#on this point if not literally Anything else

[melminli]

Love To Dream

summary - there was this one girl that thanos really wanted, though, she didn't really want to have anything to do with him. unfortunately, that made him want her even more.

pairing: (thanos) choi su-bong x fem. reader

word count: 1.5k

contains: modern au, mention of drugs, enemies to lovers vibes ig, crack, yearning

a/n: i don't even know what this is tbh but I felt like we all deserved some laughs ;)

Life was good - life was really fucking good, Thanos thought to himself as he winked charmingly at a group of hot girls. They had been looking in his direction for a while now while giggling, clearly interested in him. He continued to watch them as he sipped his drink, the club music pumping through his veins like adrenaline. Thanos's eyes darkened as the girls continued to cast lustful glances in his direction - he knew he could easily get more than one of them into bed tonight and why wouldn't he? It hadn't been long since his last performance on stage, reminding everyone present once again of his legendary status in this club.

However, his attention was focused somewhere entirely else after the most breathtaking person ever decided to walk past him. The pick-up lines he had been thinking of for the group, vanished from his mind after this angel showed up in front of him since the other girls could barely compare. The whole thing looked like something out of a scene from a Kdrama because time seemed to pass in slow motion and your hair was swinging in the air like that of a princess - which would have been the perfect time for some product placement because it just looked so damn soft.

Thanos had his mouth wide open in shock and put a hand over his heart to check if it was still beating while his eyes never left your figure. You - who was leaning prettily against the bar right next to him as you ordered something from the bartender.

“Hey.” he finally recovered from the moment and casually moved towards you. “I'd introduce myself, but I assume you already know me.” he talked to you with his flirty face as soon as you looked up at him.

You smiled shyly. “Yeah, I watched your performance,” you answered him and seemed quite grateful that he was speaking to you right now. “You were pretty good.” you giggled slightly as you complimented him.

“Yeah, that's just how I am.” he sighed as he looked around the room as if it was a burden for him to have to live with all the recognition. His eyes met yours again and he tried to impress you by unpacking a few bars while emphasizing them with the movements of his hands. “Girl, I know you and I are meant to be because after I looked at your pretty face everything stopped being. If only you saw what I can see, you'll understand why I want you so desperately.” he rapped to you, stealing the last line from some One Direction song, but you didn't need to know that.

You shyly put your hands in front of your face to hide your smile. “Oh my god, that was so incredibly sexy, I'm so horny for you right now.” the words came out of your mouth and made Thanos screw up his face weirdly for a second.

Because first of all, those vulgar words didn't match your innocent demeanor in the slightest - and secondly, you said exactly what Thanos had imagined you would say - it was actually a bit creepy since you literally said it word for word. Thanos hardly thought that he could foresee the future all of a sudden or that you could maybe read minds, though he decided to ignore the whole thing as soon as you started touching his chest softly with your hands. He wanted you so bad.

“You don't even know what you're doing to me right now,” he whispered to you while you felt him so sensually and he was about to kiss you, hadn't you stopped his lips with your hand as you laughed into his face. “I think you should wake up now. Otherwise, the pink elephant will keep handing out balloons to people.” You told him, pointing behind him to where the bar was supposed to be.

“Hah?” he asked you confused and turned around while continuing to hold you in his arms, but all he saw were a few dogs breakdancing - and that was nothing out of the ordinary. He continued to look at the scene with a grin, even though some inner voice inside him was stressing out about kissing you immediately as if he was running out of time. He finally turned back to you and was about to continue when he suddenly heard a man speak. “You really should wake up man.” Nam-gyu's voice told him and Thanos only caught himself almost kissing him after he took a closer look. He just pushed him away from him in disgust and then -

Thanos woke up from his sleep, bathed in sweat, when he saw your face in his field of vision. “Finally, you're sleeping like a dead man. There's some guy at the door who wants to talk to you,” you told him as he sat up tiredly while slowly recovering from his strange dream.

That's right. You weren't just some hot girl he met at the club, you were his fucking roommate. Thanos discreetly pushed more blanket over his lap as he tried to shoo you away from his room with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah - I'll be right there, just - give me a moment,” he said without looking you in the face.

You just sighed slightly and complied with his request, though not without letting him know how unhappy you were. “I told you to stop giving our address to these dealers. I don't like it when they show up here,” you grumbled under your breath before dashing out and closing the door behind you.

After that, Thanos let out a very heavy sigh and stroked his face aggressively. “Now she's showing up in my dreams, too? Fucking great.” he grumbled to himself and got up from the bed to put on some decent clothes. His eyes met his own reflection as he pulled a shirt over his head. “Get a grip man, what's wrong with you?” he asked himself as he grimaced in annoyance. “You're Thanos the destroyer, not some kind of -”

“Stop taking so long and come here already!” your voice suddenly shouted, coming through his door slightly muffled.

He looked even more annoyed at that and made his way to the living room while shouting back at you. “I'm fucking on it, alright!” and it only took a few loud steps from him to your front door for him to yank it open to fix the damn problem. He looked at his friend, completely bothered by his presence. “What do you want?” he asked him and was kinda glad that it at least wasn't Nam-gyu because he just really didn't want to see his face at the moment and probably for a little while.

“Hello, to you, too.” the man in front of him greeted him, already used to his weird mood swings. “I just wanted to do you a favor by bringing you some of the pills you wanted because last time you almost beat me up when I didn't have them with me,” he explained, holding the bag, which Thanos grabbed instantly before inspecting it more closely. “Don't act like you didn't deserve it, I paid you the money in advance, man. Of course, I was angry,” he complained again and would probably have beaten him up for real right now if he had ruined his morning over something completely unnecessary. However, he would still have to make sure that something like this didn't happen again so that you didn't have another reason to kick him out of the apartment.

“You know, maybe this was meant to be. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been greeted by an absolute hottie today,” he said happily as he stood there, still interested. “Is she your cousin or something? Do you want to introduce me to her?” he asked and was quite confident in the way he acted, but Thanos just looked at him emotionlessly for a few seconds until he slammed the door in his face.

"Okay, he's gone now!" he exclaimed, bored, and made his way into the kitchen, where you were sitting with a cup of coffee or something while scrolling on your phone. "Don't open the door for that guy if he shows up again," he said, grabbing a cold Sprite from the fridge. You just looked at him with a displeased look. He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'll make sure that he and no one else shows up after today. But, I'm just saying that in case it still somehow happens."

Thanos then opened the can and drank from it while he continued to watch your face from the side. Eventually, he sat down next to you, although, to his dissatisfaction, that didn't seem to get your attention. "Hey, you want to go on a date?" He asked, and you weren't sure how many times he asked you that by now. You kept scrolling on Instagram. "You know my answer to that."

Thanos continued to grin hopefully. "Yes?" he asked and then watched you disappear out of the kitchen with your cup of coffee in your hand - probably to your room. "You should be glad that I'm even asking you! Other girls would die for..." he muffled towards the end before he stopped talking entirely once he realized that you weren't giving him a reaction.

Maybe, I should just go back to sleep, he thought to himself dejectedly, unable to believe that he had actually better chances with you in dreams with pink elephants and breakdancing dogs.

[to6ge]

— ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و the look of love.

౨ৎ batboys x gn!reader ( separated ) ౨ৎ cw . non-proof read. ౨ৎ summary . how they look at you ౨ৎ . gwens note . short and rushed fic ౨ৎ wc . 327

the amount of love in dick’s eyes was overwhelming. his gaze would dilate whenever you were near, his eyes softening, smiling in a way that felt so intimate. he looked at you like you his whole world, unwavering and unrelenting. his love poured out of him so completely it was almost suffocating. there is no hint of anything else but fondness in his eyes. this man has absolutely zero amount of nonchalance.

oh geez, the way jason’s eyes would immediately soften when his gaze meets you. everyone would’ve noticed how tender his gaze seemed whenever you were there. he searches everywhere for you. whenever you walk into the room, his eyes would light up as well. his blinks are slow, signaling that hes relaxed and calm around you. ( i headcanon that jason would sometimes avoid your gaze cause he gets nervous at times, though. )

tim looks at you as if he was studying your every move. he notices every single detail and quirk of you. yes, he pays attention to your features. and he remembers every single one of them. sometimes, he would point out some of your features that he absolutely adores. ( i feel like if tim were to come across those tiktok posts where its like ‘find out what type of pretty you are’ videos, he would answer for you and send it to you, stating which one you are. )

damian’s eyes never leave you. if he was to tell a joke and you were around, he’d immediately look at you to see if you heard him, searching for the slightest hint of a reaction. the world could quite literally be falling apart before him, and he’d still keep hold of his gaze. his eyes would always follow you wherever you go. however, his gaze is quite intense. most of the times, he looks like he’s silently judging your every move, when he’s actually just quietly looking out for you, just in case something happens.

reblogs and likes are very appreciated ! thank you luvlies for reading ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

[woso-dreamzzz]

Leaving VIII

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: You win Olympic gold

Alexia will be the first to admit that she doesn't understand tennis.

She gets it from an objective stand point like how she gets football. Two teams (two opponents) meet on the pitch (the court) and kick the ball around (hit the ball over the net) to score a goal (get a point).

The scoring for tennis confuses her as does the terminology.

She doesn't get the words they use like ace and deuce and double fault.

She kind of thinks a double fault is like a foul but she still can't understand how because you're not tackling anyone.

