#to me it really feels like people are complaining just because people like to complain about change

[plotwholls]

Clark has known Batman for roughly two years now, and in that time, he’s never cursed a living being more than he has that man. Now, if we’re counting collectives, then mosquitoes and viruses would probably edge Batman out, because— and no one can tell Lois this— Clark still sometimes cries about how many people they kill.

After tonight, Batman has secured a solid lead that Clark is sure will last for at least the next decade.

It started with him waking up to a fourth grader standing on his chest— not a great way to wake up, may Clark just say, even if he hadn’t noticed the weight. Mainly because… well. Clark nearly screamed. The only reason he didn’t was because the kid slapped a hand over his mouth and hissed the magic words that would have Clark cursing Batman into the next three centuries:

“B’s missing!”

“Who?!”

“Batman! He’s missing!” The kid wails, still standing on Clark’s chest. “I don’t know what to do!”

“You can start,” Clark says calmly, “by sitting on the bed.”

“What? No, that’s weird. OH MY GOD, SUPERMAN’S A WEIRDO!”

Clark palmed his face. Patience is a Virtue, Clark…. “Kid. Please… get off my chest.”

The kid pauses his wailing. “Oh. Yeah, right.” The kid backflips off of Clark’s chest, and onto the chest he keeps at the base of his bed so Jimmy stops complaining about the feng shui of his bed not being protected at the foot, and funeral positions. “Batman’s missing.”

“Okay? Go to your mom.”

“My mom’s dead.”

Clark stares. “Uh.”

“So’s my dad.”

Clark tries to find something to say. Nothing feels adequate.

The kid grins wildly. “Maybe I should go kill Zucco. B always stops me.”

Clark shoots up— “NO. NO MURDER, SMALL CHILD.”

The kid bursts into whining, writhing on Clark’s bed like a cat protesting medicine.

What the fuck is going on? Clark gets the distinct impression that he should blame Batman for this in more ways than the obvious, but, honestly, Clark is too sleep deprived and sleep addled to be worrying about things like thinking straight.

“I’m not a small child!” He protests. “I’m nearly in middle school!”

Okay, so he’s, like, ten-and-a-half. Noted. “Why are you here?”

The kid rolls over and straightens up some, grinning like a maniac. “B said I should come to you if I can’t reach him or A.”

Clark rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Does that make you C?”

“What? No. You’re C. I would be R. For Robin?”

Okay, so it’s either some arbitrary ranking system, or a semi-covert nicknaming scheme. Noted. “That’s a nice name,” Clark tells him. “Why did Batman tell you to come to me?”

“Thanks! My mom gave it to me!”

Clark takes a deep breath. “Why did Batman send you to me, Robin?”

“Well, more like he told me that I can trust you.”

“That’s… heartwarming. Why are you here?”

“Wow; you really are not a morning person, huh?” Robin flops down onto the bed.

“No,” He admits, ruffling the kid’s hair. “Not really. So.” Clark smacks his lips. “Can this discussion be had over juice?”

The kid tries to bolt up and immediately experiences the theory of immovable objects vs. very stoppable forces.

Clark just blinks slowly. “…If you just got a concussion, no you didn’t.”

The kid giggles.

Clark already knows this brat is trouble, and god damn him, Batman had been right to send the kid to him, because Clark would definitely help the kid. Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him for nothing in particular because Clark still doesn’t really know what’s going on.

He pours himself some orange juice. He pours himself another glass, because Robin stole the first. “So.” He blinks harshly. He sniffs. “Batman told you to come to me if you couldn’t get to him or A because he trusts me?”

“Nah, B doesn’t trust anyone. He sent me to you ‘cause you’re soft like him.”

He… has never heard anyone describe Batman as soft before, but okay. “And, Batman is missing?”

Robin nods furiously. “I can’t find him. He was supposed to come home and tuck me in, but he didn’t.”

Clark paused, cup inches from his mouth. He glances at the clock, and back at the kid. …Batman’s never late to anything. “When was he supposed to tuck you in?”

“Nine. He likes to tuck me in ‘cause he thinks it’ll stop me from sneaking out to be Robin.”

I— okay. “Did he go out before nine?”

Robin nods. “There was an alert, but he texted me at 8:30 to tell me to get ready for bed and that he was coming home to make sure I’m in bed.”

“So, whatever the alert is, he isn’t still busy dealing with it?”

Robin shakes his head, becoming more distressed. “No! I checked with Commish, and he said Batman left at eight for the cave— he should’ve been back within fifteen minutes of his text.”

Clark took a long, long drink of orange juice. It’s past 2AM— Batman wouldn’t freak his kid out like this. Right. He points at the costume. “Is that comfortable to sleep in?”

Robin pauses. “What?”

“I’m putting you to bed,” Clark clarifies. “Do I need to find you PJs?”

“But, I don’t wanna go to bed!”

“Too bad. You’re going to bed. In the morning, I’ll let you know if I’ve found Batman.”

“And if you haven’t?! You need me!”

“Yes, well rested so you can help me in the morning. BED.”

Situation where Clark has formed a tentative working relationship with Batman, but somewhere in that time, Batman acquired Robin and, naturally, didn't tell him.

Clark finds out about Robin's existence when a ten year old Dick Grayson in full Robin gear breaks into his apartment at two in the morning and shakes him awake because Batman's missing and Alfred's away and Bruce taught him that, in the case of emergency, Superman was one of the only people he could trust. Bruce just didn't think to tell Clark that he was, by all means, his son's emergency contact.

Clark: -wakes up to a small boy that he's never seen or heard of before in a cape and a mask with lenses that reflect light like a cat's perched on the edge of his bed in a pitch black room-

Dick, calmly: Hey, Batman's -- stop screaming -- Batman's missing. I need help.

[impactrueno]

🪲Beetlejuice as Mephistopheles😈

so you guys might've seen that my masquerade comic has BJ wearing this funny little get up after people were expecting me to draw him wearing the Phantom's Red Death costume.

just who is Mephistopheles?

our devilishly charismatic fiend friend Mephisto is the reason we use the term "Faustian bargain" to refer to a deal with the devil. in the legend, Faust was an alchemist who ended up selling his soul to Mephistopheles in order to gain knowledge, power and pleasure. he is, quite literally, a trickster demon full of wit and a taste for irony looking to get something out of you. sound familiar?

of course, deals with the devil didn't originate with Faust, and neither did the trope of the devil being a charming and witty character. Faust just popularized it and greatly influenced later characters following this trope. Hades from Hercules is a pretty solid example, since he takes after Satan more than he does the actual Hades from greek mythology (which is on purpose, since the movie plays with christian elements for comedic effect, like the muses singing gospel and Hercules being like a combination of Jesus Christ Superstar and Superman.)

