#like it would be really cool to be normal. very often i just wish i was normal lmao.

[chilling-seavey]

Hiii im sorry to bother, but something I'd love to see is maybe like (sorry if this seems odd) but george is finally home after a triple header, and he left after they had a disagreement and have been off with each other since then, it's late, it's raining outside, and they are getting touchy - eventually it led to some good comforting adult time.

Silly, anon, no apologies necessary!!! I'm always happy to hear from you and hear your thoughts and ideas and concepts...sometimes even the ones you think are the 'most odd' create the best and most enjoyable pieces of writing :) and the TWIG universe loves realism and your idea here feels very realistic. Hope I did it justice for you x

You didn’t pick him up from the airport like you usually would. Perhaps he should have expected that.

His fault for leaving at the most unideal time, really. You had just had some disagreement about something he now couldn’t even remember but it was enough to have him slamming the car door when you dropped him off at the airport three weeks earlier. Clearly it wasn’t all that important since he couldn’t even remember what the damn argument was about but it’s remanence lingered between the both of you for the entire time he was gone: texts were limited and dry and post-race routine calls were filled with awkward silence of neither of you really knowing what to say. 

It’s just that normally after a triple header you would drop the kids off at his parents’ so you could pick him up from the airport and have a quiet night with just the two of you. It wasn’t like he often had triple headers so really he wasn’t sure why you hadn’t bothered to come out to get him. It really wasn’t asking for much. Was the stupid meaningless forgettable argument from almost a month ago still pissing you off that much that you couldn’t be assed to come get him?

George’s mind offered a plethora of unhelpful silent rants in the back of the taxi on his way home. The darkened streets of suburban England were being doused by an unsurprising amount of rain that night and in his already frustrated state, his mind also added some unhelpful commentary about ‘fucking British weather…no wonder I moved…now I’m back in the pissing rain all the time and—’

The call of the taxi cab driver tore George from his thoughts. His eyes shifted to the front seat and out the windshield to see your house in front of him. At least you left the porch light on for him. How bloody kind. 

George paid the driver and wished him a nice night before getting out of the cab into the cold rain and he retrieved his bags from the trunk. He hurried up the steps with a hunch of his shoulders as if to shield himself from the rain without any sort of cover and he tried the door. Locked.

It wasn’t even 11:00 and you had already locked him out. Grumbling under his breath, George reached into his shoulder bag to find his keys, wet fingers rifling through papers and the like before wrapping around them. He unlocked the front door and stepped inside the silent but comfortably warm house.

Despite his frustration and exhaustion, George couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief at the familiarity of home. He quietly closed the door behind him. Toeing off his waterlogged sneakers, he noticed a light on in the living room across the hall, the warm light spilling across the wood floorboards. He walked towards it, leaving his bags by the stairs. 

You were in the living room, curled up on the armchair with a book in hand and a mug of tea cooling on the table beside you. When he appeared in the doorway, your eyes drifted from your page up to him. 

The two of you were quiet for a moment, as if gauging each other’s mood to decide how you were going to approach this. George cleared his throat and took a step into the room. You slipped your bookmark into your book and closed it. 

“Welcome home,” you greeted plainly.

“Thanks,” he replied, matching your unsure tone, “The kids are asleep?”

“They’re at your parents’,” you answered. 

George’s neutral expression melted into disbelief and then frustration, allowing his voice to rise just a smidge with the awareness that you were alone, “Are you kidding me? So you could have picked me up from the airport after all?”

“No,” you answered plainly.

“Jesus fucking—” George laughed humorlessly with a shake of his head as he set his hands on his hips. He paused. Then continued, “I’ve been gone nearly a month and you couldn’t even have the kindness in your heart to pick me up from the airport in the pissing rain? All because, what? Some stupid argument we had before I left?”

“You’re a grown man, George, you can make it home on your own,” you retorted firmly. 

“Yeah, I can, but it would be nice for my wife to pick me up,” he argued.

“Why?” you shrugged, your tone cold, “I still haven't received a thank you for dropping you off three weeks ago. I’m not your personal chauffeur. A little appreciation wouldn’t kill you.”

George sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face before dropping them at his sides, “Okay, this is ridiculous. We haven’t even been able to have a proper conversation in weeks. Can we just…figure out what the hell is wrong so we can put this behind us?”

You tapped your fingers on the cover of your book. 

“Thank you for driving me to the airport,” George started, “Genuinely. You took time out of your day and…I know it’s always hard for you to say goodbye and to be left alone with the kids, especially for so long so…thank you.”

You chewed at your bottom lip for a moment before nodding faintly in acknowledgment and letting out a small, “You’re welcome.”

George took a half step closer, “Seriously, love, I don’t even remember what we were arguing about but…I hate being so off with you.”

“Me too,” you agreed in a breath.

“Okay, so…can we just call this a truce?” he compromised, “Please?”

You nodded and held your arms out.

A small smile grazed George’s face and he moved over to you in the armchair, bending down with his damp clothes and damp hair from the rain and he pressed a kiss to your cheek as you embraced him. He sighed dreamily against your shoulder, hugging you awkwardly as he bent down to reach you in the chair. His hand rubbed your shoulder. 

“I missed you,” he breathed, “I missed you so much…and I love you.”

“I missed you and love you more,” you retorted. 

George pulled away to stand up properly and he sighed with a faint smile, holding your face in his hands, “I’m sorry if whatever I said in our argument I don’t remember was the cause of all this.”

Your fingers wrapped around his wrists tenderly as he held your face, “I’m sorry too. I can’t remember it either but…I wish I gave you a proper nice goodbye before you left.”

George stroked his thumbs across your cheeks with a cheeky, “You could give me a proper hello, if you want.”

You peaked a brow with a playful smirk, “Oh, really? After a long flight and suffering through taking a taxi in the rain?”

“Mhm,” George leaned down to press a tiny, barely there kiss to your lips, “And since there are no kids to be disturbed…”

You laughed breathily, brushing your nose against his with a, “That wasn’t what I was intending by sending them off.”

“Oh, my darling love, I know you in and out,” George tutted playfully, “I know exactly what you were planning when you sent the kids to my parents’ for tonight.”

“Or,” you teased, “are you just horny because you’ve gone three weeks with only the company of your hand?”

“Okay, listen,” he chuckled shyly as he took a step back, his hands falling into your absentmindedly. 

You stared up at him from the armchair with a fond grin at the hint of a blush that crossed his cheeks and you laced your fingers in his, not letting him stray too far. You had missed just staring at him like that; even with his hair mussed from the rain and his lazy flight-friendly clothes hanging off him. Oh, you just missed him and everything about him. More so with the emotional distance that had been between you the entire time as well. 

Before he could make up some half-assed excuse, you followed your own inquiry up with a, “Because I know I sure am.”

George’s eyes met yours and for a moment you saw the way his jaw tightened at your admission before his face broke into a dazzling grin. His head dropped back with a low, warm laugh that was laced in so prettily with a groan.

“Okay,” he gave your hands a tug to get you out of the chair, his voice laced with unmissable desire, “get on the floor. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it upstairs.”

The better half of thirty minutes later, the two of you were cuddled up on the living room rug like a couple in some Netflix romance film. The living room fireplace was still on, keeping your naked bodies warm amidst the simmering out of your bliss and bathed in the warm flickering light. Outside, the rain poured on, creating the most idyllic setting as you laid there in each other’s arms, the throw blanket ungracefully wrapped around the both of you for some shred of dignity and an attempt at making the floor more comfortable. 

George had his arm around your shoulders as you snuggled against his chest, your hands together in the air between your, fingers tracing fingers and lines of palms. You lingered in that moment of peaceful silence for who knew how long. Finally, he turned to kiss your forehead. 

“Love you,” he whispered against your temple. 

You tilted your face up to look at him, sharing a soft, “Love you,” in return. 

He sealed the declaration with a kiss. 

“We should get off the floor,” he breathed. 

“Mhm…probably,” you agreed. 

You let him untangle himself from around you and you watched as he stood up from the living room floor, the throw blanket slipping off his body to leave him beautifully bare. His back cracked as he straightened himself up. 

“Ooh, fuck,” he grunted faintly, “Yeah, I’m certainly not in my 20s anymore.”

You giggled from the floor and stretched your limbs before tucking your hands behind your head, “You still look just as sexy though as you did back then.”

George shot you a playful wink and reached down to pull the blanket off of your body, “Come on, flirt, up you get. You’re going to be feeling this floor tomorrow too.”

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[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[rainyorca]

You know I love you girl 𓇼 Kenji Sato X Reader

Content warnings: F!reader, hurt, comfort, established relationship, smut, pnv, cunnilings.

Words: 2,029

Notes: Probably my last short one until I finish my long form one. Anyways, I am all about soft kenji so pls enjoy <33.

𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼

Sometimes, not so often, you and Kenji will get into these little disagreements, simple fights in other words. And sometimes, neither of you will apologize, you’ll both go to sleep angry, backs facing each other rather than holding each other. You both need your space after fights, a little time to really sit and think, and then you’ll apologize or he’ll apologize and things will be back to normal. 

But recently, you got upset about something that started this whole problem. You can put up with Kenji’s life as a celebrity, him taking pictures with fans and doing the whole sports celebrity thing but him being gone all the time bothers you a bit. You were fine with it before but something about it just really grinds your gears now. You don't say anything about it at first, that is until he tells you a specific time he's coming home, and then he comes home hours later without saying a word. The first time it happened you brushed it off, he apologized, explained what happened and that was that. 

However, around the fourth time, you explained to him why it was making you upset, and asked him why he kept forgetting to let you know. Kenji isn't a cheater, you know that very well, he would never do anything like that to you but you just can't help but wonder what he's up to.

“I don't understand why it's so hard to at least send me a text,” you say, your tone firm but voice rather soft. You never yell, rarely ever raise your voice, Kenji is the same way except sometimes he can get a little carried away. “I just dont see the problem, you have my location,” he points out, the tone of his voice makes you nearly lose it. You two had been going at it for thirty minutes now and you were about fed up, tired of his excuses. “It doesn't matter that I have your location,” you argued, crossing your arms over your chest, “It’s still important that you tell me you're gonna be a little late, if you just sent me a text, we wouldn't even be having this conversation.” Some harsh words were said from the both of you, the argument about his absence turning into a fight about a plethora of other things. Eventually you gave up, frustrated and upset, eyes stinging with tears, you decided to go to bed a little earlier that night. 

About an hour later, you're still awake, staring at the dark ceiling. You left the curtains open to let some cool light from the city and moon pour in. The familiar click of the door opening could be heard throughout the silent room, you turn around, back facing the door to avoid any contact. Kenji stands in the doorway, shirtless, the scent of his body wash rushes into the room, sea salt and cedar. He stares at your backside covered by the silk blankets, a pang of guilt stabs him in the heart. You hear the door close softly, squeezing your eyes shut to pretend you're asleep as he gets in bed with you. His eyes linger on your face for a while.

“I know you’re awake,” he says, sitting up right in the bed, “I’ve seen you asleep thousands of times and I know your face doesn't look anything like that.” His words make you sigh, opening your tired eyes slowly, glaring at him. He feels bad, you can tell just by the way he's staring down at you. “Look, I'm sorry,” he finally says, “I know I should text you when I'm gonna be longer, and honestly I get a little tired of being out all the time.” 