Either way, Alexia doesn't understand tennis but this is a final and even though she's got her own quarter final today, she's still travelled to Paris to watch you.

You're against Zheng.

She knocked out Iga but now she's against you.

You've played her once before in at the United Cup and she'd knocked you out as well.

This was revenge though.

You serve hard and fast or, at least Alexia presumes you do.

You're wearing your Barcelona cap and your gold Nike shoes and you look like an absolutely beast on the pitch (the court). You hit the ball viciously, catching Zheng off guard completely with the force of your shots.

"Has she got somewhere to be today?" Eli says, a little laugh escaping her as you breeze through the first set.

Alexia frowns. "No? I don't think so. I think her only plans are to go back to bed."

Alba laughs. "It was a joke, Ale. Mama thinks Y/n has somewhere else to be which is why she's getting through the set so fast."

"Wait, is she going too quickly?"

Alba sighs. "You've been to countless tennis matches, Alexia. How do you not understand it yet?"

"They're complicated!"

"She literally hits the ball over the net!"

You seem anxious to get the match started up again, wiping off what little sweat you've produced and drinking half of your water. You don't even reach for your energy gel or anything of the like.

You're up on the court as soon as you can be, bouncing around on your feet, kicking up some of the clay dust underfoot.

Zheng serves next but that's all she really ends up doing because, yet again, you dominate.

Alexia can feel the atmosphere swell from the audience and gets the funny feeling that she's missing something again.

Her head ping pongs around trying to keep the ball in sight.

There's an uproar in the crowd as Zheng swings.

And misses.

Alba's on her feet, fist pumped up in the air and a cry of triumph out of her mouth.

Eli's got her hands covering her mouth in shock.

Just lower down, Alexia can see your training partner and coaching team celebrating.

You're grinning. You kiss your racket before turning to face your family.

You bow, the exact same pose and the exact same way Alexia did at Camp Nou and at the Champion's League final.

You come up, grinning before bursting into tears.

You move to your coaching team first, being drawn into a hug by everyone including Iga.

"Should I start getting worried about my space as number one?" She teases but all you can do is let out a wet little laugh.

You make your way up to your family next.

Alexia gets to you first.

She may not understand tennis but she knows a winner when she sees one.

She gets to you before anyone else, tugging you into a hug.

You've always been smaller than Alexia. That was to be expected but you'd shot up around puberty, growing like a weed.

She's glad that you're still smaller than her though, still small enough the she can easily hold your face in her hands and kiss your forehead.

You smile at her, sniffling.

"I won."

"Yes."

Your smile widens. "You didn't even realise."

"What?! Yes I did!"

"Don't lie. I saw you. You thought we were meant to go for another set."

"What's a set?"

Laughter overtakes your tears, bubbling out of your throat at the clueless look on your sister's face.

"No, seriously, what's a set? Is it like the two different halves?"

"Don't worry about it, Ale."

"No, wait, I want to know! Did you already have halftime? The match went kind of quick. Surely you should have had halftime before it finished?"

You're properly laughing now and behind Alexia, you think Alba and Eli are laughing too.

"Does it really matter?" You tease," I just won Olympic gold."

"No, I guess not."

There's silence between the two of you for a moment before you shriek.

Alexia lifts you like you weigh nothing, like you're just that little kid again with a scraped knee and pigtails.

Like you're not the Olympic tennis champion.

[missbellamere]

pairing: vi x pageantgirl!reader headcanons

sfw + nsfw no specific appearance traits is assigned to reader! enjoy!

yall know me from the bait x male reader fics this is my attempt to actually contribute

sfw:

-THE pageant girlfriend: she will drive/fly with you to competitions, cheer the loudest when you're on-stage, and take photos for instagram (she's basically a trained photographer at this point)

-DOWN BAD for you when you wear your evening gown for competitions, esp the ones with high high slits

-takes and saves the pictures for later encourages you and give you SO much praise when you practice your walk in front of her for the swimsuit competition

-she insists she helps you practice interview to help hold eye contact ;)

-absolutely would bring cozy slippers and carry your 5-inch heels for you after you get offstage

-lowkey gets possessive when you get hit on by men

-but that's okay because her girl can wear whatever she wants because vi will beat the absolute shit out of those men

-people thought she was your bodyguard and they were a bit surprised to find out that you liked girls (queer pageant girl struggles...)

-would totally run a fan account and make edits of you but wouldn't tell you and people kept on wondering where the account got pics that nobody has seen before

-yall are literally the hottest it-couple

-carries your crown case, your bags, basically EVERYTHING when you go somewhere to make an appearance with your pageant title

-your pageant friends are her friends!! they keep on asking where they can get a supportive partner for themselves cuz vi is such a lifesaver in competitions

-if you don't use professional hair and makeup, vi would def try her best to do your eyeliner to make them twins

-"I CAN'T STOP LOOKING AT HER TI-T-T-T-FACE" - prob vi

-lets you put the crown on her for shits and giggles

-brings the fattest banquet of flowers to every one of your pageant finales

-SCREAMS HISTERICALLY like a crazy fan when you get called for the winner

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

mdni

nsfw:

-she respects that your makeup can't be ruined between competitions, so she waits patiently :)

-when she gets possessive, she literally can't wait to peel that dress off of you when you get back to the hotel

-crazy noise complaints

-absolutely LOVES ruining your stage makeup with your mascara and eyeliner running down your face when she makes you cry with her strap

-your swimsuit routine practices always occasionally turns into something more...

---

a/n: deep apologies for my lack of nsfw content here but I can't come up with anything pageant specific... yet.

in honor of miss america finale yesterday!! (I'm here to say that texas got robbed because I can't say that on my pageant instagram account or else I'll get cancelled. no but seriously. this is the THIRD year in a row that 2nd place was a black woman and a blonde girl won... also texas ate all the competitions like what???)

this is my love letter to all the straight-passing and hyper femmes esp ones living in the south <3

[blkbbyprincess]

turn up the temp! arcane!vi x blk!reader nsfw

vi likes a girl with a mouth on her; a girl who knows her way around some pussy.

a girl who has the ability to pull a variety of enticing sounds from her throat, leaving her with a sore one after she’s been eaten sloppy.

a girl who's got it all figured out and knows exactly what she wants from you and how she’s gonna get it; with experience of course.

that particular girl would be you.

the same girl she was currently snickering under the covers with in this bastardly wintery weather; all cuddled up on each other like penguins trying to keep warm and prevent catching a cold or worse.

if someone happened to see you two right now, it would be a good laugh; a great one even. it was almost ridiculous how you and vi were quite literally spooning each other trying to get some kind of warmth.

“your feet are freezing you fucker, get em off me” vi giggled.

you’re no better; your hands are freezing my back, you know that? you shot back with a sneer.

“how the hell else are we supposed to warm up if the air conditioning is jacked? i’d like to hear a better suggestion, genius.”

“i meannnn, there’s always one way we both like.”

so there you were, licking at vi’s clit from under the covers with two fingers in her vagina; opening and closing them in a scissoring motion to better stimulate her.

“-fu-fuckkkk, that’s it babygirl.”

Her voice quivered as she struggled to stay silent, desperate not to create enough noise to provoke the neighbors into beating the door down again. but it was nearly impossible to hold back when she was experiencing head of a lifetime.

she often found herself curious about where could you have possibly learned how to eat pussy like this?

she hoped and prayed it was only because of an overwhelming amount porn or something; because if she were to find out another girl had experienced this that she was feeling; she would surely die.

she quickly brought her hand to her mouth, letting out a sharp gasp as your tongue found her g-spot. waves of pleasure surged through her, and she could already sense her climax approaching, even though barely ten minutes had passed.

she was trying her best to hold out for you, because in all honesty, as much as she loved when you ate her out; she hated cumming first; and as slick as you were, literally and figuratively, you made sure she wasn’t able to touch you.

but you never noted anything subconsciously about not being able to touch yourself.

your poor baby was getting so pathetically vocal; it was starting to arouse you to the point where your pussy was painfully throbbing; so you did what any desperate woman would do, and reached back and began to work your fingers into your sopping cunt.

“ohhh s-shittt, i love when you moan in it cupcake, keep doin’ t-that.”

the relentless sounds of your and vi's heavy breathing and moaning made the space beneath the comforter feel like it was comparable to hell itself.

the smell of sex filled the room quicker than a freshly lit joint; and that says a lot about how busy you and vi were getting down. you wanted warmth for the winter, and boyyy did you get it.

it got so intense that the heat was making you nauseous in the head; dizzying, almost as if you had popped a damn 30.

(i cant help but make drug references what can i say i’m a weedhead lol.)

“i-i can’t much longer vi, i-i’m about to-.”

you were trembling in your legs, doing everything you could to hold back from finishing before her. but after all the time that passed since you last hooked up, it felt impossible to resist at that moment.

“it’s o-ok cupcake mmmh me too, cum with me?”

in that moment, both of you reached a simultaneous release, resulting in her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, an arm draped across her forehead, while you fell beside her in exhaustion.

vi shook herself out of her long, totally inappropriate thoughts and tossed the comforter off both of you, flinging it as far as she could to the edge of the bed.

“feeling a little warmer now?” you poke, with your face planted in the sheets; sounding a little muffled.