every now and then i see people complain that Lydia referring to Beetlejuice as a "trickster demon" in BJBJ messes with the lore, because "he's supposed to be a ghost," but he has always been more demon than ghost if you ask me. "trickster demon" is a perfect descriptor for him: he has a specific summoning ritual, powers beyond what normal ghosts can do, and is always always trying to tempt people into chaos and tricking them into making a deal. i'll give you knowledge, but your soul is mine. i'll save your loved ones, but you'll have to marry me.

despite this Beetlejuice and Mephistopheles are both funny characters, hardly menacing. doing fun little magic tricks and mocking wordplay, even though they can (and will) ruin your life. yet at the same time, they're not quite as evil as they might appear at first. it's always funny noting how Beetlejuice in the movies technically stuck to his word the entire time. surprisingly high level of integrity for someone like him, but that's part of why he's so great imo.

the scene in the original movie where Beetlejuice shows up as a circus attraction to get rid of the yuppies that came to Winter River to gentrify the town into a tourist trap is just the kind of thing Mephistopheles would do. same with how he gets rid of Rory in BJBJ, playing the role of the therapist to someone who used psychobabble to manipulate Lydia. ironic twists mocking human sins, that's what Beetlejuice is all about when he's punishing somebody, and it can all be traced back to Mephistopheles.

Mephistopheles is a proto-Beetlejuice, basically. or Beetlejuice is a modern Mephistopheles, however you want to look at it.

ok but why am i talking about this? well first of all, adhd. also this is one of my favorite character archetypes. i've always wanted to put my oc Rocky in a story where he's a Mephisto-type of figure. i used to think that the closest i got to that was when i crossovered him with Beetlejuice (you had to be there) but writing this post i...just remembered something. (feel free to skip the next paragraph, it has nothing to do with Beetlejuice lol)

i have this unfinished short story i started to write a while back, in mid 2018. i was miserable, going through a really bad depressive episode, and i was looking for something that could inspire me to create again and get back on my feet. just to practice and for shits and giggles i started writing a simple freeform story where a character named [redacted], who was a stand-in for myself, is suffering from writers block despite not being a writer, and basically wants to be good at writing. while muttering something about how he'd even "make a deal with the devil to become a good writer," he accidentally ends up summoning "the devil" (it's just Rocky) who's all silly and charismatic and offering him a deal. what i wrote ends there, i never finished it. but very soon after that, i rediscovered The Simpsons and started writing Those Springfield Kids. fast forward to a few years later, my SpringKids versions of the characters end up becoming part of an official couch gag animated by The Simpsons team. so. i guess...the deal worked? spooky lol (my Faustian downsides are 1. i can never finish anything i start and 2. i'm stuck here in Venezuela.)

anyway! i originally wrote this as a thread on twitter so i could introduce people to Mephistopheles since i was going to make a reference in the masquerade comic with BJ's costume. i just added a little bit more stuff (and the personal anecdote above) in this post. i would've posted this much earlier but on the day i was going to do it, my blog got nuked. now that i got it back, i can post this!

bonus: the shin megami tensei version of mephistopheles, plus david who is a reference to camille saint-saëns Danse Macabre, which i've ALSO referenced in my beetlejuice stuff a couple of times

ty for reading

next time i yap like this it'll be about the gravediggers from hamlet and how they're another core beetlejuice archetype. ESPECIALLY musical beetlejuice.

[ilovedinodino]

piercing

genre: fluff, angst (it’s just reader’s anxiety lol), established relationships

pairing: boyfriend!jaemin x f!reader

synopsis: jaemin didn’t approve of tattoos and piercings, yet you got a belly piercing and were afraid of his reaction.

wc: 1626

Jaemin never forbade you from doing anything to your body, like getting piercings or tattoos. But he often told you that you were beautiful just the way you were, and more than once, he mentioned that he didn’t like it when people altered their bodies with such procedures. He’d even said that if he had control over his friends and you, he wouldn’t allow any of you to get tattoos or piercings.

You found this side of him endearing and appreciated it, but you had always secretly dreamed of getting a belly piercing. You never told him about it because you weren’t sure you’d ever go through with it. But lately, the thought had been on your mind a lot.

And yesterday, you finally did it.

You and Jaemin lived together, and all of yesterday, you managed to hide your piercing by wearing a sweater. He didn’t suspect anything since the apartment was a bit chilly.

But today was different. Today, it was warm—too warm. Normally, you would wear one of your usual cropped tops at home, the ones that left your stomach exposed. But instead, you put on one of Jaemin’s oversized T-shirts.

The front door opened, and you heard his voice.

"Baby, I’m home!"

You smiled and walked into the hallway, throwing yourself into his arms.

"Did you miss me?" He pressed a kiss to your temple and pulled you even closer. You silently prayed he wouldn’t feel anything different about you.

"I always miss you, you know that. Come on in, I made dinner." "Oh wow, you cooked? That’s new." You playfully smacked his arm, and he laughed.

You were sitting in the kitchen, having dinner.

“Mmm, Y/N, this is really good!” Jaemin exclaimed, making you blush.

Then, his eyes flickered over you. “Are you wearing my T-shirt?”

You looked up at him and nodded hesitantly.

“Why? Isn’t it too warm? Aren’t you hot?”

Jaemin himself was only wearing a tank top, for obvious reasons. He was surprised not to see you in one of your usual crop tops, especially since you were always complaining about how hot it was at home.

“I wear your clothes all the time. What’s so surprising?” you tried to deflect, but he just tilted his head.

“Baby, I know that. I’m asking if you’re not too warm.”

You shook your head, and after a brief pause, he decided to drop the subject, returning to his food.

—

“Wanna watch a movie?” Jaemin asked as the two of you settled into bed, pulling the blanket over yourselves.

“Don’t you have to wake up early tomorrow?”

He shook his head and pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. Your heart started pounding in fear, but thankfully, his hand rested over the blanket draped over you.

You knew you had no reason to be scared. Jaemin had never forbidden you from doing anything, even things he didn’t particularly like. But you still valued his opinion, and deep down, you were afraid of how he might react. Besides, you had seen many people break up with their partners over changes in appearance or criticize them—what if Jaemin became one of them? It was silly, but you couldn’t help feeling anxious.

The movie started, and soon enough, you managed to relax, getting lost in the story. You ran your fingers through Jaemin’s hair, your other hand absentmindedly caressing his arm. You cherished moments like these with him—the quiet, intimate ones. You’d even say they were the best moments with him.

But then, Jaemin shifted slightly and, without thinking, slid his hand under the blanket.

Your heart jumped.

When he placed his hand on your waist again, this time under the covers, you nearly stopped breathing. He didn’t seem to notice anything unusual, so you forced yourself to stay calm.

It’s fine, Y/N, everything’s fine. Just relax.

But everything wasn’t fine.

Because Jaemin started lifting your T-shirt.

