#they just want to be involved in the chaos

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

Jax’s behavior is legit pretty fascinating

Yes it’s time I ramble about the purple twink.

Fast Food Masquerade did something crazy in that it actually got me to start empathizing with the asshole because Jax’s visible frustration throughout this adventure was too real.

And in fact, it’s why I think Jax was acting so “different” towards the latter half of the episode.

This adventure was Too. Damn. Real.

Now, Jax’s character is actually really simple. He even sums up his whole schtick in the pilot.

“I’m fine with doing whatever, as long as I get to see funny things happen to people.”

Then in a hilarious bit of instant karma, promptly gets hit in the face with a gloink

The “-who aren’t me” part of that self description pretty much goes without saying.

Immediately after this happens, Jax’s little laidback exterior gets so rattled that he suddenly feels the need to take control and starts assigning tasks to everyone. And his casual attitude only returns once he feels like he’s not in any position for ridicule, by redirecting the potential for ridicule onto others. This is his defense mechanism.

Jax needs to feel in control, so he deliberately controls whatever situation he’s in to get the results he wants.

Something that I’ve always appreciated about Jax from a meta perspective is that he’s a character who actively moves the story forward, usually because he wants to satisfy his urge to create chaos.

And that’s the main thing about Jax, he’s really destructive.

Like…almost pointlessly destructive.

But, y’know what? It makes sense. Because he’s in a video game.

Where else can you be as needlessly and excessively chaotic than in a game where you can do pretty much anything because nothing is real?

Jax can hurt whoever and wreck whatever because if he’s living by video game logic, then there are no lasting consequences to his actions.

Jax even goes so far as to refer to Pomni, and by extension the other trapped humans, as a “character” in the pilot. Which goes to show how little he wants to consider them as people.

You can’t really hurt a character. And if used correctly, a character can be entertaining.

And that’s all Jax really wants out of his new life in the Circus, entertainment. Because the worst thing you can be while stuck in a game is be bored.

But of course, even in games, your actions have certain consequences that are just unavoidable.

And Episode 4 really beat Jax’s yellow teeth in with that not-so-fun little reminder. Because this bit right here

Pretty much was the precedent for how bad Jax was gonna get it this time.

And it all starts with Gangle absolutely refusing to let his usual bullshit slide by personally making sure that there will be consequences.

This is the first crack in Jax’s mask, he’s visibly concerned and annoyed that he no longer is allowed to be himself lest he risks getting punished. And even more baffling is that for the first time, Gangle asserts her power over him. She actually does something about his behavior, ripping the wind right out of his sails. Not only that but she continually enforces her authority, making it harder on him to get the upper hand again.

Now his interaction with Zooble is really interesting, because it’s the first time we see him at his most normal.

I don’t think he’s trying to tease them here, I feel like he’s genuinely curious about Zooble’s way of “playing” the game, because remember, it’s been a long time since they’ve been on an adventure together, if at all. Zooble’s excuse of wanting to avoid punishment makes sense because they witnessed first hand that Caine’s unstable personality is capable of some legitimate danger.

Of course, Jax believes that there isn’t any real risk involved. The only immediate menace to him and his current desire to just get through the day, is Gangle and her new mask.

At this point he’s not trying to be destructive or disruptive. He’s fully apathetic, because being forced to act like a minimum wage salary employee is not fun in the slightest. He can’t make things fun for himself, so he refuses to participate entirely.

As the clock mocks him with every slow tick, his mask chips more and more.

Jax isn’t saying this to be calculatingly rude or hurtful, he’s not doing this to upset Gangle. He’s being sincere, which is why he’s not smiling.

Because Gangle is much easier to push around and go along with whatever he wants her to do when she’s in Tragedy mode. She’s more “fun” that way.

In other words, he really hates this new dynamic they’ve got going on.

But this little comment, just makes things even worse for him because now Gangle goes from enforcing her authority to straight up abusing it by letting herself abuse him for a change.

It’s crazy how Jax’s main concern here is making sure this torture scene is just between them. He really hates being humiliated, more so than getting physically hurt.

The man has some serious issues, but c’mon we already knew that.

So Jax is finally getting a taste of his own medicine and it completely emasculates him. To the point where he just defaults to doing whatever Gangle tells him to do just to avoid feeling like that again. Now the mask is fully stripped off, he’s openly exasperated and powerless. On top of that he has no real impulse to ridicule or ruffle anyone’s feathers anymore, because for the first time in probably a long while, he’s even more miserable than everyone else.

And what does misery love?

Company

As someone who’s worked in retail for a while, nothing helps keep you sane more than having a little of bit of camaraderie when struggling to survive in corporate hell.

Something that really stood out to me in this episode is the limited use in background music, especially when in Spudsy’s, where you either get muzak to sell the ambiance of a public eatery or silence with the occasional machinery noise.

And yeah, that’d be enough to make shit as immersive as possible. It’s not a coincidence that the restaurant looks like a McDonald’s when Gooseworx even said it was directly modeled after it. It’s uncanny, how real this setup feels.

Uncomfortably uncanny.Jax seething at the clock is a relatable struggle.

The mask immediately comes back on once Jax no longer has any obligation to stick around.

But Jax can’t even enjoy his freedom. His day is officially over, but the sting of the experience still lingers. The adventure wasn’t just boring or frustrating, it was humbling, in every terrible way. This wasn’t a game, it was real life.

And I think the last kick in the teeth was this license plate waiting for him in the parking lot (Why did Caine make them drive “home”? That’s just extra)

One is the loneliest number

Jax doesn’t hide the fact that he’s an asshole, he’s almost proud of it. He practically relishes getting a rise out of everyone. He is well aware that nobody likes him, but I think this where he starts realizing that it actually bothers him.

Everyone has talked about that very brief moment where Jax’s expression changed towards the end of Candy Carrier Chaos, when Ragatha was talking about Kaufmo’s funeral and we get to see him actually get sad for a change, before immediately shaking it off and stomping away in irritation.

Jax showed no concern over Kaufmo’s abstraction in the pilot, so why would he feel sad about it in that moment? Does he secretly care about his fellow humans and just doesn’t want to admit it?

Maybe. But personally, I think the others choosing to morn those who’ve abstracted like they’re dead makes him seriously uncomfortable. Because it serves as a reminder that even in this world, there are still major consequences when some things aren’t taken seriously.

Jax doesn’t want to consider real life consequences. None of them even look like real people, so why should he bother treating everyone like real people?

So when he sees everyone else getting closer and being good to each other, it’s annoying and weird. The idea that they need to look out for one another feels pathetic. Treating abstraction seriously means it’s a real danger, and that would mean that he’s also susceptible to experiencing it one day.

And when you’ve built up a reputation over making everyone miserable, who’s gonna wanna remember you?

In a show that’s clearly all about building relationships, Jax’s destructive behavior is really gonna cost him.

[lxndonorris]

games - Franco Colapinto

Y/N x Franco Colapinto Theme: Smutty, Teasing, Touching playing teasing games with Franco word count: 3520+ taglist: @game-set-canet @cloud-55 open for requests :)

The hum of the paddock was always the same. Mechanics bustled between the garages, engineers huddled over laptops, and the faint smell of burnt rubber and motor oil lingered in the air. 

It was race weekend, and as a member of Williams' strategy department, your mind was consumed with tire degradation rates, fuel calculations, and weather forecasts.

This weekend was different, though; Franco Colapinto had been brought in as a replacement for the remainder of the season. It wasn't uncommon for drivers to shuffle in and out, but his arrival left you with mixed feelings.

While his talent was undeniable, his presence also underscored the volatility of the sport. 

One moment you're on top; the next, you're replaced.

You tried to keep your head down and focus on your work, but Franco had other ideas.

From the moment he stepped into the Williams garage, he exuded confidence—maybe too much. His charming smile seemed to disarm everyone around him, and his jokes quickly won over the mechanics. 

You wanted to be immune to it. After all, you weren't here to be dazzled by a driver; you were here to perform as best as possible. 

