#reverse prompt ask

[asha-mage]

MDZS AU where Jiang Cheng realizes that Lan Sizhui is the Wen orphan that Wei Wuxian took care off during the Burial Mounds arc, decides that's close enough to qualify him as Nephew, declares that no Nephew of His (much less a surrogate son of Wei Wuxian's) is going to be raised in the Cloud Recedes, and immediately launches into a custody battle with Lan Wangji.

But since neither Jiang Cheng or Lan Wangji can acknowledge that Sizuhi has any connection to Wei Wuxian, both begin steadfastly and stubbornly insisting that he is a Cultivator of peerless potential and skill and he belongs in their sect thank you very much, and would clearly be very unhappy in the other's. This confuses the hell out of the already mystified Cultivation world, who had barely adjusted yet to gossiping about Sizhui being Wangji's illegitimate child by mysterious love affair.

(Eventually the common consensus in the rumor mills is that both JC and LW where in love with Sizhui's mother and both believe themselves to be Sizhui's real father.)

(LW couldn't care less what gossips say, but JC has to bite his tongue till it bleeds to avoid telling anyone the truth in a fit of anger.)

(It was Nie Huaisang who put that rumor out in the first place, partly to troll JC, partly because, in a way, it's a little true.)

[sleepyssnail]

As a reverse of the reverse transmigration MQF AU… an AU where med student SY transmigrates as a Qian Cao disciple.

He was willing to suspend his disbelief a little as a reader, but actually living in PIDW. WTF?!

Yue Qingyuan: Mu-Shidi, your new disciple seems a bit...strange...when it comes to the medical treatment of his peers. Mu Qingfang: Oh, he's just like that. Yue Qingyuan: He also said that Shen-Shidi suffers from a...seizure disorder? I thought he had qi deviations? Mu Qingfang: Yes, it's something Qian Cao is looking into.

[meanwhile]

Shen Yuan: Why the hell would you need to know how to treat FROSTBITE in your RECTUM??? Shang Qinghua: It's just a hypothetical— Shen Yuan: NEVERMIND! I DON'T WANT TO KNOW!

[catzz089]

Lestappen reverse amnesia for the Put That Guy Into A Situation ask game?? 👀👀👀

Max had been having a great day.

Perfect, even.

He’d walked to a bakery in the other side of Monaco without being interrupted, ordered and walked all the way back and still, there were no photos or autographs or anything.

And look, he appreciated that people liked him, he really did. He enjoyed hearing people shout his name in grandstands and cheer for him and make him little bracelets with “inchident” written on them. It was lovely, truly.

But god. Sometimes he missed the peace and sanctity of being alone and getting to actually live his life.

It was rare he had days like this, especially in Monaco, where all the worlds famous people are compounded into one tiny country, and people came from far and wide specifically to watch them like animals in a cage.

You couldn’t blame him for wanting a day or two in silence.

Well, not total silence.

Today had been total silence.

He hadn’t received texts from anyone. Not the team, even though he knew he was due a stern talking to for skipping a press conference.

Hell, not even Charles had texted.

Which he wasn’t upset about, he really wasn’t.

It just…

He’d been dating Charles for eight whole months, and he knew in the grand scheme of things that was nothing, but it felt so right. So normal.

They’d managed to tip-toe around each other for about a week or so, before they finally took the drive and went straight in. Since then it had been magical.

It was a new, brilliant feeling to be loved so wholeheartedly. And every single morning, every single one, they would send each other a good morning message, maybe a face time call. Probably a promise to call later. They’d continue texting throughout the entire day, even when they were still going to see each other.

Charles had never forgotten, not properly. Because even when he forgot, Max wouldn’t. Once Max sent his, Charles would usually be straight on it and it would all be perfect.

Max had sent his message at 7:42.

It was 14:28.

He wasn’t bitter. He could never be upset with Charles. It just maybe felt a little lonely.

It had been seven hours. Even if Charles had woken up late, surely it wouldn’t have been that late.

(Max knew he hadn’t woken up late. He knew. It was a Tuesday, Charles always went to the gym at 8am on a Tuesday. He also had a Ferrari meeting today, he’d been told about that last week. The meeting was at 12, Charles should be awake.)

It was fine.

Charles would message later.

———

Charles did not message later.

Max was beginning to get the sickening feeling that something was really, really wrong.

In his boredom he’d texted about a thousand other people- even Esteban got sent a meme of their podium together.

Absolutely no responses.

Not one person messaged him back.

He was desperately hoping Charles was just super busy, or maybe he’d lost his phone.

Something like that.

Charlie ❤️🏎️:

Me:

Good morning love

How are you?

<sent at 7:42>

Me:

Charles?

Are you okay?

Has something happened?

<sent at 19:01>

He’d give it an hour.

———

He did not give it an hour

It was maybe 25 minutes at best before he slipped his shoes on and slammed the door on his apartment shut.

It was a 10 minute walk, but he honestly couldn’t stop himself as he walked towards his Aston and jumped inside.

He shot down the street, desperately hoping he wouldn’t get fined for this, because a Formula 1 driver getting into issues because of a car was downright embarrassing.

Charles’ doorman didn’t spare him a glance and he swept inside and made a break for the stairs. The elevator alway took so long to open, he trusted his legs to go faster.

