#i think its just because he really has to do everything on his own now

[revelboo]

Auggah i cannot hold my children. Unless they mass displace, but they too baby to know how to properly do that with precision. Imagine mass displaced shenanigans with sparkling makes them blokee size? Cradling your babies inside your palms. Cupping them and staring at them while fussing and suddenly understanding how your alien partner sees you. Uugshshbs. My fictional babies. They don’t even properly exist and im already so attached and weeping for them. The lost light angst piece doesn’t help either. Twin kitten sparklings from cygate and megs sparkling. Honestly just Megatron in general with a protoform of a sparkling. Its so tiny in his servos and he can see aspects of your features so carefully placed and formed from choosing. The moment he watches as the little one goes online and he falls in love for the second time in his life. Aishhshsjsnsjh. Wheeljack as a sire makes go wild too. Honestly any or ang bot with their little sparkling makes weepy. Im getting baby fever for fictional mega robot aliens on a friday afternoon. Ooakahb. Revel im getting sick.

Does Soundwave’s tiny kitchen help any? At some point, Shockwave just starts hanging around out of morbid curiosity about the mess the other three are in. No one invited him, he’s like a stray they fed one time and now he just lives here

Everything Is Alright Pt 139

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• “Normally sparklings aren’t bigger than their carrier,” Megatron mutters, optics narrowing. But then nothing about this is normal. Aware of why you���re uneasy as he clears his vents with a little huff. Because you’re so fragile, something a sparkling isn’t going to understand and now he’s worrying about it. This shouldn’t even be a problem, but being accidentally mated to a human just keeps throwing him unexpected curves. And it’s not like he has that much experience with sparklings. Doubts Starscream does, either. Soundwave at least knows what he’s doing. “We may need to keep you separated from the sparklings until they’re aware enough to understand and recognize that you’re their carrier. And delicate.”

• Wings flaring when your face crumples, he’s half afraid you’re about to start crying again, but you’re silent. Clearly not liking Megatron’s suggestion. And he’s annoyed that the warlord thinks he even has a right to voice his opinion on you and his sparkling. “There’s always a possibility that the spark won’t develop fully because it’s part human. We might very well end up with a human sized Cybertronian,” he mutters, servos gently pressing you to his chassis alongside his cockpit. Soothing himself with the feel of your heartbeat as he frowns to himself. A tiny Seeker is a helpless, Seeker.

• “Size is irrelevant,” Soundwave growls, knows most Cybertronians tend to dismiss or look down on mini bots and cassettes figuratively and literally, and it’s always bothered him. If the sparkling is cassette sized, he’ll still love it. Watching you look from him to Starscream and back to Megatron, your expression bothers him. Makes him want to take you back from the Seeker. Hide you away again and keep you there. Refuse to share you with them while you’re sparked with his young.

• They’re talking at least without brawling and that’s progress. Resting your cheek against Star, your heart aches. You hadn’t even really wanted kids, never really thought about it, but now that it’s happening, you’re aware that you’re probably not going to have those milestones most parents get. That from the sound of it, Megatron intends to keep you away from your own sparklings for your safety. And you get it because you’re concerned about being hurt accidentally, but you still hate it. “And Shockwave designs the protoform?”

• “He will,” Megatron says, jaw clenching, because that’s one more problem. Sooner or later, they’ll need to request he build a protoform and then there’ll be no keeping the fact that humans can be sparked a secret. Knows he should probably warn at least the Decepticons with humans that it’s possible, but they’ll have to realize you’re sparked. Might start questioning why he’s so involved in your life and wellbeing. Why you matter to him. Because you’re the biggest threat to the Decepticon cause right now. One ridiculously fragile human that can likely be accidentally offlined by your own sparkling, and wiping out most of the Decepticon command as collateral damage in the process. Groaning, he rubs a servo against his helm. Why had he saved you again?

• Flicking out his wings when Soundwave reaches as if to take you away, Starscream rumbles a warning that you’re still his. Even if Soundwave sparked you. Can’t even muster the energy to be annoyed with you for letting the other mech bond and spark you. Knows it was most likely his fault, maybe it’s your way of retaliating for him severing that partial bond and almost costing you your life. Lashing out because he was afraid of losing you. Because he was upset with you for loving Soundwave to begin with when you’re his. And trying to hurt someone else when he’s hurting is something he knows too well. Something he learned under Megatron’s fists, but he doesn’t want to be like him. Doesn’t want to keep sabotaging himself because he’s afraid.

Previous

[gothamhappiness]

Behind the masks (mayor!reader x Bruce Wayne) - Part 1

Hi everyone, I got this little idea of reader becoming the new Mayor of Gotham, and as you start working with Batman, you fall for each other. This is going to be a two part story with a gender neutral reader, hope you'll enjoy <3

Warnings: no proof reading, you're a leftist (don't know if it needs to be in the warnings, but basically you just want the inhabitants of Gotham to be healthy and happy), you dislike Bruce Wayne quite a lot (you're uneasy in his presence), but you really love Batman, mentions of kissing Batman, mentions of having sex with Batman (he's a little bit submissive), a little bit of angst as you don't think you can get more than a work + sexual relationship with Batman

You were the new mayor of Gotham. 

You didn’t really believe this happened, that you got elected, that you were now at the head of this rotten city. Your whole campaign has been around cleaning Gotham from its corruption and helping the poor people. You had been treated as a leftist and you had been proud of it. You were there to help your citizens, you were ready to fight for them, you were ready to help Gotham become a good place to live in.

You knew it was going to be hard and maybe a little bit bloody. But you were determined. You felt like it was your calling and now you were elected, you were on a mission. It was your duty to save Gotham from the darkness. You knew you wouldn’t be able to do it on your own, but you trusted your people: some of them showed more than once that they were ready to fight for Gotham too. Batman and his vigilantes, as well as Jim Gordon, were the first people you thought about. You were certain everything was possible.

You would make everything possible.

During the campaign, Bruce Wayne quickly offered you some money. You refused at first, because you weren’t too sure you could trust this himbo of a man. And last time he founded a campaign, Harvey Dent turned into a villain - which you didn’t want to happen to you as well. Plus, even if Bruce Wayne was known for his charity events and for trying his best for the city, you were feeling uneasy around such a rich man. Something always seemed fake about him and you didn’t particularly want to be linked to him. 

However when the mayor in place started to find ways to destroy all the funds you got, you had to accept Bruce Wayne’s offer. You hated it but you didn't have the choice anymore. Your campaign director had been exasperated when you told him you had refused the help of Bruce Wayne. And when all your funds disappeared, he blamed you for not having taken what the richest man of the city offered. You told him you could try to accept now, but he wasn’t too sure Bruce Wayne would accept. You still decided to give it a shot.

You remembered how you came to the Wayne manor, feeling pretty awkward in such a place. You remembered how you felt so small there, because you weren’t coming from a very rich place yourself. You were from the low middle class, just enough to get an education and knowing how to talk to be listened to. 

The butler, Alfred, you believed he was called, answered the door and very politely asked you to come inside, and told you that his Master Bruce was waiting for you in his office. You thanked him before following the man through the manor. 

Alfred knocked at a door and opened it for you before announcing you to Bruce Wayne. You were feeling even more uncomfortable, but you tried to remind yourself that you were putting yourself in this position for your city, for your people.

Bruce Wayne probably noticed how tense you were as he got up to shake hands with you as he gently smiled at you. He offered you a seat. You didn’t want to do any small talk or to stay any longer than necessary so you quickly went to the subject of your visit.

“Mr. Wayne, thank you so much for accepting to receive me so quickly." you said

“It’s no problem, I understand that I could help you?” he asked you, and for a moment you wondered if he was playing dumb or if he really was

“I know I turned down your offer to fund my campaign but… I’m afraid Mr. Hill isn’t playing fair, and I can’t really refuse your money anymore, if you’re still up to help me on that front of course. I would totally understand if you changed your mind…” you told him, pushing away your shame and proud as far as possible from you

“Of course I’m still up to help you. I’m glad when my money can serve Gotham.” he replied and you relaxed

“Thank you so much for making things that easy for me.” you said as you leaned into your seat

“Very good speech you gave last night, by the way.” Bruce Wayne shot you another smile as he signed up the biggest check you ever received in your whole life

“Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Wayne.” you whispered, quite stunned by all the zeroes he added, before it started worrying you: “Should I expect you to ask me for a favor one day?” you wondered and Bruce had seemed a little bit surprised for an instant before shaking his head

“I just want Gotham cleaned. And you seem eager and ready to do so” he shrugged “I can host a gala for you by the way” he offered “Anything that could help your campaign”

“That’s very kind of you, I’ll let you know about it” you had politely replied, hoping you wouldn’t need to accept this new offer as you didn’t particularly enjoy that kind of event and you didn’t want to have to spend more time with Bruce “Brucie” Wayne. “I hope to see you at my victory speech” you smiled, trying to be polite

“I’ll be there” Bruce Wayne simply nodded and you didn’t want to enjoy how certain he seemed to be.

