#this has been in my drafts for a week haha

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[panthermouthh]

And I said, “Hello, Satan

I believe it’s time to go.”

[machveil]

A reader who unintentionally lets their crush on one Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley slip out to the wrong person, and by the end of the day it’s reached his ears. In order to not die of embarassment, especially because they can barey handle his stare on a good day before all this, they decide to simply avoid him. At the very least, avoid being alone with him.

Making sure to be in common areas with others present, taking on errands to avoid it when they aren’t. It seems to be working, despite his stare that leaves their stomach in knots and their thighs clench, he leaves it at watching. He never brings it up, never seems to act any different, and after a couple weeks of exhaustive panic, they slowly start to let their guard down again, convinced it’s water under the bridge.

It’s not. Not even close.

Most assume Simon of all people wouldn’t hesitate, would know how quickly time is lost and regrets are made, especially with something they want, something they crave. But the other thing about men like Simon? For the important things, they make the time, carve it out of life itself if it means getting a taste. And outside of an immediate mission, this sits firmly, persistently, at the top of his list.

He can wait. He knows the merits of outpacing a target. Watching as they slowly exhaust all that energy jumping at shadows and sprinting from him simply sitting still.

It just makes the moment he gets to sink his teeth in all the sweeter.

-🐸

we’re jumping straight in under the cut - this has been sitting so nice and patient in my drafts

CW: fem!reader, size kink

Simon Riley is patient to a fault - standing in far corners watching you, he can see the way you avoid his hard gaze. when he heard about your crush on him he was absolutely delighted, heart tightly squeezing in his chest. he’s been eyeing you for months, silently waiting to get his hands on you

Simon Riley who likes the hunt - quietly stalking after you when you flee a room. like a wolf stalking prey, he’s content to wait for a moment to strike, to get you alone. Simon’s got the willpower to keep the desire bubbling in his gut down, the restraint to not approach you fully yet. you’ve been avoiding him like the plague for days, it’s impressed him a little admittedly

Simon Riley that finally gets you alone - the sun setting as you retire to the barracks. you nearly scream when his rough hand gently grips your shoulder. he’d come out of nowhere, his deep brown eyes boring into you, “Been dodgin’ me, sweet’art?”, oh— you’ve never heard his voice that low before, gravely and thick. it’s a whirlwind after that, suddenly you’re being guided away from your room, directed towards Simon’s, “Think we need to have a word.”, he grumbles, hand on the small of your back. all you can do is shyly nod, eyes a little wide as you look up at him

“Should’ve tol’ me you wanted this—”, mouth latching onto your shoulder, Simon’s got you face down on his mattress. his broad chest is barely hovering over you back, strong hips fucking you down against his sheets. his pace mind numbingly hard, his right hand messy with your slick from rubbing circles on your clit, “Would’ve done this— sooner.”

he’s struggling to talk, swallowing thickly when you squeeze him tightly. he had trouble nudging himself into you, cooing that he’d fit - he’d make it fit. he’s considerably larger than you, it doesn’t matter if your shorter or taller than him, his massive frame and weight alone has you sinking under him. when he finally sunk into your cunt you knew you were a goner

he had already drawn an orgasm out of you earlier, your legs spasming around his head. he’s still got your slick on his chin, biting at the crook of your neck and sucking. feral, that’s how he’s moving. your composed, familiar Simon’s replaced by a beast, moving on instinct as you cry out under him. “S’good f’me—“, he croons, pulling off your neck to watch you. he can see the patch of wetness under your face - a combination of blissed out tears and drool, and all he can think is how pretty you look for him. fucked dumb on his cock, babbling incoherently, ‘please—’s and a mantra of his name tumbling from your lips

Simon’s made up his mind, you’re never avoiding him again. while watching you squirm around base was amusing, having you writhing underneath him is so much better. he’s hissing out when you orgasm again, so tight around him he has to still for a moment, “Good girl— fuckin’ perfect.”. as soon as you melt under him he’s picking his pace up again, listening to you softly murmur through a haze of overstimulation, words he can’t make out drowned by his own gruff moans

[persephoneggsy]

I’m obsessed with Lae’zel x Gale and I recently found out you can give the githyanki egg to Lae’zel and she raises it as her own so

The hatchling, that Lae’zel names Xan, grows up with a very supportive family. His mom and dad raise him to make his own decisions and be his own man. Inspired by his mother’s battle prowess and his father’s magical aptitude, Xan becomes an Eldritch Knight with a few dips into Evocation Wizard, and he becomes a famous adventurer in his own right.

Though of course, he’s not as famous as “Xan”, the mysterious adventurer who helped his parents (and aunts and uncles) defeat the Absolute years ago, and the man for whom Xan is named. But Xan has never known him, for he disappeared shortly after the Absolute threat was defeated. All he knows is that he was a githyanki, and skilled with magic and blade in equal measure. And Gale has mentioned that “Xan the Elder” resembles him; if he hadn’t seen Lae’zel take his egg with his own eyes, he’d almost have suspected he was Xan-the-Younger’s true father.

All of this occurs to Xan-the-Younger in startling clarity when he is on an adventure and suddenly thrust back in time. He wakes up on a mind flayer ship, just like the one Uncle Wyll always described in his retellings of their old group’s adventures.

