#not to mention so many comics go “women what women?

[lesbiankermitposting]

Finally reading through battle for the cowl and as much as I dislike when people just go off fan interpretations for what they consider to be canon I’m reminded of just how STUPID comics can be lmao (coming from a comics lover). What do you MEAN Jason becomes Batman who uses guns and kills?? What do you MEAN he builds a secret evil batcave?? I love villain Jason as much as the next guy but jfc dude

I think the best fic/fan works are made by people who’ve read the comics and love them but understand that sometimes. Sometimes they’re stupid. And then they go “this is what it COULD look like if character was prioritized over action scenes”

[rebeccccccaaa]

Poker Face!

_______________

Spencer Reid x Reader

:: It’s game night at Rossi’s, a little pasta al dente, poker chips from Emily’s place, and a little too much Italian red wine. Poker after hours becomes a new playing field when you and Spencer decide to finish your game of blackjack back in his place. ::

:: warnings :: smuttt! and super mushy gushy fluff, sex under the influence (both parties drank alcohol), strip poker (kinda you’re playing blackjack), afab!reader, no mention of contraceptives oops...

:: authors’ notes :: i didn’t realize until i finished the story that spencer probably has his own poker set, he’s literally from vegas; anyway thanks for all the love on my last fic too sweet, hope you guys enjoy this one just as much <3

WC~ 3.1 k

________________

“Ok, ok! That’s enough!” Emily shouted, swinging her glass around. 

“Careful, Prentiss. This carpet is fine Italian wool. Gifted from my first mother-in-law,” Rossi scolded, Hotch chuckling beside him. 

“You guys are relentless,” she continued.

“I can beat him, I know it!” you shouted, your eyes comically wide. 

“No shot, sweetheart. Reid is literally banned from every casino in Vegas, you think you can really beat him?” Derek commented.

“I may not be banned from Vegas casinos, but I never lose Blackjack,” you argued.

“Honey, you’ve lost eight games in a row!” JJ shouted, laughing and holding her stomach. 

“Nevermind that! I’m gonna beat you Reid, if it's the last thing I do,” you narrowed your eyes playfully at Spencer, who sat as dealer with a giant grin on his face.

“I hate to interrupt this incredibly captivating game of Blackjack, but I’m kicking you out. It's late and an old man’s got to get some rest,” Rossi interrupted, erupting a series of ‘Boo’s’ and groans. 

“Come on, come on. Call your DD’s, call your taxi cabs. Or if you want to stay, you can start washing the dishes,” he bargained. 

Suddenly, all at once, everyone stood up practically scrambling and giggling like kids to avoid cleaning up. Penelope, Emily, and Derek hopped into a cab and Hotch drove JJ home then himself considering he hadn't anything to drink that night. That left you and Spencer, lingering on the sidewalk nudging each other in a fit of giggles. 

“I assume you’re gonna take a cab?” he asked you.

“That’s the plan.”

“So we can share since I don’t live far from you. I’ll walk from your place,” he suggested. 

“Oh no, no. Look what I snatched when everyone started leaving,” you pulled out the briefcase of poker chips that Emily had brought for that night out of your tote, “We’re going to your place and finishing what we started.” 

“Oh boy, you have no idea how long it's gonna take. We’re gonna be up all night!” Spencer laughed, and you gasped. 

“You’re an asshole,” you shoved him, before calling a taxi.

You squeezed in the back of the cab, legs bumping against each other. You felt your skin light up, you’ve always felt a certain way about Spencer. I mean who wouldn’t? Well actually, not a lot of people. You always tried to hide the pangs of jealousy or your faces of reluctance whenever the women you were working with or interviewed on cases would flirt with him, unnecessarily albeit. This happened more often than you care to admit or notice. 

You walked into Spencer’s apartment, tossing your bag on the couch before falling to your knees and putting the briefcase on his coffee table. You opened it up and began shuffling the cards, quite intensely to make sure Spencer wasn’t going to cheat. You knew he wasn’t, his brain was too smart, but you did it for confidence instead. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asked from the kitchen.

“Whatcha you got?” you asked.

“I’ve got a couple of beers, probably a little old. Oh, I still have the bottle of wine that Rossi gave to us for the new year,” he told you.

“Oh! Bring the wine! We’ll drink the beers later,” you winked at him, “Let’s get the fucking party started.”

It was late into the night now. You lost count how many times you’d lost to Spencer already. Just a couple of hours passed, and the wine was almost finished. You and Spencer couldn’t stop laughing and wiggling around. As Spencer shuffled the deck, a request you made him do after every turn, you came up with a devilish idea. One that would definitely get you in trouble should the outcome be anything other than what you would hope. 

“Ooh,” you cooed, mischievously.

“What?” Spencer questioned.

“Oh, nothing, just had an idea,” you were smirking, or rather trying really hard not to burst into laughter. 

“This can’t be good,” he mumbled, shaking his head. 

“Why don’t we spice things up, shall we?”

“No, no way,” Spencer already knew what you were going to say. 

“Strip Poker!” 

“No!” he shouted, a big smile on his face contradicting his words.

“What, you scared? Scared that suddenly I’m starting to beat you and you’re gonna have to take all your clothes off?” you teased.

“No, I am a gentleman and I’m not gonna sit through watching you take all your clothes to prove a point,” he argued sassily.

“You are way too confident for your own good, Dr. Spencer Reid. You’re just chicken.”

“Ok, fine then. You dealer, or am I?” he asked, pouring the last bit of wine into your cup. 

“Why don’t you hit me this time,” you said. 

“You got it,” he responded, “Care to shuffle while I grab the beers?”

“Of course. About time we crack those open,” you smiled widely. 

Now sitting down, face to face. Staring intensely at each other for a moment, hints of mischief and amusement in both your eyes. As you shuffled the cards well, Spencer couldn’t help notice the way your eyes were practically sparkling in the warm light of his apartment. How soft your skin looked in the light too. He doesn’t know when it happened. If it happened just now, or maybe he’s always felt this way about you. 

Maybe it was those times where he felt a little more protective over you than the others on more brutal cases. The feeling of responsibility for you, to guide you, when you first join the team since you were the same age. Or maybe it was when you let him practically talk your ear off about peculiar facts regarding the case you had wrapped up. The small smile of your face knowing he thrived in these moments. The sweet giggle you let out when Morgan and Prentiss groaned knowing he would begin yet another tangent. 

Yeah, it was definitely then he realized how special you were and how much he wanted to keep you in his life; in more ways than one.

But in this moment, when you handed him the cards with the most devilish smirk on your face, Spencer felt a wave of avidity, longing for you more than he ever has before. He felt so conflicted about the game you were about to play. He respected you so much and yet craved to see you, to have you, in this very way for so long already. He didn’t know what to do. He dealt the cards however, entertaining the idea, and you tapped the table for cards before taking a big swig of your beer.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, Spencer’s breath hitched. 

You took off your earrings first and Spencer quirked an eyebrow. 

“What? Were you expecting me to take off my shirt right away?”

“No,” he shrugged before giving you the deck to shuffle again. 

“I swear to-” you cursed, pulling off one of your rings this time.

Your shoes came off, then your socks. All your accessories were scattered on the table before you. The last game you stood up unbuttoning your pants. Spencer clenched his jaw, averting his eyes downward as you peeled your pants down your legs. It took quite literally everything in him to not drool over you. You sank back down to the ground, the bottom half of your body shielded by the table and Spencer looked back at you again. He dealt the cards. You asked for a card, and Spencer knew then you would lose. The probability was certain. When he hit Blackjack and you didn’t, Spencer gulped and you sighed in defeat. 

Staring boldly at Spencer, you disrobed your last garment that would give you some kind of modesty. Your bra is on full display with nothing else but your pair of underwear. You had a crucial decision to make if you ended up losing again and you were seriously considering that would be the case, the butterflies erupting violently in your belly. 

“We don’t have to keep going,” Spencer cleared his throat.

“And why would I do that?” Maybe it was the alcohol in your system that gave you this sudden courage, this seduction. You were starting to have fun seeing Spencer squirming on the couch, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. You suddenly wanted to egg this round on as long as you can. 

“Ok, then,” he muttered, as he dealt the cards, slowly this time.

Spencer had a face down card, assuming it was a value of ten like always, and an eight. You had a seven and a three, you were fucked. You needed an ace and you’d hit blackjack, or you could build up; but that’s risky. Maybe Spencer can go over. You had a chance, you know it. Your chest was moving fast and shallow, but your face was stoic and firm. Spencer on the other hand was antsy; his eyes frantic and his leg bouncing. You knew he was staring at your chest. You planned to use it to your advantage. Was it fair game? Yeah, yeah it was. It wasn’t your fault he was distracted.

“Hit me,” you egged.

“You got it,” he responded. 

A five. Fuck. 

Spencer hit himself and he drew a seven. Those are bad cards. He most likely went over and you might actually finally beat him. 

“One more time, boy wonder,” you snapped. A six. A beautiful six of hearts. 

“I stand,” he mutters, probably knowing he lost. 

“Let’s see those cards, baby,” you teased.

“You first,” he told you, and placed your cards. 

“Blackjack, baby!” 

Spencer laid his cards revealing his seven and eight and underneath a nine, he busted; the cards of course. You won, you finally won. You jumped up in celebration, prancing in your undergarments around the room giggling and cheering. 

“I did it! I fucking did it! I beat the boy genius, fair and fucking square! You lose Spencer, loser!” you shouted taunting him and he couldn’t help the smile painted in his blushing face; he almost forgot you were prancing around almost naked in the middle of his apartment. 

“I- I was distracted,” he shuttered. 

“Damn right you were,” you joked, squeezing your breasts to flaunt them in his face. 

“It wasn’t fair game,” he bantered.

“It wasn’t fair game, my ass. I won and you lost, and you’re being a sore loser,” you mocked as you walked towards him like a panther, playfulness and seduction dripping from your tongue. 

Spencer took the moment you walked near and grabbed your wrist yanking you to stumble into his lap. You were shocked, surprised, a little turned on. You held onto his shoulders, your breathing a little quicker than before. You tried to convince yourself it was from the celebratory dance and not the growing bulge from Spencer that poked you from beneath. 

“I told you, I was distracted,” he told you, his hands finding a place at their hips. Fingers caressing delicately the hem of your underwear. 

“Blah, blah,” you whispered.

“Don’t give me that.”

“Now, Spence, I believe there is something you have to do, is there not?” you whispered.

“What’s that?” he bantered.

“You lost.”

“Right, unfairly I might add,” he joked.

“If all you’re gonna do is talk, then let me do the honors,” you told him. 

“Be my guest.”

Your fingers pulled gently at his tie he wore, pulling over his head and tossing it to the side on the floor. You started unbuttoning his shirt, Spencer staring with heavy eyes at you as you did so.

“I thought we were only taking off one item. We should play another round then if you want my shirt off,” he teased you, bringing his hands to gently hold your wrists.

“Like that’s gonna happen,” you rolled your eyes playfully. 

Spencer relaxed against the back of the couch as you unbutton his shirt all the way. You brought your lips down to kiss softly at his collarbones and his shoulder. Moving along his chest to kiss the other side. His hands moved slowly against your hips, fingers sliding between the fabric of your underwear and your skin. Your skin erupted in chills, a tingle running through your spine making your ears feel hot. You dragged your nose along his strong jawline before nipping your teeth playfully against his cheek. 

He brought his hands up, fingertips tracing your spine until he reached your bra. He skillfully unhooked it leaving you a bit breathless for just a second but a second too long. You could feel it, without even needing to look at him, to know he had such a teasing smile on his gorgeous face. You wanted nothing more than to kiss it off him. 

You shrugged your bra off, tossing behind him giving him a playful wink which made him chuckle. You brought his hands to your breasts as you pulled his head towards you by the back of his neck to kiss him feverishly. Something you both had wanted to do for quite some time now. You wiggled your hips a bit, feeling the prodding against your center, which made Spencer groan lowly in the kiss; his hands squeezing your breasts hard in discomfort. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna drive me insane,” he told you.

“Let me say hi to your little friend, Spence. Or do you want to play for that too?” you taunted him.

“God, no. I couldn’t wait a whole other hour for you to beat me again,” he bantered making you scoff and roll your eyes; his hands shot straight to his zipper to pull his pants down just enough for the both of you. 

You were practically itching to get your panties off. Standing up suddenly, both you and Spencer reached instinctively to pull them off you, his lips attaching themselves to your soft belly and hips. He freed himself from the constricting fabric of his pants and pulled you down, or rather yanked you to him. You couldn’t help the bubbly laugh that came from you making Spencer smile blissfully. 

You bite your lip as you reach between your bodies, lining Spencer up against you perfectly. The warmth radiating from you was driving him crazy. It took everything in him to not suddenly take control and rut his hips against you. You sank slowly down on his length, not so little, you thought yourself.

“Oh jeez, I feel like I could come already,” you gasped, the pressure building in the pit of your stomach felt already overwhelming. Maybe it was the fact you hadn’t had sex in years. You felt starved of this kind of touch, this kind of intimacy. The kind of feeling of Spencer’s cold fingertips touching and gliding across your skin like you were glass. Yeah, that was the feeling you didn’t know you needed, you didn’t realize you craved so much until this very moment. 

“I’m a bit embarrassed to admit the same,” he chuckled breathlessly, “If you don’t start moving, I’m not gonna be able to hold myself back any longer.”

You took this as the green light to start rocking your hips back and forth. One hand resting against his cheek and the other stabilizing yourself against the frame of the couch. Spencer’s hands rocked with you, his way of helping and understanding the rhythm you were going. He started, with gaining confidence, to buck his hips into you and that’s when the pleasure began to build. You panted heavily above him, moans every now and then escaping your mouth to echo against the walls of Spencer’s small apartment. 

“Shit. You feel so good,” he breathed out, “I thought I’d last longer.”

“Please, please don’t come yet,” you begged; bringing your forehead to his. You could see his skin becoming shiny with sweat, his cheeks flush with redness. Spencer, determined to make you come before him, or at the very least with him, reached between your thighs rubbing fast and swift circles against your clit. Your hips jerked with pleasure and Spencer’s name dripped from your lips like honey. 

“Oh, that’s it,” Spencer whispered. His free hand came up and pulled you in a passionate and sloppy kiss. His tongue entwined with your and you moaned wildly as did he. His brain was fuzzy, not that your’s wasn’t also, with the sounds of sex, the rhythm of your hips, the warmth of your slick soaking his fingers. 

“I’m close, fuck I’m so close, Spence,” you whined.

