#myself to the bone then ask someone already doing their best to do more

[moldwood]

hm... maybe it Is a life dream to make an animated curse of strahd show

[tsuncda]

why did god give me the ability to ask questions i'm not ready to hear the answers to

[luv-lock]

⸻ ᴅ ᴇ ʟ ɪ ᴄ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ ⸻

Pairing: Laios Touden x Fem Reader

Headcanon: How would he be when he's obsessed?

Notes: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

The first time Laios saw you, he swore you were something out of a myth.

“You’re amazing!” he had blurted after you single-handedly took down a particularly pesky scorpion-beast. “That throw, the precision! Have you always been this skilled?”

You’d laughed, shrugging off his admiration, but it was already too late. Laios was hooked.

It started small. The way his eyes lit up every time you spoke about your favorite foods. He’d lean in, listening intently, like your words held the secrets of the universe. You figured he was just being polite—until you caught him scribbling something in his journal.

“Laios, what are you writing?” you’d asked, trying to peek over his shoulder.

“Oh, nothing!” he said, slamming the book shut, his grin wide and suspiciously sheepish. “Just notes about the dungeon! Very important research!”

You thought nothing of it—until the next day, when Laios presented you with a dish made entirely out of dungeon monsters.

“I remembered you said you liked stews,” he explained, practically bouncing on his heels. “So I made this! It’s manticore tail with some wild dungeon herbs. Don’t worry, it’s safe! I taste-tested it three times!”

You blinked at the bowl he shoved into your hands. The stew smelled... surprisingly good. Hesitantly, you took a bite, and your eyes widened.

“This is amazing, Laios!”

And that was the moment. That was when you unknowingly sealed your fate.

He always made sure you had the best portion of whatever monster they managed to cook. "You need to try this! The texture is so unique—perfect for someone with your refined palate," he’d say, sliding a perfectly roasted slice of basilisk tail onto your plate with almost childlike eagerness.

Or how he’d insist on walking beside you, his gaze flicking to your face every few moments as though trying to memorize every shift in your expression. "Did you see that? Your eyes lit up when you looked at the cave crystals," he once noted, his tone as soft as the warm glow of the dungeon lamps.

“Are you hungry?” he’d ask, far too frequently. You weren’t sure why he’d stare at you so intently whenever you answered. He had a way of watching you eat that bordered on unnerving—eyes wide, as if every bite you took held profound meaning.

When you laughed, he smiled so widely it was almost painful to look at, his cheeks flushed with delight. “Your laugh,” he once said, utterly sincere, “reminds me of the soft whistle of steam escaping a pot of stew right before it’s done.”

That was Laios for you. Always comparing you to food.

"Are you cold?" he asked one evening, already shrugging off his cloak to drape it over your shoulders. “Here, take this. You need it more than I do.”

You tried to protest, but he shook his head. "No, no, I insist! If you got sick, I’d—" His voice faltered, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something darker in his eyes. “I’d never forgive myself.”

At first, it was easy to dismiss it as harmless admiration. Laios loved everything—food, dungeons, and his companions. But then it started to feel... heavier.

One day you find out that he’d carved a tiny figurine of you out of monster bone. "It’s not creepy, I swear!" he exclaimed when you stared at it in shock. "I just thought your likeness would look amazing in bone. Look at the detail on the hair!"

At some point, it started becoming... stranger. You woke up one morning to find him crouched near your bedroll, carefully observing your face. When you jolted awake, he beamed at you like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Oh, sorry! I just... you look so peaceful when you sleep. Like a dragon curled around its treasure.”

He wasn’t even trying to be creepy—he just meant it. That was the worst part.

Then there were the meals he tailored specifically to your tastes—so specific that you wondered how he knew what you craved before you did. "I noticed how you wrinkled your nose at the slime pudding last week, so I’ve been experimenting with a recipe that’s more palatable for you," he explained, his smile as bright as the dungeon’s glowing moss.

And the lengths he went to for you... they started to escalate. A particularly rare flower monster once tried to entangle you with its thorny vines, and Laios lost his usual jovial composure. His sword swung with ferocity, his face a mask of rage. When the creature was finally reduced to a pile of pulp, he turned to you, breathless. “Are you hurt? It touched you—I saw it touch you.”

You assured him you were fine, but he was already rummaging through the remains of the creature, muttering something about using its petals to brew a protective potion for you.

“I can’t stand the idea of anything harming you,” he said softly, not looking at you. “You’re... too important.”

It wasn’t just his actions; it was the way he spoke to you, the way he talked about you when he thought you weren’t listening.

“She’s incredible,” you overheard him say to Marcille one evening as they prepared camp. “She’s so strong, and clever, and kind. Did you see the way she handled that mimic today? I—I just can’t imagine this party without her.”

Marcille sighed, clearly used to his ramblings. “Yes, Laios. She’s great. But you might want to ease up a little. You’re... intense.”

“Intense?” Laios frowned, as if the idea had never occurred to him. “I just want her to feel appreciated! She deserves that. She deserves everything.”

And yet, despite the obsessive edge, Laios’s affection was oddly pure. He didn’t stalk you through the dungeon or try to isolate you from the others—though you sometimes caught him watching you with a dreamy, faraway look, as if he were already imagining the next meal he’d cook for you.

And yet, there was something unsettling in his devotion. It wasn’t malicious, but it was overwhelming. Laios had always been insatiable when it came to things he loved—monster cuisine, dungeon exploration, rare artifacts. Now, that insatiable hunger was directed at you.

His obsession was his way of showing love: an all-consuming desire to protect you, to make you smile, to ensure you were never hungry, never in danger. It wasn’t the dark, suffocating kind of obsession that trapped you. It was... Laios.

"I wonder," he mused one evening as the fire crackled between the party, "if there’s a way to preserve this moment forever. You, here, with me... It’s perfect."

For all his warmth and cheer, there was an intensity in his words that made you shiver.

And somehow, that made it all the harder to resist.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[anistarrose]

I want to make my posts more accessible, but can't write IDs myself: a guide

[Plain text: "I want to make my posts more accessible, but can't write IDs myself: a guide." End plain text.]

While every image posted online should be accessible in an ideal world, we all know it 1) takes time to learn how to write image descriptions, and 2) is easy to run out of spoons with which to write IDs. And this says nothing of disabilities that make writing them more challenging, if not impossible — especially if you're a person who benefits from IDs yourself.

There are resources for learning how to write them (and if you already know the basics, I'd like to highlight this good advice for avoiding burnout) — but for anyone who cannot write IDs on their original posts at any current or future moment, for any reason, then there are two good options for posting on Tumblr.

1. Crowdsource IDs through the People's Accessibility Discord

[Plain text: "1. Crowdsource IDs through the People's Accessibility Discord". End plain text.]

The People's Accessibility Discord is a community that volunteers description-writing (and transcript-writing, translation, etc) for people who can't do so themselves, or feel overwhelmed trying to do so. Invite link here (please let me know if the link breaks!)

The way it works is simple: if you're planning to make an original post — posting art, for example — and don't know how to describe it, you can share the image there first with a request for a description, and someone will likely be able to volunteer one.

The clear upside here (other than being able to get multiple people's input, which is also nice) is that you can do this before making the Tumblr post. By having the description to include in your post from the start, you can guarantee that no inaccessible version of the post will be circulated.

You can also get opinions on whether a post needs to be tagged for flashing or eyestrain — just be able to spoiler tag the image or gif you're posting, if you think it might be a concern. (Also, refer here for info on how to word those tags.)

The server is very chill and focused on helping/answering questions, but if social anxiety is too much of a barrier to joining, or you can't use Discord for whatever reason, then you can instead do the following:

2. Ask for help on Tumblr, and update the post afterwards

[Plain text: "Ask for help on Tumblr, and update the post afterwards". End description.]

Myself and a lot of other people who describe posts on this site are extra happy to provide a description if OP asks for help with one! This does leave the post inaccessible at first, so to minimize the drawbacks, the best procedure for posting an image you can't fully describe would be as follows:

Create the tumblr post with the most bare-bones description you can manage, no matter how simple (something like "ID: fanart of X character from Y. End ID" or "ID: a watercolor painting. End ID," or literally whatever you can manage)

Use a tool like Google Lens or OCR to extract text if applicable and if you have the energy, even if the text isn't a full image description (ideally also double-check the transcriptions, because they're not always perfect)

Write in the body of the post that you'd appreciate a more detailed description in the notes!

Tag the post as "undescribed" and/or "no id" only if you feel your current, bare-bones description is missing out on a lot of important context

When you post it and someone provides an ID, edit the ID into the original post (don't use read mores, italics, or small text)

Remove the undescribed tag, if applicable. If you're posting original art, you can even replace it with a tag like "accessible art" for visibility!

And congrats! You now have a described post that more people will be able to appreciate, and you should certainly feel free to self-reblog to give a boost to the new version!

[reidsworld]

Winter’s Constant

Summary: You have always dreaded winter, every year it’s a challenge just to make it through the day. Except this year, things are a bit different with Logan by your side. Based on this request.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Content Warnings: Seasonal Depression

Word Count: 0.6k

Mars speaks… Thank you so much for requesting this, sorry that it is kind of short! I don’t know a lot about depression and seasonal depression so I tried my best to portray it.

Masterlist

Winter was on its way, and you could feel it in your bones. Every year, like clockwork, the first chill in the air sent a shiver down your spine, not just from the cold, but from the dread that settled in your chest. You knew what was coming—what always came with the snow and shorter days. The energy that had you buzzing with life in the summer, the endless side projects, the laughter that could fill a room, all of it would start to fade.

Every year, you told yourself it would be different. You’d try new techniques, new routines, anything to keep the shadows at bay. But each year, the same thing happened. Slowly, like the setting sun, you’d start sleeping more, your projects left half-finished, your once-lively spirit buried under layers of fatigue.

But this year…this year was different. You had Logan.

He noticed the shift before you even said anything. It started with how your hands slowed when working on your latest project, how your once constant, lively chatter—often rivaling Wade’s in volume and enthusiasm—began to taper off. The way your eyes lingered a little longer on the darkening sky. By the time you found yourself sleeping more than you were awake, Logan was already there, silently offering his presence, his warmth.

One day, as you lay curled up in bed, Logan slipped in beside you, his weight comforting as the bed dipped. He didn’t say anything at first, just laid there, letting you know he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Thought it was gonna be different this year,” you mumbled into the pillow, your voice thick with exhaustion. “I told myself…just this once, it wouldn’t be like this.”

Logan’s rough hand found yours under the covers, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “Ain’t your fault, darlin’,” he said softly. “You don’t have to fight it alone this time.”

His words were a balm to the ache inside. You knew Logan wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things or make promises he couldn’t keep, but when he said those words, you believed him. You believed that, even if the winter was dark and the shadows crept in, Logan would be there to light a fire, to keep you warm.