Certain you were going to win.

You kept politely talking to one another for a few more instants, before you softly told him you had to go. You thanked him again and he actually guided you back to the front door of the manor.

You left the manor and as you got inside your car, you had to pinch yourself to make sure that none of this was a dream. 

You were a little bit astonished by how things went. Brucie Wayne acted a lot different than usual: he didn’t flirt with you, he didn’t try to seem to be ongoing and nice. He seemed even normal for a rich guy. You had the feeling he was more than just an himbo, after all he was taking an interest in politics? But you still didn’t trust him and you hoped you wouldn’t need to see him too often. Something about him was making you feel apprehensive, like when you look at an illusion and you can’t determine what is behind it.

Truth to be told, Bruce Wayne really liked you. He really thought you could be a good mayor. Jim Gordon thought the same and they both hoped someone was finally going to be on their side to make Gotham a good place.

Bruce Wayne stayed true to his words and as you were giving your victory speech, you spotted him in the crowd with his butler. He applauded for you, and when journalists asked him if he voted for you, he quickly said that yes. You hated how it helped your popularity and how everyone was even more eager to work with you as a mayor. You still had to send him a little message to thank him for his support.

You did your best to forget about him as you quickly started to work once you got elected. You truly became an ally of Jim Gordon. You started to clean up the GCPD from any rotten apples, and you did the same among the justice of Gotham. Of course, you quickly started to get a lot of enemies. You spent sleepless nights and you were walking on a thin line: with all the people you had to fire, you were clearly understaffed. But you had to do it, and you knew it was the right path. At the same time, you were working on an education plan for the poorest neighbourhoods of Gotham. You were certain that when people would escape poverty, they wouldn't need to work as goons, and criminality would drop.

Jim still warned you about the fact that before you reached this goal, you would need more police officers, or other kinds of help… You quickly understood what he meant and the next day you publicly declared that Batman and the vigilantes working with him were allies of Gotham, that the GCPD wouldn’t attack them anymore and that the city was eager to work with them.

Bruce was watching the news and he was quite pleasantly surprised by such decisions. It would indeed make things so much easier. He was quite eager to work with you.

After that, Jim offered to organise a meeting with Batman in the flesh so the three of you could agree on the better plan for cleaning up Gotham. 

You didn’t hesitate. You had always believed Batman was a light in Gotham. Of course, you weren’t always in agreement with how he acted, but you also knew that without him, the City would have gone even crazier.

You were a little bit stressed out before meeting the Dark Knight. You weren’t too sure how to act around him. But once he appeared in front of you, you relaxed. You felt safe and talking with him felt natural.

It was strange how Batman and you instantly enjoyed each other. You easily understood each other, and you were seeing Gotham and its corruption the same way. You often had meetings with him, sometimes even without Jim. When it was happening, it was almost looking like a working date.

Or just a date.

You didn’t want to admit it but Batman was attractive: he was a big and powerful man, he was a genius too. More than once, when it was just the two of you, he cracked some pretty cynical jokes that never failed to make you laugh. 

He also gave you a device to call him or the other vigilantes in case you would be in danger. You were becoming a target, and you were grateful a man like Batman was looking after you, or you knew you would get killed pretty soon. But, few months after your election, you still haven't needed to call for him because whenever something was going on in the city, he was sending one of the people working with him to you, so they could protect you.

You were quite friendly with all the vigilantes of Gotham and they seemed to like you quite a lot as well. It was a nice change for them that someone was so openly thankful for their work and to be offered food and water whenever they arrived to look after you. You even bandaged Robin one night he showed up injured but with the clear determination to protect you. You had argued with the kid for a while before he let you check on him. Batman personally thanked you for that the night after and you shrugged it off

“You look after me, I look after you all, it seems like a fair deal to me”

The first night you kissed Batman, you got worried it would make things awkward between the two of you. You didn’t know why you acted on your fantasy, but you didn’t regret it, as the man quickly answered the kiss. He sat you on your desk and cupped your face. You smiled against his lips: you clearly weren’t the only one who had wanted this.

The first time you had sex, Batman went down on you. You had been a little bit surprised that the Dark Knight was actually a little bit submissive, but you enjoyed to hold onto the pointed ears of his mask to ride his mouth. He had left you satisfied like you had never been before. Was the man really skilled no matter what he was doing? You wouldn’t complain about it.

You adored Batman, and you enjoyed working with him and having this physical relationship with him, but you didn’t really hope for anything more. You were already happy with that, even if a little voice inside your head told you that you could have so much more. You could become his partner, you could start a romantic relationship too. And you would have been the happiest person on Earth, because he was truly illuminating your nights and helping you go through all the mess Gotham could be.

But he was a masked man and you didn’t really think he would want more or to put his secret identity at risk. You were aware that something changed though, because the other vigilantes seemed a lot more careful when it was about you. After all, they knew their mentor and father was in love with you.

You were taking a break from work, reading a newspaper talking about the fact that Bruce Wayne hadn’t been seen with any girls or boys lately. Actually, it appeared that Brucie wasn’t flirting or hitting on anyone at galas. Everyone was wondering if he wasn’t secretly seeing someone but so far the paparazzi hadn’t found anything.

“I didn’t know you cared about Bruce Wayne?” a voice asked from behind you and you jumped before groaning as you realised that Batman had appeared out of nowhere

“Bat” you gave him a warning look “We talked about it” you reminded him as you turned your seat to face him

“Sorry, mayor” he apologised but you saw the ghost of a smile on his lips

“And no I don’t care about Bruce Wayne, but that’s all the media are talking about lately.” you replied to his question “But you know him, don’t you? Is he too in love to fuck with anyone else?” you teased

“I don’t know his sexual life” Batman sternly replied and you hummed “But you know him too, don't you?” he asked but he seemed to already know the answer

“He just gave me money for my campaign.” you shrugged

“And you didn’t try to know more about him? It’s always useful to have rich people on your side” Batman tried and you were wondering what was happening with Batman

“No. He feels too… unreal and that scares me off.” you finally said

“Unreal?” Batman seemed genuinely surprised

“I mean you feel unreal sometimes too, but you feel fuller too. I’m uneasy around Bruce Wayne because… well I don’t know, it’s like a perfect mask and because he’s super hot, no one tries to find out what’s really behind all of it. I guess you’re also wearing a mask, but you’ve got a real personality” you tried to explain “Anyways, we’re not here to…”

“You’re smart” Batman cut you off and you arched an eyebrow at that “But you never wonder what's behind the masks?” he asked again and you were really curious about where this conversation was leading

“I don’t want to be near Bruce Wayne. And as for you… I don’t know. We’re working well together, the sex is good too. I guess I’m always afraid to ask for too much, because I don’t want things to get ruined between us because I’ve been too greedy” you sincerely replied

“Would you do me a favor?” he suddenly asked and you nodded “Bruce Wayne is going to invite you to one of his galas and I need you to go there, and I need you to talk with him. And then you’ll tell me if you’re still scared to look beneath the mask”

--

Part 2

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

@tatsuri-zomushiki

@navs-bhat

@randomnamedmira

@winterhi09

@murkyponds

@qardasngan

Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3

@alishii

[multi-fandom-imagine]

🎨Little Masterpiece || Rafayel ||

A/n: He would be an amazing father

The first thing you notice when you walk into the sunlit living room is the mess. You had to bite your tongue from screaming out in frustration as your gaze looked everything over.

Splotches of blue, red, and yellow paint streak across the floor, tiny handprints marking the walls, and the unmistakable giggles of your three-year-old echoing through the air. In the middle of the chaos stands Rafayel, tall and effortlessly poised despite the absolute disaster surrounding him.

And in his arms? Your little artist, clutching a paintbrush like a scepter, her hands covered in an explosion of color.

“Ah, my love,” Rafayel greets you, voice lilting with amusement, his usual teasing edge barely concealed. He shifts his grip on your daughter, adjusting them easily on his hip as if they weigh nothing. “You’re just in time to witness true genius at work.”

You blink. Then, slowly, take in the scene before you a weak whimper leaving your lips.

The walls—oh god, the walls. What was once pristine now looks like an abstract battlefield, vibrant streaks of color smeared across its once-perfect surface. The coffee table, once a respectable piece of furniture, is now a canvas, bearing the evidence of tiny, eager hands experimenting with brush strokes. Even the floor isn’t spared, a tragic victim of tiny feet that have stomped through spilled paint like it was a festival of colors.

And yet, despite the sheer chaos, Rafayel is grinning. Beaming with utter pride.

Your child wriggles in his arms, holding up her latest masterpiece—a scrap of paper barely visible under the thick layers of paint. “Look, Mama!”she chirps, their wide, bright eyes—so much like yours—shining with excitement. “I made a big picture!”

