#if something is too personal ill tell you!

[gay-dorito-dust]

Idk if your requests are open, but if they are, can you do batboys when the reader has a flu or something like that??🙏

My requests are open! But I would some fun, fluff stuff as I’ve been going through some personal stuff that have been affecting my focus and other things, leaving me a little more less then eager to do much of anything really. I’ll try to keep writing but i can only guarantee so much.

Dick is probably patting your back with a broom from another room

kidding! Dick would be very attentive and sweet when you have the flu as he would have everything you need in bulk and smother you beneath several thick blankets, tightly tucked and everything to the point you couldn’t even move a pinky, much to his amusement.

Hayley also acts as a massive help in your recovery or should we say nurse Hayley as dick would have the poor dog dress up for the bit…only for Hayley to grow bored and take her outfit off, all the while Dick becomes dramatic at how his loyal nurse has just up and quit on the job because she wasn’t get any treat treats for her service.

It was high entertainment for you as you’d watch Hayley come back into the room and tuck herself next to you on the bed, whining for your attention as she exposes her belly towards you, and who were you to ignore the cutie? You give her the belly rubs she deserves for putting up with Dick and his antics.

Other then giving you what you wanted (Hayley) dick would make sure to take care of you, going so far as to even tell you a story of his brothers to help you sleep if you couldn’t find it within yourself to do so. Dick is more than happy to risk getting sick just to cuddle you and give you a plethora of kisses, why? Apparently he couldn’t help but give you affection when you looked like a wet puppy. So when you tell him that he shouldn’t be surprised when he becomes sick himself, he only laughs and says that his immune system was good enough to prevent himself from getting sick easily, however he does indeed get sick the next day and acts surprised by it too.

‘I told you not to cuddle me, you’d get sick.’ You tell him through chuckles.

‘And leave you without knowing my love? No way, if anything it was worth the risk.’ He replies as he smiles at you before covering his mouth to cough, making you sigh sympathetically. ‘You’ll be okay.’ You reassured him as you rubbed his back soothingly, ‘I’ll even bring nurse Hayley to help bring you back to full health.’ You add.

Damian is far more stern with you when you get ill. There’s no excuses when it comes to avoiding your medication because Damian will find a way to slip the medicine into your system regardless. Seriously he’ll sneak it into your food when you’re not looking for he didn’t want your stubbornness towards the weird tasting medicine to hinder your recovery process, finding this seemingly childish reaction of yours rather ridiculous.

He often ponders whether you wanted to get better or not with how often you seemed to rebuke the medicine he gave, but he was only doing this for your own good and that was a good enough drive for him to taking care of you to full health once more.

Yet while he might have some grievances of taking care of you, he didn’t mind the idea of being your caretaker as it meant getting to be soft with you, as if he wasn’t already but the fact that you were sick only made Damian treat you more like porcelain. He would even have Titus, Ace and Alfred the cat to keep you company when he knew you were feeling a little down from time to time just to see you smile again when the dogs licked your face, whereas Alfred would be purring contently in your lap.

He knew being sick was your idea and he would always remind you that he wasn’t upset at you for it, but he just hopes that this acts as a lesson to be more carful in the future, all the while coming up with some drawing activities with you to pass the time; which ends up being a ton of fun and an absolute laugh when you see Damian genuinely try to be bad a drawing but only for it to come out better then most of the things you produced.

Jason is another one who’s rather strict about taking care of you, much like how he would be rather straightforward and blunt when you needed to eat, Jason wouldn’t let you move a single finger when you were found to be sick with the flu.

Wear all the hoodies of his that you can get your hands on, he doesn’t mind as long as it would keep you warm and comfortable, because until the day you were better he was going to wait on you hand and foot by giving you the needed medication or brining in food and water throughout the day.

Jason didn’t care what he had to do because as long as he could take care of you to the best of his abilities then that was more then enough for him, he’d even take some time away from patrol as he didn’t feel comfortable leaving you within your shared home when you were in a vulnerable state.

Thankfully Gotham wasn’t in as much need for him when his brothers Dick, Tim, Duke and Damian were overseeing the city in his absence, it helped take his mind off of that aspect while he was taking care of you by frequently checking your body temperature or make you soup, and or being there to comfort you should you feel the need to empty your stomach. Jason could fully bring his attention to you like he should and you needn’t worry about waking him up early in the morning, or even late at night because Jason was more then willing to get whatever it was you needed without compliant.

[blackcatales]

You and your new omega hybrid

You and your new omega hybrid

«Take him. He is so boring, I can't stand it!» — your sister scrunched her pretty little nose. «I bought omega to be nice and cuddly, not being stoned statue».

You sighed and massaged your temples. «Sis, maybe it's time to think before you get something? Or someone. Stop turning my home into your personal shelter.»