His fingers brushed against your bare stomach, and in an instant, panic surged through you. You flinched and sat up so fast that it startled him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, eyes wide with confusion.

“I-I… I just remembered—I left the stove on!”

"Stove?" Jaemin raised an eyebrow and sat up as well. You nodded quickly and rushed to the kitchen. Once there, you clutched your chest and stood still for a few minutes.

"Damn, I shouldn't have done that..." you muttered to yourself, feeling the tension rise in your chest.

A few seconds later, you returned and lay back down. Jaemin didn’t say anything, and you hoped he believed your excuse. He covered you both with the blanket again, and you settled into the same position as before. But this time, Jaemin wasn’t being careful—he reached his hand directly towards your stomach.

You flinched, grabbing his wrist.

“Y/N?” Jaemin looked at you, confused. Since he’d come home, he’d sensed something was off with you, but he hadn’t pushed it. He’d hoped you’d tell him on your own, but you weren’t about to. Now, your strange behavior was throwing him off balance.

“What’s going on with you today?”

“It’s just… ticklish,” you tried to joke, but you could feel his intense gaze on you.

“You weren’t ticklish before,” he said coldly, and you swallowed nervously.

“Did something happen?”

“No, nothing.” "Then let's lie down and keep watching the movie?" Jaemin suggested. You nodded quietly, and you both laid back down. Once again, he tried to wrap his arm around your waist. You moved slightly, trying to avoid him accidentally touching your piercing, and shifted uncomfortably.

"Seriously, what's going on with you?" Jaemin asked, noticing your odd movement. You shook your head quickly.

"Nothing, it’s just... really uncomfortable."

Jaemin stayed silent, and when you finally relaxed enough to lie normally, he embraced you again, his hand brushing your stomach... and your piercing.

"What is this?" he asked, his voice full of confusion. You didn’t respond, staring at the TV. Jaemin reached out and touched your navel, his palm landing right on your piercing. The pain still lingered, and you gasped as it reminded you of the sensitivity.

You quickly pulled his hand away and pulled the blanket up to cover yourself. He sat up and watched you, but you ignored his gaze.

"Y/N, what is this?" he said in a stern tone. You kept your eyes on the movie, not answering.

"Ahh, Jaemin, look what he did! So silly!" You pointed at the TV, trying to change the subject, but Jaemin grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. The room fell silent, and you could feel the tears welling up inside you.

"Y/N, I’m talking to you." Jaemin’s voice was rare and serious. He usually spoke gently, but today, he was unusually strict.

You turned toward him, your eyes glassy with emotion.

"Y/N?" he said softly, then rushed to you, gently cupping your cheeks.

"I got a piercing... I'm sorry," you sobbed, and he looked at you with wide eyes.

"Why are you crying?"

"You disapprove of piercings and tattoos..."

He stared at you, confused.

"So what? You wanted to do it. What does that have to do with me?"

"I'm scared you’ll like me less..."

He laughed and hugged you tightly. You buried your face in his chest, clutching his shirt.

"Are you crazy? Even if you cover your whole face with piercings and tattoos, I won’t stop loving you. How could I like you less just because of a small piercing? Yeah, I think it can ruin the body, but Y/N, I’m not forbidding it, and I definitely don’t want to. I remember you saying you wanted a piercing somewhere. I didn’t stop loving you because of that thought."

You pulled your head back, surprised. "I said that?"

"You don’t remember? It was at Mark's birthday last year." You remembered. You’d been a little tipsy with everyone, but Jaemin was sober, so he remembered everything.

"Y/N, look at me." He turned your face toward him, and you looked into his eyes, just as he did into yours.

"I respect your opinion and your wishes. I love you not because of anything, I love you simply because you are you. Please, never cry because of this again and do whatever you think is right. I’ll always support you, and I’ll never leave you or stop loving you. I’ll still think of you and your body as the most beautiful, no matter what I said before. And I’m not an idiot to scold you for a tiny piercing."

"When you touched it, you got angry..."

Jaemin laughed, and you raised an eyebrow.

"I was a little angry today because you were hiding it from me and didn’t want to talk about it, not because of what you did."

You stayed silent for a moment before starting to smile. He smiled back and gently kissed you on the lips.

"Will you show me?" he asks as he pulls away slightly. You nod and push the blanket aside. As you begin lifting your shirt, Jaemin holds his breath. His eyes lock onto the delicate piercing on your navel.

"Wow... I didn’t think a piercing could make me feel this way," he murmurs, mesmerized. "Does it hurt a lot?"

You shake your head. "Only when someone touches it."

"My baby, I’m sorry I touched it," he says softly.

You laugh and lean in to kiss him. "You didn’t know. It’s okay."

"It suits you. I really like it," he admits, his fingers gently tracing the air around it as if afraid to touch again. "I think I might have just changed my mind about piercings."

"Really?" you ask, eyes lighting up.

He nods before leaning in to kiss you again, deeper this time.

You smiled in relief, realizing you had worried for nothing.

[lieslab]

What if the world comes to an end before I make it?

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X gn reader

Summary: When you start to complain about life, your boyfriend states the obvious.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: I hate capitalism. I'm in my thought daughter era. I ate an entire grapefruit for the first time in my entire life and it was life changing, I think.

_ _ _

“What is it this time?” 

“It’s impressive that you know something’s on my mind, even when I don’t say it out loud.” 

“Of course, I know. I love you and I’m dating you, aren’t I? That means figuring out how you tick. What makes the blood quicken through your heart and what makes you cry. That means getting to know you entirely, even the parts you wish I didn’t notice.” 

Beside you, Minho laid beneath the blankets with an under eye mask beneath his eyes. A habit that he picked up from you, lately . Right before bed, the two of you laid beneath the blankets and grew sleepy together. 

Side-by-side, an emptiness sat between you, but it wasn’t bad. You both liked your space. Love nestled quietly between the two of you, like a child slipping into the bed between their parents to stop the nightmares. The most beautiful thing about Minho, love didn’t have to be verbal. It sat behind actions and painted itself in the reminder notes he stashed around the house for you to find. 

‘Don’t forget, I made your lunch and put it in the fridge.’ 

‘You were having a bad day, so your favorite ice cream is on the top shelf of the freezer.’

‘You’ve been raving about the latest book coming out, don’t pre-order it, I already did it for you. It’ll be here, just in time for your birthday. Special edition, signed by the author, don’t forget to say thank you when you see me again.’

‘Soonie, Doongie, and Dori want you to know that they’re hoping you have a good day.’ 

Beneath the cotton sheet, your bare legs took comfort in the coolness. Damp from the shower, getting right into bed, nothing could beat the feeling of being squeaking clean. A hydrating lotion soaked your skin and smelled like cocoa butter. 

“There’s a quote by Sylvia Plath that goes ‘I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want.’ There’s more to the quote, but that’s the gist of it.” 