Your gaze flicks back to Rafayel, expecting even a hint of guilt, maybe a nervous chuckle. Instead, he looks absolutely, ridiculously proud.

Your daughter waves her paint-covered hands, flinging a few more drops onto the already stained floor. Rafayel barely flinches. If anything, he holds her closer, his own shirt now streaked with color. The sight of him, all white and pristine, now a mess of tiny fingerprints and stray streaks of blue, is almost too much. His hair even caked with paint, your husband not caring at all.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Rafayel.”

He hums, blinking down at you with those infuriatingly beautiful pink and blue eyes.

“Why,” you say slowly, voice teetering on the edge of exasperation, “is our daughter painting the walls?”

A beat of silence. Then, with an utterly shameless grin, he replies, “Because she is an artist, of course.”

You stare at him....just a blank look because by now you should be used to his antics.

Rafayel, with the full audacity of a man who has never been told “no” in his life, gestures toward the wall like it’s a grand masterpiece hanging in a gallery. “Just look at this expression! The boldness! The confidence in their strokes! My little one has an eye for color, don’t you think?” He turns his gaze back to your child, expression utterly besotted. “Truly,” he coos, “you take after your father.”

Your daughter giggles, throwing her tiny paint-covered arms around his neck. “Papa says I make good art!”

“The best art,” Rafayel affirms solemnly, pressing a kiss to her messy hair, uncaring of the blue smudge it leaves on his cheek.

You groan, running a hand through your hair. “I leave you alone for one hour—”

“And what a magnificent hour it has been,” Rafayel interrupts smoothly. “Our daughter has embraced her creative spirit. We should encourage this kind of talent, don’t you think?” His voice is all teasing, but there’s genuine warmth beneath it, a quiet joy at witnessing his child’s happiness.

You want to argue. You really do. But then you look at them—your little girl, beaming with absolute pride, her cheeks flushed with excitement. And Rafayel, looking at her like she hung the stars in the sky. His usually teasing, impish expression is softer now, affectionate in a way only you ever get to see.

He’s never cared much for the world’s judgment. He plays at being charming and carefree when it suits him, cold and ruthless when it doesn’t. But with your daughter in his arms, his child, Rafayel is completely and utterly himself—no masks, no arrogance, just pure, undiluted love.

And despite the absolute mess surrounding you, despite knowing that you’ll be scrubbing paint off the floors for days, you feel your heart soften.

Still, you let out a long-suffering sigh. “Rafayel,” you say, crossing your arms, “you’re cleaning this up.”

He grins, unbothered. “Of course, my love. But first—” He shifts his daughter in his arms, holding her up slightly. “Shall we add a final touch to your masterpiece?”

The little girl gasps dramatically. “More paint!”

“More paint!” Rafayel echoes, positively delighted.

You groan again, but you’re already smiling. “Absolutely not!”

Rafayel pouts, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come now, where’s your artistic spirit?”

“It died when I saw the walls.”

Your daughter gasps again, scandalized. “Mama!”

"Fine....fine..more paint" you mutter.

Rafayel chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before grinning down at his daughter. "Told you mama would cave."

You shake your head, utterly exasperated. But as your daughter cheers and Rafayel laughs, his warm gaze never straying from yours, you know deep down—you wouldn’t trade this for anything.

Even if it means living in a house that now resembles an art exhibit gone very wrong.

[orpheuslookingback]

oof man I've been loving severance in general but I think that last episode is the first one I have like lots of Thoughts about that I feel like I can at least kind of string together lol. Like I was moderately worried about what direction the Dead Wife thing was going to go in. Because it would have been so easy (and kind of disappointing) for her to just ultimately be an object that exists as a goal/motivator for other characters and not a person (as is common with Dead Wife characters, both literal and not so literal); that's sort of what she's been so far, with just the tease that she could be more. And unless they drop the ball big time (which god I hope they don't), this episode already made it clear: she IS more. Like revealing her to be both physically AND mentally alive at this point in the story is such a good writing choice and feels SO crucial to escaping from some of the really cliché permutations that these kind of basic story arcs/character archetypes can fall into.

I know everyone's been doing the orpheus/eurydice comparisons and now I know people are talking about how mark and gemma are now both actually the orpheus to each other's eurydice, but it's also this: gemma has been split into who knows how many people. She's his eurydice. She's his orpheus. And she's her own orpheus, too. Because she gets herself out of the underworld and then, not remembering she has, she's sent right back down again. And she hesitates and turns around one more time. But she doesn't know. She doesn't even know what she's really looked back at. She doesn't know the world she's sent away. Not until she's back in the underworld, and she's eurydice again.

Also! To interplay him remembering her, give us a classic Dead Wife Sequence- complete even with some of the classic images! The beautiful woman smiling in nature, lying in bed, looking at you, the light warm for the very first time- with the cold, stark reminder that she isn't actually dead, and more than that is still conscious and trying to get out and find him- is SUCH a cool move. Like it totally flips the idea of the Dead Wife Sequence on its head. It's not just grief anymore. It's not just using a lost person as a prop that our hero fights on in memory of. It's the Dead Wife Sequence as horror.

Because she's still the Dead Wife and yet at the same time it dramatically shifts her role in the story, right? Because it turns out everything she is to Mark, he is to her. This unreachable person who you now know isn't dead but who you cannot get to and you cannot know the true present reality of you can only take the word of people you don't totally trust or know. And so, they are dead. But now you know it's only to you. Because we've seen them both now, and we know they're both not just alive, they're fighting.

("she's not dead, she's just not here")

She's not your Dead Wife but you can't help the fact that in your memory, in your mind, she is. So you're the one, in a way, that's killing her. And you're her Dead Husband. "He's moved on" and you know that's a lie but does it really matter until you see him? Until he's real again? Because until then, you're both choking on ghosts.

And the ghosts aren't even really there.

[doliacuddles]

HEADCANON .ᐟ ㅤ𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖠𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆?

𝖸𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾! 𝖠𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

Alastor doesn’t make deals lightly. If you agreed to one with him, it means he has you in his grasp. What did you get in return? Power? Protection? An impossible wish? It doesn’t matter—because now, you belong to him. And Alastor never lets go of what’s his.

He will always remind you of the nature of your agreement. He doesn’t say it cruelly but with his usual playful tone. "Oh, darling, don’t make that face! You knew exactly what you were getting into. Or did you think you could test my patience? Ha! What a ridiculous thought!"

He's possessive, but in his own way. He won’t lock you in a cage, but he’ll make sure you never forget he's there. He’ll keep up with you, appear out of nowhere when you least expect it, and always have an eye (or several) on you.

He'll treat you as his personal entertainment. Why let his little "hire" get bored? He'll make you dance to his tune, pulling you into scenes where everything feels like a grand performance… though the invisible strings will always be in his hands.

The leash may be invisible, but it’s there. You can wander, talk to others, even challenge him with small acts of defiance. But the moment you try to break free from his influence, the moment you think you can act without his permission… his smile will widen, and his voice will ring out with a veiled warning:

"Don't forget, darling, you're my pet— and I won’t hesitate to shorten your leash~"

Humiliation is part of the deal. It’s not that he wants to degrade you… well, maybe just a little. He loves seeing you blush in frustration when he calls you "my dear property" in front of others. It’s not an insult—it’s a fact. And if you try to deny it, he’ll just laugh. Why deny it when you both know the truth?

He'll toy with you like a cat with its prey. He'll challenge you with impossible dilemmas, watching with a mocking grin as you struggle to escape his verbal traps. And when you finally give in to his will, he'll simply say, "Well, what a surprise! As if this outcome wasn’t set in stone from the very start~"

Time means nothing to him, but it does to you. Unlike you, Alastor has all of eternity at his disposal. He doesn’t care how long it takes for you to give in completely—because, at the end of the day, he knows you will. And every second you spend resisting will only make the game more enjoyable for him.

"Trying to break the deal? Ha ha ha! Oh, you're hilarious." The mere thought is enough to amuse him. Do you really think a mere sinner could outsmart him? That you could undo something etched into the very fabric of Hell itself? If you ever dare to try, he won't get angry. He won’t need to. He'll simply step closer, that deranged grin on his face, and say with the calm confidence of a predator certain of its victory:

"It was a lovely attempt, darling. But now... it's time to remind you who's in charge~!"

In the end, you're his favorite piece in this game. It doesn’t matter how you feel about it. If you cry, he’ll laugh. If you scream, he’ll find it adorable. If you give up… well, that just means he’s won—not that he ever doubted it. But the most terrifying part isn’t the game itself; it’s the way, little by little… you start to get used to it.

Intellectual property of @doliacuddles.

