#someone ought to stop me

[rohirric-hunter]

Me: *mentions that I have several lawyers' phone numbers* Landlord, immediately: Yeah, we can change the locks! We'll do it tonight! Will you be home to get the new key?

[empressofthelibrary]

I really do need to invest in a weighted blanket

[sp1resong]

hey google How to know if you are one guy with forgets disorder or multiple guys (with forgets disorder)

[rendevok]

Different anon, also thirsty, stuck in a similar selfish pining situation and keep finding things like this and feeling called out.

Omg... anon... you know what im gonna tell you right? 👀

SHOOT. YOUR. SHOT.

George Sand had it right. There is only one true happiness in life- to love and be loved. So why wait? Why not take every chance to have that? I know I would.

[ghostsprincess]

I can't stop thinking about Ghost being a better boyfriend than your ex, even without establishing that title....

This is a continuation of part one.

warning: mention domestic abuse

💀

Simon was there every night you worked. You never gave him your schedule, but he'd show up and settle onto one of the stools like clockwork. Soap often joined him, and while they carried on like always, you knew Simon's gaze lingered on your body. You could practically feel the weight as you took drink orders and pulled pints. It wasn't unwelcome. In fact, it made everything easier knowing you weren't alone if your ex dared show his face.

When your shifts ended, Simon would walk you back to your new place. The one time you insisted he didn't need to do that, he grunted and said, "What if I want to?"

You didn't mention it again. Instead you got into a routine of giving him a fifteen minute warning when your shift was going to end, and you'd head out into the cold night with him at your side. He was mostly quiet while you chatted about whatever was on your mind. When you'd ask him about himself, he'd reroute the conversation back to you. Then he would wait while you unlocked your door and stepped inside.

You always had the urge to invite him in, but you were taking up so much of his time already. And what would you do with him anyway? This hulking military man with kind eyes? 

You thanked him and gave him a little wave before ducking inside, and you knew he always waited until he heard the sound of your door locking before he left. 

"Y' alright, love?" he asked one night when you were starting to feel particularly good about yourself again. Your split lip had healed which required less makeup. You felt stronger for having left your ex in the dust. You were wearing a new top that made you feel sexy.

"Yeah. I'm alright, Simon. I feel really good, actually."

You served him a drink and refused to let him pay. You really ought to make him stop tipping you at this rate. He was doing so much for you and getting nothing in return. He was doing all of the boyfriend duties just as he had promised, but he never so much as touched you other than the occasional hand hold.

What if you wanted more?

He broke into your thoughts as he said, "I can tell. Ya' been smiling more. Almost ready to go?"

Tonight you felt like you were floating along the dirty sidewalk with your hand tucked in Simon's massive paw. He was keeping you warm without doing anything, and he listened to your nervous rambling as you tried your best to work up your courage. But the two of you reached your front door all too quickly.

"Get inside," he said, voice deep and tender in spite of the command. "An' lock up."

When he started to pull his hand away, you didn't let him. And you didn't budge when one of his eyebrows inched higher. "Not quite yet," you whispered, toe tapping the cement step you were standing on which put you slightly closer to him in height. "I have to tell you something."

Simon's lips pressed together in a tight line, and his chin dipped in a slight nod. "I need to tell ya' something, too. Just don't want to."

"What?" you asked immediately, the lightness you'd been feeling instantly replaced with a lead brick inside you.

"I'm leaving. Late tomorrow night. Not until after I make sure ya' get home from the pub."

"Leaving?" you whispered, heart pounding faster. He was in the military. Some sort of special mission involvement. You knew that much. And you could read between the lines to know that someone who looked and behaved like he did was probably about to risk his life, not for the first time. "Simon, where are you going?" you asked with tears in your eyes even though you figured he wouldn't be able to tell you.

Simon shook his head, his lips curling into a soft smile. It was a rare sight, and it made you dizzy. "Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be worried 'bout me." You wanted to tell him you would be. You'd worry nonstop until you saw him again. You'd come to rely on him, but mostly you liked how you felt when he was around. "There'll be someone to walk ya' home from work every night. I can promise that."

You wanted to lean in and kiss him, but instead you threw your arms around his neck. He was so solid and warm, and the scrape of his facial hair on your cheek was somehow comforting. "But I'll see you tomorrow, right?" you asked, voice breaking on a sob.

"I'll see ya' tomorrow, love."

He didn't move an inch as you extracted yourself, and the sound of his receding footsteps could only be heard once you'd locked yourself inside.

💀

Part three

[change-the-rules]

anyone ever get like that random snippet of dialogue or something that comes outta fucking nowhere and just haunts ya? yea that is why this

sorry?

okay so hear me out nana rose and nana topaz star crossed lovers, doomed by the same stars cheryl and toni's fate is written in

theirs is a tumultuous affair, is what nana rose blossom, in her old age would say apropos of nothing, elaborating nothing

IF any sort of affair HAD taken place nana topaz would say nothing, Ever, sweetwater river more like the nile

It's hate Before first sight, inherited loathing

It's hate At first sight too but then well there's that saying the opposite of love isn't hate it's indifference?

and one thing they never are is indifferent

enemies to lovers doesn’t quite do them justice, had They met at the drag race or transfer day at riverdale high instead of toni and cheryl there would have been actual bloodshed

so it's strange then when they do actually meet for the first time on the banks of sweetwater river, with no witnesses for miles, there's not much of an altercation to be had

topaz knows who she's looking at immediately, any riverdalian would, the blossoms rule riverdale as if they were royalty, of course even if that weren't the case topaz would still know, the surviving Uktena don't have the luxury of forgetting even if the rest of the town willingly has

blossom only knows what she's looking at, southside trash

beautiful, captivating and utterly beneath her

she says as much and topaz spits at her

roseanne blossom takes in the flinty eyes filled with disdain, top lip curled in disgust, muscles coiled with a deep seated rage

electricity crackles between them

and roseanne blossom finds herself wanting

she always has taken the greatest shine to the things she can't have

and then she takes them anyway

topaz is too busy trying to ignore any whisper of chemistry, appalled at even the notion of harboring any inkling of non negative feeling toward a blossom to notice the look in the other woman's eyes

she promises herself it'll be fine, she'll stick to her own side of the tracks and go back to hating the blossoms in peace and anonymity

but the universe must have it's soulmate wires crossed because it keeps throwing.them.together

they went years without ever once running into each other, the town divide seemingly immutable and now they're colliding in the hospital and bumping into each other at pop's, topaz picks up a catering gig and blossom is attending, the woods several times while topaz is stewarding the land and blossom is being a little bit magical and a lotta bit shady, the sheriff's station,the drive in, the library

the bloodshed does come eventually it's a sunny afternoon when a brawl between northsiders and southsiders breaks out in pickens park

topaz and blossom waste no time honing in on each other, a kiss with a fist is better then none

someone bumps her from behind and topaz's knuckles glance off blossoms cheek instead of breaking her nose

roseanne pounces, tackling topaz to the ground in a way topaz never expected from the proper lady and grudgingly has to respect

they're grappling for the upper hand for what feels like forever, relentless, frenzied, when topaz feels herself hauled off and thrown a good distance away

she loses her adversary in the chaos until a police whistle cuts through the air and everyone scatters

she's almost home free when she looks back and sees roseanne still on the ground not moving, covered in so much blood

every instinct tells her to keep running

but toni came by her compassion honestly and her nana couldn't very well leave a girl with glass from a broken bottle sticking out of her fucking eye even if that girl were a blossom

so she doubles back, hauling the taller girl with her but she's a serpent and she's got a gruesomely injured blossom with her it's understandable self preservation that has her dumping the other woman at the hospital entrance and fleeing

when roseanne turns up at her doorstep over a week later with an eye patch and seemingly on a mission

topaz lets her in

it is a shock to see A Blossom on the southside and yet weirdly topaz can't say she's surprised to see rose

they fuck on nearly every surface of the trailer except the bed

topaz tells her to never come back again, that it can never happen again

she doesn't but it does

it's hate fucking until it's not

roseanne blossom steals topaz's heart without a care for the fallout, a true descendant of her ancestors in spirit not just name

all or nothing love, pure adoration or distilled hate? it predated clifford and penelope and even rose for that matter ingrained in the blossom DNA long before it fucked cheryl up

and toni isn't the only topaz to ever get caught in that crossfire, her nana payed the price first

graduation rolls around and roseanne leaves riverdale for highsmith and then a husband, children and wrought iron fences

she never looks back

and topaz is left to pick up her own pieces. responsible for such atrocity topaz never imagined the blossoms could inspire more hatred in her than she already harbored

oh how wrong she was, she vows to never betray her own instincts again and never wavers in that conviction

fast foward to a post comet/no 50's timeline where toni and cheryl have found their way back to each other

there's a party, anthony's birthday maybe or a the town didn't get flattened celebration

and the first time nana topaz and nana rose are in a room together with choni, toni's brain short circuits

she just *knows* doesn't believe it or doesn't want to but *knows*

just takes one look at the 2 of them glaring at each other, well nana topaz is glaring nana blossom is just vibing as usual and toni is literally just like "what the Actual FUCK"

cheryl does not pick up on any of this so when toni wheels around on her nana like "no, absolutely not, are you Fucking kidding me?"

