#sorry for answering so late i just got on tumblr

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔅𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢

Clapton Davis x gn reader

This was requested from an anon on tumblr: "Hii! I enjoy your stories on wattpad and I was hoping if you take requests, if not that's okay! There's barely any Clapton Davis oneshots and you're really great at writing and I was wondering if you could make one!... Maybe a suggestion could be like you and Clapton are like enemies that hate each other and you go to a party and both have too much to drink. You both forget about your troubles between each other from the drinks and getting along maybe. Sorry I am not that creative lmao. Thank youu!" To whoever you are, dear anon, I truly hope my writing met your expectations <3. Already posted this on my wattpad a couple of weeks ago but did some edits now that I had time.

Prompt number three of the jhutch promptober made by @joshfutturman <3 “Skateboard”

Tags: no pronouns used towards the reader so everyone can read. No use of Y/N. fluff. Very small angst. Enemies to lovers fic. Clapton secretly pinning for you.

Words count: 2000 words

You're moving through the crowd of the school hallway with practiced ease, already mentally preparing yourself for another day of monotony. It's not that you hate school, but lately, everything has felt heavier, more tedious.

And then there's the added complication of Clapton Davis.

As you reach your locker, you spot him down the hall, leaning against his locker like he has all the time in the world.

He's talking to someone, one of his many hangers, no doubt. His attention seems half-hearted, like he's only going through the motions.

His gaze flicks over to you briefly, just a split second, before he returns to whatever casual conversation he's pretending to be interested in.

He's always been the kind of guy who breezes through life without a second thought, always with that infuriating smirk on his face like nothing really matters.

But there's something in the way he glanced at you that lingers in your mind, something almost... hesitant.

You shake it off and focus on getting your books out of your locker. You're already running late for class, and the last thing you need is to get caught up thinking about him.

But as you're closing your locker, you feel a presence beside.

A familiar one.

"Morning," Clapton says, his voice casual with his beloved skateboard resting comfortably on his shoulder.

You glance at him, and there it is again that look, that flash of something in his eyes that you can't quite name. He's got that same lazy grin on his face, but it doesn't reach his eyes. It's like he's trying too hard to appear indifferent.

"Morning," you reply, keeping your tone neutral as you close your locker.

"You ready for that history test?" he asks, leaning a little closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. It's a small gesture, but it sends a jolt of electricity through you.

"More or less," you answer, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at his proximity. "How about you?"

He shrugs, the movement almost too casual. "I'll wing it. I usually do."

There's a pause, a beat of silence where neither of you says anything. You're not sure what he's doing here, why he's suddenly so interested in small talk with you. It's not like the two of you are friends, not by any stretch of the imagination. But he doesn't seem to be in any hurry to leave.

"Well, good luck with that," you finally say, turning to head to your first class.

"Yeah," he murmurs, and for a moment, you think you hear something like disappointment in his voice, but when you glance back at him, his expression is as unreadable as ever and he is already skating away in the hallway.

Later that afternoon, after a particularly dull chemistry class, you're gathering your things when you notice him again. He's lingering by the door, pretending to be engrossed in his phone.

"Need something?" you ask as you approach him, your tone a little sharper than you intended.

Clapton looks up from his phone, and for a second, he almost looks... hurt. But then the mask is back, and he's grinning at you like nothing's wrong.

"Just wondering if you wanted to grab something after school," he says, shrugging like it's no big deal. But there's an edge to his voice, a note of uncertainty that he's trying to hide.

You blink, caught off guard by the question.

"I've got plans," you lie, the words slipping out before you can stop them. You don't know why you said it, but something about the idea of spending time with him outside of school makes you nervous.

"Right," he says, his smile faltering just a bit. "Maybe another time, then."

He walks away before you can say anything else, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest. You watch him go, feeling a strange mix of regret and relief.

And then there was yesterday.

You'd been sitting in the library, working on a paper for English class, when Clapton had appeared out of nowhere. He'd slid into the seat across from you, flashing that grin of his that always seemed to set you on edge.

"Mind if I join you?" he'd asked, not waiting for an answer before he started pulling out his own books.

You'd raised an eyebrow at him, suspicious. "What are you doing here, Davis?"

"Studying," he'd replied, but there'd been something playful in his tone, like he knew exactly how much he was throwing you off. "It is a library, after all."

"Since when do you study?" you'd shot back, trying to ignore the way your heart had started to race.

"Since I decided I might actually want to pass this class," he'd said, his eyes locking onto yours with a seriousness that had taken you by surprise. "And maybe because I figured you'd be here."

That had been the first time he'd really admitted to seeking you out, and it had thrown you off balance. You'd tried to play it cool, to pretend like his presence didn't bother you, but the truth was, it did.

It bothered you because it made you feel things you weren't ready to deal with.

You don't understand why Clapton is suddenly everywhere, why he's acting like he cares about you. And worse, you don't understand why it's affecting you so much.

The night hangs heavy with the threat of rain, the dark clouds above swirling like they're trying to decide whether to break.

You're not sure why you came to this party, really.

It's not like you enjoy being crammed into some stranger's living room, surrounded by people who barely know you. But here you are, hoping maybe this time will be different.

The music thumps in time with your heartbeat as you step inside, the bass reverberating through the walls and into your bones. The living room is packed, bodies pressed together, moving in a rhythm dictated more by the sheer lack of space than any real desire to dance. You push through, grabbing a drink from the first table you see, the liquid sloshing over the rim as someone jostles you from behind. You don't even look at what's in the cup before taking a sip.

It doesn't matter.

It's been a rough week, the kind where everything that could go wrong did. School's been a drag, the same monotony grinding away at you day after day.

You're tired of the routine, tired of pretending that any of it matters.

And then there's Clapton Davis.

You don't know what it is about him that gets under your skin. Maybe it's the way he always seems so indifferent to everything, like the world could crumble around him and he wouldn't even blink. Or maybe it's the fact that, despite his detached demeanor, he's one of the few people who's ever really seen you.

You scan the room, looking for a familiar face, and that's when you spot him.

Clapton, leaning against the wall, one foot propped up behind him. He's got that damn smirk on his face, the one that makes you want to both punch him and kiss him at the same time.

He catches your eye. There's a flicker of something in his eyes again, but just as quickly as it appears, it's gone, replaced by that irritating, lazy grin that drives you crazy.

But it wasn't long before your luck ran out.

"Ah, just my luck," he called out loudly enough for you to hear over the music. "Didn't know this party was open to everyone."

You narrowed your eyes at him, already feeling the familiar tension building. "I could say the same about you, Davis. Didn't think a party like this was lame enough to attract you."

He chuckled, pushing himself away from the counter and making his way toward you. "Careful, someone might think you've been waiting for me."

You clenched your jaw, already regretting engaging with him. "As if. You're the last person I'd waste time on."

"Is that so?" Clapton was closer now, his smirk never leaving his face. "Then why can't you seem to take your eyes off me, huh?"

Before you can respond, someone bumps into you, nearly spilling your drink. You stumble, and suddenly Clapton is right there, his hand on your arm to steady you. It's such a small, simple gesture, but it sends your heart into overdrive.

You hate that he has this effect on you, hate that you can't just ignore him like you do with everyone else.

But tonight feels different. Maybe it's the alcohol starting to hit, or maybe it's the way he's looking at you, like he's seeing something he didn't expect to find.

Whatever it is, it makes you reckless.

"Why do you always do that?" you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "Act like nothing matters?Like you’re better than everyone?"

Clapton's hand drops from your arm, but he doesn't step back. Instead, he leans in closer, his eyes searching yours in a way that makes your breath catch in your throat.

He raises an eyebrow. "I don't act like I'm better than everyone. I just... I don't care as much as you think I do. About all this high school drama."

"That's the problem," you counter, words tumbling out before you can stop them. "You don't care. You never care. About anything."

For a moment, Clapton's face shifts, something flickering in his expression that you can't quite place. He looks at you, really looks at you, in a way he hasn't before. It's almost unsettling.

"Maybe I care more than you think," he says quietly, and there's something in his voice that makes you pause.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, the kind that made your heart race. You knew you should get up, walk away, and pretend that whatever was happening wasn't real. But you didn't. You stayed there, frozen, as Clapton's gaze drifted to your lips, his smirk fading into something more serious

"I'm gonna do something stupid," he muttered, more to himself than to you.

Before you could ask what he meant, Clapton closed the gap between you, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was both unexpected and inevitable. For a split second, you were too stunned to react, but then something clicked, and you found yourself kissing him back, your hands tangling in his hair as the weight of everything that had come before melted away

The kiss was heated, desperate, fueled by the alcohol and the unresolved tension that had been simmering between you for who knows how long.

It's all a blur of movement. His hands gripping your waist, your fingers tangling in his hair.

It's rough, messy, a tangle of emotions that you've both been holding back for too long.

When Clapton finally pulled away, his lips still hovering close to yours, you were both breathless, staring at each other as if trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

"Okay," he breathed, his voice rough, "that was definitely stupid."

You laughed, though it sounded more like a gasp. "Yeah, no kidding."

"Well," Clapton said after a moment, a small smirk returning to his lips, "at least now I can say I've kissed the one person who hates me most."

You rolled your eyes, still trying to catch your breath. "Shut up, Davis."

"Let's get out of here," he said, his voice low and teasing, "This party is lame"

You hesitated for a second, your brain still catching up with everything that had just happened. Leave the party? With him? But before you could fully process it, Clapton had already grabbed your wrist, leading you through the crowded house with his usual nonchalance. He didn't even look back to check if you were following. He just knew you were.

Outside, the night air hit your face, cool and refreshing compared to the stuffy heat inside. Clapton slowed down as you both walked to the edge of the driveway where his skateboard was propped up against a wall, waiting for him like it always did.

"Oh, great," you muttered, eyeing the board with a mix of amusement. "You're not seriously thinking of skating around after everything that just happened."

Clapton shot you a sideways glance, that infuriatingly familiar smirk curling at his lips. "Why not? Thought you could use some excitement, considering how thrilled you were in there."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against a lamppost, watching him pick up his skateboard. "Right, because watching you break your neck on that thing sounds like a blast."

He chuckled, stepping onto the board with practiced ease and starting to roll back and forth on the driveway, his balance perfect. The wheels made a soft grinding sound against the concrete as he moved effortlessly, gliding in circles around you with an almost lazy grace. His movements were smooth, casual, like he had no care in the world. For a moment, it was almost mesmerizing, watching how he balanced himself so easily.

