#through gritted teeth: know it's for the better

[watchmegetobsessed]

UNMATCHED

A/N: it's been like 6 months since i last posted something and honestly, i haven't even written anything, things are very shitty these days but i felt the motivation to write this quickly after watching 'tell me lies' and 'rivals' these past weeks so here we go! if student-prof type of fics are not your thing then don't read it

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

WARNING: age gap, student-professor relationship

SUMMARY: Harry is very strict about staying away from students as a young and handsome professor, but there is one person he can't get out of his head and a Christmas party brings an unexpected turn.

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Harry hates these type of parties, mostly because he can’t imagine inviting dozens of students into his home, his private space, have the roam around and spend an entire evening with them, talking and pretending like they aren’t just trying to get a better grade at the end of the semester with their too friendly behavior. Or, in his case, some girls try to push the boundaries and flirt with him, hoping to hook up with him. 

He is not stupid. He has heard students whisper about him several times, he notices the heart eyes when he is talking in class and he has gotten several phone numbers on papers since he started his PHD studies and started teaching last year. His friends teased him about being the heartthrob of the faculty, but he didn’t think it would actually happen and to this extent. To avoid any possible scandals, not that he planned to make any, he has put on quite a rigid mask towards the students to scare them off from even trying, though that hasn’t stopped some of them from wanting to shoot their shot. 

He wouldn’t have come to this party, he would rather be home and continue his research that’s still not even close to being done, but Professor Bradford, or Stella as she requests Harry to call her, is the only person he gets along with in the faculty. She is 18 years older than Harry, but still younger than the rest of the old men who have been teaching here since probably before the declaration of independence was signed. Those men are the reason younger people don’t like classic literature anymore, with their outdated ways of teaching and unwillingness to bring something modern into their lectures they are scaring the new generations away. But not Stella. She is one of the reasons Harry went into his PHD and now he gets to work with her. He couldn’t just reject her invitation for her annual Christmas Party she holds for her students and some colleagues. 

Now he is standing by the wall, drinking mulled wine and just gritting his teeth, trying to calculate how early is too early to leave. A couple of girls have already tried to chat him up, they like to circle him, leave him almost no room to escape and then make him talk about school stuff, but then they slyly bring up personal things, hoping to break his usual character, but he sees through them always. 

Harry’s best friend, Niall always teases him that he should just give in and have fun with one of them. His morals are a lot looser than Harry’s, that’s for sure. 

Just as he is about to look for the bathroom, not to use it but to hide for a bit, another group of girls spots him and he can already feel his skin crawling as they approach him from down the hallway. He is quick to assess the situation, but he realizes he has no chance of fleeing before they reach him. 

“Profesor! So good to see you here!” 

And here we go. 

It goes the same, they are extremely nice and inquiring about his plans for the next semester and then suddenly they are talking about summer and Harry knows they are moments away from asking what he’ll be doing once the school year is over. One of the girls is talking about going to Italy on a yacht and the others chime in with their own ridiculously over the top plans while Harry is avoiding to even look at them, his eyes roam around the other guests. 

That’s when he sees her. 

Just down the hall he can peek into the kitchen and there she is, with a boy Harry assumes to be her boyfriend. He’s seen them around campus the past few weeks, he even waited for her after Harry’s class and saw them walk away together as he fought the way his stomach churned every time. 

Since the moment she walked into his class at the beginning of the semester Harry has been feeling like he is losing his mind. Whether it be the way she laughs with her friends before class or focuses with undivided attention as Harry explains something by the board, or says hello every time she passes him in the cafeteria, Harry can’t stop thinking about her for days after even though he knows such feelings should be banned from his mind when it comes to a student. Every time he catches himself thinking about her he wants to throw himself out the window, but he still can’t fight it. There’s something in her that draws him in and swallows him whole and it’s not just the looks. Unlike a lot of students who take his classes for easy credits or to drool after him, she is there to learn as much as she can and she’s had the most brilliant thoughts on certain subjects Harry has ever encountered, making him almost jealous he wasn’t the one to think about them. 

She is… unmatched. And forbidden, but impossible to ignore. She’s been his vice for months.

From where he stands it appears she is having a fight with said boyfriend, her always cheerful expression is now rather upset and confused while the boy seems to be over the conversation, almost irritated by her, dismissed. Harry tries to appear not too obvious about watching them, but he is also way too fixated on her to ignore what’s happening just down the hallway. 

He glances away just for a few seconds, but the next time he looks back he sees the boy stomping away, irritated, while she is left there, pulling on her coat before disappearing through the backdoor, swallowed by the darkness of the unlit back terrace. 

And before Harry could stop himself, he is already moving.

“Excuse me girl,” he mumbles disorientedly as he slips out of the small circle. 

He places his glass to a nearby table and then grabs his own coat from the wardrobe in the hallway before making his way outside. After her. 

The moment he steps out into the cold a short sense of realization washes over him that he definitely shouldn’t be here, that he is crossing a line, but then another voice in his head tunes it out, convincing him that he is just making sure she is okay and there’s nothing wrong with that. 

Stopping by the door his gaze rakes through the terrace, but he doesn’t see her, until she spots her slouched form sitting on the bottom of the stairs leading out to the lawn. He hears her sniffling, but she hasn’t acknowledged his presence yet, if she noticed it at all. There’s a couple of moments of hesitation on his end, he can hear the rational side of him screaming somewhere in the back of his mind, telling him to turn around and just walk back inside, yet he still finds himself moving towards him and then that voice is silenced. 

“Everything alright?” Harry asks from the top of the stairs, but he startles her so much that she jumps to her feet and backs away a few feet. That’s when he sees her tearful eyes and red nose. 

“S-Sorry, I don’t–”

“Hey, it’s all good. You didn’t do anything wrong. Just checking in.”

She squints her eyes at him and that’s when he realizes she must not even see his face since the light is coming right behind him. So he walks down the stairs and then finally his face is lit and realization settles in her eyes. 

“Oh, Professor Styles. Hi.”

“Hello Y/N. Are you okay?” he asks again, to which she just chuckles bitterly. 

He can’t miss that even with tears running down her cheeks and her eyelashes stuck together, she looks so fucking beautiful it baffles him. He has to fight the urge to reach out and touch her tear-soaked cheeks. 

“Um, yeah, everything is… perfect,” she scoffs, reaching into her pockets, probably looking for tissues, but finding none so Harry grabs one from his inner pocket, handing it over to her, her fingers brushing against his for the shortest second as she takes it and then it’s over, but his skin keeps tingling. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles before drying her face as much as she can. “I’m good. Just…” She looks at him and changes her mind. “Ah, wouldn’t want to bore you with my nonsense personal drama.”

“Drama is never boring, have you learned nothing in my class?” he jokes and it actually makes her laugh. 

“This drama is not worthy of being taught in class though.”

“I bet some of the big names thought the same thing upon writing what we read in class these days.”

“So you’re saying I should write about how my boyfriend is fed up with me because I told him something he did hurt me?”

“That sounds like something I bet a lot of people would want to read about,” he smiles and when she mirrors it, he can feel his chest expanding. Somewhere way too deep in his mind an alarm goes off, but it quickly becomes one with the void and all he can think about is her. “Actually I can think of a few great pieces that are about similar topics.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, believe it or not, you’re not the first one to experience this.”

The way she looks at him is setting him on fire. The mixture of sadness, tiredness and gratitude towards his attempt to cheer her up is still making her glow in a way Harry has never seen before on any woman. 

“Do you mind analyzing one for me right now?”

“I’d be happy to.”

The party is completely tuned out for the two of them. First they actually talk about a novel, but soon it turns into sharing their favorite books and authors, their guilty pleasure reads,  recommendations for each other and even more personal bits Harry would never share with a student, but Y/N is the exception. 

They have no idea how much time passes as they stand outside and Harry ignores how the cold starts to sting his fingertips even in his pockets, because he knows that if they go inside this bubble will pop and he is too selfish to let that happen just yet. 

When there’s a short silence Harry notices that she is probably slipping back into what happened earlier and when she looks at him again he already knows she is about to share.

“I gave him a chance and explicitly told him not to fuck me over, because I can’t deal with that again. But all he has been doing is manipulating to believe that I’m always in the wrong.”

“It’s impossible for you to always be in the wrong.”

“I know. Well, part of me knows, but then I always go back to thinking that he is right, I must have messed up something.”

“That just proves that you have self-criticism, that you don’t just think everything you do is perfect.”