“Let go, sweetheart.”

“Ngh!” you moaned loudly. You dipped your head forward resting your forehead in the crook of his neck. Your bodies were so close, your bare chests pressed against each other. You both could feel the other’s breath and slowly you began to match each other’s erratic rhythm the closer you got to your climaxes. You messily pressed your lips against Spencer’s one last time before the wave of electrifying pleasure overcame you. 

When you came down from your high, all you could feel and hear in that moment was Spencer. His soft pants brushing your ear, his arms cradling you close, his subtle leg shaking from what you assume was him also coming with you. 

“That was really good,” you giggled.

“It really was,” he agreed.

“I’m gonna tell everyone about this,” you whispered wickedly. 

“What?” Spencer questioned fearfully. 

“I beat you in Blackjack,” you reminded him, making him laugh loudly. 

“Give it a rest you would?” he sighed. 

“No way. I’m gonna tell everyone. And everyone’s gonna tease you because I beat you fair and square. Unless, you wanna admit that my boobs were distracting you from your card counting tricks,” you teased.

“Alright, you won fair and square,” he smiled blissfully at you, his eyes soft and gentle in the warm light.

You giggled sweetly bringing him in a tender kiss, definitely not for the last time that night. Your bodies were entwined for the rest of the night until the tepid sunrays peaked meekly through the curtains of Spencer’s bedroom window. The two of you sharing giggles between the sheets with his arms embracing you the way they had been all night. Needless to say, blackjack continues to be your favorite poker game. Especially now more than ever. 

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Take the damn shot

A/N: Ohhhhh I've spiraled. Going from Mandalorian fics to writing about a radioactive cowboy with no nose within a couple weeks of each other is totally healthy :) Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language and violence. Summary: A single quiet day in the saloon is all you wanted. But somehow, your Ghoul partner is pulling his gun and you're covered in another person's blood. Honestly, it's just typical.

Word Count: 1.7k+

(GIF Credit to @djo)

The Ghoul hates to admit it, but he needs you.

In the same sick and twisted, goddamned way he needs the Vials to stay sane, he needs you next to him. When poison air grows thick and the scorching sun sinks beyond a brutalized horizon, you’re always at his side. Day in and day out, you stick around. Full of piss and vinegar, ready to take on the fucked up world you’re all stuck in.

And Cooper’s not one for generosity anymore, but he gives you credit a lot of the time. He knows he can be nasty, and you don’t mind one bit. In spite of his callousness and general disregard for safety, you put on a chipper attitude and tug him (sometimes physically) along to the next town.  Outwardly innocent but filled with a mutual hatred for Vault-Tec and what its influence had done to the world and yourself, you’d quickly become his diamond in the rough. 

And you shine particularly bright in the shack of a building the Wasteland called a saloon. You’ve made careful friends with a couple of gray-haired biddies- presumably the owners-  in the back of the room, and chat happily with them. Cooper sits off to the side behind you, a bottle of the local brew dangling between his fingers. He’s content for the first time in a while; ass in a creaky rocking chair and boots kicked up on an old milk crate. The brim of his hat is pulled down to hide the majority of his face, but eyes wander lazily from you to the front door. 

Cooper didn’t think many things were nice any longer, but listening to you prattle on with the women warmed something in his dead heart.

“You’re awfully pretty for this place.” The older of the two women, sporting a single eye and an impressively neat beehive style, compliments you. “Gotta be out of the Vaults with that skin.”

The Ghoul tenses, knowing the mention of your 200-year prison would strike a nerve. 

“Yeah. I’m from before the war, actually.” You say it plainly and chase it down with a swig of liquor. “Fuckin’ Vault-Tec.”

The Ghoul’s familiar with your story, from you finding out about the plan to drop homemade bombs on American citizens to your confrontation with the executive group in Vault 31. Little did you know, you’d be sneaking in with no chance for escape. Cooper tightens his fist at the thought of Hank MacLean shoving you carelessly into a cryopod and slamming the button to lock you in. You’d relayed the story to him with watery eyes, and that’s something he absolutely loathed. He had enough personal beef with Hank that your trauma added to his ever-growing list of things to be absolutely pissed-the-fuck-off about.

Finch and Sparrow, as they were so comically named, clutch their pearls in sadness as you tell your story. They fawn over you, and Cooper makes out a few ‘fuck them Vaulties’ and a ‘well as much as it sucks, we’re glad you made it this far’. You sniff just barely and wipe your eyes. 

“Thanks, ladies. It means a lot.” 

The conversation turns back pleasant for the most part, and you’re enthralled as the women pull you into the town gossip. Cooper begrudgingly gets up to piss, comfy as he was, but stops at your side to hand off his bag first. You take it with a nod, more interested in the rumor mill than his whereabouts for the moment. He swaggers to the back door of the saloon, where wind whips sand against his jeans and patters the leather of his boots with tiny rocks. 

Voices drift out the door from inside as Cooper yanks his zipper back up. 

“Is it true what they say ‘bout Vaulties?” It’s a man’s voice, gruff and demanding in comparison to the happy lilt of yours. “Heard your story and always been… curious.”

“If you listened, you would know I ain’t no Vaultie.” Your reply is instant, but the edge in your voice has Cooper stepping a little faster down the short hallway. He reemerges to the sight of a suspiciously dressed man leaning against the wood beam beside your table, a little too close for comfort. 

“Sure you are, darlin’. I can tell by lookin’ at’chya.” The man’s face is half-covered by a bandanna, and a pair of sand goggles are pushed up on his forehead, “Like they say.. everything’s… softer.”

There’s suddenly a hand landing on your shoulder, and Cooper sees red. His gun is pulled before he knows it, leveling at the man’s forehead. 

“Hands off the girl.” He growls. 

On closer inspection the man is probably close to the age you appear. Above the bandanna, weatherbeaten skin turns into frizzy ginger hair. He’s wearing a typical duster type coat, and the goggles are leaving red marks in his forehead. Cooper decides he’s taken shits more attractive than him. 

Probably smarter, too. 

“Fuck off, Ghoul.” Is the reply Cooper receives, sending  a flash of white-hot anger through his already irradiated body. “I wasn't talkin’ to you.”

It was all too common, being brushed off. At this point in his life, it actually brings a smirk to his face. Your mouth is even tipping up at the edges, having had many interactions with the can of worms this guy was prying open. 

“Listen man, I think you should let it go.” You warn and try to stand from the broken chair you had been carefully perching on. The red-head doesn’t relent, and pushes you back down into the chair. It wobbles dangerously as Cooper stomps closer. The movement prompts your captor to pull his own gun. It’s a crudely made pipe pistol, but able to shoot flying projectiles into your brains nonetheless.

“Get your goddamn hands off her before I decorate that wall with your fuckin’ skull.” Cooper yanks the hammer back on his pistol, hesitating at your close proximity.

The redhead pulls his bandanna down and Cooper watches you lean away as you recognize the scent and characteristics of a Fiend. His teeth are hanging loosely at crooked angles, and the pock marks around his mouth from scratching his skin open drip blood and serous fluid. His gun is trained on Cooper, but he freezes when he sees the Ghoul shift forward. 

“Ah ah ah. How’d you like me to put a bullet in her instead?” The Fiend tugs you to your feet and nuzzles at your hair as he presses the barrel of his gun to your ribs. “I’d love a taste myself.”

The suffocating need to keep you safe and at his side fills Cooper’s corroded veins as you scowl at the Fiend whose nose is pressed dangerously close to your cheek with rotten teeth bared. Rage ignites from the anger he’s already feeling. 

BANG. 

Cooper’s watching when the red spray of blood washes over half the saloon, but still doesn’t quite comprehend what’s happened. His gun didn’t fire, but the scent of ignited powder fills the air. You fall to the floor along with your captor, and the aforementioned rage boils over. He holsters his gun and scrambles to pull you away in the chaos.  

Thankfully, a quick once-over shows you to have no injuries, but the same can’t be said for your attacker. A foot away the Fiend lies still, about five pounds lighter from the gaping hole in his chest. Gore from his wound is splattered thick across your face and neck. Your eyes are pinched closed to avoid anything unsightly entering them, and you lash out blindly when Cooper grasps your arms. 

“Let me go, you rotten bastard!” The Ghoul catches your right hand before it can hook into his jaw, “I’ll kill you myself.”

“Quit squealin’ sunshine, it’s me.” Cooper growls

While he’s getting a handle on your flailing limbs, a shadow covers the both of you. Cooper glances up at the one-eyed old woman who’s sawed-off shotgun is still smoking in her left hand. 

“I know your brain is shrunken and all, but next time take the shot sooner.” She bites. “And feel free to clean up my damn bar.”

Cooper is torn between staring at the older woman- Sparrow, he thinks-  and trying to contain your squirming. He’s not too fragile to admit he really doesn’t want to take a punch from you right now, so he wipes the back of his hand across your eyes and tugs you to sit up beside him. 

“Cooper?”

He huffs a laugh at your incredulous tone and flicks away the remnants of blood littering your skin “The one and only. Open your eyes.”

They flicker open slowly, and you pout at the blood congealing on your clothes. “I just got these pants.”

Cooper sets a hand on your thigh and squeezes gently. “I’ll buy you a new pair. S’Long as you promise not to get Fiend all over those ones too.”

You thrust an elbow into his ribs at the jab and climb to your feet. Cooper follows with a dramatic groan. 

“Old man.” You tease over your shoulder, observing the carnage from Sparrow’s well-aimed shot. A kick to the corpses’ ribs follows, sending a splatter of blood across Cooper’s pants. You shoot him an insincerely apologetic look. “She’s right, you know.”

The Ghoul follows your gaze to Sparrow, who’s hollering at any remaining patrons that dare tread too close to the mess, damning them for tracking blood around the bar. 

“‘Bout what?” 

You lean into his space, the scent of blood thick in the air. “Take the damn shot sooner.”

Cooper grabs the back of your neck and yanks you forward in a hard kiss. The blood transfers easily onto his lips, and he licks it off while pulling away. “Fucker deserved more than one shot.”

Possessiveness floods his mind and he squeezes the soft flesh beneath his fingers. 

“I’da strung him up by his balls if I got my hands on him.” He mutters, tracing another finger through the blood and popping it into his mouth. “After grabbin’ onto you like that.”

You lean into his chest and let a smile curl the corners of your lips up. “All for little ol’ me?”

The Ghoul pinches your bloody cheek. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

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

thanks for reading, much love ❤

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

[undreaming-fanfiction]

I am massively busy with work and finalizing my Big Bang, but this idea just won't leave...

Steve and Eddie are both actors. They're in their mid thirties, well established, but they never starred together in anything. Steve tends to be cast in the same type, the dumb but pretty love interest, Eddie has lots of indie and disturbing movies under his belt. But this time, they both landed something big.

They get cast in the new Batman movie.

Steve is, of course, Batman. He insists on doing his own stunts. He refuses to get dehydrated for his shirtless scenes because he knows how damaging it is to both young men and women alike, he's not going to contribute to shitty expectations. The director (Dustin, duh!) sees something in him other directors never have - a potential for depth, for internal turmoil. He gives Steve the chance to prove himself as an actor and Steve pounces on it.

He's still very hot.

Eddie is cast as the Joker. He is a fan of the comics and scoffs at how absurd and deranged the character is becoming. He gets hired because he immediately says he doesn't think the character needs to rely on cheap tricks and shock value to be terrifying. Cutting off his face? Not cool. He suggests to play the Joker according to one of the older comics he has - one where the Joker is actually absolutely sane, but hides it to never be held accountable for his actions. The only person who ever saw through his ruse was Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Joker took care of that issue very quickly.

The chemistry between Steve and Eddie on screen is insane. They go toe to toe, it's impossible to look away when they interact. Eddie utilizes his bright smile to the maximum, tweaking it just right within moments so it becomes unsettling. The first time he laughs, Steve gets goosebumps.

Steve encompasses Bruce's loneliness so well Eddie's heart breaks for him. Dustin finds him in the trailer, giving himself gentle slaps over the face and muttering "you're evil, damn it, you don't want to comfort the Bat!!".

Batgirl (Robin) and Harley Quinn (Chrissy) find their slow descent into love hilarious. They all become good friends on the set.

Hopper, an acting veteran who plays Commissioner Gordon, grasps Steve's shoulder after an intense fight scene and mutters: "Good job, Steve, but maybe don't stare at his lips so much?"

Robin doesn't give him the same courtesy and once Dustin yells "Cut!", she screeches: "NOW KISS!"

The movie is a hit. People love the cast and the story, some of the OG fans complain as they always do, but the ratings are great, there are many interviews, panels, all of that.

And of course, there's gossip about Steve and Eddie being a thing, which enrages the macho Batman fanbase. Their Batman isn't gay!

But the rumors quickly disappear after an award ceremony where Eddie is nominated for the best supporting actor. He wins, of course. And as he gets up to accept the small statue and deliver a speech with enough "fuck"s to give the censor a headache, he drags Steve up and kisses him in front of the whole world.

A week later, Steve and Eddie are together in front of a camera again, answering questions in an interview.

The host asks: "What do you say to those fans that are disappointed, who say that their Batman isn't gay?"

Steve just snorts, pulls Eddie closer and answers: "They're right. Their Batman isn't gay. But he's definitely bi."

Also the comic story I'm mentioning exits and is short but fantastic. 10/10 recommend.

Oh also. The first spark happens when Steve sees Eddie's hair and blurts out: "Please tell me they're not making you cut it shorter. It's too gorgeous for that."

Also because people were asking about the comics - it's Batman Black and White - Case Study and it can be found on Tumblr HERE

[inuyashaluver]

can you write a jessie x hockey!r, where r gets into a fight during one of her games and jessie is watching from the stands with some of the chelsea players? thx

cheeky - jessie fleming

jessie fleming x reader

description: in which your girlfriend brings her friends to her cheeky girlfriend’s game

warnings: jessie still plays for chelsea!! let’s pretend ucla offers women’s hockey 🫠 swearing, mentions of a fight, suggestive

a/n: you guys don’t understand how much this request has infiltrated my tiny brain, thank you you so so much, my love, enjoyyyyy

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and your girlfriend, jessie were quite literally some of the nicest people alive. every time someone was around the two of you for either a short or long time, they came out feeling lighter, happier and all round just more positive.

you and jessie just radiated love, a special bond between the two of you that was just undeniably beautiful.

—

you and jessie met at a college party years ago. you both went to ucla yet never crossed paths until this party. you weren’t really a party goer and neither was jessie, you both found refuge in the backyard of the house you were at.

both of your friend groups had unknowingly ditched you and you both wanted some air, away from all the drunk frat boys and sorority girls.