cheryl is Not prepared to receive the cursed knowledge about to be dropped on her. after the vast quantity of literal and metaphorical skeletons alike she's found in the closet and the mines and kept in her bedroom she figured nothing any of the blossoms have done could surprise her anymore

she's wrong

they're starting to attract an audience

cheryl's hand painting soothing patterns along toni's back and arms is not enough to keep toni from exploding like

"do not tell me the actual reason i missed out on almost a decade with the love of my life is because a blossom broke your heart, like what 50 years ago?'

that's the dialogue that appeared unbidden and caused all this btw

and of course it's so much more complicated than that but the broken heart was certainly not a nonfactor, toni is livid and nana topaz is defensive but not actually copping to anything

meanwhile cheryl has turned on nana rose but she only manages a scandalized and damn near supersonic "nana?!"

who's naturally like '"ah yes it was a shame really your grandfather was nowhere near as good in the boudoir"

which is probably when toni has to physically restrain her nana from throwing hands

and half the town is just witnessing this latest drama unfurl like cool cool cool cool rivedale is still riverdaling

let's drink

[hangesophtalmologist]

The Salesman's Obsession

title: the salesman's obsession

pairing: squid game's salesman/ recruiter x f!reader (y/n)

synopsis: when someone dares to interrupt his game, the infamous salesman ought to punish them... but she doesn't intend to play by his rules.

warnings: violence, physical assaut, social stigma, psychotic mc, squid game au

a/n: we shall give the people what they asked for (salesman x readers) (i'm people)

The slap rang out like a gunshot, ricocheting off the cold subway walls. The man on the ground – disheveled, panting – flinched. His cheek blossomed red, but he didn’t dare look up. Above him, the Salesman stood poised, palm still tingling. His eyes were bright but empty, the light behind them clinical, dissecting.

"Come on now, one more try,” he taunted. His voice was smooth, almost musical and weightless, as if he were suggesting a game of chess. "Don’t stop at three. You’ll regret that more.”

It wasn’t joy he was feeling. Amusement, merely. Detached, surgical. Like stepping on something fragile just to hear the crack. The pathetic, the desperate – they all crumbled the same way. He just had to give them a little push, and their precious facade fell apart, leaving behind the twitching core of greed, ready to humiliate itself for scraps.

The sweating businessman bent to pick up his red tile, trembling. His shoulders sagged under the weight of silent despair. Miserable. The Salesman’s lips curled, though not exactly enough to be called a smile. He enjoyed the process. The inevitability of it.

Another failure.

He raised his hand, licking his lips in anticipation, but before he could swing, something unexpected happened. A hand grabbed his wrist.

Firm. Unshaking.

Cold.

His head snapped to the side; the sharp turn of a predator interrupted mid-hunt.

You.

His gaze narrowed. He’d noticed you earlier, lingering on the platform’s edge. Background noise. He rarely missed details, but somehow you had slipped through the cracks. Perhaps that was the first red flag.

His gaze drifted over your hand, slender fingers circling his wrist like a cuff. He could break free easily. Yet he didn’t. Your grip felt… deliberate. Measured.

“Enough,” you said, cocking your head to the side, sly eyes scrutinizing him.

His expression shifted, just slightly. Interest flickered, not outwardly hostile, but curious. He searched your face for clues – that familiar, nauseating blend of pity and self-importance most saviours carried. Yet, your eyes betrayed neither. But he didn’t need any tells – he knew people like you. Hypocrites yearning for crumbs of recognition.

“And who might you be?” His voice retained its warmth, but irritation simmered beneath it.

You stepped between him and his trembling opponent, your hand falling away. “Doesn’t matter.”

His gaze darkened as annoyance started to seep in his body. He didn’t even watch as the man behind you scrambled to his feet, disappearing into the crowd like prey escaping a hunter. His focus was entirely on you now – the intruder. He examined you for long time – longer than what he was used to. The Salesman never cared much for remembering anyone other than his recruits – but there was something about the lines of your face, the crooked slope of your mouth, the mischief in you pupils. Something challenging. Something he wanted to crush.

"You just cost me 100,000 won," he said lightly, adjusting his cufflinks with meticulous care – but the tightness in his jaw betrayed the casual tone. "So. How do you plan to pay me back?"

You shrugged, defying. “I don’t plan to.”

His grin widened, but the glint in his eyes sharpened. “I see. Then I’ll have to take it from you. A slap or cash. Choose.”

“I have a better idea,” you smirked, lazily flicking the red tile between your fingers. “I’ll take his place. I want to play too.”

His smile faltered. The thrill flickered out, but simply for a second – you weren’t desperate, not twitchy or ashamed. Not his typical prey. Yet. Because after all, if you wanted to play, it was because you wanted money – like everyone else.

He just needed to crack your confident mask to see you scrambling for it.

A chuckle escaped his mouth, hunger for your humiliation gnawing at his stomach. He wanted to see your heroic aspirations slapped out of your mind until you were nothing more than the lowlives he usually dealt with.

Yes. This would be even more fun to watch.

His smirk returned, though colder. “Fine. Each loss costs 100,000 won. Can you pay?”

“Don’t worry. I won’t lose.”

Your smugness stirred something primal in him—something ugly, something he hadn’t felt in years. You flipped the red card over your fingers, defiance oozing off you. Then in a split second you hurled the tile to the ground with surprising force. There was no hesitation, no tension. He didn’t need to look down to know you had flipped the blue card over. He watched you carefully, waiting for the inevitable flicker of relief that most winners betrayed.

None came.

Your eyes had barely left him either, like you were also gauging his reaction. Your lips stretched in a predatory smile – a thrill of excitement ran down his veins.

“I paid the debt. Now let’s play for real,” you cheered, displaying a naïve smile, one that could have fooled him as genuine if there wasn’t a flick of calculation - measurement - behind the easy curve of your lips.

The Salesman was a man of control – he could recognize when someone was leading a game, and right now this someone wasn’t him. He wasn’t surprised when you succeeded again.

“You won,” he stated, but there was no satisfaction, no amusement – he was still hungry for your humiliation. He reached for his luggage. But your foot stopped him, stepping on it as you suddenly reduced the distance between them.

“Oh no, Mister. You must have misunderstood me,” you slowly leaned towards him and whispered against his face.

He should have seen it before – but it was only now, when you were inches away from him, that he finally noticed the spark of amusement hidden in your eyes. It wasn’t heroism, nor greed that animated you.

Danger. His heart raced with the adrenaline that was reserved for his favourite kills, an all-too-powerful feeling that welcome your next words.

“I wasn’t playing for money.”

And then with sudden, brutal efficiency, you slapped him. Hard. Hard enough to send him stumbling on his feet and wipe any thought from his mind.

The crack resounded louder than his own had.

His head jerked to the side, pain stinging his cheek. Silence stretched between you. The slap burned, but not as much as the unfamiliar sensation curling in his gut.

Your laugh cut through the quiet, light and playful, but dripping with something – something mad.

He scoffed, bringing a hand to massage his cheek. It was stinging, the only proof that the last seconds had happened. When he looked back at you, you had tilted your head in an innocent expression.

But your conniving smirk was taunting him. “I get you now; it is quite fun. Have a nice day, Mister.”

