#since I was kid I wanted to be late to memes

[em0hamlet]

My dealer: got some straight gas 🔥😛 this strain is called "Rosas’ governorship " 😳 you’ll be zonked out of your gourd 💯

Me: yeah whatever. I don't feel shit

5 minutes later: dude I swear I just saw the Mazorca outside

My buddy Facundo Quiroga pacing: Rosas is lying to us

[hedwig221b]

For the fic recs, anything with babies please? Or just pregnant stiles?

I'm weeping I love kid!fics and mpreg!Stiles...👶

Of Puppy Piles and Sugar Dreams by StarShineForMe

In which Isaac and Scott get de-aged, the pack must learn to bond and protect their own, and Derek ("Dewek!") and Stiles ("Sti-ewes!") are mates…even if it takes them forever and two toddlers to realize it. “Oh, God.” Stiles buries his face in his hands, water dripping down his wrists. “What? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Derek whips out a towel, wrapping it around Stiles’ forearms, pulling them away from Stiles’ body so he can look them over. “I’m fine,” Stiles says, a little blankly. Erica and Boyd have set Issac and Scott back onto the floor, tickling them both into fits of giggles. He huffs out a noise that’s not quite a whimper, not quite a laugh. “Just wondering when the hell I ended up in my very own episode of ‘Teen Mom’.”

The More That I Know You (the more I want to) by LadySlytherin

When death, in the form of hunters, comes for a family of Kelpies seeking refuge in the Preserve - in Hale territory - the Hale Pack is too late to save them. Before he dies, the male Kelpie presses a precious bundle into Stiles’ arms and begs the Emissary to take responsibility for it, which an initially reluctant Stiles does. When he agreed, Stiles had no idea what the sight of him with a baby would do to his esteemed Alpha, Derek. If he’d known, he might not have been so reluctant to agree.

The Alpha and his Spark by sandyde03

Stiles is pregnant. Derek is perpetually horny and possessive. Stiles is confused. Not by Derek sexing him up. He loves that. It’s the fact that ever since he started to show that he was with pup everyone has been avoiding his eyes.

Loving Isaac by QueenOfAngst21

A regular patrol around their land takes a turn for the worse when Derek and Isaac run into a unwanted visitor. Just when Derek thinks they are in the clear, he wakes to find not his beta beside him but a crying blonde haired baby right where he left Isaac. The pack stumbles over themselves as their alpha and emissary navigate this new dynamic and find each other along the way.

Last To Know by Never_Says_Die

Kink meme fill in which every werewolf and shapeshifter in Beacon Hills is aware that Stiles is pregnant before he is. And apparently the first baby!werewolf being born into the pack (their Alpha's, no less) is a big freakin' deal and excuse enough for everyone to lose their damn minds. When Stiles figures out why everyone's been acting so weird around him, he's not amused.

An Alpha's Baby by Dexterous_Sinistrous

It had been more than a year since Stiles had been home to Beacon Hills. Things didn't end well between him and Derek. And now, returning with a baby, Stiles starts to question if he really did the right thing and leave, or if he should have stayed.

Let your unfaithful weaving go by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Every night Stiles goes into the feasting hall to work on the shroud he is making for his husband, knowing that the alphas circle him like sharks until he is inevitably forced to choose one to stand as his alpha and Eli's regent. It's been four years and he doesn't know how much longer he can do this.

Fire, Fury, and Flame by IAmAVeronica

Stiles Stilinski was never going to be the omega who got knocked up right after high school, and then he's accidentally artificially inseminated with a stranger's sperm. Awesome. And the father of Stiles's baby just so happens to be Derek Hale. Half-feral, quite possibly a murderer, and pursued by a gleefully sadistic band of hunters who are only too eager to use Stiles and his baby to hit Derek right where it hurts. Joy.

Shifts by gryvon

Stiles has what he's always secretly wanted - he's in a relationship with Derek and he's one of Derek's betas - but all that gets turned upside down when Gerard kidnaps him and his unexpected baby.

Be Strong by blacktofade

A hunter breaks into Stiles' house and Stiles deals with them.

Safe Place to Land by Green

The Hales have been tracking a group of hunters who've targeted small packs with the help of a magic user. When they finally attack the hunter compound, they aren't expecting to find Stiles, a Spark who's practically a slave, and his young werewolf son. Derek isn't expecting the Spark to be his mate, either.

Wolf Cub by moodwriter

A strange wolf is not supposed to touch another pack’s cub and that’s why, on a rescue mission, it’s Stiles’ job to take care of the wolf cub who’s curious about everything and everyone. Stiles is not used to werewolf children, and the pack is not used to Stiles taking care of a child. Their Alpha gets very confused about this, too.

Karma Is A Bitch by Brego_Mellon_Nin

Ironically, Stiles was just returning to his dorm after failed negotiations about a possible adoption agreement with a local pack, when he saw the fairy. She was cornered and he was unable to curb his protective instincts. The fight was short and Stiles was left with only a blooming bruise on his jaw when the bullies scurried away. As a thank you, the fairy wanted to grant him a wish. Who knew what a bit of fairy fertility magic could do?

Empty by DiscontentedWinter

Jordan Parrish is the new sheriff of Beacon Hills, a town haunted by its past.

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | possessive Derek | historical AU | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles+ pt2 | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles + pt2 | oblivious!Stiles | bad friend Scott | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles | feral Derek | arranged marriage | Stiles is underestimated | mpreg w/o abo | accidental knotting | jock!Derek | jock!Stiles | alive Hales | spanking | royal abo au | longfic | void!Stiles

[katealpha]

Art by Art by @Dizy Wata ToonS

—-—————————————-

Halloween 2024

After the pervious stream, Nina went completely radio silent outside of social media. Other than posts about her condition and other topics, her only major announcement was that she would be staying home for the 31st, saying that the serpents in contact with her believed that leaving the house at the current point in gestation would put her in serious danger.

The newest stream began at 6 pm. The camera activated, pointing into the penthouse’s kitchen before Nina slowly waddled around the camera and into frame, wearing a rather seductive hollow dress. One that was commonly depicted in memes as of late. She was noticeably bigger than the week previous, but not drastically. Immediately it could be seen that she was in a dower mood, pouting and looking rather distracted.

“Ugh…hey everyone…thought I’d dress up for Halloween…yaaaay…” Nina moaned as she waved her hands weakly. “Sorry I’m not smiling, but I feel so fucking bloated right now, I can’t even be bothered. I was gonna eat candy on stream, but I….ate all of it throughout the day. I think all that chocolate did something inside, because I haven’t had a single craving since…I wanna say three hours. My guts have just felt like complete crap…one sec.”

A rumble audibly passed through her body and she forced out a deep, loud belch.

“BOOOOOOUUURP!!!”

Nina waved her hand in front of her face. “Blegh, too many butterfingers. But uh, I hope you all like the dress. It was the only thing I really had laying around that my belly would fit inside comfortably. Not even my lobster onesie. Honestly, I just can’t wait for these things to get out of me.” She sighed and began to stroke her hand over her belly. “It was a little fun, and I’m not gonna let the money I get from this go to waste, but I have never felt so internally…off…than I do right now. Like, I’m growing aliens in my body, and it feels like yesterday I was skinny. It’s all gone so fast for me, and I want my body back to myself. If any of yall out there watching wanna go and do it, honestly, it’s not the worst thing you can do to get money quick, but don’t do what I did and stay home. Stay on the damn ship so you aren’t spending over 5,000 on food. I’m not kidding, all 5,000 of that went right in here to my b-“

As she was rambling and complaining about her condition, a sudden but ominous rumble visibly quivered around her belly. It made her stop and look down, a pained wince crossing her features.

“H-hold on. That didn’t feel right…they’re staring to really squirm in there…”

Nina’s lip scrunched up as she began to poke and prod her belly. But then, her stomach did more than just quiver. It quaked under her dress, another deep rumble bubbling up. Nina gasped loudly and she staggered where she stood.

“Oooohh!! Oh…oh my god…that hurt so bad…was that a…aaagghhhhhh!!!!”

With another quake from inside, Nina grabbed her belly with her hands and tried to move forward from the counter, only to lose her balance and slam down on her side into the camera’s tripod, knocking it over. The camera fell to the floor where all sight of Nina was lost. Only capturing the hardwood floor of the kitchen, the actress was panting and trying her best to speak through the intense contractions she was feeling.

“Aaaaaagghhhhh!! If you can still hear me….it hurts!!! Nina hissed and moaned. “My water just broke…oh my god…I can’t get my phone, and I can’t get up! Someone!! Someone help!!” Nina cried out, her voice strained and panicking. Internal rumbles were heard, alongside Nina’s moans of pain, which were turning into frightened sobs. “Why did I do this to myself…I don’t wanna die like this!! They’re moving so much! I think I’m gonna- oh my god I think I’m gonna…explode!! Somebody please help me!!”

After that last pleasing die help, the sound of a door breaking open was heard. Several feet and pairs of legs were seen crossing the view of the camera, followed by swaying thin black tails with pincers on the end. They spoke in identical, modulated voices.

“Brood Volunteer located! Inducing stasis!” One of the alien creatures called out.

After a brief moment, Nina’s panting went silent. Another alien spoke with a slightly deeper pitch.

“The human should consider herself lucky we were already on our way to bring her to the Annihilator for larval removal. She could have died just now.”

The other serpent spoke up.

“She should be alright now until we bring her to sick bay. Prepping her for extraction now!”

The camera was then picked up by a third serpent who looked directly into the camera. The alien had skin as black as charcoal, with a mouth full of silver teeth, slit nostrils, and a reflective membrane dome where the eyes should be. It grinned softly.

“The human was logging herself on this device. It is still recording. It appears to be broadcasting live.”

In view over the serpent’s shoulder was the other two carrying the massively pregnant across by her wrists and ankles towards the back porch where a bright light was shining through. One of them nodded its head towards its other comrade.

“Deactivate it. She will not be returning for hours.”

After that, the serpent turned the camera around towards the now fluid covered kitchen floor, ending the stream.

Shortly after, eyewitnesses reported seeing a small alien transport fly from the LA skyline towards the massive saucer ship hovering just above the cloud layer.

[arsnof]

ArsCo Presents the Inaugural Arsnof's Great American Yard Sard Comics and Sundry Sale 2024!

Hello there! I'm Arsnof. You may remember me from content such as "Canadian Illustrator", "Dungeon Mentat", or even "Transformers Meme". I'm here today to host a celebration of buying things, thinking they're so super cool, and then putting them away and never looking at them again. Comics, books, toys, anime, manga, CCGs, rare webcomic goodies, tiny figurines of yokai, a Little Golden Book adaptation of Gremlins that ends before midnight, Chuck Norris's Karate Kommandos, can you read Japanese because I can't, official Soul Coughing stickers, a hoard of well read Wizards and Toyfares, Funko Pops, feet pics (you can get off, but only if you can correctly diagnose what's wrong first), Transformers...

I could go on forever, but I got it, you want it, we can make a deal (no tongue).

Why is this happening? I'm shit broke and getting shitter. Going down like a Trump Casino. Guy paying his bills on time? I haven't heard that name in forever.

I've been taking care of my ailing father (tried to die on us three times so far this year) and the rest of my family (I don't owe you an explanation, cop) and then someone just up and decided to make my automobile a notomobile.

They didn't have insurance, but that's okay because we have full cov-*hand to ear*-what? We don't? Only comprehensive? Since when? FUCKING shit... Okay, but we still have uninsured motorist, so-four thousand? Four thousand. Dollars. $4,000. To replace an entire ass truck.

We are in desperate need of a car. I've got a lifetime of memories. You, on average, have some change sitting around. Can I have some? I'll trade you stuff.

I'm starting with my comics because they're easiest to catalogue. See something you like? HMU, as the kids say (please God don't let that be a sex thing) and I'll see what I can do. I'm giving the comic shop at which I used to work a vague preference, but I can be swayed.

Next up will be the trades and manga, DVDs of varied origin, toys, and so on.

Criminitly.

