#sorry this has been stuck in my head all day

[theliliesofthevalleies]

The skeletons wordlessly point around the room as if the reasoning should be obvious. Obviously he had been put in the summoning circle.

Danny puts a hand over his mouth and closes his eyes in contemplation for a moment. He takes in a long deep breath and looks at the skeletons. “And.. no one thought to.. I don’t know.. alert me to the fact that there is a whole living person in the offerings room..?”

All the skeleton’s just shrug and go back to pampering the now stunned and speechless Robin who is staring up at Danny from where he’s seated on the floor. “You’re a lot younger than I thought you’d be. Honestly that’s a relief. I was worried I was being offered as a bride to the ghost king that was going to be like.. old and gross..”

“You were offered as what?! You’re fourteen?!” Danny stares at the teenager no older than himself and crouches down. “What do you mean as a bride for me? Why would they even assume I wanted a child bride…?”

Robin, now removing his mask because, fuck it why not if he’s stuck there might as well, shrugs as he looks back up at Danny now showing him that he is in fact Tim Drake. “Don’t know.. don’t really care. I would however like to get home. My.. adopted father and his other adopted adult child are probably looking for me and considering that the last time a Robin went missing he was murdered.. they are probably losing their minds..”

“Right right.. uh.. well.. I have to ask Clockwork about how to send you back.. because the Infinite Realms sort of identifies you as.. my property now.. and the fact that you are technically dead..” Danny looks like he’s ready to hurl from the thought but he straightens up.

Tim looks up at him with wide eyes and blinks a few times. “I’m dead..?” He pat his own chest and looked at himself all over.

“Only technically.. you were given as an offering.. the only way to send a living being to the Infinite Realms is to kill them.. or half kill them.” Danny thinks for a moment. “Honestly when we get you back. You may only have a half life.. you may be a Halfa now..” He shrugs and starts leaving the room. “Come on. I’m not going to force you to stay locked in here. Though.. m aybe put your mask back on. Some of the residents of the Infinite Realms still like to keep your identities a secret for themselves..”

Tim stands and places his mask back on his face trying ti ignore the reeling in his head from finding out he had apparently died. “So. You already knew who I was..?”

Danny with a dejected look and tears welling up in his eyes. “No.. I was one of the residents that enjoyed keeping your identity a secret. But it’s okay.. you just proved my theory so…”

Tim nods. “Right.. sorry about that..”

They make their way to Clockwork and find out it will take a while to send Tim back home. In the meantime Danny and Tim spend a lot of time together getting to know each other. Danny brings Tim a change of clothes when he comes back from school one day.

By the time they manage to navigate the stupid rules of the Infinite Realms two months later Tim is on the verge of his fifteenth birthday and has realized feelings are starting to bloom in his chest when he sees Danny. They agree to stay in contact and when Tim is dropped off on the day of his fifteenth birthday he leans over and kisses Danny’s cheek before running off to find Bruce and Dick who, as he predicted had in fact lost their minds.

It takes a lot of explaining to get them to calm down and understand that he A.) didn’t run away and get murdered. B.) didn’t die at all. Which Tim knows is a lie but he doesn’t want Bruce and Dick to freak out about him dying. And C.) is very much alive despite the blood loss of cult members trying to sacrifice him to what is essentially a god.

(Idk if op wanted this to turn into ship but I’ve been reading a lot of DannyxTim fics lately and that’s where my brain went. Lol.)

Bonus. When Jason comes back as Red Hood Tim can tell because Jason has a similar aura to Danny. Danny comes to visit and when he sees Jason he tells Tim that Jason has corrupted ectoplasm and he’s not sure how but his core is shattered. Danny and Tim set out to help Jason and they manage to clean his ectoplasm before Jason can bring his who reveal and revenge plan to fruition.

Once his ectoplasm is clean and Danny got his core into mostly one piece Jason all but loses interest in his big dramatic revenge plot so Tim brings him to the manor one day and Bruce freaks out.

Danny and Tim explain to Bruce what was up and that now that his ectoplasm is clean and his core is mostly whole now would be the best time to talk to Jason about all the things Jason is angry about.

(Side note I really like the idea that Danny helps Jason right after the first time he meets him and it freaks Jason out because, why the hell is the replacement and his boyfriend randomly finding him and why is the replacement’s boyfriend shoving his hands in his chest. It sort of freaks him out. But it helps the Pit rage so he honestly lets it happen.)

DPxDC Prompt #17

There is a room Danny's Keep he set up shortly after defeating Pariah Dark. It became necessary when the broader magical community realized Pariah had be defeated and therefore a new King took his throne. Danny found himself briefly bombarded with waves of attempted summonings.

Which, the summonings themselves, wouldn't have been so bad. Turns out people can't just drag the King of Ghosts to themselves on a whim. Danny has to actively accept a summoning to get pulled to it. And if he just decides "No," the pull and whispers go away. No problem there.

No, the problem is the offerings. And sacrifices. The things that people put in the circle as payment for even attempting to summon him. Like having to put a quarter in the payphone just to listen to it ring and ring and ring as the person on the other end of the call doesn't pick up. Since the summoning magic regarded these things as belonging to Danny even if he rejected the summons, they usually ended up just materializing in front of him if he didn't go to them.

Which, okay. It was funny that time he got to end a fight with Vlad very fast when a whole gold bar materialized and dropped on his head. And the food was nice sometimes when it was late and everywhere was closed and his parents had left samples in the fridge to contaminate everything into animation again. But the goat head dropping from the ceiling onto his desk during on of Lancer's English tests was not appreciated. Even if it did get the test rescheduled and the whole school shut down for a few days to investigate the "potentially satanic activity."

So, yeah, it was a bit of a problem. Fortunately, it was a problem with a relatively simple solution. Danny set up an inbox. With a bit of help from Tucker and Pandora, and a couple tips from Clockwork; all summoning offerings and sacrifices would now go straight to the dedicated room in the Keep.

And! As a special touch, the summoners would also get a chipper, automated voice saying, "The Ghost King you are trying to summon has more important things to do than answer you right now. Please leave a message in the circle with your name, date, location, contact information, and reason for summoning. The Ghost King will get back to you at his earliest convenience." Sam's stupid fancy girl gala voice had been perfect for that little message.

It was the perfect solution. Danny no longer had to deal with randomly materializing offerings putting his secret identity at risk. Pariah's skeletons, who had been antsy for something to do now that they were no longer bent under the thumb of a cruel tyrant, were instructed to take care of all the offerings; making sure everything was always cleaned up and put away. And all Danny had to do was stop by periodically to check in and "Officially respond" -ie, write a fuck off note- to the summoning messages (Clockwork's insistence).

A perfect solution. Up until Danny checked in one day to find the skellies pampering a whole ass boy. No. Not just any boy. Danny recognizes that costume.

"Why is Robin here?"

[neigepomme]

˙ ✩°˖ ☃️ soft patience / zayne x reader

synopsis; zayne's the bestest boyfriend in the world when you're going through cramps — even though some misunderstanding led some tears to shed.

🍎 pomme's notes - psst! my asks are open! taking some quick requests :D i'm in a writing mood!!!!