And then… he meets his mother. Several years younger and pointing a blade in his face.

Xan-the-Younger realizes he was Xan-the-Elder all along. Now he must save Faerun from the Absolute — an ordeal that, even with foreknowledge, is a difficult task (his family didn’t share EVERY detail, and even so, his memory isn't perfect and he’s forgotten a few things).

He also needs to make sure his mother grabs his egg from the crèche, while also ensuring that she turns against Vlaakith and frees Orpheus, AND that his father doesn’t blow himself up or try to ascend to godhood.

And it would be nice if he could also ensure they end up together. It’s frankly quite uncomfortable that they’ve both flirted with him.

[queer-reader-07]

the worst thing about me being a Gen Z with a Gen X father is that i routinely use Gen Z slang & internet lingo around him to the point that he's able to accurately parse what it all means. AND THEN HE GOES AND USES IT AT WORK TO IMPRESS HIS TWENTY SOMETHING COWORKERS

[drones-of-innocence]

With the Mario movie still on my brain and that reunion scene melting my heart that I now have fallen down the rabbit hole. Do you think you could you do some headcanons with Mario and Luigi with each? Their relationship is just so pure 😭😭

Sure!! I adored the bros' relationship in the movie, and I love writing about them too 🥺 Here are a few of my headcanons about them, some are well established in my writing and others I've never really mentioned. Some will be in my upcoming WIP 👀

I like to have Mario and Luigi lean into the Italian part of their Italian-American identity, so in my head they speak with more of an Italian accent than a Brooklyn accent like they do in the movie.

That being said, Mario speaks slower than Luigi and has a little more trouble with correct grammar in English, which he's a bit insecure about. Contractions in particular are hard. But in Italian, he's a much more rapid and animated speaker. Luigi is pretty clear in both languages and is very comfortable with both.

I adore Mario calling Luigi "Lu" in the film! His nickname for Luigi in my stories is "Coniglio," which means rabbit. Italians use "rabbit" the same way that English speakers use "chicken," so it's affectionately teasing Luigi for his skittish demeanor. It's a childhood nickname that just stuck.

In the same vein, Luigi's nickname for Mario is "Capo," which means boss. It reflects how Mario is the one "in charge" between them, but also it's sort of teasing because often when Mario makes decisions on their behalf, he almost always heavily considers and goes with Luigi's preference/advice, so it's like Luigi is making the decisions anyway.

They both have high anxiety, but for different reasons. Luigi is a people pleaser by nature and will do anything to mediate and keep the peace, even if it means sacrificing his agency or energy. Mario is a giver and provider by nature, and often frets about not doing enough, so he overworks himself in trying to protect/feed/care for others and doesn't really know how to stop and let himself be taken care of.

Coming to the Mushroom Kingdom had the effect of easing Luigi's anxiety; it's a less chaotic world and a (mostly) peaceful place to call home. There are rarely emotional conflicts that he feels responsible for regulating, and it's overall better for his health. His stress went down significantly despite the occasional heightened dangers. Coming to the MK unfortunately only escalates Mario's anxiety, though; now he is thrust into this protector role with an entire Kingdom relying on him for its security.

Luigi (being the more emotionally intelligent one between the two of them) clocked the exact moment that Mario fell in love with Princess Peach. He knew it before Mario did. And though he was hesitant to fully trust her at first (being that she's a gorgeous woman in a position of great power and he doesn't want his brother to get hurt), he eventually learns her nature is truly kind and gentle, which he comes to admire her dearly for. And he figures out that Peach reciprocates Mario's feelings pretty quickly, too. He leaves it unspoken, but he teases each of them with nudges and meaningful looks when the other isn't paying attention.

Mario had no idea that Luigi was in love with Princess Daisy for a while until Luigi started showing more obvious signs of a crush, but the thought occurred to him after meeting her for the first time that she would be a wonderful partner to his brother. He came to this epiphany when Daisy was able to beat him in a competition, and he was so amazed and impressed that his immediate thought was that a tough lady like her is exactly what Luigi needs. He considered her to be like a little sister even before it was ever a possibility that she might actually become his sister-in-law. It was a conversation with him that sparked Daisy's romantic affection for Luigi, listening to Mario speak so tenderly about him.

The brothers have a very playful relationship. There's banter, teasing, and sometimes even a little roughhousing. They have inside jokes within inside jokes that no one else could possibly understand. Even times when they were very deeply hurt in the past, the other brother finds a way to reframe it so they're both able to look back and laugh at the things that hurt them. It's easier now that they're in the MK; Mario was beginning to lose some of his spark in Brooklyn.

The movie never specifies that the brothers are twins I don't think, though that's usually a pretty common understanding. I personally HC them as two years apart just so I can bring out that older/younger sibling dynamic a little bit more.

They are inseparable 🥺 Both of them will do anything to make sure the other is content. But both of them also can never shake the feeling that they can't possibly give the other everything he wants and deserves. Nothing Luigi does will ever be good enough for Mario in his own view, and Mario can never do enough to assure Luigi's peace and security in his view. They might never admit it, but on some level they know and try to compensate anyway.

