#or can post a gn one

[so-long-soldier-writes]

drabble #2 - the bots

kol mikaelson x reader

summary: thousand year old vampires vs the bots messaging you on your phone… who will win?

tags: tumblr, very confused vampires, up-to-date on modern life klaus but severely lacking kol, protective!kol

word count: 553

a/n: i wrote this soooo long ago, then forgot about it! like, wrote it when all of tumblr was being attacked by bots, before things finally settled down. also, this is cheesy af ;)

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” you mutter at the new notification on your screen.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, not you, you’re fine.”

“Wait,” Kol sits up, “who then?”

“Oh just another stupid porn bot on tumblr.”

“A what?” At your comment, Elijah looks over to you, too. 

“Oh, right. New to the twenty-first century. Um, just a person - er, not a person, a robot - messaging me for… messaging me.” You try to explain. You had almost said, ‘messaging me for sex,’ but stopped yourself immediately. 

“Messaging for what?”

Fuck. “Um…”

Elijah then asks, “did you say a robot is messaging you?”

You focus on the elder brother’s question first, “yeah. It’s actually quite common in the last couple decades. Lots of customer service people are robots, people trying to scam others can use robots, either for identity theft or whatever else… I’m not good at explaining it, but yeah.”

“So what does your robot want?”

You grimace, “it’s certainly not my robot, it’s just messaging me. But the tumblr bots all are looking for, like, sexual engagement. They message everyone because they don’t know anything about the people they are messaging, but they want bored, horny people to click on their bio links and buy their… porn.”

“You need to tell it to go away.” Kol’s jaw is tense. 

“Yeah, I’m about to block it.”

“No, you need to tell it to stop.”

“I don’t want to actually interact with them because then they’ll keep coming back. They’re like seagulls, Kol. They don’t actually understand the words I’m saying. They see engagement in any way and take it as a win.”

“Well you need to tell someone. You’re mine and they need to know that.”

“Calm down, brother.”

You put a hand on Kol’s knee. “It’s okay, they’re not gonna have me in any way. We report them to staff and block them; it’s the easiest and most effective way to deal with them. And I’m saying ‘we’ as everyone on the app who deals with them.”

“Can you stop using the app, then?”

“Oh, sweetheart… One, no. I’ll still be blogging when I’m six feet under. Two, they’re everywhere, and there’s really no escaping them.”

Elijah steps in again, “trust her, Kol, she knows what she’s doing. Y/N’s a smart girl.”

You send him a smile, then turn to your boyfriend, “I love you, Kol. Only you. I never have and never will engage with the stupid bots, okay? No one’s taking me from you.” 

He finally seems to relax after this. “I still hate them.”

“Everyone does, baby.”

“What are you three talking about?” Klaus barges into the living room. 

“Y/N just introduced us to something called a porn bot, have you heard of them?” Elijah turns to the hybrid. 

“Oh, those shucks are all over the place, can’t bloody stand them! Caroline says you block them and move on!”

He’s gone immediately after, and you turn back to Kol. “See? They even harass your brother.”

A chuckle passes his lips as he thinks of that situation. “Okay. Thank you for explaining it. I was debating if I needed to send the person a death threat, or smash your phone with a hammer.”

“Neither of those things, baby. I am completely yours, and you don’t have to worry a thing.”

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, injury, light angst {☆} word count 2.3k

What was justice?

Focalors had asked herself that question many times during the long nights she spends awake pouring over the prophecy of a dead God, words replaying in her mind like a broken record until the sun rose like a blooming flower.

She was the God of Justice, an Archon, yet she herself lacked the answer to such a simple and yet so very complex question.

How does one define what is just and what is not? How does she know that what she believes to be just is right? Is it justice if one being alone may sway the scales of justice on a whim? What justice is there to be found in the cold, watery grave that awaits her nation?

She does not know.

Perhaps she may never know.

What she does know, at least, is that this is not justice.

It is a mockery of it.

