#just need it beta read

[navybrat817]

Club Owner!Bucky intro written. ❤️

Sorry in advance, lovelies, he's crazy. 😂😏😉

[anauro]

Drugs and surgical scrubs chapter 28 snippet 💕

The air was cool and the ground was cold to sit on, but inside James was on fire. His wound didn’t hurt, the cramps he was getting all morning soothed and all he felt was pure, unrelenting happiness. He wanted to scream with joy and he realised they were alone and he could do just that.

“What are you–” Regulus started when James got up on his feet, but got caught off as James yelled,

“We’re boyfriends!! You hear this Yorkshire? Regulus Black is my boyfriend!!”

“James, you absolutely crazy lunatic, sit down!” Regulus laughed as he pulled on the leg of James’ trousers. “Sit down, before somebody hears you.”

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[sorrelpaws]

chillaxed as heeaaalllll

[eichornia]

So I had a thought:

- It's 2024. Daniel is back in the grid, his hand is completely healed, his curls are thriving. He feels confident again and he's happy. He's in a low dose of antidepressants and the therapy does wonders. 2022 seems really far away.

- He's starting the season in a good mood, flirting his way through the paddock, joking with the Netflix boys. It's Thursday and they're in Australia. Australia, baby, his favourite place in the world. His family is coming to see him race, Isaac being old enough to really enjoy being in the garage. He's curious and funny and Daniel misses him a lot when he's away. He loves Isabella too, she's his princess. But she's not really interested in the sport (yet) and she's in a hardcore Bluey phase. So Isaac asks him if he can go with him to the garage and when they're there, he asks if they can go visit the Red Bull garage because he's obsessed with the RB and to be honest, with Max too. Just like his uncle, Blake likes to say. Usually that makes Daniel to show his karate moves but not for long because Blake is a scary motherfucker sometimes even if he hides it well.

- So to the RB garage they go. They chat with Christian for a bit (Do you want to run for us when you're big, Isaac?, he asks) (And Isaac says yes, yes, yes) and they dodge Helmut when he appears in the garage because he's scary and not in a nice way. (Isaac says he smells like moths and Daniel has to fight really hard not to laugh) and then they spot Max. He's talking with GP but when he sees them, he waves smiling and he talks with Isaac like he's an adult (and even invites him to look into the car and explains to him everything, twice when Isaac asks again about some things).

- And yeah, Daniel has feelings. Like, he knows he had feelings for Max since... Well, a long time ago. He knows but he was scared of being bisexual (thanks Josh Allen for fixing that) and older than Max, and he was scared of being reciprocal because yeah, like Max was his teammate? His hot, younger, faster teammate.

- But now Daniel is (even) older and has learnt to not give a fuck about what people thinks. And yeah, watching Max with his niece? It's doing things to Daniel's heart.

- So yeah, Australia is awesome, racing in Australia is even better, getting points in Australia is a dream come true after these past years. He's high on endorphins and that's his excuse to intercept Max when he's on his way to his driver room after the podium. (Hey, hi, Maxy, Maximus, I was thinking, like, congrats in the podium, by the way, good trophy and all that, but I was thinking of asking you if you wanted to come to Perth?)

- The craziest thing to happen is that Max says yes. No doubts at all, just his big smile that makes his eyes go small and a 'yes, Daniel'.

- PERTH. It goes like this: Max comes to the farm, falls in love with Daniel's house, Daniel's falls in love a bit more with him. And Max knows nothing about it because Daniel is a bit immature but he's not stupid (not about this anyway) and Max is one of his best friends and he doesn't want to ruin their friendship.

- So he says nothing and he enjoys having this week with Max in his home. They race dirt bikes, they cook together (well, they try) and they play with Isaac and Isabella when they come to visit. And then it's Sunday, a whole week has passed and they're going to fly together soon to Japan. They're enjoying the hot tub after having a nice dinner and Max is laughing at Daniel's impression of Toto and Daniel feels like his chest is filled with helium, feels high, lucky, funny. And that's his excuse to kiss Max.

- Max doesn't stop laughing for a second even in the middle of the kiss and then he stops moving and breathing and Daniel is panicking a bit. Because he knew it would ruin everything, this thing he feels for Max. But then Max's hand is in his neck, drawing him against his lips again, magnets in the dark.

- So yeah, that's a thing they do now. Making out. Heavy petting. Every time it happens, Daniel wants to flail his arms, run in circles, scream like fucking Tarzan. It's like getting a podium over and over again, it's like champagne bubbles getting trapped in his chest. Max kisses him like he races (point-blank, non-stop, making him weak at the knees) and he likes to make Daniel straddle him and he likes to caress his thighs, draw his tattoos again, the three against his lips before kissing each of his fingers.

-It makes Daniel effervescent with happiness and when they're racing in Japan, he's fourth in the race, almost a podium and he comes back to the garage and hugs everyone and laughs and almost cries because he's coming back, baby, he's so coming back. And he goes back to the hotel and doesn't go to his room, he goes straight to Max's room and he doesn't stop to think because he's going to chicken out otherwise.