“sorry, do you mind if i sit here?” you ask the brunette where she sat on a small bench. her head snapped up from her phone at hearing a familiar accent. canadian.

“oh, yeah, go ahead!” jessie stutters, scooching over a little and patting the spot next to her. you smile at her gratefully, sitting down with an exaggerated huff.

jessie lets out a laugh when you sat, both of you looking at each other with bright smiles. you both thought the other was breathtakingly gorgeous, feeling like the party was a little worth it at this point.

“you sick of seeing people basically fucking each other everywhere too?” you ask her with a shake of your head, your eyes falling on a couple making out in a way that should definitely be behind a closed door.

jessie chuckles, looking down at the cup in her hand and nodding while taking a sip of it. “that and my friends ditched me” she rolls her eyes, you nudge her shoulder with yours, “mine too, don’t worry” you grin, making her return one shyly.

“i’m (y/n) by the way” jessie smiles, repeating the name in her head that she would surely never forget.

“jessie” you smile at her, pink cheeks a little evident on the both of you when you made eye contact again.

“sorry if this is weird but are you from canada?” jessie asks nervously, your eyes widen comically, your face brightening at the girl's question.

you didn’t really have many friends from back home who came to the states for college. sure there was a bunch of canadian girls at college but none of them were this pretty. or this easy to talk to.

“i am! don’t tell me you are too?” you question, jessie smiled at your excitement, her heart beating quickly at your glistening eyes. she nods, making you start rambling with where she was from.

you both continued to chat and it was scary how much you had in common.

the conversation was full of laughter, shared jokes and most definitely a shared attraction. “so, jessie, what do you do besides being an environmental warrior?” you say cheekily, the girl scoffs, slapping your thigh gently and rolling her eyes,

“i play soccer” she mocks, you give her an impressed smile as she explained how good she really was, “mhm, i should come and watch you sometime, superstar?” you flirt, giving her a charming smile that had butterflies swarming in her stomach.

you’d both gone far from friendly conversation, the flirting taking over after about 2 hours of you familiarising yourself with each other.

“yeah, maybe you should, and you? miss number solver?” she teases back, referring to you doing an accounting degree.

“i play hockey” you move a little so you could face her better and she does the same, although, her face has a shit eating grin on it.

“what’s so funny?” you narrow your eyes at her, “you’re so canadian” she laughs, you shake your head as she throws her head back in laughter, clearly enjoying how you’re not even defending yourself.

she encourages you to talk about your sport and to say she fell in love with you there was an understatement. you spoke with so much passion she really loved to see and hear it.

you also admit you fell in love with her when she talked about her sport, but even more with how intently she was listening to you, soaking in every word you said and clarifying things she didn’t understand.

you both felt something bubbling under the surface as you talked, so much so, when the party started to filter out, she asked if you wanted to get some ice cream and who were you to decline?

the teasing and the flirting throughout the whole night was so unbearable, you asked her out on a date without a second thought, smiling brightly when she accepted without any hesitation.

you both began to date after a few months, becoming one of the ‘it couples’ around campus when everyone could truly tell how much you were in love with each other.

you went to each other’s games with bright, adoring smiles, wearing each other’s jerseys with pride.

you had study dates together, most of the time getting distracted but neither part was complaining.

you were there for each other throughout all the ups and downs, talking and listening to one another for hours and somehow feeling not enough when you were with each other every second of the day.

you’d both established a career before you even graduated college, star athletes in the making in your respected sports.

you’d do anything for each other, so much so you moved with her to england when she signed her contract to chelsea.

—

while jessie played for chelsea, you still continued to play hockey in england also. it was hard being away from home but jessie made it all better.

your continual support for each other offering a sense of security that nothing else could. it also helped that you both represented canada nationally, often getting the opportunity to go home together.

—

the chelsea girls knew you too well, you came to every single game without fail with a bright grin on your face in the ‘fleming’ jersey that was almost worn as much as your own.

“your wife’s here” niamh teases as she warmed up with jessie before a match, the two of you weren’t married, or engaged even, not yet at least but this didn’t stop niamh from wishing you were, knowing how much her best friend adored you.

“where?” jessie grins, stopping all movement and frantically looking for you, niamh directs her head to where you were sitting in the friends and family section and her heart swelled with pride.

you wave at her brightly and she returns it instantly, her face growing warm at the smile you sent her, snapped out of her trance at niamh’s laugh. “such a sap” she smiles, jessie just gives her shoulder a little shove, continuing to warm up.

when the match was over after an easy win, jessie bounded over to you without a second to waste. “hi, baby” you smile as she walked into your arms, the barrier making it a little difficult but you both didn’t care.

“hi, gorgeous” jessie says breathlessly, pulling you into a sweet kiss with her hand on your cheek. you smile against her, your own hand on the side of her neck, your thumb brushing against her skin gently.

“my superstar” you say as you pull away, brushing away some stray hairs from her face before pulling her into a tight hug.

“gotta impress my wag, baby” she says cheekily, kissing your cheek repeatedly to make you giggle, working successfully like it did every time.

“i’m definitely impressed, baby canada” you smile, pressing another quick kiss to her lips as you pulled away slightly.

her hands make her way to your waist, rubbing up and down gently as you chatted, only lasting for a couple of seconds before you ushered her to interact with the fans.

“i’ll see you at home, beautiful” she winks, pecking your lips before running away, shouting a quick “i love you” over her shoulder that you quickly returned before leaving to drive home.

—

you had an upcoming game, an important one at that. you’d been nervous about it all week, jessie frequently having to calm you down so you could breathe. you were the captain, both for this team and the canada team so a lot of pressure fell on your shoulders.

the only reassurance you had was knowing jessie would be there, even inviting some of her teammates to come and watch you since they had the day off.

jessie wasn’t one to miss an opportunity where she got to ogle her talented girlfriend and show you off at the same time so she was extremely excited.

the morning of, let’s just say it was extremely difficult to get you out of the house.

“what if i fuck up?” you whine, turning from the door and walking back to jessie who was watching you from the doorway. “you won’t” she assures, pinching your cheek softly before turning you around and giving you a soft push to the door.

you turn back around, “what if something goes wrong?” you say nervously, “baby, you’ll be fine, we can deal with it” jessie chuckles, you throw your head back in annoyance.

the people who only knew you from hockey would be shocked to know you did this before every game. they’d be shocked to know how soft you were when it came to your girlfriend.

“i don’t want to go” you groan, jessie draws you in by your waist, her arms wrapped around them securely, “baby, you’ll be amazing, like always” jessie says earnestly, her brown eyes looking directly into yours so you knew she wasn’t lying.

“but you don’t know that” you pout, jessie quickly smiling before pulling you into a sweet kiss.

“i’m your girlfriend, i know everything” she says cheekily, pecking your lips a couple of times and managing to pull a small smile out of you.

“you go do your best, that’s all i want from you” she smiles, her hands now cradling your face as your arms wrap around her. “okay” you breathe out, determined.

smiling before pulling her into a breathless kiss that made both of you feel dizzy, sharing a quick i love you before she had to physically push you out of the house, knowing you’d convince her to stay.

—

jessie made her way to the arena in your jersey, your number written neatly tiny on her cheek. she was accompanied by niamh, zećira, aggie and hannah.

to say jessie got teased the entire time was an understatement but she didn’t care, she had no shame with the amount of love she had for you.

when you skated out on the ice with the ‘C’ over your heart, you had no ounce of nervousness at all. a complete contrast from the morning.

the truth is, on the ice, you were ruthless, completely contradicting how you were off the ice.

you carried yourself with complete confidence, expecting nothing but the best. you were a little rough but one of the best players and everyone knew it. you didn’t take any bullshit.

you were strategic, smart and calculated. you knew what you were doing and you were the captain both in this league and nationally for a reason. a team leader without fail. a role model, a borderline legend.

jessie and her friends cheered loudly for you when your name was announced on the loudspeaker. jessie watched as you waved around the arena before locking back in, skating around the ice in preparation for the game.

jessie was on the edge of her seat the entire time watching you, scoring 2 points in a short amount of time. you were playing exceptionally well, jessie’s heart swelled with pride but she was extremely nervous how this one player kept trying to rile you up.

she knew you didn’t take any disrespect and knew this girl was about to get her ass handed to her.

the girl was being overly physical with you and you would counter it every time. she was the other captain and knew she’d get thrown into the box if she tried anything too much. her behaviour was surprising.

but the girl continued, having the nerve to be near you every time with something to say every two seconds.

you’d ignore it, having dealt with people more annoying than this but it flipped when she started talking about jessie. your jessie.

she started with the insults about you until she said, “is your girlfriend some sort of puck bunny?” you fucking lost it.

you dropped your stick and both of you break out into a heated fight. fists flying before you grabbed her by her shirt, slamming her into the glass and spitting out words that we’re definitely not family friendly. jessie’s eyes were so wide in shock, never really seeing you in a fight like this before.

“talk about my girlfriend like that again and i’ll shove the puck down your fucking throat” you exclaim, getting pulled back by the referee and getting told to go to the penalty box.

you send a glare to the girl and she falters almost instantly before you skated to the box. you sat down with a huff, arms crossed over your chest as you watched your team dominate the other.

jessie shook her head while she looked at you, niamh and zećira cheering you on throughout the fight and even more now that you were in the box.

when your ten minutes was up, you played the rest of the game with passion, finishing with an easy and well deserved win. jessie ran down to where the change rooms were, her teammates waiting nearby.

jessie watched as you skated off the ice, catching your breath as you quickened your pace to jessie. her face was etched with worry as you approached, watching as you took off your helmet hastily and took out your mouth guard.

“hey, baby” you say brightly, bounding over and wrapping jessie up in a hug, your face instantly tucked into the crook of her neck, your cold nose brushing against her warm skin.

“for someone that just beat the shit out of someone, you’re very happy” she says amusingly, her arms wrapping around you without hesitation.

“she deserved it, trust me on that” and jessie did. you pull away from her at arms length, a cheesy smile plastered on your face as you looked at her.

“are you okay?” she asked, her voice clearly laced with worry, you nodded, kissing jessie’s cheek tenderly as you drew her a little closer.

“i’m fine, love, especially since my biggest fan is here” you grin, “you should see the other guy” you laugh as jessie slaps your shoulder lightly, “cheeky” she chuckles, pulling you into another tight hug in absolute relief you were okay.

you could tell she was on edge because of the circumstances, the hug telling you everything you needed to know. you hugged her tightly, letting her find solace in you and honestly calming you both down.

you wave over at her teammates when she pulls away and chat with them excitedly. you held onto jessie’s hand the entire time you all chatted, thanking them for coming and watching.

“what does that say on your stick?” niamh questions, you smile, moving your hand to show that you’d written jessie’s name with a little heart next to it on your tape, a tradition for you ever since you’d started dating.

“good luck charm” you grin, both of you getting teased for your bright pink cheeks. you say goodbye to them before they leave, turning back to jessie with a sweet smile. this is the side of you she knew the best. an absolute softie.

before you get changed, you draw jessie into another kiss, unable to stop yourself from smiling against her when she whined against your mouth.

you give her an amused expression, seeming as though she was a little riled up about the whole situation. “shut up” she groans, pushing you away by your chest slightly but you came right back, pressing a sweet peck to her lips,

“i didn’t say anything” you mumble against her, squeezing her hips gently before you ran to the change room, wanting to get back home as quick as possible.

let’s just say violence is never the answer but is excusable only for the way your girlfriend reacted to you when you both stepped through the door of your shared apartment.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

liked by niamhcharles17 and 44,232 others

_jessflem: you wouldn’t know she beat someone up 10 minutes before this but here we are

view all comments

yourname: so worth it

↳ _jessflem: really was actually

niamhcharles17: your girlfriend’s got a crazy fist on her but is SUCH a softie

↳ yourname: watch it niamhy

↳ _jessflem: biggest softie ever

↳ yourname: you’re supposed to defend me

↳ _jessflem: i love you?

↳ yourname: yeah. whatever. i love you too.

[dancingdonatello]

Hello, could you write a headcanon about Leo de Rottmnt on how he would react when he realizes he is in love with a human?

rise leo x gn reader

How many blind dates had he been on? Too many to count. He’d even agreed to be set up with Sunita’s cousin, who was the same sort of goop yokai except she was blue.

Every yokai he went out with, he always ended up ghosting them. Ignoring their messages, pretending not to know them when they ran into each other in the Hidden City. No matter how exasperated April and Sunita got, he just never felt right with any of them.

They all just seemed the same to him and he hated having to do small talk over and over again to just end up ignoring them a few hours after. It was a waste of time at this point. He should just pull a Donnie and write his age, favorite color, and hobbies down on a notecard and hand it off to the next yokai he went out with.

Not even at the bars or clubs he had followed Raph into had he spotted anyone. He always ended up slipping away into the crowd when everyone approached him.

His family was getting sick of him acting antisocial and then complaining about not having anyone. Hell, even Donnie was sneaking out at night, probably to meet someone.

The only one who ever listened to him without complaining was you now. Not that he could complain all the time, you were always busy and with your new… friends. He rolled his eyes at the thought of them.

You were always off with your completely 100% normal and human friend group, leaving him, his brothers, and April behind most of the time. April was always welcome but not them for obvious reasons.

You used to be at the lair everyday. Leo would share his comics. He’d teach you to skate. He’d throw popcorn at you when you ‘ooh’ed over a hot guy on love island. He barely saw you anymore. He’d portal into your room and it’d always be dark and empty.

And in every photo you had shown of your new friend group, there was always one bland looking dude right next to you. Always close, shoulders touching. Once you even giggled shyly when he mentioned it. It still made him mad just thinking about you going out with some shmuck that looked like every average guy walking around in the city.

He didn’t even look half as muscular as Leo. He didn’t have any of the flashy markings that glowed that Leo had. He couldn’t portal you to Paris or to the ancient pyramids. He didn’t even save the world. And yet you were probably more with him than with Leo.

Did you think of how Leo could effortlessly pick you up when that guy tried to do the same? Did he think of how Leo who could hold you up with one arm? Leo who could take you wherever you wanted?

At the very moment he was about to call you to find an excuse to complain about your guy friend, he finally realized what was actually doing on.

Of course he’d fall in love with someone he couldn’t have.

And it wasn’t like Leo could actually do everything with you like he tried to convince himself he could. You were a human and wanted to human things with human people. He couldn’t go into public with you. Kids would cry. Women would throw their purses at him. You’d be lonely with him.

