#it didn't help much but i remember how kind it was of them

[minorlyatfault]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 !

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 !

j. todd x f!reader

𝒮ynposis: jason todd is a yearner & a true lover boy. when he loves, he loves hard yet quietly. he doesn’t express his affection through grand gestures but through the little things▰remembering your favorite song lyrics, the exact shade of your favorite color, & writing love letters he’ll never send because he’s too shy.

even though he’s already in a relationship with you, he still feels the butterflies whenever you're around. during gotham’s chaotic nights, while patrolling the city, he finds himself missing your touch, longing for your presence. even in the middle of his hardest missions, his thoughts always drift back to you▰wondering what small gift he can bring home just to see you smile.

𝒲arnings : my 3 am writing, grammatical errors(?) separated povs of dear beloved jason & reader. backstory of mr. bugs bunny if u squint.

𝒩ote:

001: idea was from @/tiredtodd on tiktok!

002: I JAD TO REWRITE TGIS TWOBTIMES & TRIED SAVING IT INMY DRAFTS FOUR TIMES

003: ikindof hatetgis..

004: SAY MY MY NAME & EVERYTHING JUST STOPS.

005: thank u for 100 followers ongonfongong/srs/srs/srs/srs

gotham never sleeps.

nor does jason.

it’s been one of those nights▰the kind where criminals seem to crawl out of their skin to horrify citizens once more, where no matter how many heads he cracks, there’s always another fight waiting around the corner. his knuckles are sore beneath his gloves, guns being out of bullets, his ribs ache from a particularly nasty hit, & the sting of fresh cuts lingers across his skin.

still, none of that is what’s bothering him.

he sits on the ledge of a building, letting out a deep sigh, his view of the city blurred through smoky neon below. he should go back now, but he waits, holds his breath, looks down into the streets, limned in dim light, & stares & stares, & stares.

this weight in his chest is unfamiliar, yet so painfully recognizable.

he's always been the guy to carry his burdens alone, shouldering the consequences that comes with being red hood without complaint. but ever since you walked into his life▰sweet, soft, full of warmth in a way gotham could never be▰ things have changed.

his fingers twitch,& he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket. he doesn't have to look. he knows.

a note.

one of several, in fact.

he writes them when the nights feel like they stretch into forever & when the silence weighs too much on his chest. little notes he can never possibly say to you. this note is no different. folded neatly, shoved between the worn pages of an old book carried around in the pocket▰words he'll never give to you, yet still can't let himself get rid of.

some people would throw anything they did that are considered embarrassing, but no, not jason.

"you looked cute today. i wanted to tell you, but i figured you already knew."

"i stole your lip gloss again. smells like blueberries. reminds me of you."

it's stupid, he tells himself. you're right there in his life. he sees you every day▰watches you hum to yourself while fixing your hair(sometimes he'd help by brushing your hair using his fingers), twirling a ribbon between your fingers(he'd also participate in this activity, claiming it to be “stupid” but won't refuse, not when you seem to enjoying yourself so much), picking out outfits with that soft, thoughtful expression he's come to love(you convinced him to match sanrio pjs once, he didn't rebuff the idea). you don't belong in the shadows like he does. you're all bows & butterflies, a contrast so complete it should have driven him away.

but it didn't.

it never could.

jason breathes, smoothing his hair with a gloved hand. he should go home. he should crawl into bed, let you fuss over his injuries, pretend he doesn't love the way your hands linger just a little longer when you patch him up.

instead, he finds himself moving▰leaping across rooftops, scanning the streets for something(other than crime). he's not even sure what he's looking for, only that the ache in his chest won't settle until he finds something to bring back to you.

it's a habit he's never acknowledged out loud.

some men bring their girls flowers. others bring chocolates, jewelry, grand gestures that scream their affections for the world to see.

jason todd?

he brings gotham to you.

not in the way it brings bloodshed and violence▰no, never that. but in the little things. trinkets he finds on his patrols, things that make him think of you. a pressed flower growing between the cracks of an old building. a charm bracelet abandoned in a crime scene alleyway.

once, he even found a small, tattered bunny plushie, barely holding together. he cleaned it up, stitched it as well as he could, & just put it on your dresser and left without saying anything.

you never asked him where it came from. you only smiled, kissed his cheek, & said, "he looks well-loved."

jason had to get out of the room after that.

tonight, he sees something that lines one of the fringes of crime alley▰a small street vendor selling handmade trinkets at barely subsistence living. most people don't even give him a glance anymore, being so wrapped up in their problems that they don't care.

there's a necklace resting among the clutter, the kind of thing he can imagine you wearing▰a small pendant in the shape of a crescent moon, subtle yet elegant. he doesn't think twice before pulling out a few crumpled bills(that is probably two times higher than it's price), handing them over without a word.

the vendor barely gets a chance to thank him before he's gone.

by the time he returns to your apartment it's late▰by two in the morning, or at least in gotham; all is quieter & yet not silently so. there is no point in knocking. he slips through the window, sliding in, again, moving silent as a phantom as he reaches the apartment's floor.

a view awaits to knock the air from his breath.

you sleep on the couch, all bundled up in that soft blanket. the tv hums away on the opposite side of the room, highlights light shadows on your face. on your lap lies a book open to one side, as though you had fallen asleep waiting for him to show up.

jason swallows, a warmth moving into his chest. his stomach▰no▰his entire soul feels warm.

he's gentle as he moves, settling beside you without waking you. his fingers brush against your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. you stir slightly at the touch, murmuring his name in your sleep, & he bites back a soft curse, heart aching at how easily you trust him.

how easily you love him.

he never deserved someone like you.

yet, here you are.

by his side, as you call his name every now & then.

his eyes fall to the small bag in his hands, the necklace still inside. for a moment, he hesitates, deciding whether to give it to you now or wait until morning.

in the end, he puts it on the coffee table, placing it beside your book where you'll see it first thing when you wake up. a small note beside it, written in his messy handwriting.