- And he's on his knees.

- He's on his knees for Max, and he puts his forehead against Max's tummy and kisses his belly button and blows a raspberry against his hip and Max pushes his head away, silly-laughing, and Daniel says let me, let me, please, I won't do it again, Maxy, but let me and Max touches one of his brows and touches his hair and then brings him against his body.

- And kissing Max is like getting a podium but blowing him is getting second place, getting drunk, getting sweaty, getting high-high-high.

------------------------------------------------------

You can read the continuation here.

[formulapookie]

👨‍❤️‍👨

Maybe we can be more than this diggianini, 2.2k

Diggia has been staring for ten minutes now, Enea asleep on his couch, legs open and thighs naked for his eyes.

The tattoo is slightly peeking from the shorts he’s wearing, and Diggia wishes he wore shorter shorts just to see more of him.

Even tho he technically doesn’t like men.

Technically.

Enea and him, they’re an exception, they’re something none of the two is willing to label past the “we aren’t gay but we fuck”

And right now Diggia would very much like for them to be fucking because Enea just looks too beautiful to be left there without touching him.

But it’s not like he can wake him up and ask for sex without an excuse, because now THAT would be gay.

Enea doesn't follow football, at least, not like he does, he's probably not aware Dybala has accepted to stay at Roma even if he head a huge offer on the table, and he had told Enea about how sad he would be about a transfer already

So he has to find an excuse, and has to find it quick because he's getting hard and wouldn't want to walk around his house hard like that while he has Enea over.

"Ao"

No response, Enea looks angelic like this, short hair framing his face in a painting-like way.

"Ao bestia"

A small movement, a grunt, but Enea's eyes are still closed, he switches positions, now his thigh tattoo is even more exposed. God Diggia wants to bite it.

"Bestia ao svejate" (Bestia oi wake up)

Enea opens his eyes, stretching lighlty revealing the V line just above the hem of his shorts, his happy trail making Diggia's mouth water almost as much as the tattoo.

"What"

He almost feels guilty for what he's doing, but all his morality dies down when he sees hoe Enea's gaze immediately goes at his dick, which is now clearly hard in his shorts.

"I'm - I just read a news that made me sad, you know? They're probably selling Dybala to whatever stupid Arab team that will pay him millions and I'm feeling really down. Care to help me feel better?"

Enea would want to roll his eyes back, he knows the footballer has actually already signed with Roma, Diggia just wants a blowjob and doesn't know how to ask for it properly.

But it's not like he doesn't like the idea of getting on his knees for him, he just wishes he could ask like a normal person.

Like "Enea I'm horny can you give me a blowjob? You know that I'd get back to you with a fuck in the near future anyway"

But he's happy with this too, he still gets to suck him off and later get his back blown by him.

"Seriously? that's sick bro. Like for real he's accepting money over quality?"

Diggia nods, Enea would like to play along to see how much it takes for diggia to give in and ask, but he's getting hard too and wants this to happen as soon as possible.

"You want me to make you feel better now?" "Yeah"

Enea smiles, moving so he's fairly close to Diggia before climbing down the couch between the man's already parted legs, letting him shift closer to the edge so to have easier access to his pants.

Enea works the fly open and shoves the shorts down, Diggia lets out a breath and curses himself for the really slim self control he has whenever he's with him.

In a few seconds he's stripped of his boxers too, he can feel Enea's lips on his tip and a hand squeezing the base of his dick .

"Fuck" He wants more, of this, always, the man is just too good with his mouth and lips to just have him do this every once in a while.

But wanting him more would be gay no? At least he thinks.

His attention is brought back to reality when Enea gets him deeper for the first time, head hitting the back of his throat making him gag for a second.

Diggia gets his hand on Enea's head, fingers tangling with his curls, pushing him more against his V-line, making him take more of his dick.

"Fuck don't stop"

Enea smiles, for as much as he can with a dick in his mouth, and bobs his head rhythmically, feeling the grip on his hair tighten and the sounds coming from Diggia getting louder and louder, grunts deeper and - fuck - masculine in a way that gets Enea weak to his knees.

Because he wants those sounds to be made directly next to his ears as Diggia fucks him like an animal, in front of a mirror so he can see how he looks when he's getting fucked, and can look at Diggia too, perfect body on display, all those moles he wants to kiss and commit to his memory.

He moans around his dick, getting Diggia to tilt his head back once again, letting out a deep moan that goes stright to Enea's dick, getting it even harder than it was the moment he got on his knees.

"Need to - fuck - need to cum I'm close I-" getting Diggia to this state where he's not completely able to form sentences is what gets Enea going, he knows the kind of power he has over him, and as the fucking bastard he is uses it at any given occasion.

He breaks away from him for just a second and looks up at Diggia, big eyes shining with need.

He meets the other's gaze in a dance of lust and desire, and has to restrain himself from getting up the floor and kiss him until he's drained.