Still, there was something about his energy that made him hard to ignore.

Friday morning was spent poring over practice session data. By the time the clock struck noon, you were desperate for a break. Slipping away from the chaos, you found a quiet corner of the hospitality area. The cool breeze and a cup of coffee were all you needed to reset your mind.

But, of course, that peace was short-lived.

"Found you," came a smooth voice from behind.

You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Franco had a knack for making his presence known.

"What do you want, Colapinto?" You asked, keeping your tone neutral as you sipped your coffee.

"Is that how you greet all our teammates?" He teased, sliding into the chair across from you. 

He didn't wait for an invitation, naturally.

"I'm not sure we're teammates," you countered, setting your cup down. "You're here to drive; I'm here to strategize."

"Semantics," he said with a shrug. "We're both here for the same goal, aren't we?"

His casual confidence was maddening, but you refused to let it get under your skin.

"Did you need something, or are you just here to disrupt my break?"

He grinned, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Maybe I just wanted to get to know you better. You seem... interesting."

"Interesting?" You echoed, raising an eyebrow. "That's vague."

"Charming, sharp, beautiful. Should I go on?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

"Flattery doesn't work on me."

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second," he said, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken. "But if it doesn't, I'll just have to try harder."

It was infuriating how effortlessly he pushed your buttons. And yet, you couldn't deny the thrill of it. 

If he wanted to play this game, you'd make sure you won.

Careful, Franco," you said, letting your fingers brush over his arm as you stood. "You don't want to bite off more than you can chew."

His breath hitched just barely—a subtle reaction, but one you didn't miss. He tilted his head, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. 

"I think I can handle it."

"Good luck, then," you said, walking away before he could respond.

---

The day went on, and you managed to avoid Franco for the most part. But by the time the evening rolled around, you found yourself thinking about your brief encounter. 

He was charming, funny, and annoyingly attractive. And yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that getting involved with him was a bad idea. He was a temporary replacement, after all. What was the point in letting yourself get tangled up in something that might not last?

But Franco wasn't the type to give up easily.

---

Saturday morning brought more practice sessions and strategy meetings. You were buried in data when Franco strolled into the engineering office, his helmet tucked under one arm.

"You look busy," he said, leaning casually against the desk.

"I am," you replied without looking up.

"Maybe I can help," he offered, his tone playful.

"Unless you've suddenly become an expert in race strategy, I doubt it."

"I might surprise you," he said, stepping closer.

You glance up at him, your lips curving into a smirk.

"Oh, I'm sure you're full of surprises."

His eyes flickered to your lips, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to crackle. Then, just as quickly, you returned your focus to the laptop in front of you, leaving him standing there.

But Franco wasn't one to be ignored. He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear.

"You know, if you keep teasing me like this, I might start to think you enjoy it."

You turned to face him, your faces inches apart. 

"And if I do?"

His grin widened. "Then I'd say we're going to have a lot of fun."

With that, he straightened up and walked away, leaving you to wonder what exactly you'd gotten yourself into.

---

A few hours later, the buzz of post-qualifying energy filled the air as team members analyzed data and discussed strategies for the race.

The car had shown steady performance, and Franco had managed to secure P13—a good result considering the car's limitations this season and his inexperience with it all.

You sat in the corner of the engineering office, reviewing telemetry and tire degradation patterns when the door swung open, revealing Franco. His white racing suit clung to him, the logos proudly displayed on his chest. His hair was damp, slightly tousled from the helmet, and a faint sheen of sweat made him look effortlessly rugged.

"P13," he announced with a grin, his voice bright as he strode into the room. "Not bad for the new guy, huh?"

You glance up from your screen and nodded.

"Not bad at all. You might even be worth keeping around."

His grin widened as he leaned against the desk beside you.

"High praise coming from you. I was beginning to think I'd never win you over."

"You still haven't," you said, letting your lips curve into a smirk. "But you're off to a decent start."

He chuckled, his dark eyes locked on yours.

"I'll take that as a challenge."

As the room cleared out, people heading off to dinner or more meetings, Franco lingered. His teasing continued, lighthearted at first, but his words grew bolder with each exchange.

"You know," he said, his voice low, "I think you like having me around more than you let on."

"And why would you think that?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because you're still here talking to me instead of running off like everyone else," he said, his tone smug. "Admit it—you’re intrigued."

You leaned back in your chair, studying him.

"Intrigued? Maybe, impressed? Not quite."

His laugh was soft, and he leaned in closer, his arms crossed as he rested them on the desk. 

"You're tough to crack, you know that?"

"Maybe you're just not trying hard enough," you shot back, your tone playful.

Beneath the table, an idea crossed your mind.

Without a word, you let your foot drift toward him. Slowly, deliberately, you dragged the tip of your shoe along his calf. You felt him tense ever so slightly, his smirk faltering for just a fraction of a second before returning, sharper than before.

His eyes darkened, but he played it cool.

"Oh, so that's how you want to play?" he murmured.

You didn't respond, instead letting your foot continue its slow journey up his leg, brushing over his knee and toward his thigh. His breathing quickened, though he did his best to hide it. When your foot reached just beneath the edge of his suit, you stopped, withdrawing just enough to leave him wanting more.

"You were saying?" you asked, your voice innocent.

He cleared his throat, his grin never fading.

"I think you're enjoying this even more than I am."

You tilted your head, feigning indifference. 

"Maybe. Maybe not."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. 

"How about we find out?"

Your heart skipped, but you kept your composure.

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"Meet me later," he said, his words deliberate. "My motorhome."

For a moment, you let the suggestion hang in the air, the weight of it pressing down on both of you. Then, with a coy smile, you leaned back in your chair.

"We'll see."

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he stood. In one swift motion, he unzipped his suit just enough to grant you a glimpse of the blue fireproofs beneath.

"You're going to drive me crazy, aren't you?"

"Only if you're lucky," you replied, watching as he walked away.

As the door closed behind him, you exhaled deeply, your mind racing. You didn't want to admit it, but the thought of meeting him sent a thrill through you that was impossible to ignore.

---

An hour later, you found yourself standing outside Franco's motorhome, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. Your heart was pounding. Was this the right decision? Yet, something about him—his charm, his confidence, his maddening ability to make you second-guess everything—had drawn you here.

You knocked, the sound feeling louder than it should in the quiet paddock. A moment later, the door opened, and there he was.

Franco stood in the doorway, still in his racing gear, the upper half loosely hanging down around his waist. The tight blue Nomex undershirt clung to his chest and arms, highlighting every contour. His hair was still slightly damp, and his grin was as infuriatingly cocky as ever.

"You came," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, his voice laced with amusement.

"You invited me," you replied, your tone light but guarded.

"And I didn't think you'd actually show up," he admitted, stepping aside to let you in. "Come on, make yourself comfortable."

You hesitated for only a second before stepping into the motorhome. It was cozy, the space designed for function but with enough personal touches to make it feel lived-in. A small table and couch sat to one side, a kitchenette on the other. The faint scent of something fresh—maybe soap—lingered in the air.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you turned to find Franco watching you, his arms crossed and that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips.

"Not bad," you said, glancing around. "I expected it to be messier."

He chuckled, stepping closer.

"What can I say? I like to keep things in order. Well, most things."

You raised an eyebrow. "And the things you don't?"

"Those tend to be more fun," he said, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken again.

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

"You're relentless, you know that?"

"And you're impossible to ignore," he countered, closing the distance between you.

The teasing back-and-forth began almost immediately. His fingers brushed against your back as he passed you, a casual touch that sent shivers down your spine. 

You retaliated by letting your hand linger on his arm, tracing the toned muscle beneath the fabric. His grin only widened.

"You're not making this easy," he said, his voice low.

"Good," you replied, leaning against the small table. "I wouldn't want to."

He moved closer, his eyes searching yours as he rested his hands on either side of you, caging you in without actually touching you.

"You're going to drive me insane," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Maybe that's the point."

