#this is where i've been if ... anyone needs me

[annasellheim]

We're sitting at the table I'm glaring at them. These heroes ("The Big Three" as they are known in the industry) are questioning me? ME? They're questioning ME???

These motherfuckers made me come to the Cape Crusaders big, tacky mansion to justify my actions to them?

The thing that pisses me off the most about their reservations is the fact that what I do IS SO MUCH MORE IMPORTANT than anything they could possibly do. These idiots just punch bad guys in the face and send them to prison, just so they can escape and start the cycle over from scratch.

I've already saved so many more lives than they ever will. I've made more of a positive impact on this planet than anyone will ever know.

Because my power is to stop disasters, and the most effective way to do that is to prevent them.

No one knows how many wars I've stopped before they began, how many diseases I found vaccines for before they became epidemics, how many cities and countries I've helped create infrastructure for so they could avoid being over run by natural disasters.

And my job is made even more difficult than it sounds because no one can truly fathom how bad things would be if I don't use my powers. I have to fight ppl tooth and nail to get it anything to happen because they don't know how bad it'll be if it's not acted on.

No one sees what I see. They don't feel what I feel. They'll never know the particular ache in my chest that somehow has has an entire narrative wrapped in it whenever a potential disaster hits me. An ache that is so powerful that it's made my knees buckle multiple times.

And the feeling doesn't dissipate until the disaster is fully prevented. It means that when I know something needs to be done, I have to make sure it's dealt with, or-

It's destroying me in a way. Doing so much, all the time, with no compensation or recognition.

The heroes at least know about my powers and know that I have nipped a bunch of really bad shit in the bud.

The villains thing has come up before and it's irritating. For years I thought it was because they were lazy and just were angling for help over shit that I didn't have time for, and in the big picture, didn't matter. Asking for even more help than I already provide.

I'm at my limit already.

But looking at these three at this table in this enormous, extravagant kitchen, it hits me how wrong I am.

These heroes don't have my powers. They can't foresee and stop disasters. For all they know, these clowns that rob banks and occasionally attack and murder people, could cause major disasters down the line. I'm not perfect, I can't stop all disasters. I have to sleep and eat and work a fucking day job.

I still feel residual aches from time to time for every disaster I've failed to stop.

They aren't trying to get more free work out of me, they're trying their best to figure out what villains can do major damage in the future.

They're scared.

"So, the way my powers work," I say while leaning back in my chair, "is that at some point, I know something will go from being an issue to a problem to a disaster. I can only intervene when I know it'll be disastrous, otherwise I can't use my powers, it's like they don't exist. Until something goes over the thresh hold of becoming a potential disaster, it's like I have no powers at all."

"How do you know when a disaster is going to happen? Is it like a vision?"

"It's more internal than that- it's like a feeling I guess...I'm not sure how to articulate it."

Huh, no one has ever bothered to ask me anything specific about my powers or the work I do. I don't have a lot of answers if they keep prodding.

"So, yeah, it's not that I'm neutral to villains, it's just all of the ones you guys been dealing with don't-" I yawned "- don't give me that feeling. I'll let you know if it changes."

I put my head in my hands. Fuck, I'm so tired. It's not like I can stop being a hero, I see the alternate world where I don't intervene, I feel it. But I'm so, so tired.

"Go take a nap."

My head shoots up, "What?"

The Masked Crusader (dumb ass name btw, just like his dumbass mansion) says it again, "Go take a nap. I'll make us all dinner. Go use my guest room and pass out for a bit.

Damn it, did I say I was tired out loud? Or was mind reading one of his superpowers? I can't remember, things have been so overwhelming recently, my memory is shot.

"No, the Masked Crusader can't read minds, that's me" Brainiac says.

Oh. Shit. Right.

"We just, we see you burning out, let us support you for once," chimed in the Singing Banshee.

This was not how I was expecting this conversation to go AT ALL.

Banshee continues, "You've got a lot of walls up, probably from years of running yourself into the ground saving thousands of people without any help. So, we're now going to help you."

"That's not a request by the way," the Masked Crusader says as he slides me a glass of water. "We're doing it whether you like it or not."

Shit, I hadn't even realized I was thirsty. Have I drank any water at all today?

And then *BOOM* I get hit with it- the feeling of an impending but preventable disaster. But it's different than any other disasters I "felt" before.

It's me... It's me, in the near future, collapsing and being unable to do anything about, well anything. I won't be able to stop future disasters, hell, I won't be able to function. And the only way to prevent it was to lean on these people.

This is a lot.

I chugged the rest of the water and wiped my mouth.

"Ok, thanks..." I whispered.

It's too much to think about right now. It's too much to feel right now. I'm not used to, I don't know, being taken care of. I don't know how to be supported.

I'll figure out a way to properly navigate this later. Right now I need to lay the hell down.

You're a superhero who specializes exclusively in stopping disasters. The other heroes just don't understand why you need to remain neutral to the villains…

[fungateshortcakes]

Tummy ache

Do I have kids? No. Do I want kids? Fuck no. Did I still write this because dad logan makes me feel a certain type of way? HELL YES

Pairing: Worst!Logan x single mom!Reader

Summary: It's late and your little daughter Laura won't stop crying and screaming, no matter what you do. You take her to your best friend Wade, who lives in the same apartment buildung. Will he and Logan be able to help you?

Wordcount: 3.4k

Warning/tags: english is not my first language, fluff, slight missunderstandings, Wade bc he needs a warning, implied sexual themes, friends to lovers, just cuteness, Laura doesn't exists as an adult like in the movie, rushed ending?, leave me alone I finished this at midnight

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Logan was snoring on the couch in Wades apartment when loud, frantic knocks sounded on the door. He grumbled in annoyance as he turned, pulling a pillow over his head.

He heard Wade skip to the door in a pair of white underpants with hearts on them and a loose, grey wolverine fangirl shirt. "Must be the horse dildo I ordered" he spoke happily as if it was the most normal thing to say. Once Wade opened the door, the piercing shrieks of a baby crying echoed through the apartment.

You held your one year and a half old daughter in your arms, her face red as she cried into your shoulder. Wade noted that your hair was a mess and you seemed awfully tired. Well- it was late and on any other day, you and your daughter would already be sleeping. But there was clearly something that bothered her. She had been crying and screeching and in discomfort for an hour without you finding what caused it or how to fix it.

You tried feeding her, but she wouldn't open her mouth for the spoon. You tried reading to her, but she would always push away the books. You changed her diapers in case her sensitive skin was irritated by the dampness, but she hadn't peed. You didn't know why she was so distressed and nothing seemed to distract her from whatever it was that made her cry.

You were desperate. And while your best friend Wade wasn't really...fond of kids, which you couldn't blame him for, you still went to him for help. You never truly wanted kids yourself. But when the condom broke and your ex left you upon finding out you were pregnant, you were stuck with your baby. And now you wouldn't trade her for the world. Except in times where she was screaming with no appearant reason. "Hey Wade, I'm so sorry to bother you guys this late at night, but Laura, she won't stop crying. I've tried everything and I don't know what to do" you croaked, rocking the small child in your arms, shushing her to no avail.

Wade brought you inside so you wouldn't stay outside in the hallway any longer. No need for some neighbors to peek their head out of their doors to see what was going on.

In situations like these, Wade could be oddly serious and actually tried to help. He knew you were insecure because of your baby. You didn't want to be a nuisance or burden to anyone because you knew that your daughter could be a lot. Kids were high maintanance and you didn't want to make people feel like they were obligated to make room and drop everything once you arrived with your child. You couldn't expect from anyone that they were okay with you bringing your kid over. But Wade wanted you to know that even though he didn't like kids, you were his best friend and Laura had been nothing but a sweetheart so far. You were always welcome in his apartment.

Wade kicked Logan from the couch "Get your fat ass off the couch, the Lady needs a place to sit" he loudly said over Lauras crying. Logan groaned. You sat on the sofa and tried to take up as little space as possible. "Im sorry Logan, didn't want to disturb your sleep." you apologized meekly. "I can..I can move to the chair here" you muttered, pointing to an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair that replaced an armchair, which had recently been thrown out of the apartment due to mysterious stains and various rips and cuts in the fabric.

You had met Logan a few times since he lived with Wade and Althea. And you would be a liar if you said he didn't catch your eye. He was tall, broad and very handsome, pretty much right up you alley. But there was no way he was looking for a chaotic single mother that barely had her life together and struggled to raise an unplanned child because her ex left her. Yeah, no. You were miserable. Logan didn't need any of that.

Adding to that, he always seemed to avoid you when Laura was near. You just thought he didn't like kids, which was totally fair. Truthfully, Logan liked kids and had always wanted some of his own, but it just...never happened. With him being the worst wolverine and all.

Then why did he avoid you and your baby?

Simply said, he didn't want to scare her. Most kids looked at him like he was some sort of big, bad monster. Some ran away, some started crying, others hid from him behind their parents when he walked by. He wasn't good with children either because they never let him close enough before getting scared. He was afraid that Laura would react the same way like all children did. He didn't want you to back away once you realised that Laura didn't approve of him.

He couldn't bear only seeing you from afar.

As you were about to stand up from the couch, Logan stopped you. "No, its fine. Stay on the couch. I can move" he replied and you felt another pang as he moved away from you again.

Wade leaned over the couch, looking down at Laura who was still wailing uncontrollably. You sighed deeply, a throbbing ache behind your eyes. "Why won't you stop crying? What's wrong, sweetheart?" you nearly sobbed as well. You were so tired of this, so tired of this sound. You felt so helpless and stupid. "Maybe she wants some food? We have some left-over pizza, I can grind that stuff up into a slurry for her or something" Wade suggested.

You softly shook your head. "She doesn't want to eat, I tried. I also tried to read her a bedtime story, but she just push me away. I also changed her diapers but nothing helped" you rasped, ready to just fall asleep on the spot.

Wade reached down to get your crying daughter out of your arms. "How about you get some sleep while Wolvie and I take care of Laura? Maybe we'll find out what's rubbing her the wrong way." Wade said, cooing to your crying baby. You fell onto the couch, closing your eyes. "I can't just sleep when she is crying" you mumbled, clearly deadly tired.

"We'll take care of her. You go sleep" Logan drawled and his deep voice soothed you even more, made you even more sleepy. It was so easy to let your body betray your mind and you hated it. "Okay..." you whispered, too tired to argue. And before you could snuggle into the couch cushions, you felt two strong arms slip under your body and lifting you up as if you weighted nothing. You were so tired, you couldn't even gasp or protest as Logan brought you into Wades room, your senses enveloped with his scent.

He carefully lowered you down onto the matress, covering you up with a blanket. "Sleep tight, love. We'll take great care of your little one, so you don't have to worry about a thing" he drawled softly and only after closing the door behind him did he hope that you hadn't catched his slip-up, that he had called you love.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

In had been another two hours of constant crying and screaming. The kid must be exhausted from all the crying, but she still didn't stop. If you asked Logan, it became even worse.

"God, can you shut up for a minute? I am trying everything here!" Wade stressed, bouncing Laura in his arms and patting her back. "Don't tell your mom I said that" he whispered right after. Laura wailed and pushed herself away from Wade with her tiny hands, which were surprisingly really strong. She squirmed in his grasp, desperate to be set down.

"This is how you thank me? I've worked my ass off the past hour to get everything to your liking and now you push me away?" he grumbled, but set her down with a loud 'ouch!' after she started to scratch him.

Her tiny feet waddled against the livingroom floor as fat tears rolled down her chubby cheeks. She had a tummy ache, but she couldn't communicate that with anyone. There were a few words she knew and could say- cat, dog, mama. But she didn't have the words to say that something was hurting.

Logan sat on the couch and watched her as she stood a few feet away from him with her red face, screaming together the whole neighborhood. He sighed deeply, the sound making his ears ring. Then, out of nowhere, she waddled over to him.

"No, no, bub. Not a good idea. Get back to uncle Wade" he told her, scooting up the couch a bit more. He could have just stood up and walk away- why didn’t he? Laura stood between his legs now, demanding uppies from him as she cried. Logan shook his head, ready to call Wade from the kitchen, when Laura began screetching, stretching herself to Logan, standing on her small tip toes.

With a huff, he picked her up, his big and warm hands eveloping her small body. He leaned back against the couch with her on his lap. To his surpise, she quieted down. "You okay now, bub?" he asked her, jumping as she snuggled herself against his chest. Due to his mutation, Logan was always very warm. His whole body was like a heater and that warmth soothed Lauras tummy ache, unbeknownst to him.

The apartment was quiet now, only a few hiccups and sighs coming from Laura as she let her stomach ache be washed away by Logans cozy warm body. He didn't know what to do! One minute he was tortured by her screams and now she was napping on him. On him! Out of all people, she chose to rest on him.

"Is she dead!?" It was now Wades turn to yell as he came stumbling into the kitchen because it suddenly went all quiet. Logan didn't answer him nor did he move a muscle, too scared to wake your baby up.

"What the fuck" Wade blurted out upon seeing something he had never thought he would ever witness in his entire life. Logan shushed him, making Wade frown. He came closer, his face next to Lauras sleeping one "You little cheating slut" he sharply whispered, earning himself a shove from Logan. "Seriously, did you knock her out? Why is she sleeping all of a sudden?" Wade asked with crossed arms.

"I don't know. She wanted me to pick her up, so I did. Then she stopped crying and fell asleep" Logan explained, a warm feeling spreading in his chest as he watched the slow rise and fall of Lauras breath, her tiny hand tightly holding onto his shirt.

"Wow" Wade said. "You're the baby whisperer" Logan shot him a glare.

Wade went on a rant about how everything would have been easier if Logan took Laura from the start before finally falling asleep draped over the chair, leaving Logan alone with his thoughts. For a moment, Logan thought about bringing Laura to you so she could sleep with her mom. But as he tried to peel her off of him, she started fuzzing and whimpering until she was laying back on his chest.