Minho hummed, not opening up his eyes. “Sounds like a very true quote.” 

“It drives me mad. I see all these lives, all these people, all these things and I want them all. I want to take care of nature’s wild animals. I want to work in a greenhouse and spend my days watering plants. I want to spend time behind a counter, making customized coffees for people, and befriending the regulars.” 

“Isn’t it just unfair?” You continued. “You finish school when you’re roughly an adult and you’re told to pick something, without really knowing about everything out there. Pick something. Get a higher education and specialize in something. Do that one thing for the rest of your life and then die, basically.” 

“But that’s such a waste!” Your eyes narrowed at the ceiling. The rage simmered in your blood again. “And why have we normalized that? What if I want to be a plumber and learn that trade? What if I want to get my hands dirty with cars? Learn about every engine, know the difference between oils, become so familiar with the frames that I can identify a car by looking at it.” 

“And Sylvia Plath has another quote where she discusses the analogy of life to fig trees. Each idea, each career, each potential is a fig and she just keeps waiting and waiting, trying to figure out which one to pick. In the process, the figs rot away and hit the ground. The ideas rot and grow further and further away. Living so many lives, taking so many routes, it’s just not possible because society says that it’s not okay.” 

“Sounds like you’re very passionate about Sylvia Plath.” 

“I’m annoyed because she’s right, you know. We’re told to pick one thing in our life that defines us and do it forever. Keep holding onto that burden, no matter if it burns out and bores you, because generations before agreed that it was a good idea.” 

Minho’s eyes opened and he blinked a few times. Soft yellow light filled the room and highlighted the two of you. You scowled, glaring at the ceiling, as if it hurt your feelings, instead of your own brain. 

“Well, maybe you’re right. Maybe you can’t live out every dream, but nobody is stopping you from trying to do it all. The only one standing before you and stopping you from making drastic life choices and decisions is you.” 

“Huh?” Your head jerked over and one of the golden collagen eye masks slipped onto the sheet. “What are you talking about? What do you mean?” 

“I mean I’m a k-pop idol, but I love boxing. I like watching anime. I like learning Japanese. Just because my life is a steady stream of work, I find things that I’m passionate about and pursue them because I deserve that. Nobody can tell me otherwise.” 

“Yeah and I don’t even know how you find the time for all that.” 

“It’s called self-discipline, less screen time, and productive days. You might not be able to conquer every single dream, but nobody is stopping you from picking up hobbies and trying.” 

You jerked yourself upright in the bed. Side eyeing him, you huffed. Your lips stuck out in a pout and he chuckled. “Be mad all you want, but you know I’m right.” 

“I know, but I worry about burning myself out.” 

“Do you or are you comfortable with where you are now? When you grow comfortable in different spaces, you learn to stay in them. Sometimes it’s because you don’t want to deal with anxiety or upsetting people. Maybe you’re afraid of failing and maybe you're afraid of success because once you succeed, you have to figure out what comes next.” 

“When the fuck did you get a degree in smartassery?” 

“When I took my time watching animations with characters full of charisma and quick wit. You should try it sometime and get off your social media. Are you really going to spend years of your life scrolling instead of trying to conquer your dreams?” 

Your mouth opened and then shut. He waited for your response, but it never came. You didn’t have one and not only that, you felt stunned. Everything he said made sense. It was all so obvious and yet, you’d never put anything into actions and words. 

Every desire, just scattered thoughts in your head. You never considered actually acting upon anything. Just like the fig tree, your dreams and hopes for different lives, they were withering and rotting. The worms of doubt nibbled inside the figs and consumed them over a span of months that would eventually, roll into years. 

“It really is that simple, isn’t it?” 

“Basically. Take it slow. Start with one or two things. The internet is at your fingertips, use it. Watch YouTube videos. Ask someone to teach you how to fix up old cars. There are hundreds of people that carry knowledge in the world, just ask them.” 

“You want a cafe job? Grab a part time job, even if it’s just a day or two per week. Want to take care of animals? Volunteer at the animal shelter. You can do so many things, you just have to find the courage and the grit to do them.” 

You shoved the blankets off you, tossing them all at Minho. “Have I ever mentioned that you’re a genius? A real life genius. I love you so much, please never die.” 

He raised an eyebrow. You ripped off the eye masks, walked over, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. He attempted to grab your wrist, but you moved. “Where are you going?” 

“I’ve gotta go make a list of all the things I want to do! I want to live! To feel! To experience! I wanna do it all!” 

“It’s nearly midnight!” He called after you. 

“I gotta go plan before the rest of my figs rot!” 

The last glimpse he caught of you, you were practically giddy with delight, excitedly rushing out of the room; probably going to plan world domination. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[p3achr-ngs]

Sevika with Silcos wife

Omg I just now got the motivation to write. The last post I made was February 13th LMAO. But to get to the point. She takes care of you even after silco died.

Sfw, fluff, female reader. In the beginning it's a tiny tiny bit of a silco x reader. But this is a slow Sevika x reader

Being married to silco wasn't exactly a walk in the park, but it wasn't all bad. you didn't feel safe going out without silco, due to his enemies. The times he wasn't there, rather it be because of meetings or paperwork, silco would send the next Best thing. Sevika.

You found her intimidating, a tall muscular woman with a robotic arm and a mean resting face.. it doesn't exactly give off friendly ' come up to me and let's talk' vibes. But that was a good thing since you don't want any shady people near you.

There are times when you try to talk to your husband's right hand woman, to get to know her better. Since she is your bodyguard for when he's not there. Which is a decent bit.

" so.. how did you meet my husband?"

You asked awkwardly, shifting in place at the bar you and Sevika was at

"Hm."

Sevika would grumble in reply. Not really bothering. Her job was to make sure you didn't get hurt. And she's doing exactly that.

Yeah... It's not awkward at all.

Though you never complained. She was a great guard. Like when you get a bit tipsy. Always wondering away.. but one time..a man came up to you. Trying to get down your pants, wouldn't take no for an answer type shit. That's when he felt a tap on his shoulder, just to turn around and get the nastiest punch in his face by Sevika.

Anyways. That's Sevika when your husband silco was alive.

But after?

Oh boy you were a wreck when you found out about silco dying.

Absolutely sobbing, dropping down to your knees and just shaking. Never felt this type of pain before, never felt so lonely and lost. You did lose your other half.

Sevika was there. Looking down at you, literally. She had a choice. Either keep you with her, or leave you and never see you again. She didn't have a boss anymore, you technically weren't her responsibility anymore.

But seeing you all so helpless and pitiful.. Sevika decided to keep you around as one last piece of her ' old' ( although not so old as she kept on blasting people yk) life.. to keep a routine. It's not like you were a pain in her ass and not like it was also your choice to have her near you...

Though... she could see the life that you gave him.

" your wife is a grown woman. Why do I need to babysit?"

