#only used the lasso though

[monzterbatz]

PAYJAY SPAM LOOK AT THESE CREATURES HI

experimented by doing lasso art (both of these are fully lasso art) IYS GENUINELY SO FUN TO DO especially with a restricted color palette .... @kito-kat made the color palette btw :3

this is very different to how i usually draw but its REALLY fun!!!

stupid random extras below cut lol

I HAVENT DRAWN SALT BEFORE SORRY THAT ONE SUCKS LMFAOO (the oj with a tail design is by kito btw ^^!!)

[avemarts]

draw the dragon above you portrait

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Why I don’t like AI art

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in CHICAGO with PETER SAGAL on Apr 2, and in BLOOMINGTON at MORGENSTERN BOOKS on Apr 4. More tour dates here.

A law professor friend tells me that LLMs have completely transformed the way she relates to grad students and post-docs – for the worse. And no, it's not that they're cheating on their homework or using LLMs to write briefs full of hallucinated cases.

The thing that LLMs have changed in my friend's law school is letters of reference. Historically, students would only ask a prof for a letter of reference if they knew the prof really rated them. Writing a good reference is a ton of work, and that's rather the point: the mere fact that a law prof was willing to write one for you represents a signal about how highly they value you. It's a form of proof of work.

But then came the chatbots and with them, the knowledge that a reference letter could be generated by feeding three bullet points to a chatbot and having it generate five paragraphs of florid nonsense based on those three short sentences. Suddenly, profs were expected to write letters for many, many students – not just the top performers.

Of course, this was also happening at other universities, meaning that when my friend's school opened up for postdocs, they were inundated with letters of reference from profs elsewhere. Naturally, they handled this flood by feeding each letter back into an LLM and asking it to boil it down to three bullet points. No one thinks that these are identical to the three bullet points that were used to generate the letters, but it's close enough, right?

Obviously, this is terrible. At this point, letters of reference might as well consist solely of three bullet-points on letterhead. After all, the entire communicative intent in a chatbot-generated letter is just those three bullets. Everything else is padding, and all it does is dilute the communicative intent of the work. No matter how grammatically correct or even stylistically interesting the AI generated sentences are, they have less communicative freight than the three original bullet points. After all, the AI doesn't know anything about the grad student, so anything it adds to those three bullet points are, by definition, irrelevant to the question of whether they're well suited for a postdoc.

Which brings me to art. As a working artist in his third decade of professional life, I've concluded that the point of art is to take a big, numinous, irreducible feeling that fills the artist's mind, and attempt to infuse that feeling into some artistic vessel – a book, a painting, a song, a dance, a sculpture, etc – in the hopes that this work will cause a loose facsimile of that numinous, irreducible feeling to manifest in someone else's mind.

Art, in other words, is an act of communication – and there you have the problem with AI art. As a writer, when I write a novel, I make tens – if not hundreds – of thousands of tiny decisions that are in service to this business of causing my big, irreducible, numinous feeling to materialize in your mind. Most of those decisions aren't even conscious, but they are definitely decisions, and I don't make them solely on the basis of probabilistic autocomplete. One of my novels may be good and it may be bad, but one thing is definitely is is rich in communicative intent. Every one of those microdecisions is an expression of artistic intent.

Now, I'm not much of a visual artist. I can't draw, though I really enjoy creating collages, which you can see here:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/albums/72177720316719208

I can tell you that every time I move a layer, change the color balance, or use the lasso tool to nip a few pixels out of a 19th century editorial cartoon that I'm matting into a modern backdrop, I'm making a communicative decision. The goal isn't "perfection" or "photorealism." I'm not trying to spin around really quick in order to get a look at the stuff behind me in Plato's cave. I am making communicative choices.

What's more: working with that lasso tool on a 10,000 pixel-wide Library of Congress scan of a painting from the cover of Puck magazine or a 15,000 pixel wide scan of Hieronymus Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights means that I'm touching the smallest individual contours of each brushstroke. This is quite a meditative experience – but it's also quite a communicative one. Tracing the smallest irregularities in a brushstroke definitely materializes a theory of mind for me, in which I can feel the artist reaching out across time to convey something to me via the tiny microdecisions I'm going over with my cursor.

Herein lies the problem with AI art. Just like with a law school letter of reference generated from three bullet points, the prompt given to an AI to produce creative writing or an image is the sum total of the communicative intent infused into the work. The prompter has a big, numinous, irreducible feeling and they want to infuse it into a work in order to materialize versions of that feeling in your mind and mine. When they deliver a single line's worth of description into the prompt box, then – by definition – that's the only part that carries any communicative freight. The AI has taken one sentence's worth of actual communication intended to convey the big, numinous, irreducible feeling and diluted it amongst a thousand brushtrokes or 10,000 words. I think this is what we mean when we say AI art is soul-less and sterile. Like the five paragraphs of nonsense generated from three bullet points from a law prof, the AI is padding out the part that makes this art – the microdecisions intended to convey the big, numinous, irreducible feeling – with a bunch of stuff that has no communicative intent and therefore can't be art.

If my thesis is right, then the more you work with the AI, the more art-like its output becomes. If the AI generates 50 variations from your prompt and you choose one, that's one more microdecision infused into the work. If you re-prompt and re-re-prompt the AI to generate refinements, then each of those prompts is a new payload of microdecisions that the AI can spread out across all the words of pixels, increasing the amount of communicative intent in each one.

Finally: not all art is verbose. Marcel Duchamp's "Fountain" – a urinal signed "R. Mutt" – has very few communicative choices. Duchamp chose the urinal, chose the paint, painted the signature, came up with a title (probably some other choices went into it, too). It's a significant work of art. I know because when I look at it I feel a big, numinous irreducible feeling that Duchamp infused in the work so that I could experience a facsimile of Duchamp's artistic impulse.

There are individual sentences, brushstrokes, single dance-steps that initiate the upload of the creator's numinous, irreducible feeling directly into my brain. It's possible that a single very good prompt could produce text or an image that had artistic meaning. But it's not likely, in just the same way that scribbling three words on a sheet of paper or painting a single brushstroke will produce a meaningful work of art. Most art is somewhat verbose (but not all of it).

So there you have it: the reason I don't like AI art. It's not that AI artists lack for the big, numinous irreducible feelings. I firmly believe we all have those. The problem is that an AI prompt has very little communicative intent and nearly all (but not every) good piece of art has more communicative intent than fits into an AI prompt.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/25/communicative-intent/#diluted

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[miraclewoozi]

SPECTACLE. -j.ww

in which your new boyfriend, wonwoo, doesn't give a crap about his expensive eyewear.

pairing : wonwoo x fem!reader. content : smut. pwp. tags under the cut. MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT. w/c : 2.7k. notes : yeah i kinda. went insane over this idea. so. bon appetite to you, and also to wonwoo ? i guess.

content + smut tags : established - but new - relationship. making out. FACE SITTING. impact play? (one gentle butt slap). the shenanigans are on a couch if that matters, i don't know. reader is a little shy about doing it. PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything.

Wonwoo looks flushed when he pulls away from where he’s been kissing and nipping at the side of your neck, hair stuck up in every direction thanks to your tugging fingers and your gentle guidance to help him find your sweet spots. His lips are pink and a little plumped. His glasses are steaming up, sitting halfway down the bridge of his nose, and every slightly heavier breath he takes makes his broad chest rise and fall where it’s pressed wholly against yours.

You can’t help yourself from leaning forward into another kiss; he’s completely irresistible. Maybe the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. And while this isn’t really news to you, the dynamic of your relationship with him shifted a month or so ago and you’re still getting used to the privilege of seeing him this close up. 

He’s still adjusting too, if the way he groans directly into your mouth, hands groping harder at the curve of your ass as you shuffle in his lap is anything to judge by. Still learning, still figuring you out. But – and this is how you know what you’re building here might be the real deal – even when it’s clumsy, and when you knock teeth while you’re kissing and burst into slightly pained giggles, or when things accidentally slip out of place while you’re getting steamy… everything Wonwoo does makes your spine tingle. Makes your stomach flip. Makes your core throb. 

Even when it doesn’t always work? It makes sense, and it’s perfect, and losing yourself in the way his lips caress and worship yours is so damn easy when he murmurs your praises just for letting him do this in the first place.

“Will you do something for me?” He asks after a small forever, pulling back just far enough that he's not breathing up your nose. His hands have made their way under your – his – hoodie now and he’s grazing his fingers over your ribs, tickling enough to make you whimper, not enough for you to want to swat him away.

You think you’d give him the world if he asked for it in that deep, rough voice he adopts when things start heading in this direction. The moon too. Shit, if you could get a lasso around the sun and bring it closer to keep him warm, you’d do that as well. So, whatever his little request is now, you know you’re going to agree; resting your hands on his shoulders (finally leaving his gorgeous hair alone), you lean back from him and nod your head.

“Anything,” you say. You’re certain that you feel his cock twitch in his sweatpants where it’s pressed against the inside of your thigh, but you’re not quite sure why. 

It makes you feel hot, though. More-so when he bites back a grin, lips curling in that adorable way. It feels greatly unfair that you can’t swoop down right this second to kiss him again, and again, and again; as painful as it is though, you do exercise enough grace to wait for him to come out with it.

“Get up,” he says softly, dropping his hands down your sides and squeezing at your hips once. 

You do as he asks and move off his lap, sitting on the other side of the couch; he doesn’t say anything else as he stands up himself, pulls his hoodie off over his head and tosses it to one side before sinking all the way down to the floor. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t see you. He shuffles into place with his back against the edge of the seat and only once he’s comfortable does he turn to look at you over one shoulder, grinning brilliantly.

“Okay,” he says, bending his knees and planting his heels into the floor. “Come here.”

You stand up off the cushions now and look down at him for a second, wondering what on Earth is going through his mind, but you know better than to start questioning his strange ideas. Especially when he’s in this sort of a mood. You step over him, one foot either side of his hips, and start to drop down too, but he puts a hand on each of your knees and stops you before you’re in his lap once again.

“No,” Wonwoo says, shaking his head. His hands then make their way to the backs of your thighs and he pushes forwards, trying to guide you where he wants you. Your knees bend of their own accord and press against the couch on both sides of his head. “Like this.”

You don’t exactly freeze up, but it is as if you forget how to control all of your muscles for a second. The ones in your legs seem to turn to jelly and you know it’s only because the sofa is currently taking a portion of your weight that you don’t buckle completely and fall onto the top of his head. The ones in your face give you a slack-jawed, wide-eyed, unblinking expression. 

Your abdominal muscles tighten and your cunt flutters at what you’re sure he’s trying to suggest, the rush of wetness you feel only worsened by the intensity in his eyes as he tips his head back and looks at you.

“Please?” He asks, all sweet but deep and rough at the same time. 

“Are you s–?” You start to ask. 

Wonwoo clicks his tongue at you and tries to encourage you further onto the couch to prove his point. “Yes,” he says, nodding eagerly. 

And then, just so you really can’t mistake what he's asking for–

“I want you to sit on my face.”

Your entire body heats up at how bluntly he says it. You squeeze your eyes shut and bite the inside of your cheek so that you don’t accidentally laugh with the nerves already trying to burst out of your tummy. 

It’s not that you don’t want to. If you had a penny for every time you’d thought about him giving himself up for your pleasure this way, you’d be rich. You do. You’re going a little crazy just imagining how good it’s going to feel. 

It’s just that him being so bold about it has you feeling shy, and that’s never happened to you before. You’re at a loss. You’re totally stumped.

When you open your eyes again and look down at him, Wonwoo is just as earnest and hungry for you as he was a few seconds ago. If anything, it’s as if he wants it more. It’s without a doubt the hottest thing you’ve ever seen and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re nodding at him; his fingers start to drag up and down the backs of your thighs happily, before they hook under the waistband of your shorts and gently make that first little pull.

“If you don’t like it, we can stop,” he says to you, only pulling them all the way down when you start to help him. They get tossed over to the side to join his hoodie after you step out of them. His eyes glance to the panties you’re wearing – the last barrier, the final thing keeping him from what he’s so desperate for – before he looks back at your face and flashes you a smile. “Just tell me, okay?”

“It’s not that,” you laugh softly, taking off your own jumper and throwing it onto the pile. Wonwoo groans at the sight of you; you roll your eyes at him. “You just… took me by surprise.”

“Good,” he sighs, wrapping an arm around one of your legs and letting you settle onto your knees in position over his mouth, pressing his fingers into the top of your thigh. 

The first soft press of his lips over your panties makes you gasp and you hold a little tighter onto the back cushions as you look down at him. His eyes are closed already as he breathes your heady scent in, deep enough to hopefully stain his lungs, enough that he’ll never get rid of it, that he’ll be able to carry you everywhere he goes. 

But Wonwoo’s closed eyes aren’t the only thing you notice between your thighs and a soft laugh replaces the pleased sounds already spilling from your lips. One hand drops down to where he's settled and your fingers brush against his temple as they try to pinch at one side of his glasses. He looks affronted when he catches your gaze.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, gently moving your hand away. 

You tilt your head at him. “Your glasses,” you prompt, moving to reach for them again. His fingers curl around your wrist and he shoves your hand into his hair instead, rubbing the tip of his nose against the inside of your thigh.

“I want to keep them on,” he tells you.

“What if they break?”

“Don’t care,” he hums, kissing his way back towards your covered pussy. “I’ll buy a new pair. I just wanna see you.”