He sighed deeply. Well, gotta make the best of the situation, huh? With a grunt, he made himself comfortable on the couch and fell asleep with a broad hand securily holding Laura on top of him.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

You woke up well rested. Weird. You haven't slept this good since Laura had been born.

Laura!

You jumped awake, stumbling over some stuff in Wades room before you reached the door. It was quiet as you opened it and you were met with the sight of Logan, the fucking Wolverine, sound asleep with your daughter cuddled up on him as if he was some kind of big teddy.

Your heart soared in your chest, your stomach did flips and summer saults. And your pussy throbbed. Couldn't help it, seeing him with your baby did something to your ovaries. It was...so cute. You wanted nothing more than to snuggle up with them, trace patterns onto his pecks while Laura would squeak out an adorable smile-

"Mama" Laura squealed suddenly, flashing you a smile with her few teeth. "Hey there, baby" you cooed to her, kneeling down next to the couch to be eye-level with her. She smiled brightly, whatever it was that had bothered her yesterday completely forgotten. "You seem happy using uncle Logan as a pillow" you said to her, kissing her chubby cheek.

Logan started waking up, only registering Laura at first. "You slept well, bub?" he muttered with a deep sleep laced voice, gently rubbing Lauras small head with his large hand that easily fitted around the back of her head.

"Yes, I did. Thank you for asking" you giggled softly, amused by the way Logan nearly jumped out of his skin upon noticing that you were there too, witnessing how he went soft for your daughter. An embarrassed blush krept onto his face and he cleared his throat, sitting up and avoiding your gaze. "Sorry, she...she only stopped crying when she sat on my lap"

You smiled softly at him. "Seems like she really likes you, then." and I like you too, you wanted to add, but didn't. "She is usually not that touchy with people she barely met" you said and hearing your reassurance- the fact that Laura seemed to like him- it warmed his heart. But he would never admit that.

"Well, I guess I'm flattered" Logan replied with the hint of a smile, his gaze soft as you lost yourself in his eyes, Lauras babbling fading into the background. For a moment, you let yourself think about what could have been. This baby, it could have been Logans and yours. She could have been born because two people truly loved each other. Did Logan love you? You doubted it. But when he looked at you like that, you allowed yourself to be fooled.

"I don't know how you manage to fuck each other just with your eyes, but get a room. There are children present" Wade suddenly said outraged, covering Mary Puppins eyes.

You picked up Laura from Logans lap, holding her against your hip to bring distance between you, Logan and Wades teasing. Logan cleared his throat, clearly disappointed.

"I am so, so thankful that you guys helped me. I don't know what you did or what was wrong with her, but she seems all better now. Is there anything I can do to show my gratitude? you asked, gently bouncing Laura in your arms.

Logan shook his head "No need, bub" he grumbled in his deep voice. He would have done this a thousand times if it meant he could hold your baby in his arms as if it was his. "Make that creamy ass mac and cheese and my life is yours. That stuff tastes and sounds better than any pussy" Wade chimes in, making you laugh. You promised to invite both of them over for dinner sometimes this week and they happily agreed. Laura squeaked out a cute "bye!" before you went back to your own apartment again.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Ever since that day, visits to either Wades or your apartment became more frequent and Laura couldn't be happier seeing Logan pretty much every day. She would stick to his leg from the minute she saw him and to the last second before he left. It was adorable and made you fall even deeper in love with someone you could never have.

Wade made it his mission to steal Laura away from you and Logan. Partly because he wanted you to spend more time alone, and to teach her some words since he was her 'uncle' after all.

Laura sat on his lap, staring down at Wades phone. He looked over her head. He had a picture open that showed you, Laura, Logan and Wade. "And who is that?" he pointed to you, earning a delighted squeal from Laura as she pointed to your smiling face on the picture as well "Mama!" she babbled. Wade cheered her on, applauding her. "That's right, and that is Dada. Dada" he pointed to Logan. Laura recognized him, smiling brightly and giggling, but she didn't say anything. "Can you say that? Dada?" Wade asked in the best baby voice he could muster. But still, Laura wouldn't say anything. "Come on, say Dada. Da-da" Wade tried one last time, but Laura unwrapped himself from his arms to go and play with some toys scrattered on the floor. He huffed in frustration. It was easier to teach kids swear words than this.

Two days later, the day for the dinner came and someone rang your doorbell. You left Laura to play on her playmat and went over to the door, opening it a slit before realising that it was Logan. You fixed your hair with flushed cheeks, you hadn't expected him to come this early, you had just started the dinner preperations. "Oh, hey Logan. What are you doing here? Dinner was planned in two hours" you said, gingerly letting him into your apartment which you hadn't had the time to tidy up yet. Logan wasn't the guy to judge, but you still felt insecure.

"I thought I'd help you with the cooking and all. Look after Laura so you can work in peace" he said, knowing that he was just here to spend more time with you and Laura alone to give him the feeling of having his own little domestic family that he will never actually experience.

You smiled at him "That's very nice of you, but Laura is actually being very umcomplicated today" speaking of which, you showed him that your kid was silently playing with her toys. Upon noticing you and Logan, she squealed and stood up slowly, trying to keep her balance, before she waddled up to him excitedly. "There's my little pumpkin" he drawled, bending down to pick her up swiftly.

"Dada!" she giggled, making you an Logan stop in your tracks. "Did you hear that?" he asked you, looking over at you with a shocked expression. You frowned. You had never taught her to say that. "Sweetheart, who is that?" You asked the little girl, tapping Logans arm, just to be sure you hadn't heard her incorrectly. "Dada" she squeaks again, playing with his coarse beard.

You both looked at each other in disbelieve and for a second, you feared Logan woulf shove Laura into your arms and leave. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't know where she got that from" you tried to apologize, but the rejection from Logan never came.

He held her lovingly to his chest, giving her forhead a kiss. It made your heart pound faster. "No, it's okay" he reassured you, his large hand enveloping the back of Lauras head. "I...I could be her dad. If you want me to be" his question struck you like lightning, it was like a damn marriage proposal.

A marriage proposal you would never say no to. He looked at you with hopeful eyes, waiting for your answer and worrying he had overstepped.

"Yes. Be the father she never had. And please be the love I always wanted" you whispered, leaning up to kiss him. The kiss was soft, your lips brushing against the other and it was nothing you had ever felt before. You had kissed your ex- but never did it feel like this. So right. His free hand snaked around your waist, deepening the kiss until Laura decided to pull at your shiny necklace.

You smiled at her, taking her into your arms. "Do you want to play with daddy while I make mac and cheese?" you asked your daughter and minutes later, Logan had brought her playmat and some toys into the kitchen to sit beside her on the ground to watch and entertain her. It was like nothing had changed. Little did you know, Logan had accepted the little girl as his daughter way before today, even if you guys had never confessed.

And as you stole glances down to Logan, who was already looking at you with these half lidded bedroom eyes, you knew that after dinner, Logan and you would be trying for Lauras sibling.

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I really hoped you liked this, I feel like I've rusted a bit. Still got a lot of smut ideas and fics open that I need to finish. Wish me luck☹ if you saw any grammatical mistakes, no you didn't. Leave me alone im tired

Btw, thanks to @buck-star for motivation me to finally finish this <33

[erinwantstowrite]

bear with me here because i'm gonna ramble about something i've been thinking about for a while... and i'm not complaining, i'm just noticing

sometimes i think we've leaned so far into the vigilante side of the batfam that we miss out on what really makes their characters: detective work. we need more mysteries in their lives that don't lead up to some big bad "we already know who's doing it" or an "end of the world" or "yet again: this fucking guy." we need more stuff where spy movie music plays in the background and dumb adventures that don't lead up to some huge grand event with a big name villain. the shock factor stops being shocking or interesting in any capacity if we're like "Gah! the Joker! ... Again!" or whatever

does that even make sense? like "yeah sure they're blowing up a building again and there's hostages. oh look they're gonna poison the water supply." these aren't bad and that's not what i'm getting at because obviously this is a classic for comics. you need to have characters/antagonists that show up more than once and who can make a story better by being in it. and i did say to bear with me- that's because im tired. so like i hope im getting this across the right way? it's just that sometimes i don't wanna see a huge explosion, i want these motherfuckers solving a regular murder or a disappearance or regular corruption in a local office without it being tied to a grand reveal like "actually this person knows you as a long lost relative" or "they were at that circus can you guess which night they went?" that kind of thing? if you get me? like... more of the small time stuff makes the big stuff important, it makes it stand out more. at some point, the format gets repetitive even if you're switching up the villains. you can make these situations/mysteries still fun to solve for the characters and fun to read for the audience if you do it right

the concept of a detective dressed as a bat and having a sidekick in traffic light colors is inherently goofy as hell??? but that is what is so charming about it??? i think we have lost the balance between them being silly while also being intelligent with important conversations that criticize the world as we see it and teach lessons and can go over dark topics. nowadays it's always end of the world problems or just straight up the most gruesome true crime you can think of?? or they can ONLY do the dark stuff and the criticism without offering a balance of the good in the world. or we keep coming back to the FUCKING JOKER-

like yes they are vigilantes and with that comes a different level of their work, but their brand should be a mix between a black and white detective film that can get very nitty gritty and a classic spy movie, that kind of thing. at the end of the day, it's what makes them so different from the superheroes. that's what appeals to me.

seeing them in the big superhero groups is fun, don't get me wrong. it's always funny to see them standing next to people who are so powerful they never really fit in with anyone but each other, who chose to step up and use their powers for good. the Bats' specialty is Gotham and yet here they are stopping a god or whatever. and they do stop the god or whatever, all the while being an important leader and strategist to their teammates. they're important to have in these cases. but if there's a world ending event every time i pick something up, it's not as fun

the fact that they are so very human and not fantastical is why i like reading them. it's what makes the joke of people, even Gotham citizens, theorizing about them being cryptids, funny. they're fucking weird but that's because they're detectives. people who love to solve mysteries usually have a fatal flaw of curiosity. they forget the bounds between social interactions sometimes because they're used to working through problems or being intertwined with partners that understand them. but they're very much human. so human that it hurts them in many ways. and idk i've just been thinking about it lately and idk what point i'm trying to get across actually

it's just that in my eyes that's how it really is for Batman- a black and white movie narrated by a very serious man who took up a job to help people, one that has a deeper commentary on the world and viewed outwardly as pessimistic but actually has a deep hope for his city and who tries to help even the people who have wronged others. He's a stationary man in the belief that him being a constant can serve to soothe others and help them move forward. He stays in the middle of the path so he can tell everyone what is up ahead. he blends into the Gotham rainy night to serve justice but in a way that saves both the victim and the perpetrator. (the way he tucks a Robin into his cape is the same he does for Gotham with his mere presence.) and his background is actually so important to his story and yet people still somehow gloss over the lesson from it? he lost his parents because of a man who was on the opposite end of the spectrum to where he was in life. and yet he chose to help the people like the man that killed his parents. he could have done anything else with his power and money, but he instead is choosing to bring as many people up with him as he can. He's Mr. Serious that no one else can get a read on. and yet he walks into a room and he's already piecing together your life and what you're going through because he thinks it matters. he comforts people who have lost something or someone or themselves. I picture Batman and I don't picture a man trying to save the world, I picture a detective walking around a crime scene and trying to save at least one person every time he puts on the cape. and he put on the cape and became a vigilante because then he could go out of the bounds of what laws have been set up- and specifically, Gotham has other people in power who are corrupt, keeping the system that way. that's why Batman being a billionare and throwing himself into helping people at the risk of his own life is so important. he knows that if you are alive, you have something or someone to lose, no matter who you are. the dude is a bleeding heart but he doesn't know how to express it, in fear that if he gets too close, if he moves down the path with them, he'll be lost again

and then he's met with someone who should be a complete opposite, but isn't at all, because they're two sides of the same coin. his partner in crime, his son, a boy that is nothing like the black and white world that he sees. and that's the point in his life where he first sees that potentially getting lost is worth the risk. Robin is color and passion that needs guidance to move forward, but can not do so unless the stationary man learns to move with him. the kid is loud and reckless and you'd think he's from a different genre from the detective but they aren't so different, really. not when you look close enough. Dick grew up moving from place to place and seeing the world, knowing so many different people from different cultures. He's been learning to fly and jump and embrace the free fall his entire life. He's clever and he's sharp, and he thrives in the action and adventure. it's that perspective that compliments the stationary man. one is steady and the other pushes. he's the same genre but a different generation. and Batman introducing him to the way of life he chose for himself was another way he could save someone. because let's be real for a second? Dick would have gone down a very dark path had he not had Bruce, who understood, who saw not just himself in the kid but also saw who the kid has been his entire life until now. he saw Dick's parents, he saw the family he had in the circus, he saw the joy he had in what his family was doing. he saw the grief and the fire and the color that Dick's world was made of. because to Bruce, it always matters. Dick had to come to terms with Bruce's perspective to help anyone who they come across, to always give more chances, and it kept Dick from losing his color

what gets me is that the man who lives in the black and white world can actually see many different shades of gray (because black and white always needs the medium), whereas the boy in a world of color and light can get so focused on the bright that he can become single minded. and yet the boy sees a world of color and delves deeper into the lives of the peolle they come across and can be much more open minded, and the man in the black and white world sometimes forgets the shades of grey are right there. they are just like each other. they can exist without the other, but do they want to? because the black and white can be built up into the colored image, like the inking and shadows drawn on a comic book page before the colors are added in. they meet in the middle to complete each other. Bruce has been passing the story over to the next generation for a long, long time, even before his story was complete. and just like with the first Robin, it was so for every Robin afterwards. they each color in the lines differently, but that's what makes Robin so special, so unique. they are an art style that branches into their own life, but can not forget where they started: tucked into Batman's cape and the inky black of his world

and so detective work really frames their hunanity to me. the mysteries they get their hands on, the glimpses into the lives of Gotham citizens that they swore to protect, it's fascinating. it's what makes their story stand out compared to the people who can lift trucks or cast spells or run around the world in seconds. so yeah ig that's what i'm trying to say? that i want to read more of that? in both canon and fanon. cause even the small time villains we see can be like. AWFUL people and it takes out the fun of their gimmicks. and if it were any other day this would be a more coherent post but alas, it is not any other day

[postcardsfromheapside]

I need to be salty for a hot second about people who are upset about aspects of Lucanis' romance.