She sighs and looks away, her gaze distant as she battles herself inside her head, a feeling Harry knows very well, unfortunately. It doesn’t sit right with him that she is visibly struggling because of an immature guy’s untreated problems. She deserves so much more, but how can he tell that without crossing a line?

“Give it some time and you’ll see it clearer. Use your critical thinking on his actions as well, not just yours and don’t settle for less than your worth.”

“You think I did that?” she asks, eyes jumping back to meet his gaze. “You think I settled for less than my worth?”

There’s more behind her eyes than the words she said out loud and he is torn, because he can feel himself being pulled in more than ever, like she just opened the door the slightest and he has the chance to slip in. It’s the first time he senses something on her part and after all the yearning he is eager to take the chance. 

“I think you deserve a lot more, Y/N. You’re brilliant, bright and give so much to others, you should get the same amount if not more back. If someone can’t see that, then they don’t deserve you.”

For a second he wishes he didn’t say a thing, he regrets crossing the line and he fears her reaction, but then… 

Then he forgets everything. Because she is kissing him. 

It happens fast, one moment she is staring up at him with doe eyes, the next her lips are crashing against his, her hands grabbing onto the lapels of his coat. He barely recovers from the shock when she is already pulling away.

“I-I’m so sorry, I d-didn’t mean to, I just—Oh my Go–”

Her stammering is quickly cut short when he kisses her, his hands holding her jaw to angle her face perfectly and while her kiss was closed, rushed and panicked, this one is different. He is quick to beg for her to open her lips so he can explore as much of her as humanly possible, he is letting all the passions loose that he’s been locking up these past months and when she returns it just as eagerly it just pushes him even further. 

They inch back to the wall of the house and when he pins her against it a moan slips past her swollen lips, completely maddening him. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes against her lips, kissing her jawline, savoring the sweet taste of her skin that’s supposed to be cold, but it’s actually burning. For him. 

He keeps one hand on the side of her neck, the other one digs into her hip through her coat and she keeps pushing against him, while her hands wander under his coat, they are on his waist, back and when they move to his lower stomach, brushing against his belt, something snaps inside him. 

But before he could completely lose his mind the backdoor opens and he quickly sobers up, pulling her farther away from the corner so they can’t be seen. 

“...and that was actually crazy,” a girl speaks up, oblivious to how Harry has Y/N pinned against the wall just a few feet away. They are both breathing heavily, but she has her face buried in his shoulder while he covers his mouth with a hand, adrenaline racing through his veins. 

“Ah shit, I’m out of cigarettes,” another girl says.

“Mm let’s get out of here then. I think Max said they are having a little party as well.”

“Okay.”

Then the door opens again and the voices disappear, but reality hits Harry hard in the head.

He slowly pulls back, enough to look at her face and when he sees her swollen lips and slightly smeared mascara he almost combusts. 

Because he wants nothing more than to take her, right here and then everywhere else in the world, but he also realizes what he just did and this time his rational side wins. 

“Fuck,” he gasps as he jumps back, cupping a hand over his mouth.

“I wanted it–”

“Y/N, stop!” he cuts her off. “Fuck, this was a mistake.”

“But I wanted it! You didn’t–”

“I said stop!” he barks and she shuts her mouth right away. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

And before she could protest again or worse, kiss him again, he is already storming back inside, across the house towards the front door.

“Harry! I haven’t seen you all night!” Stella catches him, but he just wants to get as far away from this house and from Y/N as possible.

“I’m sorry, I need to go. I’ll talk to you later,” is all he manages to say before he is already out the door.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[unoisveimved-un-proffesional]

That'd be all fine and dandy if you were a god, but you're not a god, you're a goddamn animal.

"a sustainable pace that people have the time to adjust to." And other fairy tales we tell children.

That's not a "reasonable adult", this is just Pseudo-Mature Juvenile Idealist vs Strawman Anarkiddie.

One of these opinions makes the effort to sound reasonable, but they're both living in an idealist fantasy. They're both disconnected from reality. You can't control the pace of change, you especially can't do change in a comfortable way, it's always uncomfortable, and you just have to grit your teeth and get through it. Do you honestly think yourself or the thoughts and feelings of any other human being so important that time itself will stop to accommodate you? Grow the fuck up. It doesn't matter how much you say you know about how violent and harmful the current system is or how to transition seemlessly into a less harmful one, you act like you don't know shit.

Neither of the simple minded opinions expressed in the post work, because all they do is put themselves at the center of the universe, valuing what would be best and most comfortable for them personally. They don't go at the pace of the world and then whine and bitch when it doesn't match them. The world waits for no one, it leaves heads everywhere spinning, and it doesn't care who has time to adjust for it. You can battle everyone else on tumblr big brain to brain but you're both crushed by actual reality. You look like a fool, a limp wristed coward with a weak back and a sensitive stomach who wants things to happen comfortably, and if not comfortably, not happen at all.

Newsflash bestie, reasonable adults don't have to call attention to the fact that they're reasonable adults, and it doesn't make you look smart, and it doesn't make you look cool, it just makes you look like a desperate poser. The first thing you should learn when you become an adult is that there are no reasonable adults, yourself included. You willingly and consciously dumb down the opinions of your critics into a straw man to beat in front of an audience. It's not an oversight, or a misunderstanding, you're just a frightened selfish animal like everyone else on this planet, working closer to your own personal comforts. You think you're better than these people, but you're not, you're basic. You're no better, you don't know any better. You. Ain't. Shit. Mate.

tldr; Fuck you I'm drunk as shit.

a reasonable adult: Instead of operating by this extremely harmful and violent system that causes constant long-term damage, I think we should slowly transfer to a less-harmful system, gradually moving from the current conventions to less and less damaging ones in a sustainable pace that people have the time to adjust to. a tumblr intellectual who has never been outside: No. Evil. Die. We must all jump right into an extremely radical Perfectly Perfect System created in my image, and everyone who can't or won't just jump into doing something completely different than what they're used to doing, in one single step overnight, is a Bad And Evil Stupid Person and must be punished with violence until they stop being Bad And Evil.

[aventurineswife]

Braid his hair, braid his hair, braid hIS HAIR

READER BRAIDING BOOTHILL'S HAIR

Hold Tight to the Reins

Summary: In a rare moment of calm aboard Boothill's ship, you take the opportunity to braid his unruly hair. As you work, Boothill lets down his guard, revealing a softer side beneath his rugged exterior. The tender moment between you and the vengeful cyborg cowboy grows more intimate as he allows himself to trust and even enjoy your touch.

Tags: Boothill x Reader, Fluff, Intimacy, Slow Burn, Hair Braiding, Comfort, Soft Moments, Suggestive Ending

Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Implied Intimacy, Emotional Vulnerability.

A/N: YES ANON! 🫡

It was an uncharacteristically quiet evening on Boothill's ship, one of the few moments where the embers of vengeance weren't pushing him toward the next fight, the next bounty. In the dim light of the cabin, you found yourself sitting on a low crate, facing Boothill as he sat cross-legged on the floor, idly reloading one of his revolvers. His gaze, usually so steely and focused, had softened somewhat as he kept his head slightly tilted toward you, though he seemed determined not to look you in the eye.

You reached out, fingers brushing the white strands of his hair. The jet-black streaks that ran through it made it look like ink bleeding into paper, wild and untamed, and you couldn't help but wonder how many battles it had witnessed with him. You twirled a lock around your finger thoughtfully.

"Mind if I braid this?" you asked, barely above a whisper, almost like you were afraid to shatter the silence between you.

Boothill grunted, a low, noncommittal sound. "You plannin' to weave a lasso out of it or somethin'?" His sharp teeth glinted as he flashed a wry smile. "Not sure how you'd rope anyone with that little scrap."

You smirked and shook your head. "Just wanna make it look a bit more... manageable. You know, like a ranger on a mission."

He shrugged, finally giving you a curt nod. "Knock yourself out, darlin'. Not like I got anything better to do while we wait."

You knelt down behind him, hands ghosting over his shoulders as you gathered his hair in sections. His long, unruly hair was surprisingly soft, despite the grit and smoke that clung to it from countless battles. As you carefully started weaving the locks together, Boothill's shoulders seemed to relax a little under your touch.

“Feels… different.” he murmured after a while, his voice losing a hint of its rough edge.

“Different how?” you asked, fingers working gently through the braids, pressing close to his scalp as you added new sections, creating an intricate pattern.

"Don’t know," he muttered, but his voice had gone softer still, the gruff cowboy mask slipping just a bit. "Ain't exactly used to someone touchin' me like that. You know—easy-like."