“on fire cupcake, on fucking fire.” she said contently, wiping sweat beads off her cheeks; reaching over to wipe yours off your neck.

about thirty minutes later, you two were back snuggled between one another, watching “orange is the new black” comfortably until hearing a loud sound that resounded a switch being flipped from outside your apartment and a humming noise leading afterwards.

you both ended up ignoring the noise until you felt a change in temperature a few moments later; finally realizing what the noise from earlier was.

that noise was the fucking heating system up and running again.

[thebreakfastgenie]

Is it wrong that in some ways, I'm actually pretty fed up with the near constant amount of people whining about capitalism?

It isn't because I think they're wrong for disliking it and they're not wrong for being angry at the state of things, but rather that it's just an extension of their general learned helplessness and demands/expectations that someone else do the dirty work of getting rid of the evil billionaires while they sit around and whine and cry about things not happening fast enough?

Because that's what gets to me: That all they ever do is whine about the elite looking down on them as slaves and servants, all the while never lifting a finger themselves to even attempt to save themselves, either because "it's too scawwy to stand up against the billionaires", or because they keep on clinging onto the "Revolution" or for someone else to do the mass slaughtering to keep their own hands clean of blood as some kind of instant panacea that will fix everything. Or even more nastily implied, because they think it's beneath them to do the work because THEY might not get the benefits in their lifetimes.

At this point I'm frankly just "either put up and risk your own damned lives and livelihoods to do something about it, or shut up because you're just a poser and whiny little prick who will never do anything to even attempt to save yourself".

It's not wrong at all. All your points are correct. I'll also add that blaming everything on capitalism is a bit of a meme that, as often happens, devolved from being understood as a memey shorthand to being understood literally. Many of the things referenced in anti-capitalism rants are not exclusive and/or inherent to capitalism. Sometimes those posts include things that are not capitalism at all. Capitalism serves the same function as "the man," a vague, powerful enemy at which to direct your anger. Notably too vague to take any tangible action against. Honestly it kind of resembles the way the right talks about socialism/communism, which is possibly where some of these people picked it up; they simply inverted their Republican parents' arguments.

It's deeply frustrating because if you want to seriously criticize capitalism, you have to use the word correctly and understand what you're criticizing. It obfuscates the problem to throw the word around and that is counterproductive. Marx would certainly not approve lol.

[bemusedlybespectacled]

since @sketchy-scribs-n-doods asked why birth certificates are racist:

preface: read this post about eugenics so that I don't have to write that overview again.

anywho! the very very short version is that there was a guy named Walter Ashby Plecker (hereafter "the Plecker fucker") who was a doctor in Virginia in the late 1800s/early 1900s. like he was born right around when the Civil War ended and his family owned slaves, if you want to get an idea of the time and place we're talking about.

the Plecker fucker, along with a couple of his good buddies John Powell and Ernest Sevier Cox(1) from the Anglo-Saxon Club(2), wrote and lobbied for a law called the Racial Integrity Act (incidentally, one of the blueprints the Nazis used for their own laws), which did a couple of things:

it legally categorized every person into either "white" or "colored," with "white" being only people with a completely unbroken and provable white European heritage – with a teeny tiny exception for people who were less than 1/16th Native American that he was bullied into including(3) – and "colored" being literally everything else, with no specificity as to whether it meant Black or Asian or Native American or whatever;

it prohibited white people from marrying colored people (though notably not banning having sex with them: we're talking about a guy whose family owned slaves here, so you can do the math on that)

it allowed for the sterilization of certain undesirable people, such as the mentally ill; and, most importantly for our purpose:

it required all births and marriages to be registered in a big state-wide database, with the races of all parties listed.

and he also set himself up as the first guy in charge of that registry, so that it would be done exactly the way he wanted it.

prior to this, if you could get away with passing as white, you were (generally) treated as white. this was to prevent any white-passing mixed race people from marrying into white society (because their birth certificate records would show that their parents had nonwhite heritage), and eventually eliminate mixed race people, period.

now, obviously birth certificates weren't in common use before this law, so at least the first wave of people affected by the law could still (in theory) lie about their ethnicity and establish themselves as white on their birth certificates, thus allowing them to continue marrying "real" white people.

not a problem! the Plecker fucker fancied himself a bit of a genealogist (meaning he thought everyone with the same last name was related, somehow), so he'd just go in and edit people's records to say "colored," invalidating their marriages in the process, and ordered all of the people under him to do the same. like, there's a letter he sent out to the county-level people that was like, "anyone with the last name Collins [yes, really] is actually mixed race, DO NOT LET THEM GET MARRIED TO WHITE PEOPLE, EDIT ALL THEIR RECORDS."(4)

outside of the obvious negative effects of the law in general not allowing interracial marriages (until it was overturned by Loving v. Virginia in 19-fucking-67) and sterilizing anyone disabled or "feebleminded," him going in and literally erasing Native heritage from records has prevented Virginian Native Americans from being able to claim federal tribal recognition, because it's all just "white" or "colored," which could mean anything nonwhite.

anyway, that's why birth certificates are racist. they were made up by a racist guy to do more racism. and then that racist guy got hit by a car and died.

I stg this is the short version. the longer version was idk how many pages before I melted into a depressed puddle of goo and almost flunked out of my senior year of college.

(1) Ernest Sevier Cox was a weird fucking dude in that he was really good friends with Marcus motherfucking Garvey, to the point that they attended each other's events, dedicated books to each other, and wrote each other a lot of letters even after Garvey was deported to Jamaica (and Cox personally tried to get Garvey released from jail when he was imprisoned for mail fraud). This was partly because white nationalism and black separatism accomplished the same ultimate goals (i.e. Black people leaving the US) from different angles, but I think they just also genuinely liked each other? For some reason??

(2) Basically the KKK but for genteel, refined, upper-class people instead of violent, disorderly peasants (yes, they legit disliked the KKK because it was a poor person thing). Also, I can't find it again, but at one point when I was researching all this in college, I was looking through old school newspapers and either William & Lee or William & Mary had a junior Anglo-Saxon Club, sort of like a Young Republicans, and one of their contributions to the student newspaper was a piece about how they definitely weren't racist and how dare they be accused of racism, they just didn't want blacks or whites mixing! How is that racist? (Yes, they used the word "racist," and I have no idea what their definition of racism was, if it wasn't what they were doing) Anyway, I think about that a lot.

(3) This is informally called the Pocahontas Exception, because a lot of really, really influential, prominent and rich Virginians actually took a lot of pride in claiming to be descended from Pocahontas and John Rolfe (even if they weren't), and without the exception, they'd all be classified as "colored." Plecker didn't want any exceptions at all (he was, at the very least, not a hypocrite about what he thought "white" meant), but given that some of the people the law would make "colored" would potentially be voting on the law, he had to include the exception or risk it not being passed at all.

(4) The reason I even got into this subject in the first place is that one of my family tree names is on that list and we're pretty sure they moved to Kentucky because of it, but it doesn't necessarily mean they're related to us OR that they were white-passing mixed-race people: they could well have been just plain white people who happened to have the same surname.

[eddiesvixen]

the problem is she says vile things and does vile things like supports sam hyde. he is clearly OK with this which is gross.

this still doesn’t give anyone excuses to do anything theyve did toward joseph. calling him a bad castmate when all of his coworkers say otherwise, going into his dad’s comments, bashing his career, calling him ugly or other names.. all things that are personal attacks towards him. not doja or anyone else.

there are celebs who have done so much worse and they dont get half the treatment joseph gets, thats my point. if you hate all of those things about joseph you shouldn’t call yourself a fan and you shouldn’t spread hate on the internet over someone you literally dont know.

joseph’s not perfect, he’s made mistakes just like anyone else. and if you’re gonna bash him for a small one, especially one (pr) he had to do for his career, then you’re way over your head.

[conkreetmonkey]

I mean it wasn't really "in disgrace" he never apologized for anything lmao Anyone else remember his YouTuber-ass "hi guys, I screwed up" apology video from a few months(?) ago where he literally did the *walks into room, sits in chair in front of desk-mounted camera to try to appear candid* thing (during which he never actually apologized for anything and kept insisting he HAD avoided a recession and saved the economy, despite his failure to do that being what he was "apologizing" for)? And then he very transparently tried to buy our votes by announcing he was getting rid of sales tax out of nowhere, and then just... resigned anyway?? Has he ever had a plan??? Is he flying by the seat of his pants???? Fuck, the conservatives are gonna win, aren't they... all but like one party is conservative anyway, so it's all but guaranteed. How do we have so many parties and ALL of them suck, like come on is ANYBODY EVER going to address the housing crisis and admit the economy isn't "booming" and the job market isn't "soaring" and there is no "labor shortage" but actually a WAGE SHORTAGE and MONOPOLY PROBLEM, and that the current immigration system is extremely exploitative in that it relies on luring people in with false promises only to trap them in shitty abusive low-wage jobs in a country where a shoebox studio apartment with mold is optimistically $1,250 a month before utilities, and a basic fast food combo is $17.50 before tax??? Sorry to rant. Just... ugh. I really thought Singh would be alright, but apparently he joined up with Trudeau, so now like... at the polls his year, do I pick: 🍁the "everything will continue to slowly fall apart while we twiddle our thumbs and insist everything is fine" party 🍁 the "we will accelerate the rate at which everything falls apart lol fuck you I hate you" party 🍁 the "we're GREEN but not really, and also like we're actually the "make everything Christian" party but don't really say it out loud lol" party 🍁 the "please let Quebec be its own country please oh please oh please oh ple--" party (Americans, think Texas seperatists, but with a bilingual twist) 🍁 the "we're the people's party, we're for the people! Anyway so like first we need to bring back conversion therapy, completely disregard the environment, fuck immigrants, fuck trans people, also we need to restart the abortion debate guys--" party This country is fucking BONED. Like, we're not actively death rattling and hacking up chunky blood like America is, and I think we tend to rest on our laurels because we'll always look good in comparison to that, because... we're almost just as fucked. Just absolutely "maybe it can theoretically be salvaged, but at this point it'd take a miracle" tier, double-decker triple-bypass FUCKED. Every one of these parties will make things far worse if elected. There are no good options. It's going to be 4 years of decline no matter what, the only question being how far and fast we go down into the sewer. ...unrelated, but any Europeans looking to marry a stranger rn?