If life can stop kicking us in the gender neutral pain zone for five fucking minutes, @paulyollyoxxenfree and I will get back to handicrafts. They're getting back into the amiguroove and I'm going to hit the pad - finish and print Kitty, start Dr. Doctor. Stickers and stuff. I'm not shaving for a while to put me in mall Santa shape by Thanksgiving.

But what if you've got too much money and you're sick of it, but you hate being given things? I take donations. If you put a special request in the memo, I won't even give you the thanks. I'll just spit. I take requests.

Papal

Cache

Fuck, I don't know, antelope? My email - arsnof@gmail.com

I might make one of those kofi things.

Oh and, heheh, one more thing...

Launching in the fourth quarter 2024, ArsCo is proud to announce Alone With Arsnof, the happening new app that gives you the power to have some one-on-one time *gunshot* wit- *sudden fade to red-tinted black, gunshot echo. Sirens fade in. HE'S DOWN! OVER THERE! THE ROOF? A high-pitched whine. Bright light. The late afternoon sky comes into focus. Fireballs? The sun is so bright. Automatic gunfire. No, jets. Falling. Screams. Recognizable screams. Unrecognizable screams? Inhuman? The sun blinks*

[deliciouskeys]

1 for ZM please

About a month late because this was the hardest ask on that meme I think!

Fanfic/Authors ask meme : Write a scene from [ZM] in another character’s POV

Terror POV for the entire fic: Ever since my dad brought me to this house, I'm trying to figure out what the deal is between him and his friend. They speak in angry tones a lot, but my dad really works to take care of him. They also get in bed and rub on each other, in which case they're not usually angry. My dad's friend seems disabled or something, because my dad wraps him up in a very long shiny leash. Maybe his friend will fall apart if he's not held together by that?-- I haven't seen him without it. He can't even eat on his own, he never goes outside, and he's usually in a bad mood. Like even more than my dad usually is. I'm really not sure what's wrong with him, but I'm having a good time living out here in a house with a yard.

Juuuust kidding lol.

