#like. i simply really really like it and like learning about it

[lottie-loves-you]

This goes for every fandom and there are real reasons it's unacceptable. Ai image generators steal from artists to create those images. They also discourage artists from posting because we don't want our stuff stolen, destroy beginner artists from learning because"what's the point if ai can do it better", and add to the destruction of fandom culture. You appreciate your real artists a lot less when you devalue their work with ai. If you want something specific, learn to draw, commission someone, or find someone with requests open.

Ai text generators scrape fic sites so they are stealing from fic authors. That goes for Ai chat bots too. All the things I said about visual arts apply to writing as well but on top of that, especially in big fandoms, it's so painfully pointless. That specific thing y wanted the characters to do probably already exists in a fic if you look hard enough, you're just lazy and don't want to look. If it doesn't exist, write it yourself or commission someone to write it. Fic writers often stop posting due to lack of engagement so go find that specific fix you've been looking for and leave a really nice comment. If you're lucky, you might even encourage the author to write more like it. As for the ai chat bots, they contribute to the death of fandom culture. There are lots of other little weirdos(/pos) who want to rp the same stuff you do. Go find them and rp together. Is doing rp with another real person awkward sometimes? Maybe. Might it take longer than an ai that responds instantly? Yeah. So? You're building a real connection with a real other person instead of wasting your time talking to an ai that can't care about you or feel. The feeling of having another person that you're creating a brain child story with is something ai simply can't replicate because there is no other person on the other side and if you're like me and can't write with another person because they don't take it as seriously as you (yeah, I know. I'm so fun to be around but like… taking it too seriously is fun for me.) or you can't agree on ploy direction, maybe rp isn't for you and you should write fanfiction instead. If you don't like rp and decide to write alone instead, you can still have that community by asking moots to beta read for you. Either way, none of that connection happens when you use ai.

I actually think Ai audios are the most egregious. Often they are sexual and that is absolutely a violation of the actor/VAs who did not consent to their voices being used that way. Even when it's not sexualized, their voices are a large part of actor's jobs and VA's entire jobs so if you are stealing that from them, you're a fucking monster. If you're too embarrassed to do your own impressions of the characters saying whatever you want them to say, you shouldn't be posting it. Yes, this one is my most hard line, no nuance take. How would you feel if people were posting audio porn of your voice that you didn't make or consent to being made? Not good? Oh, great. If you can't see the problem with this one, kindly delete all your socials and never engage in any fandom or media again. There's no excuse for any ai use but especially this one. That's a real person's real voice.

I'm not sorry for any of these takes and I will call you disgusting, cowardly, and trash for using ai when you damn well know better. I call ai posting "littering" for a reason. Please openly shame ai usage.

like i'm sorry but we as a fandom have to stay firm on our anti-AI values. we cannot suddenly start giving AI a pass when it's something we "want to see" like destiel kisses. it's not suddenly fine. we're not going to start using AI to make fanfic scenes come to life or audio AI to make characters "say" stuff we want to hear. you have GOT to be firm on your anti-AI stance. if you start making exceptions then suddenly anything will fly. fandom is for real art and creations made by real people. no AI fanfics. no AI art. no AI rendered "bonus" scenes. no AI audio. none of it has a place here.

[h8aaz]

— facts about demonknife!reader .ᐟ

⛤ she has the inscriptions from the knife going down her spine. sam first saw it when he was bathing her, her back being turned to him so he could wash her. his fingertips immediately reached out to skim over the indented and scarred skin, completely mesmerized by it. her legs also have light handprints all over from being held so much; the sizes different depending on the hand. when her and sam have sex, he loves running his hands on her spine during doggy style, but also loves placing them on his own large prints on her legs in any other position.

⛤ she takes extra time to deep clean the boys' knives because they wouldn't clean her properly and she doesn't want the other knives to get the same treatment she did.

⛤ she's a physical touch girlie!! she loves holding hands or someone's arm, or even just latching onto their clothing. she constantly needs to invade someone's personal space to feel safe wherever she goes because she's afraid of nearly everything; i mean, did you see her when she was turned? she sobbed the whole way back to the motel. bonus points if she can do all of these with sam because she really only trusts him.

⛤ speaking of trust, it took her forever to warm up to dean. simply because he yelled at sam over their new situation when she was crying. plus, he was really standoffish with her and constantly talked about ways they could turn her back.

⛤ she never liked the names her and sam looked up because they just didn't feel right. but one day sam called her dem, explaining that it was short for demon as he had thought of names and nicknames for her for a while. although the hates the monstrosities she's named after, she accepts the shortened version fully as it sounded perfect coming from sammy's mouth. despite the new found name, dean still calls her the knife or sam's girlfriend, with castiel simply calling her 'the girl' or 'the woman' (they eventually warm up to her name over time).

⛤ she also LOVES cas because she HATES demons. it was her purpose to be against them, alright? but she loves the concept of angels, even though they're huge dicks. the two of them are the self-proclaimed #1 and #2 demon haters. plus they're always learning new things together so they're def besties.

⛤ she likes playing games on sam's laptop because she loves pressing and tapping the buttons on the keyboard.

"can you make her stop? its getting late and we have to be on the road early in the morning." dean groaned to sam from his bed.

"she likes the sound the keyboard makes." sam defended as he sat next to her at the table.

her character died and the game over screen popped up. "no! one more round, please, sammy? just one!" she begged with puppy-dog eyes, giving sam a run for his money with how much cuter they were than his, which is extremely tough to top.

he couldn't help but smile at her. "okay, just one more but then we gotta go to bed, alright?"

she nodded her head frantically, practically jumping in her seat to restart the level.

"try and make it quick, honey. dean's upset." he whispered into her ear before kissing her temple, dean groaning again in the background at the click clack of the keyboard, covering his head with pillows to drown out the sound.

one (sam) could argue that she just loves the sound, but it's really the anger that fills dean up when she annoys him.

⛤ sam, unfortunately, had to talk her into wearing a bra as she began to wear tight clothing after developing her own style—which consisted of his old clothes being fitted to her body. he curses himself for the choice nearly everyday but it makes seeing her chest when they're alone all the more special.

⛤ hates being compared to ruby and is deathly afraid of somehow turning out like her. she used to love ruby endlessly until she was given to sam by her, becoming attached to him because of it. sam has to remind her that she's not ruby and never will be because she couldn't be more different from her. what happened between him and ruby is nothing compared to what he and demonknife!reader have now, he loves her so much and will always remind her of that (while they trash talk ruby).

⛤ has bad anger issues when it comes to hunts with demons involved. she gets this pure, white-hot rage in her veins when she sees one. when she attacks, it's the most vicious thing the winchesters have ever seen, and they've seen plenty in their line of work. she can easily punch through a demon's vessel when her vision gets clouded by her hatred, lights flashing when she kills the black-eyed creatures. afterwards, she'll go back to being the sweetest little thing ever. her innocent looks and soft spoken voice contradicting the amount of blood completely covering her, sticking to her skin and clothing like she stepped into a giant blood bath.

GABS YAPS .ᐟ . . . handprints concept is from @sunsbaby's gun!reader!! i hope y'all liked this + lmk what yall think would be other fun facts about her!! likes, comments, + reblogs are very appreciated!!

tags!: @j2archives @dulcescorderitas @deansbeer @bejeweledinterludes @soldiersgirl @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @immodestly-marina @daylighted @titsout4jackles

dem's masterlist!

dividers were made by me!!

[sonicssweetheart]

do u do x reader fics / reqs ?

if so,,,, can u do prime characters x reader headcanons (none in specific js curious on your ideas!!)

sonic prime characters x gn!reader || platonic / romantic headcanons

ᝰ.ᐟ disclaimer: i’m simply sticking to the new yoke city + green hill universes since that would take a lot of time to write!

⊱ ─── [ 💌 ] ─── ⊰

— sonic ;

there’s no doubt that sonic needs you around at all times throughout the plot. any universe he goes, he wants you to go with, no excuses. however, this backfires because he never stops to think how something may be affecting you negatively and only thinks the opposite.

“i..i assumed you would want this too after seeing things the way i do.” (ref to THAT scene…)

that being said, sonic can be selfish at times, but of course he always has the best interest at heart. he simply needs to learn how to think before he acts.

he’s very playful and finds it hard to be serious when you need him to be so the most, all because he’s afraid of confrontation and constructive criticism. he can be a little stubborn when it comes to you trying to ease him out of denial, but when he finally lets go, you can tell how anxious he is.

is always reminding you how much you mean to him at random moments. it could be completely out of the blue, when you’re reading a book or doing laundry, he doesn’t see a restriction to remind you of your worth. you will never have to worry about not being enough for him.

— shadow ;

it takes ALOT for shadow to be direct about how he feels about you; it’s all about subtle things for him.

he will show up to your door with a gift and brush it off like it’s a daily thing and has no impact on your relationship, or completes a task for you that he deems as “not worthy enough for you to stress about.”

his compliments come off more as rude rather than genuine and polite. again, he can’t be too direct out of fear of embarrassment — so sugarcoating it with annoyance works for him.

“don’t wear that, what are you, ancient? that piece doesn’t give you any credit.”

“you’re undeniably fatuous. however, you’re not dull, i guess i’ll give you that.

secretly protective as well. he will sneakily follow you around or just keep an eye on you by a nearby tree whenever he has an instinct that something may go wrong. he unquestionably abuses the chaos emerald to get to wherever you are as fast as possible. if he were ever caught, a scoff and a “i’m ensuring you will not cause havoc by acting foolish.” is the most of an explanation you will get.

if you’re travelling the shatterverse, he is very precise in the rules you follow so you don’t get hurt or lost. he would blame it all on himself if that were the case.

— amy ;

in the green hill universe, she adores you like a bee loves a flower. she takes pride in being close with you, and i like to think she always her arm linked with yours. she’s comfortable enough to talk to animals around you, as it comforts her immensely. she loves when you do little things for her like tending to gardens around the terrain, making her little crafts and standing up for her over little disputes between her and whoever.

“you do so much for me, y/n, you are so… ugh, i don’t know! thank you, for everything.”

in the new yolk universe, rusty rose is indifferent about you depending on how you treat her. if you act as if you’re sorry for her and see her mechanical front as a disability, she will refrain from speaking to you. your best bet is to treat her as you would anyone else but still admire the small things about her that makes her her. she doesn’t want anything huge, like big favours or even small things that don’t matter to her, however she LOVES flowers, just like canon verse amy. when you finally confess how you feel about her and offer a rose, the poor girl is so confused, yet secretly beaming inside.

“…i do not comprehend what you are telling me. you… really? i do not believe i was programmed to reciprocate, but… i feel warmth. is that good?”

— rouge ;

in the green hill universe, she is infatuated by you, however she still makes you work for her friendship/love. she likes the reassurance that someone will fight for her, as for i believe she was wronged in her past. help her fight in battle, participate in her favourite activities, compliment her style; you will gain her trust and devotion quickly. rouge likes to tease, knowing that you feel something for her, whether it be just wanting her friendship or more.

“dear, you know if you want something, you can come get it, right? it’s upsetting seeing you so defeated. oh, what’s wrong? did i touch a nerve?~”

in the new yoke universe, she rests similar, however she is very devoted to the friends and acquaintances she already has. she isn’t looking to complicate her life anymore, and would rather look ahead then stay in place and relish in the moment. but, you can twist that fact by helping her out without getting in her way. she will begin to see your respect and appreciation, and might even reward it with a token of gratitude.

“i saw what you did back there. i gotta say, you’re.. something else. don’t, uh, be a stranger.”

— knuckles ; (new yoke —> no place. dread knuckles>>)

in the green hill universe, he’s pretty stern towards you at first, but grows protective fast. as much as he wouldn’t admit it, he shows off in front of you in hopes that you’re impressed by his manly attitude and confident demeanour, and holds pride for weeks on end when you acknowledge it. he’s the type to challenge you to different activities that test strength and skill, and whether you’re successful or not, all he admires is your willingness to try. he loves those who don’t care if they’re good or bad at something and does it anyway because they want to, not because they have to, which sort of makes him think of his younger self and soothes his self destructive behaviour over it.

