#if one is like this than they all gotta be done in marker

[helpimstuckinafandom]

I forgot that I do skin with pencil crayon instead of the marker cause the marker just makes white skin way too pink

[cherrysnax]

Chevy n I are doing a lil homemade comics workshop the entire month of July ^_^

[cheswirls]

sits down to write fic and writes 3k of notes for it instead, spends two separate hrs in the middle of it dwelling on pointless things, there were 8k notes prev so i def added almost half that amnt, have not written a single thing even tho i set down at 8p to write a scene and made a conscious decision to do this instead of starting laundry between 8 and 9 (laundromat closes at ten), it is three am currently,,,,,,

[hoshifighting]

i love your college fling writings sm aaaa (*≧∀≦*)!! begging on hands and knees for college fling jun 🙏 esp if he’s a bit more on the dom side

college fling!jun

WARNINGS: smut, bio!genius jun, clit stimulation, oral (f. receiving), cock riding, a little dom!jun, non-established relationship.

it’s a thursday afternoon, the sort of day where the mood smells like cheap cafeteria food and half-assed desperation, ‘cause exams are coming and no one knows shit. you’re slouched over your bio notes in the library, chewing the end of your pen like it owes you some kind of lamp genie, and then boom—in struts college fling!jun.

college fling!jun, who hates the college lockers so much he straight-up just carries all his books around like some kind of over-prepared, slightly chaotic mule. deadass, his backpack looks ready to burst, and you’re already side-eyeing it, wondering how many goddamn textbooks one man could possibly need.

“you okay there?” he plops down across from you, hair slightly messy, and there’s this little grin playing at his lips. why’s he gotta look so cute when you’re on the brink of a mental breakdown?

“nah, i’m actually about to file for emotional bankruptcy,” you mutter, flipping through your notes like the answers are gonna manifest themselves through sheer panic. “you done with the bio assignment?”

college fling!jun, shy-but-funny, lowkey-genius college fling!jun, tilts his head and smirks. “you need help?”

you blink. “you know bio?”

“do i know bio?” he scoffs, dragging your notebook closer like you personally insulted him. “sit back, y/n.”

next thing you know, he’s rattling off answers about cell division and DNA replication like he’s reading straight outta the textbook, except better, ‘cause he’s throwing in jokes about mitochondria being the “bad bitch” of the cell world. who even is this man?

college fling!jun, who spent half the semester cracking dumb jokes about your prof’s comb-over, suddenly explaining concepts better than the professor himself? unreal.

“wait, wait,” you interrupt, pointing at a diagram. “so, like, the nucleus is just… chilling in the middle, bossing everyone around?”

he grins, leaning in closer, and damn, his perfume smells too good for a guy who looks like he only owns three hoodies. “exactly. it’s like me at a group project—doesn’t do much, but still gets credit.”

“i hate you,” you snort, but you’re laughing anyway, and somehow your brain is actually clicking with the material.

college fling!jun, who makes studying feel like less of a slow, painful death.

later, as you’re packing up, he scratches the back of his neck, looking all shy again, and it’s such a whiplash from confident bio-genius jun that you almost laugh. “uh, so… you wanna grab coffee or something? you know, as a reward for surviving bio?”

you raise an eyebrow. “this isn’t you trying to weasel into my project group again, is it?”

“what? no,” he says, but he’s grinning, and you already know he’s lying.

college fling!jun, who probably would try to scam his way into your group, but makes it so damn endearing you’d let him anyway.

it’s late—like, stupid late. the kinda late where your brain feels like it’s melting into a puddle of useless mush. you and jun are on the floor of your dorm, the carpet rough under your knees, surrounded by markers, cut-out letters, and one very sad excuse for a poster board. everyone else dipped like two hours ago, muttering something about “early classes” and “not wanting to lose brain cells”—like, rude much? but jun stayed.

college fling!jun, who’s now sitting cross-legged with his sleeves pushed up, forearms all veiny as he’s meticulously lining up the title letters.

“you’re actually kinda good at this,” you say, crawling closer on your knees, one hand pushing your hair back as it flops into your face. you’re half-joking, but also… not? like, his focus is insane.

he glances up, smirking. “you doubted me?”

“uh, yeah?” you deadpan, sitting back on your heels. “you’re the guy who brought a backpack full of biology books to a history lecture. forgive me for not immediately trusting your poster skills.”

he snorts, shaking his head as he smooths down a corner of the title. “at least I came prepared.”

“prepared for what? a different class?”

“y/n,” he says, tone mock-serious as he leans back on his hands, “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

that shuts you up for a second. the compliment—casual, like he didn’t just drop it in the middle of a roast session—has you blinking. you recover quick, though, because if college fling!jun is good at anything, it’s teasing, and you’re not about to let him have the upper hand.

“yeah, yeah,” you say, waving him off as you grab a marker and doodle a little star in the corner of the poster. “you keep saying that, but I haven’t seen you make a move yet. scared?”

his eyes flick to yours, and there’s this little glint in them that makes your stomach flip. “scared? of you?”

“yes, actually.”

he laughs, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you now—like he’s considering something, weighing it. you’re close—closer than you realized, kneeling in front of him while he’s still sitting, one hand resting casually on his thigh.

“come here,” he says.

you tilt your head. “why?”

he leans forward, just a little, until you’re close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. “because I said so.”

there’s a challenge in his tone, and you’re not one to back down. so, you shuffle closer, knees brushing against his as you sit back on your heels again. “happy now?”

he hums, eyes flicking over your face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. “getting there.”

“jun,” you start joking, half-something-else-entirely, but before you can finish, his hand slides up to cup your jaw, fingers warm against your skin as he leans in and kisses you.

he’s waiting for you to push him away. but you don’t. instead, you kiss him back, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you.

and then… well, the guy’s got skills. his lips move against yours with this easy credit, and when his tongue flicks out to trace the seam of your mouth, you can’t help the little noise that escapes you. he takes that as encouragement, deepening the kiss until you’re dizzy, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you try to keep up.

college fling!jun, who’s apparently really, really good with his mouth.

you pull back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his as you both try to steady yourselves. “okay,” you say, voice a little breathless, “so you’re not scared.”

he laughs, low and soft, his hand still cradling your jaw. “nope. but you might be.”

before you can ask what he means, he’s kissing you again, harder this time, and then his hands are on your hips, pulling you into his lap like it’s nothing easier than that. you go willingly, settling against him as your hands find their way into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your mouth.

you’re both a little frantic now, hands wandering as the kiss turns messy, desperate. his fingers slide under the hem of your shirt, skimming over your skin and leaving a trail of heat in their wake. you shiver, pressing closer, and he takes the opportunity to mouth at your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

“jun,” you moan, and it’s enough to make him pause, pulling back just enough to look at you.

“umm... so do you…”

you nod before he can even finish the question, your hands tugging at his shirt in answer. he grins, and then he’s helping you pull it off, tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.

college fling!jun, who’s skinny but stupidly cut, all lean muscle and sharp lines that you can’t help but trace with your fingers as he kisses you again.

“your turn,” he murmurs against your mouth, his hands already tugging at the hem of your shirt. you lift your arms, letting him pull it off.

“you’re so…” he starts, but then he shakes his head, like words aren’t enough. instead, he leans in, kissing you again as his hands explore, mapping out your chest, by pinching your nipples

things blur after that—when he finally settles between your thighs, his lips trailing kisses down your stomach, you think you might actually lose your marbles.

college fling!jun, who’s apparently a goddamn expert when it comes to going down on you. his tongue swinging your clit to the sides just to suck it all right after. your fingers are tangled in his hair, and you even feel pity about his scalp. he doesn’t stop until you’re cumming inside his mouth—you last minutes by the way—, your back arching off the floor as you cry out, your other hand holding a highlighter that you've found on the floor and decided that would be your stress ball.

and then he’s kissing his way back up your body, touching your hand to release the poor highlighter before it explodes in your hand. as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “still think I’m scared?” he teases and you don’t even have the energy to come up with a clever reply.

college fling!jun, who’s cocky as hell but more than backs it up.

you pull him down for another kiss, your hands fumbling with the waistband of his sweatpants as you shift your hips, sinking down onto his lap. the stretch is dizzying. u hear your blood flow through your ears with the immediate sink, making your head spin as he grips your hips,.

college fling!jun who twitches every time you circle your clit as you ride him. the little gasps he lets out are addictive, this stuttered rhythm of groans and whines that have you clenching around him just to see how he’ll react.

“uhm—hands to yourself.” he chokes out, his head tilting back, exposing the long line of his neck, his adam apple bobbing up and down. you take advantage, leaning forward to press kisses there, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat against your lips. his hands tighten on your waist, his thighs flexing under you as he buck his hips up into you as a warning.

“j-jun,” you stammer, breath hitching as you shift, grinding down, making wet shots reach his ears, his head snaps up, eyes dark and glassy as they lock onto yours.

“you like that?” he rasps, his chest heaving as he fights to keep himself together. “‘cause i… i love watching you like this, pretty.”

college fling!jun, who moans loud enough to embarrass himself but is too lost in the feeling of you to care. his grip on you tightens as you find a rhythm. his noises grow louder, needier, every time you roll your hips, and you can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten as he gets closer, he always punishing you a little for teasing him, a pinch on your clit, a bite on your neck, a slap on your ass.

“y/n,” he groans, his voice shaking, and you’re right there with him, your own climax building as you reach down between your bodies, your fingers brushing against your clit again. the added sensation has you gasping, and he twitches inside you, his hands pulling you down hard against him as he lets out a broken moan.

“you’re so… gorgeous, fuck!” he mutters, his words slurred, and that’s all it takes for you to cum, your body fluttering as you cry out his name. the sound of it seems to tip him over the edge, his grip on you tightening as he follows, his body shaking beneath you as he spills inside you.

college fling!jun who collapses back onto the carpet, dragging you down with him, his arms wrapping around your ass, letting his hands lazily squeeze the meat there.

it’s like nothing happened when you two go to the college hallways to finish the project. when actually, everything happened all at once. jun’s sitting at the edge of your desk, eating one of your granola bars like he didn’t have you trembling in his lap just hours ago. you’re pretending to focus on your laptop, but your mind’s stuck on how his hair’s still a little messy and his shirt’s on inside out—your fault, obviously.

“what’s with the face?” he asks, mouth half-full, grinning like he knows exactly what’s with the face.

“you didn’t even ask before raiding my snacks,” you say, aiming for annoyed but landing somewhere near flustered.

“c’mon, you owe me,” he teases, leaning closer. “all that… effort? you’re lucky i’m still standing.”

you glare at him, but your face burns. “junhui, shut up.”

college fling!jun, who bites his lip to stop himself from laughing but ends up chuckling anyway, stupidly cute as he swings his legs. you’re about to throw a pen at him when he leans over and kisses your temple.

and that’s how it is now. he’s still jun—still the guy who hoards biology notes and carries all his books like the lockers are his mortal enemy—but there’s this… nerves now, this implicit thing hanging between you. like, when he’s explaining something in class, leaning over your desk, his voice low in your ear, and you’re trying not to think about how those same lips were on your pussy just a few nights ago. or when he slides into the seat next to you during study group, his knee brushing yours, and you glance at him, only to catch him already looking at you with that knowing smirk.

college fling!jun, who’s casual as hell in public but pulls you into empty classrooms when no one’s around, his hands already under your shirt as he kisses you like he’s been dying to all day.

it’s worse at night, though. he texts you at random hours, shit like, “you awake?” and “missed you today” with a dick pic coming right after, hard and dripping for you—like always. like he’s not gonna be in your bed an hour later, his hands sliding over your skin as he whispers your name.