I'll put everything else under the break for spoilers, but in general, I am so disappointed in a large portion of this fanbase who apparently thought "disaster" meant "romantasy," but also it's in keeping with how a lot of people seem unable to put things in context.

One of the complaints I keep seeing run past is that the scene where you commit to a relationship with Lucanis seems pefunctory, or out of the blue, there's nothing really romantic about it, it's too similar to the platonic route, etc, etc, ETC.

I romanced Emmrich, but I've seen other people's versions of romancing Lucanis. I'm just going to kind of word vomit here, and hope I can come up with something cohesive.

As someone who id's with Lucanis for "generational abuse" and "dumpster fire disaster bi" and "using socially acceptable drugs as coping mechanisms in place of addressing your problems" reasons, it's been really fucking annoying watching the almost deliberate misinterpretation of his character even after Mary Kirby dropped several explanations on social media. It's like a large part of the fanbase saw all that and turned into the "yes yes, very sad...anyway!" meme and went right on fetishizing him...then got mad when he didn't turn into the seductive Dom with wings they were hoping for.

You commit to Lucanis after (what I consider) a very intense scene inside his "mind prison." He's struggling so much internally that Spite wrests control of his body from him in front of witnesses and begs Rook to help them. Lucanis would never ask Rook to do so on his own, he's terrible at asking for the help he truly needs. Spite drags Rook into the Fade Ossuary and demands they free Lucanis from his self-imposed prison. And whether you're a friend or would-be lover, Rook slowly talks Lucanis out of a host of self doubts regarding his family and friends. Can he trust himself not to hurt other people, now that he's saddled with this affliction? Has he disappointed the people he cares about most? Do these new people he's coming to care about actually trust and care about him? The rooms are filled with fragmented thoughts that peter out into regrets. You're literally seeing Lucanis' fractured and complicated emotions.

One of them tore a hole straight through me: "You'd have to kill me...And Spite would die."

You'd have to kill him to get rid of the demon. And he'd regret the death of the demon that's protected him and given him strength, through a brutal year of betrayal and torment. I don't know if y'all remember the scenes in the Ossuary of the failed experiments and the corpses you had to pass to get to his jar of blood. It wasn't fun.

When you break out of the mind prison after helping him bond with Spite, it's intimate and momentous, even on a platonic route. You've seen desperate and lonely parts of him he'd never willingly show anyone.

As you're convincing Lucanis that it's okay to leave his mind-prison, you tell him you understand that it's easier to deal with problems like the Ossuary and Zara than healing and living with Spite, potentially hurting people he cares about. But he wants to. It's Rook's job to help him see a path out, a way for him to make the struggle easier so he can begin to heal himself.

I need to stress: you aren't "fixing" him. You're acting as his lighthouse, regardless of whether you're a friend or a lover. Sometimes people need help. He's still going to have to do the work to get there.

As a friend, it was extremely rewarding to come back to the kitchen and see him doing exactly as I'd hoped: moving on with the business of *living*. He made a nice dinner for everyone he's come to care for, and a special dessert for Neve. Cooking is where Lucanis finds creativity, and comfort, and connection with his friends and family. He isn't very good with words, but he will note everything you consume, and try to make you feel loved by expressing it that way.

Which is why I think it's important you don't dismiss the commitment on the romantic route. He remembers YOUR favorite drink and makes YOU a special dessert if you're romancing him. Lucanis isn't going to get poetic. You've already made him feel raw. You've seen the ugly, embarassing parts of him. What is he supposed to say? Usually it takes Spite reaching through his body to actually be direct. Instead, Lucanis reaches for food, his favorite medium, to try and apologize for inadvertently showing you those things, to thank you for helping him despite seeing what he considers the most shameful parts of him. Your commitment is letting him know that you value him, that he has nothing to be ashamed of, that you understand what he's trying to express with his struggling communication skills, which appear to get better as your relationship progresses from there.

It's weird that some of y'all don't feel that this is heartfelt and important, because you'd rather him act out some sensuous fantasy trope. It's also weird that some of you haven't figured out that many scenes in RPG's can be similar on platonic and romantic routes with tweaks to shade context.

(Also just in case this comes up: cooking is not his "love language" - that whole concept was invented by a misogynistic weirdo and we should remove it from our ideas of communication)

Anyway, this guy is my Rook's bestie and I'll go down swinging for him, you should appreciate the fuck out of him and stop acting like his writer didn't craft a perfectly funny little weirdo who is bad at showing people his tender parts and terrible at interpersonal relationships.

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

Would you tell POC that vent their frustrations about white people that they're being hateful?

Yes actually. I would. Unless it was a joke. In which case I wouldn't care. But if I were to take a gander, you'd have issues about white people complaining about literally anyone else. That kind of talking is funny to me and always has been because it means that you actually have a white supremacist view of the world. You are just to jaded and stupid to realize that you do.

Which is to say that you should be justified in criticizing an entire race. Or an entire sex. You fully believe that men are the superior sex and that whites are the superior race. You'll say you don't. But you do. It's just that you believe that it IS the case and needs to be overturned. But in saying that you still admit you view non whites and women as lesser. As I fully expect. Because you're a marxist at the end of the day. Though I doubt you are even smart enough to realize that yourself. I could be wrong though. Maybe you are a marxist willingingly.

I'm guessing you're a man who's never experienced misogyny in your life

So this is kind of a dumb statement. If I am a man, and regardless of if, of course I can't experience misogyny. However if I am a man I can experience Misandry. Which is still discrimination based on sex. Which you are ignorant to it seems. To be treated like a rapist purely for existing. To be treated like a predator purely for existing. To be treated like a pedophile purely for existing. To be treated like a murderer purely for existing. To have all access to mental health and domestic violence cut off. Because of people like you no less.

Why do you always act like women aren't oppressed

Because in most of the Western world they aren't. I could post a list of the richest people on earth or just in the US and among the top of that list, from the 80's until now, there would be a huge number of them. Not just rich, but self sustaining. I've never once in my life said, "there are no areas in the world where women are oppressed". I have never said that once. However, in the western world, oppression is not something you see often. Because truth of the matter? You probably have no idea what real oppression looks like.

People often don't recognize misogyny as oppression because of how normalized it is.

Criticism isn't misogyny. And having complaints against a person voiding discussions of their sex as a relevant factor in the complaint ISN'T misogyny. Misogyny contrary to the FEMINIST definition, was originally "Hate or discrimination against a woman based on her sex". Not the bullshit expanded definition where literally anything and everything under the sun qualifies.

And lastly. I stand by my point that Radfems treating women like infants that can't make decisions for themselves is FAR more sexist than most of the actual sexism I've seen in my own life from others.

I don't think I'll continue to argue with you. Seems like there's no point. Marxist never listen and think their worldview is godlaw.

[theonottsbxtch]

COURAGE | OP81

an: i warn you ahead of time this faces the topic of substance abuse, if you or anyone you know needs help, please feel free to talk to me or here are links for who to talk to: united kingdom, united states, canada, europe. these are some of the links i've found, if you need help searching for one, my inbox is always open!

warnings: substance abuse, religous themes, mentions of death & hospitals.

wc: 4.6k

The church bells rang out over the small town of Willow Creek, their low hum rolling through the autumn air like a solemn hymn. Oscar stood at the edge of his front porch, adjusting the cuffs of his Sunday shirt as he waited for her. He always waited for her.

She emerged moments later from her house next door, pulling her shawl tighter against the chill. The hem of her modest dress caught the breeze, brushing against her knees as she approached. She didn’t say much, she never did on Sundays. Her gaze, solemn and steady, flicked toward the church steeple visible from the end of the street.

“Ready?” Oscar asked, though he already knew the answer.

She nodded, her braid catching the sunlight as they started down the gravel path.

The girl was his best friend, his constant, the one person in this quiet town who felt as real to him as the chipped paint on his window frame or the threadbare pews at St. Anne’s.

Their routine was always the same: church in the morning, quiet afternoons spent sitting on his porch or hers, talking about scripture or nothing at all. It was an existence that felt safe and good, built on a foundation as steady as the faith they shared.

But something had shifted in her lately. He couldn’t place it, not exactly. She still walked with him to church. She still bowed her head during the prayers, her lips moving silently along with the hymns. But her eyes were somewhere else, distant and restless, as though her thoughts had wandered too far and couldn’t find their way home.

“I heard Father O’Connell mention the youth retreat next month,” Oscar said, breaking the silence as they neared the church steps. “He said he’s hoping for a big turnout this year. Are you thinking of going?”

She hesitated. The pause was brief, but it was there, and Oscar caught it like a pebble in his shoe.

“Maybe,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. Then she offered him a faint smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ll see.”

Oscar didn’t press her. He never did. But as they entered the church, he couldn’t help but notice the way her hand lingered at the edge of her shawl, clutching it like a tether.

It started with small things.

Oscar didn’t think much of it when she skipped their afternoon talks one Sunday. Her mum had said she wasn’t feeling well, and that made sense. People got sick; life happened. But then she missed the next Sunday, too. And the one after that.

She stopped coming to the Wednesday youth group meetings at church, which was even stranger. For as long as he could remember, she’d been one of the first to volunteer for scripture readings or help organise bake sales. Now, her name wasn’t even on the signup sheets.

Oscar wanted to ask her about it, but he couldn’t figure out how. It wasn’t like they had a friendship built on confrontation. They’d grown up side by side in the same pews, their lives as intertwined as the ivy creeping up the churchyard walls. But it was a quiet bond, one where words weren’t always necessary.

That’s what made the silence feel so loud.

One Friday afternoon, after work, Oscar saw her for the first time in weeks. She was sitting on the front steps of her house, legs crossed, the heel of her shoe tapping a restless rhythm against the wood.

“Hey,” he called as he approached, hands in his pockets. “Haven’t seen you around.”

She looked up, her expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’ve been busy.”

Busy. The word felt wrong coming from her, like a puzzle piece jammed into the wrong spot.

“Your mum said you were sick,” he said, testing the waters.

Her eyes flickered, just for a moment. “Yeah. That too.”

He leaned against the porch railing, watching her closely. There was something different about her, but he couldn’t pin it down. Her braid was still neat, her dress still modest, but the way she sat—loose, almost careless—was unfamiliar.

“You coming to youth group next week?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

She shrugged. “Probably not.”

“Why not?”

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and he felt like she was seeing through him instead of at him.

“Just not my thing right now,” she said, and there was an edge to her voice he didn’t recognise.

Oscar frowned. “You’ve been going for years.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, standing abruptly. “People change.”

And just like that, she disappeared inside, leaving Oscar alone on the porch with the sound of her footsteps echoing in his ears.

Over the next few weeks, Oscar saw less and less of her. When he did see her, she wasn’t the same.

The first time he noticed the guy, it was at the diner on Main Street. She was sitting in a booth near the window, her back to him, but he recognised her laugh instantly. She wasn’t alone.

The guy was tall, older, with a leather jacket slung over the back of his chair. He leaned in close when he talked to her, his hand brushing her arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Oscar stood outside the diner for a long time, watching them through the glass.

When she turned her head and laughed again, Oscar caught a glimpse of her face. There was something wild in her expression, something unrestrained and electric. It scared him.

He didn’t tell her he’d seen her. He wasn’t sure why.

But the next Sunday, when her mum stopped him on his way to church, the worry in her eyes told him she’d seen it too.

“Have you talked to her?” her mum asked, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “She’s… I don’t know what’s going on with her. She won’t talk to me.”

Oscar didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sure it’s just a phase,” he offered weakly.

Her mum smiled, but it was the kind of smile people gave at funerals.

“I hope so,” she said.

The next time Oscar saw her, it wasn’t at church or on her front porch. It was behind the convenience store on Elm Street, just after dusk.

He had been walking home, the kind of mindless stroll he often took when his thoughts got too loud. The streets were mostly empty, the only sounds the faint hum of a streetlamp and the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes.

He heard her before he saw her. Laughter—sharp, jagged, and nothing like the laugh he remembered. It came from the alley behind the store, followed by the low murmur of voices.

Oscar turned the corner, and there she was.

She leaned against the brick wall, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. The glow of the lighter in the guy’s hand caught her face just long enough for Oscar to see the hollow beneath her eyes, the strange way her smile curled at the edges, like she wasn’t entirely sure it belonged there.

The guy was the same one from the diner, older and out of place in this small town. He said something to her, and she threw her head back in laughter, her voice ringing out into the quiet night.

Oscar froze. She looked so different. Her braid was gone, her hair loose and tangled, framing a face that seemed sharper, thinner. Her clothes were casual but careless, like she’d grabbed the first things within reach. She didn’t look like the girl he’d grown up with—the girl who bowed her head in prayer and scolded him when he skipped scripture reading. She looked like someone else entirely.

The guy noticed Oscar first. He smirked, nudging her with his elbow. “Friend of yours?”

She turned her head, her smile fading when she saw him. For a moment, something flickered in her expression—guilt, maybe, or shame—but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice sharper than he expected.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, his throat dry.

She rolled her eyes and took a drag from the cigarette, exhaling smoke into the cold air. “It’s none of your business, Oscar.”

“It is my business,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re my friend.”

She laughed, but it was a brittle sound, lacking any real warmth. “Yeah, well, friends don’t follow each other around like lost puppies.”

Oscar felt the words like a slap, but he didn’t back down. “This isn’t you,” he said quietly. “What are you doing with him?”

The guy smirked again, clearly enjoying the tension. “Relax, man. She’s fine.”

“No one asked you,” Oscar snapped, his voice louder than he intended.

The guy raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you two to it.” He handed her the lighter, brushing her fingers with his in a way that made Oscar’s stomach turn, and walked off down the alley.