⋆ 500 words / fluff / reader is afab (mentions of periods!) / 2nd person / super self-indulgent :3c

i think zayne would be so very patient during your periods. of course, there's the whole doctor thing, and while he is your physician, he is first and foremost your boyfriend.

that man's got the patience of a saint. if you ever blow up on him because of the cramps and the nagging, he stays quiet and steps out, and you're just left wondering if that was his last straw (spoiler alert — never. you're as stuck with him as he is with you).

you're left stunned. how could he just walk away like that? you're just having a hard time. you didn't mean to drive him away — you care about him so deeply, but god, does your head hurt, and your stomach has been aching so so badly.

when the initial shock dissipates, and you start feeling the tears welling in your eyes, the door to your shared apartment opens again, and zayne walks in with a bag of takeout from your favorite place and chocolates.

when he catches a glimpse of your teary eyes, his eyes widen in return, and he puts down the bags to focus on you, worried if your cramps were more painful than usual.

"are you okay love?", he says softer than usual, as if to not disturb you.

"i- i thought you had-" you stammer in between deep breaths, trying hard not to start crying, "i thought you'd had enough, zayne."

he tries to speak but you interrupt him again;

"i know i'm a pain right now but i can't help it, i'm — i didn't mean to be rude to you" a sob softly escapes you, "i know you care about me, but everything is just too much all at once now but please, don't leave me zayne, i'm so sorry."

his hands cup your face delicately slightly shifting your head up to see your face. his thumbs wipe away the tears now freefalling from your eyes, and he gives you an understanding smile.

"why would i leave you?", he hums a bit before speaking again, "i thought i'd let you breathe a bit and get some food for you. i know i was being overbearing, and forgive me for it, my love."

shaking your head, you profusely apologize in return and he laughs a bit.

"we look silly apologizing to each other this hard, don't we?" and that finally brings a smile to your face, managing to pull a breathy laugh out of you.

and in hindsight, maybe thinking that zayne;

the man who hides you away from jumpscares in the horror movies you insist on watching,

the man who texts you daily, checking if you ate,

the man who drops by your house just to give you a hug when you've had a hard day,

the man who would do anything to see you smile,

would leave you after an emotional outburst in one of your most vulnerable moments was a bit dramatic.

yeah. zayne would love you through it all. he's got the patience of a saint, doesn't he?

[tsukuhoe]

22. baby, i know cw: heavy mentions of alcohol, teeny bit angsty, wc: 1.8k

you stood in front of the door, your fingers fumbling with the handle. “shit,” you muttered under your breath. you lean on the garage door, arms full of beer bottles and knocked. “hey shitheads?” no answer. you flick a switch, and the garage door opens, and as you walk towards the garage door, the door closes. you look back to see a costumed ghostface closing the garage door. 

“...is that you randy?” the masked man shakes his head. no. 

“what movie is this from? i spit on your garage?” you scoff in return. “lose the costume; if sidney sees it, she’ll flip.” you walk towards the costume. he’s shaking his head again. 

“oh, you wanna play psycho killer?” you said, tilting your head slightly, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “can i be the helpless victim?” 

he masked figure nods. you cocked her head to the side, looking him up and down. “oh no, please don’t kill me mr. ghostface, i wanna be in the sequel!” you said, scoffing, then pushing him to the side. however, instead, the masked face grabbed your arm and pulled out a knife. a few bottles in your arm dropped and shattered as he dragged the prop against your arm, fake blood coming out of the tube. “ah!” 

immediately, you ran towards the fridge, slamming the top freezer in his face. he fell to the ground as you ran past him, grabbed the unshattered bottles and threw them at him once he started getting up. “fucker!�� 

desperately wanting to escape, you spotted the doggy door. you quickly ran towards it, trying your best to shove your body through… unfortunately, your shoulders had made you stuck. seeing his golden opportunity, the killer flicks the switch, which opens the door… you are lifted into the air as you look up…

“CUT!” utahime’s voice booms, the entire set erupts into applause. “that was perfect, y/n and toji!” this was the last day of your filming on set. after the hard weeks of consistent filming and visiting the building, you had finished your part. you felt a lump form in your throat as you watched the cast and crew celebrate. this was the culmination of weeks of hard work, late nights, and dedication. ​​

toji walkers over to you. “we did it. we made the iconic scene.” 

you laughed softly, nodding. “we sure did.” 

after being on set with toji for a few weeks, he had gotten used to your presence, however, just because you’d been with him for a few weeks does not mean he’s fond of you now… “now you can finally scram. honestly, singing might be something you’d want to stick you.” he said with a smirk on his face. 

you could tell he was trying to get on your nerves. “awh, thank you so much mr. fushiguro! i appreciate your support in my music career!” you shot him an insincere smile, tone all cheery.  

“nah, i’d never listen to–” “SWEETS! you were amazing!” before toji could continue, gojo ran towards you and spun you around. “seriously, baby, i’ve been watching all the behind-the-scenes clips, and you nailed every scene. i’m so proud of you.” 

“thank you so much, gojo!” you giggled. you aren’t exaggerating when you say you saw literal stars in his eyes. 

“so, dinner? at kura revolving sushi bar?” he asked, setting you down on the ground. 

“yeah, of course— sorry, off topic, but do you know if kento is in the building today? i’ve been wanting to talk to him…” it had been approximately three days since you last had an actual conversation with him. could he be avoiding you? 

“ah, i don’t think so, sweets. from what i remember, he has a shooting to do for tomorrow in osaka! i think he should be on a plane by now.” right. of course. kento nanami is a busy man, this shouldn’t be surprising. however, you couldn’t help but to feel a little disappointed… by what? not getting to talk to him? you could always text him. him leaving without informing you? it’s not like you two were together; he isn’t obligated to tell you anything— so what exactly were you disappointed about? did you want to be with him? is that why you’re disappointed? before you could start spiralling even more than you already are, gojo picked up the change in your mood. 

“hey, if you want, i could pass along a message for you…? or you could even call him! i’m sure he’d be happy to receive a call from you!” he gently said, running his hands through your hair. 

“really? you’d think so?” you asked, eyes watery, tears threatening to spill out. 

“i know so. now c’mon! we don’t wanna be late to our reservation, now do we?” 

‘fuck. what in the world am i doing.’ was the only thought that ran through his head the whole car ride there. supporting you and nanami’s… relationship? whatever you two had going on. his hands gripped the steering wheel harder. he couldn’t help but to feel a jealous— bitter even. he was jealous of nanami’s relationship with you. he was bitter at himself. what did he lack? why was he even helping him? 

“we’re here!” his voice came out cheery, a total contrast to his previous thoughts while driving. you two walked in, while gojo talked to the waitress you couldn’t help but notice the sudden shift in his mood. in the car it was completely quiet, but now he’s all sunshine and smiles. he’s the world’s favourite actor (other than toji, of course) after all. 

“‘order anything ya want, sweets! it’s all on me.” he grinned, taking his seat as you settled in the booth across from him. 

“do you drink, gojo?” you asked, looking at the menu. 

“nahh, i don’t, sweets. i’m a light weight haha.” 

“oh, alright! then i won’t either!” 

“nono, drink if you want to! i don’t mind you drinking, besides i’ll be driving you home!” 

It wasn’t long before you two were laughing and nibbling on different types of sushi— salmon, tuna, avocado rolls, and takoyaki. but the drinks? that was beginning to hit you. you started with one shot, but it had been so smooth that you’d convinced yourself to have another. and then another. 

gojo watched you carefully, noting the rosy flush on your cheeks and the slightly glassy look in your eyes. you were starting to slur your words, though gojo didn’t want to say anything just yet. you two were having a great time, and the vibe was perfect.