"C'mon," Clapton said after a few moments, pushing off the ground and circling back toward you, the grin still plastered on his face. "You're not just gonna stand there, are you?"

"You think I'm getting on that thing? No way."

"Oh, come on," he teased, stopping right in front of you and holding out a hand, his eyes sparkling with a challenge. "Don't be such a wimp. I won't let you fall."

You stared at his hand, then at him, trying to decide whether or not to trust him. It wasn't that you didn't believe he could keep you from falling, it was more about the principle of it. Getting on a skateboard with him after all this time of hating each others? It sounded ridiculous.

But then again... tonight had already been ridiculous in more ways than one.

"Fine," you muttered, taking his hand before you could change your mind. "But if I fall, I'm taking you down with me."

"Deal" Clapton said with a grin, pulling you closer as he shifted his weight on the board, giving you room to step on. "Now, just relax. I've got you."

His grip was steady, surprisingly gentle as he helped you onto the skateboard. You were tense at first, your legs stiff as you tried to balance, but Clapton kept one hand on your waist, guiding you as the board started to move beneath your feet.

"I swear, if we crash..." you began, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing, but Clapton just laughed.

"We're not gonna crash," he said, his voice light and teasing. "Just keep your balance. You're doing fine."

You weren't sure if he was right about that, but you let him guide you, his hand never leaving your waist as you rolled down the driveway, moving in slow, lazy arcs. The world felt different from up here, the ground moving beneath your feet in a way that was both unnerving and strangely fun. You glanced at Clapton out of the corner of your eye, half-expecting him to mock you or say something sarcastic, but he was just smiling like he was actually enjoying this.

"Don't get too cocky," you shot back, though there was no real bite to your words. "This doesn't mean I like you."

"Sure," he said, his grin widening as he spun the board in a gentle curve. "You hate me. Got it."

"Exactly," you replied, though the smile on your face gave you away.

The two of you kept gliding down the street, Clapton still steering, his hand never leaving your waist as the conversation flowed easily between you. It was almost like you'd forgotten about the months of animosity between you, as if the kiss at the party had reset everything, leaving you both in this in- between place where you could laugh and joke, even as you kept up the pretense of hating each other.

"Remember that time you almost got me detention for that stupid prank you pulled?" you said, glancing over at him.

Clapton chuckled. "You mean the prank you fell for? Yeah, I remember. Pretty sure you're still mad about that."

"I'm not mad," you lied, though you couldn't keep the smile off your face. "I just think you're an idiot."

"An idiot who saved you from a boring party," Clapton countered, his smirk never fading.

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for that," you replied, crossing your arms even though you were still balancing on the skateboard.

"No, but you didn't complain either," Clapton teased, his eyes glinting in the dim streetlight as he pushed the board a little faster, making you grip onto him a little tighter.

“Maybe I just didn’t have a choice,” you shot back, your cheeks hurting from how much you were smiling.

You both slowed down, eventually coming to a stop near the end of the street. Clapton stepped off the board, still holding your hand as you found your footing again on solid ground. You looked at him, and for the first time all night, neither of you said anything sarcastic or biting. You just stood there, in the quiet.

Clapton tilted his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. "So... still hate me?"

You bit your lip, pretending to think about it. "I'll let you know tomorrow."

"Fair enough," he replied with a grin, pulling you a little closer. "But if tonight's any indication, I think you might be warming up to me."

Clapton leaned in after that, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, one that felt completely different from the heated one earlier. When he pulled back, his smirk returned, though this time, it wasn't annoying. It was almost... endearing.

"I hate you," you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. But there's no venom in your voice, just a soft, aching truth that you both understand.

"I hate you too," he replies, but there's a small, crooked smile on his lips, and his thumb is brushing against your cheek in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

[spookygibberish]

Hiii! I REALLY love your Thrones and I'd like to ask if I could make one as a oc?

I'm not sure if I've shared enough information about their cultural context publicly for people to do this well, but I have helped my friends workshop Throne OCs before.

Some important stuff to know:

There are two broad classes that most Thrones fall into, private and imperial. Thrones which are private citizens can technically be found all over the empire, on account of the fact they're wealthy enough to go and live wherever the hell they want, but you're going to find the greatest number of them in Godtomb and other densely urbanized areas of the Imperial core. All thrones belong to the aristocracy by nature, as they're directly a product of wealth and privilege. If a Throne is not currently wealthy, they are inevitably descended from wealth. They were also a huge huge fad before the creation of new thrones was clamped down on, and nearly every old money merchant empire is a Throne family. Godtomb (the imperial capital) has the highest number of Thrones which are not associated with the government, as it was the birthplace of the literary movement which first spawned them (longish story). It is tempting to say that private citizen thrones are more diverse than governmental ones, but it's more accurate to say they are more diverse than thrones belonging to the tricolor court, which has fairly strict expectations for the appearances of Headless (quadrupedal; preferences for lions, lizards (varanid), oxen, eagles; a set color palette (gold, azure, white); the inevitable 'mantle' of 'petals', etc....)

Imperial Thrones can be divided along the lines of whether or not they are associated with the Tricolor court, A government body made up of regional power centers (Greathouses) which communicate directly with and contribute to the government in Godtomb. Each Tricolor Greathouse has houses under it which may or may not be aesthetically aligned with the tricolor court, if not directly members, depending on how culturally similar they are to the Hegemony. The further you get from the Bitano, the more likely these Provincial Houses are to differ and be more influenced by non-hegemonic local culture.

By necessity, all Thrones, governmental or not, are inexorably associated with the Empire and their existence functions first and foremost to legitimize its authority. Even in the cases of provinces like Lujnola and Sevab, which are each heavily tied to indigenous cultures (and therefor divergent from Tricolor Court aesthetics), they belong to ruling houses modeled on the Hegemonic standard, and are all vassals of the emperor in Godtomb.

Slightly finer categories:

There are Throne Houses which are not themselves Imperial houses, but are in the employ of Imperial houses. Many of the Thrones produced by these families are more or less born and bred for the military. Prominent members of such Houses (need to come up with a name for these...) often marry into Ruling Houses, although rarely TRICOLOR Houses, since they lack the clout to be competitive in that marriage arena.

There are Sansin Thrones. Sansin are an all-male order of magnyd (essentially the same type of being as Unbodied) that staff the Bibat Temples (of the Jacantese State Religion, they make and manage other sorts of Dangyds.) I will elaborate on Sansin later this post has gotten long but theyre just monks. Its an all-male social caste of monks that grow new members in little jars and sometimes they make their own versions of Headless and assemble their own version of Thrones. These Thrones are smaller, usually bipedal, and always sexless.

Other things to know:

Due to the biological reality of thrones there are headless which are born outside of major Houses. The vast majority of Throne-children are Unbodied (the sort which more or less exactly resemble ordinary humans), and those Unbodied inevitably leak out into the general populous. All Unbodied are capable of parenting a child which is Headless (the lower half of the throne). Headless born outside of major Houses will inevitably be snapped up when discovered. Even prior to the existence of Thrones, Houses can be propagated just as well by apprenticeship.

Not all imperial Thrones are lazy figureheads! Just the majority of them. Some Thrones belong to a guild which is basically Throne Interpol, going around and keeping despotism in check. What happens when one of those guys is corrupt? Don't be silly that doesn't happen and isn't a problem (it is.)

It's more common for Thrones to be generals when in military positions. Thrones tend to be high ranking wherever in whatever employ, not really because they're uniquely qualified, simply because they're Thrones. Many of them have fairly insufferable personalities on account of being treated like they shit gold their entire lives. They're not inherently *bad people*, but they're almost exclusively coddled, spoiled, deeply entitled, and profoundly disconnected people. This is isn't true for every single throne, just like, a solid 99% of them.

[indigopoptart]

gonna get back into the swing of things with!! some faces I did a bit ago!!!

+ closeups and oc creds under the cut!

the welcome home guys ofc <3

some of my guys!

(Niebla belongs to both me and @akemima ! <3)

-

And now, some friends’ ocs!

Lady belongs to @gremliinsart, Keira belongs to @funonion001 !!! :3

Sundown belongs to @carnivalcarrion !! <3

Damon belongs to @sammysun , Wizard belongs to @akemima !! :33 <3<3

[ghostydrawsstuff]

Rosemary: Offender, Ash showed me your little emo diary. It was....…....................interesting...

Sam: Lot of spelling mistakes...

Ash: And very horny stuff, not that anyone's surprised. Ya shoulda burned it when you had the chance!

Jack: Or just burn Ash..... >:)

Ash time to hide or get water, he's just a wee bit mad...

[ccasey0]

;^;

You keep doing this to me- thank you. :0000

ah, sorry! I didn't mean to spam like you. it's just that basically my whole fyp is your content, so I can't help but like the posts that I see that are from you. I think sometimes I forget that tumblr gives notifications that one of your posts got a like 😅

[plugnuts]

last ask I'm sending I swear, I've already sent so many LOL I was gonna just send this tomorrow but uhhh, don't read it until tomorrow how about, just incase this storms knocks out my power BUT UH I just wanted to say I've only recently followed you on this acc cuz I lost my old one, but I was following you on that one before and even now you're still one of my favorite (if not my favorite) sp blogs <3 also have a good day, sorry for the block of text ~ the anon that sent an apple and then didn't stop sending asks

Lol Apple idm you can send as many as you want! I’m getting a good grade in asks bc it’s tomorrow <3 btw I really hope you’re safe!! Storms are scary for sure!

AUGH. APPLE. BELOVED. ^^ doing this with you rn you’re tOO KIND WH!! Idc ab the block of text bro YOU’RE SO SWEET 😭

[causenessus]

omg i lowkey meant like a DIFFERENT separate reader as atsumu's best friend in question (obviously this would probs be harder to work into the main story so i meant more as an offshoot etc) but also like .... s*kusa is riiiight there hehe whatever you do just thought it was a fun idea im also just biggest atsumu apologist alive <3

OMG RIGHT I DID READ THAT PART AND THEN COMPLETELY FORGOT 😭 sorry anon BUT THAT'S SUCH A GOOD IDEA THANK YOU okok there's something cooking here I'LL GET BACK TO THIS AT SOME POINT AND I'M WITH U I have this idea for like a little headcannon type thing that's literally just me defending atsumu against anyone who thinks he'd be a bad bf and I need to get around to writing that too

[neon-danger]

I miss your posts friend 💜

I’m gonna be so real I’ve been reading starcrossed the last few nights

[plushie-lovey]

💕💕💕💕

no idea what these are for but thank you so much for the love!! 💖💕💞💝

[ezdotjpg]

Hi!!! Sorry if you've been asked this before but is it possible for you to summarize the Bonus Links' personalities? Just asking because I'd like to get a general idea, apologies if this is too much of a pain to answer 😭🫶🏻

hey! luckily I already wrote up character intros a while back that I never posted to tumblr lol, so I'll go ahead and post them now! under the cut since this is mega long lol

Loft

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Skyward Sword

Age: 22

Height: 5’3”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: World’s Nicest Man Pushed To His Limit. It’s his nature to be light-hearted and easy-going, but ever since the events of Skyward Sword he’s been unable to let the implications of Demise’s curse and Zelda’s connection to Hylia go. He’s usually mild, but he’s got a lot of suppressed anger in him that comes out at inopportune times. He tends towards being optimistic, but has lately been caught in a depressive spiral. As a result of all these conflicting emotions, he hasn’t felt like himself in a while. Before everything, he could have been described as a little bit lazy, but these days a better word would be lethargic. He’s got a mischievous and thrill-seeking streak that often surprises people. He knows he’s powerful, but he’s lost some confidence in the years since his quest. He’s wracked with guilt about the way everything ended.

