#pretend toe beans

[originalartblog]

New gloves!!!

[karmathehalflander]

I had an idea and was incapable of doing anything else until you all saw my vision.

[kiadanta]

Truly the babiest of creatures

[d3l3t3d-deactivated]

meow

[totsandnuggsrebloggs]

Treat!

Happy Halloween!

[the-witty-pen-name]

The Love Triangle from Hell (2)

Steve Harrington x F!Reader / Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Synopsis: After the events of PART ONE, Robin goes shoe shopping; Steve's mental health is in shambles; Nancy is trying to save her relationship; you're feeling lost; and Eddie is trying to be the bigger person.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: messy messy feelings; unrequited love; cursing; arguments; crying; angst angst angsty angst; drinking; Robin literally just trying to live her life but her friends are all idiots

A/N: Thank you all so so much for all the love you have been showing to part one. You all had me so motivated to write this next part for you. I never manage to get things written this quickly, it's insane. So much appreciation to you all who took the time to read and let me know how you liked it- the comments and reblogs mean so much to me! Thank you!

Please let know who you think our girl should end up with ;)

This series with be 18+ in later chapters MINORS DNI

You didn’t ever think about a future in which you didn’t feel the way you felt about Steve. It was something that you always viewed as this absolute truth. It was unavoidable. The sun would rise and fall and you would love Steve Harrington. But now, the world feels like it’s crashed, burned and raised from the ashes. A new reality- a new future to be written. Maybe, just maybe, you would see a future for yourself without Steve. It was such a simple thought- but you couldn’t have seen it before.

While you’re coming to terms with your new reality that Eddie tore open with both hands, Steve feels the weight of the crash all around him. It’s everywhere, more specifically, you’re everywhere. He felt like he’s lost everything. In her reconciliation with Jonathan, Nancy pulled Steve aside that night and said she thought it best if they don’t hang out for awhile. He nodded, jaw tightened, but he understood. 

Eddie isn’t not talking to him, but there’s awkward tension in the apartment. They both pretend that it isn’t there but the air is thick with it. The proverbial beans have been spillt. Eddie’s in love with you, and Steve shouldn’t care about it as much as he does. Eddie goes about his days padding around the house. He’ll strum guitar and clean the kitchen and go on like nothing happened. Steve’s been avoiding him, not knowing at all what to say. There isn’t anything to say- not really. But still, the walls between them are undeniably there. 

Robin is all Steve has to confide in right now, telling her all about how he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you for the past few weeks since the night of what they’ve been calling “the incident.” He tells her everything- his confusion in his feelings towards you, the way he misses his friendship with Nancy, his irrational harbouring resentment toward Eddie. He tells her all of it. She listens and doesn’t judge- well, maybe she does judge. But, it’s coming from a place of love! 

“What do you think?” she asks, stomping around in circles. She looks down at the new Adidas on her feet, thinking about how dirty the white sneakers are going to get almost immediately. Steve is sitting on the little bench in the shoe store with his head in his hands. “I hate them,” she complains, “I hate new shoes. I hate buying jeans. It all sucks.”

Like a parent would, Steve leans down and presses his fingertips down on the toe of the shoe. “These are too small,” he points out. He turns to the box at his side, handing her the next size up. “These will probably feel better.” She snatches the show from his hand, kicking off the pair she’s wearing. 

“Fucking Munson,” she scoffs. “New fucking shoes,” she mutters, bending over to slide the next pair on. Steve smirks to himself when he sees the relief wash over Robin’s face. It’s the undeniable look of pure comfort. “Oh,” she says shyly, “these feel really nice.” 

“What am I gonna do?” he asks, disheartened looking up at Robin. She sighs, pushing the empty box next to him on the floor so she can take its place. 

“What do you want?” she asks, “Do you actually like her?”

“I might,” he admits, “I don’t know! I haven’t thought about her that way before. I could see it, maybe.”

“I don’t think you should do anything,” Robin advises, “Just sort out all the shit in your head. You are only just beginning to let yourself get over Nancy- jumping into a mess between your best friends is not the thing to do right now. Sort yourself out- get some Vitamin D, eat a vegetable- do something besides sit in your room and sulk.” 

“I’m here now,” he tries to argue and Robin scoffs. 

“You’re here cause you ran out of excuses when you kept cancelling on me,” Robin points out. She looks at her feet one more time. She then looks to Steve with a look of absolute utter defeat. “I think I’m gonna get these.” She gets up and kicks them off. Steve watches as she puts them back in the box. “I’m not gonna wear them around Eddie though,” she says with a scoff, heading towards the register like she got the one up on him. 

Eddie remembers the first time he saw you. He’d been reflecting back on it a lot the past few weeks after everything that has happened. He’s having trouble wrapping his head around how he got from there to here. What was a innocent high school crush has blossomed into such an intense love that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. The feeling is almost too big for him to carry- which is probably the reason for his outburst that night. 

It has been Eddie’s junior year, making it your sophomore year. You’d been in the drama club and occasionally rehearsal would run late- meaning Hellfire would start late since they used the Theater room as well. Usually, Drama Club rehearsed Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday- making the room available for Hellfire on Friday. However, as productions got closer to the opening night, theater kids and band geeks would end up flocking to the room for Hell Week- extra rehearsals, last minute set adjustments, all running out the clock to the big night. It would run into Fridays, pushing Hellfire back despite Eddie reserving the room. The one thing he actually did to follow the rules. 

You felt ridiculous in your costume. Your Juliet dress had you sticking out when you weren’t in the midst of the sets and reciting your lines. The long fabrics of the Renaissance inspired costume followed behind you as you darted from one side of the school to the other. You needed last minute fixes to the hem of your dress and the veil of your head crown. You only a few minutes before you were expected at rehearsal, left with no choice to run from the home ec classroom to the theater. 

Eddie and the rest of Hellfire stood begrudgingly behind the stage, too stubborn to find another location for their meeting. He swears that you ran by him in slow motion to make your cue. Like a runaway bride from his fantasy novels, it was like you were plucked from one of his fantasies and graced his world with your presence. He was enamored. You looked exactly like a princess. He didn’t realize he’d been staring until Gareth had elbowed him to snap him out of it. He knew from that moment when he looks back, he was in love with you. He rubbed his ribs where he was struck and stayed hidden backstage to watch the whole performance. 

Steve can’t even remember the first time you met. You were something that was always there, and something he’s realized now that he’s taken for granted. You remember, you remember it all. It was still so vivid to you. It was a start to your everything. 

Kindergarten was an overwhelming experience for Steve. Specifically drop-off, but he doesn’t remember now. You remember waiting with your mom and you held her hand tightly, while you waited for your teacher to escort you and your new classmates into school. You noticed Steve, across the play yard, but your head tilted in confusion that he was without a grown-up to send him off. 

You immediately shook yourself free from your moms embrace and skipped confidently over to the little boy. 

“Do you wanna be best friends?” You asked abruptly, it was all you needed. The simplicity of making friends when your six is a beautiful thing. He nodded, and you took his hand in yours so he didn’t walk in alone. The two of you were inseparable ever since. Until high school rolled around and changed everything. 

The Steve you knew was different than the Steve that ruled the halls of Hawkins High back in the day. When it was the two of you, it was like how it always was. But at school, it was like he was an entirely new person. Reinvented and repackaged, King Steve’s reign was legend. Had it not killed you a little inside, you’d have been impressed. 

Nancy offered to get lunch together with you shortly after the incident. She valued your friendship and wanted to clear the air. You felt the same. Your feelings towards Steve never hindered how highly you thought of Nancy. The two of you became friends amidst the era of King Steve, shortly before they began dating. 

