#me: send me prompts!! also me: is shit at following the actual prompt

[hazbinshusk]

In everything you write, you characterize Blitzø so beautifully, I had to pass on the idea that came to me.

Blitzø with a partner who's very talented on missions, but just living their everyday life, they're actually very clumsy and he's so confused but also finds it so funny. Kiss prompt 34 or 21 🤷‍♀️❤️

interesting that you didn't go with the clumsy kiss prompt lol but this was really fun so here's...

prompt #34: a kiss after a bite

“My turn!” you call out with a grin, planting the head of the axe you’re wielding on the floor and using it to leverage yourself up to run along the wall. You do so just long enough to pass the bodies already bleeding out on the floor, planting both feet on the floor and spring-boarding towards the final target.

You swing in a high arch and bring the axe down hard, the blade sinking deep into the target’s back, right between the shoulder blades. You release the handle and land in a roll, neatly somersaulting a few feet and springing back up to stand.

The body met the floor behind you with a wet gurgling cry and a dull thump.

Tossing your hair back, you fix Blitzø with a bright grin. “Ta-da!”

The imp blinks as he takes in the performance, a fine spray of blood marking his face. A sharp-toothed grin grows over his features. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

You giggle, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek before turning to mosey back towards the body. You plant a foot on their back, jerking the axe back out of his spine. Blitzø follows you, and you grin as you feel him wind his arm around your waist and pull you back into him. His tail curls around the axe handle and pulls it out of your grip, and you turn in his grip to face him.

Your foot slips on the fresh blood pooling around your boots and you fall against his chest, your forehead knocking against his chin.

“Ow, fuck,” Blitzø sniggers as your grab at the lapels of his coat, slipping again as you try to right yourself properly. “Christ on a stick, you’re a fuckin’ mess.”

“Hey, I’m the one who—shit!” you slip again, and Blitzø’s laughter doubles. He rolls his eyes and bends down, hooking an arm under your knees and scoops you up into his arms.

“How can someone be so fuckin’ good in a fight when ya can’t even stand up, you clumsy bitch?”

“Shut the fuck—”

Blitzø cuts you off by kissing you, immediately sliding his tongue into your mouth. You moan lightly into the kiss, cupping his cheek in your hand, your thumb smearing the blood across his cheek. His claws tighten on the underside of your thigh and on your bicep, and you feel him shudder as your hand moves up to tease at the base of the spike at the back of his head.

Blitzø growls lowly into the kiss, and it turns to a hiss as your teeth sink into his lip.

“Ow! What the shit, you—”

You laugh, watching the fork of his tongue run along the place you’d bitten him. “That was for calling me ‘clumsy’.”

“Oh, yeah?” Blitzø smirks. “’n’ what are ya gonna do when I drop your tight ass?”

“You wouldn’t—” you yelp as he jerks his arms as though he’s going to drop you. You fling your arms around his neck in panic, and he cackles aloud. “Fucking dick!”

“Ooh, you promise?” he teases, and you brush your fingers over the crystal on his wrist. A portal opens up behind him, his office visible on the other side.

“Shut up and get me back to Hell, asshole.” you say, affectionate despite yourself. “And if you drop me, I swear to Satan I will—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies dismissively, bringing his face back to yours. “I get it.”

Blitzø kisses you again, deeply, walking the both of you back through the portal and into Hell.

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø

[guiltyasdave]

28 "No one ever cared about me like you." for Joel or Marcus Pike, please?? Thank you for writing all this amazing stuff for us <3

no one can hurt you now

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: ~1.2k

summary: You’ve been traveling through the country with Joel and Ellie. After finally arriving in the safety of Jackson, you realize how much Joel means to you.

tags/warnings: post outbreak, mentions of infected, fighting and blood, reader doesn’t value her life that much tbh, angst, anxiety, comfort, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n (please let me know if i missed something <3)

a/n: dearest anon, thank you so much for your kind words and for sending this prompt in! this started out as a drabble but got out of control, so i hope you enjoy this little fic 🫶🏻

dividers by @saradika-graphics who is amazing <3

full masterlist here / follow @guiltyasdavenotifs and turn on notifications for fic updates!

The clicker’s teeth snap at you inches away from your face, your arms straining desperately to hold the creature off. A shot rings through the air and the clicker stills as blood splatters across your face.

You push the now lifeless weight off of you and try to stand back up, your shaky legs underneath you barely cooperating.

“Thanks,” you mutter, gasping for breath.

“The fuck was that?” Joel barks, the gun still grasped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles are turning white.

“It was- running at Ellie, I just-“

You’ll admit that you hadn’t really thought it through when you lunged at the clicker that had charged in the girl’s direction without any weapons in your hands. Not her, had been the only clear thought in your head. She wasn’t replaceable.

You were.

“You just what? Thought you’d get yourself killed?”

“No! I don’t know, okay? I still bought us time, and you got it, so-”

You don’t like the way he’s glaring at you, like you did something fundamentally wrong. You took a risk, yes, but his main objective is taking the girl across the country. You’re just… there.

“So?! Fuckin’ stupid, is what it was,” he snaps before he turns around abruptly and stomps further into the abandoned house that you’re hoping to spend the night in. You wait until your legs finally stop trembling before you follow him.

It’s the middle of the night when Joel finally speaks to you again. You had settled down in one of the bedrooms on the upper floor, not before searching the house extra thoroughly after the clicker incident earlier.

You can hear Ellie’s soft snores from across the room and you would have sworn that Joel was asleep too. Your mind didn’t rest, replaying the scene over and over, the way Joel snapped at you making your chest hurt each time.

“You don’t get to not make yourself a priority, you hear me? I won’t let you.”

You flinch at the unexpected sound from his corner of the room, but his voice is gentle, like he’s approaching a scared animal.

“But Ellie-” you still try to protest.

“I care about Ellie just as much as you do.” He hesitates for a second. “But I also care about you.”

You feel heat flushing your cheeks and you avert your gaze, even though it’s too dark for him to see your face anyway.

“You shouldn’t,” you mutter, “she’s the one that matters.”

“So do you,” he grumbles.

“Not like her.”

He heaves a sigh and you hear him moving closer to you in the darkness.

“Listen to me.” His tone is gruff, but you can feel the intensity behind his words. “I couldn’t- shit, I couldn’t do this alone. Just take care of yourself. Don’t be stupid. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree in a hushed voice.

You know that this is the closest that Joel Miller will ever get to admitting that he doesn’t hate you. You try to fight the feeling, but warmth is spreading through your chest at the thought that he actually wants you around, that he’s not just letting you tag along because he doesn’t know what else to do with you.

It’s your first real night in Jackson, the first time that you’ve arrived at a place and didn’t immediately make plans on where to go next. The first night that you’re spending in a real bed in god knows how long. The first night that you don’t have to sleep with one eye open, always waiting for the next danger to find you.

And the first night in a bed with Joel. Neither of you had protested when you were assigned to one house with him and Ellie. You know what Joel and you look like, from the outside. You don’t think that you care, not really.

The house has three bedrooms anyway, so it didn’t matter. At least that’s what you thought, until you had all said good night to each other and you were lying alone in the darkness, wide eyes staring up at the dark ceiling, as you were trying to stop the anxious shivers running through your body.

It was too quiet, the mattress too soft, the room too… empty. You had gotten used to the steady breathing of two other people around you, and now that they weren’t in the room with you, everything felt wrong. What if you woke up tomorrow to find them both dead, to find yourself alone in the world once more? How were you supposed to make sure they were safe when you weren’t with them?

Before you could overthink it, you got up, checked on Ellie who was sleeping soundly and padded over to the room Joel was in.

“Can’t sleep?” his low drawl had greeted you as soon as you cracked the door open.

You wordlessly shook your head and he sighed.

“Me neither. Doesn’t feel right like this, does it?”

That’s how you ended up under the covers next to him. No touching of course, both of you keeping a firm distance. This was just so you could both catch some sleep. Just for tonight.

Except that you’re still not able to let sleep drag you under. Your body is tense, acutely aware of his presence next to you, his body heat easily traveling the short distance between you. You could bridge it just as easily, just reach your hand out to - do what, exactly?

You huff out a breath and turn onto your side, shuffling the sheets with your movement.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice is barely above a whisper and before you can open your mouth to respond, his fingers find your face and graze over your cheek in a barely there contact.

He had touched you before, of course, checking you for injuries, soothing you with a hand on your arm or a brush over your hair, but never like this. Never in the darkness of the night and never when you could sense the tension in the air between you, could almost feel his breath on your face. You have never been so acutely aware of the warmth of his fingers that’s seeping into your skin right now.

“I just- I never thanked you for taking me here, for taking care of me.”

It’s not what’s on the forefront of your mind, not the thing that’s plaguing you in this moment, but it’s still true, and much easier than admitting to him that feeling his body so close right next to yours has you practically burning up, has your fingers itching to touch him, to breathe him in.

Joel hums.

“You don’t have to. Of course I did that.”

You try swallowing the lump that suddenly builds in your throat.

“No one ever cared about me like you,” you admit in a whisper.

“Hey,” Joel mumbles, alarmed at the thickness of unshed tears in your voice, “come here, sweetheart.”

Both of his arms reach towards you and his hands splay over your shoulders to pull you into his chest. His warmth engulfs you and you feel the tension in your body subsiding as you’re resting your head over his steady heartbeat.

“We’re safe now,” he whispers into your hair. “I’ll always keep you safe.”

if you liked this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging - nothing would make me happier 🤍

[adverbally]

I'm a Victim of a Bad Crash

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “Upside Down” | wc: 1,176 | rated: M | cw: car accident (non-fatal), mild to moderate injuries, morbid thoughts about death | tags: panic, being left alone with your thoughts, ambiguous ending | title from “Spellbound” by AC/DC

A follow-up to this story can be found here!

———

When Steve comes back to awareness, the first thing he hears is the tinkle of broken glass and the ticking of the car engine. Everything else is muted, like he’s wearing earplugs, but his ears might also be ringing at the same time? He doesn’t think he fully lost consciousness but he’s clearly missed something. It’s very disorienting.

“Stevie?” The voice is frantic. “Steve, can you hear me?”

He should know who the speaker is, their name just on the tip of his tongue, but his brain is too scrambled to remember right now. “Yeah,” he responds, though it sounds like someone speaking underwater.

“Oh, thank fuck.” The quiet sigh of relief is almost drowned out by more shifting glass. “Are you okay?”

Eddie. That’s Eddie’s voice. Steve was driving Eddie home.

The realization sends a surge of adrenaline through him and he starts to make sense of his surroundings. The glass is from the broken windshield, and probably all the other windows, of Steve’s car. It’s dark and rainy outside, that’s how they hydroplaned right off the road and rolled into a ditch. And he’s… upside down? He’s right side up in his upside down car and all the windows are shattered, and now that he thinks about it, his head is pounding and his arm is sore and his chest hurts every time he breathes in.

“Steve!” Eddie sounds concerned again. Steve must have been quiet for too long.

“I’m okay,” Steve tries to say, but it comes out softer than he meant it to. He hopes Eddie can hear him. He turns his head, ignoring the stiffness he feels, and meets Eddie’s gaze. “Are you okay?”

Eddie is upside down, which is actually right side up because Steve is upside down. His face is littered with small cuts, probably because of the broken glass, but otherwise he looks unharmed. He looks more scared than Steve has ever seen him and that’s really saying something. “I’m okay. Just scratches.” His smile, meant to be reassuring, doesn’t reach his eyes. “Do you think you can get out?”

Steve fumbles for the seat belt release but it won’t unfasten. He tugs uselessly at the strap across his chest. Still nothing. He’s stuck. Is he going to die here? He wraps his hands around the steering wheel to have something to hold onto.

“Hey, it’s okay, take a deep breath,” Eddie coaches, his eyes still wide and terrified. “I’m gonna get you out.”

The sharp pain that stabs through the left side of Steve’s chest makes him flinch. Okay, so no deep breaths. He vaguely remembers his side slamming into the car door as they flipped. That must have broken some ribs.

“You’re not okay,” Eddie observes.