I rewrote the second half (after the time skip asterisks) of chapter 4 (Depression) in HL's POV. It's probably not that different-- I'd like to think I write in such a way that you can tell what both halves of a dialogue are thinking, even if the third person narration is closely aligned with only one. But someone at some point was asking me what HL's gambit really was in that scene. Well here you go, 3.9k words. Not all of it brand new, of course.

~~~

Homelander never expected to find himself in such impossible circumstances. When he first found himself blind and unable to move, all his other senses felt that much sharper, and he was keenly aware of everything around him. But the more time he's spent in this state, the more it feels like he's undergoing mental vertigo. He's left alone for… he's not even sure how long. Time is now measured by how hungry he's gotten, how often he's urinated on the floor beside himself. His days used to be so full, agendas with meetings, appearances, rescues, end to end, 8 am to 8 pm at minimum, weekends included. Other members of the Seven got tired of it, took daily breaks, took long vacations. Maeve couldn't stand being forced to account for her time, and she her schedule was much more sparse than his. Homelander never resented the full agendas. No, what he dreaded was free, unstructured time, dreaded holidays when everyone would stop caring about business. He always felt uncomfortable in his own skin if he had to spend any more time alone in his apartment than the time it took him to get a full night's rest. And for his physiology a full night's rest was, for better or worse, usually only a few hours. So he'd often go on flights while most of the city still slept– he told himself he was patrolling for crime, but really he just didn't want to feel like he had to stay still in any sort of confined space. And now… now that's all he can do– lying on the floor, maybe contorting himself into a sitting position if he's feeling really ambitious. With absolutely nothing to do, nothing to see, no ability to leave, he feels numb. He feels like he's losing his mind, and not in the flashy way– just slowly feeling his sense of self disintegrating. When he was a child he used to be able to converse with himself without looking at a reflection, but that was when he was younger, and not when he was forcibly blinded. Now he only listens to the voice in his head telling him that he was stupid to think he'd be able to free himself, telling him he was going to die without seeing anything again, telling him he may have already gone blind for all he knows.

It must have been at least fifteen days since he was put in this cage, but maybe it's been thirty. He got depressed and stopped trying to keep diligent track of William's comings and goings at some point. He needs to get back to thinking clearly, if he's ever going to escape out of here, but there's nothing left that he wants to think about. He doesn't want to try to think of ways to free himself, because he spent the better part of a week trying all sorts of maneuvers and never made any tangible progress. He doesn't want to think about anything to do with his past life, because every thought is tainted by remembering that higher-ups at Vought were ones who decided to betray him and sacrifice him. Because of what? That he dared to try to act on his own instincts instead of just obeying? That he was too dangerous if he so much as expressed mild disagreement with their tactics? 

So Homelander's thoughts turn to the most basic fixations. Thirst, hunger– those get satisfied periodically, although never in the way he really wants, and he still daydreams about warm milk, other warm, bland, sweet things that could soothe his nerves. His other need has started to gnaw on him day in and day out. At this point, if one of his hands somehow managed to free itself, he'd probably waste precious time jerking himself off before trying to free the rest of his body. He daydreams about being able to shove himself inside something warm and slippery, reminisces about his vigorous nights with Maeve when she still tolerated him, remembers that one precious time with Madelyn. But he can't think himself to completion, it only makes matters worse, and he whines quietly as his painfully hard erection dies down.

His other favorite daydream these days is about being reunited with Ryan. Like the first time he found him, but even more dramatic this time. In these fantasies Ryan would come running, leap into his arms, wrap his arms around his neck, and Homelander would take off into the sky with him, take him someplace safe, away from Vought, away from Butcher's band of misfits, away from the US government. When he thinks about Ryan too long, a lump starts forming in his throat and he starts crying at the unfairness of it all– of being deprived of his son almost as soon as he found out about his existence. He can't open his eyes, but the tears seep out anyway, drip out of the metal plate, dribble down his chin, and he can't even wipe them away.

It should be embarrassing that William returns during one of these bouts of feeling sorry for himself. Homelander can recognize his car from miles away, so he sits up, legs bent, forehead pressed into his knees in a last ditch effort to retain some dignity. But there's nowhere to hide. 

"You alright mate?" he asks, and Homelander genuinely wonders if he means him or his damned dog whose loud breathing is the only sign of anyone else in his vicinity. William must be able to see that Homelander's face is covered in snot and tears. And why should he care or try to hide any of it? Any sense of embarrassment Homelander may have had is long gone. Even in the days of the lab, he was never kept this helpless for this long, and never had so many basic functions tended to by someone else. If William wants to keep him here and clean up after him for the rest of his life, that was certainly his prerogative. 

"Oi, I said, you alright?"

"Oh, fucking fantastic," Homelander says, raising his head had off his knees.

"I'll get you some more water," William says.

Homelander leans back against the unforgiving bars of the cage. The metal William has used to trap him makes him feel weak as he touches it, but it's becoming almost an addictive feeling, the strange diffusion across his muscles that makes them weak, ordinary. Is this what being a normal human feels like? Has he become warped enough that he enjoys feeling like his body's fibers are turning into jelly?

He can hear William refill his bowl of water and set it down next to him. It's a wonder that Butcher hasn't laid out newspapers on the floor for him yet, or maybe some nice sawdust or whatever it is they put in rat cages.

"You want anything else?" William has the nerve to ask.

Why yes, being allowed to feel like a person again would be nice, Homelander thinks. "You can't treat me like a fucking... hamster. You leave me here all day with some water. Nothing to fucking listen to. I'm bored out of my mind. You have a TV in here, but you're just a heartless sadist who won't even turn on some Vought News."

"You know I ain't turning Vought News on," William tells him, as if it's something to be proud of. "Here, you can listen to this."

Homelander feels stupid for being curious for a moment before he hears what must be that painter from TV describing what colors he's about to use. "Motherfucker," he mutters when he hears that William's left the house. 

Today I'm using an 18 by 24 inch double prime pre-stretched canvas, but you use whatever size you'd like.

Is he supposed to feel calm from listening to this infuriatingly self-possessed voice droning on and on about painting techniques?

And I've just covered the entire canvas with a very thin coat of liquid white. The liquid white is just designed to make the canvas wet and to make it slick, it allows us to actually blend color right here on the canvas.

Homelander groans. The slightest allusion to anything that could be remotely sexual wakes his body up, as if it's not in on what dire situation he's in. His body doesn't care. It's begging for an orgasm. Homelander tips back on the floor, desperately trying move his thighs against his cock, but it's not effective. It doesn't help that the painter has moved on to describing the painting techniques and once again, but he's still desperate. Homelander struggles, praying that he can pry his arms apart– sure, the metal wrapping them his forearms together behind his back makes them as limp as noodles, but shouldn't his desperation to touch himself count for something? It doesn't, and Homelander's body finally gives up after getting no physical encouragement.

No, this can't go on like this. He's unable to think straight. Most powerful man on earth and he can't manage to touch himself? He has to get his mind off this infernal fixation.

William comes back in, and although Homelander hasn't spoken to him much in the last few days, he just has to try to extract some information out of him, reorient himself, get back to living in the real world rather than drifting around in his thoughts. If nothing else, he has to better acquaint himself with William, because he clearly underestimated his patience and his cruelty.

"Did they hold a funeral for me yet? I can't even keep track of the days like, this."

He listens to William's breathing change, but he doesn't know if it means he's about to be lied to. "They announced they'll have one. Finally deemed you MIA enough on a classified mission that they're going to have some pomp and circumstance. The whole nation is in mourning. I'm sure Starlight is going to record a new song in your honor."

"Fuck her," Homelander spits out. The fact that she saw him in this pathetic situation, and gets to go back to her dayjob– on his team– makes him that much angrier. "What're you gonna tell Ryan, hm?" he asks. "Or are you not showing him any TV, keeping him captive too. You seem to like that, William. You and Vought."

"Fuck you. I'll tell him the same bullshit the media is going to say. You died overseas on a mission."

And although this should make Homelander feel more hopeless– Vought announcing his funeral means they've really decided he's as good as dead and won't ever return– this gives him a sudden renewed sense of purpose to get out of this confinement and show them all what he's capable of. "You're a sadistic, lying bastard," he mutters, not even sure William's impaired hearing will notice, but he heard.

"And it took you this long to deduce that, mate?"

Homelander can hear that his jailer is grinning ear to ear, clearly pleased with himself. It's a tone he hates, the tone of William when he thinks he's won something. He's won nothing, as far as Homelander is concerned. If he's so proud of being sadistic, and Homelander isn't– not in any particular way–, why aren't their positions reversed if there was any justice in this world?

"You'd be just like me if you had powers," Homelander says. "I guarantee you."

"Whataboutism rubbish. You may well be right," William says. "But I don't have powers and you do, and here we are."

It's a dead end with someone this stubborn and myopic. But Homelander just wants to keep talking. If he can't see, at least talking to someone proves he's not alone– something the voice in his head starts telling him when the house is empty and he only hears William's dog milling about.

"Can I see my son?' he demands, seeing how this tone might work out for him. He has so little that he doesn't really have anything to lose.

"Really? You're going to ask me that? Mate, you're not going to see anything ever again, not if I can help it."

It's an odd sensation, but Homelander can actually feel his eyes rolling despite the metal plate pressed firmly against them. "Fine, can I hear my son?! Jesus Christ. I haven't had contact with him in a year."

Homelander doesn't expect William to agree of course, so his breath hitches when William answers him with a curt "Fine." followed by a child's voice saying "Hello?" 

Homelander's heart skips a beat– it's Ryan's voice, distorted by the phone, maybe sounding older, because God knows he hasn't heard him in a year and that alone make Homelander emotional, that he's missed even more of his childhood. He scrambles to answer, stuttering in his agitation  "Ryan? Ryan, it's your dad, your real dad, don't believe the—"

"Hello?" But of course it was too good to be true. Homelander's shoulders slump as he realizes that he was on mute. 

"You're a fucking monster," he says, sighing, sitting back against the wall and burying his face in his knees again. This is why he stopped talking to William in the first place. It's always frustrating exchanges like these. But this last part was a dirtier trick than usual. Homelander hates that he can feel tears pricking at his eyes yet again. He should be grateful he could hear Ryan was alive and well, but that's a low bar if there ever was one.

"He's doing good, he's in good hands," William assures him, and oh Homelander's hands curl into fists, wanting to punch him full-force. There's be nothing left, and he wouldn't have to hear this patronizing tone anymore.

But as much as he hates talking to William, this is also the most exciting part of his day, and he might as well get all his questions out now that he's deigned to speak to him again and break his short-lived vow of silence. "What are they saying about me online? Can you at least tell me that?" he asks. He's glad he can still pull off an angry, haughty tone despite feeling less and less sure he'll ever be able to get out of this embarrassing imprisonment.

"I don't rightly know, I don't have time to look through Twitterspheres and Reddit threads searching your name. I'm sure it's mostly positive."

Homelander can feel his mouth twist into something that would look ugly on camera but it's just William here, and he has no reasons to disguise his emotions here. "Yeah, and people are just going to forget I exist in another couple of weeks."

"They'll always have the movie franchises to remember you by."

Homelander sniffs in disgust. He never guessed he'd be trapped long enough to even have this conversation. When he was first captured this ragtag band of misfits tried so many different methods to off him, and he thought they were bound to make a mistake somewhere along the way. With William taking him on alone, it seemed even more probable. But William barely touches him nowadays except for what's absolutely necessary– including retightening the wires around his body with annoying regularity so there's little hope of escape.

"Why haven't you even tried to fucking kill me?!" he finally yells. 

"Like I told ya. I want to really hurt you. And you are really fucking hurting like this," Butcher says. "I get to live my life, come home and get to watch you suffer. Don't see any reason to change it."

Homelander would see red if he could see anything. In what universe was any of this fair? What crimes has he committed that deserve being so tortured with boredom and humiliation by turns. He's tired of being talked down to. He's tired of being lectured by someone who clearly has his own demons and issues. He wasn't going to say this, because he wasn't sure of how the conversation would pan out, but at this point Homelander's desperate to get any sort of riled up reaction from William. Anything that increases the chances of William doing something out of the ordinary would increase his chances of escape more than being despondent and doing nothing.

"May I make a personal remark?" he asks.

"Never seen you stop and ask before," William replies, sounding amused but curious.

"Well. People tend to take offense at this one." Homelander pauses one last time, wondering if he's right to play this card now, but at this point he's desperate to shift anything about this terrible setup. "Ever since you undressed me... well, even before that sometimes, but definitely after... you just... reek of wanting to fuck me."

William burst out laughing and for some reason that's one reaction Homelander didn't anticipate in response.

"No I mean it, literally reek. I know it when I smell it. Fucking disgusting, but explains a lot. Wish you'd get it over with already, if that's really what you want, and then let me fucking go on my way."

He pauses but William's still laughing, and it's a sound Homelander hasn't heard before. William isn't faking it. He's actually in rollicking spirits after hearing this, probably because he doesn't believe him. Homelander is at a loss.

"Hurts to hear, I'm sure," he adds but his voice is getting smaller. Is there really nothing he can say to perturb this man?

William finally comes up for air from his convulsive laughing. "Mate... oh my god… Thanks for that, I haven't had that good of a laugh in years."

Homelander can't believe it, all that bitter venom roiling and unable to come up with anything more hurtful. "It's not my fault you're attracted to the man you keep accusing of raping your wife. That's fucked up, I must say," Homelander blurts out, desperate to find something to pique this man, and realizes he's found the magic topic.

He hears William approaching but can't move away before he's grabbed by the neck. "Oi, you fucking self-aggrandizing cunt. You mention Becca again, I dare you, I fucking dare you."

And Homelander opts not to say more even though this is what he wanted– contact, violent contact, and William losing his calm and maybe making mistakes in his rage. But he's out of ideas, and he hates how good it feels to be touched when he's had so little contact. His throat bobs under William's grip, and WIlliam releases him, as if somehow guessing that Homelander's getting something pleasant out of it and immediately depriving him of it.