[jellofish-plant]

Batfamily Relationship Headcanons (Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, Catwoman)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Batman), Dick Grayson (Nightwing), Jason Todd (Red Hood), and Selina Kyle (Catwoman) x Reader (platonic and romantic interpretations available!)

Master List

Warnings:

Mentions of crime-fighting and Gotham’s usual dangers.

Light angst as characters navigate emotional walls.

Fluff and found-family vibes!

Summary: Navigating relationships with Gotham’s most iconic vigilantes and anti-heroes brings its challenges, but also moments of trust, love, and loyalty. Whether platonic or romantic, these headcanons explore what it’s like to have a unique bond with Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Selina.

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

Platonic:

Bruce may not say much, but he shows his care through actions. Expect quiet gestures like ensuring you’re safe or leaving a hot cup of tea when you’re up late.

He has an unspoken respect for your strength and skills, often involving you in plans when he knows you can handle it.

He’s surprisingly protective, especially if you’re not part of the Batfamily. If you get caught in danger, he’ll bring you to the Batcave until the situation is resolved.

Alfred will absolutely “adopt” you into the family if you’re close to Bruce.

Romantic:

Bruce is slow to open up romantically, but once he does, he’s deeply committed. His trust is hard-earned, making it all the more meaningful.

He’ll pull out all the stops for special occasions—think private dinners in Wayne Manor or moonlit walks through the city.

You’re one of the few people who can get him to relax. Late nights with just the two of you talking by the fireplace are his version of paradise.

He’s protective to the point of being overbearing sometimes, but it’s because he fears losing you.

Dick Grayson (Nightwing)

Platonic:

Dick is the ultimate “big brother” type, always looking out for you and making sure you’re okay.

He’s the first one to cheer you up if you’re down, often with a goofy joke or an impromptu dance-off.

If you’re on patrol together, he’s incredibly encouraging, always hyping you up for your accomplishments.

He’d be the one to drag you into karaoke night or convince you to join him for rooftop parkour.

Romantic:

Dick is a hopeless romantic and loves grand gestures—think handwritten notes, surprise dates, or flowers just because.

He’s touchy and affectionate, always finding excuses to hold your hand or drape an arm around your shoulders.

He’s an excellent communicator and will always talk things through with you, valuing openness and trust in the relationship.

Late-night patrols together often end with him pulling you into a spontaneous dance on a rooftop.

Jason Todd (Red Hood)

Platonic:

Jason has a tough exterior but is secretly a big softie for those he cares about. He’d never admit it, but he’d do anything for you.

He’s your go-to partner for snarky commentary and late-night drives through Gotham.

Jason is the kind of friend who’d show his care by bringing you your favorite snacks or fixing something you mentioned was broken.

If you’re in trouble, he’ll be the first to storm in, guns blazing (metaphorically or literally).

Romantic:

Jason has a protective streak a mile wide, sometimes forgetting you can handle yourself. You’ll have to remind him gently.

He shows his love in subtle ways, like cooking for you after a long day or leaving notes where he knows you’ll find them.

Jason has a vulnerable side that only you see. He’ll share pieces of himself over time, trusting you more deeply than anyone else.

He’s a sucker for quiet, domestic moments—reading together on the couch or sharing coffee on a lazy morning.

Selina Kyle (Catwoman)

Platonic:

Selina has a knack for pushing you out of your comfort zone in the best way possible. She’ll encourage you to take risks and trust your instincts.

She’s fiercely protective of you and has a sixth sense for when you’re in trouble, showing up just in time to save the day.

Selina loves sparring with you, both physically and verbally. She sees you as an equal and respects your opinions.

She has a mischievous side, often roping you into playful schemes or pranks on Bruce.

Romantic:

Selina is bold and flirtatious, always finding ways to keep things exciting between you.

She values your independence and would never try to cage you in. Instead, she supports your goals and dreams wholeheartedly.

Selina has a soft side she only shows to you—quiet nights cuddled up with her cats and whispered conversations about the future.

She loves surprising you with little gifts, often “liberated” from her latest heist.

Author’s Note: Hi, everyone! 💖 I had so much fun writing these headcanons for Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Selina. Whether you imagine these relationships as platonic, romantic, or a mix of both, I hope you find something here that resonates.

Feel free to like, reblog, or comment—I’d love to hear your thoughts or suggestions for other characters. Thank you for reading!

[yuikomorii]

Shu-Yuma because their friendship is the most engaging in the series, yet idk if it still counts as mere friendship, given that in DF and LE it was sort of implied that Shu feels something more for Yuma.

I saw this interesting point you made, I’ve played both games repeatedly over the years and have honestly never thought of it as anything much what’s presented surface level. I’m intrigued by your comment and would love to see what points in routes could be used to back up such an interpretation? :)

p.s you converted me into ayato stan ;P

// Hello there, fellow aNYAto stan! >:3

In my opinion, Shu seems to have feelings for Yuma because he is overly obsessed with him and his well-being, to the extent that he does things for Yuma that he doesn’t even do for us, the players.

Of course, he does feel guilty, but even Shu admits that feeling such remorse is unusual for him, and he's right.

We know Shu is a sadist who enjoys torturing his prey in grotesque ways, so why doesn’t he regret what he did to the previous sacrificial brides? Why doesn’t he regret hurting his own brothers? He sometimes doesn’t even feel remorse when he’s hurting you/Yui. But when it comes to Yuma… Shu would sacrifice ANYONE for him.

This guy must have some kind of built-in Yuma radar, since there’s no other way to explain how he always manages to find him. He willingly goes out of his way to save him and doesn’t even care if he looks pathetic, as long as Yuma is safe, even in routes that aren’t his own, where he’s supposed to be a lazy and apathetic loser.

Not only that, but Rejet had to make him commit sui€ide and then say the “I hope we will get along in another life 🥺” part. What makes it even crazier is that he’s reincarnated as a fetus from the Tree that Yuma later decides to adopt. Basically, his wish to be on good terms with Yuma was so strong that it literally came true. When Shu dies in his own endings, he never says anything as emotional or profound, which is a bit… questionable.

Last but not least, you know how the apple is supposed to symbolize Edgar? It almost feels like Shu was trying to hint something, but when Yuma didn’t catch on, Shu was just like “Yeah… nevermind.”

All translations belong to dialovers-translations

While I understand that he might consider him a "best friend," it feels obvious that, deep down, Yuma holds a more significant place in his heart than anyone else. The way he fixates on Yuma makes it seem like their bond goes beyond mere friendship, with Yuma being someone irreplaceable and central to his world.

I know that BL themes would likely never be included in Diabolik Lovers, given the backlash such elements often receive in otome games. As a result, everything is left open to anyone’s interpretation! :3

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Batting for a draw

A belated entry for Day 1 of @charles-rowland-week, loosely inspired by the book Swordheart by T. Kingfisher, where Charles's soul is bound to an enchanted cricket bat (which used to be an enchanted sword) and Edwin is the one who accidentally summons him. You can either read it below or here on AO3!

Prompt: cricket bat

Rating: T

Warnings: none

Word count: 3.5K

Relationship: pre-Edwin/Charles

Summary: Charles, an immortal warrior, used to be bound to an enchanted sword, but times have changed. For the past three decades, he’s been trapped inside an enchanted cricket bat forgotten in the back of a cupboard, until Edwin Payne needs a place to hide from his tormentors. Now that Edwin has summoned him, Charles just has to convince him to let him stick around.

***

Charles drifts for a long time.

There’s no way to know how much time has passed in this cluttered little cupboard, leaning against the wall among dozens of other forgotten things. Sometimes, he’s vaguely aware of footsteps outside, people shouting to each other, bells ringing, the drum of rain against windowsills and the howling of wind. Sometimes, he’ll stir to almost-wakefulness as the door of the cupboard opens and a hand reaches in to grab something, but no hand ever closes around him.

Part of him is aware that he’s collecting dust and that it’s been far too long. Iris said she would come back for him after she hid him, but she never did. Something bad must have happened to her, which means that Charles failed her, just like he’s failed all of his wielders eventually. Maybe it’s best that he’s trapped in this cupboard until someone tosses him away like trash.

Whenever he thinks that, he lets himself sink a little deeper into his barely-conscious state. He doesn’t want to think about his failures.

The cupboard opens and closes. People talk as they walk by. Bells ring. Wind and rain rattle the windows. And through it all, Charles is just there, forgotten.

Until finally, someone picks him up and the whole world glows red.