She stands before the bloodied, broken body like the judge, her sword held so tightly in her hand her fingers feel stiff, a dull ache adding to the weight of what she's seen. For a long, horrible moment she almost thinks they are dead – something she would have reveled in, only a day prior – before she sees the subtle rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, but barely.

The rain felt heavier upon her shoulders at the realization – she was not sure if it was in relief or horror.

Her nails dig into her palm, mind stuck somewhere between that abject horror and confusion so palpable she swore she could hear the gears in her head turning.

For a long, silent moment as she stares upon the body beneath the heavy rain..she wonders if this is how it all ends instead. If the world itself will simply crumple in on itself and cease – without its heart, it will wither, after all – long before the waters ever swallow her nation whole.

Because, try as she might to rationalize it, for every drop of rain that hits her like pins and needles, soaking her down to the bone..the body of the imposter is completely dry. Even the water pooling along the stones dares not to leave so much as a splotch against their ragged, torn clothes.

She remembers the meeting so very clearly, and she thinks she is a fool to not have noticed sooner – the Creator upon their gilded throne, finger pointed in accusation at the visage far too similar to their own. The imposter. She remembers the lilt of their voice as they called for their death as easily as one would speak of the weather – and to no one other then herself would she admit the spark of fear it had ignited within her. Because beneath the divine charade there was a sick enjoyment in the way they looked upon the imposter – like a bug beneath their shoe.

She understands, now.

She had thought that perhaps finally – finally – she could do right by her people, by her Creator, if she rid Teyvat of this..intrusion.

Now she sees herself as what it all really is – blind lambs following the herder.

Perhaps she would be considered a heretic under the eyes of the law – beneath the weight of justice, heavy as the heart that bears its sins. Perhaps this is a mistake, one she would come to regret.

But for now, she sheathes her blade with unsteady hands, the sound making her ears ring – for what she had almost done, what she had already done – as she stumbles like a newborn lamb towards the broken body of..

..What, exactly? Human? Divine? She is not so sure what to call them. Creator? No. The name is bitter upon her tongue, now, burning like liquid flame down her throat.

Where once she had spoken it in reverence and admiration, it felt hollow and empty, now.

Her vision wavers as she kneels down against the rain soaked stones, the rain upon her back growing heavier as she reaches a shaky hand forth – and for a moment, however brief, she feels the weight of expectation, of a title she fears she may never live up to, wash away with the waters that fall from the heavens.

The bruises and blood smeared across their skin are like strokes of a paintbrush, their body the canvas from which such horrid art is created. It makes her ill.

Doubt wavers her composure briefly – her position is already unsteady. She has never been seen as an equal to many of the other Archons. Her own people do not see her as their Archon, but an actor in a grand play that they shall simply toss aside and replace like a broken doll the moment she bores them.

What does she have left to lose?

She reaches out again, her hand settling onto their shoulder and turning them onto their back. She..isn't sure what to do, actually. She's never been particularly physically capable – she tended to avoid fights, even if she oft provoked them – and she was certainly no healer.

Yet what choice does she have but to march on anyway? She is in the heart of the city, it is far more dangerous here then anywhere else..she had little time to make her move.

Fontaine was, after all, a nation founded on the principle of justice. To know an injustice has been made against the most Divine..the entire nation was in a frenzy.

Her eyes dart around nervously, hands clasped tight on their shoulders and her lips drawn into a taut line – someone would notice her absence. One of the Archons would point out her absence in the coordination of the search.

Her options were just as limited as her time – she couldn't just take them out of the city. Security was tight, and as much as she fancied herself an escape artist – Neuvillette could hardly keep her in one place for too long – she doubted she could do the same with the limp body of the imposter in tow.

..The Palais Mermonia it was, then.

Her room had a secret entrance that few knew about, and even fewer would dare to traverse. She just..had to hide them there for a bit and hope Neuvillette wouldn't notice anything different.

Probably.

Still, there was the problem of actually..transporting the body. As grim as it sounded. Her only solace was the fact she didn't have to worry about them catching a cold, at least, and their breaths were still audible, if only barely. So she had to resort to some..unexpected methods.