«Oh, cone on! You always loved things just opposite of me. You’ll like him. Anyway, he is here, waiting on a porch as a good dog. And I have appointment to be. So leave hem on you. Bye!»

And she was gone before you could call her for leaving hybrid on freezing cold. You opened door to see high well build dog hybrid. High and muscular, he doesn't look like a classic omega. He had shepherd ears and tail.

«Hey! Cone on in. It's freezing outside» you called. «What's your name?»

«Dallas» -his voice was raspy and deep.

«I bet it wasn’t made of my sister. I already have cat named 'Sausage' and dog who is 'Eggbert'. My sister just unable to give normal names»

Eggbert ran to Dallas and sniffed him. And hybrid petted dog thoughtfully. «So, I think you know, now I'm your new caregiver…»

«Not owner?» — hybrid looked at you with his deep blue eyes.

«Well. Technically yes, I own you. But I prefer to be caregiver to a sentient creature. Own someone sentient feels… Feudal» -you shrug. «Anyway, luckily I have spare room. Egg likes to chill there, but, I guess, it isn’t a problem, right? It seems he befriended you already. Though if my sister get someone else without thinking beforehand, I might need to getting bigger house.» You mumbled last sentence under your breath but considering chuckle from behind you, dog hybrids have sharp hearing, just as their feral counterparts.

«Why did you agree to take me in?» — he asked. «It doesn’t seem you are into hybrids.»

You sighed. «I just think that it's better if I take you in then you end up on streets or at some shitty shelter. My sister… She is a good girl. And I love her with all my heart. But parents spoiled her a bit too much. And now her husband continues that. She gets anything she wants without thinking if she needs it.» — you shook your head. «But it isn't your problem. Just as it wasn’t Egg’s or Sausage’s. So as the most reliable person of this family ill take responsibilities.»

«And your husband? Is he ok with a new pet» — hybrid visibly tensed.

«I don't have one yet. So he will get me with all my precious zoo then ill find one» — you joked. «Here, your room. I'm not sure if omegas need some special treatment or equipment… So tell me if you need something, okay?.. Hey, what's wrong?» — you noticed how he hung up after your words.

«I'm not a usual omega. Not 'cuddly' or 'sweet' and tot fragile.» — he didn't look at you.

«Well I mean biologically you still are. And I couldn’t care less of how you look. If i wanna a hug I have Egg and Sausage. But if you want one, you are welcome» -you smiled reassuringly. «Now ill give you my tablet so you could order things you need. I won't look at order so feel free to get what you need.» — you smiled to him reassuringly.

[walnutcookie]

Heard you liked hearing hcs.. heh..

I personally HEAVILY believe that Toodles wouldn’t be as annoying as people portray her to be.. like that isn’t entirely a hc BUT!!!

This is the hc part!! Atleast personality wise..

Based off her insecurity of being unhelpful and afraid, she’d try her best to be likeable. Of course she’s a kid and will act like a kid— I HATE when people make her too angsty/mature— BUT she’d definitely attempt to be “mature” or responsible for other people’s problems!!

I think this could also tie into her being the only kid. She is the ONLY child toon and there aren’t even other children coming to gardenview anymore so imagine how out of place she feels…. She just wants to be INCLUDED 💔💔

Apologies for ranting.. can you tell its my lifelong mission to stop child mischaracterization..

YEESSSYESYESYES YES!!! SHAKING YOU BY THE SHOULDERS YOU UNDERSTAND RAAAHHHH

i feel like i probably am a culprit of potraying toodles as just The Dumb Kid but like. ouuhgg you described it perfectly this is actually really similar to a lot of my hcs for her.... (ive had a toodles infodump in my drafts for ages but ill be honest i realized i wasnt comfortable posting it cause its a little too personal) like i make jokes about her being a dumb lil kid a lot but also theres a lot that could be done with her being the only kid i agree with you 100% . inspired by my old walnut cookie hcs (haha url reference) i think that she Notices people dont let her help or just give her useless jobs to do to keep her busy despite her genuinely wanting to help and it makes her feel a lil unwanted </3 because of that she tries Really Really hard to prove that she can be helpful which. annoys the other toons sometimes and then they dont want her to help. ahh the wretched cycle

One of the things i really like to yap abt with my friends is how the toons suffer from the conditions theyve been placed in because the founders didnt think it through/care enough. like toodles was designed to want to help but being a kid people will naturally not want her to help, whether it be out of concern or just doubt that she can do it or something else - this is fine for a cartoon show where the characters can have planned out interactions and emotions but when its applied to Living Beings with Real Emotions it really fucks with toodles. its like an itch she can never scratch </3

also i absolutely adore this drawing u made of her AUSGDHGSH SHES SO SCRUMBLY<3333 anyways ur brain is huge TY FOR THE ASK ‼️‼️

[aquamarixx]

sweeter the second time around

married out of convenience, you and your best friend, Kita Shinsuke share a not-so-normal married life, intil Kita realizes he never wants to let you go

‎‧₊˚✧ TURNING POINT 2025 ENTRY ✧˚₊‧ pairing kita shinsuke x reader word count 2.9k words tags post timeskip, aged up, friends to lovers, somehow established relationship, hurt/comfort, bit of fluff, marriage of convenience, navigation

You and Kita Shinsuke have always been close—steady, reliable friends who could depend on each other through anything.