"And you can tell all that just from the way I smell, can you?" he asks, no longer laughing, but sounding unconvinced. Homelander knows what he senses. He shouldn't be surprised his captor's not aware of his own feelings and proclivities.

"I’ve smelled it plenty. You walk into a crowd of fans, there's always a bunch of mouthbreathers drooling over you. Women mostly, but some men too. But I must say William, I didn't see it coming from you."

"Well, it's rich coming from you," William says. "Getting all worked up every time I say you've behaved yourself, or threaten you with something real embarrassing."

Homelander bristles. "That has nothing to do with you," he mumbles. "Whataboutism," he adds vindictively.

"Maybe, but let me just demonstrate. I'll fucking upload a video of you on your knees in your cage, hovering over a bowl of milk, lapping it up like a little cat or whatever the fuck, ass up in the air."

Homelander can feel the color drain from his face, but unfortunately can also feel the instant reaction. He remembers when it happened. He was desperate for something to soothe his nerves. William served him the milk he asked for but made him get into an awkward humiliating position to drink it. Not like William didn't exude a whole cloud of lusting pheromones or whatever it is that Homelander senses. But apparently only he's the one being blamed for getting hard over strange things. 

"Least dignified thing I've ever seen in my life. I'll fucking do it. They can think that's your captivity footage from your overseas classified mission before you ended up 'dead.'"

There's nowhere to hide. Homelander hates it, but he knows his body responds. When he was growing up in the lab, the scolding over masturbation intertwined shame and arousal into a weird mixture in his mind until they were, if not always inseparable, still unfortunately concomitant.

"Yeah, you like being praised and humiliated, you fucking sick cunt." William sounds triumphant, even though none of this seems particularly relevant. Homelander's not attracted to him, at least. And as soon as that thought crosses Homelander's mind, another one follows closely on its heels, and he regrets it. It's so easy to imagine William sucking him off, and his body has been so desperate for release that the thought is suddenly very appealing.

"I'm not the one collecting footage on his phone," Homelander says, trying to sound angry to cover up how shaky he feels, and how obsessed he's immediately gotten with the idea of making William act on his stupid depraved wishes.

"Look at yourself. Your cock is right begging for it."

"Then touch it." Homelander blurts out without thinking, his cock already throbbing, his body so so hopeful that thinking about sex means it's going to happen. He's feeling so disoriented that he doesn't immediately comprehend that William really reached through the bars, really wrapped his calloused hand around his erection. It feels so blissfully wonderful when his hands starts to move that Homelander's moved to tears of gratitude. And yet just as the corners of his mouth turn up, lost in the pleasure of it all, the contact is gone.

"MOTHERFUCKER," Homelander pants. "You're a FUCKING sadist." He bucks his hips seeking contact with anything. He knows there's nothing around him that could really satisfy– he's tried countless times. "Please, William, please don't just..." Homelander can't even get the words out, before he feels the hand again, just one stingy touch this time, only making things worse.

"Fuck," Homelander practically sobs out. When he hears William recede from the cage, he realizes this is it, he's about to be abandoned again, and that he's only armed William with yet another form of torture against him. He moans and weeps, not caring about how pathetic it looks and sounds, not caring if William is filming him again, sick mind that he has. Homelander tries to rub his erection against the floor, jammed between the hard surface and his body, but it never cut it before, and apparently won't cut it now either.

Homelander is reeling with so much unfulfillment that he hardly notices that William leaves the room entirely. His ears finally perk up when he hears something coming from the room William sleeps in. He can't be sure but it sounds like masturbation.

I hope you're thinking of me while you're doing it, you stupid cruel savage, Homelander curses to himself. He's close to shouting it loud. He would, if he thought there was any chance William would come back and finish what he sadistically started.

Homelander has no cards left to play, no relevant secrets. He could try to bargain, information about Vought for … for what exactly? Handjobs? William wasn't going to let him go for anything, he knows that.

[matcha-milkies]

WELL, YOU DID ASK

Summary: Aboard the Stan-O’-War II, Stan finds out and confronts Ford about his past relationship with Bill.

Alternatively: “Ford, why did Bill call you babygirl?”

Relationships: Sea Grunkles, Bill Cipher/Ford Pines (Mentioned)

Content Warnings: Implied/Referenced Sex

Tags: Humor, Light Angst, Banter

Inspired By: This Meme and This Comic

Word Count: 2,489

Link to AO3: Here

A/N: Yeah it’s been a HOT MINUTE five years since I watched Gravity Falls, and I’m still waiting on my copy of Book of Bill, so I’m sorry if there are any inconsistencies with canon in this. I was riffing hard off of secondhand material lol

Stan stares up at the top bunk as the room gently sways from side to side, a cabin cradled in the bosom of the ocean. He’s lying face up on his cot, hands on his abdomen, and he’s contemplating something very deeply. It’s unnerving, this thing. He almost wishes he could forget all about it. Almost.

He bites his bottom lip and deliberates over what to do about this. He could just leave it alone. Things have been good lately. Why rock the boat, so to speak? They could go about their day, have their coffee, cast their lines into the sea, fry that leftover kraken meat for dinner. Blegh, he’s so sick of kraken meat. He’s going to have to find a way to season that thing to spice it up a bit or else he’s gonna go crazy. Why do krakens have to be so enormous anyway?

Yeah, he could do that. He could be normal.

After all, if the answer is no, then there’s nothing to worry about in the first place. And if the answer is yes… does he really want to know about it? What is he going to do, where is he going to go from there? Ask for details? He’s racked by a fullbody shudder. As if.

But deep down, he knows he’s kidding himself. If he doesn’t confront his brother, then this is going to linger in the back of Stan’s mind for all of eternity. He won’t be able to look at his twin without pondering all the ‘why’s. Why him? Why didn’t you tell me?

Stan hauls himself to a sitting position and swings his legs over the side of his bunk. He stares at the wall for a little bit, mouth quirked to the side. The Stan-O’-War II creaks, as if it’s also pondering to itself. He can hear his brother rustling papers a ways away in the other room. It’s a small boat. Of course it is. There’s only two of them to man it.

Stan starts to walk into the other room, then turns around and changes course at the last second, heading above deck instead. Hopefully his twin was too preoccupied with his work to notice. Stan walks over to the port side and leans his arms against the railing with a sigh. It’s a nice day out, at least. The sun is shining high in the sky with only a few clouds drifting overhead. They’re somewhere off the coast of Canada.

Somewhere further south but still along the same coast are his great niece and nephew, going to school again. He wonders how they’re doing. He wishes he could call them. He misses them, but he also wants to take his mind off of this. He hears footsteps pacing below deck, probably to grab a book off a shelf or something, because they soon pace right back to where the desk would be. 

Stan lowers his head until his forehead is against the railing and sighs. He’s probably going to have to ask. The thing he’s dreading is knowing that it’s not gonna go over well. He gives it maybe another ten minutes to psyche himself up, then turns and tramps back down the stairs.

Ford is situated at his desk (it’s not anyone’s desk but really it’s Ford’s desk), sifting through some old creased pages that look like they’re about to disintegrate at the slightest breeze. On his right-hand side is a cold, half-finished cup of joe. Occasionally, he mutters something to himself and pens something in his new journal. He’s entirely absorbed. He doesn’t even seem to notice when Stan appears in the doorway and leans his elbow against it.

“Uh, hey, Sixer, how’s it goin�� in here?”

Ford starts. The pen drops from his hand and rolls around on the swaying floor. “Stanley, how many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up like that?”

“I didn’t sneak up on you. I’m notoriously loud. You’re the one with your nose glued to that journal.”

“I–” Ford’s breath catches in his throat before he lets it out in a sigh. “I suppose you have a point. I’m sorry, Stanley. I’m just frustrated at how little progress I’ve made with this. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“You know you say that, like, every time we find some weird thing, right?”

“I didn’t think we would encounter this many paranormal phenomena outside of Gravity Falls.”

“Maybe you’re the weirdness magnet.”

“Perhaps both of us are. After all, you were the one living in my shack for all those years pretending to be me.”

“Ha, yeah…” Stan musses his own hair. “Must run in the family.”

“Anyway–” after stooping to pick up the pen, Ford seats himself at the desk again– “you know I always appreciate your company, Stan, but I’d like to make some real headway before dinner if at all possible.”

“Uh, well, actually,” Stan says, and Ford glances up with a raised brow.

“What is it? Don’t tell me you accidentally dropped something overboard,” replies Ford, testing the temperature of his coffee. He looks displeased at the result but nevertheless continues to sip it anyway.

“Relax, relax, it’s nothing like that. Sheesh, are you ever gonna let me live that down?”

“It happened yesterday.”

“Ancient history!” Eh, might as well spit it out, right? “Hey, speaking of ancient history, what was going on with you and Bill?”

Ford makes some sort of choking sound and dribbles coffee back into his cup. He casts about for a napkin or a towel. “What do you mean by that?”

“Were you like, just a fling, boyfriend-boyfriend, married? What was going on there?”

Ford sputters, gives up and rolls up his sleeve to wipe his mouth on his bare arm. His voice cracks a little as he speaks. “What- What do you- What do- Why would you–”

“Look, don’t play dumb with me, IQ. When he was in my head, he said some things. And I didn’t think much of it at the time, but see, now I got nothing but time out here on this tin can, and I…”

His twin finally manages to school himself back into neutrality, although they’re both well aware it’s too late. He’s already shown his hand. All he can do is pretend, deny, for whatever that gets him. He spares Stan a glance over his spectacles, and it seems to last an eternity, before the man finally returns his gaze to his notes. “Now is not the time to talk about this.” Oh. Okay. So not even a denial then.

“Uh, right. Sure. And when exactly is the right time gonna be?”

Ford pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs with a kind of bone-deep exhaustion. “I don’t know, Stanley, any time I’m not trying to decipher the code that we found etched onto the side of that washed up precolonial artifact last week?”

“Well, I don’t know why it needs to be a whole song and dance, Einstein, it’s a simple question.”

“Yes, we were… romantically involved. Obviously. Now please leave me in peace.” Not that he had expected that answer to buy him anything, but he still finds himself chagrined when Stan stubbornly continues his line of questioning.

“Why didn’t you tell me about that?”

“I didn’t think it pertinent.” Ford closes the book on his left-hand side, resigning himself to the unfortunate reality that this conversation is happening, and there is no walking away from it. Where would he even escape to? They’re stuck on a boat together until they land at the next port.

“You didn’t think I’d wanna know you were getting… close with the literal demon that tried to kill us?”

“He wasn’t trying to kill us when I was getting to know him. Again, this should be obvious, Stanley. I don’t know why you’re making me spell it all out for you.” He strangles the air, vibrating with more frustration than he can dissipate. “Unless it’s just to torture me, which I wouldn’t put past you.”

“What is that supposed to mean? After all the things I’ve done for you, all I’m asking for here is a little honesty.”

Ford very graciously decides not to dwell on the “all the things I’ve done for you” bit and reopen that particular wound. Instead, he doffs his glasses, the better to massage his forehead.

“Oh, for the love of… We’re in our 60s, Stan.” He unfurls his arms on the table, palms upward. “What did you want me to do, honestly? You wanted me to sit you down and tell you about my crush like we’re still in high school?”

There’s something in the sincerity of his tone that throws Stan off kilter, disarms him.

“I’m not sayin’ that! I just— You’re makin’ it sound more unreasonable than it is! I’m still your twin and I thought you trusted me with this kinda thing.”

Ford pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He stares at a point just past Stan’s shoulder, mouth flattened into a line. “Oh, god,” he laments, as it dawns on him that the emotionally mature thing to do is to be vulnerable. He sighs, busying his hands by straightening all the papers on his desk. “It’s embarrassing. It was already embarrassing, don’t you see? And this just makes it so much worse.”

“What?” Stan pulls up a chair and sits across from his twin. “Sixer, come on. You think I came in here and brought this up just to laugh at you? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it is objectively very funny, hilarious even—” he grins in the face of Ford’s glare— “but the last thing I’m gonna do is judge you. Between you and me, I think your relationship with that freaky triangle was more stable than anything I’ve ever had with any human.”

“Stable is not the word I would use to describe anything that went on in that shack in the 1980s.”

“Yeah, that just goes to show how low the bar is. Anyway, my point is, while I’m not gonna laugh at you, I definitely will still laugh.”

The scientist raises an unamused brow. “With me, you mean?”

“No, I’m just gonna laugh. Ha! Ha-ha!” Stan reaches across the desk to nudge Ford with his elbow. “Come on, it’s funny! You had a relationship with a triangle! Oh, the kids are gonna be so traumatized!”

“Wh- D- Stan, don’t tell them!”

“Why not? Dipper worships the ground you walk on. This won’t change anything for him. And Mabel… well, Mabel will laugh too actually. Very hard.” He brings a hand to his chin and narrows his eyes. “Or worse, she’ll start shipping you.”

“What does that even mean? She’s going to ship me? Where? How?”

“Uh, not important, and for all intents and purposes, I do not know what that word means either. Look, I’m just pulling your leg, Poindexter. I won’t tell them if you don’t want me to. It’s your business.”

“You honestly mean that?”

Stan sweeps an arm through the air with finality. “It’s your own business and nobody else’s. Look, I’m—” He finds himself rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry for pushing you about this. It’s not something you’d wanna look back on, I get it.”

“Oh.” Ford doesn’t really know what to do with that so he resumes straightening papers even though they’ve been straight for the past three minutes. “I’m not used to fights ending like this.”

“Yeah, me neither. It’s weird. It’s like we emotionally matured or something.”

“Something like that,” Ford agrees.

They lapse into awkward silence. That should've been the end of it, and yet.

“I guess I just don’t get it,” Stan admits.

“What don’t you understand, Stanley?”

“He’s a— Well, he’s a little two-dimensional, don’t you think?”

“It was an extremely intellectual affair, Stan. Physicality had very little to do with it.” Well, that isn’t entirely true but his brother doesn’t need to know about any of that.

“You know what, I’d believe that. I’m just having trouble envisioning what it… what it was like.”

“Why are you trying to envision that?”

“Because it’s weird, Ford! It’s weird and morbidly fascinating. It’s like a train wreck, I can’t look away.”

“Do you have any more questions? So that I can answer them and we can be done talking about this forever?”

“So you… you never… y'know…”

“No,” Ford says about five seconds too late. There’s heat rising to his cheeks and he smothers his face with his hands as Stan sits slack-jawed in abject horror.

“What? Wait, seriously? How did that even work?”

“Ask me something else.”

“Okay. For scientific purposes, hypothetically, in a hypothetical situation, how would a human with glasses and a triangular demon go about—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Stan!”

“God had nothin’ to do with it, I know that much.” Stan leans back in his chair, then eyes Ford suspiciously. “Wait. He didn’t possess someone else, did he?”

“No!” Ford sounds genuinely horrified. “How depraved do you think I am? That would be tantamount to— I wouldn’t do that. Do you really think so lowly of me?”