***

Edwin knows, even as he picks up the cricket bat, that there’s no point. He’s not going to fight Simon and his friends. They all play every sport St. Hilarion’s has to offer, while Edwin has never been what anyone would call athletic. It’s a shame, he’s heard the coaches mutter, because he’s a fast runner. The only problems are his coordination and his upper body strength and his preferences for doing literally anything else but participating in sports.

So no, he’s not going to try and hit Simon and the others. That would only get him a worse thrashing. They’ll already be cross that he got away from them by biting Simon’s hand and kicking Miles in the stomach after they dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night; he doesn’t want to make it worse. But it’s comforting to have something in his hands as he crouches, barefoot and shivering in his pajamas, in the little cupboard of the athletic building. It’s not his usual hiding place, so he’s hoping that will throw his pursuers off. It’s not as if he ever voluntarily ventures to this part of campus.

The last time they dragged him out of bed, they locked him in the cellar of their dormitory all night and for most of the next day. Edwin missed an exam and got a stern telling off for wandering somewhere students aren’t allowed and missing all his classes. There was no point in telling anyone why he’d ended up in the basement. There never was.

But from what he heard them whispering to each other tonight, they have worse plans for him this time. Which is why Edwin needs to stay still and quiet until the coast is clear and he can sneak back to his room.

Nervously, he runs his hand over the smooth wood of the cricket bat, comforting himself with the repetitive motion. It feels oddly warm in his hands.

And then the entire cupboard is illuminated in red light, so bright that Edwin can hardly see. He yelps as the red light seems to engulf his hands and the cricket bat, leaving searing heat in his wake. It should hurt, he thinks distantly. His hands should be burned to ash. Instead, it feels almost pleasant, like he’s dipped his hands into a bowl of warm water.

The red light coalesces into the shape of a person. Edwin blinks, and the light is gone, leaving only afterimages dancing across his vision and someone sitting in his lap.

***

The boy—Charles’s wielder—lets out a little shriek of surprise at finding Charles in his lap. For a moment, there’s a scramble as they both try to adjust their limbs so they’re not practically on top of each other, to no avail. The cupboard is barely big enough for one person among all the clutter, never mind two. The other boy’s knee is poking Charles in the shin and the cricket bat is pinned uncomfortably between them.

“What was that?” the other boy asks indignantly, in a posh, bossy sort of voice. Charles can’t see him in the dark, but he smells nice, like soap. The body pressed up against Charles’s is warm and clad in something soft. Pajamas, maybe.

Charles shrugs his shoulders, reveling in being able to move again after being still for so long. “That was you summoning me, mate. Name’s Charles. Nice to meet you.”

“Summoning? I didn’t summon you.”

“Think you did.”

The boy makes a strangled noise. It’s kind of cute. “What are you doing here?”

“Told you, you summoned me.” Charles grins. “What’s your name?”

There’s a brief silence, like the boy is considering whether or not to answer. “Edwin Payne.”

“Nice to meet you, Edwin Payne. Now, what are you doing here?”

Edwin shifts uncomfortably and says in a quieter voice, “I’m hiding.”

“Hiding?” Charles perks up. This is why he was summoned after all, to leap to his wielder's defense. If some manner of sorcerer, demon, or assassin is after his Edwin Payne, he's going to make them regret being born. “From who?”

“Simon Mould and his friends.”

“Who’s Simon Mould? A hitman An evil wizard?” Charles hasn’t gotten to fight a proper wizard in ages.

“No.” The boy sounds puzzled now. “He's just an arsehole. Do you really not know who Simon is? I thought everyone here knew him. His uncle is the prime minister and he never shuts up about it.”

“What happened to Old Maggie?”

“ Thatcher ? She died years ago.”

“Good fucking riddance.” Charles considers. “What year is it?”

Another pause, this one more worried. “2025.”

Huh, it's only been 36 years since Charles went in the cupboard then. Not as long as he thought. “And where are we?”

“St. Hilarion's School for Boys,” Edwin says slowly. “You don't go here?”

St. Hilarion’s? It doesn’t sound familiar. Why would Iris have hidden him here? “Nah, school was never my thing.”

“Then why on earth were you hiding in a cupboard in the athletic building?”

“I wasn’t hiding. You summoned me, remember? Guess I was waiting for you, wasn’t I?”

He feels Edwin draw back a little, not that there's much space to retreat.

“Not in a mad stalker sort of way, mate,” Charles says quickly. “You summoned me, so now it's my job to protect you.”

“Charles, are you... well?” Edwin sounds like he's choosing his words carefully.

“Yeah, I’m aces. Where's this Simon wanker? Sounds like he needs a good arse kicking.”

“Hopefully looking for me on the other side of campus. He said he stole a book from his brother. He and his friends were planning to sacrifice me to a demon or some nonsense.”

“A demon?” Charles really doesn't like the sound of that.

“Yes, and I don’t feel like being trussed up like a virgin sacrifice and have the pictures end up on Instagram.”

Charles has no idea what Instagram is, but it sounds sinister. “That’s not happening.”

“I hope not.” He feels Edwin edging away towards the door. “It was nice meeting you, Charles, but I really should be—”

Charles slaps a hand over his mouth as braying laughter echoes outside.

“Oi, Payne!” a boy's voice bellows. “You hiding in here, you little bitch?”

Edwin goes very still. Charles doesn't even think he's breathing.

“Better not make us come find you, Payne!” another boy shouts. “Or we'll kick your arse.”

“Nah, he'd probably like that,” someone says, followed by another burst of laughter.

Edwin draws in a shaky breath.

“Right.” Charles moves into a crouch, clutching his bat. “I've got this.”

“That's not necessary,” Edwin hisses. “They’ll move on.”

From nearby, there's the sound of a door behind thrown open. Something crashes to the ground loudly.

“Mate, they’re here to sacrifice you to a demon.”

“They’re just trying to frighten me.”

“That won’t make you any less sacrificed to a bloody demon.”

“It’s not as if it’s a real ritual.” Desperation edges into Edwin's voice. “They’re just bullies.”

Bullies are plenty dangerous, but Charles sees his point. “Fine, I’ll just bang ‘em up a little. No real damage.”

“Charles—”

But footsteps are approaching and there's no time to waffle. Charles explodes out of the closet, bringing his bat up in between the legs of the boy who was about to open the cupboard door. The boy lets out a thin little wail and buckles, knees hitting the ground. With a whoop, Charles aims his cricket bat at the next boy's shins, not hard enough to break bone, but just hard enough for it to hurt like hell. Sure enough, his victim screams, hopping around like his leg’s been torn off.

The battle fever is rising, urging Charles to fight and fight until the enemies have fallen under his blade. But there are no real enemies here and no blade, just a cricket bat and a bunch of stupid kids who think sacrificing a classmate to a demon is a fun lark. He releases his bat and it flies through the air, smacking a fair-haired boy across the face hard enough to make his head snap around. The book in his hands falls to the floor as he clutches his face, screaming about a broken nose. There are three more boys with them, hanging back as they eye Charles warily.

Charles smiles at them as the cricket bat returns to his hand. “This is the part where you run, yeah?”

The boys don’t need to be told twice, turning tail and scrambling away. The one Charles hit in the nose is still wailing the entire way, the little wanker. Charles waits until their footsteps have receded before he turns. Edwin is still sitting on the floor of the closet, knees drawn up to his chest and a furrow in his brow as he watches Charles. He's maybe sixteen or seventeen, barefoot and clad in flannel pajamas, his light brown hair tousled from sleep.

“Who exactly are you?” Edwin asks, watching Charles with trepidation.

Charles feels almost giddy with post-battle adrenaline. “I’m the servant of the sword. Well, the cricket bat. Like I said, mate, you summoned me, so now you’re my wielder.”

***

“So, you’re an enchanted sword,” Edwin says, watching Charles devour his second plate of spaghetti with the same single minded focus he used to fight off Simon and his friends.

He’s not sure why he didn’t go running to a teacher to tell them that there was a madman with a cricket bat hiding in cupboards on campus. He’s not sure why he allowed Charles to escort him back to his dormitory to “make sure those arseholes don’t try anything else.” He’s especially not sure why he left campus with Charles to grab a bite to eat after Charles mentioned how hungry he was. Objectively, these are all monumentally stupid decisions.

Maybe it’s the way Charles put himself between Edwin and his classmates without a second thought. Maybe it’s the fact that Edwin watched him fight and is sure that Charles could have done far more damage to Simon and his friends if he wanted to. Edwin has never seen anyone move that fast before. That the worst injuries dealt were a broken nose and a few bruises speaks to how careful Charles was to keep his promise to Edwin and not hurt anyone too badly.

Or maybe it’s that Charles is a beautiful boy that keeps smiling at Edwin and it’s been a long, long time since a beautiful boy smiled at Edwin.

“Sort of,” Charles says through a mouthful of spaghetti. “Really, it’s that my soul is bound to an enchanted sword.”

“But you’re not a ghost.”

“Nope. Immortal, actually. Can’t die. Trust me, plenty of people have tried to kill me.”

The server gives them an odd look as she walks by, shaking her head and muttering about “the drugs at that school.” Edwin sits a little lower in his seat. He knows that many of his classmates sneak off campus to the Treehouse, a restaurant which is open late and apparently very lax about checking IDs. St. Hilarion’s students are technically only allowed off campus unsupervised after Year 11 and only during daylight hours, but that’s never stopped Simon and his friends. Edwin has never been to the Treehouse before and feels a little thrill at having gotten away with breaking a rule.