It started back in high school, when you crossed paths as the student council secretary and he, the volleyball club’s captain. Even after you moved to Tokyo for university and later got a job there, you never lost contact with him. Through every milestone, every struggle, and every little moment in between, Kita remained a constant in your life—one of the few things that tethered you back to Hyogo, aside from your family.

He’s always been the person who listens without judgment, the one who quietly understands you in a way most people don’t. He knows everything about your life, from the smallest details to the most frustrating realities. Like how your love life, despite your best efforts, has always been disappointingly stagnant.

You’ve tried dating over the years, but relationships never seem to work out. No matter how promising they start, something always feels off. It’s like you’re chasing a connection that just won’t stick. 

Kita, on the other hand, has never seemed interested in romance. He’s always been content with his responsibilities, with the joys of his rural life as a rice farmer, never feeling the urgency to settle down.

And then, everything changes.

Your mother—your single mother, the woman who raised you on her own—falls terminally ill. And suddenly, time, something you always thought you had, begins slipping away.

One evening, in the quiet of her hospital room, she smiles at you, eyes warm but tired.

“You used to drape the blankets around yourself like a wedding dress,” she murmurs, voice fragile but full of fondness. “Always twirling, saying you’d be the most beautiful bride in the world.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh, remembering the image vividly. But there’s something in her voice—something wistful.

She squeezes your hand. “I always thought I’d get to see it."

Your throat tightens.

She doesn’t say it as a plea, not as something she expects or even asks of you. It’s just a quiet confession, a bittersweet acceptance that she won’t be there when it happens.

The weight of it presses into your chest, heavy and suffocating.

You try not to cry. Even the tears threatening on your lash line, with all your might, you hold yourself back from sobbing. Instead, you hold her hand a little tighter, as if that alone could slow down time. And you wish it would.

Marriage has never been something you’ve chased. You figured if it happened, it would happen naturally. But now, with her words echoing in your mind, you feel lost.

Later, you tell Kita about it. You’re not sure why. Maybe because he’s the one person who never judges, who always listens. Or maybe because, deep down, you already know he’ll say something that makes it easier to breathe.

He doesn’t respond right away. He just sits with your words, letting them settle between you.

And then, in that calm, matter-of-fact way of his, he says, “Why not marry me, then?”

You blink. “What?”

“I’ll marry you.” His voice holds no hesitation. “It doesn’t have to change anything. If it’ll bring her some peace, we can do it.”

Your heart lurches. “Shin, you don’t have to—”

“I know.” His gaze meets yours, unwavering. “But I want to.”

You stare at him, still trying to process, still trying to find the right words to refuse because this is—this is too much. 

“But what if you meet someone?” you blurt out. “Someone you do want to marry?”

“I won’t.” His response is simple, final.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t even say it with sadness. Just with this certainty, like he’s always known.

“We can figure it out later,” he continues, reassuring you. “Right now, what matters is your mom.”

“But still, Shin, this is—”

Before you can finish, you see him reach into his pocket. You watch him as he tinkers with it in his hand before placing it—whatever it is— in your palm.

You glance down. It’s a small, makeshift ring, twisted from a strand of hay, clumsily looped together.

A surprised laugh bubbles up before you can stop it. “Shin—what is this?”

“A proposal.” His lips quirk up slightly, just enough to tell you he’s amused.

It’s ridiculous. A hay ring, of all things. Yet, for some reason, your chest tightens.

Your fingers curl around it, warm against your palm. “You’re serious about this?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.” His voice is quiet, steady.

And just like that, the argument dies on your lips.

Because this is Kita Shinsuke. The boy who has always been there in your life.  The one who never makes promises he doesn’t intend to keep.

This isn’t a romantic proposal. There’s no nervous confession, no grand gesture. Just the certainty of a man who doesn’t think twice when it comes to doing right by the people he cares about.

And that’s how you find yourself married to your best friend.

Your wedding is small and intimate. Less of a grand affair and more of a quiet gathering of the people who love you both. There are no extravagant decorations, no towering cakes, no lavish venues. Just a modest shrine in Hyogo, the scent of fresh flowers in the air, and the warmth of familiar faces surrounding you.