He didn’t waste a second, whipping out his spare key and instantly shoving it through the lock and pushing his way inside.

“Charles?” He called.

There was no response.

He walked further, going towards the kitchen.

He gently pushed open the door and-

He was slammed back with a vicious hand grabbing at his collar.

Cold sharp metal was pressed to his throat.

He barely managed to regain his balance in time to look Charles in his wide, wild eyes.

“Who the fuck are you?” Charles growled.

Max opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.

What the fuck was he doing.

“Charlie?”

“Don’t fucking Charlie me,” he snarled, “who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my house.”

“Um, apartment, actually.” He corrected on total instinct.

The knife pressed harder.

Expertly done, Max. Real good job.

Now he was genuinely fearing for his safety, which really fucked with his head considering this was the only person he felt completely, 100% safe and comfortable with. But for whatever reason, Charles looked to be just in the wrong side of insane, and Max had some survival instinct to his name.

“No no no, Charles. What do you mean? I’m Max. Your fucking boyfriend? What the fuck is going on?” His breaths were coming in faster now, he laughed and it sounded fake and hysterical to his own ears.

Charles’ face never softened, not like it usually did. He kept his grip firm.

“Look, man. I get you’re some fucking fan or whatever, but you do not get to break into my fucking house and act like we know each other.” He snapped.

“What? No, have you hit your head? Charles I’m your boyfriend. At the very least I’m your fucking coworker, we’ve been racing against each other since we were eight.” Max stressed.

Charles somehow managed to look even more angry.

Max grabbed his wrist and pushed the knife away, very quickly followed by Charles himself getting a firm shove as he jumped back and far far away from his pyscho insane boyfriend.

“No no no, Charles I swear. I can prove it! I can prove it!” He whipped his phone out and brandished it about like a torch.

Charles was looking at him, still very angry but at least he wasn’t being threatened with the damn knife again.

Max rushed to pull up his camera roll, clicking in the ones of their most recent date.

“Look!” He exclaimed, scrolling through the photos from afar. “It’s you and me, see! Happy! Together! Because we are dating, Charlie.”

Charles looked pale and unsure, before it flicked straight back to anger.

“Is that fucking AI? You fucking psycho, you break into my apartment claim we’re dating and then show me fake photos? You don’t think I’d be able to remember my boyfriend?”

“Well, honestly I kind of thought you’d remember your boyfriend too,” Max muttered, which was the wrong decision as the fire relit Charles eyes and he stepped forward.

Max was still far too aware of the massive kitchen knife hung in his hand and Charles’ usually harmless tendency to defend the people and things around him.

Except this time he was defending himself from his boyfriend and Max was scared.

“Okay, uhm, it seems like this is a bad time? I’ll- uh- pop back in later?” He said, more of a question than anything else.

He backed slowly towards the door, watching Charles carefully for any changes in movement; like prey escaping a predator.

When Charles seemed to register his words, and moved after him to do something, Max leapt back and out of the door, slamming it in front of him.

———

The second Max entered his apartment he make a break for his bed and collapsed onto it, burying his face in a pillow- which didn’t even fucking help because the pillow smelt like Charles and Charles didn’t even know who he was.

Was he okay?

Had he hit his head or something?

Max hoped he hadn’t, he was busy moping in bed instead of calling an ambulance for his disillusioned boyfriend. If something was wrong Max was being insanely useless.

Charles had never looked at him like that before.

Max had seen him angry, hell he’d even seen Charles angry at him. But that had been different. So, so different.

At least Charles knew his fucking name, at least they both knew they’d get it sorted out the second the emotions had calmed down. At least Max hadn’t been scared of being hurt.

His eyes gazed over his streams of messages. Some people had left him on read. Some delivered.

Nobody had responded.

No, he thought.

Charles wasn’t the issue here.

Max was.

He wasn’t sure how or why, but for some reason he was the issue and he had no fucking idea how to solve it.

He clenched his eyes shut.

What the fuck was he meant to do?

Nobody knew him.

Did he still have a job? Could he still race?

There was a month before the next one, surely that was enough time to figure it out.

God, did he have anyone?

Charles clearly didn’t remember him, what about his sister? His mother? His friends?

Was he just.. a ghost?

What had happened?

And how the fuck was he meant to get things back to the way they were?

He couldn’t live like this. He knew that.

What was the point if he woke up to a cold bed, woke up to do nothing and then went back to bed?

He wanted Charles back.

He wanted his morning cuddles and secret make out sessions and careful words back.

His heart ached at the thought that he might never get that again.

He could never love anybody else after Charles, he was it for Max. They were meant to get married and retire and move away together in a house by the water somewhere with a zoo of animals.

He brushed his hand over his neck. He could feel the raised skin where the knife had grazed. It hadn’t cut him, not properly, it had just broken a couple of the top layers of skin, leaving it red and inflamed. It hurt, almost. It hurt more that Charles had been the one to do it.

His sweet, caring Charles who always looked out for him, and held him tight and treated him with such reverence Max hardly knew how he deserved it.

Maybe he didn’t.

Maybe, some omniscient force recognised that Max didn’t deserve the love and affection Charles presented him on a silver platter, and ripped him away. It must have been too overpowered for Max to even be able to do anything.

He felt cold, like the terror creeping through his veins had turned to ice and he would never be able to feel warm again.