As the days grew colder, Logan stuck to his word. On the mornings when getting out of bed felt impossible, he’d coax you up with a cup of coffee, holding it just out of reach until you groaned and sat up. On the days when all you could do was lay on the couch, he’d sit with you, your head on his lap, as he absentmindedly stroked your hair, his presence alone enough to calm your racing thoughts.

And when you’d have those rare bursts of energy, when you’d suddenly decide you needed to finish that project or bake something, Logan was there, helping you without hesitation, never making you feel like you were too much or too little.

There were still bad days, of course—days when the weight of it all felt crushing, when you questioned whether you’d ever feel like yourself again. But with Logan there, those days didn’t seem as hopeless. He was your constant, your anchor, and though he never tried to fix you, his steady presence reminded you that you didn’t need fixing.

You knew winter would always be hard. But this year, for the first time in as long as you could remember, you felt like you had a chance. You had Logan, and that made all the difference.

Mars speaks… (again) Depression is a serious condition, and it’s okay to ask for help. You don’t have to face it alone. If you are struggling or just need someone to talk to, my dms are always open🫶

[retlasute]

hiiiii i love your writing and i've been binging turbinio these last few days completely in love with the main character and something came to my mind while i was reading. Maybe it's a pretty specific request, so you can just do headcanons and i'll be happy 

so, i was thinking while reading Turbinio, that i really see myself in mc because i love collecting and keeping things from the trips i make and if i were on the steel ball run my ass would surely lose bc of all the useless luggage and i was thinking of asking you to write a gyro/johnny headcanons with a reader who is always collecting stones, shells, bones and other useless things along the way 

HAAAAA I LOVE THIS IDEA BECAUSE I WOULD ALSO DO EXACTLY THE SAME THING

Also sorry for the delay in writing your request, I was doing something that wasn't important enough to remember what it was 😭 but I've been thinking about your idea all this time and I hope you like it! ❤️

Headcanons - Reader who keeps strange/inutile/creepy things she finds along the way

◍ Gyro Zeppeli

He honestly doesn't know why he asked you to ride with them.

And every day he begins to question himself more about it.

Surely his impatient ass is always complaining about the constant stops.

''For God's sake, that's a dead beetle, (Y/N)''

And of course, at first you had absolutely no right to opine in anything, as Gyro quickly dismissed it by saying that all you do is put rocks in your bag.

He obviously didn't think twice when Johnny said he saw Diego eating rocks.

''Nyo-ho-ho! (Y/N), did you let him steal your bag?''

How could you explain to that man that a bag of shells was lighter than a teddy bear, and that feathers could adorn your horse?

He didn't really care.

But some days he needed someone to complain about, and Johnny was a saint who rarely did anything stupid enough to divert Gyro's attention from your hobbies.

You also tried your best not to slow them down significantly, but sometimes you couldn't ignore a ring conveniently lost on the sidewalk or an arrowhead in the desert.

Honestly, you don't understand why they haven't abandoned you yet either.

Perhaps it wasn't really that annoying, just unusual.

Sometimes, when you found a knife lost on the ground or a half-buried mirror, Gyro would steal it for him.

Over time, he got used to it and the collector jokes wore off.

He also started to always stop without you asking when he saw something shiny on the ground.

''Huh? Aren't you going to pick that up?''

''It's a shard of glass, Gyro.''

''So what? I've seen you pick up more useless things.''

At a certain point in the race, when you had no more space to carry larger things like lizard skulls or big shells, you simply hung them on your horse.

''You know, if I saw your horse on the road at night, I'd shit my pants.''

That's what he said when you decorated your horse's mane with small squirrel bones, attaching the skull by the jaw in a braid.

And then he goes back to wondering why on earth he asked you to ride with them.

But in the end it's not that bad.

He realized this when he found himself keeping a cool stone to give you later.

Stupid Zeppeli, putting stupid stones in his pocket to give to you.

Even stupider Zeppeli, when he offered you a space in his bag to carry your things, since your luggage was already full.

The stupidest Zeppeli, when he let you decorate Valkyrie with feathers

He's adorable, although you'd never be able to admit it.

✰ Johnny Joestar

Johnny never complained, although at first he agreed with Gyro that it was unnecessary to make so many stops to pick up junk.

But when you found a bird skull and tied it around your neck as a necklace, he became afraid of you.

Being afraid of you, he would never think of complaining about anything.

It was strange and creepy, that's all he thought.

But he liked the shiny stones, although he couldn't remember the names of most of them.

He also thought your feathered horse was pretty, although he was still totally against making braids with squirrel skulls.

''Have you always liked to collect things like that?''

''Ever since I was a kid, I guess.''

''What a strange hobby for a child.''

But he still found it, deep down, quite interesting and strangely attractive.

''What are you going to do with it? It's just an old bone.''

He remembers hearing somewhere that there's no beauty without strangeness, and he thought it was quite appropriate for you.

It wasn't long before he gave you a mother-of-pearl shell.

But sometimes Gyro's bad mood was contagious, and he would try to be kinder than his friend to ask you to hurry up or ignore something.

''I know you like this, but don't get distracted, we're in a race.''

But any “pretty please” was enough for him to give in.

''Right… if it's so important, I guess we can wait.''

He would absolutely never carry a skull in his luggage like Gyro would be willing to.

Instead, he would buy an extra bag in the nearest town for you to carry more things.

"I'm sure we could get the equivalent of this race's prize money just by selling your stuff, (Y/N).''

He's certainly cut his finger with a shark's tooth when he tried to get something from your bag.

Because he's more inattentive to such things, he constantly ends up leaving you behind because he doesn't realize you've stopped to pick something up.

''Hey, Johnny, look what I found!''

He's sure it's going to be some dead animal, so he always has to take a deep breath and prepare himself psychologically whenever he hears that sentence.

''Oh, a rock?''

''It's not just a rock, Johnny. It's a citrine!''

''It's very pretty.''

''Pretty? That's it?''

''What can I say? It's a yellow stone. But you've already shown me ten others just like it.''

''Ah, well… you're right.''

''But it's quite beautiful, you have a sharp eye for finding pretty things.''

He wouldn't show more emotion than that even if you showed him a diamond.

[graveyardgremlins]

WIP ALERT WIP ALERT

What makes death so special that everyone seems so scared to talk about it? It is not as if, in this universe, it’s the end of the line. Not really. If anything, it felt more like the beginning of something.

Now, routine feels like the end of it all. Even when you’re a vigilante and everyday is a surprise, it still feels like slowly withering away. Like, if you stop moving you’re going to start rotting on the spot. But for some reason, people love routine and hate death.

Dick, for example, constantly looks terrified. It’s not obvious, as no feeling in our faces is ever obvious, but I can tell it’s there. He once said, mournfully, that we would bury Bruce like he is now, with jet black hair. The thought upset him, but I still don’t understand why. It’s not as if Bruce cares. Sometimes it feels like he is trying to speed up the process.

And sure, it would suck not to be able to see someone you care about ever again. But if Dick truly is so scared of missing Bruce, he can go knocking on Constantine’s door — or Zatanna’s, or Madame Xanadu’s, or Doctor Fate’s, or Jason Blood’s, or… you get my point — and ask for a seance. Besides, it’s not as if you can say the guy wasted his life. No one on this Earth has more accomplishments under his belt than Batman himself.

So why the long face?

Like, sure I get why they look weird every time I bring up my past death. I was a kid and all that. But they seriously need to stop looking at me like I’m planning to kill myself everytime I bring up my future death. I’m not planning to die any time soon, but what if I do? Are they going to lose their shit again?

I mean, Tim literally cloned his best friend as a manner to bring him back from the dead because he couldn’t cope with him being gone. Not to say I’m terribly worried about the Imposter missing me so much as to clone me, but still. What if I die? Are they going to try to bring me back? Because I don’t think I want that.

Death was easy, you know? It was awful up until the point where it wasn’t. I don’t remember much, but I remember being warm and embraced. And then someone dragged me back screaming and kicking. Then I woke up boiling alive, with the skin falling off my bones in the middle of the Assassin’s League Headquarters.

I’m not particularly excited about being boiled alive again.

No one in this family knows how to let go and Bruce is the worst one. I used to be so mad that his grief wasn’t enough to make him kill the Joker. I wanted him to prove that he loved me like he said he did. But I was a recently deceased and resurrected teenager. I firmly believe that the only reason Jesus reacted better to being murdered is because he was already thirty three. Now, as an adult, I’m less mad.

Bruce deals with grief like this: he doesn’t. He lets it eat him away. I think he likes it, the feeling of rotting from the inside out. Maybe that’s why he likes routine too. I think he has a lot of love inside of him that, instead of showing it, he reschedules it. Like he thinks “tomorrow I’ll show it” and then never does. And when I died, maybe he didn’t have anywhere to put that love anymore. There wouldn’t be any more “tomorrows.” So he just rotted.

It’s why I try not to be jealous about how endlessly patient and affectionate he is with Damian. Or how careful he is with Tim. Or how much interest he takes in everything Duke does. Or how he always listens when Steph talks. Or how he always comes when Cass calls him. At least, I served to teach him a lesson. 

So, yeah, when I got an invitation to a Ghost Ball, I didn’t tell anyone. Because they don’t understand why I linger in the cemetery. They don’t understand why I kill, when they believe I should be the first one to be against death. They don’t understand why I keep talking about dying over and over and over. They just don’t get it.

Also, they would totally ruin this moment for me. I’m sure of it.

How many times do you get invited to a ball? Not those shitass galas the Waynes always go to. A real authentic 1800’s ball. With the lettering cursive invitation, sprayed with some kind of perfume, sealed with a gold wax coat of arms. Not only that! To what was an official celebration to the Ghost King’s 21th birthday.

I didn’t even know there was a Ghost King!

Sure, it’s probably a trap. This kind of thing is always a trap. But they had addressed the invitation to “The Red Knight of Gotham, Avenger of the Damned, Cursebreaker, Three Times Born, Wielder of the All-Blades, the Darkest Star” and, if I am to be honest, flattery will get you everywhere with me.

I’m not entirely sure what the “Darkest Star” was in reference to, but it’s the least of my concern. The theme of the ball was Black, White and Neon Green, which completely fucks up my aesthetic. The last time I wore green I was a Robin and I’m particularly inclined to never wear it again. I’m also not wearing a tuxedo. Maybe a black suit over the armor instead of the usual jacket and a neon green handkerchief.

Now the problem is getting fitted for a suit like that. Every rich motherfucker knows that just sending your measurements to a tailor that never met you in person before is the recipe for a disaster. And sure as hell there is not a single tailor in the Crime Alley. Not that I know of. And there is no way in hell, or heaven or wherever the flying fuck the Infinity Realms were, I’m showing up to a real ball looking anything short of dreamy.

So, I did the reasonable thing and texted Alfred.

If you could come by the Manor, Master Jason, I will see what can be done. He texted back.