You rented a beautiful white gown. It’s not the kind you dreamed of as a little girl, but something simple and elegant, something that feels right.

Your friends from Inarizaki High are there, the Miya twins bickering as usual, Suna looking unimpressed but still wearing a pressed suit for the occasion. Kita’s other former volleyball teammates and his grandmother sit near the front, watching everything unfold with quiet joy.

And then, there’s your mother.

She sits in the first row, her hands clasped together, her smile trembling at the edges. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, her face alight with love and pride. This moment isn’t perfect—not in the way you once imagined—but it is enough. Because she is here. She gets to see it.

Only a handful of people know the truth: that this is not a love story, not in the way everyone assumes.

To most, it looks like something out of a dream. Two best friends who have always been by each other’s side, finally finding their way to one another. The way people whisper about how it was inevitable makes you laugh under your breath. If only they knew.

And yet, when you stand at the altar beside Kita, it feels… surreal. Not wrong, not forced, but strange. :ike stepping into a life you never planned for.

You don’t know how to feel.

But when you look at him, standing there in a crisp black suit, something shifts.

Kita has always been composed, always steady, but right now, there is something in his gaze that you’ve never seen before—yearning. Like you are the most beautiful bride he has ever laid eyes on.

It steals the breath from your lungs.

He watches you as if you belong there, as if there was never a version of his life where you wouldn’t end up here, standing next to him.

The ceremony moves forward, words exchanged, vows spoken. You repeat them without hesitation, your voice calm and sure. When it comes time for the ring, Kita slides it onto your finger with the same deliberate care that he does everything. With intention, with certainty, with the kind of patience that makes your heart ache.

Then, the final moment. The kiss to seal your vows.

You barely have time to react before Kita’s hands move. One cradles your face, fingers brushing lightly against your skin, while the other snakes down to the small of your back, pulling you close. His lips meet yours in a long, firm kiss and somehow unexpected in its intensity, yet still so him.

For a moment, the world fades.

His touch is gentle but unyielding, the warmth of him pressing against you in a way that feels almost… real. Your hands, almost instinctively, grip at the fabric of his suit, anchoring yourself.

And when he pulls away, you are left breathless.

A faint red tinge colors Kita’s cheeks, a rare sight, and you find yourself laughing softly. He exhales, lips twitching slightly in amusement.

The moment is fleeting, but it lingers, settling somewhere deep in your chest.

This is the beginning of something new. You don’t know what, exactly.

But it’s something.

You resign from your job in Tokyo, choosing to stay in Hyogo indefinitely, dedicating yourself to your mother. And throughout it all, Kita is there.

He is there in the mornings, helping you prepare your mother’s meals, making sure she takes her medicine even when she insists she doesn’t need it. He is there in the evenings, when exhaustion weighs you down, guiding you to bed before you collapse from lack of sleep.

He is there when you break, when the reality of what’s coming hits you so hard you can’t breathe. He doesn’t try to fix it, doesn’t offer empty words of comfort. He just holds you, steady as ever, as you cry into his chest.

For six months, you live as a married couple.

You cook together, fall into a quiet rhythm of shared responsibilities, navigate the difficult days with patience and understanding. It’s not traditional. It’s not normal.

But it’s yours.

And when the seventh month comes, your mother slips away in her sleep, peaceful and warm in her bed, and the grief is unbearable.

Kita holds your hand at the funeral, fingers wrapped tightly around yours as if to keep you from unraveling. He makes sure you eat when you forget, sits with you in the silence of your shared home, never forcing words where they aren’t needed.

He is there. Always.

And when the dust settles, when the world finally stills, you and Kita remain married.

Eventually, you return to Tokyo. You find a new job, move back in with your friend, and step back into the life you left behind.

But every weekend, you take the two-and-a-half-hour journey back to Hyogo.

It’s a routine you’ve had for years, even before the marriage, and it doesn’t change now.

Kita’s grandmother welcomes you back each time with warm smiles and teasing remarks, treating you as if you’ve always been part of the family. Kita never expects you to play the role of a wife—not in the traditional sense. He never pressures you, never makes you feel obligated.

He doesn’t even mind if you take your ring off.

But you don’t.

You wear it always. Not because you have to, not because anyone expects you to. But because it feels right.

During the weekdays, Tokyo wears you down. The endless crowds, the rush of work, the constant noise—it’s exhausting. By Friday night, your body feels heavy, your mind clouded with stress.

But the moment you step off the train in Hyogo, the air feels different. Lighter. Quieter. Coming home to Kita is like stepping into a world that moves at its own pace, where time slows and nothing feels urgent.