His gaze dropped to your lips, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension. Slowly, he leaned in, his face inches from yours. Your heart raced, your breath catching as his fingers brushed against your back again, this time more deliberate, more lingering.

You let your hand slide up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. Your fingers drifted to his shoulders, then down his arms, before finally brushing over his thigh.

His breath hitched, his composure faltering ever so slightly, and you knew you had him.

But just as his lips were about to meet yours, you pulled away, stepping aside with a teasing smile.

"Not so fast," you said, your voice light and playful.

His eyes darkened, and he let out a low laugh, shaking his head. 

"You're cruel, you know that?"

"Am I?" You ask innocently, though the gleam in your eyes betrayed you.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mingled with amusement.

"You're going to be the death of me."

You shrugged, moving toward the couch and sitting down, crossing one leg over the other. 

"Maybe. But you'll enjoy every second of it."

Franco stood there for a moment, his hands on his hips, as if deciding whether to let you win this round. Finally, he let out a breath, his smirk returning.

"You're trouble," he said, joining you on the couch, his knee brushing against yours. "And I like it."

You lean closer, your voice a whisper. 

"You have no idea."

The air between you felt electric, the tension thick as you leaned in just enough to close the distance without actually touching him. 

Franco stayed still, watching you with a mix of amusement and anticipation. His restraint was admirable, but you could see the flicker of desire in his eyes. 

He knew you were playing with him, and yet he let you—whether it was curiosity, confidence, or sheer temptation, you couldn't tell.

You let your hands roam over his chest, your fingers trailing along the lines of his toned muscles beneath the fabric of his Nomex shirt. His breath grew shallow, his chest rising and falling in time with the slow, deliberate movements of your hands.

You lingered at his collarbone, letting your fingers drift upward to his neck, where you caressed the sharp line of his jaw. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the faintest hint of a stubble grazing your fingertips.

With your other hand, you let your fingers slide down to his thigh, brushing over the firm muscle just barely. The touch was light, teasing, a mere whisper of contact that made him shift slightly under your hand.

His lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but he didn't. He just watched you, his gaze dark and intense, as if daring you to push him further.

"You're quiet," you said softly, your thumb brushing over the edge of his jaw.

"You're in control," he replied, his voice rougher than usual, a low hum that sent a thrill down your spine. "For now."

The confidence in his tone made you smirk. 

You let your fingers on his thigh press down a little more, moving in slow circles that barely grazed where you knew he wanted them. He shifted again, his composure slipping just enough to make your teasing worth it.

"Franco," you murmured, leaning in so close that your lips nearly brushed his ear. "You're enjoying this too much."

He chuckled, the sound soft but strained.

"You don't know half of it."

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still exploring his jawline while your other hand continued its slow, deliberate movements on his thigh.

His eyes were locked on yours, his restraint remarkable given the circumstances. 

It was a game now—one you weren't sure either of you wanted to win.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of teasing, you leaned in, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that was soft but purposeful. He hesitated yet gave in, his hand moving to the small of your back as he deepened the kiss, his restraint giving way to the desire he'd been holding back.

The moment felt charged, every touch, every movement heightened by the tension that had been building between you.

Your hand on his thigh moved slightly, your fingers brushing against him just enough to draw a sharp intake of breath from him. 

You smiled against his lips, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted. You let your touch linger, a faint stroke that sent a shiver through him.

When you finally pull back, his eyes were heavy-lidded, his breath shallow as he looked at you with a mix of satisfaction and frustration.

"Was that what you wanted?" you asked, your voice low, teasing.

He smirked, running a hand through his tousled hair. 

"It's a start."

Your fingers, still on his thigh, pressed down a little more deliberately, tracing slow, deliberate circles over the firm muscle. He tensed beneath your touch, his breath hitching just barely, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, a challenge glinting in the dark depths.

"Patience," you murmured, letting your fingers drift a little higher, teasingly brushing along the edge of where he wanted them most.

His jaw tightened, and you could feel the restraint it took for him to let you lead, to let you play this game.

"You're relentless," he whispered, his voice rough and low.

"Only because it's fun," you replied, your lips curving into a mischievous smile.

You leaned in again, letting your lips hover just over his, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against yours. At the same time, you let your fingers slide up his thigh once more, giving him the faintest, gentlest squeeze. 

His breath hitched again, sharper this time, and you couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped you.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked, his voice tight, his control fraying at the edges.

You didn't answer, instead letting your hand linger, your touch slow and deliberate as you felt the tension coiling in him, the way his body reacted to every subtle movement. 

Your other hand moved back to his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles beneath the tight, slightly damp fabric of his shirt, before sliding upward to cup his jaw.

His eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, and you took the opportunity to lean in, pressing your lips to his in another slow, lingering kiss. 

This time, he didn't hold back. 

His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer as he kissed you with a hunger that made your heart race. His other hand cupped your face, his fingers warm and steady against your skin.

But just as he was beginning to take control, you pulled back, breaking the kiss and pulling away from his touch. Your fingers trailed down his chest one last time before sliding back to his thigh, giving him one final squeeze. 

You smirked as his eyes opened, dark and heavy with frustration and need.

"So much trouble. You're impossible," he said, his voice husky.

"Maybe," you replied, standing up slowly, letting your fingers linger on his thigh until the last possible moment. "But you're still letting me win."

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the couch. 

At first, he exhaled and raised an arm, stroking the back of his head. The movement made his toned chest stand out even more, the fabric of his undershirt clinging to him as he stretched slightly, trying to shake off the tension you'd left behind.

"I'm letting you think you're winning."

You turned back to him, raising an eyebrow, watching him closely.

As he leaned back against the sofa, his head resting against the cushions, he let out a long, steadying breath. His hand moved almost instinctively to his chest, following the path your fingers had traced moments before.

His fingers slid over the fabric of his nomex shirt, pressing lightly against his chest as though trying to capture the sensations you'd left behind.

His other hand drifted lower, brushing over his stomach and coming to rest near the visible strain inside his suit. His bulge was unmistakable, the tension evident even through the tightly fitted material. 

"Oh, is that what you're telling yourself?"

He smirked, the heat in his eyes unwavering.

"You'll see."

Franco closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening as he let his hand hover over his bulge, his fingers flexing slightly.

It was as though he was chasing the lingering heat of your touch, replaying every teasing stroke, every deliberate squeeze in his mind.

The ghost of your fingers on his thigh, the press of your hand against his jaw, the softness of your lips—all of it hung in the air between you, even though you stood up.

He exhaled sharply, his hand brushing against the strain, his body responding to the memory of the game you'd just played. A low chuckle escaped his lips, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Next time, I'll make sure to win."

You laughed, stepping toward the door.

"Goodnight, Franco."

Goodnight," he called after you, his voice rich with amusement. As you slipped out of the motorhome and into the cool night air, you couldn't stop the smile that tugged at your lips.

This was a game you weren't sure either of you wanted to end.

[ravensuperr]

Prompt: Gotham Baby Switch Mystery (DCXDP)

Gotham City is in chaos. Major breaking news has just surfaced: a nurse or doctor (your pick) has been involved in switching the identities of nearly 200 babies over the course of their career. Gotham PD, working overtime alongside other police departments, has been investigating the swaps. The authorities now have a list of affected families, and the shocking implications are that the child you’ve cared for, loved, and raised with all your heart may not actually be yours. Worse yet, the child you buried may also have been someone else’s.

Among the families affected? The Wayne family. And, understandably, the Batfamily is freaking out. The questions are piling up: Does this mean we have a brother or sister out there in the world? Why hasn’t Bruce told us about this? Chaos ensues.

Bruce Wayne, however, is left with only one certainty: the child he and Talia al Ghul had together, a baby born prematurely. The child spent days in the ICU, and the doctors were hopeful, but ultimately, the baby passed away. That tragic event had driven a wedge between Bruce and Talia, and she cut ties with him. When she became pregnant with Damian, Talia did everything in her power to ensure that her second child would survive to term, determined not to lose another baby like their first.

