal blue silk shirt adorned with leopard print, and on anyone else you were sure it would look ridiculous, but on him, it looked incredible. “My boiler broke,” you explained, “and I got dumped. Sorry you had to hear me snivelling.”

K desperately tried to stop smiling, tried to look like he felt bad for you, but he simply couldn’t manage it. His smile was face-splittingly wide as he heard that you were single. This was perfect, a dream come true, and he couldn’t let the opportunity go to waste. “Did you get your boiler fixed?” he asked, crossing his fingers behind his back in the hopes that the answer was no. “Not yet,” you shrugged, “they can’t come out until Monday, but I can just use the showers at work.” “I can fix it,” K said before he could stop himself. He’d spent some of his time in control learning practical skills, sick of seeing Su-Yeol pay for people to fix things around the apartment when it was simple enough to learn. “Really? I wouldn’t want to put you out, Su-Yeol,” you said, but you found yourself curious about your handsome, if a little odd, neighbour. This was longest you’d ever spoken before, and tonight he seemed to be in a particular good mood. “Call me K,” he insisted, desperate to hear you say his name. “Ok… K,” you smiled, “Is that some kind of nickname?” He laughed as you said his name, the pure joy of hearing someone other than Su-Yeol speak his name aloud was overwhelming. The way you said it was so perfect, and he knew it would be playing in his head over and over again.

You showed him into your apartment, and K noticed the flowers taking up pride of place on your kitchen island. The handwritten note was pinned to your fridge and K was sure if he smiled any harder, his face would completely split. You showed him the boiler, handing him a toolbox you kept in the storage cupboard but barely ever used. You watched him work, noticing for the first time how toned his muscles were, visible even through the silk of his gaudy shirt. He chatted away as he worked, telling you about himself and asking you questions about your life. K made sure to sprinkle in snippets of both himself and Su-Yeol, hyping up both of their best qualities; he wanted to put their best foot forward.

You’d never realised what a great laugh Su-Yeol had, had never realised how funny he was. He had you laughing until tears streamed down your cheeks, had you hooked on every word he said. He was an incredible storyteller, so vibrant and passionate when he talked, his arms gesticulating wildly. How was this man before you the same man who parked halfway across your parking space and purposely closed doors on you? He was so different to the cold, stony-faced man you’d grown so used to.

K was an efficient worker, almost too efficient as he fixed the problem with relative ease. He didn’t want to go back to the apartment, but he could feel Su-Yeol breaking back through, could feel himself losing grip. “Come for dinner with me tomorrow,” he said, as you showed him to the door. “I know a great sushi place.” “Ok,” you found yourself saying, unable to resist the almost electric charm he possessed. “Pick me up at 8?” “It’s a date,” K smiled, taking your hand gently in his. He brought it ever so slowly to his lips, softly brushing them across your knuckles. You felt a spark go through you, felt yourself falling into those perfect eyes of his. “I’ll see you tomorrow, K,” you winked, closing the door behind him.

He couldn’t believe it; couldn’t believe you’d spoken in his name. He finally felt like a real person, not some annoying character Su-Yeol had to deal with. You made him feel alive, made him finally feel like he existed as an individual.

He knew Su-Yeol would go mad when he found out he’d asked you out, but you were worth the wrath he’d incur. K could only hope he’d be able to keep control long enough to take you out, to get to know more about you and hopefully convince Su-Yeol you were worth it.

They were both tired of being alone, tired of having no one but each other for company. If only K could get Su-Yeol to see how great you were, he knew you could have something magical together.

He wasn’t about to give up on the girl who’d finally made him feel alive.

[psicheanima]

Re: a different ask from a different anon, thoughts on people who agree with and/or admire Makima for what she did/tried to do? Folks who really vibe with the, like, "lady on a mission" and "you cannot wait for the world to change, you have to do it yourself" and "when you strive for good, you are the only moral arbiter you need" grindset?

Ok, im intoxicated answering this… sorry.. I don’t know… I guess I think it’s cringe.