Your married life is simple. Shared dinners at his house, soft laughter over tea, the quiet understanding of two people who know each other well. Chores fall into place naturally, neither of you needing to ask. Some afternoons, you bring him snacks in the fields, watching as he wipes his hands before taking the food from you with a quiet smile. Other days, you visit the market with his grandmother, weaving through stalls and listening to her stories.

When it’s just the two of you, he never forces anything. He doesn’t expect you to be a perfect wife or demand anything beyond what you’re willing to give. The touches he allows himself are simple—his hand finding yours, a light press to your lower back as he guides you through a doorway, a steadying hold on your waist when he moves past you in the kitchen. And then, there are the kisses.

They don’t happen often, but when they do, they linger. He never rushes, never takes more than you give, but there’s something about them—about him. His lips are firm, patient, but starved in a way that always leaves you wondering. Wondering if it’s just habit. If it’s just for show.

Or if it’s something more.

Not that you’re complaining. Because no matter how much those kisses leave you wanting, they also leave you waiting.

Waiting for something you can’t quite name.

It’s easy. It’s comfortable.

It’s enough.

Or so you think.

One evening, the two of you are having dinner at Onigiri Miya. The scent of fresh rice and seaweed lingers in the air as you pick at your food, laughing at something Osamu said. Kita sits beside you, relaxed as always, his hand gently caressing yours.

Then the door swings open, and Atsumu walks in, loud as ever, with a few MSBY Jackals in tow. Their voices fill the small restaurant, easy grins and playful banter making them impossible to ignore.

Kita steps outside to join Osamu, leaving you inside for a moment.

That’s when one of the MSBY players slides into the empty seat across from you, flashing a charming grin. “Didn’t think I’d see a woman this pretty around here.”

You glance up, amused. “Is that a pickup line?”

He shrugs, undeterred. “Depends. Is it working?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. He’s harmless, just being friendly, but before he can push further, you lift your left hand slightly. The silver band on your ring finger glinting under the restaurant lights.

“Sorry,” you say lightly. “I’m married.”

The shift is instant. He exhales a short laugh, hands raised in surrender. “Damn. Lucky guy.”

Through the restaurant window, Kita watches.

He watches the way you smile, the way you casually hold up your hand, the way the man across from you takes a second too long to look away.

And for the first time, something unfamiliar stirs inside him.

He’s never thought much about the nature of your relationship before. You are his best friend, his wife in name, his partner in a quiet, unspoken way.

But you are also a beautiful, kind, and capable woman. Someone who could be loved by another man.

You come home to him every weekend, walking up the dirt road to the house with that tired but relieved smile, greeting his grandmother with warmth that never fades. You fit into his life so seamlessly, as if you were always meant to be there.

And Kita realizes what he could lose.

Osamu exhales beside him, dragging out his words. “You look like a man about to do something real dumb.”

Kita ignores him. Maybe it is dumb. Maybe it isn’t. But he’s never been one to hesitate once he’s made up his mind.

So he steps back inside.

You look up as he approaches, something shifting in your expression, as if you can sense the change in him. Kita doesn’t acknowledge the other player—he barely even registers his presence. Instead, he reaches for your hand, his fingers finding yours, warm and familiar.

You blink at him, confused. “Shin?”

“Come outside with me.” His voice is steady, but something in it makes your pulse quicken. You don’t argue, don’t question, just let him lead you out the door and into the quiet night air.

And as the cool breeze brushes against your skin, Kita watches you under the dim glow of the streetlights.

For the first time, he wonders what it would be like if you weren’t his.

And for the first time, he doesn’t want to find out.

So he just goes for it.

“I want us to stay married.”

Your head snaps up. “Wait—what? I’m not divorcing you or anything,” you say, genuinely confused.

Kita lets out a small sigh, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant.” He looks at you, his expression unwavering but… nervous?

“Let's get married.”

You blink. “Shin, we’re already married.”

“Not out of convenience,” he clarifies, his fingers brushing against yours. “For real this time. Because I love you.”

Silence. Your brain short-circuits.

It’s the first time in your entire year of marriage that Kita Shinsuke has said I love you to you directly.

You stare at him, blinking rapidly. “Wait. Hold on. Back up—you love me?”

He nods. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You squint at him. “You sure?”

Kita exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Would I be proposing again if I wasn’t?”

And then, he pulls something from his pocket.

A ring. A makeshift one, out of hay.

You gasp, in mock disbelief. “Again? Shin, why do all your proposals involve farming materials?”

His lips twitch, almost smiling. “Didn’t really plan this one either.”

You snort, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Guess that makes two of us,” he says simply, still holding out the ring.

You bite your lip, pretending to think about it, just to mess with him. “Hmm. I dunno. You haven’t even taken me on a proper honeymoon.”

He deadpans, “You don’t even like traveling.”

“True,” you admit, laughing.

Kita just waits, patient as ever, steady as ever.