"saw this & thought of you. sleep well, sweetheart."

he doesn't sign it. he doesn't need to.

you'll know.

jason settles back, his own exhaustion finally gaining the upper hand. he needs to get up, shower, take care of the bruises he's been pretending aren't an issue. but as you turn in your sleep, reaching instinctively for him, curling up closer to his side with a soft little sigh.

yeah.

he can spend a little while like this.

the clock on the wall ticks.

it's late.

too late.

you change positions on the couch, adjusting your blanket over your shoulders & looking at the clock once again. jason would have been back by now. you know not to worry. he has lived through worse nights, fought against deadly criminals, walked away from things that would kill another man. yet still, a sense of anxiety clings to you, curling inside your stomach like a knot that feels like it's squeezing your insides.

with a sigh, you again let your eyes fall back to the book in your lap, fingers tracing the worn edges of the pages. it's one of jason's, a novel he left on the shelf ages ago & never reclaimed. you aren't even really reading at this point▰just skimming, letting the words blur together while your mind focuses somewhere else.

to him.

to the little things he does that he thinks you don't notice.

like how he keeps your hair ties even though he swears he doesn't.

or how he always makes sure there's an extra blanket on your side of the bed.

or▰your favorite▰how he writes things in his books.

you found it by accident, months ago. a dog-eared page in one of his old novels, words scrawled in the margins in his distinctive, messy handwriting. you thought at first it was just notes▰random thoughts about the plot, maybe something important he wanted to remember. basically him annotating.

but then you read it.

"she was humming today, while she made tea. low, silent. i believe that was that tune she is very much so partial to, that one she uses every time she is styling her hair. she did not appear to have been aware, but i did. i always am."

you had almost dropped the book, your heart flopping in your chest.

since then, you've turned it into a silly game. you pretend you don't notice the tiny notes he scatters around, but secretly, you live for when you stumble on them.

you know there is one in this book. you haven't discovered it yet, but just the idea of it makes you giddy, titter softly & warmth rising like a volcano about to erupt.

he doesn't even realize you know.

it's so jason▰loving quietly, loving deeply, but never really saying it outright. he'll not say one word on being away for that patrol but have you notice some folded paper with the message tucked into his jacket pocket while out doing laundry. he will never tell you, outright say it to your face that you're pretty, but he would watch you style your hair with gazes soft & lingering.

what is he writing tonight?

(something romantic, obviously.)

if he's sat atop some height of gotham, breathing between fights, scribbling thoughts of you into some old notebook while the city, loud.

"i miss her."

"i wish i could bring her here once to see this view."

"do you think she'd be angry with me for taking her lip gloss again? nah. worth the risk."

you are smiling at the thought, worrying in your ribs.

he'll be home soon. he always comes home.

the television, rapid of brightness, a bright glow over the room. your eyes begin to feel more heavy, the weariness of waiting finally settling into your bones. you tell yourself you'll stay awake, just a little longer. just until you hear the familiar creak of the window, the soft thud of his boots against the floor.

you never make it that far.

sleep pulls you down, the book slipping slightly in your lap, the soft sounds of the city fading into nothing.

you don't know how long you've been out when you feel it.

a shift in the air. the presence of someone near.

it doesn't surprise you▰not in the way that it should. instead, your body relaxes instinctively, as if it knows before your mind is quite awake.

a warmth beside you. a familiar scent. leather, gunpowder, the faintest trace of something you.

you stir, barely conscious, mumbling his name before you can stop yourself.

"jay..?"

a pause. a sharp inhale. then, a hand▰warm, calloused, careful▰brushing against your cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

you sigh at the touch, sinking into it even as sleep tries to drag you back down.

there's such a long silence before he talks, his voice quieter than ever.

"yeah, sweetheart. it's me."

you want to wake up all the way now, want to sit up straight & fuss over him like you always do. ask if he's hurt; ask if he's eaten anything; ask if tonight was one of the bad ones. but this exhaustion is heavy, pulling you down like an anchor.

you are barely aware of the way he shifts beside you, settling, the weight of his presence grounding you even into sleep.

you hear nothing in the end except the soft sound of something landing on the table▰the clinking of metal and the faint scratch of paper across wood.

& jason's whisper, barely loud enough to hear.

"missed you."

the sunlight arrives▰uninvited▰through the curtains & warms your skin as you blink awake. the tv remains on, a late-night movie in reruns, hanging precariously in the corner of your head.

the book has shifted slightly, now perched on the edge of the couch.

oh, & your beloved jason is still here.

he's half-asleep beside you, one arm draped over the back of the couch, the other resting loosely against his stomach. he looks tired▰more than usual▰but there's a peace in his expression that makes your heart ache.

slowly, careful not to wake him, you stretch▰only to freeze when your eyes land on the coffee table.

a small bag. a delicate necklace, its crescent moon pendant catching the morning light.

& a note.

your breath catches as you reach for it, fingers ghosting over the familiar, messy handwriting. jason's messy handwriting.

"saw this & thought of you. sleep well, sweetheart."

a smile tugs at your lips, warmth once again spreading through your chest.

you glance at jason, still asleep, still him.

& then, giggling softly to yourself, you reach for the book in your lap, flipping through the pages.

there’s definitely another note hidden in here somewhere.

& you can’t wait to find it.

"she keeps looking at me like that. like i’m something worth holding onto."

"she touches me like i won’t shatter. like i won’t ruin everything the second she gets too close."

"i don’t know how to explain it. it’s in the way she speaks to me, the way she laughs, the way she reaches for my hand without thinking. she doesn’t hesitate. not with me. no one's ever done that before. no one except her."

"i think▰"

there’s a pause. the sentence breaks off, like he wasn’t sure he should continue. like the truth was something too heavy to write down.

& then, softer, almost like an afterthought:

"she's too good. too bright. too much like the kind of thing a man like me should never be allowed to have."

"but gods, i want to.”

if jason peter todd isn't a hopeless romantic, then what is he?

© minorlyatfault, 2025

[baphometsss]

I'm also going kind of insane over the romance description for Solas in the customise Inquisitor section of the CC. Like what do you mean 'even the Dread Wolf did not know what it would mean to fall in love'?? I'm frothing at the mouth!!!!

I mean, now it's had a few months to stew, it actually makes perfect sense. Solas doesn't seem to forge relationships in the same way as an elf as he did as a spirit. We know he loved Mythal and Felassan, but his relationships with both had rather different dynamics. Mythal had known him for the longest, and understood his spirit nature better than anyone. They spent a long time reflecting each others' spirits back and forth. Felassan we can assume was another Wisdom spirit (going by his eye colour), which once again tracks because Solas seems to connect with other Wisdom spirits very intensely. Nonetheless, there's a distance between them; they need each other and they share a common cause, and although Solas loved Felassan dearly, he was still able to kill him in The Masked Empire.

