#sorry! I tried to answer but I just don't have one singular answer

[tj-crochets]

Every time you post you make me want to make something!! How do you manage to start and finish so many projects constantly? I’m also disabled and its always so hard to find the spoons to finish my projects 😭

I definitely feel you on the difficulty finding spoons thing, I had multiple days this week where I did absolutely no crafting at all because I was just completely out of spoons. This explanation got long, so it's below a read more

For me, crafting is a...I'm not sure how to word it. A load-bearing hobby? Making a physical, tangible object gets me those good "finished task" brain chemicals while at the same time letting me learn a skill (one of my favorite things to do) and ending up with an object that I will probably eventually give to someone (also one of my favorite things to do, matching objects to the people who will love them). If I go too long without crafting I get antsy and grumpy and I get frustrated easily. Other load bearing hobbies for me are reading and making music; too long without any of them and I feel off-balance, metaphorically. I have a variety of crafts I keep supplies for on-hand for different spoon level days; for me crochet takes less spoons than knitting, which takes less spoons than all but the simplest plushie sewing, which takes less spoons than most quilting. There's some differences; plushie making is less physically taxing for me than quilting but takes a lot more focus, so if I'm having a good physical spoons day but a bad mental spoons day I might opt for quilting instead of plushies? The other thing that's helped me a lot is forgiving myself for unfinished projects. I used to feel guilty when I got hung up on a project and couldn't finish it, and I'd struggle through it and not want to craft and it would take forever and I'd be unhappy the entire time, or I'd set it aside and try to make other things but feel guilty the whole time because I thought I should be making something else. These days, I have gotten a lot better at accepting that I have limits, both physical and mental, and it's okay for me to respect them. Not finishing a crafting project is a morally neutral thing; for me, crafts are for enjoying, and if I enjoyed making the part of the project I made then I got something out of it even if I never finish it. I also think no crafting effort is wasted, you'll learn something from it even if all you learn is that you don't like that particular craft. The other other thing that helps me start and finish so many projects so often is that I am lucky enough to be able to keep the basic supplies for a wide variety of projects on hand at all times, so that I can make almost anything as the whim strikes me (like grumpy bunnies this week). I think of it like keeping a stocked pantry as a baker; you might not know what you'll want to make tomorrow, but you know you'll probably need sugar and flour and salt, and as you learn more about baking you can tailor your stock of supplies to what you like to make (for me in sewing, that means keeping a rainbow of minky and some faux fur on hand, so that I have many colors to choose from because I really enjoy working with color. In knitting, it means keeping a particular yarn in any color on hand because I pretty much only knit beanies these days and I don't care what color they are but do care about the yarn. Your "staple supplies" will vary based on your craft, your preferences, your budget, and your storage space, but I absolutely love being able to impulse craft things)

[claramelooo]

Hey, guys! Sorry I'm late, I'm at a sleepover! Enjoy!

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT!

Warning: +18, discipline

Paring: Mommy Wanda x Brat Fem reader

Summary: After forgetting a date with Wanda, you get what you deserve

Read here: Prologue | Part 1 - Predator | Part 2 - The Prey | Part 3 - On your Knees | Part 4 - The Spider | Part 5 - The Lamb | Part 6 - Pure Crimson

VELVET CHAINS

DEPENDECE

The days passed, and you remained unaware of the storm of emotions brewing within Wanda. You felt safe, confident by her side.

Wanda had shaped your self-confidence, helping you develop a sense of identity beyond the submissive, uninspired version your parents had tried to mold. Over time, through playful glances and mischievous smiles, she realized how unique your personality truly was.

Your witty comebacks, questionable humor, and untimely jokes—those were the traits that made you so singular in her eyes. She watched you as if every move you made was a piece of a puzzle she could never fully solve, yet she couldn't stop trying.

It was your carefree nature that unsettled her. You were like a hurricane—unpredictable, irreverent, and utterly at ease being yourself around her. Wanda, so accustomed to meticulous control and carefully planning every step, found her sanity tested by your provocations.

Like that afternoon.

"Do you always have to have the last word?" Wanda asked, raising an eyebrow as she stared at you from across the room.

"Only when someone gives me a reason," you replied, resting your chin on your hand, a smile playing on your lips—half challenge, half charm.

Wanda crossed her arms, slowly walking toward you.

"You know that drives me crazy, don't you?"

"Maybe," you teased, your tone light but full of mischief. "But you love it."

She stopped in front of you, leaning just enough for her presence to completely envelop you. Her green eyes sparkled with that familiar mix of exasperation and fascination.

"And why would I love something so infuriating?"

You shrugged, tilting your head with an innocent smile full of unspoken intentions.

"Because it means you never know what to expect from me. And you like the challenge, Wanda. Admitting it won’t kill you."

Her laugh was low, almost dark, but you saw the corner of her mouth curl upward.

"You’re unbelievable," she murmured, taking your hand and pulling you closer—so close you could feel the heat radiating from her body. "And do you know what the problem with that is?"

"Hmm?" you prompted, looking up at her from beneath your lashes with the most playful expression you could muster.

"It’s that I never want you to change."

The admission carried a weight that caught you off guard. For a moment, the air between you grew heavy with unspoken emotions. But instead of retreating, you chose to break the tension in your own way.

"So, if I make another bad joke right now, you’ll still like me?"

Wanda sighed, but there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

"Go ahead and find out, little one."

You didn’t waste a second.

"What’s the name of the sleepiest superhero? Napman—because he fights sleep!"

Wanda closed her eyes for a second, as if summoning patience. When she opened them, her gaze was intense.

"See? This is what drives me insane."

"But you still like it, don’t you?" you teased, leaning into her, confidence radiating from every move you made.

Wanda didn’t respond with words, but the slow smile spreading across her lips was answer enough.

Hours later, you were curled up on the couch under a blanket, a book open on your lap. Wanda was in the kitchen, focused on preparing something, as she often did, and you felt comfortable enough to be entirely yourself—playful, sassy, and a little bratty—the way only you could be around her.

"Wanda, you’re taking forever!" you whined, throwing your head back dramatically. "I’m going to starve before you’re done!"

She appeared in the kitchen doorway, one eyebrow arched, her gaze making you shiver—but not enough to stop your antics.

"Then come here and do it yourself if you’re in such a hurry," she said calmly, though her tone carried that edge that always made you think twice.

You looked at her with a mischievous grin, knowing exactly what you were doing.

"Oh, but you do it so much better. I deserve the best, don’t I?"

Wanda set down what she was holding and walked toward you, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She stopped beside the couch, looking at you with that perfect mix of exasperation and amusement only she could manage.

"You do deserve the best. But do you know what else you deserve?" She leaned down, taking the book from your lap and setting it aside. "Discipline. Lots of discipline."

Your smile faltered for a second, but you quickly recovered. “Discipline? Why? I’m an angel!”

Wanda chuckled softly, leaning in closer until your faces were just inches apart. “An angel? Are you sure about that? Because to me, you seem more like… a brat.”

You tried to hold back your laughter but failed. “And what are you going to do about it, mommy?” The nickname came out in a challenging tone, and you knew you were playing with fire.

She narrowed her eyes, a slow smile forming on her lips. “Want to find out?”

Before you could respond, Wanda grabbed you by the waist, lifting you off the couch as if you weighed nothing. You squirmed, laughing loudly as she carried you toward the kitchen.

“Wanda! Put me down!” you protested, though your laughter betrayed any attempt to sound serious.

“Not until you learn to stop provoking me. Now, cut the apples, darling. I’m making pie.” She set you down on one of the kitchen chairs, returning to the stove with a satisfied expression.

You crossed your arms, pretending to be indignant. “This is an abuse of power.”

Wanda glanced over her shoulder, smiling. “This is love, my sweet. Now stay quiet and let me finish dinner, or I might come up with other ways to deal with your brattiness.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but her expression made you think twice. Instead, you grabbed one of the apples from the counter and started eating it, that mischievous glint still in your eyes.

Wanda shook her head, laughing softly. She knew you wouldn’t change, and deep down, she didn’t want you to. After all, it was precisely your antics that made every moment with you so unique.

[...]

The smell of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon donuts filled the small café in the heart of the city. You were sitting in a quiet corner, surrounded by books, notebooks, and loose papers. A cup of cappuccino sat cooling by your side as you scribbled furiously, eyes fixed on a seemingly endless reading list.

“This looks like torture,” Yelena remarked, appearing beside you with a tray in her hands. She sat across from you, balancing her coffee cup and a plate with a croissant.

“It’s Yale,” you replied with a sigh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Not exactly a walk in the park.”

“Why do you do this to yourself?” Yelena asked, frowning slightly. Despite the playful tone, there was genuine concern in her voice.

“Because it’s my dream,” you said firmly, shrugging. “And dreams require sacrifices.”

Yelena laughed, tearing off a piece of her croissant. “Always so dramatic. Relax a little, will you? You’re doing great. Besides, nobody can be perfect all the time.”

“Easy for you to say,” you teased, glancing up at her. “Some of us have to work for what we want.”

“Ouch,” she said, placing a hand over her chest as if wounded. “You’re cruel. And speaking of hard work…” Yelena looked around before leaning over the table. “I have to ask. What’s going on between you and Wanda?”

Your heart stopped for a moment. Her tone wasn’t accusatory or suspicious, so you decided to test the waters.

“What do you mean?”

Yelena frowned. “‘What do you mean,’ seriously? You’re temporarily staying in that witch’s house. Do you realize how concerning that sounds?”

You let out a relieved laugh. “Witch? What are you talking about? Wanda’s an amazing woman!” Yelena gave you an incredulous look.

She crossed her arms, leaning back in the chair as if she were assessing you. Her gaze was half playful, half interrogative. “Amazing woman?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Are we talking about the same Wanda who, with just a look, makes everyone either want to run away or kneel? Because, honestly, this ‘amazing woman’ has a pretty… controlling vibe.”

You laughed, stirring your coffee to avoid her gaze. “She just has a strong personality. She’s determined, you know? It’s not like she’s mean.” You replied—cheeks burning as memories of the previous night flashed through your mind, where you learned firsthand that Wanda could be mean, after all.

Yelena scoffed. “Oh, sure. And I’m the Queen of England.”

“I’m serious, Yelena,” you insisted, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. “She’s incredible. Smart, funny… and she treats me well.”

“Treats you well, huh?” Yelena leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. “That’s a cute way of saying you’re being super gay for her, isn’t it?”

Your eyes widened, and you groaned in exasperation. “Yelena! Stop it! Wanda’s married!” You made exaggerated hand gestures, hoping to wave away any suspicion.

“Yeah, I know. And yet, here you are, stammering with flushed cheeks.” The blonde pinched your cheeks between her fingers, making you yelp in protest.

“All right, all right!” Yelena raised her hands in surrender. “I won’t tell anyone about your little crush on the married milf.”

You let out a sigh of relief, but you couldn’t help casting a cautious glance at Yelena. “I don’t have a crush on anyone!” you insisted, crossing your arms and trying to sound firm.

Yelena smirked, the mischievous glint in her eyes showing she didn’t believe you for a second. “Oh, sure, because not having a crush perfectly explains why you get all flustered just saying her name.”

“You’re unbearable,” you muttered, grabbing your coffee cup to hide behind it.

“I’m unbearable, but I’m right,” Yelena countered, leaning forward with a conspiratorial look. “So, what did she do to make you like this? Was it that killer stare? Or maybe the way she talks, all authoritative?”

“Yelena!” you exclaimed, nearly spilling your coffee.

“Ah, I knew it!” Yelena slapped the table, laughing loud enough to make a few people in the café glance your way. “You like it when she bosses you around, don’t you?”

“I’m going to kill you,” you said through gritted teeth, though your face was so hot it could have set the entire café on fire.

“Relax, no one here’s judging,” she said, raising her hands again in mock innocence. “I’m just saying that if it were me, I’d probably be swooning too. I mean, the woman’s a total icon of milf power.”

“Milf power? Where do you even come up with this stuff?” you asked, laughing despite yourself.

“I’m Russian. Every Russian knows this,” Yelena replied with a dramatic wave of her hand.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help smiling. Yelena always had a way of disarming you, even when she was being completely irritating.

Yelena raised her cup as if making a toast. “Now, spill. Does she kiss well or not?”

“Yelena!” you exclaimed, feeling your face heat up even more.

“Oh, come on, I deserve to know! If you’re going to tangle with a powerful witch, at least give me the details.”

You shook your head, laughing. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable,” Yelena shot back with a wink. “But that’s fine. I’ll find out one way or another.”

Her laughter echoed through the café, and for the first time in days, you felt a little lighter.

[...]

When you got home, you immediately sensed something was wrong. The house was too quiet. Wanda was in the living room, arms crossed, her eyes glinting with an intensity that made you freeze in the doorway.

“Hi,” you began hesitantly, feeling the tension in the air.

“Did you have fun?” Wanda asked, her voice low but laced with controlled anger.

You swallowed hard, nervousness coursing through your veins. “Yes…” you replied, testing her mood.

Wanda tilted her head slightly, as if assessing your response. The smile that curled on her lips was small but completely devoid of humor. “That’s good,” she said, her sweetness as sharp as a blade. “Because while you were out having fun, I was here… thinking.”

“I wasn’t… I was studying.” Your justification was completely ignored as Wanda started walking toward you, her movements feline.

Wanda took a step closer, and you instinctively stepped back. “I was thinking about how foolish I was to believe you knew your place.”

“My place?” you repeated, surprise mixing with your growing unease.

“Yes, your place,” she replied, her voice colder now. “By my side. Here. With me.”

“Wanda, I didn’t do anything wrong,” you started, but she raised a hand, cutting you off.

“Exactly! You didn’t!” she questioned, her eyes blazing with anger. “You were out with her while I was here… waiting for you for tea.”

As she mentioned it, your gaze fell on the tea set, perfectly arranged—you cursed yourself mentally. You and Wanda had developed small rituals throughout the day, and tea time was one of them.

She would sip her tea while you lay on her lap, listening as she read to you. Guilt stabbed at your heart.

“I… I just went out with a friend. Yelena is a childhood friend,” you argued, trying to remain calm, but her intensity was almost overwhelming.

“Friend,” Wanda repeated, as if tasting the word and finding it repugnant. “Is that why you ignored my messages? Came back smelling like coffee and laughter that wasn’t mine?”

When Wanda realized you’d been with Yelena, it was as if something inside her cracked. Her first reaction was disbelief—how could you be with someone else? It wasn’t conventional jealousy, not the kind that came with exclusivity. It was something deeper, primal, a visceral cry of possession she didn’t know she had until she met you.

She tried to focus on other things, but her thoughts kept circling back to the image of you laughing with Yelena. The smile she considered hers, willingly shared with someone else. As hours passed and her messages remained unanswered, every minute felt like a cruel reminder of her lack of control.

When the sacred tea time you both shared came and went without you, Wanda felt a knot in her stomach. A simple tradition, but one that held deep significance for her—a moment of connection, a bubble where the outside world ceased to exist. And you had broken that.

Anger consumed her, a heat rising through her veins and burning away any rationality. It wasn’t fair. She knew that. You hadn’t promised her exclusivity, but her heart screamed otherwise. She hated herself for being so dependent, so vulnerable.