"You can do it in my mouth, since you're so upset"

And Diggia thinks he could die now, because he'd never ask for something like that, but if it was Enea offering he surely wouldn't refuse.

"Yeah yeah ok yeah"

He's pathetic like that but it's not like Enea cared about it in this moment, he just wants to taste Diggia on his tongue and hope he's desperate enough to ask him to fuck afterwards.

He feels Diggia's dick twitch in his mouth and then a flow of hot and sticky cum down his throat.

It doesn't taste good, doesn't taste taht bad either, he's had experience enough to know this is a pretty normal taste for it.

He swallows everything, and hears Diggia curse again, he's glad he has this effect on him.

Enea lets go of his dick with a pop, bitter taste still on his tongue, and waits for Diggia to choose.

It's either he jerks him off on the couch or does something proper and gets him naked and moaning under him in the next two minutes.

“Can I fuck you? Still need a bit of release you know?”

“Yeah me too, am still disappointed by some shit at Ducati”

One would think Enea would get tired of always compromising with this way Diggia has of asking for things.

But as long as he gets to fuck or get fucked by him that’s fine to him.

“Pass the lube to me will you?”

They always keep one close to the couch at Diggia’s, that’s where most of their fucks happen anyway, it would make no sense to place it elsewhere.

“Yeah it’s uhm here here you go do - your thing”

He’s blushing, just thinking of Enea fingering himself open gets him like that, gets him hot and horny more than he already is.

Enea coats two of his fingers with lube , heating it up that bit to get it comfortable, but doesn’t waste time, he’s too needy for it.

He hints at Diggia to get his shorts off, and the man freezes when he sees he’s got no boxers underneath.

He just. He hasn’t. He is naked under there. Like he did it on purpose.

Enea opens his legs, fingers slightly pushing into his hole as he lets out a shaky breath.

“Ah”

Enea leant like to waste time, much less when he’s with Diggia an knows he’s pathetically quit at orgasming when he’s fucked by him.

He pushes two fingers in with no ceremony, it’s not been long since he did that himself but doing it in front of Diggia - fuck it was different, he could feel his own wetness being much more than usual, his need increased by a mile.

Diggia has his eyes locked on the scene, Enea’s finger thrusting in and out at a quick pace, squelching sound and soft whimpers filling up the room with lust.

He shouldn’t be enjoying it this much, shouldn’t even be looking in the first place, but he can’t help it, not when Enea looks like that, open and needy and fucking hot.

He’s practically drooling when he sees Enea pushing a third finger inside, his hole stretching around them, sound getting more and more arousing, his dick coming back to life.

He needs to be inside him and needs it now.

Enea can feel Diggia looking, staring actually, at him, at what he’s doing, and he knows it gets the other hard, but can’t dwell too much on that thought, especially when he wants Diggia to fuck him stupid and have him babbling nonsense.

“I’m ready Diggia you - fuck me”

It’s direct, something they don’t do that often, especially when the tone is so desperate like Enea’s right now, but Diggia couldn’t have waited for greater words, and just gets a few centimeters from him.

He’s got the decision of his life ahead of him.

It’s either he fucks Enea on all fours and gets to watch his perfect ass jiggle every time he thrust inside him, then comes on his back.

Or he fucks him like this, looking at him, pretty face making expressions of pleasure at each hit to the prostate, then coming all over his abs, face if he’s lucky enough.

“Are you gonna do something or are you not sad anymore?”

It gets Diggia back to Earth, fuck it he’s gonna take him like that, who cares if looking in his eyes will make him think about how beautiful Enea is.

He aligns his dick with Enea’s hole, slowly pushing in, it’s been more than a month since they went, despite his need to wreck him he tries to be at least gentle.

“Fuuuuck you’re big ah”

And it’s not like Diggia doesn’t know, he’s been told that by many many girls before, and he knows himself but fuck.

Hearing Enea practically moan that out it’s. It’s something else. 

Enea is gripping at his bicep with force, like his life depends on it, he’s already whining and Diggia is drunk at the sight.

“Move come on I don’t have all day”

Diggia wants to protest, saying he’s still too little stretched and needs to go slow, but when his eyes lock with Enea’s it all goes to shit.

He sets a rushed pace, Enea letting go of his arm and Diggia using that moment to pin both of Enea’s hands above his head with one of his, the other hand closing around the boy’s thigh, the one with the tattoo who got him so lightheaded before.

A series of ah ah ah makes its way out Enea’s chest, moans timed with Diggia’s thrusts, which are becoming more and more deep, more precise.

When he hits his prostate Enea arches his back, a long-dragged moan echoes in the room, it’s just Diggia’s name but it gets him harder than before.

Diggia keeps on fucking into him with his usual rushed and hard pace, not an ounce of self control left, so much he lowers himself on Enea and kisses him, lips chapped and coarse against soft and plump, Diggia might loose his mind at this, especially when Enea gets the initiative and pushes his tongue past his teeth, forcing them to taste each other and suffocating their moans in each other’s mouth.