“I wanted you to know that had I known,” Nancy says, stirring the milk in her coffee, “I would have never went out with Steve.”

“You don’t have to feel guilty, Nance,” you reassure her. “You liked him and he liked you back, of course you guys should have dated. I don’t resent that- I just… I don’t know.” 

“I don’t want this to affect us,” she reiterates.

“It won’t, it hasn’t- honestly,” you reply sincerely. “I never hated you. I can’t lie and say I wasn’t very jealous- because I was, still am a little maybe. It wasn’t because of you- it was just because it wasn’t me.” 

“I understand,” she comforts you. You both share a smile and you appreciate her for coordinating this sit down. It felt good to confide in her. It was something you shouldn’t have bottled up and dealt with alone. Talking with Nancy felt like taking breaths of fresh air. 

You’d walked home after lunch, declining Nancy’s offer for a ride. The cafe was close enough to your and Robin’s apartment that you could manage without getting too cold. Trudging up the front steps, you had your hood up to keep yourself warmer. It also hindered your vision so you didn’t see the figure on the front porch swing until you were right at your front door. 

“Steve?” You ask, taken aback. You didn’t expect to see him- though you supposed he’d be wanting to talk about it all eventually. You sigh, bracing yourself for the one conversation you absolutely did not want to have. 

“Hey,” he shivers, keeping his hands bunched into his jacket plackets. 

“Come on up,” you offer, unlocking your front door. He graciously accepts, darting in out of the cold as fast as possible. He had to have been waiting awhile. “Robin is at work right now, but you can wait for her,” you say, as you both make it to the top of the stairs to your third floor apartment. 

“I came to see you, actually,” he admits. 

“I was afraid of that,” you joke, and it makes you a little happy when he chuckles. You both know how hard this conversation is going to be. 

You both shrug off your warm layers and leave them in the entry way. You kick off your boots and shove your hat and gloves into the sleeve of your jacket. You try your best to tame your hair. You walk with your arms crossed and take a seat on your couch. Steve tentatively follows and sits on the opposite end. You both sit in uncomfortable silence for what felt like ages. 

“How long?” He finally asks, and you can’t help but cringe. It felt so impersonal, and like a subtle attack. Like you were in the wrong for keeping something from him. He sounds hurt. 

“I don’t know,” you sigh, your face in your hands. “Probably at least since we were in like second grade, maybe.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he questions, and you feel dejected. 

“I don’t know- maybe cause you dated someone new constantly,” you accuse, flipping it back to him. You weren’t going to take the blame for this. “When we got to high school, you pursued so many girls- you were on a date every weekend! When did you expect me to say when you showed interest in literally everyone but me? Do you expect me to say I should’ve said something when you were with Nancy?” 

“No… shit, I don’t know,” he mumbles. He had no right to be upset, you resolved. “I just, I feel bad that you didn’t think you could tell me.” 

“I couldn’t risk losing you,” you admitted. “I’d much rather be heartbroken with you in my life than heartbroken without you.” 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and he’s not sure why he’s suddenly so quiet. “I just- fuck! I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” 

You both sit there, quietly, looking anywhere except each other. You bite the inside of your mouth nervously, you don’t know what to say. You notice he’s not saying I was so stupid. I love you, I always have. You’ve learned the hard way by now to not expect that from him. You can’t let your expectations of him dictate the future of your friendship. 

“It’s okay, you know,” you finally say across the silence. “I don’t want you to think this changes anything.” 

This changes everything! He wants to exclaim. You’re right there, closer than you’ve been in weeks. Yet you still feel so far away, so unattainable. He feels as though you’re treating him like a stranger, and he hates feeling like this. 

“I’m not in love with Nancy,” he confesses. “I thought it was what I wanted, but now I don’t know what I want.” 

“Don’t give me false hope to make me feel better, Steve,” you sigh. “That’s not fair.” 

Robin bursts through the door in a whirlwind of chaos. She’s shedding her layers as she recounts a terrible interaction she had with a customer at work. She kicks off her Adidas, not bothering to put them in the shoe rack and she lets her jacket lay on the floor for now. 

“Anyways, this guy starts yelling at me because he didn’t like Risky Business like I wrote and starred in the damn thing so I’m like ‘Sir, I didn’t make the movie’  and then he gets he gets even more pissed that won’t give him a free rental. I can’t do that! What makes him think I can just wave a magic wand a pull a perk like that out of my- oh fuck. H-hey Steve…. I didn’t know you were here.” 

He stands up abruptly, “I was just leaving.” Before either you or Robin have a chance to say anything else. He’s stumbling over putting on his shoes and falling into his jacket on the his way quickly out the door. 

“What the hell was that?” Robin asks, turning to you. 

“I have no idea.” You say earnestly. 

“He’s so fucking stupid I swear to god,” she rolls her eyes and heads past you into the kitchen. She decided to keep her commentary at that. You escape to your room so you can process what the hell just happened. 

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” Steve hits his palms against his steering wheel in frustration. “SHIT!” 

He completely fucked that up. 

When you had a problem of this measure that bothered you, you’d call Steve. Or, you’d call Eddie. Neither option is one you felt was viable right now. You didn’t want to annoy Robin with it anymore than you’d had already- you’re sure she’s sick of everyone going to her. You have a bad habit of assuming you’re a burden when your anxiety spikes like this. 

“Hey, Nance. I, uh, was just calling to-“

“Steve, please- we talked about this.” 

He knew this was going to happen. But he couldn’t stop himself as he dialed her number. He knew he was supposed to stay away and give her and Jonathan space. How is he supposed to move on when he lost the one person he could call to talk about this? Steve felt Nancy understood him better than anyone- or at least at one point she did. 

She hangs up before Steve gets a chance to say anything. He drops the receiver back onto the base. He lays back on the couch and takes some slow breaths. He can’t imagine that you all ended up here. After everything you all survived, this is what’s pulling you all apart. 

Why the fuck did he call Nancy? Deep down he knows he wants to just talk to you but he just can’t right now. His brain is too congested with everything that’s come to light and it’s all such a scary, unfamiliar plane. Nancy is his familiar- it’s what he knows. He’s realizing maybe he didn’t actually pine for Nancy but instead he was yearning for that stability he once felt. He’s mourning the time for when it felt like he had absolutely everything. 

It hits him all at once- like a huge wave that knocks you out when you’re bracing yourself to jump. He wanted it all back- fucking King Steve. Not the parties and the fucking assholes. He wanted to feel that way again. He wanted how he felt when he had a girlfriend who loved him and close friends he could walk the halls with. He missed when his life felt easy and he missed how easy it feels now compared to this. He wanted his life back- it wasn’t Nancy that he wanted- not really. He wanted to feel that way again and he was mourning his youth despite the imperfections. 

He thought of you again, as he turned his body to stare at the phone. He knows he should call, and do his best to make you feel better. He needed you to understand that he understands so much more now than he did. The bigger picture is revealing itself more to him and he actually fucking gets it. Out of everything that has changed, you never did. It all feels so painfully obvious now. How could he have not seen it? 

“Sup, man,” Eddie says casually, coming home from work. Taking off his jacket reveals that his coveralls are covered in a huge grease stain. Kicking off his work boots, he doesn’t wait for Steve to reply as he heads to the bathroom to shower. “You wanna get Chinese tonight?” he calls from the other room. Steve gulps and sits up, trying to shake himself out of it. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.”  

A few minutes later, Eddie emerges from the bathroom and steam from his shower wafts out into the hallway. 

“We’re good, right?” Eddie asks. He wants to say yes. Eddie did nothing wrong and Steve deep down knows it. He knows his resentment he’s harbouring is completely unfair- but it is running down to his core. 