You turned and walked away, your figure shrinking under the flickering subway lights.

The Salesman didn’t follow. Not immediately.

He watched you disappear into the station, the flickering fluorescent lights overhead casting fractured shadows on the tiles.

He stayed rooted, fingers twitching at his side, replaying the moment. Over and over.

Then, without warning, he laughed. Deep, unhinged, shaking laughter that echoed through the empty station. His stomach twisted with hunger, sharper and more vicious than he had felt in years.

You.

You weren’t a prey.

No, you were something far more valuable.

You were a challenge.

And he would break you. Piece by piece.

[rodolfoparras]

18+ MDNI 18+

Thinking about playfully wrestling with your boyfriend while he makes mindless comments about your strength “oh you’re so strong, don’t think I’d be able to escape even if I wanted,” he says in wonder, eyes practically shining as he squeezes your biceps, “you ought to be careful never know when I can break” he says jokingly while doing a half hearted attempt to try and escape your embrace.

Slowly but surely you start getting more and more rough with him: squeezing and pressing down onto spots, not enough to hurt but enough to make him uncomfortable. “You know what? You’re right. I don’t think you’d be able to get away if someone like me were to attack you.” The relaxed look on his face swiftly turns into one of concern and you can see the way he slowly attempts to back away from you.

But it’s to no avail, he’s trapped in your embrace, with you steadily inching closer to his face, a big sharp grin painted on your own face. “I mean what are you supposed to do? Can’t even push them away,” you say referring to his futile attempts at trying to push you away from him. “Guess you’d just have to stay and take whatever they’re willing to give you,” you continue, proving your point when you easily spread his legs wide and ground your cock up against his ass, all while he can’t do anything but helplessly watch as you twist and turn his body as if he were a ragdoll “Bet there’s plenty of things they would love to do to a pretty boy like you. Don’t you think?”

“Oh god- don’t -dont say that,” he gasps out, head falling into the crook of your neck as if he’s horrified. But you can feel his fully hard cock from where your hand is resting against his thighs , can hear the muffled whines and whimpers as he grinds himself up against you, can see it on him how he he’s torn between pushing you away and completely stopping this little game or pulling you closer to him to see how far you’ll take this.

What a sick little thing you got at your hands.

“How about this?” You say, hand yanking ahold of his hair to bring his ear closer to you “You try to run and we’ll see if I can catch you. Does that sound alright?”

This time you don’t get a verbal response. Instead you can see it on his face what he’s trying to say: and what happens if you catch me?

The silence is swiftly broken with a soft thud as you release your hold on him.”Run, quick,”

He doesn’t waste a second scrambling up the stairs, practically tripping over his feet as he turns corners. He looks and sounds absolute terrified and you can’t help but love that, cock growing harder as you follow him up.

With each step you take you can hear his rapid breaths getting louder and louder , can feel his own thudding steps as you walk down the narrow hallway, can practically smell him - not some cheap cologne nor any deodorant but rather a mix of sickly sweet vanilla and sugar- something that’s just so him - something you’d want to sink your teeth in and drain completely. You follow that very scent all the way to your shared bedroom.

And there he stands, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, or rather like a animal that’s bleeding out on the side of the road, with his cock still painfully hard and with a suspicious dark spot on his sweatpants.

“Oh sweetheart,” you coo, voice dripping with faux concern, while slowly walking up to him like he was an injured animal of some sort. “Why do you look so scared hmm? You know I won’t actually hurt you,” you continue, watching in amusement as he swiftly backs up til his back is flushed with the bedroom wall.

You’re quick to press yourself flush against his chest, once again trapping him in your embrace.“Come on. You wound me. I really wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. You know that,” You say eyes once again flicking up to the wet spot on his pants “Look, got yourself all worked up and for what?” You ask, as you cup the wet bulge over his pants.

“Stop - ah don’t” he cries out, sounding and looking absolutely horrified as he tries to push your hand away but once again it’s to no avail and he has to stand there as you freely grope him. However it doesn’t take much before he’s bucking up into your touch, head lolling back against the wall as whines and whimpers freely pour past his tongue “fuck- so good mph,”

“See sweetheart, I just want to take care of you, wouldn’t dream of hurting you,”you say with a soft smile as you continue to rub him through his pants. The man only furiously nods, begs and please of more more more, continuously rolling off of his tongue as he practically humps the palm of your hand.

“Unless you want me to, that is,” suddenly you’re flipping him around, hand rough as ever as you shove him up against the wall before slotting your leg between his thighs.

The poor thing squeaks in suprise, tears freely spilling from his eyes ,as incoherent words start pouring from his mouth.

“Come on now sweetheart,” you groan out , hand once again yanking at his hair and successfully pulling a hiss from him “you know that need you to use your words. Now tell em what you want yeah?”

Once again he’s fumbling over his words, too overwhelmed with emotions to form a coherent sentence. However you won’t take that for answer, hand once again yanking at his hair till he finally responds to you.

“Want- ah want you to touch me sir ah- please do anything touch me- hah fuck me - hurt me just anything please please-“

“Well who am I to say no when you ask so nicely?”

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: omegaverse, size difference, reader's second gender is omega, so there are mentions of pregnancy, somewhat subjugating omega politics, old-fashioned high-class politics of sorts

♡ prequel to this

♡ GN reader

His eyes are garnet and slim—you can’t make up your mind if they’re judgemental or just assessing. Either would be allowed, of course. The point of the date is for him to decide if you’re sufficient or not.

And yet, you’re the one taking him in. His main is ashen blonde, boyishly spikey and wild—not fine-kempt and slick like you’d pictured. He didn’t have any grey hair either, or stubble, or wrinkles. Though he’s still much bigger and burlier than they are, he can’t be any older than the eldest males back at the institution.

He’s obviously an Alpha, and still, it’s so odd.

“You’re young,” you end up saying.

His nose scrunches. “No younger than you.”

It must have sounded accusatory, even when you only meant to point it out for yourself. You probably ought to have said it silently, inside yourself, and not out loud like you did.

And so you apologize, “I’m sorry, I was—I was just expecting someone older…” You try smiling, but the thought of him actually having been older makes your throat tight, and you swallow thickly instead. “Much older.”

He sighs, looks off to the side instead of at you. His brows tighten—you probably want someone who’s already got a house and a car and a boat on a lake, not to mention a good salary and not the intern pay he’ll be living off of for at least the next year or so. His foot taps beneath the table. You feel it in the floorboards. “You disappointed or somethin’?” he grumbles through grit teeth and a slim frown.

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head, blruting, “No!” You even jump out of your chair, both hands slamming flat on the table, making the napkin-wrapped cutlery clatter within their confines. 

Quickly, but too late, you realize you’re causing a scene. Cheeks burning, you look around before settling down again—you’re not making a very good first impression so far.

You take a breath, confessing, “I mean, I’m happy,” You place your hands in your lap and then start fiddling with them. “This way, we can be together for a long time…” Your voice is breathy as you let out a somewhat apologetic sigh, smiling some. “If you’ll have me, of course.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you don’t dare look up to gauge his expression.

You end up laughing nervously in the silence, feeling the joke arise before you're able to dispel it. “I was afraid I was gonna have to be your nurse soon.”

His foot stops tapping. Then he scoffs.

You perk up again, fumbling over your newest mistake, already apologizing a second time so far, “I’m sorry, that was rude. You’re just not what I was expecting—I’m a little caught off guard, is all.”

He huffs, then grins. “That’s okay. You don’t gotta apologize.”

You both sit in silence after that. You pick your nails more. All the questions you’ve prepared are useless given his age—he doesn’t have an answer to how many kids he wants from you. Probably. It somehow feels strange asking him when he isn’t in his thirties or forties or early fifties.

You look at him in askance. It really is odd.

“You can ask—if you’re curious,” he sanctions.

You really want to, but you’ve made enough mistakes already. Your teachers wouldn’t be proud if they witnessed you acting so childish and not as the proper little lady they’ve trained you to be. 

“No, I shouldn’t.” You shake your head and look down at your lap.

“Come on, you don’t gotta worry about being rude with me,” he insists.

You bite your lip, feeling fidgety in your chair, peering up at him. “You sure?”

“Hit me.” 

The question leaps from your tongue before you have the mind to regret it. “How can you afford this?”