You couldn’t help but smile, fingers lingering on the braid a moment longer before sliding down to rest against his collarbone, close enough that he could feel your warmth. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call you ‘easy’ to deal with.”

He chuckled, a raspy sound that vibrated through his chest. “You must be crazy, tryin’ to tame a ghost like me.”

“Guess I like a challenge.” you teased, letting your hands slip lower, grazing the edge of his mechanical torso beneath his jacket, feeling the smooth metal alongside the warmth of his skin.

Boothill’s breath hitched, and he turned his head slightly, just enough to meet your eyes with his own black and white-aimed gaze. For once, he looked almost vulnerable, as if he’d let you see past that reckless gunslinger façade.

“Careful,” he said, voice dipping low, “or I might start gettin' used to this."

“Maybe that’s exactly what I want.” you whispered back, leaning in just close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath, your fingers still idly running through his freshly braided hair.

For a moment, he didn’t move, and you thought maybe you’d gone too far. But then, with a slight smirk and a glint of something raw and intense in his eyes, he reached up, his hand resting over yours. "Well then, darlin'... better keep a tight hold on those reins."

[vt-scribbles]

Please still be here in 4 years.

Please.

[aquaticmercy]

Blood and Kin

Part 3 of Dark Necessities

Summary : You desperately drank Bucky’s blood when you were starving. You found out that there are consequences to your actions.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x half-vampire!reader (she/her in mind)

Warnings/tags : Cursing. 

Word count : 2k

Note : Reader is a daywalker like Blade. And yes, I finally turned this into a series! The name Dead Club City is inspired by the Nothing but Thieves album.

I’m starting a taglist for this so let me know if you wanna be on it!

edit: the first couple of hours that this was up I accidentally posted an unrefined draft but now it’s all fixed. Sorry for the mistake!

Eric stood in the doorway, shadows casting hard lines across his forehead. His eyes locked onto you, then moved Bucky, before trailing back to you with a grief that ran bone-deep. 

It was a look you’d never seen on him before, one so intense it seemed to make the walls tremble. Eric’s presence consumed the room, his rage dense, like a storm ready to tear everything in its path.

“Get out,” he growled at John through gritted teeth. For a second, he looked ready to argue. Then he stopped himself, retreating silently. He knew better than to question Blade, than to disagree with him. 

Eric’s face was thunderous, his rage a force that practically sucked the oxygen out of the room. He was livid— no, furious— in a way that was beyond anything you’d ever witnessed from him. The kind of anger that rolled out in waves, accompanied by a piercing stare you could feel through your skin.

He threw your shirts at you and Bucky, not caring if they even hit their mark, like the sight of you both —caught in this moment, bonded in ways he couldn’t forgive— was making him sick.

“You know what a blood bond is?” he spat, the sharpness like venom dripping from every word.

You pulled the shirt over your shoulders with trembling fingers, feeling every ounce of his anger pressing down on you, sinking into your skin like ice. 

“You’re like family to me, kid,” he said, his voice thick with something darker than rage, something akin to despair. “And you kept this— this thing from me?” 

You felt his anger float in the air, clawing its way beneath your skin.

You had nothing to say, no defense against the anger that poured from him. You knew you’d crossed a line and whatever was left between you and Eric was hanging by the barest, most fragile thread.

“I don’t know what this is,” you admitted in a  whisper.

“A Blood Bond is ancient, and it’s unforgiving.” Eric continued, his voice a hollow echo, like a tolling bell. “You think this fucking thing with Barnes is harmless?”

“I didn’t know,” you said, lips quivering, almost desperately this time. You jumped off the sink, feeling your footing steady on the bathroom floor.

Behind you, Bucky stepped forwards, his eyes flashing with a defiance that only seemed to fan the flames of Eric’s  rage.

“Of course you didn’t,” Eric snapped.

Bucky didn’t flinch. If anyone had the right to stand up to Eric, it was him. Eric had walked this earth for almost a hundred years now, so it was easy to forget that Bucky was older. He’d been different people, molded and broken by the cruelty he’d endured, bruised and battered, reprogrammed and reformed. He had seen depths of horror that even Eric hadn’t touched. That defiance in his eyes was forged in a hell, or at least if felt like it.

“She didn’t know,” Bucky said. “I didn’t know either. You can’t just disappear off the face of the earth for a month and blame her for doing the only thing she could have—”

“She should have done anything but this!” Eric’s glare turned on Bucky. The room contained a silent tension that was as volatile as dynamite waiting for a spark.

“Do you even understand what you’re putting her through?” Eric spat, his voice laced with venom. “You’ve tied her fate to yours in a way that can’t be undone. If either of you dies…” His voice cracked slightly, a flash of something softer breaking through before it was replaced with a grim determination. “It’s not just grief that takes over. It’s madness. The kind that drives vampires to tear cities apart, to leave rivers of blood in their wake.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing, his silence a stubborn refusal to give Eric the satisfaction of seeing him falter.

Eric’s expression twisted, a bitter laugh escaping him. “This bond demands everything of you,” he continued, almost to himself, “And it won’t care about your good intentions or the life you’re trying to live.”

You could feel Bucky tense beside you, his fists curling tightly at his sides, the weight of Eric’s words cutting into him as deeply as they were to you. He was warning you, trying to pierce through the wall of denial you had built. He was trying to make you understand what you’d find at the end of this road— blood and ruin.

“I didn't know,” you repeated again, more to yourself than anyone else. There’s been so much information thrown at you, you were struggling to keep up, struggling to process everything.

Eric's voice dropped to a lethal whisper.  “Every account in history ends the same way: with a killing spree committed by one when the other dies. And you two think you’re the exception?”

Bucky’s lips tightened, his gaze fixed and defiant, though a flicker of doubt passed across his face. “I don’t do that anymore,” he said, almost to himself, voice thick with an uncertainty that betrayed him.

Eric stepped closer, voice barely more than a growl. “This bond doesn’t care who you think you are.”

“I didn't fucking know!” You shouted this time, probably enough for John to hear in the other room. Your fingers trembled, tongue lapping up the remnants of Bucky’s blood on your lips.

You couldn’t meet his gaze. Eric’s words finally started to sink in, every detail a nail in the coffin. 

Bucky’s hand brushed against yours, intertwining as if you were one.

Eric turned away, rubbing a hand over his jawline. “Tomorrow night, I’ll take you both to Dead Club City,” he said, the words sounding like a promise and a warning all at once. His voice cracked, bitter. “If anywhere has answers, it’s there.”

The name hit you like a blow to the chest. 

Dead Club City. The infamous blood bar, where vampires walked the line between survival and indulgence, drinking cocktails made of animal blood and a synthetic tonic that mimicked human blood.

You’ve been there, but only once. A long time ago.

But Eric’s mention of it was different; his tone made it sound less like a refuge and more like a last-ditch attempt to try and salvage your sanity.

—

That night, the room was wrapped in shadows, softened by the moonlight filtering through the curtains. Bucky sat beside you, watching as you lay deep in sleep, your brows in a gentle furrow. You looked so vulnerable, if only for a few hours. 

It had taken you a while to fall asleep— he could feel your worry in the back of his head through the bond. You were afraid— of Eric’s disapproval. Of disappointing him.

He brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his fingers lingering on warmth of your skin. 

You were… everything to Bucky. And that scared him, more than he would ever admit. 

After a moment, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. He made his way out of the room. His throat was dry, and only water would help.

The safehouse was silent as Bucky crept down the stairs. He was only halfway to the kitchen when he sensed someone already there, the faintest hum of steady breathing.

Under the dim light, he found Eric standing near the counter, motionless. 

So he couldn’t sleep, either. 

The two of them regarded each other in silence, neither sure of what to say after he caught you on the sink.

Bucky poured himself a glass of water, careful not to make a noise. He was unwilling to break the silent truce that they had.

Eric’s voice coming out low, almost as if he were speaking to himself. 

“Please take care of her, Barnes.” he murmured, “She’s the only one I have left. She’s… like kin to me.”

“Of course,” Bucky set his glass down, meeting Eric’s eyes with a steady look. He could see the unspoken fear that lay beneath the stoic facade of the dhampir. “You don’t even have to ask.”

Eric shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I don’t think you understand...”

“I do,” Bucky turned the tap off, unflinching. “She’s the love of my life.” The words came easily, as if they had been waiting to be said all along. “You’ve seen the things I’d do for her. The things I’d do because of her.”