[anchorandrope]

Hiya! Do you think 28 is a Larry number or just a Louis number? I feel like cuz Louis is the one who has it tattooed and a brand named after it then maybe it’s a Louis number but idk. Harry has made subtle references to it through the timing of his music but it’s definitely more associated with Louis nowadays. Just curious on your thoughts!

hey!!

i think it's a larry number, but i also think louis made it very much his own over time because if that number symbolizes something related to harry (like whatever it symbolizes for them and also personally for louis - i.e his relationship, sexuality, etc; stuff that he's proud of but a lot of people told him otherwise yk "wonder what they'd think if they could see us now") it's something i think he took from 2015 onwards with everything that happened as a symbol of resistance/love/self-identity at a certain point.

what i mean is that the 28 was consolidated as a "louis' thing" in 2015 because until that year it was something, i'd say... quite fully larry (especially after 28/09/2013 - which is debunked) but it was something that even many antis said was "ours" (larries) and had nothing to do with louis. but when he got it tattooed in 2015, exactly 3 years after getting the ship and compass tattoo with harry, that started to became his own thing.

i think the 28 must mean something about them to each other but that must be a couple of things, and im also quite inclined to think that the "section 28" (01/02/1991-18/11/2003) plays a part in the significance as well. for me 28 clothing is further evidence of it. louis has always been known in the fandom for communicating through his clothing - to give clear messages on many topics not just sexuality, and that he has named his clothing brand designed by him "28" is very symbolic. not only because of the trajectory of that number in the fandom and his life - but also because its a unisex clothing brand whose isologotype is a "white rose of york" (symbol of yorkshire... his home... again "home" and "28" hand in hand). besides... "official programme" really? seems to be a mockery of "clause in official governmental act". and while we're at it, pride is a 28.

the posts and tags show why we think 28 is a larry number. i think it's a harry thing too because come on...why else would he put 28 boops in sunflower vol6, por example? 😅

what i mean is that i understand why people are inclined to think in recent years that it's a "louis only" thing, as he was much more obvious than harry in terms of his references (ahem... a tattoo is no small thing hahshs) but i see his winks quite present. also i think the number started out as something they both created, so if it's something they wear proudly to this day - surely it must still be meaningful to both as a couple in some respect. maybe not necessarily a romantic-couple-thing, but as gay-men-going-through-a-situation-where-they-suffer-from-homophobia-together, you know?

i think louis as he had and has a very tough closeting situation (i mean he is the one who usually goes out to deny it, he has the bbg and had the beards for a long time, etc) he took it as something very much his own because he just knew it was something obvious. he knew that we fans were going to relate it easily with something larry/lgbt because from the first moment it meant that. i always believed (and i believe) that he uses it so much because it is one of those little things that he can use without anyone "noticing"... no one except us. that's why he uses it so much and for so many things. he links so many things with that number, it helps him to explain stuff because that's what it's for. his old playlist, for example, we started to analyse it strongly because it was called "28 songs". place where that number is, place where we fans put our eye very carefully and with a lgbt lens.

i think at this point i would go as far as to say that is his own pride symbol, because that's what i see when i hear him using it that much and talking about it. it's very him and i love that!

[redplanetlobster]

I actually went through a couple different Fears for Jason before I settled on the Buried. Most of them I dismissed because I felt Jason would be more likely to be a victim of them than on Avatar (I mean the Buried isn't much different but there're a lot of ways I think Jason can enact the fear, unlike the others I thought about). The Slaughter wasn't actually one though, senseless killing definitely isn't his style. The Hunt definitely could be though. The pursuit of a goal that, once achieved (if it ever could be in the first place), would leave him still searching, still wanting, and ultimately unsatisfied? That sounds like him wanting the Joker dead but refusing to do it himself. That sounds like his wanting of Bruce's approval without the willingness to change himself. That sounds like his fruitless goal of ending crime and violence with crime and violence.

Some of the other Fears I thought about:

Flesh: I'm a huge fan of the hc that Jason has some wild body dysmorphia after his dip in the pit (plus the Flesh is my favorite fear). Unfortunately not many things for him to torture other people with. His low self esteem maybe?

Lonely: Jason woke up in a world that had moved on without him. Everything was different: his family, his city, hell even the Manor was different due to the events of No Mans Land. I wouldn't fault him for feeling completely isolated as the world, as he knew it, just doesn't exist. (I've got a note somewhere in my docs about a fic where Jason gets put on Martin's/a Lonely domain in general. The domain is just the empty Manor (rebuilt after No Mans Land, so remodeled somewhat) with people leaving rooms just before Jason entered because they heard him coming and just couldn't stand to be anywhere close to him for one reason or another)

Web: Jason absolutely loves making plans and getting other people to follow them unknowingly. The entirety of UtRH he was kicking his feet and giggling every time Bruce did the exact thing here planned for.

End: He died. He's literally a zombie. There's not much more to it than that, pretty basic lol. Ultimately, I don't think Jason is patient enough to be an End Avatar.

Now the reasons I think the Buried fits him best (the bullet points are only a suggestion of putting this into coherent ramblings with separate ideas and reasoning lol):

The thought of a man, deathly claustrophobic and physically can't stand the scent of wet earth because it reminds him of the time he had to claw himself out of his own grave, having to dedicate himself to the concept of being buried alive in order to survive is very funny to me. When the thought first occurred to me I had a little chuckle to myself before actually I took a second to think about it.

I think the influence of the Buried would have been with him for his entire life. He grew up in poverty and was orphaned and homeless at a very young age. Jason is very and always has been very aware that the only way for him to go in life is down. Sometimes it is better to be dead.

During his tenure at the Manor, Jason never thought of it as relief from his hardships of the streets. He was just trading them out for new ones. After all, the only reason Bruce took him in was so Batman could have a Robin right? When he couldn't be a good son for Bruce he couldn't be a good Robin and if he wasn't Robin he didn't have a place in Bruce's house now did he?

Robin itself brings a whole lot of weight on its own. Jason was handed the mantle of the first sidekick and told that he could fill his shoes, that he might even be better. He was handed a mask at 13 and told that he was one of the few people standing between a city and its death and destruction.

Warehouses are quite heavy and asphyxiation sounds like a horrible way to go.

Jason had to dig his way out of his own coffin while still suffering from all of the injuries of his death.

Uhhh... I don't really have anything for Lost Days or the UtRH arc. Mainly 'cause those feel like they go pretty firmly into the reasons for Jason to be an Avatar of the Hunt.

When Jason chose to go back to Crime Alley he also chose to take on the weight of it. He chose to take the many problems of his people, many of which you can't actually solve with a gun, make them his problems. He chose to make those problems his.

Jason returned to the Alley, the first place he felt the oppressive but comforting weight of it, and did the only thing he knew how. He went down and shouldered the responsibility of fighting against the system that doomed his home.

Those last two bullet points are dangerously close to me fully writing this au out/getting really into the changes that I think Avatarhood would have on Jason and how I think he would feed on the fear, so I need to stop here. But yeah, I really think that the Buried fits Jason very well.

I've some very sophisticated thoughts about a TMA and Batman crossover but if you ask me any questions about it I'll only be able to tell you about Buried Avatar Jason.

[todayisafridaynight]

what makes minedai even sadder is that we never rlly see daigo try to build a bond with anyone else like he did with mine it rlly shows how badly it effected him like yeah he reached out to shinada in y5 but that’s rlly it and he probably would wanna leave him alone after that and not involve him in any yakuza stuff so i don’t think they would’ve hung out or anything like that afterwards. All he rlly had were saejima and majima but they were more like babysitters than anything, wish we saw more of their dynamic tho like we did with majima and daigo in dead souls since that was fun and we were lowkey robbed but in canon he’s just as lonely as he was before majimas promise to kiryu. And mine is the only person he really had a meaningful relationship with romantic or not they were still really close and we don’t see that again with daigo ever (from what i recall after y3) ok sorry for rambling LMFAO

even with shinada, he reached out to him more so out of 'duty' and trying to make up for the misfortune that befell him because of yakuza than wanting to rekindle any kind of friendship they might have had in high school (though it sounds more like they were just acquaintances if shinada needing a second to remember who daigo was is anything), so yah i doubt they really had any kind of bond afterwards

dead souls really was the only time after Y3 where we got to see daigo be more sociable with someone, but its as you say majima and saejima are more like retainers than close friends

[mishy-mashy]

Hi! I noticed you bring up fanfiction every once in a while, so do you have an ao3?

I DO

But the stuff I post here isn't actually written out and posted anywhere else, and my ao3 (posted stories) is pretty bare. Like, I only touch it to read other people's stuff at this point

Everything I do write is OC stuff though, and that's not everyone's jam

The stuff I do post here all comes from my notes for said fic ideas. They're all fleshed out enough that I can write them into proper stories. Like, the whole plot is figured out, I know where to end, character perspectives, all that jazz. I just don't write them out, since I don't have that motivation, and the stories would end up huge

I don't like posting the actual stories either. People have asked for updates on the new chapters I just put down, and I've run into a lot of copy-pasters. Even the few things I have on ao3 is having a mimic somewhere. So I otherwise keep everything to myself, or post little things here

I've been going through my past stuff lately to reorganize. It's fun. Even if they're old (some are over 5 years old), I find little gems that surprise me like these

(Unordinary; Re:Zero; BNHA)

Like- they aren't that bad. That's surprising. How old are these things???