You look at him and you thought, how could you say no?

“Of course, yes,” you say, grinning. “For real this time.”

You don’t give him time to respond before you pull him in for a kiss.

And this time, when he kisses you back, with such yearning just like the kiss on your wedding day. 

And somehow, the proposal, the kiss, and everything about this moment feels sweeter than the last time.

amari's notes: kita shinsuke is, if nothing, the best husband anyone can ask for. posting this on my birthday and on the last day i'm writing for my turning point event. anyway, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask or even a request! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝���

taglist: @inu1gf

[evilbookworm]

Aww thanks for the tag <3 Tags: @i-promise-i-am-not-on-drugs @derrypubliclibrary @your-local-bi-guy and anyone else <3 no pressure tags!

it’s for it!!!! It’s a stenbrough x turtles all the way down au that’s still an ongoing fic!!

If Stanley Uris had any logic, it’s that the food that sat in front of him wasn’t poisoned. Or expired. Or gone bad. His ham and cheese sandwich looked perfectly healthy, the bread free from mold and the ham far from slimy. That didn’t stop him from worrying, though. His stomach gurgled, and Stan’s mind went to that article he’d read on foodborne illness. Abnormal stomach noise wasn’t exactly a concrete symptom of food poisoning, but it wasn’t impossible either. Though, his simple homemade meal couldn’t be any worse than the cafeteria food, which his best friend, Richie Tozier, seemed to chow down with no problem. Then again, there were times Stan contemplated if Richie was actually human. Having heard him repeat the same sex joke hundreds of times, he found it a valid concern.

Taking a tentative bite of his sandwich, Stan chews slowly, making sure there weren’t any sour tastes in his food. So far so good. Maybe he’d actually manage to finish his lunch for once. On second thought, Stan always thought that, and when did things ever turn out his way? Loud chewing echoes through the cafeteria, and Stan tries to focus on his own. It’s never ending, though. Perhaps if the kids around here learned to talk after they swallowed. But what could Stan expect from a bunch of high schoolers? If anything, he was jealous of them. At least they could eat without wondering if their food would kill them. At least they weren’t neat to the point of obsession. At least their minds were their own. Or maybe they weren’t. Maybe they just weren’t aware.

Stan had always thought he was more conscious of things than he should be. Most people, like his mother, just called him too mature for his age. A half-truth, if you thought about it. But it’s better than a lie.

Across from him, Eddie Kaspbrak slams his tray down on the table, expression irritated. Now, here’s the thing about Eddie. He’s a nice person, really. But you piss him off when he’s already annoyed and he’ll just about bite your head off. At least, that’s how he is with most people. Richie, who is constantly trying to rile him up, does not get his head nearly bitten off. In fact, Eddie just matches him blow for blow, something Stan never cared for.

“You will not believe what Myra did in Pre-Calc today,” Eddie exclaims.

“Your mom?” Richie responds lazily.

Eddie turns a fierce glare on Richie and opens his mouth to tell him off, which is when Stanley decides to tune them out.

He takes another small bite of his meal, trying not to think of the bacteria in it. Stan swallows thickly, letting the food slide through his esophagus (gross). He takes a swig of water, attempting to calm his nerves. It was all just so loud. And the small cut right above his wrist ached.

“Oh yeah, Stan went to camp with him!” Richie says, snapping his fingers.

“Went to camp with who?”

“Bill Denbrough,” he responded.

“Yeah, I did,” Stan said. “What about it?”

“Don’t you pay attention,” Richie teases.

To the loud chewing of other kids eating, yes. Stan was pretty sure no one wanted to hear about that though.

“Richie said his dadwas being arrested for bribery. Right?” Eddie asked, turning towards him.

“Something like that,” Richie says with a shrug. “Anyways, he left before the cops got to him, and now there’s a one hundred thousand dollar reward out for him. And you know Bill.”

“Not anymore,” Stan responds.

Richie rolls his eyes and shoves a spoon of questionable looking mac and cheese into his mouth. Stan is convinced his stomach grumbles in disgust. Or a symptom of food poisoning? No, no, Stan thought to himself, you’re not doing that again. Besides, his food was perfectly fine. And how can you tell?

He quietly listened to Richie and Eddie talking about their shared English class, which had a shitty teacher. Apparently, she’d given Richie detention for asking a “stupid question” and then “talking back” when she’d said it was. “It wasn’t even a stupid question!” He heard Richie say. “You asked if writing was required for the essay!” Eddie had shouted back. Richie had huffed and dramatically crossed his arms. Richie Tozier wasn’t stupid, but that didn’t stop him from being a complete idiot.