Slate

Pronouns: tends to use he/him, but really any

Game: Breath of the Wild (ignoring TotK for now)

Age: 21

Height: 5’0”

Communication: Mainly signs, speaks occasionally

Personality: The Reviews Are In: Friendly Guy, Vaguely Off-Putting. He knows he’s not pre-calamity Link, but he’s not exactly sure what he is instead. He’s accepted this about himself, and it grinds his gears that other people refuse to. He’s not sure what to do with all these memories inside him that aren’t his, and that he feels nothing for. He’s become more expressive, but when he’s upset his face goes entirely blank. He has a tendency to be distracted, blunt, intense, impulsive, somewhat abrasive. But he’s not unkind, and can even be outright friendly. He’d offer his help to anyone who asks, and he makes it a point to know everyone in Hyrule. He’s happiest out in nature, and doesn’t mind the solitude. He only ever lies by omission, and otherwise says exactly what he means. There’s something a little otherworldly about him.

Mask

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Ocarina of Time, Majora’s Mask

Age: 15

Height: 5’2½”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Local Teen Needs Hug So Bad, Will Bite If You Try. He’s prickly, hot-tempered, moody. He’ll pick verbal battles he probably shouldn’t. Everything is a touchy subject. But he’s developed this behavior as a coping mechanism. He’s kind by nature, and it takes effort to lash out. The person he is with Malon- gentle, more soft-spoken, with a good sense of humor and a love for harmless mischief- is a lot closer to the person he’s comfortable being. He’s a scared kid. He feels out of place, both mature and immature, of this world and not. Sometimes, he gets scrambled between Termina, the Hyrule he’s in now, the Hyrule he left behind, and the Hyrule of the war. He has a lot of resentment for both the gods and the royal family, and all he wants is to be left alone.

Wolf

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Twilight Princess

Age: 23

Height: 5’5”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Thank God I’m A Country Boy. He’s a gentle soul, probably the gentlest out of all of them. He likes to be useful, and he has made being the problem solver of Ordon Village part of his identity. He’s a bit of a mother hen and likes to take care of people. Midna was good at bringing out a little bit of attitude and snark in him. He’s got a bad case of Resting Bitch Face, but he’s not an angry person. However, he’s had a hard time adjusting to life back in Ordon. He’s usually even-tempered, but lately he’s been irritable and easier to anger. He feels isolated by his experiences, and has been avoiding most of the villagers, including his loved ones, even though it makes him lonely. Mostly he just doesn’t want to take it out on them, but it’s also about his pride. He enjoys the company of animals far more these days. He wants a quiet life, and has been avoiding Zelda's attempts to make "Hero" a political role for him to fill.

War

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Hyrule Warriors

Age: 25

Height: 5’7”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally, had Proxi speak for him at one point during the war

Personality: Link “This Is My Jaeger, I Make The Tactical Decisions” Faron. He comes across as a very charming young man, witty, helpful, pleasant in conversation, well-adjusted. In reality, he is constantly doing complicated political 4D chess in his mind at all times, even when it’s not necessary. Many years of being subject to the whims of the Royal Court and pressure to be a perfect symbol have poisoned him: he’s become calculating, manipulative, superficially polite, two-faced. He has to be the one holding all the cards, considering all the variables, fixing all of the problems, because he can’t trust anyone else. If you were to strip him of all pretense, he'd actually be a dry, resigned person, perpetually annoyed with everyone around him. He values status and reputation, and he wants more power than he has. His appearance is important to him because he knows his pretty face is an asset. He holds deep respect for the gods and the mantle of the hero. He has a strong sense of duty, but one that often leads him to justify terrible actions. The ends justify the means.

Mirror

Pronouns: he/they

Game: A Link Between Worlds, Triforce Heroes

Age: 22

Height: 5’1”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Local Link Doing Pretty Well Actually, All Things Considered. He’s just living his life, having a mostly pleasant time. He used to be quiet and reserved when he was younger, but has come out of his shell in a big way. He’s a bit vain, and fond of doing things with a dramatic flair. They like to have an audience, they like to make people laugh, they like to have your attention. Rather than being poisoned by court politics, he thrives in them. He doesn’t pretend to be charming, he just is. They can be on the arrogant side. He’s interested in fashion and art more than fighting these days, but still keeps his skills up to date. He pretends the scar on his face doesn’t bother him, but it does. He’s particularly obsessed with the legend of the hero before him.

Mage

Pronouns: he/him

Game: A Link to the Past, Link’s Awakening, Oracle of Ages, Oracle of Seasons

Age: 32

Height: 5’3”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Weird Uncle You Just Stopped Hearing From One Day. He’s a difficult guy to get a read on. He comes off as deeply serious, imposing, no-nonsense. He is actually full of nonsense. The fact that no one can tell what is and isn’t part of the bit is part of the bit. He mostly ignores his own problems by dedicating his life to solving other people’s problems. He wanders from place to place, helping people and becoming a bit of a larger than life folk legend in his own right in the process. He’s leaned into learning magic more than the sword, and has built up quite the arsenal of spells. He doesn’t speak often, and is content to let other Links lead despite being the oldest and the most experienced. He’s difficult to rile and even more difficult to get a straight answer out of.

Spirit

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Spirit Tracks

Age: 16

Height: 4’11”

Communication: Mainly signs, speaks occasionally. He has a stutter when he speaks.

Personality: Wants To Be Anywhere But Here, Preferably On A Train. He’s fully given up swordfighting, and basically just wants to go back to being a Royal Engineer like nothing happened. He has no interest in gaining any kind of attention, authority, or power from the mantle of the hero, and would actually prefer that everyone stop looking at him. He’s quiet, sweet-natured and generally non-confrontational, but he’s not afraid to stand up for himself when pushed. It’s just that it’s easier to let Zelda stand up for him instead. He’s pretty mature and in-tune with his emotions for a 16 year old. Seeing spirits everywhere, he has a lot of private thoughts about grief and death that he doesn’t share with anyone. The gears in his brain are constantly turning, and once he’s stuck on an idea, it’s all he can focus on. He often doesn’t give himself enough credit for how capable he is. Please let him tell you about trains.

Mini

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Minish Cap

Age: 14

Height: 4’3”

Communication: Only signs, mute.

Personality: He’s Just A Little Guy, Only 2 Pixels Tall. Mini doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do. He’s not very expressive in the face, and it can be hard to tell what he’s thinking or feeling. Mostly, he’s a little rascal. He likes to root around in the garbage and build strange little machines from what he finds. He spends a lot of time hanging out with the Minish, moreso than humans. It’s a little bit of an escapism thing. He hasn’t really processed what it meant to become the hero so young, and is actively trying to avoid doing so. He’s very independent, and simply doesn’t compute attempts to coddle him.

Wake

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Wind Waker, Phantom hourglass

Age: 20

Height: 5’5”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Everyone’s Favorite Cousin At The Family Function. He’s a fun person to be around. Friendly, energetic, laid back, good-natured, outgoing. He is always up for a good shenanigan. But he can get serious when he needs to, and often plays the important role of mediator in group dynamics. He’s the glue that holds the team together! He seems to take everything in stride, and presents himself as unbothered by the things that have happened to him. Whether that’s actually true, or he’s just compartmentalized everything too well remains to be seen. He has a strange way of being very open, and yet a closed book at the same time. He’s sentimental, and family is important to him

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

Hey dad

I'm a transgender (ftm) boy with unsupportive bio parents and tomorrow's my birthday, but bc of where I live and the school system, I'll be dead named over the speakers of the entire school wishing me a 'happy birthday' even though they're celebrating the birth of a baby girl who I don't have any attachments to anymore and nobody seems to want to celebrate their baby boy

My dear birthday boy,

I don't know which time zone you live in but you sent this some hours ago, so I assume "tommorow" is "today" now, so - Happy birthday! Cheers to another trip around the sun, may it be an amazing one! May this year bring more joy than you could ever imagine.

We don't know each other personally, of course, but I can say honestly that I'm so glad you were born, so this day is definitely a reason for me to celebrate as well. Thankyou for being here with us today!

Birthdays can be hard when you're getting misgendered and I can only imagine how painful it must be over the speakers. As I'm a bit late in answering, I assume this already happened, so all that I can say now is just: I'm sorry that happened and I can imagine all the painful feelings it brought up. Hopefully you can leave it behind you quickly and find positive things to look forward. If you can't think of anything, then i'm sure some of my followers will want to wish you a happy birthday as well, so maybe looking through the comments on this post will be something positive and uplifting for you!

You deserve to be celebrated just the way you are. And if it's of any comfort, my life experience (and that of my fellow trans friends) tells me you will be. You got a year older - and as a general rule of thumb getting older also means getting closer to freedom. Time goes on, and it brings new people in your life, and some of them will be lovely and supportive and see the real you.

But that's just a little reminder of the future. You live in the present, and right now and here you are allowed to feel hurt. All feelings are valid, even on a birthday.

For now, my anonymous birthday boy, I'll make a bad dad joke and tell you "Happy birthday, my son-shine!". But seriously, congratulations on growing into the man you are. I'm proud of you and I stand with you.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

[buckys-loverman]

Teacher’s Pet- Jeremiah Fisher

What would you do for a higher grade?

warnings: smut, finger banging, 18+ appropriate, slight degrading kink, vulgar language

pairing: fem!reader x jeremiah fisher

A/N: i am back baby!! sorry for taking forever to upload, was having issues with uploading on tumblr but im so happy to be back writing for you guys. i will be uploading a conrad story within the next couple days so stay tuned!