“You feel so good around me fuck”

Diggia has enough brain capacity to utter these last words before being very much close to his release.

His hips buck more raggedly than before, voice becoming deeper making Enea wetter and needier for it.

He needs to feel that, and needs to feel owned by Diggia somehow.

Enea knows what Diggia wants, or needs more precisely.

Not because he’s a sort of magician but because he’s just that easy to read.

“Inside Diggia inside me. Please”

the older man is about to pass out. Enea might've just given him the best gift ever.

“You sure? I can -”

“Yes yes I’m sure just please I need to -  fuuck”

Diggia curls the hand squeezing his thigh around Enea’s dick, stroking it in time with his thrusts.

It’s not long, it’s very little actually, until Diggia comes with a grunt, buried deep inside a babbling Enea who just needs to have his release.

His hands are still held high above his head and he so desperately wants to break them free to tangle his fingers in Diggia’s hair and pull him in for a kiss.

Enea is quick to follow, a good enough flick of Diggia wrist does it for him, coming in spurts all over himself, painting his abs white and feeling his energy dissolve.

Diggia slips out, what usually is an uncomfortable silence now replaced by a feeling of mutuality.

Enea moving to curl up beside him, drifting back to the sleep he had disturbed.

In his heart Diggia knows he should understand this, himself, better.

But a part of him wants this to stay as it is, casual, confusing and hot.

Yeah, just like them, confusing and hot.

[ghoulez-vous]

𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐏𝐀𝐏𝐀

( gender neutral reader x papa i-iv / hurt/comfort / sfw / under read more for length )

How each Papa would comfort their lover who is going through difficult times.

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐨

It’s the sort of hug that washes away all of your sorrows: tender, gentle, but firm enough to remind you that he’s there for you. He’s the most lithe of the Emeritus brothers but his hugs envelop you regardless of his figure. The scent of freshly cut roses and sandalwood is strong and you can tell that he’s abandoned his garden to be there for you. His head is nestled in the crook of your neck as he whispers meaningful words of wisdom in Italian that would help with your daily worries. Other times he remains silent, simply being there for you. He can read you like a book and knows exactly how to wash your pain away with a hug, even if it is momentarily. His hugs are a gentle reassurance of his love for you and it pains him when you leave his embrace. He parts with a gentle kiss on your cheek, rubbing the back of your hands with his thumbs. Although he’s disappointed that you have to part, the sight of you makes him smile with a warmth that he never though possible. You know you’ll make it through your troubled times with him by your side, with all his wisdom and adoration for you.

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨

It’s the sort of hug that makes you focus on him, and only him. Any negative thoughts are replaced with the sensation of his firm grip and intimidating frame that melts at the mere sight of you. The scent of his cologne is strong and he’s dressed in his mitre; he must have been getting ready to attend to his duties as Papa. No work was more important than you. The Clergy would manage without him for a while, and a quick glance at a nearby ghoul signalled that the message be passed on. You’re his primary focus now, a large hand caressing your hair as you press your face into his chest. His heartbeat is slow and steady but it speeds up a little with every squeeze that you give him and he begins to suspect that you’re doing it deliberately. His other arm is wrapped tightly around your waist, his head resting atop your own. Although he is the most stern of the Emeritus brothers, you can tell that he is worried from the way that he refuses to take his mismatched eyes off you. His embrace is secure and unyielding; he wants you to know that he is there for you, and that you are his priority. Nothing else mattered while you were nestled in his arms.

𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐳𝐨

It’s the sort of hug that nearly knocks you off your feet: desperate but soothing. You’re not certain who needs it more. Before you can open your mouth, you’re in Terzo’s demanding arms. His face is buried in your shoulder, occasionally placing a chaste kiss on the exposed skin of your neck when he feels your grasp on him loosen. He smells of the expensive cologne that you bought him for his birthday. However, you can also smell your own scent; he must have been sleeping with your garb again. Words of Italian fill your ears, his breath tickling your neck as he whispers sweet nothings that comfort you both. He sways slightly, moving your body with him in a soothing manner. It’s hard to focus your mind on your worries when you’re wrapped so firmly in Terzo’s arms. It’s an embrace that you both needed. After you’ve calmed down, he’ll reluctantly part from you and lead you to his room where he can attend to you properly. There’s a freshly laundered comforter on his bed and you knew that Omega must have seen you both. He pulls you down onto the bed with him, your back flush against his chest. From there, he holds you as long as you both need.

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐚

It’s the sort of hug that starts off tentative but grows in strength. He’s so worried about you and it shows in his body language. He’s shifty, toying with the hem of his sleeves. His brows are knitted together as he begins to speak but hesitates. At first, Copia approaches you slowly to assess the situation and see what you need, worried about upsetting you further. You lock eyes for a moment and he can tell from your gaze just what you need. An arm slinks around your waist as he draws you closer, pressing a chaste kiss against your lips. You return the kiss before reluctantly leaving his embrace as he guides you towards the sofa. Brushing aside empty juice boxes with an apologetic glance, Copia urges you to sit down with him, patting the plush pillows. He’s wearing his favourite red tracksuit and Vvlgari t-shirt and you knew that he had been relaxing after yet another exerting ritual. The dark residue of skull paint still lingered around his eyes, and you could tell that he was exhausted to the point of putting little effort into his evening routine. You curl up beside him and bury your face in his chest, hands grasping his soft jacket as he gently stroked your hair. You both needed this.