There is a theory going around the midst of superheroes that says that the one thing all of the bats have in common is how stubborn we are. It’s true, but I don’t think we learned that from Bruce. I’m pretty sure that’s just the Pennyworth in all of us. That man clearly only still works as a butler at 65 and calls us all “master”, “miss”, “mister” and “ma’am” out of pure stubbornness. I have no evidence of this, but I’m working on the theory that someone at some point betted that he would crack eventually, which is why he hasn’t. That I know of.

So, I showed up at the Manor like he asked me to.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tim asked.

“I live here,” I answered.

“No, you don’t.”

“Unless someone touched my room, which I doubt, then yes, I do.”

“When was the last time you were here?”

“Last week. I dropped by to move all your furniture 1 inch to the left counterclockwise.”

“I knew it! I knew someone was touching my stuff! Steph said I was crazy!”

“You are, but I touched your stuff. Like all of it. Including your Monster collection. You should really clean that, by the way. It’s disgusting.”

“Fuck you.”

Someone cleaned their throat and we both turned around to see Alfred standing in the hallway, looking less than impressed. I’m pretty sure we learned that from him too.

“Sorry, Alfred,” Tim said.

Alfred sighed and then turned his frown towards me.

“What? I didn’t curse.”

He raised one pointed eyebrow and that’s all it took.

“Sorry for touching your stuff, Timberlake,” I said and turned to Alfred again. “Happy?”

“I suppose that will suffice.”

“Yeah, fine,” Tim agreed and moved out of the way to let me in. “Just never do it again.”

“Oh, I’m definitely doing it again.”

“Why?!”

“Dick told me to stop whining and start getting on that, and I quote, ‘big brother grind’, so you and the Demon brat are going to have to endure it.”

“Why not Duke?”

“He is obviously my favorite.”

Tim just groaned and followed us to one of the upstairs closet.

“What are we doing anyway?”

“We are doing nothing. You weren’t invited.”

“Master Jason is getting fitted for a new suit,” Alfred said, ignoring me.

“Why?” Tim asked.

“What are you? A Toddler? Why do you think?”

“Well, you sure as hell aren’t going to the galas—”

“Damn right, I won’t.”

“And you’re definitely not going on a date—”

“Wait, why?”

“Because.”

I turned around to fully face him. “What do you mean ‘because’?”

“Just because,” Tim made a vague gesture with his hand. “You know.”

“No. As a matter of fact, I don’t know.”

“You know,” He gestured again. “Because.”

“Because what?”

“You’re chronically single.”

“What?!”

Tim threw himself on one of the sofas that was turned towards the closet and sank into it. “Chronically single. Chronically, meaning in a persistent and recurring—”

“I know what chronically single means!”

“Then you know.”

“I’m not chronically single!”

“How long ago was your last relationship and how long did it last?”

“That does not mean I’m chronically single! I get bitches all the time!”

“Perhaps, Master Jason, refraining from referring to your partners in a demeaning manner might be the first step to improving your romantic aptitudes.”

“I don’t– I’m not– Ugh!”

“Try this suit on. I think it will be the closest to your current measurements.”

I took the suit from his hand and closed the closet door behind me.

“So,” Tim said, “If you’re not going to a gala, you’re not going to a date, then where are you going?”

“None of your business.”

“It’s not a birthday, because I’m pretty sure none of your friends is an Aquarius–”

He kept talking and I tuned him out. The pants were a bit too tight around the knees, so they would have to fix that, and the jacket sleeves were a little too short. Besides that, I liked the red lining inside, as well as the flower pattern that almost disappeared into the black. It wasn’t very on the theme, and I would risk looking a bit christmassy, but it would be worth it. I did need a neon green handkerchief, though.

“It can’t be Two-Face, because he is still in Arkham and also not your usual target. Black Mask has been quiet, so maybe him,” Tim was, somehow, still talking.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, opening the closet door to let Alfred take a look.

“People you might be planning to make a move against in a place where a suit might be necessary.”

“Maybe I just want a suit, ever thought of that?”

“You’re fitting it over armor,” Tim pointed out.

“Touché.”

“Tt, it’s too tight around your knees,” Alfred commented.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Oh, Alfred? Do you by any chance have a neon green handkerchief?”

Alfred made a face. “I do not own any monstrosity of that sort, Master Jason. Why do you ask?”

“Because the theme is Black, White and Neon Green.”

“Wait, you’re actually crashing a party?”

Alfred sighed and made another disgusted face. “In that case… This suit won’t do.”

“Sorry, Alfred. I didn’t write the dress code.”

“Of course not, Master Jason. I would expect that you would have a better sense for fashion than that.”

“And for your information, I’m not crashing a party. I was invited. Not that you know what that’s like, Stalker.”

“Who would invite you to anything?!”

“Not telling.”

“C’mon!”

“Perhaps the Zegna will look less… clown-like with a neon green handkerchief than the Armani,” Alfred said, mostly to himself.

“Did I hear, Armani?” Selina’s honey-dripping voice came from the corridor, and she poked her head inside the room. “What are you boys doing hiding here?”

“I’m getting fitted for a suit.”

“He is going to a party and I’m trying to figure out which one,” Tim answered at the same time as me.

“Oh! That sounds fun! Do you need help, Alfred?” She asked and slid into the sofa next to Tim.

“I’m afraid I am at a loss, Miss Kyle. The theme of the evening is Black, White and, ugh, Neon Green.”

She made a face very much like Alfred’s own. “Where are you going, Kit Kat? The Riddler’s birthday isn’t until July.”

“Not telling you, either.”

She pouted and pulled Tim’s face near her own, he understood what she was doing a minute later and pouted too. “Please?” They said, like children.

“Nope. Not happening.”

Selina shrugged it off, not particularly bothered, but Tim seemed to still be fixated on the issue. 

“Have you tried that Slim-fit Hugo Boss brown suit, Alfred? I think it will make him look distinguished amongst the neon green aberration,” she said.

“Is it a winter party of some kind?” Tim asked.

“Not giving you any tips, Timmy.”

“Actually, Master Jason, that could help us find a better suit.”

I sighed. “I don’t think it is specifically a winter party. I think it's just a coincidence.”

“So it is a celebration of some kind!”

“I’m. Not. Telling. You.”

“No need. I will find out eventually.”

Alfred brought out the Hugo Boss brown suit and held it up for Selina to see. 

“I think it will clash, Miss Kyle,” he said.

“I think you’re right, Alfred,” She tapped one manicured finger to her lips. “This party is not of someone we know. Is it, Kit Kat?”

I shrugged.

“Why do you say that, Selina?” Tim asked.

“Motherly instincts.”

The door behind them opened again, this time to reveal a mildly disgruntled looking Bruce. His hair was a mess and he was wearing a sweater and sweatpants. He was definitely sick.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“Are you sick, old man?”

He sniffed. “Seasonal allergies.”

“Jason is getting fitted for a suit,” Selina answered.

“Oh?”

“And I’m trying to find out why.”

“Oh.”

“You guys are nosy,” I said.

Alfred brought out another slim-fit suit and both Selina and Bruce made a face. “Yes, I imagined so,” Alfred said, disappointed.

“What kind of party is it, chum?”

“Not telling.”

“The theme is Black, White and Neon Green,” Selina said, and both her, Alfred and Bruce grimaced.

“Jason, please tell me you’re not going to the Riddler’s birthday party.”

“Of course, he isn’t, silly. The Riddler’s birthday is July 21st.”

“Oh! Should I send a present?”

“It would be very polite,” Alfred said and Selina agreed.

“If this party is of someone we don’t know then it must be someone you met recently or a very long time ago. But if it was from someone you used to know, you probably wouldn’t be using an expensive suit, and if it was someone new we would have heard of it already,” Tim said.

“What makes you think it is someone we don’t know?” Bruce asked.

Selina raised her hand with a cheeky smile. “If we knew them already, little Kit Kat wouldn’t be so worried about imprrrressing them. We would have embarrassed him already.”

“I’m not worried about impressing anyone.”

“You’re getting fitted for a suit,” she pointed out.

“Yes, because I outgrew all my other suits and I can’t wear them with the armor. It’s not as if I’m buying a new one,” I rolled my eyes.

“If you’re wearing your armor are you worried about being attacked?” Bruce asked.

“Is it a mission then?” Tim asked. “Otherwise, why would you be going to a place where you might be attacked?”

“Good point, champ.”

“I’m not answering any of those questions.”

Bruce pondered for a second. “Have you tried the gray Kiton wool suit? It might null a bit of the neon green.”

“Ooh. Good idea, love.”

“Let’s see if you’re correct, Master Bruce.”

“I’m texting Dick to see if he knows anything.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Father, have you seen Alfred Jr?” Damian’s voice rang from the corridor.

“Not really, Dami.”

“He is probably in that warm spot in the library where the sun hits just right,” Selina said and stretched as if she could feel the warmth from here.

“Thank you, miss Kyle,” Damian poked his head inside. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re welcome, Damian.”

“I live here.”

“Do you?” Bruce asked.

“Do you?” Damian asked, fully walking into the room.

You see? This is why I can’t tell them anything about this ball. Or else they will want to come with, they are nosy like that, I’d have to explain to every cute person I meet why I brought my entire family with me when the invitation didn’t even have ‘plus one’ on it.

Jesus, maybe Selina was right.

“Master Jason is getting fitted for a new suit, Master Damian,” Alfred said and held the gray wool suit.

“Yeah, that doesn’t do it either,” Selina said.

“What is wrong with the suit?”

“The theme is Black, White and Neon Green.” Everyone grimaced at that. They really needed to stop repeating the same thing over and over.

“What is the occasion?”

“Kit Kat won’t tell us.”

“Nope.”

“I’ve talked to Dick!” Tim announced. “He has no idea who could be, but his best guest is someone Jason met with the Outlaws! So I’m going to text Cass, so she can text Artemis and see if she was invited to anything.”

Damian sat on the opposite arm of the sofa and pondered.

“How much have you narrowed it down?”

“Someone we don’t know, someone dangerous, possibly on a mission, not a winter party,” Bruce said.

“Birthday?”

“No gift.”

“Maybe it’s someone I don’t know enough to buy a gift to,” I said, just to throw them off.

The three of them narrowed their eyes at me.

“Yup, talked to Artemis. She doesn’t know anything,” Tim said. “Also Dick is calling.”

He put it on speaker so everyone could suffer together.

“Hey, guys!”

“Hey, chum.”

“Hello.”

“Hey, birdie.”

“Sup?”

“Jesus Christ,” I rubbed my temples. I could feel a migraine coming up.

“Jason! The man, the myth, the legend! Will you tell your big bro where exactly you’re going? I promise to keep it a secret.”

“Not even on your deathbed.”

Alfred brought out another suit. It was also gray and it still did not match neon green.

“C’mon, Little Wing! Don’t be like that! It can be that bad for us to know.”

“It’s out of principle.”

“That reminds me,” Tim said. “Dick, go screw yourself.”

Alfred made a face at that, but didn’t comment anything.

“Wait, why? What did I do?”

“Why did you tell Jason to ‘act like a big brother’? He touched all of my stuff!”