So he didn’t call you. He’d let you hang out with your real friends and hopefully as you forgot about him, he’d be able to move on.

[tiyoin]

I ate your heart

warnings: graphic description of: violence, SA, gore, mentions of cannibalism, murder, reader almost gets graped, alcoholism*, manipulation, ‘victim blaming,’ unhealthy coping mechanisms, dark content - alastor and readers relationship is up for interpretation

dawg imagine you get killed by yan human alastor.🫣

like you’re thinking that you’ll finally be safe in the afterlife, hoping that you got a spot in heaven. (yet apparently, premarital sex would automatically remove your spot in line for a chance at salvation)

blasphemy does those kinda things🤷🏻

doesn’t matter if you lived as a nun. helping sinners see the light and righteousness of god. doesn’t matter if you fed por hand your entire life. or even if you solved the trolly problem.

one toe out of line, and your ass is grass.

so you’re in hell. if you knew you’d be going to hell you would’ve done a lot worse things in your human life for more power.

imagine living on the low, yeah you’ve killed people, maybe even took a soul or two. but it’s nothing to brag about, especially compared to the over lords.

—

very important note at the end.

1-800-662-4357 - addiction hotline.

-

by pressing ‘read more’ you have consented to reading this.

just a few years into your stay they started going missing. one, by one.

there was a whisper in the wind, a chill in the air as everyone had this impending sense of dread as a new over lord would be found almost daily. ripped to shreds, horribly mutilated, with missing limbs and ginormous bite marks that would open the food gates for intestines to spill out and pool around them.

sometimes there were no intestines at all.

or a body.

yet there was always a new broadcast

it wasn’t an exaggeration that everyone has been looking over their shoulders whenever the shadows looked a bit longer than usual. when the air starting churning and crackling. when the sudden sound of screaming ripped through the air. it was a natural hell-born reflex to flinch at the slightest noise of static.

a conditioning technique his radio broadcasts seemed to involuntarily instill on sinners.

you’ve never seen this so called ‘radio demon’ in person before. well, barely have been able to escape him and tell the tale so you weren’t sure what to look for.

or look out for. all you knew is that his name was alastor. and that whenever you heard that name you blood ran cold and your body stiffened.

tour mind would ring and your head would pound as you try to remember just where you’ve heard that name before.

yet your memory always failed you.

but alcohol never did.

seated at a bar as noisy club music blasted, you trace your finger longingly on the rim of your shot glass. eyes already drooping as your wrist which was keeping your head propped up started to ache.

you wouldn’t call yourself an alcoholic per say. more of a,,, continuous connoisseur. which was surprising due to the  hellish prices on everything here.

it’s not eternal damnation unless there’s a 5% sales tax plus gruitivity.

so instead of working your ass off to make a living, you’ve decided: ‘hey, it’s hell! i can do whatever i want (to an extent) and so i choose to scam men!!’

with every new bar came a new rotation of men looking to take up the empty seat next to you. you puffed your chest as you recalled a few women and non conforming folks take the seat sometimes.

you always made sure to… entertain them.

feeling a familiar pit in your stomach, you pause your hand. the coldness of the shot glass cooling your hot lips as the animal man next to you howls with laughter. the alcohol hitting his system like a firecracker.

and like clock work, his hand slipped around your waist, as he whispered filthy nothings you didn’t bother to catch, having heard it all before. even the sweet begging to take out to one of the many sex rooms the club has.

yet he dragged you towards the exit.

and you allowed him.

you thought it comically ironic that you were doing just the thing that punched your ticket down here.

the bitter cold nipped at your skin and tickled your brain. you were always so confused with the temperature of hell. freezing at night, scorching during the day.

even he’ll hated the homeless. who knew 🤷🏻

in the alley next to the club the animal man was biting and clawing at you. panting and speaking gibberish as his clumsy movements seemed to cause a new line of blood on your skin. you couldn’t do much to stop it.

limbs and eyes heavy as you tried focusing on him, on his wandering hands, his filthy mouth.

you wanted to go home.

he favored ignoring your sluggish mumbling and groans to comment about ‘wanting to fuck you nice and hard, giving you a few kits to remember him by.’

your clothes were practically in shreds. the chill in the air adding a faux impression of clarity as your arms started to weakly bang against him.

you didn’t even think he noticed as your fists wouldn’t even make it to his chest. you were so weak right now.

the only reason you weren’t crumpled on the ground as because he were pinning your entire body to the wall.

yet the inconsistent grip he had on you caused you to ping pong a bit.

“s stowp” you slurred, head lolling down as you felt his claws stop momentarily. he let out a cackle that rang through your eyes and rattled your brian stem.

fuck. you hissed. this is gonna one shit of a hang over

the drunk broke your thoughts as he continued his drunken rambles.

“the moment you took the sshhhot” spit flew in your face “i paid for… you were mine” he pushed his face in your neck, the hotness of his breathe sending distressed shivers down your body. urging your body to WAKE UP

yet he kept you pinned. you head looked to the side when tears started streaming down your face and with a big, slimy lick he greedily lapped them up.

you started struggling once his claws moved to your legs.

fuck fuck fuck you fucked up. you fucked up. why did you think this was a good idea, you knew something bad was going to happen. why didn’t you just listen to your gut. why didn’t you just take his watch and turn to the next man. why did you entertain him.

why did you let him buy you that drink.

“angel shot” had different meanings for the orderer.

if a woman ordered it, then security would either beat the shit or kill the demon she pointed out. (whether the staff respected women or just wanted an excuse to get blood on their hands, was a topic you often avoided thinking about)

but, if a man orders it… he wants to take a woman to the heavenly gates of sovereignty himself.

that last part is often open to interpretation.

nothing ever got done about these drinks. you were in hell after all. you think the politicians would ban something they invited?

the sting of his drool on an open, bloody bite mark on your collarbone ripped you from the sanctuary of your minds palace as his glowing yellow pierced into yours.

in an instant you felt nails digging into the flesh of your bruised and battered neck. blood dripped from your neck and onto your body as he squeezed harder.

black spots danced across your vision, followed by white, then purple, then red.

“help” you choked out, head lolling to the alley way as people walked by, not even phased. it was just an average day in hell after all.

the arm that wasn’t trying to put distance between you and him was heavily reaching out towards the street. hoping anyone, anything would come save you from your fuck up.

“get ready to meet god, bitch” he growled, hands-

there was a squelching noise as his breathe stilled. you dropped to the ground, hard. as he let go of you. his clawed hands fell limp to his sides. his face was blank as he staggered back.

“w-what” he stuttered, arms shakily moving to his stomach- well, what used to be his stomach- as a black tendril was impaling him.

you couldn’t move, couldn’t even stand or lift your eyes to see the scene before you. your heart beat was slow, yet thunderous in your ears. it’s thump almost made you miss the pleading, miss the screams of absolute anguish as the sound of flesh tearing and static and laughter filled the air. miss the way his head rolled in your direction before a dark, clawed hand reached from the hands and snatched it back.

it felt like hours before someone came up to you. but realistically, it was only a few seconds before you felt something hard and metal touch your head. only for the oddly shaped stick to wrap around your hair and yank your head up.

you groaned at the pain, eyes droopy as you struggled to stay conscious. you wouldn’t have been able to fight even if you wanted to.

paralyzing fear that washed over you like a tsunami, RUN. a voice spoke. yet you couldn’t even breath automatically. that job becoming harder and harder with each passing second. you couldn’t forget about the possibility of broken bones after… your viscous assault.

so you had no choice but to stay pliant to the new player in the game. 

“well well well” your eyes snapped up, your eyes met the abyss as a ferocious, crazed grin greeted you.

“it seems you carried over that habit of keeping… bad company he mused. although there was a hint of amusement in his radio voice, you knew there was nothing to laugh about.

he sighed before picking up the demons decapitated head by his hair. pushing it toward your face you were forced to smell him.

he pulled his staff- you- closer to the head, your upper body twisted uncomfortably as you were almost nose to nose with you.

a whine left your throat as alastor face came into your peripheral vision.

“what’s wrong? i thought you two were in the middle of something! but all means continue, i would hate to intrude”

he wasn’t talking about tonight. you knew that.

you felt your consciousness slip for a moment, only for a moment as a sharp sting penetrate your skull.

in a moments time the head was gone, but it was replaced by a dreaded sense of dejavú.

your brows widened as the face of pure, unadulterated fear contorted onto your face.

his grin only seemed to widen as his eyes crinkled harder.

“it seems someone remembers something. tell me miss y/n” he leaned closer, some kind of indigenous symbols started to crackle and float around him.

“tell me what you remember” he sneered, radio voice growling as his horn stretched out longer than before.

your mouth was dry, yet your tears were bountiful as your body’s natural reactions took over.

you were petrified. alastor knew this as you inhaled the intoxicating scent of terror that cling to you like perfume as you struggled to speak.

he hummed in what sounded like disappointment. but you were never sure what he was feeling as that damned smile was always glued on his face. even now.

he stepped away as he dropped your head, luckily your arms were positioned as the perfect pillow for your head to fall onto.

“since that cat has clearly stolen your tongue” he mused, briefly looking to the furry body he just… exterminated. he got bigger. horns growing even linger from his head, like branches from a tree, his already deformed limbs cracked and snapped like twigs as they went in all they grew longer, and larger in thr wrong directions.

you hadn’t thought it possible, but his smile grew larger, sharper as more teeth were revealed. pointy, yellow stained teeth with chunks of flesh and fur still in them smiled at you.

you were scared.

scared for you life-

your soul.

you wanted an escape.

giving up on physical escape meant the only place safe was your mind. yet even there he still resides.

yet his limbs weren’t twisted and broken, his voice wasn’t shrouded in statics and his hair most certainly wasn’t red.

you gasped.

alastor.

his face deepened.

“so you’ve remembered…”

you were shaking, visibly shaking as you saw two of him.

one with full teeth and brown eyes and hair… the other…

monstrous, nightmarish. hell-ish

why’d you think you could escape him, why’d you think you’d get mercy in your afterlife, when you didn’t revive any in your past life.

you didn’t wanna die by the same man twice.

alastor, who could practically read your mind inched his face down further

“don’t worry little one, i do not plan on making the same mistake twice.” like a flicker of a candle his demonic form turned into his human form. though you must have imagined or hallucinated it. as the thing was still there.

yet with each passing moment his horns subdued into his head. his grin downgraded into a smile as the symbols slinked out of existence one by one.

“i was quite… emotional back then.” he pet your hair, instantly stopping your shaking. he pretended it wasn’t because you were scared stiff.

“i didn’t know how to react when i heard you had a midnight rendezvous with the librarians son. it broken my heart” he sniffles, eyes slowly turning back into red slits.

“it saddened me, woed me to do what i had to do.” he sighed. you felt a punch to your gut as his personality did a compete 180.

“i never wanted to… yet you left me in a tricky situation” he shook his head sadly, palm against his cheek to empathize his sadness.

“but!” he said, a smile on his face as he pointed up. “i know it wasn’t your fault, that boy had been ogling you far too long so i did the only thing i thought that was fitting.”

his free hand opened his palm, showing you a faux image of smoke and mirrors, a woman and a man.

they looked around before they noticed each other. you could tell what their relationship was by how they ran to each other.

before they could reach each other, he crumpled his fist, nails digging into his glove as his slits narrowed.

“i ate you heart”

—

1-800-662-4357 - addiction hotline.

*as the author I feel obligated to write this : reader is an alcoholic but they can’t see that they are. due to having friends struggle with this i’m telling you guys straight out. that reader is addicted to alch so that part isn't up to interpretation. it’s very serious and very isolating, please think about your friends and families before you go down this path. voluntarily or involuntarily. addiction isn’t fun or even remotely ‘cool.’ the more serious talks we have about addiction instead of crossing it out as 'something only dirty people do' and start seeing it for the monster it truly is; is the day we will get as a society. although i didn’t struggle with alcohol addiction, i was victim to another kind that plagues me to this day, so please take my advice and make smart choices.

this also extends to self destructive behaviors, like what reader is doing

personally, i think alastor is some kind of ace / demiromantic

out of all the things I was gonna write to come back, I never would've thought it was gonna be a hazbin hotel imagine. let alone an alastor x reader one.

[maoam]

Naruto most likely sees how the world around him works, and it affects his behaviour, especially since he craves for acceptance.

Notice the difference in his reaction when another guy says he likes him in part 1 vs part 2.

(Sorry for a bit poor quality, it was difficult to find an accurate translation, most were viz translations which didn't convey this convo very well). In part 1 he's just annoyed, because he doesn't like Kankurou as a person. He didn't even think about that "I like you" could have certain other implications. But in part 2 he's straight up creeped out by Kakashi saying the same thing, eventhough the meaning and intention is the same in both.

Naruto's reaction to Kurama mentioning his kiss with Sasuke was also way too over the top. Like really comical. Naruto was putting on a show in front of everyone. But whenever he's with Sasuke, he forgets all about this, he is fine with waxing poetry to Sasuke, or Sasuke being close to him...

My guess is since he went through puberty he also learned things about himself and thus started to become more sensitive to such things. Thus internalized homophobia.

Take this scene for example. He seems a bit uncomfortable being there. Sai was probably made to be like this (inappropriate, talking about p*nis all the time, being compared to Sasuke, challenging Naruto about his fixation on Sasuke) so Kishi could introduce more such themes into the manga. He's rather clever about this.

Another guess (it could be both combined) would be that since Jiraiya is so aggressively straight man (to the point he has to introduce himself by saying he's not into men lol) living with him for those years during the timeskip could have affected Naruto's mindset even more. But it's funny how Kishi keeps stressing over and over how Naruto finds Jiraiya's er*tic books boring. Also unlike Jiraiya who peeps on women for p*rverted reasons, Naruto does it as a prank, and in order to practice his oiroke no jutsu. Kishi is trying to show how they are different. I remember on one discussion forum one guy actually brought up he noticed Naruto's changed behaviour after he came back with Jiraiya! Like that he was even more gay and more sensitive to gay things. See, other people notice too.

Then he calls Konohamaru's boy-on-boy jutsu "nasty". Naturally, it's a shonen, Naruto can't have a comically interested reaction like Sakura to something like that, it wouldn't fly. Thus the internalized homophobia. But I also think he didn't want to see Sasuke who he's possessive over being with Sai like that lol. And Naruto really isn't one to talk considering what he came up with later.

Look how proud he looks. Little hypocrite. He's been working on those twink bods more than rasengan lol. Kishi wasn't very subtle with that comment. Also Kishi fought for this moment with his editors for YEARS because he just really needed to write this down. It was just that important to him...