"y/n," he said gently, "maybe we should slow down on the drinks?"

you waved him off. "i’m fine, i’m fine! just one more… okay, two more..."

he let out a small chuckle at your drunken state. “i can now see why you’re such good friends with shoko!” 

a few minutes later, you leaned back in your seat with a contented sigh, then suddenly lurched forward, your hand grabbing the edge of the conveyor belt as if to steady yourself. "i think i’m a little drunk," you admitted, your voice wobbling.

gojo couldn't help but laugh. "you think? you’ve had like, seven shots."

you giggled, your head tilting to one side as you tried to look serious. "i don’t know what’s in that drink, but it’s like magic. i feel amazing. i could totally sing karaoke right now."

the mention of singing made gojo laugh harder. "let’s just focus on not falling off the stool for now, alright, sweets?"

you blinked at him, then suddenly grinned. "you’re so funny, gojo. i think i love you."

his heart started to throb. he chuckled and reached for his glass of water. "yeah, well, i’m pretty lovable when i’m sober… let’s go home now, alright, sweets? don’t want you passing out on the conveyor belt." 

“you’re so nice, gojo.” 

“you know, you’ve been calling me gojo for a while. satoru is fine, sweets.” gojo chuckled, helping you out the booth and walking you to his car. 

“satoru… satoru… sa…toru… toru. how about toru. since y’know, you’ve been calling me these cute names, i should too!” you beamed, as he opened the passenger seat door for you. 

“sure thing, sweets.” 

the car ride to his place was quiet, you were slowly dozing off while he drove. you stared at gojo for a beat too long, his eyes soft and focused on road. "toru…" you began, your words dragging, "you know, i’ve always thought... you’re really pretty." 

his heart skipped a beat, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. he thought you were just being intoxicated. "you’re not so bad yourself," he teased, nudging you lightly. “we’ve just pulled into the parking lot. i’ll call shoko or utahime to come pick you up in a few?” 

you didn’t laugh. instead, you moved closer, your face hovering inches from his, your breath warm and scented with alcohol. gojo’s heart started to race; unsure if this was the alcohol talking or something more. fuck. he wished it was. 

“y/n, what are you—” 

before he could finish his sentence, you closed the gap between. the kiss was sudden and clumsy, but it was there— his lips pressing against yours with an intensity he wasn’t prepared for. the kiss deepened, you tasted like the alcohol you’ve been drinking earlier. gojo hates alcohol, but fuck, your taste was so addicting. he didn’t care. your hand moved to his chest, your fingers pressing into him as you leaned more into the kiss.

the kiss grew more urgent, gojo pulled away slightly, his breath shaky. “sweets, wait... you’re drunk. this isn’t—”

“i want this,” you whispered, your voice soft but insistent. your eyes searched his, a mixture of vulnerability and something deeper that made his chest tighten.

for a second, he hesitated, unsure. but there, in your gaze, was something real. something he couldn’t ignore… but he also knew this wasn’t something to rush. not like this. not when the line between friendship and something else felt too blurry. 

with a sigh, he pulled back, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “we can’t, not like this,” he said softly. 

your eyes flickered with confusion, and for a moment, he could see the haze from the alcohol fading just a bit, replaced by something more knowing, more aware.

“i… i didn’t mean to mess things up,” you whispered, your voice small.

“you didn’t,” he said gently, placing a small peck on your forehead. “we’re just... better off waiting for a clearer moment.”

you nodded slowly, your eyes heavy with sleep now, the alcohol slowly overtaking you again. you leaned back into him, your eyelids fluttering as you tried to keep yourself awake.

he held you there, his heart racing, his mind spinning. gojo didn’t know what had just happened, but one thing was certain— he couldn’t possibly face your sober state after this— even if this kiss wasn’t genuine. even if this kiss only happened because you missed nanami. 

album bonus tracks: — hihi i'm SO sorry for the late update omg... — im going to be so fr i actually got really sad while writing this, then i started contemplating my life choices — i love gojo sm, i promise he's going to be happy TT — other than that, please lmk if there's any grammar or spelling errors! — i wanna get deeper into everyone's character so bad but i don't know when's the right time to do it 😞 — anyways, i'll try to update the next chapter sometime this week to make up for the last weeks ^.^ ⋮ MASTERLIST  ֹ⋮  PREVIOUS  ⋮  ֹNEXT

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[gublernatural]

for pop star!reader, bringing him to the grammys perchance? i think it would be silly <3

i love this so im skipping ahead to post-situationship into full blown relationship stage with them <3 my fave duo (also reader is def inspired by my girl t swizzle at award shows and im not sorry about it.)

"you're sure?" you asked one more time, just before the car doors were to open. spencer, whose face was almost as red as the dress you were wearing, sent you an eager nod.

he was torn; stuck between being excited to be by your side, but terrified to be in such a public space. there were days where he was still in awe that he has been able to meet, fall in love with, and now date such a strong, hard-working lady, but days like today he is reminded how much the whole world has come to love his lover.

"then, let's go," you smiled at him, ushering him to step out of the car. he obliged, then reached his hand towards you, helping you out. "thank you," you smiled at him, quickly, and then guided him to the building’s entrance. you waved at your supporters as you walked, still marveling at the impact you’ve been able to make.

you two ended up being split, spencer dragged away to your designated table and you to the red carpet. you took photos and completed interviews as quickly as you could without being impolite. you couldn’t help but feel like you were longing to be back with spencer. despite all of the fun you were able to have, everything just felt better when he was around.

“there you are,” you smiled as you finally made your way to your seat. “how was the carpet?” he asked, sliding your chair out for you. you shrugged in response, turning your attention to the first performer to take the stage.

spencer spent most of the show watching you with starstruck eyes. it was evident, even to those watching from home, how deeply in love spencer truly was with you. there was a literal sparkle in eye as you danced along to each performer, completely and totally enjoying yourself. this was the happiest you'd been in a while. you felt pretty, were at a celebration, and had your favorite person in the world by your side. spencer being in a fancy suit that matched your dress and having his hair professionally done had nothing to do with it, of course.

"this was is yours, right?" spencer whispered into your ear as his arm slipped around your waist. he held you close in anticipation as they introduced your category: best new artist.

this was the biggest moment of your career thus far. sure, awards weren't everything to you, but being recognized for the work you'd put out in somewhere as important as the grammy's would feel so good. you nodded, anxiously, trying to use spencer's proximity to ground you. you hoped the camera that cut to you while you were being named amongst your competitors could see the nerves that were coursing through your veins.

"and the winner is," victoria monet, last year's winner, announced. the world around you turn to static as your name was called into the mic. spencer was up before you were, cheering. tears welled in your eyes, overcome with pride and gratefulness. you hugged spencer and your producer, before heading up to the stage.

"um," you hesitated into the mic after hugging victoria, "i did not think i was going to win this," you laughed. the crowd laughed as well. beyonce was laughing at you. taylor swift was laughing at you. spencer reid was laughing at you. this was the best moment of your life.

"everyone in this category is so amazing and i wish we could split this award eight different ways. thank you to anyone and everyone who has listened to my music and supported me so far. i would not be here if it weren't for you." the first tear slipped from your face and you quickly brought your empty tear up to wipe it.