[doomednarrative]

Could never understand being a Michinaga hater the guy has carried the Entire series for me at this point

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

why didn't they just use franziska for literally all of this.

[mxdotpng]

the zestiria anime fixes and also messes up many things at the exact same time its actually kind of impressive i have to salute them for it

[bi-writes]

mail order bride meeting 141 for the first time 🙏

mail-order bride

he likes the way this moment sounds. it will end soon, when you both walk out the door, but for now, he sits, and he doesn't want it to end.

it's not just the sound of the television. his favorite football team has finally fucking put one into the corner of the net. the announcers cheer, but this isn't all that he hears.

the cat is in the kitchen. he can't see it, but he hears it (the little fucker). she's pawing at the cat grass that sits above the sink now. when he leans forward, he notices her little nose pushing it around before she takes a bite out of it.

she leaves the basil alone.

and then there's the sound of you. your feet in the bedroom. when you pass by the doorway, he can see you in different states of getting ready. when you pass by this time, he can see your eyeliner is on both eyes now, not just one, and your hair doesn't have clips or pieces to hold it in its style anymore. it lays perfectly now; he did a double-take when he saw it this way for the first time. you're rifling through the closet now. your clothes used to be in their own drawers. separated. socks not touching one another. your half of the closet, and his half. perfectly divided.

he doesn't remember when it happened. he found your bra under his t-shirt today. he was going through the jackets because your dresses were now between them. in the bathroom, he almost stuck your toothbrush in his mouth because they rest side-by-side in the holder.

when he looks around the room, he can't see where you begin, and he cannot see where he ends. he doesn't see where he started.

but he can see where you will go.

you bounce into the living room, holding up two hangers. there's dresses on each of them, one a dark color, the other light, and you hold them in front of simon who's still sitting on the couch, his head in his hand as he concentrates on the game (where he pretends like he hasn't been thinking about you too hard to really focus).

"simon?" you call, and he grunts, looking over at you. "which one do you like?"

he looks over the two dresses before looking at you. he hums, leaning back against the couch. he shrugs before looking back at the telly. you would look like perfection in either of them, but that isn't what you asked, and that isn't the answer you want.

"the darker one. like ya in tha' color."

you smile a little before going back into the bedroom, hanging the other dress back up and laying the other one out on the bed. you rummage through the dresser for proper undergarments, picking a soft lace pair of panties with a matching bra. you slip them on before stepping into the dress.

you reach around for the waist, and when your attempts to grab it are futile, you look over your shoulder towards the door.

"simon?" you call out gently. "could you come here, please?"

there's a shuffle of sound before simon steps into the bedroom. you point to your back, smiling at him shyly.

"c-could you help me? i can't reach the zipper."

he makes his way over to where you stand in front of the mirror. you watch as his eyes roam over your back, as he takes in the sight in front of him. you swallow as he drags a few knuckles down the length of your spine, his eyes flicking up to meet yours in the mirror before he takes the zipper in his hand and pulls it up. when he finishes, he steps a little closer, dipping his head to look at you from over your shoulder. you turn your head to look up at him, smiling.

"everything okay?" you ask softly, and he clicks his tongue, sliding his hand from its place on your back to wrap around your middle. he spreads a big palm over your tummy before dragging you backwards, your backside pressing against his front.

"mmm..." he scrunches his nose a little, running a pink tongue over his teeth. "look fuckin' beautiful."

you giggle, looking away, spreading your palms along your cheeks to try and make it less hot, less warm--fuck, it's so hot, isn't it?

you pull away to go for your shoes, picking them up from the closet. you take a seat on the bed, trying to ignore simon's stare (impossible), and you put the shoes down to slip your feet into them. just as you bend to buckle them, simon tsks, and you sit up as he kneels down in front of you.

"simon, you--"

"shut it," he mutters, reaching down and picking your foot up by the ankle gently. he wraps the strap around it, fastening the buckle, and you open your mouth to say something, but then he bends, giving your knee a soft kiss before reaching for your other foot.

your eyes meet again as he wraps it around your ankle. he smirks, just enough, and your lip wobbles a little as he fastens the next shoe before setting it back down on the floor. he puts his hands on his knee to get up, standing to his full height, and your neck strains as you try and look up at him.

at times, you feel at odds. he anticipates your needs before you even know what they are yourself. he pushes your meals in front of you just as you realize you're hungry. he helps you to the top shelf whenever you need it, picking you up from your waist without even a grunt. he feeds the cat when she cries, he wipes the tears from your face just as they fall.

you want to be more. you want to be his wife. your life is leisure and warmth, you are cared for like a fine porcelain doll, but what are you to him? what do you do for him? what is it that you bring, why are you here, why did he ever even want you if he provides and all you do is take, take, take?

the pub is alive. the lights flicker and glow a warm orange, and there's many crowds around tables, cheering and laughing and clinking pints together. you swallow as you look around; a crowded place with lots of unfamiliar faces. you freeze at the door, blinking, trying to take it all in. just as you stiffen, there's a presence right at your back.

an arm circles around your middle protectively. simon's warm hand rests at the curve of your waist, and you look up at him. he stares down at you knowingly. he's wearing his mask, obscuring his entire face except for his eyes, but you've learned to read him all the same. his hood darkens the shadows over him, but you see what he's telling you easily.

'm right 'ere.

simon moves you in front of him, walking just behind you, and he leans over to murmur in your ear as he guides you forward.

"in the corner, luv."

you barely have time to register that your husband just called you love when you see an enthusiastic wave meant for you out of the corner of your eye.

simon showed you their pictures, but the grainy selfies from his phone don't do them any justice. kyle has a pearly smile and round cheeks (troublemaker, he could get away with anything with those eyes). johnny has an infectious grin and wild curls that fall in a line down his head (a wild card, he's got eyes that you can't read and a leg bouncing from his terrible inability to sit still). and then there's john, hidden under a beanie and a rough smile (all business, all thought, because even out here, he can't stop his mind from wandering back to the papers on his desk and the cries for help he can't ignore).

johnny's smile drops a little when you come near. he eyes the hand that simon has on you, the proximity of your bodies. he raises a brow when you hold out your hand to shake, gawking when he eyes your other hand, the ring that sparkles there.

"ach, LT..." johnny swallows hard. "is this...is she--?"

simon clears his throat. "this is my wife."

"steamin' jesus," johnny breathes, leaning back in the booth. he picks up his drink and knocks back the entire thing, choking a little as he looks between the two of you. "what the fawk?!"

you blink, stepping back, and simon takes a seat beside john, shaking his head.

"fuckin' hell, johnny. behave," simon mutters. "'s not--"

"ye said y'were showin' us yer new lass," johnny quips. "not yer wife!"

you look at simon, laughing a little.

"simon, you didn't tell them you were married?"

"tha' was need t'know," simon mutters, rolling his eyes. you giggle, looking around for somewhere to sit. simon doesn't give you much time to choose--you let out a shaky breath as he picks you up from your hips, sliding you up and onto his thigh. he spreads his legs a little to accommodate you, but he's such a big man.

simon holds one hand at your back, and the other lays flat against the table. it's easy, falling into conversation with them. they don't talk about work. they're infatuated with their lieutenant and his surprise wife. they ask if he owns pajamas. they ask if he takes the mask off to sleep. they ask if simon whittles, if he listens to music, if there's a snack that puts him in a good mood (jaffa cakes, you tell johnny, who cackles with delight).

when simon gets up to have a smoke, you're surprised. simon never leaves you alone in a public place, ever. he's always at your back, even at the grocery store. he likes to take you aisle by aisle, and he doesn't care if it makes the trip longer, because he doesn't like to have you out of his sight for very long.

he gives you that look, one that you can read. you're safe with these men.

you agree. they bring simon home, every single time.

"awwww, no' gonna give yer lass a smooch, LT?" johnny winks. "'s alright, we don't care. won't think ye a big softie cuz o' it."

simon rolls his eyes, pocketing his cigarettes as he stands by the table. he dips his fingers into johnny's pint and flicks him with it before leaning over and kissing you lightly through the mask, a chaste kiss that already leaves you reeling.

you blink, caught off guard, and you blink up at simon so slowly, a syrupy smile falling over your face.

"LT, that wasnae a real one," johnny rolls his eyes. "wut, are ye scared of us?"

"shut your fuckin' mouth, sergeant, i'll make y'do laps tomorrow."