However, the thing that these two relationships have in common is that they both relate to Solas's spirit-self. All the dynamics are some kind of echo of how he behaved and related as a spirit. The person he is at the beginning of DAI is who he has been for a very long time. He is, despite everything, a little stagnant.

With the Inquisitor, he literally doesn't have a choice but to change, to connect not just as a spirit but as a man. Prior to that though... remember how spirits are asexual, like Cole is if you don't make him more human? Yeah. I don't doubt that Solas had physical relations with others after manifesting, but I think the feelings would've been absent as he doesn't connect romantically with them; a legacy from his spirit self, which he clings to dearly.

Weirdly enough, I think that this lack of romantic or relationship experience is what the romance in Inquisition actually hinges on. He's only able to take that chance specifically because he doesn't know what romantic love feels like. He may be a manifested Wisdom spirit, but this is something that must be experienced to be understood. He takes the chance in the end because he doesn't know how deeply it will affect him. Also as Wisdom, he can't help but be curious anyway. Clearly he underestimated how much of an impact it would have on him. He didn't expect to be known and loved so fully for who he was, after a life of being forced away from his purpose, who he truly wanted to be. To be given the space to exist as Wisdom is one thing, and certainly it would've been enough for him to maintain his love for his friends in the Inquisition alone, but to be loved for it? To be able to express these new, very earthly and yet somehow still spiritual feelings of love? Everything lining up, singing the same? Things he could never have experienced as a spirit? It's a union of the spirit and body that he likely never felt before. That has to have been overwhelming, a beautiful gift he never expected to receive. 'In all Thedas I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade'--quite literally, 'I never thought I would want such an earthly thing'. I'm not surprised he almost threw away his plans for it. It's like a whole new world opening up.

It also makes his 'I would not have you see what I become' line more poignant. He doesn't want this beautiful, unique thing he's found to be marred by the actions he will take. He doesn't want his heart to see the wounds in his soul. So when the Inquisitor says they want to join him, it literally stuns him. When he warns them that he's got a lot of terrible things waiting for him in the Fade, it's his last, weak attempt to make them reconsider before they see the wounds on his soul laid bare. By responding that it won't be so bad if they're with him, the Inquisitor is also saying that being together will heal him, that those wounds will not be so terrible when shared.

That line from the elven poem Trick wrote from Solas to Lavellan: 'do not be sad, my heart, our love's endurance is a blessing, our love will be our joy' everything is so new to him brb crying :'<

[shimmernspice]

Unraveled

Pairing: Ellie Williams x reader

Description: After wrapping up on the set, Ellie and the reader share a quiet, intimate moment that reveals a vulnerable side of Ellie—a side that you've never seen.

Warnings: 18+, smut, Pornstar! Ellie, oral sex (ellie recieving), strap usage (r recieving), needy Ellie

The set is still buzzing with the last traces of energy when Ellie slides next to you, running a hand through her hair. "You eaten yet?"

You blink at her, caught off guard by the contrast in her question. Out of all the things you expected after wrapping up the shoot, an invitation from Ellie isn't one of them. Not that you don't talk - Ellie's been your co-star a few times and you've always gotten along fine. But she's never really talked to you off-set before. She doesn't really seem like the type.

"Not yet. Why, you offering?"

Ellie shrugs, tilting her head toward the exit. "Accidentally ordered too much takeout. Come help me out."

You hesitate for a second. It wasn't that you didn't like Ellie, but the filthy degrading things Ellie did to you on set left your head spinning for days every time. It made you want to steer clear of her, afraid that you might ask to hear them again.

Still, you follow her out, stepping into the cool air. The ride to her place is quiet, the occasional flicker of the streetlights passing over her face. You steal glances, noticing the way her jaw tenses like she's thinking of something but won't say it.

When you get there the food is already waiting for you at the door. Her place is small but cozy, and a little messy in the way that makes it feel lived in. She kicks off her shoes as she closes the door behind you. "Sit. Food's getting cold."

You're half expecting Ellie to talk to you in that sarcastic mocking tone she uses on set. The kind that makes your skin prickle just thinking about it. But her voice is casual as she lets you settle in.

She takes a moment before she comes back with the takeout, setting it in front of you and then taking her seat next to you on the couch, close enough to where you're bumping shoulders with her. The casual touch makes you shiver for reasons you can't quite place.

Then, Ellie glances at you, asking "So... anything specific you wanna watch?"

You open your mouth to say something but she's already moving before you can respond. "Hold up," she mutters, turning back towards the small closet. You watch as she grabs a blanket and drapes in over your lap.

"Cold?" she asks, voice low.

You nod, unsure of how welcoming Ellie is being in her home. "Thanks," you mutter, but she doesn't seem to hear you as she's already turned back to the TV with the remote in her hands.

The room was quiet but not in an awkward way. It was different. There's no sharp edge to her, just Ellie. Maybe it's the quiet of the night. Maybe, it's because, for once, you two don't have a role to play.

"So, what's your pick?" she asks again, a little softer this time.

You think about it. Something easy. Nothing too serious or too intense. You just want to relax and get to know her more. "Maybe something light? A comedy?"

Ellie nods, scrolling through the options without a word. You both settle into the movie, the hum of the TV filling the space between you two. Neither of you says much, but as time passes, the space between you shrinks. She shifts closer, her knee brushing against yours. You can't help but notice how casually she leans in, just enough to make your heart flutter.

You glance at her from the corner of your eyes, taking in the softness of her features in the dim light of the TV. Your eyes linger on the curve of her lips, remembering the feel of them on your skin during the shoot. The memory sends a shiver down your spine and you can't help but wonder what it would be like to feel them again, in a different context.

As if sensing your gaze, Ellie turns to look at you, her green eyes meeting yours. "Hey," she says softly, voice barely a whisper. "Can I... Can I kiss you?"

The request catches you off guard and for a moment you're not sure how to respond. You've always thought about what it would be like to be with Ellie outside of work, but you never considered it to be an actual option.

So you lean in, closing the distance between you and pressing your lips against hers. She responds immediately, her hand coming to cup your cheek as she deepens the kiss.

Ellie breaks the kiss after a moment, pulling back with the softest smile you've ever seen from her. "I've wanted to do that for a while," she says, breathlessly. You smile back, warmth spreading through your chest. "I've wanted you to do that," you confess.