Their tempers are scary. Both of them are extraordinarily patient and understanding even to the most frustrating people and situations, but there are limits. Mario's end point is more easily reached. Where his anger is often fiery and passionate like in the heat of a fight, his unhindered rage is sharp and cold. He speaks quietly, never raising his voice except to be heard. It's scariest when he's moved beyond words into dead silence. It is Luigi's pure rage that is loud and aggressive, but it is much harder and rarer for him to reach his boiling point.

Firebrand and Thunderhand!! Their powers manifest in many ways that they've adapted to their practical lives. It wasn't easy learning how to control them, but once mastered, they almost couldn't imagine their lives without them. Mario's Firebrand makes him a very comforting presence (exuding warmth 😌) and able to traverse many different climates without problem due to his ability to control his body's preservation or release of heat. Luigi's Thunderhand regularly halves the time spent on his various engineering projects, as well as being potentially medically useful.

Luigi doesn't quite have Mario's strength or control, but he is much more meticulous and observant. He's more likely to come across the secret passages or hidden objects that can be helpful on the journey. Mario's more likely to fixate on the objective (e.g. Rescue the Princess! Save the world!) and do whatever it takes to accomplish it as efficiently as possible due to his imperative to serve, even if it sometimes means missing some details.

The movie characterizes Mario as a kind of misunderstood visionary, and he's a bit like that in my stories as well. He has some big ideas, but his motivations are purely based in the comfort and safety of others. He just wants to help people. Luigi is the one who can really assist and realize Mario's ideas, and he often has several projects going on because of how fast Mario can jump from plan to plan.

[comfymoth]

What would a conversation between Milo and Quinn be like(I imagine them awkwardly sitting across each other lol)

it honestly depends on when exactly in the timeline you place them. pre-mall horrors? for sure, things would be a little awkward. milo was embarrassingly jealous of her friendship with leon as a teenager, so he’s still getting over that, and quinn was wildly exasperated by his Whatever it was he had with leon, so she’s still waiting to see if he’s pulled his shit together.

the thing is, though, their personalities actually do click really well! on the flip side of that jealousy, milo also really admires quinn, and she thinks he’s really funny. once they break through that initial awkwardness, they get on like a house on fire

it’s just a shame that it happens to be the mall horrors that break that ice for them

they’ll be fine though! mayhaps eventually even a little better than fine. mayhaps a little aromantic about it

[the-sparkling-diamond-satine]

32. say please for the WIP Ask Game

Send me an ask from my WIP List and I'll post a little snippet or tell you something about it!

This one is slightly nsfw-ish

A present from Christian may be new but the Duke is often bringing Satine all sorts of treats: new hats and gloves, shiny earrings and sparkly bracelets, stick candy and pretty baubles and silly little trinkets. But of course, such things are never freely given. No; they always, always come at a price. Presents have to be earned. Satine drops to her knees, not wanting to wait any longer. She reaches for the zipper on Christian’s pants, fumbling it in her eagerness, delighted for the opportunity to show him that she deserves to be gifted presents, to be treated with affection. That it isn’t wasted on someone like her, that she will make it worth his while.

[alitgblog]

lewie brunch date when???

--

for some reason I thought there were brunch dates in s6 but I guess not lol

[kingjasnah]

im so drunk @ spock SPOOOOOOOCK 😭😭😭

[wikiangela]

I've obsessed over many characters over the years, but tbh I don't think anyone comes close to Eddie Diaz

he has such a hold on me fr lmao

[saja-star]

I've had a hard time articulating to people just how fundamental spinning used to be in people's lives, and how eerie it is that it's vanished so entirely. It occurred to me today that it's a bit like if in the future all food was made by machine, and people forgot what farming and cooking were. Not just that they forgot how to do it; they had never heard of it.

When they use phrases like "spinning yarns" for telling stories or "heckling a performer" without understanding where they come from, I imagine a scene in the future where someone uses the phrase "stir the pot" to mean "cause a disagreement" and I say, did you know a pot used to be a container for heating food, and stirring was a way of combining different components of food together? "Wow, you're full of weird facts! How do you even know that?"

When I say I spin and people say "What, like you do exercise bikes? Is that a kind of dancing? What's drafting? What's a hackle?" it's like if I started talking about my cooking hobby and my friend asked "What's salt? Also, what's cooking?" Well, you see, there are a lot of stages to food preparation, starting with planting crops, and cooking is one of the later stages. Salt is a chemical used in cooking which mostly alters the flavor of the food but can also be used for other things, like drawing out moisture...

"Wow, that sounds so complicated. You must have done a lot of research. You're so good at cooking!" I'm really not. In the past, children started learning about cooking as early as age five ("Isn't that child labor?"), and many people cooked every day their whole lives ("Man, people worked so hard back then."). And that's just an average person, not to mention people called "chefs" who did it professionally. I go to the historic preservation center to use their stove once or twice a week, and I started learning a couple years ago. So what I know is less sophisticated than what some children could do back in the day.

"Can you make me a snickers bar?" No, that would be pretty hard. I just make sandwiches mostly. Sometimes I do scrambled eggs. "Oh, I would've thought a snickers bar would be way more basic than eggs. They seem so simple!"