She didn’t look at Oscar right away. Instead, she stared at the lighter in her hand, turning it over like it was a puzzle she couldn’t solve.

“I’m fine,” she said finally, her voice softer but still distant. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“You’re not fine,” Oscar said, his frustration bubbling over. “You’ve stopped coming to church. You won’t talk to your mum. And now you’re…” He trailed off, gesturing helplessly toward the cigarette still in her hand.

She sighed, tilting her head back against the wall. “I don’t need a lecture, okay? I get enough of that at home.”

“I’m not trying to lecture you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I just… I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”

Her gaze flicked to his, and for a brief moment, he saw something raw in her eyes—pain, anger, maybe even fear. But then she blinked, and the mask was back.

“Maybe I’m tired of being the perfect little Catholic girl,” she said, her tone light but cutting. “Did you ever think of that?”

Oscar stared at her, searching for the girl he knew beneath the stranger in front of him. “This isn’t you,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

She pushed off the wall, brushing past him. “Maybe you never really knew me.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving him standing alone in the alley, the faint scent of smoke lingering in the air.

That night, Oscar lay awake, staring at the cracks in his ceiling. He wanted to help her, to pull her out of whatever dark place she’d fallen into, but he didn’t know how. She wouldn’t let him.

For the first time in years, he prayed not for himself, but for her.

“God,” he whispered into the stillness of his room. “Please. Bring her back.”

It became a pattern.

Oscar would see her slipping further away, each time a little less like the girl he had grown up with and a little more like a stranger. Sometimes it was behind the convenience store. Other times he saw her stumbling out of a car that didn’t belong in their quiet town, the headlights cutting through the dark as it sped off, leaving her swaying on the curb.

She wasn’t hiding it anymore.

When their paths crossed now, she barely looked at him. Her words, when she offered any, were short and cold, like she was daring him to stop caring. But he couldn’t stop.

So he prayed.

Every night, he knelt by his bed, his hands clasped tightly together, his eyes shut so hard it hurt. He prayed for her to come back, for her to see what she was doing to herself. He prayed for the strength to find the right words, the right actions, anything to pull her out of this spiral. But every morning, when he saw her again—laughing too loud, her eyes bloodshot and empty—it felt like no one was listening.

One night, well past midnight, there was a knock on his window. He woke with a start, his heart pounding, and stumbled to open it. She was standing there, her hair tangled and wild, her face streaked with something he couldn’t tell if it was makeup or tears.

“You need to stop,” she said, her voice slurred but venomous.

“Stop what?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

“Praying for me,” she snapped. “I know you’re doing it. Just… stop.”

Her words stung, but what hurt more was the way she looked at him—like he was the enemy. Before he could respond, she turned and disappeared into the night, leaving him standing in the cold.

A week later, it was her mum who knocked—not on his window, but on his door.

Oscar opened it to find her standing on the porch, her face pale and drawn, her eyes red from crying. She looked older than he’d ever seen her, like the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders and wouldn’t let go.

“Hi, Ms,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.

She didn’t move. Instead, she stood there, clutching the edge of her sweater like it was the only thing keeping her together. “Oscar,” she began, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know who else to come to.”

He felt his stomach sink. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s her,” she said, her voice cracking. “She’s… I don’t know what’s happening to her. She barely comes home anymore. And when she does…” She broke off, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Oscar didn’t need her to finish. He’d seen it all himself.

“I’ve tried talking to her,” Her mother continued, her words spilling out in a rush. “I’ve begged her to stop, to come back to church, to tell me what’s going on, but she won’t listen. She doesn’t even look at me anymore. And now…” She trailed off again, her shoulders shaking as tears filled her eyes.

Oscar reached out instinctively, placing a hand on her arm. “Ms…”

She shook her head, brushing his hand away. “I don’t know what to do, Oscar. She’s slipping away from me, and I can’t stop it. I thought maybe you could… I don’t know. Talk to her. Get through to her. She listens to you, doesn’t she?”

The desperation in her voice was like a knife in his chest.

“She used to,” he admitted, his throat tight. “But not anymore. She won’t let me help her. I’ve tried. I’ve tried so many times.”

Her face crumpled, and she let out a sob, covering her face with her hands. “She’s all I have,” she choked out. “It’s just me and her. I don’t know how to do this alone.”

Oscar hesitated, his heart breaking at the sight of her. He wanted to promise her that he could fix everything, that he’d bring her daughter back, but the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t know if he could keep that promise.

Instead, he did the only thing he could think of. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her. She stiffened for a moment, then broke down completely, her sobs muffled against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his own voice shaking. “I’m so sorry.”

They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, the house silent except for her quiet, broken cries.

When she finally pulled away, wiping her eyes, she gave him a look so full of raw hope it made his chest ache. “Please, Oscar,” she said. “Don’t give up on her.”

He nodded, though his heart was heavy with doubt. “I won’t.”

But as he watched her walk back across the front garden to her house, the weight of the promise settled over him like a stone. He didn’t know how to save someone who didn’t want saving.

So that night, like every night before, he knelt by his bed and prayed.

“God,” he whispered into the darkness, his voice trembling. “Please. Show me what to do.”

That night the ringing of his phone jolted Oscar out of a restless sleep. For a moment, he thought it was his alarm, but the screen glowed faintly in the dark: Unknown Number.

He rubbed his eyes and answered, his voice groggy. “Hello?”

The sound on the other end wasn’t words at first. It was crying—deep, heaving sobs that clawed at his chest before he even recognised her voice.

“It’s me,” she managed between gasps.

Oscar sat up so quickly the blankets slid off his lap. “Where are you? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she choked out. “I’m… I’m at this party, and I—I took something, and now I can’t—” Her voice cracked, and she let out another sob. “I feel so weird, Oscar. I feel like I’m dying.”

His heart dropped. “You’re not dying,” he said quickly, already grabbing his keys from the nightstand. “You’re not. I’m coming to get you. Just tell me where you are.”

She mumbled the address through her tears, barely coherent, but he caught enough to recognise the street. It was across town, the kind of neighborhood he tried to avoid.

“Stay where you are,” he said, his voice shaking. “Don’t move. I’m on my way.”

He hung up and bolted for the door, his chest tight with fear.

The streets were eerily quiet as he sped through town, the glow of his headlights slicing through the darkness. His mind raced faster than the car, flashing through every worst-case scenario he could imagine. He gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, his foot pressing harder on the gas.

When he turned onto the street, he knew he was in the right place. Cars were lined haphazardly along the curb, some with doors still hanging open. Music blared from the house, but the sound was disjointed, chaotic.

And then he saw them.

A wave of people surged out the front door, spilling into the front garden and onto the street. They were shouting, laughing, some tripping over themselves in their haste to leave. Oscar pulled over and jumped out of the car, his heart pounding.

“What’s going on?” he yelled at one of them, grabbing a guy by the arm.

“Cops are coming,” the guy slurred, shaking him off. “Some girl OD’d, man. It’s bad.”

Oscar didn’t wait to hear more. He shoved his way through the crowd, pushing against the flow of bodies until he reached the front door. The smell hit him first—alcohol, smoke, and something sour underneath.

Inside, the scene was chaos. The music was still blaring, but most of the partygoers were gone, leaving behind overturned cups and broken bottles. He stepped over a pile of discarded coats and followed the sound of a frantic voice.

In the living room, he found her.

She was lying on the floor, her face pale, looking like nothing he’d ever seen before. A girl about their age was kneeling beside her, pressing her hands against her chest in a desperate rhythm.

“Come on,” the girl muttered, her voice shaking. “Come on, don’t do this.” She glanced up briefly, her phone pressed to her ear. “Yeah, I’m doing compressions,” she said into the receiver. “Please, hurry.”

Oscar froze for a moment, the sight stealing the air from his lungs. She looked so small, so fragile. Her hair was damp with sweat, her lips tinged blue.

The girl performing CPR looked up again, her eyes wild. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help?”

Her words jolted him into motion. He dropped to his knees beside them, his hands trembling as he reached for her. “What happened?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“I don’t know,” the girl snapped. “She took something—pills, I think. Someone said it was laced, but I don’t know with what.” 

Oscar’s hands hovered uselessly over her, his mind racing. He didn’t know what to do. He’d never been trained for this, never thought he’d need to be.

But he knew he needed to do something, looking at the girl in front of him, he watched her hands and pushed them aside, continuing for her. 

“She went upstairs to take a phone call, walked back in and collapsed.” The girl sat back on her heels, then leaned forward to blow two breaths into her mouth. “They thought it was a joke at first, but it all got so serious all of a sudden.” Oscar continued the same rhythm on her chest, watching as the girl flexed her hands nervously. Underneath his breath, he was silently praying that someone was listening, because in the last couple of weeks he was beginning to lose faith. No one listened to him when he was desperate, begging for someone to save her.

“Stay with me,” the other girl murmured, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face. “Don’t you dare give up.”

The distant wail of sirens broke through the chaos, growing louder with every passing second. Relief flooded Oscar’s chest, but it was fleeting. He looked down at her pale, lifeless face and felt the weight of every prayer he’d ever whispered.

“God,” he said under his breath, his voice breaking. “Please. Don’t take her.”

The sirens grew deafening as the paramedics burst through the door. Oscar was pulled back, forced to watch as they took over, their voices calm but urgent as they worked to save her.

He didn’t realise he was crying until he tasted salt on his lips.

As they loaded her onto a stretcher and wheeled her out the door, Oscar followed, his legs unsteady but his resolve firm. He wasn’t leaving her—not now, not ever.

He watched them close the doors of the back of the ambulance and ran back to his car to follow them when he saw the girl weakly walk out of the house. He could have just left her, but she had just saved his best friend’s life. Instead, he walked back up to the house, hugged her and offered her a lift.

When Oscar finally got to the hospital, it was cold and quiet in a way that felt wrong, like it was holding its breath. Oscar sat in the hard plastic chair next to her bed, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped tightly together. He had barely spoken to anyone since they arrived, giving only short, clipped answers to the nurses’ questions.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at her pale face, willing her to wake up. The IV in her arm looked too big, too intrusive, and the steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

Finally, her eyelids fluttered.

He shot upright, his breath catching as she groaned softly, her head turning toward him. Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused and heavy, but when they landed on him, recognition flickered.

“Oscar?” she croaked, her voice barely audible.

Tears sprang to his eyes, and he let out a shaky laugh that was more relief than joy. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice thick. He reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He never cursed. 

She blinked, her gaze shifting to the IV in her arm, the sterile hospital room around her. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked, his voice breaking.

She shook her head weakly, then winced. “I… I don’t know. I was at the party, and then…” Her voice trailed off, her brows furrowing as if the memory was too painful to touch.

Oscar leaned closer, his face inches from hers. “What were you thinking?” he asked, his voice low but trembling. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you? You could’ve—” He stopped himself, his chest heaving as he swallowed back the lump in his throat.

This wasn’t what she needed to hear.

She looked away, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to,” she whispered. “I didn’t think it would…”

Oscar let out a shuddering breath, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I lost you,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

They sat in silence, the weight of his words hanging between them.

A nurse came in not long after, checking her vitals and saying she’d be discharged soon. Oscar nodded numbly, his mind already racing.

When they stepped out of the hospital, the chill of the early morning air hit them both. He helped her to the car, her steps unsteady, and buckled her into the passenger seat. She leaned her head against the window, her eyes glassy and distant.

“I’ll call your mum,” he said, turning the key in the ignition.

“No,” she said quickly, her voice hoarse but firm.

Oscar paused, his hand on the wheel. “I need to tell her. I stopped the hospital from calling her.”

“Please, don’t,” she said, her voice breaking. She turned to him, her eyes pleading. “I can’t face her right now.”

He hesitated, the conflict written all over his face. “What do you want me to do?” he asked finally, his voice soft.

“Just drive,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

So he did.

They didn’t talk as the car rumbled down the empty highway. The radio was off, the only sounds the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of her shifting in her seat.

She didn’t cry, but her silence was heavy, and Oscar didn’t push her. He kept his eyes on the road, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

After a couple of hours, her breathing evened out, and when he glanced over, he saw that she’d fallen asleep, her face turned toward him, her expression soft but exhausted.

He sighed, his chest aching with a mix of relief and sadness. He took the next exit and drove toward her house.

When they arrived, it was still early, the sky a pale gray as dawn broke. He parked in front of her house, then got out and walked around to her side. Carefully, he opened the door and unbuckled her seatbelt, slipping an arm under her knees and another around her back.

She stirred slightly as he lifted her, but she didn’t wake. Her head lolled against his chest, and he carried her up the porch steps and knocked softly on the door.

It swung open almost immediately, and her mum stood there, her face a mixture of worry and exhaustion. When she saw her daughter in his arms, she let out a strangled cry, her hands flying to her mouth.

“She’s okay,” Oscar said quickly, his voice gentle. “She’s just sleeping.”

Her mum nodded, tears streaming down her face. She stepped aside, and he carried her inside, laying her gently on the sofa.

Her mother sank to her knees beside her, sobbing quietly as she brushed the hair from her daughter’s face. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at Oscar. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

Oscar knelt beside her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “She’s going to be okay,” he said softly, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

They sat there for a while, her mum’s quiet cries filling the silence.

Eventually, Oscar cleared his throat. “Do you have a spare set of sheets?” he asked.

She looked at him, confused. “Why?”

“I’m going to stay,” he said. “Just for tonight. I’ll sleep on the floor. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

Her mum nodded, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said again, her voice breaking.

Later, after setting up a makeshift bed on the floor beside the couch, Oscar lay there, staring at the ceiling. The room was quiet now, her mum having gone to bed, but he could hear her breathing softly above him.

He closed his eyes and whispered another prayer, one of gratitude this time.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for giving her another chance.”

And for the first time in a long time, he felt like someone was listening.

the end.

[copperbadge]

Sam, how on earth did you get permabanned from tinder and okcupid? That seems like such a random thing!