Makima is a deeply flawed person. Those flaws are what make her interesting in the first place. If you don’t want to acknowledge them….. then I guess I don’t really feel like you respect her as a character more than like some sort of strange idol? Waifu? Her horrible beliefs being horrible but her still genuinely, straightforwardly, passionately believing from the bottom of her heart that this is the correct thing is what makes her interesting. The dichotomy!

agreeing with her…. Kind of just feels like a Beta male move…. like you’re already under her spell… but we’re real people, so why act like that….? It’s kind of weird…. Always makes me think that person is a surface level fan….. sorry

[uv-ray-writes]

“What did you do?” The hero’s voice was flat, the words sharp like an accusation, though their eyes betrayed a flash of something—hurt? Confusion? It didn’t matter. They didn’t get to act like they were the victim here.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the villain shrugged their shoulders, trying to look as casual as possible. They couldn’t let the hero see how much this was eating at them—how deeply it hurt, even if they wanted to pretend otherwise.

“Don’t be coy.”

“Well, maybe you should be more specific.” The villain grinned, a little too wide, a little too innocent. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“Your mark,” the hero said through gritted teeth. “It’s gone.”

“Oh. That.” The villain took a step back, glancing at their now-bare wrist, the place where the mark had once been—where their bond to the hero had once lived. “I guess it finally decided to take a vacation. I hope it’s having fun, you know, away from the whole ‘soulmate’ thing.” They paused, letting the words sink in with a mischievous glint in their eyes. “It might’ve needed some space. Some people had real strong opinions about it and they weren’t shy about making their opinions known.”

“For good reason.”

“There’s never a good reason to tell your soulmate to fuck off, you know,” the villains scoffed. “Aren’t all of you goody two shoes supposed to know that? That’s like chapter one on ‘How to be a Decent Human Being’.”

“Not everyone’s soulmate goes around murdering people.”

“Oh yeah, because you’ve never killed a single person in your entire life,” the villain’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“It’s not the same,” the hero ground out, barely holding back the rage.

The villain crossed their arms, their voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Oh, it’s very much the same. You kill people because they don’t agree with you, and I—” They spread their arms with a slow, mocking flourish, “—do the exact same thing. Only, I’m honest about it. You’re just a hypocrite in shiny armour.”

“You don’t get to compare us,” the hero hissed. “You kill because you like it. I do it to protect people, to stop you.”

The villain let out a short laugh, bitter and sharp. “You really still believe that, don’t you? That you’re the good guy? How precious. We both know you’re just as capable of cruelty as I am.”

“That’s not—” The hero took a deep breath, trying to steady themself. “We’re soulmates. That should mean something.”

“Should it?” The villain raised an eyebrow, their voice laced with venom. “Because it doesn’t feel like it means a damn thing. You never wanted it. I was the one who tried to make peace with it, to accept it. You rejected it. You rejected me.”

The hero’s eyes flickered with a flash of guilt, but they quickly masked it with anger. “You’re a villain. You’re everything I fight against.”

“And you’re the hero, right?” The villain’s lip curled into a sneer. “The shining knight who thinks they have all the answers. Well, guess what? I don’t need your approval. I didn’t need your mark either.”

The hero’s voice was dangerously low. “What did you do?”

The villain gave a dramatic shrug, their hand flapping in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, nothing major. Just broke up with fate. Made a deal with a god, got it erased. No big deal.” They grinned. “You wouldn’t believe the paperwork, though. Gods really need to streamline their processes.”

The hero was silent for a moment, processing what they were hearing. “You… erased it? You got rid of it? You didn’t... you didn’t have to do that.”

“Didn’t I?” The villain tilted their head, letting the sarcasm drip from their words like honey. “Because, from where I was standing, it seemed like you were the one who couldn’t even look at me without trying to burn a hole through my skull. So, yeah, I thought maybe it was time to call it quits. Anyway, funny story about that.” The villain stepped closer, their playful tone still dancing in the air. “You know how they always say soulmates are a gift? So I just walked up to fate and demanded a refund.”

“Stop making jokes about this,” the hero snapped, frustration creeping into their voice. “You don’t just get rid of your soulmate’s mark. That’s… that’s insane.”

“Well, call me insane then.” The villain grinned wider.

The hero narrowed their eyes. “You don’t get it. This was supposed to mean something. We were supposed to mean something.”

The villain’s face flickered with something—something soft, almost sad—before they masked it with another flippant grin. “Oh, trust me, I get it. I’ve always gotten it. You were the one who never wanted this. You were the one who couldn’t even look at me without cringing. At least I gave it a shot. But you? You hated it. You hated the idea of being connected to someone like me.”