He fought back the tears pressing at the corners of his eyes and hauled himself up to the closet.

He pulled out a hoodie. His favourite one.

Obnoxious red with a massive 16 on the back. It smelled distinctly of his favourite cologne.

He slipped it on and flopped back into his bed.

He was overwhelmed with the scent and feel of what should’ve been pure happiness, but was now beginning to feel like the worst mix of dread and despair.

He curled up tighter, not even bothering to go underneath the covers, even if it would’ve helped with the ceaseless shivers.

His breaths turned shattered, until they turned into soft sobs ripping their way past his lips.

He gripped his legs, digging his nails in under the vauge hope it would help ground him.

The crying never stopped, no matter how hard he tried to muffle it down.

His eyelids felt wet and heavy, his entire body felt weak and useless but he just couldn’t sleep.

He checked his clock, 02:14.

His mind was still restless, running on a mill that never slowed or stopped. It just kept fucking going.

By the time his body finally gave up and lulled him into a fitful sleep, it read 04:01

———

He startled awake as a loud bang resonated across his room. He jumped upright, propping himself up on the bed with his hands, especially as his head spun at the sudden change.

He looked to the doorway, a shadowy outline of a person with their hands pressed agaisnt the side of the doorframe.

It almost looked like-

“Charles?”

He seemed to deflate, and stepped closer.

Max flinched back, thinking for just a second that Charles had returned to finish what he started, until Charles, in a voice so utterly soft and breathless said, “Oh, Max.”

Max let out some strangled mix between a sob and a sigh of relief. Charles leapt forward onto the bed and pulled Max into his arms.

Max instantly reciprocated, wrapping his arms firmly around his torso and shoving his head into the warm crook between his neck and collar as he safely positioned himself on Charles’ lap.

Charles pressed frantic kisses along the top of his head, gripping him close protectively, like nothing else in the world mattered.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry mon cœur.” He whispered.

“I swear. I swear I don’t know what came over me. I love you, Max. I love you more than you even know, sweetheart.”

Max sniffled, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m so so sorry, I’m so sorry, baby.”

Charles gently peeled Max away from him, eliciting an embarrassing whine.

He framed Max’s face with his hands, dropping kiss after kiss on porcelain skin.

His forehead, cheeks, nose, lips. Max surged back in desperately for a stronger, firmer kiss. Charles complied easily, moving a hand to card through his hair.

Eventually, he pulled away, to Max’s displeasure.

He titled Max’s head up, taking a squinted look at his neck.

Max heard his breath hitch and felt his hands begin to tremble as they pushed Max back into his body, curling his arms tighter around him.

“God- I. Max I’m so sorry. I swear- I promise, I-“ Charles stuttered. He sounded so genuinely distraught that it hurt Max too.

He also sounded frighteningly close to tears, and Max really didn’t want that.

“It’s okay, Charlie.” He said, his voice came out low and croaky.

“No it’s not. I hurt you. I threatened you. Fuck, Max. I had a knife to your throat. What part of that is okay?”

Max sat up and snuck his arms around Charles’ neck.

“No, Charlie. You saw an intruder break into your house and did what you could to get them out.” He said sternly. “I don’t know what happened yesterday. But nobody knew me. You couldn’t have done anything about that. That is exactly what I want you to do whenever someone breaks in.”

Charles looked miserable staring at him. Max smiled softly and kissed his forehead.

“The intruder isn’t meant to be you, baby. You came in with a key. That’s not intruding. And what if I had been worse? I don’t ever, ever want to hurt you. I want to keep you safe from everything, but I was the one putting you in danger.”

Max frowned.

“I’m okay, Charlie. You didn’t hurt me. I’ve done worse itching my neck.” He explained, his throat was begging him to stop talking but he had to keep going until he forced it through his boyfriend’s thick skull.

Charles huffed a little hysterically, “You’re eyes are raw and red, I came in and you were curled up on top of the duvet wearing my hoodie that you were clinging on to way too tightly. You have massive black circles under your eyes and a cut on your neck that I put there.”

Max loved him so much. But sometimes he was so stupid.

“Yes, well you’re here now, aren’t you? You can fix me up nice and quickly. You’re always the best at it.”

Charles perked up at that, not obviously but Max knew. He would always know.

“Yes, of course- I mean… Can I? Please?” He asked hopefully.

Max let out a wet laugh, “Yes, of course Schat. I finally get you back, obviously I want you to take care of me.”

Charles sighed in relief, pulling Max back in and flopping them both down into bed so they were lying down. He kicked the sheets down until he could flick them over the both of them, encasing them in warmth.

Max cuddled happily into him, dropping a trail of kisses across his neck.

“I think,” Charles whispered, “We start by getting some more sleep. Then I can make you a nice breakfast, and we can have breakfast in bed-“

“Charlie,” Max giggled, “You can’t even boil pasta properly. You’ll burn my apartment down if you try breakfast.”

Charles gasped dramatically, “Lies and slander, mon trésor. How dare you.” He grabbed Max’s waist and flipped them both over, so Max was underneath Charles, staring up at him as he sat up and straddled Max’s waist.

“You’ll pay for this, baby. I have no other option.” He monologued. “I’m going to have to torture you,” He bent down and pressed a flurry of kissed over Max’s face, coating every available surface until Max was laughing and writhing underneath him.