He paused, a warmth creeping into his voice, his gaze softening as he thought of you asleep upstairs. “She… she gave me back pieces of myself I thought I’d lost forever. She’s not just a bond, Brooks. Not to me.”

Eric sighed, glancing at his own glass of blood replacement serum. He looked up, his voice dropping, almost wistful.

“You know, she wasn’t always like this,” he began, “when I found her, she wasn’t the person you know now. She was feral, half-starved. A teenage daywalker, struggling and dangerous. She… hated me at first. Thought I was just another person trying to control her.” He chuckled, his gaze drifting, as though seeing some distant memory. “She tried to run more times than I could count. Back then, she would have gladly ripped my throat out if she had the chance.”

Bucky listened, surprised but intrigued. He could picture her—wild, defiant, her spirit untamed and her strength untethered, raw. “I can see that,” he murmured with a smile. “The wild part still comes out from time to time.”

Eric nodded. “But she grew up. Somewhere in between all the blood and chaos, she learned discipline. We became… family. She even called me her brother once,” His voice grew quieter, carrying a thread of nostalgia. “I’d like to think I gave her something… something to hold onto when the world was a place she couldn’t belong. I taught her control. I taught her how to fight with honour. I think… you taught her how to love in a way I didn’t even realise she was capable of.”

Bucky felt a pang in his chest, understanding the weight Eric must have carried, watching over you, shaping you into someone who could live in a world that would never fully accept you. He felt the urge to comfort Eric, to tell him that his efforts paid off.

“Did she ever tell you about when I first met her?”  Bucky finally spoke, his voice a touch warmer.

Eric shook his head, looking up for the first time.

“She saved my life. She was working with Man-Thing—Ted—on some mission in the middle of nowhere when we crossed paths.” Bucky chuckled, “They were tracking a rogue werewolf. And Ted, well…” Bucky laughed softly, shaking his head. “Ted was dead on his feet from lack of sleep. He was useless that night.”

Eric raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “She was doing all the heavy lifting?”

Bucky nodded. “I was barely aware of what was happening before she’d taken down that werewolf. I didn’t even know what hit me—just this blur of speed. She shocked me that night.” He looked down, a faint smile touching his lips as he remembered. “And that was it. I knew I was done for.”

Finally, Eric sighed, the tension easing from his shoulders. “I think… I think she’s better for having you.” He looked away, almost reluctantly. “I didn’t think anyone else could understand what she means to me. But maybe in a different way— you do.”

They stood in silence for a little longer. Each held a different piece of your story, cherished you in their own way. They both knew you were in the best hands you could possibly be— even if you were fully capable of protecting yourself.

Before turning back to go upstairs, Bucky’s curiosity got the better of him.

“What’s waiting for us at Dead Club City?” he asked.

“Someone who will understand,” he replied, voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky took one last glance at him, nodding. 

Eric stayed, watching the soldier return to you with something that hadn’t been there before— a flicker of trust. 

Bucky slipped into bed beside you after taking a sip of water. You curled into him, still fast asleep. The tension in your brow had softened. Your face was peaceful, utterly serene. He could feel it, too— how you were resting easier now.

Watching you, Bucky couldn’t help but wonder if you could sense Eric’s newfound approval echoing through his mind— like a reassuring pulse through the bond.

-to be continued…

[eddiebrockrambles]

THIS RIGHT HERE IS WHAT I’VE BEEN GOING ON ABOUT!

Eddie is undoubtably resilient, with a strong moral compass and a care for the world around him which runs deeply. He often takes on guilt which isn’t his to carry. He finds his way in (and out) of perilous situations. He ends up hurt. He ends up flat on his back on the ground, still making quips, bloodied but smiling through gritted teeth.

From what we see in the films, and from my own projection onto his character, he does seem to crave dominance. In the nature of bratting, he may not wish to appear to give it ‘willingly’. But his masculinity, the grittiness, the strength and endurance —none of it is undermined by his submission or need for the power exchange. It’s heightened by it.

I mean, with Venom, his immediate ability to surrender autonomy and actually work with it—struggle perhaps, but not reject, makes them incredibly strong, and enabled him to escape with Venom in the first place. It’s kinda a good metaphor. And Venom doesn’t ruin Eddie’s identity. Sure, it can bring up difficult questions, but ultimately it’s still Eddie.

But outside of the metaphorical, his need for this type of outlet makes sense. Although therapy is also highly recommended, the use of kink in harm-reduction and to gain control over his traumas/experiences can be powerful, with someone who knows him completely, he trusts, and is bonded with. He knows he can endure. He can survive. He can have bones mended and pain soothed. He can trust Venom.

Anne hits him twice with a pillow. He loves the suit. Anne knows his schedule better than him. Anne is more composed. The tie around his neck. The helmet quip. The obvious power dynamic there… and then of course, Eddie’s ability to accept Venom, Venom saying ‘you’re mine’, the raw vulnerability they’re able to explore. The quips even when he’s just rolled off a motorbike, or about to be shot.

It’s only one aspect of their relationship, one part of the dynamics they share. But I think it’s a beautiful one.

Rewatching Venom 1, I now like to think Venom’s dominant behavior isn’t his own kink—it’s just how he responds to Eddie’s needs. Eddie Brock craves dominance, whether it’s with a tie or a tentacle.

[hypnoneghoul]

I would love some endometriosis/pcos trans Dew content if you’re up for it 🖤🖤

Dewdrop hates his body.

Don’t get him wrong; he considers himself quite attractive, and does love his mortal vessels for some fun things it allows him to do, but sometimes…sometimes he wishes he could hop out of it and be incorporeal.

Today is one of these days.

His uterus is an absolutely vile thing, and when Rain asks him what’s wrong, Dewdrop spits out to get him a kitchen knife so he can cut the damn thing out of him himself.

Rain doesn’t deliver, of course, and asks the fire ghoul to glamor away his claws before he even thinks of helping him. “Endo flare, I assume?”

“Yes,” Dewdrop rumbles through gritted teeth. He’s curled up into a little ball with his arms around his middle and his temperature kicked up worryingly high. Rain won’t be able to touch him if he doesn’t lower it.

“I’m so sorry, droplet,” he sighs. He really is—he hates seeing Dewdrop in pain. “Is it Mountain’s tea level, Aether’s quintessence level, or infirmary level? What do you need?”

“To die,” he grumbles into his pillow.

“Not that,” Rain chuckles, “not allowed.”

“Then tea, I guess,” Dewdrop rolls over onto his other side to finally face Rain. He looks awful, but still he rolls his eyes at the water ghoul, “and cuddles. Might need Aether later.”

“Okay. I’m gonna grab the tea and you cool down in the meantime,” Rain orders before turning to the door. “I mean literally, or no cuddles.”

“You hate meee,” Dewdrop whines. The water ghoul scoffs and leaves to prepare the tea.

It’s not a normal tea—of course. It’s infused with both Mountain’s and Aether’s magic, making it one of the few things that can ease Dewdrop’s, or one of the ghoulettes’, period or endometriosis pain. Not always, though; sometimes the pain is just too much.

It doesn’t take long for Rain to make it and be on his way back—his water magic certainly is useful and can speed up the process. When he comes back to the fire ghoul’s room he notices Dewdrop hasn’t moved, but it seems it's not as hot in there as it was.

“My lord and savior,” he exclaims, opening his arms for Rain. Or rather the tea.

The water ghoul rolls his eyes at him before handing him the mug. He cringes when Dewdrop takes a gulp out of it right away—even though he knows very well it won’t burn him. He moans at the taste and the warmth spreading inside him as he drinks the beverage. It really is a brilliant thing.

“Feeling any better?” Rain asks when Dewdrop hands him the empty mug.

“A little,” the fire ghoul replies truthfully. He makes grabby hands at Rain. “Cuddles, now.”

“You’re such a baby,” the other laughs, but obliges, anyway. Rain crawls into the nest and curls around Dewdrop’s back, nuzzling his face into the back of the fire ghoul’s neck and putting his hands on top of Dewdrop’s own over his stomach. He needs the heat of his own hands there and Rain doesn’t want to interrupt that.

“Your huge ass is squishing my tail,” the fire ghoul grumbles.

“Oh? Sorry,” Rain giggles and lifts his hips to let Dewdrop wiggle the appendage out. He does, but doesn’t just lay it out between them; he prompts Rain’s own tail to wrap around it, tangling them together in affectionate matter. The water ghoul hums, “Cute.”

“Shut up,” Dewdrop spits back.

“I love you, too, droplet.”