I'm still not entirely sure; I have a theory, and Tinder gave me an indication, but by policy they don't tell people why they've been banned. Which I can understand, if someone reported you for bad behavior they don't want you to know or suspect who.

For me it was very weird. I'd had accounts with both before but had deleted them so I needed to reregister. When I registered for Tinder they kept making me verify I was real in different ways, like some weird escalating scale of identity. At last they had me take a real specific picture, and then I got an email saying I could not prove I was real to their satisfaction, and that I was permabanned. I never even interacted with anyone on the app.

But there are plenty of apps, so I went to okcupid a few days later and while they didn't SAY Tinder tattled to them, they immediately denied and permabanned me when I put in my phone number. I can only suppose they talked. They're both owned by the same company, so it tracks.

Most dating apps are owned by one or two companies, they're just formulated differently for different tastes/wants. What's funny is that I'm on at least one other app owned by Match Group and that one, Hinge, is totally fine with me. So idk.

The post office also didn't believe my address was real for the first few years I tried to register for their postal Letters to Santa giving program. I still can't get delivery meals that don't go badly awry. It's enough to give a guy a complex, but honestly I never felt good or comfortable on those two apps anyway so it might be for my own good. Having been on different ones now, I genuinely think OKCupid is one of the more toxic apps in this sphere, purely because it markets itself so specifically to people looking for authenticity but doesn't really foster it. A lot of other apps at least don't pretend they aren't meat markets.

I've had to approach dating apps in general as hostile places, simply because the level of harm they inflict for someone with RSD is so high. I don't blame the other users, but the apps themselves are structured so that you can, for example, see all the people who didn't think you were date material, but have to pay to see people who thought you were. Being radically honest about who I am and what I want has been helpful because I expect a much higher rejection rate from that, so I'm braced for it, but it's still not fun. On the other hand, this is the first try where I've made meaningful connections that have resulted in real dates. Breakfast Date, who I met on Hinge, has been really hot and fun, and Museum Date, who I met on eHarmony, is an ongoing exercise in hilarity (sexy hilarity) so for the first time it's worth it. And I don't think that would have been the case on OKCupid.

[hot-lesbian-knight]

I've got about a few active WIP novels but I unfortunately don't post about my current projects very often, that said I'm always happy to chat about them with folks who are curious!(AKA I'm just eagerly awaiting for anyone to trigger my unskippable cutscene where I infodump about the Stories I'm writing for hours)

My current outlined projects where I'm currently working on either a first or second draft are:

Briars in June - A contemporary Lesbian Romance novel about a butch trans lesbian reconnecting with her highschool crush and best friends who's a very repressed and closed lesbian woman returning to their hometown after being gone for 15 years.

Wolf and Witch - A fantasy Western about a and a lady witch who are thrown together when the Witches former employer threatens to destroy the small mining town the werewolf calls home. I'm currently writing Wolf and Witch with a close friend of mine!

Then I have an ever growing list of backburner WIPs that I've been tinkering with when I don't feel like working on the two I've been mainly focusing on:

A Sci-fi mech story about a pilot and handler that is vaguely a retelling of the Myth of Orpheus! After the Pilot dies in a brutal attack on the military base they both call home, the handler discovers that an echo of the pilots consciousness still lives within the circuits and neural pathways of the Pilots mech. Rather than let the Mech be wiped the Handler steals it with hopes to somehow save the Pilots consciousness.

A Sci-fi story exploring the death and rebirth of self inherent to coming out through the lens of an AI android built and trained on the memories and digital footprint of a wannabe merc who died having to come to terms with the fact that she's still seen as this dead boy who's the only way she relates to the world through, and how the people who knew him look at her and just see a dead boy they're still in mourning for.

A horror adventure story that's basically "What if lesbian Frankenstein's Monster and Pygmalion's Galatea went on a revenge Roadtrip as they discover the joys of expressing their own identities rather than those forced on them and hunt down their creators"

A very loose idea about a fantasy story following a Jester, a Princess, and a Knight who are a very messy and toxic little throuple that all kinda love/hate each other and either want to have hot kinky sex or push each other down one of the many flights of stairs of the castle but if any one of them died the rest would probably throw themselves off the battlements from grief and love. No plot concept here yet, mostly just three very messy lesbians who have a complex dynamic and have spent the last little while running around my grey matter alternating between slapstick style whacking each other with cartoon hammers and making out sloppy style with each other.

Feel free to DM me or send me asks about em! I also need to get more in the habit of posting about these more often, or at least have a pinned post with them or something

Anyway good luck hunting for new follows!

So, I've been gone from Tumblr for a long while and my dashboard is pretty quiet, so if you're an indie author/writer, feel free to reblog/like this post so I can give your blog a follow (I follow from @mxxnwishes).

If you feel like it, let me know what you're currently working on!

[pinkaditty]

HI i love your works sm ,,, and i really love the way you write it just brings out soemtnhign in me ,,, but hear me out on leo kurosagi angst where leo keeps insulting pc and pc just took it well until he said something sensitive (maybe sth ab the way she eats? or sth abt her face etc etc) and hurt pc's feelings and he didnt feel bad when pc cried , but when he saw pc going over to sho and sho giving him dirty looks he feels remorseful but he didnt want his pride to crack so he blamed pc , and then when pc started avouding him he started mocking her but in the inside it hurt him and his pride slightly , afterwards he found out he actually has genuine feelings for pc but denies it , until he found out pc is now his bff's gf WOW i NEED him humbled 🤗🤗🤗

Pavlov's Ghoul (Leo Kurosagi x Reader x Sho Haizono; Tokyo Debunker)

hey anon this existing is UR FAULT. (ilysm ty 4 the idea) and i hope u don't mind that I added my own little twist 2 it... hehe! even if u didn't expect me 2 write anything u can't drop a fresh, juicy steak of an idea like this and expect me not 2 salivate and tear it 2 shreds via writing it out.

OMG also TYYYYYYY IM SOSO GLAD U LIKE MY WRITING YIPPEE!!!!!!!!! i hope this is up 2 ur standards anon

a/n: why does this exist? blame anon and my inner need 4 a bitchy boy 2 be humbled amen! also i feel like i've completed my tokyo debunker rite of passage... ive finally written leo angst... nirvana at last.

summary: leo gets fuckin pavloved LMAO! considered calling this "ecstasy" or something bc of the pill line but ohh my god "pavlov's ghoul" hit too hard i fear.

cw: this isn't dark imo but be warned as this is just a little bit crazy, the most insane kind of yearning ive ever written maybe. implied sexual encounters, multiple sexual innuendos, and some odd behavior. MINORS DNI AS PER USUALLLLLL!

Sho's kind, reasonably so. Leo knows this. Sho also has an infinite store of deeply repressed anger. Leo also knows this. It's the reason he's in Vagastrom, after all. A deep, roiling anger that seems to eat at him if he doesn't have an appropriate outlet to balance his mood. That's why he's such a good cook, why he's so good at fighting, why he's got an excellent sense of balance and rides his bike smoother than anyone else he knew. He's using these things as outlets for his anger. It's not Leo's fault that the occasional outing to trick and deceive another sexually repressed rich old man for money is something else Sho seems to derive stress relief from. And it's not Leo's fault that Sho continues to stick around with him after those jobs are done. It's never been a problem for either of them, as far as he can tell. At least, there were no problems until Little Miss Inspector showed up.

Suddenly, Sho didn't want to lie anymore. Suddenly, Sho wanted to go as far as to address you with the proper honorifics, ask for your help with setting up his food truck, and even generally spend time with you outside of that. And for what? Some trembling, scared, pathetic girl that knew nothing of the world of anomalies prior to her curse? Some girl doomed to "die" in less than one year, no less? He couldn't understand the kindness Sho showed you. It made no sense, nor any difference. You'd be dead soon, so what did it matter?

It's got to the point where he's begun to randomly put you down with petty insults and biting remarks. They usually consist of things like "Oh my god, even preschoolers know Anomalous Biological Basics! Come on Inspector, is your head screwed on right? Not even the Captain is this stupid." or "You remember your ability is useless when we need it, right? You'd be nothing more than a burden on missions if you can't even control this power. " or even "God, you're such a basic loser. Can't you find something else to do with your free time instead hang around Sho like a lovesick puppy? You're starting to look like that dog that's always around Kagami." and worse insults. He gets the occasional sidelong disapproving glance from Alan or even a slight furrowed brow from Sho, but it didn't matter to Leo. So long as he could slowly plant seeds of doubt in his fellow ghouls and put you down to satisfy his ego, even an odd look was negligible.

He couldn't even stand looking at you. The uniform they'd chosen for you was awful, didn't even highlight your curves. He hated the way you styled your hair, and always thought he could totally do it better. The way you seemed so relaxed around other ghouls pissed him off, why couldn't he be good company? He found you repulsive, unable to resist glaring at you from the corner of his eye whenever he could. He had to get rid of you somehow. He would never admit to feeling threatened by you; instead choosing to focus all that energy into believing you were simply throwing a wrench into his plans to live an easy, get-away-with-anything university life.

It's all come to a head today. Leo thinks he's had enough of seeing you at the food truck after hours, chatting it up with Sho. It's like he can't even catch this guy alone anymore. Before he knows it, he's made a beeline for the truck. His brand new shoes scuff on the brick path in his rush, and eventually begin to stain green on the grass, his brisk stride tearing through the verdant lawn. He tries not to let his anger show on his face, but it's evident in his posture and pace. He forcefully sidles himself into the conversation, leaning on the service counter next to you, not even waiting for you to finish speaking before he pipes up. "Wow, here again, huh? And here I thought a basic bitch like you would know her place! That mouth of yours must be good for something if he keeps a chatterbox like you around."

The chill settles into the air almost immediately despite his candid tone and relaxed, smug smile. He's so focused on your reaction that he hardly notices the look Sho gives him, twisted with displeasure and confusion. He watches as you visibly falter, your lopsided smile fading into a barely-there frown. He stares, unrepentant, laughing internally. This was the reaction he wanted.

He turns towards Sho and raises an eyebrow at his look. "What? She can take it." Sho's expression visibly wavers, and Leo fully expects him to back down, as he usually does. But instead, Sho turns to you and his face grows pale. Leo rolls his eyes, assuming Sho is totally overreacting, and turns to you. He stiffens at your visible tears. Okay, totally not what he expected, but come on. This was the insult that made you cry?

Leo notices Sho is at your side in record speed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, and gently drawing your hunched form away, giving Leo a harsh look. Leo simply scoffs. As far as he was concerned, your reaction was pathetic. It wasn't going to stop him from having any fun.

This. Under no circumstances should this hurt. At all.

Leo had noticed you'd been avoiding him. You would slink away if he so much as entered the same room as you. You wouldn't look him in the eyes if he approached, keeping your expression impassive. Sometimes you'd just outright ignore him. It was beginning to become a bit of a nuisance. He couldn't properly mock you if you weren't there to witness it happening, or didn't give him the reaction he wanted. It was odd. When he faced these feelings head-on, it almost felt like he wanted your attention somehow, even if he didn't quite want it to feel like that. A nagging feeling told him that maybe he went too far with his latest insult. He didn't want to admit that, but something told him he did. It was in the way both you and Sho acted around him.

Sho was missing a lot of Leo's calls lately, sometimes not even bothering to call back. Leo partially understood, what with the food truck business booming and all, but he didn't appreciate being made to wait for his own best friend who's usually at his beck and call. Not to mention the flat, terse responses he would get from Sho more often than not nowadays. Leo knew Sho was miffed with him from last week's incident, but as far as Leo was concerned, things still ended in his favor. He hadn't seen you around Sho much anymore, which means he could go back to how things were. No more pesky little honor student to reign upon his days any longer! Sure, there was the biting underlying feeling that maybe he'd screwed things up, but one ride on the back of Sho's motorcycle, going wherever Leo wanted as per usual, and he was living the dream again. No way everything would change over a silly, insignificant insult.

For a short while, he begins to get bolder, openly mocking you when he does come across you. His originally surface-level remarks become rather personal, even using your eventual death as a way to tease you. From "You know, I'm surprised you haven't done anything to change up that unflattering look, considering you're dying soon. Ever considered dressing up a little? You might get some attention before you die." to "Hey, Little Miss Inspector! With the number of men you talk to around campus, I'm surprised nobody's written you off as a whore yet!", and worse, of course. He continues to get no such reaction out of you, and it frustrates him to no end. Why couldn't you just frown? Shrink away? Or even retort something just as scathing back to him? Your lack of entertainment towards his endless ridicule reduced his motivation, and slowly, it ended up dying off. Soon, he left you alone altogether, not talking to you unless necessary, mimicking your actions. In a way, some part of him hopes maybe this will be what gets your attention. Even if he can't quite admit to himself that your attention, regardless of whether it's positive or negative, is what he wants.

It's late, but Vagastrom students don't go to bed until far later. And Leo needs a favor.

His crushing lack of success in garnering any sort of attention or reaction or rise from you had driven him to a point. He didn't want to apologize to you or anything, but this new habit of you ignoring him was beginning to stoke his displeasure. In his pondering, he remembered how easily Sho captured your gaze and wondered if maybe he'd have any idea of what Leo could do to at least put an end to this stalemate.

Leo's reluctance shows in the way he drags his feet on the path to Sho's room, less than eager to confront him for his opinion on something so shamelessly trivial. Why was he wasting his time with this anyway? Surprisingly, the lack of a solid answer to that question did not stop his trek. A twinge in his chest told him he knew exactly why he was "wasting his time".

In the month it had been since he'd made you cry, the nagging feeling had only gotten harsher. His mind kept flickering back to the shock of your tears and how he'd not bothered to consider it much further. An uncomfortable guilt had made itself known starting then. He never really expected you to cry; he just wanted a mild reaction. He wanted your eyes on him, flashing with anger, just for a moment. Your ire was a saccharine pill laced with ecstasy that he'd gladly crush with his teeth to speed up his high. Maybe it'd be too much to say he got off on it, but he enjoyed the way you used to roll your eyes at any comments from him a little more than he cared to admit. Now, he wouldn't even get that. It'd be rare for you to so much as make fleeting eye contact with him, not that something as small as that would be enough for Leo. Part of him was willing to accept that maybe, he'd gone too far. Maybe. But how else was he supposed to monopolize your attention when you give that out so freely? To his best friend, even?