Of course Naruto's repression comes up when it comes to Sasuke as well. Here he admits Sasuke is attractive, but then immediately backpedals on it. His real feelings just slipped.

Later, he was thinking about Sasuke, his mind consumed by Sasuke, but when Sakura and Sai appear his whole body language changes and he immediately claims he was thinking about a date with Sakura. He didn't want to be vulnerable nor let anyone know about his real feelings at the moment. He is hiding behind a heterosexual facade.

But sometimes Naruto doesn't even think of backpedaling on it. He is with his supposed "crush" yet unlike anyone else who would try to get closer or maybe flirt, he is just thinking about Sasuke. This is actually a moment that made many people raise their eyebrows. Including people who didn't like narusasu, or people who didn't ship anything. Specifically because it's written like a clickbait, as in Naruto says "he is happy" and Sakura going "huh?" and because she's his supposed crush who is taking care of him as I said most readers would expect next page have Naruto say something that would emphasize his crush on Sakura. But no, he goes on about Sasuke. No matter how much ss/nh insist we see gay everywhere, many other people picked up on Kishi's writing at many points during the story. But anyway, even with the internalized homophobia, Naruto's love for Sasuke is so strong he can say crazy things about Sasuke to other people and to Sasuke himself that things like "I'm starting to like you" (a completely average thing to say to another person) can't compare to, and still be unbothered by it.

Finally there is the interaction with Minato. Naruto wants to look good in front of his dad so he hesitantly agrees Sakura is his girlfriend, despite how in the previous arc we were shown that Naruto knew Sakura still likes Sasuke, and was angry at her when she tried to confess to him. So he is obviously not serious about Sakura being his girlfriend, but he is saying it to Minato hesitantly. Yet when his dad is leaving he doesn't want to lie anymore.... but he's also hesitant about admitting he hasn't found a girl like his mom wanted.

About the last part, I think it's referring to the armadillo scene? I think it was Kishi's typical humour, like how Naruto saw Haku in makeup and feminine clothing, and assumed Haku was a girl, but then was told Haku is a boy and went "oh okay, I didn't know that kind of thing existed". Here there was instead an armadillo that somehow looked like it was wearing makeup (??? idek or at least looked feminine) and since Naruto needed to write down whether the animals were boys or girls (a ridiculous cover up mission they made up to hide the war was going on from Naruto lol) but then it was flipped over with everyone else and Naruto saw its p*nis and went "even if heaven and earth switched places, a male is still a male". I guess Kishi likes this kind of thing lol... his d*ck jokes...

I know it says "the world might flip over" here but I know it's actually that proverb "even if heaven and earth switched places" that's often used in Japanese.

EDIT: this got flagggged by tumblr so I had to edit sus words.

[itsmarsss]

To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before AU: Chapter 1 - Out [Eli “Hawk” Moskowitz x fem!Reader] (Cobra Kai)

You have been writing these love letters since seventh grade, but what happens when they somehow get sent out?

Warnings: high school (lol i wrote this one when i was in high school but im rewriting it now that im like three years out of it so it feels weird and i feel like it warrants a warning, definitely senior year tho.), hardcore crushing on miguel, mentions of a crush on moon so if ya don’t like women too then idk, uhh mention of smoking weed.

Word Count: 4,060

Your letters were your most prized possessions: yours, and yours only.

You wrote one when you had a crush so intense you felt like you needed to snap out of it or otherwise you’d collapse.

So, you wrote letters to try to find closure. Intricately detailed letters that contained every single unfiltered thought and embarrassing feeling you could find in yourself. Everything you noticed about them, everything you wished you had with them, everything you wanted to say but couldn’t.

It started a long while ago.

You never sent them, of course. That idea was completely off the table. They remained stored inside the little blue box with the white ribbon buried deep in the back of your closet, from where you would occasionally take them just to read them again and reminisce on the thoughts a younger version of you once had about all those different people.

They were all properly sealed, stamped and addressed in pretty cursive letters, but never, ever posted.

They were six in total, addressed to five different people.

The first one ever written had been for Eli, from seventh grade. Adorable little Eli, who was one of the biggest nerds you’d ever seen, always too shy to talk around others, but who would go on excitedly about a tv show or a comic book series he liked for hours around you after getting paired for a project got him to warm up to you.

Adorable little Eli, who trembled like crazy before kissing you in a dumb game of spin the bottle, right before running home crying because some girl thought it would be hilarious to comment on how she wouldn't have let him kiss her with "that mouth" if she were you. You, in turn, couldn't feel more different from that bullshit comment of hers after that messy seventh grade first kiss that lasted barely a couple seconds but fed your crush on him for months on end after.

That letter was followed by a new one, addressed also to him, but the new him this time around, many years later, in your sophomore year- to Hawk, not Eli. However that worked.

To Hawk, who had decided to “flip the script”, as he called it, by changing his entire aesthetic and his whole demeanor, showing up to school on a random day with a blue dyed mohawk and a brand new attitude. You liked it.

Confident Eli seemed happier even though he sometimes acted like a bit of an asshole and, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, he looked really, really hot. He was still Eli, but this Eli wasn’t afraid to flirt with you, which evoked brand new feelings in you.

Therefore, a new letter.

The second letter you ever wrote was addressed to Demetri, from eight grade, who you met around the same time as Eli.

Demetri, who would talk to you about superheroes and binary language and would be so excited about it that you didn’t care to tell him you couldn’t understand a word of what he said.

Demetri, who was so kind as to go to your house to help you with your part on the biology project you were partnered with him in because he knew it was stressing you out, who would offer to tutor you when you told him you were having a hard time with a subject he was good at at school, and who you got closer to when randomly put in many classes together.

The third letter you ever wrote was addressed to Robby Keene, who you became closer to after ditching the homecoming dance in your freshman year to hang out by yourself at the bleachers, despite Sam and Aisha’s protests, only to find out it apparently was Robby Keene’s favorite smoking spot.

Apparently high school dances could be pretty lame, no matter what all high school movies from the 80's had been telling you all your life. You had asked if you were interrupting something when you noticed his presence and he told you it depended on whether you'd be snitching on him or not, and suddenly freshman homecoming didn't suck all that much anymore, because you managed to make friends with the most unlikely acquaintance you could ever have.

Robby, who at fourteen years old got detention for threatening to beat up the kids who made you cry because they kept making fun of you during a presentation, which was about substance abuse, ironically.

The fourth one had been written to Moon, who you used to despise because she used to hang out with Yasmine- who, for the longest time, had loved to pick on you and your friends- especially Eli and Demetri.

But Moon, who turned out to be so sweet after she started doing and saying things for herself as opposed to whatever her friends wanted her to and started hanging out with your friend group.

Moon, who would excitedly invite you to sleep overs and braid your hair as you gossiped about people you barely knew from school, who would do your makeup for you and take you shopping and call you pet names platonically, making you blush furiously and putting you in the verge of short-circuiting by being so casually affectionate now that you’d become friends.

And, lastly, the most recent one had been written to Miguel Diaz, of course.

Miguel, who was your best friend in the whole entire world, ever since he moved to Reseda and you first befriended him at school.

Miguel, who was currently dating Sam, who you’d drifted apart from, but couldn’t for the life of you hold a grudge against.

Yeah, Miguel.

But before he became Sam’s boyfriend, he was your boyfriend. Well… boy-friend. A boy who was a friend. And things were good as they were.

But then things started changing.

Things started changing when Miguel asked Sam out and you realized you didn’t like that. When the first thing he did when he got home was to tell you all about it, and you felt a pit in your stomach as he went on about how well things had gone.

Until you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore and had to face the reality that the reason it all made you feel so awful was that you were jealous.

It was even worse to figure out why: as much as you could try to lie to yourself and pretend you were just jealous that she was spending time with your best friend, you knew you had to face it: it all came down to the simple fact that you were in love with him.

You didn’t know when it happened, or what was the turning point for that, but you were. Utterly and irredeemably.

And, in hindsight, it seemed obvious.

But then they started dating, and they didn’t want you to feel left out, so they would you and Aisha everywhere, which made things so much worse.

And then they broke up, and things got, somehow, even weirder. Now it was all you and Miguel again, and, even after all of that, you still had those stupid feelings for him. But you weren’t a complete bitch, or insensitive. You’d never make a move, you’d just have to live with it.

Which didn’t mean there was nothing you could do about it: you decided to try to put an end to it, your own way.

Hence, how letter number six came to be. Signed, addressed, stamped, sealed and stored in the blue box under all the others.

Maybe after this you’d be able to move on. Maybe after this things would go back to normal. How you craved for things to go back to how they used to be.

It seemed reasonable enough to just wait on your feelings to die out.

But a certain day came when then Eli- well, Eli, who was Hawk now, marched up to you in the middle of your gym class.

“Y/n?” He called your name, and you stopped running your laps, turning around to face him, eyebrows knit together in confusion. What was Hawk doing in your gym class?

You let him approach you. “What’s wrong?”

“Look, I appreciate it but it’s… not gonna happen. Like, you know we’re friends, and you know I'm still like… hung up on Moon, or whatever. Right? I know the power of the Hawk’s pretty irresistible,” he smirked, quickly going back to his stern expression, “but you should cut it out.”

You really had no idea what the hell he could be possibly talking about. “Dude… what?”

“C’mon you don’t have to play dumb, it’s cool that you think my scar makes me look cute or whatever but like. I uh. Don’t have any feelings for you now.” Wait, what did he say about the scar? He kept on. “And like it’s- it’s pretty cool that you liked me before and now too but this would just- this would be weird. You know that, right?”

You just weren't getting it.

And then you saw it: in his hand, signed, addressed and stamped, were two open envelopes with two different names written on them in your best cursive handwriting. Fuck.

“Hey- woah are you alright? You look like you're gonna pass out.”

You felt like you were going to pass out. You couldn’t even form a sentence in the midst of your shock.

And then, Miguel came into your line of sight. Because of course things had to get worse.

“There’s no fucking way,” you muttered, incredulous. He was walking up to you, a red envelope in hand.

The letters got out the letters got out the letters got out.

He looked confused. He obviously, and much understandably, wanted answers. Answers you’d much rather get hot by a bus than giving him.

This could not be your fucking life.

“No, no, no, no, no, oh, my god,” you looked around frantically as he got closer, trying to figure out what to do. Hawk surely thought you were crazy now.

And then Miguel made eye contact with you and he had that fucking look of pity on his face and you panicked. And so you did the first thing that came to your short-circuiting mind, which was possibly the dumbest thing you could have thought to do: apparently all you managed to think of was jumping Hawk, tackling him to the ground and kissing him in the middle of gym for Miguel to see.

How maturer and over him you were! Incredible!

The kiss was over as soon as it happened, and you pulled away as Hawk stared at you with two wide eyes and shock all over his face.

You could sympathize with the guy- getting this as a reaction to your rejection was probably really confusing.

More important things going on, though. You got a glance of Miguel stopping in his tracks at your little theatrics, making you realize it definitely didn’t do anything other than make things more awkward for you.

“Uh. Thanks. Sorry or… whatever. I’ll see you in bio!” You told Hawk, patting his chest before standing up and booking away from him, running past Miguel way too quickly for him to be able to approach you and ignoring his call of your name, and locking yourself in one of the stalls of the closest bathroom you were able to find, trying every single breathing exercise you’ve ever come across to calm yourself down.

This was it. Miguel hated you, surely.

No, worse: he pitied you. Because obviously he didn't feel the same and obviously receiving a love letter so embarrassingly honest from his closest friend was weird. Now your friendship was going to be weird, and it was all you fau-

“Y/n? Are you in there?”

No. No. No, no, no, no, no, no. This can't be happening, there was no way.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

Goddamn Robby Keene.

“Oh my god,” you muttered to yourself. Maybe willing him away in your mind would alter reality so he wasn’t there in the bathroom with you.

If only it were that easy.

Resting your head in your hands as you tried to convince yourself this was some sort of nightmare, you heard a noise come from really close to you and opened your eyesto the pink envelope being slid under the stall to you.

“I thought you’d want it back. Seemed pretty personal.”

“Robby, holy shit, I’m so sorry. You do know I wrote this like years ago, right?” He had to have figured that out, didn’t he? You weren’t even close anymore.

“Yeah! Like freshman year right? When we smoked together while everyone was at the dance.” He didn't seem to be mocking you, didn't seem to be angry. Just pointing it out. You sighed and opened the stall door, deciding facing Robby wouldn't be as bad as facing Miguel. You walked out.

“Yeah it was- it was pretty cool. Better than whatever was going down in the dance.”

“Yeah, I taught you how to smoke that day!” He smiled. “Thinking back on it makes me think you shouldn’t have been hanging out with me back then, actually,” he points out.

You could only let out a small laugh. “I guess not.”

“Look, I don’t know why you decided to send this but uh. I feel like I should tell you that Sam and I are like. Together.”

They were? “Oh. Right! Duh. Obviously. I knew that.” You most definitely did not know that. “I don’t know how this got out, really. I never meant for you to actually see this.”

“Look, we can still be friends. You’re pretty cool. Even with… you know…” he motioned vaguely, “the whole Cobra Kai thing”

“Okay! Yeah, definitely.” He was only being polite, because that’s how he is. But this was much better than having him think you were trying to get with him. You let out a nervous laugh. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.”

Jesus fuck.

[. . .]

You looked everywhere. Everywhere. The stupid fucking blue box just wasn't anywhere. You tried asking your mom about it, but her answer was short and simple: It probably went with the Goodwill box you’d made last week.

How, you couldn’t figure out, but it seemed to be the only slightly plausible possibility.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. That meant there were five people out there total, five people you still saw every single day, who you were friends with, who had received a fucking love letter with your name signed all pretty on it.

This was hell, it had to be.

You were sure of it when you heard a knock on your front door, accompanied by Miguel’s voice calling your name.

Shit, shit, shit, you were not ready to have this conversation. Why did he have to be your next door neighbor on top of everything? It had always been convenient to live so close to each other, but right now it seemed everything but.

So you did what any sane, responsible person would do: you got out by the kitchen window. Naturally.

Miguel would think you just weren't home.

Again, very mature and totally normal and over it of you.

You decided someone would probably be at the dojo and the last thing you wanted right now was to accidentally encounter someone else who had a letter by surprise. You figured it was too early for someone to be at the diner nearby, so there you went.