“we’re so bad at this,” you tell him one night, lying tangled in his sheets, his arm thrown over your waist as he presses lazy kisses to your shoulder.

“bad at what?” he murmurs sleepy.

“keeping it casual,” you say, glancing back at him. “you’re always here, jun.”

he shrugs, pulling you closer. “maybe i like being here.”

college fling!jun, who’s starting to feel like more than a fling, but neither of you’s ready to say it out loud just yet. instead, you let it keep happening—the late-night visits, the stolen kisses between classes, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

and maybe you’re not ready to say it, but you’re definitely feeling it. especially when he shows up at your door with takeout and that stupid grin, saying, “figured you’d be hungry,” like he hasn’t already fed you twice today.

college fling!jun, who’s not so casual after all.

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 7 - Black N' White Knight

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Dick tells Tim, hand carting through his hair. The two of them are in the kitchen, at the breakfast bar. Tim sitting in front of his laptop with his legs crossed, and Dick tapping one foot agitatedly against the marble floor. While Tim might not be grinning ear to ear, it’s pretty obvious for anyone who knows him that he’s delighted by the tale Dick just regaled to him.

And what a tale it was. He hasn’t seen you in a year and a half, and then when he does, he finds you teary eyed staring at a picture of him shirtless at the gym. Bruce had always told him the way he played with the paparazzi would come to bite him in the ass one day, but he really can’t say he expected… that.

Obviously, it had to be a prank. That’s his first thought. That’s his only thought, really. What other explanation could there be? An accident? Maybe you’d forgotten what his room looked like. It wasn’t like he kept much personal stuff in his Wayne manor room, the only markers his clothes and the letters he kept in his drawer from his parents.

And you were wearing his clothes, of all things. He’d be surprised if you forgot how much of a Superman fanboy he was, seeing as he’d spent many hours ranting to you before the explosion. So, a prank. A show of good will, an olive branch maybe? It was more likely you were just fucking with his head, as you’d done in the past. Never like this, though.

This was just… bizarre.

“I can’t either,” and of course, Tim sounds near estatic saying that. The love of chaos ran true in that one.

Dick had managed to wrangle his life under control a few years back, and despite the universe seeming to try to unravel it at the seams, he was indisposed to let it simply happen. Even if you of all people had changed. No, Dick was getting older, and he was finding his taste for chaos a lot more… limited.

He didn’t want to suffer it’s affects. He was currently suffering it’s affects.

“I knew something was going on when she showed up to the party, but this…” Tim pauses, leaning back in his chair, “It’s gotta be a prank, right?”

It said a lot about their family that this was all the assumption they defaulted to.

“It could be something else. Did you even take her to the hospital after?” Dick offers instead, overthinking as always. This situation seemed to be made for overthinking, though.

Tim hums. “No, we did not.”

Then he turns his stare to Dick, like he’s expecting something from him.

“Seriously?”

“What? You’re the friendly one.”

Dick very much did his best to seem like the friendly one, at least. Tim was well aware it was a complete farce, though. Dick was nice but he could also be a bit… well… a bit of a dick. Another thing he’d been trying to overcome. He was doing better than when he’d been seven, at least.

Dick sighs, pressing his hand to his forehead, “I’d probably just end up accidentally nagging her, and then she’d never speak to me again.”

“That’s not my problem,” Tim shrugs, glancing back down at his laptop and squinting.

“It is, actually. Because if she stopped talking to me you’d probably be the next one till the girls and Duke came home who has to talk to her.”

“She could talk to Jay,” Tim offers, because he’s a shithead. Dick bets he did the same with Bruce, “And besides, I’m busy doing surveillance.”

“You mean stalking.”

“I do it to everybody, stop making such a big deal out of it.”

Dick sighs again.

“Hm, you might want to check your phone,” Tim says, in a way that suggests he has once again tapped the network. Keeping him out of Dick’s private life was like Sisyphus and his boulder. He still wasn't going to give up, and the time Tim and Steph mercilessly bullied him for getting dumped over text had made him all the more so.

‘Dont_try’: hey. can you come pick me up? thx

“Please, tell me you sent that and are just messing with me,” Dick begs, staring down at his phone in mild despair. Chaos. Always fucking chaos. Despite how hard he tried, he could not keep his family out of trouble. God damn it, when he’d gotten this job he’d been the one made for trouble. Where did he go wrong?

“Honestly, sounds like the sort of thing I’d do, but the girl just got bitch slapped so I really think you should respond fast.”

“What?!”

“She’s fine now, run to the bathrooms I think. You know for such an upstate place you’d think they had better camera positioning,” Tim mutters, complaining that he can’t watch every single little movement you make. Dick thinks he should probably worry about this, as it’s a clear sign of another decline for his sanity, but he’s now got this shit to deal with.

“Why, Tim? What is going on? Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Hm?” he’s engrossed by the computer, “Ah, the shitty boyfriend… some soup- ha, how is she such a clutz? Maybe we should get her head checked again- and… an altercation of some kind? I don’t know, I can’t see it properly.”

Dick leans forward in his stool, clasped hands covering his face for a moment.

“Are you going to reply? If you don’t soon, she’ll probably make it a bigger shitshow,” Tim says, nudging his foot against Dick’s. Dick, good big brother that he is, takes a deep breath and steadies himself. Even if this is really not what he wanted for his holiday, he’s dealt with much, much worse.

The press will have forgotten about this within the week. You, however, likely not. He’d promised to help you all those years ago, and even if he had no idea why you were reaching out to him, or if you would even be amicable when you met again, he’d still damn well do it.

He glances back down at his phone.

“What is going on?” Dick repeats to himself, and Tim’s head cocks to the side. There’s that familiar cat that got the cream grin spreading across his younger brother’s face, and it just really isn’t welcome right now.

“Intrigued yet?”

Unfortunately for both him, Tim and especially you, Dick already was.

He’s in his car in five minutes flat, finger tapping against the premium leather wheel. The sound of it is the only thing that manages to keep him sane.

Riding up to the place, Dick realises that no, maybe the press won’t be over this within the week. Considering the amount of paparazzi swarming the place, he doubted you’d be free for at least a few months. To be fair, the mysterious ex-wayne making such a scene was a bit of a big deal. Before you’d been basically invisible, despite your immense wealth and past.

Invisible? Dick thinks he spots at least twenty cameras. And that’s not even mentioning all the phones inside that would’ve gotten up close videos of whatever happened. Their legal team would handle it fine, that which Barbara or Tim couldn’t wipe from the face of the earth. And that was very little, all things considered.

Dick has to push past the calls of his name, ignoring all the intrusive questions volleyed his way like the pro he was. He still makes sure to listen carefully and store away every vital bit of information, as well as remember the logos on the film crew’s van. Eventually he makes his way to the front of the line, and the flustered front of house immediately recognises his face and sweeps him inside. Dick ducks in with a thankful smile, which he admits, falters when he enters the scene.

A scene which you are not in. Your gold digging boyfriend was, though. Of all the things Dick regrets with you, it’s not breaking the horrid relationship the two of you had apart. Or well, the fact that you totally, loudly hated his guts. He was a sensitive guy, y’know!

He sees your terribly boyfriend - George, Dick remembers - raging at some poor servers, and he knows he need to go sweep in and save the pour soul. It’ll be a hard fight, he can already tell.

Before he does so, he sends a quick text to his phone.

Underwear_guy: Where are you?

Don’t_try: I’ll be right out.

Shockingly, that was the truth. You come striding into the restaurant, and immediately all eyes are on you. It makes you stutter-step. Dick can see you visibly stiffen up, before you manage to gather your courage and keep walking. You don’t even pay him a single glance as you walk straight towards your fuming boyfriend.

You try to whisper, keeping your voice quiet and your conversation private. The boyfriend seems uninterested in the idea.

“What the fuck are you thinking?!” he cuts you off.

You glance around, and then say something else. It seems like you’re trying to defuse the situation, but George seems uninterested by the idea. 

“This behaviour is ridiculous. You need to get it together, we’re in public!” he yells, like he isn’t the one causing a scene. He seems to be trying to intimidate you back into silence. But today and well, yesterday too, something is different about you.

Okay, that’s enough of that. Dick’s intervening.

“You cheated on me! You deserve it and everything that’s coming to you!”

Or, uh, maybe you’ve got it covered.

-

George’s shocked face is almost worse than when you literally bit him. Guess he expected you to be a bit more demure after that encounter. He should know better, the other version of you seemed to have been even more spiteful in nature.

Today again, you prove you are a less than stellar person. You’d stopped caring about George as soon as you’d discovered he’d cheated, but you were still angry. Not jealous, but furious. Bubbling up your throat, rage and bile and the urge to attack him once again, even if you just want to go home.

Your teeth grind. Your jaw ticks. And oddly, you realise you have a real taste for George Lancaster’s limbs.

Though your life had changed (literally) in the past few days, you were still the same girl from your first twenty-first. You wanted George Lancaster to suffer. Even more so, now that the evil cunt had hit you right in the face. The hit had stunned you, though. More emotionally than physically, but it had shocked you.

You couldn’t say you were a coward. You’d spent far too many days in your teenage years indulging in self-destructive behaviours to think that. But something about this pathetic man was scaring the shit out of you. You think that made you more pathetic, but you couldn’t quite tell. That’d be victim blaming, right?

You did have a habit of blaming yourself. It was just usually your fault.

…Maybe you shouldn’t have bit him, no matter how much the response was instinctual or his screech was satisfying. This was all too confusing, all too much. You needed to get back to your apartment, lock the doors and barricade them so nobody bothers you. And then maybe hibernate for a week. You needed some time to process all the stupid bullshit you were experiencing. The wayne manor was too much, your horrible white apartment was too much, George fucking Lancaster was too fucking god damn much.

You take a deep breath, and manage to stop yourself from bolting like a deer. Deal with the problem at hand. Deal with it now, deal with it!

“I’m leaving, and we are done. It’s that simple,” you tell George, trying to drill in a message that he seems unable to comprehend. At this point you’d assume he’d be trying to apologise, manipulate back into his good graces, but you think you might’ve completely broke him. Broke the script.

Good. That was damn well good.

“Can we talk about this somewhere else at least?” George replies, eyes flicking to Richard Grayson’s angry gaze. At least you think he’s angry. You can’t quite gather the courage to look directly at him.

Also, there’s the manipulation! You wish you weren’t right this time.

“Sure, but I’m bringing him, and my answer will absolutely not change. You hit me.”

“You bit me!”

Well, yeah, not your best moment. You don’t think you can regret it, though.

“Then I think this relationship is ending on equal terms,” you reply, trying your best to just get him to quit it. It is obviously not working by the way his expression darkens.

“I’ll tell the press everything,” George threatens, which, well, is sort of a shitty threat because I don’t even know what he’s threatening. ‘Everything’? Couldn’t he be a bit more specific?

You shrug. It is the wrong response, you know it is, but you’ve completely ran dry of fucks to give. Couldn’t be much worse than the bullshit happening right now. The press were already very well fed, considering the situation that was today. George makes a small sound of fury.