Stan’s stomach growled again, and he fought the urge to take out that goddamn article he always read. He was being stupid. His stomach was growling because he wouldn’t eat his goddamn sandwich. But there could be something wrong. Maybe the water from the water fountain was contaminated. Or maybe the banana he’d had for breakfast was much too ripe. Read the article, the voice inside him but that definitely wasn't Stan's, said. Every bone in Stan’s body told him to ignore it. Not two seconds later, he was opening Wikipedia and reading the Foodborne Illness article. Maybe it was Salmonella. Specific types of Salmonella can result in Typhoid fever and paratyphoid fever. Was he hot? Did he have a fever? God stop it. This is stupid. But what if there were hundreds of unwanted bacteria in his intestine right now? Maybe it wasn’t even anything food related. Maybe it was because of the stupid cut just above his wrist.

When Stan was younger, he had quite a few nervous habits. One that had left some permanent damage was his excessive scratching. Whenever he’d get anxious, he’d claw at the skin around his wrist. Stan had done it so much that there was now a thin scab line running through the top of his wrist. Considering how he always wanted everything to be neat, the fact he’d caused an imperfection on his own skin was pretty ironic. Anyways, Stan occasionally worried it to be a source of infection, so, sometimes, (about twice a day) he’d excuse himself to the bathroom, drained the wound, and slapped a Band-Aid on it. Which was pretty stupid, considering it would be much easier if Stanley just let it heal so that it would fade to a blurry red line that was barely visible to the eye. Maybe one day.

Today was not that day.

Stan felt a sticky, warm liquid meet his fingers as he scratched against the scab. He quickly covered it with a fresh Band-Aid, not wanting to spill any blood on the floor.

“Stan,” Richie said, a cocky grin on his face. “School is practically halfway done and you’ve said nothing about my fabulous dye job.” Stan looked up at Richie’s messy, black curls, which weren't black anymore. At least, not in the front. Now, his tips were a bright blue. Stan wondered how he hadn’t noticed this before because it was extremely distracting. It also matched with Richie’s eyes, which now seemed even bigger than usual behind his coke-bottle glasses.

“It’s…,” Stan started. “Bright.”

Richie scoffed. “Of course it’s bright! That’s the whole point! It captures my ‘don’t give two fucks’ energy.” Stan chuckled. Richie did play off that facade, but he cared a lot. He’d been there when Stan had lost his father, he’d been there when Stan’s bar mitzvah had turned out to be a complete disaster, and he’d been there when Stan had needed him most. So yeah, Richie Tozier did care. Even if he didn’t admit it often.

“More like your ‘desperate for attention energy,” Eddie mutters. Richie squawks in annoyance, feigning hurt, and the two start bickering again. Stan turns back to his sandwich, which now looked as appealing as a dead spider. He forces down a gag and opens his phone to go through the article again. It’s not like there was much better to do.

“Hey Stan, you good?” Richie asks, tilting his head at him. Stan manages a terse nod, not trusting himself to speak. Worst comes to worst, Richie would figure out what was wrong with him and make an awkward joke. That was fine. Stan preferred it to pity. He began to anxiously tap his foot, another nervous habit, and silently counted the taps in his head, remembering what Dr. Arlene Hanscom had said about how to calm himself. “You can’t control everything,” she’d say, “but you can at least control that.” It was a good point. But it wasn’t doing much to help him right now. Taking deep breaths, Stan tries to focus on the conversation in front of him instead, but he’s already lost all track of what Richie and Eddie had been saying.

He feels like he’s falling, - Stan ends up throwing his sandwich away (so much for finishing his lunch) and tries to manage a calm look, quite the opposite to whatever the hell was going on inside his head. He doesn’t think he’s doing it very well. Which is why he shouldn’t be surprised when he hears a voice call out behind him. “You know, you said you were fine but you didn’t make a sarcastic comment even once today. Should I take you to the hospital?”

“Just thinking,” Stan replied. Richie nodded. He knew that was code for, ‘I’m actually losing my shit but I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Ok, you wanna hang out today?” Richie offered. “We could watch SNL, or something.” Another thing about his best friend, Richie loved comedy. He loved watching stand up comedians, and skits, and anything even remotely funny. He also thinks the pinnacle of humor is putting chopsticks in his mouth and pretending to be a walrus. Either way, Richie’s goal in life is to become the funniest man alive. Maybe debut on Saturday Night Live, or something. He even has his own YouTube channel where he performs skits, sets and stuff like that. “And I’ll make my amazing jokes until you shove me and act like your usually snarky self again, ok?”

“Mhmm”

“And then drive me to hell, please.”

That’s what Richie liked to call his job at Chuck E. Cheese. Stan couldn’t blame him. The screaming kids and vomiting toddlers must get old.

“Yup,” he said. Richie nodded, giving him one last goofy grin before disappearing out into the school hallways. Stan takes the silence to recall what they’d been talking about at lunch.