“I wish I could be here with you every moment of the day and night,” he continues, reaching under the blanket and grabbing one of your hands, “and I'm sorry for what I said, I didn't mean any of it.” He places a gentle kiss on your palm, his lips soft against your skin. You think for a moment, appreciating the fact that he's apologizing even if it's an hour later. “I'm sorry too,” you say softly, voice muffled, “I just wish I could spend more time with you.” 

“I know,” he hums, “I do too.” You stare at each other for a minute in silence before Kenji suddenly pulls the blanket down lower on your body. A smile graces his face when he sees you wearing one of his shirts, he toys with the fabric momentarily before gently pushing you onto your back. Before you can say anything he crawls on top of you, pressing his lips onto your forehead before grabbing your waist and scooting you up further on your pillow a bit. Kenji was rather skilled with his hands, and his silence. He was practically fluent in touches, enough to make you forget the events of what happened earlier. His lips travel to your neck as his hands explore your somewhat exposed body, running them up through the shirt and then down to your bare thighs. His breath gentle against your supple neck, nipping and kissing at your wonderful skin. He pulls away, trailing kisses down to where the shirt starts and then he sits up, nestling himself between your legs and placing gentle, mellow kisses on your legs. It's not long before he reaches your thighs, giving them the same treatment he had the rest of your body. He places his hands on your thighs, holding your legs open and rubbing your skin with his thumbs. 

His lithe fingers curl under your panties suddenly, moving them to the side. It catches you off guard, so naturally you flinch, looking down at him with glossed over eyes. “Relax,” he breathes, his breath fanning over your already soaked cunt, “I just wanna make it up to you.” You watch him open his mouth slowly, sticking his tongue out and pressing it against your clit. The feeling makes you twitch and you lay your head on the pillow with a quiet whimper. You feel him wrap his lips around the sensitive bud, sucking and licking softly. He was without a doubt, so excellently skilled at this, you would mark it as another language he was fluent in. Surrounded by your thighs, his fingers pressing into your skin and leaving red marks with his short nails, his mouth working at your core. Everything about this moment had you on edge. His tongue eventually slips into your cunt, keeping a reasonable pace as he watches you writhe simply because of his mouth. 

He gasps into your cunt, pulling away briefly before burying his head between your legs again. His eyes closed, determined expression written all over his slicked face. At this point, hungrily, rolling your hips into his mouth, his nose bumping your clit ever so often. He reaches up, pressing a hand on your stomach. “Stop moving, love,” he breathes, pulling away from your weeping cunt, “let me take care of you.” Your hands find their way to his hair, pulling on his black locks when his mouth meets your cunt again. 

“Kenji,” you breathe, your head moving side to side on the satin pillow. The familiar heat pools in your stomach, threatening to release in an intense orgasm, but the feeling is pulled away from you along with Kenji’s mouth. “I know, I know,” he says softly when you let out a noise of protest, “I’ll let you feel it in a minute.” You watch him tug his sweats off, along with his boxers. He grabs his cock with a large hand, angling so his flushed tip rubs against your dripping entrance. He leans down, his lips graze over your neck. You tilt your head up, sucking in a breath when you feel him slide into you. “Fuck,” he sighs, a grin appearing on his sculpted face, “it’s been so long.” His breathing is shaky as he slides deeper into you, filling you to the brim until his tip nuzzles just perfectly against your sweet spot. He stretches you out pleasantly, your plush walls already tightening around him. You see his adam's apple bob with a swallow, his eyes trained on your face, focused on your contorted expression of pleasure. A whimper slips off your tongue as he pulls out slowly before pressing back in. Your eyes close as he continues to thrust into you, mouth open in a silent moan. 

With every slow, deep thrust of his hips, stars blur your vision, eyes watering as he fucks the tears out of you. “Ken–” you whine, breathless and quiet, each stroke practically taking your breath away. “I wanna hear you, baby,” he says, his voice hoarse but gentle. Another deep thrust, hitting your sweet spot perfectly makes you cry out, reaching up and digging your nails into his back. The feeling of your nails makes goosebumps rise on his skin, knowing that you're gonna leave marks for him to see in the morning. He smiles, completely drunk on the feeling of your warm cunt, a quiet chuckle, barely audible, heard from his filthy lips. 

“Even when im gone,” he groans, fucking into you with a bit of a quicker pace now, but not too fast, “when im busy, you know I still think about you. You’re always on my mind.” The sound of his groans fills the room, mixed with your soft moans. “You feel so good,” he grunts, his hips connecting to yours before pulling back slowly, “seriously, all I think about is you and this perfect cunt that I’ve missed so much.” 

His soft, wet lips graze yours, making you open your lidded eyes. “Kiss me,” he says, firmly, “please, hm?” His little hum makes you lose your mind, you love it when he does that. You cup his face, pulling him down just a bit until your lips finally connect. He moans into your mouth, slipping his tongue inside by force almost. Your back arches, thighs tighten as he continues to repeatedly hit that sweet spot in you. 

The heat pools inside you again, your moans and ragged breathing picking up in volume, his thrusts still continuing at the same, even pace. “Kenji—ah—fuck, Kenji—!” You mewl, throwing your head back, parting from the heated kiss with him. “Gonna cum for me?” He says, dirty but still in that same gentle tone, “hm?” 

“Y-Yes,” you gasp out, “ah, yes.” He smiles again, your whiny pleads sending shivers down his spine as the pleasure climbs up yours. Your plush walls tighten around him like a vice as your climax builds up in you. “Good girl, cum for me” he whispers, his lips trailing up the line of your jaw. It’s almost as if those simple words were the signal for you, because seconds later your peak crests and you cum all over his cock. You cry out for him, desperately arching your back and scratching lines into his with your nails. He continues to thrust into you, drawing out your orgasm as your tears fall just as they had before. At this point, you're too blinded by your orgasm and his cock to even tell if he’s cumming himself.  

Your whole body shudders as you come to rest back on the bed, the silk sheets sticking to your sweaty skin. He sits up, staring at your fucked out state. Your chest rises slowly as you attempt to chase your breath, your eyes shut tightly, mouth open and brows furrowed. Both your arms sprawled out about your head, twitching as you came down from your release. He slowly pulls his softening cock out of you, still watching your face for any change. He gets up, leaving the room momentarily before returning with a towel, carefully and gently, he removes your panties and cleans you up before cleaning himself up. He gets you a new pair of panties before snuggling back into bed with you, pulling you into his arms tightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head. You squeeze your eyes shut, pulling him in even tighter.  

𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 2 - First (Second) Introductions

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

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

SUMMARY

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

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

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

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

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

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Tim Drake was an obsessive creature by nature. Ever since he was little, he’d always been easily swallowed by his obsessions. His wants and desires, the little things that fascinated him. And, more than that, he never fought it. He gave himself into it, wholly. It was how he’d gotten this far in life.

He’d taught himself how to code, how to hack. He discovered Batman and Nightwing’s true identities. He’d learnt how to fight, how to keep the city safe, how to fling oneself off a building without fainting. He’s taped the family back together again and again after every splinter. He was one of only two Robins left, and that would soon be the only once Bruce retired and Damian graduated.

And this was all done through obsession. And it was obsession. He was self-aware enough to know that. While the rest of the family often indulged in delusions, he never had the time for them. He’d spent countless nights pushing his lagging body along with caffeine and sheer willpower. He’d often forget to sleep or eat even on the calmer days. All that was to say, Tim Drake was obsessive.

But, his obsessions never lasted. Sure, he’d keep the skills and the relationships he’d make, but when the dust settled, he’d find himself feeling empty. Tim Drake was obsessive yes, but his true obsession was the conquest. The rush he’d get when he finally claimed a new skill, a new person, a new piece of knowledge or wisdom.

And then, too quickly, far too quickly, the rush would disappear. The tingle in his spine would leave, the energy would disappear, and that feverish nature of his would flatten. Cool down. The others in the family knew it as one of his ‘moods’, but Tim thought it was probably more than that. Still, he was definitely in one of them right now.

It didn’t matter. None of it really mattered. The point was, right now, he was quite simply depressed. Bummed out, if you would. He’d finished a mission from Bruce, one that had taken him months of desperate, undying effort, and it was now done. And he didn’t have anything to do.

It sucked.

Boredom was a sinister demon. While Tim was by far the most emotionally stable of the family, he was still, well- not. Not by a long shot, honestly. The League’s mandatory therapy sessions had confirmed that. He just needed something to entertain himself, and quick. Usually, on a day like this, he’d be at home working on any random degree.

Unfortunately, he had responsibilities. He could not alleviate his boredom, because he was in the most boring place on earth.

A party. Not a party by any normal person’s standards, but one of his adoptive father’s galas. Even more horrifying, Bruce Wayne was in attendance. He was doing his billionaire playboy persona, and Tim couldn’t stomach it. It was no shock no one else had shown up. Even Dick was busy in Bludhaven, and he sometimes enjoyed these. Sometimes.

And once again, as every year, the birthday girl was nowhere to be seen.

Tim’s eyes rove over the very boring gala. Your gala, for your birthday. You weren’t here, because you never were. He couldn’t blame you. These balls sucked, even the better ones. This one was miserable, and the atmosphere was sombre. While it was your birthday, it was more than that, a day of death.

Your family had died, Bruce’s new wife had died, and all the siblings he never really got the opportunity to meet, gone in a brilliant flash.

And Jason. Jason, who now walked the earth again, flesh and blood. Jason, who tore himself through a wooden coffin and grave dirt. Jason, who even Dick couldn’t seem to bring back into the family. Jason, alive and well and probably spending the night at Roy’s house. It was still the anniversary of his death, and while Jason did his best to put on a front, anyone with half a brain could tell he found today… upsetting.

But, he was alive. That was more than Tim could say for your family.

None of these people knew that. They saw one of the great Wayne’s dead, and they mourned. They saw the new wife and step-children of Bruce Wayne dead, and they lamented. Tim was sure most of it was faked, at least in this gala. The rest of the city truly grieved the Wayne family's tragedy. Especially Jason, one of the princes of the city. But here? No, they just wanted to rub shoulders with Bruce.

The man you very clearly insisted had never been your father, and never would be, was… probably a little sad. Tim was probably a little sadistically pleased about that. He was bored, alright? Anyway, Bruce did not know how to deal with you, and you with him. Both of you were stubborn people, unable to communicate or reach a place of cooperation. You never showed up to the galas or the manor, you did everything in your power to never have to interact with anyone from the family. The only reason you even still lived in Gotham was to be close to your dead family. And above all, you made sure that everyone knew how much you hated Bruce. That the sight of his aging face made you nauseous. Everyone else found that hilarious, of course.

And Bruce, because he was stubborn, kept trying to reach you, despite your angry protests. Even if he had absolutely zero legal ties to you, he still kept trying. And so, another birthday party passes without its leading star. The memorial tomorrow would be missing you too. Christmas, easter, hanukkah, new years, Rosh Hashanah, you refused to show up to any of them.

Still, he had to agree with Bruce. They couldn’t just leave you. Not with the way you were.

You’d once quietly admitted to him that you hoped you’d one day go to sleep and not wake up. That you’d rot away in your room, disappear from the world entirely. That was one of the last few times he talked to you face-to-face. And then a few months after that, you’d blocked him on all social media.

He’d read hundreds of books on therapy, and he knew what suicidal idealisation looked like. Luckily for his sanity, he was not your therapist, nor was he your keeper.