“I’m sure he didn’t touch all of it.”

“Oh, I didn’t look under the bed, but besides that? It will be very funny when you start finding the glitter.”

“What?!”

“Ah, is that why Jon found a lot of superboy merch I did not buy in my closet?” Damian asked. “Well, I must say that is not a good prank. I’m not embarrassed to say I’m my best friend’s biggest fan. Though, he did cry.”

“You say that now, because you haven’t found the bees.”

“What bees?”

I simply smiled. This wouldn’t work on most of my siblings, but Damian was small enough to be fooled and once he believed it, the others would follow.

“I swear to God, Jason. If I find glitter on my clothes I’m putting a skunk inside your house,” Tim said.

There was also no glitter, but now he would check everything first. Forever.

“Why would you do that to a poor innocent animal?” I said, to be contrary.

“Yeah, Tim. Leave the animals alone! It’s not their fault Little Wing started a prank war.”

“Yes, Drake. I’m disappointed you’d even think about this.”

Alfred brought out a deep blue suit. Selina sighed and slumped down the sofa and Bruce shook his head.

“Hey, Dick,” I asked. “Do you have any suits that might fit me and that will look good with neon green?”

“Why do you ask? Don’t tell me Poison Ivy is your plus one.”

“Alright, I won’t.”

“Poison Ivy is light green, not neon,” Tim said.

“And Ivy is too old for you,” Bruce said, pointedly. I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t think I’d have anything either way.”

There was a moment of silence while everyone considered, perhaps the color neon green or perhaps Poison Ivy.

“I figured it out!” Damian shouted suddenly. Selina flinched from the noise, and he apologized quickly. “Sorry. But I have figured it out.”

“What?” Everyone asked. I wasn’t particularly worried, it’s very hard for the little brat to have known about a King I wasn’t even aware of. Though, maybe Ra’s did know it before me.

“Regular-fit Dark Grey Virgin Wool Serge from Hugo Boss,” Damian said profoundly.

“What?” Tim asked.

“The suit that will go with neon green.”

Alfred, Selina and Bruce thought it out. “Yes, I believe that might work, Master Damian.”

“Good job, son,” Bruce said, making my insides twist painfully.

Selina simply raised her hand over Tim’s head so Damian could high five her.

“That still doesn’t answer where he is going!”

“Who would do a Neon Green party? Besides the Riddler, his birthday isn’t until July.”

“How do you even– No, actually, I don’t want to know. Thanks for the help, Demon Brat.”

“You’re welcome. Now tell us where you’re going.”

Fair enough. “To a birthday party,”

“Goddammit! It was the first thing I crossed off!”

“Of whom?”

“None of your business, old man.”

“C’mon, tell us Little Wing.”

“What are we trying to find out?” Duke asked, walking into the room. “And why is everyone here?”

“Jason is going to a birthday party and he won’t tell us who's is jt,” Tim said.

“Oh?”

“And I’m getting a suit fitted.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, though. I’ll tell you whose birthday it is later.”

“Hey!”

“Wait, why?”

“Yes, why him?”

“Oh, Duke is my favorite.”

Duke smiled innocently at all the people in the room and did a little twirl.

“That’s not fair!”

“Hey, this is your fault. You told me to be an older sibling.”

“Older siblings don’t pick favorites!”

“Of course they do. Damian is your favorite, I’m Cass’ favorite, Duke is my favorite, and Tim is no one’s favorite.”

“Screw you!”

“Don’t worry. When Bruce adopts another one you can be their favorite.”

“I’m not adopting anyone.”

Everyone in the room raised an eyebrow at that — yet another thing they got from Alfred — and Selina patted his hand. “Whatever you say, love.”

Alfred fitted the suit perfectly, to the point where that one guy on twitter that talks about male clothing would applaud. And he did find a neon green handkerchief, though he would only buy it if I promised to burn it afterwards, which I swiftly agreed to. I considered bringing a present, but something I learned from the filthy rich is that it’s always better to look like an asshole rather than a fool.

And so the suit saga ends and the ball saga begins.

One would think that an interdimensional being called the Ghost King would think of better ways to direct his guests towards his party than a set of coordinates and another number, which I quickly realized to be the hour in military time. Of course, one would be wrong. So me, my bike, my beautiful suit and my weapons directed ourselves to the middle of bumfuck nowhere, literally in the middle of Nevada's desert.

God, I am going to arrive at this party covered in sand.

[sturnioloszn]

FADING LINES - M.S

summary; while at the club with your friends, you make the drunken mistake to call your toxic ex.

warnings; mentions of alcohol, clubbing/partying, arguing, toxic relationship.

a/n; this fic was inspired by that one scene in 'after we collided' where tessa calls hardin drunk lmfaoo. alsoo, pls feel free to leave suggestions for fics, thank uuuuu.

The music is blaring through the oversized speakers, which makes my bones vibrate to the beat of the music. I'm surrounded by a crowd of people who are sweating just as profusely as I am, and each time our skin makes contact I feel ill.

After the most stressful week of my life, my friends and I decided the best place to wind down was at the most popular club in LA; so here we are. At this current time, I had about two margaritas, three cosmos, and several rounds of shots in my system, and I was definitely feeling it, to say the least.

With the pounding of the speakers and rapid movement of the people around me, I begin to feel sick. The air is dense, and I feel the alcohol begin to cloud my brain. I try to look for my friends to let them know that I'm taking a break, but I can't seem to find them anywhere.

I eventually give up looking and spot a staircase, leading to a second floor. I make my way up the staircase, making sure to hold the bannister firmly while making my way up. This floor is more empty and secluded but still has the same energy and loudness from the bottom floor.

I whip my phone out from my purse and see it's currently fifteen minutes past three in the morning.

I try to call my friends, but it goes to voicemail each time. Where the fuck are they? While scrolling through my contacts, I come across my ex's one.

My thumb hovers over the call button before irrationally deciding to press it.

I place the phone up to my ear, and I hear it ring. After the second ring, someone picks up. Fuck.

"Hello?" I hear Matt ask over the phone. Shit, I haven't heard his voice in weeks. The last time I called him, I ended up in his bed. No, that wasn't going to happen this time.

"Heyy," I slurred, trying to sound as normal as possible but, in fact, doing the complete opposite.

"Y/n? What d'you want?" He huffs, as if I'm wasting his time. He picked up my call on the second ring I don't think I'm disturbing at all.

"What do I want? A million dollars, but we can't all have everything, I guess," I say, giggling at my own joke.

"What are you talking abo-, are you drunk??" He asks again.

"Wouldn't you like to know," I mock. I can hear him sigh over the phone and mumble something to himself, but I'm not that bothered to know what he's grumpy about.

"Why'd you call? Miss my cock already?" He snickers. Even though I can't see his gorgeous face, I know exactly what smirk is on it right now.

"You wishhhh, I'm actually calling you right now to let you know that I am happy by myself and that I don't miss you one bit. As a matter of fact, I miss your cock the least about you," I ramble as he patiently waits for me to finish slurring sentences together.

"Yeah? So why are you calling me right now?" He questions slyly.

Well, I don't actually know why I'm calling him. I mean, I do miss his voice, and his cock, and overall just him. But he's an asshole. He never treated me right, and that should be enough for me to turn my back and forget about him, but it doesn't bring me remotely close to doing that.

"Because..... I just wanted to inform you that I look hot right now, and you are missing it," that sounded convincing, right?

"You always look hot, what's your point?" He remarks, leaving my speechless. This is what he always does. He slithers his way in with compliments and cute comments, and then when he's done with you, he throws you to the curb.

"My point...? My point is that I'm not wearing any underwear right now. I'm the commander...no, wait. Commanding? No...commando? Whatever it is, I'm not wearing panties!" I giggle, leaning back on the bannister, which is overlooking the first floor.

I hear him whisper something incoherent again before he speaks up, "Why the fuck aren't you wearing any underwear?". He sounds more pissed now but I don't give a fuck, the point was to piss him off.

"Why do you give a shit? I'm not your problem anymore, Matt," I say, smiling to myself, knowing I'm getting under his skin.

"Why do I give a shit? Because you're running around LA drunk and without panties on," he says, getting more frustrated with me by the second.

"Sooo what? You scared another guy is gonna get his hands on me and fuck me better than you ever could?" I question, knowing that this comment was really gonna set him off.

"First of all, I know that nobody could ever fuck you as good as I do. Second of all, nobody is laying a finger on what belongs to me," he says firmly. The last sentence makes my heart skip a beat.

"I don't belong to anyone, Matt, especially not you," I reply, with half the confidence.

"You can try convince yourself of that all you want, baby, but you know deep down you belong to me," he whispers darkly. I felt my heart begin to beat out of my chest. I knew calling him was a bad idea.

Before I get the chance to fight my corner he speaks again, "and send me your location, I'm coming to pick you up,". I hear shuffling over the phone and his car keys being picked up.

No way. I'm out, having fun with my friends, and I am not leaving the club.

"No. You're not coming here and ruining my night," I say, getting upset.

"Either you send me your location, or I find you, and you know I will," He says. His words shouldn't affect me, but they do; and in the worst way possible, too. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to ignore the ache he's creating between my legs.

"Start looking then," I say before hanging up the phone. I take a deep breath, trying to recover from that conversation, but it's not helping, so I turn to the bar for some help.

I make my way back down to the first floor bar, where another two shots are being digested, and I'm currently sipping on a strawberry daiquiri. I still have no luck spotting my friends, but I'm sure they're somewhere.

As I'm finishing up my drink, preparing to go back onto the dance floor, I feel hand on my waist. I turn my head to find a middle-aged man with black hair staring down at me with a crooked smile on his lips.

"Let go of me," I demand, attempting to shrug him off. The audacity men have, pushing themselves onto women and then being hurt when they get rejected.

He keeps his hand firmly there when he opens his mouth to speak, "C'mon babygirl, I know somewhere quiet we can go," giving my hip a squeeze. Before I have the chance to reply, someone else does for me.

"Get the fuck off her," I hear Matt's voice quickly approaching from behind. The man drops his hand from my waist, and I swivel in my seat to see Matt grab the man by his collar.

"Don't ever lay another finger on her again unless you want to lose all ten," he says, speaking through his teeth.

Fuck. I'm glad he got the creep away, but now he's gonna take me away. How did he even find me so quick? There are a million clubs in LA.

The weirdo scurried off somewhere, and Matt turned to look at me. His eyes rake my body, drinking in how my curves look in this tight black dress before his eyes meet mine again. I took a long look at his face, too. His hair was scruffy, and his beard was grown out. Fuck, why is he so hot?

"No wonder you have pigs like him throwing themselves at you, you're dressed like a slut," he says, nodding his head towards my dress.

"I'm not a slut," I say, standing from my chair, trying not to fall over. I'm trying to look as intimidating as possible, but it's difficult when I literally have to look up to make eye contact with him.