She leans in for another kiss, and this one is longer, deeper, and you find yourself losing yourself in it.

Ellie breaks the kiss again, panting softly. "Bedroom," she says, voice husky with desire. "Now."

You don't hesitate as you follow behind her. As soon as the door closes her lips are back on you again, kissing and touching and setting your skin ablaze with need. Her hands roam over your body, exploring every inch with a hunger that surprises you. She's not confident like she usually is on set; she's needy, almost desperate in her touch.

Your hands begin finding their way under her shirt, softly kneading her breasts.

She shivers at the contact, a soft moan escaping her lips as she presses closer.

"God I've wanted this for so long," she admits breathlessly between kisses. "I just didn't know how to ask."

Her confession sends a thrill through you. You never would have guessed that Ellie, the woman who seemed so untouchable during set could be so needy.

But here she is - begging for your touch and melting beneath it like putty. It's intoxicating, the way Ellie looks at you with those big green eyes, her expression open and unguarded. She whimpers as your fingers brush over her sensitive nipples, her hips bucking with need.

"Please," she gasps. "I want you so bad."

You smile at her, leaning in to capture her lips in a searing kiss. "I know baby," you murmur against her mouth. You settle beneath Ellie's legs, both your clothes long abandoned. You take a moment to appreciate the sight of her bare, glistening pussy. She's already so wet, the scent of her filling arousal making your mouth water.

"Please," she moans, her hips bucking up toward your face. "I fucking need you. Please, just-"

Her words cut off with a sharp gasp as your lean in and run your tongue along her slit, savoring the taste of her. She's sweet and tangy, and perfect, and you can't get enough.

You take your time, exploring every inch of her with your tongue. You lap at her, flicking over her clit and reveling in the way she writhes and moans above you.

"Fuck, you feel so good," she pants, her grip on your hair tightening. "Don't stop please, don't stop."

"Tell me what you need," you demand. "You gotta tell me what you need baby." A sinful moan leaves her mouth as you speak to her, your fingers still toying with her clit.

Ellie flushes, a mix of arousal and embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "I want you to... to use me," she admits. "I want you to ride my strap until you come all over it." Your pussy clenches at her words, a fresh wave of desire washing over you.

"I want to taste you," she continues, her eyes dark with need. "I wanna make you come on my tongue. I wanna make you fucking scream."

You can't resist her anymore, the throbbing between your legs too much to ignore. As if sensing it, Ellie reached over to her nightstand, grabbing the strap and buckling it around her hips.

"Come here baby," she pants. "Use me like your toy."

You straddle her hips, positioning yourself over the strap. Ellie's hands come to grip your waist, guiding you as you lower yourself down.

You both moan at the sensation, your head falling back as you move. Ellie meets your thrusts, pulling you down to leave kisses up and down your neck.

"Fuck you look so good," she pants, nails digging deeper into your waist. "So tight and perfect. I could do this forever."

Her words send a thrill through you and you pick up the pace as her whining grows. You roll your hips, taking her deeper. The angle is perfect, the strap hitting just the right spot with every thrust.

"God you feel so good, Ellie, you're doing so good for me." Your hands brace on her chest for leverage as you pick up your pace. "Fuck you're gonna make me cum."

"Don't stop," Ellie begs. "Keep going, baby. Use me to make yourself cum." Her words begin to slur as you start to ride her harder, chasing your pleasure. Ellie meets you thrust for thrust, her own arousal building with each passing moment.

"That's it," she encourages, her hands roaming over your body, stopping to cup your ass. "Take what you need."

You're close, so close, and you can feel the way Ellie trembles beneath you, her own release just out of reach. You lean down to capture her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her moans and you grind yourself against her.

Pressure builds in Ellie as the strap rubs against her clit with your grinding. "Fuck you're gonna make me cum," she gasps, urging you to pick up your pace.

"Please," Ellie whimpers against your mouth, hips bucking to meet yours. "Please make me cum I need it so bad."

Her desperation is your undoing. You cum with a cry, pussy clenching around the strap as wave after wave crashes through both your bodies.

You collapse on top of her, both of you panting and gasping for air. Ellie holds you close, pressing soft kisses against your collarbone.

"That was... incredible," you whisper, voice hoarse from pleasure. "I don't think I've ever cum that hard before."

You smile at her, tracing idle patterns on her chest with your fingertips. Ellie hums in agreement, pulling you closer so that the space between you is almost nonexistent.

Her hand moves to the back of your head, cradling you gently as she tilts your chin down to meet her kiss. The usual sharp edge to her is gone, replaced by something softer. The moment lingers, Ellie's fingers tracing up and down your back, almost absentminded, like she's savoring the quiet after the storm.

You let the silence stretch, basking in the comfort of her closeness as if you both belong there.

[azurem]

IM SORRY. IF SOMBD ALREADYY ASKED ABT IT buuuuut what's your take on inkmare first kiss or confession??? Chaos chaos, evil chaos

Uhhh. i do not remember well to be honest. I remember asking how the first kiss would be, however!

My take on the confession is that it was the one that happened first, when the relationship still was somewhat unilateral. Nightmare realized he had somewhat of a crush, and, assuming it was something about possessiveness (aka he thought it was a childish whim he wanted to quell), quickly proceeded to action. Like. Second truce done, friendship established and he didn't take long to confess.

I assume it was a mix of you-do-this-to-me + a try-to-sell-something-to-you kind of talk? Like. He wasn't quite sure if Ink reciprocated (which was kinda the situation) so he was sure to market himself and his question like something beneficial (though he was still kinda grumpy with it cuz he also has the unconscious thought that the crush existing™ was an act done against him. Like, the thought that this was Ink's fault and that he had to take at least some responsability about it)

I imagine it was quite attractive (of an offer). And Ink did find it entertaining enough he accepted. I imagine it happened when they were in one of their recreational meetings (aka probs reading inside nm's library or inside a geno au) likeeee

"...I've made a mistake," Nightmare said. Ink looked up at him from his place, sitting cross legged on the floor. They placed the book down. "This— a horrible mistake."

Ink just stared at him. The question marks of their eyes made him die a bit. They smiled at him. "C'mon, you're a confessed torturer. Can't be that serious."

But it was. He briefly considered sitting down, just to see them eye to eye, but Ink was already up and coming closer. The motion resulted on their elbows resting on his desk, their torso leaning forward.