“not bad, little one. best of five next time? …you’re tired? oh, don’t be indolent. we’re almost done.” (he wants to see you thrive sooo bad)

in the no place universe, he is very upfront. if he wants to hang around you, take you on a date, have a deep talk, or anything along those lines — he’ll let you know. this man knows he’s everyone’s dream to befriend and follow like a God, and he takes pride in that. he’s also very persuasive by convincing you to do things you would never do, whether it be something as simple as trying a new food or swan diving off of mount everest. you give him that rush he craves in life, especially since life can be plain out on the water, but you give him that spark whenever you comply to his challenges. sometimes late at night while you’re both coaxed in the mood on the dock, he’s sloshing whiskey in his tainted cup and muttering to himself you.

“err… without you, this ship’d be soulless for sure. ya’ bring a fire, a flame to this old lassie, and i’d be sure not even hell could melt the ice frozen upon its ol’ heart.

— tails ; [FAMILIAL/PLATONIC ONLY]

in the green hill universe, tails admires you. he looks up to you as his mentor similar to sonic and is always happy to help when you’re in need. since tails didn’t grow up with a parental figure, sometimes he catches himself imagining such with you, and he feels embarrassed. he isn’t used to relying on someone else to fix his problems, and usually he just plain doesn’t like it. but with you — you follow his boundaries perfectly which makes him feel immensely appreciated and seen, something he looks for in a friend. he’ll let you know once in awhile how he appreciates your kindness, but his insecurities slip through every time.

“you know you don’t have to do this, right? i know im a kid, but you don’t have to take care of me… you want to?” (he looks down at whatever he’s doing, where you can see the small smile creep on the corner of his mouth)

in the new yoke universe, he is very apathetic towards you at first. he sees you just as another sonic, trying to change him to be his opposite reality self, but when he’s met with acceptance and loyalty — he begins to change his mind. he would never say it out loud, but he has a small spark of hope that you could be a forever companion he wouldn’t have to worry about betraying it. his ways of showing how he cares differs from letting you watch/help him work, crafting you things you mentioned you needed, letting you ask questions about his past (which takes some time). however, the smallest inconvenience relating to your friendship towards him can trigger him such as mentioning going somewhere without him, wanting to hang out with someone else, or just seeming off throughout the day.

“did you just lie the whole time? is that was this is? a game? original, y/n. i can’t even look at you right now.”

but, of course, when the reassurance and gentle conversation follows quickly afterwards, he reverts to an embarrassed but now angry at himself front.

“… okay. just… you would tell me if you were a traitor, right? sometimes i’m stupid and can’t tell. sorry.”

[moonybelgug]

warnings: fem!reader, children lmao, not much really, being referred to as 'mother', no smut, some drunken flirting. building relationships with the kids. i took so long to do this part...... sorries.,, part 1 part 2

After a month of getting your affairs in order, you’d like to think you’ve made some semblance of a job out of your situation. You started with watching Arlecchino, figuring out what it was that she did that made her the “Father.” It turns out, that was simply not showing emotion to the children and holding them to high expectations. But trying to convince them to open up to you was aimless, seeing as most of them had been taught that emotions were weakness, (you’re going to work on that later,) and do not even trust you to begin with. So you began in the kitchen. As much as you are not a cook, you know your way around some beloved childhood recipes, and so you helped the kitchen staff learn more homely food. Rather than something bland and fancy for breakfast, you give them the recipe to pancakes and you visit each child to ask what they would like their’s topped with. Lunches became a build your own sandwich buffet, which was met with more excitement that you anticipated and dinners stayed the same for the most part- protein and veggies. However, your presence alone comforted scared and picky kids to try new and scary foods they wouldn’t have before (and you snuck them something you knew they’d like afterward.)

It was a long day, but you had managed to lead the last group of kids to eat, the rest of them were either in the showers or in bed. You stood in the doorway of the dining hall, arms crossed as you watch them eat and chatter. A warm presence sidled up next to you, your arms brushing against each other. You saw less of Arlecchino than you had expected. She was also less involved with the children, or at least, from what you could see. You truly had no idea what she really did, you knew she was a harbinger and very strong but you couldn’t begin to fathom what she did outside these walls. You didn’t really want to. 

“Good evening, Father, are you joining us for dinner?” You ask her as she brushes against you. 

She hums thoughtfully, as though considering it as she always does. “Not tonight. But thank you for the invitation, Mother.”

You can’t help but blush and hope she didn’t see it. The way she says your title.. it feels as though she is purring it, tasting it in her mouth before speaking it. Arlecchino looks down at you from the visage of her children eating. “They are happier since you had arrived. How did you manage that in only a month?” 

“I’m not sure myself,” you say, feeling warm under her gaze. “I just.. I tried to live up to my name. I can’t help but want to know them all, even if a few of them scare me.” Though, none have threatened your life, seeing such young people with weapons is never a reassuring sight.

Arlecchino laughs and turns to walk into the main entrance room, away from the dining hall. You cast another glance at the children before following her.

She’s walking into the foyer, reaching for her coat. “Did I not scare you when we first met?” She asks, pulling her hair from the back of the gray jacket.

“Maybe a tad. But that’s because of how I was raised, you know that,” you say, pouting a little. She tuts, reaching for your cheek to pinch before she thinks about it and pulls away.. 

“Still so cute. You scared me too, you know. All bright eyed and excited, talking my ear off about things I couldn’t give a damn about. Reaching through that fence to try and touch me…” she sighs and shakes her head. “I’ll be gone for a while. I’ll see you again soon, I’m sure.”

Before she gets too far out of the entrance, she hears you sigh disapprovingly. “Playing the absent father, are we?” It makes her chuckle. 

Thunder sounds all around you, shaking the Hearth and startling you from your sleep. Thunder was never a pleasant experience, but you wouldn’t say you feared it. But that was just your experience. There was a gentle knock at the your bedroom door. 

You wrap a robe around yourself, wondering who could be knocking at this hour and open the door a crack to see who was there and were met with tens of other eyes, all stricken with fear. You open your door all the way, unsure what to say at first in the face of these frightened children. Many of them were younger, but there were a few older ones among them, looking sheepish. 

“Well.. come along, if you’re coming,” you say, watching seven children file in.

It’s not long before you’re kicked out of bed by squirming children. You don’t mind so much, it was getting to hot to even sleep, much less with a bunch of squirming limbs poking you in the side this way and that. You take a trip to the bathroom, then out the window you see the rain has loosened up a bit, it’s still coming down but less so than before, and the thunder is all but distant rumbles.

You rub on the window, removing some of the fog and just happen to see a tall figure approaching the Hearth. Who on Teyvat could be visiting at this hour? You move to look at the clock ticking in the hallway. It’s midnight. Nobody in their right mind would journey all the way through the storm just to make an unplanned visit… unless they were attempting to enter without permission. 

You race downstairs in bare feet, your nightgown and making you appear threatening as ever. You make it to the door before they do, so you grab an iron poker from the fireplace as your weapon. Stealthily, you move beside the door, waiting quietly for it to click open so you can bash in whoever is trying to get in. This moment leads you to think about how there’s little to no security and it makes you shake your head. Perhaps the Fatui’s reputation doesn’t scare everyone away.

The doorknob clicks and then turns, opening slowly. You raise the fire poker above your head and prepare to bludgeon this person, but as you bring it down, the intruder catches it and pins you against the wall beside the door. She laughs, covering in water from the rain, shaking her head unceremoniously. You squint as a few drops land on your cheek.

“Per- What are you doing!?” You all but yell, remembering there are people sleeping.

Arlecchino kicks the door shut with her boot. “If I let you go, promise you won’t stab me?”

You roll your eyes and she lets you go. “I had to return to retrieve something. Didn’t think I’d bother anybody coming at night, but it seems I was mistaken.” 

Arlecchino stands up straight. She’s wearing something completely different from when you saw her only five hours ago, her cheeks are even flushed as though she had been drinking.

“What did you forget? I can fetch it for you,” you offer, lowering you weapon to hold by your hips. 

Arlecchino taps on her bottom lip, as though considering her options. “Dinner? Or maybe a spar, since you seem so apt to attack unknown trespassers. Or, maybe some of those kisses you used to give.” She grins, leaning into the juncture of your neck and jaw, running the tip of her nose down to your collar bone. 

She was definitely drunk. If that line didn’t tell you, the wine on her breath did. 

“Father, perhaps you should lie down-“ 

“Doooon’t call me that,” she groans, her palm coming to her forehead as if it gave her an instant migraine. “Call me anything but not that. In fact, call me Peruere again, hm?”

Her arms encircle your waist before her hands settle on your hips. She gives your nightie a passing glance before lifting her eyes to yours. “So? What’ll it be?” She asks with a smirk. You assume she’s talking about the options of what she wants from you. The kitchens are closed down and you’re definitely not fighting her, so it seems you’re left with one option.

“If I kiss you, will you cooperate and tell me what you’re doing here?”

“I swear, on my title as a harbinger,” she grins. 

You sigh, looking at her rosy complexion  and then you lean in, kissing her gently on the cheek. She tilts her head leaning into it, closing her eyes. Her head turns slightly, your lips glancing over each other. You can’t help your blush as you pull away but her arms tug you closer. You brace yourself at her shoulders and create some distance. She’s clearly wasted and far be it from you to allow this to go further than it already has. You catch her inhaling the scent of your hair. 

“Peruere, what is it you came here for?”

She doesn’t answer for a while, her eyes avoiding yours. You never could read those dark eyes, and you never notice how they pull you in, like a magnet. Standing up straight, she takes your left hand, running her thumb across your knuckles before stilling at your ring finger. Her nail digs into the diamond before she releases your hand, leaving you warm. “Apologies, Mother,” she says coldly. Suddenly sober, she lets you go, adjusting her clothes. “I should see you soon. Don’t forget your duties.”

Before you can argue with her about that retort, she leaves, shutting the door firmly. 

The next morning you wake up feeling hot with a heavy weight on your chest, before you remember what happened last night. It’s still raining outside, but it seems that Celestia had calmed down. 

But you jump all the same when your door suddenly flies open. A maid stands there, holding a case, but her eyes widen at the sight of four children laying on your bed and three laying underneath and your helpless face being the only part of you she can see. 

“Your… finacè is here to see you,” she says softly. 

[one-green-frog]

Hi hi!! I saw your requests were open, this might be long I'm so sorry TvT

I was wondering if you could do a platonic male reader x batfam based on the song Bloody! bloody! By Junie & TheHutFriends ?? Like, were the reader has these bone deep compulsions to kill and eat people. (If you know about it then something like the hunt from tma) And after disappearing for a while and the batfam hearing about the "man in red" they find out it's the reader?? So they take him home????

If that makes sense??? I'm sorry it's so long 😞

The Man In Red

I really tried my best, but i realized that i don't do well with song fics 😫 i hope you still like it and thank you for requesting.

The first sighting was in Gotham’s East End. A man, drenched in crimson, standing over a body. Then another. And another. The news called him a serial killer, but whispers among the underworld painted a different picture. The victims weren’t innocent—they were monsters in their own right. Rapists, traffickers, killers. People the Bats had marked but never managed to remove. Someone else was doing the dirty work now, and they were doing it brutally.

You had always known something was wrong with you. The hunger had been there for as long as you could remember—an insatiable need clawing at your ribs, whispering in the back of your mind. It was torture for you, knowing that there was something ill, something sick inside of you, yet you had no way of escaping it's grasp. It wasn’t just the desire to kill, it was the need to consume, to tear flesh from bone and feel the warmth of the bloody flesh. You tried to burry the hunger, tried to hide it, doing everything to not let it escape, bur thoughts about the disappointed looks of your family plagued your mind. What would they think when they found about about these urges you had. They may be family but who could ever accept this monster?

And so you left.

It hadn’t been dramatic. There had been no grand argument, no moment of revelation. One day, you were there. The next, you were gone.