[planetpedri]

hey diva… just give me anything with torres and lowkey… make it ansgty

Better than this — Fernando Torres.

Pairing: Fernando Torres x Fem!Reader

Summary: All he wanted was you, but you were certain he could find someone to treat him better than you ever could.

Word count: 740+

Disclaimer/s: angst , arguing , hopeful ending

A/N: I hope this made you happy beautiful, @ar4ujos ^_^ I luh you.

Knocking and knocking and knocking. “Baby open the door.” Fernando pleads, his head resting against the wooden frame. You’d locked yourself in your bedroom after he’d.. oh God. Even thinking about it made you nauseous.

He had, in simple terms, confessed his very real feelings for you. At first, when he’d started hanging out with you more, taking you out on ‘dates’—not that you’d let him call them that, it was fine. It wasn’t serious or anything, just the both of you having fun.

“Fer, go away.” You groan, head tipping back against the bed frame. You sat on the cold wooden floor of your bedroom, trying to collect your thoughts. He deserved better than you! Why wouldn’t he just go away?

“I’m not..” His voice grows quiet. “Listen, I know it scares you, I know you don’t like relationships, but please. I want—I need you.”

You wanted to believe that, you did. But your brain was practically screaming ‘danger! Danger! Danger!’ He didn’t deserve to be locked in a relationship with a girlfriend who would constantly overthink. You had too much baggage and the blonde did not deserve that.

“Baby, open the fucking door.” He says through gritted teeth. “Please, if you’re going to break it off, I need to you say it to my face.”

Reluctantly, and against everything your brain was telling you to do, you stand up and shuffle toward the door. You unlock it, opening it just enough to poke your head through. Then you see his face, that beautiful.. no.

Blinking slowly, you chew on your cheek. “Okay. I—“ You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t say it. You couldn’t tell him to go.

“You…?”

“I, uhm.. Can you not look me in the eye when I say this?” You huff, eyes diverting to his shaggy blonde hair. Lord, his hair. Memories of your fingers threading through the blonde locks flooded your mind. You did not want to break anything off, but you had to.

“No.” He stays firm, shaking his head. “And, open the door all the way. If you really didn’t want this, you’d be able to say it to my face.”

“I am?” You scowl at his hair. “You make my life so difficult.”

Fernando nods. “I’m sure I do.”

“And you are insufferable, and very, very! Annoying. You also—“ Your brain short circuits. Why was he looking at your lips? “Stop that. Now. I’m trying to get you out of my life.”

“Are you really? You’re not trying very hard.”

Oh.

Your face flattens. “You’re proving all the points i’ve been making.” You point out, which unfortunately had a smug look forming on Fernando’s freckled face. “I want you to—“

You couldn’t speak. You almost said something wrong, something the complete opposite of what you’d been trying to say.

His eyebrows raise, beckoning for you to continue. When you don’t, his previous grin falters. He says your name quietly, concern etched into every syllable.

“Sorry, I, uhm,” you shake your head. Get a grip! You could give in, or slam the door in his face again, but you don’t. Instead, you scratch the side of your head. “Okay, clearly I don’t know what I’m trying to say. But, Fer, you don’t deserve this—me. You should be with someone who can provide for you exactly what you need.”

“But you are what I need.” He furrows his eyebrows, his head rolling to the side. “Why can’t you just give this—us.. a chance?”

You had never been so irritated and appalled by someone in your life. And you were thankful. Because his words only made you want to believe him, despite the part of you that couldn’t. The fact of the matter was, he was giving you hope, and hope is dangerous. But what is life if not decades of risks?

“One date. One real date. Then, I will think on it.” You finally give in, rolling your eyes at the way his face lit up.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t make me regret this.” You point at his chest, your pointer finger digging into it. Fernando smiles, his hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling it away, but still keeping a hold on it.

Fernando beams at you, “I promise you won’t.” A short pause, “does this mean I have to leave?”

You think for a moment before taking a step back into your bedroom, dragging him with you. “I suppose not.”

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @ar4ujos @joaosfelix @hrts4havertz @spidybaby !

[defectivehero]

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: Trail of Blood

warnings: blood, injury

"Well then."

The detective flinches at the familiar voice, dread and fear running through them as their eyes fall to the figure standing at the mouth of the alleyway. They attempt to push themselves up into a better position, but their limbs don't cooperate. The gashes across their body—coupled with the worrying bullet wound in their abdomen—prevents them from moving. Their teeth are chattering and they blink stars from their eyes as their enemy approaches. "How-?" The words die in their throat.

Yet the supervillain comprehends what they're trying to say anyway. They take a few more casual steps closer. "You left a trail." The supervillain then answers matter-of-factly, pointing back to the mouth of the alley. Indeed, there's a discernible path of crimson stains leading to their current position.

"Ah," the detective remarks. They dazedly look down at their trembling form, an ugly realization settling at the pit of their stomach as they see the slowly expanding puddle of blood beneath them.

"Yes." The supervillain hums. "It's really rather ironic. You of all people should know better."

The detective just blinks blearily. They suppose that's true. Then again, they're not usually the victim in these scenarios. The detective is typically the uninvolved third party who appears after the damage is done, relegated to making sense of the evidence left behind.

Their enemy is unperturbed by the detective's silence, instead continuing to speak. "So, what's your plan?" They ask. With another step, they're close enough for the detective to see the expression on their face—an unfamiliar one that appears to be a puzzling mix of irritation and something the detective is too afraid to name.

Then they remember the question. "Die, I guess." The detective mutters.

The supervillain huffs a dry laugh, studying them for several moments. They seem to be cataloguing the detective's injuries. "You'll live." They state with an almost clinical boredom.

"Thanks." The detective responds flatly. For a while, there's nothing but silence. The supervillain hasn't budged or moved a muscle in the time they've spent in tense quiet. "What?" The detective eventually chokes out impatiently.

"Just waiting for you to ask for my assistance." The supervillain hums. The detective glares at them for a long moment. Their enemy only scuffs their boot in the gravel below, seemingly more interested in the pebbles on the ground than the matter at hand.

A sudden prickling shame runs down their skin. The detective grits their teeth. "I'll just-" They murmur to themself, slowly straightening their posture through the nearly blinding pain.

"Just... what, exactly?" The supervillain's acerbic voice cuts through the detective's thoughts. "Crawl to the nearest hospital? It's more than three miles away. Should take you a good several hours. Or a few days, depending on your speed." They respond with a bored tone, holding up their hand and picking at their nails. The supervillain's casual demeanor is infuriating.

"Are you- just here to state the obvious?" The detective chokes out, their tongue feeling thick in their mouth. Did they appear just to witness the spectacle?

"You know me," the supervillain shrugs magnanimously. At the detective's glare, they smile. "I'm the helpful type."

The detective groans in annoyance and refocuses their effort on moving forward. They don't get past a slightly more mobile sitting position before there's a hand on their shoulder.

"Alright, enough," the supervillain announces, their grip strong enough to shake the detective out of their determined state "You're just embarrassing yourself. It's pathetic, seriously."

The detective is too exhausted to notice the concern hidden in their enemy's tone or the concentrated furrow to their brows. They growl and attempt to shove the supervillain away, but their enemy is inexplicably persistent. Within moments, the supervillain is gathering them up into their arms with minimal effort. The detective’s head is spinning at the sudden change in momentum. Were they in a slightly better state, they'd be envious of the supervillain's casual display of strength. Now, however, all they can do is attempt to fight the fatigue threatening to bring their vision to darkness.

Still, the detective's mind is plagued with questions. Where are you taking me? Why are you doing this? How did you find me? These queries all remain trapped in their throat, left to fester and rot in their thoughts.

"You should be grateful I appeared when I did." The supervillain says, looking down at them with an uncharacteristic vulnerability gleaming in their eyes. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, their composed mask returns and they return their attention up ahead. The detective frowns and attempts to dissect what they just saw. But as their adrenaline quickly starts to fade, they soon fall into unconsciousness, before their enemy can even attempt to elaborate any further.

©2024, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

author's notes: first entry done! woo woo!

in light of recent events, my activity on tumblr may be sporadic. but now more than ever, I'll likely be leaning on writing as a form of escapism. I hope to get bingo at the very least, if not complete the entire card.

if there's something specific you want to see on the card, feel free to send me an ask and I'll see if I can make it happen.

thanks for reading! <3

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[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Ride of his life

Requested: No

Warnings: AMAB!Reader, Dullahan!Reader, Monster fucking, Smit, Oral (Gaz receiving), Reader is described as having what is essentially a horse cock

Additional Notes: I want to re-iterate this before you go on to reading. Reader, in this fic, is a Dullahan. A Dullahan is an Irish creature that is, essentially, a headless horseman. I write Reader as being able to remove and re-attach their head at will.