“Mr. Fisher please!” You trailed behind your physics TA, begging for his assistance on the upcoming exam.

“I told you to call me Jeremiah.” He sighed, pushing his hair back as he continued to pace down the hallway, leaving you to jog behind him in order to catch up.

You reached out to touch his arm, “Jeremiah then-” He turned around suddenly almost causing you to crash into his chest, “30 minutes is all I need with you to help me with the review.”

He looked around for other students as he lowered his voice, “This is the third time you’ve been late to office hours, and I can’t keep giving you special treatment for being tardy. Don’t do it again.”

Before you could respond, he turned back around in a quick motion and continued down the hallway, calling your name to follow him to the library.

A burst of excitement spiked through your body as you gladly followed behind him, not complaining as you got extra tutoring time with him.

Jeremiah wasn’t aware that you had been purposely late to office hours in order to get his undivided and uninterrupted attention. You always made the excuse that office hours “overlapped” with your other classes in order for him to feel some form of pity for you.

For who would turn down such a good student?

The study room in the corner of the library was always empty as it was the only one without a white board, but instead a window overlooking the campus. Because of that, Jeremiah was forced to always write down his practice problems in your notebook directly next to you.

You scribbled down your responses to the force & gravity unit questions in your textbook when you notice Jeremiah scanning your body over your answers. In a quick motion, you push back on your chair as you reach for your backpack on the ground, arching your back as you stretch forward with your back to him.

Jeremiah clears his throat as he shifts in his chair, moving his gaze away from you as he returns back to your textbook, seeing what you had previously written down.

“You’ve been doing great this past semester, it doesn’t seem like you need my help?” He states, leaning back into his chair as he scans between your eyes.

You slightly smile as you began to pull your hair back, “I do-” You respond with a naive tone, “I’ve been struggling with force.” Your button up shirt stretched tight against your chest as you put your hair in a ponytail, causing Jeremiah’s eyes to drop for a split second before quickly returning to your face.

You lean forward in your chair, slightly exposing the top of your white mesh bra as you stare with purposeful doe eyes, “I don’t think I’ve had enough examples.” You pout.

Jeremiah’s body tenses up for a second but quickly disappears as his eyes darken. He leans forward, placing a hand on your chair as he analyzes your face; “Are you playing dumb with me?”

A slight smirk tempted to slip from your mouth, “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say Mr. Fisher-” you begin to say when a warm hand grips at the bottom of your face, a small gasp escaping from your mouth.

“I told you not to call me that.” His voice was lower than before as he stood tall above you, his eyes sweeping your body without shame. “What are you willing to do for a good grade?” Jeremiah taunts, his fingers trailing down to your neck.

“Anything.” You whisper, maintaining eye contact as his fingers slowly begin to wrap around your neck, mimicking the same firm hold he had on your face just moments before.

Jeremiah lifts your body up, shoving it against the table you were once working on. In a swift motion he grabs the back of your head as the two of your lips combine, rhythmically moving against each other with a newfound force.

Your fingers tangle in his curls, slightly tugging at the ends as a small moan escapes his mouth, giving him more motivation as he makes his way down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses behind.

“Students like you learn best through examples- ”His fingers unbutton your top, exposing the rest of your bra that you teased earlier, “So I’ll make sure to teach you a lesson you won’t forget.”

Jeremiah yanks at your wrist as he pulls you towards the window, slamming your chest to the glass. Your nipples hardened against the cool glass, a sense of panic overwhelmed your body as you see an array of students down below, walking to class or talking amongst their peers.

“What if someone sees?” You question as your mouth felt dry and your head felt dizzy as his fingers trail from the strap of your bra, down to curve of your stomach up until his fingers move their way below your skirt.

“Then everyone will know what a dirty little slut you are for the TA.” Jeremiah whispers in your ear, as his fingers begin to rub slow and sensual circles on top of your clit, the fabric of your underwear beginning to feel suffocating.

The shame you once felt before washed away as moans left your mouth, your head tossing back onto his shoulder as his warm body pressed into yours from behind. The cold from the glass and the heat from his fingers was the perfect combination, your body felt electric between the two.

His fingers moved slowly down your underwear, “God you’re so fucking wet-” Another moan escaped from your mouth as he slowly and painfully moved along your clit, “And here I thought you were a good girl.” You could hear the cockiness drip from his tongue.

“I am.” You whined, your back arching in an attempt to get more friction, only to be met with the feeling of his erection, and did it feel big.

You felt a slap on your clit as you yelped, “Don’t speak out of turn. You got that, princess?” His harsh tone sent butterflies through your stomach as you simply nodded, letting him return his attention back to you.

Jeremiah moved your underwear to the side as he slid one finger inside of you. Another loud moan escaped your mouth as you felt just how long his finger really is, and how well he knew how to use it.

The finger began twisting inside of you, pumping in and out as sloppy sounds echoed throughout the room, your body beginning to overheat as you spread your legs wider.

“Good girl.” He purred, placing a second finger inside of you. The new found sensation overtaking your balance as you pushed yourself deeper into the glass, your nipples peaking through the mesh bra and on display for anybody who simply looked up.

Everything seemed to begin to blur, the pleasure spreading throughout your body as you begin approaching your high. Jeremiah yanks your hair back as his lips meet your ear; beginning to lick and suck as he finds all your sweet spots.

He’s consistent, both of his fingers continue to pump in and out of you in a fast motion, his thumb reaching to draw circles on your clit, “Jere.” Is all you can manage to say as his teeth tug at the bottom of ear.

“Cum for me, darling.”

His words work as a command as your body cannot handle anymore of the pleasure, your legs start to shake beyond control as the heat in your stomach burns stronger than before, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head as you experience the strongest high of your life.

Your vision blurs as the sensation overtakes your body, causing you to cum hard on his fingers, giving him the satisfaction he knew he would get from you.

As you begin to adjust back to normal you turn around to see Jeremiah leaning against the table, your textbook untouched behind him, as he intensely licks his fingers where your cum visibly stained.

“Wether you pass the exam or not, I expect to see you back here next week.” He smirks, “For I still have much to teach you.”

—————————————————————————

YALL jere is a slut and no one can tell me otherwise!! this last episode got me giggling & kicking my feet now that i have inspiration for some new stories… ;)

[boydepartment]

so cute - anton lee x reader

a/n: DONT LOOK AT ME RN…. okay i’m having a moment shut up i can’t sleep. this is completely self indulgent and writing for fun so whooooooops

warnings- none just fluff and goofy. idol! anton. photography major! reader. (i am not a photography major so pls um bare w me) THIS IS ALSO REALLY CLICHE SO I AM SORRY i also have no idea what tags to use :( so if you are on riize tumblr PLS HELP ME IN MY INBOX WITH TAGS

wc- 250-300

MASTERLIST

when you sat down after you ordered you got all your stuff organized. you had a plan to meet your friend to study together at a small but sweet boba shop. a lot of college students would come and go and half the fun of studying was procrastinating and choosing to people watch instead.

your friend was late and so you were left to fend for yourself. which was okay, it didn’t bother you. you got a little lost in thought and didn’t even notice the gaggle of boys walk in.

you didn’t even notice when the second cashier called up your order and you skipped over to pick it up. it tasted sweet and made you smile.

the way you set up your table looked really nice so you took a couple steps away from your chair to take a photo, not for class. just for fun.

your notes and laptop looked like those aesthetic posts on pinterest and the view outside the window was not the worst for a parking lot. you looked down at your phone and frowned, maybe the flash would help?

you went to get in position again when a guy totally bumped into you. sending both of you crashing onto the floor!

when you sat up you saw all his friends almost sprint out of the shop laughing, you looked down, eyes widening.

“i’m so sorry! here let me help you up!” you stood up and put your hands out. he was quiet and took your hands. you bent over and picked up his thankful pre-poked boba, nothing spilled thank goodness!

“are you okay?” you asked, handing his drink to him. it was a little hard to tell or read him as he was wearing a mask, there was only so much you could read with his eyes.

your head turned to the side trying to get an answer out of him. eventually he snapped out of whatever daze he was in. did this boy hit his head too hard?

“it was my fault! i was walking backwards while talking and i didn’t see you i’m sorry…” the boy was very soft spoken and it took you by surprise. a lot of people you met in college were a little outspoken.

you smiled at him, hoping to lighten the mood, “it’s okay it was an accident!”

“you fell pretty hard on your knees, are you okay?” he asked, noticing that they looked pretty scuffed.

“oh! i’m okay. don’t worry about it.” you went to grab your bag which softened the blow of your fall.

“is your phone okay? if it’s broken i can help pay for the damages…”

that was sweet of him…

you looked at your phone and saw the crack in the screen protector, “it’s a little cracked but it’s just the screen protector! it’s fine! if anyone asks i can tell them about this.” you laughed a little and looked at him again, “my friend’s gonna wish she wasn’t late…!”

you heard the boy laugh a little, “i still feel bad for tripping over you and ruining your photo, can i do anything to make up for it?”

“there’s no need to feel bad!” you said quickly- waving you hands back and forth, “again it’s totally okay. you should probably get back to your friends though… they kinda ran off.”

you saw him look outside the window, scoffing a little, “i’m going to choose to ignore them.”

this made you laugh, it was a total 180 from his voice, it was cute.

“i’m y/n. i figure since we’re having a conversation it’s appropriate to introduce myself, since you’re not just falling over me and dipping.” you stuck your hand out again.

he looked at your hand and shook it, “anton.” his eyes curved which told you he was smiling. cute.

“um… your friend still isn’t here… can i sit with you?”

you nodded, might as well, it wasn’t like you were studying. he happily took a seat next to you.

“you’re in college right?”

you nodded, “mhm! photography major!” you opened a file and scooted your laptop to him. anton looked through your photos almost amazed.

“i’m trying to put together my portfolio right now actually. i’m hoping i’ll get a job soon.” you explained, leaning your head on your palm.

he practically perked up at this, “my friends and i need a photographer for our next show!”

“show?”

“ummmmmmmmmm.” anton scratched his neck, “yes. show. music. yaknow….”

you smiled, “honestly, if it pays well, i’d love to.”

he looked at you and nodded, really enthusiastically. you felt pride bubble in you for someone being so impressed by your work to offer you a job.