"Hmmm?"

He really should have planned a better scenery for this kind of thing. Still, he couldn't let himself be intimidated, much less so when Ink was being so brave about it. "You're cruel."

This was not the response they expected. Nightmare saw him get their arms back to their sides, their back straightening. Ink's lost face stared back at him, their eyes wider than usual.

"You—" he couldn't help the way his hand shielded his mouth for a moment, as if he couldn't figure out the reason why his voice was acting. "You're— all I think about, now."

He had to fight against the instinctual need to hide himself like a child. It was sickening. He had vowed to himself to never let himself feel this small. And yet.

"You plague my mind," Nightmare said —as his hand went down from his mouth, it landed on his chest, squeezing the fabric with the need to touch— "since when, I don't know."

Ink's breath hitched with realization, flustered like one who'd suddenly find their seed peeking out from the ground in leaves. Oh. Oh!

"I don't know how," Nightmare continued, something like bitterness on his tongue before it cleared to something warmer. "But you've— you've enthralled me. I want you. As such, I need you."

"...huh."

"If you want me to beg—" Nightmare took a moment. Whatever he was about to say died in his mouth. "All I need now is a promise. An attempt. Anything."

"This is— hm. This— y'know—" Ink fidgeted with his hands, surprised when he found his cheeks warm. It was a sickening, horrible feeling. It tasted purple in his mouth, it tasted pink. The same feeling willed him to cover his mouth with both hands, unwilling to let it out on the floor.

When Nightmare looked at him cover himself as if he had something to hide, Ink felt something new. A new type of fear he never knew before. Why?

"...Of course," Nightmare said after a moment. He had never seen Ink turn those colors before. He wondered if this view would become familiar to him. "This means that if you accept, I'll make sure you're taken care of."

Ink looked at him with a type of confusion so sharp it was almost disgusted. "...Huh?"

"A truce between lovers would be quite a solid thing, don't you believe?" He said dryly, his fingers twitching with the dread of someone who hasn't been told yes. "Whatever you need, I'll acquire it for you. Whatever you want, you'll have. But you'll give yourself to me."

"But not the AUs," Ink said after a moment. He couldn't distinguish the emotion in his own voice as he put his hands down. "You wouldn't stop your show just to have me, won't you?"

"I'm afraid not," Nightmare said. His eye looked down on them. He couldn't help but smile bitterly. "Of course not. You'll make no slave out of me."

"...You're funny," Ink murmured. "I like you. You're— you're intriguing, dynamic. I'd like to know where your character arc is going. I like your color palette."

"...Is that a yes?"

Ink sighed. (It was a yes.)

[tanblaque]

Hey Tan! I wish you well! I tried to refrain from sending this but failed HELP, I dreamed of OFF Valley some days ago where it was a game and it messed with me. I only dreamed of two odd sections which piqued my interest and made me want to ask some things ay

One included a DOUBLE ?? character creation one more Stardew Valley style and one with the Player you made, so I wanted to ask about their appearance,, I know it is probably a design choice to make it fit for everyone and at the same time connect with the story you have in mind (or not?), but, where did this idea come from? In the "actual" game it could be an avatar that resembles our human nature, but then we have your design (which I love btw I hope this doesn't come off as offensive or anything I LOVELOVE everything about our little character JENDJSJA) which makes it slightly unsettling. Like, no one can tell what we are, can they? We're like a constant mystery to everyone (hehehe...) but it's also just. Yeah that's. That's just the new person in town... Makes good stuff lolol. Soo. what did you have in mind when thinking about them? (... Though, going back, I do remember you drawing a shot where the player was kind of covered in something that gave them that appearance? Is it actually a protection? Or maybe I'm looking too much into it and you just drew it for the funsies lolol)

Other section was about the glitching getting weird and we had to make sure our avatar didn't cease to exist in the game,, there were snippets of the other character we could make and they lacked actual oxygen and had trouble moving but there was no animation, like they weren't phased that much because. It's just an avatar and the real us is very much alive and our little extension of us is a means to get by in that world.

So there's the other question,, does our character... do anything at all? Like, do they. Work. Humanly. It connects back to the previous inquiry, all about your idea of them,, Are there oddities that some pick up on? You did mention suspicious in your asks, but... 👀👀 How suspicious. Who's starting to doubt us,, do we have to hide it. Chest going up and down while we "breathe" but then for a while it just doesn't? Do we even need to eat? Do we feel pain? Can we get a personality going or do we not have a lot of choices? Where do we even come from? There's OFF Valley but. What about everything else. Imagine we know everything about the characters we befriended or got to know and they know nothing about us. Ahrifbejdnei. This is more like gamey type of outlook but do you have that in mind orr is it more like. A story? Meta yes but with lore. Or is it even meta help

Sorry for the long talk,, I love your stuff and OFF if it wasn't clear, YAHAHAH I really want to hear your thoughts about them when you have the time! Anything that you can think of, really.

You have a lot of interesting observations! And what an honor to be in your dream.

The Player is just that. They're known as The Farmer that just moved into town. Nobody questions why they look void shaped. As for the design, I could've made them more human but the void felt like a better design choice that fit the narrative I'm planning.

That's an interesting idea! I want to try to maximize the roleplaying element, so The Player could breathe, eat, drink, feel pain, and emotions. They are afterall, supposed to be you. A blank slate to be filled up.

They're just a silly lil void who got tired of the city and moved to the country side to start a new life. ^-^

Unless you want to take that away from them. :) You choose the reality you want.

[solacescastleglow]

You're Not Lazy, You're: A Daydreamer

So, you're addicted to daydreaming, to the point where you're putting aside important real life things in favour of talking to yourself. You're sitting there, watching life pass you by, desperately trying to fill the void with people you made up in your head. Your outer life is starting to look less and less like how you thought it would be, and the worst part is, there's nothing and no one to blame.

I've been there. In fact, when I was 12, it was so bad I literally didn't care at all about my family, I had no friends, and my grades were abysmal, but I was convinced I would be fine because 'at least I have my mind'. What I didn't realise was that I had lost control of even that. Now I still daydream, but I've become much more able to cope, and I can work around it to the point it no longer affects my day-to-day life. What was maladaptive daydreaming has become immersive daydreaming. If you're in the same situation, here are a few tips to get out of that hole for good.

(Remember, this is much easier said than done, so don't feel bad if this doesn't start helping right away. Also, this is not a substitute for therapy.)