He didn't know it was possible to covet something so terribly. He found himself wondering why he couldn't catch your attention in the same way as the other ghouls? In his quest for the same attention you gave so freely to the kinder, softer ghouls, he found another version of your attention. It was negative, but it was attention nonetheless. Your sweet, honeyed rage seemed to fill his cravings and then some, so he continued to devour it under the guise of "chasing you away" or "putting you down" or "satisfying his ego". In truth, for whatever reason, there was a rather bothersome and persistent envious longing, a covet, for your attention. Leo wants to vomit. A part of him denies it still, pushing his needless feelings to the back of his brain. He had something to do, and he ought to focus on that. What good would mere wallowing do?

He makes it to Sho's room and almost considers turning back. He stares at the door, his expression morphing into a complicated look. He shifted his feet, his slippers sliding against the floor. It was quite clear he really did not want to do this. At all. He sighs and grumbles indignantly, putting his head in his hands in an attempt to gather some courage. This couldn't be that hard, right? Just in, ask Sho a question, get an answer, then out. The only reason this was easier said than done was just because it could potentially show Leo was capable of feeling remorse, which would make this conversation leagues harder than it needed to be. He shakes his head and straightens up, preparing to knock, when he notices something.

Sho's room was... unusually quiet. Usually, Leo almost always heard some loud music or a cooking show running in the background, but he couldn't hear anything this time. Sho couldn't possibly be asleep. As late as it was, the only person who Leo knew for a fact could stay up past him was Sho, regardless of how much sleep he had gotten. There was no chance Sho was asleep. Believe it or not, Leo doesn't like to spy on Sho. But curiosity overwhelms him. What could he possibly be doing that would render the whole room in silence?

"Haxs," he whispers, listening closely.

The first thing he hears is the cling-clanging of Alan hard at work on a car in the garage. Not the sound he was meant to be focusing on. Then he hears endless jeering and loud insults shouted, though they're all muffled like they're underground. Another pit fight? Still, not the sound he's looking for. He sifts through the sounds he hears before he settles on the one coming directly from Sho's room.

Voices. Groaning, strained voices. The sound of wet skin against wet skin. Panting. Sho's panting, specifically. He could tell by the slight nasally tone of it.

Leo felt his face gradually warm. Christ, of course it'd be this he'd be up to. Leo muffles a laugh into the collar of his pajamas, keeping his hand clamped over his mouth as his body shook with mirth. When he finally calms down, he slinks off to the corner down the hall, and hides himself there, shamelessly still listening to it. Sho's a sly dog. Leo certainly didn't expect him to be getting up to anything this soon. He leans his body against the wall, crossing his arms and drumming his fingers on his arm, waiting for Sho to finish. He smirks to himself, as though enjoying the vocal show.

...

He had to admit, whoever he was with had gorgeous moans. He'd have to ask Sho if he'd be willing to pass this girl's number. He could use a couple things to get his mind off of you.

...

Okay, he had to stop listening to this now. He lifts his stigma and holds his hands over his ears for good measure, partially trying to hide the furious red blush across his face. As pretty as that girl's moans were, he was not going to listen to his best friend's climax. No thanks. He huffs out an impatient breath as his cheeks cool down, leaning his back against the wall, leaning his head back until it hit the wall with a dull thump. Now he just had to wait it out. He knew damn well Sho would never let a girl stay over. He'd never hear the end of it from yours truly, Leo.

Leo's right. It isn't long before he hears the door to Sho's room click, and hears murmured voices travel down the hall. He smirks, rushing down the hall in the opposite way, so it doesn't look like he was listening the whole time. He listens, waiting for a cue of some sort.

"Shame you have to go, you know." Sho's voice. Laced with relief, pleasure, and a thick tiredness. Leo's skin crawled. He could practically feel the smile in Sho's voice.

"It's not so bad." The girl responded with a light and playful tone, her voice seemingly much more put together than Sho's despite all that moaning. The voice sounded oddly familiar, but Leo brushed it off. Must be someone he shares classes with. "I've got things to do anyway. But it was nice to spend some time with you, Sho." Eagh. Leo internally hopes this girl isn't the type to get easily attached.

"...Yeah. Same to you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Finally, he heard the girl's footsteps trailing down the hall, heading in his direction. Leo hurriedly pulls his phone out of his pocket, making sure the screen was bright as he flipped through the latest trends. He made a point of not looking up until he heard the footsteps nearing him.

He looks up, prepared for a simple glance, but ends up being rooted to the spot.

It was you. Of course, it was you. Who else would be taunting enough?

Despite himself, his gaze remains glued to you, his head turning as you walk past him. For a moment, Leo thinks you're just going to ignore him again. Then, suddenly, your gaze meets his in a flash, and he stiffens, almost out of fear. The way your eyebrows crease and the way your lips twitch downward almost makes him salivate. You were clearly displeased to see him. Even so, he notices you don't slow down, continuing your way down the hall, not bothering to crane your neck to look at him.

Leo remains rooted to the spot, watching your figure as you leave. His jaw hangs open slightly, his chest heaving with shocked breaths. His eyes are wide open, pools of gold reflecting your retreating form. His hand trembles as he holds his phone, the latest trends left neglected in the wake of a single mean-spirited glance from you. He feels his heart pound mercilessly in his chest, as though confirming what he'd tried so desperately to deny.

All at once, anger and arousal seem to grip him simultaneously. Anger at himself for feeling arousal from a mere negative glance from you. He couldn't possibly have craved your attention so viscerally he'd happily accept mere scraps. And yet here he was, a lap dog, watching you as you leave as though silently begging for another glance, another chance to watch your eyes burn with that familiar, delicious anger, another meal to satisfy his starved heart.

For a moment, he would have gladly followed you, and pestered you to death, just to irk you and become a willing victim of your wrath. Anything... just for that attention.

a/n: wow. no stop why am i kind of in shock at the poetic lines i kinda think i did a great job! but 4 whatever reason it's always the writing i think was total shit that does actual numbers *sob*

aghhhh in any case. no i don't have an excuse 4 this. my requests are still technically closed. i just... couldn't help myself... so consider this a freebie. regardless though if u like my writing feel free 2 fill the fuck out of my inbox idnc i love hearing from y'all.

also TUMBLR KEEPS TURNING OFF MY REBLOGS!!!! GRAH!!!!!! tumblr hates me y'all they keep catching on2 me 4 writing porn :( so please if u really wanna show appreciation and tumblr won't let u reblog, leave a comment! those make me happy :)

anyways. usual note that i adore likes, comments, and tagged reblogs!! please tell me how much you like my writing, i love to hear it and it keeps me going! until next timeeeeeeee!

EDIT: I FORGOTTT QUICK EXPLAINATION: im assuming everyone knows pavlov's dog and the whole classical conditioning theory. this story is basically that mixed with the mere-exposure effect.

neutral stimulus: mc's presence

natural response: leo's arousal/excitement

response-producing stimulus: mc's anger

mere-exposure effect: psychological effect in which a like or dislike of things is developed merely due 2 familiarity.

[burningcheese-merchant]

PLEASE FEED US MORE JUST AS DOWN BAD GOLDEN CHEESE. PLEASE MORE YANDERE CHEESE

Did you send two asks in a row screaming for more Accidental Yandere Golden Cheese lol. Calm down brotato, Merchant is here. Merchant sees you (and everyone else in my inbox I swear to God Almighty I will address you all eventually). Let me see what I've got in my noodle for you

Under the cut because this is fucked and gets a little extra graphic at one particular point lol

Golden Cheese actually has tried to gather the identities of those Burning Spice has murdered. What she wasn't able to glean on her own, from her own personal knowledge of other lands and peoples (i.e. noticing certain traits she knows to be endemic to certain cultures, like a hair accessory or something), she found in books and scrolls in her kingdom's library that gave her a better idea. Whatever she couldn't find in those, she found via sending cheesebirds to travel far and wide in search of any kingdoms, cities, villages, families and friend groups with confirmed missing persons. They would report back to her and, with all the knowledge she's gathered, she's able to find a name, which she then wrote onto a label and placed under the person it belonged to. She's managed to eventually give all the heads their identities/personhood back, at least to some degree. And now, knowing who these people are/were, she can get them back to their loved ones easier. Right? ...Right? (She tries not to progress beyond being proud of herself for going that extra mile, because it just leads back to "ok so why are the heads still here, why haven't you returned them". In trying to do the right thing, she ultimately just does the WRONG thing again and reinforces her preexisting guilt and shame, because... she knows exactly why she hasn't returned them...)

Golden has started... experimenting with Spice, for lack of a better term. After she was proven correct about him paying attention when she mentions someone she doesn't like and later killing that specific person for her, she starts testing him in other ways. She makes subtle suggestions about how he ought to kill people, to see how he responds in the moment and if he actually ends up doing it later. She tries to coax him into going into detail about how the killing went, just to see if and how he does so (turns out he really does like to brag about his crimes, especially to her). She tries to hint at him giving her other things besides body parts, like certain trinkets (it... sort of works. If she asks for a watch, he... brings her a severed arm with a watch attached to it still, for example). She's observing how far he'll go and in which direction he's willing to travel in at her suggestion. (...And she revels in how much power it turns out she has over him. She really does have him at her beck and call. It's lovely.)

When her friends ask her how she's been managing her Beast (they are aware that hers is still actively targeting her, but that's it), she acts as nonchalant as possible. Burning Spice is nothing. He's just a fly buzzing around her head. She handles him just fine. When they ask her how they can help, she tells them she doesn't need it, because she doesn't want them anywhere near him she really is fine. It's fine. She's fine. When they suggest going after him themselves... thank goodness she's a good actress and a quick thinker, because her very first REAL reaction was seething fury that she had to keep under control until she was alone again - but then, when she finally is, she just has another crisis of conscience, because now she has to confront the fact that she can no longer tolerate the notion of him being harmed by anyone besides herself. She used to want him dead or imprisoned by any means necessary, but now... now, she lies about his whereabouts to everyone who asks (and she always knows where he is, she snuck a tracking device onto him), because she doesn't want anyone coming near him for any reason anymore, least of all to harm him. Because only SHE can harm him now. He still comes to fight her, not just to give her things. And she obliges him, albeit begrudgingly (never mind the sick satisfaction she feels when she hurts him or takes him down. She wonders if this feeling is what he's referring to in those letters about him reveling in their battles and how he enjoys her suffering). She... she won't let that end. She won't let anyone get in the way. In his way. In THEIR way. She can handle him by herself. Everyone else can stay home. They won't take him away from her. She cannot guarantee their safety if they try.

She once idly wondered about his past. About the people he likely once had in his life. About... if he'd ever been fond of any other women. She could hardly fathom the hatred that utterly overwhelmed her senses when the thought entered her mind. So angry was she that she broke the glass of water in her hand in said anger and injured herself. So haunted by this notion did she end up, that she tried to ask him about it the next time they met (as subtly as possible; she understands the implications of asking such a thing). He just shrugged and said he didn't recall; the only woman that mattered to him was her. She hated how relieved she felt when he told her that...

...but after that day, and for a good while, he only targeted women. He kept killing adult women and bringing their heads to her, and no one else's. She quickly surmised that he might have noticed her jealousy (or at least imagined she was jealous) and immediately set out to prove his devotion to her further than before by destroying those she feels threatened by - even if the threat does not exist, for she is all he ever wanted. He never told her directly, but she figured that's what it was. And she allowed herself to believe it. Because it made her happy.

(When the women-only killing spree eventually ended, she was struck with morbid curiosity and asked him about the men he killed. Was there anything behind the ones he chose? He revealed to her that, though his targets were mostly random, he would go out of his way to kill any man that he thought she might find attractive. He was capable of feeling threatened, just like she was. It was quite the surprise... a surprise she welcomed, a surprise she found deeply amusing. Because really, what was left for her to find attractive in anyone anymore, when no one went as far as he did to earn her favor?)

She actually does find him handsome. She always has, from the beginning. It was something she considered to be a great shame; such good looks squandered on such a horrible man. But now... with her greed slowly spiraling out of control thanks to him constantly overfeeding it the way he does with his violent extremism... she's starting to dare to find that extremism handsome, too. She's slowly but surely ceasing to find any shame in the circumstance. She's starting to think he's handsome... and that's it, that's the end of the thought. He's handsome, with all of that blood coating his face and body. He's handsome, puffing his chest out and beaming with such sick pride at the handiwork he performed for her. He's handsome, in his maddened, unwavering dedication to her. He's handsome... no asterisk, no addendum, no ifs ands or buts. He's handsome. Burning Spice is handsome. It weighs on her like a stone. And it only gets heavier each time he sees him and his handsome face again.

Sometimes... just sometimes... she'll reread those letters that are particularly... steamy. There's something rather fascinating about them, in a different way than the others. They're so... uniquely visceral. She believes him when he tells her he's starving; his hunger practically lunges at her from the page, claws at her, sinks its teeth into her, sets her body alight. Pure, unashamed, blistering hot lust and sexuality, with some of that same addiction to violence mixed in (he's a sadomasochist, go figure). People have flirted with Golden before... but not like this. No one on earth has ever dared to speak to her so brazenly, not even after several pints of liquid courage. He talks about wanting to break her bed as well as she herself. He tells her how often he touches himself to the thought of her. He details exactly where he wants to put his hands. Where he wants to put his mouth. What he intends to say straight into her ears as they go, and what he wants her to say back to him. How he doesn't want to stop until they both collapse with exhaustion. Just neverending feverish rants about he wishes to destroy her in more ways than one, and how he expects her to scream and beg either way. She won't admit it, not even to herself, the thought tried to make itself known inside of her head once and she shoved it down and tried to bury it under concrete instantly, but... she's almost... intrigued. She's flattered, of course. She relishes this aspect of his insatiable appetite for her alongside all the others. (She likes being told she's pretty. He does that and then some.) But... some small part of her is... curious. Curious about... if he really would follow through on what he says he wants to do, if he really had the chance. How it would feel. How HE would feel. What the difference would really be between him overpowering her to win a fight and him overpowering her to... to...