“can i get your number to get the details?” you asked, unlocking your phone, he was cute and even if the job didn’t work out, maybe a date would. you could hear his phone buzzing rapidly.

anton nodded again and put his information in, “text me your name n stuff and i’ll answer i promise.” he stood up, “i really need to get back to my friends they’re blowing up my phone… even though they ditched me…”

you laughed again, “no problem. i’ll text you!”

“yeah!” he was walking away from you smiling when he ran into the door awkwardly. almost like the scene of a movie. it was so cute.

he was so cute.

[peterman-spideyparker]

Labels (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hi! So, I've kinda put myself on a writing hiatus for a while and, in turn, have limited my time on Tumblr as of late. I was/still kind of am feeling uninspired in terms of writing and ideas, but this one came easily, and it needed to be written and shared before the excitement left me. I still have a million other stories and ideas I want to get going on, but for now, I hope you enjoy this one. :)

Summary: One evening when Matt tries to surprise you with a home cooked dinner date, he's stunned by something you've done for him.

Warnings: Sweet adorable fluff. No use of (Y/N), but it does refer to the reader being feminine/female-identifying

Other Characters: Karen Page

Word Count: 1,158

“Hello?” you say over the phone, very clearly distracted by whatever is in front of you.

“Hi, angel,” Matt smiles, feeling a weight off of his shoulders when he finally hears your voice when you pick up your desk phone.

“Matt.” The way you say his name lights him up inside. It’s alway so warm, so inviting, so smooth—like when butter spreads perfectly even on a piece of toast. The gentleness of each consonant and vowel that escapes your lips never fails to chip away and brush off the stress of whatever is weighing him down; from his day job to his nightly activities, you—every last bit of you, is his solace.

“I was half afraid that I’d get your answering machine,” he breathes as he leans back in his chair, listening to how you move the receiver from one ear to the other.

“I’m sorry, Matt. Today has just been hectic. Meetings, email approvals, we rearranged some furniture because no one was responding to emails—.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to apologize.”

“I do if it means I worried you. I mean, I must have missed calls and texts on my cell from you if you resorted to my landline.”

“No, not worried. I was just curious if you wanted to go out to dinner tonight. Maybe try that new Italian place that opened up a few blocks from your apartment.”

“I didn’t know there was a new restaurant opening.”

“Yeah,” he lies. “It’s a small place. Intimate, nice.”

“Well, I don’t know how I could say no to that. It sounds like the perfect thing to make me forget today.”

“Take deep breaths, sweetheart. You’ll get through it. I’m here for you.”

“I know,” you breathe. “Listen, I need to get back to work, but I’ll see you tonight.”

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Perfect. I love you, Matt.”

“Love you, too.”

You exchange soft goodbyes before hanging up the phone, Matt sliding his cell back into the pocket of his slacks.

“Hey, Karen?” he calls out.

“Yeah?” she responds, sounding as if she’s lost in thought with whatever is at hand.

“What time is it?”

She pauses. “Almost 2:30.”

“You think that you and Foggy will be okay for the rest of the day?”

“I think so.”

“Great,” he says with a smile, standing up and putting on the suit jacket that was hanging on the back of his chair. “I’m heading out. I need to get some groceries to surprise my girlfriend.”

Matt undoes the last of your door’s locks as the bag of groceries rests on his hips, relieved when the heavy piece of wood starts to swing open. For as frustrating as your day was, Matt secretly hopes that you won’t come home early and catch him in the middle of his surprise; it took him a lot longer to get everything he needed at the store, throwing off his timing. He’d be lucky if he got everything plated by the time you got home. Matt lets out a deep breath as he places the bag of groceries on the counter and takes his glasses off, centering himself to focus on the plan and not let his race against the clock shake him too much. After hanging his jacket on the hooks by the door, he rolls up his sleeves and throws his tie over his shoulder before taking out his phone, tapping at the screen until he finds the recipe he saved for tonight.

As his phone reads off the list of ingredients, he feels over what he grabbed, cursing when he notices that he’s missing garlic powder.

“She has to have some,” he hums. He knows you like to cook, always eager to try new recipes that you find while scrolling on your phone, and therefore always getting new spices and ingredients to make sure your kitchen is stocked for whatever the next interesting dish brings. Lucky for Matt, you two are always over each other’s place, craving one another’s presence, so he knows your apartment almost as well as he knows his own. Turning around to the skinny cabinet where Matt knows you keep your spices, he opens it up and prepares his nose for the strong mix of smells that are about to hit him so he can sniff out what he needs. As his hand extends into the cabinet, what he doesn’t expect to find is small bumps over each and every label. It’s odd, but familiar. Grabbing one of the spices in the front, he carefully takes it off the shelf and runs his fingers over the bumps once more.

Nutmeg.

Matt lets out a shaky breath, tears stinging at his eyes. He reaches up for container after container, running his fingers over all of the labels, finding that he’s able to read them all. By the time Matt grabs the garlic powder, the cabinet is practically empty and he’s crying in the kitchen.

“Matt?” he hears you call tentatively. He didn’t even hear you come in, and now you’re at his side, wrapping him in a hug and holding him close to soothe him. God, he loves when you hold him. Call it being touch-starved, but nothing felt better to Matt than when you have your arms around him. Sure, being in your apartment is comforting—your smell surrounding him and engulfing his senses, but nothing was better than the actual thing, your body against his, skin to skin. “Matty, is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” he sniffles, holding you close and kissing your forehead. “It’s just, uh, well this.”

You pull back slightly from his hug and wipe away some of his tears before peeking down to see what’s in his hands.

“Garlic powder?” you try. “Is it bad?”

“No, no,” he smiles, wiping away some stray tears with the heel of his hand. “It’s great.”

“I thought we were going out to dinner tonight. But with all my spices out, something tells me you might have fibbed.”

“I did fib. I wanted to surprise you with dinner, especially after hearing about your day, but you’re the one that surprised me.” Taking your hand, he gently guides your fingers over the label to where the braille is.

“Oh.” Matt listens to how the blood rushes to your cheeks and how your heart rate picks up. “The label.”

“The label,” he echos softly.

“I finally found a good braille label maker that I liked,” you begin to explain. “I mean, we’re always at each other’s place. I wanted to make my home feel a little more homey for you.”

“You really love me, huh?”

He listens to how you smile from ear to ear. “So much more than you’ll ever know, Matty.”

Putting the garlic powder down, he takes your face in his hands and pulls you in for a deep kiss, your arms happily snaking around him and holding him close.

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger​ @steampowerednightvaler​ @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles​ @toozmanykids​ @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop​ @itwasthereaminuteago​ @peter1ismybrother@hellskitchens-whore​​ @dpaccione​ @catnip987​

Matt Murdock Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters

[reidbae]

Ecstasy

summary: You’re always nervous around your professor, which he has taken note to, but had chosen not to speak on. It’s not until you come to his classroom late to turn in a missing assignment that he decides to ask you about it, and he’ll do anything for the answer.

warnings/mentions: dom!spencer x sub!reader, teacher x student relationship, tall x short, reader is 22+ and spencer is 32+, age gap, AFAB reader, use of Y/N in slowburn but pet names used during smut (sweetheart, baby, doll, honey, etc), degradation, praise, choking, fingering, rough sex, hair pulling, vaginal sex, office sex technically lol, literally just filth dude

wc: 4.4k

a/n: hey, i’m kit! i write a lot in my free time and i think it’s high time i made a tumblr. this is my first post and the first smut i’ve written in a while. this is partially slowburn but it’s MOSTLY smut. anyway, hope you enjoy and also know that i take requests!

You knocked on the classroom door before entering it, shutting it quietly behind you. “Professor Reid?” you called out, unsure if the intelligent doctor was even here so late.

He looked up from his desk, his nose previously buried in paperwork. He was no doubt grading assignments, and you felt a twinge of guilt for interrupting him.

You nervously cleared your throat, beginning to approach his desk. “I’m sorry for interrupting you. I- I know it’s late. I just have that missing essay you wanted me to make up?” you explained, holding out the essay that you had finished shortly before you got here.

You noticed Spencer’s eyes darting to your clothing, lingering there for a few moments as he seemed to be taking in the view of you. You’d pulled on the first thing you’d found in your closet, a skimpy red dress that was tugging forcefully against your body. Ultimately, however, Spencer didn’t say anything and cleared his throat, then accepted your paper from you.

He looked it over for a second, then spoke up. “This is a lot of work, Y/N. It only needed to be two pages,” he pointed out to you.

You began to sweat at that comment, gazing at him with an apprehensive expression. “I- I know, sir. I just wanted to make up for the fact that I’m turning it in late. I hope you won’t take points off,” you explained. He may have made your palms sweat, but you did still care heavily about your grades.

“I’m not going to,” he said with a soft smile, placing your essay down on his desk. “Your essay seems to be well written, as usual, from what I’ve read so far.”

You could feel your face heat up at his praise and you gently nodded. “Thank you. And thank you again for giving me an extension.”

He nodded, too. “You’re welcome. But I hope you’re aware that I won’t always be so understanding, Y/N. I was glad to give you an extension this time, but I won’t shy away from taking points off if this happens again. I want you to learn to be more punctual,” he sternly continued.

It was conversations like these that made you heavily aware that no matter what you felt, Spencer was still your professor, and he wasn’t afraid to remind you of that. Shyly, you nodded your head, becoming more nervous as the seconds went on. “I- I understand, Professor Reid. I promise that it won’t happen again,” you could barely stammer out, coherent sentences beginning to fail you.

He smiled up at you and gave you another respectful nod. “Good. Make sure you live up to that,” he said firmly.

Did he have to be so overly stern? “I will,” you simply returned. You weren’t really sure what to say at this point now that the reason you’d come here had been addressed. You took a shaky breath, then nodded in finality. “Well, um, I guess I’d better get going now. Again, sorry to disturb you so late, Professor. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you timidly told Spencer, turning on your feet and starting to walk towards the door.

Spencer’s husky voice stopped you dead in your tracks. “Can I ask you something, Y/N?” he asked you. Nervously, you turned back around, looking at him.

“What is it, sir?” you politely responded, giving him your best innocent smile.

“Why are you always so nervous around me?”

Your eyes widened as your cheeks flushed red, caught off guard by his sudden question. You knew that, at some point, he would confront you about your continued nervousness around him that had started the second he became your professor three months ago. You were awful at hiding it: You blush and sweat, you stutter and stammer, and you toy with your hands and hair when he talks to you. You couldn’t be blamed for your attractiveness to the handsome doctor, but, really, you wish you were better at burying it.

“N- nervous?” you responded, in a feeble attempt to sound clueless. “I- I’m not- What makes you say that, Professor?” you asked, knowing exactly why he was asking.