"thank you to everyone who inspired me and my music, and anyone who laid a hand in creating it with me. my mind is so blank and i can't remember all of your names," everyone laughed again. "and thank you to those i love," your eyes slipped to your table in the crowd. the camera cut to spencer, who had the biggest smile on his face anyone had ever seen. "i wouldn't be here without you guys. thank you and i cannot wait to make more music for you." you ended with a gracious wave to the crowd and cameras, before dashing back to your table.

you threw yourself in spencer's arms again. his cheek smushed against your shoulder as he mumbled, "i'm so proud of you!" you didn't answer, but he felt your smile get impossibly wider against him. after your brief moment of affection, you settled back into his side, excited to see sabrina carpenter's performance.

[satyricplotter]

kori x reader x dick 🤨🤨???!!!!!!!!? 🤲🤲🤲🤲 pls give it to me

here u go boss 🫡🫡

pairing: dick grayson x koriand'r x reader word count: 3k wtf rating: explicit warnings and tags: mentioned human trafficking ring + sleazy men involved appear briefly, misogyny from said men, drugs mentioned, reader is kept gender neutral but they have a pussy and i mention a chest spilling over, kori tops reader 👍, implied established polyamorous relationship notes: this got out of my hands like five times and if i didn't cut it there idk where it would've ended up. i also wrote a whole backstory for kori and reader that didnt make the cut jfshafdjs

Dick comes home late that night from work.

A hard day at work, if he does say so himself, though pushing around papers is hardly what anyone at the tower would call difficult. No, what's hard is all the posturing, the pretending Dick has to do in order not to blow his cover. He and his team have spent the last month infiltrating a company seemingly involved in a human trafficking ring, trying to dig up evidence on the men financing it. Dick's background means he's gotten stuck playing the part of young master trying his hand at accruing his own wealth through fast, if unsavory, methods, which means he's the one dealing most closely with the possible culprits. They seem to like him so far (eugh), and they're not shy about their exploits, which means the team's on the right track. But it also means that every night he clocks out, when the smoke of the cigars burns his throat and their booming laughter grates in his ears so badly he can feel it in his teeth, he can't help but wish someone had invented decontamination showers for after wading through moral filth.

They hoot and laugh when he gives his excuses, holler about him being pussy-whipped and won't he let them take that little foreign model of his for a ride, and Dick has to throw his head back and laugh instead of crushing their windpipe in his hand. He imagines it vividly, however, and that makes his fake glee a little sharper. Perhaps this is what does it.

"As if I'd ever let you lay a hand on my woman, Stevie," he snorts, and for once he means something he says within these walls. "I can tell you've got a heavy one."

"Damn right he does!" Someone laughs.

"I wouldn't do that with yours," Stevie insists, a little too brightly. Whatever they'd been snorting in the bathroom earlier is running his course through him. "I can tell she's good quality—a real T10. Not like the others."

Dick tilts his head, seemingly confused. T10—that's code. Tier 10s are the people they sell at the closed auctions for the elite. The man next to Stevie shoves him at the shoulder, displeased, and Stevie half sobers. Dick raises an eyebrow at the man—Fred is his name, he thinks.

"You know Stevie," Fred says, winding an arm around Stevie's neck and pressing his face to his shoulder. Stevie coughs, but if the mild asphyxiation bothers him, he doesn't make any other sound. The atmosphere's a little gelid now. "Can't trust what he says."

"Mm. That's still my wife he's going off about," Dick says coldly. That seems like the move. Fred's sizing him up.

"Of course." Fred smiles widely. His teeth are perfect. He grabs the back of Stevie's head and pulls it up so he's looking up at Dick, pupils blown wide. Dick can only hope he doesn't pee his pants. The day's been long enough. "You wanna say sorry, Steve?"

"S'rry," Stevie slurs.

Dick rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Keep him in check."

He turns to leave, not hiding this time how miffed he is as he gathers his jacket from the valet, and has almost given up on this interaction when Fred calls his name. Dick looks over his shoulder, impatient.

"You should stick around after work tomorrow," Fred says pleasantly. Eyes carefully bland. "Stevie and I will show you a little something to make up for today, yeah?"

Gotcha.

Dick shrugs, appeased. "Sure thing," he says, and books it back home.

Doing undercover work has a few upsides. The first of which is he doesn't run into anybody as he makes his way to the high rise apartment he's been leasing for him and Kori. The penthouse takes the whole floor, and nobody stays there past six on Dick's orders, so he doesn't have to worry about dropping his suit jacket on the floor, hanging his tie from a sconce as he goes. His dress shoes end up somewhere behind him, each in different places, and he's rolling up his sleeves, unbuttoning his shirt as he rounds the corner to the kitchen. Hanging out with these dudes always makes him feel filthy, and he can't wait to make use of the massive bathtub in the master bathroom. Second upside.

Here's the third:

Kori looks up at him, a beautiful, broad smile breaking on her face. "Hi, baby!"

She's dressed very prettily today. Her thick mane of fiery hair is gathered high in a pony, the visor she'd been wearing earlier in the morning nowhere to be seen. She'd switched the polo for a tank top that Dick eyes appreciatively for how low it sits on her chest, but she'd kept her tennis skirt and high socks on. The skirt, a beautiful baby pink, is pulled up enough by the movement of her hips that Dick can see the the straps of her harness peeking under the fabric. Pink to match.

You, in contrast, are wearing nothing. Bent over the kitchen island, hands clawing at the other edge, your face contorts in a dry sob as Kori drives her hips into yours, relentless. Dick can tell you've been at this for a while. Kori smooths a hand over your lower back, happily loving, and you make the weak effort to pull yourself to your elbows. This regales Dick with a glimpse of your chest, spilling over the marble and covered in little bruises. Experience means he can picture Kori pressing her glossy mouth to your skin, your brows knotting as she sucks, how you cradle her head in your arms like she's something precious. He imagines you held her there against you, trying to keep her entertained until Kori's patience ran out and she abandoned diner for a bite of you.

Dick admires the vision the two of you make, watching Kori bend over your body to press a kiss to your shoulder and then bite down over the same spot. The jostling must make the strap go deeper because you keen and kick your legs a little. Kori laughs, pets your hair, turns her face to Dick with a mischievous grin in her face. Dick's heart flutters a storm.

"Pretty, right?" She says proudly.

"Kori," you gasp, bending your arm back to grab at her. Kori grips your hand in hers, presses a kiss against it. "Ko—ah! Kori!"

Kori nuzzles against your neck. "More?"

Dick thinks it's quite the opposite—you look so spent—but then, like always, you go against his expectations. You nod, once, twice, in quick succession, altogether too desperately for someone who Dick is sure has to have come at least three times so far tonight. His mouth feels dry. Kori smiles again, and straightens up. She grips your hips, lithe fingers digging into the fat at your sides, and pulls out almost entirely. The strap is big, Starfire purple glossy with your slick. Kori smirks down at your lower back and slams back in. You cry out, head lolling down. Dick wants—wants to be there, to bite the flesh that spills over between them, wants to kiss Kori's knuckles, wants to join the both of you.

So he does. That's the easy thing about this. After all the hardship, he gets to join you.

He finishes unbuttoning his shirt but doesn't remove it. You like to take it off yourself, he remembers, though he doubts you'll have the strength. He walks over to Kori's side, heat simmering low in his belly. She perks up when she sees him approach, already leaning over you when he gets to her. Dick grins into the welcome kiss, taking Kori's face in his and licking into her mouth. Kori's response is immediate and enthusiastic, almost forceful—happy to see him. Happy to be with him. Dick's heart hammers in his chest. She makes him feel like a boy.