You swallow at this and decide that you’re definitely not going to try and change his mind, instead choosing to tilt your head back and let his skilled tongue work you up through your underwear. It’s a mess of arousal and spit and they’re soaked, translucent, clinging to you by the time he’s frustrated with them; frankly, so are you, and it's a relief when he concludes that enough is enough.

“Baby,” he groans as he pulls your underwear to one side and has to crane his neck up to lick the flat of his tongue in a stripe up your slit. You whine, the cool air and his hot breaths a menacing mix of sensations, but you don’t have the sense to respond; one soft slap of his hand against your ass makes you look back down at him, though, and you’re met with dark eyes, flushed cheeks and a practically frenzied Wonwoo in the space between your hips. Your sweet, softly spoken boyfriend is nowhere to be found.

“I said, sit.”

His strong arm tugs you down and your knees slide against the cushions, bringing your pussy even closer to his face, literally forcing you to rest against his lips. He chuckles triumphantly and buries his tongue between your folds, tasting you so much more legitimately than before. The way he loves – straight from the source, the spring. You feel him prod at your hole and your walls clench around what he gives you – barely just the tip, but it’s enough to have you reeling already, and when his other arm hooks around your other thigh, when he starts to move you back and forth, you take very little convincing to start to rock your hips down against him on your own.

“Oh,” you whimper as his lips seal around your clit and he sucks at it once, giving a few experimental flicks of his tongue at the same time. The hand in his hair tightens immediately and Wonwoo groans with you still in his mouth, sending delicious vibrations through your sensitive nerves and making you gush onto his chin. 

“So fucking pretty like this,” he tells you, stroking his thumb over your waist. “Might be my new favourite view.”

He keeps lapping at you teasingly, testing circles and sideways motions, precise swipes, long drags; every subtle change as he tries to find what makes you scream in this position draws a different sound from your throat. He tenses the muscle and fucks your dribbling hole with it while encouraging you to move enough forward that his nose bumps against your clit with every jerky rock of your hips. You’re grinding faster, now, pressing down against his mouth harder, caring less by the second about whether his glasses are actually going to break in two. Besides, the way he drinks you down tells you that he could do this for a week straight without getting tired; he doesn’t want you to stop, or slow down, or ease up. He wants more. And if you’re too shy to give it to him, he’ll just take, take, take.

“Just– oh, fuck,” you gasp as his tongue finds your clit again and he laps at it with so much zeal that he could rival your favourite vibrator. “Just like that–”

Both of his hands grasp you tighter, squeezing and massaging and kneading at your soft skin as you chase your high on his pretty face. His eyes are tightly closed in his own rapture, and you hope that he won’t blame you for wanting him to open them; your hand pulls harshly at his hair again, hard enough to make him cringe, enough to make him stop for just a second before he sees how wound-up you look. You try to pull off from him a little, at least enough for him to catch a couple of breaths, but Wonwoo captures your pussy between his lips before you even hear him inhale.

“You– you wanted to s—see me,” you stutter out as the fire starts to catch and you feel warmth and ecstasy start to build at your core. “Fuck– ah–”

So he does. With big, hungry eyes, Wonwoo watches as you hurtle towards oblivion, as you writhe and squirm and grind down against his ardent mouth.

He sends you crashing over the edge with a wet sob, your own eyes closing now as you see stars in the darkness and ride your high out on his still-moving tongue. There are tears on your cheeks before you can do anything about it. Your walls spasm around nothing. He barely slows, taking back enough pressure so that your pleasure doesn’t turn to pain. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t even blink until you’re out the other side of your climax, though.

When your pants start to die down and you’re twitching to get away from him, so sensitive that even his tiny kisses make you shudder, Wonwoo drops his head back down to the pillows and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. You don’t have the strength to move yet, still reeling, still too floaty to try for any level of coordination, but he doesn’t mind. Your swollen, glistening pussy right over his face is something he'd pay millions to see.

“Didn’t even break the glasses,” you laugh weakly once your voice decides to come back to you. 

“Mm,” Wonwoo hums, sliding them off his nose and inspecting them. He ‘tsk’s before putting them back on. They’re steamed at the edges and a little smeary now, and he surely can’t actually see that clearly through them. He obviously doesn’t care. “That’s not good enough.”

“Huh?” you ask, moving carefully so as not to plant your knee into his jaw but still trying to bring your legs together so that you can sit to one side. He isn't having it, though, and slowly shuffles up onto his knees, turns around to face you and lays his fingers on one of your ankles, wasting no time in trying to pry your legs apart again.

“That’s. Not. Good. Enough,” he repeats, using his other hand to palm himself over the fabric of his sweatpants. The tent in them would be comical if it weren’t for the animalistic look in his eyes; there’s nothing laughable about the way he’s looking at you right now, though.

“So what are we gonna do about it?” You ask, opening back up for him and not hiding how you stare as he rips his shirt off over his head. Then, he slides his fingertips up the inside of your calf, to your knee, down your thigh… he drags them over the lips of your pussy and collects a little of your slick on them before bringing his hand to his lips and sucking it clean.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” he tells you, groaning at your sweet taste as if he wasn’t just drowning in it a minute and a half ago. He lowers himself until he's once more level with your cunt and guides both of your legs over his shoulders, smirking up at your expectant face. “Maybe try to squeeze your thighs a little more this time. See if that does the trick.”

thank you so much for reading!! i hope u enjoyed this hehe. as always, likes, reblogs, replies, feedback and asks are always super appreciated.<3

[zylev-blog]

Danny was pissed. He was chilling in the Speedforce, waiting on his dad—the Flash—to show up when he felt something shift around him. He exited the speedforce to find that the timeline had changed again, and he had been written out of the timeline. He technically was a time anomaly now, and didn’t exist. So he talked to Clockwork, a ghost he’d gotten to know extremely well after Danny’s creation.

Danny was a clone of the Flash and Green Lantern(Hal Jordan) as part of an experiment that Lex Luthor had taken prior to cloning Superboy. Lex had wanted to know if the power ring was able to transmit anything genetically (it couldn’t. It was a wearable weapon, not a genetic thing.) but Danny had inherited Flash’s superspeed, so he wasn’t a complete loss. Danny wasn’t sure if he looked more like either man, considering they both wore masks. He had brown hair and green eyes. Beyond that, he tanned well, was tall for his age, and packed on muscle far easier than the Flash did. He hadn’t ever seen either man out of the costume.

After a talk with Clockwork, he decided he was just going to force his way back into his Dad’s life. Both of them, if possible. He arrived years before his creation by mistake, right near the start of the Justice League. By his estimates, the team had only been formed for a year before he’d arrived. It was strange; he both didn’t exist and was from the future. He guessed that it was around nine years before his birth, and since he was technically six months old, he was 9 years in the past. Thinking about this was going to give him a headache.

The Justice League was severely mistrustful of each other. They didn’t go out of their way for teamups, didn’t have weekly meetings, and almost pretended if the other members didn’t exist. The most recluse of them was Batman, of course. If any hero set foot in Gotham, they were booted out before they even got to downtown. Danny highly suspected Batman had the entire city on camera. The situation was weirding him out more than before. What had happened to the team?! He was used to everyone being one big family, and even the sidekicks having their own teams… speaking of sidekicks, why was Robin so small?! Wait a minute, that wasn’t the third Robin that he was used to, that was the first Robin! Baby Nightwing!

Thankfully for him, he still had his costume on this entire time as he zipped around the country, spying on the younger members of the Justice League. It was surreal watching everyone try to capture him, but he wasn’t going to be caught that easily!

Eventually his presence forced the Justice League into another teamup. Batman laid the trap out, and Flash lured him into it. The plan was so beautiful that he didn’t even realize it was a trap until he was caught in it. Green Lantern took off Danny’s mask, and for the first time, he looked at his fathers without a mask. They didn’t make the connection to him right away. It wasn’t until Wonder Woman’s lasso made its way around his wrist that the truth finally came out.

“Who are you?” Wonder Woman asked.

“Oof , hard question—ow ow oww—I’m being honest!” He struggled against the lasso as it started to burn him. “My designation was Dn-y, I go by Danny, though. I’m a clone.”

“Of who?” Batman demanded.

“Flash and Green Lantern.” The lasso was glowing brightly, indicating that he was telling the truth.

“How did you escape?” Flash asked.

He didn’t answer right away. He was trying to think about how to phrase the whole time traveling—timeline erasure thing when the lasso started to burn him again. “Ow ow! Sorry, I’m thinking! Ow! Turn down the settings on that thing, holy shit—okay, okay.” He winced, his words coming out in one breath as he quickly talked, “What do you know about time travel?”

Diana’s eyebrows were rising. “How are you able to resist the lasso for so long?”

“I’m not really resisting it.” He answered, noting the obvious deflect of his last question, “I just-oww—okay! My mind moves too fast for me to put into words sometimes and it makes me stop to think about it, but like, I’m not good at controlling the speed in which I speak all the time—owww make this thing stop burning me! I’m speaking honestly!”

Diana revoked the lasso, and he rubbed his wrist where his costume was starting to singe. He was still trapped in an anti-speedster prison, so it wasn’t exactly like he was going anywhere anyway.

“Why were you asking about time travel?” Batman asked.

“Based on the crickets chirping I heard earlier, that leads me to believe you guys haven’t had any experience in it yet.” He leaned against the wall of the prison, wincing as it shocked him with electricity. “Seriously? How paranoid are you, Batman?” He rubbed his shoulder. “Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting with you people, but I feel so attacked right now.”

“So we have experience with it in the future?” Superman piped up.

“Yeah?” His tone of voice equated to a ‘duh’ tone. “Why would I ask what you knew if I wasn’t from the future?”

“How far in the future are you from?” Green Lantern asked.

“Nine years, maybe close to ten? Timelines are weird. I’m technically six months old, but at the same time I’m sixteen. Cloning is odd, but I was like, the first clone ever, so I don’t really have a basis for this sort of thing, if you catch my drift.” He shrugged. He seemed like he talked a lot more than the heroes did, but he didn’t know if that was because he was a chatterbox, or because they weren’t comfortable in each other’s presence. Either way, the silence was odd to him.

“How did you end up here?” Batman asked.

“Honestly? I don’t fully know. Don’t give me that look, Diana! I’m telling the truth.” He added quickly as Diana fingered her lasso again. “All I know is one minute, I’m chilling in the Speedforce, and the next, the timeline is changed and I’m nine years too early for my birth. You’d think the timeline would at least have the decency to spit me out in my own year, but nooo, it wanted to—“

“What’s the Speedforce?” Superman interrupted.

He tilted his head at Superman’s question, then turned to the Flash. “How long have you had your powers?”

Flash shifted uncomfortably. “Two years.”

“Oh boy.” Danny’s green eyes widened. “You don’t know anything about them, do you?”

“I do know things!” Flash deflected, “My suit doesn’t catch on fire anymore! I can run up to Mach 2! I can get from either end of the country in thirty minutes!”

He groaned loudly. “Oh no. Oh no.” He chewed on his thumb, trying to recall everything he’d learned about his powers from his Flash. While he hadn’t learned his or Green Lantern’s identity yet, he knew almost everything about their hero personas and a lot of personal information. They were just worried of the Cadmus connection and didn’t want their identity to fall into the wrong hands if they still could see inside of Danny’s head.

“What’s wrong?” Diana asked.

“Okay.” He ran his hands through his brown hair, making it spike up. “Hypothetically—“ he cut himself off as Batman glared at him. “Okay, totally real, but uh, Flash, let’s just say that I’m faster than you right now. A lot faster.”

“How much?” Flash took a step forward, obviously curious.

“From what we can tell, I’ve topped out at Mach nine.” He responded with a dry laugh, “But your speed was still a lot faster than mine. You’d never tell me what it was. I’m still growing though, and I’m getting faster. I’m able to beat my precious time by almost double each time we test. But my situation was complicated, and things were happening, and it was a mess.”

“Like what?” Superman asked.

“World war three. I think?” He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that he had picked up from Green Lantern, “Things got complicated. That’s why I was going to wait for…” his eyebrows scrunched together as the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. “It was you!” He turned to Flash. “You!” He jabbed a finger at the speedster. “You set this up! You set ME up!”

The heroes took fighting stances, but Superman took a step forward, blocking them from Danny. “What are you talking about?”

“Okay okay.” He was trying to calm down his anger, but he had been told by Green Lantern in the past that he had inherited the man’s anger issues. “Let me start at the beginning. This is going to be a long story, you might want to take a seat.”

Nobody moved, but everyone was tense.

“Or not. Okay. So my creation starts with Lex Luthor.” He noticed Superman stiffen. “He used me as his trial, if you will. Once he got a successful attempt at cloning—me—he moved onto his real target. Cloning Superman.” Danny’s green eyes hovered onto Superman’s blue ones. “He was successful.”

“What happened?” Superman’s voice was unnaturally quiet.

“Well, at first, Conner wasn’t showing that he had all the powers of Superman. So Lex tossed him aside and tried again. The second attempt was more successful than the first. But cloning Kryptonian dna was hard, I guess.” He shrugged. “The second clone lacked basic emotions. Empathy, remorse… it made him the perfect little weapon for Lex. But eventually, the clone’s anger and Lex’s greed got to a point of no return. Lex was elected President of the United States and uh…you can probably see where this is going, right? While the fighting hadn’t like…’officially’ started,” He used his fingers to create air quotes around the word ‘officially’, “Things were getting tense. See, we couldn’t take the clone down because Lex had wrote out the Kryptonite deficiency out of his weakness. And the clone had all the strength of Superman and none of his remorse…”

Superman looked pale. “I see.”