“We’ll sue,” Richard Grayson, the white knight that you’d daydreamed about, comes to your rescue. Is it odd that it’s kind of flustering? You probably shouldn’t be flustered.

George immediately snaps his gaze to Grayson’s, giving the man a look with a healthy dose of fear. Couldn’t blame the guy. Even if he was the second smallest of the three remaining brothers, he was still well known for being strong. His family often did kick-boxing, and their sister, Cass, often whooped their asses. It was sort of satisfying to watch. Anyway, his physical prowess from fighting to weirdo gymnastic bullshit was evident in his svelte build.

George was many things, but he wasn’t an idiot. With just the one threat from the Waynes legal team, he skitters away like the little rat you know him to be. He leaves the restaurant, and he very obviously does not pay or even leave a tip. You suppose you have the cash to make up for it. Then, ignoring the paparazzi, you were technically home free. You glance to the side. Richard Grayson’s beautiful face looks a mix of confuddled, frustrated, and exhausted. He still saved you, though, even after the fool you made of yourself.

White knight, indeed. It almost feels a bit anticlimactic, but it’s the results you wanted. And yet, an ominous feeling befalls you. Somehow, you don’t feel you’ve seen the last of George Lancaster. You just really hope the old you hadn’t committed any crimes. A tabloid? Humiliating, but livable. Prison? Not so much.

Not that the rich stayed in prison in Gotham, or even the rest of the world. It was kind of strange to realise you were sort of above the law now.

You glance at Dick, pulling your uncomfortably wet shirt away from your chest. You’ve sort of been bled dry of any shits you could give at this point, so you decide, very maturely, to make jokes and ignore all your problems. It had gotten you this far.

You’d seen this behaviour before. Many, many times. It was what usually got you fired. But now you didn’t really have to worry about that, so why should you worry about causing a scene and ruining your life a bit more? It wasn’t yours, after all.

“What do you think?” you joke, elbowing Dick. He looks down from glaring at the entrance George just slipped out of, to you. His blue eyes are a damn near shock to the soul. It takes everything in you not to start fidgeting.

“Think of what?” he responds, and despite how hard you try, you can not read his expression.

“I’m trying to make some more news. Don’t think the reporters got enough the other day,” you say, gesturing to the giant stain. It’s still Dick’s shirt. You hadn’t realised till now, but the Beatles was now some sort of green soup. Is it kind of gross of you to acknowledge that at least the soup smelled good?

Probably. You didn’t actually get to eat anything here. It’s also probably a bit weird that you’re thinking about eating at a time like this. Probably.

“I think you’ve done enough, honestly,” he says, glancing at the camera flashes from outside.

He sounds exactly like your mother, it’s almost uncanny. Well, this version of him technically knew her. You’re still not sure how well en-meshed your two families had been before the disaster, but maybe he’d picked up some traits from her.

…That… you’re not sure how to feel about the idea. The old green monster bubbles up at the thought, and you can’t tell if you’re jealous your mum got to meet Dick Grayson, or that Dick Grayson might’ve gotten to know your mum.

“We should leave,” he says, cutting off your bitter inner thoughts, “I know you don’t like it when the magazines bother you.”

You don’t? You don’t. Yes, that makes sense, ‘you’ definitely wouldn’t have. And it’s not like you feel comfortable with them either. In fact, if you think about the fact your drowned rat appearance will be on every tabloid in the city by tomorrow, probably alongside photos from your birthday, you feel so nauseous you could collapse. Going to compartmentalise that one.

“Yes, going, let’s go,” you say, following Dick out of the restaurant.

Despite the fact that the security guards are trying their best, it’s getting quite rowdy out here. When Dick wraps an arm around your shoulder, shielding you with his body, you almost just pass out right there. His muscles… Your heart simply can’t take it. As it is, Dick notices you jump like a foot in the air, and backs off. He still makes sure to try and protect you from their vision as much as possible.

Still, in an act that is purely rebellious, you turn and give them a big smile and a wave. Even as you hate every single person on the other side of the divide, you want to make one thing very clear. You will not be cowed by someone like George fucking Lancaster. Your peace sign and wink are a message to them, to him, and to yourself.

Despite the fact that this new life is one you have no idea how to handle, you know one thing. Put on a face, and it’ll always be easier.

Dick is probably wondering what the hell happened to you for you to be acting this way. Your shirt has a giant stain on it, you just broke up with your cheating boyfriend, went through a traumatising experience just a few days ago, and you’ve got the biggest grin on your face. This behaviour speaks more and more of a full blown mental breakdown. And it’s not the first you’ve had or the last.

There’s paparazzi snapping thousands of photos of the two of you, and instead of shying away as ‘you’ used to, you throw up a peace sign. One of the papps drops their camera. That confuses you a bit, as your peace sign deflates slightly. Didn’t they want more pictures? Weren’t you supposed to pose…?

For all you stalked celebrities online, you realise you have no idea how to pretend to be one. This is going to become an issue, you can already tell.

He points at a car, and you assume it’s his because he starts making his way over. He’s obviously done this sort of thing before, using and guiding the security with a smooth confidence. Even still, the two of you are a bit too close for comfort.

Which you prove, by putting your foot directly in your mouth.

“I don’t have abs, but do you think the press would like my stomach like they like yours?” you say, and almost immediately regret it. Another poor joke. You are deflecting so hard. And why the hell did you bring that up, you dunce? You feel your brain cells draining the more you’re around this guy, it’s not healthy for you.

“Please don’t pull your shirt up in public,” Dick sounds like he’s about to have a mental breakdown. It’s spreading, like the plague. You’re patient zero, of course. Even still he gets you guys to the car, and opens the side door for you. You follow his wordless command and slip into the passenger seat.

“I won’t. Sorry, sorry,” you reply, to relieve him of some of the trauma you’re currently inflicting.

He glances back to the papps, and then back down at you. His smile bowls you over like he’s getting the last strike in a fucking 300. He genuinely is the most beautiful human being you’ve ever seen. Thankfully, he closes the door so you have a moment to gather your sanity before he goes around the car and gets in the driver’s seat.

You hope you’re subtle when you shift away from him slightly. It shouldn’t be that surprising really. You were stupid on average. You would be stupider around attractive people. You would be frankly disastrous around someone as blastingly hot as Dick Grayson. The Waynes in general turned you into a drooling idiot.

Good god, you need to get out of this car. As soon as you think that, Dick is pulling away from the parking spot and out onto the streets. He makes slow progress because Gotham traffic, but eventually you manage to flee the horrifying stares of the cameras. Already you can tell it’ll be giving you nightmares. Probably along with images of the guy who tried to rape you and Damian Wayne sneering at you.

“So, how are you feeling?”

Despite how you wish it not, Mr. Grayson decides he’s going to start a conversation with you.

“Good,” you reply, the answer instinctive and an obvious lie.

You can feel his gaze on the side of your face, but you don’t dare return it.

“That’s good to hear,” he says, and his voice is gentle. Sort of infantilising if you’ll be honest.

While it is very clear to anyone who looks at you that you have no idea what you’re doing, you’d rather he didn’t bring it up. You’ll figure it out. You’ve always managed to figure it out. This is what you get for asking for help. Really, despite your momentary panic you could’ve taken George. Probably not physically, but…

“You can talk to me if you want, you know?”

“Can you stop the car, please?” you respond, when that question immediately activates your fight or flight response. Dick must notice something about you, because he quickly shoots forward and into a momentarily available parking spot.

You scramble with the door, shoving your way back out onto the asphalt. The immediate distinct smell of Gotham, even Gotham’s richer districts, calms you down. Sewage, the ocean, and the ever present smoke and fog.

Fuck’s sake. You aren’t making yourself look anymore well put together.

Clearing your throat, you turn and find Richard Grayson coming around the car hood towards you. There’s a worried look in his eyes, and you really don’t know how to deal with it. It’s like you made a deal with the devil. By getting rid of George, you’d gotten a new problem - and an infinitely more complicated one.

Shit, you need to stop making rash decisions when you’re having panic attacks. You’d say you should probably try and stop having panic attacks entirely, but you don’t really know how to do that.

The sound of your name has you snapping back to attention. Dick looks even more worried.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, taking a few slow steps towards you. Again, infantilizing. Like you’re a wild animal about to run. Wait, weren’t you just comparing yourself to a chihuahua? Well, it’s not the same when other people do it.

“I’d like to take a walk,” you say, hand scrunching into your pyjama pants, “Alone, I’d like some time alone.”

“…In that?” He glances down at the stain that is slowly starting to dry. It’s making your skin itchy, but at least it’s not as cold.

“I can buy something,” you say, remembering one of the apps on your phone was connected to your bank account, which you had to assume was pretty full. It’s kind of stupid that you haven’t checked that yet.

You’re starting to feel a bit defensive towards your own intelligence. Maybe it’s because you seemingly keep making all the worst decisions.

Dick doesn’t make it any better.

“Do you have cash on you?” he asks, showing how little faith he has in your general abilities to survive as an adult in Gotham.

“I do, I’ll be fine,” you insist, because god damn it, you will be. You just need a fucking minute.

You ran from the Wayne manor because you felt like you were being watched, and then as soon as you showed up at the world’s most uncomfortable apartment, the haunting wraith known as George dragged you out in your P.J.s. You could figure it the fuck out, if these people would give you some fucking space.

Richard Grayson seems to realise that you’re getting upset, because he goes quiet for a moment. After staring at you for a moment longer, for which you manage to find the courage to maintain eye contact through pure stubborn will, he asks you one final question.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride home or something?” he asks, still seeming so determined to help you.

His suggestion brings flashes of images of you breaking down in front of the Bruce Wayne to mind. From almost a birds eye view, you see yourself sobbing against your own ruined dress as the billionaire looked on. Bile literally jumps up your throat, and it takes a lot of willpower not to grimace at the suggestion.

“Look, Mr. Grayson, I really appreciate-”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”

Once again, you feel the urge to simply sprint away from your own problems, but you manage to hold yourself still. Still, you can’t think of a solution. You can’t really think much of anything. Instead you stare at Richard Grayson with your hands threaded together and your lips pressed into a thin line.

Though you open your mouth to speak, you find you have no excuses ready or available. You’ve talked yourself into a corner already, and it’s your third day in this world. Marvellous. Maybe you should just tell the truth.

Still, the dangers outweigh the pros. They don’t know you, they don’t have any real reason to take care of you. If they believe you, they’ll toss you out onto the streets penniless. And if they don’t-

You blink. There’s a highway sign behind Dick, and it catches your attention like a lightning bolt. ‘Arkham Asylum 800 miles’. It’s white blocky letters on green panelling feels like a sign from god, warning you from the path you consider taking.

And then you realise that you might actually get sent to Arkham if you say anything, and you resolve to never tell a single soul about what has happened to you. You’ve heard enough stories about the asylum, and by god, you are not being roommates with the fucking Joker of all people.

Eventually Dick realises he’s not getting anything out of you and he sighs, shaking his head. His annoyingly perfect hair mesmerises you for a second, but you manage to wrangle your brain back under control. He really doesn’t make it easy.

“I just want to know if you’re safe. If you’re going through anything, you know we’re always happy to help-”

“Dick,” you say his name, face twisting in discomfort, “This was a… a one time thing. Usually I can handle my problems. It just… it caught me off guard. George cheating was a huge shock, and I needed someone to stand by me.”

“And you know I always will, right?”