“Stop,” the hero said sharply, their frustration mounting. “I never hated you. It wasn’t like that. I just—”

“Couldn’t accept me, right? Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, I get it now.” The villain waved a hand, interrupting them with a grin that was all sharp edges. “I’m a villain. You’re a hero. We’re so star-crossed. Shakespeare would’ve had a field day with us.”

The hero’s face softened for a moment, a flicker of guilt flashing across their features. “I never said that.”

“Oh please.” The villain scoffed, crossing their arms. “You couldn’t even stand being in the same room with me. Every time you looked at me, I saw the disgust in your eyes. I wasn’t your soulmate, I wasn’t even a person to you. All you saw was a villain, a person you had to hate because it made you feel good about yourself.”

The hero was quiet, the accusation hanging in the air. But the villain was already moving on, their playful tone back in full force. “Anyway, it wasn’t like I had much of a choice. I made a deal, and bam! Problem solved. No more mark. No more weird soulmate obligations. No more you looking at me like I’m about to tie you to a chair and spout an evil monologue about world domination.”

The hero clenched their fists, trying to hold onto their temper. “Why didn’t you fight for us?”

The villain’s eyes darkened, the bitterness creeping into their voice again. “Do you really think I didn’t try? Do you think I wanted to be free of you? But I couldn’t do it anymore. The pain of knowing I was nothing to you? The constant reminder of what I could never have?”

“You could’ve fought for it,” the hero argued, their voice shaking with frustration. “For us. I didn’t want this. But I would’ve—I would’ve tried if you had.

The villain’s face hardened, the smile fading. “No, you wouldn’t have. I could see it in your eyes every time you looked at me. You couldn’t even say the word ‘soulmate’ without making a face like I’d just spat in your coffee.”

“You’re pushing me away,” the hero accused.

“Oh, please.” The villain threw their hands up, exasperated but still oddly charming in their annoyance. “I’m not pushing you away. I’m letting you go. There’s a difference. I figured it’d be kinder this way. You’d just end up tying me up and trying to reform me, like some kind of twisted, dysfunctional romance movie. Trust me, we’re better off without each other.”

There was a long silence, the weight of their words sinking in, but the villain was already backing away, their eyes twinkling with a mixture of mischief and something else, something more vulnerable that they didn’t want the hero to see.

The hero stood still, staring at the space where the villain had been, feeling a strange emptiness fill the space between them. The hero wanted to chase them, to argue, to fight for something—anything—but the words stuck in their throat.

“Well, that’s that,” the villain called over their shoulder. “You can go back to your clean, shiny world of righteousness and moral superiority. And I’ll just, you know, keep being the bad guy. No biggie.”

With that, the villain turned and walked away, their footsteps light, but there was a heaviness to their departure that the hero couldn’t ignore.

And as much as they hated to admit it, the hero felt like they’d just lost something they never really had.

[phalangemedes]

I know there are allegories for addiction and the fledgling whiff of mood disorders within the pre-nuclear run up too, which makes it more complicated, like yes, I wanna throat punch him for decisions he’s made but also that is a flawed man in a position without a win state. He's obviously a guy with deeply obsessive traits, and although initially he'd found a.. I don't wanna say healthy, the kind of work load he put himself under was by no means good for him, but it was FOR GOOD. So I'll say he had an ideal and was harming himself for it re:no sleep, constant stress, general unwellness in trying to get the cryo project off the ground. But when it came to the point of no return with necromancy, I think the easiest example (is actually not Titania and Ulysses, I think that's more of a scream for intimacy. That he couldn’t connect with his peers so he made someone he could love who didn’t question How he loved) was the exact point Cristabel treated him As a Godlike figure and showed him the shape of the soul and that preternatural Need to obsess transferred to the addictive power of necromancy.

That's another part of the "love" of it though, I think, that lysis is neither necessarily good, nor does it have a perfect form, just as love will always contain grief and can never be “pure”. Which worsens that John dictated the grief come first for his Saints, which I guess in some ways you might call a mercy, but it can only be a true mercy if it's the choice of the people involved, not an outside party. Maybe that’s more it, John wants to do good by Forcing What He Thinks Is Good on people.