When she finally heard the door open, it was like the eye of a storm. But when she saw you, with your hesitant smile and disarming tone, the anger surged back in full force.

Her anger wasn’t just about you spending the day with someone else. It was about the vulnerability you made her feel, the intensity of her emotions that she couldn’t control. Wanda didn’t want to feel this way, but at the same time, she didn’t want you to be anyone else’s.

“Wanda, this doesn’t make sense,” you said, frustration building. “I love being with you. Why are you acting like this?”

The confession hit Wanda like a shock, but it didn’t extinguish the fire in her eyes. Instead, she took another step toward you, closing the space between you.

“Because I don’t share what’s mine,” she said, her voice low and weighted.

Before you could respond, Wanda gripped your wrist firmly—but not painfully—and pulled you closer, your faces so near you could feel her breath.

“You need to understand something,” she said, her tone so serious it stole your breath. “I’m yours. And you… you’re mine.”

The weight of her words crashed over you like an avalanche, leaving your body tense. Her gaze darkened even further, and before you could process it, her lips captured yours—demanding, possessive.

There was no gentleness in the kiss, only raw intensity and desire. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were blazing, as if the entire world had disappeared and left only the two of you.

Wanda murmured, her tone slightly softer but still brimming with authority. “I think we need a little reminder of who’s in charge here, don’t you?”

Wanda stood in the center of the room, arms crossed over her chest, her piercing gaze fixed on you. The intensity of her eyes made your skin prickle, but her voice remained calm, as if each word was meticulously chosen.

You know you made me furious today," she began, her voice low and controlled but with a sharp edge. "And when I feel this way, we need to address it properly. First of all, what's the safeword?"

"Green to continue, yellow to slow down, and red to stop," you answered in a near whisper, tension pulsing through your body.

She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Exactly. Now, I want you to know I have no intention of hurting you, but you need to learn not to test my boundaries. Understood?"

"Yes," you replied, your voice trembling slightly.

"Good girl," Wanda said, her tone firm but tinged with a tenderness that made your knees weak. "Now, lie across my lap."

Your breathing quickened, but you obeyed. With trembling fingers, you unbuttoned your pants and slid them down, draping yourself over her lap, your heart pounding in your chest.

Wanda placed her hand gently on your back, stroking your skin in an almost comforting gesture. "We’re going to count together. Each spank, understood?"

"Yes, ma’am," you replied, your tone small and submissive.

“Why are you being punished, Y/n?” she asked, her hand stroking your ass with a firm grip.

Your lower lip trembled as embarrassment washed over you, leaving you feeling exposed.

"I… I didn’t reply to mommy’s messages, and I forgot about our plans together."

"Good girl," Wanda said, already feeling some of her anger dissipate. "Identifying and acknowledging your mistakes is a big step. I’m very proud of you, dekta."

The first spank came swiftly, making you gasp at the initial sting. "One," you said, your voice shaky.

The second was firmer but still controlled. "Two."

As the spanks continued, the heat in your skin grew. Each one was meticulously measured, never crossing the boundaries you both had established. Wanda’s hand was firm, but you knew she was entirely in control.

By the eighth spank, tears began streaming down your face. Your voice quivered as you counted, "Eight."

Wanda immediately paused, her hand resting on your warm skin. "What’s the color?" she asked, her tone now filled with concern.

"Green," you responded between sobs, though she didn’t seem fully convinced. She sighed, stroking your skin gently.

"Are you okay? Do you want to keep going?" The anger that had consumed Wanda earlier seemed to be rapidly dissolving, replaced by a tenderness that made your heart ache.

"I’m okay," you replied, still tearful but sincere. "Please, don’t stop."

Wanda hesitated for a moment before resuming, her hand stroking your back again. "Alright. But I want you to know that, even when I’m upset, my priority is you. I adore you, my girl, and I will never push past your limits."

“N-nine,” you sobbed, feeling the sting radiate through you.

“Ten!” you exclaimed, relieved that it was over. As Wanda pulled you into her arms, you let everything go—all the anger and guilt you had bottled up.

"Shh, my girl," Wanda murmured, running her fingers through your hair. "It’s okay now. I’m here, and I’ll never let anything hurt you. Not even me."

You nodded, still crying softly as the warmth of her presence enveloped you completely. In Wanda’s arms, you knew you were safe.

Wanda felt herself lost in the abyss that was you. It wasn’t love, at least not the romantic, delicate kind people liked to describe. It was something far more visceral, something that clenched her chest like a closed fist and kept her awake at night, suffocated by a need she didn’t know how to satisfy.

You were a throbbing, vivid, uncontrollable obsession. Every smile, every distracted glance was like a spark igniting something primal within her. Wanda found herself lost in mundane moments—washing dishes, folding clothes—and suddenly, she was thinking of you. The sound of your laughter, the way you furrowed your brow when focused, the warmth of your skin beneath her fingers.

She knew this was dangerous. She knew there was a fine line between wanting someone and needing someone. But with you, that line had long been obliterated. It was no longer a matter of choice. You had become a part of her, an extension of her will, and it terrified her.

What scared her most, however, was the power you wielded without even trying. All it took was your absence for the emptiness to settle in her chest like a slow, corrosive sickness. A mere delay was enough for her mind to conjure terrible scenarios, a storm of insecurities and paranoias she couldn’t contain.

And then there was the touch. My God, the touch. When your fingers met hers, it was as though the world around her ceased to exist. There was something possessive about the way Wanda held your hand, as if she feared you might vanish if her grip wasn’t firm enough. And maybe you would vanish, because you weren’t hers—not really—and that was a constant torment.

There were nights when she lay beside Vision, the husband who was supposed to be her anchor, staring at the ceiling with someone else’s name caught on her lips. In those moments, she felt the depth of her dependency. You were like a drug she’d tasted once and could no longer abandon, no matter how hard she tried.

You were her ruin, but also the only thing that made life pulse through her veins again.

And perhaps that was what Wanda feared most: that without you, she wouldn’t be able to feel anything at all.

~*~

UNREVISED CHAPTER

Tag List <3

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[nyc3]

hello I recently and after going through it I would like to ask some questions if that’s ok of course and sorry if you perhaps got one of theses questions before

1.what is your general opinion on Shigaraki cause I’m curious as a shiggy fan and just curious in general what other people who don’t like him as much or just in general don’t like him think of him

2. How would you write/rewrite shigaraki just in general or if nine was the main villian and Shigaraki was like a secondary villian and or maybe him joining up with nine

3. What do you think would have happened if nine found tenko

sorry if this ask comes off as annoying or rude I’m just general curious hope you having a good/night

Hello!

It's ok, I would try to answer the question the best I can as english isn't my first lenguage so sorry if you find errors here and there. So let's go:

1_ This may sound strange as my constant comments and critiques about Shigaraki may make look like I hate him, but isn't really the case.

I think is more he's a frustrating character to me because while on paper his concept is fine, I feel his presence ends up being detrimental to the quality of the story because the mangaka didn't know how kept Shigaraki relevant and his solution was artificially increase his status sacrificing other more interesting characters with potential just to elevate Shigaraki, especially Nine and Overhaul.

2_ Honestly I never thought on an in deep rewrite of Shigaraki overall character.

But If I have to say something he did works as a early antagonist considering the initial states of MHA and while I'm not fan of having a singular main villain (because in my ideal story multiple major villains should fight for the power) I think Shigaraki and Nine surely can coexist in the same story. They can even influence each other in fact.

After all an important part of Shigaraki as a character is how he develops a sense camaraderie and tries to became a better leader (even if there's a lot of problems with the execution if that idea in canon).

But Nine already had those qualities since the beginning, he's a good leader who always cared about his teamates and tried his best to protect them. He was a hero for them basically.

So why not make Nine a figure which inspires Shigaraki rather than his rival and Tomura attemps to became a better version of himself while looking what makes Nine a beloved leader, while at the same it time creates a contrast with AFO who was the only prominent figure on his life before.

It would also be funny if AFO didn't see coming how his two attempts of "successors" would became closer allies rather than rivals and join forces, eventually opposing him. Nine would never follow AFO selfish ideals, and he probably will fight to free Shigaraki from his control.

3_ This one is interesting, because I don't think Nine and Shigaraki have a big age difference in the first place.

Despite Nine got a more adult vibe he probably is at best middle 20s, which would make him 4-5 years older than Shigaraki in terms of canon age.

So in a scenario where Nine found Tenko after what happened to his family that day they both will still be kids.

But despite Nine seem to only care about people with stronger quirks and you can think "why he would care about a random kid in the streets?" I actually think Nine has this unconsious instict to protect others in a vulnerable situation regardless of their actual power. After all how he could guess people like Slice and Mummy were strong but he helped them anyway?

That being said I think Nine would do exactly the same for Tenko if he found him that day, extending a hand to him (metaphorically at least lol) and both would escape together while trying to survive on the cruel world of the streets as two orphans without any place to go.

Think about it as Nine being the big bro who tries to protect Tenko the best he can, because he knows Tenko can be a really strong person and both could take on the world someday. Of course Nine won't try to fuel Tenko's trauma unlike AFO, perhaps he will attempt to heal him and Tenko will recover a bit of his own selfless and sweet self with time.

While they grown together as a found family they eventually will meet Chimera, Slice and Mummy like Nine did in canon.

Idk how their lives should continue from there, but pretty sure all them will still fight for create the ideal world Nine always wanted for all of them.

So that's it, I tried my best to answer each question but probably I could've added a lot more but didn't want to make this too long either.

Perhaps one day I will do more post with ideas about how I would like the story to be. It's very fun write about Nine and Shigaraki actually.

Thank you for ask and read!

[junipers-archive]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚✧VALENTINES DAY CONFESSIONS

❥ James!potter x reader (You've had a crush on James for months now, he finally gets the nerve to ask you to be his Valentine, only to find you were on your way to ask him.) Word Count: 700

"Jus' don't know if she'll like it!" James was in the common room discussing his singular girl problem with his friends. "I mean we've been friends for a while, but I still don't even know if she likes me!"

Sirius who was languidly laying across one of the armchairs nearby rolled his eyes as he answered, "Your delusional if you don't see it."

"He's right James, she really does like you, laughs at every one of your bad jokes enough." even Remus had enough of his jabbering, most of their conversations almost always ended up with James bringing up your name.

He was blushing at even the mention of you liking him back, "What if she already has a Valentines though? What if she doesn't really like me? What if-"

"Give her the Valentine!" It was Pete, laying on the ground in a star-fished position, he'd almost drifted off into a sweet sleep before he was woken once more by James' worried voice.

He got up from the couch he'd been stationed at, quickly and quite bravely if he said so himself heading for the door. "Fine. But if I get my heart broken you will all be very sorry!"

As he left they all let out a collective sigh, they'd been attempting to convince him all week, maybe, just maybe if they could finally get you two together, they'd get some peace and quiet.

When James gets to you he's panting, having ran down several flights of moving stairs to reach you. You had come to the library to return some of the books you'd borrowed to study, he knew this since he was the one who offered to help you, just so he could spend more time with you.

"Y/n!" He tried to look casual, all the same hiding the gift behind his back as he approached your figure.

"Oh, hey Jamie!" you eyes were bright and your heart fluttered at his flushed cheeks.

"Have you got any plans for the day?" He was hoping your answer was no, so he could take you on a proper date, something you deserved.

"M'no don't think so, why?"

"W-well I was just hoping, since you're free, and its Valentines day..." your heart beat faster as he continued, you'd waited months for him to realize you liked him back.

"Well maybe you could, or rather we could, w-would you be valentine?" He swears you're the only to ever make him this nervous.

When he see's your pleased expression however he gets a surge of confidence taking out your gift and handing it to you, a beautiful bouquet of your favorite flowers accompanied by a small box of chocolates.

"Yes!" Your reply comes far too quickly, but you couldn't care less, taking out the small card and chocolate box you'd gotten him from your bag.

You shove it towards him as he gapes at you, "I-What-What is this?"

"Well, you were taking far too long, I mean I went to every one of your quidittch matches, pretended I needed help studying so you'd offer, laughed at every single joke of yours, godric I even went to your friends for help!"

"I never thought you'd like me!" He was bright red, how had he not seen it this entire time?

"Jamie I laugh at every single one of your jokes." You were exasperated, how had you fallen for such a sweet oblivious boy?

"Is that supposed to be an insult? Cause if I'm being honest it sounded-"

You stop his jabbering, placing the gifts on the table nearby and pressing your soft lips to his. Your heart melts as his hand comes to caress your cheek as if you're the most delicate flower in the world.

Because to him, you were.

When you pull back you're both grinning so hard your faces hurt.

"S'not and insult, just a fact." And it was, you would laugh at everyone of his jokes, no matter how ludicrous or ridiculous they were, you found him funny. And charming, and kind, and beautiful, and perfect, perfect for you.

"Well then, my Valentine, shall we begin our date?" He held out his arm as you smiled sheepishly at his name-calling.

"We shall."

[sharksnshakes]

Dinner? - Albert Wesker

Wesker keeps calling you into his office to run point. It's definitely not anything deeper than that, right?

A/N; wesker? with a crush? unspeakable. gn!reader

Wordcount; 629

TW; one singular curse word, use of (y/n) and (l/n)

"(l/n)," Wesker calls, "A word?"

Startled, you glance up from your paperwork and cast a glance behind you. your captain's sticking his head out of his office door, watching you expectantly. You hadn't even heard it open.

It felt like Wesker was calling you into his office to run point every three seconds, and while Jill and Chris had reassured you the action was complimentary, you had your doubts. Even so, you set down your pen and shuffled your paperwork, nodding at the captain.

"Sure. Of course," you reply, meeting Wesker's eyes. The door shuts before you can finish speaking, and you resist sighing out loud.

It's not that you don't respect Captain Wesker: you do, really! No, you just feel like a bug under a microscope whenever you're in that office. You two compare notes--or, rather, Wesker asks your opinion, and you give it to him--and you leave feeling like you've either said the wrong thing, been too honest, or some combination of both.

It doesn't help that his added attention always made your cheeks flush. When he's hanging onto your every word and looking at you like that? It only made you even more hesitant to face him... he's attractive, and he knows it.

You passed Chris on your way to the office, and he gave you an encouraging thumbs-up. That was the other thing: Chris was practically Wesker's right hand man, and yet, you are the one who's constantly being called into his office. You tried not to think too hard about it as you pulled the door open and stepped inside.

Wesker was seated at his desk, focusing intently on a map of sorts, and you knocked softly on the doorframe.

The blond glanced up. "Come in. Shut the door behind you."

You nodded, closing it with a soft click. Your footfalls were quiet on the carpeted floor, and as you approached the desk, you waited for his inevitable questions.

"Dinner."

Your brow furrowed. "What about it?"

"Should I pick you up at seven?"

You blinked owlishly, shaking your head as if to physically clear it. "I'm sorry," you said, "Are you asking me on a date right now?"

A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "Seven, then?"

Holy shit.

Wesker was asking you on a date. Like... actually.