Seeing the limp form of, well, the imposter – she'd really have to ask for something else to call them when they woke up – stuck in a bubble of hydro wasn't exactly on her bucket list.

Then again, neither was treason.

Well, first time for everything, right?

It wasn't breaking the law if no one else knew about it.

..Neuvillette didn't have to know about it, really. It was fine.

She could, of course, technically try to talk some sense into Neuvillette – he'd listen to her, right? She thought she was pretty close with him..but he was also the one person more obsessed with justice then she was. Such a stickler for the law..so maybe she's breaking a few, it's fine.

But he was also pretty devout, as much as he tried to keep his worship private – with Focalors around, nothing was really secret. Maybe she could get him to settle down long enough to prove it.

..How was she going to prove it?

An exaggerated groan escaped her lips as she led the bubbled imposter – she really wished she didn't have to resort to that, it would be a lot a more awkward to explain then dragging the body around – through the winding streets of Fontaine. She's just glad she's already memorized the entire city like the back of her hand..and a little dramatics went a long way. People listened when the Hydro Archon spoke, and she was suddenly very, very glad for that fact, even if they treated her more like a mascot then a God.

And partially because she, maybe, just a little..stole a few documents detailing the layout and a little personal exploration of her own – but what Neuvillette didn't know couldn't hurt him!

After what felt like hours, though was really no more then half an hour at best, she'd managed to drag herself – soaked to the bone with rain – and the conveniently bubbled imposter up through the secret entrance and into her room.

The perceived safety, as flimsy as it was, was..comforting. Until she heard the rustle of fabric, the clearing of a throat and the pop of a bubble as she, in her surprise, popped it – and then the thud of the imposter hitting the floor.

She felt a bit of regret about that part, at least, wincing.

"Lady Furina." His voice was as sharp and cool as she remembered it always being – like fresh spring water, she'd heard it described. Soothing. It did not feeling very soothing right about now.

She turned sharply on her heel, a forced smile tugging at her lips on reflex, every muscle in her body tensed – she probably looked like a wet cat right about now, soaked with rain, but that was the last thing on her mind.

"Do you mind explaining what, exactly, you did?" Not what you're doing, she notes – what she did. He was mad. Oh, she was really in for a scolding now. She twiddled her thumbs, laughing weakly, though it quickly dies out at the awkward, tense silence.

"Well, you see – it's rather complicated! I can– I can explain." Her attempts to diffuse are met with a raised brow and the sharp tap of his cane. Every single thought is plagued with the urge to run, but the unsteady breathes of the 'imposter' keep her rooted in place. "Well?"

She was sweating bullets, her nails digging into her palm as she scrambled for any excuse that could warrant her not getting hauled off and scolded thoroughly at best – she was coming up empty. How was she supposed to prove that the 'imposter' was very much not what the 'Creator' said they were? Their unconscious body was doing no one any favors, certainly.

"The Creator is lying," She blurts out, immediately regretting her impulsiveness when she feels the sudden weight of his stare – the piercing hues of his eyes that remind her just who is the strongest between them. It is not her, she knows. It never has been. "You can see for yourself! Don't you trust me, Neuvillette–?"

Her voice is cut off by the sharp click of his cane as he strides across the room in only a few steps, his height making her feel like a child about to scolded. She hated it, but she grit her teeth through the exchange. She reminded herself that this was for the sake of the 'imposter' and any affront to her ego was..tolerable.

To her credit, too, she didn't immediately lash out when she saw him poke at their body with his cane, turning them onto their back – she wanted too, though. She considered it, but the thought was quickly shot down when his stare turned back upon her, and she felt frozen in place again, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth.

Yet she couldn't shake the sudden tenseness to his shoulders, his brows furrowed and a distant look to his eyes. It was..haunting, in a way.

She knows it well, she realizes. The realization and acceptance, the crumbling of every solid foundation you've ever known – leaving you to flounder in the waves, alone and afraid.

The gentleness in which he picks up the limp body surprises her though, his cane set aside. The rain howls like a horrid storm outside, but she cannot focus on anything but the furrow of their brows, the soft noise that escapes their lips.