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Steve says, trying his best to fake it. They aren’t good. Steve doesn’t know if they’d ever be good. Eddie knows it too. He knows Steve too well to know that he isn’t actually good. Eddie doesn’t fight it.

“I’ll get over it,” Eddie said. “Well, that’s a fucking lie. But, I can tell myself I can get over it.” Steve looks at him, confused. “If you and her want to be together, if you like her back- I’ll step down.”

“Why are you even saying that?”

“Because I want her to be happy more than anything else, and if I’m not that guy- I’m just getting in the way of that,” he confesses, and Steve can hear the hurt in his friend’s voice. “If you actually want to go for it- I’m not what’s stopping you, man.” 

The phone breaks through the solemn moment the two of them share. Eddie looks to Steve and Steve shrugs before picking up the receiver. 

“Hello?” He says, and he smiles to himself as he recognizes the voice on the other end. Then, Eddie watches as his friend’s face falls again- all in a brief few seconds. “It’s for you,” he says, dropping the receiver on the table for Eddie to get. Steve disappears down the hall and seeks refuge in his room.

“Hey,” Eddie says, bringing the phone to his ear. 

“Hey, it’s me,” he hears you say. Suddenly, Steve’s reaction makes a lot of sense. 

PART THREE

TAGLIST: @sunshinepeachx @downbear @fanlifeaamt @exploding-bonbon @losingmygrasponreality @skiddypiddy @andvys @djodirt

[mischiefinbloom]

୧ ‧₊˚ caramel mornings

₊⊹ summary:  james potter, a barista in a quiet café, is used to the routine of early mornings and regulars. that is, until you start coming in every day. as he perfects your caramel latte, the connection between you both deepens—slowly, sweetly, and with a few unspoken thoughts lingering between the conversations. in the simplicity of coffee and shared moments, james begins to realize that what started as a casual encounter might turn into something much more.

₊⊹ pairing: james potter x reader (no use of y/n)

₊⊹ warnings: coffee shop au, nothing just pure fluff! that's my first fic ever, let me know what you think!

james potter hadn’t expected to spend this chapter of his life as a barista. it was supposed to be a temporary gig, something to keep him busy while he figured out his next steps. but after a while, the warm smell of coffee beans and the familiar hum of the shop became a strange kind of comfort, anchoring him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

there was a rhythm to the job: the hiss of the espresso machine, the soft murmur of costumers chatting over their drinks, and the occasional chaos of a long line of orders that kept him on his toes. james liked it more than he thought he would, though he’d never admit it to his friends.

and then you walked in, shattering the monotony of his carefully structured days.

the first time he saw you, it was raining. not the light, misty kind of rain that made everything look cinematic, but the kind that came down in sheets, soaking anyone unfortunate enough to be caught outside. you stumbled into the shop, water dripping from your coat and hair, and james’s first thought was that you looked completely out of place in the best possible way.

“hi,” you said, breathless and a little flustered, “can I—uh—just get a coffee, please? whatever you recommend.”

james had blinked at you, his usual confidence momentarily short-circuited. “sure,” he managed, fumbling for a cup. “you trust me with that decision?”

your smile was soft, almost teasing. “why wouldn't I? you look like you know your coffee.”

james grinned despite himself, and as he made your drink—something sweet, with just enough espresso to cut through the rain-induced gloom—he felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the steam rising from the cup.

when he handed it to you, your fingers brushed his for a brief moment. “thanks,” you said, meeting his ocean-colored eyes.

james wanted to say something clever, something to keep you at the counter a little longer, but you’d already turned away, heading for a corner table by the window.

it was only after you left, your empty cup abandoned on the table, that james realized he’d forgotten to ask for your name.

you became a regular after that.

every morning, without fail, you came in at the same time, your arrival as reliable as the sun breaking through the clouds. it didn’t take long for james to memorize your order—a caramel latte, extra foam, with the occasional cinnamon scone if you were feeling indulgent.

at first, you’d linger just long enough to grab your drink before disappearing into the bustle of the day. but over time, you started staying longer, settling into the corner seat that had quickly become your own. you brought books, a notebook, sometimes even a laptop, and james couldn’t help but wonder what you were working on so intently.

“still caramel today?” james asked one morning, flashing you his signature grin.

you glanced up from the menu you were pretending to read, the corners of your mouth quirking upward. “what can I say? I’m a creature of habit.”

james chuckled as he turned to make your drink, his movements fluid and practiced. “I’ll have to come up with something new to tempt you. change things up a bit.”

“oh?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “think you can outdo my usual?”

james slid the cup across the counter with a flourish, a foam heart swirling in the center. “try me.”

you laughed softly, your eyes crinkling at the edges as you took a sip. “hmm. not bad. I might have to start trusting you more.”

james felt a surge of pride, even as he tried to play it cool. “high praise. I’ll take it.”

the days blurred into weeks, and before james knew it, you were as much a part of the shop as the mismatched chairs and the ever-changing chalkboard menu.

he looked forward to seeing you, even on the busiest mornings when the line stretched out the door. he found himself saving the best pastries for you, making sure your latte was always just right, even if it meant starting over three times.

but for every moment of warmth, there was an undercurrent of doubt.

james didn’t know much about you, beyond the small snippets of conversation you shared. he didn’t know what brought you to the shop every day or why your smile sometimes seemed a little forced, like you were carrying more than you let on.

one day, he worked up the nerve to ask.

“rough day?” he asked softly as he handed you your drink.

you hesitated, your fingers tightening around the cup. “something like that...”

james wanted to press, to ask what was bothering you, but he didn’t. instead, he watched as you retreated to your corner table, your shoulders hunched slightly as you opened a book.

he hated seeing you like that, and the helplessness gnawed at him for the rest of the day.

james’ friends loved to tease him about you.

"she’s got you wrapped around her finger, mate,” one of them, sirius black, more specifically, said one evening as they closed up the shop.

james rolled his eyes, but his flushed cheeks gave him away. “it’s not like that.”

“right,” sirius drawled, smirking. “that’s why you’ve been drawing hearts in her lattes.”

james groaned, burying his face in his hands. “shut it, t’s not a big deal."

but it was.

he’d never felt like this before—this nervous, this unsure of himself. he wanted to get to know you, to make you laugh, to be the reason your eyes lit up when you walked through the door.

but what if he wasn’t enough?

the rain was relentless that evening, pounding against the windows in a steady rhythm. the shop was quiet, most of the usual crowd having opted to stay home.

you were the only customer left, your book open on the table as you sipped your latte. james had been stealing glances at you all day, his chest tightening with every passing minute. finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

he grabbed a fresh cup and started on another latte, pouring the foam with extra care. when it was done, he hesitated for a moment before carrying it over to your table.

“for you,” he said, setting it down gently.

you looked up, startled. “what’s this?”

“call it a… thank you,” james said, scratching the back of his neck. “for being the best part of my mornings.”

your eyes widened slightly, and james felt his pulse quicken. for a moment, neither of you said anything, the sound of rain filling the silence.

“james,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

he braced himself, his stomach twisting with nerves.

“would you like to sit?” you asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from you.

james blinked, caught off guard. “yeah. yeah, sure, I’d like that.”

he slid into the seat, his heart pounding as he met your gaze. and for the first time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t imagining things.

james sat across from you, fidgeting slightly, uncharacteristically nervous. the rain outside drummed against the windows, a comforting backdrop to the tension building between you.