Gotham had a way of swallowing people whole, and your family had long since learned that not everyone could be saved. But they didn't stop looking, they never will. They hoped that some day you might appear in front of the manor, they would welcome you with open arms, and if you didn't want to talk about what happened, then so be it. At least they're family would be whole again. They dreamed about that day.

But you simply didn't want to be found.

The hunger was easier to manage alone. Without the constant judgment, without the fear of disappointing them. You tried to direct it, to channel it toward those who deserved it. The city was full of filth, full of sinners and you became the natural predator.

The first time had been messy. You hadn’t been able to stop yourself, hadn’t been able to hold back. You grabbed ahold of their neck, squeezing with all your might as you watched them helplessly squirm around. The way their pulse had quickened under your grip, the way their last breath had shuddered past their lips, it was all so intoxicating.

And the taste…

It was never about the flavor really, the act itself, the raw, primal satisfaction of claiming something so completely. You were the wolf among sheep, the thing lurking in the dark that even criminals feared. They whispered about you in hushed voices.

The Man in Red.

You lost yourself in it for a while. Days blurred together, marked only by the gnawing hunger and the momentary satisfaction of sating it. But the Batfamily had always been good at uncovering Gotham’s mysteries. It was only a matter of time before they found you.

It started with Jason. He knew the language of violence better than anyone, could read the pattern in your work. The others followed—Tim, always analyzing; Damian, already preparing for confrontation; Dick, trying to convince himself this was a misunderstanding. Bruce, silent, waiting.

Then, they found you.

You had been mid-hunt, the scent of fear thick in the air, muscles coiled to strike. But then they were there—shadows against the neon glow of Gotham’s skyline, familiar in ways that made something deep inside you recoil.

They saw the blood.

They saw what you had become.

And yet, they didn’t fight. They didn't look at you with hatred or fear, like so many others had.

Jason was the first to move, stepping forward with a slow, measured gait. His voice, rough and quiet, reached you through the haze. "Come home."

You should have run. Should have fought. But something inside you cracked. The hunger had ruled you for so long, guiding your every move, but for the first time in months, it was quiet.

Then Dick was there, his hand on your shoulder, gripping tightly as if you might disappear again, desperately clinging on. Tim and Damian flanked you, not as enemies, but as something else. As family.

Bruce said nothing, but his gaze was steady. Unshaken. Not afraid.

And so, you went home.

It wasn’t easy.

The hunger didn’t fade just because they took you in. It clawed at you, restless and impatient, curling around your ribs like a living thing. It wanted to escape, to roam the streets again and claim victims. You really tried your hardest to keep it locked up, now that your back with your family, you didn't want to disappoint them and disappear again.

Jason understood best. The way blood called to him, the way anger sat just beneath the surface, waiting to be set free. He didn’t judge when your hands shook, when your breathing turned shallow with restraint. He sat with you in silence, grounding you in the weight of his presence.

Tim found ways to help. Chemical suppressants, neurological blockers—nothing perfect, but enough to give you moments of peace. He worked tirelessly, sifting through research, determined to find an answer, always working to find a way to help you.

Dick didn’t flinch. He smiled, he talked, he touched—a hand on your back, a ruffle of your hair, small reminders that you weren’t something to be feared. That you were still you. Still his brother, part of the family and someone he held deeply in his heart.

Damian trained with you. Pushed you to exhaustion, forced you to focus, to control. There was no pity in his eyes, only expectation. "You will master this", he said, "because you are my brother."

Duke stayed close. Light in the dark. A reminder that there was still something human in you, still something worth saving. He alway spoke words of encouragement.

Bruce watched. Always watching. But not with fear. Not with disappointment.

With patience.

With understanding.

He grounded you like no other, a calming presence, always ready to catch you if you should fall.

They built safeguards. Created plans. And when the hunger grew stronger and you felt like you would break, they were there, ready to put you back together.

That was all you could ever ask for.

Everything you needed.

Your family

[pascalislove]

ANGEL: SALESMAN X FEM!READER- PART 5

Summary: She was an angel and she should be his.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread filled the small café in the corner, a cozy haven where Y/N often spent her break time. She was sitting by the window, absently stirring the sugar in her coffee while her mind tried to ignore the annoying feeling of restlessness that had accompanied her since the morning.

The meeting in the bookstore with that man... that strange, arrogant and mysterious man, had left her with a bad taste in her mouth. His brazenness irritated her, but she was even more bothered by the way he seemed to enjoy teasing her.

She sighed, shaking her head.

—It's not worth thinking about— she muttered to herself, raising the cup to her lips.

But just as she was about to take a sip, she felt a shadow looming over her table. She looked up and her stomach clenched.

He.

With his impeccable dark suit and that damn confident smile, the man settled into the chair in front of her without even asking permission.

Y/N snorted in annoyance and rolled her eyes.

—There are several tables available.

He rested one arm on the table, his expression relaxed.

—I like this one better.

Y/N narrowed her eyes.

—¿Oh, yes?

—From here you can see the people —he said, pointing to the window with a slight nod of his head.

Y/N crossed her arms and looked at him with obvious displeasure..

—If you wait for me to call you, it's not going to happen.

He smiled, as if he had expected that answer.

—I'm not in a hurry.

—Well you're wasting your time.

The man tilted his head slightly, a look of amusement in his dark eyes.

—Sooner or later, you will be mine.

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine. Not out of fear, but because of the coldness with which he said it, as if it were an inevitable fact, as if her destiny was written and he was simply waiting for her to realize it.

But instead of being intimidated, Y/N held his gaze defiantly.

—If that's your way of flirting, you're failing hugely.

He gave a low, almost imperceptible laugh.

—¿Do you really believe it?

—With all certainty.

The man rested his chin on his hand and looked at her carefully.

—I wonder... what kind of man would catch your attention?

Y/N shrugged.

—One that doesn't show up uninvited.

—Oh. So you don't like spontaneity.

—Not when it comes from someone like you.

He smiled, as if each of her responses only entertained him more.

—You're interesting, Y/N.

—And you are annoying.

—That depends on perspective.

Y/N exhaled in frustration.

—Look, I don't know what you want with me, but you should find someone else to play with.

He shook his head slowly.

—I don't want anyone else.

His tone was low, almost intimate, and for some reason, that made her more uncomfortable than his previous provocations.

—I'm not interested in what you want.

—Still.

Y/N frowned.

—¿What?

He sat up straight and picked up his cup of coffee, taking a sip as if he were enjoying small talk.

—You're not interested yet. But the day will come when I do.

Y/N pursed her lips.

—¿Why are you so sure?

He looked directly at her.

—Because when something interests me, I don't let it go.

His response sent a shiver down her spine.

Y/N looked down at her coffee, trying to ignore the way her heart raced.

—You should learn to accept no.

—I'm not one of those who accept no without trying several times.

She looked up, glaring at him.

—Well, you're going to get tired.

He smiled.

—I don't believe it.

There was a heavy silence between the two. Y/N hated to admit it, but the man's confidence was disturbingly hypnotic.

There was something about him, in the way he spoke, in his relaxed but imposing posture, that made it difficult to ignore him.

But she wouldn't give up that easily.

She grabbed her bag and stood up.

—Enjoy your coffee.

The man watched her get up, making no effort to stop her.

—We'll see you soon, Y/N.

She paused for a second, not looking at him, and then left the cafeteria without answering.

But deep down, she knew he was right.

That would not be their last meeting.

This story does not follow the plot of the series, tell me if you like it and if you want me to tag you in the chapters🫶

Tag list:

@beebeechaos, @onyxmango , @muchwita @czarinera , @putrescentpoet

MASTERLIST

[thatoneautisticshark]

Hi! Still new to your blog, so I'm not sure what you're entirely comfortable writing. But I'd love to see some Gaz love. Like, little things the team all do for Gaz (making sure his favourite protein shake is always stocked in the fridge), or maybe the really big deal times (canon ftm!Gaz can't be convinced otherwise, finally getting top surgery, and the boys all being there to greet him in the hospital)

Whatever you want to write about the best boy, I'll happily read!

-🦴

The team quickly picked up on Gaz's odd habits, his favourite foods and his dislikes.

They knew he hated doing the dishes, so learnt why he hated them. He hated the soapy water hitting his wrists, so they would often trade chores to ensure he didn't get the dishes, and picked up elbow length gloves for him.

Soap learned to braid hair. It was a long long process, but he wanted to help Gaz. He knew the other man always felt best when he had braids in, and his hair cared for. So soap took to learning it, slowly learning how to wash and braid textured hair, so after missions Gaz could just relax and get pampered.

He is the only one of them with any family he is close with. And if any of the boys are on break they will happily drive Gaz wherever he needs to go for them.

Price let's Gaz paint his nails, even bright pink, because price simply doesn't give a fuck about his nail colour, but gaz likes to do it.

Gaz is also perfect lap sized, so he gets all the cuddles because there is something so satisfying about having him on your lap.

I love Gaz so much he adores all the love. I currently am actually writing one where I trans girl him. For shits and giggles, :3

[void-floyd-art]

For Lenan Thorne

What plant would Harding gift Rook? Harding would gift him a flowerbox full of poppies and cornflowers as a reminder of home! When they were hunting Solas, he told her about how he missed the flowers that would grow by his family's fields.

Do they like Harding's cooking? Lenan might be just as much of a disaster in the kitchen as Harding (The boy can prep his kills, but that's it!), but that doesn't mean that his taste buds have ceased to function. He would never tell her though, because he loves her too much.

What animal/monster would Davrin carve for your Rook? Davrin would carve him either a little nightingale (Lenan simply cannot stop singing or playing his ocarina!) or a halla (he is actually a surprisingly gentle soul, despite his hot temper).

Does your Rook like the walks in Arlathan with Davrin? Absolutely! The first time he saw an actual halla up close he almost started crying. "I never got to herd my clan's halla..." was Lenan's only answer when Davrin asked him about it later.

What is something Neve could call on your Rook for if she needs certain expertise for a case? Aside from Grey Warden stuff, he's really knowledgeable about plants, and flowers in particular. When they're out and about, he will point to different bits of flora and tell the companions wether those are poisonous and uses for them.

Does your Rook share Neve's love of fried fish? He has no problem hunting and prepping his own food, but for some reason can't bring himself to eat fish if it's still got fins and/or the head. It just kind of grosses him out.

Does your Rook join Bellara in her technical talks about the Fade and various artifacts or are they more content to listen? Lenan loves learning new things, especially about magic as he's only semi-recently finished his formal education in magic. So while he isn't all that active in those talks, he loves to listen to her deep dives and very technical explanations.

Do your Rook and Bellara read serials together? Sometimes. He tries to follow along as closely as he can, but he tends to get the details mixed up and crime stories aren't really his cup of tea to begin with, so he would rather just let Bellara rant at him instead of reading the serials himself.

What is your Rook's favorite dish that Lucanis cooks? He likes most, if not all, of Lucanis's cooking, but is particularly fond of spaghetti carbonara. No real reason there, he just really likes it.

What would Lucanis buy for your Rook at the Grande Market? Lucanis tries to encourage Lenan's hobbies, partially to get him to unwind every once in a while and partially because he likes Lenan's music, so he gets their leader a delicately carved and painted lute. Lenanloves it and uses every opportunity to practice playing it.

What dragon would Taash think your Rook would like the best? Taash thinks the Vinsomer might be a favourite of Lenan's because it shoots lightning and he's very fond of lightning spells himself, but really it's because that was the first dragon he ever saw up close.

Do they bring your Rook 'round the Hall of Valor to drink often? They would bring him along to the Lords more often, but he's doesn't really like alcohol and rowdy crowds. He still comes along on occasion and listens to their stories, but his mug only ever has juice in it and he leaves before the evening to avoid all of the Lords of Fortune looking to get drunk.

Would your Rook like Emmrich's mother's hazelnut torte? Lenan really likes sweet treats, never having had much opportunity to get any (apart from apples and mirabelle plums) growing up, so he absolutely loves the hazelnut torte!