"I trust that you know that this must stay between us," His voice is soft, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore, as he sets their body down against the bed, his hand lingering against their cheek with something almost like reverence – and if her eyes do not deceive her, affection. "Lady Furina."

She does not hesitate to agree.

"Well– well of course!" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, a heavy weight that feels like it's dragging her down. "Just what do you take me for?"

He doesn't deign to respond.

It only makes her fume more.

Not that he seems to notice, unbuttoning his heavy outerwear and tossing it on the bed, rolling up his sleeves and focusing on the injured– er..yeah, she really needed a new name for them. Calling them imposter felt wrong.

"So long as you understand, then we will have no problems." She huffs again, pouting and puffing up her cheeks, sitting down on the other end of the bed with only an occasional glance towards him as he worked at peeling away the ragged clothes and examining the injuries marring their skin.

She suddenly felt out of place.

..What was she supposed to be doing?

As if noticing her sudden quietness, Neuvillette sighed, his back turned to her though his attention very much falling upon her. She really hated the feeling like she was being dissected whenever he looked at her. It was unnerving. She doesn't know how anyone else handles it..

"If you are so eager to do something, Lady Furina, then please have something brought up for when our..guest awakens. They will need to recover their strength."

Finally! Something she can do. She perks up, her heels clicking on the floorboards as she darts out like a bullet, unable to stay still for so much as a moment.

Neuvillette, for his part..

Feels an odd sense of serenity as he stares upon the troubled features of the..guest. A peace that lessens the burdens upon his shoulders, the weight of a nation upon his back.

He cannot hear the rain, anymore.

..It must have stopped.

[disposal-blueeee]

vargas by zarla-s ,

[idyllcy]

and baby, if you knew

word count: 2.1k || pt2 of saying we're just friends

warnings: mentions of the night before (?), morning after, hickies (?)

summary: oh the horrors of getting caught the morning after

You stare at yourself in the mirror, blinking incredulously. (Partially out of pure shock, partially because sleeping with your contacts on was NOT a smart decision on your end)

Holy fuck, Tim got mouthy with you.

You tilt your neck to brush your fingers over the hickeys, gawking at the way it trails down your neck and collar to your chest, the purple popping on your skin. Sure, you weren't half as pale as Tim was, but hello? You didn't even bring concealer. You weren't expecting him to take you to the Wayne Manor. 

"Tim." You swallow, grimacing.

Tim raises a brow, shirt pulled halfway over his head.

"How many hickeys did you give me? Do you have a whisk? Do you have ice? Are you secretly a vampire???"

"One question at a time, lovely." he mumbles. "Seven. There's a whisk and ice downstairs. I am not secretly a vampire, although I can see why you'd guess that."

You blink at him. "Do you have a collared shirt?"

"Just settle for one of my shirts for now." He pulls the shirt over his head, tossing you the other one in the bed. 

"Please tell me it's not sheer."

"It's not."

"Thank GOD you're rich." You mumble. "It's a blessing to have non-sheer white shirts."

"Yeah, I get that." He mumbles. "Come on. Alfred called us for breakfast a little ago."

"Which one of your siblings are here?"

"We'll see." Tim hums, shutting the door to his room. (All of them are downstairs, likely. They were probably having a post-valentine debriefing like they usually do. Bruce was not spared from it.)

You duck behind Tim when you notice everyone having breakfast.

"You said we'll see! Are none of them staying with the people they were out with last night?!"

"It happens every year." Tim hums, holding his hand out for you. "Come on. Don't do the walk of shame."

"Seriously. I run a stan account for you and live in my dorm. I'm practically a hermit." You deadpan. "I am NOT cut out to be meeting your family this early in the morning."

"Master Tim, young miss. Are you ready for breakfast? We are having pancakes."

"Just kidding I would kill for pancakes right now." You mumble, following behind Tim as he sits you next to him.