Less daydreaming

1. Eliminating the need

I'm gonna be honest, this is the hardest part. Your daydreaming came about for a reason; it's kept you alive and safe for all this time. Daydreaming is a coping mechanism. The problem comes when it becomes your only or primary coping mechanism, and your comfort zone becomes so small that you're using it all the time. Start with the negative things in your life that caused you to start daydreaming. What are they? How can they be mitigated or resolved? What are some other coping tools you can use to get through them? For me, a big part of the reason was unchangeable (untreatable illness), but some of it could have something done about it. I started medication for my mental health, switched schools, went to therapy. Am I cured? No. Did it take a long time? Yes. But was it worth it? Absolutely.

2. Attention span and comfort zone work

Now that your negative situation is ameliorated, it's time to work on getting comfortable with being uncomfortable. When you don't daydream after a certain amount of time or coming across a trigger, you start to get restless and irritable. You're, unfortunately, just going to have to sit in that emotion for a little bit. Just 5 minutes. If the trigger is media or a conversation topic, try your absolute hardest not to let your mind wander. After that 5 minutes or when the conversation is over, you can excuse yourself to go daydream. Doing this repeatedly will slowly make your brain able to go longer between daydreaming sessions, which means you can function better in your outer life.

3. Don't limit daydreaming, expand your outer life

If you're anything like me, the thought of stopping completely makes you panic. This isn't a great sign overall, but if you feel terrible whenever you don't escape, it disincentivises you from living your life. Instead, start surrounding yourself with people: spending every evening with your housemates, having an accountability partner for work, going on walks in public. The self consciousness alone is usually enough for me to not daydream, so basically I'm just giving myself less time to drift off. Bonus points if it's an activity that gets you where you want or need to go.

4. Grounding

I know, I know. It's uncomfortable when you know that's what you're doing. I personally hate the 54321 method. But you know what does work for me? This one TikTok (I can't find it) where the lady in the video tells you to look at the corner of the screen and tell what time it is, then asks questions like 'what's to the left of the screen?' and 'what are you wearing?' That snaps me right back to the present. The moment you notice yourself drifting off, look at a clock. Then look down at what you're wearing. Then take a second to describe what you're seeing to yourself and do some kind of tactile stimulation (rubbing your hands together or tapping your lap, for example).

More doing

1. Life direction audit

Your daydreams are clues to what you want out of life. Use them to guide how you want your outer life to go:

How does daydreaming make you feel? How can you emulate that without daydreaming?

Related to your daydream self's career, how does it make you feel to think of yourself getting paid to do that in your outer life? What steps can you take to get yourself there, or closer to it?

What can you do to cultivate friendships that are meaningful to you on the same level as your daydream friends? If you have outer friends, what's the most realistic scenario that would play out if you said, "I need more (support/connection/in-person time) out of this relationship"?

Are there any significant personal differences between your daydream self and your outer self? Are you a different gender, do you have a different style of dress, do you have any skills or hobbies you don't actually have? Is there anything that you would do, if only you had the [time/money/energy/certainty that this is the right thing to do/ability to get through hard things]?

Based on what you've written down, make a 10 year plan, then from that a 5 year plan, then from that a 1 year plan. Once you have your yearly plan you have options: split it up into quarters, months, weeks, or some other way. Either way, eventually you'll want to get it down to what you can do on a daily or even hourly basis to make your daydream self your reality.

2. Do it daydreaming, but do it

Now, do it. Sounds way easier than it is, but when I say do it, I mean do it any way you can. Do it upset, complaining, bored, frustrated, scared, badly, adapted to fit your abilities, in a way other people think is weird, crying the whole time, late, embarrassed, inconsistently, from your bed. Do it partway, then decide you want something else out of life. Do it when it's easy, and if you really want it, do it when it's hardest. Do something similar to it if what you want is unattainable. You can even do it with one foot in your daydream world.

As long as you're trying to do what makes you happy (and I mean the real kind of happy, not the kind that's always tinged with the grief that it's all in your head), any amount of effort you put into it is worthwhile.

3. Incentives

I was going to say to follow your plan and not your mood, but that's really hard. What you need is to find a way to make yourself follow that plan happily. For me, that's setting difficult monthly challenges for myself and getting rewards if I complete them. The challenge makes me want to do it because I want to prove my inner critic wrong. Do whatever works for you, because even if it sounds silly, it's not silly if it works.

4. Check ins

Every so often, re-evaluate where you're going. I know I just said to do it bored and frustrated, but if the whole thing is boring and frustrating and there are no upsides, don't keep at it. Check that you're actually happy with the direction your life is going.

---

And that's all I have for you. Remember, daydreaming can still be a healthy part of your life, it's the inability to stop it that's the problem. You can learn to balance it. I believe in you.

[nonsscrapheap]

i-i cannot

resist

THE REQUEST BLARGH—

@linxel HERE YOU GO

== Dance of the Fire Bot : General Snippet ==

In all honesty, with a designation like Hot Rod, nobody should've been surprised when young Hot Rod suddenly caught on fire one day. But there's a reason why everyone was surprised when he did, that's because of Hot Rod's impeccable yet unnatural olfactory senses.

Heightened sensors weren't very common, but they weren't exactly considered outlier abilities. Unless those sensors went beyond the norm, and by beyond, they meant beyond.

Being able to smell emotions? Smell truths and lies? That definitely was beyond the norm.

When ol' rustbucket Tripper was so confused as to who got into his high grade stash, Hot Rod was there to reveal the culprit who'd been trying to lie to Tripper's face. "Zipzap! Stop lying to old Tripper! Not only can I smell your lies, I recognize your scent all over those empty cubes! Tripper, he drank only a little and hid the rest away, c'mon! I'll show you!"

When two new 'enforcers' came, acting kind and nice, Hot Rod warned everyone to keep safe and stay away from them. "They smell like lies, deceit, dark... They're not good people. Please, be careful." Cycles later, actual enforcers came to arrest the impersonating criminals who tried to assault some poor mini-bots who thankfully heeded Hot Rod's warning and stuck together at all times. The two criminals couldn't attack all of them and Hot Rod, Springer and Arcee were there to protect them as well.

Whenever anyone was sad, Hot Rod would stop by to comfort them- one way or another, be it by talking to them or gifting little gifts or doing some chores, it didn't matter if someone was hiding their sadness or grief, Hot Rod always seemed to know. "You smelled sad." Was always his answer whenever someone asked how they knew they were upset.