You ordered yourself a milkshake and tried to reason with yourself. You couldn't avoid Miguel forever. He’s obviously find a way to talk to you at some point. And then what would you do? Admit you were in love with him even though to him you were just best friends? Let him tell Sam you were in love with her (well, at-the-time) boyfriend? Get politely rejected by him and go around pretending being pitied by him for not being corresponded wasn’t pathetic? It all seemed to come down to terrible endings.

You were so lost in thought you didn't notice him sit beside you at the counter until he spoke up, ordering some fries.

Oh, shit.

Hawk.

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, annoyed.

“Went by your place. Miguel said you weren't there. Things felt preetty awkward I’ll be honest with you. But you weren't at the dojo either so I thought I’d find you here.”

“Okay. And why did you wanna find me, exactly?”

“Look I just wanna make it double clear that nothing’s gonna happen between us. Nada.”

“Eli Moskowitz I am not trying to date you.”

He seemed to cringe at his own given name, but didn’t complain out loud about it. “Then why would you write me a love letter?”

“It was in 7th grade!”

“No, you talk about me as Hawk though.”

“Last year! Right when you did… that,” you motioned vaguely to his mohawk.

“Okay I hear you but like. Your mouth is saying one thing… but then your mouth said… something… else. To my mouth. Directly.”

“What? Ew!”

“You jumped me!”

“I was panicking! And I’m like, actually sorry.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

You let out a sigh, defeated. “Miguel was walking over.”

“And?”

“And he also got one of those,” you motioned with your head at the letter in Hawk’s hand, “and I cannot deal with that right now.”

His expression shifted. “Wait, I’m not the only one who got a letter?”

“No.”

“Huh. You really think you’re special.”

“Are you not, like, surprised about Miguel?”

“Oh, no, it was pretty obvious. But damn you get a love letter and think you’re the man but then you find out she wrote to another guy too?”

“Oh there’s six of them, so don’t go feeling too special.”

“Six of them?”

You then realize you’d spoken too much. He doesn’t need to know all of this. “Nevermind.”

“Damn y/n, fuck yeah, you're a player! Who were they for?”

“No one! It’s none of your business.”

“Come on, I deserve to know! You did kinda jump me in front of a bunch of people.”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“I mean I wouldn't- I wouldn't want people to find out you think my scar looks hot. Or that when you look at me you think about ‘kissing the annoying smirk off my lips’- I mean who knows what guarantees you don’t have a tattoo of my face on your ass-”

That was embarrassing enough. “Okay shut up! Shut up. Fine, if you wanna know so bad. So two for you. Then uh. Demetri, in-”

“You had a crush on Demetri?”

You kept on. “Then Robby Keene, on freshman year.”

“What, do you have a thing for LaRusso’s boyfriends or…?”

“How did you know they were together? I didn’t know!”

He just shrugged, and you continued. “And then there was uh-” you glanced at him and back to your milkshake. “Moon, after she uh. Started dating you, and hanging out with us.”

He let out a snort. “Right.”

“Sorry. I uh- I know she broke up with you-”

“What, are you gonna make a move on her? Is this what you have a thing for, crushing on your friends’ partners?”

“No. And you asked me about it!”

He looked sorry. He didn’t say it. He sighed. “Fine. Is that everyone?”

“With Miguel, yeah, that’s everyone.”

“Okay. I was the only one to get two letters though.”

You rolled your eyes at the comment. Of course he’d make this be about feeding his ego. The two of you finished your food in an awkward silence before he spoke up again. “Did you walk here?”

“Yeah.”

“You want a ride?”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s fine.”

“Okay.” After paying, you walked outside, getting on his motorbike. He surrendered his only helmet to you.

Holding onto his waist the whole time after all this was definitely weird but you didn’t let yourself think about it too much, instead thinking about a bigger issue: you really, really hoped Miguel wouldn’t be there when you got home. You got to the parking lot, getting off the bike, taking off the blue helmet and handing it back to him. “How do you even put this on with your hair?” You questioned.

He laughed. “I just like. Push it back.”

“But how does it not ruin it?”

He shrugged. “Power of the Hawk.” He smirked, full of himself.

“Oh, come on. I bet you walk around with a little bottle of hair gel so you can fix it when you take it off.”

“Magician never reveals his secrets-” he looked off at something behind you that caught his attention. You furrowed your eyebrows together in confusion, turning around to see what it was.

Miguel. He hadn't noticed your presence yet, but there was no way he wasn’t going to.

What do you do now? You felt paralyzed.

Hawk seemed to think of something before you could. He placed his helmet on the handle of the bike, very obviously making sure to make noise with it to attract attention, and leaned in, pulling you into a kiss. A… rather passionate one.

He pulled away, wordlessly leading you in the direction of your front door. You got the hint, walking to your place without turning around, and unlocking the door. He pushed you in and closed the door behind him with his foot, loudly. You stayed like that, with him leaning on the door and your bodies flushed together, in silence, trying to listen if Miguel was walking towards your door or not. After a couple seconds, you figured he was not, and you pulled away from him.

“Sorry,” he looked at the floor, sheepish. An usual sight for the new him. “First thing that came to mind.”

“Why is jumping each other the first thing that we think of when we panic?” You laughed.

Hawk laughed along, more at ease knowing you weren’t mad at him. “You did it first.”

You sat down on your couch, but he stayed standing. “Sorry to pull you into this. And thank you for helping out just now. Think I’ll just pity myself ‘till I sleep and then die of embarrassment tomorrow when I see him or something. You can go if you want.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll- yeah.” He started walking to the door, but stopped midway, turning around to face you again. “Hey what if-” he tried to find the words to explain his idea- “um- he probably thinks we’re dating right? Or at least hooking up, or something. I mean, after all the kissing… and stuff.”

“Shit. Yeah. I’ll clear things up, sorry-”

“No! What if- what if we let him?”

“What… do you mean?”

“What if we let him think we’re dating? And not just him. Everyone else too.”

“Why would we do that?”

“So he won’t think you're in love with him!”

“I’ll rephrase it then. Why would you do that?”

“I mean you know- you know I’m still really into Moon. Maybe we could make her… want what she can’t get?”

“You think that would work? On Moon?”

He just shrugged. “Maybe.”

“So you’re suggesting we fake-date.”

“I guess.”

“Have you never seen a movie with a fake dating trope? Doesn't end well.”

“What, you think you’ll catch feelings?” He opened his signature grin, and you sighed, annoyed.

“I’m just saying it’s probably gonna blow up on our face eventually.”

“Why? We can just pretend to date for like a couple weeks. And then we break up or whatever.”

“I’m not-” This could not be a good idea. Could it? “Look I’ll- I’ll think about it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

[. . .]

Miguel, Miguel, Miguel. Miguel seemed to be what occupied your thoughts the most. No matter how absurd the amount of drama you were going through was, your thoughts always came back to him.

But the night after the letters got out… it wasn't like that. Eli Moskowitz- well, Hawk, hadn’t been in your head all that much ever since you got over the last crush you had on him a couple years ago. But now Miguel wasn't the only thing in your head anymore, weird of a way as everything else had come into your thoughts.

So you decided.

A/N: in all honesty im only rewriting this because im in a bit of a slum and i almost deleted this off of my ao3 bc of how terribly written the original chapters are lol so idk here’s something someone might like i guess. I won’t be in any rush to post the chapters of this whatsoever, scandalous is 100% my priority this is just for some piece of mind bc I know I’m better than the shitty writing in the original version of this lol

[yelenasdiary]

I had a random idea for a fic and just wanted the share! Basically Florence meets R at a meet and greet type thing and notices the cuts on her arm and reaches out after the meet and greet? Just an idea 💕 Sending love and if your not comfortable with this request that’s okay!

A Little Change

Pairing: Florence Pugh x Reader 

Summary: Meeting Florence at a comic con was a dream come true & being so caught up in the moment, you weren’t aware that Florence saw how much you were struggling. 

Angst, Comfort

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm & cuts, Depression | 1.4K

AC: Please only read this if you are comfortable! My asks/dms are always open for anybody who needs somebody to talk too, even if you just need to scream! I’m sending everybody love and hugs! I used reference from another message Flo sent to a lucky fan and tweaked it a little! I hope you enjoy x 

Nerves filled your body as you waited patiently in line to be the next person to meet one of your idols. You've been counting down to this moment since your local comic con announced the guest line up. 'Florence Pugh'in black bold letters making your heart skip a beat as you make sure to set a timer on your phone for when the tickets went on sale. It was no doubt one of the most stressful 20 minutes of your life when they went on sale, but luck was on your side, and you were able to buy a meet and greet token as well as an autograph token. 

"Please place your phone in the basket" the security spoke kindly to you. Professional photos were being taken and mobile phones weren't allowed in the room, you didn't care though. You were meeting Florence Pugh in a matter or seconds. You placed your phone in the small basket and smiled softly at the security guard. 

"Don't be nervous" he said, catching you slightly off guard. "She's lovely, you'll love every second of it" he added. 

"Thank you" you replied with another soft smile just as the photographer called for the next person, you. 

The security guard spread open the curtain for you as your eyes saw the first glimpse of Florence who was wearing a pink tank cropped tee with denim jeans finished with a white and light pink striped shirt. She smiled warmly at you as you nervously walked up to her. 

"Hi! What's your name?" she asked in her thick, raspy British accent. 

"Hi!" you smiled, "I'm Y/n" you added. 

"I'm Florence! It's lovely to meet you, Y/n" she smiled before embracing you in a welcoming hug. She smelt of vanilla hint of floral citrus, no doubt it was probably one of the many Valentino perfumes. The hug lasted longer than you thought, going into these events you knew the interactions would be short and sweet, two minutes at the most. 

"I just wanna say how much I love you in Little Women, but I will always love Black Widow!" you said once you were both looking at one another again, Florence's hands on your biceps as she smiled softly. 

"Thank you so much, I'm glad you love them" she replied, "I love your necklace, it's beautiful!" she added while eyeing off the gold necklace that had a heart pendant with the first letter of your name on it. "Oh this? it's just an old necklace I've had since forever" you chuckled, "but thank you!" you quickly added so you didn't sound rude.

"Shall we take a picture?" Florence asked, her smile never leaving her lips. Somehow Florence was able to make you forget that you were meeting somebody you looked up to a lot and more like you were just having out with a friend. Your nervous had disappeared and your smile only grew bigger knowing you'd never forget this event. 

The two of you turned to face the photographer, "Do you mind if I put my arm around you?" you asked out of respect. Florence nodded, "you're so kind for asking" she said before looking back towards the camera. "Do you mind if we pull a silly face?" you asked. Again, Florence nodded before the two of you pulled a goofy face as the photography's camera flashed it's bright light. 

Once the photo was taken, you turned to face Florence once more, accidentally dropping your paper token on the floor. As you reach down to grab it, Florence noticed the red cuts on your wrist. Out of respect she didn't say anything, but she couldn't understand why somebody as sweet as you was hurting so much. 

"Thank you so much for coming today, it was an honour to meet you" Florence smiled soft at you once more. "I should be thanking you! Coming all this way, it means a lot and I will remember this for the rest of my life" you replied.

"Oh, stop it! You're too kind!" Florence chuckled before embracing you in one last hug, "have a wonderful rest of your day!" she added. 

"I will! I'll see you again at the autograph table!" you smiled as you were being rushed out for the next person. 

----

Later that night after checking the comic con's website over and over for the uploads of the meet and greet photos, your photo was finally uploaded. Saving it to your phone and making it your new wallpaper, you decided to post it to Instagram. 

"yourusername: It was a dream meeting you today! Thank you so much!! @florencepugh" 

A smile tugged at your lips as you stared at the image on your phone before falling asleep. 

The morning sun warmly kissed your face as it crept into your bedroom through the crack in your curtain, waking you softly with its warmth. You groaned softly before stretching and reaching over to see what the time was. 10:45am in bold stare back at you until your eyes dropped to the notification that made your heart skip a beat. 

You read the notification to yourself a million times thinking you were just dreaming before you unlocked your phone and punched in your passcode. Your thumb hovered over the Instagram app for a moment before opening it. Your mind was racing as to why Florence would be messaging you, or how she even found your Instagram. There it was, 1 message notification and over 20 notifications from people liking and commenting on your meet & greet photo with Florence.

The blue tick next to Florence's name only made your heart beat faster knowing it was actually Florence and not just some poser or a fan page with a similar username. You took a moment to calm yourself before opening the message, curious as to why she was reaching out to you, it just felt like a dream.

-Florence Pugh:

Hey lovely! I hope it's okay I reach out like this…it was lovely meeting you yesterday, you're a very sweet and funny person! I hope to meet you again someday soon! 

I don't mean to overstep anything, but I noticed something that worried me when we met yesterday, and I just wanted to make sure you're okay and that you're not alone. 

I can understand how feeling low and broken can feel. It's so hard pulling yourself out of a pit when you feel like you're sat at the bottom of the pit. I just want to say I'm so sorry you feel this way and that you feel the need to self-harm. 

Sometimes I feel the same as you, I feel weak and broken and I don't know how to look up but I have learnt that the moment you sense yourself falling, you HAVE to kick your mind and body into a different gear. Moving your body will automatically release serotonin and will help your mood!

Make a happy playlist, add music from all around the world that makes you happy. Add to it daily, I do this when I am sad. 

You're human and sometimes we feel extremely happy and sometimes we feel extremely low. Learn to acknowledge that this happens and be kind to yourself. You're amazing, you deserve happiness, you deserve to love yourself, you deserve good friends, and you deserve to be a good friend. All these skills take years to learn about yourself, so I'm not expecting you to turn it around tomorrow! Just do a little bit a day. 

A little change here and there and most importantly, don't think of yourself as a screw up or that you're worthless! The world is at your fingertips! 

Can you promise me something? No matter how low and broken and weak you feel, always try and find something that you know will make you get up and move. Whether its doing a stupid dance to a song in your bedroom or walk around a park and see all the colours around you, cook something colourful, fresh and tasty! 

You're amazing, never forget that! 

All my love, 

Florence xx-

Her message brought tears to your eyes, leaving you speechless. You took a mental note on some of the tips that Florence mentioned. You promised not only Florence but yourself to try them when your thoughts got dark again, when you felt low and alone. You wanted the cuts on your arm would fade to scars, you wanted to be happy and overcome the darkness that had a hold over you. You wanted the next time you'd meet Florence you'd be able to tell her how far you've come and just how much you needed her message without even knowing it. 

All these things you mentioned in your reply, promising her that next time you both share a hug that you'll hug her a little tighter and thank her for being the inspiration and role model she is too you.