Word Count: 833

“So soft.” Gaz hears you whisper, your lips brushing against his happy trail, your fingers digging into his hips from behind as you rub your cock against the plush flesh of his ass, leaving thin white lines of precum glistening on his flesh. “And warm. But you’re going to be even warmer inside, like a fire in the midst of winter, cozy. I wager I could stay in your ass forever, live and die in that pretty hole of yours.”

“Don’t tease me.” Gaz huffs against one of the pillows, baby blue pillowcase turning a deep navy from his sweat and drool, the fluids puddling on the fabric. His whole body flinched when your head shifted downwards, your tongue lapping at the base of his cock, his tip leaking like a faucet against what little neck was attached to your severed head.

“Oh, Mo shíorghra, you have no idea what teasing truly is if you’re getting all worked up over just this.” You croon, and he gasps loudly when he feels the head of your cock notch right against his lubed up hole, pressing only the smallest bit in before starting to roll your hips, fucking him slowly with only the first inch or so of your cock. Just pushing it in the slightest bit only to pull it out nearly entirely. Not giving him any of what he truly wants, and slowly driving him up a fucking wall.

“Stop.” He hisses through gritted teeth, yelping when your hand comes down swiftly and sternly on his asscheek, the sting burning through him when you soothed over the aching skin after, fingers rubbing and massaging deep into skin.

“You don’t make the demands here, pretty boy.” You whisper, and he didn’t have to see you to know that your eyes were narrowed, sharp and sprinkled with disappointment at his singular word. All in play, of course. He knew where it truly counted, if he asked you to stop, you would. Your touch gentled, as if to prove that point, silently asking if he was okay, and seeming satisfied with his soft moan and small nod.

“Just….please.” He begs softly, and you acquiesced, slowly pushing your cock further into his hole, making his eyes roll back into his head and his breathing stall in his chest. You were so long and thick that it felt like he was getting fucked by a baseball bat, the head of it reaching so far inside of him that he swore he felt it in his throat. Painful but so achingly good as well. Like those extra hot peppers that you insisted on putting on every meal, only made more intense when you wrapped your hand around to his front and angled your own head better, sucking his cock into your mouth and all the way down your throat.

Gaz shuddered, fingers clutching at the sheets for dear life, breath stalling in his lungs, your cock blessed finally filling him to the hilt. Cleaving him open on the thickness, making room for yourself where previously there had been none. He had no doubt that by the time you were done with him, he wouldn’t be able to forget the feeling of your cock inside of him. And, as if that feeling wasn’t enough, you started humming around him, vibrating his oversensitive cock with your vocal cords and nearly making him cum.

His hand shot down, wrapping around your wrist and squeezing like it was his last lifeline, tucking his head down to watch through teary eyes as you hollow your cheeks and really started working his cock over, your hand pulling and pushing your head in time with the thrusts from your body. If he wasn’t being filled, then he was filling you, never left without some overwhelming sensation. His stomach clenched, curling up in heated knots that frayed at the edges each time your heavy balls slapped against his thighs.

“R-Right there!” He pleads suddenly, jerking forward in a way that almost sends your head flying from your hand, his thighs twitching and shaking as the thick mushroom tip of your cock rubs insistently at his prostate, like it was trying to milk him for all he was worth. You responded in kind to his words, propping your foot flat on the mattress and digging your nails into the fat of his hip before going to town on his ass. The shlick of your cock in his rapidly loosening hole bouncing around the room and reverberating in his skull. His eyes rolling back into his head, tongue lolling out onto the bed, and finally his legs gave out under him when you oh so gently pressed your teeth into the base of his cock the next time you deep throated him. Lights flashed behind his eyes, and he didn't even comprehend anything more until you’re pulling out and fat globs of milk white cum and leaking out of his ass and running down his thighs in rivers.

[crimsonwolf715]

Death Will Do Us Part

(POV Bruce) 

Family dinner is chaotic as ever. Bruce smiles as his family eats and argues about whether or not to bet on the next villain to get out of Arkham. Of course, he doesn’t agree with the idea of placing bets on that, but it isn’t hurting anybody. Unless they break somebody out to win the bet, but that isn’t likely. The house shakes and everyone practically jumps to their feet. They can see vines through the roads outside, so everyone heads down to the Batcave. Bruce goes over to the computer and puts a call through to Commissioner Gordon. 

“What’s the situation, Gordon?” Bruce asks. 

“Everyone’s out of Arkham. We’re completely overpowered,” Gordon answers. 

“We’re on our way.” 

“Thanks.” 

His kids are collecting their gear and getting ready. 

“Did all of you hear that?” Bruce asks. 

“Yep, everybody’s out of Arkham,” Jason answers. “Pretty sure we jinxed it.” 

“Do we believe in that?” Cass asks. 

“I don’t believe in that,” Damian replies. 

“I don’t either,” Tim says. 

“I doubt we did,” Dick says. “But let’s just deal with this quickly. I have something to attend to later.” 

“Like a date?” Jason asks. 

“Like none of your business.” 

“It’s definitely a date,” Tim says. 

“Focus,” Bruce demands. 

“Don’t worry, we’re still getting ready as fast as we can. Speaking of which, I’m heading out,” Jason says. 

They all head out and start taking on the inmates of Arkham. Bruce gets a steady stream of updates over comms that his kids are dealing with inmates and he updates him when he takes them out as well. 

“Ivy’s causing too many problems. I have the building she’s in,” Barbara says. 

“Nice of you to join us, Oracle,” Dick’s replies. 

“Shut up. My setup got destroyed so I had to get to the Batcave to assist.” 

She gives the location. Bruce looks at his location. 

“I’m close.” 

“I’m close too, so I’ll come assist,” Jason says. 

The two make it to the building and it’s definitely a floral place. Jason and Bruce have to cut through greenery to get into the building at all. Poison Ivy gives them a hard time, but nothing the two of them can’t manage together. 

(POV Jason) 

“We should get out of here, this building’s unstable,” Bruce says. 

Jason nods, so the two head towards the roof with Ivy. 

“If I can’t win, you two won’t make it out of here alive,” Ivy says. 

Vines sprout up and start exploding, rocking the whole building. The floor cracks and Bruce shoves Jason to the part of the floor that isn’t cracked. 

“Dad!” 

Jason watches as the floor crumbles away under Bruce’s feet. He lunges to grab Bruce’s hand and barely misses the mark. Bruce tries to catch himself on one of the other floors, but fails. He falls onto a large piece of a floor, which impales him. 

“Dad!” Jason cries out. 

“What’s going on?” Barbara asks. “Why are Bruce’s suit’s stats bottoming out?” 

Jason pulls his helmet off and throws it. 

“Jason?” 

“I’m fine,” Jason says through gritted teeth. “But Batman isn’t. Delete the feed from my helmet without looking at it.” 

“What?” Barbara asks. 

“Delete the damn feed from my helmet without looking at it,” Jason demands. “Barbara, do it.” 

“Okay, okay. I’m sending medics to your location.” 

A pause and Jason can almost hear his father stop breathing. 

“Jason.” 

“I know. Let the others know and I’ll get him to a safe location.” 

He turns his comm off and grips the floor. He spots Ivy, who got thrown away from the two during the explosions, but seems fine. He gets up and she looks terrified. She starts trying to get away and he shoots her hands and feet. She cries out and starts cursing Jason. 

“I should kill you for still breathing,” Jason growls. “But I’m better than that now. You are gonna pay for killing him, but you deserve to live and suffer for it.” 

Jason drags her out of the building by her hair and officers are heading towards the location. 

“Red Hood?” 

Jason throws her over to the officers. “You might wanna cuff her.” 

He turns and heads back into the building. He walks over to Bruce’s limp body and he feels an overwhelming amount of anger. He stuffs it down and as gently as he can gets Bruce out of the building. After getting him into the Batmobile, he turns his comm back on. 

“He’s in the Batmobile. Send him home, Oracle.” 

The Batmobile closes and speeds off. Jason heads back to continue taking out inmates, turning his comm off so he doesn’t have to hear everyone’s reaction. 

{POV Cass} 

Cass is searching for villains when she comes across several people tied to a lamppost by their feet. She throws a batarang to cut the rope on the first person and catches them. When she does, she sees that the person’s eyes are wide and they aren’t breathing. Cass checks their pulse and realizes that they’re gone. 