Hot Rod was the kindest bot in Rust Narrows, little youngling did his best to help everyone in the area. So, over the mega-cycles that passed, they accepted that Hot Rod's outlier ability was his extremely enhanced olfactory senses.

Until he set himself on fire while battling a spark-eater.

== Dance of the Firebot : Deadlock Snippet ==

The first time Deadlock met Hot Rod, the damned mech sniffed him while he was injured. It was very weird, but Deadlock couldn't exactly stop him on the count that he was; injured, duh. Enough that he couldn't move or do anything else but growl when the red and yellow bot called over some help from two bots; Springer and Arcee. Hot Rod's Amicas.

The three of them hauled him to the nearest doctor, he didn't remember much of the encounter but he had found it fragging weird when the doctor didn't seem at all bothered when he threatened him as soon as he woke up.

Later, when he asked him, Springer and Arcee why the frag he was treated so nonchalantly, their answers confused him.

"Hot Rod says you smell nice."

The second time he meets Hot Rod, he's blindsided by the kindness the mech shows him even when he points the end of his blaster at him. He was just so happy Deadlock was okay! Or so he claimed.

Weirded out, Deadlock asked him why he wasn't scared or even intimidated. "You smell nice!" The mech chirped, smiling widely. So very weird, but Deadlock demanded the real answer.

Hot Rod's green optics softened, "It is the real answer, underneath the energon, the anger, the hate, you give off, there is a scent of undeniable kindness. Not only that, but I smell a sense of honor from you. You wouldn't hurt anyone here unless they hurt you, or maybe if you were targeting them, but I don't think anyone here is a target, so why should I be afraid?"

Later, when Springer comes back, Deadlock asks who the frag is Hot Rod and what's his deal. "Hot Rod's got this weird sense of smell." Springer answered with a shrug, "He smells stuff. Emotions, truths, lies. If he smells you're okay, then we trust it. Trust you, to an extent anyway."

Flabbergasted, Deadlock concludes that it's Hot Rod's outlier ability. Weird as it is, it explains it at least.

Until it doesn't.

Through wide optics, Deadlock gawped at the sight of Hot Rod dancing underneath the dark sky, fire trailing after his limbs as he moved lithely- the only source of light while bots gathered to watch him.

"I thought you said his unnatural sense of smell was his outlier ability!" Deadlock hissed to Springer, who sat beside him with Arcee on his other side.

Both Springer and Arcee shared an amused look, "I never said it was his outlier ability. I just said he had this weird sense of smell!" Arcee cracked up, hunching over with quiet laughter. Wheezing as she lightly patted Springer's shoulder.

Deadlock would've continued glaring at them if he wasn't entranced by Hot Rod's dance. It was so beautiful. The way he moved, the way the fire curled around his limbs... And Springer said Hot Rod was going to dance until the sun rose in Nyon? No way.

Only, he does.

For joors, he dances with no sign of stopping or even being tired. Even when bots began to leave, until it was only Springer, Arcee and him left, Hot Rod dances until light filtered from the distance.

It illuminates Hot Rod, who slowly comes to a stop with a soft vent and a content smile.

The entire thing, from start to end. It stays in his processor, filed away in a folder he created just after he became a Decepticon. Surprisingly, he arranges it to stay beside his diles of that medic from Dead End, Ratchet...

Deadlock doesn't stay in Nyon, he has duties as a Decepticon soldier after all. Hot Rod, thankfully, doesn't ask him to stay.

"Please be safe." Is all Hot Rod tells him when it's time to leave, with the kindest smile Deadlock has ever seen. "I hope one day, when we next meet, that kindness you have isn't buried in so much anger and hate."

Deadlock flees, terrified from the temptation he felt just from Hot Rod's words alone.

He meets Hot Rod again, a third time.

This time, he stays.

How can he not? When Hot Rod swings a sword as beautifully as he danced.

== Dance of the Fire Bot ==

that's all i can offer you for now! but yeah, when i DO make a fic of hot rod with tanjiro traits- it's going to be called Dance of the Fire Bot.

i hope you're happy!

[lillybean730]

also shout out to the summer school teacher who let me pace the hallways during a tornado watch and to the student who tried to teach me some breathing exercises 🫡

[strryhaze]

bobby & david kennedy

“There was some level on which David tapped his father’s sensitivity. You would find him walking with David or with his arm around David. David just seemed to need it.”

— chuck mcdermott.

“If his father’s death hit David harder than the others, it was because there had been a special bond between them—both were the runts of the litter, sandwiched into the middle of a large family. He was the only one in the family who hadn’t been enthusiastic about the run for the presidency. For weeks after his father’s announcement, David had been plagued by recurring nightmares about Bobby’s death. Distraught over episodes that seemed premonitory, and missing the special attention his father had given him, David had gotten in trouble for throwing rocks at cars passing by Hickory Hill. The day of the California primary, he had joined his father in Los Angeles. The two of them had been swimming and he had felt himself being carried out by the undertow when his father grabbed him, scraping his own head on the ocean floor as he reached for David’s slippery arm. With a teenager’s melodrama, David had decided that he owed his father a life and would look for an opportunity to pay him back in the years ahead. That night as he sat in front of the television set in his room in the Ambassador Hotel and watched [his father] bleeding on the floor downstairs, one of the thoughts he had was that the debt would be forever undischarged.”

“As the worst year of their young lives came to a close, they decided to surprise their mother at Christmas with a book comprised of letters about their father. David’s said: ‘Daddy was very funny in church because he would embarrass all of us by singing very loud. Daddy did not have a very good voice. There will be no more football with Daddy, no more swimming with him, no more riding and no more camping with him. But he was the best father there ever was and I would rather have him for a father for the length of time I did than any other father for a million years.”

— the kennedy’s, peter collier & david horowitz.

“David looked at himself in those pictures like they were a strange sort of mirror. He looked at them half a dozen times at least, mesmerized by them, and he kept asking me questions. There was a tremendous desire to know his father, to really know him.”

— john seigenthaler.

“David and Bobby were so close. They were inseparable. David was small, a runt like Bobby had been.” Ethel then explained to Noelle (her secretary) that David had always been a very sensitive youngster, very introverted, "not like the other boys. He and I would go and pick flowers while his brothers were killing each other with their crazy games", Ethel recalled with a smile.