“thanks... for the coffee,” you said, breaking the silence. you traced a finger along the edge of the cup, your expression thoughtful. “you didn’t have to do that.”

james smiled, a little lopsided, and shrugged. “I wanted to. you’ve been keeping this place interesting.”

you raised an eyebrow. “interesting? is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“good,” james said quickly, then laughed at himself. “definitely good. I just mean… it’s nice, seeing you here every day. feels like I’ve got something to look forward to.”

your cheeks flushed, and james couldn’t help but notice the way you looked away, shyly smiling. it was a vulnerability he hadn’t seen from you before, and it made his chest ache in a way he didn’t quite understand.

“I could say the same thing,” you admitted softly, your voice almost drowned out by the rain.

james blinked, his heart stuttering. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you said, meeting his eyes. “you’ve made my mornings a little brighter, James.”

he grinned, the boyish charm that always seemed so effortless now lighting up his face. “well, now I feel like I’ve got to up my game. can’t have you thinking I’m getting complacent.”

you laughed, the sound warm and genuine, and james realized he could get used to this—the easy rhythm of being around you, the way you seemed to make the world feel a little less heavy.

the shop closed earlier than usual that night, the storm outside growing too fierce to keep customers lingering. james finished wiping down the counters while you gathered your things, your umbrella still dripping onto the floor.

“let me walk you out,” he said, grabbing his coat.

you hesitated, looking out at the downpour. “you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” james said, holding the door open for you. “but I’d like to.”

you smiled, and james thought he’d do just about anything to see that look on your face again.

the two of you stepped into the rain, your umbrella doing little to shield you from the relentless drops. james stayed close, his shoulder brushing yours as you walked.

“thank you, james...” you said after a while, your voice quiet.

“for what?”

“for caring,” you said simply.

james stopped walking, turning to look at you. “of course I care,” he said, his voice softer now. “I—”

he paused, the words catching in his throat. he wanted to tell you everything—that you were the best part of his day, that he thought about you more than he should, that he’d been falling for you since the moment you walked into his shop. but he didn’t know how to say any of it.

instead, he reached out, his hand brushing yours. “I’m glad you came in that day,” he said finally.

you smiled, your fingers curling around his. “yeah... me too.”

[parasiterileymoon]

can you make more cursed cats head cannons please maybe where cat reader got pregnant and maybe see how normal Alastor, Lucifer and Adam would react to finding out cat reader is pregnant 🤰? I love your little cursed cats head cannons and I was hoping for more please

thank you hope you have a great rest of your day

Alastor, Lucifer, and Adam x cat reader (separate)

BAHAHA

~~

You’ve gotten bigger lately. Not to say you’re fat but just noticeably bigger. Lucky, for plot reasons there is a vet in hell. Surprise: it’s kittens not kibble.

Alastor

He wasn’t exactly pleased about this development. “As soon as they can open their eyes we are selling all of them” then you bit him and hissed. No chance you’re getting rid of your kittens. He lights a fire specifically for you to lay by. Gives you treats but pretends he didn’t.

Lucifer

Carries you everywhere. Feeds you people food because his baby deserves the best. Seriously he pampers you. Like rubbing lotion on your toe beans to make sure you don’t get hurt. He also brushes your fur and scratches you in all the right spots. Paints your nails and stuff.

Adam

Hunts down the cat that got you pregnant. Unacceptable. “Cough up the child support, bitch.” He also carries you everywhere. Extremely protective. Uses one of those cat backpacks. After you give birth, he gets you spayed IMMEDIATELY.

[machveil]

okay pookies!! I’m in a writers slump so I’m going to pop off some mini blurbs with Instagram links<3 because the words are not being written correctly for my wips [cries]🎀✨

Simon “Ghost” Riley

playing with his cat

admittedly, Simon is up at odd hours from bouts of insomnia. it doesn’t really bother him when his cat is up too, sitting in bed and flipping him around. it’s cute, more so funny when he flips his cat off and gets pounced on, not taking it seriously - one of the rare times he’ll let chuckle and crack a smile to himself

John Price:

pranking Price by telling him your tampon is stuck

John comes as soon as you call for him - what he wasn’t expecting was you telling him your tampons stuck. but John’s smart, he sees your phone in his peripheral and doesn’t say anything about it. he knows your pranking him, if it wasn’t obvious from your phone recording him and the way you giggle, well, “I know you’re cycle, love.”

driving around to see Christmas lights

John loves his dog, just a sweetheart. one thing his dog loves is seeing Christmas lights - John doesn’t really know why, but he’s more than happy to drive around so his puppy can see them all. it makes him chuckle seeing their tail wag, heater keeping the car nice and warm as they drive down a couple blocks

John “Soap” MacTavish:

bear hugging Johnny

you didn’t really know what Johnny was doing, you just knew you wanted to hug him. it’s out of the blue, catches him off guard in a way that has him asking if you’re okay - and you are. he doesn’t waste time, moving to scoop you up, hold you close and goof around. he had been organizing your books, just a little surprise

asking Recruiter!Johnny questions

Johnny didn’t want to be stuck recruiting people, but he somehow got picked to do it. what he wasn’t expecting was your question, “Are you hot?”. he wants to sputter out, try to be slick - respond with a, “Well, you can come find out.”, but he stops himself. he knows he’ll be telling the 141 about this, chest puffed up and a lopsided smile as he brags

showing off for the neighbors

Johnny is springy and flexible, his ass can dance. if you catch him while he’s on a jog he’ll flag you down and start flipping around. he’s a show off, it goes to his head how the neighborhood moms watch him. his show is for you, but he won’t turn down the ego boost he gets from others eyeing him up

“you know where the matter daddy is?”

Johnny’s a menace when it comes to the 141, calling Gaz for ‘help’. he can barely get the opener out without laughing, hitting the punchline takes a hot minute. Gaz can hear him sputtering on the other side, little bursts of laughter leaving him. it’s amazing that Gaz falls for the joke at all, Johnny laughing harder as he grips his phone

König:

playing with his cat

does König talk to his pretty kitty in German? of course he does, and he’ll goof around with them too. his favorite thing is pretend dialing on his cat’s toe beans. he’ll pretend to meow for his cat and voice the person ‘on the line’. totally straight faced, he takes business calls with his kitty very seriously

parenting his cat

sometimes being a parent is having human children, other times it’s cradling your baby kitty in your shirt while you make lunch. König is the latter, and he’ll always say how easy it is to be a parent. “Ja, she is a little thing. Here, I have photos—”, he carries printed photos of her in his wallet to show off, his favorite is of her swaddled in bed with her favorite blankie

walking his cat

König likes getting out, it’s natural for him. it gets a little lonely sometimes though… and boy is excited when he learns cat harnesses exist. weather permitting, he enjoys going on walks with his cat. sure, his kitty might wander into a bush here and there, but König will get them out before trailing down the block

[mx-pastelwriting]

GOW HC - Reacting to you having a cat

God of War x GN! Reader

Summary: Reacting to you having a cat.

Warnings: Fluff, Established Relationship, Cat Owner, Fluffy Cats

Characters: Kratos, Thor, Freyr, Heimdall

Kratos

- Didn't care first, but as cats are making a point to cuddle up to him every time he sat or laid down. Pretends he doesn't like them moving the cat to your lap or side of the bed, only for them to come back, and he accepts it.

- Hates it when the cats get in the way of cuddling you in the middle of the night, especially when they take over his side of the bed. Asking you to move the creature, having been down that road before, coming out of it with war injuries.

- Doesn't think twice about leaving you alone at home, knowing what it did to him, ensuring you could throw the cat and be fine against an intruder.