Taglist:  @marvelfan98 | @boredandneedfanfics | @marvelwomen-simp | @swaqcenix | @scarlettbitchx | @mallyka-blog | 

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[cyborgartalchemist2]

Imagine being so fucking aggressive about a ship you make jokes about Magneto and that very groomer scene from X-Men 97 that just... excuse the behavior? Because that doesn't sound very progressive in my opinion. Like yeah... rape culture in relationships just permeats fucking shipping but lets do nothing to argue against it. Lets make jokes that perpetuate the behavior and excuse men taking advantage of women.

To me having Magneto take advantage of a much younger mutant under his tutelage because she's desperate for physical connection and he's the only one she can touch is meant to showcase A) how Gambit contrasts Magneto and B) remind us that Magneto is never above using mutants for his own gains.

If this were reality most people would be calling Magneto a groomer and worse. We know Rogue was still a teen when Mystique took her in. We know that she's been an X-man for a few years. So Magneto was patient enough to wait until she turned 18?

Historically he hasn't done well with his love life. Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver's mom left him without telling him he fathered children because she was scared of him! (I'm only going on TAS and 97 here since this is an adaptation.) So where in the high heavens does everyome think he would be good for Rogue?

I don't care about the 'better than Remy' arguments because that's not the point! The point of who you ship Rogue with should be about if it's a relationship that is good for her! Is she their equal? Does she get treated with respect? Magneto looked at the Genosha council and without asking Rogue said "I'll lead but only if this woman I am trying to get back is my queen". LIKE DOES THAT EVEN SOUND MATURE? Magneto shows up, sees Gambit and Rogue being even mildly affectionate and starts pulling asshole moves on Rogue. And the narrative did nothing to make Rogue stand up for herself (which she would have) she should have told Erik "I'm a big girl I can get my own sugar for my coffee." She is shown numerous times to remind everyone she is no one's 'territory'.

Also wish to address the fact that making Rogue x Magneto comes with a 'sex is the only thing that matters!' Flavor that is exactly what so many of us are tired of in shipping. When did shipping stop being about the drama of a couple fighting against a narrative that pushes them apart or about finding love in the most unconventional of places, like alien hunting? And become solely about how nasty they can fuck? Seriously?

AND it's so blandly hetero it's not even funny. Because honestly the ways in which a couple can experience pleasure that don't involve traditional p in v penetration is vast and wild and there are enough types of gear and costumes and the like to facilitate that between Rogue and Gambit. Because that's all the argument has to stand on, is which man can fulfill her sexual needs. WHICH SHE HERSELF REALIZED WASN'T ENOUGH. She kisses Erik and goes "nope they're ain't any sparks there. This isn't going to be fulfilling ever."

Not to mention the fact that I can't genuinely see Magneto offering to die for Rogue. Sorry that grandstanding in Genosha was not the same. It was barely a heroic move... he still didn't save the Morlocks he promised to protect... he still failed. He couldn't save Leech and he couldn't stop the Sentinel either. Because yeah Magneto attempted to save Rogue and Gambit, but he did nothing to save the Morlocks at his side and he also survived without taking out the giant killer robot... but Gambit? Gambit said fuck it, gonna take this motherfucker to hell with me. He stopped Rogue from facing the sentinel so he could. And he actually stopped it. All on his own. Because that's what an x-man would do. Sure Magneto protectdd two people but sacrificed the morlocks yet again...

AND ON THE SUBJECT OF ROGUE x GAMBIT

Has Gambit always been great with Rogue? No, but that was the 90s and now look at how he handles shit? Comics writing has grown. It was a lot more heternormative and still had lots of rape culture hold overs in it.

Look at the episode when Cody shows up. He uses Rogue's connection to him from the past and then puts her in a situation that almost takes away her humanity. Her powers, which was what lured her into this trap in the first place, saved her from a man taking advantage of her. And the one time Gambit (in TAS) takes advantage of her, Morph in her form, told him to come and get some from her first. (So while he should have paused and woke Rogue up before kissing her, he had what he thought was an invitation.)

Gambit takes Rogue's decision to rule Genosha with Magneto incredibly well. He doesn't get mad, he doesn't call Rogue names, he doesn't do anyhting to hurt Rogue the way she is hurting him. He accepts it like a gentleman. Unlike Magneto who pursued Rogue's affections in unhealthy ways.

So uh... yeah that's my fucking rant.

[genericpuff]

Seeing how there only 10 episodes left do you think Rachel will rush the ending?

The way I see she needs to somehow resign Apollo reign, reawaken the God's, have Persophone defeat Kronos, have Persophone create Elysian, stop the entered winner/killing of nymphs and humans, hell we don't even know what is Leto end goal and what is her whole role in this series other than manipulating Apollo to be king. We don't even know what exactly she did with Zeus (but knowing Rachel she made Leto the other woman despite the fact she was another respectable goddess)

Imo I think Rachel is officially done done with her series and know her viewers are fed up with her constant milking of the series. You can even see it in some of her work where you know she just gave up (unless it's her self insert scenes)

On a side note another thing I should point out is the anti climax of Leuce and Thetis. Besides the fact she made Leuce another other woman the way she made Leuce expression during Persophone home Invasion made it look like she wasn't going to back down. Only for her to make be forgotten 3/4 of the final arc and is never mention again. Persophone didnt even ask Hades how does he even know Leuce. So unless Rachel has plans for her again that was the last time we saw her making that whole plot unless.

While Thetis plot.........

I'll be honest she just got a slap on a wrist and Rachel just insert Achilles as a way to bait her audience/trying to make a cultural reference. Tbh I thought Thetis would have a bigger story like fast-forward she believes she gotten everything she wanted and is now Queen only for the Trojan war occur and she only lost her status bur her son. Thus making the scene a poetic justic/tragedy.

I'll finish this off since I don't want to run my mouth about this series so here's my 2 cent. Rachel is putting to many Greek mythologies in her series that a) she has forgotten about characters b) everyone is now expecting her to have this series be all wrapped up in a nice bow when it actually be worse c) and because she has so many subplots they are left unresolved or unsatisfied

Oh, Persephone created Elysium already. It was literally just this LMAO

Okay in all honesty I don't know if that was actually meant to be Elysium, but I remember seeing people comment on the S2 finale when she was bee-burping at Kronos that she was creating Elysium at the same time as fighting Kronos and I just... yeah okay? But they literally haven't even name-dropped it since the trial. This is what I mean when I criticize Rachel's writing for depending WAY too much on reader headcanon, because not only will she just roll with whatever her fans theorize, she'll do so without actually writing it into the comic so unless you're in the FB groups and Discord, you're probably not gonna pick up on every little decision Rachel made because she's making them with half a thought and a quarter of the effort needed to express it. It means people can say whatever and she'll just take credit for it like "yeah! that was Elysium! totally! you get it! okay moving on-"

As for the Leuce thing, Hades deadass met Leuce when Zeus offered her up as a bride, which Zeus explained to Persephone during the S2 finale arc-

-but again it suffers from a lot of the same issues of Rachel not expanding on her ideas and just resolving them with some other random plot convenience. Why would Leuce be so obsessed with getting with Hades that she'd make up fake text messages? Rachel just really didn't want Hades to be interacting with other women in the 10 years that Persephone was gone, so she had to make Leuce delusional for it to work ?? Why would she go so far as to tell Hades about the text messages if they weren't real the whole time?

-but then of course before Hades can respond to this, Persephone interrupts, meaning the plotline can be put on the backburner until Rachel comes up with a solution to it-

-and then we got to see Persephone 'resolve' the issue by harassing Leuce in her home, and it was only until after THEN that Rachel finally went "no it's fine that Persephone vandalized her home, the text messages weren't real!!! see??? Leuce is just a delusional nimwit! She deserves it!"

And yeah the Thetis and Achilles thing is yet another 'plotline' that Rachel only introduced to try and legitimize her comic as a Greek myth retelling. Just about every myth she tries to portray is done vaguely and without any thought for the world they're inhabiting, it's all just lip service.

At the end of the day, a lot of the writing in LO is 1.) trying to make up for the lack of plot development in the first two seasons (hence why we're now getting sudden lore dumping about how the seasons work) and 2.) trying to make up for its lack of Greek myth set pieces because Rachel has now been openly called out for being arrogant in her 'knowledge' of Greek myth and it has people analyzing just how little Greek there is in this Greek myth "retelling". It's especially apparent in the second season when the whole thing is just self-insert fantasies about Hades and Persephone living together until the plot finally has to get moving again. Every now and then Rachel remembers that this is supposed to be a retelling, so she'll throw in some random Greek myth reference like the Colchian dragon or Aphrodite marrying Hephaestus or Thetis and Achilles.

It's very evident that Rachel never learned how to write a longform story or planned to make LO as long as it is and the story has suffered all the more for it. And it sucks because that's not the story I got onboard with back in 2019-2020, but that's where we are. Ironically, as much as I criticize LO for not having enough Greek myth influence in it, I do think the story would have been far better off if it just stayed as a cheesy office romance fluff fic. It's clearly what Rachel wanted to write but either she or WT (or both) got ahead of themselves and took on more than what LO - and Rachel - were equipped to follow through on.

[triptychgardener]

what are your thoughts on the idea of transmasc roxy in general

I have to say I've grown much less fond of the concept as time progresses. I think transmasc Roxy as it appears in postcanon feels like one of many moves made in the epilogues to specifically jab at certain parts of fandom, but in such an odd way that feels kind of hostile. Roxy being headcanoned as a trans girl goes so far back that it was a common heacanon in 2012! It's mentioned in a premier Homestuck history and backreading podcast (Homestuck Made This World). The XY in Roxy's name is literally referred to as CHROMOSOMAL in her intro! She refers to herself as a girl more than any other character in the comic! Hussie's earlier notes say that same-letter chumhandles (GG, TT) are girls, where the hetero-lettered chumhandles are boys (EB, TG). And then along come Roxy and Dirk, who have TT and TG as their own chumhandles! They're even noted as having their personalities be so much more like their opposite-gendered ancestors! So it feels like a. VERY distinctly odd choice to make Roxy in particular, of all characters, transmasculine. I don't want to say it's intentional, but it's odd. It also speaks to two trends I dislike about fandom trans headcanons specifically when it comes to Homestuck, but also elsewhere. 1. The idea that all characters are cis by default, and none of them could have been trans before the game. Saying that when Vriska Serket and Kanaya Maryam exist is essentially factually incorrect. It's disappointing ESPECIALLY because some of the best Homestuck fanon (and canon!) thrives on the voids between what is said, the implications that get turned on their head. and 2. The denial of the fact that trans women can, in fact, have complicated relationships with femininity and womanhood! This is far too much for me to go into on a work night on my Homestuck blog, but especially with the Lalondes, who have Things about femininity (Roxy being the "cool girl" ultra-accomodating, never making a fuss out of her problems, and Rose's Whole Deal with her mother and her mind games) that ring Very True to me as a trans woman. Obviously, headcanon is not erasure, but at this point I can't say I care too much for transmasc Roxy. Also, essentially making Roxy into another Strider just sucks as a character arc. Dave should be more of a Lalonde not the other way around.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Trick or Treat

Miguel x Curvy!Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None, other than Miguel being a bit thirsty (haha pun intended you'll see what I mean)

A/N: Thanks to @obi-mom-kenobi for the fic idea for spooky day™! (I'm sorry the plot got off track, though asdfghjkl)

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

He should have figured something like this would have happened.

He should have figured that he would do this.

Goddamn Deadpool.

Of course he caused a ruckus in one of the other universes, just to hop to this one to avoid Miguel, taunting him the whole time.

And naturally, it had to be fucking Halloween of all nights in this universe.

Among the Michaels, Jasons, goblins, ghouls, and witches and werewolves there were superheroes.

Iron Man, Doctor Strange, and half a thousand Spider-Mans.

This universe didn't have things like superheroes, not for real. All of that was Hollywood magic for the silver screen; the colorful fevered dream of a comic book artists.

He spent four hours trudging through the crowds, shouldering past drunkards and women dressed in far too little to be classified as clothing...

He finally spotted a Deadpool. The costume was very accurate, right down to the texture of the suit and how many pouches were on his belt.

But he was wrong. It was just some... Guy. Dressed in a "screen-accurate" cosplay.

But it was around the fifth hour (and twelve, terrified innocent Deadpool cosplayers later) that he got so frustrated he actually decided to take a break.

"Puta madre it's like Mardis Gras..." He hissed out, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He'd long abandoned wearing his mask, wanting complete unobstructed range of his sense of smell and hearing. Neither of which have been particularly helpful with the smell of vomit, liquor, perfume and sweets littering the air.

"Wow! Buddy, you look like you need a good time!" A man dressed in some macabre clown suit said to him. When Miguel fixed his crimson eyes on him the man seemed to deflate, the gulp in his throat audible as his posture shrunk and he struggled to keep his voice collected at the imposing sight of the larger man.

He pointed at the door to a bar that seemed full to bursting, crowds chattering, and a group of obnoxious women clucking like drunken hens as they left, shouting rather inappropriate things at Miguel as they walked by.

Miguel sighed and decided to just say fuck it, one drink or so. Deadpool probably already hopped to another dimension already and this could be a pointless waste of time.

The patrons parted around him like the sea for Moses, too intimidated by the man who towered over them to stay in his way as he made it over to the bar.

The seat to the barstool creaked under his weight as he sat down, burying his face in his hand

This is the last time he'd ever chase down a Deadpool. Next time, he would pass it off to Ben or hell, even Hobie...

"Wow! Miguel, huh?" A bubbly voice giggled out.

His head shot up as she mentioned his name, and hi blinked at her.

Uncharacteristically, he felt his mouth go dry at her costume.

The black dress was cut down to the top of her underbust corset, revealing delicious amounts of her marshmallowy soft-looking cleavage. Honestly, if the woman sneezed, she'd probably spill right out of it...

Her hair was... Off. A kind of black beehive atop her head, sharp makeup accentuating her cheekbones and eyes. Bright, crimson lips smiled at him, dimples in her cheeks.

She wasn't rail thin like the other women who had come onto him all night, her body was soft, and squeezable; warm and looking as though he would get decent handfuls of her sweet soft rolls in his hands--

"Wow! You even look like him, too!" You giggle.

His mouth opened and he blinked.

"Ah... El... Elvira. Right?" He tried. He remembered Peter showing him that movie one of the times he'd visited him and MJ's place.

"Ah! Ding ding, my dear!" You grin, tapping your nose. "Some people keep saying I'm Morticia Addams."

"Ah..." He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter.

Even in your heels, you had a feeling that if this man was standing on his own two feet he'd tower over you.