“Charles! Get your slobber off of me!” He shrieked, but Charles continued his attack with vigour.

“Have you had enough, sweetheart? Because I’m afraid we aren’t done yet!”

Max managed to get his arms free enough to cover his face from the onslaught and pushed back against Charles’ face.

“I surrender! I surrender!” He shouted, and Charles finally let up.

“Fine fine,” he drawled, “Just let me see your pretty face.”

Charles coaxed his arms away from his smiling face and dropped one more firm kiss onto his lips.

They grinned at each other, the previous day forgotten. Charles grabbed at Max’s waist again to spin them back over so Max could curl back into his chest again, exactly where he belonged.

“I love you, baby.” Charles sighed fondly.

“I love you too, Charlie.”

[jesuistrestriste]

power bottom sub art 😵‍💫😵‍💫 getting him so desperate he becomes almost assertive- in his own Art way- and starts giving demands/requests (oh my god, you have to go faster, please give me more) brrrrrr

oooh he’s such a big baby when he gets desperate:/

when the strap is five+ inches deep inside him, bumping the right places while you fist his leaky cock, he’s grabbing hopelessly at your wrists and your upper arms and your thighs on either side of him like he’s gonna die if you stop

tips his head back like a proper slut when your thumb slides over his tip, and he groans deep in his chest. he writhes. and then he lifts his head to look dazedly up to your eyes..

“oh my fuck— fuck, fuh-uck—! fuck me faster, oh my god, i’m close,” he’s moaning out, bucking his hips in time with your thrusts, “if you go faster, im gonna come—“

and who could deny him when he’s like that?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

ORV is about enduring the horrors in real time.

(for @everyonesfavoritebastard)

[tennessoui]

I love your new reverse vaderwan prompt fic so much that I'm thinking about it all day🤤🤤 This is so funny it's almost like a twisted version of Romeo and Juliet. And poor tyranus got forgotten by obi the minute vaderkin showed up and called him little star 😭 The two of them are so obsessed with each other that nobody(tyranus, sidious, probably the whole galaxy) can correctly estimate just how obsessed they are, and they must pay that grand mistake with their life lol

[referring to this prompt fill where both anakin and obi-wan fall because they think the other is dead]

LMAO. romeo and juliet but with a happy ending (of sorts and for some)

it's a happy ending especially if you ignore the fact that both of their moral compasses have been manipulated and skewed by the dark side so much that now they only care about each other and wanting to give the other power and riches and comfort because they think it'll make him happy (we're talking like. kingdom amount of riches. killing sidious amount of comfort, etc)

poor tyranus is absolutely correct. he miscalculated so much, poor guy. im imagining that he decided obi-wan would be more likely to follow him to confront vader if he told him not to (a very accurate reading of padawan obi-wan kenobi) and that vader would give him time to explain the situation and his role in it if he was blindsided by his old apprentice (a very inaccurate reading of master anakin skywalker)

but also tyranus was never gonna win this one tbh. like even if he immediately comm-called darth vader to come pick up his jedi padawan the moment obi-wan showed up on his doorstep, vader would have killed him just to make sure that no one knew where obi-wan was. and if he'd stayed with sidious, vader would have killed him anyway so that he could be the apprentice (because obi-wan was dead so what was the point of staying in the light without his little star?)

i feel like this obi-wan and anakin make it to vader's bunk in his ship before they fuck, so it's not like right next to tyranus' corpse or anything too morbid, but like. yah lmao obi-wan forgets all about his temporary master so quick. tyranus who?

he does tell vader that tyranus gave him his sith name, solence, and vader is like well that's stupid. you're not allowed to use that ever. im your master and i didn't give you any name at all and you will not use a name that i did not give you and if you do i will literally go crazy about it and kill many many people. i will destroy serenno. i will kill the entire planet. don't think i won't.

and obi-wan who is no longer solence but is also not really obi-wan is like ok <3 you can call me whatever you want as long as i can call you daddy

[attyrocious]

Hello,

Just to let you know I often see reposts of your art by other people...

I just lectured someone about this, who reposted your Penguin drawing on Pinterest without mentioning if they had your permission (so I assumed they didn't, and also mentioned your name and your bluesky in the comments).

Maybe you should at least put your username on your art :(

It bothers me to see other people's art stolen and reposted... (It's happened to me before and it hurt me too...)

(No need to answer, don't worry, it was just to warn you...)

thank you, you're doing the art community a great service. unfortunately it happens to me far too often to bother. i also dont wanna be that guy again, but a lot of the unsigned arts that are on my socials are unsigned because i consider them just as sketches. 😶

at this point my goal in life is just to have an art style recognizable enough that its a signature by itself lmao

[maenecoon]

Role Reversal KP lives rent-free in my mind. Chay is like a cute idol (with a stage name) and Kim is a big fan who also happens to be a feral street fighter and thug for money. He has a body pillow and posters and whatnot. He glares into nothing at the public bus while listening to Chay's bubbly playlist on loop.

One day, Kinn mentions he suggested Kim as a plainclothes bodyguard for his mafia sugar daddy, sorry, for his mafia boyfriend's little brother's event at a local bar, and they pay well and it's one-off so Kim accepts it without thinking much about it.