All eyes are on you as you adjust the collar of your shirt, the tag scratching against your skin, the hickeys on your neck visible. You thank Alfred as he places a plate before you, and you start at the chocolate chip pancakes. Holy shit, fuck the eyes on you, this was heaven.

"Alfred, do you have a recipe book?" You blink at him, eyes wide in admiration. 

"Which recipe would you like, young miss?"

"Oh, all of them if possible. I'd love to be able to cook half as well as you can." You hum, taking another bite of your food. "Do you have a digital copy?"

"Unfortunately, all of it is on paper or in here." He smiles, tapping his brain. "But I am more than willing to provide you with any recipes you may like."

"Mm!" You shove the last piece of the pancake into your mouth, swallowing as you get up. "Tim, do you have a laptop? I want to type a couple recipes down and transcribe what's on paper—"

"Pull open the drawer to your left." He hums.

You pull it open, blinking at him.

"There's a false bottom in it. One of my spare laptops is in it. The password is a combination of letters." He hums.

"With significance?"

"Yes."

"Oh, then I know an approximation, then." You hum, working your finger into the side as you prop it open, pulling his laptop out. "Is it our birthdays?"

"Wait, how did she–" Dick's cut off when you manage to open it on your first try.

"Alright. I'm gonna go! I'll be with Alfred if you need anything." You smile.

"She just?" Duke blinks incredulously. "Did she just hack open your laptop on her first try? Is she in compsci like you?"

"English." Tim grabs a couple pancakes, cutting off a piece of butter. "Creative writing, technically."

"Oh, is she making her own major?"

"Yes." Tim hums. "I don't actually know how she guessed that it would be our birthdays since I only changed it a little while ago. It'd be easier to open if it was just our birthdays combined. Maybe she was stalking me."

"Or, maybe all the years of running a Robin Twitter account finally paid off." Jason shrugs. "She's quite a big writer on the internet too, you know?"

"Yeah." Tim hums. "She's quite the character. Have you read her works?"

"I have." Damian speaks up. "Her writing resembles poetry, pulling on the strings of your heart and snapping them at moments you least expect."

"You've read her works?!" Tim raises a brow at Damian. "That's surprising."

"She resembles the poets."

"She'd love to hear that come out of your mouth for sure." Tim mumbles. "Anything else I should know?"

"She covered me for change once while I went to buy cup noodles." Cass mumbles.

"I'm mutuals with her on Twitter?" Steph points.

"Okay, that's not the point. Timmy." Dick deadpans. "Did you sleep with her last night?"

"Sex or just plain sleeping? Because we did both—"

"I DIDN'T GET TO GIVE YOU THE SHOVEL TALK!" Dick cries. "Okay, when a man and a—"

"Dick, I'm well over into the ages of a legal adult." Tim sighs. "Besides, I'm like seventy percent sure that you gave me the shovel talk when you first found out I was dating Ari in high school. Also, I got one from my dad and Bruce, so I think I'm good."

"Oh, right." Dick mumbles. "But still."

Steph pauses. "Does she want a whisk?"

"She was asking for one earlier." Tim hums.

"We'll go help." Cass mumbles, getting out of the seat, dragging Steph.

"Okay, Tim. Is she the one who was making you all red and blushy during Christmas?" Dick slides closer to him, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

"Yes." Tim sighs, batting Dick's hand away. "She was."

"How'd you ask her out?"

"Told her if she had nothing to do on Valentine's, then she could stick with me and I could plan a date." Tim reaches for another pancake.

"And she agreed?" Jason snorts. "Wow. She's way out of your league."

"Yeah, but at least I got B's absolutely insane ability to pull." He mumbles. "Pulled way out of my league, for sure."

"If you fumble her I fear the things that will happen to you, Drake." Damian clicks his tongue.

"Do I... know her?"

"Duke," Damian sighs. "You're smarter than this."

"He's messing with you right now." Jason pours himself another cup of coffee. 

"What's your relationship with her." Tim deadpans.

"She used to peer review my poems." He hums. "It didn't click until Damian showed me her information this morning, though."