[anawrites3]

I couldn't stop thinking about @zeroducks-2's post where they said about Jason and Bruce that "They should be unable to coexist in the same room let alone speak" and idk I got inspired and this came into being

They're after some rough patrol and Dick managed to convince Jason to go with them to manor so he can take care of his injuries.

Dick was in the middle of wrapping Jason's hand when the door opened. Tim looked up from his book and Jason stiffened so slightly that if it weren't for the way Dick was holding his arm he wouldn't even notice it and really, that was all Dick needed to get who was standing at the door. He didn't stop wrapping Jason's hand, didn't even look up and after a few seconds Jason's muscles unclenched.

"Is there something you need, Bruce?" Dick hummed after few seconds when the man still didn't move from his place by the door.

Bruce cleared his throat. "No."

And then he walked inside. Dick's eyes flicked up to watch him as he moved further into the room. Even Tim put his book aside to stare at Bruce with a frown and his lips pressed into a line, as if he wanted to say something but didn't. Bruce didn't seem to notice all the looks he received, or maybe he just simply ignored them because he put a hand on an armrest of a chair and moved as if he wanted to sit down.

"Bruce."

Bruce froze at the tone. "Yes, Dick?"

Dick turned back to his little brother. Jason was looking down, eyes flashing slightly green, at his hand Dick was still holding and that hold was probably the only thing keeping him from storming out of the room and from the manor and running far away from this place.

Dick really couldn't blame him.

"If you don't need anything, then you can leave." He said.

Jason lifted his head sharply to look at him. The green faded from his eyes and Dick curled his lips into a soft smile, before finishing the wrapping and moving to cleaning up other, more minor cuts on Jason's arm.

"What?" Bruce asked, almost as if he was making sure he heard right.

"I said leave." Dick repeated patiently. "You don't need to be here, you said so yourself. We came to this room so we wouldn't have to be around you and yet you followed us here. Maybe you didn't know. I don't care. Leave."

He didn't have to look at Bruce to see the way his eyes narrowed just slightly.

"This is my home." He said and Dick needed a few seconds to breath so he wouldn't snap.

"Yes. It is." He said in a cold voice. "That's why you can choose whatever room you want to sit in. Not this one."

"Dick-"

"I swear to fucking god, Bruce-"

[hroscek]

✎📃Dottore studying headcanons📚

Back again with more Dottore content. This is a bit of a mix between a modern au but still somehow compliant with Genshin? Idk I just wanted to write ab him studying and projecting finding inspiration in my own life without having to explain how he has access to YouTube in his akademiya days okay? Anyways enjoy and make sure to study if you happen to be procrastinating at the moment (I will know)!

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Dottore study headcanons

Probably the type that ultra-focuses on the material in front of him leading to generally neglecting any and all other needs until he physically can't anymore (nearly burnt down his dorm via hair catching fire from a candle when he fell asleep at the desk)

Thinks he's above attending lectures so he'd definitely be that one student that never shows up but still ends up acing the exams.

Fully believes that he must achieve a state of total focus to optimize his brain. This starts as threatening the other students into leaving him alone as he studies, drawing the curtains and shutting out all other distractions. Probably spent too much on finding a good noise-cancelling headset.

After getting kicked out gracefully parting ways with the akademiya he devoted some time to trying to find ways to improve his focus even more. I'm talking full blown rounds of experimentation with different methods such as binaural beats (actually works tbh), sensory deprivation tanks etc. Sort of how greater lord rukkhadevata would shut herself away to meditate, but he would never admit how similar their methods are.

Honestly I wouldn't be surprised if the original Dottore is just floating in a state of meditation rn trying to achieve max brain power (legit a headcanon for me now lmao).

Seeing as he probably doesn't sleep much, especially when in the thick of experiments he tries his best to compensate in other ways. He drank an inhuman amount of coffee or energy drinks (or both at the same time tbh) until he grew a tolerance to all forms of caffeine and is now forced to actually sleep once in a while.

He is intimately familiar with is work area and instantly knows where everything is. To outsiders it looks like a mess of various documents, piles of paper, supplies and mechanical parts. Often he asks a new intern to fetch him a sheet or something and they'll spend hours looking for it in the raven's nest that man calls an office. Then he'll show up pissed as hell like "It was under the desk next to the 3rd used energy core. Are you really that stupid?".

When he's in the zone he's deathly silent, his eyes laser focused on whatever page or machine he's trying to figure out. An observer might be afraid he'll burn a hole trough the object with his eyes. This is probably the only time he doesn't wear his mask as he doesn't want anything to obstruct him. Archons couldn't help the unfortunate soul who dares to interrupt him in this state. Instant volunteer for his next experiment.