“So Flash and I came up with a plan.” He turned back to his father, “We were going to travel into the next dimension for help. From what we could tell, that dimension was full of god-like beings, and one of them actually helped me out earlier! But for a lot of them, they ask for a price for their help. But anyway, Flash and I were going to take our case to the King and plead for help. I was waiting for Flash when the timeline reset and I found out that not only did I not exist, but I was nine years too early.”

“What are you going to do now?” Green Lantern asked.

“Dunno,” His voice dropped as the reality hit him. He wasn’t going home—his home didn’t exist anymore.

[quantummindclassicalheart]

I think Brennan did something interesting with the Porter and Gorgug scene in the last episode. Porter is by all appearances a competent Barbarian teacher. He understands the role of Rage and its mechanical combat benefits, and he even recognizes how Gorgug uses Rage to protect those he cares about. But he doesn't understand how multiclassing into a caster fits into that framework.

And it's true! In 5e you can't cast or concentrate on spells in a Rage. But-- Artificers work a little different than other casters! Alchemist Elixirs and Arcane Cannons aren't technically spells. Arcane Armor just works. And so does the Steel Defender.

Of any caster I think the Artificer is probably the best-suited to multiclass Barbarian because their key subclass features are largely not spells. But it also runs into the problem of requiring multiple high stats. Barbarians already want high STR and CON, and Artificers need INT for their spells and spell saves.

And so there's this narrative tension here. Brennan the DM obviously wants to let his player have fun with the character build-- embracing the creative artificer side of himself is a great character moment for Gorgug, bearer of the tin flower. Someone who has always channeled Rage to protect those he cares about but who has also been called to create and preserve beauty.

And yet mechanically, it's a difficult build. We didn't see Gorgug cast anything in the Night Yorb battle, as far as I recall? And in-universe, classes are a formally recognized thing that require approval. But Gorgug can't be the kind of Barbarian that Porter wants him to be. So he has to show that he can be a different kind of Barbarian-- one whose magic integrates and synergizes with his Rage rather than opposing it.

We see Gorgug still insecure about his homunculus and about the solar lasso, even though these are objectively impressive feats. So it's not a skill issue but an internal conflict-- it's only once Gorgug reconciles and synthesizes his magic with his Barbarian side that the in-world powers that be will recognize him for all of who he is.

[captainkirkk]

✩ MONTHLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

The fics I’ve read and enjoyed for the month of March. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Fandoms included in this list:

DC (Batman)

Stranger Things

The Goblin Emperor

Miraculous Ladybug

All for the Game

SVSSS

Ted Lasso

Original Works

Clone Wars

DC (Batman)

Never Mind About The Shape I'm In (I'll Keep You Safe Tonight) by WakingNightmares

Dick isn’t a baby, alright? He’s ten years old, dammit, and he knows stuff. He’s been Robin for almost six months now so he knows… He knows that this probably isn’t gonna end well for him or his brothers.

Reverse Robins A/U

Stranger Things

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) by theheartofthekoko

“What’s wrong with what I wrote?” Steve whines, running his fingers through his hair until it’s all mussed up and falling into his face.

Chrissy snorts. “It sounds like you’re telling him his hair is frizzy and dry.”

“I said it was pretty!” He throws his hands in the air before crossing them and pouting his lower lip out.

Chrissy can’t help but laugh. She’s always liked Steve. He’s nicer than most of his friends, and he’s easy to talk to. But this is a side she’s never seen of him. She’s not sure anyone has; can’t imagine Carol or Tommy seeing him put his whole heart into something and not tearing it to shreds.

“Do you use conditioner?” she asks, throwing finger quotations around it as she reads it off the crumpled page.

Steve’s blushing again, cheeks all blotchy and red, rather unbecoming for the shoo-in for this year’s prom king. “Well, I thought you said you’d help!” he says, a little too loud for the library.

Or: a secret admirer au.

The Goblin Emperor

Maia's Rings by seekeronthepath

It happened gradually, was the thing. The emperor’s rings were tighter in the evening than the morning; that was normal. And if the fit of the rings changed, little by little, the change wasn’t large enough from day to day for any of them to notice. And then Nemer found himself thinking it was time to contact Dachensol Habrobar about adding some ease to Edrehasivar’s signet ring, and realised all of a sudden that something had changed.

The signet ring had fit perfectly at first, Nemer was sure of it. Hadn’t it? Or was he remembering that wrong? Maybe it had always been a little snug, maybe they had accepted that it didn’t slide on easily in exchange for the security of knowing it wouldn’t slide off easily.

----

Maia's edocharei notice something is wrong, and do something about it.

Miraculous Ladybug

what am i trying to say? by carolinaa

Part 1 of I will take it / It can't go wrong.

Be loved by his friends, or love himself, or earn his father's love. Adrien's at a point where he's pretty sure he can only have one of those three things, but he's doing his best to juggle all three of them.

They aren't always compatible. He's doing his best, though.

All for the Game

i'm fearsome and i'm wretched and i'm wrong by perchancetosleep

Jean will bite his own tongue off before he admits that he is the horrific monster that they all worried he would be. He is a Raven at the end of the day. They can tame him and retrain him and he will do his best to bite his tongue and play the part, but all of it will never change the fact that he is rotten at his very core, all disintegrated flesh and infected wounds and maggots and worms from the long, long years he spent decomposing alive, buried deep underneath the earth.

His mistake was allowing himself to be convinced that he would ever get to keep what he has built, that he would be able to hold onto the luxuries of friends and sunshine and safety.

an unkindness of ravens by perchancetosleep

Zane Reacher kills himself on a seemingly unassuming day in October, but not before ruining Jean’s life one final time.

The timing is calculated, and if there was any doubt how deep Zane’s hatred of Jean runs, it cannot be denied any longer. Despite their season-long suspension, the Ravens have belligerently petitioned their way into a handful of “friendly” televised scrimmages with other teams. The NCAA has assured everyone that what they have observed during practices at Edgar Allen shows a remarkable culture change, and these scrimmages are an attempt to avoid what had happened with the Foxes in August next season.

Given their reputation for clean play and no tolerance of violence, the only obvious choice for a first trial of this experiment had been USC.

SVSSS

My Poor Meow Meow by bunnyiling

It’s not like Shen Qingqiu wasn’t aware of the crimes, the violence, all the deaths, and even some exterminations pinned on Luo Binghe. He knew very well that his husband wasn’t a little angel, okay? But it’s just that… it’s just that it wasn’t his fault!

It wasn’t Luo Binghe’s fault that he had a traumatic childhood and an even more traumatic development later on when he felt abandoned by everyone! It wasn’t Luo Binghe’s fault if he was a little violent — he was a demon, okay? It’s perfectly fine to be a little violent! And so what if some people died at Luo Binghe’s hands? They most certainly deserved it!

Or: Shen Qingqiu, even though he doesn’t post in online forums anymore, still keeps the title of #1 Luo Binghe’s apologist.

Deluxe System 2.0: Co-op Mode! by kitsunealyc

Standing on the edge of the Endless Abyss, Shen Yuan chooses to take the point deduction and die rather than shove Luo Binghe over the edge.

What can the System do except engage the failsafe mode and restore the account of the original user?

(or, Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu become trapped in the same body and are forced to cooperate in order to survive the plot and achieve their happy endings)

Ted Lasso

Stand Where the Light Hits Hard by theseaanemone

The day before the season 1 charity gala, Ted invites a representative from a domestic violence charity to speak to the team, figuring it will be a good educational experience for the boys. Instead, it cracks open some barely-healed wounds for Jamie and Roy both.

Original Works

for every failing sun by PotatoLady

Part 1 of Fox, Dove, and Beren

If he’d wanted to fuck someone (which he didn’t) and wanted that someone to be a slave (which, even more so, he didn’t) then he would have still wanted that someone to be at least old enough to grow a beard.

Or, Dove might have been an ill-advised gift, but now, he's here to stay.

Mistaken by flames_dance

Part 1 of Jaime

When Jaime woke up, he thought he’d been rescued.

He gets a week before it falls apart.

Clone Wars

Lies About Jedi by SniperAnon (The_Big_Reveal)

“Wait a fucking second,” burst out CT-9886, “You’re taking me up there to-”

“To guilt trip a Jedi High General of the GAR into taking a nap? Yes. So keep the hat on. Nobody wears those except the new guys. Makes you look extra shiny.”

Inspired by this tumblr post: https://obiwanobi.tumblr.com/post/616828414927699968/obi-wan-high-on-pain-meds-the-shiny-medic

Compulsive Honesty by afoundling

Seven clones and a Jedi get dosed with truth serum and trapped in a confined space for 5 long hours

[evieelyzabethh]

If it’s okay to request, may I request something in modern au (viktor x reader, established relationship) where jayce is hosting a costume party and reader dresses in something that makes her look super pretty (maybe I even suggest, her dressed as cowboy barbie, cause my bi self is obsessed with that look) and viktor gets handy with her. If you’re comfortable, can you make it nsfw or at lesser suggestive?

Definitely projecting as someone whose personal fav holiday is Halloween, but I imagine reader to be super stoked about it. Like the set up gets a big makeover that she forces Vik to help her with, there's a bunch of spiders and skulls and spooky decor all over the place, the ambient music transitions to creepy organs or the instrumental soundtrack of one of those old Hollywood horror movies. You definitely spare no expense when it comes to costumes, sometimes even going as far as to make it yourself.

Jayce isn't the biggest Halloween guy; he just likes the decor and the movies. While you went as cowboy Barbie, he definitely went as a plain cowboy, walking around shirtless with a huge cowboy hat atop his head and a lasso attached to the leather belt he's wearing. The denim jeans he wears are flared, just barely showing the brown boots that he bought to match with the suspenders the rest on his bare chest. The party is rather intimate, nothing more than a bunch of mutual friends, a bunch of pizza, and at least a gallon of Jungle Juice.

Now, you knew that Viktor wasn't going to be Ken. Even though his costume wouldn't be a matching hot pink, he thinks the fringe is silly and totally not his vibe. To be fair, he hasn't done a matching costume with you since you went as a Playboy Bunny, and even then, he only showed up in a suit and tie. He didn't even name the costume; he just went along with what everyone else assumed. That year, he was a man of many costumes: Men in Black, James Bond, Hugh Heffner, a bodyguard. Someone even thought it was a Legally Blonde reference, and he was Emmett. This being said, he has no issues with you going as cowboy barbie or any of the other skimpy costumes you've worn throughout the years, as long as he gets to tag along and see you in it.

He doesn't even have to worry about jealousy, it's incredibly clear who you came with. He doesn't force you to stay by him, but the way your gaze travels to him at parties, the pretty curls you spent hours on bobbing around as you move around to find him in the crowd makes it incredibly obvious who you're tethered to. The pink, starred ascot that had been around your neck had been undone by a bathroom make out session and could now be found around his wrist. When you talk to friends, you make yourself cozy next to him, the drink you've been nursing for the better part of an hour in your hand as you lay your head on his chest, squirming deeper into him as what he whispers in your ear makes you shiver.

And you think you're being slick, but the way his hand plays on your thigh and the look in your eyes getting farther away says everything. So, when you abruptly say your goodbyes, no one is surprised that your car stays parked out front for at least a half hour.

It's really not the most comfortable arrangement, knee deep in the passenger seat or whatever Chapel said. Your head keeps bumping into the steering wheel, even with the seat being pushed as far back as it'll go, but his hand at the back of your head absorbs most of the impact. You hear it in his voice when he hisses extra loud, his eyes closing as he weighs out whether or not it's worth it to pull you off and drive home. He knows if he asks you, you'll just tell him to drive as he sucks you off and he is desperate enough to do just that.

Especially with the way you look right now. He's always been the type to initiate eye contact, and with how good you look right now, your make-up miraculously intact thanks to whatever waterproof mascara you use, spit dripping from your chin to the top of your tits, your cheeks red, eyes a bit gone from the lack of oxygen, he could cum just by looking at you. His little reminders, "Don't forget to breathe, doll. Through your nose, you can do it.", are quite necessary with your refusal to pull off until he spills down your throat, and fuck is he thankful. If you were in a teasing headspace and decided to edge him now, tears already in his eyes, half his energy going to steadying his own breath so he didn't pass out and the other half trying to keep him from bruising the back of your esophagus, he would probably cry.

You'd been going at it for a while already, pay back for all the lingering touches throughout the night and looking too good in that suit. The languid licks trailing from his leaking tip to his balls couldn't even be hurried along by his hips shallowly bucking into your mouth. You were in your own little world, moaning around his cock, hands pressed firmly in between your thighs as you buck into nothing while his honeyed praise goes through one ear and rattles around in your brain and spills out between your legs.

"Just a bit more. Doin' so good. So close.", he groans, so good. And he really doesn't last much longer, spurts of his cum shooting down your throat as he shudders and whimpers through the aftershocks. That post-nut clarity hits like a semi-truck when he looks out the very foggy windows to see Jayce out the window holding the clutch you left behind, looking entirely too shocked to have just walked up to the window. It's the scariest thing he saw all Halloween.