“I mean, they could’ve consented beforehand anyway, right? That’s all I’m saying. Although, Sixer, I cannot stress this enough: You locked yourself in a cabin in the middle of Nowhere, Oregon and started drawing freaky symbols on the floor and communing with a literal demon. I think I’m allowed to be a little concerned.”

“Well– Sure, when you put it like that, it sounds more occult than scientific, but I can assure you my methodology was very sound.”

“Oh, okay, good. I’m glad your methodology was sound. That was the main thing I was worried about.”

“May I return to my cipher now?”

“Your Cipher, huh?”

Ford stares pointedly at his twin, trying to telepathically communicate how exhausting this conversation is.

“I just need to know how you did it. It’s gonna keep me up at night.”

“I fail to see how that’s my issue.”

“And then I’ll keep you up at night.”

“And then I’ll throw you overboard so that you can find that notebook you lost!”

“And then I’ll haunt you from the watery grave, you know I will. Besides, it’s laughable you think you could throw me overboard, Poindexter.”

“You really want to know?”

“For my own peace of mind, please.”

Ford sighs deeply, eyes shifting from wall to wall, as though afraid someone’s eavesdropping. Maybe he’s paranoid that a mermaid is listening in from outside. He gestures for Stan to lean in closer, cups his hands to his ear and whispers for a few seconds. Stan’s expression becomes unreadable.

“Oh. Wow. Creative. Okay. Welp. That answers that.” He claps his hands together as if to dispel dirt. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have another one of those memory-wiping guns?”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for being condescending towards an asexual kid in GSA?

🙃🏳️‍🌈 to find later

Long post so buckle up.

I (17, they/it/he) am one of three co-leaders of my school’s GSA, along with R (18, she/her) and N (17, he/him). All three of us are openly bi, and I’m also openly trans and (most importantly) very loudly aromantic. We’re all in 12th grade now but we were leaders last year (in 11th grade) too. The school/GSA is small enough that all four grades (9–12, so around 13–18 years old) are in the same GSA, there’s no separate upper grade and lower grade groups. We also have two advisors, both cis queer teachers; and some younger queer faculty members also join sometimes for formal events. We take turns running events during club time, such as fun crafts or watching music videos. Sometimes we also do educational stuff or documentaries, including having teachers come in to facilitate discussions.

I’ve been planning (since early December) to run a two part series of discussions about asexuality and aromanticism (separate discussions of each). I really just wanted to do one day about aromanticism, but R said that if I did that, people would derail it and just talk about asexuality anyways, which both N and our advisors also agreed made sense. So, it’s two days, and the asexuality one is first so that the aromanticism one can be closer to Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week (ASAW).

There’s a girl in GSA, let’s call her A (16, she/her), who’s in 11th grade. She’s very socially awkward and if someone points out that she’s accidentally said something rude or offensive she’ll make a big deal out of not knowing and generally derail the conversation. Also, two years ago A made a ton of “jokes” about me and my little sibling (16MtF) being “secretly dating.” When I asked her (politely at first) to stop, she said she was just joking around, and kept doing it. I asked her again and also asked the theatre teacher and school counselor for help, and eventually she did stop. But A kept following me around and trying to be friends with me, and I was super uncomfortable to the point that I asked the school counselor to facilitate a conversation between A and I so that I could ask her to fucking stop. It somewhat worked. Now she still keeps trying to start conversations with me in the hallways and such, but I just brush her off or ignore her.

The one place I can’t do that is during GSA. Since I’m a leader, I have to be civil to everyone and actually talk to people (R, N, and I set norms at the start of the year during our planning meetings). A is asexual but not aromantic, and today she showed up like 5 minutes into lunch (cafeteria lines are annoying) and loudly asked if she was late. We weren’t doing anything in GSA today, just chilling. At some point during the meeting I announced casually that next week we’d be discussing asexuality, and then the week after that we’d talk about aromanticism, which leads nicely into ASAW during February break. When I said this, A immediately said that she would be extra ace that week [during ASAW]. I was like, “during aromantic spectrum awareness week?!?!” in the same tone of that “during pride month?!?!” meme. She looked like someone had just given her an F on the most important test of the year and said she hadn’t known.

I also made a comment about how there’s way more openly aspec people at our school than at most schools, and N said that maybe the presence of role models is part of that (clear subtext: he was referring to me). I said pretty loudly (more people could hear) that it was kinda funny that I’m the “ace role model” when I’m literally not asexual. A looked super lost and confused at this, and I think she might’ve thought I was ace, even though I’m super open about not being ace, and have told her directly more than once.

Here’s where the potential assholery comes into play. There’s an ad for PrEP that was fairly common on the back covers of theatre playbills in the past year. The ad shows a Black man dressed in ripped leggings with fishnets, shiny knee-length heeled leather boots, and some sort of white leather harness, doing a bridge pose with one leg extended upwards so that the “r” in PrEP is resting on the sole of the boot. The ad has a bright red background and text that says “you cast of PrEP options is changing” along with a small QR code and website link. The pose is somewhat provocative, but not out of place on a playbill for an all-ages show.

During GSA, A was saying that she thought the ad was bad, because of the leather being “fetish gear” and “weird” (basically the same arguments people use to say that gay people shouldn’t be allowed in public). I told A that there’s nothing wrong with someone wearing leather, and she said that “it’s fetish gear and that’s disgusting and degenerate and just bad advertising!”

I explained calmly, like I would to a child (although I probably wouldn’t talk about this topic with a child), that PrEP is a medicine that people take if they anticipate having sex with someone who’s HIV-positive, so it’s okay that the ad is somewhat suggestive. She seemed to accept that, but still said that the leather was weird, and the ad should’ve shown “a diverse group of people getting pills at a pharmacy” instead, because “fetish gear” was too much.

I asked if she thought that all leather clothing was inherently fetishistic, to which A said yes, and then I asked, “do you know that people can’t just choose fetishes?”

She hadn’t known that, but she still said the ad was too sexual. I pointed out that it was a fairly well-targeted advertisement, using theatre references, but maybe A was not part of the target demographic. I also said that sometimes outfits are just hot without there needing to be any fetishes involved, which she didn’t refute, and that even if it was a fetish, that wouldn’t make it inherently “bad” or “degenerate” at all.

A said that she still didn’t like it, and I told her that she was entitled to have whatever feelings she wanted to have, but that doesn’t mean the advertisement itself is a problem.

Another person (17, he/him) called out “[OP], what do you think about kink at pride?” in a sort of nonchalant way, so I walked over while saying “i’m pro–kink at pride.” The conversation eventually moved in other directions, and then club ended and we had to go to our next classes.

TL;DR: given my position of power and responsibility as a GSA leader, AITA for being kinda condescending towards an ace person who’s 2 years younger than me because she was being very sex-negative about an ad for PrEP?

What are these acronyms?

[mariacallous]

If you’re baffled by Skibidi Toilet, you’re not alone.

The bizarre animated YouTube series centers on an alien invasion: a swarm of singing heads, all popping out of toilets, has descended on a Los Angeles–like metropolis and triggered a surreal, cartoonish, apocalyptic war. That’s a more direct and clear explanation than you’ll find in the actual videos, since they’re all almost completely wordless. There’s no language barrier, which is a major reason why the videos have been viewed hundreds of millions of times, becoming a global cultural phenomenon among Gen Z and Gen Alpha.

Surprisingly for something so popular, Skibidi Toilet has garnered a reputation for being incomprehensible to anyone who isn’t a fan. Its impenetrable nature has raised serious concerns around the world. Some call it a moral outrage, foreign propaganda meant to prey on vulnerable young minds, or even a disease. In a cultural climate where it’s harder and harder to understand trends and popularity, people are searching for an explanation for how singing toilets conquered the world. On the May 22 episode of The Late Show, Stephen Colbert punched up a joke about the Biden campaign using Skibidi Toilet to attract the youth vote, saying that if anyone didn’t get the gag, their grandchildren could explain it “and you still won’t understand.”

As random as the videos can seem, their success isn’t. Skibidi Toilet deftly combines modern storytelling trends with nostalgic internet humor in a way that magnifies the outwardly confusing qualities of both. “It was initially appealing to young people for its utter weirdness,” says danah boyd, a partner researcher at Microsoft Research. “Parents (and many other adults) probably reacted with revulsion, as they’ve done many other times. That revulsion from adults makes it even more appealing to young people.”

That’s why the word “skibidi” has become a more general shibboleth for Gen Z and younger, in the same class as “rizz”, “gyat,” and “sigma.” Adults being shocked and confounded at kids having fun creates a feedback loop where kids want to make it even more distressing. The videos certainly have a lot of shock value, featuring surreal, disturbing, and violent imagery. In an interview with Forbes in February, Alexey Gerasimov, who creates the videos and uploads them under the name “DaFuq!?Boom!,” described the videos as being inspired by his own recurring nightmares.

In that light, it can be easy to see why the global success has been met with an equally global panic. Last August, several writers and journalists in Malaysia and Indonesia warned parents about the dangers of a “Skibidi toilet syndrome” that would cause children to refuse to stop imitating the toilet’s songs and dances. Earlier this year, Robbie Collin wrote in the Telegraph that the videos were a sign YouTube needed more strictly enforced age limits.

Other sources are going even farther, calling the surreal meme videos a threat to national security. In February, reporter Olga Sosnina claimed in a Swedish news outlet that Skibidi Toilet was Russian propaganda aimed at indoctrinating children. Russia was just as worried: In January, Moscow officials were called to investigate the videos. In April, Anna Mityanina, St. Petersburg’s Commissioner for Children’s Rights, played the videos to the city’s legislative assembly as part of an annual report on risks to children. “There is no need to pretend that there are no standards of decency,” Mityanina said. “A character in the form of a toilet, to put it mildly, is not cultured enough.”

For all of the worry, there isn’t much to be concerned about within the Skibidi Toilet videos themselves. “I see these media as reflective of our societal obsessions,” says boyd. “As always, young people twist it slightly in a way that makes adults uncomfortable because they don’t want to reckon with their own passions.”

The videos, as uncanny as they can get, don’t contain anything particularly unsuitable for children. The violence is unrelenting and large in scope, but never goes beyond cartoonish explosions and punches. Characters who appear to be killed or turned to the villain’s side regularly return to fight alongside the heroes. The largely wordless storytelling, of course, puts a limit on mature themes. Ultimately, the most “indecent” element of the videos is the toilets themselves, which will always be a hit with the younger generation.

That’s not the only area where Skibidi Toilet follows a long tradition. Gerasimov (who didn’t respond to multiple requests for comment) animates the videos using the Source Filmmaker program, but he’s modified the animation interface to emulate the 2006 game Garry’s Mod. Garry’s Mod, true to its name, was initially a fanmade modification of the game Half-Life 2 that removed any structure or objective, leading to a purely creative sandbox years before Minecraft’s Creative Mode. The game was used to create thousands of machinima videos throughout the late 2000s, and Gerasimov calls these videos a primary inspiration for Skibidi Toilet.

Maddy Buxton, the head of YouTube’s culture and trends team, says this is a major factor in the videos’ success. “One thing we know about Gen Z viewers and creators is they’re interested in nostalgia. It’s hearkening back to this earlier time, even if they didn’t grow up in it themselves,” Buxton says. Skibidi Toilet was one of the top trending topics last year on YouTube, where at one point it garnered 2.8 billion views in 28 days.

Nostalgia and scatological humor can be eye-catching, but to build up the kind of sustained interest and devotion Gerasimov has, there needs to be a story in its own right. The narrative of Skibidi Toilet isn’t communicated directly, but that only adds to its intrigue for many viewers, especially younger ones who are used to having to put in extra work to get the full picture. “We’ve been looking into the role of lore in building these big fan communities,” says Buxton. “The ones that aren’t just passively watching, but digging into the backstory.”

That digging is so popular that it’s transcending traditional structures of fandom. There’s no shortage of ways to be a fan of something online, but Skibidi Toilet’s audience has spent most, if not all, of their lives on the internet, and their work comes out in extremely online forms. Acolytes flood YouTube with breakdown videos and expand on the worldbuilding with Roblox games. Then there’s the comment-section fiction: Wherever the videos are posted, the comments are filled with dozens or hundreds of people providing their own written narratives retelling the events of the video, filling the gap left by the storytelling with their own words. It’s a cross between a liveblogged reaction and fan fiction, creating lore where none existed.

The idea of lore is now fundamental to the way many people consume any fiction, but it started in the world of video games, especially games like Dark Souls that have virtually no direct storytelling. There are hundreds of unofficial Skibidi Toilet games that let players take part in the battles, but the videos themselves invite a similar degree of participation.

“People are coming at it from different entry points,” says Buxton. “Some people are coming in from the gaming world, some are coming just for the action storytelling, some like to unpack lore.” She describes these unusual fan works as “casual creation,” saying that “this idea of being a daily creator makes it much easier to be an active fan than it was five, 10, 15 years ago. Now you can engage in the subject of your fandom by creating it online.”

Of course, Skibidi Toilet itself could be categorized as a fan creation, containing numerous echoes of Garry’s Mod and the Half-Life games. Like many recent works that emerge online, from streetwear trends to unauthorized TikTok musicals, Skibidi Toilet blurs the line between fan work and original work. “Lots of the kids who got into Skibidi Toilet don’t know anything about where these characters and assets are sourced from,” says Phillip Hamilton, an associate editor at Know Your Meme.

Beyond the actual content of the videos, their release schedule is also a factor. “Skibidi Toilet is huge with people (namely kids) who always want more,” says Hamilton. “Each episode is about a minute long and they blast by so fast, with episodes coming out super frequently.”

During the first wave of the videos’ popularity in mid-2023, Gerasimov was uploading at least two videos each week for months, sometimes uploading a video every single day. Social media algorithms have prioritized more frequent uploaders for years, and Gerasimov had been animating in Source Filmmaker for more than a decade, giving him enough experience to crank out the videos fast enough to satisfy YouTube’s algorithm.

This isn’t the first time the algorithm has popularized content that adults find inappropriate for children. In 2017, YouTube faced a public outcry when it was found that the platform was promoting hundreds of disturbing videos, and allowing them to be viewed on its family-friendly YouTube Kids app. The controversy would be known as “Elsagate,” since the offending videos featured popular children’s characters like Elsa, Spider-Man, and Peppa Pig undergoing gory medical procedures, getting kidnapped, and more.

These videos were transparent attempts to game YouTube’s recommendation system for ad revenue. Many of them had hundreds of seemingly inauthentic comments to boost engagement metrics, and a report by the New York Times found one prominent channel was creating videos with a team of roughly 100 people.