Pantalone once decided to gift him with an expensive stationery set in a desperate attempt to get him to organize his study. It included quills, ink, various highlighters and organizers all in pastels with cute motifs. "To bring some positivity to the gloomy atmosphere around you!". Dottore claimed to hate it but was seen months later using a kitten-themed notepad at one of his labs.

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

Another post, another slay (probs a flop). I'm currently taking a half-voluntary gap year because I decided to switch universities a little too late in the year oops. And honestly in this time I've realized how much I thrive in the academic environment and I miss studying so much! Idk might sound a bit too optimistic coming from someone who's currently not under any pressing deadlines or tests but I really do miss it. As much as I hated crunching the night before a test and stressed about the material I believe it's an environment I truly thrive in. I really do find such comfort in being able to take notes, discuss with classmates and professors. It's probably one of the many reasons I find Dottore relatable. We both share such a thirst for knowledge and focus way too much on our favorite subjects. I'm rambling, sorry. Thank you so much for reading and please don't be shy to send me asks or comments with ideas you'd like me to expand upon. I'm still pretty new to writing in fandom space so I'd really be grateful to get feedback and see what the community wants lol.

Have a good day! ❀

[gilbirda]

Y'all are not ready for the fic im gonna drop next

like

no one is ready

(im not ready)(ive been working on this for like 1,5 years and i hope people like it because if not im crying)

[isekyaaa]

I'm reading a fanfiction currently about a girl that was isekai'd into AoaB with knowledge of everything that's going to happen in the future. It's a very good series of fics, but it's almost painful to get through. Though Myne has so many things going against her, somehow the main character in the fic, Mila, has it worse. Everything she works for she struggles to achieve. Nobody gives her any chances. Nobody is looking out for her. She can escape death and more and nobody will care. It's honestly depressing.

Reading it, I can't help but put myself in Mila's shoes and think how I'd feel if I got isekai'd into a world with knowledge of the future, and despite this, everyone, all the characters I love, treating me like a nuisance and a liability than someone of worth. But at the same time it makes sense. Even if Mila is the main character of the fic, the real main character is Rozemyne. That's who the world circles around. But still, as someone that rooting for Mila reading this, I just want happier things to happen to her.

[muffinlance]

Re-read of Little Zuko Book One: complete

In-Jokes: re-uploaded to my brain

Book Two Outline: (very) rough draft complete

Am I Using This To Procrastinate On My Other Writing Projects: absolutely

[demadogs]

my jobs getting in the way of blogging and reading fan fiction. i should quit.

[emeryleewho]

I actually find it really sad that people's response to missing some allusion in fiction is to say the story did a bad job of explaining it rather than to think "maybe I should read closer next time" or "maybe the target audience for this piece has some context that I don't and it's worth my time to gain some of that context before reading more stories like these". And I mean sad, not in a condescending way, but in an "it genuinely hurts my heart and I wish I could help" way.

[kkpwnall]

wine & dine

or: the quickest way to a man’s heart (and parts beyond)

((edit: now on ao3))

[ @corrodedcoughin laid down a reverse uno card, and i am extremely susceptible to gentle persuasion. i know you asked for headcanons, but apparently i have lots of thoughts about eddie taking a cooking class to wine and dine steve so this one got a bit away from me. anyway, hope you like it, and hope your day got better. ]

“Shit!”

Steve’s steps up the trailer stairs falter when he hears Eddie’s shout. He balances a tray of cupcakes and a bouquet of red daisies in one hand and knocks on the door.

“Fuck!” Eddie shouts again, followed by a loud banging and clanging.

“Eddie?” Steve knocks again. He’s been here often enough since they started dating that he knows he doesn’t have to knock, that he’s welcome to just walk right in. But it’s their date night, and he wants to do this right.

More banging, more clanging, more cursing. Then the alarm starts. That’s enough for Steve.

“Eddie!” He bursts through the door and skids to a stop halfway to the kitchenette. The trailer is full of smoke and Eddie is right in the middle of it, waving a dish towel in front of the screaming smoke detector. Steve drops the cupcakes and the flowers on the small kitchen table and grabs a flaming pan of… something off the burner, moving it to one of the empty burners further back on the range and cutting the gas.

Eddie gives up trying to fan the smoke away, and climbs up on the counter to rip the alarm out of the ceiling instead. Steve grabs his abandoned towel and flings open the kitchen window, fanning the smoke out as Eddie manages to get the thing off the ceiling without bringing the tiles crashing down on their heads.

He rips the batteries out of the back of it and turns to look at Steve, panting like he’s run a marathon. Eddie’s thighs are eye level with Steve, who has to drag his eyes up and away from his favorite gray sweatpants, the ones that always make him a little crazy, past the old sleeveless band shirt cropped above Eddie’s waist, to finally look up at him. Eddie’s curls are spilling loose from the bun he’d tied them up in, framing his flushed face and wild eyes.