"I never said you was, I said you look like one," he says, knowing he caught me out. He then grabs the top of my arm, "Let's go, we're leaving,".

"What? No way. I'm not going anywhere. My friends are here," I say, pulling out from his grip.

"I don't give a fuck if the pope is here, we're leaving," he says grabbing my arm more harshly and dragging me through crowds of people all the way to the exit.

At the doors, I pull away from his grasp again and spin on my heels, attempting to go back inside until my feet are suddenly in the air. Matt lifts me up and tosses me over his shoulder with ease, pulling my dress down slightly so my ass isn't on show to everyone.

"MATT, PUT ME DOWN!" I say, banging my fists on his back and kicking my feet. But nothing works. He keeps walking down the street until we eventually stop, and he puts me down in front of his car.

"Get in the car," he says, looking me dead in the eye. I look back at him, pulling the strictest face I could conjure up.

"No." I refuse completely. He then opens the passenger car door and picks me up again, placing me inside the car and slamming the door shut. He walks around to his side and also enters.

"I can't believe I had to carry you away like a child," he scoffs, putting the keys into the car.

"I can't believe you ruined my night, AGAIN," I argue back, turning to face away from him. He then tells me to put my belt on, but I refuse once again. Maybe if I keep being difficult he'll let me go.

I then feel his hand squeeze my face as he pulls it to meet his, "put your fuckin' seat belt on and behave," he says, letting go of my face and I bring my own hands to rub where he just let go. Ow.

I quickly fasten my seat belt, but I still have my back facing him. While he was driving, the car was silent, no talking and no music, just utter silence. The car was rocking me back and forth in a comforting way, making me slowly doze off, I rest my head on the window.

I'm woken up by the cold air of the night hitting my face. I don't even have time to open my eyes before I feel arms snake around my body and lift me up. I force my eyes open and I'm met with Matt's face just centimetres from mine. He's carrying me bridal style into his house.

"Why are we here? I don't want to be here. I want to go home," I mumble against his chest.

"Because I don't trust you to not choke on your own vomit and die," he says, walking through his house and making his way to his bedroom. He kicks the door open and gently sets me down onto his bed.

I watch him slink around the room, collecting a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. He then makes his way back over to me.

"C'mere," he says, reaching for my foot. I watch him unbuckle my heels and slide them off my feet. He then grabs the sweatpants and bunches them up, allowing me to slide my legs into them. The warmth of the clothes was nice, almost enough to make me fall asleep again. He then reaches for the zipper of my dress.

"No, I'm not wearing a bra," I mumble again, pushing his hands away from me.

"So what? I'm just changing you into this shirt," he asks, moving to my zipper again.

"So you'll see my boobs you perv," I reply, moving his hands away again. He stands in front of me with an unimpressed look on his face.

"Really? It's nothing I haven't seen before, and anyway, I'm not looking," he says, attempting to reach my zipper for a third time. This time, I let him inch the zipper down my body, letting my dress fall from my body.

He quickly moves to put the shirt over my head and pull my arms through the holes of the shirt. He then picks up my dress and places it on his desk, moving back to me.

"Here...lay on your side," he says, placing me under the sheets and forcing my body onto its side. As he's about to walk off, I grab his sleeve.

"Thank you for taking care of me, Matt," I say, sinking into the soft mattress.

"Yeah, don't get used to it," he says. I let go of his sleeve, and he walked away. After a few minutes, I feel the bed next to me dip and a body slides under the covers with me. I'm moments away from surrendering to sleep but awake enough to feel Matt wrap his arms around me and pull me into his body.

I feel like I'm laying on a cloud, and the warmth of his body next to mine makes falling asleep so enticing. I know I'm going to regret everything tomorrow morning, but for now, I'm enjoying the feeling of his body wrapped in mine as I drift off to sleep.

a/n; this is sooo long, and i hate the fact that it consists of soo much dialogue, but we move. anywho, thanks for reading, love youu. 💙

[butchdiaz]

tagged by @iinryer to do a 2024 fic roundup but i'm adding my videos in too because. uh. its fun to look back! and i want to!

MARCH

american teenager (36s)

my first ever commission! for my best friend bia! to this day i hear do what you want (do more!) everytime i listen to this song.

APRIL

arms (1:02)

this was for seti. and it hurt.

good luck babe! (1:11)

literally never felt euphoria the same since the week of bi buck when i made this. changed the timeline. (although i was so euphoric and excited to post that i cropped in a rush and left a little white line in one of the shots and it pisses me off massively to this day. yes im a virgo thanks for asking)

to open up my arms and give it all to you (2.5k)

my little buck coming out to chris fic with hints of buddie <3 bi buck got me writing again after months of literal Nothing. god bless

one of your girls (3:09)

kirby's vision went OFF. so proud of this one like. its gotta be one of my favs and i feel like it became a bit of a butchdiaz classic which makes me so happy :D

MAY

kill her freak out (1:33)

this video is my little baby. ohhh samia. ouaagh eddie.

scared of my guitar (2:23)

shoutout to the way the dialogue syncs up in this one. rly satisfying to me hehehe. honestly didn't think i'd like this one as much as i do but she hits hard

promise (1:15)

love when people commission me to edit songs im already currently obsessing over yay!!!!!

JUNE

happy to be here (2:16)

julien baker. eddie diaz. aka abby had a mental breakdown making this one.

closed hands, full of friends (45s)

this was my first time editing a song i had Never heard beforehand! 3 cheers for finding new music!!

JULY

l'amour de ma vie (3:26)

ok not to toot my own horn but. this one is good. i feel like i really told a story u know. and about now is when i started to play around with fun/more intricate text ooh ooooh

a burning hill (1:01)

this prompt was designed in a lab to kill me specifically. i wanted to do the whole song originally but i like. could not go on.

my ego dies at the end (2:49)

i reallyyyy like this one. long edits my beloved! i love to build to something. i rewatch this one often tbh. jensen mcrae is everythinggg

AUGUST

north star (2:16)

again, had never heard this song b4 i got this prompt and it got me obsessed with this searows album. this edit makes me feel all soft. rly loved incorporating fleabag into it bc like. fleabag for life. shoutout summerofbuddie for the inspo

feels like (58s)

this song has been on my buddie playlist(s) forever so i was So excited to get this prompt. it was so fun to make something. not depressing and just like. fluffy. fun fact i hand drew all the hearts for this in ps and they were such a pain to work with but i really love how it turned out cause i'd never done anything like that before :')

pink balloon (2:29)

finally made a proper buck amv. after so many eddie ones it was actually nice to switch it up. felt re-inspired! also always so inspired by samia ugh. i am an eddiegirl literally to my bones tho so this was both v hard and v fun to make.

SEPTEMBER

"i want a divorce" / "it was a date" (2:19)

the buckshannon parallels ouuugughhh. this was one of those ones that haunted me so persistently i literally was forced to make it. saw hanna's post and then blacked out and i was posting this.

had a feeling i could be someone (3k)

+

leave tonight or live and die this way (1.1k)

dyke buddie!!!!!!!! these fics are sooooo near and dear to my heart. i love to make everyone wlw! i love to project my butchness onto my fav characters! wrote these so fast (for me) like writing has Never flown out of me like that. i was possessed by the spirit of lesbianism. and. GOD. the response to these fics also makes me want to cry daily. the beautiful art that was created?????? for me and my little fic?????????? i actually can't believe it i love you guys so much. lesbians forever and ever and ever.

did it to myself (1:11)

another one of my favs. i think it slaps so hard tbh. i tried a lot of new stuff and it was so FUN. orla's music is so much fun to edit to i need to do another one of her songs asap.

afraid of heights (2:46)

boygenius wrote this for my friend buck buckley. got entirely consumed by this one. thank u han for being my buckafraidofheights warrior for life <3

headlock (2:23)

i love buck but i remember coming back to making an eddie amv and breathing a sigh of relief. i just Get him. its so easy. this one's underrated i think oop it kinda slaps

OCTOBER

savior complex (3:16)

this one was a rly good challenge and idek why. super happy with how it turned out though i like watching it back

NOVEMBER

funeral bell (2:54)

the buck thesis statement. to me. and such a crazy unique process. loved working w kaitlin on this one and sending her 10 million drafts (she rly got a behind the scenes tour yall and it was not pretty). this was an absolute BEAST to make despite it not even being that complicated. i think i just cared so much about making it perfect for my dear friend who trusted me with her visions and inspiration and that made it all the more special!

you get your dreams for free (14.8k)

drunk cuddling!!!!!!!! my longest fic i've posted to date and i fully thought i was never gonna finish it. i abandoned this last YEAR but im SO glad i came back to it and most of the reason for that is because of the absolutely lovely responses to my earlier fics this year <3 literally hilarious to me that i originally wanted to post this on halloween 2023. abby. abby no.

surrender my heart! (1:30)

post-confessions euphoria + a carly rae jepsen prompt? i was literally in heaven. SURRENDER UR HEART EDDIEEEEEEEEE

DECEMBER

every place leads back to your place (2.1k)

music inspires me soooo much (looks up at this post. no way right.) so i absolutely loved writing based off a song! and a chappell song nonetheless!! so fun to twist a breakup song around to fit Them. i particularly love the kiss in this one <3

oldie's station (3:17)

phew we're almost there! this one is recent but lowkey it feels like another classic to me already. i really really like it. making it felt like cooking a three course meal and watching it kinda feels like eating one :D (thank god) (i spent so many hours in that kitchen)

letter to god (1974) (2:27)

+

letter to god (1983) (1:52)

putting these together bc they are sister songs and sister videos. first time in my life i've worked on two videos at once. it was fun because they kind of grew together and influenced each other very directly. not fun because i ran out of space and my laptop crashed. several times. these felt rly indulgent and raw. kind of shocking to me how perfect both songs feel for both of them. had a lot of fun messing with the voice/video filters to try and place these in their respective eras bc im obsessed with that aspect of the songs. halsey's artistry is crazy yall if u havent listened to her newest album GO. NOW.

the rush of slumber party kissing (3.2k)

posted this literally yesterday lol. also my first time writing smut. somehow. scary! but i did giggle all the way through writing this tbh. when buddie reveal their true nature as silly teenage girls >>>>>>>>>>

SPECIAL SHOUTOUT

fleabag au wip, who saw the light of day again this year. she could be finished in six months or six more years, but she Will be finished. im determined!

<3

ok if u read all that uh. wow congrats fhdhhdh im gonna get sappy for JUST A SEC now cause uh. im actually blown away by the support and love and appreciation this fandom has shown me this past year. you guys have given me so much confidence in my skills as both an editor and a writer and you also quite literally helped me pay my rent. by making videos about gay firefighters. its actually kind of mind blowing to me how lucky i am and i never want to take that for granted <3

to anyone who has commissioned me, or sent me a prompt, or left a comment on a fic, or a tag on a video, or sent me a kind ask, or subscribed to me, or followed me, or reblogged anything of mine this year: thank you.

im so grateful for this little community and all the friends and connections i have made through our collective insanity over a procedural drama on abc (neé fox). yall rock so hard.