“You seem much more nervous and tense when you talk to me as opposed to when you talk to others. It’s something I’ve noticed since the beginning of the semester,” he explained to you, folding his hands atop his desk.

“Uh, well, you know,” you nervously laughed, avoiding eye contact with him at all costs. “I’m just shy.” Yeah, right.

“You’re loud and exuberant around your other professors, along with your classmates. I’ve heard you laugh and joke with quite a few people. It seems like this nervous demeanor is only saved for me,” he pointed out, sounding completely convinced that he was correct in his observations. He paused for a brief moment before continuing on. “Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”

Your expression turned shocked at the fact that he could possibly think that anything he did would make anyone uncomfortable. “No, no, I swear, it’s not like that,” you mumbled shyly, shaking your head.

“Forgive me for thinking so, Y/N, but my words do hold some truth to them. You are aware of this behavior that you’ve constantly displayed towards me over the last few months, though, correct?” he asked. His words came out so fluently, as though he had been meaning to come to you about this for longer than you’d anticipated. In regards to how you were speaking at the moment, you wish you could say the same.

“S- Somewhat,” you admitted.

He looked more intrigued now that you had confirmed the fact that you were nervous around him. He leaned back in his chair now, hands in his lap as he stared up at you. “Then, tell me what it is that’s making you nervous. I’d like to clear up whatever it is.”

You immediately shook your head, eyes still averted from the brunette professor. “I- It’s nothing.”

“It’s not ‘nothing’ if you’re constantly stuttering when you talk to me, or fidgeting with your hands when I walk by your desk,” he said, his stern tone growing increasingly prominent with each word he said. “I want to know what’s going on, Y/N.”

“Nothing’s going on,” you instantly defended. You were not in the mood to blow your cover about this. Not today, and maybe not ever.

“Oh, really?” he asked you in return, cocking an eyebrow. “You just told me you know that your behavior has been odd over the last few months,” he sighed. He grabbed a pen on his desk, clicking it a few times before continuing. “You and I both know there’s something wrong. This issue will never be resolved if you don’t discuss it with me. I promise that it will be to your benefit.”

You couldn’t help but remain silent. If you spoke, you’d stutter, only further proving Spencer’s point. You didn’t shake your head or give any sign at all that you’d heard him.

At this, he sighed again, shaking his head from what you could see out of the corner of your eye. “Am I going to have to figure it out for myself?” he asked you in a genuine tone. His voice, you noticed, was notably lower than it was before.

You only rolled your eyes in response to that. The fact that he had asked why you were nervous was one thing, but the idea of him attempting to figure it out was much more daunting, and you weren’t looking forward to it.

“Don’t give me that, Y/N,” he demanded when you rolled your eyes, tone fierce. “If you can’t verbally tell me what’s going on, your body language will.“

“My body language has nothing to tell,” you tried to correct him, trembling hands finding your hair and messing with it anxiously, eyes still torn from Spencer’s.

“You seriously believe that?” he almost scoffed, shaking his head. “I teach you how to read this stuff. Your body language has nothing to tell? You mean your shaky hands, stuttering, and red face have nothing to tell? Or, what about the fact that your hands are tangled in your hair? Or, that you can’t even look at me?” he went on, and he didn’t stop there.

“Do you want me to list every possibility I can think of until you tell me why you’re so nervous?” he asked. There was no tone of joke in his words: You knew that he would do it, and he’d do it with pride, at that.

“No,” you told him, the first word you’d said since the beginning of his ramble.

“Are you sure? Maybe that’s what you need.” Maybe it was the hour or the context of the situation, but you could swear for a second that this sentence had some air of teasing to it.

“I- I don’t, Professor Reid,” you stammered out.

“Tell me something, Y/N. Why are you the only student I have who still calls me ‘Professor Reid?’” he questioned.

“It’s respectful,” you tried, but it sounded like bullshit even as the words left your tongue. Spencer wasn’t that far off your age. Every one of your classmates called him by his first name, as he had said he was comfortable with several times. But you knew that calling him by his first name would put him on the same level as you, and if you didn’t see him as your professor, you weren’t sure you’d be able to control yourself.

“I’ve said several times that it’s okay to call me Spencer. All of my students do, and some even call me ‘Reid,’ they’re that comfortable. Yet, you only use ‘Professor,’ ‘Professor Reid,’ and ‘sir’ to address me,” he went on. You slowly started to realize that he was profiling you, and you felt your face grow redder, already knowing the outcome: He would figure you out.

In hopes of making yourself seem clueless, you shrugged. He wasn’t buying it, and asked, “Does this have anything to do with your continued nervousness around me?”

“I- I’m not nervous,” you could barely manage to get out, let alone lie properly. Deflection was your last hope of getting Spencer to drop this topic, a hope that you were almost positive would not be worth hoping for.

“Look at me, then, Y/N.”

No. Immediately, no.

“If you’re so ‘not nervous’ around me like you say, then look at me. If you’re not anxious, or shy, you should have no problem doing so,” Spencer said in a confident tone.

“I- I can’t look at you,” you immediately returned. You wanted to, but given the context of this situation, you knew he’d easily get you to talk if you did.

“Why?” he asked, his tone one of pure and utter confusion. Because I’m afraid of what I’ll say if I do.

“I just can’t,” you repeated, rubbing your eyes.

He sighed again, sounding genuinely exasperated. “Do you need me to profile it out of you, Y/N? Because I have no trouble doing that,” he said sternly. “I want you to feel comfortable around me. But I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on with you.”

When you didn’t respond, he took a deep breath, tapping his fingers on his desk before standing up and continuing. You were really looking away now. The fact that he was at least five inches taller than you was not helping.

“You show common signs of tenseness when I’m around you, like a stiff jaw, sweating, shaking, and, above all, avoiding eye contact,” he started, and you scoffed. Fucking profilers.

“Your body language offers common tells of your continued nervousness around me, like touching your face, constantly fidgeting with your hands and hair, and turning red when I say your name.”

“Stop,” you managed to say, your face growing darker at his words. But he continued.

“You’re talkative and open with others, but closed off and shy with me. You talk with your hands during class but they find their way into your hair the second I’m in your presence,” he went on.

“Stop,” you tried again, your voice growing quieter and your singular word coming out in a low whisper.

“You’re my only student who seems to refuse to call me by my first name. You can present in my class without flash cards but are unable to form clear, coherent sentences around me-“

“For fuck’s sake, Spencer, I’m attracted to you!” you finally blurted, unable to take any more of this.

He stopped talking, looking at you as if he was physically unable to process what you had just said. “What?”

“I’m attracted to you,” you repeated again, finally looking up at him and now realizing how hard it would be. Your cheeks were clearly flushed red, and your body was trembling.

He chuckled for a second, then immediately stopped. “That’s what this is?” he asked you in disbelief, his tone evidently amused, as if this was something he heard on the daily basis. “Attraction?”

“Yes,” you returned.

“And it makes you this nervous to talk to me?” he asked you genuinely, but his voice still showed underlying tones of amusement.

“Yes.”

He thought for a moment, truly taking in your words. Then, a faint smirk danced across his face as he walked around his desk with his hands in his pockets, stopping a few feet away from you.

You refused to give him whatever satisfaction he seemed to be gaining by teasing you and looked away as he looked at you. He chuckled, stepping closer. “You’re nervous because of a little crush? Come on, Y/N. How old are you?” he teased.

You rolled your eyes again and remained silent.

“Look at me,” he said sternly, taking another step closer. There was now minimal distance between the two of you. It would be easy to lean and kiss him. What the hell is he doing to you?

All you did was shake your head. Absolutely not.

He reached out to cup your cheek, caressing his thumb over it as he looked down at you with a smirk, from what you could see out of the corner of your eye.

“You’re always so good in class. Be a good girl for me now, won’t you, Y/N?” he cooed, continuing to smooth his thumb over your face. You felt yourself growing redder by the second.

You shook your head, not at him, but at yourself for what you were about to do. You were too easy. You made eye contact with him, gazing lewdly up into his auburn eyes.

“That’s it,” he murmured. You were correct: He was smirking at you. He spoke up again. “Three months is a long time, sweetheart. How many fantasies have you had about me in that time?”

You blushed harder at that, stuttering out, “A lot.”

“Voice one to me,” Spencer continued in a raspy tone. His voice was riling you up, and you were almost unsure of how to answer. “What’s on your mind?”

“I- I’ve thought about-,” you tried, but you stopped, unsure if you should even speak the explicit fantasy that came to your mind first into the universe.

Noticing your hesitation, Spencer said, “You can say it, sweetheart. What have you thought about?” he demanded, although his words were almost sweet.

You took a breath of courage before replying, “A- About you, bending me over your desk,” you barely managed to stutter out.

He chuckled even further at your shy admission. “Doing what to you?” he asked in his teasing tone.

You let out a small frustrated groan. Isn’t it obvious?

“Fucking me.”

He gave you a flirty smile at your words. “What do you want, sweetheart?” he now asked you in a raspy tone, the distance between you becoming too hard to resist closing.

“To take you across this desk,” you openly admitted, finding it difficult to stare at his eyes when his lips were so close.

“Then do it.”

His words mixed with his proximity gave you the confidence to finally pull him in, wrapping your arms around his neck and fervently kissing him. To your surprise, he reciprocated instantly, roughly grabbing your waist and backing you into his desk.

He lifted you up with ease and sat you on the only part of it that wasn’t filled with papers, his lips never leaving yours as his tongue explored your mouth. After a few minutes, there was nowhere his hands hadn’t roamed, as he shamelessly grabbed your neck, cupped your tits, and squeezed your ass.

His fingers found their way under your dress, his cold hands meeting your warm skin. You shuddered at the contact, moaning surprisedly into your kiss. You could feel him tugging at the hem of your panties as he pulled back from you, breathing heavily.

“Professor,” you breathed out, calling him ‘Professor’ out of habit. He shook his head at you in response to it.

“Say my name,” he demanded of you, continuing his movements with his hand as he looked down at you.

“Sp- Spencer,” you stammered out, breath quickening at his dominant tone.

“Attagirl,” Spencer praised, hands dipping suddenly into your panties. You gasped, looking up at him with a sultry stare. His fingers slid in between your soaked folds and you involuntarily let out a whorish moan.

“Fuck, doll, you’re already this wet?” he asked you in a tone that was a mixture of both surprise and excitement as his fingers felt all of your built up arousal. “Is this all for me?”

You didn’t know what to say, in pure and utter shock that this was even happening.