[hexb0nes]

THE BIRTH OF THE CELESTIAL REALM — A VIKTOR X PLUS-SIZED!READER SMUT FIC

word count: 5k

contains the following: nsfw (duh), unbalanced power dynamics (viktor’s technically your superior, even though you’re jayce’s personal assistant), one-off mention of breast milk (relating to the painting viktor sees in the art museum), some brief fatphobia, praise, mild degradation (the use of the word ‘slut’), wardrobe malfunction, viktor pops a boner, somewhat public sex (you and viktor are in a bathroom), primal!viktor go brrrr (horny takes over and he fucks the shit out of you), make out session, clothes get ripped off, titty sucking, dom!viktor, sub!reader, reader is fem but you can ignore the pronouns if need be, blowjob, deepthroating, facefucking, facesitting, pussy eating champ!viktor, czech terms of endearment, viktor got that casanova in him, minor breath play?, too many uses of pussy/cunt/dick/cunt but you’ll never catch author using ‘manhood’ or ‘puss’ as replacements, doggy style, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, and a surprise post-credit scene at the end ;3

summary: viktor was never a fan of art. however, he decides to give it a shot after failing to solve a series of seemingly impossible equations by visiting the grand museum of art in piltover… only for a glimpse of a particular painting among the piltovian renaissance art pieces to leave him frazzled and confusingly aroused. it doesn’t help that you, jayce’s personal assistant and newest member to the hextech team, are a perfect match to the beauty depicted.

a/n: strap the fuck it, lads laddies and lassos… we’re taking a trip to viktor pound town (please reblog or comment if you can, this is my magus opus)

The Grand Museum of Art, one of Piltover’s premiere museums, was stationed directly outside Jayce Talis and Viktor’s laboratory. One would think that Viktor had no interest in art, too engrossed in making scientific discoveries to entertain such often trivial subjects. Yet, unbeknownst to many, Viktor frequented that museum on days his mind was muddled with unsolvable equations and failed prototypes launches. What better remedy was there for stuck-in-the-mud science than immersing oneself in the wonders of art?

However, the first time the inventor visited the museum, he worried that he made a mistake. Modern paintings and sculptures littered the front half of the museum; in Viktor’s eyes, they were sorry excuses for art. What was so thought provoking about a banana taped to the ceiling?

“Not a fan of the modern pieces?” a nearby museum employee asked Viktor. The Zaunite tore his gaze from a painting on various black and blue rectangles to answer the employee, “I, eh.. I’m afraid that I’m not.”

“We have a lot better pieces towards the back of the museum,” the employee gestured towards the hallway behind them, “I recommend the section on the Piltovian Renaissance, let me show you,” with a silent nod, Viktor followed the employee towards the recommended section, the end tip of his crutch thumping softly against the museum’s marble floors.

Viktor scanned the various art pieces they passed by. Some were interesting with their use of medium or color while others left a sour impression with their lack of depth. It wasn’t long until they reached the far back portion of the museum, a golden plaque highlighting the words ‘Piltovian Renaissance’ in delicate script by the entrance to the next section. The employee gave Viktor a smile, “I hope you enjoy!” and skittered off to help another patron.

“Piltovian Renassiance,” the inventor mumbled while he adjusted his hold on his crutch. He vaguely encountered the term during his early academy days when he had to take a mandatory art class. Viktor didn’t remember much about it, other than how monotonous and uninterested the professor of that class was, “Let’s see what you have to offer.”

The section reflected the earlier days of the museum, the flooring and walls relics of the past with their aged appearances. A few other patrons perused about the floor, as Viktor strolled up to the first painting by the section’s entrance. The painting was broken into three vertical columns with the largest column showcasing a variety of green and blue hues, people and animals alike scattered about what Viktor could only assume to be Runeterra. His eyes darted to the column left of the largest, much more vibrant and simplistic in its design with only a few people and animals present. He then turned his attention to the rightmost column, the greens and blues replaced by dark colors and the imagery was nothing but suffering and damnation upon its subjects.

“A fan of Bosch, aren’t you?” the jubilant voice of an older woman greeted Viktor. A woman with greying hair and designer clothes waltzed up next to him, a small unfortunate-looking dog shaking in her open purse, “An excellent choice to admire, indeed! What might your view on it be, young man?”

“Eh,” the Zaunite was by no means an art critic nor did he consider himself to be an art enjoyer yet, “It’s, uhm… very vibrant,” he eyed the painting once more, “I like the use of symmetry.”

Despite his lackluster response, the female patron was delighted to hear his views, “As do I! I must say that Hieronymus Bosch’s The Garden of Runeterran Delights is one of his more prudish yet thought-provoking pieces. Many critics believe this piece to be a depiction of our choices in the afterlife, one vibrant and peaceful and the other dark and violent,” she let out a boisterous laugh and her poor dog yelped in response, “Reminds you of the division between Piltover and the Undercity, does it not?”

Viktor bit his bottom lip, “I suppose so,” That’s enough, go away now, you unsightly- “It’s an interesting piece,” Don’t rip her head off with your crutch.

“Indeed!” the woman chirped, “Well, you enjoy your time here, dear. Have a splendid day,” and walked off to go bother someone else. Viktor prayed to Janna for the freedom of that dog trapped in their owners’ clutches.

Viktor tried his best to keep an open but not science heavy mind towards the art, as he shuffled to and from various paintings and sculptures. The works presented in the Piltovian Renaissance collection were much more appealing to the eye than the sorry excuses for art the modern collection had to offer. After examining a sculpture of a Yordle—the inventor swore that the Yordle depicted looked identical to Professor Hemingdinger—shaking hands with a taller person, Viktor searched for a bench and sat down on the closest one, resting his weary body upon it. He laid his crutch next to him and rubbed his eyes, exhaustion evident with his under bags heavier than yesterday. The patrons in front of the bench dissipated a moment or two after Viktor took his seat and showcased a new art piece he hadn’t yet seen.

A painting, just like the many previous ones Viktor saw that day. Its background showcased a night sky full of gorgeous constellations and fluffy clouds. A pondering man sat behind a golden chariot carted by a pair of geese, his skin tan and the lower half of his body covered by blue fabric. Certainly more detailed than the other paintings, Viktor mused to himself, as he savored each component of the painting. He made contact with the subject of the piece and suddenly choked on his own spit, stifling back his coughs.

The subject of the painting featured a woman—a naked woman—adoring a long white veil and golden jewelry. Only her pussy—no, pussy was too crude for this masterpiece—her womanhood and one of her legs were covered by flowing red fabric. Viktor’s gaze locked in an oddity she saw around the woman’s breasts, her hand squeezing one and shooting— Oh my Gods, is THAT breast milk?

Sure enough, it was indeed breast milk, a stream of it being squeezed out from the woman’s breast. The chubby baby who sat upon her clothed thigh reached its hand out to the woman’s breast. His face growing redder by the minute, Viktor quickly glanced at the plaque behind the painting, The Birth of the Celestial Realm by Peter Paul Rubens, and made a swift retreat from the Piltovian Renaissance section of the museum.

Viktor’s mind was filled with nothing but scandalous thoughts, as he walked back to the lab. With each attempt to get back on track with a new equation or problem to solve, it always ended in Viktor visualizing the woman in that painting. By the time he returned to the lab, pink had overtaken the inventor’s usual pale face, enough so that—when Viktor returned to his workstation next to Jayce—his partner commented on it, “Hey Viktor, why are you so pink?”

“It’s cold outside.”

“It’s April.”

“I’m operating under worse bodily conditions than you, so zip it.”

“Okay, okay!”

Viktor let out a low ‘tsk’ and zoned back in on his work, as he examined the leftover blueprints for the next phase of Hextech works. A nose hair trimmer? Is Jayce— “Mr. Talis!” a voice akin to honeysuckles and lavender caught Viktor’s attention. Besides Jayce’s workstation, you, Jayce’s personal assistant, approached with a dossier in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.

Since Viktor and Jayce had engineered so many improvements and inventions for Piltover, the Council rewarded them with a budgetary increase and money set aside to hire an additional staff member so each inventor could have a personal assistant. Viktor wasn’t confident that the new assistant could get his schedule and needs as right as Sky did, so Jayce offered to take on whoever was hired.

You were a recent graduate from the Academy, five or so years junior to the likes of Viktor and Jayce, and hailed from one of the less-known Houses in Piltover, responsible for overseeing Piltover’s fishing sector. Your name would come up a few times in conversation whenever Jayce forced Viktor to attend a gala or “charity event” held by the Council. You were praised for your intellect, strive for justice, and respect, but more off than not, the members of the upper Piltovian crust were more than willing to speak ill of your name.

Such a plump girl, don’t you think? I fear that she may never find a husband.

Oh, yes, I’m afraid that I must agree. Perhaps, we can convince her mother to lighten up on her portions.

Did you hear that she has to get her dressed altered by a beauty parlor in the Undercity?!

What, really? What a scandal!

Eventually, he would see the owner of that name—you, better dressed than the gossiping women who thought feathers were in fashion—come around and the nobles would plaster on fake smiles and hearty laughs until you moved to a different part of the ballroom.

The Piltovian Houses’ obsession with your appearance was maddening. Upon the few times he interacted with you prior to your arrival as Jayce’s assistant, he could see your strength, your determination, and your passion. The way you spoke about the Undercity was always respectful, correctly referring to it as Zaun and mentioning on occasion how you were convincing your father to partner with Zaun’s fishing businesses to advance equality and equity between the two cities. Compared to the snobbish Piltovians, Zaunites valued fatness; being fat meant you had food, it meant you were strong enough to stand your ground.

Although Viktor wasn’t too key on physical attitudes dominating how relationships were structured, he wasn’t afraid to admit that you were pretty. Your personality and your ambitions accentuated your beauty, but Viktor also found your face to be just as gorgeous. The way you smiled, the spark in your eyes, how your cheeks resembled fresh apples, highlighted the overall appeal of your face. Yet, given the wedge between you two’s stations and the professional boundaries in place, Viktor didn’t think of you more than a kind and pretty coworker of his, someone who would get coffee with or chat about subjects of fancy like physics. Nothing more, nothing less, he was your superior and that was it.

Unfortunately, all of that was thrown out the window today.

Viktor mimicked some tinkering on a miscellaneous project, his eyes fixated on whatever interaction was occurring between you and Jayce. You handed your superior the dossier and informed him of the new projects that the Council was interested in. Jayce flipped through the papers and shook his head, mumbling something about the stupidity of Councilor Salo’s suggestions.

“I also got your coffee, courtesy of Madam Lincove at the café!” you held out the cup of coffee for Jayce to take, “Thank you,” he reached for the cup, fingers barely grazing it, when it suddenly slipped from both of your hands, “Shit!” Jayce successfully caught the cup of coffee before it hit the floor, but not at the expense of casualties.

The sound of a splash, followed by a yelp of pain, echoed throughout the lab. Instead of the floor, most of the coffee landed on your red blouse, darkening the fabric in its wake. Viktor jumped to his feet, which was a bad idea because he nearly fell, when you ran out of the lab and dashed through the hallway. Without a word to Jayce, the inventor left the lab and onto the path you took.

Viktor heard a series of curses coming from the bathroom. There you are. He knocked on the door and called out to you, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes!” you yelled back, “Everything is- oh, fuck!” Without a second thought, Viktor twisted the door knob, you forgot to lock it, and the door swung open, “Are you okay?!” he shouted, his expression frazzled.

You stood frozen in front of the bathroom mirror, a bundle of paper towels in your hands. Lowering your hands, the problem was revealed.

The top buttons of your blouse popped off, exposing your bra and cleavage. A simple black bra held your breasts together. Viktor couldn’t help but stare, eyes as big as saucers, “Oh. I, eh-” he stammered, unable to break his gaze. Instinctively, you dropped the paper towels and covered your chest, “Pl- Please don’t stare!”

“I’m so sorry,” the inventor apologized. A million thoughts raced around his mine, as Viktor attempted to regain his composure. You turned your back to him and mumbled something about needing a sewing kit. Viktor’s attention landed on your ass, the curve and plumpness highlighted by your pencil skirt. His pulse quickened and his palms began to sweat. What am I, a teenage boy seeing a girl for the first time?! Viktor scolded himself.

“Viktor,” you faced the Zaunite once more, hands still concealing your large chest, “Viktor, why do you-” you swallowed a good amount of spit, your eyes fixated on Viktor’s… lower half? “Viktor, why do you have a hard on?”

“What?” Viktor peered down at his trousers. Sure enough, he pitched a tent, his boner on full display. Like you with your chest, he covered his hands to hide his erection, “Oh my Gods, I’m so fucking sorry,” How unprofessional, how lewd, how inappropriate, how—

The Birth of the Celestial Realm appeared in Viktor’s head at the worst possible moment. He thought of the woman in the painting; he thought of how mesmerizing her fat rolls and thighs, how full and large her breasts were, how she posed in such a delightful manner. Viktor stifled back a moan and his cheeks reddened, as his cock strained against his suddenly suffocating trousers.

“Viktor,” the way his name rolled off your tongue sent shivers down his artificial spine, “Why are you looking at me like that?” you inquired, your eyes resembling that of an innocent doe.

“Like- Like what?” Viktor asked, walking over to the sink and using it as a shield for his obvious arousal. You frowned, “Like you wanna devour me whole.”

Something primal clicked in Viktor’s mind at your comment. Slowly, he stepped to the side of the sink and walked towards you, setting his crutch against the bathroom wall. You tilted your head, “Viktor? Whatcha doing?” Gods, you were pure as snow.

Viktor suddenly gripped your sides and squeezed hard, a yelp of shock escaping your red painted lips, “Viktor!” you exclaimed, “What has gotten into you?!”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again, his accent thick. You clenched your thighs together at the sound. Viktor’s accent never failed to make your heart skip a beat. In all honesty, you had a bit of a crush on the Zaunite. You admired his work ethic, determination, and resilience, as well as his sharp facial features and hands. Yet, he was your superior, it would be wrong to engage in such a—

Viktor smashed his lips against yours, nearly knocking his crooked teeth into your mouth. You moaned at how deep and lustful his kissing was, as you wrapped your arms around Viktor’s waist as a means to secure him. While the two of you kissed like horny teens ready for their first time, you stepped backwards and backwards until your back was pressed up against the wall.