Smoke starts spilling out all around her, so she tries to find the source. A metal orb with straw on it. Cass goes to grab something from her utility belt when someone takes her legs out from underneath her. Batman’s towering over her, completely decayed. She backs away and Batman crumbles to pieces. She pulls a mask on, searching for more threats in the suddenly dark world. Gotham’s been replaced by a metal room. 

“The darkness is where you belong. Killing people for someone who will never appreciate your efforts. They’ll only expect more out of you.” That voice belongs to her father. 

 Her father comes forward and she stumbles back. She starts searching her belt but can’t find any of the things she usually keeps in there. She closes her eyes and tries to focus, blood rushing in her ears. Her father’s getting closer, sword raised for a fatal strike. She jabs herself with what she hopes is the fear toxin cure and kicks her father away. 

Slowly, the world returns to what it should be. A grimy Gotham street with Scarecrow not far from her, getting up. Cass attacks Scarecrow, who tries to run. After a mostly one sided fight, Cass takes out Scarecrow. She ties him up and heads towards a police checkpoint to drop him off, still feeling the aftereffects of the fear toxin. 

{POV Damian} 

“Please help us!” An officer shouts when Damian drops down. 

“What is it you require assistance with?” Damian asks. “There’s nothing going on here.” 

“Goons are running loose in this area and Killer Croc keeps popping up and taking officers out,” the officer answers. 

“Does he?” 

Damian unsheathes his sword. He pulls up the manhole cover and stands by it. Once the goons come back, Damian starts taking them out with expert ease. He kicks the first goon into the sewer grate and can hear the audible crunch sound of Croc eating the goon. He continues to beat up the goons and then kick them in the sewer until Croc comes barging out of the sewer. 

“There you are,” Damian says. “I was starting to think that you were too much of a bitch to come and get me.” 

Croc charges at Damian and he dodges, slashing at Croc as Croc passes him. 

While the blade is mostly blunt, Damian can still easily kill someone with it. Croc would need more force and a pressure point, but Damian’s goal isn’t to kill him. It’s to incapacitate him. 

Croc goes headfirst into a lamppost and Damian snorts. Croc regains his senses quickly, then rushes Damian again. Damian and Croc go back and forth until Damian picks up the manhole cover and throws it like a frisbee. It hits Croc in the head, knocking him unconscious. After instructing the officers on what to do from there, Damian leaves the area. 

“Croc is accounted for,” Damian says. “I’m heading to the next one.”  

{POV Jason} 

“Am I close to any more villains?” Jason asks. 

“Freeze has been reported about a block from you,” Barbara answers. “You sure you’re good to keep going?” 

“I’m fine, Oracle. Give me the location.” 

She sends it and after looking at it, Jason heads in the direction. He walks into the courthouse Freeze is supposed to be in and it feels like the temperature has dropped at least ten degrees. 

“Well, Freeze is definitely here.” 

He walks into each of the courtrooms and barely manages to dodge a blast from Freeze’s gun. 

“You’ll never defeat me, Bat-Brat!” Freeze shouts. 

Jason pulls out his gun and starts shooting the dome around Freeze’s head. 

“What are you doing?” Freeze demands, ducking behind something. 

“Unless you wanna die here, you’re gonna surrender quietly,” Jason says. “I’m far past the mood to be lenient with you lot.” 

“What happened?” Freeze asks. “Doesn’t Batman normally keep you on a tight leash as his wild-child?” 

Jason pulls out a smoke grenade and throws it over the desk Freeze is hiding behind. Freeze runs out from behind the desk and Jason dropkicks him into a wall. Smoke starts spewing out of the grenade and Freeze looks confused. 

“All my grenades look the same to other people,” Jason offers to cure Freeze’s confusion. “I’m the only one that knows which one is which. So unless you wanna test your luck to see if I’ll blow you to hell, you might wanna surrender.” 

Freeze unclicks a freeze grenade and throws it at the approaching Jason. Jason kicks it away from him and beside a little frost on his shoes, is unaffected. 

“I’ll surrender,” Freeze says, putting his hands up. 

“Good.” 

Jason pulls Freeze up and handcuffs him. 

Even though it hurts to say, Jason says, “Batman doesn’t keep a leash on me.”  

(POV Dick) 

“I think you’re the only one with villains left,” Barbara says. “Everyone else is accounted for.” 

“Well, that’s nice,” Dick replies sarcastically. 

He’s having a hard time pulling his punches with the emotions flooding through his system, but he manages. 

Can’t deal with this right now. Dad’s dead and I’m here dodging being shot by two people that should be in a mental hospital.  

“The others are on their way.” 

“Beautiful. Everyone can watch me have a mental breakdown.” 

Dick’s fighting Penguin and Two-Face, who have decided that it is best to temporarily get over their issues so that they can beat him. They’re not doing very well even though they are technically getting along. Dick’s just doing flips around them, literally. Penguin tries to keep up with him, moving and shooting, but he just ends up falling off the roof. 

Dick throws down a net so Penguin doesn’t die on impact, but then turns his attention back to Two-Face. Two-Face shoots at him until he runs out of bullets. Dick runs forward to strike him down when Two-Face shoots Dick’s leg and his leg goes completely numb. Dick stumbles and falls. 

“Had this little beauty waiting for me to try. I’ve wanted to use it for a while, but never found the right moment. Pays off to go and get gear before engaging, doesn’t it?” Two-Face asks. “Alright, do we deliver the kill shot? Let’s flip the coin.” 

Dick turns towards his leg and starts trying to beat life back into it. 

“Ooo, luck is not on your side, Nightwing. Goodbye.” 

“Grayson!” 

Dick turns in just enough time to see Damian take a shot meant for him. It would have killed Dick instantly. Dick attempts to get up but his leg won’t let him. Damian stumbles into him and Dick wraps an arm around him so he doesn’t go anywhere. He grabs Damian’s sword and throws it. It goes through Two-Face. Dick turns his attention to Damian, who’s attempting to stop the bleeding chest wound. 

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay. Barbara, we need medical attention right now. Damian’s injured.” 

“It’s on the way,” Barbara says. 

“You’re gonna be fine, buddy.”

(POV Tim) 

Tim jumps onto the roof of the building where Damian and Dick’s trackers are and finds a horror scene in front of him. Damian and Dick are covered in blood and Two-Face is dead not far from them. Tears start pouring down Damian’s face as he clings to Dick. While Tim doesn’t want to, he can’t seem to look away. Dick’s crying and trying to soothe Damian. Tim can feel Jason and Cass’ presence beside him, but he can’t look at them. 

“Ssh. It’s gonna be okay, Dami. I swear, everything is okay.” 

A pause in sobs and the silence is broken by Damian quietly asking, “You love me, right?” 

Dick nods. “Of course. I love you. Everyone does. I love you so much.” 

Damian’s sobs resume and persist for a little longer, then stop altogether. 

“No, Dami. No, not you too. Dami, stay with me please.” 

Jason walks over to Tim, who’s frozen in place. Jason pulls him into a hug that Tim doesn't even attempt to fight. 

“He can’t be gone…” Tim mutters. “They both can’t be…” 

“I’m sorry,” Jason says. “I’m really sorry.” 

Jason goes to move Tim to arm’s length and Tim clings to him. Jason rubs Tim’s back as Dick’s cries for Damian ring in his ears. After a while, Jason finally convinces Tim that they need to go. That the crisis is over for them and that they need to get home. 

Tim watches Jason walk over and puts a hand on Dick’s shoulder. 

“No, no. You can’t take him.” 

“I’m not gonna take him, but we need to go.” 

Cass takes Tim’s hand and the two of them hold hands, silently supporting each other. 

“Where’s Dad?” 

“On his way to the Batcave. I’m really sorry, Dickie.” 

Dick stands up slowly, holding Damian’s body like a baby. 

“It’s not your fault, Jay. It’s Ivy’s. We should…” He chokes up and looks away from Damian. “We need to get back to the Batcave. Make sure that Tim and Cass get there, okay?” 

Jason nods. After stomping some machine by Two-Face to pieces, Dick takes off with Damian. Jason turns towards Tim and Cass, the three of them coming to a silent agreement. They head to the Batcave and are met by Barbara and Alfred. 

“Dick here yet?” Tim asks. 

Barbara shakes her head. Cass, Tim, and Jason all hug Alfred, who looks like he might break down. Dick comes in and bypasses all of them to put Damian on the table beside Bruce. He sits between Damian and Bruce. 