“You’re early,” is all he says, looking Steve up and down. He suddenly feels over-dressed, standing there in the middle of the tiny kitchen with his maroon button down securely tucked into his best pressed khakis. He even wore the leather shoes with the little tassels on them.

Steve tugs self-consciously at his shirt and looks around the kitchen. “It’s date night,” he says simply. “Thought I'd see if you needed any help with dinner.”

It looks like Eddie’s used every dish in the house. Twice. He’s crouched on the kitchen counter now, looking like a wild animal that might bolt at any sudden movements. Steve slowly reaches out a hand and tucks some of those stray curls behind Eddie’s ear. “Seems like you’ve got it handled though.”

Eddie sighs and flops down so he’s sitting on the counter. He puts his head in his hands and mumbles, “this isn’t how this was supposed to go.”

“What are you talking about? I’m here, you’re here, you made us…” he looks over at the softly smoldering pan, trying to figure out what exactly Eddie’s been making, “dinner? Sounds like the perfect date night to me.”

Eddie just groans and shakes his head, hiding behind his hands and his hair.

“C’mon, it’s not that bad, it’s only a little burnt. We can still salvage it.” He throws the towel on his shoulder, and unbuttons his cuffs, starts to roll up his sleeves. “What are we having?”

“Beef stroganoff,” Eddie mumbles through his hands.

“If you’re going for medium well, I think it’s done.”

Eddie just groans. “Steve…”

“Hey, hey,” Steve puts his hands on Eddie’s wrists, gently pulling them away from his face.

Eddie looks close to tears. Steve brushes Eddie’s bangs out of his eyes with one hand and cups his cheek with the other. “I’m sorry. You just surprised me, I didn’t know you could cook like this. I thought we were gonna have Macaroni a la Eddie tonight.”

Eddie makes a face, and looks away, mumbling something so quietly, Steve wouldn’t have known he’d said anything if he didn’t see his lips move. Steve dodges down and around, trying to catch Eddie’s gaze again as he plays keep-away with his eyes.

“Didn’t catch that, Eds.”

Eddie sighs dramatically and half shouts, “I’ve been taking a cooking class down at the learning annex!”

“Oh…” that pulls Steve up short. That’s time, that’s effort, that’s… serious.

“The head chef at Enzo’s has a class every Thursday night, and it went fine when I made it there! I don’t know what happened tonight!”

“Well there’s your problem, you’ve got an Italian chef teaching you a German recipe.”

“Pretty sure it’s Russian, dude,” Eddie says with a roll of his eyes. “And it’s not just Italian, she teaches a different recipe every week.”

“Ok so, let’s figure this out. Where’s the recipe?”

Eddie looks around and fishes out a slightly singed, very crumpled piece of paper from under the corner of the cutting board with a half-chopped onion on it. It’s less a recipe and more doodles and half-written thoughts in Eddie’s chicken-scratch. Some of the ingredients don’t even have a measurement next to them, just ‘brandy,’ ‘Worcestershire,’ ‘beef’. Nothing like how Steve bakes, with everything carefully measured out and plotted before he even starts mixing.

It also becomes rapidly apparent that Eddie doesn’t have half the ingredients the recipe calls for, as Eddie directs Steve from his perch on the counter, translating his hieroglyphic scrawl and making substitutions on the fly. But together they manage to cobble together something that might resemble a technical definition of beef stroganoff. It’s got beef at least, all the burnt parts scraped off, and noodles. Steve figures it’s close enough.

Eddie rinses out an old coffee grounds can to put the flowers in while Steve plates their dinner. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve catches Eddie holding the bouquet to his nose, a soft smile on his face.

When they sit down at the scratched and dented and much-loved table, Eddie quickly scarfs down several bites. He chews thoughtfully and makes a face. Steve’s barely got the fork halfway to his mouth when Eddie whisks his plate away and throws the whole thing in the garbage can.

“Hey, I was eating that!”

“No, you’re not,” Eddie says fiercely. “You’re not getting poisoned tonight.”

Steve takes the bite on his fork defiantly and stares Eddie down as he chews. It’s somehow both over-cooked and underdone. He chews and chews and eventually swallows, and does not make a face.

Eddie stares back, hands on his hips, working his jaw back and forth. Steve twirls his fork in the air. “I came hungry tonight. I’ll eat it out of the trash can, don’t tempt me.”

He holds Eddie’s gaze for a beat longer, then he’s up and out of his chair, pivoting around Eddie like he’s on the basketball court. He just manages to stick his fork in the trash can before Eddie jumps on his back.

“At least let me get the plates out of there!”

“No!”

They wrestle for a few minutes, knocking things off the counter, and making a bigger mess than the one Steve walked in on tonight. Eddie grapples for his hands, but Steve’s arms are longer so he gives up and puts his hands over Steve’s eyes, making him stumble backwards into the refrigerator. The cereal boxes on top fall off as Eddie gives a small “ooft” and slides off his back.