Unless he ends up being murdered by an immortal warrior bound to a cricket bat.

“But there were no swords in that closet,” Edwin says. Knowing Edwin’s luck, he would have run himself through.

“Not anymore.” Charles pats his cricket bat, which leans against the wall next to the table. “One of my wielders was real paranoid that someone was going to steal me away from him, so he turned my sword into a cricket bat to hide it. He was going to turn me back eventually, I think, but I got stolen from him not long after that, so I guess he was right to worry, wasn’t he?”

Edwin has so many questions that he doesn’t know where to begin. He supposes he should start with the most pressing one. “So, when I picked up your cricket bat…”

“You summoned me,” Charles says brightly, looking at Edwin with those big brown eyes.

Edwin remembers that red light. He’s been trying to convince himself that he imagined it, but there’s no way anyone was in that closet with him before Charles seemed to appear out of the light. “You keep saying I’m your wielder. What does that mean?”

“Well, whoever wields the sword, or the bat, I guess, wields me. I’m here to protect you, fight your enemies for you, aren’t I?”

That’s a lot for Edwin to wrap his head around. “I don’t have any enemies.”

“Six blokes just tried to sacrifice you to a demon.”

“They wouldn’t have—”

“I took a look at that book. Not sure how Simon got his hands on it, but it’s a real grimoire. The spells in it work. If they tried to sacrifice you to a demon with it, it would have worked.”

Edwin swallows hard, regretting the plate of fish and chips he just finished. He looks down at his hands, which are pressed tightly together in his lap. “Thank you.”

“It’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? Not much good if I let my wielder get dragged to Hell by a demon five minutes after he summoned me. I’ve lost a lot of wielders, but that’d be a new record.”

Edwin glances up. “How many wielders have you had?”

“Too many to count.” Charles appears to be no older than Edwin, but he suddenly looks much older, like the weight of his immortality weighs down on his shoulders. Edwin wonders how many times there’s been a flash of red light and Charles has found himself face-to-face with a new wielder.

“What happened to the last one?” Edwin asks.

“I don’t know.” Charles shoves around forkfuls of spaghetti, gaze averted from Edwin. “Her name was Iris. She was a psychic medium. A powerful one. Loads of people wanted to use her for her powers. There was a witch who wanted to take me from her, so Iris made me get back into the cricket bat. She said she’d come back for me. That was in 1989, so I guess she never did.”

“1989?” Edwin looks him over, taking in the jacket, the earring, and the eyeliner. “That explains some things.”

Charles’s beaming smile returns. “Hey, the 80s were aces. Great music, great movies, great clothes. Probably my favorite decade and I’ve seen a lot of them. How’s 2025?”

“If you’re asking about the music, the movies, and the clothes, I am very much not the person to ask,” Edwin says dryly.

“Guess we can find out together, can’t we?”

Edwin feels his face flush under the force of Charles’s warm smile. “So, what happens now?”

“You tell me, mate.”

“Well, you’re no trapped in a cupboard, so I suppose you’re free to go to whatever it is that immortals bound to a cricket bat do,” Edwin says, confused.

Charles’s face falls and Edwin instantly feels like he kicked a puppy, though he’s not sure why. “That’s now how this works. You’re my wielder.”

“Charles,” Edwin says as gently as he can manage. This is why his only friend is Niko, the most forgiving person in the world. He’s rubbish at handling other people and their emotions. “I told you, I don’t have enemies to fight.” Charles continues to look crushed, so he adds, “I don’t even know how to play cricket. I think I’d make a rather rubbish wielder.”

“Well, you’re my wielder until you die, get defeated in battle, or pass me on to someone else willingly,” Charles says.

Edwin doesn’t like any of those options. He doesn’t quite understand this wielder business yet, but the thought of this bright-eyed, smiling boy being relegated to a weapon seems utterly wrong to him. But he can’t just stick Charles back in the cupboard and forget about him, not after Charles saved his life.

“So you’re stuck with me, yeah?” Charles flashes an uncertain smile.

“No, I believe you’re stuck with me,” Edwin says. “I’m not very good with people, I’m afraid.”

Charles’s smile widens. “I’m aces enough with people for the both of us. And if anyone gives you a hard time, I’ll just whack ‘em with my bat.”

Edwin snorts as the server comes over to pointedly put the bill down on the table.

Charles shrugs sheepishly and takes another bite of spaghetti, leaving a smear of sauce on his chin. It makes him look no less handsome. “Left my wallet in my other cricket bat, mate.”

Edwin sighs and reaches for the bill. He’s not sure what it means to have come into possession of an enchanted cricket bat with an immortal fighter bound to it. But he’s letting himself succumb to the tentative hope that it might mean that he has a new friend.

***

Charles always has a good feeling about new wielders. No matter how many of them he fails or how many trade him away, he always lets himself hope that this one will be different. Maybe this one will make it to old age with Charles by their side, protecting them until the very end. Maybe he'll never let this one down.

But he thinks that this time, he might be right. Edwin Payne seems different: a little awkward, a little prickly, but a good sort underneath it all. And he’s not a king, a general, or anyone else prone to ending up on a battlefield. Besides almost getting sacrificed to a demon by some dumbarse classmates, how much trouble can he really get into? If the worst thing he has to protect Edwin from is bullies, then this should be the easiest job Charles has ever had.

As they walk back to St. Hilarion’s campus side-by-side, Charles tilts his head back to feel the cold wind on his face. It’s a gray, miserable night, with no stars to speak of, but he knows they’re there, and that’s enough. After over thirty years in a cupboard, there could be a hurricane and it’d be the most beautiful weather Charles has ever seen.

“I have a single room, so you’ll need to sleep on the floor,” Edwin says apologetically.

Charles shrugs. “So long as there are four walls and a roof, I’m good, mate.”

“And you’ll need to keep a low profile. My teachers will have questions if I start walking around with a cricket bat-wielding bodyguard. Especially if Simon reports the boy who broke his nose. Did I mention that his uncle is the prime minister?”

“I can show you how to put me back into the cricket bat if you need to hide me.”

Edwin looks horrified at the very thought and Charles feels a stab of affection for his new wielder. Yeah, he has a good feeling about this one. And not even because Edwin’s pretty fit, though that helps. Those green eyes are something else.

“Charles?” Edwin asks as it begins to drizzle.

“Yeah, mate.” Charles holds out a hand to feel the cold raindrops against his skin.

“How did you end up bound to a sword?”

Charles thinks of his own useless screaming, his father’s merciless gaze, the burning agony of the sword driving into his chest. “Usual way, I suspect.”

“There’s a usual way to end up bound to a sword?”

“Don’t worry about it, mate.” Charles slings an arm around Edwin’s shoulder. “It’s a good life. I’ve seen the world, met plenty of interesting people. I’ll never die. If I’m hurt, just have to go back into the bat for a bit and I’m good as new. It’s brills.”

Edwin doesn’t look convinced. “Can you be freed?”

No one has ever asked Charles that, not in the many, many centuries he’s existed. He’s never really let himself think about it. “I don’t know,” he says, hearing the tremor in his own voice give him away. “No one’s ever tried.”

“Well,” Edwin says. “I suppose that’s another thing we can figure out together.”

Yeah, Charles thinks as the rain falls around them. He thinks this is going to be aces.

***

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[deramin2]

The entire point of clothes not fitting right is that there's absolutely some body out there that the clothes do fit, but they do not fit the person currently wearing them. Apart from that making the clothes look terrible on people, like a hotdog squeezing out of bad packaging, they also feel terrible when they don't fit. They're tight in uncomfortable places and they restrict movement.

Even if we just set aside the subjective aesthetics of stylishness, Morgan could go from schlub to ignorably bland if he was just wearing clothes that actually fit him. A thing the stylists on his show are paid to make happen, where he ends up looking his best. Tailor made always looks and feels the best because it's the talk size and shape of your body, but off the rack can look just fine if you at least buy something a little too large in places and take it to a damn alteration place to have them take bits of it in so it actually fits like 90% of the way. Especially if you're choosing to live your life on camera. Some of Kermits fits are probably altered children's clothes.

The broader point is these fuckers want to act like they're the master race who have all the answers to fix everything, but they are too ignorant, lazy, and cheap to even dress themselves properly. Again not even style, just literally clothes that accommodate the reality of their own biddies.

If you know the bare bones of what actually fits you, it's possible to persistence hunt good formal outfits at charity shops for dirt cheap. It's blatantly apparent from just his clothes that Morgan knows fuck-all about reality and is too proud or invested in mass-produced averageness to do the bare minimum to look and feel good in his own body. Why would we trust that guy to decide anything for anyone else?

This might be Derek Guy's greatest masterpiece.

(The Twitter thread is probably easier to read and easier to look at the images, but I wanted to make sure it got preserved. Images are the tweets.)