Alecto is a very LITERAL example of some of the above too, John was so lonely Barbies were what made him feel seen, so what's better than a giant one? She'll get it right? She wont leave him, she'll love him and whatever he says she'll go "Yes John I agree!". And then, actually, he is once again a Huge Dick and when it doesn't work he locks her up. Like!! Sir!! You are repeating generational cycles with yourself, you have become your own terrible father in an unbreakable loop! (ACTUALLY SEE BELOW, baby G1deon did EXACTLY the same. In a way so did Harrow, also with Alecto. Lonely children seek comfort in the inanimate, because there’s a lack of complexity. Hi it’s me I’m also Children)

Earth!Prison fits so nicely with his inability, or lack of WANT of contemplation too. Sit his ass in the naughty corner and make him think about what he did lmao. he may have some flora and fauna for company

Yeahh I feel for Kiriona, she's only ever had 'my mum's great because she's a random skeleton that I can make sure loves me because she had no autonomy' Magnus, briefly, John mid a mental health crisis... Pyrrha having forgotten how to communicate with people. WORSE in some ways, Ianthe offering her a mutual exchange of friendship and it's IANTHE who is about as able to cope with loneliness as John, but on the opposite axis. The poor babies are not okay

I think that's one of the things capitalism has stolen from us as a species though isn't it, that... art can be bad. Because It can't?? As you said any form of self expression is an oddly selfless glance into the heart of someone, and the self can't be bad if the art it's offering is made from a place of love. (It's why crypto bollocks and AIgen is the anti art isn't it, profiteering is it's major point, not the act of creation. And, on a further and prolly more controversial note, a lot of gallery work. Things that sell for a price that could reinvigorate or entirely regenerate neighbourhoods or eliminate vast quantities of homelessness is just elaborate money laundering between the 1% and honestly, evil.)

We could all take a lesson from Pal! Deal with our trauma by writing porn, respect women and maybe like... resist self destruction. Just a teensy smidgen.

I'll shout this from any available elevation, roof tops or not, but I wanna grow up to be like her. Just adept at my craft and absolutely unhinged in love with what I do?? What more could you ask for?! I mean, also the emotionally damaging (affectionate) people with my output too. Like, muah. Haunting you with my narrative? -brow waggles-

@debtstothedead hi. I'm still not sorry but I will move if you want us too lmao

I have such a big beef with the way that the TLT fandom talks about Cam and Pal being codependent. I have not seen any word of god quotes that talk about them that way, but it seems to be this widely accepted truth that just doesn't click with my reading of the characters.

Certainly by NtN Pal has a dependent relationship with Cam, as they are sharing a body. There are even some parallels to codependency with how their use of necromancy in Cam's body causes her harm.

What I just don't get about the codependent label is that I don't see Cam and Pal enabling one or the other in destructive behavior. Certainly they partake in risky behavior that Pyrrah criticizes them for, but it seems to be a mutual decision. Cam is just as reckless as Pal is, and possibly moreso.

(And also Pyrrah is a huge projecting hypocrite. Love her tho I may, it's true.)

Pal's quotes about how grand lysis wasn't their inevitable end, but was the best and kindest option left to them complements the discussions we overhear in their recordings. Pal's pursuit of Cam's consent and her enthusiasm in giving it just doesn't match the codependent relationship that fans keep referencing.

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

didn’t realize this was the liberal arts, part 3 (Jason Todd x reader)

After trying and failing to learn why you’re interested in Black Mask’s drug operation, Red Hood follows you to Crime Alley

Part 3 of the college run! Parts 1 and 2 are on my masterlist.

You’re in one of Jason’s college classes, and you’re mean. Then you show up when he’s Red Hood, and guess what, you’re still mean. Swearing, as always, light violence. Reader is still very mean, but now Jason’s having fun.

I don’t know how long this is

———

ENGL205 Literary Touchstones of the Seventeenth Century has been a hell of a lot more fun since Jason’s botched ‘date’ with you.

Date. Was it a date? Or was it a failed reconnaissance op? Yeah, Jason, decides it was a date, but only because it was such a catastrophic failure. He’d only asked you to go for coffee to try and suss you out and he’d learned jack-shit; no new leads on your grudge against Black Mask’s drug dealers.

Hm. A coffee date. That’s why people go on dates, right? To further criminal investigations?

Jason’s gotta find his jokes somewhere.

No new leads, and you’d stormed out of the coffee shop because, by the end, you’d determined you hated him. Yeah, that counts as a date.

Heh. His first date ever, and it sucked ass.

He cracks himself up.