Steve shakes his head carefully. Being upside down is making his head throb in time with his pulse. “Ribs,” he huffs.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Eddie mumbles as he looks around the car for something he can use to free Steve. He must come up empty because he buries his face in his hands for a moment and growls in frustration.

Steve’s throat tightens with guilt. He’s the one who put Eddie in this situation. “Sorry I… crashed us.” His chest is tight enough that it takes two breaths to say it.

“Nope, we’re not gonna do that.” Eddie shakes his head vehemently. “It was an accident, not your fault.”

Fuck, they were just in a car accident. They should call the cops, maybe an ambulance. If they had made it to this stretch of road, they must be close to Eddie’s place. “Home? Call… 911,” he directs, hoping Eddie gets what he’s trying to say in so few words.

He must, because his face twists like the idea is repulsive. “No way am I leaving you. We’re right off the road, someone will see the car and get help.”

“Eds,” Steve sighs, mostly because he can’t seem to get enough air for much more. “Dunno if… I can wait.”

Eddie looks at him intently. It feels like he’s searching his gaze for something, or maybe trying to read his mind. “Okay. I’m gonna go as fast as I can. You better not be dead by the time I come back.” The last part is clearly meant to be a joke but Eddie can’t muster the levity to make it sound like anything other than a plea.

“Promise,” Steve agrees.

For a second, it looks like Eddie is going to kiss him goodbye, but he seems to think better of it about halfway to Steve’s face. Instead, he turns to the passenger side door, carefully eases it open, and climbs out of the car.

Steve closes his eyes and listens as Eddie slowly moves through the debris surrounding the car. It’s not long before he reaches the road and starts to run. Steve is aware of every footfall, every time one of Eddie’s ratty sneakers strikes the wet asphalt, until he gets too far away for Steve to hear him.

Then Steve is alone with his quick, shallow breaths, his thudding heartbeat, the blood roaring in his ears, the creak of metal and the tinkle of glass. There are no other cars driving by, no signs of life other than him. Even the rain has stopped.

He tries to sit up in a kind of partial crunch position to reduce some of the pressure in his head, but it pulls at his chest in ways that make him too conscious of his ribs and lungs. Humans weren’t made to be upside down, he thinks. He can’t think about it too hard or he’ll start imagining how he’ll die alone in this car, suspended by his seat belt, red-faced and blue-lipped for Eddie to find when he comes back…

Steve’s next breath isn’t deep but it is deliberately slow. He has to stay calm. Help is coming. Another shallow, drawn-out breath. Are his lungs not working? Is that why he feels like he’s not getting enough oxygen? Don’t think about it, take another breath. He really hopes his last words to Eddie weren’t a lie. Breathe again. Should he try to slip out of the seat belt? His ribs probably wouldn’t hold up to a bad landing but that’s better than suffocating like this. Again, inhaling through his nose and out through his mouth. Is he suffocating? He would probably be able to tell. Wouldn’t he? Breathe again.

He should’ve been counting. Breaths, seconds, anything to help him keep track of how long it’s been. He could look at his watch but it’s useless since he didn’t make note of the time when Eddie left. It feels like hours. It can’t have been. But why else would he be so tired? Steve is pretty sure he doesn’t have a concussion this time, but he should probably stay awake anyway. Even going against gravity, his eyelids feel like lead weights. It takes forever for him to blink. His eyes hurt, so he closes them.

Eddie will wake him up when he gets back.

[moralesmilesanhour]

Hello!!! How are you? I’ve been a follower for the past few days and was wondering if I could request something.

I was hoping to request a fic or like give you a prompt for something for miles42 × femreader

So it goes like this- yk those super corny reads that are like the reader's pinning for miles and like sometimes miles finds them annoying but in a cute way but he don't know that her yk? So he's talking to his homeboys about her, talm about some how she's so "annoying, a nuisance" and guess who's behind the wall listening? The reader herself.

So this goes one of two ways- she either matches up there, confronts him. And she's like "flipping fine, if that's how you feel then lemme get out of ur way- you won't hear a peep from me" and she like just ignores him and he learns how he feels about her, sees how his life is so boring without her and all that- goes to apologize happy ending..

Option number 2: silent treatment. Like just slowly drifting away until he once again comes to the realization that he needs her and all that happy ending yay!

Feel free to do whatever you want with this but I'm thinking of sending the same request to other authors to see what they come up with cause everyone has a style k? And i just love studying them and reading them cause evervtime- no matter how similar the prompt is- they always manage to invoke different feelings with in me.

Anyway- have fun doing this- but remember you don't have to cause this is kinda too much and I'm sorry😓

"I want my pen back."

wc: >1,200 A/N: okay so i got a bit carried away...this is a long one. (yes I am using this as an excuse to try out the gradient thing) thank you anon for this fun request! i also rlly like ur reasoning behind it and i hope i was able to do this prompt some type of justice lol

The gel pen clattered to the ground.

“I got it,” you said, grinning at Miles. You squat to grab it before the boy can act to get it himself, and he sighs as you hand it to him.

“Thanks.”

Miles turned the pen every which way between his fingers.

You had gifted it to him on the first day of school, with that same expectant grin. The little cartoon dogs that surrounded the perimeter had begun to fade with use because – admittedly – it had actually turned out to be a good ass pen.

He’d thought initially that you were just being nice; maybe you were handing shit out to everyone because it was the first day, understandable. 

But then, it was highlighters (the erasable ones).

Pink sticky-notes on his locker, telling him to have a nice day with the ‘i’s dotted with hearts.

A new sketchbook for Secret Santa.

Miles’ pencil case had rapidly gotten bulkier, and when you rushed to grab a seat next to him during the one class without assigned seats, it finally clicked.

You were trying to get his attention. And he wasn’t sure what would happen if you got it.

“I like the new braids.”

He was snapped out of his thoughts, and turned to you.

“Huh?”

“The braids,” you laughed. “I like the pattern. Who did ‘em for you?”

A tiny smirk ghosted the boy’s lips.

“My mom. Just like the last time you asked me.”

He ran a hand instinctively over the meandering zig-zag pattern that his cornrows had been sectioned into. Miles looked at you from his periphery; you were still staring. 

“Bitch, just ask him out already!”

Your friend smacked the back of your shoulder as the two of you took your sweet time getting back to your lockers.

“Alright, today, I swear,” you said, hand over your heart for emphasis.

A beat of silence passes. “But what if he says no?” 

She groaned.

“Then he says no, and you can save your money. But say something, it’s getting embarrassing.”

Your friends’ encouragement landed you here, around the corner of a building where Miles and a gaggle of other boys from your homeroom were bursting into raucous laughter.

“Yo, why you ain’t bag her yet? She wants you bad,” one boy said.

Unsure if the ‘she’ in question was you, you stay where you are and keep listening.

“I dunno, she kinda annoying,”

Miles’ low voice makes your ears perk up.

“One day she gon’ run outta things to say about my hair, she has to!”

…Oh.

The buoyant feeling in your chest sinks as the group erupts into another laughing fit. If you asked him out now, you’d hear about it for the rest of the year.

Shoving your phone into your pocket, you turn back the way you came. 

Miles knew something was off when you sat down the next morning without a word. 

“You good?” he asked.

You glanced at him, then nodded before going back to playing with the beads in your hair. The excruciating silence stretched on for almost the entirety of class before it was broken again.

“Do you…wanna help me with my homework? I’ll really let you, this time.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Morales, you got an ‘A’ in every class.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Your name’s on every bulletin board.”

“Damn,” the boy muttered to himself as his leg bounced under the desk.

Your beads clattered against your back as you rose from your seat. The bell had rung, finally. You didn’t even say ‘bye’.

Miles cracked open his locker. One of your sticky notes from last week had begun to un-stick and fluttered to the ground. There were no new ones. He bent to pick it up, noticing how neat and round your handwriting was on these compared to the way you wrote in class. The letters didn’t run together, like you were in a rush.

Neatly folding the note and sticking it in his pocket, Miles shut his locker to reveal your face. The boy nearly yelped in surprise.

“Where the hell did you come from? Scared the shit outta me,” he said with a grin.

“I want my pen back.”

Miles froze. 

“Which pen?”

You tilted your chin up towards the one he was currently gripping in his left hand. He looked down at it like a wad of cash.

“Oh.”

He couldn’t just not give the pen back to you…

…but he didn’t want to give it to you, either.

“What you need it for? Don’t you have, like, a whole store full of these?”

“Miles, I gotta get to class. I’m not playing,” you reached for Miles’ hand, but he raised it high above his head.

Instead of a smirk or mocking sneer, something like worry was etched onto the boy’s features. 

“Tell me what’s up witchu first.”

“What are you talking about? I’m about to be late, c’mon.”

“You ain’t said a word to me all day,” he dropped his hand momentarily. “Are you sick? Did I do something? What–hey!”

You had snatched the pen out of the boy’s hand when he wasn’t looking, throwing it into your bag.

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

You turn to retreat down the hallway, but stop with a huff when Miles calls after you.

“Wait!”

“I’m waiting.”

“Come see me after school?”

You kicked an empty can down the sidewalk in front of Miles’ apartment.

“Make this quick, I gotta go study.”

He looks everywhere else to avoid meeting your eyes, looking for the right words.

“You didn’t answer me earlier,” Miles awkwardly shuffled his feet. “Are you mad at me?”

“...Yeah, kinda.”

“For what?”

You stop to think for a moment, crossing your arms. 

“For…for letting me hand you that pen, knowing you weren’t gonna give it back,” you began.

Miles’ brows furrowed in confusion. “That’s it?”

You shook your head profusely, “N-no, I’m not done. You let me buy you all that stuff, put all that dumb shit in your locker, whole time you don’t even like me–”

“You don’t know that,” Miles interrupted. Your head snapped up to look at him, and you paused.

“I don’t?”

Neither of you say anything for a moment, then Miles remembers the note in his pocket. He takes it out and shows it to you.

“These? Are cute as fuck,”

He searches for more words, ten continues, "A-and I use that sketchbook every day. That pen? It’s like, my favorite,” he laughs. “I got half a mind to steal it back from you.”

Miles watches you expectantly. Your arms are still crossed, but the corners of your lips quirk up in amusement.

“So you like getting free stuff.���

“No-! I…”

The boy’s arms had begun to flail around in frustration. You hold back a giggle, never having seen him squirm like this before. It’s a nice change of pace.

“Alright, listen. I like hearing you talk to me every morning, and…”

He trailed off. He had begun slightly bouncing on his toes.

“...I like you.”

At some point while watching Miles struggle to explain himself, the float-y feeling in your chest had come back. You tilted your head to the side, and smiled.

“Okay. What are you gonna do about it?”

The boy’s eyes lit up.

“Where do you wanna go?”

[badlydrawnronpa]

hi anon ty for sending the message! I did look through their blog and they very obviously use AI - I would've published the ask normally to let other people know but I decided against it in the end because after a closer inspection I noticed that all commissions are fake (besides being fake art I mean) and they're not actually scamming anyone because. uh. literally most of the blogs I saw interact with them are empty rp blogs that are blatantly controlled by them and one of the commissions I saw on their patreon was for a defunct ohsc rp blog from 2014??? Which honestly was really funny.

so yeah, they're very much not pulling any money from that, and on top of it all they posted pics of themselves sooooo yeh, not going to blast them on a blog with a big following for trying the 'i dont use ai im a real artist' but ultimately not scamming anyone out of their money. They're also not the best at like... hiding they're using AI because you can see their traditional art in other posts, and the style or experience level doesn't match at all.

I will post some of their AI stuff underneath the read more and point out the inconsistencies tho, to help out other people in spotting out ai shit (esp non artists that might have an harder time figuring things out). If you find out the original user that posted these, please don't harass them, be civil.