What kind of tea would Emmrich make for your Rook? Emmrich's and Lenan's taste in tea differ and Lenan enjoys hot chocolate more, but he does still like some tea blends. (The sweet ones, obviously.) So Emmerich likes to brew him a tea he specifically keeps around for Lenan - a blend made from roses, apples and cinnamon. It's spicy and sweet and always seems to soothe Lenan.

Bonus: What is one thing a companion does to cheer up your Rook if they're feeling down? The companions Lenan is closest to are Harding, Lucanis, Davrin and Bellara, so while he's not on bad terms with the other three, they respect one another and come through for each other when it counts, these four are usually the ones to try and cheer him up.

Harding has known him the longest and understands that sometimes Lenan just needs to exist with someone else - no words, just being together and preferably in nature. She'll take him on a day trip or they'll sit down in the the conservatory together and silently relax in each other's company.

Whenever Lucanis finds Lenan brooding when he should be using his downtime to relax, he takes the younger to Treviso and they do parkour challanges across the rooftops. Afterwards, when they're sufficiently exhausted, the two go to Café Pietra, order coffee and hot chocolate respectively and just people-watch for a while.

Davrin has noticed the same thing Harding has on their first walk through Arlathan and will take Lenan with him to check up on the halla or go for a walk with Assan. Sometimes they talk - about hunting, about stories from when they were growing up or stories from Grey Warden training - but mostly they just bask in nature together. These trips usually end with them in some clearing or another and Lenan cuddling Assan. (Davrin puts up a token protest that Lenan is spoiling Assan too much, but he never actually does anything about it.)

Bellara has found, that Lenan greatly enjoys just listening to her talk - wether it's about magical theory, the possible functions of an artifact or how she thinks a certain serial might end doesn't seem to matter. So whenever he seems to be quieter than usual or retreat into himself, she asks him for his opinion on her theories about certain plot developments (for which she will inevitably have to recount the entirety of that particular serials plot, just to be sure he understands the significance of certain things) or asks him to be her sounding board for her theories and ideas regarding the Lighthouse, the Fade or Ancient Elvhenan. Sometimes they will spend time like that for hours.

Small Rook & Companion Questions:

What type of plant would Harding gift your Rook?

Do they like Harding's cooking?

What animal/monster would Davrin carve for your Rook?

Does your Rook like the walks in Arlathan with Davrin?

What is something Neve could call on your Rook for if she needs certain expertise for a case?

Does your Rook share Neve's love of fried fish?

Does your Rook join Bellara in her technical talks about the Fade and various artifacts or are they more content to listen?

Do your Rook and Bellara read serials together?

What is your Rook's favorite dish that Lucanis cooks?

What would Lucanis buy for your Rook at the Grande Market?

What dragon would Taash think your Rook would like the best?

Do they bring your Rook 'round the Hall of Valor to drink often?

Would your Rook like Emmrich's mother's hazelnut torte?

What kind of tea would Emmrich make for your Rook?

Bonus: What is one thing a companion does to cheer up your Rook if they're feeling down?

[7975348473]

When the Asshole is sick.

————————————— A Lyrason ff.

Lyra was trying her best to get her mind off of her current circumstances. What were her current circumstances, you ask? Well, she started dating an, admittedly, mighty fine Hawthorne a few months ago.

But the problem about dating a Hawthorne is that they never, and I repeat, never give in.

And Lyra just happened to land herself not only the most stubborn Hawthorne, but also the most self less one.

When Lyra had awoken to find a still sleeping Grayson beside her this morning, she immediately knew something was wrong. Grayson was always the early bird. Lyra reached over to touch his forehead and found it burning up, Grayson stirred under her touch.

“Gray? Are you feeling all right?” Lyra asked gently, not sure if he was awake yet or not.

Grayson didn’t reply but simply put his hand around Lyra’s waist and pulled her closer. And you best believe he was burning up.

“Grayson. You’re burning up.” Said Lyra sternly. She knew well when Grayson Davenport Hawthorne tried to avoid a subject of discussion. Especially when it involved himself.

Grayson gave an uncommitted ‘mm’ in reply before nuzzling himself closer to her. It took everything in Lyra not to just give in and cuddle closer to him because she knew he was not going to acknowledge his sickness anytime soon.

And she was right indeed. When he finally let her go and got out of bed he followed his usual routine. He got up, kissed her cheek, her neck and took off for the washroom to get ready for the day, all the while Lyra kept telling him to stop and listen to her.

Haaa fucking Hawthornes and their stubborn asses.

Grayson exited the shower in a record timing of 25 minutes and 33 seconds, which was a lot longer than it usually took him to get ready.

“Grayson. Listen to me.” Said Lyra sternly, flashing him the glare she had learned from him.

“I have listened Lyra, about 20 times now since I woke up, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry.” Said Grayson, looking at his phone and checking his schedule for the day.

Fine my ass.

“You are not fine Grayson. You woke up late, took far too long to get out of bed, took an extra 10 minutes in the shower even though you prioritise being early to work and you’re burning up. Nothing about that screams fine.” Stated Lyra, matter-of-factly, coming closer in order to get his attention.

Grayson let out a sigh and glanced up at her, “Lyra. I am fine,” he said putting emphasis on each word, “It’s a slight spike in temperature, it happens. I’ll be alright.”

And so the tug of war commenced, neither side giving up until finally, Grayson walked out of the room.

That would lead to Lyra’s current state of dilemma.

What in the world do you do when your boyfriend is sick and you’re mad at him??

Maybe I should apologise?… for what? Caring for him? As if.

But he’s not going to apologise either— stubborn bastard. So what, I watch while he suffers cuz he’s a dumbass and an asshole?

Precisely.

��…..I’m such a terrible girlfriend—

NO. Not going down that road right now.

Lyra’s internal battle continued when, finally, she had had just about enough. She got up and ran through the house for a good 30 minutes until she finally found the kitchen.

Okay. Now. To make a stew for a sick asshole.

Lyra whipped out her phone and called Libby.

“Hello?”

“Libby. Hi. I need your help.”

“Oh? One sec— lemme just— yeah, okay, what’s up?”

“So you remember that one time you told me how Nash got really sick so you made him some st—”

“GNRIJGHORUEHEGROUHOUGBTE SHSHSHSHHSHS.” Libby made a few incomprehensible noises and she seemed to be running?

“GIRL— TELL ME BEFORE YOU DROP A BOMB LIKE THAT.” Came Libby’s long awaited reply.

“…oh— Was Nash there?”

“YES, HE WAS.” Said Libby, out of breath from her sudden expenditure across wherever she was.

Lyra started laughing and Libby joined in soon after.

“So? What did you need? You realise we’re in the same house right?” Asked Libby in between giggles.

“This house is too big for everyone’s good, it was hard enough to find the kitchen, finding you in the process would have resulted in me being lost.” Stated Lyra with a huff. Libby signed in agreement.

“Right, so stew?” Asked Libby.

“Yes. So. You know how Nash was very sick that one time so you spoon fed him that one stew that apparently works like a charm?” Asked Lyra.

“Mhm.”

“Well, I’m in need of the recipe.”

“Oh? Is Grayson sick?”

“You bet he is.” Said Lyra and let out a sigh.

“God damn. He’s even more stubborn than Nash. How do you plan on getting the stew into his mouth?” Asked Libby, Lyra could practically hear her eye roll at the end.

“That.. just leave that to me.” Said Lyra, as an evil smirk spread across her face.

“I can hear your evil smirk.” Said Libby.

“Not evil, Libby.”

“It totally is.”

“Is not.”

“Is to.”

“Okay, ouch.”

Libby laughed at the other end of the line.

“Okay, I’ll come to you.”

“Nah, you could just run me through the recipe over the phone.” Suggested Lyra, hyped to start cooking.

“Uh huh. And I’m sure you know where all the ingredients are in the kitchen?” Said Libby.

…. Right.

“On second thought, pls come to the kitchen that’s right next to… the ballroom? I think?” Said Lyra.

“Second floor?”

“uhhhh yeah.”

“On my way.”

And so Libby walked Lyra through how to make the stew, not bothering to hide her amusement while watching Lyra work hard to make stew for the same boyfriend she was complaining about while making it.

“Lyra. You’re whipped.” Said Libby, after having thought it about 28 times in the past ten minutes she spent with Lyra.

“That’s rich coming from you.” Retorted Lyra, though her reddening cheeks have her away.

Libby laughed and gave her a playful wack across her arm.

And after a good 30 minutes the stew was ready. Now, onto the hard part of the plan. If reasoning and talking wasn’t going to work with Grayson, the art of forced-spoon-feeding might.

Lyra walked on over to Grayson’s ‘office at home’, where he did a lot of his work in recent times. She took a deep breath.

Okay, Lyra. Stay cool. No getting angry. Don’t say a word. Just walk in and act according to plan.

And Lyra, being the queen she is, did just that. She knocked on the door and didn’t bother waiting for a reply. She knew Grayson had no meetings today and was simply trying to ignore that he was sick by busying himself in documents.

Lyra walked in and Grayson looked up at her once before his eyes went back to his documents. Anybody else would have seen that as a cold reaction, but Lyra noticed the way his gaze lingered on her figure, the way his anger and guilt were both visible in his extremely tired eyes.

She payed all of those details no mind, as much as she wanted to. She walked on over to his desk ignoring him when he called out to her.

Lyra stopped right beside his desk and they made eye contact. She noticed the way his body was slightly slumped, the way his cheeks were slightly reddened, the way his eyes looked glassy. She paid those details no mind.

They stared at each other for a while before Grayson finally rose a single eye brow in question. The gesture said it all.

What is it, Lyra?

Lyra didn’t reply immediately. She placed the tray with the bowl of stew on his office desk, ignoring all the documents that were scattered on them. Grayson’s gaze followed her hands before locking-in on her eyes again.

“Turn over.” Commanded Lyra, finally.

Grayson did just that and turned his office chair to face her. He looked even worse in this angle. His red cheeks were on wide display and she noticed how his top two buttons were undone, his blazer abandoned somewhere on the sofa. (Yes this office has a bloody sofa. They’re rich.)

Lyra did not break eye contact a single time. Not while she turned back to him, not while she stepped closer, not while she sat right down on his lap to face him and not when his eyes went wide at the sudden action.

It took everything in Lyra not to break character then and there and just kiss him senseless.

“Lyra.” Came Grayson’s voice. A question that came out sounding a bit lustful.

Lyra didn’t deign that with an answer. She reached over to the soup bowl, took a spoon and brought it to his mouth.

Grayson’s gaze remained on her eyes only fleeing once or twice to her lips.

Lyra raised her own eyebrow and signalled with her mouth ‘ah’.

Grayson continued staring at her before finally opening his mouth. His eyes remained on hers as Lyra took the spoon to his mouth, and she did not appreciate how that action wanted to make her squirm. She picked up more soup and brought it to his mouth again.

“You made this?” He asked, before drinking the soup.

She replied with a ‘mm’. She was still mad.

They continued the process in silence for a while.

“It’s good.” He finally said.

WOW HAWTHORNE. THATS THE BEST YOU CAN COME UP WITH AFTER ALL OF THIS?? ‘ITS GOOD.’ ??? Asshole.

She sent him a glare before taking up another spoon and bringing it to his mouth.

“Lyra.” This time he was requesting for something. For her to listen.

Lyra sighed, “ What?” She moved her eyes to the soup bowl.

“I’m sorry.” Oh. Oh. So he was capable of apologising. Lyra looked back to him, taking in all the details she had refused to before. He looked terrible. He looked fucking glorious.

They, once again, stared at each other for a while, before Lyra broke eye contact to nudge him into drinking the soup. He did.

They continued in a comfortable silence while he finished the soup. Lyra was mad, but she wouldn’t trade this silence for the world. This moment. It screamed them in every way possible. Silence, but so much was spoken.

In the way she made the soup for him despite being mad. In the way he didn’t snap when seeing her, despite also being mad. In the way she spoon fed him in that position despite wanting to sock him in the stomach. In the way that he apologised and listened to every one of her commands, despite always being the one in control. It was them.