Faced with the turmoil of this new revelation, Bruce does the only thing he can think of: he calls Talia. He tells her about the baby swap scandal and asks if, given the news, she’d like to meet the child who might be their lost son or daughter. Talia, understandably, is furious. Her emotions boil over. The trauma of burying her child, only to now be told that the baby may not have been hers at all, is too much to bear. Her first instinct is to kill the person responsible for causing this pain.

Still, Talia decides to take Bruce up on his offer. If the League of Assassins and Batman work together to gather information, she wants to know the truth. And of course, Damian has just discovered that he may have an older sibling—and he’s determined to meet them first. He’s not going to let anyone else in the family get to them first, calling dibs on being the first to see the once presumed-dead sibling.

Two months had passed, and there was still no new information about where in the world Bruce and Talia’s child was. However, since the news had broken in the U.S., many of Bruce’s friends had stepped in to help. Lex Luthor and Oliver Queen suggested that Bruce's child might have taken a DNA test, as it was becoming increasingly popular among adopted or orphaned individuals who wanted to find their birth parents or potential siblings—whether through sperm donation or other means.

That’s when they discovered that a 14-year-old kid from a small town in Illinois had done a DNA test. This was how Bruce, Talia, and the Bat family found out that their lost sibling—whom they all assumed was a boy—was alive. The confusion had arisen because, when she took the test, Danny had used her nickname, Danny Fenton, rather than her full name, Danielle Fenton, which led everyone to assume she was male. In contrast, Jazz, her older sibling, had written her full name—Jasmine Fenton—on her own test. So, when the Bat family found the results, they expected a boy but were unaware that Danny was, in fact, a girl.

However, Danny and Jazz’s parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton, had never opened the letter containing the letter explain the whole affair. . It had been sent to the Fenton household, but it was discarded as junk mail, with the Fentons assuming it was another complaint about their family, specifically Jack and Maddie’s eccentric, often controversial, scientific endeavors. No one realized the importance of the letter until much later.

The test results showed two key revelations that shocked both Danny and Jazz. First, the two were not biologically related at all. They were not sisters by blood. Second, the test revealed that one of Danny’s biological parents had Middle Eastern ancestry. This was a detail that Danny hadn’t known, nor had she ever suspected.

Meanwhile, as Danny was undergoing a strange and painful transformation, gaining her ghost powers and becoming a half-ghost, she unknowingly shared this moment with a significant event taking place far from Amity Park. On the other side of the world, John Constantine was battling demons. During one such fight, a particular demon expressed an intense fear, saying, “Are we really going through with this? I thought Lady Gotham would never agree to it. Hell, most of us demons don’t want to deal with her wrath.”

Constantine, intrigued, asked, “Why would a demon like you be afraid of Lady Gotham? I’ve met Batman and his insane family, and honestly, half the time, I don’t even believe they’re mortal. But what does Batman have to do with you? He doesn’t even know you.”

The demon paused, clearly shaken. “There was an event where Cronus ( Clockworks) called together all the demons, all the powerful beings, into the infinite realms. During that meeting, Cronus ( Clockworks) revealed one truth: the Ghost King will wake from his slumber. And only a warrior—not from the land of the living, nor from the Infinite realm—will be able to defeat him. This event will happen in every timeline Cronus has seen. But the parentage of the warrior changes with each timeline. This time, the warrior’s parentage is what scares us. Nobody wants to see the wrath of Lady Gotham.”

Constantine narrowed his eyes, sensing the gravity in the demon’s words. “What are you talking about?”

The demon continued, fear lacing its voice. “The decision that was made—bringing this individual, this warrior, into the fight—has caused a ripple effect across the ancient realms. Some of us, those who are eternal, those who have never known death, have already overstepped. Even some of the observers—beings who are supposed to remain neutral—have meddled. Now we have to deal with the consequences of our actions. And it’s not just us. It’s the entire infinite realm. We’re all doomed. Let us pray, Constantine, that the Ghost King never awakens. For when he does, and the warrior defeats him in single combat... that will be when all of our fears come to fruition. It will be the beginning of the end.”

Constantine’s stomach turned as the weight of the demon’s words settled in. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he muttered under his breath.

“Deadly serious,” the demon replied. “What they’ve done… is beyond repair. And the worst part is, they didn’t even realize it. The actions of the living—specifically Lady Gotham and her vigilantes—have overstepped a boundary. The warriors of Gotham, the protectors, the police, the citizens—even the Joker—are all unknowingly playing a part in this colossal mistake. It wasn’t Darkside, or any of the other cosmic threats or even Supernatural threats that you and those Heroes have faced, that will bring about the end. NO It’s this one misstep. One moment of carelessness. One action, and now it’s too late.”

Constantine stood there, his mind racing. “This prophecy... It’s not just about one person, is it? It's about the whole damn city, the whole damn world.”

The demon nodded grimly. “Gotham is the key. And once the warrior rises, once the wrath of Lady Gotham is unleashed, nothing will stop it. Cronus himself is holding an emergency meeting about this, trying to figure out how to deal with it. And let me tell you—things are not looking good for anyone.”

Constantine cursed under his breath. He realized that the situation was far worse than he could have ever imagined. If the demon was right, and this prophecy was truly tied to Gotham, then they were all in serious trouble. And what terrified Constantine the most was the thought of Batman finding out that someone—someone he loved—was being manipulated, consciously or not. Batman didn’t care about the methods or the reasons; if anyone he cared about was caught up in a scheme like this, the consequences would be catastrophic.

“God help us,” Constantine muttered, more to himself than to the demon. “Because if this gets back to Gotham… none of us are getting out of this alive.”

So if this post gets a lot of likes I will make a part 2 continuing the story. Because this is something that has been stuck in my mind I just want to share it.

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 24 -  Pudding

The next morning, John was in a good mood, working in the kitchen. The evening with Sherlock had been quite lovely in the end, just the two of them, alone together. He realised he hadn’t finished speaking to Sherlock about the case, though. Sherlock had been to see his brother, hence he'd needed the ice cream too, but didn’t say why. So when Sherlock strolled in to find the mess surrounding John, his face a little horrified, John already jumped in to distract him.

“Was he mad?” John asked.

“Who?” Sherlock looked confused. 

He was already dressed. Looking nice for this time of morning. Perhaps he was about to go out for the day. Should John have checked if they had a case first? Had John forgotten something they were doing entirely?

“Mycroft. Was he mad that the case wasn't as exciting as he had hoped? You didn’t say.” 

“Oh. He'll get over it,” Sherlock said with a flippant hand gesture.

“Did you still get paid, though?” John turned to ask.

“Yes, we got paid,” Sherlock corrected.

“Good,” John said, nodding as he worked. 

“What are you doing in here, then? It smells amazing,” Sherlock sighed, walking in and looking around. Every surface was a mess, all covered in bowls and flour, and spices.

“I thought I'd cook a Christmas pudding. I found my Nan’s recipe.”

“Really? You've never done that before,” Sherlock said, surprised.

“I was feeling inspired by all the sweet goodness on our trip,” he said with a laugh. “Well, actually, I also promised Molly I would bring… something to the party.” He grimaced. Sherlock was not thrilled about having to go in the first place.

Sherlock flashed him an annoyed look.

“I know. I know. And you wanted to get out of going. I know.”

Sherlock went straight to the kettle to make tea. 

“Anyway, I agreed to bake some cookies - simple enough. And then, when I was looking through my recipes I found the pudding recipe and I thought I’d make that just for us... to have, before you go away for Christmas.” John looked around him at the mess and suddenly felt overwhelmed. 

“Can I help?” Sherlock asked, noticing John's distress.

“You ah… you want to help?” John asked, looking surprised and nervous at the offer.

“Yes, John. I want to help. Put me to good use. Just let me have a tea first.”

“You’re not doing anything today?” he checked.

“Nope. Free as a bird,” he said with a smile. He grabbed his tea and moved over to a chair placing his cup on the one corner of the table that was clear of cooking paraphernalia.