BTW I'M SAYING THIS NOW: if you see something I point out and say ''ah, I do that, I'm in trouble" - no you're not, if you actually draw the stuff yourself. You can see when an artist's work (and mistakes!) are genuine. Beginner's mistakes can be made by experienced artists too, but if you look at their entire body of work you can see when something doesn't add up.

to start off, I saw anon calling them out on this one so I'm just reiterating some of the points, but here's some junko 'art' they made

when confronted abt it, they said that the fingers look weird because they can't control their shaky hands and drawing small is hard. anyway if you draw digitally you can zoom in on the canvas and work on a detail as big as you need, so that excuse doesn't hold

this other post was basically what made me just say 'yep thats ai' and it was just the second 'art' post I saw from them

while taken alone they could've been a little harder to spot as AI, with them all bundled together you can easily see they came from the same prompt; the user tried to justify the inconsistencies saying it was because they were 'experimenting' with the design of their oc and gundham's scar but I'm telling you now, no sane artist fully renders four pieces that are basically the same concept while changing the design of the character just slightly in every single one of them. anyway, here's the breakdown of every piece:

another that was way easier to break down because it's so full of inconsistencies the moment you really take a look at it

also let's be real if you render art like that you're not gonna put a bright purple unreadable text on your supposed vtuber "art"

let's end this with the AI "commission" that could be harder to break down as AI if seen in a vacuum now, shall we? esp because our friend, the fucked up melty finger, isn't there

I honestly had to look for a while at this one because if you had shown it to me and I didn't see the other stuff this person posted, I could've just chalked up a lot of these mistakes to human error. Tangents between lines, scribbles for details, forgotten uncolored sections is all normal stuff. BUT we know this person used AI in all the other posts, so we know what to look at:

again, some mistakes the AI does can be also mistakes actual artists do: be sure to check the other art the user makes before throwing accusations

they also posted a fake speedpaint that is so embarassing it made me laugh but if I start pointing out inconsistencies in an AI speedpaint we're gonna be here for a long time, so.

TL;DR AI 'ART' SIGNS:

The classics: hands and fingers don't make sense, there's additional weird lines and they melt into other part of the drawing

long hair strands and other long or flowy elements can suddenly disappear behind objects and not reappear where they should

jewels, intricate details, hairpins and other accessories bend and melt into each other and other part of the design

the resolution of the image is very low and/or grainy - a lot of artists post lower res pieces online, but again: look for a pattern and combos of all the other signs

inconsistencies between multiple art posts, character designs constantly being different, sudden art style changes - while this can also be found with real artists, this is an additional tell of someone using AI, when combined with the stuff I mentioned above. humans mistakes usually have a reason for what they happen, AI makes them because it doesnt understand what it's doing most of the time

[cosmal]

TULIPS — send me an character i write for + a scenario or prompt and i’ll write you a blurb! fluff smut or angst!

reader shyly asking steve to be her first boyfriend + steve harrington

𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 — 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

summary — you shyly ask steve to be your boyfriend.

warngings/tags — fem!reader, shy!reader, she/her pronouns

wc — 1.1k

Dustin Henderson has never been one for knocking. That's at Steve’s house anyways. Probably Eddie’s too.

“Jesus Christ, Henderson! What if I was naked, huh?” Steve calls, watching as a head of curls speeds past him and over to the living room. Steve puts down the knife he was using to cut his sandwich, picks up half and follows him.

“You weren’t though,” Dustin scoffs.

“Whatever, man.” Steve takes his first bite. It’s mostly bread and lettuce. “Hey, how’d you get here, anyways?”

Dustin turns around and throws an arm over the back of the sofa, feet moving to the coffee table. He’d tell him to put them down if he had any care for his mother’s furniture. “Oh, Y/N picked me up.” 

Steve perks up and swallows his bite of food. The bread is dry as it goes down and he almost chokes. With a fist held to his mouth, he asks, “She didn’t want to come in?”

“Oh shit, yeah. She’s outside waiting for you. I think she wants to talk to you about something.” Dustin says too nonchalantly.

Steve grimaces and smacks his idiot kid friend up the back of his head and his hat falls off, “You idiot. Jesus.”

You and Steve have been on a few dates and he thinks you’re one of the prettiest and nicest girls he’s had the pleasure of being around. He knows you’re shy, he also loves you for it, even though you tell him almost every day that he makes it worse. 

“You make me so nervous, sometimes.” You’d told him once.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

Steve had laughed and you had blushed. 

Steve and his half sandwich make their way to the front door, an apology at the front of his mouth already. He swings it open to find you leaning on the wall on his landing, looking pretty as ever and not upset at all.

He thinks he can hear you mumbling to yourself and you startle when you finally notice his presence. You look up at his face and look down even quicker. He can sense your nervousness from here.

“I’m really sorry about him. You could’ve come in if you wanted.” Steve apologises, moving to stand on the mat right before you. He’s told you a few times you could come over whenever you wanted to. Don’t even worry about knocking. You never have though, always knocking and waiting for him to answer the door for you. He knows you’re a bit too shy to just let yourself into someone’s house.

“It’s okay.” Your hand comes up to push the hair away from where it’s covering your eyes and your bangles clink, “Was enjoying the fresh air.” Steve thinks you would’ve just left if Dustin had actually forgotten to tell him you were out here.

He watches where your thumb spins the ring on your pointer and your other hand toys with the hem of your skirt. He hates himself for it, truly, when you lift it a little high and catches a slip of your soft thighs above your knee highs. He hates it even more because he's perving and you seem nervous. More nervous than usual.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks softly, reaching a hand out to run the back of it over the hinge of your elbow.

“Yeah. Yeah.” You smile weakly and Steve frowns.

“Dustin told me you had to ask me something?’

You blink slowly and shake your head, “Yeah, sorry. Right- uh,” you stammer, pushing yourself off the wall but you don’t really get any closer to Steve.

Steve can sense your anxiety. “Hey, it’s okay. Take your time,” he encourages softly. As soft as he can manage without sounding condescending. It seems to work when you finally chance a look up at his face.

You smile and he nods. Hair flopping over his brow.

“Do you…” you laugh nervously like you’re shocked. 

He takes your hand in his and he’s really not surprised to find it’s a little clammy. He gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m sorry, this seemed so much easier on the car trip over here.” you giggle, “Dustin’s a really good hype man.”

“Don’t tell him you said that,” Steve laughs, “Do you want to go inside, maybe?”

You shake your head vehemently, “No, it’s- I can do it.”

“Yeah,”

Steve thinks he knows what you’re about to ask and also thinks he should just do it for you. But you seem genuinely determined to do it yourself, so he allows you as much time as you need. Not that he’d ever be impatient with you anyway.

You swallow hard and your gaze floats back to where the rubber of your show scuffs along the ground, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?’’ you sigh like you’re relieved.

Steve smiles so damn hard his cheeks ache and his eyes squint. “Yeah.”

You look up at him with bright eyes like a deer and Steve’s breath catches. You’re beautiful. “Yeah?” you echo almost like you’re confused.

“Shit yeah, baby.” He grins and you mirror his face almost immediately. Smiling like a lovesick fool. 

You rock back and forth on the balls of your feet all giddy and happy. “Oh my god,” you breathe.

Steve leans forward to wrap his arms under yours and around your back, pulling you close until your chest presses into his. Your face grows warm and you lean up on your tiptoes. He kisses your forehead, all chaste and quick, “Of course I’ll be your boyfriend, baby.”

“Baby,” you repeat under your breath, “You’ve never called me that before.”

“Well, you’re my girlfriend now, I think I’ve gotta call you that.” 

You giggle. This time Steve leans down again he kisses you on the lips. It’s not the first time he has, but you still gasp into his mouth. It starts off unsure, your lips slow and gentle and you let out the prettiest little noise under your breath like a hiccup.

Steve pulls away quickly and chuckles when you chase his mouth, “Wait,’’ he stops, pecking your nose quickly, “Am I your first boyfriend?” 

You hum a yes.

“How lucky am I?” he chuckles.

“You better live up to expectations.”

“I’ll exceed all expectations. I’ll be the best boyfriend on the planet.”

You don’t doubt him one bit.

[astraaa3]

please please please can you do valentino and male reader please i really like your writing

👉👈

anything sfw and/or nsfw is fine :3

A/N: You want it, you got it, Anon. Thanks for the request toots. Had a blast writing this one. >.<

Feedback is much appreciated (also, if you would like to proofread the degenerate shit I write please send a dm).

Valentino x Male!Reader

Note: You can imagine the reader to have whatever body type you prefer. While in this request Reader has a bodyguard position that doesn't mean that he was chosen for his physique. (Valentino is an asshole so he most likely hired Reader for shits and giggles) Now off we go.

=========˚ʚ♡ɞ˚=========

Headcanons:

Valentino likes teasing you. A LOT. Grabbing your hips, hugging you from behind, patting your head, rubbing your cheeks whenever you forgot to shave, linking his arm with yours, he always found an excuse to touch you.

Why was Valentino so tactile? Well, his love language was physical touch. Of course, he would take any chance he could to indulge. That said, the biggest reason was how you always blushed or laughed embarrassed at the public displays of affection.

Valentino loved teasing you. From changing in front of you to other…. explicit acts, he adored flustering you. And he wasn't quiet about it either. "Aww, what's wrong baby? I'm just helping you accomodate~" or "Oh come on papi, don't tell me you don't like what you see." (at one point you started keeping a catalog of the pet names he used for you)

After you decided to ask Valentino out for a date (you hyped yourself up while looking in a mirror for days before actually being able to get the words out), you found out that there was more to your boss than you had come to know. You learned that Valentino ADORED fast food, that he was shit at taking care of pets (Queef reference whom), and that he loved dancing and laughing at romcoms.

You asked him out initially out of some pathetic crush, but after the first few dates, you fell. And you fell hard. Following him around like some love-sick puppy, pouting when he was hooking up with girls at the club.

Valentino thought that it was fucking cute. So he did what he always does with things he finds interesting. He took you to bed. He didn't expect you to cuddle him the moment you were done. Much less for you to praise him. HIM. He had a minor mental breakdown while you fell asleep.

After Valentino came to terms with the fact that he started caring for you more than he planned to initially, he immediately claimed you as his. Taking you out in public and overplaying how lovey-dovey the two of you were, dressing you up in tuxes, and dining at high-end restaurants. Getting 'accidentally' caught fondling you inside of one of the clubs he owned, Valentino did everything to make sure there was not a single soul in Hell who didn't know that you were his.

A fun fact that Valentino learned about you when you officially started dating was that you would melt after being praised. And oh boy did he take advantage of that. Flattery fell out of Valentino's mouth like a waterfall whenever he saw the opportunity. "You are so handsome sweetheart, turning heads wherever you go. But those worms better keep their hands to themselves or I will FUCKING END THEM." (cue aggressive moth clicking noises)

You did get into fights with Valentino. Particularly about his short temper. While you were rarely on the receiving end of his rages, you did witness them quite often. Thankfully, Valentino agreed to try to be less rash and aggressive when he got mad. But it was still a work in progress. And there was a LOT of progress to be had.

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Small prompt: How it started

You had just gotten used to your new job when your life took a new turn yet again. It seemed like a normal day at first, you were just helping with putting the props in their places when the door slammed open, Valentino angrily stopping in his moth wings unfurled hanging behind him like a cape. It was the first time you saw Valentino without his signature coat…wings….whatever on. You blushed and started dumbly at him as your brain tried to process… heart…. nipples….(homerotic panic ensue). Valentino being Valentino of course noticed this. And making a mental note of your admittedly cute reaction he made a decision.

The next day you were called to his penthouse at the top of the V tower. You once again found yourself staring dumbly at the pictures of Valentino hanging up on the walls, your whole face turning red. Hearing a chuckle behind you, you immediately turned around embarrassed, fiddling a bit with your pants to hide the reaction caused by the pictures. (if Valentino noticed it, you were thankful that he said nothing about it or you would have died on the spot from embarrassment).

"Is this the first time you see any of my photoshoots, amorcito?" Valentino said with a smirk staring at your flushing face.

"U-uh. Yeah. I didn't know you also work in front of the camera and not just behind it." you said trying to sound more professional than you actually felt at the moment, it helped calm down the flush on your cheeks a bit.

Valentino nodded heading to the plush couch in the room sitting and crossing his fishnet-clad legs. Staring at you for a second, he took a drag of his cigarette.