He tilts Kori's head back, fingers slotting under her jaw. Kori opens up with little resistance, going easy and pliant. Long gone is the taste of her lipstick, and instead all that remains is the familiar taste of Kori, a drink he would walk a desert for, and underneath, just a little bit of you. Dick chases the fading hint of your presence, the salt of your skin, the sweetness of your mouth, not to replace it with his own but to greet it. He is, perhaps, a little too forceful, but Kori moans when a hint of teeth makes its presence, and Dick likes the sound so much he feels his control slipping, trying desperately to be close, closer—

You whine beneath them. Kori hasn't exactly stopped, but the pace's all over the place and you clearly resent it. Dick breaks the kiss, forehead against Kori's, and they both chuckle. Glancing down, he sees you try to fuck yourself back onto the strap.

"That's hot," he says, voice thick.

Kori laughs, slaps him on the shoulder. "You're being a distraction."

"Sorry," he says, charming smile dancing in his face. "Let me watch?"

This close, the view is certainly engaging. Kori puts in a bit of flair for his benefit, drawing back a little so he can see the way her strap splits you apart. Dick holds up her skirt, peers down as she rocks into you in shallow, quick bursts. You're obscenely wet, folds glistening and fluttering around her. You hang your head down, a litany of Kori, Kori spilling out your mouth. The sticky film of your release webs over the strap as she pulls out and Dick knows Kori hasn't pulled out entirely since she first slid into you. If she didn't start fucking you here, then she must've carried you over here, the one place in the whole apartment where she could bend you over and have you teetering on your tiptoes. The strain on your legs means he'll have to massage them later and he feels himself throb with the thought of his hands on you.

Watching is a treat. Listening is almost better. You're never loud, at the beginning. All this began in shadowed corners and far off alcoves, hiding first from each other and then from everyone else. You're accustomed to reeling it in, not showing a reaction—the first few months of your relationship consisted of heated glances, passing brushes, and wandering hands under tables. Perhaps Dick and Kori did you a disservice, pulling you against shelves and pressing a hand over your mouth, enjoying far too much the way your eyes rolled back when your moans melted against their skin.

But if they work you enough, you stop caring. You let out your voice like you're doing now, a litany of delirious thought broken by choked moaning. He likes this about you, the way you always want to respond, to show that you're present. You fight so hard to be here with them. Kori shuffles on her feet, thinks better of it, and reaches down to grab one of your calves and fold your leg over the counter. You're halfway to falling, knuckles tight gripping onto the edge, and this new angle opens you up marvelously. Dick is hard as a rock and has to palm himself over his slacks not to lose it. He wants to taste. He wants to be inside you. He can barely form a thought.

You sob. It's real tears now. He feels lightheaded.

Kori presses deep and then goes almost all the way out, teasing. The flesh of your ass bounces when she thrusts back in, chasing you off the counter. Dick watches it jiggle, throbs in his pants. He reaches out, big hand splayed over a cheek, careful that his watch doesn't nick at your skin. Hm. Spreads you open a little more. His thumb rubs a little at your entrance, but Kori growls at him for butting in, and Dick moves his finger upward, to the little pucker there. You don't do this often, preferring to take them by turns, but he thinks…

He circles the rim, and then presses in. Just a little.

"Ah—!" You gasp, head thrown back. "Wait—ah!"

Mm. Dick thinks, throat thick with hunger. Maybe later.

"You said you were only going to watch," Kori chides. Might as well have told him to wait his turn.

Dick rolls his eyes, but acquiesces. Removes his thumb from your ass, not without a little squeeze, kisses Kori in the cheek and rounds the corner to the other side of the island.

You're holding on for dear life. Someone had the sense to take the spoon jar out of the way, but with the kitchen island empty, you have very little in which to find purchase. Dick approaches you slowly, carefully, so as not to spook you. He knows you're probably not all there right now. He settles in front of you, a move he imagines only seems to you as a shadow falling over you. You lift your head up, blinking out tears. This close he can see how wrecked you are. He moves into your space, cradling your face in his hands.

"Dick?" You croak. Your eyelashes stick together. Your cheeks are hot under his hands.

"Hello, sweetheart," he says.

"You're home," you say, moving as if to reach for him, but afraid to fall.

"I am," he hums. A wave of overwhelming affection passes over him. "Do you want a kiss?"

You nod obediently. Dick moves to kiss you, sweet and languid. You open up to him just as easily as Kori did, and Dick wonders at his luck, but he doesn't push you. He pulls back, strokes his thumbs over your cheeks. You close your eyes, and he presses a kiss to your eyelids, to your forehead, tilts your face and another to your cheek. You take his sweetness with a little gasp, and then return to search for his mouth.

The kiss lasts only a little, as you slip and have to grab onto his shoulders not to crash against the marble. Dick settles you against his chest, angles you so Kori can ram into you the way she likes it. Kori's really into it now, eyes closed, brows knotted. You grasp onto the front of his shirt, hide your face in the juncture of his neck. My sweet angel, he thinks, and kisses the top of your hair.

"You like it when Kori fucks you?" He asks, a whisper at your ear. Kori can probably hear, but he keeps his voice low anyway. You whine into his neck. Dick smooths a hand over the back of your hair. "You like it?"

"I— nhg—do," you struggle.

"It's good?" He strokes your temple. "Kori's cock is good, huh?"

You nod. "S'good." Your brow furrows, but there's a worrisome quality to it.

"Yeah?" Dick prompts.

"You—fuck, nh—you wanna…?" You trail off, but it's clear you're offering him to go next with Kori. Dick smiles, almost giggles. It's so like you to offer.

"I wanna see you cum," he says. The way you shiver against him tells him not only how you feel about that, but also that you're close. He rests his hand at your nape, holds you in place. "Want you in my arms, wanna feel you spasm against me. You look so good like this, do you know? I bet you feel amazing. Can't wait to be inside you."

"Want you too," you pant, legs spreading open just a little more. Like you'd take him too if he wanted to slip it in. Dick manages not to hump the island, but it's a very near thing. He has to kiss you, though. It's a sloppy kiss, a wet slide of mouths that turns into Dick swallowing the pretty sounds you make.

"You're gonna cum for me, right?" He says, petting your hair. He feels you tense in his arms, sees Kori piston into you in response. "You're gonna cum for me so I can taste it?"

"Dick, Dick—," you gasp, digging your nails into his shoulders. "I'm gonna—Kori, I'm—"

You come with a little whimper, a garbled mix of both their names in your mouth. Kori fucks you through it, while Dick smooths a hand down your back and presses kisses against your forehead. Enviable teamwork. Slowly, he feels your breath even out, and you pull yourself up and off him just a little. Coming back to yourself. Dick still hovers. You almost slump back against him when Kori finally, finally slips out of you.

"Good?" He says, stroking your shoulder. You nod. He smirks as he helps you cross your legs over to this side of the island. "Started early today, huh?"

"You were late," you say peevishly, taking care not to fall. "Are you gonna take a bath now?"

"What a polite way to say I smell."

"You do," Kori says, bouncing over to your side. You open your arms automatically, and she nuzzles against you like a happy kitten.