Sevika would ask her boss. Huffing a bit. But when silco looked up at her from his desk, something in his eyes.. it kicked away an annoyance she had.

" she is the one thing keeping me human. I can't stand the thought of her getting hurt because of my choice's"

Shaking away the memory. Sevika crouched down to your level, hugging you. Rare moment of raw comfort from her. From that day on, you two were basically attached to the hip.

Silco would tell her. And that was that.

As time went on. You found yourself growing fond of Sevika. Quite fond of her.

It was hard not to be.

you two were always together... How she would gently guide you through the street and crowds with a hand on your lower back. Reminding you of.. him.. though it was different.

Or when she would work on her arm, smoking. It was quite a sight.

Though you still feel bad. Would your husband be mad if he saw you crushing over his right hand?

Yes. But he's dead now, and he'd probably be Glad it wasn't some shady douche and instead someone he trusted.

"come 'ere. "

Sevika's stern voice called out. Blinking, you nodded and walked up to her. Tilting your head.

But this.. this next part. Was new.

Sevika patted her lap.

" I need a pretty thing on my lap real quick. Makes me work better"

She said nonchalantly, leaning back in her seat and blowing out smoke.

You stared at her for a moment. Before slowly sitting on her lap. Sevika's non robotic arm came around your waist to give a small gentle squeeze before going back to tinkering with the other arm.

It was a comfortable silence... For awhile.

Until she broke it with an

" Silco was a lucky man. Reaall lucky. Was always jealous that he found you first."

[eclipixels]

itoshi user who isagi includes in trashtalk plz plz

e.g

"you're lucky your sister's pretty" or if he's feeling petty "i'm gonna rearrange ur sisters guts btw."

bonus if he complains about rin to user ❤️‍🩹

Y/n Itoshi

Yoichi Isagi x Reader

[947 words]

      You're Sae and Rin's sister. Growing up, all three of you were soccer fans, but with one key difference: while they played the sport, you watched it mainly for the hot players, like Cristiano Ronaldo and Neymar.

      So, when you went to watch Sae and Rin face off against each other in the Blue Lock vs. U20 match and spotted that fine shit Isagi Yoichi, you nearly fainted. And the feelings were definitely mutual.

      "Woah, who’s that?" Isagi pointed toward the stands, where two people who looked like Rin and Sae were sitting with a girl about his age.

      “Our sister.” Rin and Sae said in unison, both raising an eyebrow.

      “Is she single?” Isagi asked.

      "Bro, what?" Rin cringed.

      “Don’t even think about it, blueberry head,” Sae shot a glare at Isagi.

      “Can we stop ogling each other’s sisters, please?” Chigiri begged. He’d been a victim too, with some teammates even hitting on his mom from across the field.

      Isagi wasn’t one to take warnings seriously, and he ended up getting your number.

      You and Isagi had been together for a while now, and at first, Rin had hoped that after just a few moments with Isagi, you'd block him and never look back. But to his frustration, weeks had passed, and you and Isagi seemed to be growing closer every day, your bond strengthening in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

      One evening, as you two relaxed together, Isagi smirked playfully and asked, “Would you be mad at me if I said your brother is really annoying?”

      You laughed, not even hesitating before replying, “Nah, I agree. He can get on my nerves sometimes too.”

      Isagi raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, yeah, but he’s still your brother. It’s different when it’s family. To me, he’s just insufferable and downright annoying.”

      —

      "Out of all people?" Rin cursed.

      “Why? What’s wrong with him?” you whined.

      “What—what do you mean?” Rin was about to lose it.

      “He’s not that bad,” Sae muttered.

      “Of course, you’d say that,” Rin grumbled. Sae only liked Isagi because of the goal he scored, which, to be fair, wouldn’t have been possible without Rin’s help.

      “Hey, I didn’t say anything when you had that huge crush on Sailor Neptune,” you shrugged.

      “That’s not even close! She’s fictional, and I was thirteen!” Rin snapped.

      “That was, like, three years ago,” you countered.

      “Oh my god,” Rin groaned, burying his face in his hands.

      “Mom, aren’t you going to do something?” you asked.

      “It’s Y/n’s life. She can date whoever she wants,” your dad chimed in.

      “So if Y/n dated a psychopath, you’d be okay with it?”

      “Yoichi is not a psychopath,” you said, defending him.

      “He basically is. You don’t know the stuff he says on the field! One time he—” Rin began, his face turning bright red. He leaned toward Sae and whispered something in his ear. Sae froze, his usual stoic expression replaced by one of fear and shock.

      “How would he even physically do that? That sounds anatomically impossible,” Sae shuddered.

      “Exactly… and I don’t want to find out,” Rin said, his voice full of concern.

      “But he’s so sweet off the field! You guys talk insane trash all the time on the field. It’s just part of the game,” you sighed.

      “Y/n, there’s a difference between trash talk and telling someone they’re so bad at soccer that their very presence lowers the collective skill of humanity,” Rin said, exasperated.

      “Yeah, but he’s so sweet—like, he buys me flowers and pays for dates,” you countered.

      “That’s the bare minimum,” Rin said flatly.

      “Okay, and? I’m happy. Just leave me alone,” you sighed, brushing past him.

      “Rinnie, calm down. It’s not that big of a deal.” Sae put a shoulder on Rin, trying to alleviate his stress.

      “Easy for you to say, I still gotta see that monster everyday. Meanwhile you get to dilly-dally around until you leave for Spain again and I’m left here all alone having to deal with Y/n and Isagi smooching five feet away from me across the hall.” Rin shouted before walking to his room and slamming the door shut.

      —

      They were at each other’s throats again, clashing with a fiery intensity, each bickering and firing off quick, biting remarks. The air was thick with tension as the game continued.

      Isagi, grinning as he stole the ball from Rin, shot a cutting remark. “I’d say your aim is like cancer, but at least cancer can actually achieve its goal.”

      Rin’s eyes narrowed, his retort swift and venomous. “You’re pathetic and weak. I’m gonna toss you off that high horse of yours in a second.”

      Isagi chuckled darkly, unfazed by the insult. “You’re lucky your sister’s cute, because I have much worse to say,” he shot back, his voice laced with mock amusement.

      And then, just like that, Isagi made the final goal. A brilliant, unstoppable strike that earned him a hat trick in just thirty minutes. The referee’s whistle blew, signaling the end of the game, but the roar of the crowd and Isagi’s loud, confident celebrations drowned everything out.

      “What do you think of that, Rin? My perfect victory! That’s right, I win! In your face, you fucking bitch!” Isagi yelled triumphantly. His grin stretched wide as he pointed at the field, his voice rising in pure glee. “And you know how I’ma be celebrating? Yeah, by rearranging your sister’s guts tonight!”

      “Who even are you?” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. Rin stared at him in stunned silence, his eyes emptying of all emotion, as if the weight of Isagi’s words had drained the very soul from him.