When Porsche takes Kim to introduce him to his charge, the last thing Kim has been expecting to see is his favorite singer sitting in his dressing room, very much underdressed in a tiny satin robe and nothing else.

if you were the anon who's sent me role reversal kimchay stuff before, welcome back! <33 i love your ideas!

first of all kim with a BODY PILLOW is so fking hilarious, i can totally imagine that to be his fanboy thing (in lieu of a photo wall LOL). also the idea that he's such a grump listening to chay's bubblegum pop songs is so fking adorable, im loving the duality of that.

kinn having a mafia sugar daddy (porsche) was not on my bingo card but that would be so interesting! i think kinnporsche with this reversed dynamic would also be cool to see ngl, like how would they have met, why, etc. perhaps kinn works as porsche's bodyguard instead🤔🤔

chay underdressed in a robe tho..,, kim would be salivating. kudos to him for keeping his shit together. i think it helps that chay isn't the demure thing he portrays himself to be, but someone with a bit more bite. makes it easier to pull himself out of his fanboy delusions and focus on his job. (i say that, but if kim wants to fuck the attitude out of chay anyways,, then,,, then that's on kim!)

[deepwaterfiction]

Text: Our islands float in a dark sea, which extends into infinity below us. We tell stories of whirlpools that swallowed whole cities, now lost but intact in the vast and bottomless deep.

[dandelionsunset1210]

for #34 in the character asks, what do you think katniss does when peeta is upset? as a devoted fan to ur fics ik peeta once waited until her “temper tantrum was over” (which btw is one of my fav moments in five, ten, fifteen cause of how silly they both are) so I’m just wondering how you think katniss would react to peeta being upset at a situation of the same caliber so like not a super serious situation :)) hope that made sense LMAO

Ok, I need to take the scenic route to answering your question because first I think we need to address how Peeta gets upset. Because honestly, I think Peeta is so emotionally aware to a point where it can almost get unhealthy. Growing up in an abusive home I think he probably repressed the hell out of his emotions. Plus, the few times we see him get mad in canon he’s big mad, and I think he probably hates that about himself.

So I think overall he’s very careful to control his reaction when he’s upset (unless he’s BIG mad like cf in district 11 or five, ten, fifteen in the kitten chapter). When he’s lowercase upset it either looks like him being absurdly upbeat or eerily quiet.

I think it takes Katniss a while to understand what these moods mean and why he doesn’t just emote like a normal person and what she can do. And once she gets it, most of the time she’s just going to give him space until he processes and regulates, and if he wants to talk about it she knows he will.

But other times? I think she pushes his buttons. Hard. Every so often she’ll see a bad mood as an opportunity and pokes and prods at him until he snaps. And when he does it reminds him that he is capable of being frustrated without hurting anyone. That he is allowed to be in a bad mood without it resulting in punishment. And that his annoying little shit of a wife (affectionate) still loves him just as much on the bad days as the good days

[daedalusdavinci]

24. superbat. this motherfucker JUST got to bed if any of u assholes wake him UP

24. Protecting your lover’s sleep as they doze on your lap, making sure nobody bothers them as they entrusted their peace to you. thinking about.... jlas superbat. i may not have followed this prompt to the letter but its very long so you get what you get at this point

It was just one of those days- one of those nights- one of those weeks- where one problem shifted right into the next without break, and they all found themselves running more ragged than usual. In the tower, heroes everywhere seemed sluggish and exhausted, running low on sleep and worn out from the last battle. Diana had tipped onto a couch and hadn't gotten back up again, and Wally had nearly passed out in the cafeteria, starting awake and drifting off again in the middle of a burger. After being pried away from the monitors, J'onn had gone straight to his room to sleep, and there were countless others who had followed his example.

Bruce was too stubborn. Clark was reasonably sure he'd been awake longer than anyone, but Clark could still see him typing away, doing god even knew what.

"I'll sleep when I finish," he said, before Clark had even said anything.

"I wasn't going to tell you to sleep," Clark said, taking that as his cue to approach.

"Yes, you were."

"I know better." Clark set a hand on the back of Bruce's chair, glancing briefly over the monitors. Logs, security feed, news reports- all of it a huge mess of information to sort through. Someone had to do it, but that someone didn't need to be Bruce.

Bruce looked tired. His shoulders sagged and his fingers hesitated, slow on the keys. He'd been drooping all day, attacking everything with the energy of a man on his very last leg. He'd sustained too many injuries during the fight. He'd been slow, and sloppy. He needed to sleep, but he'd never let Clark talk him into it if Clark let on that that was what he was doing.

"Can you do all this from anywhere?" Clark asked.

Bruce blinked slowly. "Not from anywhere."

"But from another computer."

"Yes. I have others."

"A laptop?"

"Yes." Bruce was eyeing him with suspicion, now, leaning back in his chair.

"Then you're doing it from there," Clark decided. "You can burn your retinas to your heart's content- I won't stop you. But I need company."

For a long moment, Bruce looked at him. Clark could practically hear the gears turning as he thought it over, taking longer to consider it than he usually would in his exhaustion. Then, finally, his gaze softened. He sighed, slumping back in his chair and rubbing his hands over his face. "Just don't watch one of your stupid cooking shows while I work."

"They're not stupid," Clark protested.