That was poor old Dick’s job, and he was, hilariously, failing at it. Badly. Technically, you were the second massive failure Dick had taken on, and it was starting to show in his mental state. Old Dickie was spending more and more time in Bludhaven, preferring to patrol there instead of Gotham. Still, he insisted he could get through to you. Tim was doubtful. Dick had better luck with Jason, of all people.

Jason actually wanted to be a part of this family. You hated them all, viciously. And so, you’d obviously never show up at-

Wait. Wait, no. He definitely recognised that face. Why the hell were you here? Well, that was irritating. Tim prided himself on being prepared for any situation, for any unlikelihood. He was the son who would be taking over Wayne Enterprises, after all.

You being in the same room as Bruce Wayne was impossible. Completely impossible. At least willingly. You should be kicking and screaming, scratching like a hellcat at anyone who tried to make you stay. Instead, you’re standing in the middle of a crowd, chugging back champagne like your life depends on it. He could already imagine the chaos the media would be starting, to his misery. ‘Estranged ex-Wayne shows up at birthday gala and drinks like a fish’. Well, he had been complaining about being bored. Careful what you wish for, and all.

Shit. He was not prepared for this.

He was, despite it being your birthday, not at all expecting you to be here. He didn’t even have a present. Shit. He pulls out his phone and shoots off an order to his assistant, who would probably go to Dick’s for help.

He sees you over there, obviously uncomfortable, and realises he should probably rescue you. He tells himself he should, that he’s gonna get up and go do it.

Instead, he crosses his legs at the ankle, leans back in his chair, and watches. You won’t catch him off guard twice. He has his pride, after all.

You throw another glass of champagne back. Tim winces. Okay, maybe you might. This was all a bit of a shock. And the rest of the gala seemed just as surprised at your appearance as he was. They obviously didn’t know what to do about you, creating a wide ring of people who refused to step closer to you. And you seem oblivious to the social pariah you have suddenly become. Or maybe uncaring, as you’ve already claimed an entire buffet table and champagne tray for yourself.

Just… just drinking. You seem to only care about ingesting more alcohol and confectionaries. It’s your twenty-first, but uh… this definitely doesn’t look like the first time you’ve been drinking. Not that he cared if this was your first time drinking. He’d done his fair share of illegal activities. Sure, they were mostly superhero stuff, but still illegal. Frankly, it’s kind of impressive. You might even be able to drink Jason or Alfred under the table.

…Good for you, he guesses. A talent’s a talent.

He realises, after a few minutes, that you have absolutely zero plans of socialising. You’d showed up here of your own free will, and then just scared off anyone who’d talk to you. Not that there’d be many who’d be interested in talking to the swaying woman who looked like a threat to herself and everyone around her. No, you were still just drinking. You’d gotten halfway down the buffet table, trying every single cake and a few of the savoury items as well.

You kept circling back to have more champagne and Victorian sponge, and then you’d go back to wherever you were in the buffet and try something from there. Your choices seemed sporadic, and more than once you spat something back out into a napkin. You look at some of the dishes like you think they might be poisonous, taking wide circles around them.

He rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward to press his face to his intertwined fingers. He’s definitely past the point where he should go help you. You’re making a mess, both physically and socially, and yet, he still just sits there. He can’t help himself, it’s interesting.

“Tim.”

Uh oh, your knight in shining armor is here. Or well, dark. Bruce had never been known for pastels. Tim turns his head to the giant man blocking out the light, giving his father and leader a smile.

“Hey Dad,” he greets, in an open attempt at manipulation.

Bruce shakes his head, not caving begrudgingly like he usually did. Shit, that usually worked. Guess he must be actually mad. He glances from Tim to the object of Tim’s apt fascination. You. He turns back, looking down at Tim with his ‘I’m trying to be a good dad’ look. It’s not very convincing.

“How long has she been doing this?” Bruce asks, straight to the point as always.

“Twenty-seven minutes. You’re ruining my process,” Tim replies, telling B to screw off in the kindest way possible. He doesn’t take the hint, because he’s a bit of an ass. Even Batman fanboy Tim could recognise that.

“You can’t just count when someone is getting drunk in front of the public. You need to actually do something.” Bruce shakes his head, hand lifting to massage his brow. It was just that easy to give the old man a migraine. Poor baby probably needed some Ibruprofen. Tim had some in his pocket, but he wasn’t going to offer.

“I was going to eventually. And aren’t you curious? She refuses to show her face for months, and then pops out of the blue to… what? Steal from your liquor cabinet? She knows she doesn’t have to come to get whatever she wants,” Tim ignores B’s nagging, turning his gaze back to you. You’re having a love affair with that cake, honestly. Oh, you’re going for another shot… You do realise the stuff you’re chugging goes for millions, right?

You probably don’t care. You never had about money.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s here, and we should be taking care of her. This is obviously her reaching out for help, and she obviously needs it,” B insists, splaying his worn and scarred hands over the table. Tim has the same hands, everyone in the family does. Vigilante work left scars and callouses.

“Then why hasn’t she come over here, yet? My theory is she’s just trying to smear your good image. Which doesn’t need smearing in the first place, but who understands the minds of young, drunk and miserable women?” Certainly not Tim, as he had proven in his relationship with Stephanie.

“Tim, enough with the sass. Go and help her.”

“She’s not your responsibility anymore, B.”

“Her mother would disagree. Now go,” Bruce orders, his words final. Because they always are, in the end.

Tim groans, letting his head fall back. He glares at the ceiling and all the sparkling diamonds strewn about, and then he pulls himself to his feet. Cracks his shoulders, and parts the Red Sea with a glance. The crowd in the gala splits so the young heir can easily find his way through, and he gives everyone he passes a kind smile.

He strides up to your side, calmly waiting for you to notice him. You’re still imbibing, completely oblivious to his presence. It’s funny. And fascinating. Usually, you were so paranoid that he wondered how you weren’t always a single breath away from a panic attack. Like a feral animal, ready at a moment’s notice to fight or flight.

He sees that you’re dealing with those social anxieties in a way befitting the Wayne name. Which is to say, absolutely shit. His head tilts eyes flickering over you. You don’t look too good, which is no real surprise. Even with your people’s perfect styling, they can’t cover up the shaking and sweating in your form. It might just be anxiety, but knowing you, it’s probably not. He wonders if you even notice how sick you are.

You don’t look like you notice much of anything. Maybe the cake, but that seemed to be pushing it.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” Tim starts but is unable to continue when you spin on your heel and drop your flute of champagne. It crashes to the ground, and he finds his socks becoming uncomfortably wet.

The two of you look up from the mess and meet gazes. Your mouth is open in horror, eyes comically wide. Tim has to bite the inside of his lip so as not to immediately burst into laughter.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, you do a weird crouch-pop-up movement, and then your eyes swivel around frantically, “I’m- am I supposed to clean this up? I can totally clean this up.”

You look just about ready to kneel into a pile of thin glass shards, so Tim stops you. Because God knows Bruce would hang him from the rafters if he didn’t.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Somebody else will handle this. It’s your birthday after all, right?” he says, giving you a charming smile. It’s sort of a shock when you don’t scoff at him, and instead just stand there with a deer-in-headlights sort of look.

“Hey, are you alright?” Tim asks when you don’t say anything else.

You startle, and then blink at him rapidly. Distracted and inebriated. Lovely. He doesn’t think you know what you’re doing here either, which was a bad sign for your mental health. Have you been refusing to go to your therapist again?

It wasn’t like he went either, so he couldn’t judge.

“I’m good,” you say, your words only slightly slurred. You blink again, your head cants towards the floor, and then you glance back up at him. You look like he’s caught you committing a crime. “Do you- uh, want some of the cake? Sorry for stealing it all, it’s really good.”

You were acting… really strange. Tim found himself with the undeniable urge to follow along with your strangeness.

“You know what? Yes, yes I would,” he says, taking one of the little plates of strawberry cake and a delicate three-tonged fork. He scoops up some of the cake, the cream and jam, and eats. Chewing he keeps staring at you, as you fidget awkwardly. It’s good, but all the food here’s good.

“Did you like it?” you try to smile at him, but it looks more like a grimace.

“I did. Javier did really well with these desserts,” Tim says, before waving over one of the staff to clean up the mess the two of you are ignoring. You look surprised when he offers an arm to guide you away, and he wonders if you’ll accept it. He can’t imagine a world where you would, but today seems to be full of surprises. In the end, you do, but it takes you a good five seconds of awkward staring before you take it.

He takes you over to one of the tables, careful to make sure you don’t slip and fall face-first into the spreading champagne puddle.

“Oh. Is he the chef?”

“He’s the pâtissier.”

You give him a blank stare. Right, you probably don't speak French.

“The pastry chef,” Tim clarifies, as he helps you find your chair. You slump down with zero grace, and for a second Tim thinks you’ll fall right off. You manage not to with a desperate grasp at the table. Good for you.

“Oh, cool. That’s super cool. I think I love this Javier guy, honestly.”

Tim snorts, taking his own seat, “He has that effect on people.”

You’re not looking at him, instead grimacing at the mess you made that two of the staff are cleaning up. Tim’s sort of surprised. It wasn’t that you had been particularly mean to the employees before, but you rarely acknowledged them. You had barely acknowledged anyone, completely unaware of your effect on the greater world. You didn’t care. To be fair, it didn’t seem like you cared about anything but your family’s gravestones and memorials.

Still, there was definitely something different about you, today. And he couldn’t blame it all on the alcohol. Today, you looked a little green about the whole accident. Like you actually gave a shit. Maybe you’d had a change of heart. He hoped you had, for Dick’s sake. You looked more alive, even if it was a confused, embarrassed, uncomfortable sort of alive. It was still an improvement. Usually, your expression was dead, a blank stare. It reminded him of Jason’s as he’d been lowered into the ground.

The two of you wouldn’t like that comparison. And it’s hypocritical too, Tim knows he sometimes resembles a zombie after one of his little sessions.

He can’t help himself. He’s curious, so damn curious. What had prompted this miraculous shift? And plus, you could still be planning something, even if it was seeming more and more like you’d stumbled in here drunk and confused, not able to remember you hated them all. Maybe you had a concussion or something. A head wound sounded like a good explanation for all this.

“Why’d you show up here today?” he finally asks, caving quickly to his need to understand.

You give him a weird look like he’s the one being strange.

“It’s my birthday.”

Tim tilts his head. “That it is.”

“Was that- that the wrong answer?”

“I don’t know, was it?” Tim knows he should stop playing with you. You’re making it far too easy, though. And he's bored, damn it.

“I don’t know either. That’s… that’s why I’m asking you.”

Before he can react to the strangeness of that comment some (awfully rudely, might he add) intrude on your conversation. One of the board members of W.E., someone he had to pay the proper respect to. When his hand slaps down on Tim’s shoulder, he has to suppress a withering sigh. There were less fun parts to his job, and this was one of them

“Drake! It’s so good to see you,” the old man greets, and it takes even Tim a second to remember his name.

“Lancaster! You as well,” Tim replies, noticing your barely there flinch.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you tonight. My project’s funds are running a little low, and everyone knows you’re the one to go to for an easier time. Bruce is a great leader but…” the man chuckles, and Tim grins at him. It’s fake, of course. When in Rome, they say.

“A bit strict, yes. I have struggled with his attitude before, too.” Understatement of the century.

Tim glances at your quiet form, eyes set on the tablecloth in front of you. Even still it’s obvious you’re listening to their conversation, head cocked just slightly to the right. The board member doesn’t even seem to notice you. Tim’s curious if he recognises you.