(Continued in reblog)

[gotta-winwin]

teleparty celebration 🍊🍕🐯 ~ booseoksoon love languages

as a little something to celebrate bss' comeback !! i present to you... 🥁🥁🥁... booseoksoon and their love languages! specially: things that i do when i'm in love with someone.

playlist ♪: wasteland, baby! and when we are together

"if i am nothing you are the letters that spell it the word that gave it meaning to be nothing to you nothing is everything so when i feel like nothing you look at me and you say my nothing is everything you are everything and i feel just a little bit more okay"

- serena 2023

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Sends you songs that remind him of you

Spotify links are flooded through your chats whenever there’s even a little moment of silence. Seokmin listens to music like it’s a religion and never hesitates to share with you the songs that scream your name. Wasteland Baby! By Hozier and When We Are Together by The 1975 are his go-tos whenever he misses your face. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Names his plushies after you

The first time Seokmin brought you over to his apartment you were greeted with a lineup of stuffed animals - all gathered throughout your courting stages or from his friends. He happily introduces you to them all, pointing at each one and stating their name. Each name is clearly a callback to various reminders of you, like Seokmin’s raising his stuffies to the likeness of you.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Starts secretly planning your future 

Although he won’t ever admit it, it didn’t take long for Seokmin to picture your life together - far, far into the future. He can picture you in your wedding dress, at the end of the aisle, a bright and sappy smile on your face as you wait for him to reach you. He’s secretly named all the kids he’d imagine you guys to have, knows the exact family home he’d love to share with you, and has your retirement planned out as well - only in his head.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Bakes 

Cupcakes, cookies, muffins, cake - literally anything recipe he can get his hands on. It served as an excuse to see you in the earlier stages of your relationship, always sending you a text asking if you wanted a piece of anything he made last night. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Texts you every small thing

It’s not every little thing, but pretty much. Random pieces of his day are littered through your chat history - if anyone ever needed to track Seungkwan’s footsteps, your chat history is the way to go. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Brings you to his favourite spots

Seungkwan calls them his ��secret alcoves,” privy to only him and no one else. The first time he brought you to one of them he had talked it up to be a big deal, stating “i’ve never done this before,” “you’re the first person i’ve ever brought here,” “we’re basically married if I bring you here” - and it is a big deal to him.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Stares at the sunset and thinks of you

Sunsets are one of Soonyoung’s favourite things to look at - a close second to you. Although he often sends you pictures of the brightly colored orange and pink sky, sometimes he just stares, keeping the sunset to himself as he basks in the nostalgia and love coursing through him. “The sunset signifies the end of the day.” He explains when you ask him why he loves it so much. “And the end of the day is when I get to see you.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Write his name with your last name

Soonyoung hates to admit it because it makes him sound like a lovesick teenager (which he really is) but sometimes, when he’s extremely bored, he’ll find himself scrawling his name with yours on a scrap piece of paper - just to see how it’d look. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Your enemies are his enemies 

He loves to yap with you whenever you need a release of anger. He’ll side-eye your enemies without a second's hesitation. Soonyoung’s always operated with the belief that loyalty comes before all, not just in relationships, but in general. He’s loyal to you in the sense that - your friends are his friends and your enemies are his as well. It’s just another way to show you that he’s got your back.

[jenanigans1207]

1/7/25: Petty

“Dude,” Sam says to Dean one night when they’re sitting in the library pouring over some boring ass books that haven’t helped them even a little bit up until this point. “What the hell’d you do to Cas?”

“Who says I did anything to him?” Dean asks without glancing up. “Dude’s weird, it’s probably nothing.”

A hand appears on the page that Dean was pretending to read, and it takes him a second to even realize it’s happened, blinking his attention back to the moment and glaring at Sam as he reaches out to smack the offending hand. Sam snatches his hand back before Dean makes contact, but the effect was successful because Sam now has Dean’s full attention.

“He’s taking everything I say so literally.” Sam explains, pausing as if he’s waiting for Dean to add something. When Dean doesn’t, he presses on. “We’ve known the guy for twelve years and even when he was his most angelic, he didn’t do this.”

“Sure he did.” Dean argued, the phrase no, he’s not on any flatbread circling around in his head.

But Sam shakes his head, a few long pieces falling into his eyes. “That was different. He didn’t know then. He’s doing it on purpose now.”

Dean sighs and scrubs a hand across his face. “He’s doing it to be a petty bastard.” He says finally. “On our last hunt I yelled at him because he never fucking listens or does what I ask him to do, which is how he got hurt. So now—”

“He’s taking everything said to him literally and acting it out exactly as he’s told to.” Sam fills in the blank.

“Yeah.” Dean says. “I was trying to ignore him hoping that he’d stop, but he only seems to be doubling down on being an ass about the whole thing.”

To Dean’s surprise, the only response Sam has to the whole situation is to burst out in laughter. It’s the kind of head thrown back, belly laugh that Dean hasn’t heard Sam do in years. It was the kind of laugh he cherished, because he used to get it so infrequently that he had to commit every second of it to memory. And even though Sam laughs more easily now, he still rarely laughs with this kind of unbridled joy— for a moment it makes Dean entirely forget about Cas and his petty revenge. Despite himself and despite the situation, Dean finds himself grinning a little too, just happy to see his brother happy.

“You really met your match,” Sam finally manages to choke out, still smiling in a way that’s happy but definitely verging on shit-eating. “For every pain in the ass thing you do, he returns the favor.”

“It’s not funny,” Dean grumbles, leaning back in his chair. He wants to take a swig of his beer but it’s empty and he doesn’t feel like getting up. “He needs to be more careful!”

Sam settles more comfortably in his own chair then and it’s the slant of his shoulders that tells Dean he should’ve gotten up to get the next beer because he’ll need it for whatever Sam is about to say. “Have you just tried telling him that you’re worried about him? And that it matters to you that he stays safe?”

There’s a lot of deflections and defenses that jump to the tip of Dean’s tongue, but he bites back on them. He’s been trying to be better to be at least a little more honest— with himself, Sam, and Cas. Nobody else was yet included in that honesty, but he figured he’d get there someday. So he swallows the immediate words he wants to say and glances down at the table.

“He should know.” He answers instead which isn’t much but it’s better and more vulnerable than anything else he would’ve said. At least it implies admission that Sam’s right about his true reason for being upset.

“I’m sure he does.” Sam agrees and there’s a sincerity in his voice that does actually comfort Dean a little. “But knowing it deep down and hearing it are different.” Sam explains, pausing before adding, “You know he loves you, but it’s still nice to hear, isn’t it?”

And goddamn it all, Sam has a point that Dean can’t even begin to deny. Because he does know that Cas loves him, knows it to the core of his very bones. But if Cas were to just stop saying it out loud, were to stop reminding him of just how much he’s loved, it would be hard for Dean. He wouldn’t doubt that love, but he would still struggle with it.

Dean groans and pushes back from the table, mumbling an affectionate and exasperated “bitch” under his breath as he leaves the room. He doesn’t have to travel far to find Cas, situated in the bathroom preparing to shave. Cas glances up when he walks in the door, their eyes meeting in the mirror. Cas’s hand stills where they were unrolling a towel over the sink in front of him.

“I’m so hard on you because I’m worried,” Dean blurts before he has the chance to lose his nerve. “I’m terrified of losing you and it scares the shit out of me when you get hurt on our hunts.” Cas’s eyes have gone impossibly wide in his reflection, but he doesn’t interrupt. “I don’t mean to be an ass, I just— I can���t lose you, Cas. You mean too damn much to me.”

“Dean,” Cas breathes, turning to face him properly.

“So there you go,” Dean scuffs the toe of his boot on the ground. “You can stop being a petty bitch now.”

Cas smiles as he steps up to Dean, reaching out to cup his elbow gently in a warm hand. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You knew, right?” Dean confirms.

“I knew,” Cas answers. “I couldn’t have been so petty if I had thought you were serious.”

“You’re such an ass.”

[kaliina-catoe-blog]

Danny didn't stop flying until he was on the outermost edge of Crime Alley, floating for a few minutes to catch his-- well. Not literally breath, considering he didn't breathe in this form, but the point stood. He couldn't possibly be less lucky, first he has to hide out in Gotham to escape his parents and now he has to try to heal the older halfa without risking himself.

What was worse? Clearly the man didn't know he was a half-ghost. He probably didn't even know about the Anti-Ecto-Acts or the GIW! What if he was targeted and didn't even get to understand why?

Although. The man also asked Danny why he knew about his death.. As though the man knew he had died. But then, why would he not know that he was a halfa? How would he know that he had died, but not know anything about Ectoplasm or Cores? It wasn't adding up, and Danny knew he needed to figure it out.

For now, though, he was exhausted. He looked around for a second, before settling on an abandoned-looking theater building. The sign was faded, and looked to be rather damaged- as though someone had thrown somebody into it and shattered many of the old lights. Despite the letters missing, and the general damage to the sign, it seemed to be some kind of... Opera? Theater?

"**ake Op**a Ho*se"

He floated down, phasing himself through the roof and directly into the main theater of the building. It was cold, but he could handle cold with his Ice Core. Still, Danny moved over to the stage, he could always make it more comfortable.

After shredding a couple of the old, slightly mildewed and tattered curtains, he made himself a large nest. Transforming back, he tried to search the building some for anything useful.

(Jay)

Jason sighed, snapping his laptop shut a little harder than necessary. He had been out searching the street for the kid he saw earlier and, after several hours of nothing, tried to find anything on the many cameras he had placed.

He didn't want to get the Bats into this, at least not yet, but he was starting to wonder if he needed to talk to Oracle. She would probably be able to find the kid, right?... He sighed again.