"big baby."

you watch simon take the back door, letting it swing shut behind him. you excuse yourself, following after him, pushing the door open and blinking to adjust to the dark light of the alleyway.

there's stars out. they sparkle, and you pause to stare up at them for just a moment before making your way to where simon leans against a brick wall.

it all reminds you that you're just small. not small, but smaller than simon, and compared to what stares at you across a violet sky, you are nothing but specks in time. you're drifters, composites of organic matter that somehow, for some reason, exist at the same time.

simon's eyes find your own in the dark. it's hard to see; the only light nearby flickers, and it's hard to focus, but you can see his eyes clearly, magnetized even when the rest of him seems so obscure, hiding from your view.

your smile is clear, too. the watery lines of your eyes, they glow, and when you come near, you and simon are in your own bubble, a pocket of the universe that cannot be explained. he has found you, and you have found him, and even when the night sky tries so hard to hide the things you know are there, it isn't strong enough to take away what exists in the in-between.

you slide your fingers under the hem of his mask. this kind of thing is practiced. the same thing you do when he comes home every day. the only acts of service he ever allows, the only things he ever lets you do.

you ask yourself always what it is that you provide. what it is that he sees in you that you can't seem to see in yourself.

maybe it's this. maybe it's the grounding. the gravity he never used to feel, the orbit he could never quite get himself to maintain, the taut line of connection that's been severed ever since the only people he's ever loved were ripped right out from underneath his ribs.

he puts his hands over yours when the mask is over his nose. his palms over the backs of your hands, warm skin over soft, something broken over something seeking.

"you don't want this," simon whispers, and you frown a little, shaking your head.

"how...how can you say that?"

"i'm not..." he flinches a little. "not made for this. 's not wha' y'think."

you're eyes water. you aren't sad. you're upset.

"y-you have no idea," you whisper. "i know what i want. you can always tell when i'm lying, am i lying now?"

"'s not--"

"simon," you stop him. "look at me," you sniffle, and he closes his eyes, squeezes them shut, before finding your gaze again. it's frightening, what he sees. he sees nothing that he expects. no deception. no fear. the honesty, it terrifies him. the reality of accepting what he can't understand hurts inside. it trickles deep, down to his toes, along his spine, a curdling in his stomach that he can't believe because there's no way that someone can love me when i can't fucking love myself. "am i lying now?"

"no," he breathes, and your smile is sickly sweet. he doesn't understand. he doesn't get it. nothing in his life has ever been this easy. nothing in his life has ever been just for him, all for him, just his, and no one else's. there has never been a piece of life that has ever pitied him enough to let him have it exactly as it is, and yet here she is, my perfect girl, arriving on my doorstep.

like you dropped straight from heaven. angels with soft hands and a timid face and a shadow with soft fur and big eyes and terrible little temper.

simon's hand is an anchor on the back of your head. tilting you to the side, drawing you near, until you are on your toes, and your face is canted up.

you kiss in the dark. your mouth slots over his, hands gripping the front of his jacket as you try and get even closer to him. he's a little shy at first, letting you lead while he follows, but it only takes a few seconds for you to feel his hand stiffen against your head as he kisses you feverishly.

you smile between kisses. he smiles, too. you giggle, and he huffs, and he chases you with more kisses as you cradle his face between your hands and whisper between soft presses, i'm sorry and i know and it's all i've ever wanted.

when you pull away, he doesn't let you go. he presses your forehead to his, connecting you somehow, breathing in the warmth that you radiate to try and calm the pulsing of his blood that rushes in his ears.

when your eyes open again, and you look at each other, everything is suddenly clearer. whatever he saw before, everything must have been in black and white.

he sees in color. the stars align. they fall, one by one, sparkling as they form a pattern, one undiscovered by anyone before him, one he will keep all to himself in the time that follows. when he kisses you again, he memorizes that pattern.

he knows it will always lead right back to you.

[blueboybot]

Bitch That Is NOT A Deer

I love it when we turn Danny into animals because of some weird reason or another, has anyone else done deer yet?

_______

"AAAHHHHHHH!"

A scream reverberated through the cave walls below the manor. A battle of the ages taking place for anyone brave enough to witness it.

"LET GO YOU BAMBI WANNABE, THIS IS MY CHILI DOG."

Jason managed to rip the package away from the jaws of the beast, he knew it was mistake to bring down any kind of food into the cave where the creature resided but in that moment he was thinking more with his stomach.

Demon Brat had once again found another animal, a baby deer of all things, and decided to keep it knowing fully well how to pull the strings of both Bruce and Dick into letting him keep it. The thing is Jason always got a weird vibe from it, almost like some part of him was trying to warn him that this was no normal fawn and living with it proved that.

After being brought to the cave it refused to leave, claiming the environment down here as it's own. They've all tried to move it but it always found its way back down here so they just gave up and created a space for it. Another weird thing about it is its cry. It does not sound like a normal fawn but instead had the echoing tone of a human baby but appearently only Jason could hear it, the others all said it sounded like a normal animal but he gets the feeling Damian is fucking with him, it doesn't help that Duke is also suspicious of the 'deer'.

But the last reason that really sold him on it not being a normal deer was the fact that it. Ate. EVERYTHING!

No food was safe with the deer around, if you were to put something down it would 100% without fail find its way into the maw of the ravenous creature. This ranged from simple pieces of candy to an entire rotisserie chicken (bones included), it even managed to drink his entire smoothie that had a lid covering it. Everyone tells him that there's no way it could drink through the straw because its mouth wasn't shaped to do so but he knows it did goddamnit.

Now it was infront of him vocalizing its discontent for Jason not sharing his food with a weird ass whine from its mouth.

"No! This is people food, you are a 'deer', ACT LIKE IT!"

The deer stopped its whining.

Looked Jason dead in the eyes.

And stood up...

"Ah hell naw, DAMIAN! COME GET YOUR DAMN DEER!"

[haveihitanerve]

Bruce sends his kids little notes using carrier bats. It first started when Dick moved out and he wanted to talk to his son but didn't want to call and then have dick hang up on him or decline, didn't want to see his message be left on read, so he bought a little circus bat and taught it to fly to wherever Dick’s scent was (ie he would hang a piece of dicks clothing up at one end of the cave) and built him a nest built of dicks old bedsheets and then tied a little note to its foot, just a little question about how the weather is in Bludhaven and if hes getting enough sleep and alfred misses him, nothing that can be seen as overbearing or forcing himself into his life, and the little bat flies all the way to Bludhaven and hangs on Dicks window and Dick sees it and memories slam into him full force because bats are batman and robin and he cant, not yet. So he doesn't open the window. Ignores him. But the little bat is anything if not as stubborn as the man who trained him so he stays. And after two days Dick relents because the bat hasn't moved an inch and is probably hungry, so he brings him inside and then he sees the note for the first time and opens it and then he breaks and the tears flow because Bruce cares and bruce still wants him. And dick spends time with the little bat and takes it on missions as Nightwing because they’re both nocturnal and then finally, dick attaches a little note to the bats leg and he flies off to bruce. And bruce sees the little bat on his window and opens it, when he spots Dick standing just below, smiling faintly. “Hey b.” 

Bruce gets a bat from the cave ceiling for Babs almost immediately after her accident with Joker because he has responsibilities but he cant leave her alone so he sends her notes everyday and hopes the bat is a good enough companion and when she becomes oracle the bat serves as an exchange of information and contacts and bruce still uses him to check up on her and babs rolls her eyes everytime, but its fond

And so then when Jason comes bruce finds another little bat hanging in crime alley and uses her as a therapy animal after he dies and trains her the way he trained Dick’s but the bat doesn't have anyone to fly to and bruce tries not to cry when he sends it out with notes and it returns because it has no one to deliver to… until one day it doesn't come back. And bruce is afraid and confused and a week later the bat is back, a new note attached to her leg and bruce takes it and breaks down and he gets to talk to his son again. 

Tim already comes with his own bat because Nightwing has one, but the little girl imprints on Bruce right away and Tim pouts but he cant really be angry, not when Bruce sends his bat over to him almost daily while hes in the batcave or his room or the tower with reminders to eat and sleep and coupons for coffee

When Steph arrives Bruce hates himself for firing her but he just cant right now, but he stills gets a bat from the cave and sends it to her and apologizes because he cant bring himself to leave everything unspoken between them and Steph actually adores it and every so often she’ll send him a note and bruce knows hes forgiven

For Damian theres no need for a bat because he lives in the house with Bruce, but then they have Goliath and well… he serves as a messenger when no one else can get damian out of the training area

bruce has never named the bats, thinking that was for them alone to do and he didnt want to get too attached because theres always a chance he pushed too far and his kids wont send a message back, but one day all his kids were hanging out in the living room together and bruce had just come up to join them when he hears dick say "hey wheres b? the movie's about to start?" and jason chucks a piece of popcorn in his mouth and goes "idk, ill send him a note." but tim goes "no i will!" and all together they yell "ROBIN!!!" and all their bats come flying from the cave and fly to their specific masters and Bruce cant fight the tears and when every little bat flies towards him and delivers their note he walks out into the living room and gives them the biggest hug

[lymtw]

All Is Forgiven

Thinking of an argument with Toji that leaves you mute by choice towards him. He still talks to you and asks you questions, and while you don't turn away from him, you don't respond to him either. He ends up having to figure out whatever he needs on his own because after a minute or so you huff and walk away from the conversation.