You’d been out of the public eye for so long he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. That’s the way you’d wanted it to be, after all.

“But let’s talk about this later, I’m entertaining a very tipsy birthday girl at the moment,” Tim says, hoping you don’t mind him using you as an excuse.

“Oh wow!” Lancaster cries, at your mere presence. Subtlety is not this man’s strength, “I didn’t see you there. Wow, jeez. Didn’t think you’d be here today. What made you change your mind?”

You give him a long, assessing look. Whatever you find makes you pull an expression like you sucked on a sour lemon.

“My assistant forced me to,” you answer honestly. Seems you’ve realised that ‘it’s your birthday’ isn’t an adequate reason. Not that you’ve never failed to reject any and all pressure to attend these events before. Like Tim had said, kicking and screaming.

“Ha! I know the feeling. Well, I’ll leave you two kids to it. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” the old man chortles, gives you a wink, and leaves. Your gaze follows him into the crowd, and stays there, even when he disappears behind it.

It’s quiet for a moment. Tim waits for you to speak first.

“Who was that man?” you finally ask.

“Charles Lancaster, one of the newest board members of Wayne Enterprises,” Tim says, surprised you’re curious. You’d never been interested in W.E. or anything involving the family. Surprised, surprised, surprised. He should just accept any odd behaviour from you at this point, start expecting it.

You slump in your chair, pressing your forehead against the table. Then, you let out a long, unhappy, groan. Tim gets it, he really does. He does not get what you do next.

Your hands slap against your cheeks, and Tim jerks in his seat. Okay, maybe Bruce was right, you probably do need help. He couldn’t imagine the big guy sending you to Arkham, though. It was obvious you were only a threat to yourself. You take a deep breath, completely ignore his confused stare and get to your feet.

And you immediately fall sideways.

Tim’s arm shoots out, grabbing yours before you crash into the shining marble floors. You look down at him, mirroring his shocked expression. You look down further down, and Tim follows your gaze.

Your stilettoed heel looks the same as it always does. Still, you stare at it like it’s a shark biting at your toes. Tim thinks this is one of the first real emotions you’ve shown in months, and it’s desperate fear of your shoes.

“I told her I can’t wear heels,” you say, more to yourself than him.

“What? Yes, you can. You wear heels to all these events,” he replies anyway.

“What- Well, I meant… heels this tall. They’re really tall.”

He just blinks at you, at the inanity of your statement. They were really tall, but Tim had seen you wear taller. Why were you lying about something like this? Had you drunk too much and were too embarrassed to mention it? Or maybe you’d hurt yourself?

He looks down at your ankle again. No, the flesh seems unharmed. And you hadn’t been walking with a limp earlier, you were just stumbling around now. Must really just be too much champagne. You’d already dropped a glass earlier and had been obviously embarrassed by it. Even if Jeanine had swept in just like she was supposed to, fixing the situation. You’d apologised profusely.

He’d never heard you apologise before. It’s… well, it’s strange. That’s the only way he can describe this encounter.

“You can let go of me now. Please?”

Tim lets you go, and you rub your arm. Shit, he grabbed you too hard. He knew you were on the delicate side, wasting away both mentally and physically. You didn’t take care of yourself and rarely even left your apartment. Even now you looked oddly sickly.

“I’m going to uh- I have to go pee,” you say, and immediately wince at your words.

Tim, without thinking, replies, “Go piss girl.”

You make a shocked choke of laughter, nod at him, and then run off as fast as you can while grasping every piece of furniture in your reach. You look genuinely ridiculous. Well, it’s not the first time a Wayne gala has turned into a clown show. Compared to Dick’s younger years, this was completely unnoticeable.

Bruce still loved to complain about the chandelier he’d broken in an impromptu trapeze show. It’d been diamond, and over a hundred years old. The ones above him now were just as expensive, but not vintage. Jason thought it was hilariously funny, and was always trying to get Dick to do it again. Luckily, Dick had matured, if only a little bit.

Speaking of which, this is a perfect opportunity to mess with Dick. He pulls out his phone and the secure channel they use to communicate. Dick was in Bludhaven right now, probably on patrol. Doing something fun. Sure, tonight had gotten more interesting, but you’d just run off and with you his only entertainment. Tim was bitterly envious of Dick’s fun, and because of that, he had to make Dick just a little more miserable. Just to make things even, of course.

‘Smartest_Robin’: guess who just showed up to her own birthday party?

‘Underwear_guy’: you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. why?

‘Smartest_Robin’: hell if I know. she’s drunk as hell lmao

‘Underwear_guy’: please don’t let her do anything stupid.

‘Smartest_Robin’: yeah, yeah. i’m the idiot who has to deal with the fallout anyway

‘Underwear_guy’: how’s it feel being the ‘favourite son’?

Tim snorts. The media often called him that, purely because it was well known he was the one inheriting W.E. It was hot gossip that it was Tim and not Damian, the proudly stated ‘blood son’. They didn’t know Damian was inheriting an even greater responsibility. And it wasn’t like he particularly wanted it, he just knew he was best for the job and it helped the time pass in between missions. It was fun sometimes, too. He enjoyed giving Luthor Corp a good thrashing every now and then.

‘Smartest_Robin’: same as always. im bored, anything interesting going on over there?

‘Underwear_guy’: bludhaven’s my city, dickhead. go do taxes or something

Tim sighs, and puts the phone back down. He had to try, at least. When it becomes obvious you are absolutely not returning from the bathrooms anytime soon, he gets up, adjusts his cuffs, and walks back off into the fray.

He greets and shakes hands, he takes photos and makes deals. It’s all a blur, really. He does it with half his attention, the other focused entirely on you. Amidst all this pomp and splendour an intriguing new mystery has been born. A puzzle to hold his attention, just for long enough till he gets to the next one. And your sudden shift in personality is more than enough. And if he focused on that, he could get through all this politics.

He’s talking up a chairman of a rival company when the lights go out. When the windows shatter inwards, his heart starts to race. And when familiar masked thugs break in through the wide open doors, guns up and ready, he’s already prepared for the fight. People start screaming, scrambling, and even more gunmen follow through the side exits. While guards raise their own firearms, everybody knows they’re completely outnumbered.

The Joker’s here, and he’s brought his army. Well, shit, all this excitement, and Tim left his suit upstairs. Guess he’ll have to improvise.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[se-rae2]

Yandere! Knight— intriguing as you were, he can't grasp exactly why he felt as drawn to you as he did, considering how it was your first meeting.

Mysterious (?) Reader

You'd never been particularly skilled at handling unexpected company.

You much preferred your cottage accompanied by the comfortable silences brought on by the deeper depths of the woods, more so than the bustling town life.

The forest greens and field flowers connected themselves with your very soul, a truth that kept you from leaving the seemingly never-ending maze of trees and bushes, no matter how much the loneliness haunted you.

When visitors arrived—unannounced, as they often did—it felt like an intrusion on something sacred. Their voices were too sharp, their presence too loud, as though they didn’t belong among the whispering leaves and soft sighs of the wind.

You struggled to find the right words or the right expressions, stumbling over pleasantries while your mind ached to retreat, to fold itself back into the woods where you felt understood. It was easier to talk to the brook that babbled just beyond the garden, to share secrets with the wildflowers that bloomed defiantly along the path.

People, after all, didn’t understand silence. They filled it with noise, with questions you didn’t want to answer, as though the quiet was a thing to be conquered rather than cherished. And when they left—because they always did—you would stand at the door, your hands still clutching the warmth of the teacups they had touched, and exhale relief into the cool, evergreen air.

The forest would welcome you back, unconditionally, as though you’d never been interrupted at all. That's something that would never change.

You were one with the forest, one with the birds and bees, and one with your flowers—that is, until he came along.

A wounded knight knocking on the doors of your humble home, bringing the metallic sting of blood and death in his wake.

Contrary to his belief, and much to his suprise, you did not flinch at the sight of his bloodied armour. Not at his scarred face, nor his stained sword or calloused hands. No. Instead, you had welcomed him into your home without so much as a wince, let him sit on your chair, near your fireplace, and had offered him a cup of tea.

He nods. Yes.

Perhaps he shouldn't be so trusting. For all he knows, your concoction of herbs was a means of poisoning him in his already vulnerable state. The sweet scent wafting through the air, likely coming from your kitchen, was a means of distraction, one that would kill him.

He knows that.

He shouldn't trust a damn stranger in the middle of gods-knows-where after a fucking battle. No, he shouldn't. They taught him better than this- and yet, your welcoming smile and calloused hands (how did that happen? why? who-?) disarms him.

He accepts the tea and almost spits it out. It's sweet. Too sweet.

He doesn't.

He downs the whole thing, one thing leads to another, and he suddenly finds you on your knees, tending to the wound on his leg.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Gods, he wishes you'd stay there forever, between his legs. You pretty little head near his–

Your familiarity with the scent of battle intrigued him, something that showed on his face and his unrelenting stare as you wrapped makeshift bandages on the wounds on his calf. His armour long gone and far from his reach.

He almost wishes you'd lie on his lap, let his hands run through your hair– Gods, he'll be good. He'll be so good.

You stand up, and he snaps back to reality. His attention all on you. For a second, you feel as though you'd shrink under his intense gaze.

"It's– uh, getting late. I don't really have any extra room or bedding. Normally, I'd offer you the couch, but with those wounds... I guess you'll just have to take the bed."

Normally? Do you do this often—offering strangers your bed, letting them bask in your warmth? The thought of some other bastard lying beside you twists something sharp in his gut, a mix of unease and something he can't quite swallow.

Before you could turn around, a bit unnerved with his silence, he reaches for your arm, his touch stopping you in your tracks. You let out a small yelp, startled. Quickly, as if to cover the moment, he blurts out, "We could share the bed. I mean—surely it’s not too small for the two of us, right? I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable."

You try to find any reason to say no—it’s probably too small for both of us, you move a lot in your sleep—but he counters every excuse with an ease that leaves you speechless. Somehow, he makes sharing the bed feel like the only logical choice.

You nod, and he beams.

Weird, considering how the two of you just met, but you don't dwell on it for too long. He, on the other hand, does the exact opposite.

He's too fucking excited to be near you, despite the fact that mere moments ago, he was convinced you were going to poison him. Right now, he thinks he wouldn’t even mind if you did.

Why the fuck was he acting—feeling—like this?

Next

AGHHHHH this is actually my 1st time writing a yandere fic, so I'm so so very excited!! Anyway, for those who are wondering why it might seem a lil longer than the og fic I posted, that's cause it is. I forgot to edit this one so I decided that leaving it be wasn't an option. Hope you like it!!