He leans back in his chair. “I can’t—not yet. My folks are paying.”

You hum—that makes more sense. “They must be nice,” you say.

“They try,” he agrees.

There’s a silence again. You don’t have anything appropriate to ask. You were more prepared to talk when spoken to, to answer his questions about your health and hobbies, all silly things that make you cute and likable, but given he’s your age, none of it seems any interesting. It seems he doesn’t have much to ask, either.

“I was unsure about this,” he declares after a while. “To be honest with you, it was all my mom’s idea. I didn’t ask for it…” With a pause, he picks up the menu that had been lying undisturbed in wait for his decision. “But, she tends to be right about most things. So, I think I’ll take the offer this once.”

He lets you decide without ordering for you. Neither of you decide to drink, even though you’re both old enough. The conversation is awkward, but you giggle a couple of times and he smirks in turn. You hadn’t anticipated it—this feeling. You’d anticipated the nerves and the tension—but not this other thing, this sweet fluttering feeling blossoming in your belly, flirty and fizzy. Is this what they call butterflies?

He’s left asking himself the same question.

♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[thebibliosphere]

Speaking of therapy, I say, as though we're old friends, and you're not a stranger trapped in this metaphorical elevator with me and you can hear the suspension wires starting to fray.

I've been doing a lot of work recently that's focused on imposter syndrome and the feeling that no matter how well or how much I do, I'm not good enough. That I'm somehow tricking everyone into thinking my work is actually good.

Some days it's a minor niggle in my head that I can gentle and soothe with logic and affirmations. Or smother, depending on the mood. Other times it's loud and all-consuming and the mental anguish it causes me is so real I can feel it twitching in my muscles. This desperate fight-or-flight instinct with nowhere to go and nothing to fight but myself.

Anyway, because I'm several types of Mentally Unwell™, I was switching between workshop sheets ahead of next week. Filling in different forms. (Trying to get a good grade in therapy) And I got my "recognize your harmful ADHD coping mechanisms" worksheet mixed in with the "you're not actually lying to people, you just feel like you are because your brain is full of weasels" worksheet, and seeing them side by side made something go topsy turvy in my head, and I just had to sit and breathe for a couple of minutes until the urge to scream passed. Because it clicked, it all suddenly clicked.

The reason the imposter syndrome workshops and therapy sessions aren't sticking was because I do routinely trick people into thinking I'm someone I'm not.

Because I'm masking my ADHD for their convenience.

I've always known there was something wrong with me. My neurotypical peers made it abundantly clear I didn't fit in or was failing in some way I couldn't see nor remedy, no matter how hard I tried.

So I compressed myself into a workaholic box of hyper-competence in the hopes they'd stop noticing the flaws and exploit like me instead. And then subsequently lived with the daily fear that if they looked too close, they'd realize I'm a monumental fuck up with enough personal baggage to block the Suez Canal.

If you ever need someone to burn themselves to ashes for your comfort and convenience, I'm your gal.

Or I used to. Until I had a bit of a breakdown, and the rubber band holding my brain together snapped and pinged off into the stratosphere, never to be seen again.

Unfortunately, the trauma of living like that didn't also fuck off and instead left a gaping maw where my personality ought to be, so now I get to deal with that aftermath.

And it's that aftermath that's affecting the imposter syndrome shit. Because yes, I am hyper-competent and good at what I do-- but it doesn't feel real because that is how I mask.

And the truly frustrating thing is I am good at what I do. I am not pretending. I worked hard to be good at this. It just feels like I'm dicking around because 90% of my personality turns out to be trauma masquerading as humor in a trenchcoat, and having people genuinely like something weird I'm doing is so foreign my brain has decided it's just another form of masking.

I'm pretending to be a good author so people will think I'm a good author, and my brain thinks we are in Danger of being found out. We are in Danger, and writing is Dangerous because then people will know I'm Weird and not whatever palatable version I've presented myself as for their NT sensibilities.

Like the neurotic vampire with a raging praise kink wasn't an obvious giveaway.

Anyway. I got nothing else. Thanks for listening.

I'm going to go be very normal in another room and not stare into the abyss of my own soul for a bit.

[line-of-fire]

This is such an inconsequential detail but, in any sort of 'ending' for Pixie, in any timeline, that involves her leaving special forces/active duty military, she grows out her hair.

It isn't much longer than when it's at her longest verse-wise (chin-length, just long enough to be pulled back into a low ponytail), but it's long enough to reach + (barely) go past her shoulders.

[cherry-leclerc]

can’t you see ☆ mv1

genre: redbull!driver, enemies to lovers, smut, lando and danny playing cupid lol, protective!max (although he won’t admit it), mean!max, sub!max, dom!reader

word count: 3.2k

In between your mutual dislike with your teammate, Lando and Daniel try their best to make you and Max uncover some hidden feelings.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...penetrative sex, riding, sucking on fingers

req!...quick one, but ahh first maxie drabble. eekk :)

“What a fucking asshole.”

Daniel’s eyes bulge out as he hands you a cup of coffee. It had been an extremely long day. Perhaps not the best idea to keep it going, but it seemed like the FIA didn’t give a shit about that. You were past being upset. You were seething. 

“Uh…Yeah. I mean I get it. I’m tired, too. This red flag came at the worst time-”

Briskly, you take the cup from him, cutting him off. “It’s not the red flag, it’s Max.” Ever since you joined Formula 1 as the first female to drive for Red Bull, you had felt welcomed by everyone. Everyone but your actual teammate. You had thought maybe it was because he had small balls and couldn’t handle the fact that you were driving alongside him, but when you confronted him about it, he only growled. 

As if you would ever cross my fucking mind.

Squinting, you point accusingly at the Australian. “You ought to stop being his friend.” He loudly laughs as he throws his head back. 

“You say that every time.”

Making a face, you shoot back. “And you never choose!”

“You’re both my friends. No one is winning custody.” 

“You’re older than both of us combined.”

“Hey!”

Hey, a low voice replies. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. A shiver runs down your spine. Max leans up against the nearest wall as he ignores you and keeps his eyes on his friend. You wave your hand up in front of him a couple of times for good measure before your mouth drops open when he acts as if you were Casper the Friendly Ghost. 

“We were just talking abou- Ouch!” Daniel shrieks in pain when you pinch him. Faking a smile, you turn to the Dutchman. We were actually in the middle of something here. Nothing. He just keeps looking past you. Running a hand through his hair, he starts talking about how this all ‘ruined my flow’ and how he was going to have to ‘try to fix the FIA’s mistakes’. You have to laugh.

“Is something funny to you?”

You look around the room as you theatrically shudder. Sipping on the hot beverage, you hum and close your eyes. Max clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he crosses his arms in frustration. Cold weather, Danny. Do you think there’s a place nearby that sells homemade chicken soup?

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“If we find one, then maybe we can invite Lando and-” Suddenly, he reaches out for your cup and hot drops hit your hand. You hiss in pain. “What’s your problem, dickhead?”

Now, a normal reaction would be to be a decent human being and apologize. Offer up their own cup of coffee, perhaps. Not Max. Throwing it into the nearest trash bin, he turns to you. And he actually has the audacity to look upset.

“Why didn’t you let me overtake you? I don’t know if you don’t know this because you’re new or something like that, but here, when we are instructed to do something - we do it.”

Narrowing your eyes, you step closer. “So what? I don’t let you by one time and suddenly I’m the bad guy? Let me remind you that that’s all I’ve done for you this season.”

“Maybe when you’re someone’s number one driver then you won’t have to do shit like this, but until then,” he angles himself lower to you, “...It kinda looks like you have to.”

“Oh. No.” Daniel winces as he sips quietly on his hot drink. He can physically see your wheels turning as you glare back at the Dutchman. Your cheeks have turned light pink as you refrain yourself from yelling in front of all the Alpha Tauri engineers. Max scrunches his nose.

“Cute.”

You’re about to explode and let all hell loose, but just then, the red flag is over. Huffing, you grab your helmet as you walk away without sparing a single goodbye. Daniel frowns. “You need to stop treating her like that.” Max scoffs. Treating her how? The Australian inches closer as he lays a large hand on his friend's shoulder. “Like you don’t care.”