"Mama," Toji calls from the bedroom, rummaging through his clothing drawers. "Have you seen my gym shorts?"

If he was able to get a word out of you, he would know that you washed them for him. Though you were still sizzling with anger towards him, you pulled them out of the dryer and walked them over to the room. He could hear your little footsteps as you approached the room, and when he turned to look at you, he noticed you were holding his shorts in your hand.

Your eyes were vacant towards him. You didn't want them to be because it sucks when you can't look at him with the endless amount of love you have in store for him. It's still there, but it's being masked by a poker face.

You toss the shorts onto the bed and leave. Toji sighs, irked by the fact that it's actually starting to sting now. Your disregard for him because you're ruled by your emotions and he lets things go too easily because he can't hold a grudge towards you, even if he feels you're in the wrong.

Toji never knew how much he depended on your voice until you wouldn't let him hear it. He depends on you to tell him where things are because without you they would be scattered all over the place. He doesn't know your method of organization, but somehow when he needs something and looks to you in order to find it, you pull it out from right under his nose. He depends on you to tell him he's doing a good job, and to tell him you love him, and just reassure him in general. It makes him feel good to know that someone thinks he's good enough, but recently the one person who feeds him affection like it's as important as food and water, has left him to starve. You haven't said a word to him in almost two days, and he feels like he's starting to go crazy. The sound of his own voice is driving him insane. It's gotten so bad that he had to make a mental note of how he's going to get you back that same night.

Toji leaves for the gym and texts you during his time there. He includes some images because it's now an unspoken rule that he always has to send you gym pics.

[ Attachment: 3 Images]

... 😳🤐

Yeah, I know you like those. I'll be home soon.

You take the time to doll yourself up while he's still out. It's for him, but you won't tell him that until you come back from your "night out". Really, you're just gonna go get dinner for both of you from his favorite little restaurant. You just want to see how far he's willing to let this go, because you're caving. You're ready to apologize even when you know he's not upset at all. You're ready to spoil him in order to make up for those severe feelings you held towards him. You're ready to hear about how stubborn and unbelievable you are for this little act you pulled.

You spray on some perfume and walk out of the bathroom, just in time to catch Toji walking through the door.

"Woof, where're you going, ma?" He asks, setting down his gym bag before absorbing everything you were gracing him with. His eyes flit up and down your body, lingering on the very bare skin of the legs that come out from under your skirt. He can smell your perfume from where he stands, its elegant scent masking even the smell of his own potent sweat.

You didn't answer his question, and left him to wonder why you're all dressed up at seven o'clock at night. Was it a girl's night or were you openly showing him that you have options? Did he miss a message or a call from you?

You grabbed your wallet and scooted past him. You walked halfway down the corridor of your apartment building before realizing that maybe this was a bit much. You would make him worry over you going on a five minute walk to grab some food? All so you can show him you're mad? You cracked.

🥟🥡🍜.

Toji was staring at his screen, waiting for anything from you. The screen flashes like some sort of miracle and your message is seen by him. He chuckles, feeling a sense of relief wash over him at the sight of your little emoticons.

You came back home as fast as possible, bags of food in hand as you patiently waited for the elevator to bring you up to your floor. You took your time walking through the corridor, this time, not knowing how you would react once you saw Toji or if you would immediately say something to him. You're ready to talk to him, you want to talk to him. You miss him, you love him, and you hate the passiveness you threw yourself into around him as an act of retaliation.

There you were, standing in front of the door, nervous beyond belief for what was behind it. You collected yourself and twisted the doorknob, ready to face anything that came to you.

Toji stood from the couch and walked over to you to take the bags from your hands. The smell of his body wash wafted into your nose. There was an imaginary white flag hanging out of your pocket, and it was about to fall out to signal your surrender to Toji.

He pecks your cheek and watches in real time as get all flustered. It's one of the most adorable things he's ever seen—you standing there so rigidly afterwards. He gives you a soft smile and resists the urge to coo at you for being so cute. Instead, he heads to the table to put the bags of food down.

You shut the door, and within a split second, Toji was in front of you again. "Ma," he says, sounding a little more desperate than he thought he would. "Say something." You stand there like a statue—unmoving, but unlike a statue, you are easily moveable. Especially, by Toji. "Anything, mama, please." He crouches down at your feet, his warm hands resting on the backs of your knees and his cheek resting on one of your thighs. This position made it look like you were being worshipped by him, and anyone who ever saw him do this would know that it was true, because he worshipped everything about you. From the top of your head, to the ground your feet stood on.

"Don't you miss having my hands on you?" They glide up and down the backs of your thighs. He looks up at your stunned expression. You won't look down at him, so he gets to see the way you swallow the words dying to leave your mouth, and the slight widening of your eyes as he lets his hands roam your lower body. "I know I do. I've been in hell these past couple days." He presses a soft kiss to your knee, then one more on your thigh. "I didn't mean what I said. I don't think you're selfish, baby. Maybe i'm just a greedy asshole," he says, rekindling the subject of what led to your silence towards him. His hand maneuvers around your leg so that his palm is on your thigh, making its way up towards the inner part of it. "But, I know something," his lips trail further up your thigh, softly kissing your skin. "I'm greedy about you. That can't and won't be changed, even when we argue like idiots."

You put your hand on his head as he starts kissing up your inner thighs, making his way even further up beneath your skirt.

"Come on, my sweet girl," he murmurs, his lips meeting the front of your underwear. "Tell me you want me to stop. Tell me you hate that my filthy paws are on you, right now."

Your legs tremble at the lightness of his touch, and you internally cringe at how sensitive you've always been for him.

"Toji..." you gasp. You feel his warm tongue flatten between your legs, a slow upwards drag of the muscle makes your thighs quiver before him. You whimper at the damp warmth his saliva leaves on your panties. "Fuck..." you moan, breathily. "Don't stop. Stay there, please."

The first word you reintroduced yourself with being a moaned out rendition of his name was heaven reaching down to pat him on the back for knowing exactly what to do to get you to talk again.

"Open wider for me, baby. Let me see," Toji says, your skirt still veiled over his head. You take a step back so that your back is against the door and widen your stance a little more. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and you shudder when his tongue returns to slide through your clothed folds. He doesn't even need to produce that much saliva to drench the fabric of your underwear because you've done that for him already with your leaking arousal.

You shut your eyes and rest your head against the door as Toji continues his act of filth between your thighs. You can hear him panting below you, your taste pleasantly coating his tongue every time he sucks on the garment that clings to you.

You cry out his name with sharp breaths following, your fingers tangling into his locks, gripping and tugging as his lips catch onto your cunt. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," you grit out, whimpering at the contrast between his mouth and his hands. His hands offer a gentle massage to your thighs, softly kneading the plush between his fingers. His mouth moves purposefully because he knows exactly what it takes to make you fall apart with it. He coats his tongue with your essence every time he laps at the wet patch on your underwear, sticky webs of arousal connecting him to you.

"T-Toji!" You squeal, your cunt throbbing with every brush of his tongue. "I'm gonna cum... Fuck, i'm gonna cum..." you whine.

Toji pushes your underwear to the side, and glides his tongue through your generously slicked folds once and you're instantly arching your back off the door, squirming in his hold and moaning carelessly as he sloppily makes out with your cunt. He desperately chases the sound of your pleasure-ridden voice, wanting to hear the way it raises in pitch when he strokes you just right. He doesn't want it to stop, it's been too long. Two days way too long. You tug at his hair with one hand, dragging the nails of your other hand down the door. You breathe heavily as Toji manipulates your pleasure until your thighs are trembling.

Toji pulls away and lifts your skirt off his head. He lowers your leg back down and stands up from his crouched position. He faces you with glossy lips that shine with all the juices he collected from you, some of it drooling down his chin to give him an even more messy appearance. He presses his lips to yours, making slow movements to allow you to realize what is happening while your eyes are closed. You can taste yourself on his lips as you catch the rhythm.

There's a loud smack in the last kiss before he releases you, a feral look in his green eyes as he dotes on your blissed out appearance. You look too pure for someone who's just experienced something so sinful. "Hey, look at me," he coos, cupping your cheeks in his hands. "Look at me," he repeats, staring at you as you try to catch your breath with closed eyes.

You hum, rolling your eyes open to lazily stare back at him. Your eyelids felt so heavy as you looked at him, but you liked how vigilant he was being. It made you crack a grin, a small gesture that had Toji's heart thudding a little quicker, now.