- Loves seeing you cuddle up with the cat. Slowly, he comes to love the furry creature, little by little, when he leaves the house, placing a kiss on your forehead and sometimes the cat’s. They also come to love Kratos mostly for the body heat; purring in his presence for the first time scared the shit out of him.

- Only lets up when secretly catching him cuddling the cat, even hearing how he talked cutely to them, playing with a feather that came from a bird you had for dinner nights ago. When coming out of your hiding spot, shock is the first emotion on his face. Laughing at the situation, from then on, he's not so shy.

Waking to the chaos of Kratos trying to pick up your cat, the ball of fur in his hand, attacking the chain-scarred arms. Quickly removing the angry cat from the bed, watching as it scurries off and out the door, you hold back a laugh at Kratos's state.

Looking at him with tired eyes watching as the scratches on his face heal, "You okay?" you ask, getting only a deep grunt before taking you up in his warm arms.

Minutes later, your cat comes back, having it out for Kratos, laying so elegantly on his pillow, waiting for the moment he would turn over, getting a nose full of hair and toe beans.

-

Thor

- Adores them, being a little distant at first from past experiences, but comes to love them as they comfort him after Odin's words when you're not there too.

- The cat learned not to sleep next to him, being crushed by the thunder god too many times. Though loving the heat from Thor, only now sleeping on his pillow, feet, and hand that is thrown over your waist when cuddling.

- Swearing it was his cat now, from cuddling to kisses, they always welcome him home, forgetting you completely. Though they have their rough patches from your fights or drunken nights, the cat takes your side, making him apologize quickly.

- Feeds the cats most mornings, making sure they get the freshest mix of meats. Talking cutely, not caring if you hear, though gets a bit blushy when you "aww" at it, always gives you both a kiss before heading out for anything.

- Comes to you asking if he could get another cat; depending on your answer, he still brings one home from the wild. Loves cats at any age, would bring home a pregnant cat, watching as him so careful with the mess of the feral mama cat.

Walking through the tall, thick wooden door, greeted by the sight of Thor cuddling up on the bed, spoon-feeding the kittens of the pregnant cat he brought home months ago.

Still remembering how broken his reaction was to you saying that the kittens had to go, tears welding up in his eyes as you explained that having almost ten cats in the house, let alone your bedroom, would drive Odin up the wall, seeing as you both were already on thin ice from just having one.

Hearing his stomached laugh as they all climb on top of his body, fighting to get a lick at the spoon as their mama lay next to him sleeping.

-

Freyr

- Two words, Cat Dad. Love at first sight, even if they hissed, he would talk to them in a cute voice while trying to pet them. Quickly getting the cat to love him took only a few days, with some good treats and tasty critters.

- Gladly gives up his pillow to the furry creature, liking yours better anyway. Sometimes ends up cuddling them instead of you, making some good stories for the crew to hear the next morning. Has no problem with them taking up most of the bed, as it allows him to cuddle closer to you.

- Trains them so that when you go on your trips to other lands, walking along shoulders, staying close, and hunting for meals, the cat will know everything. When the cat isn’t with him in the wild, he brings them back little charms for them to play with, hanging some while others are tied to a stick.

- Overfeeds the poor thing, but it all works out, having them work off the treats in the forests of Vanaheim. Making sure they eat a good meal before coming home to you after an afternoon of exploring the land's forest.

- Gets a little jealous when the cat gets someone else's attention, wanting his furry baby to want him. Cries at night, saying, "They're all grown up" and "They don't need me anymore," with you reminding him they're a cat.

”Jump,” Freyr’s voice commands, making the furry ball jump off his shoulders to a tree branch, earning laughing praise from Freyr.

Walking along the dirt path in the Vanaheim jungle on your way back from one of your favorite stops to relax with the sunset, bring the cat along to get some training in.

Holding the Vanir god’s hand, ready to get home to cook something up, meeting his brown eyes, which sparkled with happiness. Planning on taking the cat to Alfheim, wanting to make sure the furry ball could handle adventuring in the wild alongside you and their papa.

-

Heimdall

- Does not like cats, but when you point out that he acts just like one, something in his brain takes a one-eighty. When you're out of the house, he looks at them, wondering and watching if they are similar.

- Takes naps with the cat; whether knowing or not the cat sleeps against his stomach, it still leaves you to find them like that on the bed. At night, he kicks them out of the room, not wanting to share you or the bed, but as soon as he falls asleep, you crack the door, allowing the cat to cuddle with his pillow or feet.

- Jealous of the creature, if you give them a head kiss, Heimdall wants one too, says their nickname; he wants one too; head scratches don't matter; he wants some too.

- Doesn't hate the cats; he actually kind of likes them, of course, after some time. Pushing some meat straps to the floor, smiling at the cat eating it, softening when they look back up at him with big eyes, making him want to dump the whole plate on the floor.

- When you finally catch him kissing a cuddling the cat, his face drops immediately, moving away quickly, but the cat persists, rumbling up against his arm with their tail feathering his nose. Laughing at the sight, he relaxes a bit but is still a bit shy to show the furry creature some love.

Laying next, Heimdall cuddled up to his leg, purring away as the Aesir god scratched the top of their heads, watching from the kitchen, loving the sight.

Smelling the aroma of the food that sizzled in the pan, risking another look at the pair. As Heimdall reads a new book while the cat rolls over, allowing his hand to scratch their belly, quickly moving away as the cat is going to bite.

Laughing caught the attention of both, embarrassed Heimdall looked away, taking his hand off the cat, causing them to roll over, pressing their feet against his side, cutely winning his heart back. Hesitantly, putting his hand back into the soft fluff, started up the purr machine once more.

-

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @fullmoonwolfer1 @loki-love

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their work being copied, translated, or reposted on any other platform without permission.

[themotherofhorses]

"Simon Riley is toxic," "Simon Riley is a cold and distant man that enjoys inflicting harm on others," and "Ghost is a red flag."

Yada yada yada. Anyways.

Simon Riley LOVES cats.

When she first read his personnel file, her eyes immediately took notice of one certain detail, jotted down on a little yellow sticky note, in red penmanship. Price’s handwriting, she believed.  “Enjoys tattoo art & animals.”  SilentDove smiled at that. Simon Riley, 6’4” and with a fearful reputation that always preceded him, possessed a soft spot for animals — cats, she soon learned. He never spoke about it aloud, but there were signs: the small glances toward a stray kitty sunbathing on the sidewalk; his blue eyes softening the moment they caught sight of the kittens at the local petshop, and all the cat videos he pretended were not clogging up his YouTube history.  Yeah, there were countless signs. 

“Saaayyyy….you ever wanna adopt a kitty-cat, Lieutenant?”  “That’s above ya’s pay grade, Reyes.” 