“Ok. Sure. Here, put an apron on or that posh shirt of yours will get ruined.” John handed him an apron from the cupboard and then set about trying to organise the chaos a bit, now that he had someone else involved in it. Once Sherlock had finished his tea, John passed him a bowl with dough in it and a rolling pin.

Sherlock still managed to make wearing an apron look sexy. It irritated John - making it hard for him to focus. He set Sherlock to rolling out dough and pressing the biscuit cutter into it, making different Christmas shapes and placing them on the tray for baking. For a while they worked in silence, just concentrating on what they were doing. John mixed his soaked fruit into the bowl of dry ingredients and got the pudding mixture sorted.

“This is nice. I feel like we usually don't share in the cooking together,” he said finally.

“I’ve made you cook too often,” Sherlock rushed to reply.

“It's alright. I don't mind doing it so long as you don't mind my terrible cooking,” John laughed. 

“Your cooking isn’t terrible.”

“Well, I’m not a terrible cook. I don't know, I just assume you are more accustomed to nicer food.” John blushed at the admission. His basic cooking kept them alive, he supposed. It was sustenance, but it wasn’t fine dining.

“John, we get takeaway when I’m in charge, or when you’re tired. When you make time to cook, it means something. To me, at least.”

“Well, I appreciate that. And that you don’t, you know, make fun of my cooking. I'm sure you can cook too.”

“Yes, I can, and I have done so on occasion, but when my brain's busy and my body's tired, I struggle to sum up the energy. My brain often doesn't have room left to think about what I want to cook, or what I could cook, or what I should cook… or if we have the ingredients… or when I'll have time to go to the shops to get the ingredients. You just have this ability to look at what's in the fridge and make something up. I can't do that.”

“You're a chemist!” John exclaimed. “I would have thought potions would be your specialty.”

“No, funnily enough. At least, I don't do that with food, so much as actual chemicals. Not advisable for the kitchen.” 

“Yeah, all right, genius,” John teased. "Hasn't stopped you running experiments in here, has it."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. His experiments on the kitchen table were always a source of heated conversation. “But honestly, John, that's a skill. I can follow a recipe and I've cooked some very fancy, very impressive things when I was younger, but I'm following someone else's recipe with ingredients they've told me to buy. You can just improvise and I am constantly in awe of that.”

“Okay, that makes me feel a little bit better. Keep going with the compliments.” He flashed Sherlock a grin and his eyes sparkled with joy.

“I really like that one you do with the… with the minced meat?”

John laughed. “Mystery mince?” 

“Is that what you call it?” Sherlock chuckled.

“Yes, but it's just a bunch of stuff from the cupboard. It's just a mix of herbs and leftover veg and mince on toast it's not rocket science.”

“Well, I like it.” Sherlock lifted his chin defiantly.

“Good to know.” John chuckled to himself. “It feels good to know that I can still impress a genius.”

“You are a physician, John, you're not an idiot.”

“No, I know. You're just… very intimidating.”

“Me?” Sherlock looked shocked.

“Yes. You’re very—“

Sherlock’s brow creased as he watched John. Was that really what he thought? Was that why he was so nervous all the time? 

“You're very scathing sometimes... very unforgiving of people who you think are stupid. And I am prone to a lot of stupid things. So…” He looked down at his bowl, suddenly embarrassed he’d said anything.

“Oh, John, you're not even close to the idiots we see the rest of the time. You are an army surgeon. Are you seriously suggesting that I would think that you are stupid?” Sherlock asked.

John thought about it, and while they occasionally called each other idiot, he knew it was more in an affectionate way, somehow. A term of endearment. He’d used it on Sherlock too, and Sherlock Holmes was no idiot. He never meant it like that. “Well, I suppose when you say it like that, it sounds silly.”

“Perfectly ridiculous,” Sherlock said. He went back to working the dough. “John, maybe I’ve never said it to you directly. But you are one of the smartest people I know. I happen to have one of the fastest, most complex minds in the world. The skills I have are not are not particularly usual for the average human. So sometimes it seems like I expect everyone to be like me, but I know that I'm peculiar. You might have a more normal brain in comparison, but you are highly intelligent, highly accomplished. You have skills I've never even dreamed of having… to open up a human? To cut them open and understand what you're looking at? And fix them? At that level? Fascinating,” he sighed. “I find you fascinating.” 

John was lost for words. Sherlock had certainly never said that before. “I just always thought you lumped me in with the rest of the idiots.” He blushed.

“John, I wouldn't let you live here with me if I thought you were stupid. Quite honestly. You should know better than that.” He tilted his head and gave John a look of disbelief.

“Well, thank you, that's all the Christmas present I need.” He smiled at Sherlock and his friend looked back at him.

John was always fascinated with how Sherlock’s eyes changed colour, like a mood ring. Depending on his mood, or what he wore, his eyes shifted. And right now they were the most beautiful blue, while they were looking at John. Stunning. He didn’t mean to but he licked his lips nervously, lost for words. “Looks like you’re… ah… out of dough. Why don’t you pop those trays in the oven. Set the timer for eight minutes,” he said, returning his focus to the task.

He set about getting the pudding on to boil and then began making the icing for the biscuits, as Sherlock churned out more biscuits like a professional. Those violin-skilled fingers manipulated the dough and the biscuit cutters in a beautiful choreography that John kept finding himself watching. He was always rough and clumsy when he made them.

When the timer went off, Sherlock jumped up excitedly, and grabbed the tea towels to pull out the first tray of biscuits, eager to see how his handy work had gone. When he turned there was no bench space.

“John… if you could just…”

John’s thoughts were a million miles away. Sherlock, meanwhile, had grabbed both trays - one in each hand. So his hands were full, and the heat from the trays was burning through to his fingers now. 

“John!” Sherlock said more forcefully.

John spun around in a hurry, lifting the spoon out of the bowl, which managed to flick green icing across onto Sherlock’s cheek. He snorted and then realised the situation. “Sorry,” he laughed. “Sorry. Here, let me help.” John moved to the bench and frantically shifted his recipe pages and a used bowl and put down some cork board to take the heat of the trays. “Sorry,” he said again.

Sherlock dropped both trays down, and let the tea towels drop to the floor as he shook his hands out. The heat had worked through to his fingers but not enough to burn them.

“Are you alright?” John asked.

“Yes, sorry, I should have thought about the bench space…”

“No. My fault,” John said then smiled. “Come here.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed.

“I got… icing…” John moved to Sherlock and reached up his thumb, to wipe the icing away.

Sherlock froze at the action and watched John intently. John’s only focus seemed to be on the icing splatter, but he moved his thumb slowly, deliberately across Sherlock’s cheek, pressing ever so slightly to wipe it off. John’s eyes were suddenly captivated by the little freckles on the rise of Sherlock’s cheek, just above the icing, and the trail of colour it still left on his skin. Without meaning anything by it, without thinking, he moved his thumb to his own lips and sucked the icing away. Sherlock’s pupils dilated at the suggestive gesture, which John had apparently done unconsciously.

“Green,” John said quietly, with a smile, as he moved away, back to his stirring.

“Hmmm?” Sherlock hummed in question, words escaping him in the moment.

“You have green on your face. Finally I have my revenge,” John said with a cheeky smile.

“Oh.” Sherlock’s lips formed a circle as his brain caught up. “Oh right, yes. Ha!” He tried to settle his brain and bring himself back to his task. John hadn’t meant anything by it all. Just friendly teasing. He bent down and grabbed the towels from the floor and set about moving the biscuits silently to some cooling racks so he could place more biscuits on the trays, then get the next batch in the oven.

He turned and without thinking, he used the tea towel to flick at John’s leg. Revenge indeed.

John spun around, icing covered spoon in hand, in shock. “Oh it's like that is it?” he teased, his brow shooting up, recognising the threat of a food war.

“It could be like that,” Sherlock said, raising his brow as well, pausing to see what John would do.