Finally the bowl was empty. Lyra moved to get off of his lap but his hand came to rest on the small of her back, preventing her from moving.

She gazed back down at him, willing her eyes to look angry even though she hated the state he was in.

“I’m sorry. Lyra.” He said again, his eyes boring into her own.

They continued the stare down, as many words passed between them without truly being spoken until finally, she broke the silence, with a smirk breaking free on her face.

“Prove it, Hawthorne.”

The look in Grayson’s eyes changed. He still looked sick, put off, guilty, but something stronger overcame those eyes. Want.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as his grip one her waist tightened, pulling her impossibly closer. He kissed her like his life depended on it and she savoured in it.

When they finally broke apart after a very….. productive make out session. Lyra smiled.

“You’re an asshole. You know that?” She said in between pants.

“Mm. Yes. But I’m your asshole.” He replied simply, as if the words took him no effort to think about at all. As if they were always meant to be said.

Lyra hated the effect those words had on her. She loved it.

“Are you flirting with me, Hawthorne? What has gotten into you?” She joked her hands stroking his hair as he angled his face in the crack between her neck and collarbone and rested it there.

“This is how I am when I’m sick.” He said.

Lyra laughed, “You admit it now?”

“Yes. And I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

He brought his face up and kissed her again before adding, “ I really am, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

Lyra smiled and kissed him in reply.

Yes, he was a stubborn- selfless Hawthorne. Yes, he could be a complete asshole. Yet, he was still hers, as much as she was his.

My Hawthorne.

——————————————————

Ahahahahaha. I had this idea marinating in my head for a while and I couldn’t help but finally type it down. THIS IS MY FIRST SAD ATTEMPT AT ROMANCE SO CUT ME SOME SLACK PPL.

(Thoughts would be much appreciated.)

PS- @alwaysthefangirl I NEED HELPFUL CRITICISM. WAS THIS GOOD— 😭🙃✨

[meadowfics]

carebear

berlin (song jung-ho) x f!younger!reader

based off of this request here for fine shyt

warnings: reader is between 20-23 and berlin is his canon age, 41. this is a care bear if you do not know what a 'carebear' is

when you first joined the team, berlin was nothing more than a distant authority figure that you've happened to come across.

he kept to himself, barked orders with that effortless charm of his, and never really acknowledged you beyond what was necessary. you didn’t mind.

he was intimidating, older, too refined in ways that made you feel like you didn’t belong in the same world as him.

then, one day, he decided to teach you how to shoot a gun when you've revealed to the group that you've never shot one.

throughout your crimes, you used your hands and your many knifes. never a gun.

“you’ll need it,” berlin had said simply, handing you the weapon with that unreadable expression of his.

“it’s better to learn from me than to get yourself killed fumbling with it.”

so, you learned and somewhere between those lessons, between his patient instructions and your stubborn determination... you got closer.

late-night talks became a thing. when the others were asleep or too distracted with their own conversations, you and berlin would find yourselves sitting together, talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

he never said too much about his past, always skimming over the details with vague answers, but you could tell.

you could tell there was something there, something dark and unspoken that lingered beneath his carefully crafted exterior.

so one night, as a joke, you handed him your stuffed animal that you brought inside of the mint with you.

it is a blue care bear you had since childhood, a gift from a family member who had long passed.

“here,” you had said, grinning, “for emotional support.”

berlin had scoffed, rolling his eyes, but he didn’t give it back right away.

instead, he held it, staring at it for a long moment before murmuring, “i never had a childhood.”

it slipped out, just like that.

suddenly, the joke wasn’t so funny anymore.

so, you left it with him.

“well, I guess it’s yours now,” you had told him, voice softer than usual, “i think you need it more than me.”

he didn’t argue.

he didn’t say anything at all, just gave you a look that you couldn’t quite place before walking away with the bear still in his hands.

a day later, the moment the care bear was spotted on berlin’s bed spot, the chaos began.

“wait, wait—what the fuck?” tokyo’s voice rang out first, eyes wide as she pointed at the small, blue bear resting on berlin’s pillow.

“is that—”

“no fucking way,” rio laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“that’s cairo’s bear.”

“no it can’t be,” nairobi chimed in, folding her arms.

“cairo would never give that away. it’s their first ever stuffed animal. it’s, like, sacred to them.”

moscow, ever the calm one, eyed berlin with suspicion.

“so, what, you stole it?”

denver, brows raised, looked between the bear and berlin like he couldn’t decide if this was hilarious or horrifying.

“man, cairo’s gonna kill you.”

before anyone could escalate things further, you walked in.

“what’s going on?” you asked, noticing how everyone suddenly turned to stare at you like you were holding the key to some great mystery.

nairobi wasted no time.

“cairo, did you give berlin your care bear?”

berlin, standing beside his bed, merely watched you, waiting for your reaction.

you blinked.

“yeah. why?”

silence.

tokyo was the first to break it.

“you did what?”

“why the hell would you give it to him?” denver added, “that thing was, like, your most prized possession.”

you glanced at berlin, finding him watching you closely, his expression unreadable as always, “because he needed it.”

that was all you said because to you, it was simple.

to berlin, it wasn’t.

for the first time in years, maybe in his entire life, he felt cared for in a way that had nothing to do with power or control. you had given him something that meant the world to you, not out of obligation, not out of manipulation, but because you wanted to. you saw something in him that even he struggled to see in himself.

suddenly, all those strange, unfamiliar feelings he had about you made sense.

he wasn’t just fond of you.

he was in love with you and things changed after that.

it was subtle at first. berlin was softer with you, more attentive in ways that the others barely noticed but you felt every second of the day.

he started lingering when you talked, his fingers brushing against yours when he handed you something, his voice quieter when he spoke to you.

he started looking at you differently.

eventually, in the quiet moments between the chaos inside of the mint, he kissed you.

the kiss slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.

and for once, maybe he did.

the others are occupied, discussing strategy, bickering over details, but you and berlin find yourselves alone in one of the back rooms of the mint.

the dim light casts shadows over his sharp features, and there’s something unreadable in his eyes as he looks at you.

“you’re tense,” he murmurs, stepping closer.

you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“of course i’m tense. we’re in the middle of one of the biggest heists, and oslo dying didn't make that feeling easier...”

“ah, but you hide it well,” he says, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“better than the others, at least.”

berlin's voice is lower than usual, softer. there’s something different in his posture, something deliberate about the way he closes the distance between you.

the older man's hand reaches out, tracing the back of his fingers along your jaw, barely touching, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“berlin,” you start, but the way he looks at you, as if you’re something he’s trying to memorize, steals whatever else you were going to say.

he tilts his head slightly, studying you, before murmuring, “tell me if you don’t want this.”

you don’t hesitate.

instead, you close the space between you, fingers tangling in the collar of his pink suit (that matches yours) as you pull him down to you.

berlin's lips meet yours slowly at first, testing, but the moment he feels you melt into it, his control snaps.

one hand cups the side of your face, fingers threading into your hair, while the other finds your waist, tugging you flush against him. he kisses like he does everything else...with intention, with precision, like he’s savoring every second.

you kiss him back just as fiercely, matching him beat for beat, pressing up on your toes to get closer, to feel more. berlin's hand tightens on your waist, grounding you, claiming you.

when you part for air, he doesn’t let you go, his forehead resting against yours and your nose touching his, his breath fanning across your lips.

“cairo,” he murmurs, voice rougher now, raw in a way he never lets the others hear, “you’re going to be the death of me.”

you smirk, still breathless. “good. that makes two of us.”

the way berlin looked at you, with that smirk of his... of course you leaned back in without hesitation, hands gripping the lapels of his suit as you press your lips against his again, deeper this time.

berlin meets you with the same hunger, his fingers tightening at your waist, sure to leave bruises as he is pulling you flush against him.

the kiss is slow but consuming, his lips moving against yours with practiced ease, like he’s unraveling you one touch at a time.

the large hand of his slides up your back, his fingers tracing along your spine, sending a shiver through you. the warmth of his palm settles at the nape of your neck, his thumb brushing over your jaw as he tilts your head, deepening the kiss.

he kisses like he owns you, like he’s memorizing the shape of your lips, the way you sigh softly into his mouth when he bites gently at your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue.

berlin's other hand drifts lower, gripping your hip, steadying you as he walks you back a step until your spine presses against the wall.

the shift only makes the kiss more urgent, your bodies molded together as he explores your mouth with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue.

you feel the way his breath hitches when you slide your hands up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his suit, holding him there like you never want to let go.

he moves like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s taking his time, even as the tension between you coils tighter.

the way he kisses you... thorough, possessive, like he’s letting himself lose control for the first time, makes your heart pound in your chest.

berlin's lips leave yours only to ghost over your jaw, trailing soft, heated kisses along the column of your neck, before he pulls back just enough to look at you.

the man's breathing is now uneven, his pupils blown wide with something unreadable, but he doesn’t step away. instead, his forehead rests against yours, and neither of you move, caught in the heavy silence of everything.

the next day:

inside of the mint, things were intense. you finally got the see the inspector face to face, where she wanted to make sure all of the hostages were okay.

after the whole thing, berlin always made sure you were taken care of.

if there was ever a moment of downtime, he would bring you water, insist you eat, remind you to take breaks even when you insisted you were fine. berlin's way of caring was subtle, but you could feel it.

when the professor sent orders, berlin always made sure you weren’t in the line of fire from his brother, always keeping an eye on you from across the room. you never were, since you were actually a favorite of the professors.

“you did well today,” berlin came up to you, voice softer than the others ever got to hear.

“so did you,” you’d reply, watching the way his face eased when he was alone with you.

sometimes, when the nights stretched long, and the weight of the heist pressed against your shoulders, berlin would let you lean against him, his arm a steady weight around you.

“you know,” he murmured once, as you rested your head against him, “i never thought i’d meet someone like you in a place like this.”

you tilted your head up to look at him.

“what the hell does that mean?”

all he did was look air you, before turning his head away with that smile of his.

you smiled, knowing that berlin is not known for vocalizing his romantic feelings.

suddenly, you lift your head, murmuring, “oh, wait, i forgot something.”

berlin watches as you stand, stretching slightly before stepping away, disappearing into the adjoining room.

when you return, the small blue care bear is cradled in your hands, the same one you had given him days ago.

you don’t say anything, just press it against his chest before climbing onto his lap, settling against him with ease.

berlin doesn’t argue, doesn’t question it.

instead, he lets you tuck yourself into him, his arms wrapping around you as you bury your face against his shoulder, already beginning to drift.

the older man's fingers move lazily over your back, soothing, grounding, as your breathing evens out, sleep claiming you in the safety of his embrace.

he stays awake for a while, watching you, taking in the way your lashes rest against your cheek, the way your fingers are curled around the bear as if it’s second nature.

there’s something strangely soft about the whole moment, something he’s not used to...something he never thought he’d want. here you are, trusting him enough to fall asleep in his arms, giving him a piece of yourself without hesitation.

the weight of that realization settles in his chest, heavy yet welcome.

eventually, he exhales slowly, shifts slightly, and lets his eyes close, deciding, just this once, to rest inside of the mint.

masterlist

[daylighted]

Hiya, hun!! I have this idea stuck in my head for weeks, and I just can’t get rid of it. I keep thinking about Baby!Reader picking out and putting together cute outfits. But!!! She can’t go out in them until Dean gives the okay not because he controls what she wears, but because she wants his approval 🙃

OH MY GOD YES :( !!! she watches the home decor channel RELIGIOUSLY. it is her favorite channel aside from food network because she LOVESSS chopped. she will look at the winchesters and be like "now why don't you guys make this stuff." bc she is so silly !!! but the home decor is her personal fave ever bc she learns what colors go together !!! and uses it !!!!

the first time she is proud of an outfit, she literally would BARGE into whatever room he's in. kitchen? thank god he's cooking because she's SICK of french fries, but she will interrupt it. bathroom? truly hope he's showering and even then she WILL pull open that curtain because she is excited.

and she'll be like "look!!"

and dean's like... yes, you are wearing... a dress...

and that is simply not enough for her. it would never be enough for her. she wants him to sit down and break down all of the choices she made, even though she knows the choices, she made them, she wants him to be proud of her expertise.

so she will glare so hard at him, even if he is naked in the shower she does not care !!!! and be like, "no, i am wearing a little black dress to match my little black jacket."

and obviously, dean noticed all of this, but he does not understand the point of why this was detrimental enough to break into and hijack his shower. not that he minds? it's just a little intense that the first time she sees him naked, she doesn't even care, she just wants to show off a dress, but hey, now you're even? and he's like, "what's the point of this, baby?"

naturally, she's furious. you put so much thought into this. "and i have a pretty red headband that i matched to my shoes, see?" insert her kicking out her leg to stomp on the edge of the tub, so he can't escape it. yep, the red of the shoes matches the red of her headband. can't deny it. "it's pretty, isn't it?"

dean, so afraid of metaphorically stepping on her metaphorical toes, goes, "...yes?"

not enough! "do you like it?"