YouTube made changes to its algorithm to disincentivize scammers from making these videos. They can’t do the same to flush away Skibidi Toilet, because it wasn’t made to satisfy the algorithm in the same way. It’s a much smaller operation, made with genuine craft and artistic intention. Gerasimov made the videos longer and more ambitious as the series grew in popularity, but that growth happened thanks to people actually enjoying the series, not for associations with popular characters.

Nonetheless, they’ve become even more of a hit among the younger generation, and for parents, this seems to be the real underlying fear. “I think Skibidi Toilet’s ‘negative effects’ on kids are mostly just the obsessive, seemingly addictive aspect,” says Hamilton. “It’s the same reason parents worry about short-form video platforms like TikTok.” The videos took off at the perfect time—after the Covid-19 pandemic accelerated a general shift away from in-person social interaction—for their weirdness to feed into paranoia about what a screen-mediated life might be doing to impressionable young minds.

When it comes to children’s browsing habits, there are many scarier things they might find online than Skibidi Toilet. As strange as the videos are, they wouldn’t do very well as propaganda or even advertising. There’s no agenda, for good or ill, besides the entertainment value. In the Washington Post, Taylor Lorenz compared Skibidi Toilet to “harmless entertainment” like Cocomelon and other children’s videos. Not everyone is happy about the popularity of Cocomelon, but that popularity hasn’t caused the same kind of panic.

[redtsundere-writes]

Out Of My League | Heartsteel Kayn / Rhaast

Heartsteel Kayn / Rhaast x f!reader

Part 1: Facecheck.

Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

Sypnosis: A chronically online girl doesn´t know that her Discord friend may be someone she already knows.

Contents: Modern AU, High school AU, a lot of bad jokes and meme references. No warnings.

Word count: 2023 (omg this year)

Author's Note: So... this gremlin's birthday was yesterday and since he has been on my mind lately. I decided to write him a fic cause why not?

Thanks to @mclovin1803 for helping me with proofreading and picking a title. (If this is out of charcater, blame him)

You were the exact definition of an introvert. You weren't good at talking to people you didn't know, your social battery doesn't last long, and you get excited when your friends cancel plans at the last minute. You like your loneliness and spending the afternoon playing video games and your guitar.

As an introvert, you didn't have many friends aside from a few classmates and some family members you were close with. Luckily, you had several friends on Discord. Among them was someone by the username of Rhaast. You didn't chat with him often because he wasn't as chronically online as you were, but he knew you were always down to play League of Legends with him.

One night while you were comfortably playing the new Super Mario Wonder on the switch, you received a message from Rhaast.

@Rhaast: League?

It had been two weeks since you had last played together, so you put the Switch aside and accepted. You opened League and put your headphones on to hop on the call with your friend.

"Hello there," you greeted him like Obi Wan as you waited for Rhaast to enter the game. He laughed at the reference. He had a deep, kinda seductive voice. You didn't know for sure if he was pretending or if he really talked like that.

"How have you been?," you asked while looking for your nightly playlist on Spotify to set the mood.

"Great. Yesterday I went out with a girl and today I broke up with her." You rolled your eyes at the comment. You knew Rhaast was quite the heartbreaker for discarding women like they were underwear. Personally, you didn't like that about your friend.

"And now why did you break up with this one,?" you asked as you started the game.

"I only went out with her once and she was already bugging me. My phone kept ringing because of her, so I blocked her," Rhaast answered with a chuckle. “Thank God I'll never date this asshole,” you thought.

"I wish there were more girls like you. You wait for me to send you a message and you are always down to play with me." He said while locking in Zed as his champion while you locked in Qiyana.

"I’m always down to play with you because I don't have any friends, not because I like you." You kamikazed by words.

"Damn, and I thought you had a crush for me," Rhaast joked. "Come to think of it, you never tell me anything about your love life," He suggested so he could hear some gossip.

"I haven't told you because I don't have any," you said, pretending to cry. Rhaast laughed at your foolish performance.

"Come on, you must have at least a crush or something," he insisted curiously as the game began. There was no one you liked... but someone caught your eye.

You felt like a fool for getting nervous every time you saw Kayn and his group of friends walk past you in the hallways. Kayn was a popular kid from a higher grade. He was good at sports, had good grades, was a member of an upcoming band, and was always surrounded by friends, while you were the complete opposite. You knew you shouldn't be nervous seeing him around because there was no chance that he would have the slightest interest in you. The majority of girls in your class drooled over him, so he was free to choose whoever he wanted. Why would he choose you?

Also, you had no good reason to go over and talk to him. The only chance you had, you blew it. You still cringe at yourself at night when you remember that moment. In your first days of high school, you had no friends and you just started learning to play guitar. When you tried to leave the music room that day, you ran into a tall boy with pink hair, perfect black eyebrows that indicated the true color of his hair, piercings decorating his ears, a pointy nose and a magnificent athletic body. Everything about him could catch anyone's attention but his most striking feature was his beautiful eyes with heterochromia, his left eye was green and the right; red. You were a moth and he was an RGB lightbulb that demanded your attention.  

You stood paralyzed infront of him. You clutched your music sheet notebook to your chest in nervousness. He was way too attractive and you didn't know how to feel about it. You tried to greet him but only stutters came out of your mouth. It was true that you weren't good at starting conversations but you had never been at a loss for words.

"Can you move? I want to get in," he asked while looking at you as if you were an inferior being.

"Ah... Yes-s, I'm s-sorry." You couldn't help your stutter as you stepped aside so he could enter the room. The Adonis didn't say anything else, but your eyes were still glued on him. The boy saw you watching him without shame.

"Can I help you with something?" He asked directly. You quickly shook your head and ran out of the room. “You are so stupid, you made yourself look like you have never seen a man!” You thought embarrassed as you felt your face getting hot. This was definitely your canon event.

One day, Rhaast sent you an ad. Riot was hosting a promotional convention for players at the capital at the end of the month.

@Rhaast: You goin'?

You: Maybe, sounds good.

@Rhaast: Let me know if you goin'.

You: Are you?

@Rhaast: If you go, I'll go.

You: K.

Thus the days passed until the day of the event arrived. You got ready with your best clothes: A K/DA sweatshirt, freshly washed pants, and the least dirty sneakers you had. You left your apartment nervously to finally touch some grass and meet your friend in real life. After a tedious subway ride, you arrived at the convention center where the event was taking place.

You: I'm here. Where are you?

@Rhaast: Wait for me at the entrance. I'm almost there.

You saw that there were several people waiting for their respective friends at the entrance, so you decided to stay in that area. You waited patiently while playing on your phone until you heard some girls next to you get excited.

"Look, it's Kayn, he looks so good!" They whisper to each other. You looked up quickly when you heard that name and, sure enough, the Adonis was there. “What is Kayn doing here?!” you thought as you tried to hide behind your phone as if you pretended he wasn't there, but your eyes traveled quickly between the screen and him. He was wearing a black crop with a jacket on top, tight pants and silver chains on his neck, fingers and waist. “Oh no, he's hot!” You thought nervously, wanting to run away. Your heart wasn't taking it.

You felt envious when the girls next to you didn't hesitate to approach him. Seeing the confidence they had to greet and talk to him, you felt that they had already known each other before. “I wish I could do that,” you thought.

"I didn't know you played League." One of the girls commented.

"I don´t play much," Kayn answered without taking much notice. Looking cool as heck.

"Are you here alone?" The other girl asked.

"Well, I'm meeting with a friend. I'll call her, " he said while searching for his friend's contact on his phone.

*Incoming call from Rhaast*

Out of nowhere, your phone started ringing from an incoming call on Discord. It was Rhaast. “No way,” you thought as you looked at Kayn and your cell phone simultaneously. “No, this must be a coincidence” you thought before answering.

"I'm here, where are you?" Your knees felt weak as Kayn spoke the words he was hearing over the phone. “Kayn is Rhaast?!” you thought in disbelief.

Kayn quickly found you and your eyes met. The last time that happened was a year ago. You knew Rhaast for over two years. That meant that Kayn, the cutest boy in school, had heard your horrible jokes, your fangirl screams when you saw Faker at almost every World Cup, and your burps for two years. You wanted the earth to swallow you whole at that moment.

"Oh, there she is. See ya," he hung up the call and said goodbye to his friends. He approached you while you were dying internally. You were lucky a wall was holding you up because you were sure you were going to pass out at any moment. “Breathe, maybe he doesn't remember you,” you thought.

"Hey! Why didn't you tell me we went to the same school, snake girl?" he joked. You covered your face in shame with your hands. “He does remember!” You thought, defeated. You still didn't believe that Kayn was still talking to you.

"Shut up, Rhaast… I mean, Kayn." You said, pulling your face out of its hiding spot. Kayn smiled, looking at your blushing cheeks.

"So you know me," he said confidently.

"How can I not know you? My classmates can't stop talking about you," you said defensively.

"I don't mean that," he said as he brought his face closer to yours. You backed up as far as the wall would allow you.

"Just look at you, you're crazy for me." He mocked in a flirting way. You couldn't help but to blush once again.

He was right, not only did he caught your eye, you liked him. You liked him more than you thought. Not because he was the popular Kayn, who is in a band and all the girls fight over him, but because he was also Rhaast. The one guy who laughed at your horrible jokes, the one who didn't criticize you every time you screamed when you saw Faker and burped when you did to match your energy.

"Ha! Says the guy that I always carry,” you mocked him back. Kayn laughed. That laugh that made you feel better in the small corner of your room.

"That's my girl!" He said before taking your hand. You blushed at the unexpectedly intimate act. His hand gently squeezed yours to guide you to the convention entrance.

You spent the whole afternoon chatting and spending all your money on merchandise. You got to know Kayn better than you ever thought. He was a little bit blunt, but nicer than you pictured. It was like you were seeing the other side of Rhaast. Kayn also got to know you on another level when you started to feel comfortable around him. You were a girl with whom he could see himself talking for many hours everyday without getting bored, something he had not felt with anyone else.

You and Kayn said goodbye to a wonderful day together. Both felt their hearts beating like crazy for each other. You had spent the entire day together but you still missed each other once you parted ways. You arrived home and then threw yourself on the bed to start screaming about the exciting day you just had. You had finally talked to Kayn and he seemed to like you. And boy did he like you...

The next day, another school day had ended, so you decided to go to the music room. On your way, you saw Kayn and his friends heading towards the exit. Finally, you got the courage to do something you've always wanted to do.

"Hey, Kayn!" You called him from your place. He turned around to see you among the other students passing by in the hallway.

"Wanna play later?" You asked, blushing lightly for attracting his attention. His friends began to tease him that a girl was talking to him that way, but he didn't care. Kayn smiled as he saw you standing there, blushing but determined.

"You know I do!" He said before turning around and getting back with his friends. You smiled. Maybe he wouldn't have chosen you before, but now you had a chance. 

Order your own fanfic! (Starting price: $5 USD)

Masterlist.

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter One: Seed Uprooted

Heiress of Gotham

Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Summary: After the loss of your mother, it feels as if all hope is lost. Fortunately, you’ve been placed in the care of your absentee father. The Wayne name has always been said to come with a few odds and ends that you’d have to get used to, the question is: will you?

Warnings: Angst, Anti-Police themes, Cursing, Death, Depression themes, Orphanage

Words: 1.5k

A/N: This has actually been in my drafts and in my docs for... at least three years, I know. It's been rewritten at least twice, and I'm finally deciding to put it out there.

I remember that day. I remember exactly where I was when I’d found out. And I remember the moment I met him.

The high-pitched ringing gives permission for us to finally leave the classroom, Mrs. Gurdept’s earlier demand that “the bell doesn’t dismiss you, I do.” did not divert anyone’s attention from packing up. Backpack already strung across your shoulders, you’re out the door along with everyone else. While your friend Daisha talks about how annoying the classmate is that sits next to her in History, it’s the uniformed men coming your way that catches your attention. It’s the BPD: the Bludhaven Police Department. Parting the sea of students the police officer’s eyes scan the faces of the students passing them. Heart rate rising, you try to keep your eyes on Daisha, determined to look engaged in conversation enough to skate past them without questioning.

“Miss?” One of the officers steps in front of you, blocking your path. Eyes immediately jumping up to his face, you scowl. “Can you answer a few questions for me?” Rumor has it they’re looking for Perdy Chapman, one of the sophmores who supposedly ran away from home once he’d been ousted as a drug runner for Marin’s gang; worst part was… he was funny, nice, and a straight A student. Officer reaching into the pocket on his breast, the white glimpse of a folded paper is barely seen before you respond. There’s no doubt it was some sappy photo of your classmate that you most definitely don’t want to see.

“No, I’m sorry, Officer. We’re late to practice!” Instantly grabbing Daisha’s hand you tug her along behind you, speedwalking toward the exit. She doesn’t question you; most of the kids know by now: never talk to the police. If you haven’t done anything wrong, then there’s no reason to talk to them. They’re all corrupt anyway.

Sitting on top of the cement barriers blocking off the parking lot from the kiss-and-ride line, Daisha playfully smacks your arm. “‘We’re late to practice’? Are you kidding me? You were so fucking quick with that!” A fit of laughter consumes the both of you, the imagined frustrated looks upon the cop’s faces bringing you practically to tears. It takes a while to calm down, the conversation turning into gossip, and eventually into Daisha sharing some of the memes she’d recently seen online. 

“Do you think it’s gonna rain?” The question leaves your lips as your eyes watch the dark, ominous clouds roll through the sky. A wet smell of oncoming rain lingers in the air like the humid and hot summer nights in the Carnaveron District. 

“Well… if the clouds aren’t an obvious sign, I’d say yes,” she teases. The three short honks are our signal: her mom is here. Jumping off the cement barrier we head over to the spot she’s parked in line, a soft drizzle makes itself known as the drops plunk the roof of the car. Daisha sweeps you into a quick hug before getting into the car, the duo waving goodbye before driving off. Since you don’t live far, it’s easier to walk. It’s the one part of your routine that consistently brings you joy. The breeze and gentle pitter of rain on your skin helps clear your head of all the school drama. Off toward home, you find yourself beginning to get lost in thought about tonight’s homework assignments and what you have to do. It’s only the buzz of the cell phone in your pocket that brings you back to reality. “Auntie?”

“It’s your mother. Get to the hospital as soon as you can. Cuidate, mija.” The dial tone signals the call’s ended. Frozen there on the sidewalk, time doesn’t seem to pass; thunder rumbles in the distance, it’s the only thing that reminds you that time is still moving. It starts to sprinkle rain.