[electraslight]

hello! inquiring minds want to know about your thoughts on gus. in particular the mask w the third eye + the third eye you drew him with a couple times. i've always been a little disappointed with how little the show expanded on the stuff we saw in e.g. labyrinth runners and you always have interesting things to say (or make up on the spot :P) about your designs ^^

i love gus!! hes so charming and basically every episode with a gus subplot is good. the stuff about the illusionists graveyard and gus protecting it is really cool and gets me thinking about how much gus knows about magical artifacts (he should be a historian not a teacher when hes older imo) and labyrinth runners is one of my favorite episodes. i think the specific way hunter and gus connect is really well written and i wish wed seen them interact more after that (but i just generally very much enjoy their friendship). I think people often talk about gus as if it was hunter specifically that 'stole' his screentime but like, are we forgetting gus and willow were barely used in favor of episodes trying to teach a 5 year old child concepts hes too young for lol. season one was so poorly paced in comparison to s2 that yeah, i dont think it was hunter that took from gus specifically. you could say the same thing about amity

I do however think willow's very shoehorned 'arc' in s3 would have fit way better with gus, who has 1. forced himself to keep up a peppy attitude and uplift everyone else even though hes terrified for his dad and also is like. 12. 2. has been known to have intense involuntary magic outbursts that can sometimes induce flashbacks of your worst moments ever, and 3. you can still do the thing where hunter talks them down bc like. theyve done this before. like i feel like honestly willow had completed her arc in season 2 and after that most willow stuff was her trying to convince everyone else she was better now. I have a lot of issues with how huntlow kind of erased willow and gus's friendship too, which i always though was rlly cute, but again i digress

back to my gus design, the 'third eye' is facepaint like willow or amity's markings, but while hes using his powers it can appear to move around. hes not pictured with the mask here but he has a set of comedy and tradgedy masks (the blight twins have this insignia too but i havent drawn them casually yet) Gus has satyr blood (his grandparent was one of the last satyrs to interact with witches before they left to live in the forest after their lifestyle was no longer supported. God damn it belos) so his ears are bigger than other witches and hes very short.

anyway. i like gus a normal amount. thanks for asking!

[ramblinscramblin]

Hey there! I read your headcanons and they are pretty cool! I wanted to ask for small headcanons myself

Sniper, Scout and Pauling discovers that reader is a vampire! How will they react?

Reader can be any pronounce you want. You can do romantic or platonic, whatever is comfortable with you!

-💀🌌

→With a vampire!Reader!

Genre: fluff, a lil silly

Characters: Sniper, Scout, and Pauling Warning: canon typical gore.

I love love love this request, thank you so much! This was kind of a hard prompt to get ideas for for some reason. Also I’ve actually never written for Pauling before, let’s hope I get her right!

Sniper

Sniper took note of your gloomy and loner disposition right away.

It’s part of the reason he bothered getting close to you in the first place.

He’s observant so he probably noticed everything separately even if he hadn’t fully put it together yet. Definitely took note of your fangs.

The dislike of garlic, avoiding the sun, never seen eating anything, never seeming flushed or red, your sunken in look, everyone sort of already joked about it.

So he wasn’t all too shocked when you told him.

I honestly imagine he feels pretty threatened by you.

He is generally distrusting of people normally, so you being a night stalking blood drinking beasty doesn’t do much to quell his anxieties.

Couldn’t help but feel intrigued though, can't help but feel compelled by you, even despite his reservations he can't really keep away for long.

The idea of a vampire I feel like would be something he would be very attracted too, the thrill of it all kind of excites him. Of course he doesn't say that, or act on it very often, but you know it anyways.

Idk if this is an out of character headcanon but I highkey think Sniper is a monster fucker.

Supplies you with blood if he sees your low, enjoys how much you brighten after a drink.

Overall finds you very fasicnating, likes learning how to manage life as a vampire

Scout

Scout thinks you're messing with him until the moment he watches you drain the blood from a civilian.

Cautious with the kinds of jokes he makes after that.

He guesses it does kind of make sense in retrospect, you did have a sort of dark air about you.

Honestly finds it so sick, thinks of you as sort of his personal gaurd dog at night, wouldn't say that outloud but internally yes.

He generally would treat you about the same, vampire or not.

If we're talking old timey vampires here finds it hilarious that you can't enter a space without explict permission, will torture you by not inviting you into a room as he walks right through.

Thinks you turning into a bat is one of the coolest things, honestly big jealous vibes from Scout, he wishes he was a big cool vampire too.

It’s a fantasy of his for you to drink some of his blood, is too proud/paranoid to ever say it out loud. But you don’t miss his little sighs as he looks at your fangs.

Secretly dreams of you turning him too, so very secretly.

Pauling

Was honestly so overworked she hardly even noticed.

"Huh? What did you say? Oh yeah, yeah that's nice," she said with a polite nod one day, burying a group of hippies as she did so.

Just enjoys having someone with her during the night, like Scout wouldn't realize you were serious until she sees you feed, once she does it's like a start up noise.

Genuinely uses you as an asset in her work, you turning into a bat and flying is amazing for locating survivors, youre such a big help!

Like I said enjoys the nightly company more than words can describe, she loves quality time.

Really enjoys your darker aesthetic and sometimes thinks you're way too cool to be spending all your time with her.

Will make sure you're always fed, you never have to worry about going hungry while Pauling is around.

If you've been around a few generations wants to hear what life was like before she was around, how it felt to live in a vastly diffrent time period. Finds it so intresting to hear about!

Ohhh boy I hope this is okay anon! Like I said it was kind of hard to think of things to write about for some reason,,, I hope this was good! I had a lot of fun writing it even despite the trouble I had.

[kafus]

over the weekend at the knoxville regional pokemon championships, i met up with a longtime internet friend in person for the first time, and he traded me a very special pokemon - a unique celebi that takes a bit of context to explain the significance of

from november 2001 to january 2005, the building that is now a nintendo world store in new york city was actually an american pokemon center, which hosted the "Gotta Catch ‘Em All!" station, a large machine that you could pop your gold/silver/crystal cartridge into (or later ruby/sapphire/firered/leafgreen, but that's not relevant here) and get a special distribution pokemon unique to the store. often times these were normal pokemon in eggs with special moves they couldn't usually learn, but other times they ran distributions for shiny legendaries, and of course, the mythical celebi.

there's very few pictures of the machine and all of them are pretty low quality, but you can see an iteration of it here during the gen 3 era:

when PCNY (pokemon center new york) shut down, the machine and its contents were presumed lost forever, but due to the preservation efforts and the good luck of a few individuals, some of the distributions have been preserved, as well as parts of the machine and its software. this is extra incredible because almost all gen 2 save files from the time the machine was actually functional are long since wiped due to the battery inside dying, meaning that very very few of the gen 2 event pokemon distributed from this machine at the time still exist. i won't go super in detail on that in this post but you can read an article about all of that here (julie, the person who runs this historical PCNY fansite is incredibly passionate and if you want to know anything about the PCNY store i absolutely recommend reading her writing!)

so, one day when i was rambling to my friend (his name is Venty!) about my fascination with the PCNY machine, and how i wish i had been born early enough to experience that, as well as wishing that i could have traded with anyone in gens 1-3 as a child but never got to due to isolation, venty told me that he's actually friends with a guy (Professor Rex) who knows the guy who owns the remnants of the PCNY machine (Gridelin), and he would love to reach out and ask if there's any way rex could distribute a celebi to himself and trade it to him sometime so that eventually when me and venty met in person one day, he'd be able to trade the celebi to me.

i pretty much burst into tears and very passionately explained how much that would mean to me - not just because owning a celebi actually distributed from the historical PCNY distribution station is just... insanely cool, but because like i said, i had never traded anyone in the old internet-less generations of pokemon, and having that be my first was just... a monumental thought. i am deeply fascinated with old gen event distributions because of the tactile, interpersonal nature of them, in direct contrast with my isolation and loneliness as a child. it might sound silly to be so worked up over a collection of bytes/pixels, but i really couldn't believe venty would offer me something so kind. and not only did he offer to ask - rex said yes!!

so on may 21st last year (2023) rex traveled out and distributed the celebi to his pokemon silver cartridge. specifically, the celebi is from the "Celebi Present Campaign" which ran from the 22nd of november 2002 to the 28th of november 2002. the display on the monitor is the same video that would have appeared on the screen in the PCNY store, but flipped sideways here haha. (the gen 2 distributions were special and had custom animations for the legendaries and stuff, which you can watch here in full quality on gridelin's channel - there's videos of the other distribution animations on his channel, too!)

and then months later, during the weekend of august 11th 2023, rex and venty met up at the pokemon world championship in japan and rex traded the celebi to venty's gold cartridge...

...then, finally, just this past weekend, on sunday (february 4th 2024) venty and i finally met in real life for the first time at the knoxville TN regional pokemon championships, and with link cable in hand the celebi finally made its way to me in my hotel room, after crossing the ocean twice and passing through canada to the US to japan and back to the US...!!

gen 2 pokemon data isn't very complicated, but you can tell that my celebi is unique from the other PCNY celebis dumped online (here and here if you'd like to play with some of these historical pokemon yourself) because it has the trainer ID of 00204 which none of the publicly available celebis have - though of course to me, regardless of what becomes publicly available in the future (and i hope one day the common layperson can simply emulate the PCNY machine, video game preservation >>> unique collections always) this celebi will always be special and unique because of how it got to me, and because it represents my friendship with venty who i care so much about. it was an extremely kind gesture i will never forget and i can't believe how much traveling and how many people were involved with getting this tiny bundle of bytes and pixels to me. i hugged venty after the trade was done haha

oh, and by the way, don't worry, i have the hardware to back up my gen 2 save files so this celebi will never die even after my crystal cartridge battery eventually dies once more!! (also, while i don't think it would be an issue i do want to say please don't bother any of the people mentioned in this post...! gridelin & co are working on making the distribution machine in question available for anyone to use, it'll come out whenever it's out and for now there are dumps of the events that were recovered. i would not want them to receive any annoying requests for pokemon because of me. thank you!)

[perotovar]

before a mirror — drabble

moodboard by @yopossum

pairing: jack daniels/marcus pike rating: PG content: fluff, jack and his never ending list of petnames, flirting, general cuteness word count: 626 dividers: @saradika-graphics beta: @qveerthe0ry (ily)

a/n: written for @yopossum 's mootboard and minifics celebration!! thank you for letting me be a part of it and congrats, honey ♥

masterlist | follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifs ♥

New York was like a second home to Jack.

The first would always be Kentucky, where his mama made the best pecan pie, and where he first learned to ride a horse. It’s also where Statesman headquarters is, but Jack wasn’t so lucky to be there. He’d been stationed at the New York office for years now and had gotten used to the unsavory sounds and people.

But New York had a lot of good things as well.

For one, not that Jack would ever admit it out loud, New York had a lot of amazing museums. He had a soft spot for the paintings, and when he had quiet moment, he’d pop over to a museum nearby to take a walk.

Jack’s favorite painting was of a nude woman, standing in front of a mirror. He didn’t know the meaning behind it or what it was meant to depict, but it spoke to him. The colors were both rich and warm as well as cool and standoffish.

“Woman before a Mirror by Toulouse-Lautrec, 1897,” a smooth voice hummed next to him. Jack turned toward the man, an easy smirk creeping onto his face as he recognized who it was. “Post-Impressionism.”

“Swear, y’must be an encyclopedia of art, Pike,” Jack chuckled, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the tight denim he wore.

Marcus rolled his eyes and snorted. “It’s literally my job,” he shrugged.

“Details.”

The two had met a few times. Marcus’ job often led him up north to take care of a few cases and Jack didn’t get a chance to go out into the field much anymore. Not unless something big happened or came up.

“Which street food catch yer fancy this time?”

“There’s a really good hot dog stand down the street, might go there after this.”

“And what’s this today, sugar sweet?” Jack smiled. He hadn’t looked away from the painting yet, not until it took Marcus a second to answer. That was something he really appreciate about Marcus Pike. He always made sure he said exactly what he was thinking. He was very focused, to the point. Jack wished he could be a little more like that sometimes.

When he turned his head toward Marcus, his breath caught in his throat a little. It always shocked him to see Marcus up close like this; he had such a striking profile and intense, but sweet eyes.