As soon as the race picks back up, you’re in the zone. You have to work twice as hard to overtake anyone in your way, considering most drivers were on new tires, but eventually you worked your way through. Drops of rain hit your visor as you slow down in sector 2. 

“Should I be worried about the rain?”

“Nothing to be worried about, just keep it up.”

You nod, even though Christian can’t see you. As you get closer, you can see Max’s rear wing. He’s fast - zooming, almost - but that only made you want it even more. Defend. I repeat, defend for a 1-2 finish. “Yeah. No.” Entering the DRS zone, you press down on the throttle as you try all tactics to catch up with the 3x World Champion. Fat drops of water hit the Red Bull as you squint in order to not get lost with the commotion. What are you doing? Defend. “I am defending.” You press harder. “Except I’m defending my spot. Not his.”

It’s almost as if he knows what you’re about to do. Quickly, he scans his sideview mirror as he curses when he sees  that you weren’t slowing down. It looks like the two Red Bulls are going head-to-head! Probably not the best idea at the moment considering the tough weather, Crofty announces. Passing Max by, you can’t help but cheer as you try to imagine his reaction. 

“Not what we were picturing, but very well executed. He will be defending now.”

It wasn’t planned to get stung by a boiling hot coffee, of course it wasn’t, despite the bickering between you two. It wasn’t planned to take time to scratch your burnt hand. And it most definitely was not planned to crash.

Plunging into the wall, you groan, curses flowing past your lips. Are you okay? “Yes. I’m okay.” Lifting your visor, you shyly wave at the grandstands. Would you mind going over to check on Max? He’s currently not responding. Your heart stops. Jumping off your seat, you climb out of your car as you turn and sure enough, Max’s Red Bull is ruined. 

“Are you alright?”

Throwing a thumbs up, he lifts himself out of his car to wave at the fans. He turns to you, dark blue helmet still over his head. “What the fuck was that all about?” You narrow your eyes.

“What do you mean? I got an itch.” And though he wears his helmet, you can’t help but notice the crinkles by his eyes. Your stomach flips. It's because of the crash. That’s all it is. You clear your throat. “What happened to you? You were driving well.” Professionally, he slides his gloves off as he waves over at the safety car.

“I had to check on you one way or another, right?”

Dumbfounded, you're faced with his back as he walks away.

-

“He’s into you, can’t you see it!”

“No. Jesus, don’t even say that.” Lando raises his brows as he throws his legs on top of your bed. Daniel hums from underneath the covers. He’s right, though. Pulling the sheets off, you scowl. “Don’t give me reasons to kick you both out.” Throwing yourself onto the mattress, you smile widely. “Soooo, what’s new?”

It’s all you three are ever good for. Pure gossip. Chewing hard on a piece of pizza, you gag. Daniel cackles as he reaches for the last slice. Hey! What if I wanted that? He cocks his head. Fine, you mumble.

“All I wanted was a warm soup.”

A gentle knock echoes through the room as you all turn to face it. Go and open it, Daniel hisses. Wha- No! You go open it, Lando whispers back. Bunch of babies, you murmur as you untangle yourself from your blanket. Swinging the door open, you freeze. Standing tall is Max with a paper bag at  hand.

“Hey.”

Peeking out into the hallway, you stare back confused. “Hey?”

Almost timidly, he kicks his feet up against the wall with a small smile. He extends his arm out, signaling for you to take the mysterious bag. I don’t want any problems, you choke out, feeling skeptical. His blue eyes grow wide.

“Oh. No, don’t worry!” He opens the bag and takes out a small container. Leaning forward, you feel blood rising up to your cheeks. “It’s just soup.”

After an awkward exchange, he leaves. Inhaling the delicious scent, you let out a dreamy sigh.

“He so likes her.”

-

“We might have been wrong.”

Lando tilts his head, curly strands bouncing at the motion. Daniel hurriedly takes a seat next to the Brit as he smacks his large hands on the table. “What do you mean, mate?”

Daniel scans the room quickly before shaking his head. “I mean, that I just heard them two. They were going at it.” Lando blushes as he lets out an awkward laugh. I don’t even want to know. The Australian bites back a smile as he continues. “Not like that. Yet. What I mean is that they’re back to square one. He’s being a complete dick.”

“Alright. Looks like we have to knock some sense into him.”

-

Go, Daniel mouths once Max enters the debrief room, eyes entertained on his phone screen. Pushing past the Dutch, Charles jogs over to where you sit next to George. “Hey!” Greeting him back with a warm smile, you pat to the open seat. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab a bite after this. Maybe some chicken soup?” You beam.

“I love a good soup!”

Rapidly, Max’s ears perk up as he hears your conversation with the Monegasque. He was well over the rivalry, but with this? He would not second guess bringing it back. He clenches his jaw as he notices you nodding along with Charles. Strolling over to the small group, he shoots a bitter grin.

“Did you see Christian’s message about our last minute meeting?”

“Hello to you, too.” Checking your phone, you look back confused with a pout. “No. I haven't received anything.”

“Yeah, well, there’s one-”

“No, there's not.” Flickering your eyes behind your teammate, you’re even more lost. With hands on his hips, Christian taps his shoe as his eyes flicker between his two Red Bull drivers. “Don’t mind him, sweetheart. There’s no meeting.” He sends a small wink at Charles before walking off to the rest of the team principles. Max slumps.

“Ha. Guess it got canceled or something like that…”

Rushing over Lando and Daniel, Charles hunches over as he starts blabbering. “Did it work? Please tell me it worked - God - I think I almost shit myself. Tell me it fucking wo-”

The Brit points discreetly to where Max paces the room, orbs trained on you like a guard dog.

“It’s definitely working.”

He smacks a one hundred dollar bill onto a large hand. 

“And thank you for the help, too, Mr. Horner.”

-

Despite the attempts to get you and Max together, nothing seemed to work. The blue eyed boy would appear to start registering his feelings, and at the last minute, would completely chicken out. It would be an outright lie to say that this didn’t entertain the Alpha Tauri and McLaren boys, but they also knew that they had to continue their fairy godparent duties.

“Watch it!”

Crashing onto the couch inside of the Red Bull Hospitality, Max’s face bounces against it. He groans in pain before throwing a harsh stare at his friends. Lando stiffles a giggle as Daniel raises his arms up in defense. Getting seated, the Dutch looks back with a sour expression. 

“What’s this hostile situation about?”

Lando panics as he turns to his mate. The Aussie licks his lips, patting his lap. “Look, we’ve noticed a few things-” What things? He huffs. “Maybe if you would just let me finish-” That’s what she said! He glares at Lando who slaps a hand over his mouth, tears from unreleased laughter painting his blue eyes. “As I was saying…We’ve noticed your behavior towards a special little someone…”

“Towards Heidi? Shit. I didn’t think it’d be that noticeable.”

Lando clicks his fingers rapidly before pointing at the Red Bull driver. “He’s trying to not talk about it because he knows where this is going!” No, I’m not, Max shrieks as his voice cracks. Blushing, he pushes his hat lower to his face.

“You like her!”

“You know I like Heidi! She’s good for you-”

“You know that’s not who we’re talking about.”

It’s silent for a while. Standing up, Daniel goes to sit next to the 26 year old. Running a hand over his face, Max’s sighs as he looks up. “I’m not…used to feeling this way, okay?” 

“That’s totally fine, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat her like a piece of gum stuck at the bottom of your shoe. She’s amazing. Could have anyone - and I mean anyone - but she likes you. I don’t know why or how, but she likes you.” Daniel scoots away when Max narrows his eyes.

“She doesn’t like me.”

Jumping over the coffee table, Lando plops down. “Yes! She does. Ask me how I know.” A bored expression slashes Max’s face as he asks anyway. How, Lando? How do you know? “Because she’s always fighting with you.”

Daniel clicks his tongue as he slowly squints his brown eyes. “I don’t think you’re making the point you think you’re making, mate.” The Brit waves him off.

“I’m dead serious. When she gets upset, she always walks away because she claims to not want to waste her time on stupid arguments. But with you,” he pushes his index finger against the Red Bull polo, “With you she never - ever - walks away. Sure, you’re both at each others throats, but that only means one thing.” He leans against the sofa as he takes a sip of the open energy drink. 

“She doesn’t mind wasting time on you.”