"yes, baby, i like it. can you shut the curtain?"

"no. tell me what all you like." this was the true testament, after all.

so dean was being a fashion critic while his ass was out. this was not how he expected this evening to go, but honestly, he had to stop expecting anything to go any sort of way with baby around. "you know i love you in that jacket, baby. i'm glad you convinced me to get you that dress, because it looks goddamn beautiful on you. i've told you over and over that i love you in red—"

she cuts him off enthusiastically, clapping her hands together. "yes! yes, yes, yes!" dean does not know what he said to elicit this reaction, but he'll take it? he thinks? "i picked the red for that reason!"

pause. "because i like you in it?"

"yes!" why did she ever doubt dean? ever? "you said eleven days ago that i looked pretty in your old red t-shirt, remember? and i thought you'd like it if i wore red again, but i wanted to make it fit, you know? i wanted to make a whole..." what did the home decor channel say? "a statement piece!"

dean doesn't even remember, now, that his entire ass is out. that he's entirely naked, and she's entirely dressed, because here she is in front of him, telling him that she internalizes his compliments and implement them for his approval. he's enamored. really! he is! this is not a situation he can convince himself otherwise of, he's beguiled.

"you look beautiful." his smile is softer around the edges, without the panicked urgency over the fact that she was standing in front of him, only the edge of a tub separating the both of them. not for the first time, he wants to kiss her. for the first time, he doesn't want to deny it or pretend otherwise. "can we shut the curtain now? i don't wanna keep talkin' to you like this. i wanna give you all of my attention, okay baby?"

"i don't want to leave." of course she didn't, but he needed her to leave, because he was stuck on this two lane road of kissing her or not, and he was drifting very much into the lane that ended with his mouth on hers. "i can sit here on the sink. we can talk like that."

horrible idea, but dean was very horrible at telling baby no. it was getting worse, too. he was driving very quickly down a dead end, waiting to crash into a wall he could never turn back from.

"okay." dean watches her for a moment or so longer, his smile falling into one more admiring than anything. at least it was just them both in this room, and therefore sam could not use any of this against him. "by the way," he adds like an afterthought, after he shoves the curtain back closed so he can't see the utter adoration in her gaze, "i expect to see all of your outfits, now."

and baby would do it. she'd do anything so long as he called her pretty like that.

[vyl3tpwny]

ive listened to your music through a lot of different avenues (headphones/eardbus/phone speaker/speakers in general); every time i do i still am able to hear something new in the effects or sound effects i'd never heard before, despite binge listening a lot of the time

i just wanna say its genuinely incredible how many layers your tracks have 💜💜💜 how many layers do they usually have?? or does it vary a lot?

it varies quite a bit!

i'll show this but i'll clarify something:

this is the project file for creature city, as an example. it goes to 216 tracks. but you have to take this track count with a grain of salt. some tracks are dedicated entirely to a sound that plays for half a second and thats it sometimes fkhljsdf.

regardless, no matter what genre of music i'm doing, a lot of my philosophy with layering and depth comes from my experience with the IDM* and neurofunk music scenes, where there's an absurd amount of layers, focus on fluid section transitions, and shifting soundscapes that seldom stay the same. a lot of artists in that space that have changed me forever in that regards are Iglooghost, Copycatt, Mr. Bill, False Noise, Noisia, Amon Tobin, and Culprate.

tho to be honest it's sort of a compulsion?

because tbh i think one of my weaknesses as an artist is i tend to be really self conscious about simplicity and straightforwardness. a lot of the times i definitely feel that i create more complexity than necessary to compensate for the fact that i don't always write an idea to work simply first. what i mean by that is a lot of rlly great songs are not trillions of layers and ideas all at once but just a simple idea executed satisfyingly, and i have a hard time doing that much of the time. a lot of my work can come off overproduced and stuff as a result and it's something i'm working hard to learn better how to do. it's a weird concept, because you train so much as an artist to do more advanced and complex things, you lose sight of rawness and straightforwardness at some point. with something like creature city i think the complexity is warranted, but yeahh it's a thing i think about!

i think if a song sounds top tier and is only like 10-20 tracks, that's the LIFE man. i find it super hard to make my own work engaging with so few tracks, i wanna challenge myself to get to that level.

i bring all this up bc i've seen like ppl go on about how many tracks they have in their projects as like a flex and tbh it's not really a flex at all sdfkjlsdfjk.

one of my fav examples of this concept i'm talking about is stromae and his record "alor on danse".

vro makes a club classic using like a few tracks, a laptop, and the dinkiest midi keyboard i've ever seen in my life. to me that's a mastery that i do not have yet, and it's very important to me.

anyway just thought i'd write this <3

*IDM is a genre name I don't agree with, but just wrote it for posterity. I tend to call this genre of music "Progressive Electronic" or, as Aphex Twin has called it, "Brain Dance" music. we can have more discussion about the genre name of IDM at some point in the future.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

“I just changed the titles. The first one is a prologue. This is more set in the future, but that should be clear with how the chapter changes? I mean, last one is prologue. Here’s an continuation after about a year.😭” - Ichor

Summary - “Simply walking the halls of a defective mansion. You are suddenly met with new things.”

“@kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.”

“+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @marcela2000.” - Tagged

TW // Neglect, Predator.

|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {Prologue} • {Chapter II}

Your hands are behind your back as you walk straight down one of the mansions corridors. A gleaming white tile glaring at you each time you pass and wide window that brings in a reflective glare of the sun into the home. Something you honestly hate of this modern mansion. Too much white for your tastes, and well the people that lived inside of it, but that couldn’t be clear enough already. Yet, your not one to purely judge people and nature itself- Well… unless those Golden Knights count as something… unnatural.

Its weird though, you have never really addressed them as their original titles: Adeptus Custodes or just Custodes in short. You have just been mentally calling them “Golden Knights.” Your pretty sure it was because you practically grew up under their eyes, and your younger, innocent self couldn’t fathom nor pronounce Adeptus Custodies. So your little mind settled on what was closer: Golden Knights. Knights also had happened to one of the things you admired then and well now. Admittedly, you like to think of a more… characteristic knight now since you figured out how exactly knights where back in the 12th century. It was a very stark contrast between a little fairytale and the real thing. All the more reason to avoid the Golden Knights though. You’re not sure how they act besides being annoying statues, and trying to follow you are despite your inner turmoil.

Maybe you should just settle for a War World II soldier instead? At least they cared for their nurses… Well, in the movies they did. You didn’t have enough information in written history to claim such. Maybe that is something you could figure out in the time being? Learn a bit more about War World II? You know you have heard of the Astarte's being first sighted there… Maybe that will allow you to get more information on the Golden Knights in your home er- household? No, those words don’t seem right to call this false security of a home…

You pause in your steps; in the middle of the hallway. Your head slightly down as you eye the shiny tile. Your mind in a sudden deep thought. What would you even call this household? Certainly not the Last name of the family, the blood is too mixed and… judging. You felt like they didn’t even deserve the honor of a last name. So, what would you call this… corruption?

‘Dysfunctional? Toxic? Tumultuous? Unstable?’ You almost amuse yourself with those definition's.

“Auntie?” A little, childish voice brings you out of your thoughts. Blinking, your back straightens up a bit again at your other- rather only friendly title you’ve been called here. Eyes flickering down to a little girl behind you, no more than 4 years old. Her wavy, strawberry hair stopping at just her shoulders; her sea green eyes innocent of youth. “Little Eden” you like to call her- mentally. Selectively mute you chosen to be. If you can’t talk in the home; voice your opinion's… Why bother talking at all?

You remember the first time you had met little Eden though. How her little fingers, grasped around your pointer finger while she tried to eat at her other hand, slobbering all over it. Her little cheeks chubby with cute fat, and her eyes a bit puffy with the cry’s for attention she desperately needed. Yet, she seemed to calm at your mere presence. Quieting down to soft sounds of nibbles. A few gnawing “yah, yah, yahs” leaving her. It would have been cute sight if it weren’t for the thought of the whys and hows she was crying for attention in the first place.

You were simply wandering the night halls of the mansion again. A routine you usually do to keep yourself and other things in check. Another party being hosted by your father as the walls thrum with vibrations, and through all that noise? You can hear a faint cry of displeasure. A cry of a newborn that you knew that was, and had come into the world, but just was never allowed to the hospital to see the brith of the new addition. So, you had to settle on patiently waiting for the time you would be able to see her without the foul glares and words of the family that might change her perspective of you at day one. It just… wasn’t a risk you were willing to take just to see someone new, but that wasn’t the thing you were most worried about. It was how the child was crying their heart out, wanting, seeking, needing attention. Their parent no where in sight, no doubt joining that damn party, and you’re not sure what scares you. The child’s obvious neglect or how you feel like you would be another failure to someone else. Even if they weren’t supposed to rely on you.

You sigh out, trying to calm your thoughts before your body would start to shake in anxiety. A hum leaving you to acknowledge the little one behind you. Your body turning a bit to give her your attention. Her eyes brightening up at your simple movements after she rubbed her eyes with her palms. Your eyes flickering to the shimmer of gold behind her, ignoring the… What was he again? A Shadow Keeper? Did she just wake up from a nap?

“Hi, auntie!” She greets you again, bounding up to you on her little legs. Her hands coming out to grasp at your pants. A huge smile on her face, and you’re not sure of what to make of it. No one has ever smiled so brightly at you before. Your brain thinks “logically;” to protect yourself, even from a child, thinking this was a trick. While your heart craves for such actions. Yet, you know better to have your heart to lead you, but it doesn’t mean you would neglect anything- anyone that would show you a smidge of kindness in this chaotic world.

Your eyes flicker over to the Shadow Keeper again. His form slow, basking in the shadows that a part of their armor seamlessly absorbs. His red visor softly glowing, even in the brightest areas, and it never fails to pull a shiver down your spine. These beings were so unnerving, but they have shown nothing to… oppose that. Opposite, really? You think? The people just somehow accept these… things that just appear out of no where, didn’t they think that was a bit suspicious? You weren’t at all judgmental of them nor combatant of them. You just wanted to know their origin, their purpose. Everything has it purpose you believe, but you can’t find anything to support your own ideals of them. Not even with the normal Astarte's. You just find they are kind of like different species: Primaris Marines, first-born, Iron Warrior’s to Salamander's…

Ugh, thinking about them just hurts your brain, brings you a massive migraine. You’ve gotten a bloody nose out of it one time, and you really don’t want to experience that again. It was one of the worst ones that you had, and even that, was suspicious to you. It wasn’t hard to notice that something was at play here as a mute watcher. Yet, something stops you from thinking of such. You wonder if you can get your answers from an Alpha Legionnaire or a Thousand Son. You heard it was a bit risky to deal with the mysteries untold, but if you wanted answers…

“Auntie?” Eden calls for you again, a tone of worry, perhaps defensiveness in her voice. Her hands tugging up at you. Wanting your attention again. “Did Mr. Varon offend you? You stare at them quite a lot…”

‘What? ’ You think to yourself, blinking away from the Shadow Keeper; rising your brow as you look back down at the child. Ignoring your own hint of embarrassment that grows inside of you that you were just… staring at things. Though, who's Varon? Wait…

Your head moves back up to the Shadow Keeper, your eyes narrowing at him slightly, judging him. His helmet tilting a centimeter to his right. His visor flashing a bit brighter as if he was… amused. Never in your life have you made on effort to learn the first and last names of the Golden Knights. You didn’t want to, you wanted the favor of your supposed parents then, but now?