"I... is that, like, against S.T.A.R.S. protocol? Dating my supervisor?" you asked, mouth moving faster than your brain. You wanted to take the words back the second they left your mouth, but when Wesker chuckled, amused, and leaned forward, chin in his palms, all of your self-doubts shriveled up and died.

"Would you like to go to dinner with me, or not?"

That is the question, isn't it? You'd been so certain of his dislike for you, but now? You prided yourself on being able to read people, but considering current circumstances, it was an ability you'd have to re-evaluate.

Well... how bad could it be?

"Uh. I'd--I think it could be fun," you finally answered, grasping for the right words. "Sure. I mean, yes! Yes, I'd like to go to dinner with you."

"Wonderful. I'll pick you up at seven."

He glanced back down at the map, and you failed to understand how he managed to exude the confidence required to ask people out so casually.

"I'll see you later, then?"

"Yeah. See you," you echoed, stepping out of his office.

The door shut behind you with a slight click, and you stood there, shocked.

You had a date tonight.

Had he always liked you?

"Looking a little pale there, (y/n)," Jill joked from across the room. "You alright?"

Oh, she didn't even know the half of it.

...What were you going to wear?

[ashilrak]

Hi! So sorry to bother you! I just finished 'If you ask me for my fire' and I really enjoyed it! However, it brought up a question that has been nagging me for some time when I read any Perpollo or Percy x god with a similar premise, and I thought what better to ask someone who has written a few fics with that theme - IF Percy got with a god and took the immortality route (whether forced or not) would that god be loyal? In the case of your fic would Apollo stay by Percy's side for all eternity, really? Would he never stray at all? - I know it's not the easiest question and I apologise but I'd love to hear some insight, especially since the fic I chose is so ambiguous in the end like yeah he absolutely forced him to immortality but only to have him by his side for eternity, to me the more important question is now Apollo has got what he wanted does he stay loyal? If forever is all that he has, then would he really spend it with Percy? At the end of the day he is a god - a Greek one at that - and they aren't known for Loyalty and pure singular devotion for their spouses.

Again, sorry about this question! I know its more nuanced than I'm making this poorly worded Tumblr ask to be, and I mean in general not just for your fic, but your fic is really good and a good example for the question cause in the case of your fic Percy says he doesn't know but loyalty is so important to him, he would probably stay out of that (and fear and sadness) and never ever stray but say it's a different situation where someone like maybe Hephaestus did something similar maybe forced, or maybe Percy chose it doesn't matter but would Hephaestus then stay loyal?

Honestly would love to hear the insight, your own biased answer not a generalisation, if you know anyone else that can give their own unique answers, please pass this along! I know you're close to mrthology and other big Perpollo writers, so all answers are good, but you don't have to! Sorry, that's kind of rude of me to ask.

Also, the second part of this question would be, If they do stay loyal through everything, what kind of message does that send? Is Percy really that more important that he could stop the biggest serial adulterers to stop completely? That's he can do what countless others have tried to do, and he wasn't even trying that hard. That he was enough when others weren't? - BUT that's not important, ignore that, I'm just being insane this is a children's book series.

I'm glad you enjoyed the fic!

So, if Percy were to become immortal and enter a relationship with a God, would that God stay loyal? You're right in that there's a lot of nuance to the question and that everyone is going to look at it differently. It's definitely a question I like playing around a lot with in my fics.

I get pretty long-winded in my response, but I have a feeling you won't mind lol

For the purposes of this conversation, we're going to assume loyal = monogamous (I could see Percy being polyamorous in a closed way, like percy/annabeth/apollo or the 7 or something, but not in a way where one or more partners are having casual sex with people Percy doesn't know, but that's not that important here). This point will be addressed later.

My gut instinct is no. With perpollo specifically, I do think there might be a short period of time where Apollo is loyal to Percy. But, I think that loyalty would be more incidental than anything. For a while, Apollo would be absolutely obsessed with Percy and during that time Apollo might be monogamous. But it's the same way he might become obsessed with some shiny new instrument and only play that for a short period of time. How long this era of loyalty/obsession might last is somewhere a lot of people might differ.

But, as time went on, their story would fall in line with every other pairing among the Gods. There might be a sort of constancy there, but there will always be dallying. Hell, within the PJO verse specifically, Demigods serve a purpose and Apollo's cabin is full to bursting at any given moment. I don't think it becoming empty would be something that's easily accepted, and to get demigods, you need infidelity.

Apollo staying loyal is something I've explored, specifically in Electing Strange Perfections. In that fic, Apollo tricks Percy into immortality and Percy becomes the God of Loyalty. Through Hera and a series of events, Apollo marries Percy. Consequently, Apollo cannot stray due to Percy's domain/powers/influence. In other words, it takes an outside influence.

Part of why I think this is due to how I see and write the Gods for the fics. They are inhuman, ancient beings who have lived on a scale the human mind cannot comprehend. I like to see the Greek Gods as feeling everything so intensely, with human emotion being watered down. It's fun to play with the idea of humans lives, love, and feelings being more valuable for being so short-lived rather than for their intensity. Rarity increasing value sorta thing. Also the idea that the Gods simply are their domains and what that makes myths look like in the context of human experience. Like of course Hades took Demeter's daughter, that's what death does (I'm referencing a tumblr post here I can't find to link).

Riordan's Gods are very humanized. I personally like to play with the idea of that being a result of changing with the times, but their core still being the same. Sure, they might soften themselves for modern demigods due to time and cultures changing expectations, but that doesn't erase the thousands of years that very much wasn't the case. It's a fun dichotomy to play with in fic where you can do whatever you want. I like the Gods being Gods tag.

In the world of Percy Jackson, myths are history. The morals of Greek mythology are different from what we're used to seeing, but that doesn't mean they're not there. The myths depict cruelties and horrors, but often these same cruelties were justified to the Gods enacting them. And those are the Gods we're reading and writing about when you're playing with PJO.

I do love reading and writing the softer moments between the Demigods and the Gods. Whether that's parental, friendships, or romantic. But Apollo helping someone heal doesn't erase the fact that he is also the God of plague; like the black plague, the spanish influenza, covid-19, cancer -- that's all him. With these softer moments, that doesn't erase everything else the Gods do and have done, and that they will forever look at their actions in a different way. I think there's a sort of obligation there too, as part of their domains. Ares will always be war.

And I think this obligation extends to their affairs. Ares has children with soldiers, Athena has kids with academics -- they're falling for their own domains. This isn't a hard and fast rule, but how can you fault the god of thieves for falling for a thief? And I do think there's love, it just looks so very different from what we might be used to.

All this to say, long-term monogamy is not in Apollo's wheelhouse. He's married to the muses by some accounts. Apollo is the God of so many things: music and healing just to name the few. I don't think he'll permanently change millennia of behavior for Percy, no matter how romantic that sounds. A musician who performs for the love of the song is going to catch Apollo's eye because that is to perform for the love of Apollo, even if the musician in question doesn't know that.

Earlier, I said for the purposes of this question we'll define loyal as monogamous, and I think that's part of the crux of the matter. I think Percy would see affairs and demigods as a sign of disloyalty. I don't think Apollo would if Apollo always comes back to Percy. This is a much more understandable difference in view point and one we see between people on the daily.

And definitely reach out to a few others; it's a super fascinating conversation! These questions are part of why I love reading and writing the Demigod/God fics so much -- Demigods have a better idea of what they're getting into, which makes all of these things stand out so much more when the God doesn't have to hide. I know @mrthology and I are definitely aligned regarding the Apollo and loyalty question, but I can't speak for anyone else!

[cowboybarzy]

see it with the lights out — mat barzal

SORRY!!! a bit late but it’s out!! I’m also not very proud of this but I wanted to publish it for you and didn’t really see myself write it any better lol I hope you still like it. but this part was just to get ready for the big finale!!!!!!!!!!

word count: 2.3k

masterlist read part 1 & 2 first

debate: are landos eyes blue or green? I definitely think they're green but sometimes appear blue so for the sake of this story they are green lol

THREE — you can see it with the lights out

October 19th

"Because he doesn't fucking love you like I do."

The harder you tried to push those words out of your brain, the more they repeated, reminding you that your best and longest friendship just imploded.

It had been five days since that night and all you had done was sit in your apartment going over and over every single moment you shared with Mat. You hadn't spoken to him since that night and don't know how to face him. After he said those words, you stared at each other in stunned silence until one of Mat's friends came over to talk to him, breaking up your discussion. Not soon after you left the bar, retreating to your apartment to wallow in peace.

Lando was supposed to come to New York a couple days ago to see you, before you both traveled to Texas for his race this weekend, but after what happened with Mat and now your feelings being all messed up, you felt guilty and told him you were sick. You felt guilty for rejecting him, but you needed a few days alone to collect yourself.

Having Mat's sister stay with you didn't make this situation any better, but she had friends in the city and you just pretended you had work to do so you could avoid the topic of her brother. She finally left yesterday and now you were on the elevator up to go see your boyfriend.

"Hi! Finally," Lando greeted you when he opened his hotel room door, pulling you into him immediately. "How are you?"

"Good," you answered, kissing him.

"Yeah? Not sick anymore?" He pulled you into the room, dragging your suitcase in and closing the door.

"No. Had some turbulences on the flight that made me feel nauseous, but all good now." His smile widened and his hands grabbed you by your hips. You immediately figured out what his face was saying and let him push you onto the bed.

"Good," he whispered and slowly leaned over you showing you just how much he missed you these past two weeks. Unfortunately, another brown haired boy was on your mind.

***

"You okay?," Lando asked, pulling you out of your deep thoughts. He ever so slightly brushed his finger against your cheek, gaining your full attention.

"Mhm." A certain pair of green eyes were haunting you and unfortunately they weren't your boyfriends. You pulled the bed sheet up, nodding, pushing the guilt away.

"Maybe not fully recovered then, huh?" He pressed his lips against your forehead. "So, how was New York? We've barely talked since the weekend."

"I know, I'm sorry. Just had a lot of things to do and people to see and obviously didn't feel great." You told him about your time at home, what you did and saw. About the hockey game – but purposefully left out the party after.

Talking to him got easier as time went on and he caught you up on his last few days as well. "Wait, I got something for you." Lando stood up, not caring about walking around the hotel suit naked. He came back with a little jewelry box. "This was a lot harder to find than I thought it would be."

You opened the box to find a dainty charm bracelet, a singular charm hanging from it – a little formula one car. "Aw. I love it. Thank you." You kissed him gently, before he placed the bracelet on your wrist. "And I love you." While those words rolled easily off your tongue, your heart didn't mean them and your stomach turned at the realization.

"Room service?"

November 13th

For Lando's birthday, he had spent a few days in England with his family which you couldn't make due to having to work. But you joined him and his friends for the real celebrations in Mexico.

Except for those few mandatory office days, you hadn't been back in New York since that weekend. You were too scared to bring up any of the emotions you were trying so hard to push away. And it was working great so far. At least until you opened Instagram and saw all of the New York Islanders posts that often included pictures of Mat. You avoided those posts, but every once in a while, you broke down and fell down the stalking rabbit hole. But you told yourself you just missed your friendship.

He still hadn't reached out and neither had you. You were too scared to hear what he had to say that would ruin your friendship and felt like you were cheating on Lando if you let yourself think and feel about the situation too long.

In front of Lando, you pretended everything was fine – that you didn't just lose your best friend. Not that he asked much about him, but you pretended to watch his games and still be in contact with him – but you weren't.

And while you thought you were doing a good job about hiding your feelings, there had been a few tense and awkward moments between the two of you. You had never really fought before, but in the last month your quarrels increased not only in frequency but intensity.

But today of all day, it had to be all about Lando. You started with a morning swim, just the two of you, and then a huge breakfast that you got catered to the villa you were renting. You spent the rest of the day on a boat, celebrating and trying to revive the connection you had with Lando just a couple months ago.

During dinner, your phone reminded you that the Islanders had game that night. The notification however shocked you a bit when you read the full title: 'Barzal doesn't return to ice after brutal hit from Nurse'

Your heart sunk and your first instinct was to excuse yourself and move to a private room to figure out what happened to him. No matter how many times you watched the replay and saw his face in terrible pain – and blood – it didn't make you feel any better seeing him leaning on Lee as he was skating off the ice.

"What happened?" You jumped at Lando's voice as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. It's Mat. He had a game tonight and got injured." He nodded, but you could see the twitch of jealousy flash across his face.

"Is he okay?"

"Not sure, there hasn't been an update yet." Lando sat beside you, wrapping his arm around you to comfort you.

"I'm sure he'll let you know soon."

"Mhm." You nodded as your eyes flooded with tears. He wouldn't, though. Not after you ignored him after that bombshell of a confession.

"What's wrong?," Lando asked immediately when he noticed your demeanor change. He grabbed your face with concern, but you just shook your head not daring to speak. His face changed from concern to a much more serious. "Did something happen between the two of you?"

His hands dropped from your face. "What? No. Why?"

"You've been acting weird since Texas. You didn't let me come take care of you when you were sick and you've been distant ever since."

"No, Lando. We're fine, it was a stupid little fight but it's all good." You weren't very convincing.

"Are you sure? You usually talk about him more, or his hockey, which I haven't seen you watch in a long time. And every time I touch you, I feel like you flinch and I can't shake the feeling it's got to do with him."

"No." That's all you could say. No. Nothing happened between you. You stood up, forcing a smile. This day was about Lando. Whom you loved. Right? "I promise."

You distracted him with a kiss and another assurance that everything was fine. He believed you, but you could tell you were nearing your breaking point. Just not yet.

November 25th

And that that came sooner than you'd hoped. You'd been having a great time in Abu Dhabi, celebrating and partying g with the other girls until you slept in Saturday and you were reminded of one of your favorite days.

In your first year of university, you had caught your then boyfriend making out with another girl at a party. After that, you might have gone a little hard on the alcohol and ended up calling Mat to come pick you up. However, he was in Seattle and you in Vancouver. That didn't stop him from showing up outside the club at 2am. He picked you up from the side of the road – a low point in your life that you thankfully never repeated – and drove you to your apartment. He gently helped you change into pjs and held your hair when you threw up in the toilet. Then he let you cry into his chest until you fell asleep.

You almost called him remembering that moment, but couldn't figure out what to say so you put your phone back down.

'I got you. I always will.'

Mat's voice hit you like a bullet. It was clear as if he was just next to you and you felt his fingertips stroking the side of your face like it was yesterday. But you were still back in your freshman year apartment, cuddled up in bed with Mat. He thought you were asleep when he whispered those things to you and until this day you thought you'd dreamt him saying it.

Something in you broke and all your feelings finally came crashing in. All those years he made you laugh and stood by your side you had mistaken it for friendship. You thought you were in love before, that's why you didn't recognize what you were feeling for Mat, but turns out no one ever made you as happy as Mat did. He'd always been your person and one day just turned into something even more.

You had no idea how long you laid in bed, thinking everything over and finally admitting to yourself that Mat may be more than a friend.

Eventually, you had to get ready. Lando was due to return from the qualifying race anytime soon, which you were actually supposed to attend, and you needed enough time to pull yourself together. You couldn't dump your newfound revelation on him the night before his last race.

"Lando." You looked up at him, tears streaming down your face. "I'm sorry."