“Just taking a walk, actually. I’m on my lunch,” Marcus grinned.

“No kiddin’? So am I.”

“I know. You always come here around this time.”

“You keepin’ tabs on me, Pike?” Jack smirked.

Marcus shrugged, smiled, and didn’t answer, looking back at the painting. “And if I am?”

Normally, this would raise suspicion for Jack, but given Marcus’ line of work he knew he didn’t have anything to worry about. Statesman had every law enforcement officer’s information, including their undercover identities, so he knew Marcus Pike was cleaner than clean.

“Well, angel eyes, I think I’d ask ya what ya had planned, then.”

“Come with me. I’ll get you one of those hot dogs,” Marcus winked, turning toward Jack and looking him over. Jack felt a chill run down his spine.

He looked back at the painting and took it in one more time. The colors and the mood washed over him, briefly taking him to a time period he’d never known. He wondered what Marcus saw when he looked at this painting. He’ll have to ask him sometime.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirtin’ with me, Pike,” Jack hummed. He watched as Marcus walked toward the entrance of the exhibit and back out into the main hall.

Marcus looked at the cowboy over his shoulder and grinned. “And if I am?”

[boltdrake]

Ok about moral greyness in elden ring fandom

I feel like it’s mostly treated as either some kind of badass cosmetics for a GoodGuy (like “my blorbo is cool and good and kind but you know they kill people - bad people, so it’s not bad but it’s not also your Jesus guy which is normal bc who would give their second cheek”) or some kind of euphemism used by bad/problematic/pseudo intellectual people to erase morality

I’m bad problematic pseudo intellectual person so take my opinion with grain of salt, but I think it’s a great misunderstanding or what a morally grey character is in ER especially

It’s usually based on the that understanding of goodness that to be good you just need to do good things and don’t do bad things (which is of course extremely vague and not defined but anyways). It’s seems pretty straightforward and because of that brings a lot of confusion

It’s quite easy for a character to be GoodGood (even with murders but I digress), you can see it in many fix-it fanworks where often every trouble finds its own, well, fixing, and there’s always a way to set things right, maybe just with some sad deaths along the way, but characters often will find this correct way because in these universes there’s always at least one

(It’s not a rant on fanfiction I like it and I like fix-its very VERY much)

And when same logic is applied to the game itself, often arises treatment of characters as GoodGood, MisleadedGood and BadBad ones

But in the stories we see in Elden Ring context is usually such that when a character wants to get something, even something good, like for example make people live forever or cure their own sister, there’s sometimes no way of resolving their trouble without facing some kind of moral choice, even if you’re a literal half-god. You either get what you want with a price, or don’t get it… also with a price. Because fromsoftware stories are build on conflict, tragedy and irony

That’s what makes character grey, the fact there’s no third option or that you don’t have third option just because world is that way and you’re unlucky. And not choosing to get what you want can be as bad as choosing opposite. And that’s what usually makes situation complex and twisted and inherently grey

I don’t want to say that like every person in fandom should treat all the characters as mostly good ones without making some way less sympathetic than others. Making characters twisted and horrible is fun! I’m just tired of the way how people 1) don’t realise there’s often HUGE room for interpretation and make it problem of others 2) hate characters with such a passion as they were real humans who live in your neighbourhood on planet earth 2024 3) sanitise characters into strictly Good and Bad ones etc etc etc

My whole vent on Miquella’s hatebase is in fact divided into two parts, one being me thinking many people just lack understanding of the DLC/base game ideas and plot, but that’s ok we all have different opinions (I’m just the only one who is correct. LIVE WITH THAT.), and second being that vague ??rudeness?? and hatred which accompanies division on Morally Good and Morally Bad, because there’s this subtle idea like. Oh if you like Godrick/Rykard/Post-DLC Miquella / Seluvis then you’re moral pervert/ lover of Dark. Which is rarely true and really annoys me

I also have no trouble with GoodGood characters being GoodGood because, well. it’s comforting and cozy stuff. But often it turns into token of moral superiority, like look I love GoodGood guy because I’m good too and also not stupid. This is also annoying and I wish we had less of this in fandom.

It’s often also a lie to oneself, because even if we approach elden ring from I Can Simp Only Morally Pure ones (which is very boring and butchers the whole thing in my opinion) then we would probably be left with only Boc, Hewg and maybe Roderika. What do you mean you want to simp LITERAL murderers?? What do you mean you want to simp those assholes demigods who think that people are just dolls for their games, who turned the land into land of the dead because they just couldn’t stop war after war after war to decide who will make new order? What do you mean you want to simp the demigod who quit the war to do literally nothing to stop it???? CRINGE

Also GoodGood character headcanon making without self-awareness often results in very weird moral twists of its own, because in this logic character is allowed to make only GoodGood decisions, therefore all the stuff character made in canon MUST be good and morally justified. This leads to something like Marika fans writing essays on the topic You Can In Fact Deserve Genocide

Enough for today have a good day fellow dlc lovers 💪

Upd posted this on main by accident got jumpscared it’s so hard to copy past on mobile for some reason. No edgy on main I promised!!

[blues-of-randomness]

could you do more headcanons for the Smiling critters please

(Maybe when they’re Sad )

Good suggestion and yes I can.

Cw for self harm and involuntary age regression

Catnap - When Catnap gets really sad he retreats to his home and hides there for who knows how long, it could be days or even months before he comes out again. All the curtains drawn, not a single like in the house, if you're hoping for Catnap to eat or drink during this time peroid, other than a cup of juice or two...it's very wishful thinking. he'll most likely just be laying around on the floor or on the furniture. This is also when involuntary agere sets in, during this time he just feels so small and even simple tasks are two scary or frustrating for him (like brushing his teeth or even turning on the lights). During this time he might just were a bathrobe or his pajamas for some form of comfort. He'll hug himself and squeeze his arms very tightly, most of the time his claws are out when he does this so it leads to him cutting himself frequently. I have a feeling he might also wear dresses as a comfort.

Dogday - Remember that MLP episode where Pinkie pie lost her color cause she thought her friends didn't like her anymore? Yeah that's basically Dogday when he gets sad, any bright colors drain from his fur and his smile fades from his face. In my Dogday headcanons I mentioned that his fur feel like a warm mini sun, well when he's sad his fur becomes frigid cold. Unlike Catnap though Dogday still spends time outside, looking for anything that could cheer him up as quick as possible. He still has a hard time talking about what made him upset but he'll try. if what made him said was say him disappointing his friends he'll have a lot of self depricating thoughts (specfically about falling them in some way). he's not nearly as self destructive as Catnap is though, he still takes care of himself. I'll be honest though I could see Dogday having a tea party with stuffed animals when he's sad.

When Kickin gets sad he just gets angry. Like any kind of sorrowful feeling will vented through aggression before the tears eventually come. You can't tell me that Kickin hasn't gotten super overwhelmed thrown himself to the ground and started having a tantrum like a little baby. Kicken grew up with a father with very toxic views on how men should behave so he's not very comfortable crying in front of anybody. The only one who's seen him cry is Bubba, Bubba is reall the only one he's go two if he's sad. he might all himself stupid or an idiot depending on what he's crying about. He also has a teddy bear that he talks to when he's upset.

Bubba is a man who doesn't were his emotions on his sleeves per say as he always tries to keep his cool. You wouldn't even realize he's upset unless he get's really upset. Like Kickin, his sadness comes out as anger, he does cry but not often and not in front of his friends. Bubba would probably be the type to just pick of book or try to do some brain puzzles in order to take his mind of what he's upset about, if that doesn't work he tries to solve the problem on his own.

Hoppy is another critter who i imagine can get very aggressive when she's sad. Her first instinct is just to walk away, blow off the steam and come back when she's ready. She might yell or hop and down depending on how frustrated she is but she would take a deep breath and say "I need to go for a walk" or something like that. She prefers to do this alone but she wouldn't say no if you offered to walk with her and talk about it. It actually means a lot to her that you'd wanna help her.

Picky's ultimate coping mechanism is food though contrary to when she's stressed and stress eats, i feel like when she's sad she makes treats for everyone else. Since she already makes an unholy amount of food for everyone, espically when their doing an activity or going on a trip this just seems like her normal behavoir. Other than baking she might do something calming like apple/berry/flower picking. A nice picnic is also a good way to calm down.

What does any Artist do when they are upset or down in the dumps? Dump every single raw emotion on anything that doesn't move. Craftycorn has had her far share of vent pieces, some she's actually proud of, some that are just nonsensial scribbles soaked in tears. The only vent pieces her friends have seen are the ones that look cute and don't have any concerning elements to it. All the others go straight into the fire, those are not for the critter eye to see. Music, blankets and toys also help.

Bobby is a very emotional person, when she gets really upset it is instant tears or instant bawling. It's real easy to calm her down though, give her a hug, a flower, take her somewhere safe, play a game with her, and voila! If you couldn't tell she does not like being alone when she's upset, She'll cling to the closest person until she isn't upset anymore. If she's bawling she'll be begging you for a hug, she won't make yu hug you if you're uncomfortable with that though.

[i-starcreamed]

Ok so it is implied in my mind that any human on the lost light would be zippin around on roller skates. And when on roller skates you can theoretically hold onto the back of a vehicle to ZOOM ( = skitching = skate + hitching.) So THE QUESTION IS silly little headcanons for a human reader skitching w Rodimus / Tailgate / Swerve my beloved / anyone w a vehicular alt mode? Idk I just thought that would be fun :3

new uh, format I think. hopefully, this works. anyways this was really fun and they're a little short bc I struggled writing something different for each one, but I'm very happy with it

[ human!reader

post includes: Rodimus, Tailgate, and Swerve]

MTMTE Rodimus

oh you're gonna have to hang on real tight

when you said zoom, that's exactly what this guy is gonna do

tries to get you to do tricks as you're skitching, did not go well the first time (he skid to a stop you crashed face-first into him)

after that he was a lot more careful and gave you a heads up

He still tries to get you to do tricks though, you both impress the rest of the crew quite often

It quickly became this favorite thing to do after the first time, constantly coming up to you and transforming with a "need a ride?" and happily agreeing when you're the one to ask him.

Probably gets a little jealous when you ask someone that isn't him

Expect a lot of close calls but he would never get you hurt on purpose, Ultra Magnus begs you to wear some kind of protective gear

MTMTE Tailgate

Originally hesitant when you asked him, are you sure you want to go with him? What if you get hurt, he'll never forgive himself??

After plenty of reassurance though, he agreed and found it quite fun

Laughing and giggling as you two travel along the halls together, very cute 10/10

Cue Cyclonus watching you two with intrigue, zooming away with wide smiles on your faces, he too tries to hide a small smile at the scene

something tells me he drives in little circles to be silly

If you get hurt somehow he starts panicking and accidentally transforms back to pick you up and ask if you're okay. The only problem is that he forgets you were still attached and you go shooting up into the air

very normal and civilized skitching buddy but will zoom through the LL if you ask him to

MTMTE Swerve

He desperately wishes you could deliver drinks with him around his bar while skitching, how cool would it be if you two just drove around and handed bots their drinks one after the other?

So excited though, also has a lot of fun as you join him and cruise with him around the ship

He for sure convinces you to be silly around the ship, messing with Magnus or other bots and just as quickly leaving the room unnoticed

I think he also accidentally transforms while you're still holding onto him. You're like, screaming as you hold onto him for dear life and he keeps turning around in circles trying to find you (you swinging around and begging for him to stop moving)

Despite all the silly shenanigans, he still obviously goes out of his way to make sure you're safe and comfortable.