She hasn't taken the harness off, so it's a little funny. The hem of her skirt is wet with your release, which is a little less funny. In fact, seeing the two of you kiss, so sweet and pretty, the less funny it all feels. He's still so fucking hard in his pants he's a little surprised there isn't a wet spot through his boxers. He sticks to your other side, trades a few kisses with you and Kori and you again.

When his hand sneaks towards your clit, you part with Kori and smack his hand in irritation. "Let me catch my breath, won't you?"

"You said you'd let me taste you," he complains.

"You can have a taste," Kori says, pointing down at the strap hanging from her harness, still covered in your cum. The three of you share a look.

You cross your legs expectantly. Dick swallows.

"Guess the bath will take a little longer."

He sinks to his knees.

[torifuckingspring]

tryna strike a chord and is probably A MINOOOOOOR

[rusty-gloinks]

joy and whimsy

[fireheartpages]

survived | b.d.

bodhi durran x reader chapter five. series masterlist summary: everyone has their demons, you just chose to run from yours. straight to basgiath war college. and definitely not towards the grinning tall, dark, and handsome marked rider that seemed too kind to be in a hardened place like the rider's quadrant. when you catch his attention and bond a conundrum of a dragon, you finally feel like you can catch your breath. until your signet develops. word count: 2.4k notes: second person pov, reader uses she/her pronouns, has a dirty dancing nickname and a last name. this one’s kinda heavy! mentions of struggling with self worth and trauma, talks about death and an allusion to suicide. if you hear someone buzzing with excitement, it's just me, don't worry! this is the idea i had stuck in my head, for quite a few reasons, and i wanted so badly to get it out on page and now its in my hands ah. not even kidding when i say this concept was eating me alive form the inside out. this feels like the closing chapter, so tbh idk if im gonna write anything more. if i come up with something, or anyone has any requests, i’ll get my pen to page tho :)

You were a good student. A great one, even.

You were top of most classes, feeling like you needed to prove something, and if you weren’t top, one of your friends were, and you were right behind them. And it was true—you were an incredible rider. You could stand on Shocair’s back, and shift your weight and she would bank with the direction. You’d taken up archery, another thing you excelled at. Your aim could use some improvement, but you were getting better. A little more practice, and you could consider yourself a decent shot. And despite your signet not developing yet, you were perfecting your smaller magics. And at sparring—

At sparring, you were okay. Kind of.

You could hold your own, and you were quick. Fast feet and good reflexes, but it was as if you didn’t know how to use those skills.

You were not top of challenges, to say the least.

“Yield!” you gasp, face to the mat as a boy from Second Wing attempts to crush your windpipe. “I yield!”

He lets up, laughing at you, and you roll onto your back, catching your breath. You blink a few times, willing the spots from your vision, but it gets darker and—

No, there’s just someone standing over you.

“Hi, Bodhi,” you rasp up to him.

“Hi, Baby,” he says, extending a hand.

“Hi.” You’re panting a little, but at least your vision is focusing.

“That was…”

“Pathetic. I know.” You wipe the sweat from your forehead and a tear from your eye as your wrist gives protest. You probably smashed it with a bad punch.

“I was not going to say that,” he says, grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. That corner of his lips was one of your favorite things at Basgiath.

“It’s okay,” you say. “At least I’m aware of it.”

“I can help,” he says, a little too quick to be casual, but you don’t mind. It makes you smile.

Your brows raise. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He drops your hand, and only then did you realize he was still holding it. “We can practice sparring.”

“You just… want to help me?” You furrow your brow. “Out of the kindness of your heart?”

“Uh—” He falters. “If you teach me how to ride like you do, I’ll teach you how to spar.”

You nod slowly. “Sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” you say, fighting a losing battle with your smile. His eyes were dancing. “When do we start?”

“Now.” He offers you a hand, and leads you over to an empty mat.

“You’re quick, and you’re smart, and when you win, it’s by outsmarting your opponent,” he says over his shoulder, coming to stand in the middle of the mat. He removes his daggers, tossing them on the floor beside the mat and leaving one strapped to his arm. He spins to face you. “Easy money.” He taps his arm where the remaining dagger sits. “Take it from me.”

You shake your head. “Okay.”

You lunge, going for his feet, and he jumps, landing and taking a knee that knocks your own until you’re kneeling, and he’s on top of you, pressing you to the floor. You feel his laugh rumble through his chest against your back, his breath on the side of your face.

“Did I say easy?” he teases.

“You dick—” You struggle, but it’s futile. He lays there for a beat longer, pinning you with his body weight, and you have a flash of an image in your mind, him on top of you, in between your hips—

“Focus.” It's Shocair. Your next exhale is a thanks.

He relents, standing up, offering you a hand, and you’re barely on your feet again before he twists it behind you.

“Take me down,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You—you falter. Fuck. This guy is distracting.

He wrenches your arm away, pushing you away from him, and you’re helpless as you step out and back into him. He pulls you close, and there’s no viciousness in it, no mirth—he’s near gentle as he wraps an arm around you, over your neck, and his other hand disables your free one. He kicks the back of your knee again and beings you both down until you’re kneeling.

“What do you do now, Baby?” It’s your name, but it’s so obviously not, and he’s grinning. This asshole is kicking your ass without even trying and he’s still. Fucking. Grinning.

Gods, you suck at this.

No, actually, fuck this.

You twist your neck so you’re nose to nose with him—kinda, you have to look up to see his face, and he’s already looking down at you. You suck in a breath, looking at his lips. His grip loosens.

Your twist, dragging your joined hands behind you until you’re facing him and you let your body weight fall back. He lands on top of you, right as you knee him in the balls.

He doubles over with a gasp, and you take the opportunity to head butt him. You hear the impact, and you shove him off of you. You jump up, snatching the dagger from his arm band.

“I did it!” you shout, victorious.

“That’s my girl,” Shocair sends down the bond with a beat of pride.

Bodhi rolls over, clutching his face, and you offer him a hand. He takes it, and it takes more strength than it should to get him standing. You rub your forehead where you had hit him, a little sore. This man is pure muscle, even in his face.

He takes his hand away, and it’s bloody. Your eyes widen, a gasp slipping from you.

“Oh my gods. I’m so sorry!” You rush to him, hands cradling the side of your face.

“Nah,” he says, grinning even now. “All’s fair in love and war.”

Your stomach clenches at the words. “Please tell me I didn’t break your nose.”

He shakes his head. “I think the bleeding’s stopping, so, no, not broken.” He tips his head back.

“No, wait,” you say, placing a hand on the back of his neck. “Forward, or else all the blood is gonna end up in your stomach.”

Bodhi flinches. “I don’t have anything to stop the bleeding.”

You glance around frantically, looking for something, anything, before landing on your own t-shirt. You grasp Bodhi’s dagger—now yours, by the laws of the codex—in your hand and rip a band of it, cropping it to your navel before handing the black fabric to him. He takes it and presses it to his nose.

“You did not have to do that,” he says, words muffled.

“I broke your nose. Yes, I did.” You gently pull his hand away, examining his face, cradling his jaw with one hand. Besides being beautiful and a bit red, and smeared with blood, you didn’t see any bruising.

His eyes trace your expression, landing on your lips, and he just… stares. And stares.

“I think you’re okay,” you say softly.

“I know I am.” He’s grinning again, invisible string tugging that corner up. Your hands are on his face, and this is your chance—you run your thumb along his lips as if you could smooth out his smile—but you don’t want to. The way it tilts to one side is quite possibly your favorite thing about him.