For a moment, Viktor broke the kiss, “I can’t help myself,” he confessed. His hands moved from your chubby sides to your breasts. With astonishing strength, Viktor tore your blouse open, the remaining buttons flying off and hitting the floor. You gasped, “Oh my Gods,” you never knew that Viktor had such upper body strength.

Viktor pulled you off the wall and, in one swift motion, unhooked your bra. He tossed it on the floor and groped at your chest, his hands a bit too small to fully cover them. Viktor groaned, as he marveled at your chest, almost salivating at the sight. The Birth of the Celestial Realm flashed through his mind again and Viktor pressed his forehead against yours, “I need you,” he whispered, “I need you.”

“Viktor…” you whispered back, your breath tickling the Zaunite’s ear, “Make me yours.”

The honey amber in Viktor’s eyes darkened at your command. Grabbing his crutch, he dragged you off to the unoccupied bathroom and slammed the door shut. Viktor plopped his ass down on the toilet as a makeshift chair and gripped your breasts, “I’ll make you mine,” he jerked one breast towards his face and latched onto the nipple, sucking hard and without shame. You whimpered and moved closer, both breasts squashed against Viktor’s face, “Oh, sweet boy, you’re sucking me so good!” you cried out. Viktor’s mouth vibrated against your sensitive nipple in response, earning another moan from you.

Gods, your skin is so supple and tender, Viktor thought to himself, as his hand reached towards your other breast and clenched it. You panted and moaned shamelessly, as Viktor assaulted your chest with playful grasps and hickeys galore. Your mind was hazy with arousal and desperation. This was a true come dream, something you never pictured happening. The two of you crossed a line that you could never backtrack from.

“Viktor…!” you whined, pushing him off your breasts, “I want you, I wanna please you,” you got on your knees, your thick thighs pressed together, “Please, please let me pleasure you, please.”

“How can I say no to such an angel?” the scientist purred. He hopped off the toilet seat and laid down on the bathroom tiles, he would need to sanitize his clothes at a later time, “Suck my cock, slut,” Oh, that was bold.

You wasted no time in unbuttoning Viktor’s trousers and pulling down his boxers. Staring at Viktor’s pretty cock, you admired its appearance. Pale, slightly vein, a bit thick, and definitely long. Guess it’s true that the tall skinny guys have massive cocks. Your mouth watered at the sight and you leaned forward to give the mushroom tip a gentle kiss.

Viktor moaned under his breath and his dick twitched in satisfaction. You giggled, “You’re so cute,” before lowering your mouth onto his cock. Viktor grunted loudly, panting hard as you took more and more inches in your mouth. You looked divine, you looked ethereal, as you sucked him off. Spit spilled down your lips while your head bobbed with the motions of the blowjobs. You swore you went cross-eyed from the sensation of Viktor’s sweet dick in your mouth. The scent of his cologne, an intoxicating mix of vanilla and bourbon, was enough to water down your mind with pure filth.

While you continued to slurp and drink up the inventor’s essence, you adjusted your position and hitched your ass up, spreading your legs open. One of your hands teased your clothed cunt, rubbing your fingers against your panties. In your new position, you were able to take more of Viktor in your mouth, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

You felt a pair of bony hands grip at your hair before you were pulled off Viktor’s cock, “Oh, are we-” you tried to ask if he needed a break, only to have your lips slammed back down on his dick. Viktor fucked your face without remorse, a crescendo of moans and groans filling the bathroom while you fought the instinct to gag. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! your mind chanted like a prayer.

Viktor let out one last grunt and climaxed, shooting a thick rope of cum down your throat. Once finished, he pulled you off his cock and you coughed, some cum leaking out of your mouth. Momma didn’t raise no spitter, you happily took whatever cum the inventor had to offer. Viktor’s hands cupped your face, thumbs caressing your apple-y cheeks, “Oh, kokoušek, you did amazing.”

“Thanks!” your voice was raspy, your throat properly fucked, “Anything for you, Viktor,” the Zaunite graced you with a smile and your body shivered with excitement. He has a great smile. “Lay down,” he instructed you. Like the obedient bitch you were, you did as commanded, switching positions with Viktor and resting your back on the floor, “It’s time that I return the favor,” he mewled, lifting up your skirt and hooking his fingers around the waistband of your tights. Viktor tugged down and removed your tights, taking a moment to admire your strong thighs and the stretch marks he could on your lower stomach, “Simply divine,” he cooed before taking off your skirt, leaving you almost completely naked, minus your lacy cherry panties.

“Oh!” you reached your hands down in an effort to cover yourself up, a force of habit, only to have your hands pinned to the floor, Viktor’s body hovering above you, “No.”

The power from the simple ‘no’ went straight to your cunt, staining your panties with wetness, “Don’t hide from me,” he purred, hot breath tickling your face, “You’re sexy,” he kissed your forehead.

“You’re talented,” he kissed your nose.

“You’re beautiful,” a kiss on your cheek.

“You’re intelligent,” a kiss on the other cheek.

“You’re brilliant,” a kiss to your lips, the longest out of all the kisses, as he lingered. You ran your fingers through his dark waves, combing any knots out and twirling a few strands. Viktor let out a laugh, vibrating against your lips, and pulled himself away, “You’re radiant,” he murmured, “A work of art.”

“As are you,” you gave the scientist a peck on the nose, “Like one of those sculptures from the Piltovian Renaissance.”

Viktor nearly choked on his own saliva, much to your concern, “Are you okay?” you asked with a frown. He nodded, “Yes, yes. It was just surprising to hear so, given that I visited that section in the Grand Museum of Art earlier today.”

“Oh, what a coincidence,” you offered Viktor an innocent, oblivious smile. Gods, you were going to be the death of him, but Viktor much preferred to die at your hands than at his illness, “Oh, drahoušku, indulge me for a moment,” to which you replied, “Anything for you.”

“Sit on my face.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sit on my face, so I can eat you out.”

“Won’t I suffocate you if I do?”

“Out of all the ways I could die, I rather go out while devouring your warm, wet cunt.”

You blinked rapidly, his words somewhat crude but made your pussy flutter, “Okay then,” you sat back up and Viktor laid back down, planting your thighs between his face like ear muffs, “Are you sure-” you had no time to ask for confirmation when Viktor roughly slammed your cunt against his whole face, hooked nose bumping into your swollen clit while he lapped at your juices like a starved man. You tried so desperately to hold back your moans and cries of pleasure, but succumbed to the frenzy of it all when Viktor dug his nails into your plush thighs as a sign to sing like the siren you were.

“Oh, Vik- Viktor, fuck!” you exclaimed, as the Zaunite greedily ate you out, “Feels so good, so good!” Viktor shifted from your folds to your clit, giving it a harsh suck to test the waters. After hearing your unadulterated whines of ecstasy, Viktor latched on hard to your clit and suckled on it, your juices coating his chin. You thrust your hips, as you rode Viktor’s face without a care in the world. As for Viktor, being suffocated by your cunt was simply marvelous, his eyes rolling in the back of his head from the depleting oxygen. With each thrust, you gained more and more pleasure from the motion and the sucking and the—

You let out a sudden mewl, the knot in your tummy breaking and unleashing an intense orgasm. Your climax drenched Viktor’s whole face in pussy juice, as your clit pulsated inside his mouth. Viktor pulled off from your cunt and moved you towards his neck, content with having your thighs between his ears, “You taste like ambrosia,” Viktor panted, chin and mouth shining with your slick. Who knew that he had a way with words?

“So glad,” you rubbed your eyes and blinked a few times in an effort to recenter your surroundings, “So, so, so nice,” you began collecting your messy clothes when Viktor placed a hand on your ass, “We’re not done yet.”

“We’re not?” you asked with curiosity. Viktor touched his forehead to yours before giving you a peck on the lips, “Not until I feel you inside me.”

You quaked at his answer, so matter-of-fact and domineering. Viktor gave your ass a solid slap, smiling at how it jiggled upon contact, “On your hands and knees, ass up.”

“What about your leg?” you questioned him. Viktor waved you off with some reassurance, “You’re worth it, I’ll just take extra pain medicine later,” he discarded his remaining clothes, joining you in full nude glory. You positioned yourself the way he requested, hands and knees on the cold bathroom floor. Viktor groped at your ass and placed hot kisses from your neck all the way to the dimples near your butt, “Addictive,” he muttered, “You’re driving me mad.”

“Have your way with me,” you cooed to the Zaunite, “I’m all yours.”

It took everything in Viktor’s power not to shove his fat cock right into your pussy, “I’ll go in slow and just give me the okay when to move,” you gave him a thumbs up in reply. Something smooth—the tip of Viktor’s dick—touched your entrance and your toes curled in anticipation. Slowly, Viktor inserted himself inside you and, as gently as he could, slid the entirety of his length in one inch at a time. You groaned at the sensation, you never felt so full before, “Fuck… okay, I’m ready.”

Viktor gripped your sides, as he moved in and out of your cunt at a careful pace. His tip lightly kissed your cervix with each soft thrust, your body submitting itself to the handsome man behind you. Yet, you wanted more and you were patient, “Viktor, please! Faster and deeper, I wanna be fucked!” you whined, “I wanna be claimed by you!”

Adrenaline spiked inside of Viktor, as he pulled all the way out of you before mercilessly slamming his entire length back inside. You yelped like a wounded puppy, but any pain morphed into intense pleasure, as Viktor pounded your pussy like a madman. He huffed and puffed while his pelvis smacked against your ass, his mind clouded with an urge so deeply instilled in every human being.

The need to breed.

“Fuck!” he grunted, his grasp on your sides tightening, “I can’t believe I’m fucking my beautiful junior. I bet you never thought this moment would happen, huh?” his cock abused your cervix with each thrust, “I didn’t think so either, but fuck, you unlocked something in me that I didn’t know existed,” your superior lowered one hand from your hip and onto one of your breasts.

“I want you, I need you, I need to fill up your pretty cunt with my seed-” The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed off the bathroom walls.

“I have to make that tummy of yours all round and taut-” Your head bobbed to the rhythm of Viktor’s thrusts.

“You want that, don’t you? To have my kid, right? Oh, I think you would be an amazing mother-” each smack from Viktor into your cunt forced a moan out of you.

“Can I cum inside you? Please?” Viktor sounded so needy and pathetic, hungry to satisfy his urges, “Gods, please say yes, I need it, please!” he begged.

“You can!” you sobbed, tears of rapture rolling down your fat cheeks, “Knock me up, sir! I need it, too!”

With one last guttural moan, Viktor emptied his load inside you, coating it in hot sticky seed. You clenched down on his cock and milked every last drop out, much to Viktor’s delight. Soon, he finished up inside of you and pulled out, some of the white creamy liquid pouring out of your fucked out pussy. Viktor shoved his fingers inside and you let out a wanton gasp, “I can’t allow any to leak out,” he rasped. You tilted your hips up to prevent any more cum from spilling out, relishing in the feeling of a cum-filled pussy.

Once satisfied, Viktor removed his fingers from your cunt and wiped any cum on his thigh. You collapsed down on the bathroom floor and flipped yourself onto your back, utterly shattered from such intense sex. Viktor joined you on the floor and latched his spindly body onto yours, partaking in your soft warmth. You returned the Zaunite display of affection to Viktor, touching your forehead briefly against his, “That was… just… wow,” there were no words in the English language that could properly describe how incredible you felt.

Viktor snuggled closer into you, “Wow, indeed,” he sighed aloud, “We must do this again in the future.”

“Oh, yeah?” you couldn’t help but grin, “Not a one-time thing, huh?”

“Not after I got a slice of the heavens from you.”

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

Outside the bathroom, a familiar muscular man stood guard, shooting passerbys a sheepish look whenever their eyes perked up at the sound of the moans and such from inside the bathroom. Jayce held a spare sweater in his hands, he had run to assist you after Viktor. It was the gentleman’s thing to do, he did spill coffee on you and ruin your blouse.

Instead, the sweater acted as a makeshift barrier to hide his boner, too large to be concealed by hands alone, as Jayce unfortunately overheard the entire exchange between you and Viktor.

Guess me and V do have the same type, maybe I’ll get a chance in the future.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

"Can you hold still?" Soda leans over Darry's stomach, puttin' his full weight into it, and Darry laughs. Soda shoots him an agitated little frown he doesn't mean at all and jabs him matter of factly in the stomach. "It's star day this is important."

Darry rolls his eyes but settles back down. "I can't help it." Soda leans sits back, spins the marker in his hand over his fingers. "I'm ticklish."

"Well, figure it out or I'm gonna sic Pony on you." Darry tips his head back 'n looks at Pony upside down. His youngest brother pulls out a more than passin' imitation of the Darry's glare. Though, he should be good at it. He's seen it nearly every day. Darry reaches up 'n baps him on the head 'n Pony cracks 'n laughs.

He's layin' on his back on the living room floor, Soda at his side and head restin' in Pony's lap. Soda brings the marker back against Darry's ribs and he does his best not to laugh. He only half succeeds until he glances down at Soda's tongue bit between his teeth 'n the furrowed brow he only gets when he's focusin'. It's not funny but glory he looks so much like when he was six 'n drawin' horses at the kitchen table with the concentration of Michael Angelo, Darry can't help but snort.

"Darry!" Soda opens his mouth in mock frustration 'n that just makes Darry laugh harder. "That's it. Pony. Sic 'em."