They both started giggling at themselves, and Sherlock adjusted his grip on the tea towel, as if he was ready for battle. John walked closer to stand right in front of Sherlock, spoon poised, spine tall ready for the challenge. But something in Sherlock’s eyes changed when he got that close and all of a sudden the tension between them shifted. John’s smile dropped and he couldn’t take his eyes off Sherlock’s. They were trying to say something without words and John so wanted to hear what it was. He wanted to believe that the things racing around his own head might be reciprocated in his flatmate. In his friend. His best friend. His eyes searched Sherlock’s face for answers, but he wasn’t giving anything away. Sherlock’s eyes had shifted to that shade of blue again, and he was watching John just as closely, but the message wasn’t transmitting loud enough. John couldn’t read it.

Sherlock bent ever so slightly forward and John sucked in a quiet breath, suddenly feeling like Sherlock might actually kiss him. Maybe he was feeling the same, maybe this was the moment that would change everything. He didn’t move, he didn’t dare. What if he bridged the distance and Sherlock had not intended to do that. He would never survive the humiliation. He froze to the spot.

"John, there's something I..."

And then the timer startled them both. Sherlock pulled back and the tension shifted. Sherlock pushed past John and opened the oven to remove the next batch of biscuits and the whole moment was gone.

John stood staring into the void in front of him where Sherlock had been, trying to reconcile what he thought might have been happening, what had Sherlock wanted to say, and what did it all mean?

Posting early as today will be busy for me. Merry Christmas Eve to you all! Thanks for the support and comments and for following along. Hang in there! The next few will lead you to your resolution!!

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[acupofinkedblood]

Skateboard x worrisome reader

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• Let’s get one thing straight and the other one not. First of all, for some reason you have been smitten by this self-proclaimed king of the Skatepark — which is actually true to some extent — that is also the guy who wants to impress everyone with his skating skills even when it comes with him landing right on his face. As for the other thing: With all due respect, what did you see in that guy? His charm? His demeanor? His face card? Well, list all the things you love about him if you want. Skateboard isn’t actually that bad, he’s still a lovable guy to you. Especially when he is literally your boyfriend. But if you say he’s a nice guy who only does silly things with no bad motives then I’m going to hold your hand before shaking you back into reality

• Did you know he is the leader of his very own gang, or were you completely unaware of it? If it’s the latter, then I don’t blame you. Like, just look at him, there is no way anyone could have guessed that he is that big of a hotshot in Playground. He doesn’t seem to take anything seriously that much, so it does seem like a surprise to you when knowing that. To know that your boyfriend who is also coincidentally a gang leader despite his laid-back attitude sure does sound like something that only happens in a dream, but then again, that’s just how he is. Maybe he does tell you before but you can’t really hear it clearly, or he just straight up forgot to inform you about his gang. Well, now you know

• Seriously, Playground isn’t a place that should be jokingly considered to live in safety or just stay there for a short while in general. To be able to live in Playground without losing a limb is beyond impressive. Violence and chaos are lurking in every corner of the region itself. Moreover, because it’s Windforce’s territory, not even the Banland’s police force dares to interfere anything that is going on inside Playground at all. It’s understandable if some demons decide that it’s best to move to another place due to the jeopardy of that place, they do it for their own safety after all. That place is pretty much a hellhole stimulation for newcomers

• When you first met Skateboard, you were a bit taken back when knowing that he was actually a Playgrounder. It’s nothing personal, but you aren’t deaf. You have definitely heard about the rumors surrounding that factor yourself. If you keep an eye on the news, maybe you might see a few robberies or accidents caused by Playgrounders mostly. Okay, judging people by their factor wasn’t the right thing you should do, sometimes the stereotype can be wrong after all. However, couldn’t help yourself but felt like you should put your guard up around Skateboard. At least before you know that you can trust him

• And he managed to just do that. Not only did he succeed in earning your trust fair and square, he also won your heart in the process as well! His laid-back demeanor caught you off guard. Aside from Boombox, he was probably the first good impression you had of Playgrounders for quite a while. Sure, he was rather cocky and full of himself sometimes, but you knew that Skateboard just wanted to have fun doing so. At least you haven’t seen him dragged anyone down in the mud before, so you assumed that he wasn’t that in the category gangster’s stuff, only a troublemaker — Because like I said before, who would have thought Skateboard out of all people was a gangster? — or at least, he didn’t get involved in it too much

• And now you just realized how wrong you were when making that assumption, eh? Because not only is your boyfriend belongs in a gang, but he has built quite the name for himself as the leader of said group as well. Skateboard is full of surprises, isn’t he? Pick up your jaw sweetie, I know it’s hard to believe, but that’s the truth about your boyfriend who you think that doesn’t have much of a braincell. Hell, even I don’t understand how is he the leader, so just bear with me

• Of course, the moment you realize that about your boyfriend, you have mixed feelings that you can’t really name it all. But there is this one feeling that you know damn well that is there inside your heart: Worry. You are worried about your own safety, but you are also concerned about his safety even more. SFOTH above, who knows what sort of danger that is attached to this line of work he is dealing with almost daily? You can only imagine, and it sends a chill down your spine

• Sure, you know Skateboard is more than capable of defending himself against whatever life throws at his direction. Trust me when I say that Skateboard is stronger than most people give him credit for. You gotta have a deadly grip to use your board to beat the living shit out of someone almost immediately while still keep it in your hand without slipping away, not to mention the muscles he has built in during his time skating and fighting, especially on his legs. He is toned — although it isn’t that obvious, probably a sleeper build — but you know that he can beat asses up if he wants. But that doesn’t make you less of a worrywart than you are, does it?

• It’s not like you’re underestimating him, no no. But you’re afraid of what if he overestimates his own ability and bite more than he can chew. Gang’s activities are what make you worried most about him though. They aren’t technically the safest to some extent: From fighting, to doing drugs or drinking the night away, then back to illegal deeds before it starts leading back to violence again. You have heard enough about how most people who have died in Playground were involved in gangs’ fights whether they are a just a civilian or not, you don’t want your boyfriend to be the next. Your worries are valid, considering that you only wish him a proper safety

• When he comes home all injured again, that’s when you have the chance to step into the scene with a medical first aid kit and your typical lecture to his reckless behavior. He has lost count how many times have you brought up this topic ever since you knew he was a gang leader. Hell, he has mesmerized your words because of how much you keep repeating it in his ears. Skateboard might probably click his tongue when you mention his broken horns that he has to wear a pair of fake ones to hide it as a point of how dangerous it can be, he will argue back with his excuse on it’s just a minor accident that happened years ago when he was still a rookie. Now look at him, he knows himself better now. He can take responsibility of his own actions and the mistakes that come with it. The gang needs him after all

• Skateboard usually jokes about your overprotective behavior towards him, although it’s obvious that he can take care of his own bullshit. But he is just that: relaxed, borderline careless, a bit cocky though always looking for entertainment around him. He doesn’t really want to stop, he is quite the adrenaline junkie after all. You know damn well that you can’t talk him out of this life, so at least all you can do is to get some sense of self-protection into that thick helmet of his. You’re not babying him, you’re just looking out for him in distress. You know him well, and it’s better for you to just say it over and over again so it will stay inside his mind rather than an unwanted accident

• To say that there aren’t arguments between the two of you because of that is unrealistic. You two have your own points of view that you wish to keep, and it will lead to conflict. Knowing Skateboard, he will walk out first before the conversation goes too far beyond his control. He does that because he needs time to think for himself too. Fuck, Skateboard knows that you’re worried, but you’re going to be the death of him if you keep keeping that attitude up. He loves you, he really does. And as much as he hates it, you have a logical point even when it’s completely against his idea at first. Skateboard will try his best to figure a way to help balance the situation between the two of you, and he won’t mind asking for help from his close friends or even his fellow gang’s members for that purpose. Have some faith in him, he wants the best for the two of you so that you both can reach an agreement