-

After some more convincing, the duo had managed to raise the 26 year olds confidence. They could be wrong. Embarrassingly wrong, but how would he ever know if he never tried? Taking in a deep breath, he finds himself knocking on your door.

“More soup?���

Sheepishly, he shakes his head. His heart skips a beat as he notices how laid back you seem. How relaxed you were. He was going to ruin all that. He was going to say something that would change everything and things might never be the sa-

“Wanna come in?”

Handing him a plate of cut up watermelon, you take a seat in front of him, legs tucked beneath your butt. What are you doing out so late at night, Mr. Max Verstappen? He sets the plate down as he forces himself to mold into his chair. 

“I’ve never hated you.”

You blink. Clearing his throat, he looks down to his lap as he fiddles his fingers. “I know I’ve been such a bad teammate - I know - but I promise that it never had to do with you.”

“Okay. So…then what did it have to do with?”

He lets out a croaky laugh as he shuts his eyes. “That’s the tough part…” Opening his blue eyes, he finds you staring back, waiting for an answer. “I feel the opposite of hate…towards you.” He hates the way your face doesn’t change and you remain still. He hates when you shrink back and chew on your lip.

But he could never find himself hating the moment you climb onto his lap.

“T-that’s not what I came here for-”

“I know.” You slide your hands against his stubble. “Your confession was…adorable. Had trouble saying those words out loud, right? Because you,” you strum your finger against his chest, “...You don’t have feelings. You don’t have a heart.”

Now he’s frowning as he tries to unravel your words. A giggle bubbles up your throat, eyes crinkling shut. His breath hitches. “I feel things…” Your heart twirls with the way his voice sounds. Sure you do, Maxie- 

Grabbing your face with his left hand, he kisses you. It’s hot, feverish, and impatient.

It’s him.

Whimpering, you grind against him as he groans underneath you. Forcing himself to pull away from your warm lips, he cocks his head to the side. “Was that enough proof?”

“I might need more.”

It’s such a moment of pure adrenaline, that you can’t even pinpoint the moment your hatred towards him had turned into lust. All you know is that it felt so good to be riding him. Squeezing your hips, he lifts you up as he lets out a strained moan. The sound itself makes you drip even more. 

You had always loved his voice. How croaky it was. But you never imagined that it would turn your entire world upside down to hear him moaning your name like a prayer. Oh, fuck. Holy shit. Pushing his hands down, he opens his eyes as he looks back, weak and concerned. He worries you might have suddenly regretted all of this. That you would walk away and never want to talk to him ever again. But he’s already kissed you. He’s already been inside of you. 

He would beg you to stay in order to make you keep it that way.

“B-baby.” He whimpers with the way you dig yourself against him before circling your hips. Slow. “It’s okay if you want to stop-” You slide his fingers into your mouth. He swears he could finish with such a pretty sight.

“I don’t want to. I just want you to say sorry for everything you’ve ever done to me.”

“I already said I never meant any of it! You’re absolutely everything to me.”

Your core grows tighter with his affirmations. Holding onto his broad shoulders, you continue your sinister rhythm. “Maybe. But I still want one.”

“I’m so-”

Rubbing your bare tits against his chest, he shudders as he harshly pinches your thigh. Try again. “I said I’m so-” Pulling all the way out, you slide back down onto his cock. “Oh - don’t fucking do that.”

“Try again.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry.”

A satisfied smile slides onto your plump lips as you nod before kissing him and riding him the way you know he deserves. With one last hop, you both finish as he moans into your neck. Your fingers push his sweaty, blondish strands away before pressing your lips against his cheek. He smiles weakly.

“I like you, too.” You look down before returning your attention. “But I can’t be with you.”

“Wh-”

“Max. Let’s be realistic here. I’m a girl in Formula 1. You don’t know how hard I’ve worked to get here. I’ve had to do twice the work simply because I’m not a man.” You roll your eyes. “People are going to hate me. Call me names - God, I can already hear them.”

He never thought his heart could actually hurt for someone. You were really messing him up. He gingerly rubs small circles against your cheek.

“I’ll ruin whoever says anything bad about you, but please give this a chance. I’ve never wanted someone as bad as I do you. Please.”

And yes, there will be nasty comments. Hateful interpretations about your relationship. But that never really mattered as long as you had him. 

[suppose-i-was-worm]

Takeout Box

** this came to me in a fever dream and now y'all have to read it too**

Jason wasn’t entirely sure what to do. There was a large cardboard box on his doorstep, and not only was it faintly glowing green, it was also rattling and making muffled noises. He considered the possibility of Ivy, Harley, and Selina dropping off a box of feral cats, but surely they wouldn’t target Jason “Peters”, right?

With most strange doorstep boxes, he might have called for backup immediately. In fact, he ought to call for this box, especially with the sticky note on top. “Caution- May Bite”

It couldn’t be a bomb, what with the shaking and the noises.

Jason’s ears caught the sounds of his next door neighbor moving around their apartment, and he made up his mind. He could call the other bats after the suspicious box was out of the open.

With great care, he slipped on his oven mitts (better safe than sorry) and gingerly began pulling the box inside. It was heavier than he’d been expecting, but not more than he could handle by himself, which he thanked some unseen deity for. The movement stilled to a whisper almost as soon as the first edge of the box cleared the doorway, and the noises also calmed down some.

Once he’d gotten the box far enough into the apartment to close the door, he began circling it, looking for more identifying markings. He found himself sorely disappointed- the only visible symbols belonged to the note.

Three distinct knocks sounded from the box, nearly scaring Jason out of his skin.

“Hello?”

Three knocks again.

“Is someone- in there?”

Three knocks, more urgent this time.

Well. Fuck.

“Okay, okay, just, be still a moment?”

Carefully, one hand still protected by an oven mitt, Jason dug out a knife and slid it shallowly through the tape holding the box together. With the other hand he reached into his pocket for his phone to tap out an emergency code.

At least one bat would be coming through his window within fifteen minutes, and Jason could hold out until then if the person was hostile, but he wasn’t leaving someone trapped in a box.

He pulled the flaps open to reveal not one, but two dark haired children bound and gagged, curled up around each other. The one on the left growled a little around the gag, only for the other one to bump purposefully into them in reproach.

“Holy shit.”

Crap. No. Cursing around kids was bad. Bad Jason.

In a stroke of stupidity, he reached down and undid the gag on the growly one first, only to find sharp teeth digging into his hand after he pulled the piece of cloth away.

“Hey! No, stop that! Fuck, kid, I’m trying to help!”

The other kid made a small noise, and Bitey let go. Jason grimaced, but moved so that he could undo the other gag.

Calm took several deep breaths once the gag was off, and Jason wondered how, exactly, the kids had been breathing up until he opened the box. Their noses hadn’t been covered, but- Cardboard boxes were not conducive to breathing.

Instead of asking questions, Jason busied himself untying the kids, taking care not to let his hands go near Bitey’s mouth again. He figured he could ask questions while he found all the knots.

“So- what’s your story?”

Calm snickered.

“You’re bad at this.”

With a shrug, Jason tugged another knot loose. He didn’t want to use a knife this close to the kids. Kids were wiggly, right?

“Well, pardon me for not expecting a pair of kids at my front door.”

“I’m Danny and she’s Ellie. We were told that we’d find family here.”

“Who told you that?”

Now that the two were free, they looked at each other. Bitey- no, Ellie, was the first to speak up.

“CW did. Just so you know, no returns or refunds, the receipt was lost the moment you brought us inside.”

Danny smacked Ellie on the side of the head.

“He doesn’t have to keep us, Ellie. We can find some empty house to live in or something if he doesn’t want to. CW said we just had to live here for a few years, nothing about having a guardian.”

“Danny, we’re eight.”

Jason was about to ask who this ‘CW’ was, but Danny continued planning to live homeless in Gotham.

“We’ll just leave this haunt- you can feel it, he doesn’t want us here. Surely the Lady will shelter us until CW comes to pick us up.”

Ellie reached up to scratch at the back of her neck, and Jason could see a rash blooming on her arm. When he looked over at Danny, who was still muttering about asking for sanctuary in Gotham, the boy also had a flush of red rash spreading across his face.

There must be an allergen in the box.