“You have a bruise forming.” His thumb comes up, brushing the skin of your temple—presumably from where you had nearly broken his nose.

“It’s your snout,” you whisper.

"Hey." His grin softens, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to the bruise.

“Shit,” he says, reaching up and wiping the cloth over it. “Sorry, blood.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling out of you as your heart rate kicks up again. And he just stares at you again, like his gaze is stuck.

“I love your laugh,” he says, like a secret, like it’s a whispered admission.

“Your smile,” you responded, equally as quiet, and suddenly you’re little kids at a sleepover, sharing secrets by candlelight, “it’s my favorite thing about you.”

That just widened his grin, and you let your ambitions run free, running your thumb over his bottom lip, cleaning off the blood that had spilled as you beam back at him.

He’s looking at your lips, and he leans in.

Someone drops a weight across the gym, and it makes you jump, creating space between the two of you, and there’s some mix of longing and disappointment in his eyes as you stop back.

“I should go,” you say. “Sorry. About your nose.”

“Sorry about your head,” he says.

You’re walking away, grabbing your flight jacket when he calls, “Tomorrow? Can I see you tomorrow?”

“Let’s go flying tomorrow evening,” you say over your shoulder. “I have a thing or two to show you.”

“I’ll be an eager student!” he says, and you smile all the way back to your dorm.

You let a mender fix the blossoming bruise on your temple when your vanity wins out. The next morning, Shocair has some choice words for you, all of which you ignore, in favor of playing the almost kiss over and over again in your head.

(You don’t even bother to block you out, and it’s something like excitement, or contentment that fills your chest every time you think about how he was looking at you, and you realize it wasn’t your emotions at all.)

You’re sitting at the table in the library, next to Violet and Rhiannon as you comb over another textbook on signets. You and Violet had taken to sharing notes you find, seeing if you can figure out how to get your signets to develop. Rhi is practically doing Violet's physics homework for her.

Dain is here, for some reason, probably because he’s panting after Violet—and everyone can see it. You’re pretty sure this is some attempt to get back in her good graces. She’s having none of it. The four of you are sitting in silence.

You’re just on a rather interesting part about the reflection of a signet on the rider when you hear,

“I just don’t get it.”

You turn, a little unable to suppress the way your nose scrunches up at Dain’s voice. “What did you just say to me?”

Dain looks at you, confused. “What?”

“Did you not—”

“Hush.” That was Shocair.

“Thought I heard something,” you say, the panic down the bond making you heed the warning. “Sorry, never mind.”

The girls don’t even spare you a second glance, just go back to the work in front of them.

“New subtleties must be taken into account when we investigate causality in quantum mechanics and relativistic quantum field theory in particular. In those two theories, causality—” It’s Rhi’s voice, and you look up, wondering why she’s reading aloud, but—

Her lips aren’t moving.

“Despite these subtleties, causality remains an important and valid concept in—”

“Shocair,” you send down the bond.

“Take a deep breath,” she says into your mind.

You do as told.

“Stretch, like you’re tired.”

You again do as she tells you, throwing in a fake-stifled yawn as you do so.

“Get your things and come to the flight field. Now. Make up an excuse.”

“I’m getting tried,” you say, your pulse kicking up.

All three sets of eyes turn to you.

“I’m gonna head out.”

“Should I—”

“Do you want me to walk you back to your dorm?” Dain asks.

“No,” you say, a little too quick. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“That was weird.”

“I hope she’s okay.”

“Does she—”

You clamp your eyes shut, and you try your best not to run from the room.

“Shocair.”

“Get here. Now.”

“Tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” you send to her, panic rising in your throat.

“Run.”

You do so, taking off and making it to the flight field in mere minutes.

“Shocair!” you shout.

She’s in front of you, navy scales glittering in the morning light. She wordlessly extends a leg to you, and you climb on, willing tears not to fall.

She takes off, and you’re not even sure where you’re going. She just flies, and you don’t unseat. Don’t stand, don’t ride the wind as if you were the one with wings. Just grip her pommel for dear life until she lands on a cliff side, leg extended for you to dismount.

You step off, and there isn’t a soul around you. The cliffs almost remind you of home. There’s no ocean at their base, but the view is beautiful nonetheless.

Did she bring you here so you could end it yourself, before anyone else has the chance to? To give you the dignity of choosing your own death?

“Tell me this isn’t my signet,” you say, a whisper on the wind, and you hear shuffling behind you. When you turn, Shocair’s head is lowered, her eyes lidded as the first tear falls. She blinks slowly, and it’s like an apology as she touches the tip of her nose to the center of your chest.

“Tell me I’m not an inntinnsic,” you plead, as if you could ask the gods themselves to change it.

Shocair says nothing, just nuzzles against your chest.

“I survived,” you say. It comes out a sob. “I survived the rebellion. I survived my father, and fleeing to the other side of the province. I survived parapet, and the Gauntlet, and Threshing, and every challenge I’ve been faced with—all of it. I have survived, and my own mind is going to be what kills me?”

“I will protect you.”

“You can’t protect me from the law!” You’re crying in earnest now, and you’re pretty sure this sort of weakness is what would prompt another dragon to kill their rider, but Shocair is looking at you with her own mix of worry and rage—and something akin to an apology. “They’ll find out! And if they don’t, what am I supposed to do? Pretend like I never developed a signet, and it just never affects me?”

She blinks, and shifts until your palm lays flat against her nose, like she had at Threshing. When she’d chosen you.

“I chose you for your mind,” she says, repeating those words—the ones from that day.

You sink to your knees, tears streaming down your face. Shocair settles into the grass in front of you, and you bend until your temple is touching her nose. Sobs wrack your body, and you can’t breathe, but it doesn’t matter. The world had stopped spinning, anyway.

This was it. This was the end. There was no surviving this.

[bespoke-nautilus]

I fully blame @systlin and @batsintheshadows for this

Have a Tradwife Sauron, being completely ignored by Morgoth

[l3xdrigo]

The concept of Zero

Inspired by someone commenting that like the number zero, Vertin or the role of the timekeeper itself is a concept.

The concept of zero being that it is the placeholder for writing numbers, it is the origin but it is also the one that is merely a concept to get more of an understanding or guide to natural numbers to integers. It is the invisible line from the positive to negative, it is the middle ground.

The concept of zero in a more mathematical sense is that it is a additive to other numbers to make them bigger (ex:100) but the number zero itself is a non existent and empty number, like an equator, it is an imaginary line that helps us grasp the locations and placements of continents. Both are imaginary, both are just man made concepts to guide us to a better understanding.

Vertin's soul number is zero, she is unchanging and is considered one of the middle ground between humans and Arcanist. In a sense, she is a guide to most, but once the storm reaches its end, she will become nothing more than a concept, the role of the timekeeper was created for the very purpose of recording the beginning and ends of eras and braving the storm to one day create the immunity for it. The moment that there is no need for the timekeeper anymore, either the storm ending or finding a full reliable immunity towards it, the more people that gain the ability, the more Vertin's role becomes more of the ordinary.

The role of the timekeeper will soon fade and become only an invisible line, the origin of how it first began, on how civilization reached the immunity of the storm, and how the threat of the storm ended. In the far future where the rain doesn't rise, the term timekeeper and the name "Vertin" will be nothing more of a concept to what once was a catastrophic phenomena that hinder the progression of time, a subtle reminder of how she guided the freedom of humans and Arcanist out of the grueling storm, and into a world where the rain falls and the sun rises; Vertin is the concept of zero.