He remembered Bill Denbrough. He remembered his blue eyes, his gangly limbs, his not quite red, not quite brown hair. Stan wondered if he could even say they’d been friends. They never talked much. They didn’t have to. Stan remembers spending most days lying around the cabin, reading books and occasionally speaking a few words. It didn’t really matter, though. Anyone can talk. But silence sometimes says more.

Pretending @talshiargirlfriend tagged me for this one too (you did say “anyone else who’d like to play” lol so here I am!)

First fic tag game 📖

Pick a fandom and post an excerpt of the first thing you ever wrote in that fandom. Could be a scene, part of a scene, a couple of lines, whatever your first foray into writing for that fandom was. Feel free to include a link to the story it comes from if it’s been published (excerpts from WIPs count too).

Excerpt from the shield and the shepherd:

Not until her final class does it occur to her that this whispering, gossiping playing field has never been level, and all is only well if you’re willing to fall into place on Jason Carver’s team. She was pushed firmly back into her slot, and the view is fine from here. But Eddie—

“Did you hear?”

Eddie isn’t even on the opposite team.

”…beat the shit out of him…”

Eddie barely even has a team.

”…serves him right, fucking creep…”

Just a ragtag group of misfits he protects with his entire heart disguised as brashness, loud voice a deflection, leather jacket a shield against arrows and stones. Shielding his sheepies.

”…wonder if she actually…”

Lambs to the slaughter is an idiom for a reason. But nobody in Eddie Munson’s flock is going under that carving knife except him.

”…kidding me, she’s so boring…”

Chrissy Cunningham feels anything but boring at this moment.

There is something rapidly boiling up inside her, smothering helplessness in white hot rage, burning straight through to her core. She has reached her breaking point. She can stand silently no longer.

The crackling flames roar in her ears.

Enough! Enough! ENOUGH!

She rises dangerous from the ashes, phoenix with narrowed eyes, shield forged impenetrable. Ready to be enough.

read the shield and the shepherd on ao3

No-pressure tags: @krakoansam @here-for-the-vibe @smokefurball @pearlypairings @hellcheercaine

[nikkisticki]

RULE

[kneworder]

“You know, Damian’s half convinced you let it happen.”  Tim scoffs. “Sounds like him.”  “Not like that. He’s different now, he wouldn’t say that.”  “What the hell else am I supposed to think?”  “You confronted Azrael alone, in civvies, after he’d already beaten you up once just for getting in his way. Is it that much of a stretch for Damian to think you might have had a death wish?”  “I didn’t have a death wish.” Steph gives him a long look. "Sure."

missed posting my annual november reverse robins timsteph angst so to make up for it here's an even angstier than usual painting from this AU <3 more coming soon hopefully!!

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[ethosiab]

the urge to watch the pico park 2 videos vs the fact that inviting 7 friend over to play 8 person pico park is both my kind of torture and fun and itd be so much better if i wasnt spoiled

[moomeecore]

on that subject, obsessed with today when i was like "hey guys, can you two stop playing the jumping game for now because it's giving caden a headache" and my 6 yr old cousin is like "you mean 'me'. it's giving 'me' a headache, because your caden". it's like yeah man ur right. my bad . and then they stopped jumping. it was awesome

[lilaccatholic]

how do i do it though. how do i let go of the bitterness and the hardness when they kept me "okay" for so long? does it come when i finally leave? can it ever?

[hungee-boy]

honestly if you live in a blue state and can afford a decent home and all your meds/food/utilities i want to hear NOTHING in regards to us in red states

i live in greg abbott's red texas. you know, the largest state that borders the most vilified neighboring country and receives the majority of latino immigrants + has a huge black population + a lot of arab and asian immigrants

i will not tolerate blame put on the people in red states who are constantly harassed and belittled because of their race, origin, religion, gender, and economic status

you want someone to blame? blame your party who did nothing to get people out of poverty, did nothing in response to police violence and killings, did nothing for palestine/lebanon, did nothing in response to abbott and desantis' vitriolic anti-latino racism and policies

democrats did what they do best, follow the right-leaning trend and lose to republicans

[coulsonlives]

I just had to share this video because holy shit, it hits the nail right on the head! So well spoken. This stuff needs to be circulated more, esp with the growing number of people thinking they have this because of misinformation, or just outright faking it.

[kavehayati]

I mean this from a social perspective not a health one : why does everything feel weird right now. Like yes I’m heartbroken about the reality of my position in the lives of my so called friends but now I just feel confused. I don’t understand why I’m not important and why I can’t change to be important to others, nor what makes a person important either.

[edge-oftheworld]

going back through some of this fandom's history has made me realise, we really see people as black and white good or bad don't we?

[kyouka-supremacy]

Mmmhh...