Haven't you ever wondered where food comes from? I ask them. When you were a kid, did you ever pick apart the different colored bits in your food and wonder what it was made of? "No, I never really thought about it." Did you know rice balls are called that because they're made from part of a plant called rice? "Oh haha, that's so weird. I thought 'rice' was just an adjective for anything that was soft and white."

People always ask me why I took up spinning. Isn't it weird that there are things we take so much for granted that we don't even notice when they're gone? Isn't it strange that something which has been part of humanity all across the planet since the Neanderthals is being forgotten in our generation? Isn't it funny that when knowledge dies, it leaves behind a ghost, just like a person? Don't you want to commune with it?

[sleepingdeath-light]

Death Idk what you're planning but hopefully it's good 👀

Well technically it’s two requests but they’re both for one of my side blogs 😂 and they feature every character I write for on there so… at least they’ll be interesting? Hahaha ^^

[bipercabethrights]

i read your username and I thought it said bipercabeth thighs

HAHAHA I LOVE YOU

that's a new one for sure

[lizardboiii]

At The Tone ┃ DCU

Barry Allen x Spider-Woman!Reader

┃ Summary: Sometimes bad things happen to good people - and that’s where the Justice League comes in. Too bad you weren’t interested.

“Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be" Billie Eilish, "What Was I Made For?"

│cw: SFW, alcohol abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief, hurt/comfort, violent themes

│wc: 3.9k

│chapters: One shot

│notes: This fic has been sitting unfinished (with 2k words!!) in my drafts for a WHILE. randomly decided it needed to see the light of day ig. was gonna make it nsfw but i low key hate it and just wanted too move on oops. enjoy <3

・❥・

│One Shot: At The Tone

You have five new messages.

“Good afternoon, Spider-Woman this is Cla-”

You heard a throat clear.

“It’s Superman. I see you still aren’t picking up any of the team’s calls,” He swallowed thickly, “I understand your recent loss was… hard. Something none of us would have wished for anybody.”

You could feel the tension in his voice.

“Please take all the time you need. The league is more than capable of taking care of New York in your absence for the time being.”

The sound of a pen clicking disrupted the message every so often, “But at least give us some indication you're alive…and well. The team cares about you,” He chuckled warmly, “Even “Mr. I Work Alone” Batman himself.”

His laugh dropped abruptly with a soft sigh, “Call me back when you can.”

Beep

You crawled out of bed slowly, dragging your duvet behind you like a cloak. The plush cotton laid heavy on your shoulders. You wondered if this was how Big Blue felt every morning - the weight of knowing everything depending on him once he bore his iconic red cape. 

You knew what that weight felt like, and you knew what it felt like to have it all come crashing down.

You have four new messages 

“How’s it hanging, Spidy? Haha, you get it?” A dramatic sigh escaped the machine, “Sorry, poor timing.”

He took a moment to regroup, “It's Green Lantern, just calling to check in. Headquarters has been depressing without you. I mean even Martian Manhunter is down in the dumps. It's a total bummer.”

Another sigh, “Listen you don't have to call me back if you don’t want to, but at least let Flash know you're still alive. He needs you more than he lets on.”

Beep

You groaned at the shrill ring of the answering machine. The outdated tech was too cherished to be discarded but the pulsing headaches you received from it almost outweighed the fond memories of Aunt May.

Thoroughly woken up, you entered your kitchenette. Your eyes shifted between the week old coffee pot on your stove to the half empty Hennessy bottle next to it. 

Maybe this time you would make the right choice. A sober evening is a good evening. However, the battle was always rigged to begin with and the winner already predetermined.

The Hennessy felt burdensome in your hand as you took a long swig. It burned violently down your throat, eating at your skin, before finally settling warmly in your stomach. Though you hated to admit it, it satisfied you more than any pot of coffee could.

Staggering to your couch, courtesy of one of New York’s finest sidewalks, you flopped down. The cushions were well used and musty. But who were you to pass up a free couch?

You have three new messages

“Spider-Woman.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“Your recent inactivity has caused some concerns regarding your whereabouts. The league seems to be having a hard time focusing on missions with your absence.”

Bats’ uncertainty leaked through the phone as he thought of his next sentence, “You have my condolences, Webs. However, the league cannot continue to work with this distraction. Please report to the Hall of Justice immediately.”

He hesitated, “We are worried.”

Beep

An involuntary snort escaped you. Bats’ attempt at comfort was interesting to say the least. He was surprisingly awkward for a leader of the Justice League. Though you supposed dark and brooding was his brand.

You have two new message

“Greetings, Spider-Woman, Wonder Woman speaking.”

You could hear muffled arguing in the background.

“Batman may have been a bit…straightforward in that last voicemail,” She attempted a fake laugh, “Please do not mind his bluntness, he is merely just as concerned as the rest of us. In his own way at least.”

A loud slam made her curse under her breath.

“I apologize I must go, the “children” are fighting again. Don’t hesitate to call back. See you soon, Webs.”

Beep

Lifting the liquor to your lips, your brows creased when only a drop hit your tongue. Out already?