~~~Two Hours Later~~~

Technically you were an orphan… at least that’s what you’d thought. Legally they were mandated to send you to a state-run orphanage. Everyone probably thinks they don’t exist today, and yet, there it was… right in front of you, open and waiting: the gates of purgatory calling your name. Though on the borders of Bludhaven and the streets that lead toward the country part of the state, the building looks like any other. Brown bricks, tall elongated windows; it would look like a ghastly warehouse to you from the outside if you didn’t notice the tricycle on the lawn, or the chalk drawings on the sides of the building and sidewalk leading up to it. 

“I have to take this call, excuse me,” the social worker steps away from the black Hatchback Sedan. Lost in your own world, it doesn’t even occur to you to eavesdrop on her call. There’s no possible way that things could get worse than this. Nonetheless, many ‘mhms’ and ‘okay, I understands’ are heard throughout the field adjoining the driveway. The grey clouds finally starting to disperse, it’s quiet out here, the only murmur of your social worker talking and the occasional passing car fill the air. Just as the numbness starts to churn in your stomach at the thought of your Mom, there’s a knocking on the car window.

“Damn!” There’s an exasperated and ludicrous look in her eyes. “Someone’s got one hell of a guardian angel lookin’ out for you, kid. Follow me.” Even if she’s audible through the glass, she doesn’t wait to check as she turns and heads toward the orphanage’s entrance. Though thoughts of running away cross your mind, there’s no logical reason to do so. What’s left out here for me? Nothing.

Once inside of the building you're told to sit tight on one of the wooden benches by the entrance office. Though the social worker chats with the warden, you don't pay them any mind. Their words go in one ear and out the other, your fiddling fingers in your lap far more entertaining as you try and comprehend what the toll of your mother's death will have on the rest of your life. Sixteen, and no longer any semblance of security in any realm of matter toward your future. How did this happen?

It feels as if it's instantaneous, yet the wall on the clock shows over half an hour has passed. Doors creak open with the cool ocean-ladened post-rain wind, an older man closes the umbrella he'd been holding over the younger-looking man who strides into the building with a sort of conviction that only exists through the air it permeates. They both are adorned in long trench coats and sunglasses, though the younger wears a black hat.

"Lisa! I assume this is her," the broad man addresses your social worker before turning his gaze down toward you. With the click of the door's lock as it seals shut, all noise diminishes in the halls of the orphanage aside from the faint echo of children's laughter in the distance. The building instantly warms by a few degrees and the men take off their sunglasses, pocketing them. Mouth subconsciously falling agape, you recognize one of them. The man standing before you is one you've only seen all your life on billboards, television, and in magazines: Bruce Wayne. He crouches to your eye-level.

"Yes, this is-" Lisa, the name of the woman you'd only known as your social worker, begins to introduce you. What follows truly feels like some sort of grief-stricken concoction of fantasy, and though it might be dangerous, you follow it.

It isn’t until the car pulls up to the massive and ornate double doors that you snap out of it. “This isn’t a joke?” He must be tired of it: this most likely being the fifteenth time you’ve asked such a thing in the last hour.

“No. It’s not,” while one might pick up on the disappointed tone in his voice, Bruce Wayne offers a small, sympathetic smile. His hand gently comes to rest on your shoulder, leading you out of the clean, sleek Rolls Royce.

“It’s a pleasure, Miss,” the elderly man states your name in a titular way. Taken aback, he hardly registers in your mind. Too many thoughts and emotions consume you, leaving nothing but a rapidly beating heart and a million questions tucked inside the body of a young girl. The fields had turn back into factories, factories into skyscrapers, skyscrapers into trees, and by then you’d finally come onto the property. In the dark there wasn’t much to take in; light illuminating windows upon rows of windows that span so far you wonder for a moment if they ever stop. Yet the edge of the mansion can be spotted from your place by the door, too weary to step inside.

"Are you coming?" Bruce Wayne, himself, asks you.

"I'm afraid if you stand out there all night you'll catch a cold," the older gentleman, whom you've already forgotten the name of, warns.

"That reminds me, Alfred, please go set up a bath for her. I'll take her upstairs," Bruce delegates. Though you wouldn't know it for months, he decided to give you a moment. Waiting at the door, he remembers the hours and days that followed his own parents' death. He's well aware that this is undoubtedly a big moment for you, if not the biggest in your lifetime, and thus, a little patience won't hurt.

"This is..." you can barely even come up with a sentence, let alone a string of thoughts as you take in the palace before you.

"-your new home? Yes." He finishes the thought for you.

~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @ohdamnadam, @safarigirlsp, @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

[yanoverload]

also what would be everyone's partner pokemon like they're signature Pokemon buddy

WAIT THIS IS FUN (I'm not a Pokemon master but i'll try)

Will put undercut because it will be long!

Beau

I thought of going the easy route and choose a nurturing Pokemon like Audino or Leavanny, or just a Miltank because cow, but I actually think his companion would be an Alcremie!

His Alcremie would be his best friend in the bakery, and their relationship seems sweet and cute! He would dream of having all types of them one day... But his og will always be his first buddy.

Mono

I thought of Houndoom or a Lickitung for the meme but I remembered this cutie! (also one of my favs)

Zweilous!

I don't think he gets along with other dogs (only his family, Hellhounds are territorial) so... He would love a Pokemon with a fringe like him! Also he has a lot of love to give, so neither head would get TOO jealous of the other. Very dumb but 100% a loving trainer.

Ramune

To Ramune, the world is a stage. Might as well give him a diva as well!

I thought of a cute meeting between the two when his Primarina was still a littol Popplio that wanted the stage for their beauty, but got shunned because they look too silly. Ramune will have none of that! And takes them with him to have a fun time on the spotlight.

Éliphas

Any grass type would be fine! Éliphas loves gardening and taking care of animals, more than he takes care of himself sometimes, so I think a companion that will be there for him and help him relax is perfect, so I chose Meganium!

He always is the one taking care of his domain (even if he doesn't need to) and very stressed surprisingly, so I think having a friend like a Meganium would be great.

Dae-Ho (The man of the hour....)

He was the hardest. I could give him a Haunter, or another type of ghost Pokemon because he would like them but I ended up with this one

It might seem random at first, but it makes a lot of sense with him! Dae-Ho lived most of his live under a façade, himself being a very suave and charming guy. Everyone thinks he's perfect but he has his own skeletons in his closet.

I thought it would be interesting to make his Hypno SUPER sweet inside but creepy outside, while Dae-Ho is the opposite. Maybe his Hypno helped him sleep with his hypnosis when he was a young kid.

I also like Hypno a lot and feel sad people hate them so much (I know why but I think they're neat)

Again not very knowledgeable on Pokemon (I played the first 2 generations late then watched the black and white anime) since my siblings never let me play with em but I hope my choices are comprehensible!

[delacyrose224]

Late Night Talking

Pairing: Lee Minho x reader

Genre: Fluff, established relationship

Word Count: .9k

Author's Note: Song of the day is Late Night Talking by Harry Styles!

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

“...do you miss me?”

It’s so quiet, you almost think you’ve made it up.

“What?”

Minho clears his throat softly and repeats himself.

“Do you miss me?”

He looks at you earnestly, but can’t hold eye contact for very long before he’s glancing off to the side, running his fingers through his long hair making it even messier than it was to start off with.

You smile, though he doesn’t see it.

“Of course I miss you. Who else can I bother on a daily basis?”

A small smirk works its way across his face as a signature glint of mischief sparkles in his eyes.

“It better just be me. If not, I’ll start sending you those memes you hate. And spam you with pictures of Jisung.”

You roll your eyes, huffing out a laugh.

“Ah, so that’s who you’ve replaced me with since you can’t bother me in person.” Though you’re joking, Minho notices the small frown on your face, even through his phone screen.

“You know I miss you, right?” His face is devoid of any joking, complete earnestness coloring his expression (and his ears, which are turning pink). “I’ve never felt this way about anyone this quickly.” Minho is matter of fact, succinct when it comes to his feelings. That’s how you know he’s telling the truth.

“Minnnnnn…” You hide behind your hands, embarrassed. One of the reasons the two of you had bonded in the first place was because of your difficulties in sharing deeper emotions.

He’s got a full blown smirk on his face now. “Glad I can still make you flustered, even from thousands of miles away,” he laughs. “How was your day?” His eyes soften, genuinely interested in what you have to say.

“It was…dumb, to be honest.”

“Tell me why.” Minho lays across his bed in the hotel room he’s sharing with Changbin, propping his phone up against the pillows.

“Well, I was running late this morning to start things off. Maybe because I made a stop to see your kids…” you laugh. Minho can feel his heart skip a beat in his chest at the mention of you caring about his cats.

“And then once I got to work, I ended up spilling coffee on myself-” You see Minho’s mouth start to open in protest, but you cut him off. “I didn’t burn myself, I just stained my new dress, don’t worry. But then I had meetings most of the day, and you know how my students sometimes just try my patience. But then I came home and changed into comfy clothes and watched a few episodes of that new show we talked about before. And here I am, talking to you-easily the best part of my day.” You smile softly at the man in front of you.

“Well one, I’m sorry you had a bad day. Two, did you put stain remover on your dress? Three, how dare you start that show without me. Four, this is the best part of my day too.”

“You’re worried about the stain on my dress?” You can’t help but laugh-what other man would be so concerned with laundry?

“Well, you spent your hard earned money on it!” he huffs, brows knit together in agitation.

“Yes, Mr. Clean, I put stain remover on it and immediately put it in the wash. And you said you didn’t like period pieces, that’s why I started it without you!”

“Well, I wanted to watch it with you,” he pouts.

“Fine…I’ll rewatch the first episode with you,” you concede. 

“Right now?” Your eyes widen.

“Do you have time right now? Where’s Binnie? And you had a show earlier, you must be exhausted!”

“Not exhausted enough to not spend time with my best girl. And Binnie’s just left to go to the gym, he won’t be back for a while.”

Your cheeks flush at his pet name for you, but you’re excited to spend more time with Minho. After a quick setup and syncing of the show you were going to watch, the two of you settle into your respective beds.

It’s just as good as the first time…well, as much as you sit through. 45 minutes in, you’re both nodding off, and before you know it, you’re sound asleep.

—-------------------------------

A bright beam of sunlight hits your face, forcing your eyes open. 

“What…happened?” You push up onto your elbows, rubbing out sleep out of your eyes, only to flop back down on the bed in protest. A deep groan comes from next to you, but there’s no one there.

Shoving your hands underneath the covers, you search until you grab your phone from the tangle of blankets. There on your screen is Lee Minho, yawning with long hair almost completely covering his face.

“Hi sleepyhead,” you giggle, watching him push the long strands out of his eyes.

“Hi love,” he yawns. “I’m guessing we fell asleep watching that show last night?” You nod. “Guess we were both more exhausted than we thought.” He lays his head on his hand, smiling softly at you.

“You’re smiling an awful lot lately, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well, it’s hard not to when you’re around.” His smile widens, his eyes staying just as soft as before.

“You keep this up, and Stay is gonna figure out something’s up. The cold Ice King is melting,” you laugh.

“I think they’d be happy that I’m happy,” he muses, then starts to frown. “I have to go get ready for a schedule soon before Chan yells at me…can we do this again soon? In person?”

You nod.

“...it’s a date, then.”

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

Taglist: @alpacaparkaseok @hyungieyoongi @derinxfam

You can find more of my work here!

[oddballwriter]

Triplets?!

Summary: A dumb thought I had and decided to write. 

Warnings: There isn't anything that I can think of other than just a misunderstanding that leads to something funny 

Author’s Snip: This was just a silly little post that I had come to mind when I heard the one MBMbam clip where its a person talking about how they call their male friends their "boys" and a drive thru worker thinks that the person is a parent, also a little bit of Reba McEntire's I'm a Survivor "A single mom who works two jobs who loves her kids and never stops" meme. This whole thing is kind of just a writing shit post.

Notes: This isn't proof read 

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

It was an inside joke. With yourself.

As a joke you would call your Marc, Steven, and Jake your triplets even though they were your boyfriends. It was kind of like when a mom says "I have two children, three if you want to include my husband.". It wasn't meant to be mean. It was just a light hearted joke since they can sometimes be everywhere and your sense of domestically can be hectic.

Speaking of domestic things, you were currently grocery shopping but line was painfully long and slow for whatever reason. It wasn't all bad though. There was this nice lady named Cathy behind you, and you two had started having a full conversation after she made small talk about how long the line was. She was an older woman, maybe in her mid to late forties. You had offered to switch spots in line since she had more in her cart than you but she said she didn't mind and that you should be quicker either way. You could tell she was a mom just by the looks of her and how she was acting. She wasn't exactly mothering you but she was talking like how most moms talk to younger people compared to her.