"To keep matters short, you're getting promoted. From now on you will act as my bodyguard."

You stared at him confused for a second. He was an Overlord and well, you were just some random sinner who barely knew how to defend himself.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I... I'm a bit confused. You are an Overlord and well, I think you could protect yourself better than I would be able to. Respectfully."

You could see his eyebrow twitching in what you could tell was annoyance. Smiling a few too many teeth at you, some pink liquid dripping from his lips, Valentino snarled out.

"Do I need to explain myself to you? Don't forget who's your boss bitch. You're working as my bodyguard from now on because I say so, bitch."

His fury seemed to disappear in an instant afterward, getting up and sliding his hand across the back of your shoulders in an overly sweet manner.

"You're going to do great amorcito. Now, off you go, enjoy your last day of setting up props."

With that, he sent you off. Sighing nervously, you couldn't help but think: 'Well, this is going to be interesting. That's for sure' (You had no idea how true those thoughts would prove to be) =========˚ʚ♡ɞ˚========= Send requests ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

[wannabehockeygf]

prompt 7 with zegras? they're in a fwb relationship and she's all i have no feelings but then she's BLUSHING

Fuck it I love you - Trevor Zegras

“wish that you would hold me,

or just say that you were mine,

it’s killing me slowly.”

prompt #7: “Are you blushing?”

summary: pillow talk one morning turns more serious

word count: 2k

pairing: trevor zegras x fem! oc

warnings: refers to sex i suppose?

notes:

- thanks for requesting someone new! keep ‘em coming or i am absolutely totally fine with writing about ck9, bb6 or am34… wink wink nudge nudge

- i actually kept this one short someone give me a cookie

- also i fear… i love trevor and dixie together

- the d’amelio’s didn’t do shit!! leave them alone pls

- i can never tell green or blue eyes apart. as a brown eyed person I’m always so lost so I’m sorry if his eyes are actually blue

He’s got a nice face… need i say more?

***

“Good morning, baby,” a raspy voice comes from behind you. You had been staring at the wall prior, relishing in the way the warmth of his bare chest feels against your back although you’d never admit that out loud.

“I told you to stop calling me that, Trevor,” you sigh, squirming underneath the ticklish kisses he’s peppering on the sensitive skin on the back of your neck. You can basically hear his frown, but he recovers quickly, “Turn around, please.”

With a small groan, you turn your body, only to be met with Trevor’s face, the goofiest smile you had ever seen plastered onto it. When he sees you, he jokingly mocks your frown. “What’s got you in a mood?”

You pout, although something about the sparkle in those green puppy eyes softened your defenses. “I dunno, maybe it’s ‘cause you keep acting like we’re in a relationship when we’re not.”

“And I’ve told you,” he starts, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, “That I’m happy to take you on a date. When you finally agree, that is.”

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betray you by twitching upward. His hand lingers on your cheek, his thumb tracing gentle circles that send shivers down your spine. “I don’t see why you’re so set on this,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper.

Trevor’s eyes search yours, the mischief replaced by a depth that makes your heart skip a beat. “Because you’re beautiful. And, you’ve got a great personality. What’s not to like?” he says softly, his breath warm against your face.

You break eye contact, staring at the spot where his collarbone meets his shoulder, the tan skin marred by a small scar. The silence stretches, filled only by the sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the city waking up outside.

“Are you blushing?” Trevor’s voice breaks through your thoughts, and you look back at him to meet that signature, toothy grin again. You hadn’t even realized it, but your cheeks were burning up by the second.

“Maybe it’s just hot in here,” you deflect, though you both know that’s a weak excuse. His grin widens, and he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. His touch is gentle yet possessive, suffocating yet enamouring and it makes you want to either scream or kiss him.

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. The sensation makes your heart race, and you can’t help but lean into him, your resolve wavering. The scent of his cologne mixed with the faintest hint of sweat fills your senses, intoxicating and familiar. So distinctly Trevor.

Nope. Not doing this.

You peel yourself away from him, swinging your legs over his bed and standing up, still completely naked although you didn’t care as you searched for your clothes on the carpeted floor of his bedroom. “Not gonna happen,” you remind him.

Trevor watches you with a bemused expression, his eyes following every movement as you gather your clothes. His gaze is so intense you can almost feel it tracing lines along your skin, making you suddenly acutely aware of your nakedness.

"Come on, you can't keep running from this forever," he says, his voice softer now, almost pleading. You pull on your shirt, the fabric feeling oddly constricting compared to the warmth of his bed. “You know, it’s okay to admit you like me,” he continues.

You snort, a futile attempt to mask the way your heart flutters at his words. “Like you? As if. You’re just convenient.”

Trevor chuckles, the sound deep and resonant, wrapping around you like the ghost of an embrace. "Convenient, huh?" he echoes, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The sunlight streaming through the window catches on the sharp lines of his abs, the shadow of stubble on his jaw making him look effortlessly rugged.

You pull on your jeans, the denim scratching against your skin, a stark contrast to the softness you left behind in the bed. "Yeah, convenient," you mutter, though your voice lacks the conviction you hope for.

Trevor stands, padding over to you with the quiet grace of a predator. "You can't fool me," he murmurs, his breath warm against your temple as he leans in, his fingers brushing a stray hair behind your ear. The touch is so gentle, so intimate, it makes your breath catch. "I see the way you look at me."

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat almost painful. "You're imagining things," you insist, but even to your own ears, the words sound hollow. “Put some fucking pants on. I don’t need to stare at your dick while trying to get out of here.” You add on, grabbing your shoes, the leather cool and stiff under your fingers, and sit on the edge of the bed to pull them on.

Trevor laughs, the sound vibrating through the room, low and teasing. “Fine, fine,” he says, lifting his hands in surrender. He grabs a pair of boxers from the dresser, slipping them on with a casualness that somehow makes him even more alluring. The fabric clings to his lean frame, outlining the muscles you know all too well.

You focus on tying your shoelaces, but your fingers tremble, betraying your inner turmoil. Trevor moves closer, his presence a magnetic force you can’t ignore. “You coming tonight?” He questions, casually.

“To the bar?” You snap back, your voice coming out more venomous than you meant it, “Maybe. Depends how shitty work is.”

Trevor’s brows furrow as he runs a hand through his messy mop of dirty blond hair, “No, to the game. My game.”

You force a nonchalant shrug, even as your heart thrums wildly in your chest. "I don’t know," you murmur, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. "Depends if I have nothing better to do."

He tilts his head, studying you with those piercing green eyes that seem to see straight through your facade. "Right," he says slowly, his voice a rich, low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. "Nothing better to do than watch me score goals and be amazing on the ice."

You can't help but snort, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Your ego is suffocating, you know that?" you tease, trying to deflect the conversation away from the uncomfortable truth lurking beneath. The truth that maybe, just maybe, you find his confidence intoxicating, and his presence addictive.

Trevor steps closer, and the familiar scent of him—woodsy cologne mixed with a hint of morning musk—envelops you. It's a scent that always clings to your skin long after you've left his bed, a constant reminder of moments you pretend don't mean as much as they do. His fingers brush your cheek, gentle but insistent, as he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. "I want you there," he says, and there's a raw honesty in his voice that twists something deep inside you. "Not just because you're my friend or because of this...whatever we have. But because I like you, and I want you to see me. This is my job, you know.”

You can't deny the effect he has on you, the way his touch makes you shiver and his words make your heart skip a beat. But you're not ready to give in, to admit that this casual arrangement might mean more to you than you're willing to acknowledge.

You push away from him, grabbing your jacket from the chair in the corner. "You don't have to put on a show for me," you mutter, pulling the fabric over your shoulders. The leather is cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of his gaze. "I'm just... someone you fuck occasionally, remember?"

Trevor's eyes darken, the playful glint replaced by something more serious. He steps closer, closing the distance between you with a grace that feels predatory, his presence overwhelming. "You know it's more than that," he murmurs, his voice low and intense. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "And if you don't, then maybe you're not as smart as I thought."

The sharpness of his words stings, and you flinch, though you quickly mask it with a defiant glare. "Don't flatter yourself," you snap, even as his touch sends a jolt of electricity through your body. "I'm just not interested in complicating things."

"Complicating things?" Trevor echoes, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin, and you feel the heat of his body so close to yours. "You think this is simple for me? Watching you walk away every time, pretending like I don't care when you're gone?"

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat growing with each word. You can't meet his eyes, can't face the raw vulnerability in them. "I never asked you to feel that way," you whisper, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "I never promised you anything."

"Maybe not," he concedes, his voice softening. "But that doesn't change the fact that I do. And you can pretend all you want, but I see right through you." His fingers slide down your neck, hand cupping your throat gently as he rests his thumb on your lower lip. "I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention, the way you relax when we’re alone, the way you blush when I say something nice. You’re not fooling anyone, least of all yourself."

You pull away, the intensity of his words too much to bear. You need to escape, to put distance between you and the truth he's forcing you to confront. "I have to go," you say, your voice trembling. You turn toward the door, your steps hurried as if you can outrun the emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

But Trevor isn't done. He grabs your wrist, his grip firm yet gentle, pulling you back to face him. The look in his eyes is fierce, determined, as if he's finally decided to lay all his cards on the table. "Running away isn't going to change anything," he says, his voice steady. "You can pretend this is just a fling, that you don't feel anything for me, but I know better. And deep down, so do you."

You close your eyes, the sincerity in his voice breaking through your defenses. It's terrifying, the thought of letting him in, of opening yourself up to the possibility of being hurt. But it's also exhilarating, the idea of finally allowing yourself to feel, to love, to be loved in return.

When you open your eyes again, Trevor is still there, watching you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours in the softest, most tentative kiss, as if he's giving you the choice to pull away.

But you don't. Instead, you kiss him back, your hands tangling in his hair as you pull him closer. The kiss deepens, and it's like everything else fades away—the fear, the uncertainty, the walls you've built around your heart. It's just you and him, and the raw, undeniable connection between you.

When you finally pull apart, you're both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. "Okay," you whisper, your voice shaky but filled with a newfound determination. "Okay, I'll come to your game. But don't expect me to cheer."

Trevor chuckles, the sound rich and warm, and you can feel the smile spreading across his face. "I'll take what I can get," he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "And who knows? Maybe I'll score a hat trick just for you."

[op-sys-chaos]

A prompt I just saw by @brucewaynehater101 inspired me so have a sad DC prompt with a happy ending, ft. violence and character death and so much angst but also a good conclusion :)

What if the pits’ effects weren’t forever? What if instead, when you were revived with the Lazarus Pits, the Pit Rage picked a single goal and latched onto it. Not until after the Pit Madness fully fades and leaves only the Pit Rage, so it takes time, but the second you get your mind back the Rage gets a goal. Luckily, once you fulfill that goal, the Rage goes away and you get your mind back fully. Unluckily, it’s a rage-based goal, so it’s usually not pretty.

Jason is still in the midst of the Madness stage when Talia informs him of Tim becoming Robin. He’s almost out of it, but he’s not fully himself yet. The Rage latches onto Jason’s anger at being replaced. So Jason’s Rage goal is this:

Kill Tim.

Jason won’t get hit sanity back, won’t be rage-free, until Tim is dead.

Talia finds out about this and is instantly upset. This time, she’s not just delaying Jason’s return home by sending him to train with a lot of people for Bruce’s sake; she’s also doing it for Tim and Jason. She doesn’t think Tim deserves to die for the crime of putting Bruce back together and she knows Jason will be appalled by what he’s done once he’s fully sane again. So she delays as long as she can. But, like in the comics, Jason still goes home and enacts his plan.

Under the Red Hood still happens pretty much the same. Jason’s still in there, after all, and he’s still mad at Bruce. The only difference is this: during Jason’s attack on Titans Tower, he doesn’t stop. The Pit Rage is screaming at him with single-minded focus to kill Tim. So he does.

And, less than a second after the light fades from Tim’s eyes, Jason gets his full sanity back.

Jason gets his sanity back and the first thing he sees is the body of the little brother he just killed.