Ah. That’s… Dick Grayson was a stranger. You didn’t know him, and more than that he did not know you. He did not know what you would do, could do. You didn’t think anyone did, not even yourself.

It’s a silly idea to expect your celebrity crush to save you, and it’s one you find you can’t stomach it at the moment. It makes you feel disgusted with yourself at the idea. It’s too indulgent, too silly. It’s very simply, not possible.

You’ve given up on relying on miracles. These lessons had been beaten into you, really. You didn’t want to have to learn them again.

Your feelings must show on your face.

Dick lets out a whoosh of air, frustration palpable. He carts his hand through his hair. It still looks perfect. The world is unfair, yadda yadda.

“You run hot and cold, you know?” he gives you a grin. It says a lot about his ability to act, seeing as it seems almost natural. Almost, being the key word.

Also, he is absolutely correct. The chihuahua effect is in full-swing. And you know what? You are probably going to continue to run hot and cold, because you’ve never made a decision in your life. He’ll just have to get used to it.

You raise your hands and shrug, in the universal ‘what-can-you-do?’ motion. He wasn’t wrong. You were being completely erratic. Not even you knew what you’d do next. At least life isn’t boring these days, right Right? You wonder who you are trying to fool, because it’s certainly not yourself.

“I’ll contact you if I need anything,” you lie, because it seems to be the right thing to end this torturous conversation, “And I’ll make sure to keep contact with Alfred. You can talk to Jeanine if you need anything, as well.”

Dick, unfortunately, calls you out on your bullshit.

“But not you, right?” he says, smile still printed on his face.

Woof. You think… you’ve hurt his feelings? Ah shit, you instantly feel like the scum of the earth. Still, you don’t know how you could fix this. Arkham is a genuine threat lingering over your shoulder, you don’t know enough about your new cut-throat billionaire world, and you can not lose any faith they have in you. Any that you have left, that is.

You’re sorry, but this is coming down to survival. And you are a greedy person, after all.

In the end, you don’t have anything to say, and Richard Grayson leaves without a word. Watching him walk towards his car, you feel… bad. Really bad. The part of you that is still crushing on this guy, a very large part of you, feels like you’ve ended the earth. The other part, the one that recognises that once again you’re going to have to fight for yourself… well, she thinks so too.

Maybe… maybe you could fix this. Apologise. Once you’ve gotten your bearings and know you’re safe and 100% financially stable, maybe you’ll figure it out. Give him his shirt back after you’ve dry-cleaned it.

For now, you give him your back as well.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[aureum-cordis]

Lost & Found, Part 4

A/N: Hey! It’s been a short while since my last update, college got a little hectic for me. But I’ve gotta admit, this has been my favorite part to write so far. I really have to thank everyone for checking out this little fic and I appreciate all of the reblogs and follows, as well as the notes! Thank you all so much! Check out the other parts here: Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

_________________________________________________

You were more than content to have an audience as you drew an amalgamation of little doodles on the page you were provided. CraftyCorn was offering you any crayon, marker, or pencil you even vaguely gestured to while Bobby BearHug rested her head on DogDay’s shoulder.

The dog was unbothered by this, especially since this was the happiest he had seen the other two in what felt like years. He was grateful for this little moment of peace, even if some nagging thought attempted to plague his mind with negativity. It wasn’t as if he would ignore the thought that this could be stripped away just as quickly as it came, but he refused to feed into it.

Even he was surprised by the way he felt fiercely protective over you and the others, not that it was a negative form of surprise at all. You, and that precious little smile on your face as you lifted the page to show the trio of Smiling Critters that you had drawn them, had caused the little amount of hope in his heart to flourish. If you had survived then it was possible that they all could, that this situation wasn’t impossible to walk away from.

He wrapped his arm around the bear that rested her head on his shoulder in a side hug of sorts, allowing his own head to gently press against hers. The two watched as you gestured for CraftyCorn to join you, to which they happily accepted.

You still sat cross-legged on the ground but the unicorn laid on her stomach to join you, taking a crayon between their hooves and helping you in drawing the scenery of your little drawing of the Smiling Critters as well as yourself.

DogDay and Bobby BearHug watched you and the unicorn as you both drew an adorable image of the strange yet endearing quartet they had formed through chance. You and CraftyCorn were passing crayons and markers of various colors between each other, a wordless understanding between the two of you.

The leader of what remained of the Smiling Critters was more than content to just rest against the bear of the group as he watched you enjoy yourself, even if your hands were now covered in various colors from your composition.

You were far from deterred nor were you upset from such a thing, even going as far as admiring the smear of vibrant colors that covered your palms and fingers.

It was something so small yet noticeable that the dog and the bear couldn’t help but laugh softly at the little display, even more so as CraftyCorn lifted her hooves to show you that their luck with the crafts wasn’t all that orderly either.

The unicorn muttered her praises, admiring the way you drew each of them as well as the background they had been helping you design. You shook your head, pointing at yourself and then the Smiling Critter that had joined you.

She paused for a moment, watching your gesture before it finally clicked what you had meant. “Oh, I didn’t contribute much, this was all you. I could never take credit for it.” They replied in an amused yet genuine tone, it wasn’t fair when you had done the majority of the artwork.

You shook your head again, more enthusiastic this time and bent down to point at the paper. One of your small fingers rested on the drawn unicorn on the page, before you pointed at the real one in front of you. CraftyCorn raised her hooves in a manner that bordered on compliant, yielding their stance on rejecting any credit.

The white furred member of the Smiling Critters shifted from the prone position they were in to a seated one as she spoke. “While I still think I didn’t do much, I appreciate that you let me join you. Together, we created something that easily beats anything I have ever drawn alone.” You were positively beaming as you heard the final agreement that left the artist of the quartet.

Slowly, you moved the papers and the art supplies out of the way as you stood up. CraftyCorn was about to speak when you suddenly wrapped your arms around her torso and squeezed her in a warm embrace.

The unicorn was stunned, unsure of what to do at that moment, and turned to look at DogDay and Bobby BearHug. The dog was about to speak when the bear at his side hugged him in an instant, whispering as she did so. “Hug them!” It was a hushed shout in anything but you seemed unphased, nuzzling into the soft fur that was the unicorn’s chest as they gently wrapped their arms around you in return.

The touch was featherlight, as if you would break should any force be applied. Regardless, you were more than happy to be held even if it was by an incredibly careful unicorn.

A tired yawn left your mouth, the sound still audible despite the fact that you hadn’t, or perhaps were unable, to speak a word. With a balled up first, you rubbed one of your eyes which grew teary from the drowsiness that overcame you.

DogDay knew that you would crash soon when he had found you, the bags under your eyes were more than a sign of the sleep deprivation you suffered from. CraftyCorn allowed her arms to fall to her sides as you broke the hug and backed up slightly. Still rubbing your eyes, you turned to look at the duo that were still close together.

Bobby BearHug hadn’t let go of DogDay since she had first hugged him and he was content enough to not stop her. He didn’t have the heart to do so, not when she had been so distant until you came along, and because he didn’t mind the contact. With a slow and sluggish gait, you walked over to the two of them.

The orange dog was a little puzzled as you approached, extending the arm that he didn’t have around the bear at his side to you. You grabbed his arm and used it to steady your wobbly steps before you promptly sat yourself down in his lap. The suddenness of your action caused some of the wind to be knocked from him, but not a word of protest left his mouth.

He watched as you curled up in his lap and gently pulled the arm you had been holding onto earlier closer to you. He was more than willing to allow you to do such a thing and if he were able to cry in that moment, he would’ve. You wrapped your little arms around his as his hand rested against your back, supporting you to keep you from falling should you stir in your sleep.

A tired smile rested on your face as you looked up at him, before nestling up against his leg and closing your eyes. Together, all three of the Smiling Critters watched as your little chest rose and fell, falling entirely silent to keep from disturbing you as you rested. Collectively, they could all see how exhausted you were, which was exactly why they were more than willing to let you sleep.

For several long moments, they all remained where they were, simply observing you as you clung to the leader’s arm as if they would vanish if you let go. Carefully, CraftyCorn slowly approached the trio and sat down on the side of DogDay that was unoccupied.

There, she rested their chin on his shoulder and looked down at you, nothing but sympathy and a warmth that would soothe anyone in her gaze. They shifted slightly, resting against the dog with her body to be closer to him and you. He was more than pleased with the action, a happiness that he hadn’t felt in a very long time came to the surface, warming his heart and bringing with it an unbridled sense of joy.

You had brought forth a side to himself and the others that he feared was long gone, yet in this very moment it returned. It wasn’t until he heard a steady and rythmic thumping against the ground did he realize what was happening. His tail was the cause of the sound, wagging openly as a display of his happiness and how overjoyed he was that the others had finally been able to find a beacon of hope in this otherwise grim situation.

None of those around him stirred at the disruption nor did they seem bothered by it in the slightest. DogDay himself was embarrassed by the physical reaction that displayed his elation, but it faded as Bobby BearHug continued to embrace him and CraftyCorn’s head now rested on his shoulder and their sides pressed against one another. They were just as content as he was and that only made the thumping of his tail increase in pace.

The only sounds that filled the room were the quiet inhales and exhales of your sleeping form and the sound of the orange dog’s tail as it met the floor as those most important to him were surrounding him. Despite the fact that they had all met you today, they all shared the same sentiment as their leader did. You were now a very dear member of what remained of the Smiling Critters.

[milksuu]

…the poly sett/reader/aphelios… ur insane for that one… i need a follow up����

-🎧

❥ prompt: Sharing is caring. And so is getting along. When it comes to you, Sett and Aphelios are working on it. ❥ content/warnings: mild suggestive themes, fluff, teasing, cuddling, possessive boyfriend behavior ❥ characters/pairings: poly!heartsteel!settphel x f!reader

"This one is so cute, Sett. Your mama really knows which ones to get you," you smiled, rubbing your face against a PoroKing plushie.

"Oh, yeah. When it comes to Ma', I got lucky and ended up with the best," Sett said with a grin, "but, let's be honest here. You're the cutest thing on my bed right now."

Aphelios narrowed his eyes against his computer screen. Clicking and typing away. He was working on a sample Yone had sent him to dabble with for their next song. He would need to ensemble some lyrics to go along with it at some point. Except...he slapped his hands against his desk, turning a sharp chin towards you and Sett.

"Uh-oh," you said, wrapping your arms around Sett's neck. "I don't think Phelly likes us being all lovey-dovey without him."

"Looks like it," Sett agreed with a snaggle tooth smile. "I mean, he's free to come on over when he's done being glued to his computer. He's been ignoring us for hours. What did he expect?"

Aphelios popped the cap off a marker, took up his notepad, and scribbled:

I'm actually working. Unlike someone I know. I wOndEr wHo?

You gasped, covering your mouth. "Phelly's extra sassy today."

"Extra? Nah, he can be worse than this. Believe it or not, he's in one of his better moods today." Sett chuckled, lowering his head and planting a kiss to your collarbone. "Probably because you're here. But it's got me thinkin'. Wonder how his mood will change when I take you all for myself. Right in front of him."

You shuddered at the tingling feeling. "Don't you think you're being a little mean?"

"The boss can't be nice all the time. Sometimes, he's gotta play the big bad wolf," he grumbled a purr, carefully nipping at your chest with his canines. You couldn't help the fluttering of your eyelids and hitched moans.

Aphelios almost snapped the marker in half. He jumped out of his desk chair. And launched a calculated attack while Sett had his arms filled with you.