"You just let them go through my girlfriend's personal information?!" Tim finally looks at Bruce, who only gives him a shrug.

"No harm in knowing a little more about your girlfriend."

"I swear, if you bring her in on the vigilantism—"

"That's not happening. I can promise that." Bruce glances at his almost empty mug. "Does she know?"

"She called me out for being Red Robin last night in the car." Tim sighs. "Besides, it'd be strange if she didn't notice immediately how similar Red Robin and I's voices are."

"She's been running your account for how long... now?" Bruce motions for Jason to pass him the coffee.

"Since middle school, so like..." Tim pauses. "Give or take seven years."

"That's a long time." Dick mumbles. "My longest-running fanpage is only six-ish years." 

"If you count the Gotham Gazette, then I've been running for the longest." Bruce snorts. "Is she the one?"

"I think she is." Tim smiles. "And if she's not..."

"Then I will personally see the end of your life, Drake." Damian grumbles. "I shall have mother adopt her and have her write poetry for me in exchange for a living space and food. She shall be the equivalent of a court poet except to mother and I."

"I honestly think she wouldn't turn that down." Tim grimaces. 

"Is she that desperate?"

"She's joked about sleeping with a millionaire to make some money." Tim grimaces. "Something something desperate situations call for desperate measures."

"She would love it in mother's mansion, then." Damian hums, sipping on his tea. "I shall have her write a poem for your death. It shall be my last mercy."

Tim grimaces. "What if she breaks up with me?"

"Then you're in the fault, obviously." Jason mumbles, looking at his phone. 

"So it's my fault regardless of what happens?"

"Listen, her tweets are unhinged. You can't say you like crazy girls and then get annoyed when you date one and she acts insane." Jason grumbles.

"He's got a point, Timmers." Dick hums. "I hope it works out for the best, regardless of the ending."

"Twenty bucks they are endgame." Damian mumbles.

"Alfred bet ten that Tim would pop the ring."

"Ugh, come on. You know no one out-bets Alfred." Dick groans. "Did he set up the jar?"

"He did. This morning." Duke hums. "I put my bet in too."

"Come on–"

"You can't say shit when you bet on all of our relationships and pretty much came out unscathed in all of them." Jason glares. "Shut it."

Tim rolls his eyes, surrendering himself to the idea that his relationship would get bet on. 

"Tim, can I marry your sisters?" You come out of the kitchen, eyes sparkling.

"We're dating." He sighs. "Pretty bird—"

"EWWWWWWW" A mixture of faked hurls and gags are heard in unison as Tim rolls his eyes. 

"Ignore them. Why do you want my sisters?"

"The hickeys are all," You pull your shirt down too to show your cleavage, the hickeys no longer visible, "gone! Your sisters are really good at this."

"Yeah..." Tim sighs, reaching to pull your shirt back up. "Steph isn't my sister, by the way."

"Oh, yes, I know." You smile. "After all, if she was, it'd be strange that you've dated her before." 

Tim chokes on the air at your statement.

"Besides, she's my mutual." You hum. "I also got Alfred's recipes, by the way." You hum, smile on your face. "I also got his chocolate chip cookie recipe, though I need to figure out what the secret ingredient is."

"A dash of vanilla extract." Tim lowers his voice. "Don't tell the rest of the family."

"Got it." You give him a thumbs up. 

"Do you cook?" Damian speaks up.

"I do! Mainly ethnic foods, since there isn't much of that here in Gotham." You mumble. "Got any good Chinese places?"

"Oh, there's this place on Seventh Ave and Jester." Bruce speaks up. "I used to get dim sum there. It's only open from eight to twelve, and you need to get in via reservation. Feel free to borrow my name whenever. Just make sure to invite me."

"Uncle Dan's, right?" You beam. "I went there a while back with another friend, but I miss like... the dim sum that's messy and chaotic in the morning."

"Oh, then try the one on Lightbeam." Dick pauses. "Ah, what was the other street?"

"Oh, that one's good." Duke agrees. "Sam Woo's Dim Sum and BBQ."

"I've had that too!" You smile. "They're good, just quite a while from the university."