Bad date or not, Jason’s been having a lot more fun in your shared English class. Who knew your inexplicable irritation with him could be such a good time? But it is, and he can’t help provoking you. He doesn’t go too far, at least he thinks he doesn’t, but he does what he can to make you squirm. If there’s a seat next to yours in class, you bet your ass Jason’s taking it. If not, he sits directly across from you. It doesn’t happen every time, and it shouldn’t be a big deal, but it absolutely infuriates you. When he’s next to you, you all but kick him under the table, and when he’s across from you, you glare at him for the entire hour and twenty minutes. Jason has absolutely no idea what he did to piss you off, but he’s not one to walk away from a good time.

It’s not just where he sits, either, Jason takes it upon himself to disagree with you as much as possible in class discussion. At first, he tried to counter every point you make, but he quickly realized he can’t because, uh oh, you make pretty good points. But he gets creative, he plays a lot of Devil’s Advocate, and more than one discussion has devolved into you borderline yelling at him. It’s oh, so fun.

Once, he actually forced you to agree with him. You looked so physically ill when you conceded that Jason couldn’t help smirking at you. He’s been a little stuck on how you rolled your eyes but nodded at him, lips pursed like you’d had a sour candy on your tongue. Jason’s the only one in the class who can get you to look like that. The other students probably think you two are fucking or something. Whatever. Jason doesn’t care, he’s having the time of his life.

Given how much he’s torturing you, there’s no way he’ll get anything out of you as Jason. He’s gotta investigate you as Red Hood. Two nights after your “coffee date,” he stakes out your apartment. Kind of creepy, but he doesn’t feel like he has a choice. Besides, he’s pretty sure you’re going to make some other move against Black Mask’s drug enterprise, and he doesn’t want you to get hurt.

Figuring you out isn’t the only thing on his docket, like you, Jason wants to know what’s up with Black Mask. There’s been some rumblings about fentanyl, and Jason’s seen some overdoses in alleyways. He wants to keep that shit from getting dumped on the street.

Settling in for the stakeout, Jason thinks back to the ledger he’d found when he’d met you beating the shit out of his man. Poor Nelson Willis. Jason was interested in him, too, he was wrapped up in Black Mask’s network. Willis’ ledger was a goldmine, it gave him an in to Black Mask’s Crime Alley operation.

Almost as interesting as when you’d stolen the book from his hands and threatened him at gunpoint so you could look at it.

You’ve got balls, Jason’ll give you that. But balls aren’t enough to protect you, and Jason’s got a hunch you’re walking into deep shit.

Sure enough, there you are, sneaking off into the night. He follows you from a distance. Like the last time he tailed you, you choose to walk. It takes you half an hour—why don’t you just get on the bus?—but finally, you reach your destination: an apartment complex on the fringe of Crime Alley. Jason’s checked; this is one of the addresses in the ledger

Seems he was right to follow you.

Jason perches himself on a nearby rooftop and watches you scale the fire escape. You do it in easy, practiced movements; you’re clearly in shape. And you’d told him you had a history of martial arts, the one thing of value he’d gotten from his ‘date.’

His eyes linger as you grip the iron bar and heave yourself onto the metal ledge.

Huh.

Jason shakes his head. No time for that now, whatever that even is.

Jason’s startled by the sound of glass breaking. Holy shit, did you just break in through the window? You’re not even going to try the locks?

He quickly grapples himself to the building, landing on the fire escape one floor above you. Grunting, he hooks his knees over the bars of the grate and swings himself down so he can peer into the window, hopefully without you noticing.

His abs creak. Be a lot easier if he were Dick.

Squinting through the helmet, Jason tracks your movement inside. It’s dark, and despite your rough entry, you’re being careful, trying to disturb as little as possible. He spies a crappy table in the corner with some papers on it and watches you lock onto it. You move over eagerly, rustling through the papers.

Jason plans to watch you work for now, he’ll get his crack at the papers in a bit. But the plan falls to shit as he picks up on faint movement in another room.

Fuck. Someone else is here. And you don’t seem to realize it. He’s gonna have to make a move.

Just as he’s leveraging himself down from the fire escape, you freeze, picking your head up. Dropping the papers in your hand, you shift into a fighting stance. Jason rights himself just as the person enters the room. It’s a man and shit, he’s got a gun cocked.

The bullet fires and Jason vaults into the room, gun in hand. He takes a shot at the assailant on his way in, but gets distracted when you drop to the floor.