<3

tagging @userbuddie @chronicowboy @confessionseddie @try-set-me-on-fire @userautumn @lovelettered @exhuastedpigeon @sibylsleaves @saryasy @team-118 @lemmeaskthedevil @eddiebabygirldiaz if u wanna do any sort of yearly roundup!

[aritany]

On Identity: The Truth

Content warnings: homophobia, transphobia, references to self harm and suicide.

I’ve been keeping secrets my whole life.

I’m 10 and I’m listening to my dad at the dinner table, who I know to be the most trustworthy person in the world. He talks about the legalization of marriage between two people of the same sex and asks us to consider the implications. Where do we draw the line in the sand? Legalizing gay marriage paves the way for legalizing pedophilia, after all. If a union between two men or two women isn’t disrespecting the sanctity of marriage, what’s next? Marriage between men and animals?

I’m 11 the first time I hear it: “It doesn’t matter how low I set the bar for you, you still can’t reach it.”

I’m confused and afraid—I’m trying so hard—but I hear it then, and again, and again, spoken low in disappointment, shouted with a vein popping in her forehead, cold like a fact, and it sinks in, bone deep.

I’m 12 with my first crush on a girl. I’m not confused, I know that’s what it is—I want to kiss my friend, and I already know not to talk about it. Never to talk about it. It isn’t safe.

I’m 13 and doubting. I throw myself into fitting in. I pick the right boys to like and I go overboard, and I do like them, I do, I do, I want them to like me, I want to be their friend. I want to be their equal, but that’s not quite how the story goes, so I settle for trying to hold hands with somebody I desperately crave respect from, but that’s wrong too, I learn. 

I’m 14 and convicted. How could this be wrong? I brush hands with a girl in choir and we meet eyes and I know. I watch a gay kiss on TV and I sob into my hands and I tell no one, no one, no one.

I’m 15 and I come out to my mom, haltingly, with the terminology that I have, because the thought of hiding forever—keeping quiet through one more dinner—kills me.

She tells me no. She tells me I’m wrong.

I look in her eyes and I understand: it’s not an option, and it never will be.

I’m 15 and I do my best to stop there.

It doesn’t work.

I’m 16 when I first hear my mom say that you can love someone and not approve of their lifestyle. I wonder what kind of love that is. I wonder how that kind of diluted, half-hearted, patronizing love can be enough for anyone. I wonder if she’s thought about how that feels, to be told that who you are—not by choice—is fundamentally wrong.

I’m 16 and a boyfriend is a shield. The right choice, so I make it, and it’s even almost fun. I love being his friend. I’m afraid of anything more.

I’m 17 and my youngest sibling whispers, “So am I.”

My heart breaks for the pain they’ll experience, as they too are taught, painstakingly, how to hate themself. Which parts of themself have to be kept hidden, which parts are shameful. They sit at that dinner table and hear the rhetoric that pushed me to the brink and over it, and I hope they’re stronger than I am.

They aren’t.

I’m 18 and my mom works at a college for the performing arts. I sit and curdle quietly while she talks about her genderqueer students. Misgenders them behind their backs. Deadnames used flippantly. She knows better, after all. She can be the expert on somebody else’s identity. They’re mentally ill, all of them. None of them are happy. They’re searching for something only God can provide.

I’m 19 and I come out as bisexual to the man I’m certain I’m going to marry, tearing the secret out like a bandage fused to skin. He tells me of course it’s fine, that he supports who I am. Of course people like me should have rights, of course. I laugh, relieved. Later, I find out this moment was almost a dealbreaker for him, and I wonder how much was ever real.

I’m 20 and I’m out. I’m 20 and I’m free. I’m 20 and I believe, because I’ve been told, that I am loved for who I am. All of who I am. I still flinch when I hear a car door slam.

I’m 21 and I’m searching for the connection to my womanhood. I’m searching for what makes a woman a woman. I’m reading gender theory and talking to friends around the world and wondering exactly what it is that I’m missing.

What does the rest of the world know that I don’t?

I’m 22 when my marriage ends because my body might not be attractive to my husband one day, and my parents email him in support and solidarity, expressing sympathy, and I’m not surprised.

I’m 22, and standing up for who I am has cost me everything. A spouse, two sets of parents, financial security, a city’s worth of community, more childhood friends than I can count. My parents tell me to go back in the closet so my ex-husband will love me. To them, his frustration is understandable, of course—by presenting androgynously, I’m betraying my marriage vows, after all.

I wonder, stunned into silence, where I promised to look like a woman.

I’m 23 when I come out to my parents for the third time; not as bisexual, not as trans, but as hurt. 

I lay out the pain of the last decade as succinctly as I can, hoping they’ll hear. When I assert that yes, to be in relationship with me, use of my name and pronouns is a requirement, my mother jokes, “Well, we don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

It’s not a joke.

I see the flash in her eyes, the instant regret as she laughs it off like it’s funny, but it isn’t.

The kid sitting at the dinner table knows it’s not a joke. The kid who listened to countless lectures on the morality of queerness knows it’s not a joke. The kid who stood with shaking hands and tried to bleed out the bad knows it’s not a joke. Years of casual bigotry taught me how to hate myself, which parts of myself I should cross out and ignore, which parts of myself I should be ashamed of.

I’m 23, and I have finally unlearned shame, and when I ask my parents to see me, the joke is that I’m a terrorist. I’m unreasonable.

The shock of it becomes a balm, later on.

Some jokes aren’t funny.

Some jokes aren’t jokes at all.

I’m 24 and I’m learning that it’s scary to be alone. Bigotry made me an orphan and made us strangers, and knowing that it’s the right choice to stand up for myself doesn’t make it any easier. I’m learning the only way out is through, if you’re not squeamish:

Cut off the part of yourself that’s 7 years old standing outside of their bedroom because the nightmare had teeth and claws and they are the heroes that will hold you close and make it warm again.

Amputate.

Cauterize.

Don’t let them see you bleed.

I’m learning that the wound takes a long, long time to close.

I’m 25 as I write this, and I am proud of who I am, even if I’m still bleeding. All of who I am. It’s taken a long time for me to let that person see the sun, but here we are, basking in the glow. Those wounds are healing. I am visible for everyone else who whispers, “So am I.”

Your sunshine will come. Your sunshine will come. 

Your sunshine will come.

[imtrashraccoon]

I'm kicking myself for not finishing this sooner but I did enjoy doing some research for it. I also got to thinking about future ideas for after this fic is done. If anyone's interested, I will ramble about them.

@owl-bones

First, Previous, & Next Day

Bad Sansuary II: Horror - Stars

Word Count: 1,296

You sat in silence as Maul ate the food you had brought him, only getting up to briefly add more wood to the fire. The last thing you wanted was for the blaze to go out and leave you in the dark. When you sat down next to him again, you wrapped an arm around his back, slowly rubbing circles into his tunic.

You really weren't the best at comforting people. It was one thing to go through the motions and another to actually help someone feel better. You supposed it would make no difference to the three emotionally constipated skeletons that you lived with though. If they didn't like something you were doing, they were usually pretty quick to let you know.

This mission seemed to have gone from bad to worse. First, you and Reven hadn't found anything in Newridge. Then, you had spoiled any further attempts to investigate further, and now you had just learned that whatever was wrong could influence people's minds. You didn't know what to do next and yet, until the others returned, you were forced to wait. Knowing what happened to Maul could possibly happen to you as well was anxiety inducing. At least you weren't in much of a position to actually hurt anyone, but as you had learned tonight, you were now also more vulnerable to being hurt instead.

Donovan would probably freak out when he learned what had happened. You had already been dreading when you would inevitably tell him about what had happened in the city, but he would be even more concerned that one of his own men had turned on you. However you told him, you would have to be gentle to hopefully keep him from acting too hastily. None of what happened was Reven's or Maul's fault, but your soulmate was quick to anger, especially over perceived threats.

Letting out a sigh, you looked up at the sky, mentally noting that it was clear for the first time in days. Hundreds of stars sprinkled the black veil above, almost like the first flakes of snow to fall, and for a moment, you felt rather small in the world. Those stars had been there for thousands of years before you and would be long after you passed. Did your problems really matter in the grand scheme of things? Despite everything that had happened, you and your friends were still alive, so what more could you want?

Seeing movement from the corner of your eye, you noticed Maul had finished eating and, noticing your gaze, had looked up at the stars as well. You couldn't help but smile at the look of wonder on his face. His "pupil" expanded, much like a cat's, and he let out a soft exhale which you found rather adorable.

You looked up again before he noticed you had been watching him. Donovan was more knowledgeable on constellations and their meanings, but you still recognized a couple, particularly the Warrior and the Great Dog. You still remembered the day your father had pointed them out in the sky and explained the stories behind them. Even if the stories had been made up, you always thought they were interesting and they reminded you of simpler times.

"Hey, Maul?" you asked after a few minutes of silence.

The giant of a skeleton hummed in response, not taking his eyes off of the sea of lights above.

"You mentioned someone named Orien earlier. Can I ask who they are?"

When he didn't answer, you started to wonder if he had even heard your question. You glanced over at him, only to see that his expression had turned grave. His bonebrows were furrowed and his hands were clenched, his claws threatening to tear through his roughspun pants.

"my younger brother," he finally murmured.

You moved your paw to his shoulder, resting it there for a moment. "It sounds like you care a lot about him."

He nodded, dropping his gaze to the fire rather than look at you. "...yes, we were very close."

"What was he like?"

Maul was quiet for a few seconds. "he was kind and always did what he believed was right," he finally said. "he was...braver than me... had big dreams of bein' admired by everyone."

You nodded slowly, "He sounds wonderful."

"he was the best."

"I never had any siblings growing up," you hummed. "My parents were both soldiers, although my mother retired to a non-combat related position to raise me. I wouldn't say I had a bad childhood, but there was definitely the expectation that I follow in their footsteps one day."

He looked over and gave you a small smile when you met his gaze. He held out his hand, giving you an expectant look until you placed your smaller paw in his palm.

"good soldiers follow orders as they say," he hummed, giving your paw a gentle squeeze.

You chuckled, squeezing his hand back. "You too, huh? What rank were you?"

Maul scratched his skull thoughtfully. "lieutenant general...orien reached field marshal..."

You let out a low whistle. "Impressive. I was at best light infantry but I reported directly to the Captain General. Maybe I would have been promoted at some point, but I'm not sure I would have been any good at commanding troops."

"it was for a time," he remarked. "but all good things come to an end..."

You frowned and looked up at him. His bonebrows were knit together and you noticed he had a far away look on his face. "Hey, you don't have to tell me if it's too much, okay?"

He squeezed your paw in response and shook his head. " 's fine, i don't mind sharin' with a friend..."

The realization that he trusted you enough to share something personal like this from his past was rather touching. You gave him a gentle smile and nodded. "Just don't force yourself."

"ever heard of the horrur kingdom?" he asked.