"If you really want something good," Cass speaks up from behind you, "try Jin."

"Jin?"

"It's smaller, but it's family-run, and it's been doing business in Gotham for three generations already." Cass hums. "They're called Jin, but the Chinese character for gold. They're right by Gotham U too. On the corner by Circle K."

"The sketchy looking alley??" You blink.

"Yes, but their dumplings are to die for." She pauses. "And they sell in bulk if you want to boil any in your dorm."

"Tim, I want your sister."

"Pretty bird, we just started going out." He clicks his tongue. 

"Tim, if you break her heart, I will date her." Cass blinks.

"You can visit her when she stays in mother's mansion."

"Hm?" You turn to blink at Damian.

"Ignore him—"

"Should you and Drake break up, I have already arranged your living arrangements, should you agree to it."

"And what might they be?" You hand the laptop to Tim, pointing at the document you shared with yourself.

"With my mother. Your only job shall be to write poems and short stories to entertain her."

"Living and writing for the Talia Al Ghul? Count me in." You sigh dreamily. 

"Alright." Tim shuts the laptop after changing the password. "We're going to get going before her roommate calls the cops on her."

"Oh, right!" You mumble. "It was a pleasure meeting you all! I hope to see you again sometime?"

"Tim, send her number in the chat later!" Dick calls as Tim pulls you out.

"Sorry, they're quite embarrassing." Tim mumbles.

"They're warm." You smile. "I like it."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." 

Tim sighs in relief at the look of fondness on your face. Right.

You'll be fine.

[skitskatdacat63]

"Sometimes you learn more things from the difficulties than from the celebrations"

[syrasenturi]

i’m unstoppable

[cashweasel]

Your honor the kids are flirting with their eyes!

@night-triumphantt

[thepringlesofblood]

me, starting to read the suffering game graphic novel: i wonder how much of the next lunar interlude they're going to include?

*the boys escape wonderland and we're only halfway through the book*

me: heh. i'm in danger.

[roseverdict]

i think if a game does not include the option to save in its main pause menu but rather in a separate menu that is not mentioned in-game whatsoever besides the fact that attempting to quit will cause you to lose all unsaved data, thereby making players try and find it through trial and error if they want to save the game at all, it has a design flaw

[artqueen02]

OKAY HI SINCEITS TECHICALLY 40 MINUTES INTO BEING THE SIXTH I CAN START POSTIBG ABOUT IT NOW SO

HAPPY INTERNATIONAL ASEXUALITY DAY EVERYONE!!!

Im gonna go knock the fuck out now but I love y’all have fun stay safe you’ll get more proper posts from me tomorrow

[in-asterism]

all the details in this didn't translate so well into a drawing, so I wound up just writing

you can probably figure it out, but this is set immediately after Luce's death

They steal into the Giglio Nero headquarters like a ghost, slipping through half-open doors and winding hallways. Giglio Nero is old, and each new Donna has built on the bones of the last, turning a once-modest estate into a sprawling compound. 

Viper knows every hallway, had spent their time in I Prescelti Sette mapping every secret path in their Sky’s house. 

They let their feet settle on the ground, choosing to walk the last stretch. With an infant’s body, every step only takes them an increment further, but today is significant, and they need the grounding. 

The heart of Giglio Nero was once the inner sanctum of the Arcobaleno- but embittered Elements tend not to stay long after being chained to the world. It was called the Nursery, which, in hindsight, was deeply morbid. 

They slip into the chambers of the Sky Arcobaleno, and settle on the dais where Luce lies. The indigo pacifier stays dim.

 Her neck is bare, her skin is cold, her eyes are empty. Viper doesn’t know how long they stare into those hollow eyes, but eventually they manage to reach out and close them. Luce deserved to turn her gaze away, even if only in death.

They can’t look away.

Her white dress, the uniform of the Sky Arcobaleno has become her funeral shroud. Cold impersonal white, a monument to the purity of her flame, to the duty of her death. Her blank face, orange marking garishly bright against death-pallor. 