[fanfics-i-find-here]

Do I Know You? Part 17

Synopsis: Darla checks on you and Jason takes you for some much awaited ice cream.

Note: Hi, so this chapter is a little bit shorter but it's still good. Some Sweet Jason moments are back. Anyways Enjoy it!

Masterlist

It took you a week and a half, sporadic four-hour shifts, and Jason staying at your apartment every few nights before you started to feel normal again. Your chest still hurt with the melancholy of losing someone you cared about, but you could still live your life around it. (It helped to wear the locket he had left, hidden under your shirts). Your first full shift is when Darla finally jumps to talk to you. You told her the severely watered-down news version of you being kidnapped, but that was all she knew was going on with you. Clearly, she knew something else was up.

“You going to tell me what’s going on with you, or are you going to keep me in perpetual darkness?” she complains. Jackie’s is having a slow afternoon; two college students studying together are your only customers. You lean on the counter while Darla sits on the chair by the register. You take a minute before you bring up a question that’s crossed your mind a few times.

“Darla, how friendly are the vigilantes with civilians?” You hadn’t thought much about it when Red Hood kept showing up at your window, but now, with space from him, you wonder if he’s like that with a lot of people. If he was like that a lot you wonder why he let anything bad happen to you. Darla seems confused by the turn of questioning.

“I would say friendly is a word they don’t know. Sure, they save lives, but they’re usually not ones for idle chatter most of the time.” She still seems confused as she speaks. Her words leave a perfect opportunity to tease.

“You mean they don’t want to hear your gossip?” she rolls her eyes at your comment.

“What’s going on, sweets, hmm? Did Red Hood make a move on you when he saved you?” A week ago, it would have irked you that someone believed Red had saved you; now it just made you sad and miss him.

“It’s not that. It's just before…” you hesitate, bring a hand up to thumb at the closed locket Red Hood had given you. You hadn’t shared your friendship with Red Hood with anyone, but Darla was your first real friend in Gotham. If you couldn’t trust her, you don’t know what you’d do.

“Before I was kidnapped by Penguin,” you continue, “Red Hood had been visiting me in my apartment.” You see her open her mouth about to ask a question, but you keep going, “We weren’t, like, getting it on or anything. He was my friend, that’s it. But he’s the real reason Penguin kidnapped me. It wasn’t happenstance; there was intent. Penguin thought I knew where his hideouts were.” You pause to let the words settle. You expect Darla to ask you a million and one questions, but she just nods slowly.

“Okay?” she says clearly waiting for more.

You sigh, “I don’t, by the way. Penguin said the only reason they knew about me was because one of his men had been watching Red Hood and had pieced together where I lived.”

“Wait, you got kidnapped because Red Hood was being followed? I thought these hero types paid more attention to their surroundings.” Her voice had an edge of anger to it, and suddenly, you understood why you were really upset with Red Hood. Your anger that had been watered down by sadness flared. You weren’t mad that Red Hood hadn’t saved you; you were mad because he had been followed who knows how many times and didn’t even notice. He never warned you of the potential of something bad like that happening just because he was in your life. You don’t know what to do with the realization.

When you come back to the conversation, Darla is standing and holding your arms, a worried look on her features. She looked like she was waiting for you to speak. She says your name with a sternness you’re not used to.

“Does penguin know where you live?” her question is direct and to the point. You hadn’t thought long and hard about all the things the Penguin had said to you. At Darla’s question, you become aware of what his words meant. Your chest tightens with anxiety.

“I guess?” you say quietly. She looks like she’s going to scold you, something you didn’t know she was capable of. “He’s been arrested, it’s okay.” You add, like it’ll make the truth better.

She opens her mouth, and you're mentally preparing for the scolding of a lifetime when the door dings. You both turn your heads to a familiar mop of dark hair. Your anxiety melts in seconds. Any worry Darla was building up in your mind washes away.

“Jason,” you say with a smile. Despite the way his presence calms you, the conversation must still show on your features. You're sure that Darla, holding at your arms the way she is, doesn’t help with any conclusions he’s drawn of the current situation.

“Is everything okay?” his words are nearly a demand with the way he says them.

You give him a nod, “Yea, ‘s okay.” You feel Darla’s hands loosening before dropping to your hands to squeeze them. You can see her glancing between you two, and when you meet her eye, her features have lightened. She gives you a look of this conversation is not done before she finally let’s go of you.

“Hey there, Stud. You’ve been here an awful lot.” The Darla you know is back. There’s a tease in her voice and on her face when she glances at you.

“Darla, please,” you make a shooing motion at her, and she just raises her hands in a placating manner before she walks around the counter and over to the college students. You lean forward across the counter, trying to be closer to Jason, and you find him doing the same.

“Hi,” you whisper. He has that fond glimmer in his eye with a hint of worry from what he had walked into.

“Hi,” he says back, voice low, “is everything okay?” he repeats his earlier question as his hand comes up to brush some hair out of your face. The gesture makes you smile widely for a second.

“I was telling Darla about the whole kidnapping thing.” You think you see a flit of hurt cross Jason’s features before he neutralizes it. You suddenly realize you never talked to Jason about it. You had never talked to anyone.

“It’s nothing to worry about, I promise.” You tell him. He looks like he wants to pry, but Jason has never been one to press you for information. He gives you a conceding nod before leaning back.

“Okay. You almost ready?” he glances down at your apron, and you're confused for a moment.

“Ready for what?” A teasing smirk works itself across his lips, one you're not used to from him.

“One full day of work and your memory is shot? Ice Cream, Sweetheart. We were going to get ice cream.” He reminds you. You press your palms to your eyes.

“Of course, oldest parlor in Gotham. I’ve been waiting for this.” You drop your hands, wondering if you should tell him how important the ice cream parlor “date” was, that it was one of the things that helped keep you alive when you were kidnapped. You don’t. You’re still not ready for that conversation, the implications of it.

“Let me check with Darla, and I’ll clock out, okay?” You round the counter to be in front of him. Up on your tiptoes, you press a kiss to his cheek in apology for forgetting before walking over to Darla… who is already watching you with the two college kids. They all seemed invested in whatever was going on with you and Jason.

As you come to the table, you glance at the kids. They were regulars, the quiet ambience in the café was good for studying (and Darla always has the best gossip, so it’s not shocking they were watching you with her). They give you good-natured smiles before going back to their work. Darla meets you halfway.

“Another Date?” You shake your head at her words. You had mostly stopped correcting Darla when she called them that because it didn’t matter anyway, but with other ears listening, you corrected her.

“We’re not dating. I’ve already told you that. We’re just going to get ice cream.” At your words, you see a shift of movement of the table behind Darla, along with the sound of hushed whispers. You're starting to wonder how involved the regulars of the shop were in the knowledge of your life. You ignore them. “Will you be okay if I head out?”