"Woah! Buddy. What're you doing—?" Aphelios snatched Sett's chin, and planted the black marker against his nose and cheeks. With quick strokes, he painted the look of an actual dog on his face. Whiskers, snout and all. "Wait, isn't this permanent marker!?" Sett released you from his hold, jumping out of the bed and making a beeline for the bathroom.

Aphelios released a 'hmph' with a satisfied glean in his eyes. He sat down next to you, laced his arms around you, and plopped you both against the bed.

"Maybe Phelly's the real villain," you commented, snuggling his bed of hair. "But you two need to play nice. Okay? That was a mean thing to do to Setty. You should both apologize."

There was a twitch in his brow. He was the mean one!? He needed to apologize!? He brought you closer, placing his face between your neck and shoulder. He shook his head back and forth.

"Yes. Phelly. It's the nice thing to do," you said softly. "I know you two won't always get along. But I know you both love each other very much. And I love you both very much, too. And we can show that when we apologize after we hurt one another. Right?"

Aphelios buried himself deeper into the crook of your neck. Muffling his whines and groans into the heat of your skin. He didn't like admitting fault. He'd rather throw a written apology into the nearest burning trash can than give it to the actual person. It wasn't his fault he tended to hold onto grudges. It was always the other person's fault for not taking his personality into consideration. If they cared enough, they would know that about him. And in that case, they were making the conscious decision to be put on his shit list. He was the reasonable one. As far as he could tell.

"Please, Phelly," you asked sweetly, planting a kiss to the top of his head.

He exhaled one last breath of resistance. Somehow, you always had an unfair advantage over him. Slowly, he left the warmth of your body. That was a painful in itself. He almost cowered back into your arms. Needing a bit more strength, he slipped his mask down, and took your lips. Applying just enough pressure to make you both moan. Alright. That's all he needed. He could do this. He took up his notebook and marker.

Just as Aphelios was about to leave the room, Sett appeared from the door. His cheeks bruised red from all the scrubbing he had to do. Aphelios shifted his gaze away. A silent grip ensnared the two. Sett rubbed the guilty knot at the back of his neck. After a moment of silence, he grumbled under his breath. "Listen, Phel—"

Aphelios flipped his notebook around:

Sorry.

Sett stumbled against his words. He hadn't expected Aphelios to be the one to apologize first. Or honestly, apologize in the first place. Technically, it was Sett's own fault for egging him on the way he did. Sett's trouble was evident in the frown lines against his face.

"Yeah. I'm sorry too, Phel." Sett sighed, ears drooped. "I shouldn't have teased ya'h like that. But I couldn't help it. I just wanted you to take a break and cuddle with us. That's all. Hope you can forgive me."

Aphelios paused. The marker squeaked against the paper. He tossed his chin away, cheeks stained pink. He flipped the notepad:

I'll forgive you. On one condition. I'm middle.

Sett's ears perked-up. Grinning like a panting pup, he swooped Aphelio's into his love-crushing arms. You laughed when Sett dove onto the bed, causing you to bounce from the weight. Unraveling Aphelios like a long awaited package, you and Sett planted kisses against his flushed cheeks. The both of you then secured your legs across him, took up his upper-body, and rubbed against his figure in every way possible. Aphelios whined and groaned. He wanted to be cuddled—not suffocated. Of course, with his luck, things had to turn out this way.

an: poly!settphel x reader is my new crack. give me all the fics pls. also, maybe the next part will be nsfw. hmmmm! thank you for the follow req. anon!

[snapscube]

Hi there I’m a relatively new streamer on twitch and have been at it for a bit, and I’m finally at a point where I feel confident enough in my setup and general content that I can make edits of my streams, but I don’t have the resources for an editor. I know you don’t really edit your vods (as far as I’m aware) but I was curious if you had any advice, especially with editing down 3-5 hour streams as I feel like I just get overwhelmed with the sheer amount of stuff there is to cut. Thank you for your time, I’m a big fan of your stuff!

I don't currently do the brunt of the VOD editing for the main channel, no, but I used to and I've done it a couple times since bringing on Ellie so I do have a couple pointers! So, first of all, I know it's so much easier said than done but legit at a certain point you gotta just hit the play button and start watching it haha. Sometimes I will only be able to edit a stream in like 10 minute chunks cause it's just so daunting and actively fights against my ADHD. But, even if the sessions I spend editing are short, as long as I'm still doing SOMETHING whenever I get even the smallest burst of motivation to just press the play button it eventually gets easier and, more importantly, gets done.

BUT in terms of my actual tips for the process...

Have a specific editing structure laid out. My recommendation: Watch through the VOD in full, don't worry about cuts just yet. Just write down timestamps for bits you want to include. Even better if you utilize the marker system in whatever editing suite you use to do so, as you can label them and see them visually on the timeline. MAKE SURE YOU WATCH IN 2X SPEED. It's gonna be a bit disorienting at first but I promise you, you'll get used to it and the time saved is gonna be so worthwhile. Then, once you've finished marking your VOD, start making cuts at those markers and copy the cut down clips into a NEW timeline. DON'T delete anything from the timeline you watched/made markers on, just copy stuff to the new one in chronological order. Once you have every marked clip copied over to the new timeline, do a watch-through of the rough cut you just made and start polishing up those cuts for pacing. This is where you can feel free to just slice the shit out of everything, don't be stingy, just do what works best for the video. If you'd like, an extra step you can do here is maybe add some more markers if a particular joke or flair edit comes to mind while you're making pacing cuts, just be sure not to get bogged down in the details just yet. Wait until after you've finished polishing the entire rough cut for pacing, and then you can start jumping to your markers and make the more intensive edits and polish as the final or near-final step!

Give this a try, or modify it to suit your own workflow/schedule! I hope it helps!

[angeart]

Tips for not getting stressed out from writing, coming to you live from someone who has done this for 18 years and got a degree in it:

- remember that you write for fun. This is the big one. You write because on some level you enjoy it. Sometimes you gotta lasso that abd reel it into your heart and hold it there so it stays.

- keep compliments close at hand. And i do mean this literally. I print out AO3 comments and friends compliments and keep them in a jar to pull them out at random when I need a little brain boost. I keep a folder of screenshots of nice things people have said on my pc.

- accept that not every day is going to work out. Even the best authors have days where the words wont work, days where they wont flow at all. Its okay to take a step back and not worry about it. Refer to my first tip: youre doing this for fun, you dont have to force yourself

- get silly with it. If youre really having a day where you want to write and its not working and its frustrating you but you cant put it down it is TIME for the sillies. Set a tiner. 5, 10 minutes. Write whatever comes to your brain. Fully turn your editor off. I get sentences like "And the doh turned blue and whacked rhe tennis ball with its tail into the bridge". Utter nonsense. It helps to get the wiggles out

- handwriting can also be helpful. I keep several journals, and glitter pens, and fun markers - sometimes doing the task physically instead of digitally helps to get the wriggles out.

- sometimes you have to accept an idea is not working. It takes experience to figure out when this is, but youll get there. Come at ideas from different angles, back out entirely and rewrite older scenes to make new scenes work.

I hope these help you!!!

thankyouuu for sharing these!!! <3

it's true that the positive comments are always a great motivation. maybe i need to start a collection for myself. indulge a little. (shut up the eternally dissatisfied part of my brain-)

i'm honestly struggling to find a balance between knowing i write for fun, and the pressure of it. (they're happening simultaneously, sometimes seemingly too closely intertwined.) but maybe one has more weight than the other, and i have to realise that only one of those should really hold any priority.

i'm very tired now, but i'll be rereading all these again later and letting them settle in gently. thank youu

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and Worst of Both worlds (part 8)

tw: like nasty living conditions implied

vote on da poll below ill start writing after 20 votes, next chapter will b focusing on monty

part 9

You can't do it. You can't say no to Yves without going through mental hoops. So you sigh as you let him conquer your room.

You had posters of your favorite artists, but they were all lost in the clutter long ago. It reemerged dusty and damaged, but Yves repaired it the best he could. It looks decent enough to hang.

You watched him cover his mouth in contemplation as he looked around the room, trying to figure out the best place to hang it.

Yves has done more for you than everyone else combined in your life. He cleaned, he cooked, he took care of your sickness, he cleaned you, he fed you, and now he's decorating your room to make it more habitable. All of this and you never said a word, neither protest nor request. You just let him do his thing.

From what you read in the group chat, he also replenished your section of the fridge with groceries.

Your housemate took a picture of the things he bought, all of them were labelled with your name. His handwriting is black marker ink undoubtedly beautiful.

Your housemate did warn him that you're not one for cooking, the perishables could potentially go to waste. He replied that he will be visiting over for the next few days to make your meals. One of them even broke the landlord's rules and gave him a spare key to the front door.

Eventually, Yves found the perfect places to position your posters' forever home. Who knew just the strategic placement of some piece of laminated paper would elevate a room? It looks much better and oddly bigger now... well maybe the latter due to his cleanup.

He clasped his hands and admired his work. As he should.

After that, he turned to you. Which made you jolt out of surprise.

"It's been an hour and a half. Do you still want to eat?" He asked.

You checked the time. He's right, it's now half past eleven. You're not hungry anymore, so you told him that you're full. He nodded and left your room again.

Your housemates blew up the group chat due to another wild Yves sighting around the house. Is this how it's going to be from now on?

This time, you received a picture of him portioning the leftover congee in disposable containers. He has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing his lean forearms. You're surprised to see that they were riddled in old scars. It was captioned: "He's freezing the rest"

You squinted and it looks like he's weighing them on an electronic scale. There's a marker pen in this picture.

You sent a message to the group chat asking if he's using his own items.

"I think so??? Idk i have never seen these containers b4" "well theyre not stained yellow yet, he has gotta have these brand new" "yea n hes using rich people sharpies, like none of us here can afford it, all of us get offbrands"

You wonder if he managed to fit them into his handbag.

Yves came back into your room, explaining that the congee will last up to 3 months in the freezer. He also walked you through the steps on how to reheat them by yourself, using the microwave or otherwise. Yves told you not to worry if you couldn't remember what to do, he wrote it down and attached it to the containers- or you could call him instead.

You nodded and waited to see what he would do. Yves seem to be doing the same thing to you for the next few seconds. Eventually though, he deem that you didn't need anything from him at the moment.

"I have to retrieve something from my car." He informed you, walking towards his bag and fishing out his keys. He checked the contents of his thermos cup, it's empty. The metal straw clanked around the walls as he picked it up and carried it with him.

You paid no mind to your housemates' frantic messages enquiring about his departure. You're too tired to care anymore, and you're too tired to know if you actually wanted him here or gone. It's nice to have company for once, but it's from a questionable source.

So you tucked yourself under your blanket and curled up into a ball. Hiding your head under your pillow so you wouldn't need to see Yves when he comes in.

You heard footsteps. And sure enough, Yves is now breathing the same diseased air as you.

But this time, he says nothing. Yves flicked the switch to your lights off and set whatever he has down on your desk.

There was a long period of silence accompanied by the soft sounds of typing. A dim glow from his computer screen illuminated his face and reflected on his reading glasses. He's logging in all the events, the observations and other pieces of data he collected from you today.

Yet you're not awake to see any of it. Blissfully sleeping and snoring away as Yves kept you company throughout the night.

__

You woke up the next morning feeling much better. But still not as healthy as usual. You should be fit enough to go to the university today.