"I know," he said, nodding, trying to mask his pain. He turned away from you and started packing his bag.

"No, I'll go. I'm so sorry." He shook his head, denying you and you could just stand there and watch him throw his suitcase together.

"Lando," you called, before he reached the hotel door. "You really were so good to me. And I'm so grateful to you. For everything you did to me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He nodded, avoiding your gaze though. "I'm just sorry he got you first."

You took the few steps you needed to reach him. "I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me one day. And I hope we can still stay friends."

"Kinda hard to forget you." He let you pull him into a hug and it felt like goodbye. It was hard for you to let him go. He did play a huge role in your life and had shown you so much. He was a genuine friend and you did love him, but enough to stay with him. Lando smiled, pain still in his eyes, and pressed his soft lips on your forehead. "One day."

December 29th

It was almost midnight when your phone rang, the screen lighting up the darkness of your bedroom. You reached for it, sitting up when you saw the name and picture flash across the screen. It was Mat. The first sign of him since that night in October you regretted so much. Carefully, you pressed the green button and held the phone up to your ear.

"Hello?"

"Hi." His voice was rough and from that small word you could tell he was in pain. And after the game he had you couldn't blame him. He was more aggressive than he usually was – even counting the last few weeks – and got punished by it, not only with penalty box minutes but also with brutal fights on the ice. On top of that, they lost the game with a pretty rough score.

The line was silent for a while, neither of you daring to speak. You could feel your eyes tearing up. You missed him so much. And that's when he finally broke the silence with the exact same thought. "I miss you." Still so much pain in his voice. "I miss you. And I'm sorry for what I said that night. You were right. I hope that you are happy. And I do support you, no matter what. Just putting it out there that I miss you while you're out there exploring the world."

And in the darkness of your room, you suddenly could not see any clearer. You heart ached for him. For him to hold you and kiss you for the rest of your life. You wanted him. To explore the world with, yes, but also to do the mundane things with. You still had a lot to figure out about yourself, but one thing you were sure about was him. That you needed him by your side just as much as he needed you. It had always been like this. He was your person. And you wanted him to be that for the rest of your life.

"Mat," you took a deep breath, mustering up all your courage. "Lando and I broke up."

The line went dead.

[koji-haru]

What gave you the inspiration to make your AU?

Short answer? I'm delusional lmao.

Honestly, I was just bored during summer and thought, "why not get back to writing again?". I wasn't actually planning on staying long, like maybe write a few chapters and then dip and maybe delete the account once I'm bored. But here I am still, lol.

For the time travel au, I answered this before in another ask, but I just made my own version of @ironbatpaperturtle's time travel au since they deactivated and I really really wanted a continuation of that au. That, and I was just reading a couple of revenge stories, and as much as I love it, I also hated it when the authors usually make the mc not go through their revenge plot - 'revenge is bad' blah blah blah and then they get the bad end of the stick even though they were the initial victim. So, if you noticed with how I wrote the first parts of the time travel au, I made Adam very adamant and determined with his goals (he still is even in the latest chapters, even though he feels less worthy of the garden now). Now, I'm not saying the way I wrote Adam makes him a 'victim', my guy didn't even bother and try to maybe be friends with both Lucifer and Lilith in his second life. He's just a hater, and yes, that's a flaw, I'm not excusing it. I mean, at the start he was just cozying up to Mike to have a backup just in case things go bad. He does soften up in later chapters though.

Essentially, what I'm trying to say is that I mainly wanted a story not necessarily heavy on plot, but more so on the mc's development as a person.

For the swap au, well, I just love a good old role reversal story. It's just fun. Also, I'm not sure if anyone has noticed, but *kinda spoiler-ish* the swap au is, in a way, like the opposite of the time travel au. In what way? I won't elaborate lol. But it's fun! I love creating 'foils'; either for characters, developments, themes, or even whole stories. So, I guess, in a weird egoistic way, my own time travel au inspired me to write the swap au?

Honestly, I can't really properly answer what inspired me to write my aus. At the simplest reason, I just wanted to convey a theme or a feeling. That's how I usually start writing. Maybe I listen to a song, read a poem, see a nice picture, feel something, etc. Like I could be walking and something random would inspire me and I would just quickly make a note of 'the feeling' in my phone. Like one time I was on the bus and I thought the gloomy sky with the sun behind dark grey clouds looked pretty cool at that moment. It kind of reminded me of a hole in the sky, somewhat like a portal or a signal to the world ending, so I took note of that and now I have another story in the drafts (I don't think I'll ever get to it though, with how busy I am).

Sounds really lame, but I write to make an atmosphere, I guess? I just want to capture that sensation permanently into writing; doesn't matter if it's negative or positive or neither, I want it saved forever. So anything inspires me really, from the most random tunes to the prettiest words, and then I just piece them all together. I don't really have a singular inspiration.

What keeps me writing? I'm just too stubborn to leave things unfinished. There's also the fact that I'm currently obsessed with Adam lol.

On a somewhat related note, 'Birds of a Feather' by Billie Eilish really suits the time travel au.

So... Time travel au -> a soft, blooming change from within Swap au -> more like a crashing, unwanted change Promises au -> lonely people finding comfort with each other (I was probably just feeling lonely when I thought of this au tbh)

I'm not sure I answered your question properly, but, eh I tried. Really, I'm not artsy enough to draw proper, solid inspirations, I'm just a delusional student who's heavy into STEM - so no imagination at all lol.

Did I go off topic? Yes, multiple times. Did I answer your question, anon? Most likely not, sorry.

[fuckingstrange]

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| Day22: Mornings with you |

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WARNINGS: Bad sleeping habits, mention of taking sleeping pills, coffee burn, singular kiss

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WORDS: 805

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PAIRING: Spencer Reid x gn!reader (think so)

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It is 8am. I am going to bed. Goodnight. Enjoy.

You lay in bed, watching the credits begin to roll from a horror movie you just watched. It's not until you feel Spencer begin to gently stroke your hair that you pull your gaze from the screen, turning your head back to meet his gaze. He looks at you with an expression of concern, glancing over at the alarm clock. Your eyes follow his, seeing the bright red letters read 5:47am. “Shit, it's that late?” You ask in a whisper, having not realized that you managed to stay up all night again. You thought it was at most 3 in the morning.

Spencer’s brows furrow as he watches you adjust your position so you can lay down next to him rather than along the middle like you were while watching the movie, making him turn onto his side so he can face you. “I'm gonna assume you didn't sleep. again?”. You just give him an apologetic look, whispering a weak “sorry”. He sighs and reaches out, giving your cheek a gentle brush before pinching it. “Dummy. Don't apologize. Are you even tired yet?” He asks, the corners of his lips turning a bit downward in preparation for the obvious answer. A shake of your head.

He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, slowly exhaling before opening his eyes again. He motions for you to get ready for work, knowing that you'd just beg on your hands and knees to go to work, then go anyway even if he tries to make you stay home. He pulls himself out of bed with you, getting up and going over to the closet. “You might wanna try sleeping pills, baby. You haven't been able to sleep well in.. forever. But now you're starting to go days without, and I'm worried. This is day two. What if you start hallucinating? People go insane without sleep, even if they don't realize it. One can only live ten or eleven days without a lick of sleep.” He rambles, words a little quick since he genuinely is worried about how bad your sleep schedule has gotten.

You silence him with a kiss, letting your lips linger on his until he sighs and kisses back. Only then do you pull back after a few seconds, looking at him with an apologetic gaze. “I'll try to get better sleep tonight, yeah? I'll even.. ask Hotch if I can come home from work a little early. That soothe ya’ nerves, pretty boy?” You ask in a slightly teasing manner, smiling when Spencer nods his head. You and him get dressed in silence, and only now do you begin to feel tired. He notices, picking up on the subtle way you slow down your movements a bit to preserve energy.

Spencer gets dressed a bit quicker, exiting the bedroom to start a pot of coffee for you before heading over to the door and working on his converse. The coffee machine manages to finish making the entire pot before you exit the bedroom, Spencer sighing when he notes you probably managed to doze off within the four minutes it took. He grabs a mug and fills it, taking it over to the bedroom where he sees you nearly asleep sitting on the bed, head dipped a bit but gaze trying to remain on the TV.

He stands there for a second, biting his lip as he looks you up and down, his worry only growing. Spencer, with the mug of hot coffee in his hand, walks over to you and taps your shoulder. You jolt awake, accidentally smacking his arm and making the hot coffee splash onto your forearm. He yelps as you groan, setting the mug on the floor as he grabs ahold of your wrist and pulls your arm to him to check the damage. “you're burnt!” He exclaims, looking at the slightly reddened skin. You respond with a sarcastic “Oh, no, really? Thought that was just a birthmark.”

Spencer glares at you, though doesn't comment on your words. He just picks the mug that's a bit more than half full of coffee and carefully hands it to you, watching you take a sip and nearly burn your tounge. “..you really are dumb.�� He mutters under his breath, standing up and slowly pulling you onto your own feet too.

Thankfully, the next ten minutes it takes to get ready is simple. No more burns, plenty more two seconds power naps, and more than needed worried glares from Spencer. You each make it out to the car just fine, still nursing on the coffee Spencer made for you. You open his door for him, checking to make sure all his limbs are out of the way before shutting it and jogging over to the driver's side, sliding in and starting the engine.

[nashusglasses]

1. sweet, sticky, thick and pretty

(note: I can't stop listening to Bruno Mars!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! technically the title is from silk sonic but anywho :3) note 2: Not to be too anecdotal, but I was a loser all my 4 years of university. Don't know why I always have the urge to write about messy college experiences when all I did was make one singular friend. I also only ever went to *one* official frat party! Absolute Loser behaviour!! What I'm saying is I'm projecting hard and LOVE writing about hot asshole men!!!!!!!!! Oh boy!!

PAIRING. gojo/reader SETTING. college au WARNINGS. alcohol and drug consumption, player!satoru but in the sexiest way possible. suggestive content SUMMARY. It's too late for this.

Satoru’s got his white shirt dirty with grass stains. You don’t know what kind of roughhousing Suguru put him through before you got here, but all you know is there’s a keg outside in the backyard and Satoru’s hair is mysteriously wet. You get your answer when he tries to stick his tongue down your throat and he smells too much like beer.

“Absolutely not.” You block his mouth with a hard hand. “Can you please move? I just saw Natsume here.”

“I don’t fucking care. Kiss me.”

“Or what?”

Something coy flashes in Satoru’s face. He probably thinks he’s got you trapped. Hopeless in the dark corner of this hallway, and if you strain your ears hard enough you think you hear weird squelching noises from the room behind you. But all you feel is the annoyed urge to push him back till he stumbles off, embarrassed. There’s nothing more insistent than a drunk Satoru. There’s also nothing you want to punch more than a drunk Satoru.

“I called you. Thirty six times.”

“It was twice, and I was napping after my exam.”

He rolls his eyes. “Pish posh. Listen. Come over tonight.”

“No.” You shove at his shoulder. Except it’s a little rougher than you anticipated, but it’s still nice to see him lose balance. He won’t get angry. Not when he’s horny out of his mind. “I’m finding Natsume now.”

“What if I said pretty please?”

“Then I’ll shove you harder till you eat shit,” you snort. But you don’t get very far when you try to walk on ahead. Satoru’s strong when he wants to be. He’s got a hot hand wrapped around your wrist, a cement block for weight when you try to pull back.

“Stop ignoring me,” he says. “I told you I wanted you.”

“And then I told you I never wanted to see you again.”

“Sometimes I hear things and then I choose not to understand them,” he explains. He closes the distance again. You wonder how many girls have fallen prey to this tactic. Using his height for advantage, the way the corner of his mouth lifts when he wants to look needy. You know he’s grasping at straws, though. His contact list is heavy with the chance to get his lap wet whenever he wants, and even though you’re not sorry for being the additional number, you’re angry that he ever thought you’d be the easier lay.

“Okay. I’ll say it one more time. Just for you.” You tiptoe up to his ear, make sure your every breath lands hot where it’ll make him shiver. “I don’t want you to call me. I don’t want you to look at me. And I want you to leave me alone.”

Satoru’s placid. No expression to dissect when you stand back down, and his grip is lax now. Natsume’s probably halfway done with that first pre-roll she told you she had. You’re almost greedy for the heat in your chest that blunt promises. Sitting on that scratchy couch while your head gets light enough to reconsider Satoru’s proposition. 

You won’t. Even if you do miss the way he feels under you. A part of you wants to say that it’s only out of self-respect, but it’s funny seeing him so desperate. You’ll gloat about it later when Natsume asks you where you’ve been.

Something in Satoru clicks, and he’s grabbing your wrist again. “There’s just–something about you.” 

“Satoru, you’re drunk. We’ve been over this. I know I’ve got godly legs and a tight pussy but you’re just–”

“A man whore,” he finishes for you.

You nod sympathetically. “I’m glad you get it. Do you want me to find Suguru for you?”

“I want you to kiss me,” he complains. “Holy fuck. I’m–I’m fucking drunk. And I told you I wanted you, and I told Akane that she has great tits but not as great as yours, and she slapped the shit out of me, and I told you I wanted you but you don’t want me back.”

“Why the hell would you say that?” You’ve seen her before. Linguistics 202. She’s smart, has killer fashion sense, and Natsume hates her because her eyelashes are long and curled and not fake at all. “You’re so goddamned stupid. I’m going now.”

“I know. I know I’m stupid. Just–before you go.” You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t block my number. Please. That’s all I’m asking.” 

You’ll give him points for begging. The door to the room with mysterious noises opens, and two girls with messy hair filter out noiselessly. No witness to Satoru’s groveling. But you’re kind, so you leave him with a wet kiss to his cheek just to see his eyes go wide. 

“Tell Akane you’re sorry. Then come find me when you’re sober,” you say. 

When you turn around, you text Natsume to find where she is. 

You don’t notice Satoru squeezing his eyes shut, cheeks burning hot, half-hard from the feeling of your mouth on his skin.

[diabolikpersonals]

sorry for such a broad question but in your opinion is laito a well written character relative to everyone in diabolik? i really Want to learn more about him but i also dont want to subject myself to All That and i just want to know if he's worth reading about or just a pile of interesting plot threads thrown together for shock factor and unfulfilled thematically.

like my current personal opinion (may be wrong) is that i dont feel satisfied with the idea of yui's love or proactiveness fixing laito in any way because it doesn't mesh well with the actual ideas surrounding his character and unpacking that love is not poison goes beyond romantic love or a singular place of understanding. additionally it doesn't feel earned it feels like a chore for the player to trudge though for the sake of reading. i dont want to read laito's story that bad if it's the case yet im intrigued by the things offered by his character like the processing of the deeply visceral way csa shatters who you are

I wanted to wait till I finished his CL to answer so I'd be fully caught up with laito's routes, but that'll take too long so.....!! I might change my answer later!! lmao

[tw laito stuff, csa and suicide, yeah]

I do think Laito's a well-written character but his stuff is really difficult to get through if you have certain triggers, so it's tough to recommend. Even beyond the csa stuff, Laito is in a real hurry to die and he makes several attempts throughout the series. There's a certain unique sort of awfulness, at least for me, involving scenes where a character fails a suicide attempt and then get even more upset and desperate about it. So I understand what you mean when you say you're not excited about putting yourself through it. They were the hardest routes for me to get through too :')

A lot of earlier games suffer from endings that are like "And the two lived happily ever after, and we're not gonna unpack all that stuff!" and Laito's routes are no exception, but if you can look past that and make it to LE, I wouldn't say that Laito gets fixed. He has an ending similar to Ayato's that's like, it feels like we fixed everything but in reality we couldn't overcome the core issue! They really seem to believe that Laito absolutely can't be happy or live a normal life the way he is now. He has to die and/or rewrite his memories to be comfortable loving someone. It's up to your tastes if that's satisfying or not, but I kind of love the bittersweetness of LE endings, and the way they feel like a happy ending until you think about them a little too hard.