Fuck fuck. Did you get hit? What kind of shitty rescue knight is he?

Jason fires another wide shot and turns to you, heart in his stomach, but no, you aren’t down and out, you had just dodged. He calls out to you, and gestures toward the window. Take cover, get out. I’ve got this handled.

You turn up your nose and sprint toward the gunman.

Well, shit. That is not what Jason wanted.

He fires another shot at the man who ducks out of range and aims for Jason again. Before he can pull the trigger, you reach him and punch him in the face. The shot is impressive, you clean break his nose. But Jason doesn’t have time to admire you because the man turns to you and hits you with the butt of his gun, knocking you cruelly in the head.

This time, you do fall, and Jason wants to throw up. Furious, he shoots at the man again, hitting his shoulder. The man cries out but, amazingly, pulls his arm up and levels the gun at Jason. Jason braces for another shot.

But it doesn’t come. Suddenly, the man clatters to the floor. Looking down, Jason realizes you aren’t unconscious and you’d kicked his legs out from under him. Wasting no time, Jason jumps on the guy to keep him down, and quickly pistol whips him in the head. Same as he did you, except this time, it sticks, and the man is out cold.

Jason catches his breath. Damn. This wasn’t the close quarters fight he was hoping for.

A moan rises from you next to him. Looking over, Jason sees you blinking, gingerly touching your head. “Ouch, fuck,” you mutter.

“Fucking hell, princess, you sure know how to step in it,” Jason says flatly.

“Piss off.” You bring your fingers to your face, checking for blood.

“You’re not bleeding,” Jason informs you.

“I can see that, assface.” You groan, starting to get to your feet.

“Whoa, hold on,” Jason cautiously moves over to you. “You might have a concussion.”

“You just told me I wasn’t bleeding.” You try to stand up, sway, and fall back to the floor. “Actually, I think I’m going to puke.”

“Concussion,” Jason says grimly. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“Nah, fuck that.” You squint at him, then shudder. “Lemme look at those papers.”

Jason looks to the desk. “You can’t even see straight, princess, no way are you reading those papers.”

“The hell I’m not.” You start to drag yourself over to the table.

What the fuck is wrong with you? “Do you have a goddamn death wish?” he demands.

“None of your business.” You crawl over, reaching blindly onto the tabletop.

“Chrissakes.” Jason gets to his feet, shoving your hand out of the way. “What are you looking for?”

You keep silent, glaring at him. “Fucking hell,” he sighs, kneeling so that he’s next to you. “Whatever it is you’re doing, you clearly can’t do it alone.” He gestures to the goose egg on your temple.

“I would have been fine without you,” you insist, and Jason snorts.

“I saved your ass,” he challenges, and you look away, frowning.

Jason sighs. He thinks you’re…you seem to be, uh. Embarrassed. Maybe. Jason’s not sure he knows what anyone’s thinking these days, but that’s how he’d feel.

“I’m not asking for a thank you, this is what I do,” he tries to reassure you, and you huff. “But I’m better at this than you.” You scoff, opening your mouth to argue, but Jason points to the bat on his chest and you fall silent.

He waits patiently. Finally, you give in. “I want the names of the people who deal on 10th and 3rd,” you mutter.

Jason nods, then digs through the papers. After a minute, he clears his throat. “Here, I’ve got three.” He holds the paper out and you take it, sticking it in your pocket. “What’re you trying to do?” he asks.

You glare at him again, and he sighs. “You’re gonna get hurt, it’s kind of my job to make that not happen.”

“Didn’t ask for you to do that,” you mumble, but your heart’s not in it. “I want their addresses.”

Jason nods. “You gonna break in?”

“Not yet, just looking.”

He nods again. “If I find them, will you let me come with you?” You furrow your brow, confused. “When you look,” he clarifies.

“No,” you say stubbornly.

“Then I take that paper out of your pocket and leave you in the dust,” he says warningly.

“Ugh, fine.” You grab onto his arm to pull yourself up. He starts, uncomfortable at your touch. You ignore him. “Come on, if you’re going to be my babysitter you might as well give me a hand.”

Carefully, Jason abides and helps you stand up. He keeps a hand on you cautiously, afraid you’ll fall again, but you bat him away. “It’s fine, relax.” You look toward the window.

“Here.” Jason walks over and knocks out the rest of the glass. You roll your eyes, but step through. “You need help getting down?”