[cumulo-ghoulll]

Flat pack furniture . . .

Copia x gn!reader

You and Copia try and put a bed frame together and he's not as useful as he thinks he is...

"C, you're literally screwing it on backwards . . ."

"I am not! Look! This piece goes there!"

You and Copia had been trying to put together your new bed frame for almost an hour and were both extremely close to giving up. He thought a little DIY project would do the both of you good but he was sorely mistaken.

"Copia, trust me! It goes there! Do you want some help?" you laugh while Papa sighs in frustration as he begins to unscrew the leg he'd clearly put in wrong.

"No, it's fine, I've got it! Trust me! I'm an expert!" he frowned. You murmur in disagreement. After fiddling with a screw for a little while, he lets out a low grunt in frustration. "I give up." sliding away and crossing his arms dramatically. "You do it." he mumbled.

"Alright alright!". You finish with the frame in around half an hour, spurred on by the little kisses Copia places on you knuckles, cheek, forehead, nose, and lips whenever he hands you a screw or you finished a piece.

"So clever, amore! Look at that!" He has finally cheered up by the time you had finish. You try to flip the frame over but you can't quite do it. Copia notices you struggling and rushes over to help. "No need to strain yourself, doll. Let me help your little noodle arms out!" he grinned.

"Noodle arms??" you gasped.

"Mmhm! Look at those lil twigs you got going on there!" he joked, squeezing your upper arm. Copia quickly flips the bed frame over and moves it into place. You drag the mattress onto the frame and Copia throws the covers on. You both sigh as the two of you sink into the bed. "I think I've done a pretty good job!" Copia boasts.

"You? Barely did any of this!" you pushed him playfully.

"I handed you the screws! And, I was moral support!! I was very useful!!"

"sure . . ."

"Thank you for doing this!" he grins as he plants another kiss on your cheek.

"You're welcome, Papa"

"So uhhh, how about we test this new bed out then, eh?" he winks as he elbows you.

"Yeah, I'm having a nap" you yawn as you close your eyes.

"You're the worst!" You know he doesn't mean it. You can hear him smiling as he speaks. Once again, he places a light kiss on your forehead as he wraps his arms around you and buries his head into the nape of your neck. His breath becomes softer as he begins to fall asleep. You'd never been to heaven but you assumed this is what it felt like.

[sleepymarimo]

since shiu has made it clear that he’ll only associate w toji either in hell or on business…

imagine toji strolling around tokyo and stumbling upon you, another assassin for hire, and shiu having lunch together, only to find out that the two of you go out on weekly coffee dates?

cue toji trying to find your meet up spots every week, because he wants in (and he’s also salty about not getting an invite).

[hellwurld]

do u guys ever think about how the partners of those on the qsmp are gods and/or godesses in the lore. unrelated did u know that tommyinnit and tubbo underscore are legally married. just thought that was interesting.

Tubbo is, admittedly, not the best person. 

He’s kind of a bit of a dick. He’s reckless, doesn’t have much regard for his own personal safety, let alone others, and he can be callous and rude and prickly and blunt. He’s not afraid to push buttons, literally or metaphorically, and he can be... explosive. Destructive, even. To say the least.

On further introspection, Tubbo realizes that he’s actually a lot more than a bit of a dick. 

He doesn’t deserve this though. Probably.

Tubbo can’t remember much, but he’s almost entirely sure that he’s done nothing to deserve this. Literally no crime ever committed, ever, is worth this punishment.

“I hate you,” Tubbo sighs, for the ninetieth time in the past four minutes, “I hate you so much.” He pulls off his jacket, slipping his arms out of the sleeves and tossing the jacket in the general direction of the prick that can’t quite leave him alone. Tommy recoils at the jacket thrown across his face suddently, letting out a —incredibly cathartic for Tubbo— squak of surprise. Tubbo stomps away, leaving Tommy to reel away in his overblown, exaggerated horror at Tubbo’s dastardly actions, or whatever.

“This is, quite literally, very homophobic of you, Toby,” Tommy says, all faux-shock and concern, like Tubbo will believe him for a second. “Truly just so homophobic, I’m writing a twitlonger as we speak because Jesus, Toby—”

“You’re not even gay!” Tubbo bites out, left eye twitching. He stomps away, leaviTommy gasps at this, and Tubbo reminds himself that wringing his neck is not an option, despite it looking more and more appealing by the second.

“Oh, and how do you know that?” Tommy argues, walking right on Tubbo’s heels, “You really can’t base things on stereotypes, Toby, it’s incredibly offensive, you know? Just because I look straight and sound straight and act straight and— Oh, hi Em— say I’m straight doesn’t mean I am. What about me is straight to you?”

“Well, maybe the girlfriend, if I had to hazard a guess,” Tubbo says sarcastically, “Although I suppose that’s not relevant right now?”

He’s joking, obviously, because it’s very relevant.

“Oh Toby— Toby, Toby, Toby. Sweet, young Toby,” Tommy starts, and Tubbo knows he is not planning on stopping, “Of course, that’s not relevant. I’m talking about our marriage!”

“We’re not married,” Tubbo says, for the one-hundred ninetieth time in the last five minutes. 

“Oh, ho-ho, but we are!” Tommy says, and Tubbo weighs the pros and cons of killing himself rapidly and graphically by throwing himself out of the nearest possible window. The pros are not currently outweighing the cons, but with how this conversation is going, they probably will soon.

“Sign the fucking divorce papers, Tommy,” Tubbo sighs, a little angry about how long this has been going on for, but mostly tired and resigned. And angry, because Tommy’s neck is looking so, so wringable right now, but mostly tired.

Tommy just laughs, and disappears in that frustrating, echoey way they all do. Em’s never far behind him, but Tubbo dispairingly turns to her at the kitchen counter anyway, for his own comfort. To her credit, she does offer him a smile, but at best it’s pitying, and at worst it’s amused. Tubbo thinks it might be both.

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I think we both know it’s going to take more than that to get him to sign those papers,” Em says, and Tubbo groans.

“Why don’t you tell him?” Tubbo asks, desperate, but knowing the answer anyway.

“Because this way, it’s—”

“One thousand times funnier,” Tubbo finishes for her. He lacks the energy to even attempt to mock Tommy’s tone, but Tubbo hears his voice ringing in his head anyway. Em laughs, and then she disappears too. Tubbo squints at the place where they both were, like if he stares for long enough they will both reappear as reasonable, normal, willing-to-sign-the-divorce-papers sort of people. They don’t, because God hates Tubbo, and the world hates Tubbo, and the universe hates Tubbo.

The only thing that the universe did right was make sure that Tommy didn’t have the foresight to make him sign a prenup. At least Tubbo can get Tommy’s money when he finally signs the divorce papers.

If he ever signs the divorce papers.

Tubbo slams his head against the wall again.

-

Tubbo_: never get married

pactw: ?

Tubbo_: dont do it pac

pactw: ???????

[moralchampion]

Bad bitch with a baddie friend

[iamstuckinthevoid]

isnt this what life's all about

isn't this a dream come true

isn't this a nightmare toooooooooo

[deepseawave]

obsessed w the tags on ur last reblog

Omgg, thank you haha, it was a quality post so I just had to appreciate it in full force 😂❤️

Can‘t believe someone would actually enjoy my yapping :,D