"Wow! You really do look like Miguel!" You gasped, your ruby red lips parted in a sweet "O".

They looked so soft, just like the rest of you--

"Well! What's your name, big guy?" You ask, your long, wispy (maybe fake?) eyelashes batted at him.

"Uh... Miguel." He said stiffly.

You giggle again, a sound he was quickly focusing on, a sound he found he liked amongst the hustle of the other patrons in the bar.

"Pff, no, silly. Your name."

"...Miguel."

Your smile falters a bit as you blink up at him.

"Oh. Oh! Oh gosh, that's your actual name? I'm sorry!" You laugh awkwardly.

He decided that maybe, just maybe... His night wouldn't be spoiled after all.

"Well, I don't think it's bad enough to apologize for..." He said, flashing a smile, his fangs poking out just past his lips.

You giggle a bit girlishly. "Oh! Oh, that's not what I meant... But I mean! At least you're... Well, uh. In character! You got the looks, the height, the name!"

Miguel shakes his head with a deep chuckle.

"I suppose I do." He fixed you with a soft gaze as his fingers tapped the bar top. "What's your name?"

You grinned at him and tapped the name plate on your breast, drawing his gaze downward to your cleavage.

He felt his face heat up a bit as his eyes lingered on the soft swells, until his brain finally processed the name written.

He repeated it back to you, his voice just barely shaky.

"Yep! Don't wear it out!" You wink, leaning on the bar.

Once again, your cleavage on full display, just begging for him to--

"So, no offense but you look absolutely miffed 'bout something." You chuckle.

"You... Could say that." He struggled, clearing his throat. "I was... Supposed to meet somebody but they... Bailed."

"Oh, god, I haaaaaate that for you, bud." You say, leaning back with a click of your tongue. Your long acrylic nails tap on the laminated bar.

"So! What'll it be?"

"Uh... I don't have any money on me. Sorry."

"Hah!" You point up at the whiteboard sign above the tap.

'Those in costume -- First two drinks are free!'

He blinked up at the sign. "That's... Generous."

"Yeah, my boss is big on community. And I'm the one who told him that promising two free drinks instead of one will draw our competitor's clientele away." You wink.

"That's awfully... poachy of you." Miguel smirked.

You shrugged. "What can I say? Capitalism is capitalism and you gotta make a buck somehow. And besides! Halloween and other holidays are the best nights for tips!"

You looked back at him with a twinkle in your eye.

"So! What'll it be mister Spider-Man?"

"...Hell. The strongest drink you have."

"Ooooh! Risk taker! I like it." You laugh in a sing-song as you turn to start gathering what you needed to mix his cocktail.

The gaze of all the male patrons were drawn to you when you started shaking, humming to yourself as you did, looking at the list of things for the drink you were making, not paying mind to the prying eyes ogling your breasts. Miguel was, abashedly one of them. But he stopped himself once he realized what he was doing, the others?

He wanted to strangle all of them. Especially the three men next to him who were making bets on who would convince you to go to their car with them.

They clammed up when Miguel leaned in when you turned away.

"Keep staring at her like that, and I will gouge out your eyes, pendejos." He growled, flexing his talons in the face of one of the men for emphasis.

They all freaked out and ran, not wanting to piss off some 6 plus foot whatever guy with what looked like retractable blades on his fingers, and glowing red eyes.

When you turned back around, the cherry red drink topped with strawberries and a black cherry in hand, you grinned at him, and saw the money on the counter.

"Oh!" You hum, handing Miguel his drink and placing the money in their proper places.

"So... What's in this?" Miguel asked, sniffing the drink lightly.

You smile again at him, a cheeky glimmer in your eyes. "That would be telling, sweetheart. But I will say I put some sour grenadine in it."

"Hah. Fair enough." Miguel said, taking a sip of his drink.

The burning in his throat caught him off-guard. As did the heavy taste of the alcohol, that was quickly snuffed by the fruity flavor as he swallowed it down.

"It's... Good."

"Your cringe says you weren't expecting the punch." You smirk, crossing your arms and pushing up your soft breasts.

"It's... Surprising." He conceded, plucking the black cherry up out of the top of the glass.

He decided to make a bit of a show as he curled his tongue around the cherry, bringing it into his mouth and snapping off the stem, chewing lightly.

Miguel couldn't help but notice the way your cheeks flush a little bit and you busy yourself with wiping down glasses.

Maybe tonight wasn't such a bust, after all.

[spottheantisemitism]

"what if the X-men were black?" is a racist, antisemitic and anti-intersectional screed that 2013 tumblr fell in love with

Published in 2013 this made rounds of OG tumblr and made Bobby of Pencilscratchins draw all her Jewish X-men characters as brown.

Erik because he has Romani heritage (which is realistic and based and accurate to some comics).

Anon go kick rocks with your colorism! YOU read holocaust testimonies!

Also fun fact Nazi Germany did not understand black and brown the way Americans do so it was based on ethnicity and not color, a brown Jew and a pale white passing Jew were seen as one and the same to the Nazis

Guess which article she linked

It's this one!

But said Kitty was Latine because "the quintessential X-girl of the 70s shouldn't be white"

Kitty already is a queer woman of color because she's Jewish. Jews are POC. Bobby what the hell? Are you implying she's only coded non-white because she's Jewish or Mutant? what the hell?!

(BTW Bobby left Tumblr around Covid but if you send her hate asks because of this essay you'll end up on spot-the-antisemitism blocklist for harrasment)

Where did she get this "Jews are white and should be race lifted?" stuff? Why from Orion!

Top paragraph is fine!

antisemitism is written the gentile way that supports a racist eugenicist, off to a bad start.

Sexism is not covered? OH explain Storm's arcs of misogynoir or Jean's and Maddy's arc of going insane because she has the power of a god but is forced to be housewife and marry her sweetheart and have kids

Ableism is not explored? I'm sorry what about XAVIER'S ENTIRE ARC OF ABLIEST SELF HATRED AND OVERCOMING IT IN THE PREQUELS? The first class all being rich talented codedly disabled kids going to a prep school for the gifted. Disabled people really liking non human passing characters like Nightcrawler (and hating Xavier since he's too assimilationist to many). I'm sorry why do people fall for such blatant lies? the mentor of the X-men is literally canonically disabled and Orion has the GALL to claim ableism is not explored.

_ Genosha is half fall of south Africa Apartheid and half the establishment of the state of Israel hence why the metaphor is so messy and problematic

_ Yes that number is deliberately "like the holocaust but worse" because Morrison likes their holocaust appopriation

_ Why didn't you mention it's an allegory for Gay conversion therapy torture because Bryan Singer is gay?

_ Yes Legacy Virus is Mutant Aids good job on your media literacy finally kicking in Orion

It's racism AND antisemitism but your "antisemtism doesn't exist in america" ass doesn't get that

I do hate "mutie" as slur and the way Kitty thinks it's comparable to antisemtic and anti-black slurs and USES them to make a point, so yeah something Orion and I agree on.

The sequence used is of Stevie Hunter the human ally character who like Xavier started teaching after she became disabled. She IS used as prop here to say Kitty is right in calling her the n-word (Claremont is racist sometimes).

But Orion can't tell her apart from Storm. Buddy if you can't tell the ONLY two black women in this comic apart, you're the racist.

OK they're both props but it proves you never actually read the comics or you can't tell fictional black women apart neither of which is a good look

(Cole also points out the Kitty and Magneto are not White but Jewish he is dogpiled and called a fake fan for this (see below))

Keep Shyminksy out of your mouth you racist fake fan

OH NO! I hate this!

So you decided to go with the colorist idea that the man is darker and the innocent girl in need of protecting is lighter. Gross colorism worthy of a Hollywood action movie where the black guy dies

"Local black man can't related to white disabled teens facing ableism and makes it about racism so he can relate to it" is giving gamergate chud energy to me

If you can't see why a Russian man is almost killed by a mob of xenophobic red blooded Americans and HAVE to make this about anti-black racism that's on you and your misunderstanding of the way Russians were hated during the cold war.

Oh you are race swapping x-men while shitting on Psylocke who the result of basically the same idea? How hypocritical

Dwayne McDuffe does have a point but your quote does not utilize his point in any way.

Then DON'T raceswap Wolverine if he becomes the angry black man. Think before you can X-men racism and tokenism WORSE with your race-swapping

NO THEY DON'T strawman rejected

Ah yes! Magneto, famously a very white man whose childhood was full of white privilege/ Sarcasm

One of the co-authors of the website has the gall to double down on calling Magneto white:

"as a REAL fan you're fake fan, antisemitism doesn't exist and Holocaust survivor Jews are white" - this racist defending his token black friend's racist screed because some guy called Cole DARED call Orion on his bullshit

*"I didn't like that the X-men were about white passing and invislbe disability so I made about anti black racism" also "judiasm is just a religion" canard

**Again leave Shyminksy and Morrison's good takes alone

***Yeah you get Luke Cage, that's how you get the racism of bad Luke Cage comics. You ain't inventing the racist wheel here

Orion I hate your take, I hate your misunderstanding of antisemitism and ableism that makes the two main factions tick, I hate your self centerness, I hate your racist and antisemitic co-writer making excuses for you and I REALLY hate that this did to the 2013 X-fandom what Lily Orchard did to the 2019 Steven Universe fandom and we can still see people using your bullshit arguments today

Oh and Cole? thank you for your service you're the real hero of this story, hated and feared for daring to call out the establishment

[thekillingvote]

Tʜᴇ Kɪʟʟɪɴɢ Vᴏᴛᴇ

Thirty-five years ago, DC Comics opened a phone poll to kill Batman's child sidekick, Robin.

The poll was open to paying callers in the U.S. and Canada for a window of 35 hours, starting on 15 September 1988 at 9AM EST. There were two premium-rate phone numbers—one for Robin's survival, and one for Robin's death. Each paying caller could call multiple times. The results were decided by a margin of 72 votes out of a total 10,614 votes—the difference was just under 0.68%.

Now you decide.

KILL ROBIN

Jerry Smith of Covington, Kentucky claims to have sold his Mercedes-Benz to pay for votes to kill Robin

"Who Killed Cock(y) Robin? I Killed Cock(y) Robin" article by Glen Weldon (2008)

"1-800-DEAD-ROBIN" autobiographical comic by Tony Wolf (2015)

"We killed Jason Todd" feature by Matt Markman (2021)

SAVE ROBIN

Senator Patrick Leahy (D-Vt.), a noted Bat-fan and scholar, denounced the episode as a "Roman gladiator-like readers vote."

"I loved him [...] I personally voted for him to live 100 times, and my mom flipped when she saw the phone bill," says magazine writer Savas Abadsidis.

MJG6 said: I was dead broke, working my way through college, but I voted. My first job was at a comic book store, making me an OG fan girl, I guess, and I encouraged people to vote to save him. [...] Because killing a teen, in a role kids are supposed to identify with, that was just sick.

Further Reading

"A Death in the Family, or: How DC Comics Let a Phone Vote Kill Robin" via r/HobbyDrama

"Living Dead Boy: Jason Todd vs. The Culture That Killed (and Resurrected) Him" on Women Write About Comics

"The Vote to Kill Robin" - trivia, misconceptions, opinions by comic-commentary

Some fan letter columns from Jason's later times as Robin

No Birds Allowed: Batman without Robin

"A lot like Robin if you close your eyes": Displacement of meaning in the Post-Modern Age by Mary Borsellino, an essay on dead Robins, sexism, and classism

🦞 The Tale of Larry the Lobster 🦞

Submitted arguments below:

Kill Robin

Anonymous propaganda IN FAVOR of killing the lobster the Robin!

I love Jason Todd. I love his post-crisis Robin days, I love his sense of justice and his adorable love of learning and his silly curly bangs! I say this to emphasize that I don't want him killed out of any dislike of the character.

I want him dead out of a love for storytelling that gets to stick to its guns and doesn't pull its punches. In context of the poll we readers have just seen Dick Grayson get kicked out of the role due to Bruce's fear of him getting hurt, then he turns around and gets a new Robin anyways because he misses him! I really like that Bruce is being messy and hypocritical! Let that have some real consequences please!

If there were no real consequences then Dick got shoved out of being Robin for what? Hairbrained overprotective worry? Why even change the way he graduated into being Nightwing so much then or heck why even kick him out in the first place?

One might argue that we haven't even given this Robin proper time to develop, that instead he might be taken in new and interesting directions as his own unique Robin shaping the mantle into a legacy rather than just something that was Dick's. I admit this is a very good point, and we are cutting off some possible interesting avenues. As I mentioned, I do like this character! But are we really going to get that?

If DC is already prepared to toss him out of this mortal coil and through the pearly gates after such a short while, do we really think we're going to get much more love and care applied to him?

I say let's roll the dice for something new! May the comics world and all these characters have to deal with the ramifications for many years to come!

Save Robin

robin’s death (and subsequent resurrection) is, frankly, an insult to robin fans of that era. to want to see this child get killed in a brutal manner for no apparent reason, to see jason essentially removed from the narrative so batman could go back to being gritty and depressed—this is awful to me. he hadn’t even been robin for very long!

but that’s not why he should’ve lived.

the resurrection of jason todd as the red hood was narratively interesting enough that it kept most fans of the original jason hooked, and it still does! he has become a prime example of a trauma survivor: his death changed him, and those who loved him have difficulty accepting that.

but there is no resolution to that story, nor was there a resolution to jason’s tenure as robin. dick chose to leave robin behind and take on a new mantle. tim, steph, both had robin taken away from them (and let’s forget about how tim is still robin, because that doesn’t matter right now). damian’s role as robin conflicts with his misconception of his role in the family. everyone else has had an ending, and jason’s death…well. after his resurrection, he has somehow remained stagnant and wildly inconsistent at the same time. this applies to under the red hood too.

at its core, utrh is a deeply classist retelling of jason’s life pre-death in the family. winick makes him a villain—albeit a sympathetic one—who fucks over or kills people that he would’ve thrown himself in front of to save as robin. in utrh, the implication is that jason had always been violent and angry (and morally compromised), and that he was destined to become worse.

it sometimes feels that jason’s transition into being the red hood (and all the characterization that comes with that) was a decision dc made for shock value. just from jason’s robin run, it’s difficult to imagine jason becoming the red hood. it doesn’t feel inevitable. it’s tragic.

ultimately, i believe that jason never should have died, and that his death was a stunt by dc for its shock value. jim starlin wanted jason dead because to him a child sidekick, in a medium that was originally made for children, was “sheer insanity”. he was fridged, plain and simple.