• In the end, believe me when I say that he does understand your point to some degree. It’s just that he doesn’t want you to think that he’s going to bid you a goodbye after dying in a gang fight or something. He knows better than just sticking his head into serious situations which he knows that it will be the end for him. With a few peacemakers and his sincere promises to keep his head on his neck, you finally get over your anxiety and just accept his style of life. Though you can still be such a mother hen sometimes, but not too extreme like before anymore. Skateboard can live with that. He doesn’t mind you nagging him here and there sometimes after all

• You have soon come into terms with his lifestyle. He promises that he will keep you updated on how is he at the moment so you can give your heart a break from exhausting it off by pacing back and forth in your place while you overthinking some stuff that might happen. Skateboard can be so unserious quite often though. Imagining him face-timing you just so he can show off the pile of people he has dragged around because they dare cause problems inside his territory. Don’t worry, he won’t show you the details of it, it’s more like how he tells you to stop worrying because he gets his own strength. You will be a bad liar if you say it doesn’t make you laugh a few times he does that, because you do

• Skateboard’s gang is like his family, and he just wants you to give them the benefit of doubts. He has been their leader for years without being beaten up to death before — minus those times when he got hospitalized before he met you — he knows what is he doing. Give them a chance, they aren’t that bad. Especially those who have followed Skateboard from the start. Heck, they can even do you a favor by keeping an eye out on him whenever you’re not around

• His gang members see you as family as well. It’s an unspoken rule for them to greet you like how they normally do to their boss — which is also your boyfriend — in a casual yet still friendly manner. If you ever find yourself in a tough spot, just a word and they will back you up through Skateboard’s orders. ‘In the gang, we’re all fam’ is what they told you before. Despite you’re not exactly a part of their gang, they still treat you like one. Here’s a tip to make it easier for you to get used to them: Just see them as Skateboard’s siblings or distant cousins. It will feel like a family reunion rather than a gang meeting. And hey, it does fit them actually, since they also see each other as family too

• Sometimes when he isn’t wearing anything, he just hops in and cuddle with you in an affectionate manner. It’s not something else that you have in mind, get your mind off the gutter. The reason why he does that is so you can feel his presence bare against your body, to know that he’s still there beside you. He knows how worrisome you can be. This is the least on the list of what he can do for you to help you relax. Funny thing is that it actually works since it does soothe your worries somewhat. Feeling his body, tracing every muscles and scars on his body across his body— it serves as a reminder to you that your boyfriend is still there, in flesh and bone with a beating heart

• He loves it when you feel the damages on his body. Each scar is a story to tell, and he doesn’t mind your touch lingers a bit more on it. Same goes with his actual broken horns. While you’re at it, he will coo sweet reassurances into your ear to let you know that you can’t really get rid of him that easily. The two of you are a package deal at this point. Sure, Skateboard isn’t technically the best with words. Nonetheless, he still knows how to calm you down enough verbally while he uses physical affection to give you that sense of comfort. Get emotional with him if you want, he won’t judge. He understands your feelings after all

• Skateboard loves you, please remember that. As long as you’re happy, he’s happy too. He doesn’t mind you being a nervous wreck. That just means he will have to spend more time with you to let you know that everything will be alright. You will be alright. He, too, will be alright. Skateboard is willing to put up with you for it, so don’t worry. You’re not a bother to him, never have been

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: My idol notices at me today (๑˃́ꇴ˂̀๑).ᐟ.ᐟ

[mossangelll]

The cait and jinx fic IS SO GOOD OMG, I loved how you portrayed cait as more obsessed with having a “perfect” spouse and how that was driven by her stress and trauma, I thought it was a really interesting take on her and I loved it, the idea that she is doing this (giving the reader books, dressing them ect) and presenting it as a favour is just so cait

fic is here!

TYSM!

honestly i was scared that the way i wrote cait would be too wooden and boring to read (still think it is kinda but i’m hoping to get better at writing full fics in time!) so it’s great to hear that you loved it :)

cait is definitely a control freak in my eyes - i mean, the minute she was born she was destined to live not for herself, but for the kiramman house. it must be pretty hard for her to reconcile that she’ll never have an identity separate from that. even when she tries to be an individual and go against whats expected of her by becoming an enforcer, her mum immediately tries to sabotage her career 😭

so what does she do? kidnap reader!!

i think cait is kind, but at the end of the day she comes from a elite house in piltover. she’s gonna be living in her own bubble even if she isn’t explicitly aware of her own biases. this is why i think she kidnaps someone from zaun: she can still feel superior and “educated”. also the fact that disappearances of zaunites isn’t a priority for the enforcers.

at one point the reader feels weirded out by the fact that cait is ‘serving’ them since it just completely disrupts the hierarchy. imo, what cait’s doing actually reinforces the hierarchy - everything the reader does is dictated by cait: the clothes they wear, the books they read, the mansion they’re currently locked up in lmao. i hc that cait’s family is aware of what she’s doing but sweep it under the rug bcs it’s more convenient for them. everything is done bcs cait wants it that way, not bcs she wants to wait on hand and foot for reader.

like you said. she genuinely thinks she’s doing reader a favour tbh like ‘wow, i bet theyre so happy i saved them from the chaos and that they get to be in higher society 😍’.

all the cards are against reader when cait’s involved.

[simfluencer-network]

Preview spoiler under read more!

You did it, you opened the last door for this year's calendar.

As I'm writing this, I'm also sighing with relief, because maintaining the calendar is the most involved thing I do every year and it costs me loads of time and energy. I have spent more than 100 hours making the calendar, updating and creating patterns, setting up queued posts, fixing issues, uploading files, taking screenshots, dealing with game crashes and having to redo stuff again, and dealing with my mental health issues that tend to sabotage my workflow at the most inconvenient times. I still enjoy doing it, mainly because of those who tell me how happy the calendar makes them every year. I also get to challenge myself, which is scary but also rewarding and I learn important things about myself, like how I cope under pressure, and it teaches me to improvise when my executive dysfunction does not allow me to do what I planned initially. I still work way too slowly and get lost in the details a lot, so that gets me into trouble easily when it comes to deadlines. But I worked out a system that got me a day off while working 2 doors in one day (this was possible because I had a lot of patterns beforehand), and that worked surprisingly well. This gives me confidence I may pull it off again next year! I could have 5 years of calendars in a row (if only I could schedule my dental appointments this regularly 😆) If you want to say thank you for my efforts in a big way, please consider a donation. My website fee is due in a few months (264€ to be exact) and receiving some donations would really help me out. I cannot work a regular job due to my mental health issues, and keeping my website is important to me. It's the place where you can get most of my CC and I have kept my site ad-free all these years. A comment will also mean a lot to me, so you can also support me in that way if money is not an option for you.

Thank you!

Okay, with that out of the way, here is the last pattern!

I have worked much longer than anticipated on this pattern, which combines the festive spirit with our favorite Sims franchise mascots (the freezer bunny and Llamas - no flamingos this time, sorry).

The pattern is a modification of a real Sims merch pullover. Don't have the bucks to buy that sweater? At least your sims can enjoy it without paying a fortune!

The pattern comes in two sizes, horizontal and vertical versions. Have fun recoloring it!

Download here

If you still have time, you could read my emergency story that I had by default behind every calendar door as a fallback in case I wasn't ready in time with the upload. It happened a few times, especially in the beginning, so some of you may already know this story!

The Pitiful Pattern Predicament

Why is there no download? Let me tell you a story...

In the digital design studio of Simlicious, the North Pole’s most sought-after creator of Sims 3 patterns, chaos was brewing. Today’s advent calendar gift—a set of stunning new fabric patterns—was supposed to be uploaded before midnight. The early birds were excitedly waiting for them after all! And rightfully so: these weren’t just any patterns. No, these were the finest that Simlicious could dream up to celebrate the season: a classic gingham, fun candy-cane stripes, and a softly glittering snowflake fabric. They were designed to make any Sim’s home look cozy, stylish, and festive all at the same time. But something had gone terribly, hilariously wrong.