You shake your head, ridding of any thoughts that could be driven by your heart. Turning your head back down to the child that was trying to pull you along somewhere. Her hands tightly grasping at you, grunting in… cute effort to try and move you from your spot. A singular twitch of your lips frowning upward, being shown for the trained eye before quickly going stoic again and following where the child wanted you to be. The shadows’ following at a respective distance right after.

She leads you a bit through the mansion, as if she was checking it out with you. Her hand never leaving their spot on your pants to pull you along. Taking you around the kitchen, living room, the outer rim of the mansion before taking you back inside and pulling you up stairs that has a loft near the entry way of the mansion. An honestly good spot to spy on the new people that come and go, and you suppose its one of the things you and Eden like doing together. Sitting in each others presence and watch the drama unfold just at the entry of the mansion.

“Father! I got someone new I want you to meet!” Ah, and so the show begins. A male and feminine figure slamming the front door shut upon entering the mansion. A click of heels echoing through the area as Father and Mother appear from just down the hall. Mother appearing from the laundry room. Something you take note of quickly as her being in the laundry room was suspicious, she never- doesn’t do laundry. Father appeared somewhere further down the hall. The rest of the hallway unseeable with the second story room wall’s in the way, but you would have to guess it was from his office.

Mother, something you don’t even call her anymore nor Father, but she was a rather fine looking woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. Good figure that would make her a model until you get to her shitty attitude. Most of the time she's a manipulator. Her tone untrue to others, including family. Seems like she just can’t stop being in a play. A fantasy she puts herself in. Something at least you can feel pity on her **for.

Father was all the dark a broody unless he was hosting his parties. Drinking away his worries. His dark eyes almost distant; black, slicked back hair seemingly always greasy now a days, but at least he occasionally shaved when a beard started to grow. That was something to show he wasn’t a complete failure. At least physically, emotionally? You, and only you knew he was drowning in silent debt. He should really consider rejecting some things… It will only be a matter of time before he breaks. You take a bet that he would even brake before your mother would.

“This is Linton Stokes.” Your stepsister, more like half-sister, but you don’t really even consider her blooded or even a sister. It’s another thing you think that many would need to earn the title of, but she introduces the new male next to her. Her arms wrapping around his neck while this “Linton Stokes” puts his hands on her waist. A sound of hushed disgust coming from the child besides you. “He’s my new boyfriend.”

‘What's the number now for that? The 12th one this year?’ You muse to yourself, shifting your weight as you lean up against the glass railing. That's also not even counting the past years she's had these flings of boyfriend's. Sometimes you feel bad for them because some of them seemed genuinely good material, only to be ruined by Lessas’ habits of being well…. a known whore, to put it boldly. Other times you can tell it was just a game to the men, and this male? Was going to be no different. You can just tell. It’s like a sixth sense.

“Oh! How exiting!” Mother gasps in fake excitement, but it has just enough training that it fools nearly everyone. Her hands clasping together. Her smile too bright, and the bright red lipstick she was wearing wasn’t helping her either. “What do you do, young man?”

“I, uh, I do business.” The guy retorts and immediately, you know that's a lie. If he was business he wouldn’t be dressed like a commoner. He would be more formal. Not only that, but he hesitated his words. He wasn’t confident in his position. So that's all the more reason to think that he was a liar or he just wasn’t doing well at his job that he was most definitely going to get fired sooner or later.

That, or you’re too judgmental.

“What type of business?” Father inquires, raising his brow. His fingers threading through his hair as he sighs out. Seemingly not in the mood to meet anyone else, unless of he was drinking of course. Friendly, deceiving person when drunk. Uncaring, tired man when sober. Pitiful, almost.

“Corporation, sir.” Linton speaks with manners but if he actually had any he wouldn’t be allowing himself the freedom of touching Lessa openly. He would have been respectful and shown promise in front of father, but you know the simple word: Corporation caught your father’s interest. His eyes regained a bit of light to them at the first syllable.

“Corporation, eh?” Father chuckles in a low tone, coming forward to remove Lessa from him and wrap his own arm around his shoulder. His daughter, not even of blood, pouting just a bit with a stomp of her black heels. “Say… I can teach you a thing or two? Hmm?”

“Mother!” Lessa huffs and puffs, never really liking the attention off of her. Another clicking stomp coming from her as she looks over to mother, expecting her to do something when another solid gold came into the room: Aquilan shield if you remember correctly of what type the Golden Knight was that has entered the entry way freely. His golden armor, and what you assume jewels imbedded in it having a bit of a reflex on the tile below. His figure more prominent in the tile reflection than anything else in the damn house. Probably the most expensive thing in the world too. It’s one of the few things why your father just… tolerates them because not only do they look intimidating, but your pretty sure there is dollar bills in your fathers eyes each time he glances over them.

Linton, probably and most likely has never seen an Custodies before, shivers in his spot. His adam apple signaling that he swallowed hard at the Aquilans’ sudden appearance, and man was it always amusing to see the new people crumble at just the sight of them. You had to at least give that to the Golden Knights. They were effective in chasing people off and keeping them off the property. Not they really intend to. It was just how they were built.

Yeah, built. You don’t believe these men or perhaps just things of armor: formed like golden bars were birthed like 1,000+ pounds at the getaway from a woman’s womb. They were definitely created in a lab unless they came from a line of giants or some mythical creature. Exaggerated? Maybe, but what else could you think of without getting a pounding headache that stops you from thinking further?

“Is…i-is that a Astarte's?” Is the first thing Linton says about them, and it’s almost a boring answer. Her eyes flickering over to father before looking back at the Aquilan with clear nervousness. His hands were shaking a little bit as he swallows again. It was a bit of a miracle that he hasn’t excused himself yet. It was a bit strange, but not everyone was the same. Maybe this guy has a bit of a back bone?

“No, that’s Atlas!” Eden speaks up right next to you. Her little mind not taking the disrespect for the Custodies, no matter if it was a simple question, and you… praise her for it, but did it have to be near you? You were just the playing object, perhaps a puppet in their eyes. Not even their child or sibling, just some random that lives in their house, eating their money, and you can just tell with how they look up to you with such disgust. It would sicken you, yourself if you weren’t used to it already.

“What are you doing out?” Your father more like comments up at you. His arm still wrapped around Lintons’ shoulders while they just seem to forget about the new Golden Knight in the room since they noticed you, and not in a good way as an uncomfortable silence stretches through out the area. Your mouth never opening to answer them. You never do as it would come with a cost of your own sanity. You just watch.

“Who is that, sir?” Linton speaks up with a slight waver in his tone. His brown eyes looking up at you in mild curiosity, and it leaves you skeptical. Your eyes tracking every movement that he does. Man should know what not to question around here. Especially with the attitude of your mother and Lessa. They do not do well with your mere presence or of an uttered word of/and/or about you.

“They are no one, honey!” Your mother grins too brightly, gaining the attention of the newcomer for a second and huff from her daughter: who smirks in response as if she won something she never even participated in. Her arms folding over her chest as she shoots a poor attempt of a sinister glare up to you.

‘Was that suppose to remove me from the plains of the Earth?’ You muse to yourself to keep your spirits up despite the prickling anxiety that feels like lightning was roaming across your back. Your form shifting your weight on one leg.

“Come, baby!” Lessa smiles too brightly as well, forcefully taking Linton back from her father, pulling at the mans’ clothes. Her tone so full of under toned venom, and she wasn't even hiding it. She never tries to. Probably one of the reasons she losses relationships so much…You honestly wonder how well she would do if she was paired up with a chaos Emperor Child? For you, you want it to be a form of punishment for her. You know that what you’re thinking of is… dark. You know the difference between chaos and a “holy” marine; have a slight concept of it, and by god you wished something akin to what was going through your mind happened to her. “Let me show you around my mansion!”

Your father face twitches at Lessas’ words, clearly taking in of how she says “my mansion.” Clearly displeased with her. Not only did she take away a potential victim of his… scam’s, but she was pulling a dominance card, and if you didn’t know any better yourself? Certain men don’t like that, like your father. It’s surprising he doesn’t do anything about it just yet. Most likely wanting to try and score some money off the “Linton Stokes” and spend it all in one go. That is if he was even a business man. This guy could be wanting to do the same to him.

“Hold on now,” Linton pauses their attempts to move him further down the mansion. His hands coming up to hold Lessas’ hands to try and stop her from dragging him. Lessas’ eyes giving him a glare that he simply ignores, looking back up at you. “I thought I was supposed to be meeting your whole family?”

‘Whole family, huh?’ You narrow your eyes down at him, meeting his gaze; making sure that you gather any more detail you could about him physically. He knows a lot more than what he leads on… His eyes flickering around briefly: at Eden then back to you, and something about that simple look around irks you. It sends a couple of negative mixed signal’s through your brain. Your form shifting a bit to cover Eden up more with your body, at most your legs. Her hands squeezing at your clothing at the unintended invitation.

Lessa was a absolute fool to bring this one in.

“She’s nobody.” Lessa hisses through her teeth with a happy tone. Her blue eyes sending you another glare up at you before lighting up again once Linton looks back at her. Smiling as if she hasn’t done a single unholy thing in her life before giving a light laugh. “A maid at most! Let me show you around, babe!”

You can see the man hesitate before reluctantly following her. Letting himself be pulled by her hand and lead him further into the mansion. Your parents lingering for a second, giving you a lasting glare before following their steps. You would feel… sorry, but with how many years you put up with their shit? It wasn’t even worth to waste such emotion.

“That guy is weird.” Eden comments up at you, saying whatever pops up into her head. Your figure leaning up from the glass railing while you decided that pinnacle of drama was enough for the both of you. Better things can be done besides being bait to some theatricals.

You nod down at her though: agreeing. This “Linton Stokes” was definitely weird. He knew that you were part of the household even if you weren’t really well… apart of it. His gives off an… strange aura that you can’t pinpoint just yet, but you know it’s negative. It’s not something to just brush off either. Not to mention the random look he gave Eden…

You need to keep an eye on this dude. Yet, you cannot always be there for her, no matter if you want to or not; could or not. The family would get suspicious, and start lies or something that was supposed to ruin your own reputation. She also could get targeted too, and you definitely did not want that to happen. No child deserved to not feel a mother’s love, father’s protection or even a siblings connections, and just because you didn’t have it yourself? It doesn’t mean you would revoke someone else of that… wholesomeness. That was just a low blow, or at least you think it was- is.

You sigh, your shoulders dropping slightly in some form of internal defeat. How would you even protect her? At least until you feel safe that she was safe? It’s not like you could hire a damn mercenary or bodyguard. The spent money would be suspicious too.

…Wait.

Your eyes flicker up to the black and gold Shadow Keeper that kept to the shadows and the gold and royal blue Aquilan Shield below that keeps his own red visors staring up at you. Your mind thinking… There are others that can protect her, but were you willing to take that risk? To finally make request them of something after years of trying to ignore them the best you could?

To finally give them a sliver of your inconclusive trust?

[raayllum]

Is there like‚ some kind of symbolism of Claudia fixing Callum's hair VS Rayla lovely touching it?

There's probably a whole mini meta just waiting in TDP about hair (how Soren parts his hair switching post-timeskip to reflect how he's literally switched sides; Claudia's moon symbolism hair, which I do have a meta for in my drafts rn) so to put it simply: yes, I think so!