“Fuck off,” you say easily, but Jason’s not convinced.

“Let me go first, okay?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, gently shoving himself in front of you and leading the way down. He keeps an eye on you the whole way, but you make it down fine.

Out on the street, Jason’s hit with another dilemma. How’s he gonna get you home? It’s a long walk to your apartment. He glances at you: you’re squinting at the ground, bracing yourself against the building so you don’t fall over. Okay, walking and public transit are out of the question. He’s gonna have to call in a favor.

Jason takes out his phone. He pulls up Simon’s number, the jeweler owes him for stopping an armed robbery at his shop. Besides, Jason knows he’ll still be up; Simon may be a jeweler but he’s got eyes and ears and fingers all over this area.

He calls and connects to the line in his helmet. Simon picks up after three rings.

“Hell-o?”

“Simon.” Jason doesn’t need to say anything else.

“Ah! It’s Mr. Red Hood!” His thick, Russian voice booms over the phone. Jason rolls his eyes but smiles behind the helmet. Simon always seems to be poking fun at him, but Jason lets it slide. “Why you call me so late?”

“I need favor.”

“Sure, sure. Of course. What you need?”

“Who the fuck are you talking to?” Jason looks over to see you glaring at him in disbelief. He taps his helmet, and you gesture roughly at him.

Right. International sign for fucked up in the head. He holds up a finger at you. You roll your eyes.

“I need a ride, I picked up someone who needs to get home.”

“Yes, yes. Where?”

Jason gives him the address. A guy will be here in five minutes.

Call over, Jason turns to you. “Talking to a friend,” he explains. “I’m getting you a ride back.”

“Don’t need one,” you mutter, but Jason doesn’t bother to argue. You squint up at him. “I’m not getting in a random-ass car. Why should I trust you?”

Fair point. He sighs. “I…I swear it’ll be okay. I promise.” For whatever that’s worth.

You look at him with suspicion, but nod regardless.

“You should get your head checked out,” he adds. You wave him off.

“How am I gonna know when you get the addresses?” you demand.

Jason’s thought of that. “I’ll find you.”

“Pass.”

Shit, you don’t make anything easy, do you?

“Fine. I’ll give you my number.” You take your phone out of your pocket, and he rattles off one of his burner accounts.

Heh. First time giving someone his number. Jason cracks himself up.

The car arrives and you fall into the back, telling the driver where to go. The guy waves at Jason; it’s Piotr, one of Simon’s kids. He gives him a nod, turning to go.

“Hey.”

Jason looks back to see you’ve rolled down the window. He steps over. “Yeah?”

You let out a long exhale. “Thanks.”

Huh.

“Uh, anytime.”

You nod, rolling the window back up. The car drives off. Jason spends a few moments rooted to the ground.

He snaps back to attention and grapples up to the rooftops. Obviously, he has to follow the car. Just to make sure you get back safe.

———

There will be more! I have a plan!

(Simon is inspired by the jeweler i go to. jsyk he’s a good dude)

[chaotic-tired-fox]

I want to rant about this because it makes me mad, but I also don't want this whole thing on my blog, so I hope you don't mind me putting it here.

Iskall literally compared cancel culture to a literal witch hunt. Okay, I agree with that. Cancel culture is bad, innocent people should not get hurt from things that aren't true. (Except I also think he is a part of consequence culture. He dug his own grave at this point.)

But the amount of hypocrisy in that statement infuriates me. Because guess what he did? He sent his fans right on over to cancel the hermits.

Anyway, friendly reminder to show your support of the hermits to drown out what this bastard is doing <3

Understandable anon.

A good example of Cancel Culture was with what happened with TFC (rip) a few years back. People dragging up very old statements and trying to make a fuss out of it despite the fact that he clearly didn’t hold such views anymore and was considered a friend of both ZombieCleo and Joehills. That’s cancel culture. And even still he apologised for them and everyone moved on.

What’s happening with Iskall isn’t Cancel Culture, it’s just pure hard fact and although it’s difficult it still has to be accepted as such. Iskall didn’t apologise for any of it nor did he show even a hint of accountability or regret for his actions and he’s been treating people like this for years. Turning his fans on the hermits in some declaration of war was extremely childish.

What we can do now as a community is to continue to support and show love to the hermits. Report any nasty comments you see on their videos, draw fan art, join a livestream and just keep being the amazing community y’all are. We can drown out the hate together.