What's interesting is that Yui's purehearted love often hurts Laito more than it helps him. He responds to love, from Yui or from his family members, with revulsion. There's jealousy when he interacts with straightforward characters like Yui or Ayato, like "If only I could be as simple and pure as you, but nope, I can't." He's very self-aware for a diaboy, which only makes it hurt more when he keeps arriving at the conclusion that he's rotten. He definitely makes progress, which is really satisfying to see, like how he gradually allows Ayato back in his life emotionally. But as of right now, the end of his arc is so, like, "I tried, really I did! But my perspective on love is fucked and I need a hard reset! Maybe I'll be normal in the next life but definitely not this one!! Bye!"

...So, it's hard to say if you'll be happy with it. I see a lot of mixed opinions concerning the LE endings. They often give the diaboy what he wants but not what he needs, so you're left going, "Wait, I don't know about this...!" A lot of people really hate these endings, but they actually get more interesting to me the more conflicted they make me feel...and oh boy, was I conflicted about this one! :'D

If it sounds interesting to you, too, and you don't mind some pretty brutal scenes along the way, give Laito's routes a try. His HDB will definitely make you mad though lol

[lefaystrent]

Me, Myself, and These Guys Who Kinda Look Like Me Ch. 5

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: Thomas/The Sides

Summary: It starts with dreams. Then Thomas starts seeing the dream people in the waking world.

Thomas doesn't know how to bring it up to anybody or if he even should at this point.

AKA, Thomas has to acknowledge the six colorful characters in the room, much to their long-awaited delight.

Ao3 Link: click here

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

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Patton, as it turns out, cannot cook. At all.

To be fair, none of them ever had the chance to gain prior experience. The singular two times the others did cook, it had been oatmeal and ramen. Not exactly complex meals.

They appeared to be relatively competent adults though. They had been observing Thomas for years and should be aware of the basics of cooking.

Oh. That's where things went wrong, didn't it? They had been watching Thomas. Not Gordon Ramsey. Thomas Sanders.

Thomas knows how to scramble eggs at least. The thing in Patton's pan right now? Not eggs.

"I just went to the bathroom for like a minute," Thomas says in that way that clearly means, "what the fuck happened?"

"Everything is fine," Patton claims over the smoking pan. "Question though, do you like your eggs extra crispy, or...?"

Thomas would just like to have a skillet after this.

The pan chooses that moment to inexplicably catch on fire. Which shouldn't be possible, but so were plenty of other things that Thomas has experienced in his life lately. Why not this too?

Thomas screams. Patton starts screaming too. Then Patton, in his hurried desperation to right the situation, goes to grab the pan not by the handle like a sane person but where the fire is. With his bare hands. Thomas knows they just had a conversation about how they couldn't truly feel pain, but that doesn't stop the spike of panic as he watches the disaster in slow motion.

Between one blink to another, Virgil appears. He doesn't rise up like Roman demonstrated yesterday. He bamfs in right beside Patton, snapping at him to stand back. Startled, Patton dodges back as Virgil takes control. He pulls the sleeve of his hoodie down over the handle to act as an unconventional potholder, and he rushes the pan to the sink. More smoke billows from the water splashing against the hot pan and the fowl smell of burnt eggs permeates the air.

"What were you trying to do?!" Virgil screeches, and Thomas senses that it's a rhetorical question meant to just make them reevaluate their life choices up to this point, but Patton answers anyway.

"My best!"

Virgil curses and ensures that all of the fire is extinguished before sagging where he stands. He leaves the tap on, either just in case or too tired to shut it off. Patton tiptoes up to him and tugs sheepishly at his shoulder.

"Kiddo? I'm sorry."

"Don't do that," Virgil growls. He holds himself up over the sink, hands braced on either side. "Way to scare the living daylights outta me."

"It's probably more my fault," Thomas cringes. "I left him without supervision."

"Aw, Thomas! Now just because you needed a potty break does not mean it's your fault! We're all adults here."

"Adults don't say 'potty' to each other," Virgil groans. He reaches over the sink and cracks open the window to let out the influx of smoke. "And do you realize how close you were to burning Thomas's apartment down?"

"Well, it was just the eggs–" Thomas tries to alleviate the tension, but Virgil whirls on him.

"It doesn't matter! What would you guys have done if I hadn't showed up when I did? Would you have just stood there screaming? Would you have grabbed the pan and knocked it over and then the fire caught onto something? You have to be more careful!"

Thomas and Patton shuffle guiltily. They could have handled the situation better, in hindsight. No excuses really. Thomas can envision that happening, the two of them freaking out so hard that they create an even bigger danger mess. What would Thomas have done if flames really did spread? Hurt himself trying to put it out like Patton had almost done? Run screaming and forget to call emergency services? They were lucky that Virgil stepped in, and it sounded like they had really scared him.

"Thank you, Virgil," Thomas says. "For coming when you did."

"Yeah, Virge, that was good timing."

"Did you know?" Thomas asks. Could they sense things from in their rooms? Like, could Virgil see what they were up to and came running?

Virgil scowls and crosses his arms around himself. "No? I guess my spidey sense told me that you guys were doing something stupid. Thought I'd check in. You're just lucky I was here."

"Yeah, you're right. Thank you," Thomas expresses again, and he puts effort into showing his gratitude with his eyes.

Thomas isn't sure, but Virgil's eyes might have gone a little glassy at that. Before he can confirm, Virgil spins around and shuts off the sink. "No need to thank me. Your pan's probably ruined anyway. And if you're hungry, I'll make you some more oatmeal. No one touch anything. Please."

Thomas politely requests toast to go with it because he craves carbs, and Virgil gives a long-suffering sigh and shoos them out of the kitchen.

"Do you think he's mad at us?" Thomas asks Patton when they're in the living room. He keeps his voice hushed. "What am I saying, of course he's mad."

"I think he's just worried. That's his way of showing he cares."

"I can't believe you guys tried to set the house on fire without me."

They both squawk and Patton falls over onto the couch at Remus's sudden appearance behind them. A smile curls up Remus's lips, his mustache twitching left and right, and his eyes narrow in glee. Virgil looks up sharply at the disturbance, notes Remus has joined them, and dismisses it with an eye roll. He continues bustling around the kitchen.

"We wouldn't do that to Thomas's home! ...on purpose."

"Lame. Next time, instead of cooking oil you should try kerosene."

Thomas, a man who loves to eat raw cookie dough, knows his limits. "That is not edible."

"No it's edible, just not advisable."

And there's Logan rising up. Thomas embraces the fact that his house will never be empty anymore. He crawls onto the couch beside Patton. If that puts Patton between him and the others, well that's just a bonus. He gives in to the urge to hide and rests his head on Patton's shoulder, more or less curling up into a ball against his side.

Remus bounces his hip against Logan to make him stagger. "Some people used to think lobotomy was advisable. Depends on who's doing the advising, don'tchya think?"

"Let me rephrase then, kerosene contains hydrocarbons which, were it to be consumed, could result in impaired breathing and eyesight, as well as internal burns, rapidly declining blood pressure, convulsions, coma-"

"Were you saying something, Nerdy Wolverine? All I'm hearing is blah blah blah."

It's entertaining to see how similar Remus interacts with Logan as Logan does with Roman. It's the flair for the dramatic and sass clashing with Logan's tendency towards the literal and common sense.

"Do you think they'd notice if we left?" Thomas whispers to Patton jokingly. When the other doesn't respond, Thomas looks at him.

Patton sits incredibly taut. His fingers bunch up in the material of his khaki pants. His eyes are glazed and out of focus, staring ahead and seeing nothing. Thomas doesn't think that he's breathing. Do they need to breathe?

Oh. Thomas should have asked first before invading his personal space.

"Sorry," Thomas says softly and scoots away, putting distance between them.

"Hm?" Patton hums absently. He blinks like he's coming back online and his head lolls around to Thomas. "What did you say?"

Thomas shakes his head quickly and hurries to busy himself with his phone. "Nothing, don't worry about it."

Patton doesn't quite frown, but he's pensive and pondering. Thankfully, he doesn't push and lets the awkwardness go.

Thomas berates himself internally. Why did he do that without asking first? Or just sit on the other end of the couch? He had been caught up in the emotions that they had shared earlier. This thing between all of them, this developing two-way friendship, is only just budding. He has to give it time for everyone's sake and not get ahead of himself.

If he's honest, his own needs are to blame. He could really use a hug. He's been cooped up in his apartment for days and he misses interacting with people. Like...normal people? Gosh, is that a rude thing to think about? He likes these people, he does... He just wants an unconditional display of affection with no weird strings attached.

Is it a good or bad thing that he doesn't have a boyfriend right now? He can't fathom how that would go. Who would want to stay with a person who is constantly haunted by dream people? Wait, wait, that raises the excellent question of what will Thomas eventually do when he does meet someone and gets back into dating? Is this– is this for the rest of his life?

Thomas can't pretend his attention is focused on his phone. It's not and the screen is black from disuse.

He didn't mean to face his impending fears this early in the morning.

Compartmentalize. He needs to do what Logan taught him yesterday. He needs to put these worries in a box, lock it up tight, and push it into the background. He's still recovering, and he hasn't learned everything about them yet. Let him deal with this when he has the energy and all of the facts.

Down the couch, he doesn't notice that Patton watches him with a pained expression.

***

After breakfast, Thomas evades the others by engaging his worst enemy.

Chores.

His hamper overflows from fire fits of days past. He tosses them in the washer, guesstimates how much detergent to pour in, and then starts the wash. He sets a timer on his phone on the off chance he remembers to obey the alarm and switch the load.

He stares at his bed in its sweat-stained sheety glory. It would take him all day along with his clothes.

No, Thomas, you will not be a gremlin. You're feeling better now, toughen up.

The gremlin part of his brain claws for a compromise. He has spare sheets. He can replace them now and wash the dirty ones tomorrow.

Changing them is easier said than done. The dirty ones come off swift, but the clean ones? Why does it take all the muscles in your body just to get a fitted sheet on a mattress? And by the time you've got wrangled the rest of the blankets and pillow cases? Phew, what a work out.

Thomas lays exhausted on the freshly made bed. He used to work out sort of, you know, before he got sick. Now he's a shadow of his former self. He shouldn't be this out of breath and wanting a nap. How weak, pathetic. A tiny whiny man.

...right, he's still sick.

He heaves himself up and tosses back some more ibuprofen. The fever hasn't returned exactly, or if it has it's relatively low. His joints protest like the old man he is, and there are other mild aches. If he pushes himself too fast, too soon, he'll just end up miserable. And he'll do anything to avoid that wretched migraine from coming back.

He lays back on the bed again, sideways across it with his legs hanging off. He basks in the comfiness. The others didn't follow him up or ask questions, for which he is glad. He doesn't want them looking at him like lost puppies whenever he leaves the room.

He stares at the popcorn ceiling and makes out shapes as if they are clouds.

He's going to have to change a lot of his routine, once he gets in the swing of it again. Maybe establish some boundaries? Even if they promise to respect his privacy, he isn't sure he'll ever be able to sleep naked again. Which sucks because that's his preferred method of pajamas. Clothes are terribly confining.

And what will he tell his family? His friends? He doesn't know if he can keep this a secret. He's incredibly inept at lying to those who know him. He gets too skittish, too overcompensating. It's laughable. They've already been worried enough about him these past couple of weeks, and that's just when he thought he was going insane. They'd see through any farce.

He can just never leave his apartment ever again. Is that an option? No one will ever suspect.

Actually, would anyone be able to see them anyway? If he walked outside his house, could his neighbors see them strolling along in the parking lot? And if they were now visible to everyone, would this bring like, government attention to him? What if authorities start questioning why these six guys who live with him don't have birth certificates or social security numbers?

Thomas daydreams city officials stopping by his house wielding warrants. "Sir, you're under arrest for harboring illegal dream people." And then he'd have a criminal record, and all his loved ones discover his dirty secret anyway. Awesome. Fantastic.

"Do you ever feel....like a plastic bag," Thomas sings quietly to himself. He sighs and rolls over onto his side.

Roman is reclined on the bed beside him. It's interesting, because it doesn't scare him right out of his pants (ha, Nightmare Before Christmas referrence). He's getting too used to them randomly popping up now. Man, he's really gotta have the boundaries talk sooner than later, doesn't he?

But it's not so bad. Roman lays there flat on his back, gazing up at the ceiling as Thomas had been. He wonders if Roman is mapping out pictures too, creating life where there once was none.

"I always loved to hear you sing," Roman confides. His arm floats in the air, hand dancing to an unknown tempo. "And perform. I used to memorize the lines right alongside you. I sang like I was a part of the show and not just an onlooker. I would pretend..."

His face is open and lost in memories. Thomas forgets his worries for the moment. The poignant tone of Roman's words, the underlying passion, it's entrancing in its tragedy.

Like Thomas's problems can ever compare to theirs.

"What would you pretend?" Thomas asks, hushed and gentle and not wanting to break the atmosphere.

The barest bit of pink tints Roman's cheeks. His lips quirk up as he glances at him from the corner of his eye. "I used to pretend I was you. Someone I respected and admired more than anything."

Thomas resists the urge to cover his face in a fit of bashfulness. It's not like he often has pretty guys in his bed waxing poetically about him. And here he has a literal Prince Charming who has been his unknowing personal backup singer for years.

Roman's smile morphs into a wince. He flops his arm down onto the bed. "My apologies, Thomas. I can't imagine how daunting this situation is for you. If you should need anything, even if it's for us to give you space, you have but to ask. I don't wish for us to burden you."

"You're not a burden," Thomas replies automatically, stubbornly.

Aren't they though? the ugly voice in the back of his mind says. He viciously beats it down and shoves it in his mental basement. He won't be that kind of person.

Roman turns his head to look at him, eyebrow raised. "Just earlier we set a fire. This is only the second day since achieving corporealness."

"In all fairness, it wasn't that bad. And Virgil was there to put it out. So it balanced out."

"Yeah, Virgil's good like that," Roman muses. He's scanning Thomas's face, searching for something. It reminds him of the subdued way he looked at the others last night, after he offered to carry Thomas to bed. The bit of cautious wonder. Of tender hope.

Thomas thrums a cadence with his fingers into the bed sheets. "I talked to Patton this morning..."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Thomas nods. Well, as much as a person can nod while laying on their side. "Yeah. We kinda...talked about the situation, more or less. I told him I want to help you guys."