Claudia cares a lot about appearances. This ties into how much she hates feeling judged ("you're doing it again prince judy-face!" / "here to judge me, captain true heart?"). She values things looking put together, largely because she puts more emphasis on things being Physically okay rather than considering someone's emotional state (i.e. overruling Viren and Soren in S2 and S4 respectively). We see this overtly in "Lost Child":

“You’re still here. Even though I’m…” She gestured at herself, to something beyond the soil-soaked boots and tearstained face: a total mess. [...] A moment later, she blinked into the pond; her reflection beamed up at her. Her eyes brighter, her face fuller, more color in her cheeks. Small changes, but still—There I am, she thought.

We also see this in show canon. She checks with the little leaf-cub creature in 6x04 that her new haircut suits her. She also reflects that maybe seeing the creature as parts is bad, implicitly, because the creature is so cute/adorable. (This is in stark contrast to Ezran who reflects a season earlier in 5x06 that sea slugs may look gross, but they have a rich inner life and he's regularly made friends with them. Post with that comparison here)

Another consistent facet of Claudia is that her compliments are sometimes not entirely compliments. This happens just once with Terry ("Claudia says that makes me weird, and wonderful, so...") as she more readily compliments him ("you saved the day!" / "goofy and glorious just like you!"), but it happens basically any of the few times she compliments/offers praise etc. to Callum in any manner.

It was completely ridiculous. Adorable. Did you just say adorable? Did I? (1x02)

That was very confident Callum. Oh, thanks. Even if your hair's a little messy. (2x02)

You didn't open it? Why would I do that? [The letter] is for you. Though I could've easily opened it and then resealed it with magic. Did you? Did I? We may never know. But no. No.

Yeah, you always were a very clever human, weren't you, Callum? (4x08)

Impressive, Callum. Somehow you learned primal magic. But dark magic will always have the edge. (7x07)

(AKA she giveth and she taketh away.)

So Claudia fixes Callum's hair. She compliments him, but also makes him more nervous. She adjusts his appearance to something she thinks is 'better' (cleaner). Absolutely none of it is malicious, but it does reaffirm that when crushing on her Callum never felt entirely comfortable around her despite being longtime friends, whereas even though Rayla can be much gruffer, Callum feels a lot more comfortable around her (even once he develops feelings) in general.

So there's the obvious level of comfort (Rayla) vs non-comfort (Claudia), as well as a longstanding childhood crush vs what has blossomed into more mature, enduring love of 3+ years as of the end of 7x09.

Claudia sees that his hair is messy and points it out; Rayla sees that his hair is messy and quietly fixes it herself, doing so simply and leaving Callum looking more relaxed than before, rather than less like in 2x02.

Rayla, as we know, doesn't really care about appearances. She routinely doesn't care about titles, she goes with what her gut tells her, and anytime she expresses distress over her appearance ("I'm a mess") it's scaffolded under "I'm showing weakness" rather "I look bad". There's a similar fear of judgement lurking underneath as Claudia's, but I don't think Rayla sees herself as a Good Person the same Claudia does, and therefore doesn't have the need to keep seeing herself that way in the same manner.

Either way, Callum is always Callum to her ("You're so gross" with a fond smile on her face; his scarf is smelly and he knows it and just smirks at her over it; "you're a good person, Callum, maybe the goodest," etc), and always her Callum — her heart, her home, her best friend and partner — and that's what the 7x09 scene is ultimately about, I think.

Do me the honour of letting me talk a bit about hair-touching and white streaks, though, for a second, when it comes to Claudia, Terry, Callum, and Rayla.

Because despite Claudia and Terry being very touchy-feely for 3.5/4 seasons, Terry never once touches Claudia's hair in quite the same manner or framing that we see in 7x09. He touches her hair, sure — he braids it for her and then later cuts it — but this is the closest we get to an adjustment, which is when he's bathing her and cleaning her up in 6x03.

Now, pushing the white hair and all its associations to get to Claudia, flesh and blood and very much still alive, underneath would be ripe enough as a symbolic examination, honestly. The reason why this feels so different to me than 7x09, I think then, is that there are two scenes 7x09 mirrors when it comes to someone touching Claudia's hair in the "facing the camera, strands on the face/cheek" directly shot.

And it's herself.

SOREN: You saw what Dad turned Kasef into. What Dad turned into. Claudia, you're changing too. (3x07)

CLAUDIA: But... I'm still nice. I'm still me. (7x09)

In both instances, she's not willing to admit that Soren is right / that she's changed (or, arguably, that she needs to change just in the opposite direction). She touches it first as a sign of shame in the face of her brother's words, the first white streak in her dark hair. Then she touches one of the few dark streaks that remain, reassuring herself (because nobody else will or can at this point) that she's still the person she thinks of herself as, someone who's still nice ('good').

Callum, meanwhile, never touches his white streak. He wakes Rayla up in the middle of the night (which she takes much better than I would, I can say that much) and offers his scarf, asking if she trusts him. But Rayla notices his hair is a little askew, so she tidies it for him. And the whole time, his expression is completely open, smiling and trusting her in turn... even when she hasn't actually answered his question yet, and his expression softens even before she has too.

She doesn't tuck or hide it away. It's a part of him, and therefore a part she loves ("Everything"). And he knows it.

[fafayayarhen]

spaus nation how do we feel about the two having a matching wavelength of possessiveness for each other. Let's start with Antonio. Mild NSFW & religious symbolism in horny subtext.

Antonio's more volatile and incredibly unhinged about what's rightfully his (Roderich) because I wholeheartedly believe that a first marriage, first kiss, first fuck, first everything for over 200+ years for immortals like them has forever implemented itself into Antonio's brain and shaped the foundation for his perception of love, and Roderich was his blueprint

If the lover isn't the calming silver moon to his burning temperament, if his lover isn't the brains to his brawns, if his lover isn't the embodiment of perfection and who he'd willingly throw away everything for and haunting his consciousness with regret and longing to a severe degree following a devastating end or God forbid — a divorce, he doesn't want it.

Everything about Roderich, learning who he is as a person the REAL him and without the mask, the political suaveness, the cunningness of a vixen, but instead the creative, and passionate soul. The gentleness those hands are capable of and shouldn't be wielding a sword but instead always tenderly cradle his blood stained cheeks and call him husband, in the dark of the night only their souls are awake and bare for each other and Antonio has no other thought but to defile his beloved, this perfection incarnate, this being that tethers his soul and in that moment Antonio learns the blasphemous way of worship that of which to him Roderich was his God and this sin could only be washed away through the prayers uttered by way of kissing and lovingly caressing his beloved, to hear Roderich's sweet noises of pleasure was his salvation and redemption is but another release, another, another — so like.

Yeah, the Spaniard's over encompassing love is religious and deep and borderline unhealthy but it works for Roderich.

Roderich, who was raised on the imperial pedestal and made to be revered by his constituents but Antonio sees past all that. Antonio, his first husband who ravages him for who he is, the him behind the gold, glory and hegemony of everything, his dearly beloved cared naught for all those and he sinks his teeth into Roderich's neck for his flesh, and his blood, Antonio who wants to consume him and not what he is. And Roderich willingly surrenders into this each time, no other devotion, no other level of this love could possibly compare that the memory of those fangs, the memory of his husband's searing touch that is a brand being burned into his skin as a reminder, that no one could come close to replicate.

The smell of the sea, the brightness of the sun, the greenest of forest lines all remind him of his dearly beloved, this wolf, this beastly and needy thing, whose warm blood rejuvenates his gleaming heart that wanes like the silver of the moon, and like the moon completes the sun, Roderich always felt his person incomplete without Antonio. There's a sizeable hole in his chest that can never be filled again.

In the years they're no longer "together" again, both are (not) subtle in the manner they remind others who they belong to at the end of the day.

Antonio's way of standing too close in Roderich's personal space who never tells him off. Antonio who often takes every chance to grab a bite with the Austrian, invite him out for drinks after every conference, and his supposed gentlemanly way of placing his large hand on the small of his EX-spouse's back to guide him along — but the purpose defeated whenever one chances a look at his expression of smugness that spells out this Austrian has been spoken for.

Let's not even get into his deranged jealousy that he has the impulse to act on simply because he can and no one ever really told him he couldn't. Roderich for one has been a witness of this and unfortunately he finds it terribly attractive, and something about it unleashing the worst side of Antonio the man tries his best to hide is a satisfying watch to the Austrian.

Roderich is no better. There is this tone to his voice when he addresses others as opposed to the way he says Antonio's name. The accented sound, the note of fondness, the soft touch like a lover's shy kiss underneath the veil. Sometimes fond, some other times with intent to remind others of their place because Roderich knows he alone occupies the room in the Spaniard's heart that has little left to accommodate others. Because he knows he is the breath Antonio takes and the beating that pumps the soothing blood in Antonio's vein, only he has become this irrevocably intertwined with his beloved like the knotted veins between the crevices of his flesh.

When he places a hand on Antonio's chest, when he calls for his attention, as the other nations watch. When Roderich is there, Antonio forgets there is a world outside that exists.

It's sickening when any circle of friends invite these two because they'd be third wheeling against their wishes.

[fernsnailz]

Hi, I saw your Metal Sonic comic dub and I thought it was amazing. I was wondering, but what does Metal's outfit represent? I know Trans culture is prevalent in comics these days, but as a boy I used to think longskirts were neat, like a Samurai's Hakama or the worn, long cloak of a wanderer.

glad you liked it! the intent of that comic (good future) is that metal is transgender and that outfit is an expression of her beginning to display her new identity. though i do like the comparison to a hakama, my design intention was to portray metal casually wearing a pleated long skirt.

overall, the outfit is meant to be a representation of the choices she's allowed to make for herself now and the help she's received since eggman died. most importantly, it's meant to show a new starting point for the character rather than an ending.

i wrote a bit about my intent behind the pieces of that outfit that i put under the readmore here since it's a little long 🛝

i chose the skirt for a number of reasons (shorthand for showing metal is trans without explicitly saying it, practicality of what a robot could actually wear, etc), but tbh it's mostly meant to be reminiscent of neo metal sonic's design. neo metal sonic's look is really interesting to me because it shows that, when previously allowed the ability to choose what he looks like, THIS is what metal sonic goes with:

neo's waist piece isn't really a skirt, but that element of a long, flowing fabric piece always really stuck with me. it's meant to be intimidating and make neo seem even larger than he actually is, but there's also a certain elegance to it i really like. a skirt was a logical neighbor of this design to me, so i ran with it - a flowing skirt shows that metal is a bit more loose and subject to change, but also fills out her silhouette and shows that she's much fuller as a person now. there's a certain presence and comfort to it that neo was simply performing, but metal truly feels now.

the other two pieces of the outfit are also important! the shirt and the sweater metal wears in good future are actually pieces of clothing you can find elsewhere in born to fail.

the sweater you can find within good future, where belle is actively giving it to metal. but the shirt piece is a little harder to spot - it's actually intended to be amy's shirt that she wears in the comic i made about her and metal.

it's a pretty generic button down and i also didn't color it similarly so tbh i would be surprised if anyone has ever picked that one up LMFAO

the element of choice is the most important thematic piece of metal's outfit, but i also wanted to show that the help she's received over the past year is incredibly valuable as well. though good future makes it clear she isn't entirely sure how she feels about living alongside these people yet, a lot of them have still chosen to reach out and help her.

like. this is my thought process here: metal realizes she wants to wear clothes for whatever reason. what's she gonna do? go to a STORE? most of the world still sees metal as eggman's ultimate killing machine and would kick her out the mall with a broom. so for now, she receives hand-me-downs from her sorta-kinda-friends - at least, from the ones that actually wear clothes at all. which is pretty much just belle and amy.

overall though, this outfit is intended to feel just a little off - not wrong, but more like a first draft. it's only been a year since eggman died, and metal is still in the process of even learning how to BE a person so like. she's still figuring the whole gender thing out lol. but it's ok because she's rocking that shit anyway

also i do have another design of metal a few years after the events of this comic! i wanted to explore what she looked like once she really settled into her new self, and drew inspiration from various punk and goth (specifically cybergoth i think? sorry everyone who knows more about fashion than me i'm bad at subcultures) fashions.

but yeah erm. long story short: shes trans and figuring shit out 👍