Three months later, Dove tried again.  "A little brown kitten, Ghost, with pink beans on its toes! Imagine that!" She was holed up in the Lieutenant's office, pestering him with pictures of cats she found on Pinterest. "Brown kittens are super duper rare, y'know that, right?" she asked, showing him a cute brown cat with amber-like eyes. "Look, even the nose is brown!" But all she got in response was a stupid grunt; he didn't even look up from the paperwork he was filing out. Stubborn bastard, Dove thought to herself with a sigh. She fell silent for a moment until Simon suddenly spoke up. "I'd like a Norwegian forest cat," is what he muttered, peeking up to look at Dove. His bright, baby-blue eyes met her dark ones, and the Native American could see a certain softness pooling inside them. A smile twitched on her lips as she sat up straighter.  "Yeah?" Simon hummed. "Damn things are beauties. Ever seen one?" He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Wanna get me one once I retire from all this shit. Name him Shiloh, get him a bell and collar." "Shiloh," Dove breathed out, nodding. She liked the name; it sounded nice on her tongue. Shiloh…c’mere, Shiloh! "Didya know that Viking brides were given Norwegian forest kittens as a wedding present?" as her chin came to rest atop her palm.  His gaze dropped to follow the slight movement before flickering back to her face. "Is that so?" His voice dropped a little, suddenly taking on a huskier tone, instantly sending a small flutter of butterflies inside her tummy. Dove swallowed with another nod.  "Mmmm, in honor of Freyja, the goddess of love. According to the mythology, her cart was pulled by cats; Vikings loved cats, and it was a sorta…good luck for brides to have a kitten in her new household." Dove paused before adding, "—when I get married, I'm gonna ask for a kitten as well. No fancy pots, pans, or cutlery. A cat, one that I'm gonna name Ésevone." "Ésevone?" Simon repeated, cocking his head to the side.  "Buffalo in the Northern Cheyenne language."  "Ah. Ésevone," he rasped again, this time with a nod of his own. "Ésevone and Shiloh. Not bad."  A few seconds of (comfortable) silence fell over the two before— "—Y'know, Ghosty, you actually look like a TOTAL cat dad. Like you got the entire "cat dad" aesthetic down to a T." "Shut up, little bird." 

note: just a small snippet as i try to dive back into writing :D

[saintbleeding]

Hii~

So i saw this on a tumblr post but is very jonmartin

"Jon and Martin are planning their wedding, they want to have their cat as ring bearer (is this how it's called?) But Martin doesn't know the name of the cat because they always call it different nicknames and jon just doesn't tell him and he don't want to admit that after all that years don't know.

Because jon didn't know either! he thinks that the cat is Martin's and he also is trying to figure out the name."

Martin’s not a cat person.

Honestly, he’s just not really an animal person. Like, in general.

The same isn’t true for Jon, of course. On, like, their second date, Jon—who, up until that point, had been all leather elbow patches on his stupid tweed jackets and “hmm, perhaps” and thoughtful squinting—got approached by a cat in the street, and pretty much melted on the spot.

Martin melted, too, but for slightly different reasons.

So it wasn't really a surprise when Jon moved in and Cat started turning up. Sure, it felt a little bit out of character for Jon not to excitedly announce that, one, he'd gotten a pet cat really recently, and, two, he was bringing it into Martin's place, which is a relatively humble little cottage, but Cat seems to free-roam most of the time, so it's not like she's encroaching on much of the space. And, anyway, it's not like Martin hates cats, so he doesn't mind. He just sort of thought Jon would have said something. But he didn't.

So.

You know.

There's a cat.

She's grown on Martin over time. In fact, it's usually him that wakes up with her purring and headbutting him at fuck-off o'clock in the morning, and Jon's not a heavy sleeper, so if she'd attacked him first, Martin would know.

But she's nice. Lovely little tufts of fur between her toes, and quite a deep meow for such a pretty lady. He'll call her Lady Catherine sometimes, and Jon's got the gall to pretend he doesn't think it's hilarious. Mind you, Jon's terms of endearment for her skew a bit more—pejorative, for lack of a better term? Like, Cat will take the opportunity when Jon is hunched over a stack of student essays at the dining table, and she'll leap onto his shoulders, and do that loaf thing, and Jon always says "unhand me, you infernal creature", or the few times she has bothered Jon in the middle of the night for pre-dawn breakfast service, he's grumbled "vile beast" even as he gets up to feed her.

Martin's tried telling him he shouldn't be encouraging her. But Jon just turns around and says "yes, I know, that's why I chastise her".

Martin stays impressed that someone so smart can be so stupid. Which he means affectionately, obviously. If he didn't, they wouldn't be getting married.

Which is great, by the way. It's great.

Does present some—unique problems, though.

Martin's got absolutely no bloody clue what her actual name is.

Which, you know, it's not like he's filling out adoption papers or anything, but at some point after some late-night banter it became part of the plan that Cat should be the ring-bearer at the wedding.

And he can't not know the name of a member of the party at his own wedding.

So he starts sleuthing.

"Hey," he says one evening, when GBBO is over and they're just sitting there with the telly on mute.

Jon looks up from his thorough inspection of Cat's beans, her paw gently clasped between his thumb and forefinger, and goes "Mm?"

"Been thinking."

Jon lifts one eyebrow. "Mm?"

"We could get her a proper little collar and everything."

Jon blinks a couple of times, then smiles. "Oh, for the wedding, you mean?" Martin nods. "Oh, yes, it could match your tie."

Okay, that's adorable, but also, unfortunately, not the point.

"Ooh, yeah," he says, then: "Oh! And, like, a little engraved name-tag. Really fancy."

Jon's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

"Yes," he says, tone completely unreadable. "Silver or gold, do you think?"

Martin's suddenly wondering if it's a trap.

"Dunno," he says, turning his eyes back to the brightly-coloured advert on the screen. "What's her vibe, you think?"

In the corner of his eye he sees Jon's jaw working silently as he searches for something to say.

"I think your input should be taken into consideration," he says, lifting his chin as Cat stands, stretches, and headbutts him. "Since... you know."

Martin considers whether or not Jon's messing with him, because frankly, he very much does not know.

"Mmm. Well! Uh- I- I like gold. Would match our bands."

"True enough," Jon says. Cat leaps onto the back of the sofa, and they're both silent till she curls up there and falls back asleep.

Jon doesn't seem very eager to say anything else.

Bugger.

"So..." Martin says, lifting his glasses to rub his eyes. "Um... what's the spelling, again?"

Jon's blurry form sits up straighter, and when Martin puts his glasses back on he sees his mouth open in shock.

"Might I ask why you're asking me?" Jon says, which doesn't make any sense.

"W- um. Y- you know, you're the English teacher."

Jon inclines his head to the side, frowning. "Hmm," he goes. "W- I- I- yes, I—mm." He lowers himself back against the sofa again. "The usual way."

Martin sighs.

"Right," he says. "Okay."

The silence gets a bit fraught, then. When Martin stands up to take their mugs to the kitchen, he might be a tiny bit huffy. It's possible.

Jon follows him, and he stays huffy, because it's easier to keep up than neutrality when he's trying to hide that he's a bit annoyed and a bit embarrassed.

"Everything alright?" Jon says, leaning casually against the fridge as Martin puts way too much effort into scrubbing both mugs clean.

"Mm."

Several seconds pass.

"Could I say something?" Jon asks, a bit hesitantly.

If Martin had to guess, he'd put money on "you're a negligent idiot for not paying enough attention to know my cat's name and I hate you".

"Yeah."

Jon exhales audibly behind him, as though amused.

"With all due respect and affection, darling—" He pauses till Martin is finished aggressively rinsing the mugs. Martin still doesn't turn to face him, though, because he's a tiny bit scared of where this is going, honestly. "If you've forgotten how to spell your own cat's name, that's not, strictly speaking, my fault, is it?"

Martin turns around.

Several things occur to him at once.

First, Cat's a dirty freeloader who owes Martin like fourteen months of rent.

Second, it might, legitimately, have been a coincidence that she and Jon moved in around the same time.

Third, he can't remember a time he's heard Jon use any method of address on her except for creature, or beast, or the ones Martin uses himself.

Which means, fourth, Jon doesn't know her bloody name either.

Because she's not his cat.

Well.

"Okay," Martin says. "Let's assume I have forgotten. Couldn't you just—help me out—and spell it?"

"Martin," Jon says disparagingly with a frown.

"Jon," Martin says, trying really hard not to smirk.

Jon does that thing where his mouth starts in a flat line, but as his irritation grows, his nose scrunches up, and the line of his mouth slowly rises up his face until he exclaims inarticulately and throws his hands in the air in defeat.