Roman is nothing short of stunned. Flabbergasted. Gut-punched.

They can't think that poorly of him, can they? To think it's that out of character for him? Roman just said he admires him. Thomas clings onto that.

"You do?" Roman squeaks out, and Thomas hates how bemused he sounds.

"Yeah, what I can I mean," he pours sincerity into his words. "I don't know how much a guy like me can do, but I'd like to try. I'm not going to kid myself and say this will be a walk in the park, but I'm sure we can all figure out something together. And... uh, if you want. I don't know if you'd be interested, but I'd love to sing with you sometime. If you want, I mean. Your voice, I mean, it's good. Really good. But only if you want, of course."

As he fumbles his speech, Thomas reminds himself repeatedly that Roman just expressed an interest in doing as much, and no this is not being too presumptuous.

Roman springs up, bolt upright. There's a feral, hungry glee that shakes him and he nearly squeals out, "Really?! Really really?!"

"Really really," Thomas promises, smiling up at him. The excitement is infectious and Roman launches into a whole tirade of song choices.

"We could do Hamilton! Or Disney! I'll make a man out of you! It's the boppiest bop to ever bop! Or no wait, a ballad! We could do a ballad! A piano cover of something. Better yet, we can write our own song! Thomas! Thomas, I have so many ideas, you have no idea!"

Thomas has awoken his inner child. It's Christmas and Fourth of July clashing in showers of sparks. There are stars in Roman's eyes, and he holds his fists up, knuckles covering a wild grin. He's bouncing in place on the bed and it's the cutest thing Thomas has ever seen.

"I'd like to hear them," Thomas says.

Roman needs no more prompting. He stretches out on the bed again, laying on his stomach. He kicks his feet up behind him whimsically while he gushes and makes callbacks to Thomas's past videos and expands off of those. He's talking a mile-a-minute and Thomas hardly needs to contribute. Nor does he want to. He wouldn't dream of interrupting.

This bit of his morning is not a chore. It's a privilege.

***

Lunch time rolls around. They only become aware of this in the midst of their brainstorming session because Remus throws open the door.

The closet door.

"Did someone order a pizza?!" he screeches loud enough to make ears bleed.

Roman's reaction is to grab the nearest object (a pillow) and catapult it at the intruder. Remus karate chops is out of the air.

"Have you ever heard of knocking!" Roman bellows. "Me and Thomas are having an important discussion that doesn't involve you!"

"You've been hogging him since yesterday! It's my turn to ride on Thomas the Dank Engine!"

"I haven't been hogging him!"

"Little piggy say what?"

"I haven't been hogging him! Just because you're jealous–"

"Oink oink oink! Here a pig, there a pig, everywhere a pig pig!"

"Why are you so insufferably juvenile?!"

"Uh, bitch, why do you have a stick up your ass? And not the good kind!"

"Fellas," Thomas says most agreeably, sitting up and clasping his hands in his lap. "I think we need to take a deep breath."

They both cut themselves off mid-insults. They glance at him, and yes it's clear that even though Thomas was the subject they were fighting over, they had forgotten he was there or that he can now witness their spats.

And gosh, isn't that bizarre? They're fighting over him.

Roman crosses his arms and sulks, appearing contrite. Remus puts his hands behind his back and whistles in a poor imitation of innocence.

These two might be worse together than Logan with either of them. That's just impressive.

Thomas clears his throat and embodies his best mediator persona. "Now Remus, was there a reason you came in here? You said something about pizza?"

Roman mutters, "He was making a stupid porn joke."

"You're stupid," Remus snipes back. Before Roman can sputter out a defense, Remus bounds over and snatches up Thomas's hands in his. "There's food downstairs ready for you. The nerd said it's important for you to eat to keep your energy up or whatever. I suggested you should just eat batteries, but nobody ever listens to me."

"I wonder why," Roman growls, but Thomas is already being dragged out of his room. Remus keeps an iron grip on his fingers and pulls him along.

There's an erratic edge to Remus's words while he babbles to Thomas. It's mostly nonsensical ideas, like a stream of consciousness gone straight to brain rot. It's peculiar as it is demanding of attention. A train crash he can't look away from.

As they descend the stairs, Thomas stares at their joined hands. He considers Remus's words from before. How much do the others really listen to him? Or to each other in general? What hidden dynamics are at play here?

The others are all waiting for them below minus Bowler Hat. The table is set for one, and it's actually not pizza. It's pan-seared porkchops with broccoli and mashed potatoes. His nostrils flair as the smell wafts over him. His stomach rumbles appreciatively.

"You guys didn't have to do all this," Thomas protests. He lets Remus steer him to the chair and plop him down. He keeps his hands on his shoulders. "I know I've been sick, but I can make my own food now."

Virgil gestures to the murdered pan in the sink. "Let's just say for all our sakes, we don't mind."

"Yes, it's no issue," Logan chips in. "We are more than capable of providing you with assistance. It is no trouble, I assure you."

"I set the table," Patton says with a tiny smile. "No more stove privileges for silly ole me!"

Roman indulges him with a clap on the back. "You did well, Padre. And everyone else! This is a meal fit for a king!"

Virgil scoffs, "It's just meat and veggies. It's not a big deal."

"I forgot I had porkchops," Thomas admits. "When did you guys even take them out to thaw? I didn't notice."

Logan refastens his tie, a little smug, "Last night. I theorized that by today your illness would abate enough to allow you to eat a proper meal."

"Well, I don't know what else to say but thank you." Would this become a thing? Should he let it be a thing? Would it be such a bad thing if he did? They could cook him food if it made them feel useful, and then he could avoid cooking and get to eat it all. Just himself, never sharing.

No, that just– that would be like having servants and would be a weird power hierarchy, and he's just not going to go that route. He's a big boy, he can cook his own dinners.

He picks up his fork to tuck into dinner.

"Are you going to hover over him for the entirety of the meal, Donny Whacko?"

Remus's hands are still clamped on Thomas's shoulders, and he remains standing right behind him. Thomas pauses with his fork in the air. He didn't realize when Remus had grown eerily quiet, but the chattering had indeed stopped, and he grips tighter at Thomas's shoulders.

"Remus?" Patton says, as gentle as a person encroaching on a wild animal that they just want to help. "You gotta let go, buddy."

At once the hands are gone from his shoulders. Then they return on the sides of Thomas's head, spindly fingers holding him in place while Remus delivers a loud smooch to the top of his scalp. Every hair on Thomas's body stands on end.

"Remus!!" literally everyone screams.

"What, like you all haven't been thinking about it too," Remus replies in his reedy voice. "I can't help that you're all horribly repressed."

Furious and flustered, Roman rolls up his sleeves as if he's going to remove Remus by force, but then he suddenly back pedals. His eyes shift from Remus to...something else.

"I do so enjoy you making my job harder," a voice that is certainly not Remus's comes from behind Thomas.

Thomas turns. His peripheral catches a minor struggle of limbs, a flash of yellow, and then nothing. No one stands behind him.

"Why does he have to be so dramatic?" Virgil groans rhetorically.

Logan answers him literally, "He does not have to, it is simply a life choice."

Thomas looks back at them. "Did Remus just get kidnapped?"

Patton attempts to smile through a grimace, "I think it's more like he was given a time-out."

"Was that Bowler Hat?"

"Yeah, he does that sometimes with Remus. Nothing to worry about, kiddo."

Thomas very much worries about it. They can't tell him not to worry about it after that. After Remus kissed him and got sent to baby jail for it. Thomas can't react to the implications of the sign of affection, that in particular is a bit too much right now, but he does race car drift into indignation. Regardless of Remus being overtly clingy, Thomas doesn't think he deserved to be dragged away like that.

HIs reaction is because Remus had just voiced how no one listens to what he says. And the way that his hands didn't want to let go of Thomas. A burgeoning sense of protection has him sitting down his fork.

"I... I think I would have rather talked about it," Thomas tells them. He surprises them, he knows he does. And maybe that's his fault with how readily he's shown to want to avoid the issue so far.

Logan is the first to act. He smooths down the front of his shirt and sits in front of him at the table. "If you would like to discuss, we can."

"No," Thomas shakes his head, tone firm. "I want to talk to you guys. All of you. An important part of handling things is communication, right? And the longer I wait to do this, the more we might misunderstand each other, and I don't want that to happen. I want us all to be comfortable. Not just me, but all of you guys too."

Patton takes a step forward, falters, then presses his index fingers together. "When you say all of us..."

Thomas's eyes narrow. "I mean all six of you. Would that be a problem?"

Patton throws up his hands and waves them around in distress. "No, no! Not at all! That's not what I meant." He too takes a seat. He leans over the table, trying to convey in his expression sincerity. "I'm sorry, it's just that, well we'd like to talk to you. We just don't want to overwhelm you all at once."

"And Bowler Hat, as you call him, may decline to come to the discussion table," Virgil points out.

"Why would he?" Thomas asks. "I just talked to him last night."

"You did?" Virgil spits out, eyes critically assessing. When he sees that Thomas does nothing more than raise a brow, he rolls his shoulders and puts on an unaffected air. "Okay, cool. That's cool. So you weren't...scared?"

"No? Why would I be?" Thomas asks.

No one answers.

Thomas looks from face to face. They're hiding secrets. Every one of them.

"Why would I be?" he says again, more soft in trepidation.

Logan's brows are furrowed. He taps a finger against his chin. "Thomas... did you notice anything...odd regarding his appearance?"

"You mean other than the caplet and gloves?"

"Yes, actually. What else?"

Thomas searches for an answer amongst then. Roman stares holes into Patton who squirms in his seat.

"What am I not getting?" Thomas questions Patton.

And there's the same guilty look in his eyes like this morning at the failed breakfast. "Thomas, how much did you see of him? Was it dark? Did you see him fully I mean? Or remember when you first saw us?"

Not that he noticed. Nothing that–

Hadn't Bowler Hat purposefully avoided him? He had been turned away, looking out the window. And he scurried away to the kitchen with Virgil first thing. And he didn't show back up until it was dark in his room.

"Is he...is he different?" Thomas asks them, borderline scared now. "Is he not the same thing you guys are?"

"Yes and no," Logan answers, too collected, too calculating his words. "He is similar to us in most areas in terms of our attachment to you and the state of our metaphysical beings. The largest difference is in appearance."

"He didn't want," Virgil begins, but trails off when everyone turns to him. He scowls and looks angrily at the floor. "It's not for us to tell. He was just afraid of how you'd react. He can't help the way he looks. He just is."

"The snake's already out of the bag," Roman says, remorseful. "Thomas, it's not that we didn't want to tell you. We just wanted to respect his wishes while giving you time to adjust. But I can see that it's causing you more stress than not. I'm not sure we can manage to convince him to come out, but we can tell you about it. The truth would've had to come out eventually."

He doesn't want them to feel forced to tell him anything.

He also doesn't like them keeping secrets that might affect him and each other.

It's a tousle between being a people pleaser and wanting some modicum of control back over his life.

"I want you guys...to feel like you can talk to me."

"That's all we've ever wanted," Patton whispers.

Thomas closes his eyes. He pushes his plate aside. "Then I think we need to talk."

[ciryes]

An Arbiter of the Head (Project Moon games) vs Marisa Kirisame. Who's winnin'.

I like that despite me not posting for like, years, you have correctly assessed that I've played the entire project moon trilogy somehow so I'm compelled to answer this

Highly situational, an arbiter isn't going to give a shit about danmaku or spell cards, so in this instance Marisa is going to be forced to fight at her full power, but considering she's just an ordinary human she probably relies on the spell card system to be as powerful as she is? In an all-out fight I don't think magic is going to give her enough advantage over a basically superhuman with magic-equivalent technology.

On the other hand, Marisa would probably figure out some kind of way to avoid having to fight in the first place or steal some crazy powerful Singularity to give her the edge.

Also, Marisa is probably going to be able to use E.G.O. fairly easily. Carmen tries to distort her and she just says some kind of casual comeback like 'sorry, i don't have time to turn into a monster because i only get weekends off' and gets a giant fuckoff suit of armor and that is going to level the playing field.

So really I think the answer here depends on how much setup time Marisa is given, how little security is guarding the nearest Wing's singularity, whether or not she can experience enough of a despair event horizon to get contacted by the City's resident intrusive thoughts milf for a limited time offer of FREE SOUL WEAPON, and how bad the head wants her dead.

Unless the arbiter we're talking about is Binah, in which case throw everything I just said out the window, Marisa is going to be lucky to get away from that one with her life. That woman can tank a master spark and frankly I think she'd enjoy it

[more-cardigan-than-woman]

The Babysitter - Day 5 - Midnight / 8

Summary: You ran away and now you're at a club, what could possibly go wrong

Thief!Reader x The Red Hood

4.8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, semi public sex acts, chasing, minor primal kink, swearing, alcohol, chocking, slapping, canon typical violence.

AN: This chapter is split into night and day, as it starts at midnight and it was way too long.

Day 4

The metaphorical clock strikes midnight as you approach The Bunker. There is no line, no security, just one singular light hanging above a random steel door. To say this club was underground, well, it would be wrong. Sure, it’s called The Bunker, but that's mostly because the place is run by hench folks and they’re not exactly a creative bunch. You remember when you first asked Harley about it and she just rolled her eyes and sounded surprised that it was still open.

Shimming down the dress that you fished out of your go bag and very carefully changed into in the park restroom, you approach the club. Your eyes wander up and you notice the beam in the sky, he's out tonight. Which must be why everyone's here and not with their bosses causing mayhem.

You knock in sequence on the heavy door, surprised when a familiar face greets you. 

"Janice! Bestie! I didn't know you got a job here. I haven’t seen you in so long! What have you been up to? Aside from this sweet side gig? It must be good work? Do they pay well? Do you get to meet heaps of cool people?”

"It's Janelle," Janice says, looking wholly unimpressed to see you, she flips her long dark braid over her shoulder, seeming to type something into her tablet before rolling her eyes at you, "go in."

"We should catch up soon! It's been ages since we hung out!." 

"Not long enough." She mutters as you walk past her and walk down the long corridor towards the club.

With every step you hear the music grow louder, the lights grow brighter and you grow closer and closer to the party. "Good luck finding me here, Macho man." You mumble, stepping into the crowd and locating your first mark.

Xx

"Where are you going?" Jason thinks as he stares down at the little dot on his map, "there's nothing that side of crime alley, little trouble maker."

Revving his motorcycle he follows the dot, ending up at a random street. "Where are you?" He peers around noting the large apartment buildings above and garbage covering the alley way. "What the fuck?" He grips his phone so hard he can hear the screen crack as your dot vanishes, "she can't just fucking disappear."

Pacing back and forth he tries to think, his brain almost combusting before an idea springs to mind. Lucky for him the idiot answers in a second.

"Hey boss, wassup?"

"Jamie, you know any hangouts near park and renegade?"

"Just the bunker, heard they was having a party tonight."

"The bunker?"

"Yeah, it's the henchman hangout."

"The-"

"Henchman's hangout. Used to go there all the time. But you got me so busy these days while you're out, i-"

"How do I find it?"

"Got a light over the door, big steel one."

"Thanks Jamie, take the night off." He ends the calls before the man can keep talking.