You nodded again. Who hadn't heard of it? When you were a child, the Horrur Kingdom had been a valuable ally of the Klasical Kingdom, until their king was overthrown by a power hungry general of course. Any aid that was offered was refused by the general king and the kingdom was essentially locked down so that no one could leave. Over the years, some citizens managed to get out and word soon spread of the horrific conditions inside.

A severe famine had set in not long after the coup and lasted for years afterwards so that many died of starvation. Those who remained lived in fear of the tyrannical leader and her rules. Executions were commonplace, mostly for those who resisted at first, but soon extended to anyone who broke even insignificant laws. The tyrant queen was eventually killed, but by then, only a few citizens remained and they soon fled to surrounding kingdoms.

"Yeah, I grew up while the Thorn Queen was in power," you confirmed.

Maul nodded and took a shuddering breath. "she was once...a friend, and my brother and i were loyal to her..." He paused before continuing, "when she took over, we were given new positions... she made me the chief executioner."

"Oh...so you saw the worst of it then..." you murmured, covering your muzzle with your other paw.

"i only did what i was told. so did orien, until he couldn't... the queen didn't like that and i tried to save him..." Maul motioned to the large crack in his skull before adding, "it didn't go well..."

"That's awful, I'm so sorry you went through all of that," you murmured, giving his hand another squeeze.

"i... i don't remember what really happened after that..." he muttered. "can't remember much until lord donovan found me actually..."

[yngjwonluvr]

𝗨𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗣𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗗𝗟𝗬 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗦 // ʏᴀɴɢ ᴊᴜɴɢᴡᴏɴ

pairing: non-idol! jungwon x fem! reader

genre: smau, fluff, enemies to lovers

warnings: swearings, mention of humiliation, goofy jungwon

wordcount: 868 not proofread

author's note: Happy Sunday, y'all! Got nothing to do so I made this. I know it's boring ++I'm not good at writing but still did my best. Hope you guys like it!

synopsis: In the competitive world of business, longstanding rivals Jungwon and (oc) are forced into an uneasy partnership when their families orchestrate a merger to save their companies and make a stronger bond. Complicating matters further, they find themselves bound by an arranged marriage. They have to face their rivalry and determine whether there is true love between them or if their marriage is doomed to fail as they work through the difficulties of combining their personal and professional lives.

“What?!?! But dad-” I was about to make an excuse about the information that I just heard when my dad cut me off, saying “You can’t say no, dear; you already signed the partnership contract.” He said, making me sigh. “But I didn’t know that it was going to be him who would be my partner for this project.” I reasoned it out. “But dear, a contract is a contract. No more excuses, okay? Whether you like it or not, you’ll work with him.”

I nodded and left my dad’s office, feeling defeated by the fact that I had to work with my longtime enemy, who’s known for his looks, intelligence, and wealth. I guess you already know him….yes! The one and only YANG JUNGWON. He’s the son of my father’s friend. But Dad and Uncle being the best of friends doesn’t make me close to Jungwon. Instead, annoyance and anger took over. Why? Because he rejected me harshly and freaking embarrassed me 3 years ago at their house party when I told him that I liked him, and he answered, saying, "I don't like spoiled brats," and started laughing with his friends. And from that day on, I started hating him to the point that seeing his face made me want to break his bones.

‘Aish, I’m stressing myself more just by thinking of him.’ My thoughts were interrupted when I heard my secretary call my name. “Yes, Lia? Do I have a meeting later?” I asked. “Oh, no, Miss Yn. Your mom just wanted me to tell you that you guys are going to have a family dinner at the Yang's residence later at 7 pm,” she stated, which made me roll my eyes. “Aish, again? Alright, I’ll take note of that. Thanks for telling me.” She smiled and bowed before leaving as I went to my office to continue the work that I had left when my dad called me to his office.

“I bet the partnership will be our topic tonight,” I sigh.

----------------T I M E S K I P—--------------

I flinched when I heard my phone ringing. I groaned before answering the call without looking at the caller’s ID. “Hello?” I started. “Oh, Yn dear, are you still planning to attend our family dinner tonight?” the person on the other line sweetly asked, which made my eyes widen. It’s Jungwon’s mother. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry auntie, I must’ve fallen asleep while doing my work and didn’t notice the time,” I explained. "It's okay, dear. Take your time. We are not rushing you," she assured. "Okay, Auntie, I'll just pack my things and call Dad to fetch me." I said, "No need, dear. Take your time; I already sent someone to fetch you there since your parents are here already." Auntie said. “Okay, Auntie, I'll be leaving now,” I said, informing her that I needed to go. “Alright. Take care, dear. Bye,” she hung up, as I left my office and went to the parking lot.

I was peacefully walking in the parking lot while using my phone when something hit me—a candy wrapper. “Oopss,” my eyes automatically shut, and I felt like it rolled back inside my head. “What the heck are you doing here, Yang Jungwon? ”I turn around and see him grinning so widely that my blood boils in irritation. “What's with the full name, Missy? And chill, am I not allowed to see my lovely business partner? "He answered with a smirk while leaning on his car hood. Hearing his last two words pissed me more. "I am not working with an arrogant man, like you." He chuckled and played the lollipop in his mouth. He took the lollipop out of his mouth and offered it to me. "Do you want to have a taste?" he asked. "Yuck," I said, turning my back on him as I started walking away. "Hm, planning to ditch the dinner? "Jungwon asked. "Nah, not this time," I answered as I continued walking.

"Then should we go? "He asked, which made me stop walking and turn to face him again. "What did you say? 'I asked, wanting him to repeat what he said to make sure that I heard it right. "I said, if we should go already?" he repeated while walking towards me. "Huh? What do you mean, "if we should go? Yang, "I asked confusedly, "Oh, mom didn't tell you? "Tell me what? "I asked back. "Tell you that she asked me to fetch you." Jungwon answered my question with a smirk, holding my hand as he started pulling me towards his car. "What??? But why him, Untieeeee?" I whine while trying to escape from his grip as he laughs. "Yah, let's go; it's already 6:40," he said. "I know, and I don't want to go with you, Yang," I protest. "But you don't have a choice," he said while opening the passenger seat door. He made me sit there and go to the driver's seat. "Plus, we're going to be late. My wife doesn't like being late, right?" he added while giggling as he started driving.

‘Right, business partners also mean you are in a fixed marriage.’

[genderfluid-insomniac]

Sun Wukong and Macaque with a reader that looks sweet and harmless but is insanely strong, like, they could break someones bones with ease, but they still have a sweet and friendly personality just with the added insane strength, like one day reader is looking for something like their keys then lifts up the whole couch with one hand like it was just a plate

Sun Wukong and Macaque with a sweet and harmless but insanely strong!S/O

Sun Wukong

Fully questions if he accidentally gave you part of his powers, even if was the tiniest bit, it still concerned him greatly since you never asked for it in the first place, and thinks you were ignorant of your strength until you tell him a minute later. The great sage is fully both confused and impressed when you tell him that you always had this strength, asking you if you’d be up to fight sometime (is shocked when you tell him you only know basic defense).

Nearly jumps five feet in the air when you run into the room yelling about your keys and he suggests that you retrace your steps, asking if you want help but you decline and state that they probably got swept under the couch. You walk over to the said couch that your lover was previously napping on and lift it up with one hand like it was nothing, scouring the ground and ignoring the screaming that the monkey was doing when you spotted your keys.

Once you grabbed them something or rather someone tugged on your wrist which caused you to turn back confused at Wukong and question why he was holding you up when you had a doctor's appointment to get to. Wukong was slack-jawed as you explained you had always been super strong and you rarely showed around others cause they were either freaked out that you were a hidden demon or they tried to take advantage of your strength for their own gain.

Slowly but surely you (and more importantly after the doctor's appointment) get more confident about displaying your abilities and spar with Wukong and the gang. He becomes even more attached than he already was because now he knows he doesn’t have to hold back as much since you’re quite durable and his cuddles/hugs just get tighter since you give it back twice over.

Six-Eared Macaque

Ok….You just scared him. Like dead serious. Secretly very impressed and even more infatuated with you if that’s even possible, tries his best to not stare but it’s kinda hard when you’re both attractive and lifting up boulders like it’s nothing.

Macaque is lazying around his little spot on Flower Fruit Mountain when you come groggily marching in and stood in front of him. “Open the door.” “No. I want you more to myself.” See the problem was that you’d been real busy with assignments that your boyfriend felt neglected (which was fair) but since he was a petty bastard Mac blocked the entrance to the cave aka his home with a giant boulder.

You huffed while flipping him off and went in the direction of the entrance, not missing the dark-haired monkey stretch and trailing behind you after he got off his hammock. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.” Macaque is wide-eyed when you grab the enormous rock with both hands and drag it to the side, looking back at him with a smirk and then heading out. “Heh, Guess you still have some secrets to dig up, moonlight….”

From now on he decides that he’ll just hold onto you if he wants to keep you with him instead of using giant rocks but in his defense, he didn’t think a fragile mortal like you could move them much less lift them and yes he did double check that you are a mortal. The shadow demon definitely asks to spar with you whenever he’s feeling up to training and tells you to not hold back, giving you tips on how to use your fragile look to your advantage before pummeling them with your super strength and knocking them out of commission (or rather trying to knock your boyfriend out to no avail).

[frankiensteinsmonster]

The most liberating thing for me as a 'newly' (no idea when it began. Dissociation is a Bitch and a half.) physically disabled person who's already been dealing with multiple mental health disorders is just.

Blatant acceptance of having a chronic condition. I do what I can to lessen my symptoms, but I don't do every little thing that's suggested to me. Mostly because I've done it all before. I've spent so long fighting with my mental health, never accommodating myself, never taking a day off, masking and hiding my symptoms as best as I could, no one ever went easy on me and I didn't know how to stop it.

But now I couldn't hide it if I wanted to, and wouldn't even if I had the chance. I'm disabled. Full stop and that's just the way it is right now and it may stay that way forever. But with the way things have been, if I kept treating myself as something less than my top priority, frankly, I wouldn't be able to go on.

I let myself lay down, I learned that my gritty attitude isn't always a good thing and wearing myself to the bone just to keep up and perform ability isn't just a couple days in bed anymore.

I've started demanding respect. Enforcing my boundaries. Complaining loudly and snapping at people who touch my aid if I feel they deserve it. I started taking up space. I stopped moving for people on the sidewalk because the world doesn't "belong to everyone but me" (something I've felt for a long time). As a disabled person, I need to make sure I know that I matter-- for my sake and for the sake of other cripples.

I'm less friendly. It's on purpose. I give less grace. I'm bitter and I cut my eyes and I suck my teeth at the ignorant people who annoy me and get in my way. I'm no fun by choice and I like it that way. I refuse to be a novelty, I refuse to beg god to make me better, I refuse to hurt myself for the sake of others, I refuse take shit from doctors that won't listen and I like myself more because of it.