You let out an exaggerated sigh before placing the empty bottle on your coffee table. A quick glance at your barren pantry told you everything you needed to know. You’d have to go out and get some more. You felt your face scrunch. That means you have to go out in public.

You weighed your options. 

You could stay inside and continue to peacefully hide from the world, but you're guaranteed to sober up eventually.

Or you could make a quick trip to the convenience store down the road and pray the minimum wage employee can’t smell the alcohol on you from a mile away. 

You hummed thoughtfully. Though, now that you think about it, there’s a off chance you might run into the supe that’s covering your city for the time being. Then again, there’s a very high chance it’s not someone from the Justice League, a member from The Team at best. 

Massaging your forehead, you tried to remember the last time a Justice League member took a leave of absence. A blonde goatee flashed in your mind.

That’s right. Green Arrow was out for a while when he got busted up pretty bad. His protégé, Speedy, ended up babysitting Star City in his absence. You bit your lip. 

But you didn’t have one of those anymore.

You have one new message

“Hey Webs! Sent me to voicemail again, huh?”

An awkward laugh made the machine crackle.

“Just calling to check up on you. How are you doing? Feeling alright? Just say the word and I can grab you anything from anywhere. I mean literally anywhere. They don’t call me the fastest man alive for nothing!”

You could practically hear the large smile embedded on his face.

A large sigh passed through the speaker, “It’s been a month now. The team misses you…I miss you. A lot actually.”

He paused.

“Just call me back alright? I need to know if you're okay.”

Beep

Your hand paused over your front door handle. Flash’s deep voice was like a siren's call, beckoning you in. 

What you’d give to turn around. What you'd do to call him back. It took everything in you to force yourself away from his voice.

Your best friend. 

Your confidant. 

Your everything. 

You have zero new messages

・❥・

You weaved through the bustling sidewalk with a slight wobble, managing to dodge a third of the people you almost crashed into. Night was quickly approaching. That meant the streets were only going to get busier. 

More people = More crime = More superheroes.

Fumbling into a dimly lit alley, you avoided Main Street completely. It was too risky. Even in your civilian disguise there was no guarantee your voice wouldn’t be recognized - mainly by your teammates but especially by… Flash.

You recalled how often you sought each other out in the Hall of Justice. Whether it was meddling in the business of others, or simply enjoying the company of one another.

His hand always seemed to find its way to the small of your back. Gently resting. While his thumb delicately circled the thin fabric of your suit. 

He leaned in closer than he should. The dull smell of his cologne inevitably picked up by your heightened senses. 

It wasn't how friends should behave - but that's all you ever were. Friends.

Thwack!

You slammed yourself against one of the side walls in surprise, extinguishing your mind of complex thoughts. Creeping closer, you cursed in your head when harsh thumps and muffled grunting filled the air. 

“Where’s my money, Huey?”

Crack!

“I-I don’t know! Please!”

Whack!

You recognized the tell-tale sound of blood splattering against the ground, akin to paint splashing. The sound made you nauseous. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you thought of your next move. 

Now, on any normal occasion you’d swing in all heroic and save the day. But today was different. You were different. 

Excuses flooded your brain as you tried to explain to yourself why you felt little desire to help the abused man. 

Your suit was at home crammed somewhere in between an ugly Christmas sweater and a latex bodysuit you practically begged Cat Woman not to give you. 

Even if you had the energy, you were still considered MIA to the league. You’d basically be spoon feeding them your location. 

Your internal dilemma didn’t last long as the pummeling swiftly came to an end. Peaking around the corner, you watched the assistants retreat into an adjacent alley. They moved lazily. Clearly they didn’t expect to be caught.

You could still catch them.

You found yourself making an internal description. Two Caucasian males both wearing black beanies and disgustingly outdated puffer jackets. The taller one sported purple and green. While the shorter preferred yellow. 

Your foot shifted before you felt yourself hesitate. Maybe you shouldn’t. They’d probably be caught soon enough anyways. 

If anything, the supe covering your city would swoop in and haul their asses to the local jail. Especially when you called an ambulance for the man who was passed out on the ground. It would put this area on tonight's map. You sighed and finally allowed yourself to relax. 

This was fine. 

Everything was fine. 

Shifting your eyes to the ground, you located the poor soul who suffered the attack. His breathing was ragged and wet. You were quick to put two fingers on his neck, checking for a pulse. A wave of relief crashed through you when you felt a steady beating.

Pulling out your phone, you immediately dialed 911 and requested an ambulance, anonymously of course. You stayed with the man until you could hear loud sirens growing closer. Your sign to leave. 

Exiting the alleyway, you reached the small convenience store in record time. The adrenaline in your system was starting to make quick work of the alcohol in your bloodstream. 

You could feel your senses beginning to come back. Eyes clearer. Ears sharper. You could practically hear the heartbeats of everyone in the store. 

Groaning at your misfortune, you beelined for the alcohol section in the back. My god was it beautiful. Itching to return home, you grabbed a random bottle that had the highest percentage. Taste didn’t matter. Only the effect.

Glancing at your selection you choked on your own spit. 30 dollars?? The glass bottle was swiftly put back as you grabbed the cheapest one you could find. Tucking the Shitty K under your arm, you turned to walk to the register.

“PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP, OLD MAN.”