He scans the alley again, noticing the single light hanging from a patio a bit further down. Jason bangs on the door with his fist and when it doesn't open he kicks that fucker down. 

"Mr Red Hood sir, I didn't realise.." Janelle says, "Sorry, we don't normally get-" 

The Red Hood walks right by the flustered woman, throwing her some money for the door before stalking his way down the hallway.

Xx

“What is this song?” you shout to Lark over the thrum of the music.

“No idea.” she smiles at you, “Behind you, Rolex.”

“Good spot,” your eyes flick back to the tall guy behind you, his brown hair flipping around as he attempts to dance, “cover me,” you say to Lark as she turns her back to watch from behind.

“Got you girl. Get us that bag.”

“Wow,” you turn, your hand landing on the man's big (though not as big as Red's) forearm, his cheap plasticky jacket seeming to stick to the palms of your hands, “Sorry,” you stare up at the man his dull hazel eyes not nearly as enchanting as the blue ones you’ve been thinking about all day, “Or not,” you wink as his hand slips down your arm.

“We dancing?” he asks, grabbing your hand to twirl you around and you let out a squeal. “You’re fun.” he pulls you closer “cute too,” you can smell how much he bathed in his cologne before coming out tonight, you can feel the bile creeping up your throat with every second. This closeness only makes you move faster before the stench makes you aspirate or puke.

“Yeah, let's dance.” you take his hand and let him hold it, while your fingers toy with the clasp on his watch. “Spin me again,” you laugh and as he does you flick the watch off his wrist and spin yourself into your dark haired friend. 

“Girl, you get it?” Lark catches you, wrapping her arm around your shoulder and spins so her back is covering the man's view of you.

“Happy Birthday Larkie, your gift,” you joke, slipping it onto her wrist and laughing when it fits perfectly.

“Best gift ever. Until the next one,” Lark links her arm through yours, winding you both through the crowd as whatever his name was tries to follow you both.

“Drinks?” 

“Yes, Des is serving those big fruity cocktails I love, I want at least four and you can tell me more about the Red Hood and why the fuck I haven’t seen you all week.”

You and Lark continue to drink, talk and steal. You almost forget that Reds on his way, that he promised to punish you for being bad, that he’s probably going to slap you again, maybe throw you over his shoulder like the man handling dickhead he is. Maybe he’ll snarl at you, pin you up against the wall and then just take-

“Yo! Your drifting off into the clouds again girlie.” Lark snaps her fingers in front of your face, “Earth calling, wanna come back down to me?”

“Yeah,” you shake your head, “I’m here, just thinking about-”

“Why don’t you go splash your face.” Lark offers, tilting her head towards the bathroom, “Someones watching us.”

“I can’t see anyone, but I trust you. Be back in a sec.” you push your way through the crowd, your eyes searching for any sign of the Red Hood. You don’t see him or anyone really, just a bunch of faceless swaying beings that form the dance floor and the wooden door that leads into the bathroom.

Shoving your way inside you tip your head over the graffiti covered sink and splash some of the water over your face, careful not to get any in your mouth. It’s probably safe, but probably isn't definitely and with Scarecrow out of Arkham anything is possible.

"G'day petal," a deep voice startles as it storms from one of the stalls, "gunna need me boom back,"

"You what?" You lift on your toes and take a step back, planting your feet on the ground.

"I know you took my boomerang, petal."

"For once you're wrong, Boomer."

"Yeah, nah. Ain’t got your little boyfriend to keep me away this time."

"Who?" You push at him and when he doesn't budge you reach behind you, gripping at the gun tucked into your pocket.

"Who says he's my boyfriend?" You lift up as your hand grips the handle.

"Everyone, I talked to." 

"Wrong again." You pull the gun out pointing it under his chin, "how does it feel to be so wrong so often, Boomer?"

"Feels pretty nice from here," he grinds his hips into you and you click the trigger, "Petal forgot her bullets," he tuts at you, "silly girl."

"Don't need em," you smirk, reaching the gun back and colliding It with his head, a loud smack echoes in the small room and he's on the floor, "now for my prize," flipping his jacket open you take one of the boomerangs, easily tucking it into your pocket with the rest of your loot.

"What's with the gun?" Lark asks, her eyes shifting to the passed out Boomer on the bathroom floor, “I see, we should go.” she wraps an arm around you and hurries you into the crowd on the dancefloor.

“I wasn’t taking that long,” you shout into her ear.

“No, I came to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Your guy.”

“My what?”

“The Red Hood.”

“What about him?”

“He’s here.”

XX

Jason's helmet scans the room, instantly spotting you cozied up to some random woman. Eyes turn to him, but he ignores them as he sinks into the shadows of the club. 

He watches you for a while, the tiny echo of your voice ringing across the large room. His eyes drift up your legs, stopping at the short hemline of your skirt and the heaviness of your pockets. Jason enjoys seeing you take and take and take from those around you, seemingly gifting this woman with the dark hair with some of your takings. The both of you dance and laugh together, seeming to work together to scam those around you and he can’t help the jealousy of how free you seem to be with her seep into his trigger finger. You’re spinning and free and the way you cling to her, it’s taking all his control not to march over, pick you up and drag you out of here. 

You dodge someone before your pretty eyes dart around the room quickly, seeming to pause in Jason's hiding place in the shadows before moving across and then suddenly you're moving, charging off towards the bathroom.

Now is his chance, he thinks, stepping into the light when the whole crowd turns to him and he feels the need to sink back into the darkness. But it’s almost too late, he can see that dark haired woman coming towards him, a look of anger and vengeance on her face. Fuck, had you told her about him? What did you say for her to be acting like this? He moves, circling around the room until there is a dance floor of people between them. Jason was too busy trying to put distance between him and this woman and her cheap leather outfit. He lost track, you went into the bathroom, he thinks, then, where did you go? He looks over the crowd but he can’t see you, can’t even see the other woman, only the crowd and the lights.

He scans for you on his helmet again and you pop up almost immediately, your body moving freely as you dance with the woman in the crowd and he can’t help the step he takes forward. Like his brain has left the building and now something else is creeping its way into his head.

“What is that?” you ask Lark, your neck twitching to the side.

“Umm, Girl.”

“It’s like an itch, but it’s inside my skin.” you reach back trying to scratch it.

“Girl,” she spins you around and you let out a gasp as the Red Hood stomps towards you, the crowd seeming to part for him as he, can a step be angry? Its like his anger is seeping from his fucking suit. It's a very pretty suit, especially with all the bright lights of the club shining off his helmet.

“Love you Larkie, but I-”

“You gotta go.” she squeezes your hand, “take the back door and don't forget to have fun!” she calls to you as you take off, squishing and squirming your way through the dancers. You throw a glance over your shoulder and can see him getting closer as you move towards the back of the club and the back door. Your heart thrums in your chest, pumping in your ears while your feet struggle to stay steading on your heels.

“Stop following me.” you call, but are pretty sure it's lost in the noise of the club. Picking up the pace you kick your heels off, leaving them behind so you can run faster. You dart around the corner near the bathroom and a hand snakes out grabbing your arm.

“Where you off to now Petal?”

“Don’t have time for this Boomer.”

“Make time,” he points his boomerang at your stomach, pulling it back. Fast as you can you wrap your hand around it, flipping yourself backwards and yanking it from his hand. You spin, throwing the object in the direction of the Red Hood and flee as fast as you can. Boomer is so taken aback that he doesn't say a word, just stares, his hand held up for when his weapon will return to him.

A loud thud rings down the hall and you turn back only to see Boomer on the ground again as the Red Hood steps over his body. His hand reaching down for the gun on his leg. Fuck, how is he getting closer? Are you moving slower?

Turning back around you make a fast dash for the door, the heavy clang of the Red Hoods boots ringing in your ears almost as hard as your breaths are coming out. The door! It’s right there, you're a step, maybe two from it when a strong hand wraps around your wrist and you can’t hold the scream of surprise in.

“Thought you’d give more of a fight, little trouble maker.” Reds robot voice growls into your ear.

“Well, I do hate to disappoint,” you stomp down on his foot, forgetting that you're in bare feet and wince when the steel cap of his boots dig into the arch of your foot, “Ow.” you cry, jabbing your elbow into the hard armor on his stomach, “Why is everything always so hard with you?” you wiggle trying to escape his grasp. 

“So that little brats can’t beat me up.” he holds you a little tighter, the leather of his gloves biting into your skin. The smell of your sweaty perfume barely registers under his helmet, but fuck if he can’t feel your cute little ass wiggling into his cock. Biting down on his lip he tries to maintain some control, to not just press your smart ass little face into the wall and take you right here. His cock throbs when you try to hit him again, making that sweet whiney noise. Shit, he needs, what does he need- “I wanna watch you run a bit more,” his grip starts to loosen, even though he wants nothing more to hold you so fucking close, “ready?”

“To run from you? Always.”

“Good girl.” he releases you and you take off immediately running for the door, your sweaty hands siding off the handle and you giggle when you spot him watching you, unable to keep the excitement of what the fuck is happening inside you. The words, his words, that he keeps saying that somehow makes your insides melt and your legs feel tingly, “You won’t be laughing when I catch you this time.” he threatens, cracking his knuckles at you. But he hasn’t moved yet, he’s watching you from his perch on the wall.

“Fuck you!” you shout back when you finally get the door open and sprint onto the street. You smile to yourself as you hear the thud of his boots coming from behind you, “Fucking asshole!” you bolt down the alley, the stones on the tarmac digging into your feet, but you can’t stop. Even if you’re having fun, enjoying the thought of him chasing you oh so slowly and what he might possibly do when he catches up to you, “You’re so fucking slow!” you shout, turning around to see the alleyway empty, only the trash drifting down and the graffitied walls closing in on you.

Where did he go? He was right behind you a second ago. You turn towards the other end of the alley and can only see the soft glow of the street lights shining. Shit, where could he have gone? Did he give up? You think smugly, turning back down the alley which will lead to a quicker route home. “Fucking idiot, I told him I was faster.”

“But I’m smarter.” The Red Hood grasps your arm, yanking you into a covered alcove and closing your body into his hard armor. A deep breathe rushes from Jason's chest as you bump into him, he probably pulled your with more force than he needed to, but seeing that fucking smile on your face is worth it.

“Guess you caught me.” you beam up at him. He feels his cock straining against his pants at your closeness. If seeing you in the small dress, stealing from those assholes hadn’t excited him. Then watching your ass giggle and your laughter ring in the air as he chased you certainly did. “So what are you going to do with me, now that you've caught me?” you tease him, your hand reaching up towards his helmet and he catches your wrist in his hand.

“What do you think, trouble maker?”

“What do I think? Now he wants to know. Well, Where do I start? I think you’re mean, I think my feet are fucking sore from running on the bare street, I think I don't even know your fucking name and I think that you didn’t even care to come looking for me.”

“How many times is that now?”

“Times what? Because seriously, youre sending some mixed fucking signals here and I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you or your little brain but as fun as it can be, I need some fucking clarity here Red, because I’m fucking confused.”

“Nine.” Jason adds in his head, using his grip on your wrist to spin you around and press you into the wall, “I told you not to swear at me. It’s about time you got some punishment.” he lifts the skirt of your dress, impressed by how heavy the pockets seem to be he tries to ignore it, “Bad mouth brats, need to learn their place.” he slaps his hand onto your ass gentler than he wants to, his fingers kneading at your soft panties. “8 more to go, trouble maker. And for every noise you make I'm going to add one more.” he slaps you again and you can’t keep the little yip that escapes you. He keeps going “7, I’m sending mixed signals,” he leans over to threaten close to your ear, “6, you ran away from me,” his thumb grazes over your ass, “5, you keep being bad,” his long gloved fingers graze over the wet spot in your panties, “4, but I know you want to be good for me,” he flicks your panties to the side before slapping right over your clit, “3, you like to torture me, don’t you?” You let out a hungry moan, your ass presses back into his hand and Jason can’t help the way his dick throbs. “3 more,” he wraps a hand around your mouth, holding it closed, “I think this is torturing you more than me.”

You mumble into his glove, the leather scent filling your nose, his hand tightens on your face. You can feel yourself dripping down your thigh from all those delicious slaps moving from your ass to your clit and those strong fingers on you and his thighs closing you in.

“1 more little trouble maker. Can you take it?” you nod, sticking your ass out even further and wiggling it for him, “This is a punishment, act like it” he scorns you. You wiggle more, biting down on his fingers, and he moans at the feeling of your teeth gripping his finger, “Better.”

His strong hand slaps on your ass and your scream into his fingers, way too exaggerated but Red seems to love it. His fingers massage into your tender skin, his hand gripping tight on your face, “Quiet,” he commands you as his fingers slide through the sopping mess of your pussy, “Quiet or I will stop.”

“Ah, huh.” you mumble into the glove as his fingers press into you. The leather cold on the inside of your pussy, his helmet cold on the side of your face. But fuck, those fingers, he toys with you. Slowly moving in and out, swirling around inside of you and pumping up into your g spot. You almost lose your mind when his thumb grazes up and starts to circle your clit. Your hips thrusting back into him as you grind down on those thick fingers. 

“You’re little cunt is so tight on my fingers,” the red hood pumps into you faster, “you like it like this trouble maker?” he pushes another finger in, while his thumb continues its ministrations on your clit, “I can tell that you do, you’re fucking clinging to me.” his hand moves from your mouth to cup at your breast as his body pushes you closer to the wall, “I wanna hear you cum, trouble maker,”

“Quietly?”

“Yeah, can you do that for me?”

“I- ahhh,” you bite down on your bottom lip, “I’ll try,”

“Good girl.” you fall apart at his words, your hold body shaking into the brick wall, your pussy sucking his fingers deeper and deeper inside you. Your teeth biting so hard into your lip you think you might be bleeding as your panting breaths escape from the corner of your lips. Red keeps a hold of you, his whole body seeming to keep you up while you come apart around him.

“Red, I ah-” you shiver as your body starts to relax again and he pulls his fingers from within you.

Jason spins you back around, pressing your ass into the cool concrete wall by the throat, the chill seeming to soothe the soreness and ache in your muscles, “Hello trouble maker,” he titles that shiny helmet to the side, lifting his fingers up and under the helmet so he can taste you, “How was your day?” he asks so casually that it throws you for a second.

“Really great,” you smile sarcastically into the lit up eyes of the helmet, “No one told me what to do, or threw me around.”

“Or made you cum so hard you shook, sounds boring.” his fingers grip tighter on your throat, his knees pushing your legs further apart. Shit, he’s losing control. Like he can't seem to stop, like that tiny taste of you and watching you fall apart on his fingers cracked a hole in his skull, “I had a boring day too, some dumb brat left me to entertain myself.”

“Poor you.”

“Want to make it up to me?

“Isn’t that what the punishment was?”

“No, because I don't think you learned your lesson yet, trouble maker.” he pulls off his jacket, throwing it on the ground before him, pushing you to your knees. Trying not to be impressed at how quickly you’ve bounced back after he made you cum so hard, “You going to do as you're told?”

“No.” you stare up at him defiantly.

“Do you want me to make you?” his finger twine through your hair, yanking your head back.