"Whatever." Bruce waved a hand, pushing himself up out of the chair. He hit a few more buttons, and the monitors condensed into the smallest screen, allowing Bruce to pull it off of its docking station. "Lead the way."

The tower had grown quiet and still with sleeping heroes. With his hearing, Clark could hear Booster and Ted's laughter from the cafeteria, but everywhere else had turned muffled and heavy with the air of sleep. People murmured back and forth to avoid waking up sleeping heroes in the commons, and most of the sleeping quarters were occupied. Somewhere, Wally got ready to portal home, while somewhere else, Oliver snored loudly. No one passed them on their way to Clark's room.

It was easy to get stuck on the fringes of his senses, listening to everything instead of whatever was closest. The need to keep an ear out for danger hadn't quite abided yet, and it left Clark feeling unmoored and anxious. Normally, it was a nuisance, but maybe this time it'd keep him awake long enough that Bruce would sleep first.

It was almost too easy to pile on his couch with Bruce. Normally, any attempt at getting Bruce to accept even a mediocrum of comfort resulted in a fight, but he sat without prompting, eyes never leaving his tablet. He didn't complain when Clark flopped down with a heap of blankets, even when Clark twisted to lean against the arm, swinging his legs across Bruce's lap. Somehow, they settled in like that; Bruce, on his tablet, and Clark, half-watching some nature show that was interesting enough, but not so interesting that it offended Bruce's sensibilities.

As the narrator droned on, Clark struggled to narrow in his focus. The lights from the TV flickered colors across the dark room, and it felt so quiet, surrounded by the suffocating vacuum of space. If he strained hard enough, he knew he could hear Earth, but he tried not to. He could feel each individual fiber of each blanket, and each snore in the building. The tap of Bruce's finger against the screen of his tablet felt obscenely loud. The constant shifting of his attention and the overwhelming amount of stimulus was exhausting, and he could feel himself sagging under it, so worn out that it was hard to hear the words coming from the TV. He rubbed his face, running through grounding exercises in his head to no avail. He wasn't sleeping, at least.

Bruce's hand came to rest on his knee. The pressure of it was enough to shock Clark out of his thoughts, but light, and gentle. Bruce hadn't looked up from his tablet, but his thumb tracked back and forth absently.

Slowly, Clark relaxed back into the couch again. His eyes fixed on the TV, but without really registering the pictures. He couldn't feel every fiber in the blankets, or hear every snore, but he was suddenly hyper-aware of that weight on his knee- a single point of focus that he locked on helplessly. It wasn't constant- every now and again, Bruce lifted his hand to tap the screen- but it always returned. Somehow, that caught Clark's attention more, leaving him waiting, expectant, caught on every detail of Bruce. The bracing warmth of Bruce's legs under his own, the vaguely ticklish stroke of his thumb, his breathing, steady and slow. Out of habit more than anything, he found Bruce's heartbeat, listening to the low thump of it until it felt like his own had slowed in turn. The familiarity of it was soothing, safe, protected, the reliability of the Batman unexpectedly grounding after so long.

His head slipped off his hand, and he started, eyes opening. He hadn't realized he'd closed them.

"Seems like I'm not the only one trying to stay up," Bruce commented.

"I'm not," Clark said. Although, maybe he was. He frowned through the haze of exhaustion, trying to focus on the TV.

"The life and death of a sea star are just that riveting," Bruce said, teasing under the deadpan.

"Shut up," Clark muttered, and shifted again, re-propping up his elbow on the arm of the couch.

It was difficult to understand how Bruce stayed awake. Without the cowl, the bags under his eyes were dark and deep, his expression something beyond exhausted. And yet, even now, wrapped up in blankets and secluded in the quiet comfort of Clark's room, listening to the soothing drone of a documentary, he tapped at that stupid tablet. Clark was beginning to doubt his ability to outlast him. The restless discomfort that had kept him awake earlier- his ace in the hole against Bruce's stubbornness- was fading into a sleepy warmth all too quickly.

And then, Bruce started to hum.

Clark could count on the fingers of one hand how many times he'd heard Bruce sing. Diana had once told him that Bruce had a voice so beautiful it could make a villain weep, but Clark had only ever heard it rarely, and never meant for him. It was a quiet lullaby, murmured to a baby that wouldn't stop crying as Clark searched for the mother, or a hum, pressed against Robin's hair in the aftermath of fear toxin. It had always felt like something he wasn't meant to hear. Now, through the ridiculous fog of exhaustion, Clark thought of sirens, calling soothingly to sailors from a distance.

Bruce's humming was soft and low, just under his breath. The tune was impossible to place, but haunting, and mournful. The sound of it seemed to vibrate through Clark, blanketing his senses until all he could focus on was just Bruce. Bruce was warm. He was safe, and close, and so confusingly present, as reliable as the tide. Time seemed to turn fluid, listening to that soft song, and Clark's eyes closed without his permission, just listening.

When Clark next opened his eyes, it was dark. The TV was off, Bruce's tablet forgotten somewhere in the tangle of blankets. His neck should've ached from the arm of the couch, but his head was on the cushions, propped up by a pillow. How Bruce had pulled that off without waking him, he had no idea.