— ethel kennedy.

“I think about death a lot. Time hasn’t erased the death of my father from my mind. My family thinks I’m no good and that I’ll never beat my problem. They’ve written me off. I’m trying to get it together, but it’s so difficult. I’m having a terrible time at it. And the thing I want most in the world is the approval of my family, but they want nothing to do with me. All I want is to be with my father.”

— david kennedy, april 1984.

“Like his family, his friends had all wondered at one time or another if he would kill himself; but when it finally came his death was nonetheless shocking. ‘I keep asking myself why. Why David? Why now? All I can come up with is that maybe his father was looking down from heaven and saw all the hell these people were putting him through and said, ‘Come on, You’ve suffered enough. It’s time you were up here with me.’”

— nancy narleski.

Years after David Kennedy’s death, his cousin, Patrick Kennedy recalled a haunting and heartbreaking recollection he had with his father, Teddy, sitting beside his cousin’s casket: “My father remembered Bobby telling him that, as a father, he needed to spend more time with David. He also recounted a story Uncle Bobby had told him just before his own death. On the day before the California primary, the Robert Kennedys had gone swimming in Malibu, to relax together. David had been knocked over by a wave and got caught in the undertow, and his father had come to his rescue. When Uncle Bobby told my father this story, he talked about ‘the undertow’ in broader terms, how there was an undertow in life and David, who was only then thirteen, already seemed vulnerable to it. And then, just hours later, Uncle Bobby was murdered as David watched the TV coverage in their hotel room upstairs. It was unbelievably poignant to hear my father tell this story. David was in the casket next to us. And I wasn’t that much older than David when his father worried whether he could survive the undertow.”

[buttercupshands]

Playing through Red&Yellow 2.0 undertale mod and let's just say

I haven't been this inspired to draw something undertale related *specifically* from Undertale itself in years

Also play it if you haven't and you have undertale on pc, it's extremely worth it

[bisexualamy]

.

[ourceliumnetwork]

it is not slacking off to write or create it is not slacking off to do things that are fun i am not slacking off or procrastinating right now i'm allowed to do things i enjoy doing for fun including playing games and writing and such

[tanunigans]

Redrawing my old Smurfs OCs of more than 6 years ago because overwhelming nostalgia. Why do I keep getting (or getting back) into fandoms that seem dead AF ???

I missed drawing these blue babies, the serotonin ???

[stinkbeck]

everyone who has ever been like consistently kind 2 me... u literally have no idea how much it's meant 2 me.

[monstermoviedean]

thanks for being nice to me <3

[writersdrug]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of man who:

In your shared home, always sits with his legs spread. Manspreading king. Adores it when you cross your arms and give him a disapproving look, saying there's no room for you. "Course there is, luv. Jus' sit between my thighs."

Refuses to let you do simple tasks around the house, like making tea, folding his underwear, or putting away the dishes. One might think it's a sweet, husbandly gesture - but he's just super picky. You made tea in the microwave once, and now you're banned from ever touching his tea stash. Likes his underwear folded in a specific way, and you don't understand the importance of it. He got tired of you stuffing his underwear in his drawer, so now he folds it himself. And the dishes? Couldn't stand how you put them away. "There's no rhyme or reason to 'em." "I didn't think there had to be, Si-" "Just gimme the damn bowl." Fewer chores? You aren't complaining.

Looks like he's always on edge - and he is, kinda. When he's out with you, he can't help but be alert and watchful, and extremely protective of you. You've tried to get him to loosen up - it's the supermarket, what could happen? - but have just come to accept it as his nature. Plus, you get that giddy feeling when you see other men look straight down at the floor, avoiding Simon's stare as the two of you pass.

Is the grumpiest, poutiest, and most indignant man ever when he gets sick. Doesn't want you doting on him in case you catch whatever he has. But, wait - where are you going? "Get your ass back in this bed - 'm cold." Grumbles like a child when you force him to let you get up to grab him soup, tea, or medicine. And no, he doesn't care how sick he is, he's not wearing that stupid, floppy ice pack hat.

Brings Johnny over unannounced, and you've grown used to it. The moment you hear that Scottish yapping out the front door as the key unlocks, you grab a third plate for dinner - he insists you don't need to feed him, but you always make extra for Simon's lunch the next day regardless, and the last time he'd said that, he ended up grabbing an extra fork and picking from Simon's plate. Which, of course, had Simon up at 1 am making instant ramen because he was still hungry, but didn't have the heart to ask you to make him a decent meal. So, yes, Johnny would be fed.

Loves spoiling you on your birthday. What is a man if not someone who spoils his partner rotten? Orders in food from your favorite bakery, sets all your presents neat and nice on the table (the excellent wrapping job done by yours truly, Gaz), flower petals sprinkled on the ground and the table top (also Gaz's idea), and a seat on his lap so for you while you open your presents. Loves watching your face light up, and each little "you remembered?!" fall from your lips as you open each gift. Scoffs and shifts in his seat. "I's not that much of a fuss, luv..." as you squeal excitedly, but you know he's biting back a proud smile. The blush, he can't even attempt to hide.

Is somehow a magnet for your young nephews. Every time he comes along to your sister's place, he's either making conversation with her husband in the living room, or he's interrogated and cornered by her two sons. And, lord help him, he doesn't understand it either. He'd always expected kids to look at him like a monster, but, especially with these two, that was never the case. They'd ask him for stories about "being in war" - half of the time, he'd make up some not-too-gory adventure, sparing them the details of real war. The rest of the time, he'd talk about "Soap, my mate who blows everything up." And they'd listen with wide eyes and jaws on the floor.

Has scared you unintentionally, more than too many times. He'd come home at three in the morning from a mission, and all he wanted was to quietly peel his dirty uniform off and slip into bed with you. His main intention was to avoid waking you up, because you'd force him to shower before joining you in bed - and he was too tired for that. However, you'd been rounding the corner, up for your 3 am glass of water - you screamed as you saw the hulking, dark figure by the front door, launching your phone at him. He'd caught it effortlessly and shoved it into his back pocket. "What've I told ya 'bout using the bat?" "I was just getting water!" "I coulda been anyone." "Well you're not." "Missed ya, luvie." "Missed you too- but you're grimy. Go take a-" "No." He grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder, ignoring your protests as he hauled you back to bed.