He can see it all now. How fucked up some of his plans were. How he never wanted to murder in the first place; the Pit Rage pushed him to do it. He doesn’t even blame Bruce for not getting there in time and not avenging him. He figured after all the shit he just did, they’re even. More than even; Jason just killed Tim. Bruce has the moral high ground now. Maybe he always did, Jason thinks. But he doesn’t have time to analyze his mistakes. Tim’s only been dead for a few seconds. Maybe there’s something Jason can do to save him.

He starts CPR.

Another Titan, maybe Kon, barges into the room (idk where the Titans are, I rest most of UtRH but I never read the Titans Tower bit so all my knowledge here is second hand) and sees Jason kneeling over Tim’s body doing chest compressions. Jason looks up and notices the Titan and tells them to start bandaging Tim’s wounds so he doesn’t lose any more blood.

Jason knows this probably won’t work. He’s desperate to fix it anyway.

The Titan starts bandaging, wanting to ask what happened but more focused on saving Tim, and Jason just keeps doing CPR. Jason doesn’t even notice himself getting tired as he does it; he’s got way too much adrenaline in him right now to care.

It’s been three minutes of CPR. The Titan has tears streaking down their face, knowing Tim isn’t surviving this. They’re about to tell Jason to give up.

And then Tim inhales. And coughs. And he’s breathing again, he’s alive, he’s okay-

Actually, he’s very much not okay, he’s immediately unconscious again and he’s very very injured. They rush him to the med bay at once and get him attached to the machines he needs to start healing. Jason, who followed, finds and needle and thread and starts stitching up the worst of the wounds and replaces the hastily applied bandages with better ones.

Tim stabilizes, but is in a coma for the next two days.

When he wakes up, the first thing he sees is the Titan who found him, followed by the rest of his team. They’re all so glad he’s alive and okay.

“How… how did I survive that?” Tim manages to whisper the second he finds his voice.

The Titan who found him looks at him with an unreadable expression, then says “Jason.”

“What?”

“When I found you, Jason was doing CPR. He ordered me to bandage up your wounds so you wouldn’t lose any more blood. He… he didn’t give up. Tim, he did CPR for three minutes straight to save you.”

Tim’s confused. “How?? Why??”

“You can ask him when you can leave the bed. Right now, he’s in a cell. We haven’t told anyone he’s here; we’re waiting for you to decide what to do with him.”

“We also may have told Batman that you had stayed up for three all nighters so we knocked you out to get you to sleep. That’s why he’s not here; he just thinks you’re getting some much needed rest,” another Titan (probably Bart) explains.

(…Do I even have the Titans roster right for this time period? I just realized I’m thinking of Tim’s YJ team not his TT team I have no clue who’s on TT rn. Anyway.)

“Let me see him,” Tim demands. So they stick him in a wheelchair and roll him to Jason’s cell.

Jason looks up, sees Tim, and pure relief is on his face as he says “You’re okay…” and then instantly breaks down sobbing. The team can make out the sounds of the words “I’m so sorry” over and over if they pay enough attention to the sounds coming out of Jason’s mouth.

Eventually, Tim asks Jason to explain. And Jason tells him that his Pit Rage goal was killing Tim. (The way that Pit Rage works in this AU is well known to the bats.) He explains how that ended up as his goal too. And Tim looks at him with a mix of pity and horror as he realizes. “You finally got your mind back for the first time in 4 years and the first thing you saw…”

“Was my little brother’s dead body,” Jason confirms with a whisper. Tim hides his shock at the fact that Jason called him his little brother right away and moves on with the conversation.

“So you ended up with my death as your goal, because you heard about me becoming Robin while still under Pit Madness and your mind, which was only 3/4 there at that point, decided that B replaced you and that I had to die to prove that Robins just get killed and he should have no more Robins. You end up in the Pit Rage state, leading to all the crime lord stuff, and you’re stuck in it for YEARS.”

“I think Talia delayed me as much as she could,” Jason chimes in. “I’m grateful to her for that. I wish she’d delayed me forever, though.”

Tim’s confused at that. “Jason, you would’ve been in that state forever.”

“It’s better than knowing that I killed my new little brother, even if I managed to undo it right after,” Jason admits, staring at the floor. “How… how can I go home and look B in the eyes after that?”

Tim smiled softly at that. He understood. “Jason, look at me.” With a gulp, Jason looked up. “We don’t victim blame here. We’re Robins. We comfort victims. You were a victim of the Pits, and we all know how the Pits affect a person.”

Jason looks back at his feet, but hope blossoms in his chest for the first time in 4 years. It’s nice to be able to feel that emotion again. “You mean it?”

Tim smiled at him, and instead of answering, said “Welcome home, big brother. You’ve been missed these last four years. I’m glad you’re finally, truly, fully alive again. As far as I’m concerned, the man who killed me died at the same time, and in his place my older brother was resurrected. It’s nice to finally meet you, Jason.”

Jason starts bawling at that. At Tim’s gesture, the Titans unlock Jason’s cell, and Tim rolls his wheelchair close enough to finally hug his brother. He’s not much of a hugger, but this is a hug-worthy occasion.

Jason is by Tim’s bedside for the rest of his recovery, being brotherly and making sure Tim heals. Eventually, Tim goes home, and he brings Jason with him. (None of the bats knew Jason’s identity at this point, besides Tim who figured it out bc he’s Tim.) People are suspicious about his spontaneous resurrection, until they mention that it’s not spontaneous at all. “He had to fulfill his Pit Rage goal first. Don’t worry, it was nothing that couldn’t be undone. We’ve already fixed it, so don’t ask,” Tim says, putting the matter more or less to rest. The Red Hood retires, leaving a message saying “I’ve seen the light and I’m gonna go join it.” No one knows if that means that he’s now a good guy or he left to go off himself. Most people assume the latter.

Jason rejoins the Batfamily after a few weeks of family bonding and healing under a new moniker (dealer’s choice). He’s wearing a domino (and Hood never too his helmet off) so no one really associates the two besides conspiracy theorists who think Hood’s message meant the first option. They’re right, of course, but Jason denies it when asked. Batman never finds out who was under the Red Hood, but Tim says “don’t worry, I know, and he’s gone now” and proceeds to make Batman regret asking whenever he brings it up again by being the most cryptic mf alive. Jason thinks it’s hilarious and helps Tim come up with vague ominous shit to say whenever B asks.

Eventually, Damian joins the family, and Jason jumps to Tim’s defense the second Damian tries to kill him. Damian doesn’t get in more than two swings before he’s stopped, and quickly learns that this family loves each other and murder isn’t okay. (He didn’t do it because Talia convinced him that Tim stole his spot as heir or anything; he just decided that all on his own, so when he was proven wrong it didn’t take all that long to convince him unlearn that notion.) Within a few months of Damian settling in, Tim passes on the Robin mantle willingly and becomes his own hero (the name is again dealer’s choice).

When the BruceQuest happens, Tim isn’t alone this time. When he insists Bruce is alive, Jason sides with him, saying “I came back from the dead, I’m sure Bruce can too.” (Half of the reason he sides with Tim is lingering guilt from the Tower, honestly, but hey it’s someone who believes him, Tim will take it.) Tim shows Jason how he arrived at that conclusion and Jason thinks it through and ends up fully on board. Between Tim and Jason, they get Dick to sit down long enough to hear Tim out, and within minutes the whole family is sure Bruce is alive. It helps that Damian was already Robin so that lingering angst didn’t hurt the already limited conversational abilities of the batfam. They all work together, and Bruce gets back in a week. Dick doesn’t have to take over as Batman and Tim doesn’t lose his spleen or get nearly SAed or any of the other horrendous shit that happens during that comic run (which is actually really well written and I recommend you read it, for Tim’s inner monologue at minimum. He’s so sassy, I love it. But I digress). As a side effect, the LoA is still going strong because Tim didn’t have to take it down, but it also means they don’t have Tim’s help with the Council or Spiders and the two groups do a great job of destroying each other.

Eventually, years pass, and Jason and Tim’s relationship has healed enough to start making jokes about what happened. To each other quietly at first, but one day, the family is playing Among Us and Jason (the imposter) kills Tim. In the ghost chat, Tim goes “smh, this betrayal hurts worse than when he actually killed me” and Duke, Babs, and Steph, who are already dead, start freaking out about “Tim what do you mean he killed you when did this happen are you okay are you fucking with us what happened???” Other people who die join the chat to pure chaos and Tim just silently laughing and screenshotting the whole thing, sending the images to Jason, who’s also cracking up. The second the game ends, everyone explodes with questions. All Tim says is “what happens in 20xx stays in 20xx” and doesn’t elaborate any further. The whole family starts digging through the reports from that year but of course find nothing. Jason and Tim think it’s hilarious. Everyone else is concerned. Eventually, though, the decide it’s just some prank or inside joke between the two. Until one day, Tim makes a joke about it when the Titan who found him initially is around, and the Titan goes “ugh, don’t remind me, seeing your dead body was horrifying.” The family goes straight back into freak out mode. Jason and Tim are too busy cracking up to answer, and the Titan shrugs and goes “I’ve been informed that what happened in 20xx stays in 20xx.”

Eventually, though, the group is in some situation where they have to confess secrets. Maybe there’s truth serum involved, or it’s like that secrets cave from Once Upon a Time where you have to share a secret to get out. And Tim admits that Jason’s Pit condition was killing Tim, and that the first thing Jason did when he got his sanity back a moment later was bring back his little brother. Tim also admits that he’s glad that that was the condition, because it meant he could be there to help Jason the second he came back to himself. Everyone is understandably horrified, but Jason’s touched that Tim was glad he could help him. Besides, Tim and Jason have been joking about it for a while now, so clearly, they’ve moved on from it. They’re okay. And then it’s Jason’s turn on the confessional. And he confesses to being the Red Hood. Batman and Nightwing of course freak out, but to the rest, they’ve only heard vague stories and seen the personnel file on Hood. They don’t get the big deal. Luckily, Dick realizes that Hood’s disappearance, followed by a note soon after announcing his retirement, coincided with the end of the Pit Rage. Batman, on the other hand, figures out that the Titans lied to him about Tim being on bed rest at that time and that Tim was actually recovering from his death. The Teen Titans get a massive lecture later, but Dick calms Bruce down eventually. They also update Hood’s file, noting that he’s retired and was under the influence of something during his time as a villain.

All in all, it ends well. The family is okay, the siblings are all actually on pretty good terms with each other, and Bruce has all of his kids home safe and sound whenever it’s time for weekly family dinner. Are they perfect? Of course not. It’s the batfamily, they’re still emotionally constipated af. But they’re a family, and they’re all as sane as they can be. And that’s what matters.

Ok it got a tiny bit heavy again at the end, I meant to end it with the among us bit, but still. What do yall think? :)

[disillusioneddanny]

Hey you! Yeah you. Don’t do this shit. It’s rude.

If you like an authors work and want them to tag you do more than this. All this does is make me roll my eyes and ignore you. Tell me what you like about the fic, reblog it with some tags do something. I’m not a machine who’s sole purpose is to write. I’m also not expected to tag anyone in my fics and demanding it like some of these users have is RUDE. if you like my work and you want to see more of it, help me get exposure, reblog it, instead of just saying tag me, tell me you liked it or what you liked about it. Fuck my ko-fi is in my pinned post. Buy me a coffee and I’ll write whatever the fuck you want. But don’t do this. It’s just rude and disrespectful.

If you do want to see more of a particular piece of work do the following:

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[asunsetgrace16]

Hiiiii!!! Can I request literally anything written about Fraser Minten lol. I was thinking maybe she’s having a sleepover at his house for the first time and is a tad bit shy and nervous about them sharing his bed maybe with prompts 35 and 39 from your fluffy list???