Bruce was a warm weight against his chest, breathing slow. Judging by the awkward positioning, Clark doubted he'd meant to fall asleep, knees still jammed under Clark's own and cape still on. One of his hands was tucked against Clark's side, his face hidden between his own shoulder and Clark's sternum. It was... sweet, really. To have Bruce feel comfortable enough to sleep was a unique privilege, and one rarely afforded.

Clark hadn't outlasted him, in the end. But Bruce was sleeping, and as Clark let his eyes drift shut again, he allowed himself to consider it a win.

[vasito-de-leche]

so remember when we were all wondering what's with the r1999 character profile page?

the "an arcanist's work displayed in the 19xx"

and with their length x width dimensions

and how our chosen character in our home page retreats to being a painting in the background

anyways...in one of the new game infos in the loading pages (which has a very short window of reading time so it was hard to catch), it was said that:

there was a strange phenomenon of people turning into paintings that they can't find the cause of

based on what we have so far i am not liking what bluepoch could be implying in that loading page 🥹

For those who don't know or haven't seen it yet, they're talking about the following loading screen (ty to Tale's lore server for providing these!)

I just assume that these details are part of the whole artistic theme within the game, like how each Chapter is named after a real book, all the references to artistic movements and so on and so forth. As well as Vertin's role as the Timekeeper─she's meant to record and keep evidence from different eras, which sounds to me like a job for an art collector, conservator or restorator! So it makes sense to me that the people she saves are seen as art pieces.

Besides, the suitcase/Wilderness is a very vague, mysterious place. It's a literal pocket dimension that just seems to do its own thing and follow its own rules. I'm willing to casually accept that, sometimes, people turn into paintings for no apparent reason because it's a LITERAL pocket dimension that pulls people from time and space.

If I think reaaally hard ... Maybe you're implying that the people within the suitcase are doomed to become paintings eventually, because they're in the wrong era?

But that makes no sense, because there's hundreds of other survivors within the Foundation, Manus Vindictae and Apeiron so far who survive just fine─and Chapter 05 revealed why some places are immune to the "Storm."

Any potential arguments to support this theory don't hold up from my perspective, either. For example, the idea that the arcanists Vertin pulls from the spinning wheel in the middle of the lake are different from people who survive the "Storm" through different means (siding with either the Foundation or Manus, or by being in Apeiron, these are the only examples we have so far), and therefore they don't count, so they could be affected in different ways. This doesn't hold up, because Vertin pulled Sonetto, someone from the same era as her, into the suitcase through the spinning wheel. Whereas Regulus, who comes from an entirely different era, was just pushed inside. And yet, both of these characters turn into paintings anyway when you select them on the main screen.

So I don't think I understand the "implication" you're talking about and why you wouldn't like it? But please, feel free to elaborate on a different ask/reblog/reply, etc etc! I'd love to know!

[deadgirlwalking91]

Girlthoughts Lute prompt: After having been together for a little while, Lute has noticed Adam has been ducking her on certain days. Curious as to why, she follows him, finding out he's been secretly going to the gym really late. While his forms bad, he's able to pull much higher weight than her, and she gets an eye full of his body midworkout which she's never seen before, muscles and veins bulging in all the right spots.

Hey Anon,

Sorry it’s taken so long, but here you go ❤️ full fic can be found at the link below.

Stakeout

'She craned her neck to see the barbell, and almost let out a gasp at the amount of weight that he’d loaded it with. It was far beyond anything that she could ever dream of lifting; in fact, it had to be at least three times heavier than her record—which she considered to be pretty impressive.

Adam moved away from the bench and stood behind the weights, wiping his hands on his pants before bending at the knees and gripping the bar. Lute’s eyes flickered to his meaty forearms straight away, his muscles rippling and veins bulging beneath his olive skin. No amount of willpower could have stopped the shaky sigh that left her lips; for she’d only ever seen his arms tense like that in one very, very specific scenario before.

One that involved him gripping his headboard as she lay beneath him, feeling the weight of his body on top of hers.

“Oh, holy shit, Adam,” she murmured to herself, momentarily forgetting that she was supposed to be hidden. Suddenly, she felt warm. So warm and very flustered.'

[moonesaiky]

Details details I love my lil silly details, it is I the detail queen

Anyways does the family have a driver or do they drive themselves? Rich people yknow what they're like

They probably did but Will hates strange people.

Ford: So you drive, I won't drive because of your stubbornness

Will: So how are you going to treat your prisoner? Not even a ride?

Ford: With a driver or not leaving home.

Will: Bleeh, I drive, okay! But with magic! I'm not going to touch a steering wheel for a second.

Ford: .... Okay...

[wanderingblindly]

Oscar can teach him what it’s like to give up control, lay it at his feet and beg for him to pick it up

This single sentence is the hottest thing I have ever read in my life

I feel so dumb for how long it took me to realize which fic this was from LMFAO — bite down, reverse it! If anyone is curious

Man I so so love the concept of lando being such a minx and Oscar being into it, since he knows the show is really just for him,,,,,,,

waaaaaaah thank u for showing that little prompt fill some love!!!!! You’re an angel!!!!

[hourcat]

pierre/charles and "Hot Single Parent and babysitter/nanny"

18. Hot Single Parent and babysitter/nanny

It's embarrassing, Charles thinks as he waits at the stoplight around the corner from his street, that he's on his way home now and not, you know, two and a half hours later than what he'd told the babysitter. He hadn’t even been out for more than an hour in the first place, including driving to the restaurant—

It’s the last time he lets Carlos set him up on a fucking date, so help him. You should stop using those single dad apps, he’d insisted while they were standing in line to pay for their cafeteria lunches, I know a guy.