"I wanna fuck you so bad, ma." His eyes trail yours as they look away from his gaze. "If this is your reaction to my mouth, I don't even know what to expect for when I'm inside you."

You look down to see what's been poking your thigh for the past minute or so, and it's the monster in his pants, outlined for your eyes to quickly spot and everything.

"Come on," you say, reaching your hand out to him. He takes it and allows you to lead him to the bedroom.

Toji shuts the door and locks it to give the situation a deeper level of intimacy. There's no one there but the two of you and yet you feel even more secluded by the gesture.

He wasn't aggressive in the way he bared you for his eyes. He pulled you close to him by the waist, your body against his as he peeled your layers of clothes off.

"Stay," he says, when you take a step back. He takes that step towards you again, placing his hands on your hips, and snaking them around to your back to locate the zipper for your skirt. He exhales through his nose, lidded eyes watching the longing expression on your face closely as he pulls down the zipper and allows the article to fall on the floor. His fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt before he fully slides his hands beneath it, and raises it up your torso higher and higher. You put your arms up and allow him to slip it off your head.

He makes haste of getting his own clothes off, a sly smirk decorating his face when he sees you admiring him from where you sit on the end of the bed as you take off your bra and underwear. You're forced further up the bed by Toji as he inches closer and closer to you. You reach a dead end and welcome the suffocating warmth of his body as he cages you onto the bed.

"Don't do that to me again, mama," he murmurs, before leaning down to peck your lips. "Don't let me talk to myself for that long when you have such a pretty voice to respond with."

You laugh, pulling a small grin from him. "I didn't think you'd care, to be honest. I thought you'd tell me i'm being childish or ridiculous."

"Nah, princess. I thought I was gonna die."

You giggle, pulling him close again. "You're exaggerating."

"You wouldn't let me touch you. Not even when we went to bed, so it was like we were friends instead of lovers sleeping together. Especially with how far on your side you slept."

"Oh, baby," you coo, pressing multiple quick apologetic kisses to his lips. He chuckles at the affection, and his eyes close instinctively as your kisses become more widespread on his face. He missed this more than anything. "What can I do for your forgiveness, my love?"

"Just let me fuck you, ma. That's all. Give me my privilege to all of this, again." His hand slowly trails from your chest to your stomach, a touch you longed for dearly during those two days that you verbally ignored him.

"It's yours," you whisper to him. You peer up at him with your constellation eyes, silently begging him to realize how much you need him. "I'm yours, so show me the use you have for the privilege over my body, baby."

He leans down to kiss you, softly. He's desperate for you, but his lips don't falter their delicate synchrony because of it. He guides the tip of his cock through your folds, rubbing up and down the slickness a couple times before slowly sinking into you. Your ability to tangle with Toji's lips slowly deteriorates, and your focus strays to the stretching happening lower down your body, so Toji picks up the slack and feeds you his kisses.

"Come on," he groans out. Not even he is immune to the rebirth of sex with you. You're warm and inviting, and you embrace the pain and comfort he offers every time he craves you or you crave him. This time is no exception. "Kiss me back, sweetheart. Give them all to me," he mutters, before attempting to connect his lips to yours again. You dig your heels into the mattress and your toes curl as you feel his girth continue to submerge inside you.

Toji cups your chin and uses his fingers to squish your cheeks together into a makeshift pout for him to kiss. He can hear your hummed little whimpers in response to him sheathing himself further into you. He was being gentle, because hurting you is a crime in his world.

"Fuck, I missed this, mama," he says, goosebumps rising on his torso as he drags himself out of you halfway and pushes himself back in again. "So warm..." he says over the sound of your pleasured moan. He sighs, a grunt following as he starts a careful rocking rhythm into you. "I could stay inside you forever."

"I could keep you here forever," you rephrase, gazing up at him with those eyes he unequivocally loves. They've reverted back to the default loving expression you hold for him, the vacancy of your previous gaze now filled with love, excitement, lust, and overall enchantment. It's a beautiful thing to see your hurricanes subside.

He leans down to kiss you again, distributing the kisses on your face and leading them towards your neck. You could feel his abs dragging up and down your stomach with every roll of his hips against yours.

"Mmm... Toji," you moan, bringing your hands to his back. One of them moves up to the nape of his neck, threading through the dampened locks of his hair, the other traces his spine to distract you from how badly you want to dig your nails into him.

"I know," he coos, kissing the spot beneath your ear. "I know, doll. It's always this good with you."

You gasp at the feeling of his cock prodding the more sensitive area within you. "Right there, right there... Oh..." you moan out, inevitably digging your nails into his shoulder blades while Toji directs his kisses back up your neck and towards your face again so he can see the honest expression on it. You're lost in pleasure, vibrating as another orgasm rushes through you.

"Fuck, mama.. let me-" he groans, outwardly losing it at the overflow of your juices. "Let me see those pretty eyes," he pants, gripping your waist a little more harshly as he feels his cock on the brink of expelling into you. "Need you to watch me," he says, taking in the way your lips part to release your sounds of utter satisfaction. Your eyes flutter open to center on his greedy eyes. You mirror his lustful, lidded gaze, the look enough to make him spill inside you, making your cunt even sloppier. "You're gorgeous, ma," he says, mindlessly, as he fucks into you with a little more fervor. "Fucking stunning," he mutters through pants, to which you respond with a sly smirk. The gesture lured a groan out of him and made his cock twitch as he finished releasing into you.

You giggle when he stills his hips. Your combined attempts to regulate your breathing fills the silence that follows. "What're you laughing at?" He asks, massaging your hip with his thumb.

"You tell me that all the time like you're obsessed with me or something."

"And if I am?" he says with a voice so deep you have to blink to see that it's still your gentle giant of a man. "Is it too much for you? Can you handle it? Am I suffocating you, baby?" he purrs, cupping your cheeks while leaning in close to emphasize his points. All it does is allow you to closely admire how handsome he is and really think about what's happening in this moment. This green-eyed, raven-haired man, with the prettiest pointed nose and the most attractive scarred lips, is bedding you, and doing it so well.

"Never. Come closer and bite," you murmur.

He takes your lips in his again, a little more aggressive than before. You asked him to bite, and that's exactly what he's doing. The make out has him rocking both of you a little faster, working you towards yet another orgasm. You nip at his bottom lip and run your tongue over it when hisses. You hum out a little giggle, and moan into his mouth when he jolts into you.

"God, i'll bust again if you keep doing that. I'm serious, mama" he groans, swiping his tongue over his stinging bottom lip. You think he's being dramatic so when he leans down to kiss you again, you bite his bottom lip and suck on it. You gasp, releasing his lip and stare at him with wide eyes as his excessive warmth spurts into your cunt, filling it to the brim and beyond, to the point of leakage.

"F-Fuck... you're terrible," he groans, shuddering with tense abdominal muscles as he lures the entirety of his orgasm out. "Cum," he says, panting as he picks up the pace of his rutting to get you to follow his orgasm. "I can feel you clenching around me like hell. I know you want to," he says, reaching a hand between you and him to stimulate your clit.

Your already labored breathing picks up and your heart is pounding in your ears aggressively as you roll your hips back against his. You whimper as you feel your peak get closer and closer, a cried out and breathy "fuck!" leaving you when it arrives, followed by high pitched moans that make Toji's heart race. You arched your back off the mattress as you reached the zenith of your orgasm with the help of Toji's finger rapidly rubbing your clit while he maintained his satisfying pace inside you.

You whimper, slapping a hand onto Toji's wrist to stop his movements on you. He smirks at the sight of your trembling thighs, your heaving chest, and the sound of your dazed hums. You always were such a delicate thing. So fragile that even with just enough of his attention, he could break you.

"Tired yet?" He asks, admiring your relaxed facial features. You nod with your eyes closed, your lips parted to release little puffs of air. "Thought you'd be. I'll go grab some towels for us to shower." He pulls out of you, taking a moment to admire your collaborative masterpiece.

"Baby..." you whine, sitting up when you feel his weight lift off the bed. "I can't get up." You dramatically let yourself fall back on the bed and stick your tongue out to portray your exhaustion.

"Get up, you faker. That's all you have to do and i'll take care of the rest."

"Too tired to wash myself right now..." you say, waking up for a second before closing your eyes again. Toji can see the sly grin on your face and the little shake of your stomach as you stifle your giggles.

"Guess you're too tired to eat, too, huh? You know i've got a huge appetite, and I could eat all that food you brought by myself."

"You wouldn't," you say, abruptly sitting up on the bed and squinting at him. "There's enough to feed three people in those bags."

"I've got the stomach of three people in one, so you better catch up before you're left with my seconds."

You sigh, too tired to move, but you get up anyway and trail behind Toji. "Baby, can you pleeease clean me up? I'm beat."

He puts his hands on your shoulders as he now walks behind you. "Sure, but don't complain when I take longer on certain areas."