"Fine!" he says. "Fine, okay, alright, fine. I—I don't—I don't know. I don't know! I meant to ask, but I felt negligent not having known when I moved in, and then, after a month or seven I couldn't very well come out and ask, could I? And then—good heavens, it's been more than a year, there was no subtle way to recover!"

Martin's not laughing at him.

But he is laughing.

Breathlessly, uncontrollably, doubling over—to the point where Jon actually crosses the few steps separating them in the tiny kitchen to place a hand on his shoulder, gently guiding him upright with a concerned look on his face.

"Sorry," Martin manages eventually, wiping tears from his eyes. "Christ, sorry, I'm just—"

He takes a deep, measured breath.

"I've got to tell you something," he says sheepishly. Jon puts his hands on Martin's shoulders and looks into his face with the earnest sobriety that, even now, gives Martin butterflies.

"Anything," he says, still frowning intensely.

Martin averts his eyes. "She's not my cat either."

When Jon stops laughing, he spends the rest of the evening lecturing Cat in his Not Mad Just Disappointed voice ("identity fraud is an extremely serious matter, young lady, and you are terribly lucky you have such sweet little eyes, or I might be compelled to take legal action against you, please let go of my nose").

Oh, but they do end up getting her an engraved gold name-tag for the ceremony.

It says 'Lady Catherine (Beast)'.

[kidcanines]

cg!the batman (2004) headcannons ᯓᡣ𐭩

x - x - x

—DNI NSFW—

· likes to pretend he’s a single parent even though it’s Alfred teaching him how to take care of you

· Makes comments on what the butler picks out for you- “Won’t it be chilly today? What if he catches a cold?”…”Master Bruce, I assure you, I’ve checked the forecast.”

· Has Alfred teach him how to cook breakfast so he can make food for you.

· Likes holding you close to his chest and whispering in your ear to make you go to sleep- is very advanced in the art of staying up late too make sure you get sleep- Alfred takes over when it becomes clear that Bruce needs sleep just as much as you do. He lays you down on your tummy and gently pats and rubs your back against your onesie to soothe you to sleep. He’ll play old records too.

· Bruce acts out the stories he reads to you. Literally. He can’t tell a story without setting up some sort of fortress and moving around it in a manner that makes you giggle. Anything to make you laugh.

· You hang off of him every chance you get. He doesn’t even have to be holding you for you to be hanging off of his shoulder or arm.

· You present to be the most well behaved little boy at the multitudes of dinner parties and charity balls that your dad hosts. Both Alfred and Bruce fret over you constantly but you manage to woo the crowd every chance you get.

· You prove to be a much better novice cook than your Dad, which he playfully sulks at before surprise picking you up and tickle attacking you.

· Not too much tv time- Alfred makes sure you’re always occupied whenever Bruce is away. Whether that be playing with toys or dancing on his toes to your favorite sounds with a wide smile on your face.

· You prove to be a much better novice cook than your Dad, which he playfully sulks at before surprise picking you up and tickle attacking you.

· Your sleep schedule is never really set. Whenever Alfred or Bruce puts you down to bed you end up sneaking down to the batcave, wide awake. You’re quite the stealth master yourself so Bruce only knows you're down there when Ace comes out of the darkness. Both just sigh at your insistence on staying up.

· You’re homeschooled. Everyone knows that Bruce- millionaire playboy who invests so much in his company his workers are prim and pampered-is your caretaker. So it’s not wise to just send you out into the world thinking nobody’s gonna at least try to kidnap you because of who you are. Besides, you don’t like the attention it brings.

· When you’re regressed to smaller ages and don’t like to be away from your Dad you have a little spot carved out in the batcave. Alfred likes to put you in baby jail a lot- a room with all your favorite toys directly across from the kitchen which he can see into.

· In the summer you guys garden. A bunch. Carrots, peas (bleh), parsley, tomatoes, beans, potatoes, and much much more. You don’t necessarily like getting your hands dirty but it’s fun when both your dad and Alfred are around.

· You and your Dad go sit underneath a tree when it’s especially hot and just enjoy the breeze and sounds. You usually fall asleep in his lap while he reads. You’ve forced him to recognize early on that his life can’t just be all work and no play. And the fear of leaving you early on to fend for yourself is still there, a blight on many of his days with you. It’s not like they’re numbered- more the suddenness of it.

· Leaving you without him is similar to the suddenness of a slammed door and the resounding quietness afterwards. Just like his parents did. In the blink of an eye, a mere snap of a finger, a subsequent pulling of the trigger. It’s instant. But he can’t live his life in fear. Knowing that without you the sweetness of life wouldn’t be fully realized.

· That he’d miss out on so many silly moments that only you could come up and he be the benefactor of. Being Batman is not so much about avenging his parents deaths anymore, but protecting those kids who would otherwise be out of luck if he didn’t exist. In a way, he does it for you.

· It’s what makes him clench you that much tighter despite the heat and the cicadas. What makes him hold your hand tighter at those annoying dinner parties. What makes him feel just that much lighter when he’s around you. What makes him work harder when it comes down to the nitty gritty of being a vigilante.

· You have one stuffed animal despite your Dads insistence on buying you more. It’s well-loved and you make sure whenever Alfred goes to wash it that he’s very gentle despite just how many times he’s gone about the task of washing said stuffie.

· He loves spoiling you, whether it be coming home with sweets you like (macarons hands down.) or bringing you toys and pacifiers and babas. It’s frankly impossible to get him to stop spending money on you. You rarely ask for anything but when you do oh boy you better hope he doesn’t buy multiples of the exact same thing just for you.

· What you do have in multitudes is blankets. Dozens of them on you and your dads bed for you and Ace to snuggle into.

· Bruce and Alfred always like to remind you that they love you. For Bruce it’s a quick kiss on the cheek that he pulls you into. For Alfred, a squeeze of your hand whenever you guys are out (especially during the cold months) or an ask for a little hand when he’s baking a sweet treat.

· Bruce is always peeling or cutting your fruit you. He learned from Alfred and now just likes the mundanity that comes with plating cut up and small digestible foods on your cute little separated plate and placing it in front of you while your playing pretend with something he carved.

· You very often go to Wayne tower with him. You curiously mock and observe all the little human quirks about your dad that people don't tend to pick up on.

note: There are different renditions of Batman everywhere. This specific rendition (The Batman, 2004) follows a younger, more naive Bruce Wayne who is just settling into his role as Batman- thus my headcannons might seem a bit out of character from the one you might be used to. However, this one, is not. This Batman is one I’ve known in particular for a very long time (been watching and rewatching this one since I was 14) and thus I write more about him because that’s what I feel comfortable with. He isn’t out of character, he’s just a different version.

[chthonicgodling]

this being one of the last things I drew in 2024 just feels absolutely right 💖 composited from the Epilogue page of my pregnancy arc conclusion comic [‼️‼️PLEEEEEEEEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GO READ THAT‼️‼️] but I wanted this to have its moment alone because it’s so fucking cute.

Røkia’s little toe beans….

[technically this is not the LAST last thing I physically drew I actually have two other scribbly doodles that I’ll post whenever just uh pretend, for thematic purposes]

hhhhanyway. grisping Røkia or grisping Loki’s shapeshifted-back-to-absurdly-hourglass waist? both. happy New Year!

…..actually my god I have ANOTHER post for tomorrow so. not quite. 2024 Art Summaries for NYE! And THEN that’s IT!!