Yves is gone and so are his belongings. However, you found a handwritten note addressed to you on your night stand.

"Your breakfast is in the fridge. Look for a mason jar with your name. It is ready to eat. -Yves"

You stretched and yawned, crumpling the paper and shooting it into the trash can.

You peeled the blanket off yourself and set your feet down onto the floor. That was when you realized he left something on the foot of your bed.

Another note resting on top of a set of neatly folded clothes and a bottle of sunscreen.

"The weather today will be reaching 90⁰F/32.2⁰C, take care of yourself and avoid the sun. -Yves"

The clothes he picked for you were the ones you forgot you had. It was breathable and cooling, but in your daily, personal style. He must have found it yesterday when he did your laundry.

You carried it in your arms and walked to your door to see yet another note- this time it was a folded A4 sized paper, attached to your bag, which looked noticeably lighter and... newer.

"I do not recommend leaving yet. But if you do, I packed an umbrella for you. Please wash your water bottle regularly, it is growing mold. Your bag was full of unnecessary paper scraps, wrappers, food crumbs, and other garbage. I had to hand wash it as I found a dried house lizard pressed between a dictionary and a magazine. Some of the notes and textbooks you carry were not even required for this semester or the next, hence I kept it away on your shelf. Your bag had holes at the bottom and was already falling apart at the seams. I sewed the best I could, but replacing and upgrading is the better option. Be mindful of your belongings.-Yves"

Your face became bright red after reading the last line. You never asked him to do this for you! Why is he judging? He chose to stick around! You don't like being told you're pathetic, directly or indirectly!

Did he really have to underline the word "mold" more than thrice? And why did he switch to red ink for that one word?

You took a deep breath and sighed. Exiting your room to pay a visit to the bathroom.

You were taken aback by the cleanliness. It looked like how it was in the listing, shiny and grime free. The shampoo and soap bottles were arranged neatly with no trace of dark sludge coating it.

There is another note stuck to the mirror.

This time, there were crude drawings depicting penises urinating on your name, no doubt vandalized by your housemates. You went ahead to read what Yves had to say.

"To (name), I replaced your toothbrush as that too, was growing mold. Pay attention to your hygiene or else you will be prone to sickness.- Yves"

There were hearts drawn all around his name, no doubt the culprit was your housemate who took a liking to him.

After taking a shower and changing into your new set of clothes, you left the bathroom to eat breakfast in the kitchen.

You opened the now pristine fridge and sure enough, there is a mason jar with a sticker of your name on its side.

You rotated it to see that he has written something else:

"Banana chia pudding: Chia seeds, almond milk, banana slices, vanilla extract, maple syrup, granola. Gluten-free and lactose-free. Do not heat, eat as is."

You're not sure how to feel about the taste, texture and temperature. It is "sick people" food after all. Perhaps you liked it, perhaps you don't. But you are definitely grateful that you have a free meal from Yves.

One of your housemates entered the kitchen, she greeted you as she began preparing her own meal.

You asked her what time Yves left.

"Beats me. His car was already gone when I woke up at 4am to take a piss. He did leave us a note though."

You asked her what she meant by that.

She shoved her hand in her pant pocket and handed a crumpled piece of paper to you.

"I will visit at 6pm, please take care of (name) for me. -Yves"

You asked where did she find this note.

"Next to the light switch in the living room" She cracked open an egg on her skillet.

You looked at the wall clock. It says 12:03pm

You have around 6 hours left before Yves comes back. There is nothing much to do in your house because the Internet runs at a snail's pace and there is no air conditioning. So you would be boiling in your room.

You think you're well enough to move around and you definitely do not want to spend time with your housemates.

You don't have to go to the university, since your exams are over and so are your classes for the semester. But all the study spots, including the library, have air conditioning.

[livesincerely]

i was just reading back through your writer’s desks and remembered how much i loved the slideshow au! no pressure but do you have anymore thoughts on it? it’s just one of my faves <3

The outline/notes for that one are still in the very early stages but I’m happy to share what I’ve got so far!

00000

He’s waiting for Tony to come back from the bathroom, the next episode of Crime Scene Kitchen queued up on the tv, when his phone vibrates with a text from Jack.

this prod meeting is running long, probs won’t be back until late. Go ahead and watch w/o me

Everything ok?

ya but part of the set got busted during a scene change so I gotta figure when/how to fix it before tomorrow night

I’ll put your takeout in the fridge and save you some egg rolls

and that’s why you’re my favorite

Say hi to Medda for me

of course

“Jack’s not going to be home until late,” Davey announces as Tony wanders back into the living room. “He says we should start without him.”

….

“Dave,” Tony says, sighing deeply. “Why am I looking at a PowerPoint titled, “Jack Kelly + David Jacobs: A Comprehensive Argument for Maintaining Equilibrium.”

Davey pins him with a scathing look. “It’s a Google Slides presentation, you godless heathen.”

“What the fuck?” Tony asks, ignoring him, clicking rapidly through the screens. “When did you even make this?”

Davey shifts in his seat. “I mean, it’s more of a living document, so it’s never really finished—“

“Davey.”

“A couple years ago, I guess,” Davey says. “Give or take.”

Tony squints at the computer screen. “It’s saved on your old university account.”

“Okay, or maybe it was three months into junior year!” Davey admits, crossing his arms over his chest. “It was a stressful semester and I was super nervous about failing my animal science midterm and Jack was out on a date with that PoliSci major that lived upstairs and— And the when isn’t the point! The point is, according to my research, telling Jack isn’t worth the risk of ruining our friendship.”

“What are these graphs even measuring?” Tony asks, staring at one of the slides. “‘Overall Happiness, Jacobs v Others’?”

….

“Well, your math is absolute shit, for one thing,” Tony says, frowning at a graph entitled ‘Art Pieces per Subject’. Davey’s name is sitting in dead last. “There’s no way these numbers are right. Jack draws you literally all of the time.”

Davey frowns right back at him. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Uh, yeah he fucking does,” Tony disagrees. “You’re, like, one of his favorite things to make art of, period. He spends about half his time bitching about how copic doesn’t make a marker that matches your eyes—at this point I’m pretty sure he’s got more drawings of you than actual pictures.”

“I think I would’ve noticed if Jack suddenly started drawing me,” Davey scoffs, shaking his head. “It’s not like he’s subtle when something’s caught his eye. Plus, he lets me flip through his sketchbooks whenever he finishes filling one and I’m almost never in them.”

“Which one?” Tony asks.

Davey blinks. “Which one, what?”

“Which one,” Tony repeats, oddly intent. “Which sketchbook does he show you?”

“What do you mean, which one?” Davey asks, irritated. “The only one! The one he always— it’s not like it’s some big secret!”

Tony stares. Then Tony sighs.

Very quietly, Davey hears him mutter, “…pair of fucking morons.”

…..

“Okay, but, riddle me this,” Tony says. “Why don’t you just tell him? What’s the worst that could happen?”

“What’s the worst that could— I literally just went over all the reasons why that’s a horrible idea!” Davey exclaims. “It would ruin everything!”

“I really don’t think it would, Dave,” Tony says. “You and Jack… will ya at least think about it?”

“I’ve done nothing but think about it,” Davey says, and to his horror, he can feel his eyes starting to sting. “I can’t.”

“Want me to do it?” Tony offers, and he says it like a joke but Davey knows him too well to think that he’s anything but absolutely serious.

He jolts forward, arms outstretched as if to preemptively cram the words back down his throat. “Don’t you fucking dare, Tones, I am so fucking serious—“

“Okay, okay!” Tony says, holding up his hands in surrender. “I won’t snitch on your neurotic ass, even if it’d make you happier in the long run. My word as my bond or whatever.”

Davey huffs out a laugh, and it’s only a little teary. “Fuck you, my neurotic ass is the reason you made it to graduation, shithead.”

…..

“Hey, can I borrow your laptop?” Jack asks. “Mine’s dead and I left my charger at the theater.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Davey absently responds.

…..

“Davey,” Jack says, voice straining. “What the hell is this?”

“What is what?” Davey asks.

“This.” He turns the laptop around and— oh shit. It’s The Argument.

He feels his blood run cold. “Oh,” he says. “That.”

“Dave,” Jack says, his mouth set in a hard, thin line. “Did you make a fucking PowerPoint about me? About us?”

Davey swallows. “…It’s actually a Google Slides presentation,” he says weakly.

…..

“You’re telling me this is nothing?” Jack demands, incredulous. He tilts the screen back to show Davey the current slide, which is just an enlarged photo of Jack’s handsome, smiling face, surrounded by a halo of red arrows and the caption, ‘JUST LOOK AT HIM,’ written in boldfaced text. “Nothing? Nothing at all?”

“Maybe we can stop looking at it now,” Davey says, loudly. He leans over the back of the couch, making another panicked grab for his laptop, but Jack dodges out of the way, clicking to the next slide.

[dice-wizard]

My dear ADHD siblings,

There is one very crucial thing you must learn a coping mechanism for, if you want to navigate through life as an adult.

Don't miss appointments or fuck off from commitments.

I don't really care how you figure out how to make this happen, but it is ✨ essential ✨ that you figure it out somehow.

I am WILDLY aware that meetings, appointments, deadlines etc are so so easy to forget about but in order to not be That Asshole you have truly gotta figure out a method that works best for you, so you remember more often than not.

I also promise you that if you fuck this up every now and again, that's fine. Your friends don't hate you. Your doctor, therapist, dentist, etc will simply reschedule you. Deadlines can be adjusted. It's when you do this constantly that you become, inadvertently, a huge asshole that no one will invite to things or hire on time sensitive projects. Unideal! Also, totally preventable.

Here are some things I've done that have ensured I don't miss an important commitment or appointment:

Written that shit down in ink on my hand. Can't lose my hand or forget I have a phone interview at 3 pm if I'm constantly looking down and seeing PHONE INTERVIEW 3PM! on my hand

Put the appointment in my calendar IMMEDIATELY. Your friend group has agreed to play D&D in Friday from 7-10? Calendar. Immediately. Don't wait. "I'll remember later" is a lie the ADHD demon whispers sweetly to all of us.

I have a giant sticky white board covering one of my walls and colorful markers where I write things like SCHEDULE EPISODE RECORDING or FREELANCE ASSIGNMENT DUE FRIDAY or CALL DOCTOR TOMORROW in huge letters in a place I frequent. You can buy one here

Make a Discord server containing you, a "Things I need to remember" channel and a reminder bot. I spend all my time on Discord anyway, I may as well store necessary details in a place I'm already checking.

Say no to things I'm not all that interested in or excited by. I'm way more likely to fuck off from something that bores me, so I try to avoid being That Person Who Never Shows Up by politely declining in the first place. This one is hard, especially if friends might be bummed that you aren't interested in a particular game, movie, etc.

In general, reduce friction between yourself and the reminder. Do more than one reminder if that's helpful. It is so important that you don't miss commitments. Once you leave people hanging enough times, they'll stop inviting you to stuff and stop counting on you because they know you can't be trusted. That sucks especially because you're not doing it on purpose!

If this is something you struggle with, take the time to work on it. You absolutely can find a way to minimize how often you flake out on people - not doing that is important to personal and professional relationships.

I believe in you!

[bobwess]

It feels like you want to do torniqets

The leading cause of the preventable deaths in an emergency is uncontrolled bleeding.