Thank you so much!!!! I’m obsessed with ur writing

Saturday Sleepover ⎥ FM39

Pairing: Fraser Minten x fem!reader

Warnings: fluffyyyyy, one kiss (I think), one swear

Summary: Y/N stays over at Fraser's for the first time after their usual Hockey Night in Canada Saturday date

Notes: Thank you so much for the request! I love writing for Minty and there is a lack of Minty content on here. Hope you enjoyed!! Prompts 35: "That's my girl" and 39: "You're blushing" "No I'm not". I also made up the entire game except for the misconducts that were given in an actual Florida-Ottawa game last fall.

masterlist⎥ navigation

Word Count: 978

As per weekly Saturday tradition, Y/N and Fraser watch whatever hockey game is on TV. Both avid hockey fans and players, they both grew up watching Hockey Night in Canada, rooting for their teams with unabashed pride; Fraser for Vancouver and Y/N for Winnipeg. Occasionally, their hockey-watching dates are over FaceTime when Fraser is out of town for games and he often falls asleep, his phone dying overnight. 

Tonight, however, isn’t one of those nights. The Blades played a rare Saturday matinee game, ending just before four. This gave the couple time to make dinner before the start of the game. His billet family is away visiting relatives for the weekend, so it’s just the two of them. They settle in for the game with plates of spaghetti and salad. Ottawa is playing Florida tonight.

“This should be interesting.” Y/N comments, “nothing good ever happens when the Tkachuk brothers are on the ice together.”

“Very true. How many fights do you think will happen?” Fraser asks, half-Joking, half-serious.

“Oh, easily three or four.”

The game starts off fairly uneventful. No goals from either team and only a penalty or two. But you can tell the teams are chippy with each other. It's the start of the second when things finally amp up. It starts with a slash to the shins of Jakob Chychrun from Nick Cousins, sparking Brady Tkachuk to get involved. The refs are able to break it up before anything exciting happens. There is a pair of goals in the last 10 minutes of the first, so the teams are tied heading into intermission. The second follow is much of the same pattern; a goal for each team, a few minor penalties, and one scuffle. They had barely taken their gloves off before the refs broke it up, boring.

“ Boo.” Fraser says to the TV, “Let them fight, it’s more exciting that way.” 

Y/N laughs and rolls her eyes. But he's not wrong, “You just like to see Matthew stir shit up.” 

“You've got me there.” 

It's in the dying minutes of the third one Fraser gets his wish. A cheap shot from Carter Verhaeghe sends Parker Kelly into the boards awkwardly. He doesn't get up as both teams end up in the corner. Claude Giroux tries to pull Parker away from the fight. The rest of the guys grab each other and start fighting, well most of them anyway. Brady and Matthew are both in the mix. Helmets are off, gloves and sticks are scattered on the ice and the refs are circling. Parker got some help getting to the bench and is getting checked by a trainer. The fight goes on, eventually guys are in headlocks, jerseys are half off, and others are piled on the ice, still swinging punches. The refs break up the fight, sending the guys towards penalty boxes before dishing out the penalties. 

“Every player on the ice gets a 10-minute misconduct, except for the goalies and Ottawa number 27.”

Both Fraser and Y/N are staring, absolutely dumbfounded. Almost never do 10 players get game misconducts. 

“Well, there's the entertainment for the night.” Y/N quips.

The last few minutes pass quietly, the benches are looking very bare, five guys gone from one side and four from the other. Fraser has nodded off by the time the game ends, and Y/N isn't far behind. She turns off the TV and folds the blanket that she used. She sighs tiredly, looking around the dim room. Fraser’s half-asleep on the couch, all sleep-warm and face cast with shadows from the kitchen lights. Y/N moves about the room, gathering her bag and phone. She smiles softly, love in her eyes as she looks as Fraser. She wakes him gently, prompting him to go to bed.

“Just stay.” Fraser mumbles sleepily, yawning. 

“I…I don’t know.” Y/N hesitates, wanting to say yes.

“Please.” He interrupts, giving Y/N a soft, pleading look.

Y/N stays quiet for a minute, reaching out to brush a piece of hair off of his forehead, “Ok. I’ll stay.”

“That’s my girl.”

Y/N flushes, turning shy all of a sudden. She looks away, avoiding his gaze. They haven’t slept over at each other’s places yet, and it makes Y/N’s cheeks warm.

“Why’d you get shy?” He asks as they walk to his room.

“What? No I didn’t”

“Yes, you did. Look, you’re blushing.” He grins at her, poking her cheek.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. And it’s cute.”

Y/N gives him an exasperated look, she will never admit it but Fraser is right. It’s their first night sleeping over together so it takes an extra few minutes to get everything sorted. She is a little jittery, nervous to share Fraser’s bed with him. Her brain goes into overdrive as she tries to avoid making things weird. Fraser gives her a shirt to sleep in and he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. They stand on opposite sides of the bed, unsure of how to proceed. Sure, they have cuddled before, but usually that was on the couch or her cramped twin bed at school. Fraser climbs in, throwing back the covers and he holds his hand out for Y/N to grab. She takes it climbing into the other side. He pulled the covers over them, rearranging his pillow for optimal comfort. Y/N does the same, relaxing more as the minutes go by. Fraser reaches over and shuts off the lamp, sending the room into darkness. By the light of the moon, they face each other. Fraser pulls Y/N closer, giving her a sweet kiss on her forehead before tucking her into his chest. Before long, the couple has drifted off, wrapped up in each other’s arms like it's the most natural thing in the world.

[magnifythesun]

Hi! Are you still taking ianthony prompts? I've had this stuck in my head the time Ian's car broke down and Anthony said he begged Ian 6 times to come pick him up and I just imagine Damsel in Distress Ian who's also stubborn and a bit oblivious to a worried and protective Anthony who's always there for him in different situations.

Thank you sooo much for the prompt!!

This is definitely one of my favorite little details that they've dropped about themselves haha!! I can't believe Anthony had to ask Ian SIX whole times just to come get him 😂 Ian truly must never ask for help! Okay, I'm a little rusty in my writing but I'm excited so let's see how this goes! Let me know what you think! ^_^

(mid writing notes: writing this really made me realize just how many times SIX whole times of asking your friend to let you give them a ride is. SIX TIMES)

Read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56102110

--

Leave it to Ian to get stranded in the only 'middle-of-nowhere' spot in LA. Anthony was wearing tracks into his living room carpet, caught up in rereading the messages Ian had sent.

"Car broke 😢" was the first sign of trouble, accompanied by the sad photo of Ian's car half-pulled off of the asphalt into grass.

"Where are you?" Anthony had shot back, confused by the seemingly rural background of the photo. "Got AAA coming to help?"

"In the most barren part of the whole city." Ian replied after a couple of minutes. "I'm taking a look at at it now but yeah I'm probably going to call them. Car sounds fucked."

"Shit, man. Lemme know if you need a ride" Anthony offered. It only took a second for the reply.

"No worries, I'll be good."

There had been radio silence for a while then. Anthony hadn't been too stressed. He figured Ian already had a different person lined up to get him if his car didn't start back up. Still, he kept glancing at his phone for updates that didn't come.

After about forty minutes, and a quick glance at the clock that told him it'd be getting dark soon, Anthony texted Ian again.

"Triple A fix your car?"

The response was prompt. "Nope"

Anthony stared at the message, knowing this man did not just send him only the word 'nope.' It took a minute but more followed.

"The AAA guy's still looking at it but from what I can tell it's beyond his scope. He mentioned I should probably call a tow truck so I've been looking at reviews."

Anthony glanced outside his window, frowning at the rapidly darkening sky. "That sounds like a good idea. after you call whoever, I can drive over so you have a ride once they've towed yours"

Ian responded quickly, "No don't worry I'm all good."

Definitely must have a ride then, Anthony thought. Still, he had to make sure. "Oh good, you've got a ride then?"

There was a long pause, so Anthony set his phone down, glancing at the setting sun again and went to get some water from the kitchen.

Coming back in to his phone, he checked his messages, and-

"No, I'll probably just Uber."

Anthony was flabbergasted. "Why?? Don't worry man it's no problem for me to pick you up. Let me know where you're at." It was actually just straight up dark outside at this point. "Is the AAA guy still there??"

"Nah he's gone. Waiting on the tow truck."

Alone in the middle-of-nowhere Los Angeles? Anthony thought, In the dark? Worry flared up in his chest and the pacing began.

"Ian, just drop me your map pin and I'll head over."

"It's chill, I'm not in a rush to get home." Ian replied, not a care in the world.

Anthony resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. "that's not really the point??"

Suddenly a picture was loading in on the messages.

Anthony braced himself for a lackadaisical gif (and yes, he pronounced it jif like god and the creator intended) but was greeted instead with a horrendous selfie of Ian holding the phone at an angle an inch from his chin, smiling at him. The artificial light from his phone lit up the interior of his car behind him. Anthony couldn't help but laugh, even as the worry churned in his stomach. Another message followed.

"Don't worry. I'm a big boy now, all grown up and everything."

Anthony considered wracking his brains for a daddy joke, but decided Ian didn't deserve it right now. He grabbed his keys and wallet, flicked off the living room light, and left, locking his door behind him. As he walked toward his car, he jabbed the call button.

It rang only twice before Ian picked up. Anthony heard him take a breath to speak and didn't give him a chance. "Ian, just tell me where you're at, I'm heading to my car now."

"I-" Ian sounded surprised. There was a moment of rustling on the other end, then Anthony was clearly put on speaker as Ian's voice echoed slightly through the call. "Anthony, really, it's fine. The tow truck people have an ETA of like 15 minutes and then I'll call the Uber while they're hooking the car up."

Anthony, now at his car, pressed his eyes closed for a second in annoyance as he clicked his key. He hoped Ian could hear the pointed little beep-beep of his car unlocking in response.

"You really don't have to go out of your way to come get me," Ian continued, undeterred. "I didn't mean to derail your whole night with this," He laughed.

Anthony got in the car and leaned his head on his steering wheel in despair. "Ian."

"What?" Ian asked.

Anthony began to laugh despite himself, "I don't understand," He laughed harder, pushing the words out. "Why won't you just let me pick you up? I've asked you like five times!"

There was a moment of silence from Ian's end, and Anthony knew Ian was processing just how ridiculous this had become. Ian started snickering. Then they were both just laughing, Anthony holding the phone tight to his ear as Ian's laughter poured from it, his other hand ready to turn the car on.

"So," Anthony caught his breath, "So can you -please- drop me a map pin so I can come get you?"

"Alright, alright." Ian said.

Ian's voice was soft and breathless from his laughter. Anthony had spent a long time learning how to properly relish the beautiful moments in his life. The sound of Ian's voice right now, echoing slightly through the phone? That was one of those moments.

Anthony's phone pinged. "There. You happy?"

"Finally, my god." Anthony pulled the phone away to check. "Okay, I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Great," Ian said. "I think the tow truck gets here right about then." Anthony could still hear the smile in his voice. "I'll be here, waiting for you to rescue me."

[emmyrosee]

EMMY. EMMY. OH MY GOODNESS. I’M POPPING IN SUPER QUICKLY AFTER SEEING THE INBOX OPENING AGAIN TO GIVE U THIS ADORABLE THOUGHT I HAD!!!

(and ok Ik I said my next ramble would be Bakugou but I……. may or may not have lost the prompt I had written down to send in from back then……. I’M LOOKING FOR IT THO I SWEAR!!! I’ll make good on my promise, my memory is just bad and I can’t remember it for the life of me!!!)

ANYWAY!!!!!

I come to propose a question: how do you think the actual loml miya atsumu would deal with an incredibly needy s/o who is absolutely horrible at asking for affection even when you so desperately want it (me lmfao I can’t ask for shit without getting embarrassed)?? I’m talking giving him all the hints- tugging on his shirt, the pleading eyes, poking him until he’s annoyed enough to react, etc. Everything but outright asking for affection. I feel like at first he wouldn’t pick up on it but after he gets used to the habits? “Ohhhhh I see what you want baby”. Teases relentlessly until he finally gives in and gives you all the attention you could ever (not) ask for and THEN some. He’s always the one asking for affection, so when the roles are reversed why wouldn’t he make it worthwhile? He loves the smile and how happy and giggly you get after!!

maybe sometimes he’d even try a roundabout way of helping you get better at asking for things by being a little shit and doing something different from what you were hinting at until you finally ask, and he just gets the biggest smile on his face and cheers and :(((

…can you tell my love language is physical touch?? also that I’m lonely?? all I ever ramble on about is how badly I want to be on the receiving end of love and affection from these boys 🤪

anon <3

GOD. HANDS AND KNEES DAWG.