“Is this suppose to be intimidating? Because honestly that little kid in the tights is scarier than you.” His other hand slaps across your face and your sensitive pussy tingles in your panties.

“If you want me to stop, I need you to tell me. Just hit me in the leg or something,” he says so softly that you’re almost confused by it, but you understand. This game, or whatever weird ass fuck thing you two are doing, he wants reassurance that you’re playing too. “I need you to nod or shake your head, if this is too far-” he pauses, caressing your face,”-I can just take you home and rub some oil into your feet.”

You stare up at his helmet, your hands resting on his thighs as your nails bite into the hard metal covers, your smile maybe a little bit evil, “Fuck you,” you spit at his chest.

“My little trouble maker,” his fingers tighten in your hair as his other hand works fast to pull his cock from his pants, “Open your mouth,” he orders you and your lips open with seemingly a mind of their own, “Good, stick out your tongue,” he bounces his cock on your tongue and you can’t help the way you start to squirm at the taste of him on your tongue, “Sit still.” he thrusts forward pressing his cock further into your mouth, “Close that loud mouth,” you suck at him, your tongue pressing up into the thick vein that runs along the bottom of his cock, “Do a good job and I’ll give you a reward,” this spurs you on, thinking of how good his fingers felt inside you. You eagerly bob your head and your fingers press into his thighs, your tongue swirling around his cock as moans bubble up your throat and vibrate around him, “finally something that mouth is good for,” he releases your hair, his hand moving down to support your neck, “at your own pace, trouble maker,” he moans, trying his best to keep himself still and not fuck down into your throat, “yeah, like that,” his head flings back with the weight of the helmet, “You feel amazing, so hot and wet.”

You make a movement with your hands, your finger traveling from your chin to your head, while you keep on sucking and licking at him, “Off?” he asks a little breathless, you give him the tiniest nod, trying not to lose the grip your lips have on his cock. “Stop for a second,” his hand leaves your neck and his cock falls from your lips and you suck in a harsh breath.

Relaxing back on your thighs you stare up at him in awe, his huge cock hanging between his armored legs. He lifts the helmet off, his hair shiny dark curls fall perfectly over his face, he drops the helmet to the ground, his fingers brush the hairs from your face as his sharp jawline tilts down at you and a red domino mask stares back at you.

“I knew it! Two masks!” you exclaim, a second before he shoves his cock back in your mouth.

“I was such a close trouble maker, why don't you be a good girl and make me feel good and then I’ll think about rewarding you.” you hungrily suck his cock, your pussy fucking soaking the ground beneath you as you bring him closer and closer to finishing. The whites of the domino mask stare at you while his hair clings to his sweaty face. His moans grow rougher and more animalistic as he gets closer and closer. Your teeth scrape along his length and that seems to be the thing that sends him over the edge, his salty, tangy cum paints the inside of your mouth and you swallow it down like bridesmaids drinking prosecco at a bachelorette party. His soft panting fills in your ears as his hands gently brush along your cheek.

His cock falls from your lips as he leans into the wall behind you. His eyes still take you in as he rests his head on the cold concrete, his chest heaving, his breath spot but his hand still on your face. You meet his eyes as you gather some of his cum that fell from your mouth on your fingers and lick at it, moaning around your fingers in the same way he had earlier.

“You did so well for me,” he coos, lightly slipping his forearm under yours and helping you off the ground. He picks up his helmet, “Can you hold this?” he asks in a voice so devoid of the earlier animal it surprises you, “I’m going I take you home and I can look at those feet.”

“My feet? What about my pussy?”

“If you can behave long enough.” he picks you up, sliding an arm under your legs, “Remember when I told you how loud I can make bratty little trouble makers.”

“Not true until you prove it.”

“Then I guess I better prove it,” he winks, capturing your lips in a desperate, hungry kiss, “But only if you’re a good girl, think you can do it?”

“I can only try my best.” you snuggle into his chest, holding the helmet on your tummy as he carries you home.

Day 5 - 7 am

Taglist:

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[royboyfanpage]

I’m starting to wonder if Roy would’ve been angry at Uncle Sam over what happened to Grant

Hi!! Sorry this took me so long to answer, I wanted to get some panels for this.

My immediate thought was "he'd absolutely be angry", but I wanted to elaborate a little more than that. I haven't been able to find many comics with Grant in the Freedom Fighters, and none that go into his run with them in-depth, so I'm mostly gonna be referencing the comic your ask's referring to, Infinite Crisis #1 and, as a comparison, The New Titans #116.

Before I get on to Uncle Sam, I'm gonna go on a tangent about Roy's leadership because, despite all his self-doubt, Roy was a genuinely good leader when he led the Titans, particularly in #116. He knew when to have his team fight-

-issuing understandable and consice commands as to what to do and when to do it. He assigned people specific orders based on their skillset, and was able to manoeuvre them into a singular fighting unit once it was time. At the same time, he knew when to recall them-

-and expressed concern whenever they attempted to overexert themselves or do something above their skillset (albeit in a very Roy way)

Roy actually understands his team, he knows what their strengths and weaknesses are, and he knows what they should and shouldn't be doing at any moment. And his team genuinely respects him for it!

(Plus, Bart respecting Roy more than Wally is one of the best things to come from this era)

Now, as for Uncle Sam in Infinite Crisis. As mentioned, I don't have much of a broader scope as to what his leadership pre-Crisis was like, ie when Grant was on the team. Additionally, the circumstances they were under were definitely a lot more extreme than New Titans #116. Whereas Roy and co were only up against Gar and Kyle, the Freedom Fighters were up against-

-significantly more, to say the least. However, a key factor in efficiently leading a superhero team is the ability to work well under pressure, so Mr. American Patriotism won't be entirely excused. In the issue, I could only find two instances where Sam actually issues commands, one-

-where all he's doing is telling them what the mission is, and two-

-where he's telling them to keep fighting no matter what. This is piss poor leadership. Not only does Sam give the absolute bare minimum of commands, but they're so incredibly vague and non-specific it's embarrassing. Sure, you could chalk it up to the surprise, the number of enemies, etc etc, but that is absolutely not an excuse. In a situation like that, he should be losing his voice by the end of it because of how many commands he should be issuing. Instead, he more or less treated it like a free-for-all. Additionally, his team had been awake for 48 hours prior to this. That is absolutely not prime condition, especially since before the ambush they had no idea it was a serious threat. Intel that a group had held a meeting somewhere two days ago is not at all justification for dragging your team around when they're all exhausted. Even if the Justice League were unavailable at that time, there are countless other teams who could've taken that! And when the ambush did happen, instead of calling for a retreat like the smart thing would've been when faced with that many enemies, he ordered them all to keep fighting a battle that was impossible to win.

So yeah, Roy would be pissed at Uncle Sam for what happened to Grant. You could argue that even if they were in prime condition, even if they'd tried to retreat, even if Sam had given orders, the team still would've been beaten. But Uncle Sam absolutely did not help. Grant's injuries were, at the very least partially, a result of poor central command and awful leadership. Roy did absolutely everything he could to lead his team, giving member-specific orders and doing all he could to ensure their safety. Uncle Sam basically said "I don't care what you do, just don't give up" which, while being a good sentiment for every day life, is absolutely shit when it comes to a life or death situation. And Roy would be pissed that the kid he worked so hard to train and protect sustained lifelong injuries because of some human American flag.

Anyway I think Roy should get to kick the shit out of the old man for funsies <3

[noblest-roman-of-them-all]

Sides in Space (Name for AU pending)

F*ck it, we ball. Have a bit of what I have written for my Sanders Sides/Star Trek Crossover AU

"Dr. McCoy, he's waking up." An unfamiliar said in the distant fog of his pounding head.

"Thanks, Nurse Chapel," another unfamiliar voice answered. Dread began twisting in his gut, sending his heart racing. "Captain Sanders?" The voice called. "Sir, can you hear me?"

His eyes fluttered open and a man that almost seemed familiar stood over him.

"Captain Sanders, I'm Dr. McCoy-"

"Where's Dr. Sanchez?"

McCoy sighed. "Can you tell me what you remember from the last few hours?"

"Not untill you tell me where Dr. Sanchez is," he challenged.

McCoy nodded and took a seat beside the bed. "Dr. Sanchez was killed in the line of duty," he answered solemnly. "I'm sorry, Captain."

Thomas went pale. "How?"

"Approximately 72 hours ago, Star Fleet recieved an urgent message from Vulcan. They were being attacked by an unknown enemy with an unknown weapon. The Fleet deployed all available ships to aid Vulcan, including yours and the Enterprise, the ship your on now. There were complications and the Enterprise arrived moments after the rest of the Fleet, also under attack. We pulled in as many Kelvin pods as we could, that's how you ended up here. It's...a lot to explain, and I honestly don't understand most of it, but Vulcan was destroyed. The enemy created a singularity within the planet. When the planet it went...it took a lot of the Fleet with it."

Tears ran openly down the captain's cheeks. "My crew?" He asked, his chest beginning to heave.

McCoy shook his head. "We don't know, we haven't been able to confirm...everyone we lost. I'm so sorry. As soon as I know anything, you'll know. You have my word."

Thomas nodded. "Thank you," he croaked.

"I know this is a lot, but I do need to go over at least some of your injuries with you."

"Aisde from the concussion?" He coughed, trying to regain his composure.

McCoy gave half a smile. "Yessir. When we opened your pod, you a pretty significant injury to your lower right leg. Someone had apparently done some emergency treatment before getting you into the pod because there was a tourniquet applied-"

"This isn't good news, is it?"

"No sir," McCoy shook his head. "We had to do an emergency amputation."

Thomas dropped his head back, pressing a hand over his mouth as tears started again down his cheeks. "This can't be happening," he gasped. "It ca- this- it's not- this can't be happening."

"Captain, I'm gonna need you to take a deep breath," Dr. McCoy advised. "Breathe in slowly through your nose. And out throughout your mouth. That's right, just like that."

Thomas tried to do as he was told, but something broke in his chest and he fell into heaving sobs. Strong arms wrapped around him and Thomas clung to the other man like a life line.

Thomas blinked, his eyes blurred and gunky, and found his head rested against a blue clad shoulder. The arms around his back loosened as he sat up.

"You alright?"

"Sorry-"

"Don't be," McCoy cut in and helped him rest back on the bed. "You've lost a lot. You need to grieve. We all need that."

---

"Any word?" Captain Sanders asked hopefully when Dr. McCoy came into his hospital room. They'd been back on earth nearly a week and every day he'd asked if any of his crew had been found. The death toll had been astronomical and more were declared dead everyday as they sorted through what was left of the rumble and did their best to identify bodies.

Even most of the cadets that had been sent up had been lost. Still Thomas tried to remain hopeful that at least some of crew had been found and survived as he had. But the look on Leonard's face was was quickly driving that hope away.

"I'm sorry," Leonard murmured.

His heart began to pound in his chest. "How many?" He asked, trying to be brave, but Dr. McCoy shook his head.

"None."

Tears dripped from his deep brown eyes. "What?"

Leonard took one of Thomas's hands in both his own. "They weren't able to find any survivors among your crew. I'm so sorry."

"But there's over four hundred- how could they not-"

---

There was a light tap on the hospital door and Dr. McCoy entered the room. "Admiral Sanders? Admiral Pike is here to see you if you're up to it."

"Think he'd actually take no for an answer?" He asked without taking his eyes off the window.

"Not in my experience, sir."

Thomas let out a weighty sigh and nodded. "Let him in."

"Yessir." Len stepped aside and opened the door for Pike to wheel himself into the room.

"Afternoon, Admiral!" Pike said cheerily and wheeled himself over to the window seat. His face softened as he watched the younger man stare out the window. "How ya holdin' up today, son?"

"I, uh, I tried to run a sim today. Dr. McCoy cleared me to do just a basic flight sim, I wasn't even the one running it and, uh-" He clenched his jaw gesturing to the hospital room. "It wasn't even- There wasn't even anything happening in it. It was just a regular orbital sim. But I panicked. Panicked and apparently hyperventilated myself into passing out and hit my head on the way down."

"Let me guess, Dr. McCoy wanted you to stick around a few hours so he could monitor you?"

Thomas nodded. "He was worried since I already had a pretty severe concussion."

"Yeah, that sounds about right for him. So. What's the damage report then?"

Thomas side eyed him. "This one of those trick questions you're famous for?"

Chris smirked. "Yes, it is. Dr. McCoy gave me an update before he let me in here."

"I've got project for you, Admiral," Pike announced and took a seat across the desk from Thomas.

The younger man sighed. "Do you really have to call me that?"

"It is your rank, son. You need to get used to hearing it."

"It wasn't my idea."

"You could retire," Chris suggested drawning a tired glare from Thomas. He chuckled and held out a data pad. "Here. Take a look at these."

"Cadet files?"

Pike nodded. "I want you to pick out a couple command track cadets to mentor-"

"Oh right, like you did with Dr. McCoy," Thomas agreed wryly.

Pike smiled, relieved to hear some color back in the young man's voice. "Exactly. The Fleet is working on implementing a new program that would allow cadets to spend their last year working on a ship, training directly under a Cheif Offficer in their field of study, with the idea that they would be immediately placed on said ship upon graduation and be trained to take over that position when that CO retires or in emergency situations."

"Isn't that basically what happened with the Enterprise?"

"More or less," Pike agreed. "It wasn't ideal, but it was successful. The idea is that next time they won't be under-prepared."

"Maybe we should focus more on there not being a next time."

"We're doing that too," Pike assured.

He nodded with a sigh as he flicked through the list of names.

"You still with me, son?" Chris waited a beat. "Captain."

Thomas's head snapped up. "Hm?"

"You still with me?" Pike repeated.

He blinked several times then glanced away with a sigh, working his jaw. "Maybe I should retire," he murmured to himself.

"Is that what you want?"

"I want my crew back."

"I know, son," Pike assured softly. "You lost a lot of good folk-"

"I lost them all."

"But it wasn't your fault. You gave the orders to evacuate and those orders were carried out-"

"But what if I was wrong? What if- Maybe I shouldn't have, maybe-"

"Your ship was torn apart, admiral, evacuation would have been necessary no matter what."

Thomas nodded, trying to blink away the tears in his eyes.

"I know it still hurts. It will for a long time and it'll come in waves. And sometimes those waves will knock you over and that's okay. But I wholeheartedly believe you're capable of making a difference in the lives of these cadets, there's a lot they can learn from you and I'm willing to bet, there's a lot you can learn from them. I know I've certainly learned a lot from my boys. All that said, there's no shame in needing to step away if that's what's going to be best for you."

---

Pike glanced up from the list of cadets, brow arched in amusement. He glanced back down again scrolling over the list once more. "Admiral, not a single one of these cadets are command track."

"Cadet Sinclair is on track to become a pilot," Thomas pointed out.

"There are six names here."

"There are two sets of siblings."

"You're sure on all these?"

"They're all within the top ten of their class and have been overlooked by multiple admirals and commanding officers in their fields of study," Thomas explained. "This program is supposed prepare cadets for the field. I don't think that training should be restricted to those at the very top of their fields. We should support all cadets, not just those who 'earn' it."

Pike smiled crookedly and nodded. "Alright. Let's reach out."