Tourniquets can be used on limbs (arms/legs) and are for uncontrolled arterial bleeds. That's your bright red pulsing and spurting blood.

Uncontrolled bleeding is the first thing you will address after being sure there is no danger. It is important to stop that blood before you do anything else. Once you get the tourniquet on, you must write the time you applied the tourniquet on it or on the body part next to it in permanent marker. You must also write a "T" on the forehead, so if the limb is covered by blankets, emergency personnel know there is a clock on it.

Choosing your tourniquet:

There are 5 main kinds of Tourniquets, each with their pros/cons.

The most common and well liked tourniquet is the CAT (specifically the Gen 7) It's designed for the military, it is straightforward and easy to apply, it works well every time, and it can be done to yourself if needed. It will get the job done. Love it. My recommendation.

Then you have the Sof-T. It's a lot like the CAT but worse. (Fight me.) It looks nicer but it's less practical and slightly more expensive.

RATs is another one. This one isn't at all like the CAT, it instead is more of a elastic band material that you loop through an end piece to lock it off. The RATs is a little bit cheaper, around $20 The RATs will cause more nerve damage and pain though, because it is pinching it off with a much narrower band. However, because it doesn't have a huge stiff plastic windlass and locking mechanism, it's incredibly flexible and much more comfortable and practical to have in the pocket or a purse than carrying a CAT.

SWAT-T is another type. It's like an exercise elastic band and the instructions on how to use are printed right on the side. It's not easy to use. I don't think this tourniquet is worth your time.

The STAT is the last kind. This is your set it and forget it. It can be a little harder to get full tension on it, I still far prefer the CAT, but this goes on like a zip tie. You slide it on, pull it tight, and press the button. It automatically records the time itself, you'll just have to put a T on their forehead. (Write it in blood if you gotta.) The easiest of all the options for sure. If you want a tourniquet, don't really want to learn how to use one or the others are intimidating, it's a pretty good choice to throw in a first aid kit, backpack, or glove compartment.

NEVER get your tourniquets off Amazon, there are a LOT of counterfeit tourniquets on Amazon, and a counterfeit one will not have the right materials to hold pressure. North American Rescue is where I get my tourniquets, but there are a couple reputable medical supply companies. My Medic is a good site.

Normal belts can not be used as emergency medical tourniquets. I don't care what the movies told you. Drugs? Maybe. Stop the bleed? No.

I'm not going to get into what to use for a makeshift tourniquet, but you can find a tutorial online. It just won't be as effective, fast, or easy as a proper one is.

I personally carry a RATS tourniquet in my pocket at all times and have a CAT tourniquet on the passenger sun visor of my car.

-

Practice with whatever brand of tourniquet you are getting. And look up the best way of storing it to grab it and deploy it easier.

You will know the Tourniquet is tight enough because all blood flow to the limb will stop. There will be no more blood escaping the wound. Once blood flow is entirely stopped, the limb is actively dying. There is a limit to how long the limb can go without bloodflow in which the doctors can save the limb, otherwise the limb will be amputated at the tourniquet line.

Wwith modern technologies, it is hours before the limb is a gonner.

The military goes "high and tight" meaning whatever limb needs a tourniquet, they strap that thing on as high on the limb (close to the heart) as possible, fast easy mindless because they have a support team that is likely to get this person back to medical before anything happens.

If you don't know when your extraction will be (how soon you'll get medical attention) it's usually recommended you put the tourniquet roughly 3 inches above the wound (making sure you don't apply it to a joint like the elbow or knee).

Be warned, the tourniquet quickly becomes the most painful part of their body as it is crushing the nerves. They're gonna want to rip it off, you have to keep them from pawing at it and potentially undoing it.

-

I recommend getting a bright color tourniquet. Black is fine if it's what you have, and it can look cool, but you want people to see the applied tourniquet as easily as possible and bright flashy colors are the move for that. Attach a sharpie to your tourniquet! Just take a sharpie, put it in the case with the tourniquet or just in the same place. You'll want to be able to write the time and the T and it's easier if they're together.

[theowlgoesmoo]

Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh NO.

How could she be so STUPID?

Dot stared through the gap in the fence in despair, watching the vest fall into the pen.

Right outside the cavern dug into the back.

The cavern dug out by that… thing.

Thumper.

The pen was built at the back of the sombrero, and was massive. It consisted of a half-circle of dried, wooden boards lashed together, used more to serve as a marker to stay back than to keep the beast contained.

That's what the cave was for.

It hadn't been there when the pen was first built, Molt had told her. Thumper had made it himself, seemingly out of frustration.

“It was like he wanted to hurt the ground, kid. Ya shoulda seen that dirt fly.”

All around the mouth of the cave were remains of Thumper's unfortunate meals: Scraps of cloth. Bits of carapace. A half-chewed antenna…

It was something out of a nightmare.

“We ain't meat-eaters, kid. I know we're all big and scary and stuff, but we don't eat other bugs. Not Thumpa though. Somethin’ broke in his head. Now that's all he eats. Course he can't digest it too well, so he always looks all sick and thin. I think Hop likes him that way.”

No sane bug would ever go in there. Not willingly. Not if they at all valued their carapaces.

Dot did value hers however, and the only way to preserve it… was to go inside the pen.

It was a cruel irony, but one she had brought on herself in a moment of frustration. Not unjustified frustration, but she had lost her temper, and was now paying for it.

“He wasn't always like that, kid. Can you believe that? Used to be as sane as you and me. ‘Course he was still mean as a nest of starvin’ hornets, and as vicious. Hop used to use him as his enforcer. He didn't eat people back then, but he might as well have. Was about as clean.”

Dot could think of a million places safer than being on the other side of that fence, including a nest full of starving hornets. But she knew if she didn't act, it wouldn't be her own head on the line.

Hopper knew about her friendship with Molt, and brother or not, promise to his mother or not, Dot had no doubt in her mind that Hopper would punish her friend if she messed up.

She couldn't betray Molt like that, not after all he'd done for her. Not after he proved to be the one decent bug for miles around. She wouldn't let Hopper hurt him because of her.

But the only way to stop that was by crossing the fence.

She pricked her antennae up, listening for the faintest hint of the monster. The quietest snarl, the soft crunch of sand under a stalking foot, the hungry panting of an excited predator…

But nothing. Not a trace of him.

“I know you ain't stupid enough to do this, but don't go anywhere near that pen, alright? Don't let him see you, heck don't let him SMELL you! Don't even stand upwind of him if ya can. Hop wasn't bluffing, he LOVES the taste of ant, and I like ya too much to let him have ya, princess.”

Not a trace of him that she could see or hear, that was. She could smell him plenty alright.

It almost made her gag.

Dot did not care for the smell of grasshoppers. At all. Not these ones anyway.. but it was one thing to have to smell a pair of long johns that had been worn for three days while their owner refused to leave the cantina, and it was now your job to clean.

It was quite another thing to breathe in the air around Hopper's pet cannibal.

“Oh yeah, he's a cannibal alright, kid. Hop likes to get rid of guys who let him down by puttin’ em on ‘feeding duty.’ Yeah. They're the food. Same one he keeps threatenin’ you with.”

“Aww, kid, hey, sorry. Come here. I ain't gonna let him do that to ya. You can trust your ol’ pal Molt.”

“That better? Yeah, you're a tough little tyke, ain't ya? But hey, listen. There's somethin’ you REALLY gotta know about Thumpa…”

Rotting meat was a very rare smell in Amberhive. Meat in general was a rare sight in the colony, usually limited to roast aphids and treehoppers, and even then, usually only during the winter and holidays. The ants viewed them as delicacies, and would never dream of wasting them.

But accidents do happen, and Dot had the misfortune of smelling rotten meat before when a treehopper leg had rolled under a decorative cabinet behind the royal family’s table and not been noticed by the cleaners.

It wasn't a smell she would soon forget.

And that was nothing compared to the reeking miasma surrounding Thumper's pen. The sick, sweet stink of decay was everywhere. She tried to pull the collar of her undershirt up to use as a makeshift face mask, but it wouldn't stretch up enough. She'd just have to try not to breathe in more than she had to.

She reached up, grabbing the highest rail she could and pulling herself up, climbing the fence like a rickety ladder

“He may look it, but Thump's not a brainless monsta. He's got that, oh, what do ya call it, ‘animal cunning’. He's tricky, kid.”

She lifted her leg, climbing up another railing. Despite the broiling desert heat, she shivered. Her hand slipped, and she yelped, almost falling off the fence. She caught herself just at the last minute, clinging to the dried twig like her life depended on it.

She supposed it did, in a way.

Just stay on the other side, it’ll be fine. Some tiny voice in the back of her mind insisted. Pleaded, really. Hopper won’t mind too much! He won’t REALLY hurt you. Or Molt. He’ll probably just yell and stomp his foot and make a show of it.

She scoffed, huffing.

“Yeah, and maybe Aphie will learn to talk and blow bubbles from his-”

Any further snark was drowned out by a booming thrumming filling the air. Dot squealed, this time falling off the fence and landing in the sand. She looked up, seeing a cloud of grasshoppers flying far above her.

Hopper was leaving again, and this time he seemed to be taking most of the gang.

Dot craned her head back, watching the swarm fly off far into the distance, a plague ready to descend on some unfortunate farmstead or town, she was sure. She guessed the meeting had ended.

She stood up, brushing herself off, a little cloud of dust coming off her dress. Alright, take two. She hoisted herself back up on the fence, climbing up it.

Wait… wait a minute…

If Hopper was leaving, and taking most - maybe even ALL - of his gang with him… Wouldn’t he take Thumper?

Maybe he had already retrieved his “pet.” She didn’t know how long he’d been in the hideout. She and Molt had been out for a while doing the laundry, and Hopper wasn’t exactly the sort to stop by and say hello to his little brother. Or her.

She smiled, feeling a huge weight off her chest.

Thumper wasn’t here! Of course he wasn’t! If Hopper was taking that many grasshoppers, he’d NEVER leave his attack dog behind!

Feeling light as a dandelion puff, Dot climbed up the fence posts. She practically leapt from rail to rail, climbing it as easily as a clover stalk.

She felt silly. All this time she’d been afraid of nothing! Of course she would have heard Thumper snarling and screaming if he was here, ESPECIALLY if he could smell her. He’d be going crazy if he knew she was around.

But she hadn’t heard a peep from him. Not even the faintest hiss from the mad cannibal.

She hopped down from the fence, landing with a little ‘oof’. No, she was alone in here. Well, alone with the remains of the “meals” Hopper had thrown to his pet.

She tried not to look too closely at them, trying to pretend they were just weirdly-shaped rocks. It wasn’t hard, given how Thumper had torn them up. They weren’t immediately recognizable. No… not Immediately.

And there it was. Hopper’s vest. The one she had so foolishly almost lost, waiting for her right by the mouth of Thumper’s cavern.

She knew he wasn’t there, but still, a tingle ran up her spine. This place… this place was evil. She could feel it in her very soul. Horrible, horrible things had happened where she stood.

“Just grab the vest and get out, Dot.” She muttered, hugging herself. Thirty seconds, that’s all it would take.

She’d grab the vest. She’d take it to the lake, get it cleaned up. Maybe Molt would come back down. Hopper probably didn’t take him along, she would bet. They’d hang out more, put this whole thing behind them. Then they’d go to the cantina, be able to share a meal, not have the gang around to make things more miserable than they already were.