[isa-ghost]

Any specifically avian related qphil headcanons? I love that Phil being a bit more birdy is canon in the qsmp but whenever we get lore about it its angst

/I don't know why I'm asking if you have any, I know you got them /

*cupping my hands together and holding them out*

/give em here/

/pretty pleasee/

Oh fuck yeah man. I have an angel OC based off Phil, I've got PLENTY of avian headcanons >:)

Previous Headcanon Sets (x8)

MORE: Avian Edition

I've stated it in a prev set I think, but if you put this man in water his wings will sometimes involuntarily flap like he's in a birdbath. It's somewhat of a stim, bird brain just goes "you gotta."

I've also stated before that when he's stressed, his wings will flap kinda like the way someone might nervously shake out their hands.

Another restate, sometimes his laughs and startled yelps sound almost like squawks. Also his hiccups. It's very rare, but whenever it happens, he gets teased for it. Especially by Etoiles.

Another restate, sometimes his echolalia is his bird brain mimicking a sound he heard if it scratches an itch.

Yknow what just skim the previous headcanon sets I linked bc I talk so much about his wings & what he does with them & how he communicates using them. All those apply here.

Obligatory mirror and windows struggles mention.

Obligatory molting & preening struggles when stressed mention.

We've all seen the way he perches above everyone. It's probably his most prominent/noticeable avian trait.

Apparently camomile calms birds down. If this fool liked hot drinks, he'd have another way to settle his anxiety.

His obsession with noodles got him accused by Tubbo of enjoying them bc bird brain likes worms. He was NOT pleased. Almost gagged.

As long as you're careful around his wings, he LOVES back rubs. (It's bc the dumbass mf slept in that damn chair too much so now his back riots)

DO NOT THE WINGS. Petting them is one thing, he loves when Lullah hugs them, he thinks it's cute. But omg do not dig your fingers into his feathers. They're very sensitive. And that could mean tickling OR pain.

However if you gently do it, his wings will spread a little and his feathers poof up, which is kinda funny. It's like how if you touch a cat's foot the right way, their toes will spread out to present The Beans(tm). Blessed.

He likes to gift his shedded feathers to people he trusts. Chayanne, Lullah & Missa each have one. Although he's extremely close with Etoiles and Fit, he feels too awkward to give one to them yet. Feels a little too intimate.

Gift giving in general is a HUGE part of his love language though. Crow brain must give shiny things to people he loves yesyes.

Bird zoomies!! Wings poof up, he starts hopping all over the place like a big dork. He'd fly all over too, if he could.

Bobs his head to music. Those videos of pet birds dancing? That's Phil babey!!

Another one of his fave bits is pretending to understand and have a full-on conversation with birds. Loves pretending to gossip with them right in front of the person he & the bird(s) are "gossiping" about. However the crows he DOES understand & gossip with.

When he can fly, he's an expert at dive-bombing targets like a bird of prey. It's TERRIFYING. And very attractive depending on who you are (*cough* Missa *cough*)

Lullah once tried to test if throwing a blanket over his head would make him fall asleep like how if you put a blanket over a bird's cage they'll think it's night time and go to bed. It didn't work. He was very confused.

Birds whenever they're happy to see you will stretch their wings out like "Hello yes!" Phil do happy wing stretches when he see the kids :D

His hearing and eyesight are fucking amazing. The only reason he's able to be snuck up on is bc he hyperfocuses on things or the things that sneak up on him are super fast.

Rare Isa Fluffy Headcanon: He make blanket nests.

When stressed or overwhelmed, he'll wrap his wings around himself or raise them to shield his head. He doesn't do this so much after his wings were clipped & injured. They hurt too much.

100% will spread his wings all the way out (when they aren't hurting a lot) to look more threatening towards enemies. They almost autopilot do it when he's angry, but if they hurt too much they'll stop. He's pissed they don't look as threatening after The Federation clipped his wings

[daisychainsandbowties]

what about: sneaking out

let's pretend this isn't from december and also that it didn't get stupidly long and turn into a whole au

//

The crane shifts uneasily as Ava hooks her hands in between its struts, her boots making slippery sounds on the metal that must travel some distance through the night.

Pausing for a moment with one arm hooked around the crane, Ava peers down into the canyons that crack every aspect of the land, but nothing moves. She can hear soft croaking from where the tundra frogs are sleeping up against the warehouse walls, their lumpy bodies no more than suggestions in the dirt.

Ava used to draw pictures of them when she was a kid, with the crayons that the old grocer used to bring with him when he dropped off big sacks of rice and cans of baked beans that Ava and Chanel would spend all day ferrying into the storerooms.

Both of them with their hair buzzed short and Ava hiding her favourite flavours of beans where Grim – who had saved them both and yet somehow managed to overcook the beans every time - wouldn’t find them. So they could have snacks when Chanel managed to pirate a movie off a passing satellite. She’d fixed a projector so that they could put it up onto their bedroom wall, both of them listening to the dialogue and the music and the shouting and the explosions through Chanel’s interface.

Ava wore her headphones, which she’d covered in stickers torn out of magazines, and her pyjamas that glowed in the dark. She’d draw frogs while glancing occasionally up at their improvised screen, her spoon stuck up in the can of beans balanced by her knee. Chanel would sometimes manage to steal sugar cubes from the kitchen so they could add it to the over-salted beans.

Some of those drawings are still pasted to the walls around their bunk – little frogs in messy red and yellow and green and purple streaks. Ava used her pink crayon only sparingly, to give them eyes.

But the tundra frogs are dangerous, like most things on this planet, and Ava checks for them when she crawls out of the window. Looking down first and only then up, her fingers reaching for the first, familiar handhold. She checks for thwogs, too, with their strange, three-eyed faces and batlike wings.

At night they like to cling to the various wires and ropes and old chains that dangle between the repair shop and its sentinel crane and the storerooms (still infested with beans). But they respond to movement, not sound, and the soft squeaks of Ava’s boots are not enough to wake them.

She’s safe.

Unless, of course, Chanel hears her through the window she left propped open with a stack of physics textbooks and half-empty box of crackers. She promised – yesterday, in fact – to weld the window shut if Ava left it open again.

“This planet is literally infested with monsters, Ava.”

“They’re called fauna. And they were here long before the first moron with a hard-on for desert landscapes put down a temp-hab here. They don’t know this is our room.”

She did not mention that she’d seen one of the tundra frogs swallow a housecat whole the other day, spitting out its bones ten minutes later (picked clean of meat but streaky with blood). When Ava climbed up out of a canyon-crack to poke at them later she found that each one had split right along its centre, marrowless and as easy to snap with the toe of her boot.  

And all of that was fucked-up, sure, but cats are an invasive species, and the tundra frogs can’t climb the warehouse walls, so Ava put down a mag-web to deter smaller predators and left the window open (again) because she only wants to sneak out, not camp out.

She climbs the last fifteen metres of crane mostly with her arms, letting her feet dangle and using her knees for anchorage when she needs to, just in case the sound of her boots crawls in through the window and wakes Chanel, who (sadly) grew out of her ‘sleeping with headphones on’ phase several months ago.

But Ava’s been using her arms a lot longer than she’s been using her legs though, so the climb isn’t difficult even if it makes her sweat on her favourite hoodie. She reaches the platform on top of the crane, which is hardly even scrawny girl-sized, but big enough for Ava to sit or lay back on, watching the stars.

Ava does this most nights – the breakneck climb, eating crackers in her bed until Chanel falls asleep on the bunk above her and she can crawl out from underneath her faded blanket, slip into her Galactic Rangers hoodie (third-hand, with the “gal” part gone thanks to an incident with one of Grimroth’s old grenade launchers), and ease the window open like it’s a girl’s mouth.

cont. on Ao3