Your conversations topic had just changed to something else when your phone rang. It was Steven.

"Oh, one of my triplets." you mumble under your voice before answering. The call wasn't much. He just called to ask if everything's alright since you've been out for longer than you said you would and some other things before you ended the call with an "I love you, bye.".

"Wow. Three of them? Huh?" Cathy smiled. You looked at her confused for a moment before realizing that she might have heard your mumble.

"That must be chaos." she said. "I have issues wrangling my kids and they're all different ages!" she adds with a laugh. You just nod along, but she still goes on with the new subject.

"How old are they?" Cathy asked, to which you respond with "Thirteen." since that seemed like a reasonable age for a 'kid' to have a phone. "Oh my gosh! Three of them and they're teenagers?" she pitied. "At such a young age like you too. Sweetheart, you deserve a metal." Cathy praised. "It's not that bad." you say as you try and go along with this accidental act you placed on yourself, "Only one of them is a troublemaker. The other two... well they stay inside at least." you joke, mostly for yourself.

Cathy had actually become very chatty and mostly took up the subject. She talked about how her eldest, Kimberly, was sixteen and that she was starting to talk to boys and stay out. Her second eldest, Noah, was starting to have an attitude with her. The middle, Jackie, was having issues in getting along in the classroom and during recess. And her toddler, Marie, was leaning manners and "That's going as good as you think it is." as Cathy put it.

You wanted to stop her so that you could leave but she was just so nice, and sounded like she needed to vent out some stress, so you let her go on while the casher checked out both you and her carts. Cathy did give you the note that her husband was also involved in the kids too but since she's a stay at home she was the frontline.

You felt a bit sad when you had to leave and head home. You didn't know if you'd meet Cathy ever again but you already missed her and said your goodbyes to her, with her of course saying "And best of luck with your triplets.".

When you got home Steven was there to help take in the bags but at a certain point when you locked eyes and laughed he asked what was up.

"There's a forty-something year old woman named Cathy somewhere in town and she thinks I'm a parent with teenage triplets." you confess.

[the-s1lly-corner]

I got an idea from the child reader request.

Like the same wolf in sheep's clothing concept but like FULL SWEET TO DARK PERSONALITY.

Wanna hear?

So basically child reader is like cute and innocent at first sight but IS A TOTAL DEMON, Having a very dark sense of humor, Sometimes out of nowhere walk up to someone of the gang and threaten to gouge out their eyes while they sleep, they are always with an cute expression but turns out that they like to cause chaos and havoc just like Jax but in a more creepy way.

For example, SOMEHOW reader is caught hanging from the ceilling scaring the fuck out of gangle just because its fun. Or staying in the dark waiting for someone so they can jumpscare them.

Basically child reader uses their cute-kid as an advantage to scare others off.

TADC x child!reader who is a menace! (platonic)

wasnt quite sure what to title this so!! some segments may be shorter than others since im still trying to get a hand of writing/coming up with ideas for certain characters (cough cough gangle) (i love her sm but shes so hard for me to write idk why) hope you enjoy! majority of this post is just me tormenting the cast TToTT

CAINE:

oh my god you kind of remind him of bubble but more... flkmddlvm

makes a time out rule when you keep making threats to the other circus members, that behavior is not family friendly!

he might even consider trying to go into the code and censoring your common phrases as well as some other words, if he has the capabilities for that

still tries to be a dad to you, though, wants to be a good role model and guide you in the right direction for the sake of everyone else

the first time you say something... morbid to him he just

slack jawed, stares at you before shaking himself back to reality and just

bro is astonished he was not ready to hear that today, let alone hear it from a small child

POMNI:

you know how in the other post with a child!reader i mention that pomni is vaguely uncomfortable around kids since she knows they can dish out some real cruelty

take this idea and multiply it by 10x

actually looks like that one sad spongebob meme with the big eyes and tear when shes put in charge of keeping an eye on you during an in house adventure

meek attempt to get you to behave

not much to say here imo, since its like an amped up version of the last post :O

JAX:

makes a joke about how youre already entering your edgy phase, he now has to watch his back lest some of his digital fur be shaved off

fear does not come close to describing how he feels when he discovers that you somehow found keys to some peoples rooms. he hopes you dont have a key to his room

and he thought he was hot shit, but no some random kid makes him fear the consequences of his actions

is this his punishment for his constant bullshit? what did he do in particular to deserve this?

instinctively looks up at the ceiling when he enters a room to make sure youre not about to drop on him

congrats, youve instilled fear into the funny rabbit

RAGATHA:

the 'nightmare kid' thing some babysitters go through at least once in their life, but instead of tantrums and such its just you talking about how you sometimes tear apart the dolls that came with your room. to the doll person

very uncomfortable by a lot of the stuff you casually say, even more so because its coming from a kid. though i think she would be uncomfortably be talk like that in general

SWEARS that one day shes going to blink and youll suddenly be right next to her or within her proximity

like on one hand she wants to try to guide you to be less dark, like caine, but i think she would need someone to back her up because she cannot get the image of the torn up dolls out of her head

KINGER:

poor man

like even if the things you said were empty threats, he would be scared shitless

if he isnt already in his fort, hes retreating to it the second he sees you around

kind of funny since kinger is in his late late 40s and youre a kid and hes terrified of you

anyways

less of a discomfort thing and more so scared that youre going to go through with the things you say

he walked into the common area one day and saw you literally crawling across the walls, he was with gangle when he saw it. you see his irises of his eyes shrink

doesnt even bother going to his fort, which is under where you currently are

he just

slowly

backs away, he can find refuge in his room... unless you have a key to his room

ZOOBLE:

less discomfort more annoyance with zooble, i think that while she would find it funny when a kid swears she finds people talking like that to be cringe; kid or not

the only one who isnt really scared of you. sure you threaten to disassemble them constantly and hide their pieces across the grounds to assure they can never be whole again, but they're just internally cringing while you try to make them turn away

in a weird way you two create an odd dynamic where you just go on and zooble just halfway listens, you kinda just talk at them

like while caine tries to be your dad, and ragatha tries to be.. something.. zooble is like a weird 'friend'

probably has the most potential to become a friend and get you to chill, but thats just based on my experience

like if its an attention/reaction thing, zooble isnt going to give it to you, which kind of. ruins the point of it for you, and you just

stop, or at least tone it down over time

or maybe thats just me seeing zooble having the potential to be an older sibling figure

GANGLE:

the gif is gangle when you get your hands on her

i understand that she cries easily, but like, you have probably made her cry at least once either on accident or on purpose

i think shes one of the few characters out of the cast who would probably start avoiding you for the sake of her emotional state, but she would feel bad about it since at the end of the day you're a kid

refuses to go anywhere near you when her comedy mask is broken, because otherwise shes a glum mess

you know how in poppee the performer, kedamono's mask sometimes just. pops off when he gets scared or surprised (well it happens regardless of expression/mood but yk)

gangle does that when she sees you LITERALLY CRAWLING ON THE WALLS LIKE A BUG

how are you even doing that

she doesnt wanna know, actually

"imma tie you up double knotted style" *high pitched crying*

[mistercrowbar]

Starting playing BG3 a month ago, and I'm 130ish hours in. I run a DND club at the high school I teach at, and quite a few of my ceramics students/DND club kids have payed BG3. Make of that what you will given the age hah.

That said, I LOVE your boy's night/girl's night illustrations, and since I'd seen your Tav in a few pieces while trying to avoid spoilers, I thought they may have been a companion before I got too far. If the memes are appropriate, I've shared them to start convos with the kids and all. What I've seen of your comics is hilarious and wholesome, and make me smile. They've gone the rounds enough that my little nerdlings are even aware of your Tav's design, and I wanted to share that!

I know I'm late to the game and all, but would love if someone shared my work and it was so well received. Stay happy and healthy, and best of all to you!

Awuwauwauahwuahahauh i’m so honoured ;u; 💖💖💖 like it blows me away whenever someone leaves a tag saying my little guy is one of their fav tavs and to know there’s a bunch of high schoolers out there who enjoy the comics aaaaa that’s really awesome!

I;m so amused you thought he was a companion too aghdhjs maybe a tangent but i posted two variants of the Karlach Hugs piece online, one with Aldiirn and one without, and it warms my heart that i’ve mostly seen the version with him reposted.

i hope all your nerdlings keep having great d&d adventures and enjoy the comics to come! Thank you so much for sharing with me ;u;

[collidescopeeyes]

I love your recent swain hc! Can u pls write modern swain who would always receive handwritten notes thats always attached on his lunchbox from reader, but if reader is upset or mad at him there would be no notes or his lunchbox's food is just a plain bread

This is so fucking funny asdlkjskh

Modern!Swain misses his handmade lunches after a fight

- Swain always looks forward to your lunches, they're a highlight to his day. Not only are you a fantastic cook, but it's a little reminder that you care in the middle of what's usually a busy and high-stress day. He keeps every single note in a little box in the bottom of his desk, and if he ever needs a pick-me-up to get him through the day he reads a few at random.

- You don't fight often, but the absence of your little notes stings worse than anything you say in the heat of the moment. If he gets a lunch with no note he's spending the rest of the work day trying to figure out how to make it up to you.

- This time though, he fucked up. He's been busier than usual lately and you got into an argument about his awful work-life balance; you mentioned that it felt like he wasn't putting in much effort and he said maybe you should be putting in less effort. Instant regret but the damage was done, you storm off and he resigns himself to the doghouse. Still, his lunchbox is still on the counter when he wakes up (it's an expensive couch but it ain't built for sleeping on), so maybe you're not that mad at him? Still, he resolves to apologize as soon as you're ready to talk.

- Lowkey he's dreading lunch all work day. The upside is he gets plenty of work done; no one's dares to bother him considering the aura of death he's radiating. Rumors start circulating about who's gonna get fired but Darius tells them not to worry, he's just sulking cuz his wife's mad at him. That starts a whole other round of rumors–you’re so nice, wtf did he do to get you mad at him??

- How does Darius know this? Well. You ran into him in line at the coffee shop you both frequent and you ended up venting to him–it's obvious you're upset and he's a surprisingly good listener. You walk away feeling better and resolve to talk to Swain once he gets home–you were maybe being a bit petty with the lunch thing and you’re sure he'll apologize and you’ll work things out together if you give him a chance. Oh, but if Darius didn't have lunch for today already, did he want this? You prep everything the night before since Swain leaves so early, but you hate wasting food so you just took it with you. It's the least you could give him for hearing you out, plus it saves you trying to eat two lunches today.

- He accepts, obviously, partially cuz you're a great cook and partially cuz he doesn't want to turn you down. On his way into work though it occurs to him, if you're giving him Swain's lunch then wtf does Swain have? He has to know.

- Swain's pretty punctual, so Darius just shows up to his office at lunch time–he has some actual business matters he needs to talk to him about anyway, co-owner to co-owner. Definitely not because this is the most entertaining thing Darius has seen since Swain was stressing out over you introducing him to your parents. Nope. Swain actually welcomes the distraction at first–Darius rarely has lunch with him so it must be important.

- Picture this. Swain, opening his lunch box to a single slice of white bread. Unbuttered. He stares. He looks up. Darius, shit eating grin, unpacking his lunch. And Swain knows that's his fucking lunch, that's all the stuff you had in the kitchen and your cooking and Darius doesn't even like cheese.

- You know that meme where one kid gets the cute bear cutout bread and the other one gets crust with a bear shaped hole in the middle? Yeah.

- Neither of them says a word. You could cut the silence with a knife. Swain gets up and leaves without another word. He's taking a half-day and nobody dares stop him. Actually no, he's taking a long weekend, Darius can manage without him and if he can't, that's his personal problem. He's got a heartfelt apology to make.

- (He does in fact apologize, you sort it out and you go on a nice weekend trip together. Darius will insist this was part of his plan. Honestly the company couldn't handle it if you two fought for much longer, and employees everywhere offer up a thanks to your benevolence–being around Swain when he's in a bad mood is stressful.)