You froze. Extending your neck out, you caught a glimpse of the register. 

Purple, green, and yellow.

You had to be fucking kidding.

You watched as the two assailants from the alley held the elderly cashier at gunpoint. His form shook like a leaf. 

“Please! Just take the money and leave!”

You caught his eyes as he begged for his life. Tear filled and shaking. You could have prevented this. If you would have just stopped them when you had the chance none of this would have happened.

You could have saved the man in the alley. Saved the poor cashier.

You could have saved Uncle Ben too. 

Your eyes watered. Fucking pathetic mistake. What the hell were you doing? You weren’t a teenager anymore. You were a grown adult who should have learned from your mistakes by now.

Shifting your eyes from the vodka to him, you pressed your lips in a thin line. You didn’t know what hurt more. The fact that you were repeating past mistakes or the fact that you wanted to take the more expensive alcohol and leave unnoticed.

When did you become this? 

No wonder you let Spider-Girl die.

You needed a drink. Desperately.

Abruptly, a whiplash of red and yellow snatched you from your daydream. The streaking shape blew over the newspaper stand before spinning around the starstruck perpetrators. You knew those McDonald's colors from anywhere. 

Kid Flash.

Like any speedster, he removed the gun in milliseconds before tying up the confused robbers. They stood no chance against the meta-human.

Dusting off his hands, Kid Flash smiled smugly at the dumbfounded duo, “Guns aren’t currency, you know?”

The man in yellow thrashed violently, “What the hell-Kid Flash!? Why are you in New York? Spidey taking a break or something?”

You cringed.

Kid Flash’s boyish voice laughed awkwardly, “Something like that.”

You need to get out of here. Now.

Slowly backing into the aisle, you clenched your teeth when your elbow hit the shelf. The bottles tinked in a symphony, altering everyone in the store of your presence. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Instantly, you snatched your coat hood and covered your face and hair. Staring into the grime covered tiles, you prayed Kid Flash wouldn’t think too much of it.

“Hello?”

Of course. The one time he’s actually thorough.

“Are you alright?”

Bright yellow boots came into your vision as you tried to conceal yourself further. You hunched into yourself with clenched fists. Mistaking your actions for something else, Kid Flash placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey it’s okay! You don’t have to be sacred!”

You bite into your lip eager to escape the conversation, “I’m not. Please let go.”

Kid Flash laughed, sounding a little too similar to Flash in your opinion. Removing his hand from your shoulder, he stood next to you with his hands on his hips. 

“Then why are you hiding?” A red glove entered your vision. It was headed straight for your hood.

You slapped his hand away, “Didn’t your parents tell you not to talk to strangers.”

He shrugged, “That rule doesn’t really apply to superheroes.”

You couldn’t contain the breathy laugh that left your throat. You hate to admit it but you actually really missed the kid. 

However, you failed to realize your mistake. If anyone knew your laugh it was Kid Flash. You spent way too much time around him and Flash for him not too.

There was a long pause. 

“…Webs?”

You flinched hard, “Wrong person.” You internally cursed at yourself for the obvious slur in your voice.

“Are you drunk?”

“…No.”

His hand grabbed your upper arm tightly, “Where have you been? Are you okay?”

You gently pulled against his hold, attempting to break free without force, “I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t,” Kid Flash raised his hand to his ear piece, “Just let me notify Flash-”

“NO!”

Your arm flew up to the communicator without thought. Taking advantage of his surprise, you were able to snatch the high tech earpiece from his loosen grip.

“Hey!” 

Kid Flash grabbed at you. His lanky limbs attempting to reclaim his lost device, “Let go!”

“You let go!” You shoved his face away with the palm of your hand. 

Kid Flash merely continued to grab at the air around you, “Never!”

If this was any other situation you would have laughed. The pair of you looked like children fighting over the last dessert.  

However, this wasn't just any situation. This situation involved Flash. 

“Listen to your elders you brat!” Finally, after a well fought struggle, you managed to hold the device out of arm's reach. A much needed success after the month you've had- 

“Webs?”

You halted in your tracks.

The small communicator in your hand blinked on and off, identifying an unstable signal. 

“Webs is that you?” Flash was urgent, “Wait there! I'm coming-”

You crushed the device in your hand. Terrified.

Small fragments engraved themselves into your skin, dotting your hand red. What have you done? 

“Batman’s gonna kill you for that, you know?” Kid Flash laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

You frowned, uninterested in entertaining him. Kid Flash merely smiled awkwardly. It was evident the boy was taken aback by your unusually serious demeanor. 

The thought didn't take up much space in your mind. You could only think of one thing. When would Flash decide to appear out of thin air?

As if conjuring the hero, a red bolt flew through the mostly empty convenience store. The glass doors shook from the force. While newspapers scattered through the air, Vogue landed atop the cashier's head. 

Though he moved faster than the speed of light, he stood before you still. Unmoving. It was as if you might fade away if he got too close. 

“Webs,” His voice was laced with reverence. 

Your mouth went dry, “Flash.”

The tension between the two of you was thick enough to cut with a knife, suffocating you. Maybe this was how Flash planned to get back at you for ignoring him. Slowly killing you with hypoxia. A metaphorical death pertaining to how he felt during your absence. 