"Wait-!" Pony worms his hand down before Darry can bat it away 'n jabs him in the ribs. "OW! That's it, you're cut off." He fights to sit up but Soda 'n Pony both jump down on him, howlin' with laughter.

"Nuh uh, mister! I'm not done!" Pony presses both his palms down on Darry's shoulders 'n Darry humors him by pretendin' that it makes any difference in him gettin' up or not.

Soda puts his marker back down 'n Darry valently bites his lip 'n doesn't even squirm. He lasts forty-five seconds. "Soda-"

"Finished!" Soda presses the cap back on 'n tosses it to Pony who snatches it out of the air.

"Can I see?" Soda studies Darry's torso for a second 'n then nods happily. Darry grabs the shavin' mirror Soda offers him 'n admires the nonsensical lines connectin' the freckles dottin' his body from his stomach up to his neck. The ones all the Curtis' only got in summer. He smiles, runs a finger along the ink fondly. "Damn Soda! You went all out this year, huh! Care to, uh, explain?"

Soda grins at Pony and points to six freckles on his side. Darry tilts his head 'n furrows his brow. "One guess on this one." Oh, well that narrowed it down.

"That one Pony's?"

"Ding ding ding!" Whenever Soda drew constellations he always managed one for Pony, a horse, 'n one for himself, a pop bottle. If Darry squinted he could see it. He could also see a dog, cat, 'n just about any four-legged animal with a tail but he would keep that to himself.

"Where's yours, Soda?" Soda points to a sort of temple that started on his collarbone 'n ended on his shoulder. It takes Darry a moment longer but he can pick out the vague shape of the bottle.

"Alright, now the rest of 'em." Soda carefully explains each one, two more horses, naturally, a fish, Orion's belt, a wonky set of three dots along a rib, a lasso, 'n two little smilies. Darry carefully traces each one, more than a little impressed by how his brothers could take a handful of random dots 'n find so many little pictures.

"My turn!" Pony jabbed Darry in the side 'n took his place on the floor. He slaps nearly every pocket before he refinds the marker, handin' it over to Darry with a mischievous lil' grin to Soda.

He pulls his t-shirt straight over his head even though most of his freckles are clustered on his arms 'n face. He never picked up his brother's tendency to walk around all summer in no shirt. Dallas always made teased him for that. Glory, Pony's playin' modest 'n makin' the rest of us look like whores. 'N Two would always howl well if the shoe fits! 'N then duck out of Dallas' grip fast as he could. Only Soda 'n Darry knew the real reason. The kid didn't tan one bit. No siree, Pony burned.

He lays flat on the floor, eyes closed, Soda playin' with hair idly. Darry picks up Pony's arm 'n twists it, lookin' for anythin' that sticks out to him. Darry always did Pony's. Pony enjoyed just layin' there 'n Darry needed more time to study where the dots could become shapes. Pony would do Soda's since, out of all of them, the kid had an imagination that could spin 'n spin 'n spit out ideas 'n drawin's n' stories the fastest. 'N Soda had an incredibly short patience for not movin'.

"Hey, look." Soda brushes back Pony's bangs 'n gently traces a jagged line across his forehead. "Hand me that." Before Pony can swat his hand away Soda's connected the freckles from one temple to the other so they form a mountain range across his skin.

"Our little prince, huh." Pony opens one eye 'n glares down at Darry but his oldest brother is just lookin' at him with that fond little smile he gets.

"Oh c'mon." He wriggles around on the carpet 'n gets nothin' for his troubles but rugburn. "Hurry uppppp."

"You sound like me now, Pone." Soda ruffles his hair 'n Pony reaches up blindly with his free arm to swing at him.

"Well, maybe I'd be done faster if you'd stop wigglin'." They drift into a soft silence, Soda standin' up halfway through to cue up the Beatles' latest record, The White Album, which had been a joint birthday gift for Darry last month. Half of the gift had been them toleratin' Darry's affinity for that McCartney kid's weepy grandma songs.

"Alright, I think I'm done." Pony jolts up, grinnin' down at his arms.

"Lemme see, lemme see." Darry twists the mirror around so he can see the back of his biceps, pointin' out what was what.

"Look, this is Soda's." Darry's linked four freckles into an elongated diamond 'n penned in DX. Soda cracks up, twistin' Pony's arms so he can see better 'n forgettin' it's attached to the kid.

"You're a walkin' ad, kid! They should hire you!" Pony snatches his arm back 'n wrinkles his nose up.

"'N work with Steve? Yeah, hard pass." Soda howls 'n Pony tries 'n fails to look put out.

"Hey, this must be yours, Dar." Soda positions the mirror so Pony can better see the lopsided Superman logo on the back of his shoulder.

"Yup, but this one's my favorite." Down the hollow of Pony's throat 'n up under his jaw are three little stick figures all facin' different directions.

"Hey! That's us, right?" Darry ruffles his hair and drops a kiss to the freckle on his temple that makes up the end of his crown.

"Yup," He shoots Soda a grin 'n wiggles his eyebrows conspiratorially, "the shrimpy one is you."

"They're sticks! They all look the same!" Soda grabs him by the chin so he can get a better look.

"Nope, Darry's right." He nods solemnly. "The good lookin' on is me." Pony shoves him off 'n he lands on his ass. Darry hoots a laugh 'n manhandles Soda so his head is restin' on Darry's knee.

"See, Soda gets my creative vision." Soda peeks up at him, upside down, 'n cackles.

"Oh shut up." Pony snatches the marker from Darry 'n instantly goes to work. Soda starts squirmin' less than a minute in 'n Darry leans over 'n flips the TV on, an episode of Scooby-Doo is playin' 'n Soda grins 'n crains his neck to watch.

"You got our north star this year, Pepsi." Darry taps Soda on the tip of his nose where one single fair freckle stands out against his tan skin.

"No kiddin'? Pony's had it the last three years, the hog." Pony sticks his tongue out 'n goes back to drawin'.

The episode's not even half over before Pony nods, self-satisfied. "Alright, c'mere."

"Oh my God, Pony, why do we even try?" Pony's blushes, the tips of his ears goin' red.

"They're just doodles."

"Do I need to bring up Soda's horse?"

"Hey-!"

Pony's joined vast groups of freckles into three distinct shapes across Soda's chest 'n stomach. A horse, that looks far more identifiable than Soda's drawin', across his side, a record 'n the player on Soda's left ribs, a map of some of the actual constellations Pony would drag them outside on clear nights to point out over Soda's heart. Darry can pick out the big dipper, one of the triangles, 'n the bear.

"Wait, this one's my favorite." He points to two little hearts on each side of Soda's face made from four little freckles each.

Soda twists this way 'n that gigglin' between the horse 'n the freckles. "God, Pone, you missed your callin' as an artist."

"Damn straight!" Darry laughs 'n pulls both his kid brothers in tight for a hug. Pony whines but buries his head in Darry's chest beside Soda. "Well, I dunno about y'all but I'm hungry after all that."

Soda whoops already clamberin' off the floor 'n divin' for the keys before Darry can get to them. "Dairy Queen!"

Pony throws his shirt back on, carefully rollin' up the sleeves so Darry's Superman logo can still be seen. Darry reaches over 'n pulls him in for another hug.

"You sure you don't wanna wipe any of that off?" Pony gestures to the mess of marker 'n Darry laughs, brushin' Pony's hair back.

Soda's already climbed in the truck, shirt still off 'n Pony's drawin's on full display.

"Hell no! I got stars to show off."

[magknightidv]

You've gotta hear me out on Ithaqua getting a little too possessive towards his survivor partner during a match ! Love your works btw <3

Mmmmmm Possessive Ithaqua 😍

Warnings: You'll never guess this one but Possessive behaviours

Pairing: Possessive! Ithaqua x Gn! Reader

--------

- He isn't sure what caused it. Maybe it's his own instincts telling him he needs to protect you, or maybe the manor is affecting him somehow..

- Your Team is quite possible the worst concotion of players to have paired with you. The Prospector, the cowboy and the "prisoner". He's semi-alright with Luca, he doesn't really do much harm. Its more a case of him being annoying to deal with on a good day.

- However Kevin and Norton strike Ithaqua the wrong way.

- He immediately finds Norton but instead turns his attention to finding you, just to make sure you stay away from them.

- He finds you. Quite easily actually. He comes across you helping Luca to decode who quickly runs off in favour of saving himself. Smart man, Ithaqua has to applaud him for using that mildly malfunctioning brain of his. He does have to break the connection, if only to delay your guaranteed escape.

- He lets you finish the cipher and simply stands around impatiently huffing and puffing to the side like a bratty child not getting enough attention. And that's accurate to a certain degree.

- once the cipher is done he tells you to go into a locker so he can pick you up and take you with him. You think nothing of it as this is fairly normal behaviour he likes to carry you around you've noticed. His little giggle when he picks you up just melted your heart.

- However. Unlike the usual routine, Ithaqua takes you to the nearest corner of the map and places you there before trapping you within his arms. His cloak making the two of you practically disappear, well.. you know as much as one can with the terror radius thing..

- His eyes are animalistic and his jaw clenched, but he makes no move to act on whatever violent act is forming in his head. Just pulls you to him as though he is trying to mesh with you.

- of course, he was mostly..., kind of, calm.

-Until the two idiots turned up. And by that I mean Norton and Kevin.

-Kevin lassoed you from Ithaqua's grasp, that alone made him screeched out in rage, but just to add some extra sourness to the situation, a magnet gets thrown towards him. Forcing him back into the wall.

- You struggle your way out of Kevins hold and push him away right as Ithaqua dashes at him. Norton quickly runs off to possibly hide in case he needs to really save, or possibly help Luca to continue saving.

- "IDIOTS, BOTH OF YOU!" You yell out to nobody in particular as Kevin had already run off. Ithaqua stays still for a moment, left eye twitching.

- He turns quickly. "Stay." He commands as though you are a dog awaiting your next trick. You're going to stay near, obviously, just maybe that Cipher off to the left will somehow get finished off...

- He dashes away in the direction Kevin left.

- As you're decoding, the prospector returns around the corner.

"Hey."

"Fuck off. That was stupid and you know it."

"Yeaaah.. but got the reaction I wanted. He's a tad bit, whats the word, protective? No. Possessive. Thats the one! Like he owns you."

"If he ever got asked if he owned me he definitely would answer like that.. It's a bit much at times, maybe next time to come running up to try and save when he's clearly not going to chair me. Luckily he seems to have lost Kevin."

The last Cipher gets completed by you and Norton but just before you can run to the exit, Norton says something that irks you.

"Geez, I didn't ask for your life story.. no need to keep going on..."

Yoou dont even initially intend to do it but you're hand reaches out to slam his head against the nearest wall to temporarily stun him.

"Not so fun now is it.."

In the distance a pissed off roar can be heard from Ithaqua, who you can assume just missed hitting the now escaped Kevin and Luca.

"Now, we're gonna surrender." You tell the prospector sternly

"Why would I do tha-"

You grab his ear and stare at him, "Consider it your apology to Itha. Believe me Kevin's going to deal with far worse."

Quiet grumbles are all that are heard from the disgruntled ex-miner.

----

Hope you enjoyed :) I partially forgot what I was writing halfway through but I loved writing this ♡

[brain4stew]

Thinking about;

Cowperson (cowgal/boy) reader, either a killer, or a survivor…

(Survivor, cowperson/gal/boy reader) ;

You’ll have 3 types of abilities,

1. Rope them in! Where; you have to aim your lasso onto a survivor (they’ll be highlighted when correct), and throw it at them, before roping them in towards you quickly. It can be very useful for survivors on low hp/stamina, and those being chased.

2. Shoulder carry. Where; you can pick a survivor up rather quickly, throwing them over your shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Giving you a speed boost, for around 4-5 seconds at the start. It also helps with survivors on low hp/stamina too!

3. Wrong one! Where; you can lasso the killer, restraining their movements for a moment, 5-6 seconds (unless they change targets to you). The killer will get an annoyingly long slowness, unless they go for you instead of the other survivor.

(Killer, cowperson/gal/boy reader) ;

You’ll have 3 types of abilities,

1. There ya are, lass! Where, you aim your lasso, and lasso a survivor, kind of restraining their movements for 4-5 seconds. They can try and move away, albeit slowly and with struggle, but it decreases the seconds to around 2-3 seconds then. (Reduces stamina for a moment though, for about 60/100 stamina.)

2. You’re tagged now! Where, you can put a tag on a survivor (only if they’re in your line of sight, and you’re close enough), which’ll show their location for around 10-20 seconds (it varies), or until another survivor takes the tag off the survivor you tagged.

3. Where’s the crows? Where; you can summon at least 2 crows, that’ll be nearby two generators, they’ll be highlighted for around 4-5 seconds when summoned for the survivors, and when the crows have found themselves a generator. (The nearest generators from where you summoned them.) The crows will essentially squawk at the survivors if they’re too close, or close by, the said crow that squawks, will be highlighted, until the survivor is gone from the crows radius. (The survivors can also shoot the crows away, which’ll take 2-3 seconds).

(I have a feeling I made the cowperson/gal/boy reader a bit too overpowered here, but I’ll gladly take criticism and so on for this.)

(Edit, here’s a type of “outfit” idea I thought of for the both of them; https://www.tumblr.com/brain4stew/777684871100366848/a-little-outfit-idea-of-this-thought-i-had

So enjoy the outfits too. 😇🫶)

[nameless-jamie]

Offside Tensions – Jamie Tartt x Y/N

Disclaimer: This FF is set after season 3 in a kind of alternative universe where Ted never left and Jamie is over Keeley. Just fyi.