...there are nights where she lays awake, drilling holes into the ceiling with her bloodshot eyes, wondering where it all went wrong. There are nights where all that succeeds in putting her to sleep are the warm, bitter tears that stream down her face when the guilt and shame grow too powerful. There are nights where she just gets up and leaves, throws herself out of her own window and flies off somewhere, anywhere, it doesn't matter - it just had to be somewhere she couldn't feel dozens of empty, lifeless eyes watching her through the walls. Judging her. Condemning her. Damning her to Hell, where she and the monster who ended their lives belonged.

...and then, there are nights where she feels... strange. Where she notices how... big her bed really is, and how small she feels laying in it. She wonders how it would feel if he was there. If she could nest in his thick, strong arms instead of thin bedsheets. How much more comfortable his chest would feel, compared to her pillow. If his hair was as soft as it looked. How he'd react if she started tracing his tattoos with her fingertips. If sharing a tender moment like that would awaken something in him. If it would somehow help him realize how wrong all of this is.

...Or maybe it would just make it worse.

Maybe she doesn't care anymore.

[i-am-baechu]

✎ᝰ. I Feel Pretty ⁞ J. Jungkook

Summary: Jungkook takes Y/N to try on wedding dress as a surprise date

Caution: Profanities. smut warning. make outs, and Blowjob

Part of ‘ His Fan Girl universe

It's been awhile since Y/N saw Jungkook and she wouldn't say to him but she missed him. She knew he was busy with his release of his album and promoting but she missed her boyfriend fiancé. She still used to calling him her fiancé, it was crazy to think about it. She was just a normal person engaged to someone like Jungkook. It was just a crazy feeling that she didn't know how to explain.

Y/N was in her work office sending an email when there was a knock on the door. She glanced at her clock and raised her eyebrow, Who could that be? "Come in." When the door opened, she jumped out of her chair when she saw the familiar figure with roses in his hand, "Kookie.~"

He set the flowers on her cabinet and opened his arms, "Y/N."

She wrapped her arms around his waist as they went back and forth, "Jungkook, you didn't tell me you were coming over."

"I wanted to surprise you. It's been awhile since I've surprised you."

She pulled away and smiled at him, "I needed this surprise. I was getting bored at work if I'm being honest."

Jungkook raised his eyebrow at this, "You getting bored at work? That never happens."

She glanced at his eyebrow pricing and looked down at her shoes, "Anyone can get bored at something...it happens."

"Well, I'm here to save you."

She looked up with a confused look, "What are you talking about? I have two hours-"

"I already planned everything out." He grabbed her bag on the back of her door and glanced at her jacket on her chair, "Hurry and get your things. I have another surprise."

She shook her head at him but she couldn't stop the smile from forming, "Always full of surprises..."

The two quickly made their way through the private part of the office and headed to Jungkook's car. She sat in the car and looked at him with a curious look, "Where are we going?"

"That would ruined the surprise."

The car was filled with soft music as Y/N was drifting off and Jungkook couldn't help himself from glancing at her. She looked like an angel with the way sun hit her face. He was actually nervous about this date. Y/N has mentioned to him multiple times that she hated her body. Something he didn't understand. She was beautiful with every stretch mark or rolled, she was his everything. The most beautiful women (besides his mom).

He parked the car and shook her leg gently causing her to moan, "Babe, we're here."

Y/N wiped her eyes gently and let out a small yawn out, "That took a long time. Where are we?"

"For an appointment."

"An appointment?"

Here she was standing in the dressing room surround by white dresses that were so delicate that she was scared to touch them. Jungkook was right, this was a surprise. She touched each tulle skirt and she glanced at the mirror with a blank expression. She wasn't sure how she was feeling at the moment. It was a surreal moment to be in this room with fabric that symbolize love and so much more.

There was a knock on the door and a worker came in with one more dress with a smile, "I got a dress that I think you would like."

Y/N nodded her head with a nervous look, "I-I'm not looking for a dress...I guess-"

"Don't worry. He already told us that you just wanted to get a feel of wedding dresses. There's no pressure on picking out the right dress, have fun with it.

Y/N nodded her head and she looked at the dress with wide eyes, "Th-This is so pretty."

The worker smiled at this and nodded her head, "Jungkook picked this out for you. He thought you would like it."

Jungkook was wrong, she loved it. It was a embroidered tiered ballerina dress that had crystals throughout out the skirt. It was a simple dress but when you go closer to look, there was so much more. Her fingers gently touched the embroidered and looked up at the worker, "Can-Can I try it on? Also can you get Jungkook?"

The worker walked outside and smiled at Jungkook who was on his phone with a bored look, "Mr. Jeon."

He sat up and looked at the worker with a confused look, "Where's Y/N?"

"She wanted you to come inside the room."

"Is everything okay?"

"She wanted to show you the dress in private."

The worker took him into her room and when he opened the door, his world stopped. Y/N was smiling at herself in the mirror and she looked like she was having fun. Her fingers touching the edges of the skirt as she twirled in the mirror. She turned and saw Jungkook. She stopped twirling and smiled at him, "I feel pretty."

Jungkook closed the door and slowly walked towards her, "Say that again..."

She looked down at her socks and then back at him with a soft smile, "I feel pretty."

He slowly walked towards her and she stood there with a smile that screamed pure happiness. She looked up at him and he couldn't help myself with her innocent eyes. He leaned down and placed his lips on hers causing her eyes widened but she accepted the kiss. He slowly walked back to the mirror and picked her off from the ground. She wrapped her legs around his waist and let out a small moan when he kissed her neck, "Jung-Jungkook, we can't do this."

"I just want to focus on you. It will be quick." He gripped her ass through the dress and she bit her lip to stop her moan, "My wife feels pretty and I need her to remember this feeling."

He went back to her lips and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He couldn't stop himself, seeing her in this dress was making him go crazy. This was his future wife. No one told him that he would experience this feeling but he was glad he was figuring it out with Y/N.

He finally moved away from Y/N and he wished he had a camera. Her lips were shinning under the light of the dressing room and she was out of breathe, everything about this was perfect. He pushed some hair away from her face and kissed her forehead, "You have to be quiet."

"I-I...I can do that."

"Just pull my hair if you get uncomfortable."

He went on his knees and went under the skirt with a smirk on his lips. He pulled down the white cotton and was met with the wet mess that he created. He leaned forward and started sucking at her clit. Y/N leaned her head against the glass as she let out a small moan, "Jung-Jungkook."

He gripped her ass as he was sucking and licking her pussy, it was as if he was having his last meal. She gripped his hair as he continued, "W-We need to stop Jungkook. I-I can't get this dress dirty."

He lifted the skirt higher and blew on her warm hole making her shudder at the feeling, "Hold the skirt higher."

She nodded her head and now she was completely bare for anyone to see. Usually she would feel embarrassed but at this moment she couldn't care who saw her. She spread her legs apart and Jungkook couldn't help but smirk at her movement. He brought his right hand up and two fingers entered her as she shuddered at the feeling. He looked up at her and he didn't even notice that she took her scrunchie out of her hair and put it in her mouth. It was hot.

He moved his fingers at recored speed as his tongue continued to tease her clit. She felt her whole body get hot and the scrunchie fell from her mouth as she let out a louder moan, "Jung-Jungkook I'm about to come-Oh my g-god."

He took this as a sign and gently bit her clit making her eyes widen at the sudden joyable pain. Jungkook continued to do what he was doing but he was shocked to see Y/N like this. His only ever made her squirt once and he wasn't sure how he did that in the first place. He sucked all of the juice that he could suck up, this was everything he wanted.

Her knees buckled and he quickly moved to catch her. She was breathing heavily in his arms and Jungkook kissed the side of her head, "Baby, are you okay?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a tired smile, "I-I'm o-okay."

He glanced down at the dress and smirked, "The dress is dry."

She let out a laugh and shook her head, "What came over you?"

"Seeing you in a wedding dress, I just can't wait to marry you Y/N."

They both locked eyes and they leaned forward for a quick kiss. She looked at the door and looked at him, "Jungkook, we need to leave...we can't get caught."

"He kissed her forehead, "We need to get dinner."

"I have to clean your mess."

Her face got red and she smacked his shoulder, "S-Shut up."

"Can you say it one more time?"

"Say what?"

He kissed her shoulder and smiled at her, "You know what."

"I feel pretty."

[inchidentally]

Inchie we need your words of reason again 🙏 Newer fans have bled over from other hockey rpf and keep crossing lines 🫥

babe idk how wise I am ?? at all but I'm a firm believer in using common sense about rpf. and I haven't personally seen the stuff you're alluding to but! I've seen posts referring to it and I heard smth about another ship suffering a containment breach… so can't hurt to throw my 2c in as well ?? idk?

tl;dr that landoscar is NOT the ship for you if you 're going to try and force it to be "real" in a l*rry way*. this ship adores the real life friendship without having it compete with the guys' other many friendships - and we do NOT hate women and women partners or pretend they're beards/fakes/conveniently open relationship. and we absolutely do NOT push rpf outside of fandom. you'll get blocked/reported if you do. this is NOT the space for you to find your next "omg what if they're actually fcking" ship. Lily and Oscar are basically forever, Lando is rightfully loving his life sharing his beautiful body with people, and the fan fiction for the ship is staggeringly amazing so we're very very happy w the status quo <3

and we do NOT share rpf content with Lando, Oscar, anyone in F1, the families - basically if they're not someone you know solely in fandom, you don't share rpf with them. again, you will not find support for that here.

I "officially" joined landoscar fandom around Silverstone 2023 and these have been the hard lines taken for as long as I can remember and from all of the OG people in this fandom. esp from people who've been here since Oscar's Alpine tweet bc landoscar is unique in not having led with a PR image and we've all gotten to see every nervous, stumbling and authentic progression of their partnership and friendship along the way - at no point feeling the need to cross the boundary between fic and reality. it truly is charming and intriguing and rewarding as it exists in reality!

as far as the 'why' essay I'll drop all that where it can be ignored easily aslfgjalgf

like I said - landoscar has always been the exception of no one ever slipping over into trying to "make it real" in large part bc Lando and Oscar don't do the PR bromance/fake gay/fan service stuff which !reminder! is content in other ships I absolutely eat up and is 100% targeted to me but !! I'm also aware is connected to a lot of inappropriate fan behavior from ppl who blur the lines between amusing PR content and reality. trust me, I had to basically abandon carland0 which was my very first f1 ship bc to this day - fully out in the open - I see casual misogyny thrown around about Rebecca and ppl truly loudly thinking Lando and Carlos - who have always referred to each other as brothers and who laugh at the "gay" stuff they do precisely bc it's not real - genuinely fcked and/or dated. I will never care enough about an rpf ship to willingly encounter that shit on a regular basis. I know there's a lot of good ppl in the ship who don't engage in that stuff but I have such a hard line about wag hate that it's not worth it for me.

ironically or maybe because of, Lando and Oscar are the only drivers to NOT engage in playing gay for laughs BUT also who hit multiple progressive bullet points in things like discussing romance and dating in gender neutral terms and not making a big deal out of consuming or discussing queer media etc. they actually walk the walk in not pushing gender identity or sexual orientation on hypotheticals or on each other. they also don't do any macho/tradmasc behavior with each other or even bro-ey stuff like rough-housing or loud, aggressive humor (nothing wrong with loud bro stuff tho as long as it doesn't veer into toxic territory! I come from hockeyblr originally so it can be really sweet!)

and landoscar is also the exception in that we all ADORE Lily and have zero interest in trying to erase her let alone anyone be hostile toward her. in straight people culture they're basically already married and that's how they were when landoscar started as a ship! a lot of us have regularly made posts similar to this for newer fans to remind them that Lily (and whoever Lando ends up with as a steady partner) are NOT pawns in an rpf game. Lily is a real human woman with a real life relationship with Oscar and while no one is obliged to engage w wag content, respecting her existence is the bare minimum expected.

the last point I should make is that there's a very clear difference for instance on my blog where I see fanservice ship content about say charl0s or frand0 or n0rtrell and lose my mind over it and love it etc. but then there's Alex or Rebecca or Pietra on my blog! bc I can have fun without erasing women or losing common sense!!

whereas whenever I post stuff about a friendship that rly does make me Feel Things and write my insane essays, it's bc of what the relationships verifiably are and not what they aren't. Max F truly has a complexity and level of depth in his relationship with Lando that is unique and special to each other's lives. in the same way, Lando and Oscar truly do have a particular charm and fondness for each other that's made them approach each other unusually tentatively and slowly - while also having such intense blushing fondness as well as a uniquely intriguing maturity to their professional partnership. this stuff is fascinating and those two examples in particular swim around into all kinds of social/emotional territory.

in ways that do not require conspiracies and fan theories of them fcking or dating to make them compelling.

(and tbh the fact that Lando has some form of "crush" on a lot of handsome men and subconsciously/consciously "flirts" is absolutely fine to enjoy... as long as none of it gets outside of fandom.)

and the fan fiction for landoscar is truly TRULY staggeringly prolific and immensely talented so that's where we go for imagining them in any other type of reality <3

*do not get mad or whatever abt this - if you did or still do just want to ship l*rry privately then whatever but that's the like terrible gold standard for horrific real life repercussions of taking rpf seriously and why fandoms should never ever allow that to happen. there's no debate about that.

[aziraphales-library]

Hey there! Do you have any refs for fics involving a road trip (extra points if its aziracrow as Angel/demon and not an au altho aus are lovely too!!)