“Let’s- get out of the box. And get you two wiped down for irritants.”

Danny shrugged and scratched at his own skin.

“It’s your haunt- we can’t be here if you don’t want us here. Well, we can, but it hurts.”

“My apartment hurts you?”

Ellie nodded, sitting on her hands to keep from scratching herself.

“It stopped when you brought the box inside, but- well.”

The two helped each other stand and clamber out of the box. Once they were no longer touching the glowing cardboard, it disappeared, leaving behind the sticky note. Ellie scooped it up, showed it to Danny, who shrugged, and then stuffed it in her mouth.

Jason startled.

“Hey! That’s evidence!”

“Goop now,” said Ellie, still chewing.

Danny took Ellie’s hand and started pulling her towards the door, and Jason could see even more of the bright red rash on the back of the boy’s legs.

“We’ll get out of your hair, Avenger. Sorry to drop in.”

“Danny!”

Ellie dug her heels in.

“It’s safer here! CW said it would be- even,” her voice dropped low, and her eyes darted around a little. “Even Dan said the Avenger would be safe. And if Dan said it-“

Jason decided to circle around and stop the kids before Danny pulled his sister out the door.

“Why would it be safer here with me?”

“Because you’re like us.” Danny and Ellie spoke at the same time.

To Jason’s extreme relief, Nightwing slid in through the window in the apartment kitchen just in time to have heard the kids.

“How is he like you?” Dick was smiling widely, but Jason could see the tension beneath the smile.

“He died and came back different.”

Dick’s smile instantly dropped, and the room went silent. Jason stared at the kids, and the kids stared resolutely back. They hadn’t turned to look at Dick at all, not even when he had spoken.

He could see the rashes start to recede, first from Ellie (sue him, he liked that she bit) and then Danny.

“I’m telling B.”

“Don’t you dare, Dickhead. I’ll tell him he’s got grandkids myself.”

The kids looked at each other and then back up to Jason.

“You’re keeping us?” Ellie’s voice was small, and her tone was different from anything Jason had heard from her so far.

With a firm nod, Jason patted their shoulders, turning them to face inside the apartment instead of the door.

“Sure. Us undead have to stick together, you know?”

[merrinla]

Portrait spamming

Recent discovery. If you click on the portraits of the characters like crazy, they will react to it. And the developers had a lot of fun coding these reactions xD

Tav / Dark Urge

normal - I'm awake! Mostly. - I'm starting to get a headache. - Must be the tadpole. - Quit knocking around in there! - A thousand needlepricks in my rotten skull.

combat -Ahhhhhhhh! Okay, I feel better. - I have an itch in the worst place. - Is being a mind flayer so bad? - Just waiting to venture forth here. - I'm maiming as fast as I can!

stealth - What's that ticking? - Is it me? Am I ticking? - Bomb in my head about to go off. Great. - Ah, well. I had a good run.

Astarion

normal - Why do beautiful people taste better? It hardly seems fair on the ugly - they have such wonderful personalities. - Ugh. Strahd wouldn't put up with this shit. - More like Drizzt Don't'Urden - no. No that's not funny. - Villains! Dissemble no more, I admit the deed! Tear up the floor - here, here! It is the beating of his hideous hea- oh, no, that's his brain. Where did I leave that heart?

combat: - I'm trying to focus on murder. - *Humming.* - I shot a svirfneblin in Menzoberranzan just to watch him die. - I should've been a drow. They have such stylish armour.

stealth - Shhh. Just think sneaky thoughts. - Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP. - Be very, very quiet - I'm hunting idiots. - I've got a brand new torture chamber, so come and play with me.

Karlach

normal - NOTE TO ACTOR/DIRECTOR: Blow a raspberry at the player. - Don't. Poke. The Karlach. - Who am I? - My eye!

combat - Eyes on the prize - we need to win this! - Not every soldier should've made it out of training. - Eyes on victory, tummy on dinner. - I ought to just burn this whole thing down.

stealth - My back can't take much more of this. - Not now, I'm being a sneak! - I'm getting too old for this nonsense. - I'm not built to crouch.

Gale

normal - I hope Halaster takes good care of Tara while I'm away. - Sembian wine; Cormyrian boar; Waterdhavian conversation. It's the little things you miss while on the road. - Oh, what a tangled Weave we web! - All the world's my stage and you're just a player in it.

combat - Just go for the Magic Missile and fire away. Never fails. - Don't make me go all Edwin Odesseiron on you. - Get. Out. Of. My. Head. - I really wish I could cast a Hold spell on you.

stealth - You made me hide, don't make me come seek you. - Gods, it's like trying to sleep with a mosquito in the room. - A little privacy please. - Stop it - that tickles.

Wyll

normal - Could do for a brew. - Where there's a 'Wyll', there's a 'y'. - Ever get the sense that someone's watching? - So two halflings walk under a bar...

combat - Can't hear myself think! - Wear your scars proudly. - As my father once told me: 'Can we get on with it?' - I find moderation is key.

stealth - Bad time for an itch. - Could do for a brew. - So two halflings walk under a bar... - Shush. No, really. Shush.

Lae'zel

normal - Must everyone be so exhausting? - Weapons high. Standards higher. - Is perfection too much to ask? - Pride is a virtue.

combat - I will know my queen! - There is no right or wrong, only truth. - What is the point, if not victory? - You are right to fear me.

stealth - Hush already. - There is no wisdom in madness. - Is perfection too much to ask? - There is but one way. Vlaakith.

Shadowheart

all modes - I wonder how I'll feel when I remember everything. - Strange. I've had more freedom this past while than my whole life... - Have to keep focused. Can't afford to get attached - to anyone. - If I succeed, maybe I'll be allowed a pet... ugh, stop being silly.

Halsin / his voice is currently bugged :(

normal - What I would not give for a chunk of fresh honeycomb... - Such attention... I never realised I was so popular. - Are you feeling lonely, perhaps? - Unwise, perhaps, to poke a bear this much...

сombat - Battle is afoot - you can poke me once we are safe. - Perhaps try attacking the enemy? - Admirable stamina, yet terrible priorities. - You are insistent, are you not?

stealth - Most consider it unwise to poke a bear. - My, you are eager, are you not? - Please. I am trying to be stealthy. - Calm yourself. There is plenty of me to go around.

Jaheira

normal - Oh, calm down. I'm happy to see you too. - I would poke you back, but I fear that's what you want. - My, such strong wrists. - Well you certainly have the 'omnipresent' part down, don't you? - Please go poke the ranger instead.

combat - You have my attention - now do something with it. - What? What do you want!? - Do you know, I begin to wish they had never brought me back. - Yes, yes, have your fun. It isn't you they're trying to kill.

stealth - Dry those sweaty palms and let us try this again, shall we? - Argh, my knees! Oh. It was a twig. - Would that I could hide from you, too. - Careful, or I will take your toy away from you.

Minsc

normal - ARGH! My EYE, Boo! They went for my EYE! - Know that if you poke Boo, no higher dimension will keep you safe! - Heehee. Heeheeheehee. - Well, Boo? How do you want to do this?

сombat - Are you perchance a squeaky wheel in need of a kick? - I am armed! Armoured! And entirely sick of your foolishness. - I begin to grow annoyed. It is well for you that Boo does not let me learn the bad words! - Ignore them, Boo. Let them gaze deep into their own abyss, and wonder just what it is they are trying to achieve.

stealth - A little to the left? But not so hard you make me giggle. - Boo...? Are you dancing down there, or...? - Hush! I am surprising Boo for his birthday! He is... uh... eh... how old do hamsters get...? - I am the night. A pity, then, that it is so bright out.

Minthara

all modes - You had my attention, now you have my fury. - Phlar Lolth ssinssrickla. - Your suffering will be spectacular. - Stop, or die.

[moonstruckme]

ok yeah. i can't stop thinking about that doctor pls i need doctor remus follow up or something im dead

Based on this ask

cw: mention of giving blood, lightheadedness

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 447 words

You rouse to hands on your shoulders. Cold tile against your backside, and the hum of a nice voice. 

“Hi, love,” it says. The hands seem to get you where they want to, your neck and shoulders resting against something warm and soft. One cups the back of your head gingerly. “Could you open your eyes the rest of the way for me, please?” 