“Woah, this just got really awkward.” 

Kid Flash’s voice suddenly reminded you of his presence. He swayed uncomfortably. Trapped between you and Flash.

The younger male pointed his thumbs at the door, “Should I leave…or?”

“Yes.” 

Startled at your synchronous voices, Kid Flash quickly shuffled toward the door, “Alright. See you later?”

Flash nodded his head in response, ushering his protégé away. Kid Flash couldn't leave fast enough. Magazines, once again disturbed, twirled around the ground from where he left.

You stared at the loose paper. Preferring the sight of perfume ads then whatever expression Flash held. From the corner of your eye you should see him shift. He moved with unease. Your mouth curled slightly. He never was able to stop moving for long. 

“Webs, I-”

You cut him off, “I’m sorry.”

Flash furrowed his brows in confusion, “You don’t need to apologize. It's not your fault.”

“But it is,” You clenched your teeth in frustration, “It's always been my fault.”

The taller male crossed the space between you hesitantly. You flinched when he placed his large hands on your shoulders, completely engulfing them. 

“It wasn't your fault, Webs. Nobody could have known.”

“I could have saved her,” you finally met his gaze, “I was right there.”

You saw his eyes widen slightly, clearly used to your masked form more than your real face. 

Your name spilled from his lips. 

Not just Webs - your name.

You took a shaky breath, “Barry.”

The name was foreign on your tongue. You had tried to keep your personal life separate from hero work. Though that only lasted a year. Barry managed to weasel his way into your home life before you knew it.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

Barry’s hands slid from your shoulders down to your hands, caressing them softly. “Believe me when I say this,” He took a deep breath, “I’ve been in your position before. We all have.”

Breaking eye contact, your stare bore into the wall of cheap booze, “I know.”

“And I know,” He cupped your cheek, “That drinking away your problems won’t help. It only makes it worse.”

You bit your lip, “I just want to forget.”

“I know. God, I know. I want to go back and change that day every time I open my eyes,” He placed his head in the crook of your neck, “But I've been down that road before. And it's not sustainable.”

Your eyes felt hot, your throat dry, “I don’t know what to do.”

Barry pulled your smaller frame into his arms, “No one does.”

You sunk into his embrace, inhaling his scent.

“Let me take you home, Webs.”

“Okay.”

・❥・

You held tightly onto Barry, arms circling his neck, as he brought you home. You had barely enough time to blink before you were standing in front of your apartment’s door.

Barry hesitantly let you down from his hold. Though his arm stayed wrapped around your waist for support. You gave him a gentle smile as a thank you. 

Unlocking your door, you were immediately reminded of the state of your apartment. Dirty laundry and loose items scattered the floor. 

Shame crept up your neck. The uncaring attitude towards your humble abode seemingly disappeared.

Barry entered slowly, taking in the messy state. His eyes were quickly drawn to the empty bottles strewn about your floor. Unsurprisingly, he began to pick one up. Then another. And another. You snapped when he started to replace your trash bag.

“Barry.”

His head whipped toward you, only focusing on you.

“That's enough,” You tried grabbing the bag from him, “You don’t need to.”

Barry held onto the plastic tightly, “I want to.”

You shook your head, “It's my mess. Leave it.”

“No.”

You jolted in surprise at his commanding tone, “Why?”

He tossed the bag to the side, “Why?” 

Laughing dryly, he shook his head, “Why not? Why wouldn't I take care of you?”

You averted your gaze, “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“But you do,” his voice was imbued with desperation, “If you didn’t, I wouldn't have spent a month doing everything in my power to find you!”

Your face felt hot, “I didn't ask you too!”

Barry closed in the space between you, “You didn't have too!”

You weren't sure when the tears began to pour down your cheeks, “I never wanted you too! I just want to be alone! Why can’t you let me be?”

“Because I can't let you be!” Barry’s hand slammed down on your tiny island counter, “You're all I think about! From the moment I wake up to the time I go to sleep, all I know is you. I would rather you hate me for the rest of my life just to see you for a moment than ever ignore you.”

You felt like a deer in headlights, “What?”

“That day when Spider-Girl died,” He gripped the counter, slightly cracking it under the force, “I felt like I lost a piece of you too. And I could bear it.”

You felt like you lost your breath when Barry met your gaze again. His eyes were laced with anguish. Bloodshot rims already forming.

“I know you're hurting. I know what I am experiencing is nothing compared to what you are going through,” He searched your eyes, “But I'm in love with you! And I have been for as long as I can remember.” 

The start of a cry made his voice waver, “And this is definitely poor timing for a confession, but I can’t lose you-”

You weren't exactly sure which one of your muscles was still intact enough for you to move. However, the feeling of plush lips against your own thwarted any other thought.

Barry stood rigid for a moment. Hands clenched at his sides. Then, he dominated the kiss like his life depended on it. His hands held onto your waist tightly, before slowly making their way to your face. You couldn't remember the last time you felt this happy.

Pulling away, you took shallow breaths, “I love you.”

Barry smiled and swiped a loose teardrop from your cheek, “I love you too.”