He gave you a look that screamed both pleading and demanding at the same time. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he cooed, moving his fingers in no particular direction, which made you moan softly anyway.

“I- It’s all for you, Spencer,” you stammered.

“There you go. I like hearing that pretty voice of yours,” Spencer cooed. He buried a finger into your cunt, and you groaned at the sudden intrusion. He started slow, making sure you were comfortable with this sensation, then stuck another in, quickening his pace.

You arched your back as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting a spot that you had never been able to reach when you were touching yourself alone. He knew exactly what he was doing, using another finger to rub slow circles around your clit. He pumped his fingers in and out fast, eliciting several moans of pleasure from you.

You leaned in to fiercely kiss him as he continued to finger you, sliding your tongue into his mouth. He accepted it gladly, gently choking you with his other hand as the two of you kissed. You groaned into it, his use of force getting you closer and closer to your high.

He pulled away, then started on your neck, kissing and sucking harshly as he continued to finger you below. His pace was getting faster, pushing his fingers deeper with every second that went by. When he curved them further than he had before, he found exactly where your pleasure point was: Your G-Spot.

“Fuck, Spencer,” you groaned out, your climax directly around the corner as he left kisses and no doubt hickies all over your neck.

He payed close attention to your reaction, making sure to continue to finger you directly where you needed him and continuing to rub your clit in quick motions. You were nearly there, and he surely knew that. However, suddenly, all movements ceased, and he pulled away from your neck to lustfully look down on you, retracting his fingers from your wetness.

You looked up at him with a mirroring lustful expression, but only because you were so close to releasing, and he had just taken that away from you.

“Sp- Spencer? Why’d you stop?” you stuttered out a little frustratedly.

“Because that’s not where I want you to finish,” he said, like it was the most simple thing to humanly comprehend. He backed up a step, then lifted you from his desk, spinning you round and bending you over it in one swift movement. You gasped as his hand found your lower back, his crotch pressed up on you and his bulge pressing into your ass.

“Spencer-“

“You said you saw me bending you over across my own desk, right?” Spencer reminded you in a low voice.

“Y- yeah,” you returned in a needy voice.

“Thought so.”

You could hear him unbuckling his belt from behind, working quickly to undo it with his only free hand. The sound was followed by that of his zipper, and then of him shrugging his pants partially down. He then turned his attention to you, pulling your dress up and revealing your red panties that matched the color of your dress. He chuckled, no doubt at that fact, then pulled them down.

He took his cock out of his boxers and pumped it up and down a few times. You tried to turn your head back to look, but he used his free hand to turn your head back around. You were about to say something about it, until he suddenly thrusted deep into your cunt, and you let out a whorish moan.

“F- Fuck, you’re so big, Spencer,” you couldn’t help but moan out. He was far inside of you, and his throbbing cock was no doubt seven inches minimum.

“You can take it,” he groaned back, placing his hand on the back of your head as he moved slowly but deeply into you. His hands roamed your body again, settling on your tits. He used a hand to grab one, eliciting a mewl from you. He fondled it with force, running his thumb in forceful circles around your tit as he pounded into you relentlessly.

“You like being fucked like this, sweetheart?” he cooed in your ear, voice audibly raspy as his movements didn’t cease.

“Yes, sir,” you responded in a slutty voice, calling him ‘sir’ for the first time in what felt like years.

“Such a, fuck- Slut for me,” he said in between thrusts. His pace was getting faster now as he rammed into you from behind, going at a speed you were finding difficult to not readily climax from. His words only enhanced this feeling.

He grabbed the back of your head by your hair, turning you to face a part of the classroom to your left.

“That’s where you sit in my class. Perfect view of my desk. Do you fantasize about this when you look at it?” he asked. His words came out in groans as he tried to both talk and maintain his quick pace.

“Maybe,” you breathed as you looked at your own desk where you had been sitting mere hours beforehand, never in a million years anticipating this.

“That’s not an answer,” he forcefully said, ceasing his movements and beginning to pull his cock from your cunt.

“Wait- Fuck,” you sighed, whimpering when you no longer felt him inside of you. “Yes, I do,” you admitted, telling him exactly what he wanted to hear.

He chuckled at your needy attempt to feel him inside of you again, teasing your wet entrance with the tip of his cock. “That desperate, huh?”

“Y- Yes, sir,” you said softly, finding it hard to get any words out as you took note of his teasing. He thrusted back into you, pushing hard and fast.

“Slut,” Spencer grunted. He pulled your head back by your hair, managing to grip it gently despite his rough pace. “My fucking slut.”

You moaned at his use of degradation, feeling your climax beginning to bubble up inside of you again, but you held it back, wanting to prolong the pleasurable feeling that you were receiving.

“Such a, fuck- Slutty dress,” he suddenly commented, toying with the hem on your dress. “Always wearin’ skirts hiked all the way up to your ass. Hoping I’d notice that, sweetheart?” he asked, the hand that was pulling your hair roaming over to your neck and choking you.

All you could do was nod as your words failed you, coherent sentences vacant in your head and absent from your mouth, as they usually were regardless.

“Use your words, baby,” he demanded of you, squeezing down harder on your neck.

You groaned out, complying and stammering, “Y- Yes,” in response to his question.

“That’s a good girl. Doin’ so fucking good for me,” Spencer praised you.

You were moaning loudly now, the sound of both of your grunts filling the air as Spencer continued at his quick speed. You could feel your eyes watering at the pressure and size of his cock that was deep into your cunt, and your climax was approaching as fast as his pace was going.

“Spencer,” you whispered, cheeks hot and absolutely flushed.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Spencer groaned back.

“I’m close,” you breathed, words breaking.

He let out a soft moan at your words, then moved his hand away from your neck and down to your clit. He rubbed it in quick circles as he had done before, gladly helping you to reach your high. You bit your lip, loud moans and whines falling from your mouth.

“That’s it, doll. I want to hear you,” he demanded of you in response to your moans, his long fingers moving on your throbbing clit as fast as his cock was pounding into your cunt.

You happily complied, continuing to moan out as broken murmurs of his name fell from your lips. He let out his own moans as he chased his high, too. He used his free hand to grip your ass, holding you roughly as he groaned behind you.

“Come for me, sweetheart. Let it out,” he groaned.

His words pushed you over the threshold, being all you needed to finally moan out his name loud as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Spencer groaned out your name, too, as he finished inside of you, gripping your ass as roughly as he possibly could.

When you were both done, he pulled out, breathing heavily as he returned his cock to his boxers. You pulled your panties up and your dress back down, breathing heavily too as you looked back at Spencer with tousled hair.

Spencer stuck the two fingers he’d used to finger you into his mouth, sucking away whatever elements of your release he had managed to get on his hand. You let out a soft moan at the view as Spencer looked down on you. He moved his other hand on your waist.

“You taste sweet,” he whispered to you, caressing his thumb over your hip. Your legs were shaking, and, taking note of this, he picked you up and sat you on his desk. You smiled tiredly up at him as he did.

“I take it this means I’ll get a good grade on my essay?” you joked, giggling.

He smiled down at you, planting a sweet kiss onto your forehead. “A+, baby. A+.”

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Tim Drake: Ugly Duckling (dp x dc)

So this is the last day of pride month, and so also the last day of me trying to write as many LGBTQ+ canon dc characters. It’s been fun (and I got to read a whole bunch of comics which was actually much more fun than the first time I’d tried to read those!!)

Now even though this is the end of June, feel free to send an ask if you want me to write a blurb with any character. I make no promises, but I will very much try! (It might take a while especially if I’m in a Tumblr hibernation phase.)

Anyways, for the last day of pride month I wanted to do Tim Drake coz he’s dc’s main “it” gay girl. I’ve been working on this Dead Tired fic for ages, based on the post about Tim getting turned into a swan and meeting Danny, who as a prince has to give him a kiss to change him back (I can’t find the prompt but it was hilarious so this was my take on it).

Here’s the beginning of the fic:

Red Robin was on patrol duty, while Batman and Robin were following a lead on possible joker safehouses. All in all, It was a pretty quiet night with only two muggings, both low-energy as both perpetrator ran away as soon as a bat-shaped shadow moved. 

So Red Robin had spent most of the night chatting with Babs. He was grappling around town, as they started on the new date app they’d both found out Jason was using.

“I told him he can’t put only photos of his motorcycle but- wait I’m getting a call,” Oracle interrupted herself. Tim waited before the earpiece came to life again.

“Sorry to cut this short Red Robin, got a full-attention request from Canary. If you need anything, beep me, and Keep your coms open.”

“Bye, Oracle,” he said, and like that, Red Robin was alone once again.

 He stopped on Grand Avenue Station and just let himself take in Gotham. The city was beautiful at night, and Tim was itching for a camera. He seen hundreds of pictures of the city’s skyline but they always managed to be unique. The night sky may always be covered by dark clouds above, but Gotham had its own stars in the lights shinning on top of the skyscrapers. So lost in his thoughts, Tim was, he almost missed the soft noise that sounded behind him. The voice that sounded behind him was harder to miss.

“Wither away so late, Little Red Bird?”

Red Robin turned to see a tall woman standing half in the shadows

“Sorry, can I help you?” Answered the vigilante despite the bad feeling creeping up to him.

“I’d like to know where I can find your guardian,” the woman said, still in the shadows.

“You mean Batman?” He chanced.

The woman nodded and Tim resisted the urge to sigh.If this was another one of Bruce’s ill-advised fling, Tim was going to hack every electronic device the man had to play sex-eds on loops for at least a week.

“He’s busy at the moment.” Then feeling like he shouldn’t assume what the woman wanted Bruce for, he continued. “But if you need any help, I’ll do my best.”

The woman stepped forward, and Tim could see her better. Her face was bare, but her distinctive outfit seemed to indicate she was some kind of vigilante-slash-criminal. The outfit did, in fact, ring a bell in the back of his mind, but it was dim. Tim didn’t tense up, but he did angle his body in a way to accommodate for a better escape through grappling. She continued walking until she was within arm’s reach of Tim, towering over him. She extended a hand to lightly caress his cheek, and Tim went still at the touch.

“Such a kind Little Bird you are,” she said gently. “You know, you remind me of my daughter.” She sighed. “Oh, what pretty children you both are.”

“Thank you,” said Tim as he sidestepped out of the way. “I’m sure she’s a lovely person.”

“Oh she was,” the woman said and through his growing wariness, Tim spared a thought for the girl. “She had dark hair and the fairest skin, just like you. The most beautiful girl in the land some would even say.”

That niggling feeling came back as a feeling of familiarity poked at him once again. “You must’ve been very proud.”