Probably tells you about the latest drama or stories as you're cruising around to keep you entertained, also because Swerve tells you everything

[captain-mj]

Celebration or Funeral

Graves invites the crew out to a bar for seemingly no reason and hopefully no ulterior motives.

Price was dumbfounded at the audacity honestly. Graves had sent out an invite to the 141 and Alejandro and Rodolfo. Even included plus ones if they had a partner to bring.

He didn't understand at all. It was so bizarre. The invitation was safe. They had a team to check for anthrax and the like. But everything had been given the seal of approval.

There was a time, date, location, even coordinates in case they didn't know the place. He had checked. It was a bar in Texas that was close enough to the border that the Los Vaqueros wouldn't have to travel too far from home. It was close to where they had chased Hassan originally.

The 141 would have to fly of course, but that's cause they were stationed in Urzikstan at the moment.

Price mentioned it offhandedly to Farah, planning to toss it out and never ever seeing that traitor again.

But Farah had smiled at him. "Oh! Yeah, Alex and I were going to go. I'm glad Phillip decided to invite you guys."

"Phillip? You guys are on first name basis now?"

She frowned at him, immediately looking displeased. "Price, remember what we talked about. We've been working together for a while now."

"You can't trust him."

"I never said I did. I simply ask you trust me." Farah huffed. "And I will be going to their outing. He does this with his closest Shadows often and Alex and I always have a nice time. Maybe you all need to come along. It might be good to clear the air since we will continue to work with each other."

Price really wished he could convince Farah to stop working with him, but if she insisted on doing so, he would be there. "Fine. I'll come."

The other three agreed to come immediately, not wanting Price to walk into an ambush, relatively, alone.

The plane ride was... uncomfortable to say the least.

Ghost was currently glowering at Alex who kept glancing over at him and grimacing. He'd sigh passive aggressively and Alex would turn around to glare at him back.

"And why are those two acting like jilted lovers?" Price aske Gaz and Soap.

"Oh, Alex said he and Graves had become friends and Ghost is made because the two of them and Alejandro are friends. He considers it a betrayal to their friendship." Gaz explained.

"Ah. Are you also upset, Soap? You did get shot."

Soap nodded. "Well. I am pissed. But with Makarov around, Graves helping Farah to fight him, and him betraying Shepherd to throw him under the buss, I'm trying to stay level headed about it."

It was a shockingly grounded take. Price wished he could do the same. Inside, the anger was too hot. Too volatile. He didn't know what it was about Graves that just got under his skin, but forgiveness wasn't on the table.

Honestly he wanted to just beat him into the ground. Hurt him like he had hurt Soap and Ghost in Los Almas. Like he had hurt the Vaqueros.

He felt like a rabid dog when he thought of it. Normally, he was so much better at keeping his emotions in check.

Farah patted him suddenly and he glanced up at her. "Do you want a drink, old man?"

"Yeah. I could use one." He stood up and followed her to the cabin. The plane used to be a private one, but it had been repurposed for Farah and her Freedom Fighters. It was better for long distances than a helicopter and it had better optics when they had to make speeches or talk with government operations.

Farah didn't keep much alcohol on board, but she did keep a thing of whiskey for the two of them to share. She poured them both a glass and he took it from her gratefully.

"I understand why you're upset."

"And I understand why you're working with him." Price interrupted. "I do. I promise. It's just an adjustment. Especially finding out you socialize with him."

"Mostly I socialize with Oz actually."

"Oz?"

"His second in command! He's great. Very cool. He's shown me how to play video games." Farah smiled so softly, almost like she was embarrassed.

Price smiled a little himself, thinking of Farah being... normal. She had fought for so long. Her entire childhood spent in hell. If she enjoyed spending time with this "Oz" guy, he must not be awful. "Okay. I'm going to give all of them a chance, alright?''

"Thank you, Price. I do appreciate it." Farah squeezed his arm. "Really. I hope we can all work amicably."

They settled back down with the others and rested for this rest of the plane ride.

The moment they touched down, Farah and Alex were quickly getting out. Price bit his tongue and hung back, the 141 one quickly following his lead, even though Gaz did glance at Alex and Alex did glance back.

"Try to play nice. No unnecessary fights." Price ordered, patting Gaz's back.

"Aye, Captain." Soap responded.

Ghost stayed very quiet, only giving the slightest nod.

"At ease."

They didn't really separate. Maybe it was unease at being on unfamiliar turf or the fact that they were all enemies.

Alejandro was smoking near his car, Rudy at his right. His body language shifted, relaxing at the same time the grin appeared on his face. "Hermanos!"

Soap smiled. "Alejandro, Rodolfo. Long time no see."

Alejandro grabbed his hand and pulled him into a hug. Soap did the same with Rodolfo.

Gaz nodded at them. "Colonel Vargas. Sergeant Major Parra."

"I feel we're on a first name by now, Sergeant Garrick." Rodolfo smiled at him. "Nice to see you again."

Alejandro nodded but jumped into business. "Our invitation said this was an... apology. You guy's mention anything about this?"

"No. Just an invitation."

"Interesting. Let's head inside."

The bar itself was full of people. It took Price a moment before he realized it, but, with the exception of the bartender, every person in the room was a Shadow. All of them were in civvies, but he recognized a few of them from chance in encounters. They all talked about their work with no issues.

Alex had a cowboy hat on. For some reason, this was something he noticed immediately. He was currently downing a pint, trying to drink it faster than a dark haired woman who was currently beating him.

Farah was chatting animatedly with a giant man with strange makeup on. HIs hair was set up a bit like a vikings would be. He was smiling at her and nodding excitedly.

Price didn't like it.

The giant man looked at him and quickly looked... embarrassed? It was an odd look on such a big man.

Farah followed his gaze and waved Price over. He quietly walked over, keeping an eye out on everyone. Most people were drunk or getting there so there weren't many threats.

Oz smiled at him, standing up. Price didn't like that he had to tilt his head up to look him in the eye.

"It is nice to meet you, Captain. You too, Colonel. The rest of you." Oz seemed unsure of himself.

"Oz, I'm assuming?"

"Yes, sir." Oz nodded.

Farah smiled. "We were talking about a game he showed me! It's called Terraria. It's so much fun!"

"Now, Osmond." There was that familiar accent. Graves was smiling, looking... stupidly casual. A flannel shirt, tight jeans, a belt buckle. A walking stereotype of American. "Please tell me you haven't converted Farah to your nerdy shit."

"Hey!" Farah defended him. "It's fun!"

Graves shook his head, a bright blush on his face from intoxication. "Whatever you say, ma'am." He looked at them. For a moment, he made eye contact with Price and it was like a lightning bolt. But then his eyes skipped right over to him to Alejandro. He took a deep breath. "It's nice to see you again, Colonel. And you, Sergeant Major."

"The feeling is not mutual."

Graves stepped a bit closer, on the very edge of his personal space. "Alright. Hit me."

Alejandro frowned.

"One free hit. Consider it the start of us getting even with each other. There's no guns in here. No one is going to stop you and I'm not going to hit you back. So, hit me."

Alejandro weighed his options for a split second before socking Graves so hard on the side of his jaw that Oz had to catch him before he stumbled.

Graves took a split second, blinking involuntary tears from his eyes. He faced him again. "Great. Your drinks are on us." Despite the freshly blooming bruise, he still managed a rather charming smile.

Alejandro shook his head but stepped back. Rudy didn't.

"Only fair I let you have one, yeah?" Graves smiled right before Rodolfo hit him hard in the stomach.

"Stay out of Los Almas." Rudy hissed to him.

"I was planning on it, amigo." Graves managed to straighten up after a minute. "You four aren't getting a hit."

"Gonna let me shoot you later?" Soap growled at him.

Graves laughed. "Nah. Have as many shots as you want though." He nodded at them and walked away, clearly hurting a little but playing it off.

Price ordered the most expensive whiskey available. He downed a shot, keeping an eye on Graves as he went to each table. His hands touched every Shadow's shoulder. It was a light touch but Price recognized it. He did the same thing when the 141 came back from missions. A light touch to let him know they were alive.

"John." Simon muttered. "How are we feeling?"

"I'm following the Colonel's lead. He seems to be trying to run up a tab. I'm going to do the same. Farah also seems... happy. A normal friendship outside of the military will be good for her. Or as close as this is."

Ghost nodded and sat next to him. They observed them for a good minute before Gaz slunk to Price's other side. Soap was mingling.

There was country music playing. It sounded modern, but Price didn't exactly listen to the genre. He sighed and ordered another whiskey, hoping to keep himself just drunk enough to relax but not so drunk he couldn't fight.

As the songs flipped through, Price got tipsy enough to mildly enjoy himself. His friends had left him at some point, not too far away, just around.

Something came on the radio and Graves climbed on to a table. The top few buttons of his shirt had been undone and he was panting a little bit.

"Turn that motherfucker off!"

"Come on, Graves it's just one song!"

"No! I've hated that motherfucker for ages and suddenly he wants to prounce around like a little bastard. That motherfuckers went to a fucking private school! Get his ass off my radio!" Graves hissed.

Price swallowed thickly. Maybe it was the whiskey, of which he was a few glasses down. Maybe it was the sudden anger and passion in his face. But he felt flushed from more than alcohol.

The next song, which sounded like a love ballad to him, seemed to please Graves who started to sing along. Despite the table being wooden, it held his weight as he stomped his boots on it. He smiled brightly as he did and someone handed him a whiskey bottle to drink during the chorus.

Price made eye contact with him and quickly glanced around to talk to his team.

HIs team which was not there.

Ghost and Simon had started to banter, making fun of people in the room despite never looking away from each other.

Gaz, who now had that cowboy hat on, had gotten swept up in Alex, the two of them currently dancing. Alex was a little out of step, his prosthetic leg probably making it harder.

Farah was now dancing with one of the pretty Shadows. The two of them twirling around.

Even Alejandro and Rodolfo were staring at each other, Rudy's hand was on Alejandro's chest.

Fuck. He didn't have anyone around.

Price looked back up at Graves who had looked away but somehow a few more of his buttons had come undone. His head tilted back, showing off a pretty neck. Fuck, his chest was heaving, breath puffing out of him.

They were making eye contact again. Graves licked his bottom lip and drank more of his whiskey.

Price got up and went to the bathroom. He took off his hat for a moment and splashed his face with water to try to sober up a little.

"Price." That fucking accent sounded from behind him. Maybe he should've hid in one of the stalls. But that would've felt juvenile.

"Graves." He looked in the mirror at him.

The man smiled. "Sorry if I'm interrupting. You alright?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I?" Price growled out, watching those red cheeks got redder.

Graves shrugged a little. "Don't know. Maybe I'm projecting on ya a little." He looked away, drinking more of the bottle.

"I'm angry."

"is it all at me?"

"No. Not just you." Price sighed and straightened up. He walked over until he was standing over him. Graves straightened up a little but he let Price take the bottle from his hand. His eyes followed his lips as he took a long drink.

Graves sighed. "Good?"

"Cheap tasting." Price tried to tease him, but it fell flat.

The pretty blue eyes peering up at him wouldn't let him go. It was infuriating. He found himself leaning down, lips pressing against Graves's, tasting the whiskey off of them. His tongue darted out to deepen it. For a blissful moment, his mouth opened up to let Price in.