Hi! We have some road trip fics here, and I've got more now...

leave you faithless by midnightbotany (T)

As Aziraphale struggles with the demands of his new role as Supreme Archangel, a heartbroken Crowley embarks on a journey around the world hoping to stop Armageddon. Again.

Where The Furniture Used To Be by Magpie_BKK (T)

The Bentley has mysteriously brought Crowley back to central London, just as an old friend turns up at the bookshop. But not everything is as it appears, and Crowley finds himself on the run with an amnesiac angel, trying to unlock his memories along the way.

The Lost Apostle by miraworos (G)

After a long hiatus, Crowley badgers Aziraphale to go on a road trip with him. But it's more a quest than a road trip, and both Crowley and Aziraphale may be getting into more than they bargained for. Bentley POV.

Waterfall by duustbunny (E)

Two years after Aziraphale accepts the Metatron’s offer, Crowley is captured as he attempts to infiltrate Heaven and Aziraphale is tasked with executing public punishment. Instead, he lets the demon lead him on a quest to recover a lost item that can help them stop the end of the world once more. Because Heaven is not the boss of him anymore, and preventing the Apocalypse will never stop being his and Crowley’s job.

The Journey by ElderlySardine (M)

“Anthony J Crowley… Mayfair, London… Next of kin: Mr A Z Fell…” Crowley nodded. It wasn’t as if he had anyone else. “Emergency contact: also Mr Fell…” Crowley had almost stopped listening. “Relationship to applicant: husband…” “Husband?!” Crowley and Mrs Lowry spoke together as one, for the first and almost certainly the last time in their lives. “Husband.” Crowley recovered first, and fixed Mrs Lowry with a hard stare into which he infused just a little bit of demonic energy. “Is that a problem?” It was a problem. It was Aziraphale's harebrained plan, and it was clearly doomed to failure, as well as embarrassment and ignominy. But since when had Crowley been able to say no to the angel? It was only two weeks, and 3,850 miles. It couldn't be that hard, could it?

hurry back, please bring it back home to me by Percyjacksonfan3 (T)

“Why should I?” The demon interrupts cuttingly. “You’ve made it perfectly clear where your priorities lie and anything I say won’t make a bit of difference.” “That’s not true at all.” Aziraphale replies after a long hurt moment. “And you know it. Besides, you’re being stubborn. You’ll help me eventually.” Rage flashes over Crowley’s face. “You think so, do you?” Aziraphale juts his chin up stubbornly, ignoring the unpleasant feelings Crowley’s expression stirs in him. “Yes.” Aziraphale needs Crowley's help in saving humanity from the Second Coming and despite what happened between them he's determined to get it. After all, it's not only that he needs Crowley, but his plan also includes their car. As for the other matters between the two of them... well there's no reason those can't be sorted out along the way as well, is there? Or, a possible take on Series 3 that includes the Bentley, a resurrected Jesus Christ set on bringing about the End of Days, and an angel and a demon who are stupidly in love with each other but are both suffering from a lack of experience on how to actually deal with said emotions. Emphasis on the stupidly.

- Mod D

[sage-is-in-fact-very-tired]

a list of songs from arcane, in mostly chronological order, that are - to some degree - icarus coded or like. in that ballpark.

- Playground is . s1 ominous Bane. something about their base being underground something about the taunting something about leading people there something something

- Goodbye . I dunno . Something about prison duo during the cathedral something about broters after the cathedral and when they were kids something something

- Guns for Hire. Midas coded midas coded midas coded. Something about the loss of control Something about walls falling (like the Worldport) Something about being out of time and all of that and not being able to turn back and Something about icarus becoming midas' unintentional plaything and-

- Snakes is s1!prison duo. thank you for coming to my tedtalk

- What could have been. I've been saying this since the beginning that this song is icarus coded. Something about becoming something because of someone else, parts getting replaced and leaving other parts that don't quite fit together something about icarus' anger at midas something about how they coulve been good and alright is midas has more control and they didn't (however unintentionally) do what they did. "Why don't you love who I am?" Is both about midas and fable because like . yeah. "I am your ghost" because they're versions of each other and-

- Heavy is the Crown. Something about being a prince and having all this weight thrust on you and something about having this weight of needed to be what Fable wants. Also icarus would scream sing this and in this essay I will- (also something about everyone else assuming the worst once they sided with Fable. Something about how "if they want me to be the villain ill be the villain")

- To ashes and blood is . oh icarus morningstar . something about burning every bridge and killing everyone they can because they need to be good and make it through to the end of this (even when they won't)

- Remember me. Something about becoming quixis and everyone forgetting and something about icarus not wanting that to happen. (But also something about Icarus losing themself when they sided with Fable and something about how they couldn't even remember themself and something about how they needed other people there (who weren't) to remind them of who they were and-)

- What have they done to us is . s3!prison duo. heart . <3 ("you're not real and I can't pretend" it's like that thing they did in tearing it down its like that thing guys it's like that thing-)

- Spin the wheel has violet vibes to me, honestly. Violet feels very comforting and calm to me and I cannot accurately articulate why specifically this song is coded to him but. Also! Ember said it was wheel not fake when I threw it at him and I have to agree here. Something about a break between it all. And for the gut punch (/hj) dare I say the drinking stream-

- Ma Meilleure Ennemie is . prison duo. that's it. they were enemies but also they're gay and also they're sad and tragic and-

- The Line !! Something about the finale something about how the portal is slowly killing them and something about how it kills them worse after Fable dies and something about how this is where they die and end and how they don't want anyone to know and. "Keep the memories of who I was before" like before Fable came and they became so desperate for his love and- mmmm. "Did I disappoint you?" Something about icarus' fear of failure and how it's just. constantly there. "Will they still let me over if I cross the line?" Something about how they didn't know how people would react after they killed Fable, something about how everything they'd done to that point had been crossing the line (something about how they only ever wanted Centross back) "sure there's nothing left to try" you know . the wack. and how they tried everything with momboo. and how it never worked. and how it's not gonna work for them.

- Wasteland . oh its so finale icarus coded. Something about how they've tried so hard for the past 5 months of their life to just survive (and how the fact they had to do that is all their fault) and how they did and they're okay with death now because at least centross is alive and at least everyone else will be okay eventually and they'll all get to survive and icarus won't be there as a stain and how they're going to die anyway and how they might as well do it themself (and how they don't want to face it because they want Centross back and they just . Can't have that) and "if it weren't for you I'd be here all alone" something about how centross kept them from being alone for so much of their time in the resets and . "I know in my heart this is where we belong" like literally ic talking to Rae before they jumped in the hole- "Don't let me go" something about how even if death woule be better for them they don't want to go and they just want more time with centross and as quixis they don't want anyone to forget them and-

yeah anyway . music thoughts go brrr

[space-cowboys-and-aliens]

At Your Immediate Discretion

Rating: Mature

General Acacius x Reader

Word Count: 700

You meet General Acacius under the cover of night, revealing what you've been hiding from him.

"I have something weighing on my spirit. It seems that it needs your attention."

"What is it?"

"Over the last several weeks, I've realized…there are developments that have made their presence known to me."

"Developments? What is it you speak of?"

"Sir, my apologies. There is something horrible happening inside of me."

He laughs. "Horrible?"

"Yes, wicked and vile and ugly and…"

His face grows serious.

"Gods. We must get the doctors in at once. Fetch Brenan, he will see you to them."

"No! Sir, it’s more than what doctors’ minds alleviate."

The general, still confused, sits on a stone protruding from the ground.

"The feelings I have…the thoughts in my mind…you would think I’m growing mad. The worst kind, brought on in massive quantity by your presence. Forgive me. I cannot wash myself clean enough. I have tried. Gods, I fear the worst."

"My…"

He takes your wrists in one massive hand, holding them in a firm but grounding embrace.

"You are not…unclean, as you have said. You, of all, have the least to feel shame for. Who told you this was necessary to believe?"

"But never in my life have I felt so indecent, so exposed. It’s unnatural for a young woman of high nobility to entertain, allow, such deviancy. I throw shame upon myself. Forgive me. Depravity echoes through my soul."

"It’s very natural. Very mortal to feel…such a way."

She looks up.

"It is?"

"It is."

"I say again, General. I have horrible, deeply troubling thoughts. Every day. Every night."

"Every night?"

"When you pace by in the corridors. I sense you from gait alone. Across the gardens in the mornings. In the cathedral. Every fiber of my being attunes to yours. I’ve been alone most of my life. I’ve never had anyone teach me the ways in… what I can only describe as carnal desire. The sins of the flesh. Cartha and Tom run through the streets in the night, scheming for conquests. Their company has surely infected my nature. I have plagued you, too. I must…"

"Please look at me."

You can’t.

"There is something horrible happening inside of me..."

"There is nothing horrible happening."

"And it hurts."

"You don’t have to hurt, my stars. Where does it hurt? Tell me."

"Here."

"Here?"

"Yes."

"And you say I am the cause of your impure thoughts."

"Dear gods, how to control it? This fire within, wreaking havoc and destruction where I turn. Please."

"Would you like me to show you…?"

His hand was warm as he spread his touch across your waist.

"Please, let me touch you."

"Oh, my gods."

You lean forward, arms winding around his neck, bringing your foreheads together.

"He holds onto you by your waist."

"Hey. Shhh, it’s okay. You make the sweetest sounds. Are they for me?"

You nod.

"Answer."

"Yes," you breathe.

"I’m going to take care of it, okay?"

You nod.

This is the first time you have ever felt anything like this. Your face contorts at the faintest hint of pleasure.

He slowly pulls her body closer until it’s pressed flush to his own.

"Does it feel good?"

"Yes, yes, it feels so good."

"You’re so sensitive…"

"So sensitive…," you repeat.

"So needy…"

You stop rocking her hips. Looking down at him,

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, no. Come here. So good for me…"

"…you…"

"Turn around."

You obey, and he kisses your neck as you stretch the skin. You feel your head tilt up, up, towards the heavens. His laving attention increases as your impatience towards relief grows, drawing a slight whine from your core. He grunts, a heavy sigh upon your open back. Another kiss presses to the nape of your neck. Your breathing turns to pants, mouth open, gaping at the worlds above.

[multifandom-nerds-blog]

Collection of Soren HCs/concepts/ideas mostly based on him having dark magic used on him in a, well, very permanent way (twice!). Cause I just feel like having dark magic inside of you like that must have some side effects.

I have more general HCs about Soren in another draft that I will post later.

He's constantly running cold. Like super cold, it wouldn't be healthy for anyone else but it's "just" a side effect from having dark magic inside him. This man is a block of ice. Most people don't notice though, even with how much physical affection he likes to show, because he walks around with full armor most of the time annyway, with only his head and fingers being uncovered. So no one really knows his body temperaturis so low. Especially since it doesn't physically affect him, it's just that it would definitely raise some questions if someone would take his temperature.

-> Claudia healing him from the full body paralysis made it more extreme. The low body temperature technically still doesn't affect him, but it definitely weirded him out (still does) when he noticed it after all the stress from the first arc wore off. He was used to it before, where he could still believably tell people he's just running cold, probably thought so himself, now his skin was really freezing cold. So he started wearing his fingerless gloves too so people don't freak out at his cold hands. (and pjs under his armor to maybe get the temperature up with some extra layers, because I'm looking at his new armor and he's wearing so many layers already wtf.)

-> The way he did notice was because someone did freak out. Ezran probably tried to drag him somewhere, not that he had to since Soren probably kept guard 24/7 of Ezran the first few weeks after the stormspire. (With the army and crownguard being still messed up and the whole political mess that first few few weeks must have been.) Anyhow, Ezran tried to drag Soren, probably to the kitchen, by taking his hands only to freak out by the icecubes his hands were. The next day Soren started wearing his gloves.

His sense of temperatures is also slightly messed up sometimes. Eats or drinks stuff often that is still way to hot and burns his mouth before noticing, while also taking the coldest showers known to mankind (he just says cold showers are healthy)

Unless he does his skin/hair routine obviously. He's high maintanence, cause lavender oils y'know.

It is extremly hard for him to get sick/catch a cold. This is a combination of having magical lungs basically/probably having had any possible bad sickness as a child you can get (me lmao)/and his general healthy lifestyle. When he does catch something it's mostly just like an annoying allergy. Or a stomach bug, cause those are nasty and get to everyone.

You can actually see traces of the dark magic on his body. On his chest and along his spine on the back, in the way of purple lines, patterns maybe. But their not always visible on first glance. It kinda depends on his physical and mental state on how visible they get. Aside from him only Viren and Claudia know about those, since he never really had a reason to go to people and be like "Hey guys I've got purple traces of dark magic on my body". (Cough Corvus lerans about it at some point cough)

Soren is obviously a bit self conscious about this, since he never really liked dark magic to begin with. But those feelings became worse after the stormspire battle and everything, with Claudia then suddenly gone too.

He usually avoids doctors too, which he doesn't need most of the time luckily, but everyone in Katolis army needs to get a mandatory checkup every 6 months. (Set in place by Sarai at one point) He has very allaborate schemes to get out of those, and succeded every single time so far. Being the head of the crownguard probably helps with it.

Also, sometimes his sense of touch in his lower body is a bit toned down (? I don't know the right word, in either language anymore). Though this is mostly a psychosomatic. Healed with magic or not, such an injury leaves it's marks. (Me? Giving my favs some of my chronical pain to cope? Never.)

He probably smells weird to dragons or other magical creatures with a high sense of smell. Not reeking like a dark mage, but it's physically still in him so it's definitely noticable. Some non-sapient wild magical creatures might avoid him because of it.

-> Zubeia especially noticed this after the timeskip, because they didn't exactly interact 1 to 1 before in S3, but kept it to herself. She likes Soren and clocked that he already has enough issues. She isn't gonna give him one more thing to be self conscious about. To Zym it's just kinda how Soren smells. Pyrrah still finds it a bit uncomfortable at times, but learned to ignore it.

Some more general Soren HCs/ideas are on their way.

Look at this doofus.