It’s so, so wrong.

Luce is warm, and she smiles, and she is always moving, even just a little.

She hated to be still. She made a point to smile, always, even when she cried because there were things that the world could not take from her, and her reactions were one of those things.

For it to end this way-

It was always going to happen, really. The lot of them had lived their lives, exceptional but still sensical, and then somehow found their way into a fairytale. Even the Strongest Sky could not subvert the laws of her narrative.

But it hurts that she wouldn’t even try. That she laid down and waited for Him to come. That she walked up that mountain with the poise she brought to every other tragedy.

 The people they hate most are liars, and Luce was always a liar. All that sight, blessed gift of a dead goddess, and she could never even admit the truth to herself. Pathetic…

They twirl a strand of bluish hair around chubby fingers, but they can’t stay. Within Giglio Nero’s halls, there are always eyes on the ‘precious’ Arcobaleno- already the pacifier has been passed to little Aria, and soon her predecessor’s body will be discovered. 

Best to just go. Time is money after all, and Viper is wasting it here.

[esteemed-excellency]

it's once again very late so that's enough soulposting for the day, I'll reply to all dms tomorrow!

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[conanssummerchild]

with angsty episodes in community theres some where i can watch and go yess >:) the angst i love it (virtual systems analysis), some that i watch and think that sucks :( i hate that what a dick move (basic rv repair and palmistry), some that make me go oh no thats sad :( (abeds uncontrollable christmas), some that put me in genuine distress (contemporary impressionists and digital exploration of interior design to pillows and blankets) and some that make me uncomfortable and feel icky (bondage and beta male sexuality) there was no real purpose to this post its 3am and im stating my sleepy oponions thank u for coming to my ted talk

[multiimistakes]

👓 Ashley "Ash" King / 25 / Aquarius 👓

■ The unhinged wine aunt friend. Typically the most responsible adult in the room but also the one who probably encouraged tom foolery in the first place.

■ The stereotypical ambivert. The guy everyone gets along with and who is always happy to hang and chat but who thrives in more quiet and intimate social groups. Often mistaken for a pure extrovert since he mostly hangs with the quiet introvert dweebs and has to default to being the more talkative/social one.

■ Lives in baseball caps and pullover sweaters and hoodies. Prefers the vintage graphic print ones from like the 90s but also loves a good ironic and shitpost one. Would also unironically wear that 'Women want me, Fish fear me' baseball cap. Aviators all day baybeee. Shorts in the summer and sometimes the winter. Man loves his shorts.

■ Ears are pierced but rarely wears anything in them.

■ New York born and raised. Accent as thick as he is. Big boy, 6'4.

■ Big and loud means people typically listen to him even though he really doesn't put forth any sort of 'leader' persona

■ Sleeper agent talented at baseball, pool, and darts. Can also hold his booze extremely well. Will hustle you in all of the above.

■ The unaware final boy. Born lucky with how he seems to just be able to dance around pitfalls and life threatening situations without even realizing it.

■ Did some college. Dropped out. Found out he's really good at managing people and doing business shit. More or less a social influencer manager now.

■ Somehow looks like the most trustworthy brown eyes, brown hair man and the most untrustworthy one at the same time.

■ Will bum a cigarette but doesn't actively smoke. If anything, prefers a nice cigar. Usually smacking on gum or mints or the odd toothpick.

■ If you fuck around with him, you will find out.

■ Vintage knife and lighter collections. Seeing them is oddly harder to unlock than his tragic backstory lore.

■ Sometimes you have to go through a dramatic twink death in high school to end up a hot adult.

■ Kinda giving Dodger from Oliver & Co.

■ Questionable flags include being way too excited about random bruises he gets or little injuries. Likes fire a lil' too much. And the knife collection, obvs.

[ahit-oc-corner]

HI DON'T JUDGE ME

HI Okay guys this is so random is also so crazy BUT STICK WITH ME! SO CONTEXT i am planning on opening Ko-fi commissions this weekend and i had an insane late night thought and wanted to see thoughts on the matter on the poll