Then he was turning away. "This isn't going to fuck up your team, is it?"

Price blinked and it was like reality slammed into him. "It is."

Graves smiled sadly. "John, I'd love to. But I'd be a right ass fucking up what you got going on. I think I've done enough damage."

"It'd feel great. God, I'd treat you right."

He laughed and Price felt his stomach clench. The rest of the whiskey bottle was slipped into his hand. They shared another kiss, tongues chasing each other.

"If you're sober, and still want to, go ahead and call me."

[aerkame]

Can we get a Wally x reader neighbor who has a secret identity of a supervillain?

You got it! I kind of wanted to experiment with this one a bit to get a good idea on how to write different characters. Some villains remind me of people that really only need love or family in their life. (This does not take place in the Alive AU, or previously created AUs) Also I hope you don't mind this having multiple parts with multiple characters x reader? It just seems like such a fun idea!

And just a reminder since some people PM me a lot on this, the Welcome Home archive is updated each time I post a fic or request so you can check there if you missed something or if you are wanting to re-read a fic, way better than just scrolling around looking for it! :) Welcome Home Archive

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Laughter echoed throughout the house you resided in, having just completed yet another devious plan of yours. Well, devious isn't exactly what most would call them, just very annoying or petty really.

A part of you did feel some guilt when you ruined the picnic everyone had planned that day though, using your new and improved weather device to summon up a storm. They all looked genuinely upset this time. Frank actually yelled at you with Eddie having to hold him back, something he's never really done before while everyone scattered to get their belongings.

Everyone looked so disappointed in you, even the motherly figure of Poppy looked at you with a saddened expression. It did sting a bit to see that. Maybe it was something special that was going on? Whatever. It was none of your business anyways...you didn't care, you were just glad you had the mask on still.

The thrill of successfully pulling off that plan soon dwindled down to a quiet sniffle, having stopped yourself from crying again...something you found yourself doing a lot of when you were alone in the house. You wish you could be friends with them too, it just felt like you didn't belong here sometimes though so you never approached any of the neighbors much unless you needed to get something or if a neighbor needed help. Of course you could just be a menace and not help at all and plot all day everyday. However, you preferred to keep your villainous self a secret and enjoy the small moments of kindness this place had to offer. Besides, your plots weren't that bad really, right?

Stars you were so lonely and hopelessly confused about your purpose here. Some days it felt great to be mean and some days, like today, you felt awful.

Deciding you needed to quit moping around, you made your way to the bathroom to dress up in your normal clothing and to wipe away any evidence of crying, only to jump back upon seeing a flash of eyes in the mirror. You blinked a few times no longer seeing them...this happened so often you think you're starting to get used to it, perhaps you were just imagining things when you got stressed. You continued with dressing and wiping your face dry, the last thing you needed was someone bringing too much attention to you. Besides, you still had to get some groceries from Howdy's today.

It was still heavily raining by the time you made it into Howdy's shop, you didn't mind though. Rain is what brought you comfort in this world, it was the only thing familiar to you having always let the water soak you and smelling the deep earthy smells that came with the cool air.

-

Hearing the small chime of the bell, Howdy made his way downstairs to get behind the counter expecting one of his friendly neighbors. Instead he found the welcome mat completely soaked under your shoes with mud trailing inside...oh dear, that was going to be a hassle to clean up.

You looked behind you at the floor upon seeing the small strain on the caterpillar's smile. "Oh...sorry about that, I can clean it up." your voice trailed into a mumble. You didn't feel like being mean in public and what happened earlier was already making you feel guilty. Really, you have never once seen everyone that upset before. You recall Wally staring, no, glaring with a stretched smile right at you before you ran off. A shudder ran through your body, both from the cold and recent memory. Howdy gave you a look before rounding the corner into his office.

"That's quite alright with me! If anything I'll take you cleaning up my shop as payment for today." You could hear Howdy's voice trail further into the office as you watched him come back out with something in one of his hands. It looked like a large cloth?

The caterpillar unfolded the cloth and came over to where you were standing, draping the soft blanket over your shoulders. One hand gave your head a pat. "So, I guess you're here for your usual right?" The hand on your head stayed. It felt nice.

"Yeah" You pulled the blanket into you. "Thanks for this..."

You know what? Nah, I'm making this into chapters I love this too much, there needs to be more.

Next chapter: Frank has been keeping track of the villain's actions and daily routine, more than you yourself have and he's more than willing to let Wally know who he thinks it is that's been causing trouble.

[velvetvexations]

Ive seen at least two responses to your antigonism post saying that the word would be divisive because “transfems who are normal about transmascs are the norm” and I really truly do believe that’s probably the case but at the same time it personally feels a little dismissive?? I cant speak for all trans people obviously but I know A LOT of trans people, basically everyone in my life is trans- my blood sibling, all of my friends, my 2 girlfriends (im poly) I am regularly in contact with other trans people/trans communities in several cities across my state, and for me it really does not feel like its a “small vocal minority” of transfems who hold anti transmasculine and exorsexist beliefs.

I want to make it clear I absolutely love the transfems in my community, they are my dearest friends, and I deeply treasure our relationships; but absolutely every one of them that I have gotten close to has ended up saying something to me that made me feel really weird. They either mention something about how transmascs have it easier/transfems have it the worst, or they feel the need to gatekeep things from other trans people& borderline accuse other trans people/intersex people of copying transfems, or they joke and complain about “theyfabs” or justify the use of the term (both of my gfs did this- mind you I was afab and exclusively use they/them pronouns), or they invalidate feminine transmasc and afab enby people (again something both of my gfs did despite me being genderfluid and sometimes presenting feminine).

And thats just some of the things Ive experienced IRL in my own home and within my own communities! If I were to start listing my experiences online Id be here all night!! I honestly want to go on about the shit I see online but I dont have the energy for it- but when I see exorsexist or anti trans masculinity coming from transfems (and self proclaimed tmes) online, the comments/notes/whatever is always filled with sometimes hundreds of other trans people agreeing and venting their own frustrations about “tmes” and it just. Again doesnt FEEL like its a minority. You are literally one of the only TWO transfems I know who makes content actively CONSISTENTLY standing up for transmascs and pushing back against anti trans masculinity. Its not that I think its transfems job to dismantle anti trans masculinity but the ratio of transfems who complain about tmes vs ones who actively push back against that rhetoric feels so disproportionate to how often I see transmasc and afab enbies pushback against trans misogyny and the exclusion of transfems in queer spaces.

This turned into a very long winded vent and Im kinda struggling to conclude my point but i guess I wish it felt like more people cared to pushback against TIRFism. It just feels kinda dismissive to hear people say that transmascs who are hesitant to interact w trans communities just need to touch grass or whatever when in my personal experience it feels like I cannot escape anti trasmasculinity or exorsexism in every trans space I am apart of. Kinda blanking on how to end this ask i hope any of this is coherent.

I wanna emphasize again that the person I responded to specifically was really cool and my emotions in this post are not directed at them

Recently someone said it was "easy to forget most trans women are normal about trans men," and I was scolded because me not thinking that was horribly transmisogynistic was apparently a sign I'd lowered my standards as a trans woman because I'm too discourse poisoned, so now I'm even more self-conscious that people will start to see me that way no matter how much I try to insist over and over that TRFs are a vocal minority.

Meanwhile I continue to get asks calling me a pickme and comparing me to Blair White. I continue to have ten people respond to my every reply going "don't listen to Velvet she's crazy and hates trans women!!!!!".

So yeah. It is, actually, easy to forget that sometimes.

Especially since I'm stuck in a tiny southern town without even the option to make use of what meager community exists in the area because there's no one to drive me several hours to the state capital for their annual Pride stuff. I can't just go outside and be gal pals with all the vast numberless hordes of Normal trans women. I would be shocked beyond fucking belief if I saw two gay cis men in my fucking zip code. With my personal situation I can't even be social with cishet people anyway, let alone other queers, let alone all the trans women others perceive as Normal because they've knowingly been in the physical presence of another trans person a single time in their life and have the option of making that happen when they want it to.

Thank you for the support, anon.

[mikuni14]

I Hear The Sunspot - Ep 5

I just want to say how special this series is to me. Normally the way this relationship is handled would probably make me drop this series (because I totally read them more like friends, than lovers yet, please don't be mad at me). But here comes something, I don't know how to call it, a simple sincerity? Which is something that happens not that often tbh and which proves how much properly done, honest emotion are needed in BL series not only in general, but which could aslo fill in all the gaps creating a complete whole that in the end makes me unable to tear myself away from the screen 😉

This series touches the heart and mind of the viewer. I really like the fact that the series shows Kohei and his hearing problems from a medical perspective, all this sitting and waiting in hospital waiting rooms, doctors and nurses who take care of him, making appointments, even something like replacing his hearing aid. They show him as a patient and as someone whose life largely revolves around his health problem, who must always take it into account when making every, often the most mundane decisions, as well as the stress and fear associated with the deterioration of his condition. This is not as common as it may seem, because very often illness or disability are treated only as a plot device, something that in romances usually only serves as something to connect lovers in some romantic setting, such as cute caregiving (like in the books that Miho reads), and not something that actively affects the everyday life of the characters. This really appealed to my mind, this respect for Kohei and the viewer's intelligence 🙂 (besides, it would be hypocrisy, calling out Miho for infantilizing and romanticizing Kohei and treating him the same by the plot)

I absolutely love our MLs, their interactions with each other, with their famiy - mom and grandpa, with their friends. How they receive verbal and non-verbal support. Their wide range of emotions, experiences, struggles, reflections, sacrifices. Giving in to emotions on the spur of the moment, but also thinking about them for a long time. Their kindness. And that's what really appealed to my heart 🥺

That's why, despite the fact that I missed a more clear transition from friendship to love with Kohei, I can't bring myself to criticize, because the series makes up for it in other areas.

Kohei is so wonderful, but Taichi steals the show, the actor who plays him is amazing, his appearance, behavior, body language, very pleasant voice. Taichi in his performance, demanding an explanation, crying on those stairs and then appearing as if nothing had happened on the roof to continue his relationship with Kohei and just.. stating the facts matter-of-factly, while Kohei is internally conducting an emotional Olympics… that's Taichi my best boy 🤩

Yep, a special series with a specialest boy who doesn't know his feelings yet, maybe doesn't know how to react to Kohei's kiss and confession, but KNOWS that not reacting at all, that moving away from Kohei even without bad intentions and respecting his wishes, will actually hurt Kohei. And that alone is enough for him to appear by his side, the rest will be figured out along the way. It's his kindness, sincerity and being uncompromising that doesn't allow him to leave Kohei to his despair and dark thoughts.

Kohei's mom remains one of the best in BL series, grandpa is still cool too, because he always gives Taichi space, his friends also show interest, ask questions, and they are completely cool and supportive of Taichi, just like his boss (who with that mustache looks like he's from some anime, I just don't know which one).

It's really nice that Taichi knows about the "Kohei's special burger made with love" (oh, Taichi's face in this scene 🥺), I'm glad it's not a secret anymore. Now I also ask for the "secret" of meeting with Miho to come to light.

Sooo, tbh, I'm a whore for big fan of things like "I can only hear you", or "only your touch can help me", you know the "only you and no one else" trope in love stories. That's why when Kohei said he can only hear Taichi, I was like: oooooh yeah, they're going straight for my throat. Gosh I LOVE IT. This is made just for me lol

🥺