“Come on. You all need to get cleaned up and taken care of,” Alfred says. 

So they head upstairs. Dick and Alfred join them not long after. 

(POV Dick) 

Dick planned the funeral, refusing to let anyone assist him. Whether it was so nobody else had to deal with the event or him, no one knew. The event was only for family and close friends. Many of the Justice League members showed up to show support. Dick stayed in the back during the event and after giving his speech, didn’t say anything to anyone. 

Since then, he’s locked himself in his room in the manor. Just about everyone’s tried to come in and talk, but he ends up running them all off. Tim knocks on the open door and Dick barely glances at him before returning his attention to his hands which are planted in his lap. 

“Did you come in here to talk me into feeling better? To tell me to pull myself together? How am I supposed to pull myself together when my father is dead? When my baby brother died in my arms while waiting for medical support that never arrived?” Dick shouts. 

Tim doesn’t flinch or leave the room like the others did. He walks over, sits down, and wraps his arms around his oldest brother. Dick breaks down sobbing and the two end up hugging for a while. Dick breaks away, walking over to his closet. Dick walks over to his closet and digs around until he finds his box of keepsakes. He holds it out and Tim takes it. 

“Feel free to keep it as long as you’d like. You can share it with the other two if you want to.” 

“What is it exactly?” Tim asks. 

“Things I keep here. Pictures, items, writings about memories. I figured that you’d enjoy looking at some of the nicer ones,” Dick answers. “I won’t be able to even think too hard about them for a while, so you guys might as well.” 

“Okay, I’ll share it with the others.” 

Dick ruffles Tim’s hair. “Thanks, buddy.” 

“Do you need space?” 

“Yeah, a little. I’ll be down in a minute.” 

Dick watches Tim leave the room and he collapses on his bed. 

How am I supposed to live with the guilt that it should have me? That Damian’s supposed to be alive right now?

[bretonalchemist]

i NEED to expand on this 10 years later/the farmer never moved to sdv dream so here it is :

- Sebastian left and became a very successful programmer who lives in a high rise building in Zuzu City and wears suits, but he's very jaded about the world. He sneers at the optimism of his little brother, but somewhere deep inside, he misses the person he used to be.

- Alex has made it pro and he's good but he's also empty inside and he turns to alcohol to fill it up. He calls his grandparents every evening and visits them every weekend religiously. He cries into the dark once Evelyn hangs up.

- Shane has a made a few suicide attempts but Jas had a breakdown at about 13 yo and slapped the shit out of him so he's trying to get better, he stopped drinking and is going to therapy but he is living life through gritted teeth

- Sam is a semi-famous rockstar. He thinks he loves it. He doesn't. He actually doesn't really know what to do with his life now that he has reached his goal, and desperately tries to fill the hole in his heart by buying extravagant gifts for each member of his family. He's always smiling but his eyes are so, so tired

- Elliott has written several books and published none, because he lacks the confidence. He feels like his masterpiece is just at his fingertips and often spends entire nights feverishly writing. He's work drunk. His clothes and fingers are stained with ink. Willy hired him as a clerk to run the shop when he's on the sea, and that's the only money he makes, and he mostly spends it on supplies and alcohol at the saloon. He's become too thin with haunted, crazy eyes half the time.

- Harvey became the new mayor of Pelican Town when Lewis resignes for health reasons. The whole town is growing older and he feels his workload getting bigger. He feels guilty that he cannot keep al of them healthy, even if it's not a logical thought. He doesn't have the time for any hobbies anymore. He doesn't even have the time to realize that his own health is deteriorating. The man is in burnout.

- Haley also left for Zuzu City because she got noticed on social media and became a model. She's finally living the life she dreamed of, full of fancy clothes and sparkles and so so many people taking care of her without her asking. And she hates it. All of it. And she doesn't know why and it drives her crazy. She becomes hateful and angry, the cliché of an ungrateful celebrity. She doesn't dare contact her sister because she doesn't want to admit that she was right about everything, so she's alone

- Leah has moved to the farm and become a farmer. Her ex was stalking her and buying every art piece she made, so she stopped completely. She slowly started making art again, but now, every piece she finishes gives her panick attacks and she destroys them in a frenzy, crying and hyperventilating the whole time. She adopted a big german shepherd that serves as a guard dog, a farm dog and a support animal, named Minnie

- Penny created a montessori school and Pam takes kids from Zuzu City to Pelican Town so they can go to the school. She has a small classroom of 12 kids, all ages up to 10. Her mother is SO proud of her and she is happy to do wake up to go to work everyday. She still reads books in her spare time and is much more confident. But she kinda feels like she's going to become a crazy cat lady, because none of the bachelors left in Pelican Town seem interested in her. She doesn't want to seems desperate but she kinda is, the kids she takes care of make her heart twinge with pain everytime they slip up and call her "mom"

- Abigail has become a tattoo artist, she set up her shop in the community center and people come from far away to get her art on their skin. None of her friends are still in town, so she became buddies with Shane, who frowns at her everytime she downs a can of beer. Her parents divorced and her mother went back to her grandparents'. She still lives with Pierre, but she's old enough to realise that he is not her biological father, and that's the reason why her parents separates. She is angry about everything. She used to play the drums to release some frustration but it started not being enough, so she finally bought a sword from Marlon and went into the mines. She fights monsters when she's so angry she can't speak and her eyes seem to throw curses at people. Her body is full of callouses and scars from all her ventures into the mines. The wizard tries to approach her once but she punched him square in the nose. She is fairly sure he sometimes casts protective spells on her, she can feel her skin prickling weirdly, but it just angers her and makes her take even more risks.

- Emily has started a Youtube channel and uploads meditation, ASMR and hypnosis videos. She's built a loving community and feels like she's making a difference. But she's also losing grasp with reality. She's making enough money not to work at Gus' anymore, but she is so focused on her community that she is going out less and less

i had a dream that Fields of Mistria had an update and the map was a bit bigger, but also npcs came to visit from out of Mistria and it was the Stardew bachelors/bachelorettes !! except they were all like 10 years older, also Maru and Sebastian had a new baby brother who was like... 7 maybe ? and he followed Maru around like a duckling because he admired her so much. but Maru was so much colder, she had lost a leg and had a robotic prosthetic instead, and i was trying to uncover the story of WHAT HAPPENED ???

[cakebatteronabrickwall]

In the end, the ending is not so tragic, so dramatic or destructive at all. The trick succession pulls, has always pulled, is making it seem so, making you feel about it the way its characters do.

But when the script (and i'm not the biggest fan of refering to something outside of the actual show) says there's something here, maybe it's okay, calls Ken a man followed by his particular history- that's just it. Or, to rephrase: it just is.

[timberhearths]

please draw nthad make out 🤤🤤

Dude

[bredforloyalty]

am i a sadist or does everyone keep asking themselves that

[fat-slobby-hunks]

"I will admit the thought did cross my mind that you'd potentially try something once you got your hands on it." Alastor huffed catching the item in his pudgy hands. "Forgive me, I should of know better than to think you'd let a petty rivalry blind you to our agreement." Alastor said dusting off the microphone and giving it's head a tap with a clawed finger making it hiss. Once he was satisfied with it he'd tap the bottom against the floor and in a flash of green and black energy his ruined clothes would be replaced by a similar suit though the trim was slightly different.

"POP!" The sound of buttons snapping once again filled the studio as Alastor ruined yet another though atleast this one didn't rip itself to shreds. The radio demon was gritting his teeth now angrily tapping his staff against the ground cycling through outfits even a strange buss boy suit that almost immediately split once he had it on. "In all my years..." he growled now struggling to hold a simple button up shirt together but like the rest it fell to the girth of his gut snapping the buttons off one by one and letting his belly hang free yet again.

Casually Topless

So shocked she forgot to take photos of blackmail

"Gah! My buttons- I just got this suit resized how in the blazes could I have out grown them so fast?" Alastor gasped as a series of gunshot like pops rang out one after another cascading up his suit. The second he heard the door to his studio open his head turned around 180° ready to bite the head off the intruder though when he realized it was Velvette he paled the color leaving his cheeks and eyes widened in surprise.

Turning around proper he barely had a chance to tell her to leave before his vest exploded letting his chest fly free causing fabric to rain down with a loud "RIIIIIIP~".

"Velvette! W-what are you doing here? Regardless of our preexisting agreement you could atleast knock!" He yelled blushing red now as he held the tattered remains of his clothes hardly able to get his ham sized arms around his chest to cover himself.