You think you’d do anything for someone who talks to you like that. The lights in the room are harsh, but a figure cuts through them, a man perhaps just older than you. His head, gentle features and a mop of tawny brown hair, hovers over yours. It’s then that you remember where you are. 

You’re at the doctor’s office, in the small private room they took you to for your blood draw, and you appear to be in this doctor’s lap. 

“There we are,” he says, using a hand to shield your eyes from the fluorescent lights. “I’m Remus. Do you know where you are?” 

“Doctor’s?” you mumble. 

Remus smiles. “Very good. I have some juice for you here.” He looks away from your face, reaching for something on the floor beside you. “Could you tilt your head down a tad to drink it, please? Yeah, like that. Thank you.” 

You drink from a juice box with his hand supporting your head. Remus encourages you to take small sips, wiping the corner of your mouth gently when you’re done. You worry you might faint again at the brush of contact; though, really, you probably ought to be more concerned about the contact you’re having with the rest of him. 

“It seems like you had some trouble with the blood draw,” he says in a kind voice. “Is that something that happens often?” 

You try out your voice, clearing your throat. “No. No, I’ve never done that before.” 

Remus hums. “Do you feel okay?” 

Honestly? You’re not sure. You feel deeply, horrendously out of sorts, having woken to find yourself in the lap of the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. At the same time, you think you might be the best you’ve ever been. 

“I—I think so,” you manage. 

Remus gives you a little smile. “It would be perfectly normal to be a bit shaken up,” he says. The hand not behind your head has found your forearm and begun tracing small, seemingly thoughtless, circles into your skin. “Losing consciousness isn’t easy on the body. It’s alright if you feel out of sorts.” 

“Yeah,” you breathe, woozy all over again. “That must be it.” 

Remus hums sympathetically. “Let’s just stay here for a while, then. I’ll have someone get you a snack.”

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 3

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (now skeptical!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: I’ve already outlined the entire thing–now it’s just a matter of writing it, so don’t worry! Even if some chapters take me longer to update, I’m gonna finish this one way or another. Promise. *fingers crossed* Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, reader thinks she’s losing her marbles because of a certain someone

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9

“Alright—okay, don’t be stupid,” You chant to yourself as you pace restlessly from the kitchen area of your studio, to the coffee table where you’ve set your phone lying facedown. “Just open the damn thing.” 

You’ve just arrived back at the condo a little past seven PM after a, frankly, productive–if not slightly distracted–day of running errands. You’re home, and you haven’t even got to unpacking the two paper bags (and a box) worth of groceries that were all but thrown carelessly on the kitchen counter, and already, you’re back to stressing over all the weird shit that's been happening to you.

Throughout the afternoon, you tried your hardest to resist the urge to check your phone, especially whenever you see the screen light up–whether it was in your hand or stashed away in your half-zipped fanny pack.

It’s at the most random times too, but always when you act on your unfortunate tendency to monologue your thoughts out loud. 

Sure, it could just be some random push app notifications. Text messages from the few people that hit you up on the weekends–invitations to hang out, maybe. A few newsletters you forgot to unsubscribe from, if you’re unlucky. 

But you think the timing’s far too deliberate to be purely coincidental. 

“Do I get a dozen eggs or just half? What do I even need a dozen for?” (Phone vibrates)

“Oh, hey, Indomie’s on sale if you buy in bulk. How much for a box?” (Screen flashes. Twice.)

“Who the hell is holding up the line, damn–oh, it’s an old lady. Better hurry the fuck up, grandma.” (Screen flashes) “...Sorry! I didn’t mean that.” 

“Ughhh… my tummy hurty…” (Phone vibrates) “What—” 

“Everything’s perfectly normal. Just your average, sunny Saturday! You are an independent, capable adult… who’s fucking losing it.” (Screen flashes–after a minute interval) 

Of course, you have an inkling as to what’s–or who’s–blowing your phone up; in fact, he’s never left your mind since this morning.

So presently, you’re in the middle of having a small existential crisis over what that means, for you and your sanity. No big deal. 

You puff out your cheeks for a couple of seconds before letting out a deep breath. Don’t be a pussy. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation to all of this. You’re–you’re not crazy. 

Landing heavily down in front of the low table, you finally grab your phone, hand shaking with the teensiest amount of trepidation. Not giving yourself any more time to think and second-guess, you flip it over, switching it back to Ring mode as you swipe up to see—

—a barrage of notifications; one popping up after another. 

Some of them are what you’ve expected: plain, old push notifications from banking apps, others from varying socials. There’s one from your mom. A reminder to email her the flight tickets you still haven’t gotten around to booking yet. 

And. Six banner notifications from the game. From… from–him. It’s something you’ve already braced yourself for. It doesn’t prepare you, however, for what they actually said. 

A knot grows in your chest, spreading rapidly like slithering twine as your mind tries, and somewhat fails, to make sense of what your eyes are seeing. 

Grab a dozen, sweetie. It won’t add much to the total cost, and you need that protein every morning. Cereal’s not gonna cut it. 

You really ought to lessen your sodium intake, kitten. (and) Do NOT get the box. Stop. 

Haha. A feisty one, aren’t you? 

Mmm, poor baby.

I– we can talk about this later when you get home.

Each notification contains a completely unique dialogue you’ve never seen before. A play-by-play commentary specifically in response to you— to your personal remarks from earlier, spoken out loud— that there is absolutely no way anyone could still pass this off as simply being system-generated. 

A faint ringing echoes in your ears as you slowly draw back, putting some distance between the onslaught of text and… you. You can’t seem to tear your gaze away from the screen, though. Even if the back of your head bumps against the seat edge of the sofa behind you from how far you’ve already leaned back. 

Blinking in stunned silence, the only thing you could croak out is a strained “what the fuuuck.” 

... Ping!

Still mustering the courage to face me? Don’t keep me in suspense, darling. 

The sudden message jolts you back to reality. You suck in a deep breath.

… Despite everything, you can’t help but find his nonchalant response to your gradual spiral into hysterics–because he knows–a little amusing. Also rude. But mostly funny. 

(It’s also probably just your brain’s last-ditch effort to find some semblance of control, but whatever.)

At this point, you know that you’re merely delaying the inevitable. Swallowing, you press on one of Sylus’ messages and it immediately boots up the game. 

Instead of soothing your nerves like it usually does, the orchestral background music from the loading screen puts you more on edge; your anxiety builds up to a crescendo, harmonious to the heralding of what you know will undoubtedly change the trajectory of your life. 

Dramatic, but true. 

48%... 82%... 98%...

There’s a hollow drop in your stomach when the screen–finally–reveals the familiar sight of the café. The golden ambient light enters your field of vision for a split second before your eyes flit reflexively to the man standing in the middle of the screen, whose presence commandeered your full attention.

He’s wearing his motorcycle jacket–the black one with the red and white thorn(?) accents, paired along the pair of leather pants with the iconic double zipper. Aside from the black zircon studs, he’s not wearing anything out of the ordinary. Nothing is looking out of the ordinary, actually. 

Holding your breath, you wait for the other shoe to drop. 

“Are you waiting for me to say hello? Then–” Sylus muses with an amused lilt to his voice, sauntering closer to flick “your” forehead. There’s a beat before he continues: “That’s my way of saying hello.” 

… Huh? 

That’s—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You… you don’t know what you were expecting, but this wasn’t it.

The man in front of you doesn’t look any different from how he usually does; the way that his… character animation (Should you call it that? It doesn’t seem right, given the circumstance, but you don’t know how best to describe anything anymore) flows is so–-so infuriatingly… normal. As if it’s just like any other day that you’ve logged in the game. 

Where did the sentience go? Why is he reciting lines he’s programmed to say? None of it adds up.

Your mouth tries to form words, but nothing comes out. With wide eyes, you helplessly gape at him. Speechless. For a moment, you feel like you’ve actually gone mad. 

A small “what’s happening?” slips past your lips. Your eyes dart across his face, trying to analyze every microexpression, any hint of sentience on him–in his eyes, in his movements. 

You find none. 

Mechanically, you exit the game.

“What the actual fuck?” You whisper-shout at nothing in particular, and maybe to the biggest cause of your current disconcertion; one who you thought… Who you were sure was—

-

-

Fuck it. It’s time to put your detective skills to work.