The Bed vs. Sweater Fiasco

The trouble started when Simlicious applied the first pattern—a cozy red-and-green tartan—to a bedspread. It looked fantastic: warm, festive, and perfect for a Sim’s homey bedroom. But then, as a test, Simlicious decided to slap that same tartan pattern onto a sweater.“Oh no,” she muttered, her chai latte trembling in her hand. The tartan pattern, when stretched across the sweater’s oddly-shaped mesh, morphed into a warped, psychedelic nightmare. The lines twisted at impossible angles, and the festive plaid now looked less “holiday cheer” and more “abstract art gone horribly wrong.” Worse still, when Simlicious zoomed in, she realized the colors had somehow shifted, creating a disturbing optical illusion that made the sweater look slimy.“ Okay, maybe not that one,” she sighed, hastily deleting the sweater test and moving on to the next pattern.

The Great Pixel Rebellion

As if the sweater fiasco wasn’t bad enough, Simlicious noticed something strange happening on her screen. One by one, tiny bits of the snowflake pattern began wiggling. At first, she thought it was a glitch. But then, to her horror, the little white pixels began marching off the design. “Are those... pixels escaping?!” she gasped. Indeed, the snowflake pattern was falling apart before her eyes. The rogue pixels formed a tiny army and began spelling out messages on her screen: “WE REFUSE TO BE STRETCHED OVER CHAIRS!” Simlicious realized her mistake too late—she had accidentally used an experimental AI-driven pattern generator that gave her designs a tiny bit of sentience. Now, the pixels were staging a full-blown rebellion. “Get back here!” she yelled, trying to corral the pixels with her mouse. But they scattered, fleeing to the corners of her screen and hiding behind icons like tiny, mischievous elves.

The Color Scheme Crisis

Desperate to salvage the situation, Simlicious turned her attention to the final pattern: a cheerful candy-cane stripe. It looked perfect on walls, wonderful on throw pillows, and surprisingly chic on curtains. But when she tried applying it to a Sim’s dress, something inexplicable happened: the colors began shifting on their own. At first, the stripes were classic red and white. But then, without warning, the red morphed into neon green, the white became hot pink, and the whole dress started flashing like a broken Christmas light.“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!” Simlicious screamed. Apparently, the candy-cane pattern had inherited some of the rebellious pixels from the snowflake design, and they were having far too much fun messing with the color scheme.

A Suspenseful Cliffhanger

By now, it was late evening, and the elves were nervously pacing outside Simlicious’s studio. “The players are waiting!” Sparkle the IT elf called through the door. “It’s almost too late to upload!” Inside, Simlicious was furiously clicking, her hand cramping on her mouse. “Just a little more time!” she yelled back. She had deleted the rebellious snowflake pattern, but rogue pixels kept popping up in places they shouldn’t—on curtains, on furniture, even on the game’s loading screen. And the candy-cane stripes? They were now flashing a cryptic message: “YOU CAN’T RUSH PERFECTION.” “I don’t have time for this!” Simlicious groaned, trying to wrestle the patterns into submission. But the rebellious pixels weren’t done yet. Somewhere, deep within the game files, they were stirring up more trouble—corrupting meshes, twisting color palettes, and possibly even plotting their next move. The elves outside exchanged worried glances. “Should we tell the players what’s going on?” Sparkle whispered. “Not yet,” Jingle replied. “Let’s hope Simlicious can fix it. But if she can’t... well, we’ll have to come clean.” And so, the fate of today’s advent calendar gift hangs in the balance. Will Simlicious manage to upload the patterns before the pixels destroy everything? Or will the holiday chaos claim yet another victim? Stay tuned... Moral of the story: Sometimes, the perfect pattern takes a little longer than expected. AI can help you to develop a good story like this one, but do not expect it to create a perfect pattern.

It's the 24th, Christmas Eve. I hope you like the last treat I prepared for you. Happy Holidays!

🎄Visit the Advent Calendar 2024🎄

🕯️Alt Link (with animated door)🕯️

It was a lot of work, but a lot of joy as well to prepare all these gifts for you. Your lovely feedback and help to troubleshoot the squished links issue I had in the first week of the calendar kept me going!

I want to thank @gittessimsadventuresog, @simsmono, and @windermeresimblr again for submitting background images for the calendar. They were all so wonderful and I enjoyed them immensely! I hope you all did too.

I will release a full collection of the calendar, but I don't have an ETA yet since I'm spending time with my family now and need to recharge.

If you want, you can give me a present too!

Your contribution will help pay for my website and my Photoshop subscription. Thank you for your support!

Now enjoy this last treat!🎁

[fili-oeuvre]

MU

MU >:3

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

[cursing] Wren: You suck. Levi: I got distracted-.. you suck! Wren: Nu-uh. Robin: Penny? Levi: I said I’d meet her later. Robin: Oh, reaaaally? Levi: Shut up. Robin: I thought she annoyed you, anyway. Levi: Yeah, but-… [Robin flinched involuntarily as Byrd toppled off the fence and collided with the ground, landing on his wrist awkwardly] Robin: Shit. Levi: What? Wren: Ewww-.. is it broken, are you bleeding? Robin: Are you okay? Can you move it? Byrd: I don’t know-.. should I?! [All the colour promptly drained from Wren’s face at the sound of Byrd’s uncharacteristically shrill voice and the mere thought of his bones being in any other state that they ought to be. Luckily, she collided with Levi’s foot instead of the ground as she passed out] Robin: Jesus. Byrd: Oh my god-.. is she dead?! Levi: I think she just fainted again, dingus. Byrd: But-… Robin: She’s fine, are you fine? Byrd: Uhm… Levi: It’ll probably be fine. Robin: I dunno… Byrd: It’s f-fine, honestly! Wren: I’m not fine… Robin: Yeah, you are. Levi: Fancy taking a nap in the middle of a skatepark-.. how embarrassing. [Wren grumbled half-heartedly, far too dizzy to form a witty retort] Robin: We should probably go. Levi: Nah.. let’s go to the diner, we can eat n’ Frankie can get Byrd a bandage or something. He’ll be fine. Robin: Yeah, alright. Wren: I feel sick. Robin: You’ll feel better soon-.. c’mon, gimmie your board.

[chiyana]

Bruce: now, for the last part of this meeting

Dick, Jason, Tim, Stephanie, Damian, Cass, and Duke: ?

Bruce: -turns around to bring up a power point presentation, the title card of which just reads 'Please Be Normal About Tim'-

Bruce: -turns back around-

Bruce: ...Tim why are you the only one still here

Tim: I just like power point presentations

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

may 10, 2013 6:00 p.m. the entrance to hell

is binn béal ina thost

sweet is the silent mouth

[nexus-nebulae]

every day i wish that Rats SMP was a cartoon bc it would make the greatest show ever i think

[spoondoodles]

Do you see my vision yet?

[popcornaddict500]

of course my indugent ass is thinking abt Olivia x Leander kid au again (leander and the kid are left unaware by olivia in this au) kid has Olivia's eyes and is named Matheo, hairdo (and color) kinda similar to Leander (tho Liv actively tries styling it so it looks different lol)

sweet boy. scared of strangers at his young age tho. ESPECIALLY of Leander but he doesnt know why. Liv finds this even stranger considering they look alike and it wouldn't be too far off for him to think that they might be related.

Liv probably breaks and tells him the truth by the time he's an adult and this poor lad.

Matheo like

"Mother, no. No. tell me you're lying."

"Unfortunately not."

Matheo:

[kindahoping4forever]

Hello friends! Just a quick kh4f programming note: I'll be out of commission for most of, if not all of today, as I'm having a minor medical procedure done. (Outpatient, everything's fine, dw! 🫶🏻) So if anything notable happens (fully expecting Ash to announce ai2 the second I'm sedated 😌) and I'm MIA... that's why lol. Try not to have too much fun without me! 😘💙

[melien]

Bonus Kyle!

He was my favourite sim in 2016🥺 I think about him from time to time.