I feel like atsumu is the kinda boyfriend to be able to completely ask what he wants, and he left all of the being shy to osamu. He’s got no issue coming up to you and asking for some snuggles and affection, and while it’s not quite the same as him giving the affection to you, it’s enough contact where he’s on top of you or curled against you where you can scratch the need just a little bit.

But he doesn’t always need that level of babying. He doesn’t always have to be cuddled and have his hair carded and his arms gently rubbed, and sometimes, he completely bypasses attention all together because how is he supposed to know you need it when you can’t tell him?

Which, right now, it’s hard, because you just want to be coddled and loved, and he doesn’t seem to get it :(

So, you do start to rebel. Just slightly.

It starts small, you laying your legs across his lap on the couch in hopes he’ll tug you on top of him, but all he does is rub your shin with his thumb- when you poke him with your toes, he breaks out a tickle attack that has you screaming and giggling and satisfying a small part of you that needs him.

“Don’t poke me with your dogs, that’s nasty,” he snickers, placing a kiss on your cheek before gently moving your legs off of him, getting up and kissing you before heading to the kitchen.

When you follow him, he’s heating up some leftover pizza, and when you hoist yourself up and onto the counter in his way, he looks at you with beady eyes and pokes his tongue in the corner of his mouth.

“Must you sit right there?” He asks, motioning to the microwave just a few feet away. You giggle, and he rolls his eyes and gently places a few kisses along your neck and jawline and a final one on your lips. “Needy baby- go back to the couch, stay comfortable; I'm gonna bang out some of the chores.”

Your hands reach out to grip his shirt, and now the smile on his face slowly starts to fade. “Baby. I got shit to do. Let go.”

“No,” you whimper. And he’s getting annoyed, you can feel it, but you just...

You just want him so bad; he’s been so focused on other things today, things involving not you, and it’s making you antsy and honestly, a little frustrated.

Of course he's allowed to do other things through the day. But you just want ten minutes where you're his and his alone, and you don't have to share him with whatever stupid tasks cross his path.

With a roll of his eyes, he pulls out of your grip to eat the slice cold, mumbling a muffled "whatever" as he walks down the hall to the bedroom. You feel neglected, tossed aside, because you're not trying to be a force, you just need him to use his damn cognitive thinking for five damn seconds-

Against your better judgement perhaps, you get up and follow him to the bedroom, gnawing on your lip and fiddling with your fingers. there's a piece of pizza dangling from his teeth as he folds some of his laundry. Golden eyes flick to you, and you nod subtly as you make your way to the bed and pick up a clean shirt. It smells so clean, yet it lingers with the smell of his cologne and hair gel, and you clutch it close instead of folding it.

"Ya don't have to help," he says, using one of his hands to pull away the remaining bit of pizza. "But can I have that?"

"No."

"Babe-"

"I want it."

"Like... to have?" He pops the last of the pizza in his mouth.

You roll your eyes, "no... it just... smells like you."

"It shouldn't, I just washed it-"

"In a good way."

A brow raises, "well can't I just give you a hug so I can finish my laundry.

Before you can say anything else, his face softens, the cogs simply starting to turn at the sound of his own words. Maybe this did work...

“Oh.”

Maybe.

“Oh.”

Did it-

“I know what you want.”

Your heart races as he talks to you. A cocky smirk slowly spreads over his cheeks, and you whine softly in your throat as he wraps his thick hands under your knees, and yanks you towards him. You squeal, batting his hands away, but he’s quick to gather your torso in his arms and hoist you up and against his chest.

“You just want some lovin’s, don’t ya?” He asks, and when you don’t answer, he clicks his tongue and slowly rocks you both back and forth. “Just soooo blinded in your love and adoration for me that you can’t say that you needed me.”

"Shut up-"

"God forbid I do anything but cater to your every whim and need and desire!"

“You’re an ass,” you snicker.

He plants a kiss on your forehead with a smile, “it’s alright; I’ll always figure it out in the end, baby.”

And you just. Melt into him. It’s all you can do, this is all you’ve wanted all day, and now that you're completely enveloped in his arms, it's like every swimming thought you've had, and every insecurity about asking him for affection is stilled, and you're able to just focus on him, and his tight grip around you.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you, love," he mumbles, nosing your temple. You nod and curl closer, letting the smell of clean laundry lull you at ease.

and of course he's not just going to let this lay. because atsumu is cocky and hes annoying and all he wants is for his baby to be confident in asking for him :(

but rather than trying to move on with his day, he's trying to coax you to be more comfortable in letting him know you want him. he does these big, dramatic leaps of what you could possibly want from him when you swat and tug at him. anything that'll make you feel safer in talking to him and expressing your needs.

because ultimately, thats all atsumu wants- you to feel safe :(

[darkworkcourier]

i have a request: after realizing the reader has a crush on him ghost teases her, at first just by gazes, later by words and touched and eventually makes her come by rubbing her trough her panties

so i'm working on a follow-up to this fic where ladybird gets railed in a hotel (like she deserves), but this prompt inspired me to get her into the mile high club. this is shorter than what i'm used to writing, but i hope you like it! :D

contains: through-the-panties fingering, quickies in the bathroom discussion of public sex, and price being way too into nature documentaries.

---

The 141 is flying coach, and—in a word—it sucks.

There's a reason, like always. You're all assigned to carefully monitor a red-eye flight from Boston Logan Airport to London Gatwick on trusted intelligence regarding a potentially dangerous agent onboard. You've read the file (now six going on seven times, nearly beating out how many times you've read the in-flight magazine and the safety card), knowing that this agent—known informally and hilariously as Red Sox—is Kastovian. She's posed as a Bostonian businesswoman for months now, and your instructions are to confirm her role in a recent cybersecurity incident at an international bank. With any luck, you'll get the evidence and have her arrested the moment she gets off the plane.

Until then, you're stuck in the middle seat of the middle aisle in a 787, fighting with a granola bar that refuses to open, half-watching whatever godawful action movie Soap's entertained by on his in-flight screen. He's enjoying himself, though, feeding himself a package of peanuts with the gusto of a man eating caviar.

At least someone's having fun.

Gaz and Price are four rows ahead of you, and Gaz has the luck to have a window seat. You've walked by them twice as you've gone to the lavatory out of sheer boredom. It's all sunshine, roses, Netflix, and podcasts up there, apparently. Sure, they have eyes on Red Sox, but apparently it's much more important for Price to finish his nature documentary ("Jesus Christ, have you seen how much a whale shits? Nature's incredible!") before you all do your jobs.

Ghost is the luckiest, you think. He's in business class, with leg room and hot towels and a seat that isn't actively trying to fold him up like he's in a mousetrap. He's also closest to Red Sox, quietly muttering through the comms whenever she gets up or gets something from one of the flight attendants. He sounds bored as hell, though.

"She's getting a— bloody fucking hell, who gets decaf coffee on a red eye?" Ghost grumbles through your headset. His voice is low, sending tingles through your body and making you wish he was next to you instead of Soap—currently guffawing in every sense of the word at something in his stupid movie.

You hear Gaz snort. "Who gets decaf, period? Gross."

There's a brief pause before you hear Price's awestruck voice. "Did you fucking know that killer whales can chomp a penguin in half? What the actual fuck? Why do we keep these little bastards in zoos?"

"The penguins or the orcas?" Gaz asks, even though he's sitting right next to Price and probably looking at his phone screen. Then, he confirms he is when he utters a disgusted, "Oh, nasty. Why are they showin' that on a documentary?"

At the same time, Soap slaps his knee like a grandpa, nudging you in the ribs with his elbow before snickering and gesturing to his screen where a man is yelling at... you think it's a goat. No way to know what that has to do with exploding cars or paragliding.

You lean back in your seat and groan, rubbing your eyes. "Ghost, please tell me you're having a semi-productive night," you say.

"If by 'productive', you mean carefully analyzing dinner choices and how many copies of 'Tatler' this woman brought with her, then sure," he responds dryly.

"Beef or chicken?"

"Fish," he says.

"Oh, she's definitely a spy," Gaz says. "Decaf and fish. There's something wrong with her."

That's the sum total of your work so far. You briefly glance at the time on the screen in front of you—you still have four and a half hours.

For lack of anything better to do, and abandoning your fight against the granola bar, you turn your focus back to the main object of your thoughts for the past few months. It's not easy to think of Ghost while you're crammed in a tiny seat and sandwiched in between Soap and a snoring British businessman, but you let your mind wander a little bit in Ghost's direction.

Since your crush came to light, he's opened up to you, allowing you to get close enough until you felt tidally locked to him. He's shown you Simon Riley, Manchester born and bred, with a love of bourbon, vinyls, and old camping equipment that he collects the same way people gather stamps or glassware. He's revealed all sorts of quirks and tells, drawing you in further, yet keeping just enough distance for the sake of professionalism.

But for days before this flight, Ghost's teased you relentlessly, in ways you never expected from him—glancing touches on your shoulders and back as he passes you in the hallway, pressing his thigh against yours when you do manage to sit next to him at a meeting, fingers brushing against yours when you pass something to him or vice versa. And he knows what he's doing, because Ghost never moves without intent. Every stray touch lights up your nerves like fairy lights, and he is completely aware of it.

Touches like that might not seem relentless, but in the gap between them are his words—again, carefully chosen. The man's got a way with double meanings and innuendos, all woven into his normal speech so well that no one seems to notice. He'll lock into eye contact with you, then say things to Price, Gaz, or Soap about erecting defenses or pointing the finger of suspicion. Bastard knows exactly what he's about. He knows it's been driving you crazy for weeks.

Those thoughts start to get something stirring in you, which is frankly a terrible thing to have happen on an airplane. Apparently, all your bad thoughts are mile-high ones, and before you start rubbing your legs together like a cricket for Soap to notice, you excuse yourself to the lavatory again.

Squeezing by Soap and his godforsaken tendency to manspread, you catch him grinning at you as he takes one of his AirPods out. "Goin' somewhere exciting, Ladybird?" he asks.

"Yeah," you say, gesturing to one of the emergency doors. "Thought I'd test one of those slides out."

"Oooh, fun," Soap says, all cheeky. His brows go up, and you feel what he's going to say before he says it. "Thought you'd be payin' a visit to a businessman up front. He seems lonely up there."

God, you wish.

You stand in the aisle beside Soap for a second, willing your legs to wake up and ignoring the wash of pins and needles through your skin. "Nah, I think he likes being by himself," you say. "Obviously he's not chomping at the bit to watch nature documentaries or visit with us."

"No," Soap agrees, tucking a hand behind his head and grinning up at you. "But I dinnae think he'd say no to you visiting him." At that, he wiggles his brows suggestively, then breaks into a wide smile that has you rolling your eyes.

"Yeah, no, I'm leaving now," you tell him, turning on heel to limp your way to the lavatory on a very wobbly-feeling right leg. You can hear Soap laughing at your back, and you think you hear the words 'mile high club'—better to ignore it.

The lavatory's full when you get there, so you lean against the wall and wait, arms crossed over your chest, fighting back a yawn. The plane wiggles with a little turbulence. Someone coughs nearby. Someone else turns off their overhead light.

Then the lavatory door opens and— yeah, that's Ghost looking down at you.

He's dressed in a disarmingly casual way. He's ditched the balaclava in favor of a black disposable mask and a beanie pulled down low. You're both pleased and distressed that you recognize his hoodie (one that you've stolen before to dart between his room and yours and briefly considered stealing for good), although the jeans are new.

In turn, he looks over you, a faint flicker of something in his eyes that makes a familiar, raw heat already start to form in your gut.

"Ladybird," he says with a nod.

"Ghost," you reply.

It feels like an old cowboy movie standoff, except there's less than a foot of room in between the two of you. Someone has to move—preferably him, because you kind of do need to use the lavatory now. There's a stretch of tension, of an invisible band being pulled before—

Ghost suddenly looks left, then right, and then his hand is on your wrist, tugging you back into the lavatory and closing the door behind you before you can even comprehend what's happened. As soon as the lock clicks into place, the overhead light blinks on, filling the tiny, tiny space with watery white light.