The woman let out an airy laugh before saying playfully/contemplating. “mustn’t I?”

A shiver ran down his back. Alright, there was something wrong with this woman, and Tim wasn’t waiting around to find out what. Not without any information or backup.

“Well, if there’s nothing I can do for you, I really have to get going,” Tim said as he took out his grapple gun. In a second, the gun was ripped from his hand , and he was slammed to the side of the staircase leading up to the roof. He let out a gasp at the impact and his features tensed in pain. The woman hadn’t even touched him.

“Not so fast, Little Bird. We don’t want you going back to the Batman just yet.  I’m not ready to make him my Knight yet.”

“Your knight?” Tim managed to get out. He tried to move his arms, but some unseen force was pinning him in place. Shit, that meant he couldn’t reach the comm to send out a distress signal. Hopefully Babs would check in soon.

The woman smiled as she approached him once again. “What better for a Queen, than a Dark Knight?”

And just like that it clicked. “You’re the Queen of Fables.” 

“Well look at this, you’ve got the brains and the beauty,” she teased, her voice as smooth as honey.

“What do you want with Batman?” Tim asked though he could guess from previous encounters she had had with the Justice League that the villainess wanted to turn Bruce into a fairytale character of some sort. She’d done the trick on Clark, and twice on Diana, so it was probably Batman’s turn now. So, yes, Tim could guess, But the longer he kept her talking the more time he had to figure out a way out of this.

“I told you, he’ll be a Knight of the Queen,” She extended a hand and tilted Tim’s face up. “Do you know what that would make you Little Bird?” 

Most villains assumed the batclan worked like a crime family. So the family of a knight? “Nobility,” Tim guessed, unsure where this was going.

“Exactly.” She smiled, and then she moved. Tim braced for the hit.

Instead of a punch though, he only felt a tingling sensation. Cautiously, he opened his eyes, only for them to grow bigger as he took in his uniform. Or the lack thereof.

He was in something-century clothing, in some sort of frilly shirt and pants, all in white. This was worse than a punch. Then, as the thought hit him, Tim’s hands flew to his face only to come in contact with the silky fabric of a masquerade mask. He sighed in relief, and as he calmed down, he realized he was now free of the force pinning him down.

“The color is for my daughter,” the Queen said. Then, she let her head fall to the side before tracing a line across his forehead and Tim could feel something like a circlet setting down on it. “There you go. Now, it’s perfect. You could practically be siblings.” 

“No thanks.,” Tim answered.

The Queen tsked him. “That’s no way to behave Little Bird, has nobody taught you to say thank you when you receive a gift.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Tim disagreed mildly as he took stock of his weapons. Everything was gone, including the earpiece, which meant Babs had to have been alerted and someone was en route.

The Queen frowned. “I was going to be merciful, for you guardian’s sake, but I no longer feel generous.” She raised her hand and Tim tried to roll away, but the magic beam swerved and hit him in a blinding flash of light.

When he managed to open his eyes once again, the world seemed quite a bit bigger than it had been moments before. 

“What did you do to me?” He said. Or tried to say.

Instead a strange squawk echoed and Tim took a step back in surprise. However, he lost his balance and started to fall and as he tried to catch himself with his hand, two large white wings unfolded. He dropped down, which wasn’t as far as he would’ve estimated and laid stiff. He moved his left arm, and a white wing followed suit. 

Oh, no. Oh no no no.

A grating laugh interrupted his freak out. “There you are my pretty Little Bird, all better. White really is your colour, don’t you th-“

With a loud hiss, Tim propelled himself towards the woman. Making use of his newfound beak, he pecked and bit everything he could, as he flapped his wings.

“Blasted creature- Get off! Stop it, you despicable, puny-“ 

Finally she managed to grab Tim and throw him away from her. He landed with a squawk, but managed to get himself back to his feet quickly. “You little/awful brat,” she snarled. “You’ll pay for this!”

But as the Queen threw out her hand, something rippled in the air between them and the magic beam seem to explode midway into a green vortex. Tim’s clumsy attempt at waddling away had him head straight towards it, and it was in vain that he tried to redirect the course. She and Tim made eye contact as the swan-boy tipped right into the swirling green vortex, both of their eyes wide-open in surprise.

Danny was exhausted. He was currently on week one of the full month of Royal Duties he’d promised Clockwork. Being Prince of the Infinite Realm was not all that it was cracked up to be, and that was saying a lot since he had already been expecting it to be awful. 

When Clockwork had made the request, Danny had proceeded to freak out about his new status, and then tried to abdicate. It was only the master of time reminding him of all the terrible possible candidate for the throne per rites of combat (such as Vlad) that stopped him from washing his hands of this mess. And now Danny was forced to spend one whole month of his summer vacation in the Ghost Zone to fulfill his duty as a Prince. 

He thought it would be some paperwork, maybe a battle or two, nothing too bad, but nooo. Because, of course nothing was easy, Danny had to show up at Events, and be Diplomatic. It was meeting, after meeting, after weird parties that were a mix between Medieval Banquets and Debutante balls. 

And worse of all were the marriage proposals. Danny could sorta understand, marrying into royalty was a definite plus for a lot of more powerful ghosts but when they called him a half-breed behind his back, only to smile in his face with a marriage contract in one hand and flowers in the other, that was where he drew the line. 

Plus there was also the fact that he was, like sixteen.

Suffice to say, Danny was exhausted and hiding out in Pariah Dark’s old castle as a last resort. It wasn’t his favorite place all in all, but the gardens were absolutely beautiful, which was where he was walking. He was currently headed to the hedge maze, since it was the best way to get rid of any tails he may or may not have. 

The maze was nasty if it didn’t like you, and it didn’t like anybody but Danny, and even then, it still tried to take a bite every once in a while. Despite the snaking vines and roots trying to capture anything that moved, the flowers that wailed softly when disturbed or the sharp thorns of the hedge plants themselves, it was still a beautiful place. Uniquely, the closer you got to the centre, the more colorful (and dangerous) everything got, which was why he liked it best. 

He reached the centre much quicker than the first time he tried, thanks to the maze actually helping him, and something pale caught his eye right in the middle of the open area, right next to the bench Danny loved to use. As he got closer, he realized it was a swan laying on the floor, seemingly unconscious.

“Oh no,” Danny said as he approached. “What happened to you?”

As if awakened by the sound of his voice, the swan started to shift, its wings twitching and it rose its head groggily. As soon as it clocked in Danny, it let out a surprised squawk, followed by a long hiss as it struggled to move away.

“Hey, hey, none of that, Duckie, you’re ok.” Danny raised his hands placatingly. “I don’t want to harm you, ok? I just want to make sure you’re ok.”

The hiss subsided by a bit, but that may have only be due to the swan managing to get further away.

“Sh, sh, it’s ok,” Danny repeated as he slowly inched forward. The swan stopped hissing but still observed him warily. “I don’t want to hurt you Duckie, but I do think we’d better get you out of this maze.”

Danny took another step, and this time the swan stayed still. “How about bringing you back to my rooms just for now.” The swan hissed louder at the statement. “Don’t worry Duckie, I’m not keeping you prisoner it’s just this maze has been known to eat people. And you’re too pretty to be eaten,” Danny flashed a smile at the swan which had it stare back with a gaze saying really?

“So what do you say, wanna crash at my place?” Danny asked. The swan didn’t move forward but he didn’t move away either.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust a guy who talks to birds either,” Danny allowed. “And the place where I’m staying is a little gloomy, so I don’t blame you, but I can’t leave you here. The maze is honestly really dangerous, especially for a nice bird is like you. “

The swan seemed to hesitate before it hesitantly made its way to Danny. Ghost animals were usually smart but the swan seemed to understand English, which made communicating that much easier. Danny smiled and opened his arms. “I can carry you.” The swan just looked at him, with what Danny would’ve thought was a deadpan stare. “It would go much faster.”

If the swan was human it probably would’ve sighed, but instead, its wings just fell a little before it waddled towards Danny and looked up as if to say ‘get on with it’.

Danny smiled and gathered the animal in his arms. “Buckle up,” he said before flying off towards the maze exit, which was accompanied by a low hiss. Making sure there was nobody there to ambush him, Danny made it back to the castle in record time.

“Here we are Duckie.” Danny set the swan back down and it plopped down on the ground and just steadied themselves for a while.

Tim was a swan. He had wings and no fingers, and his feet were webbed.

He was handling it though. By which Tim meant he was shelving the impending panic attack for later when he wasn’t stuck in a swan body. 

Ok, so he’d been turned by the Queen of Fables, so there had to be an answer in a fairytale,a way to make him normal again. He knew the ugly duckling story. That had a swan in it, right? He didnt know any other swan stories, except maybe as a dish during the wedding banquet of whichever princess. He vaguely remembered a Barbie movie that had passed on the TV when he was younger but the only thing that came to mind were a scary-looking Troll thing, and ballet.  So with lack of better alternatives he was going to go with the ugly duckling. The ugly duckling’s happy ending was reuniting with family, so maybe all he needed was to make his way back to Gotham.

“Are you ok?” 

And that was another thing. The guy. The one Tim had at first wanted to get away from. He seemed nice and all, but he also had neon green eyes, and fangs. Unfortunately, while they suited the boy very well, they also marked him as an unknown. 

On the other hand, if the glowing portal wasn’t enough of an indication, the green tinge of everything around was clear indicator that Tim wasn’t in Kansas anymore. The guy seemed to want to help him, and having an ally wherever he was could only help.

Tim nodded as best as he could with his long weird neck, and he had to take a few steps to regain balance.

“That’s good,” the boy smiled with his white pointy canine. “How did you end up in the middle of that maze?”

Tim just looks back tiredly. He didn’t know how to even try and explain when he couldn’t say a word and had no opposable thumbs.

“Yeah, sorry.” The boy winced. “Maybe stick to yes or no questions.”

There was a sharp knock at the door that had the boy turning away.

“Prince Phantom!” A voice rung through the door.

Prince? 

The newly-dubbed Prince Phantom got up to open the door, “yes, what can I do for you?”

“Your meeting with Queen Dora is approaching. Do you still prefer to forgo an escort guards?” a purple lady was saying.

“I’ll be fine without, Maj but thank you very much,” Phantom answered with a polite smile.

“I’ll pass it along, my Prince.” She bowed and closed the doors behind her.

Phantom walked back to lay on the bed with a sigh. “I really hate that they call me that.” He turned towards Tim to continue. “I bet swans don’t have royalty. You guys had the right idea.”