Masterlist - Next Chapter

Chapter 1: New Kid on the Block

Y/N sat by the window of the train, the countryside whirring by in patches of green and gold. The morning light slanted across the fields, turning everything soft and golden. Her stomach churned—not unpleasantly, but in that restless, jittery way that only big moments could summon.

Richmond. AFC Richmond.

She let the thought settle for a moment, looking at her reflection in the train window. It didn’t feel real yet. All those years of grinding it out in the lower leagues, working with young athletes, pulling late nights in front of performance stats—it had all been leading to this: a chance to work with a Premier League team.

The announcer's voice crackled through the speaker, jolting her from her thoughts. “Next stop: Richmond.”

The train pulled into the station, and as Y/N stepped onto the platform, she was greeted by the crisp bite of early spring air. Richmond unfolded around her like a scene out of a storybook—winding cobblestone streets, little shopfronts with flower boxes perched on their windowsills, and a faint hum of life as the town began its day.

A taxi took her from the station to Nelson Road Stadium, and Y/N spent the ride trying to absorb everything. The town was idyllic in a way that felt almost disarming—the kind of place where locals probably knew each other by name, where time moved just a bit slower.

The stadium loomed into view, and her heart gave an excited lurch. It wasn’t as grand as the giants of the Premier League, but it was unmistakably home to something special. The AFC Richmond crest was emblazoned on the side of the building, and banners of the players fluttered in the morning breeze.

Her eyes caught on one banner in particular: Jamie Tartt. His cocky grin stretched across the fabric, the kind that seemed to challenge anyone who looked at it. She knew of him, of course—everyone who followed football did. A rising star, undeniably talented, but with an ego big enough to eclipse the sun.

The cab driver chuckled as he noticed her staring. “Ah, Jamie Tartt. Bit of a character, that one. Good player, though. When he feels like it.”

Y/N smirked but didn’t reply. She had no illusions about Jamie Tartt. But she also wasn’t here to coddle egos.

Once inside the stadium, she was immediately hit by the scent of freshly cut grass and cleaning supplies. The hallways were lined with photos and memorabilia of the club’s history—black-and-white shots of old teams, players hoisting trophies, a timeline of moments that had brought the club to this point.

She didn’t have much time to linger before a voice broke through the quiet.

“Y/N, right?”

Turning, she found herself face-to-face with Ted Lasso. He was shorter than she’d imagined but somehow larger than life. His grin was bright and welcoming, and the energy he radiated made her feel as if they’d known each other for years.

“That’s me,” she said, offering her hand.

Ted shook it warmly. “Well, color me thrilled to meet you! Ted Lasso, head coach, accidental wisdom-dispenser, and occasional baker. Welcome to AFC Richmond!”

The tension in her chest eased slightly. “Thanks, Ted. It’s great to finally be here.”

They began walking toward the pitch, Ted chatting the whole way.

“So, tell me, how does it feel? Big, scary stadium, new faces, new town—you doing alright?”

“It’s… a lot,” she admitted, her voice carrying just a hint of the nervous energy bubbling inside her. “But it’s the good kind of overwhelming, you know? Like the night before Christmas or stepping onto a stage for the first time.”

Ted nodded, his trademark grin softening into something more thoughtful. “I get that. Nerves mean you care. Just don’t let ‘em tie you up in knots, alright? And remember, we’re all here to help you settle in. Now, some of us might be better at that than others—”

He stopped suddenly as a figure rounded the corner ahead of them.

Roy Kent.

The man was practically a walking storm cloud—broad shoulders, perpetual scowl, and a presence so intense it felt like the air got heavier the closer he got. He stopped a few paces away, arms crossed, dark eyes narrowing as they landed on Y/N.

“This her?” he asked, his voice gravelly enough to scrape paint off walls.

“Yes, this her,” Ted replied cheerfully, gesturing toward her as if unveiling a grand masterpiece. “Roy, meet Y/N. Y/N, meet Roy Kent—our resident grump, enforcer, and occasional source of shockingly poetic wisdom.”

Roy’s eyes flicked to her, scanning her in that sharp, no-nonsense way that made it clear he didn’t believe in wasting time—or words.

“Right,” he muttered, then turned his full attention to Y/N. “You any good, or are you just here to fill a quota?”

The bluntness of the question caught her off guard, but only for a moment. Y/N straightened her shoulders, meeting his gaze head-on. She wasn’t about to let anyone—even Roy Kent—intimidate her on her first day.

“I guess you’ll find out soon enough,” she replied evenly, a little hint of sarcasm and a lot of poise in her voice.

Roy didn’t smile, but something in his expression shifted, like he was mildly impressed she hadn’t backed down. Seems like he’s finally met someone to match his energy. “We’ll see,” he muttered nonchalantly before stepping past them, his boots echoing against the floor.

Ted clapped his hands together, cutting through the silence Roy left in his wake. “Well, that went better than expected! If Roy didn’t growl at you, you’re already ahead of most folks. Don’t take it personally; he’s like an espresso shot—strong, bitter, but he’ll wake you right up.”

Y/N chuckled despite herself. “Good to know.”

Ted led her out onto the pitch, and the sight stopped her in her tracks. The stadium, though modest compared to some, had an undeniable charm. The grass shimmered under the early sunlight, meticulously manicured and almost unnaturally green. The stands curved around them, a patchwork of faded seats that still managed to exude character. Breathtaking—a word to describe the sight. Y/N’s football heart skipped a beat.

[wlntrsldler]

Hiiiiii!!!! I love Apple Pie by Lizzy McAlpine!! Can I get Jamie Tartt to apple pie?

apple pie | jamie tartt

based on the song apple pie by lizzy mcalpine

description: jamie gets insecure sometimes, but having you with him helps.

pairing: jamie tartt x actress!reader (f!reader she/her)

warnings: lots of kissing, self-doubt, insecurities, mention of jamie's dad

word count: 2631

ted lasso requests are open | main masterlist

When Jamie first got into a relationship with you, he knew that both of your busy schedules would pose a problem down the road. With his football career seemingly reaching new peaks every season and your acting career taking off after being cast in what is being called “the film that revived the dying genre of romantic comedies,” the amount of time you get to spend with each other decreased significantly since the start of your relationship. 

You first met Jamie halfway through his returning season at AFC Richmond. You met him at a birthday dinner party for a friend of a friend where you relentlessly teased him for his ridiculous, but outstanding performance, on Lust Conquers All. You had originally praised him for it when you were fully under the impression that he was putting on an act. You didn’t find out that he was just being his prick-ish self, albeit his younger prick-ish self, until about four months into your relationship when he embarrassedly admitted it to you. That’s how you found yourself rewatching the entire season together on his couch until 2 hours before Roy knocked on his door for his training session. 

At first, Jamie thought you were making fun of him. His insecurities would still peek in here and there and sometimes he couldn’t help but worry that you’d see him as nothing more than a dumb footballer like everyone else does. He quickly realized, though, that while you were losing your mind laughing at how he acted in the show, making fun of him was the last thing you wanted to do. 

“Why’d ya wanna watch this shit anyways?” he grumbled, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. “It’s just poopy. ‘M not even like that anymore.” 

“I know,” you sat up, pausing the show when you heard his voice crack. You knew the tone of Jamie’s voice when he was cracking jokes and when he was happy, and this voice wasn’t one or the other. You turned your body to face him, “I know you aren’t like this anymore, I just thought it would be funny.” 

“I dunno, I suppose it doesn’t make much sense to me.” 

“What doesn’t?” you questioned. “Why I want to watch it?” 

“Yeah,” Jamie replied. His eyes were looking at everything but at you. He was playing with the threads of the blanket loosely draped over his legs. He rubbed his nose with his balled-up fist. “Why does it matter how I was before you? I’m better now, yeah? Unless you don’t think so...” 

“Oh, love,” you grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you. You were so engrossed in the episode on the TV that you didn’t realize how uncomfortable Jamie was feeling about the whole situation. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been paying more attention to how you were feeling about this. We can stop watching it.” 

“Yeah, I’d like that.” He hummed, tugging on your hoodie to pull you closer to him. “I just don’t want you to see how I used to be and realize you don’t want to be with a prick like that, even if I have changed, you know? I don’t know… I just thought that with ya, I’d have a fresh start.” 

“Jamie Tartt, enough of that now,” You took over being the big spoon, which made Jamie nuzzle into your neck contently, “You have changed. You’re an amazing man and the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. I only wanted to watch this show because it’s such a shitty show that it’s nice to just unwind. When I watch this Jamie on the screen, my brain can’t even comprehend that it’s you.” 

“You don’t think I’m a prick anymore, yeah?” Jamie asked again, hoping that he’d get a confirmation, “Like you wouldn’t leave me over that?”

You’ve learned over the past few months things about Jamie– one of which is that he needs to be told positive things or else he’d spiral. The thing is, if you could go into his mind and turn off that control box that spews self-doubt and insecurities to him, you would do it in a heartbeat. But since you can’t, you were more than happy to shower him with love and adoration in hopes that your voice can drown the rest of them out. 

“Never,” you placed your lips on his in a soft kiss. “You’d have to work a hell of a lot harder to get rid of me.” 

“I’m working double overtime just so you’d keep me, love,” he murmured, pulling you in for another kiss. His hand reached for the remote to turn the TV off to leave you both in the glow of the floor lamp in his living room. 

“You don’t have to work hard for that.” 

Jamie had gotten used to having you around his flat. He would leave for 4 AM training with Roy with you on his bed, often naked, then return at around 6:30 AM to shower and join you back in bed for another hour before you woke up. He’d wake up for the second time that day with you drawing patterns on his chest and a soft smile on your face. He’d lean over and place a loving kiss on your lips and he’d feel prepared to start the day. 

You were filming a show in London for three months, which meant that for three months, this was Jamie’s life. In between projects, you stayed at his place. For two weeks after the wrap party, you came home to him, visited him at the facility, and went to all the team outings, home games, and away games with him. He was with you 24/7 and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He didn’t realize how he took it for granted until filming ended.

Three weeks ago, you flew to New York City to begin filming another movie. With training and games, Jamie hasn’t been able to take time off to visit you, and with filming just starting, you couldn’t fly back to Richmond either. 

Jamie was doing fine– as fine as someone can be when their daily routine was abruptly disrupted. He was proud of you. The premise of the movie seemed perfect for you and was a seamless continuation of the romantic comedy trend you were on. People were buzzing for your next project, especially after your last one was so well received. He was so proud of you…. But he also missed you. 

During the three weeks that you were gone, you and Jamie still texted each other constantly and FaceTimed everyday, despite the crazy time difference. He wanted to make it work, and so did you, so you did what you could to stay in touch. While not being able to hold you and kiss you for three weeks was killing Jamie, he was glad he was still able to spend time with you. Things didn’t get to Jamie until Jan Maas made an off-handed comment about it.

All of them were packing up after training, feeling extremely antsy with the Man City match on the horizon, Jamie especially. There were a lot of things on his mind, including the possibility of seeing his father, who he hadn’t seen since Wembley, and playing against his old team was always a trip. In short, he wasn’t feeling his best and the fact that you weren’t nearby made it worse. 

“Jamie, we have not seen Y/N in a while,” Sam noted, “Is everything okay with you two?” 

“She’s filming a movie in New York, bruv,” Isaac replied before Jamie could speak, “Right, Tartt?” 

Jamie nodded, putting his shirt over his head, “Yeah. She’ll be gone for a few months, at least.” 

“I do not know how you’re gonna survive, Jamie,” Jan Maas said. “You are so clingy when it comes to her. I don’t think you can make it all those months.” 

The rest of the team chuckled at Jan’s teasing tone, but Jamie furrowed his eyebrows in thought. Was he clingy? He frowned as he continued to put his things away. He picked up his phone from his cubby, smiling when he received a few messages from you while he was at training. As he was about to respond, Jan’s comment made him stop in his tracks. 

Maybe it would be best to let you have a night to yourself. You had a life outside of him and you deserve to be able to live it without having him cling to you all the time. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, slipping his phone in his back pocket, before walking out of the locker room to head to his place. 

When you woke up to no text from Jamie, you assumed that he was just worn out from training and didn’t have the energy to reply. You’ve seen the intense training he went through, so you wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. But as the day went on and there was still no word from Jamie– you’d even checked the timezone clock on your phone to make sure you weren’t being unreasonable– you began to worry. FaceTime calls went unanswered and instead, you were met with the Apple automated response, “Sorry, can’t talk right now.” 

To: lover boy <3

“Hi, love. Got some exciting news, you free to chat? Xx” 

By the time you were boarding the plane to Manchester, Jamie still hadn’t texted you back. After begging the producers to give you a week off filming, they finally agreed. You asked for this week in particular, knowing that you wanted to be there for Jamie for the Man City match. There was a lot on the line for Jamie and you wanted to be there for him no matter what happened. 

The entire plane ride back to England was filled with dread and anxiety. It wasn’t like Jamie to not respond. Unless he was at a game, training, or sleeping, but even then he had a special ringtone for you that wakes him up whenever you called, he always replied to your messages as soon as possible. When you landed, everything that could go wrong went wrong. Your plane was stuck on the tarmac for an hour because there were problems with the gate. Your luggage got delayed which left you sitting at baggage claim for another 45 minutes. When you finally arrived at the hotel the team was staying at– shoutout to Ted for being yours and Jamie’s number one supporter and telling you where they were staying– Jamie was nowhere to be found. 