“Yea, it's not like we're packed, and these two could hardly cause more trouble.” She pauses and hesitates, glancing at the listening ears behind her before she leans in whispering, “We’ll talk later about your other stuff, okay?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Jason stays with me sometimes, so everything's fine, don’t worry.” You're not sure if you're telling her or if you're telling yourself (If you have Jason change your door locks later that evening, it's really none of her business). She gives you a surprised look before it turns stern, but you don’t let her berate you or ask about the Jason thing, already heading back to the counter to clock out. You make quick work of taking off your apron to return to Jason at the counter. His eyes are on your three gossipers on the other side of the café.

“Ignore them, come on. I need ice cream.” Your hands easily curl in his, tugging him out the door. It's still cold; winter almost over. And you think you should have brought a thicker jacket as Jason leads you over to his bike parked right in front of Jackie’s. There’s a new leather jacket lying across the back of the bike. He picks it up and shakes it.

“That doesn’t look like it would fit you.” You state, looking at it before letting him slide it over your shoulders. He laughs at your statement.

“That’s cause it's not for me; it’s for you.” His voice warms you the way he speaks. It’s a snug fit with your other jacket on, but you're sure in the spring and summer months it’ll be perfect. Your gloved fingers struggle with the zipper when your mind catches up to his words.

“You bought me a jacket?” you ask, hands pausing on the zipper to look at him. He steps forward. He takes off his gloves and invades your space as he brushes your hands out of the way to do up the jacket. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks.

“You’re on my bike enough; you should have your own attire.” You stare at his face as he focuses on zipping up the jacket and adjusting it on you. His cheeks are just a little pink, like when he gave you the taser.

“You bought me a jacket.” You repeat your words softer and no longer a question. The implication of the sentence hits you square in the chest and chokes at your throat slightly. If he bought you a jacket, you specifically, it means he wants you around him, on his bike, with him.

He finally meets your eye, and you have to squeeze your hands into a fist because you want to kiss him, hard. He wasn’t making this easy for you. You still couldn’t decide if he genuinely liked you, liked you or if he was just entertaining your physical affections. It was driving you crazy. You wrap your arms around him instead and drag him into a hug. His reaction is drastically different from the first time you hugged him. He didn’t tense like something bad was going to happen. He just melted against you as he returned the hug.

“Yea, I bought you a jacket. Do you like it?” his voice was quiet, and you think he sounds worried. You pull back and lock eyes with him.

“I like it a lot.” You declare. You wonder if he can hear the implication of your words, that you weren’t just talking about the jacket. His cheeks pink up again, and you think his eyes flicker to your lips before he pulls away to grab the helmets. Like clockwork, he slides his on and does it up while you slide yours on. You wait patiently, chin tilted up. He edges into your space, closer than necessary as he does up the straps. Your fingers curl into the pockets of his jacket, stabilizing yourself. You know he’s done by the taps along the side of your helmet.

You decide you have a love-hate relationship with these helmets. Love because you have a gorgeous view of Jason’s pretty eyes and the multitude of emotions he seems to carry there. Hate because you want to kiss him again. A now recurring urge that you’ve dampened by kissing his cheek. With the helmet, you can’t do anything.

“Ready?” his muffled words reach you, and you give him a thumbs up. You watch him as he throws a leg over the bike, your eyes drawn to his thick thigh before meeting his hand that he holds out for you. You use it to climb on behind him and you easily curl your arms around his waist while he turns on the bike.

****

It was cold out, and, honestly, if it were up to Jason, he would not be driving his bike. He would be a nice warm car he probably “borrowed” (read: stole) from Bruce. Technically, it was up to him, but you loved his bike. You were like an adrenalin junkie, practically vibrating from excitement whenever you got off the bike. He cherished the look in your eye every time. Although this would be the first time since the warehouse incident that you had been on his bike.

He had bought the jacket for you before, meant for the original planned trip to the ice cream parlor. He had been worried about it. Worried you wouldn’t like it, worried it would weird you out. He had even asked Tim, who he had been working on a case with at the time of his overthinking. Tim had been far too pleased about being part of the “decision-making” but had offered somewhat decent advice. Girls like gifts, especially if it involves something they like, shows you pay attention. So, he bought it because you liked riding his bike, so, hopefully, you would like the jacket (and not think he was an egomaniac about his bike like Tim said).

He was flustered about giving you something, embarrassed even for some stupid reason. The same way he felt when he gave you the taser, which was for your protection and a dumb gift to be flustered about. It was weird because he was sure that if you literally sat yourself in his lap, it wouldn’t bother him but giving you gifts felt like the Everest of emotional turmoil. You seemed excited about the jacket, in your own quiet way. Your eyes had an emotion that he couldn’t put his finger on, but you had pulled him into a hug, and he thought nothing of it.

He took the ride to the ice cream parlor easy. You seemed to be holding tighter than usual, but you still tapped his helmet when you saw something new that interested you. Despite the cold weather, the ice cream parlor seemed busy, the parking on the street full. He had to park a block or so down, but you never seemed to mind walking and neither did he. You had the giddy glimmer in your eye that you usually got from riding his bike. Any worry that you might not like it anymore washed away.

The walk was quiet. Your eyes are drawn to the river across the street. You had your hand around his elbow and told him about a show you had started watching, something you thought he would like. He didn’t watch TV unless he was with you, but you didn’t need to know that because you offered to restart it and watch it with him anyway.

The ice cream parlor had a line. A few stragglers stood outside the door. It didn’t take long until the line moved, and you two made it inside. The place was as busy inside as it looked outside. Groups of family, friends, and couples stood around or sat at the few tables in the place.  You suddenly felt anxious. You had been around crowds; it was part of your job, but you had something to keep you busy, drinks to make, food to warm and serve. Now, all you could do was stand there.

You turn to face Jason and focus on his face, trying to ignore the crowd. His eyes scan the place with a hard look before he finally looks at you, and his face softens. He brings a hand up to pat at your cheek.

“What’s wrong?” he doesn’t hesitate to ask. You lean into his hand slightly instead of the way you want to collapse into his touch.

“It’s just a lot of people,” you tell him. To your dismay, he pulls away from you and starts to take off his jacket, which confuses you. He settles it on your shoulders in a way that makes your chest ache uncomfortably, the lid of a glass jar sliding open again.

“There are benches along the walkway on the Sprang River. Do you have your taser?” The question makes you giggle because of how strange it is. You pat at your pocket and nod.

“Then go wait at one of the benches. I’ll be as quick as I can, okay?” he doesn’t wait for an answer, already turning you towards the door with a playful nudge. It’s not until you're sat at the bench that you realize you never told him what flavor you wanted.