Alright. What did he know so far? The kid was scrawny, he looked about Demon-Brat's age but it was hard to tell. He appeared to be malnourished; his hands and wrists were bony and his shoulders stuck out a bit. Jason had to fight the urge to open his laptop again, instead opting to stand and go to his kitchen.

Maybe he just needed to try to run into the kid more casually? Maybe even as Jason instead of as Red Hood. Clearly the poor thing had been terrified of him, and he couldn't blame them when he knew his vocal modulation and large guns probably seemed... Well. Scary.

Making up his mind, he started to pull out ingredients for a simple chicken soup. Tomorrow night, he'd patrol like normal and try to find the kid. Hopefully, if he did, he could quickly change or something and try to give the kid some food. Alfred's chicken soup would be the best, especially in Gotham's freezing cold excuse for fall.

(Danny)

Three bottles of water, two sodas, and a juice were in the concession stand. As well as a few bags of chips, a bag of unpopped popcorn, and several boxes of very old candies. Although, in all honesty, he wasn't sure he trusted those if they'd been in cardboard in an abandoned building for... Who knows how long. He was pretty sure at least one of these brands was discontinued, so he assumed it had been a fairly long time.

He shoved his haul into an empty bag he found, as well as a flashlight he found in what appeared to be a manager's office and some batteries. He could see in the dark, but he liked having the ability to actually have light - it made him feel safer. Lastly, he snooped at the registers. They were all empty, which he supposed made sense. The safe in the office, on the other hand, had $50 in random bills that he took.

He would probably feel worse about stealing, but clearly it had been a long time and nobody else was going to miss it or care. Right? Right. Sure. He didn't feel bad at all... Okay he felt awful, but he just had to remember that he was hungry and the place was obviously not about to need $50.

By the time he got back to the musty curtains on the stage, he was beyond exhausted and starving. Collapsing down into the nest, he pulled out a water and opened it. It probably wasn't the safest thing to drink, but at least it wasn't Gotham tap water.

After half of the water was empty, he grabbed a metal dish he'd found in the kitchen and poured some of the popcorn into it. He wasn't entirely sure this was a good idea, but... Actually. Wait.

He scrambled suddenly off of the curtains, moving to sit on his knees on the stage instead. It was already probably dangerous to try to pop popcorn like this- let alone on a big pile of kindling. He grabbed a lighter out of the go-bag he'd brought from home, and one of the metal cups that Jazz had made him pack. She'd insisted he might need a cup for clean water in case he ended up somewhere in the woods or something. He was glad she was so overprotective now, and he ached as he thought about her.

The cup, which he had put a small fire-starter into and lit, sat underneath the dish. The dish was being held up, just high enough to not smother the flame, using a metal frame-looking thing Danny spotted near the stage. It looked like some kind of prop cage? It was flat enough on top to hold the dish flat and tall enough to just go over the cup without touching it.

Slowly, the popcorn started to cook. He heard it first, and watched as - oh shit nonononono. It was popping, yes, but also flying directly out of the metal dish across the floor.

"FUUUUU-" he cut himself off, swiftly moving to try to stop the popcorn from jumping onto the ground.

He pulled a metal lid from his bag, cursing himself for forgetting it, and slapped it over top. "Ancients damn it."

Dp x DC ideas #1 (please feel free to use, but if you could link it below or tag me or something so I can read any fics based on my ideas I'd be super grateful!)

Ok. Idea #1

Danny's transformation is bright. Like. Really really bright. It might temporarily blind people if they're looking directly at it! Danny and his friends have all become adjusted to not looking, and warning people to close their eyes. But what if the flashing light is also useful for making people not recognize that it's Danny that transformed?

Imagine Danny in Gotham, running into Red Hood somewhere in his civvies. His first thought, obviously, is to panic-- because obviously running into any member of the "Batfamily" can't lead to anything good. But then he can feel the cold puff of air that's suddenly leaving his lips and he realizes with terror that this man is NOT human. In fact. This man is easily twice Danny's size and armed to the teeth *and* he's not human. Danny, being himself, decides in that moment he needs to leave NOW. He starts to move, but. He can't bring himself to go ghost yet- there's something nagging at him that he needs to talk to Mr. "Built like the broad side of a barn" about whatever weird ectoplasm was infecting him. He could swear he could almost smell the rotten ecto on the big guy's clothes.

Jason, meanwhile, is busy staring at the tiny ass teenager that's literally shaking in front of him. Why was this kid even here? For starters, no child this size needs to be out this late in any part of Gotham. And more importantly, why is he in Crime Alley? Suddenly, Jason's not standing in front of some random teenager, he's looking at himself. Black hair, blue eyes, dirty clothes in the middle of The Narrows? Shit. Batman was about to have a field day... Wait. Was. Was this how his Da- how Batman felt? Oh shit. The kid was talking and Jason was standing here completely zoned out thinking about the Batmobile's fucking tires.

"Hey, are you listening to me?" Danny asks again, getting irritated fairly quickly. "I'm trying to tell you something important about your core!"

Red Dude shakes his head a bit, seemingly just focusing again. "Sorry.. Hold on. My what?"

Jason has never felt more confused in his entire life. He was also pretty sure he could mentally see the damn adoption papers filing themselves in his head. Maybe D- Bruce had rubbed off more than he thought?

"Okay. One more time." Danny sighs, "Your core looks like someone literally tried to shatter it and then glued it back into your chest. And you reek like rotten ecto- you need pure ecto to heal that much damage. I don't know what you've been trying to use, but it's contaminated by something and I think it's making you sicker?" He tries to explain, but the weird man just keeps staring and tilts his head.

"My what? Is full of what?" Helmet Bro has some kind of voice changer in his helmet, but Danny can tell he's being serious.

"You... You don't know do you?" His eyes suddenly widen like saucers, and he gapes up at the older man in horror.

"Know what, kid?" Jason steps towards the teen, not fast or anything. Just a shift forward, really, but the kid flinches back like he's been hit and Jason is suddenly 13 and fending off muggers again right here in this alleyway. He puts his hands up, palms out to show he's not trying to do anything, and slowly moves to lift his helmet off.

Danny is cornered, he realizes it the second the Big Scary Helmet Man™ moves forward and Danny is pressing his back into a fence. He didn't want to leave the man with rotting ectoplasm in his core, but what was the risk he was about to be kidnapped? But then Big Guy is freezing, and clearly not holding any of the weapons he's armed with.. And taking off the helmet?

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to lay a hand on you, okay, kiddo? I just need you to explain what you're talking about, and why you're... Here," he gestures with his free hand to the alley.

He has jet black hair, and there's a section near his bangs that's shockingly white. Danny almost thinks the man looks... A little bit familiar? Too familiar. He's not lying though, so Danny tries to relax a bit and raises his hands placatingly. Clearly, the man has no idea that he's a halfa, and he probably doesn't even know he died. Oh man.

"Uh. Well. I don't really know how to explain this to you- and I can't tell you why I know. But... Do. Do you know that you're.. Dead?" Danny asks awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Jason has to fight off the green that's suddenly starting to creep into his vision. How the hell did this kid- wait. He asked if Jason knew? "what?"

Danny felt horrible, he could feel whatever was contaminating the older man's core- like it was alive, almost. "So. I know that saying to stay calm probably isn't going to help you here. But I need you to try to not freak out, okay?"

The lenses of Hood's mask were blown wide, and he very carefully nodded. His teeth creaked with how hard he was trying to remain in control of the Pit Rage.

"Okay," Danny continued carefully, noting that whatever contamination was at play it was definitely making the man unstable... Was it time to go ghost? No. Not yet. "Uh. My name is Danny- Danny Fenton. And. You are... Dead. Err. Half dead?"

Jason is shaking now, just slightly, and he hopes the boy doesn't notice it. He's not trying to scare the poor thing, but the green is starting to come back in waves. He feels like he just got dragged out of The Pits all over again.

"How do you know about that?" Jason asks, and the kid flinches hard again. Jason takes a deep breath and holds it, "I'm not going to hurt you. But you need to tell me- right now- how you know about my death."

Danny is shaking, trembling in fear as he realizes he just fucked up. Badly. "Uh. I can't tell you that, " he tries, pressing flat against the chain link behind him.

Jason steps forward before he can think better of it, another question on his tongue-

*FLASH*

Jason staggers back, hands coming up to cover his eyes, "Oh fuck!"

"Sorry! But I am not about to double-die tonight!" Danny yells back as he phases through the fence. He waits a second, floating while Helmet Man tries to clear his vision again.

"Fuck!" Jason swears again, and then he says something in Spanish that Danny doesn't understand but he's pretty sure is probably not PG13.

Danny doesn't hesitate for another second before he's flying away. He'll need to find the older halfa again, but for now he needs to get far away and fast. He wasn't sure what a regular human gun would do to a half-ghost, and he wasn't about to find out.

Jason, finally regaining his vision, whips his head around. The alley is empty, and there's no sign of where the kids went or how he managed to slip past. He shoved his helmet back on, huffing in frustration. Damn it all. He was going to have to track the poor kid down wasn't he?.... Yeah. Bruce rubbed off on him, clearly, because even now as Jason stalked back out of the alley he couldn't help but to mentally fill out paperwork.. He was calling dibs on this one- black hair, blue eyes, and apparently carrying a flash bang? Batman could fight him for custody. Besides... There was something off about the kid- how did he know Jason was dead? And what was all the weird talking about 'cores' and 'ecto'?