She’d take the rest of the day off. Maybe nap in the shade, snag a few more grains to snack on throughout the afternoon, try and put all her fears and worries behind her.

Yes. Yes, that’s what she’d do. She’d make the most of it, try and enjoy the rest of her day, especially with the gang gone.

“Yeah, tricky. I know, crazy right? The guy’s nuts, all that snappin’ and bitin’ and ‘graaawr, grr!’ and stuff, right? But don’t let that fool ya, kid. He’s nuts, and he’s scary as all heck, but he’s smart.”

She steeled herself, getting closer and closer to the vest. The sand crunched beneath her feet, each footfall sending a jolt up her spine.

He… He wasn’t here. She had to keep telling herself that. She knew that. She KNEW that. Hopper had taken him. Just grab the vest and go, Dot. Don’t be such a baby.

Just…

A little…

Closer…

“Don’t let him make ya think ya safe. That’s when he’s most dangerous. I’d tell ya stories, but I don’t think ya wanna hear ‘em.”

She bent down, holding her breath, and not just from the rancid, sweet stink all around her.

Her fingers clutched the silvery silk fabric of the vest, grabbing it by the broad shoulder.

“Promise me, alright kiddo? Promise me ya ain’t gonna go near that pen. I don’t care why, I don’t care what my brudda says to ya.”

“Don’t. Go. In.”

Something moved. Something moved in the cave. Dot froze, eyes wide in sheer, mortal terror.

He hadn’t taken him.

Hopper had left him here.

No… No, no no no!

A thin, long arm, covered with spines reached out from the darkness. The hand at the end had three slender, crooked fingers, each tipped with a curved claw.

Then another arm.

Then another.

And finally, a face. A face Dot had seen time and time again in her nightmares since she had been brought here.

It was thin. Skull-like, even, with big bulging sickly eyes. It barely had a chin, and its lips seemed permanently curled back, as if they weren’t there at all.

And it was staring right at her, grinning maliciously, its mouth full of knife-like fangs. She whispered soundlessly as she stared into those manic, predatory eyes.

He was here. He was here and he was staring right at her.

“Thumper...”

[dollsonmain]

Ok I'm going to explode if I don't talk about the big batch of unfortunate ponies that are on their way in for an emergency cleaning.

I am so excited and happy and grateful that I get a chance to clean them up because I'd never get to see many of these ponies in person otherwise since they're too pricey for me to buy.

I'll put it behind a cut, though, so their owner can choose whether or not to view my preliminary assessments which are based on the sales photos.

So, these were an expensive eBay lot with a lot of rare ponies in it which was an excellent price for all of them together. When they arrived to their buyer, it was discovered that they absolutely reek of mildew/mold. That's extremely disappointing.

They got packed right back up and are already on their way here.

Normally, boxes of ponies coming from there say they'll take a week and a half or so then suddenly appear after a couple days. I don't think that's going to happen this time, being Giftmas.

I had linked to the sale a while back but I didn't look super close at the pictures because there was no way I was going to be bidding, until today. They certainly LOOK stinky.

Mildew stink is easier to remove than smoke, regardless of whether it's cigarette smoke or whatever my Wave Runner smells of (it smells like she was in a house fire). Mildew stops stinking for the most part once it's all dead, and it's all certainly going to be very dead when I'm done with these ponies.

I have an ozone generator which will help if the bad smell doesn't wash off sufficiently. They can also be treated like rustbutts and given an oxyclean soak inside and out though that's rough on the hair so not my first choice. I may also get that UVC lamp and add it to the SunBox which is good for killing off mold and mildew. Then it's a question of how efficiently I remove it all from the vinyl, or how deeply the scent has gotten into said vinyl.

I'm both feeling optimistic and wary of that optimism. I don't want to get my own hopes up. Gotta keep that shit realistic.

If everyone got wet enough to mold, I don't think Talk-a-Lot is going to be functional. Hopefully she doesn't have batteries corroding in there. If that stuff on her face comes off, though, she'll at least be good for display. She looks very bright and fresh, otherwise.

Look at that scrungy hair on Merry Treat. hohoho bitch I am so excited. She also has some yellow on her face that will hopefully wash off. If it doesn't, yellow does cooperate pretty well with hydrogen peroxide and the SunBox.

I can already see that Mommy has unstable vinyl. That's a shame. Mommy and Baby are Euro exclusive IIRC, and difficult to get, here.

I'm not sure those dark spots on Baby aren't stains. I hope not, but it kind of looks like marker eyeliner.

These little pearlized babies are downright disgusting... Poor things. The pearl paint is surprisingly not as difficult to clean as I'd feared when the first ones showed up, what was it last year? It can withstand a gentle melamine sponging just as well as the cutie mark and eye paint. I also have a matching pearl paint to help with patching in where needed, though I don't have any semi-gloss sealant so any patched areas would rub off again rather easily. Good enough for display. I am rather confident they will turn out just fine.

Look at that knotted up wad of tail tinsel. (❁´◡`❁) I can't WAIT to make that all smooth and pretty again. Hopefully the stuff on her will come off... I can't tell if she has all of her hair and there were no photos of her other side. It looks like it might be shorter, but that can be caused by being matted, too. Fingers crossed it's all there.

Even with a haircut, Rapunzel's resale value is preposterous, which is why I will never own one.

There's some yellow grime on Birthday Pony and Firefly. I'm wary. It will either wipe right off or is stained. No way to know until I start cleaning.

There are no photos of the other side of Li'l Pocket. I wonder if she has her piggy bank and coin, still.

There's a little Remco donkey in there! I was wanting to see one, and now I don't have to buy one to get to.

Swirly Whirly.... I can't tell if the grime is ON her or IN her. She does seem to have shadowing in thinner areas but that can be both caused by dark mildew inside the body and just the fact that it's thinner, there, and there's a bit of a shadow inside. I won't know until I crack her open. When there's dirt stuck in the rooting holes like that, in my experience, it's coming from inside the body. Which is not a problem.

Her horrible hair texture excites me.

I have seen a few Glow n Shows go opaque even more than Starglow there... No idea what causes it. Happyglow in this same batch seems fine.

Someday I want to have some Glow n Shows.

I expect this to be stains. When it's been little round blooms like that, it's generally stained. I hope I'm proven wrong. She has her key, which is EXCITE.

There have been times where I've picked up a pony that looked like they had blooms and I didn't think they'd come off, and they wiped off no problem.

I actually have this one. She's my only remaining childhood pony. My Secret Beauty's key is long gone, though, and her saddle can barely stay latched anymore. The spring for the latch is worn out. She also has an ink stain on her cheek.

.... I don't even know. The listing doesn't say what this dog is.

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Could I request something fluffy with Bam where he and the female reader get married? You write soft moments so well, takes the asshole out of him

Nice Day for a White Wedding

Preparing for a wedding isn’t easy, especially considering who you were getting hitched to.

Bam Margera X Fem!Reader

(Fluff)

919 Words

Warnings: Suggestive content, crude language

An: Thank you so much for the request!! Seeing as how my shorter fics are all pretty successful, I thought I’d shake up my pattern of writing these behemoths :] A lot of this was based off of Unholy Union which i haven’t seen a ton of content for on here! I have never personally gotten married so I hope this is all pretty accurate to the experience! Thank you for the request and please keep sending them in!!

You had been breaking your back with this wedding and all Bam had done thus far was screw around with his buddies and play hooky from your meetings with the planner. Every time you tried to covertly bring up how you were thinking of tiger lilies for the center pieces or which catering companies you were considering, he’d flat out ignore you, instead opting to re-grip his skateboard or touch up his black nail polish with a sharpie marker. Once, after you pestered him about the guest list for the third time that day, he grabbed the notebook you were jotting down ideas on and tossed it into the fireplace. Even though it was a joke, you still told him off for that. It seemed that you were the only person taking this whole marriage thing seriously and time was ticking.

“Come on, Bam! The wedding’s in less than a month.” You groaned, leaning over the back of the couch to peer over his shoulder as his eyes were fixed on whatever was on tv, “You gotta get your shit together.” The last time the two of you did anything related to the wedding together was a month ago when Bam drove you up to New York to go dress shopping at this fancy department store, despite April’s protests about seeing the bride before the big day. There were stars in your eyes as you tried on dresses for hours, oohing and aahing at all the fancy gowns that looked straight out of a fairytale. Bam didn’t mind waiting because he got to look at you half naked.

But shopping for a tux didn’t provide as much eye candy as dress shopping and your boyfriend knew this. Bam groaned in frustration, rolling his eyes childishly, “Okay, fine! Fine! Let’s go then.” He tumbled off of the couch and went to put on a coat. You didn’t mean that you needed to leave right that second, but you weren’t going to say anything.

There was this tux store at King of Prussia mall in downtown Philly that you ended up at- nothing insanely fancy, but it would do. Bam was dragging his feet as you held him by the arm when a nervous sales associate came up to the two of you. “Welcome! Is there anything I can help the two of you with?” You elbowed Bam whose eyes were glazed over, too busy thinking about when he grabbed your ass last month in the fitting room when the measurement lady wasn’t looking. He blinked awake, clearing his throat, “Well, we’re looking for something in, like- a purple velvet? Maybe red?”

“No, we are not!” You playfully swatted Bam’s arm and he cracked a smile as you scolded him, “You are not going to wear a velvet tux to my wedding- not unless you’re gettin’ hitched to Ville.” Since the beginning, he had been begging you to get that Finnish rock star he was enamored with for the reception, so you had been teasing Bam about ditching you for him at the altar. He chuckled, pretending to consider the prospect, “Okay, fine! Well, maybe…no!” The sales associate cleared his throat, stuck in the middle of all of this, “Uh…do you think we could get the gentleman’s measurements first?”

The two of you were ushered into a fancy looking back room with lots of mahogany cabinets and tall mirrors. A serious looking man walked in after you who you assumed was a tailor as you took a seat on a bench at one end of the room with a smirk, watching. Bam awkwardly followed his deadpan instructions as he got measured- take off your shoes, stand with your feet together, turn this way.

Leaning down, the tailor guy wordlessly looped the yellow measuring tape between your boyfriend’s thighs and you could’ve sworn you heard a yelp from Bam as the tape was yanked tight. He popped up onto his toes and the man, who was at about crotch level at this point, spoke with absolute sincerity, “Can you please try to stand still, sir?” You couldn’t help but let a snicker escape at the sight of the red on your boyfriend's cheeks as he sighed, muttering something under his breath. Bam turned to you and mouthed something about the guy touching his balls and you mouthed back how a lot of people have touched his balls and this isn’t any different. Rolling his eyes at your response, you chalked it up as karma from the time he giggled when the fitting lady said your bust measurements out loud.

The rest of the fitting went off without a hitch and you eventually settled on a somewhat sensible black tux- on the condition that Bam could invite all of his idiot friends to be the groomsmen. Both of you headed out to the parking lot to load your purchases in, you bending to hook the wire coat hanger the suit was on to one of those handles in the car before getting into the passenger seat, “You know, I’m looking at invitations tomorrow if you’d wanna come.” Sliding in the driver's seat, your boyfriend shook his head, smiling, “You can do whatver you want- I don’t really give a fuck about that shit…” He leaned over the center council maybe a couple inches from your face, “I just wanna marry you.” Closing the distance, he pressed his lips against yours, kissing you sweetly, exactly the way he couldn’t wait to at the altar.