The warm moment didn't last long. Your mind was quick to remind you that there was a reason Barry had to confess in a messy studio apartment rather than someplace special. That reason was because you were broken.

You pressed you mouth into a thin line, “Do you still want me even if-”

“I want you no matter what,” Barry didn’t allow you to get another word in, “We can go through this together.”

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, “You're not alone, Webs. You never were.”

You swallowed hard, “Together?”

"Together."

・❥・

[mondaymelon]

₊⊹ 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋 ❤︎ | yandere!xiao, childe, scaramouche x gn!reader

art by @/syaden8 on twt!!

⟢ cw: a failed escape attempt from them... yandere, dark themes, petnames, mutilation (xiao, scara), violence, drugging (scara) etc. please proceed with caution! thank you.

⟢ "your order's denial is causing me trial !"

"Ah."

XIAO's lips moved, and it was that single noise that escaped.

For your room lay barren, empty, cold, the harsh winter breeze drafting through the shattered window, the bars covering it having been forcibly bent aside. "It..." For a moment, his body swayed, his own legs unable to support his weight. Then, his balance stabilized, his once by a fraction wider eyes having narrowed. "It seems my songbird has escaped."

Unacceptable. The word repeated in his head, like a mantra, a prayer, resounding within his ears, despite the silence, despite the cold that bit at his skin as he trudged through the snow, his spear at his side. A tiny, devilish voice that tugged on his ears and whispered out tales of his sin.

"Found you."

"N-No- please-" His gaze sharpened in annoyance. Desperate, your voice hoarse and cracking by the syllable, hurling yourself forward one more step, just one more, your bloody, bare feet scraped and bruised. This wasn't right, how come you seemed so distressed?

No, you of course sounded better as his songbird, in a pristine little cage, singing for him, and only him, happy tunes of joy and pleasure.

"...And as a songbird can live with its wings clipped, surely you'll understand if I...?"

The shackles locked tight around your wrists, and your useless, wretched legs, bones shattered by a single blow.

It's an unfortunate predicament, but it's the only way. ❤︎

"Oh, so the chase is on?"

CHILDE shouldn't be laughing, but oh, he was.

It's a twisted sound, with the corners of his mouth distorted upwards in a haphazard smile, his eyes blown as a dark flush of red descended upon his cheeks. "So you've decided to play this little game of cat and mouse. Very well, if that's what you want, darling!"

You aren't making this difficult enough. His keen gaze spots all the traces you've left behind, broken branches, ruffled leaves, a torn piece of the clothing he had gifted you... it's all imbued with your essence, honey sweet on his lips.

Why would you even want to leave him?

It's that thought that makes him pause upon finding you, your trembling form sprawled across the bloodied snow as he stands over you, his own shadow casting you in darkness.

That's right, why would you? He's been nothing but loving. He's catered to your every need, has he not? He's bought this house for you, all the clothes you wear, the food you eat, the bed you sleep in... what right did you have to defy his affections, now that he had made them ever so clear?

If anything, it was insulting.

Oh, but did he truly feel insulted? After all, an offended person wouldn't have taken you like that, wouldn't have knocked you unconscious and wouldn't have carried the delicate you in his arms back to home.

Maybe a better description would be "longing." Longing for your praise, longing for your thanks, longing for the smiles you'd send his way... how come your eyes have faded, since then? It's strange, he's never seen you look so... determined before, not since today.

Ah, but what did it matter?

This puny escape attempt of yours... his tongue tasted bitter.

It wouldn't happen again. He'd make sure of it, so please, don't mind the chains, would you? ❤︎

"They... dare?"

SCARAMOUCHE's expression contorts to one of rage, his brows sharply angled downwards and his violet eyes wide, quivering.

Haha... what a fool he was. He should've been more attentive, how had he not noticed your strange movements? The way you gave him a forced smile everytime he returned home, the way you'd greet him at the door with the dinner you made, and he had finally thought you had accepted his confession all those weeks ago, he finally thought you had gotten used to and started liking your life here, finally thought-

And then he thought nothing at all as his body swayed and fell to the ground. The audacity, to go and dig through his things, to go, find, and use the very drug he had used to bring you home.

By the time he awoke, the house was but a cold expanse, barren of your warmth, and he clenched his fists so tightly, his nails kissed red crescents into his skin that weeped with every flex of his fingers.

"To pull such a parlor trick against me like this... ah, doll. Don't think you'll get away with this leniently."

When he found you, not "if", he'll make sure to reprimand you properly. If breaking your spirit wasn't enough, then he'd have to break your mind too. He's already decided that he'll reshape the pure thing with his own, dirtied hands, into something that will burn only for him.

Surely, a couple missing limbs, here and there, wouldn't obstruct that light, would it now? ❤︎

(a/n) as i said on my sideblog, something about writing for toxic mentally distressed emotionally broken and heavily reliant yandere characters who turn to violence to show their love is. just so. oddly... comforting?? was going to make this longer and then some shitty shit shit went down so. yay. tears.

if you enjoyed please consider following me or leaving a note on this post!! they are very appreciated, and i am very close to hitting a follower goal that i want to reach before the new years ! thank you.

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader

-> teehee what if yall left a message on my christmas tree 😶😶😶