And sure, Charles had been a little skeptical, especially because Carlos isn’t exactly known for his judgment around the office, but it’s been ages since he’s been out for real—Hervé is his life from the moment he wakes up to the moment he goes to sleep, and it’s been that way since he was born. There’d been no time for dating, or really anything that wasn’t his son.

But Carlos had been insistent that Charles would like this guy. He is fun, he’d promised, and Charles, because he’s terrible at saying no, had agreed.

Of course, that agreement had hinged upon his life-saving babysitter, Pierre, being available.

I'm going out tomorrow night, he'd texted after pulling into the preschool parking lot, are you around to watch Hervé for the night? Pierre, of course, because he is the most reliable babysitter Charles has ever known, is free—so it’d been set, and Charles had gone out after giving Pierre the usual walkthrough of the house even though they’ve done this plenty of times before. Pierre had smiled at him easily, nodded, promised that Hervé is in good hands (something Charles knows without even having to hear it from Pierre himself) and Charles had said I’ll be home by 11, you can use my card to buy whatever you like.

“Don’t worry, Charles,” Pierre had murmured, resting a comforting hand on his bicep. The warmth of his palm had seeped right through Charles’ dress shirt. “Go out and have fun.” His smile had gotten wider, then, and it’d only struck Charles there, moments before he was about to go out on his first date in over three years, that Pierre is handsome. Really, just—handsome is a tasteful way of putting it, which he’d begged himself to stick to because, again, date.

So Charles left. Drove to the restaurant that Carlos had texted him the address to.

And, half an hour in, he’d left. Max was—Charles is going to kill his coworker for this, making him think that it would be a good time. There’s no spark and Charles knew it the moment they’d sat down, but he’d tried to at least stick it out because, maybe he’s just rusty after all this time.

No. There’s no two ways around it, it is simply a bad date. Charles doesn’t even feel bad for excusing himself to the bathroom and then bolting because talking to drying paint would be more interesting than whatever had been happening between them.

He only remembers that he hadn’t actually told Pierre he was on his way home until now, though—five minutes away from his house, at the world’s longest red light. He grabs his phone to shoot off a quick omw back message only to realize, to his chagrin, that it’d died somewhere between the restaurant and here. Stupid Google Maps.

The light finally turns green, and Charles tries his damnedest not to speed the rest of the way back. He doesn’t care that he doesn’t have a romantic life right now. Hervé is the only thing that matters to him, really—he’s sure spending time making faces at his son and giggling with him over wooden puzzles would be a thousand times more interesting than whatever obnoxious commentary Max was trying to give about…shit, Charles doesn’t even remember. He’ll pay Pierre for the whole night anyway, because it’s only right, but…he just wants to be home. The sight of his driveway is a bigger relief than he could’ve possibly imagined. He all but tumbles out of the driver’s seat, locking his car haphazardly and practically skipping up his front steps to knock, once, on the door.

Wait, he realizes flatly, this is my house. He’s about to open the door himself when it swings backwards and…

There’s Pierre. The look on his face goes from at ease to surprised in a moment, and he shifts on his feet to balance Hervé on his hip, keeping him snugly held against him. “Charles,” he says, eyebrows high on his forehead. “I thought you were—on a date?” He steps aside and Charles enters his own house, entirely enchanted by the sight before him.

“Papa!” Hervé exclaims, reaching one arm out to grab for him. He doesn’t loosen his hold on Pierre, though. “Me ‘n Pear pizza!!” His face is so bright with joy, laughter twinkling in his eyes, and a lump forms in Charles’ throat at the sight of it: his whole world, babbling delightedly as the babysitter…is beaming his full attention right at him, both arms now keeping him carefully tucked close.

“Yeah, big man,” Pierre murmurs, and then turns to Charles, “I ordered pizza and thought you were, um, the guy.” He laughs softly, then shrugs. “It should be here any minute, now, so you two can—if you haven’t already eaten, I—”

“No,” Charles interrupts hastily, waving a hand. Pierre’s mouth closes, protest stopped. For a moment, he can only stare: Hervé with his cheek smushed on Pierre’s shoulder, Pierre’s hold so casual yet careful as they stand in the hall. His son is good with people, Charles knows, but this is different. The fondness rolling off of the babysitter in waves is different than anything Charles has ever felt before, even when he quirks his brows at the extended silence. Oh. “No, um, you should—you should stay for dinner, Pierre. It’s.” Why is he nervous? This is his babysitter he’s talking to, not some—some date he’s meeting for the first time. “I came back early, you should at least eat with us.”

Pierre’s eyes, already warm with affection for Hervé, light up even more at the invitation. “Are you sure?”

Charles is. “Yes, yes, of course.” He tilts his head towards the kitchenette. “I’ll pay you for the whole night, but you should at least stay for dinner. I—” he coughs. “I think Hervé would love that.”

“Pear, Pear!” Hervé exclaims in agreement. It only takes a few moments before Pierre is smiling hugely, nodding along. Charles feels like a whole ton has been lifted off his shoulders. He’s not entirely sure why.