Steve whirls around and pins Eddie to the fridge with his hands on his hips. His lips find Eddie’s and he kisses him fiercely, already breathless. Eddie holds out for a moment, just for a beat, then he winds his arms around Steve’s shoulders and sinks his hands into Steve’s hair with a deep sigh. His mouth parts and Steve deepens the kiss, titling his head just so, tongues brushing, hot, desperate, feverish. He drags his hands slowly up Eddie’s waist, toying with the raw edge of his cropped shirt, thumbing over his ribs. Just as slowly, he drags his hands back down, plucking at the waistband of those stupid sweatpants. He breaks the kiss to trail his lips along Eddie’s jaw, down his neck. He drags his tongue over Eddie’s collarbone and scrapes his teeth over the spot where his neck meets his shoulder.

“Why have you been taking cooking classes?” Steve breathes into his neck, trailing his nose back up under his ear.

“Don’t make me say it…” Eddie says with a groan.

“Eddie…” He sinks his teeth into Eddie’s pulse point, and soothes the bite with his tongue.

Eddie growls, he actually growls. Steve feels it rumble from Eddie’s throat under his lips as Eddie gently tugs on his hair in frustration. It sends a thrill of electricity straight down Steve’s spine, making him press closer. “Because I wanted to learn how to make fancy recipes for you! You deserve better than box mac and cheese!”

Steve pulls back, just slightly, just enough to see Eddie’s eyes, just enough so Eddie knows he’s serious.

“I love box mac and cheese. Especially when you cut up the little hotdogs to put in it? With the hot sauce? That’s what makes it Macaroni a la Eddie.”

“You’re Steve Harrington,” Eddie says desperately, “you deserve to be wined and dined. And I—”

“Hey,” Steve says, squeezing Eddie’s hips in his hands, shaking them gently. “You’re Eddie Munson, if anyone deserves to be wined and dined it’s you. I’ll get dressed up and take you out every night. Candlelight, roses, you name it.” He can’t resist, doesn’t even try to resist, diving back in for another kiss, gently dancing his fingers from Eddie’s hips to his waist, then smoothing them back down. “I’ll hold your hand and shout about it from the rooftops. ‘I’m dating Eddie Munson and we’re more in love than you’ll ever be!’”

“Always a competition with you jocks,” Eddie rolls his eyes and grouches, but his tone is fond.

“It is, and I’m winning.” Steve pecks a kiss on Eddie’s nose.

Eddie catches his lips, draws him back down for another kiss. It’s less frantic but just as heated. Until Steve’s stomach growls and Eddie breaks away laughing.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I came hungry,” Steve laughs, pressing his forehand against Eddie’s.

“Yeah, well… sorry I messed up dinner. I think my cheffing days are over. Glad you like box macaroni, ‘cause that’s all we’re having from here on out.”

“No way,” Steve says, shaking his head. “I just got used to fancy home cooking, I need to taste your other recipes. And you need a sous chef.”

Eddie looks at him skeptically. “Steve, I almost burnt down the trailer tonight, you really want to try that again?”

“Absolutely,” Steve says immediately, kissing him lightly again.

Eddie still doesn’t look convinced though, so Steve says, “let’s make a deal, ok? You can experiment as much as you want in the kitchen, try anything at any time, as long as you let me help. And, if it’s truly inedible, which I do not for a single second believe is possible, I’ll buy us a pizza. Deal?”

Eddie’s eyes flick between both of Steve’s as he thinks it over. He bites his lip and nods. “Deal.”

“Good,” Steve kisses him again, sealing the deal. He pulls Eddie away from the fridge and nudges him towards his bedroom with a wink. “Go get changed, we’ve got a date tonight.”

Eddie laughs, “what, you don’t like the sweatpants?”

“I love the sweatpants,” Steve says with feeling. “Which is why you need to get changed right now. Otherwise I won’t be able to keep my hands off you for the rest of our date.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart,” Eddie says with a cheeky wink of his own.

Steve playfully slaps at his ass and starts looking for the phone book. “The Works?”

“No olives,” Eddie reminds him.

“Extra olives, got it,” Steve says, picking up the phone.

Eddie sticks his tongue out at him, backing away towards his room.

Steve quickly dials the number and fumbles through the order. They’ve got at least thirty minutes before the delivery shows up. If he hurries, maybe he can take those sweatpants off with his teeth.

[coridallasmultipass]

(( Inspired by the "Aphids" comic bc the dj bro panel had me cryin: https://www.tumblr.com/coridallasmultipass/746888021783298048?source=share ))

Probably went overboard editing this and trying to add emoji subtext, telling a story, you know the deal. Also, the needles evoke a Saw 2 vibe for me, but that's awesome. I'm all about that unsettling mind game shit (not pictured, but I have a spiral on my tongue piercing bead, because I'm dedicated to the aesthetic). Speaking of spirals, yes, that is a Kamina keychain on my phone. In fact, I have all four main characters danglin' off that motherfucker. Shit's heavy, but no pain, no gain. Gotta keep these strifin' fingers in shape, brah. Anyways. I got the green stuff, so hit me up.