It smells like Clorox wipes and diapers, which is not conducive to anything sexy until Ghost is practically pressed up against you, an arm wrapped around your waist. In another too-quick movement, his mask is pulled down beneath his chin, and then his lips are on yours.

The kiss is hungry. His tongue finds yours immediately, and in between deep kisses, he catches your bottom lip between his teeth. It's ravenous—starving. His free hand goes up to your jaw, cupping your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye.

He kisses you like you haven't seen or touched each other in months. Like he's not the one keeping a perfectly professional distance, maintaining the hierarchy of command while torturing you with words and touches. Suddenly, the hand on your waist moves and goes up under your t-shirt, up and up over your stomach to your bra, fingers brushing over one rapidly-stiffening nipple while you moan quietly against his mouth.

For fuck's sake, Soap was right about the mile high club. You wouldn't be surprised if he texted Ghost the suggestion.

Ghost tilts his head back enough to talk, although you feel every syllable against your lips. "Wanna touch you," he mutters, half-lidded eyes flickering up to meet yours.

"Do it," you whisper back. The urgency is there, knowing you only have a short amount of time and the smallest bit of elbow room to work with.

The hand on your breast descends quickly, and with it, your body feels like it goes into an uncontrolled downward spin, dizzy with the thought of what you're doing. Ghost's hand slips under the band of your—

"Pajama pants? Really?"

You glare up at him, although all the heat is redirected southward. "They're comfy, and it's a long flight," you retort.

He breathes out a laugh that fans over your cheek before he kisses you again, just as his fingers go down and rub against your cunt through the thin cotton of your panties. It makes you gasp against him, even at a slight, barely-there touch. But his touch transmutes into something stronger and more insistent, rubbing your slit, the fabric helping to build friction.

"Oh, fuck," you whisper, staggering a little and leaning on his shoulder for support. You feel him press a finger against your clit, setting off a charge that darts lightning-quick up your spine. One of your hands claps over your mouth to stifle a moan.

Ghost laughs, a low rumble that seems to vibrate right through you, matching frequencies with the electricity currently pulsing through your whole damn nervous system.

"Been wantin' to do this all week," he mutters into your ear as his index finger slides over your clit.

Your voice fights to catch a foothold in your throat, hoisting itself up into your mouth in a strain. "I-in an airplane lavatory?" you manage, although the joke is lost on another moan that you have to hide in the fabric of his hoodie.

He hums this time, and it's almost thoughtful. "Sure," he says. His fingers slide back, pressing the soaked fabric of your panties against your opening in the most teasing way. You're tempted to just pull everything down and let him take you over the tiny stainless steel sink. But he goes on, "Back at base. Kitchen, office, common area. Don't really care."

Holy fuck, the idea of Ghost taking you in any of those places sends another little shock through your system and turns that inner coil tighter. You shudder, gasping as he rubs his fingers back and forth. You cling onto him, fingers in a vise grip on his hoodie, face tucked against his shoulder as he draws your climax up to the surface quicker than you've ever felt it rise.

"Wait until we get to London," he says, his voice low and hot in your ear. "I know at least five places where I can fuck you in view of a whole damn street an' no one will know we're there."

That promise alone and all the mental images it conjures are enough to send you right over the edge, burying your cry in fleece and shuddering against his hand as you rock your hips against him. You hear him whispering encouragements to you, to use him to get off, to come for him. You do, using all that friction and that sense of taboo of what you're doing now as a springboard for your pleasure. It's not the hardest you've come (and Ghost certainly has the honor of achieving that), but it's the fastest—almost embarrassingly quick. You hit the heights, the upper ceiling of your personal atmosphere, and try to catch your breath as you fall back into an oxygen-rich level.

Ghost draws his hand back while you lean on him for support as your legs threaten to give out entirely. You hear and feel him laugh again, and then he's pressing a rolled-up piece of toilet paper into your hand.

"Kind of soaked there, love," he says, and it's all fondness—maybe a little bit of pride.

"Who's fault is that?" you say, your voice hoarse and tired. Still, you make use of the paper, reaching in to wipe up at least some of the dampness. And—well, fuck, you're going to have to sit with that for another four hours. Gross.

Ghost presses a kiss to your temple, and you lean into it instinctively.

"I'll make it up to you in London," he promises.

You have a better idea.

---

You squeeze past Soap again, inwardly groaning as you sit down and feel dampness between your legs. It's three hours and forty-eight minutes until Gatwick. Three hours and forty-eight minutes of sitting in wet panties while trying to apprehend a criminal on a 787. Nevermind that your orgasm sent enough endorphins through your system to maybe get a good nap in.

Then, beside you, Soap laughs. You feel a tug on your sleeve, and look over to see him grinning at you.

"Nice hoodie," he says. "Is it new?"

You smile and nestle yourself into the fabric, still warm from Ghost's skin. "Sort of," you reply.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 18 - Pet

@jegulus-microfic February 18 Word count 848

Previous part First part

“I don’t know what you mean.” Regulus’s fingers moved towards his wand. 

“Reg, you forget I was there when you were with James at Hogwarts. I’ve also seen what Remus’s fists can do. Those bruises were perfect. Admit it, you basically just had a week’s holiday with your honey bun while we planned a fight.” Evan hadn’t even batted an eyelid. He looked so calm. Regulus was shitting himself. 

“So? What are you going to do about it?” Regulus’s emotionless mask was firmly in place, but he could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

“Nothing,” Evan shrugged. “You saved Barty. If you’re going behind the Dark Lords’s back to hang out with a bunch of know order members, you must have a good reason why.” 

“I really was captured. Sirius appeared when we were taking the supply house and ambushed us. He tied me up and took out the others.” He felt the need to explain. Evan was his oldest friend, and he’d always had a way of getting Regulus to spill his guts. “That mad Auror, Moody, tortured me for a while but gave up when I didn’t talk.”

“So they used Potter against you?” Evan interrupted.  Regulus nodded. 

“Yeah, him and Sirius.” He paused, debating on telling him the rest. “Dumbledore came to see me.”

“Shit Reg.” Evan gaped. 

“He told me either I help them or they’d send me to Azkaban.”

“So what are you doing for them then?” Evan questioned. 

“Information. They want to know who’s saying what and any major plans that come up. Are you going to give me away?” He had to as. He couldn’t leave without knowing if he was safe or not. 

“No, Reg. I won’t say anything.” Evan sighed and dragged a hand through his hair as he mulled something over. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually care about what Voldemort and that lot believe. I only got this thing,” He held up his left arm, letting his sleeve fall to reveal the snake and skull tattoo that matched Regulus’s own. “Because my father forced me. If I’d had a choice in the matter, I’d probably have taken Barty and Pan and gone to France or something.” He shrugged, not bothered at sharing the information that would sign his death warrant if Voldemort heard him. Regulus gave him a sad smile. 

“Same here.” Evan snorted. 

“Wow, our parents are dicks.” They both burst into laughter. “Are you getting immunity out of it if that side wins?” Evan asked, looking like he really wanted to know the answer. 

“Yeah, if I give them enough good information,” Regulus told him truthfully. 

“Do you think they’d do the same for me and Barty if I help you?” Evan shuffled nervously. 

“I can ask. If I ask James, he’ll do everything he can.” He couldn’t quite believe that Evan had felt the way he did. That was the curse of the mark. Everyone was too scared to say what they really felt in case it got back to Voldemort. Because he’d just have them disposed of, he had plenty of followers to replace those he had killed.  

They walked back through to Evans's bedroom, closer than they had been before, a new bond firmly formed. 

They were greeted upon their return by a grumpy Barty and a mass of silver-blonde hair. 

Pandora, Evan’s twin sister, was sitting on the bed next to Barty, patting him on the head like a disgruntled pet. 

“Evan, she’s doing it again,” Barty complained as he tried to evade Pandora’s hand.

“Oh, don’t be silly, Barty. You love it when I pet you.” Pandora said, smiling happily at him. “Here, have a chocolate frog.” She passed him the treat. Barty appeared somewhat appeased. At least he didn’t complain again. 

“What do you want, Pan?” Evan asked. She stood from the bed and floated over to them, her feet bare. 

“Father wants to speak with you. Hi Reg,” She added as she wrapped her arms around his neck and placed a kiss on his cheek. He could feel the oily residue left from her lipstick. There’d be a perfect lip mark on his face. 

“Hello, Pandora. How are you?” He asked her politely. He tensed when she snuggled her head into his neck. 

“Oh, you know, bored. You boys all get to go out and have fun, and I have to be the perfect Rosier princess and sit in my ivory tower.” She sighed dramatically. 

“Oh, shut up, Pan, we all know you sneak you’re girlfriend in here all the time.” Evan teased his sister. Pandora winked at him and removed herself from Regulus’s neck. 

“I’ll leave you alone. Goodbye, darling.” She waved at Barty and blew him a kiss before smiling wickedly at Evan as she left.

“I swear if she didn’t keep me in such a good supply of sweets, I’d find her very annoying.” Barty grumped as he licked melted chocolate from his fingers. “So, Reg.” He said, looking up at Regulus and sucking a final finger. “You a spy then or what?”   

Next part

[graciehart]

after a 3.5-year hiatus from gifmaking, I re-learned how to gif at the end of November and have since gained quite a few new followers and also confirmed I will be on this website until the day I die. Many of you came right as I lost my job, dealt with the fallout and unemployment, found a new job, and started working... and for some reason have stayed through all of that?? So I decided to do a very randomly-timed follower appreciation event because you all have really kept me going these last few months.

I want to share a special thank you to the @tmsource team (aka @burningblake, @robintunney, @robntunney, and @lizzybennets) for organizing the secret santa event that motivated me to start giffing again, and to Britt especially for her incredible scene pack that meant i actually had shit to gif 😂

and a note to all my long-time swiftie friends/followers who absolutely did not sign up for this... who could stay? you could stay. 🥹 but the actual note is that i have so much love for all of you. there is one taylor-specific request and the rest can be done for her as well if you don't share any fandoms 😘

requests will close april 1. love you all! request guidelines under the cut 🩵

————————————————— 🩵

NOTES

we don't have to be mutuals, but you do need to be actually following me since this is a follower appreciation!

I have absolutely noooo idea what the timeline on this will be especially since I have multiple gif series in progress and am starting my new full-time job lmao so please... ✨ lower your expectations ✨

you may send more than one request (just be reasonable please lol)

for this event, anonymous requests will not be completed

please consider reblogging this if you send a request so more people can see it <3

to request a gifset, please choose from this list and send me a...

🎶 + a character/(friend)ship for a lyric gifset (you may send a lyric or have me choose) 📖 + a character/(friend)ship for a quote gifset (you may send a quote or have me choose) 🎨 + a tv show/character for a color palette gifset (send 1-3 colors or have me choose) 💋 + a word for a taylor swift parallel/theme gifset (e.g., taylor swift + spring, taylor swift + blue; feel free to get creative! you may also specify an album, tour, or performance) [taylor swift prompt] 💝 (mutuals only for this one) for a themed gifset + short playlist that I make for you (you can send me a theme or have me surprise you. also let me know if you prefer apple music, spotify, or a youtube playlist)

*I don't have a list for them, but you may request movies and musicals as well (as long as you've seen me blog about them!)

thanks for being here! 🩵

in absolutely no particular order @andialmostdo @andtosaturn @queenofinys @useragarfield @sharpesjoy @singinprincess @sophiedevreaux @ncutisgatwas @clairesbeauchamp @fionagallaqher @lemonbreelnd @deathbyathousandcuts @1989tv @prentissrollins @strideofpride @mauraeyk @keensressler @jemmaasimmons @gracegordongreene @spencereid @jakeperalta @iftye @lovesickallovermybed @emilylprentiss @emilybluntt @lordjohnwgrey @daenerys-targaryen and so many more (it won't let me tag) beautiful wonderful people, i love every single one of you!