I don't need to make a point of making myself appear to be stronger or more resilient than I am, because I don't need to prove anything to anyone. I'm learning to Truly ask for help when I need it, and to accept help when it's offered. Riding this wave of shit hasn't been a breeze by any means, but making it my own and writing my name on it has made it a hell of a lot easier.

Td;lr? If you're disabled, try being a little bit of a bitch. It's fun and good for your mental health <3 (read post for context)

(I say this as someone who's been taught that assertiveness and prioritizing oneself is a Bad Thing, we're not actually "bitches" for wanting basic respect or for caring about ourselves!! And if we are, so the fuck what?)

[regretisstoredintheme]

Request! Rise Donnie x reader that is smarter than him and teases him about it and he's furious about having a crush on them being 100% oblivious that reader already knows and feels the same way. From Donnie's POV. PLEASE and thank you!

I’ve been dreaming of a— HMMMMMM????

Request, you say????

“Anonymous asked: Request! Rise Donnie x reader that is smarter than him and teases him about it and he's furious about having a crush on them being 100% oblivious that reader already knows and feels the same way. From Donnie's POV. PLEASE and thank you!” 

A/N: unfortunately, I can’t see any way that this would go well... If any writer wants to take this prompt and make a fluff version of this, have at thee! But I can only imagine this going one way….

-

Smarter. (A Oneshot) - Donatello x Reader

Warnings: Spoilers for Witch Town & Mind Meld, angst, hurt no comfort, Y/n misreads his feelings, Donnie is a protective father. 

-

The science guy. 

That was me.

I “dealt” with things. The “Bill Nye” comments, the teasing, the bantering, the loneliness, the hours of work into every, single, little project I made. I’ve hacked into every camera in NYC. I’ve created sentient machines, reprogrammed a useless movie vehicle to be the best in the world, I would say. Made bombs, robbed and reverse robbed banks, created rockets, bombs, ingenious battle devices, tech-bo, for christs sake! And so! Many! More! But… 

Then, there was you.

Perfect, in absolutely every way. Mystic, science, physics, hell — you even beat me in banter, leaving me speechless nearly every time. And you rubbed it in my face. You were the Hamilton to my Aaron Burr. It didn’t help that you checked off all my boxes, Cute and mean, that was my type, and I wanted to bond with you, a fellow scientist who I didn’t have to dumb down my talk for, someone I could be myself around! but you… you made yourself impossible to tolerate. I admit I didn’t take it well, when I realized…

You were everything I wanted to be. 

“Awww, is this Shelldon?” You scratched behind one of his many ears, making him trill in delight. “Ahhahawww thanks, dude! Yeah that’a me.” He responded, leaning into your touch. “He’s cute! What coolant do you take, buddy?” You asked, talking down to him like a child, the exact way Sheldon had always reprimanded me for. 

“Donnie’s experimenting with different types,” Yes I am, “He’s trying Castrol Radicool Premix right now, it’s been doing good so far.” Thank you. 

As expected, you inhale sharply through your teeth, making my attention pique from what I was trying to distract myself with. “Donnie really doesn’t take care of you, huh?”

…

What?

Me? 

I don’t take care of Shelldon?

“Uhhh… I don’t know if that’s—“ I can’t bring myself to let him finish, already standing from my gaming chair. I turned on my heel, fury in my eyes as I rolled the seat out of the way, “Excuse me?”

You chuckled, and felt my blood boil, “Awh, Donnie, you’re blushing! Embarrassed?” 

“Infuriated.” I answered. 

“Oh come off it, I simply think you should try Ethylene Glycol, it would be so much better for winter.” I grit my teeth, every word from your sicky-sweet voice made my skin crawl. I would have attacked you right then and there if I didn’t know you had better tech. Hah, better tech… better than me? ME of all people? No. 

I furrow my brows, “That was next on my list..” I seethe, feeling my nerves spike as you poked my shoulder. I hated when you did that, it made my face go red and my palms sweat. Curse this irony, it was like smiling at a joke from a person you’re mad at. It’s frustrating, but involuntary. 

“C’mon, we both know you’re not really mad, you’re just frustrated cuz you like me. Look at that blushing nose~!” I felt my voice catch in my throat as you leaned into my face, wanting nothing more than to push you away already. My body was experiencing a freeze response, and I couldn’t even bring myself to push you, it was as if my bones were made of high-grade titanium, the same as my tech. 

I clenched my fists, feeling a bit of my confidence return as Shelldon flew to my side. “I thought I was supposed to be the narcissist…” I hissed, feeling my face redden with anger. I’ve never hated anyone more. 

Your face turns confused, but I can’t bring myself to realize you might have misunderstood my feelings, “You think you’re so great, don’t you?” Shelldon cowers, I know he hates when I raise my voice, so I lower to a furious whisper, “You think you can just waltz into my lab, my life, and tell me how to run things?” My nails dig into my palm, I resist the urge to threaten you, knowing your body would never be found beneath my hands. 

“You think you’re the science guy, don’t you? Think you can correct everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve and just take my place!?” Make me worthless? Be the purple sibling? What next, re-wiring my systems? Taking scraps and making a dark matter accelerator? Drawing on eyebrows to a cheap version of my bandana!?

Your eyebrows knit, “woah, woah, Dondon, I didn’t mean—“ “Don’t fucking call me that!!” I seethe, feeling tears prick at my eyes, I hate how emotional I am when I’m angry, but I’m too deep in now. Some weak, soft shelled part of my heart is telling me to apologize, but I’ve always, always acted with my head. It’s telling me you’re a threat. And you are… aren’t you? 

“I’m not a child!” I can feel my heartbeat, eyes wide and I take a deep breath to lower my voice. “And Y’know what, I think I finally found something I’m better at.” I fold my arms, watching a frown finally form on your face. 

“Really?” You glared, matching my stiff body language.

“Yeah.” I huff, “Reading the room.” 

“You? Read a room?” You scoffed, seeming just as offended, but I didn’t mind. “Ever think maybe, I did all these things — not to take your place, but to impress you?” 

“Oh, you made an impression. Alright.” You… wanted to impress me? I turned my back to you, a small voice telling me that maybe, just maybe, I.. wasn’t acting with my head.. “A bad one.” Why am I so defensive? Why did all this get to me? Shelldon was uncomfortable, I was uncomfortable, hell, I bet my brothers could hear this! They’re probably uncomfortable! why couldn’t I be the bigger turtle and just move on?

“Just… leave..” I waved at the air, sinking into my seat with a little regret. Why was it, that around you, I was never enough? That I was just the small, weak soft shell who couldn’t play rough with his brothers? Who broke his glasses? Who practically wore a pillowcase for protection?

Why couldn’t I be cool for you? Why was I talked down to? I’ve accomplished so many things, why is it that nobody can ever look at me in awe!? Why am I always admiring someone else, and never being admired?

“…” the tension in the room began to dissipate, and I listened with baited breath as you closed the curtain behind you. I let out the sigh, and I hear Shelldon round the corner, landing his head on mine, “Well, that could’ve gone better…” he muttered, and I feel something strange as I look down at my workbench— grief? Guilt? Whatever it is, it stuck, no matter how badly I didn’t want to admit it.

“Yeah..” I mutter, twirling my screwdriver, “Yeah it could’ve.” 

—

A/N: I feel like this might be a lil OOC, am I the only one who gets that vibe?? Idk I’m not really feeling this one, lmk what you guys think 😭 I guarantee another writer could best me at this prompt, and I offer it up to anyone interested! Hope this was ok, anon, really hope I didn’t wreck your day.  —

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 4.3 - Dating for Weirdos

Alice feels like her brain has been scrambled. How did she end up on a date with some dude who didn’t think she was worth any effort? Her self-esteem was…well, her self-esteem was in the toilet, but still! She had her pride!

Although, probably not enough of it. 

Reasonably, she shouldn’t be afraid. Vlad was not going to lose his shit just because her tone was too sharp, and if he did, she could just leave this date.

Unreasonably, she avoids his gaze and swallows down her rant.

Fucking muscle memory. 

“I’m trying valiantly," Vlad says gently. 

“What?” 

"I want to be the least shit version of myself on this date,” he continues, looking pained, “But even that version leaves a lot to be desired. I’m a difficult sim to be around, and so far, despite skipping my Civil Procedure class today to read a self-help book on using imagination to increase my charisma, I fear I’ve failed.”

Trying and failing is something Alice is pretty familiar with. And Vlad doesn’t lack charisma, per se. It was just kind of hidden behind his aura of “find out even if you don’t fuck around.” 

“What was the advice?” she asks, giving him what she hopes is a friendly smile. 

“Imagine a better version of myself,” he smirks, “And introduce you to it.”

“Kind of shit advice,” Alice murmurs. 

Vlad laughs, and she relaxes, “Ok, so was this the introduction to the newly developed, less shitty version of your personality, or do you have something else planned for later?"

“Usually, I’m better prepared, but no, this mediocre showing is the best I could come up with.”

“I give it a 4 out of 10,” Alice scrunches up her face, “Which makes me sort of concerned about your future as an attorney who needs to sway a jury.”

As soon as the words fly out of her mouth, anxiety pools in her stomach. But Vlad simply throws back his head and guffaws. 

“Very fair,” he concludes, wiping the tears from his eyes, “I don’t ever plan to practice law, but even if I did, I’m not worried about manipulating a jury of my peers.”

“Why not?”

“Universally, sims are stupid when they get into groups, and I have no problem lying. The hard part is that I want you to know the truth of me and like it.”

“Oh, I…” Alice jolts at his expression. Even guys she’s really liked have never looked at her with that sort of intensity.

“Ask me a question. Trust me, you'll know immediately if you have any interest in seeing me again.”

Alice hesitates. She could ask something basic to confirm that Vlad is a normal sim, but it’s pretty clear that the answer to that question is no. And the last time she fell for normal, it gave her a black eye.

“If you had any supernatural power, what would it be?”

“Paralyzing sims with fear and the ability to become a sentient mist so I could leave any conversation.” He taps a finger to his lip, “And enough strength to crush someone’s bones.”

“Messy,” Alice giggles. “What are you gonna do with all that bone dust?”

“I’m envisioning crushing their bones inside their body so it’d be more like a hearty stew as opposed to a pile of dust.”

“You would eat them?”

He shrugs. “Waste not, want not.”

It is an absolutely wild answer. Alice flashes him a grin. “The power to turn sims into mushy take-out meals. Got it.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m not turning sims into bone soup.”

The corner of his mouth tilts up. “You can't. As we’ve discussed, that power has already been taken. Might I suggest flight or rotting someone’s flesh with the snap of a finger?”

Alice laughs, and just like that, her appetite returns with a vengeance. “I like the true you,” she says as the waitress sets down Vlad’s order.

He smiles and begins dividing everything in half, shoveling it onto an empty plate that Alice didn’t even notice was on the table. He slides it over to her. “I’m relieved. Now, the pancakes are to die for and I promise no sims have been harmed in the making of this food.”

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(Part 3 of 4)