You dragged your luggage to Jamie’s room, plopping on the bed tiredly. You glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. 9:28 PM. Ted mentioned that there was a 10 PM curfew so you hoped that tonight was not one of the nights where Jamie decided to break the rules. Ted also mentioned that Jamie has not been himself lately, which did nothing to soothe your panic. You hopped in the shower to rinse yourself from the long day you’ve had. You did your night routine and dug into Jamie’s bag to retrieve his AFC Richmond hoodie. Before putting it on, you held it up to your nose, sighing as your senses were filled with Jamie. You missed him. 

It was 9:57 PM when you heard the door unlock. You were on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on social media, when you saw him. You sat up, shutting your phone off. He walked in with his head low. His shoulders were hunched over a bit, but he looked okay. He looked better than how Ted described him. 

He kicked off his shoes, before looking at you on his bed, startled. His eyes widened, first in fear that there was someone in his room, then in surprise that it was you in his room. His lips curved down in a frown, eyebrows furrowed in sadness. 

“Baby,” you whispered, moving to the side of the bed to make room for him. 

Jamie knew that he needed to not be clingy. He didn’t want to bother you too much. He was trying to be cool. But when you called him “baby,” with that voice, in his hoodie on his bed, his resolve crumbled to pieces.

He ran to you, nearly tackling you off the bed when he engulfed you in his arms. He buried his face in your neck, a mix of your lotion and the cologne he sprays on his clothes surrounding him. You cradled the back of his head, mumbling how much you missed him into his shoulder. Jamie could cry. He hasn’t seen you in so long, but here you are now. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked when he finally pulled away from you. He couldn’t stray too far though. His arm was still wrapped around you while you cuddled into his side. “I thought you were in New York.” 

“Well, if you bothered to answer my texts,” you trailed off, faking a voice of sadness. You poked his side, “You would’ve seen that I had exciting news. The producers gave me a week off after begging them since I first got to New York and this week is perfect because I know tomorrow’s match is gonna be a lot for you. I wanted to be here for you, whatever the outcome is.” 

“Oh.” Jamie was speechless. Here he was ignoring you like a prick while you were planning to come back just to be here for him. He didn’t deserve you. 

“Yeah,” you continued, “If tomorrow we celebrate, I’ll be here making sure that you drink enough water so that your hangover the next day won’t be too much. If tomorrow we try to never think about it again, I’ll sit next to you on the bus in silence holding your hand and when we get home we can do the same thing.” 

Home. You were here and he felt like he was home. 

“I missed you so much,” Jamie sighed. He kissed you all over your face, giving your lips extra attention. “‘M sorry if I was bothering you by texting and calling so much over the last few weeks… I just missed you loads and I wanted to talk to you.” 

“Baby, you didn’t text and call me enough,” you played with his hair, running your fingers through the strands. “If it was possible, I would stay on a call with you all day, everyday. Can’t get enough of ya.” 

He smiled, his worries disappearing with every word you said, “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, I love you, Jamie Tartt.” You kissed him deeply. “Couldn’t get tired of you even after a million years. Now, catch me up! Tell me everything.” 

Jamie, feeling like himself again, began to tell you everything you missed over the last few weeks– meeting Sam’s father, meeting Ted’s mum, Roy and Keeley, and seeing his mum earlier that night, which is why he came home late. He talked about how a visit to Georgie and Simon helped lift his spirits, and how Georgie was gushing about you and asking him when you’ll come to visit again. 

Then he talked about his fears for tomorrow and everything that’s been piling up on him ever since you left. As he spoke, you rubbed his back comfortingly, a small reminder that you’ll always be here no matter what. 

Jamie knew that he still had a lot of work to do. He knew that his insecurities could get the best of him sometimes and it can cause him to push back on people who love and care about him, but he was trying. You believed in him and that’s all he needed.

[toulousewayne]

Trinity Head canon

Clark is the tallest at 6’3, Bruce is not far behind at 6’2 and Diana is 6’1.5.

Clark has a southern drawl. He’s been in the city for years, but sometimes it comes out when he’s angry or certain words will bring it out. Diana and Lois find it adorable.

Speaking of which Bruce has a thick Jersey accent but does have some British vocabulary that he uses like lift or tap instead of elevator or faucet.

Diana can speak the most languages, with Bruce behind her. She secretly taught him many forgotten languages, he enjoyed this time they spent. It was mostly when the first met.

When the two come to the manor they each have a favorite tea that Alfred or really Bruce will make. Clark likes Chamomile tea and Diana likes Oolong. Bruce himself prefers green tea.

The amount of last minute saves Clark and Diana have had to do to get Bruce out of harms way is crazy. They have a tally system that Barbara keeps track of. Clark is ahead by five points.

Bruce has planned out his affairs in case he dies. Again. Damian would go into Clark and Lois’ care he figures Jon would help him a lot during this time. When he was younger if something happened to him or Alfred Dick was also supposed to go to Clark. And had Jason lived during his younger years he was originally going to Clark but he changed it to Diana a few weeks before he passed away.

Diana drops by every Sunday to feed and play with the animals. Damian has grown fond of his aunt Diana’s visits.

Aside from Bruce, Alfred and Barbara Clark is the only other person who knows how feral and intense Dick’s run as Robin was.

Diana is usually the one to lead the league or a mission. Bruce has always felt she was better at leading the charge, though she thinks the opposite and just feels she’s doing what’s needed in the moment.

We have established that Bruce is a terrible cook. Diana is far worse as when she first invited the two over to her apartment she was making a casserole she kept hearing about. Clark had to put out the fire and Bruce payed off the fire marshal. Clark can cook four dishes; Beef stew, a traditional country breakfast, apple pie and Chili. He’s trying to expend his recipes but the other two enjoy the options.

The trio get together twice a month for a night on the town. They’ve only had three successful nights out where they didn’t need to save the city.

Once a year Diana and Clark force Bruce to take a week long vacation. The Batkids watch over Gotham, and Kara watches Metropolis.

They usually go to an island off the coast of Greece that Diana discovered. She has to mother Bruce about sunscreen because he burns like paper.

Clark enjoys surfing and snorkeling. Bruce will broad for the first two days then he’ll loosen up.

Diana and Clark each have a favorite thing about the Batcave. Clark loves the giant penny and Diana is always found staring at the T-Rex.

Speaking of which, Diana is banned from driving the Batmobile nether Bruce or Diana will explain why, but Clark is chuckling about the situation.

Clark had filled in for Bruce five times. Three times as Batman and twice as Bruce Wayne using his voice.

Tim and Damian are the only Robins to work with Clark as Batman and they both enjoyed having rogues confused as to why their usual tricks didn’t affect Batman.

Clark sometimes had doubts about being a beacon of Hope when they first formed the League. It was Batman they gave him a word of advice, though Bruce still denies it till this day.

Diana once caught Bruce with her lasso, she questioned him about why he was so interested in it, he never told her why but she thinks it’s because it’s the only thing that has forced the truth out of him.

Clark can drive a stick shift, Diana can’t parallel park.

Diana is actually a good mechanic, she’s worked on a few of the aircraft at the Watchtower.

Each of the Trinity has a favorite duo to team up with. Clark likes to work with Martian Manhunter and Atom, Diana likes to work with Vixen and Black Canary, and Bruce once again won’t attempt it but he likes to work with Green Lantern (Hal) and the Flash (Barry).

Bruce doesn’t have perfect vision as he leads people to believe. He had glass since he was ten, and has had LASIK three times.

Diana will sometimes braid the Batkids hair. She loves Duke and Tim’s hair the most. She sometimes will scold Dick about his longer hair because she knows he’ll never tend to it properly.

[scoatneyhall]

Ted Lasso season 4... thoughts...

LOL so it sounds like they're definitely going to have Ted come back to coach the women's team himself as opposed to just being around a bit for whatever reason... while I know plenty of women's teams do have male managers IRL, do they like... have to? Like do they have to make that narrative choice instead of having a female coach?

And they've said the first episode is apparently going to be set and filmed in Kansas, so I assume it will be Rebecca going over there to ask him to come back?

If this is where we are going with it, I now really hope there's a significant time jump, skipping the amount of time we've missed IRL, like 3 football seasons - and that it will be set in the 25/26 football season. He left summer of 2022 and is coming back summer of 2025. I mean, for starters, they can't explain the kids aging any other way if Henry or Phoebe is a part of it. And in terms of the aim of the initial 3 season arc, it would be insane for Ted to just come back a few months after he left. Like. Okay it's fine to leave his son again? I assume in this situation Henry (and possibly Michelle) will move WITH him, because otherwise what was the point??? So we really have to be on top of the kid's age, and it has been 4 years since filming s3!

I used to really dread the idea of a time jump as I didn't want to miss Roy's journey as manager (AND THERAPY), but now it feels like it's the only way it'll work, in particular if the focus is Ted returning to handle the women. A Tedless continuation that focused on Roy should have had no time jump, but this version definitely should.

I have written before about how it is completely and utterly unreal that they don't already have a women's team, even if they were only semi pro, so I feel like if they wanted to explain the whole "starting" the women's team with some level of football realism, you could do it like, okay, they did already have the women's team and they've been playing in lower leagues, way way down, with no funding, Rupert didn't care, Rebecca didn't initially care, and Keeley's plan was about building them up now they had the resources, not starting them from scratch. And after a few seasons of serious investments and promotions they are ready for the WSL, and they need a more high profile manager? I guess???? Like the last few years have been a Welcome to Wrexham situation with 3 seasons of promotion in a row under another coach, and now that coach is leaving and Ted comes in to take them to the highest level? I GUESS.

But also like. Sorry but Ted Lasso in its former form was such a man centric show. Which I wasn't mad at! But what i mean is like Ted as a coach really seems like his most powerful quality is helping boys become non toxic men. Men's support, men accessing their emotions, men's mental health. Ted help guys to Man Good. I just don't think those same vibes will come across well when it's about him mentoring women? I don't want to see him trying to mentor women?? They deserve better?Ted works as a coach when he's helping men be good men. The women don't need his methods.Like yeah he helped Rebecca but I think that was very different. I don't need to see him being Coach Dad to a bunch of lesbians. I just don't.

But honestly I don't really care what Ted does with himself, I need that time jump to happen regarding other characters, to keep their stories something I feel good about. At this point, I really don't think Phil Dunster is doing it - Jamie may show up as a guest in one or two eps... and if it was a direct continuation, I cannot stand the idea that he left Richmond the same reason Roy became manager and Richmond entered the Champions League. I really, really don't think it would be in character for him to do that even though there would have been interest to buy him. But I could believe it if it has been a few seasons and he had a really great offer - especially if it was back to City. I could accept him being transferred after a decent time jump, but I hate the idea of making OOC choices about him to fit their availability or plot ideas. He Would Not Do That.

But if the focus is mainly Ted and the women's team, it's possible that Jamie is still there and we just don't really follow the men's team action? Brett Goldstein IS doing the show but also has many other commitments, so I am kind of assuming we won't be in the men's team dressing room or filming men's matches or doing heavy Roy plot, and Roy will only pop up for Rebecca admin scenes/Keeley personal scenes.

Because possibly the football action won't follow the men at all, as in, they won't even rebuild that old set and stuff, and mainly be in Ted's new office in the girls changing room (sigh, how many jokes about him not looking will there be) so it is possible Jamie is still very much at Richmond, and we see him a couple of times in a social capacity with Roy or Keeley, but if there is no more scenes in the men's team dressing room etc, and the plot won't in any way focus on the results of the men's season, he won't be in the background of basically every office or training scene like he was before.

The more I think about it, the more I actually think this "no men's team scenes" is probably likely regardless of who is still on the men's team - because they want to do all the work they need to do for filming matches and training and stuff, which is big and expensive, I think they'll do just the women's games - they would actually probably get roasted if they focused too much on the men after all this talk about promoting the women's game. Like we had 3 seasons of just men - even splitting season 4 into 50% men's team focus and 50% women feels kind of bad in terms of their aims about platforming women's football. So I am now betting men's team will be almost invisible, with some players popping up in incidental/social scenes.

So. It is possible that Roy pops up in a club admin way/Keeley relationship way - though I do NOT want them to get back together - and that Jamie still is there and around those characters socially but we don't do everyday team scenes. It is also possible Jamie will no longer play for Richmond.

Either way I really need that time jump. I cannot stand the idea of Ted regretting his choice and moving back immediately after all that. I cannot stand the idea of Jamie moving clubs in the same transfer window Roy is hired. I cannot stand the idea of pretending the Henry actor hasn't aged 4 years or the idea of recasting Phoebe. I am furious that they feel JSuds was integral to the show as an actor and that it still needs to focus on him cominh back and coaching. He could have just written it and popped up as a Diamond Dogs Zoom friend a couple of times.

But if this is the way it is, they NEED a time jump. Furious to miss Roy's managerial/therapy journey, it will be insane for all the growth to happen off screen and will probably sit very weird with viewers if he comes back on screen acting significantly different, but you'd HOPE he has changed in that time and at least it would leave us a really good fanfic gap to play with, between the summer of 2022 and whenever this will be set - particularly if Jamie is gone.

All in all I feel like I'd rather they just ended with season 3 and did not do this extension of the show, especially as they seem to have lost a lot of goodwill with the audience since season 3. I personally am very wary of what kind of football realism they're going to destroy in order to "start" the women's team and am going to be on edge until it comes out in terms of "how bad they've fucked it up." That wariness also extends to off screen character choices they will make in order to explain who's no longer around. Cool sentiment to be anticipating about a show I'm meant to like!