You people watch for a while, other people with ice cream, runners moving along the river walkway. You're pulling Jason’s jacket just a bit closer when he appears in your line of vision, holding two cups. You hurriedly pull off his jacket when you notice he only has on his hoodie. You take the cups from him, and he takes back his jacket.

“It’s freezing out here, babe. Why’d you let me send you out here?” You snort at his tone, all accusatory, like it was your idea. Even the pet name, which was a new one, made you want to laugh. He didn’t say it syrupy like he had with the others; it was just as accusatory as the question.

“Cause you’re the sweetest boy around.” You jest. You mean it truthfully, because he had seen you struggling and sent you outside. Observant and sweet. His eyes widen, and his face flushes darker than you had ever seen before. It made you stupidly giddy.

“Whatever,” he tells you as he sits down next to you, shoulders and thighs pressed, his warmth seeping into you. He takes one of the cups, and you stare at the one left. It’s a white ice cream with chocolate chunks in it. You assume it's just a chocolate chip until you take a bite of it. You're startled by the mint that bursts on your tongue. You round on Jason with the spoon in your mouth. He pulls his spoon out of his mouth as he watches you with a worried look.

“Mint, right? It's your favorite.” You stare at him, and he shifts uncomfortably. “Sweetheart,” he tries to goad you into talking. You continue to stare, really look at him. That conversation had been months ago, and he remembered. He was making this really, really hard. You finally nod.

“Yea, yea, it’s my favorite.” You tuck a leg under you and use it to lift yourself slightly so you can press a soft kiss to his cheek; any harder and you fear you may lose any semblance of control and try to make out with him right there. You settle back down on your bum and focus on your ice cream because you fear if you look at him, that gnawing emotion will make you do whatever it wants.

If you had looked up, you would have seen Jason’s look of longing. He hoped he could keep you forever like this. Free with your affection and emotions spread across your face. It made him angry with himself that he was lying to you, that he was choosing to lie to you, and that he was going to keep lying to you. For the first time in years, Jason wishes he had never become Red Hood, that he had never become Robin. He wishes he was normal like you. Wishes he was just a guy in love with a girl.

Jason stopped himself, looking away from you. He was not in love with you. That wasn’t real, it didn’t exist. It was all in stories and fairy tales. He just liked you, nothing else. At least that’s what he told himself as he glanced back at you and the way you picked at your ice cream, stirring it and melting it like the strange girl you were. He was so not in love with you (he totally was).

Additional note: I love them, but they’re so stupid. I was once again reminded of how easy it is to write scenes between the two which has been a bizarre experience as a new writer. Thank you for all your guy’s comments and for reading. Please let me know what you think! <3 <3

Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369,  @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden, @notfckincreative, @love-theangel, @feyres-fireheart, @penguimlover23, @herodedicatedblog, @dearghostling, @automaticplant, @alma-ru3

[sentimental-bottlesnake]

I'm gonna be a hater for a second. And if you're a UMA artist, this isn't about you personally. This isn't directed at anyone specifically.

I think skincent/accent makers really need to stop putting so much extra shit on their accents. Like stuff you're drawing on the dragon just to fill space so its a skin. Like extra leaves/flowers, moons, lanterns, smoke, jewelry that doesn't match the theme.

I feel like its a trend right now to just cram ALL your ideas onto one skin. It has to have a moon, and a cage, and a lil animal, and beautifully drawn flowers, and drapery, and jewelry, and stars, and swirls, and-

I promise you. It doesn't. If you removed 1-2 elements of a finished design of a lot of skins/skincents I see recently the design would still be great! If anything it'd be better because you're not being pulled in 4-5 imagry motifs. And! I can still see the dragon.

Contrary to maybe what artists wanna hear: I like being able to see my dragon under your art and be able to dress my dragon with site apparel. I want it to extenuate what is there, not completely cover it up with extra tree limbs, leaves, flowers, or random pieces of jewelry. And I don't like dressing those dragons either, because the art is usually so good and I paid a lot of gems for it! I wanna show it off. But its a dragon dressing game. I also wanna dress my dragons.

Do these high coverage accents have a place? 100000%. I am not saying to stop making high coverage accents (a lot of full wing accents are high coverage). But don't make a high coverage accent for the sake of making a high coverage accent. It feels a lot like they're so popular because people can charge 800g for an accent+a bunch of extra stuff that gets covered by apparel as you naturally dress a dragon. I don't... like that.

I used to buy a lot more accents. And maybe a skincent here or there. Now I don't really buy any of either because I feel like artists don't know when to stop. I'm way more interested in buying an accent that I can dress up than one where I can like... add a flower fall and maybe some gloves, or if I'm lucky a pair of pants to.

in before the shitty comments of 'don't complain, make your own then'. I have made my own. And I made accents. I haven't in a while but I have made them. 'stop telling artists what to do!' I'm not. 'if you don't like them don't buy them and ignore them' I don't. But me, as a potential future customer, is sharing a pretty calmly worded opinion on what I wanna buy, and how I feel about the state of UMAs. I can express displeasure and share an opinion without it being a direct attack at you.

[shorthaltsjester]

the cast knows that bells hells suck so bad they came out the gates swinging in defense and it just makes them look worse. imagine saying to fans "as we filmed our show, especially the finale, we were actively aware it was bad but we chose to do it anyway". instantly i was like why should i watch another campaign knowing that the people making it are happy to hit send on a bad product?

while I definitely sympathize with this response, I actually don’t have a real problem with the cast deciding to favour their feelings/desires around the game they play in principle, I just also don’t think the way they favoured those is conducive to a strongly told story. (in general, I have extreme criticisms of the escapist/avoidant nature of many people’s claims about ‘comfort media’, especially when it comes to wanting a cozy and distant place in a game in the face of a distressing political climate, given that every game is inextricably linked to their placement in the real world but that’s a whole other can of worms that’s tangentially related and which I am quite literally writing a thesis on rn but Anyway). obviously it’s anyone’s prerogative whether they continue with cr, so i completely respect and support the choice not to continue with their stories if c3 was a blow to your trust in the storytellers, that makes extreme sense to me.

that said, my position on it is that c3 is disappointing but it’s the outlier not the exemplar, and given the recent news that the next exandria dm will be sam (not because I think Matt is bad by any measure, but he’s explicitly state show exhausted he is and tragically passion is not enough to tell a strong story when you’re chronically running on low fuel), and other production choices they’ve been making that seem better suited for stronger storytelling than some of the ones they made during c3, I’m pretty sold on seeing where they take the next story. especially since the disappointment i felt at the abandonment of very typical storytelling conventions that cr has previously been good at maintaining (e.g., consequences for the central agents of the story — pcs in this case — and not just the World At Large) was immediately eclipsed by the enjoyment and narrative satisfaction of a story like divergence.

also, obviously feel your feelings and express them as needed anon, but since you’re in my inbox, I will just point out that “as we filmed our show, especially the finale, we were actively aware it was bad but we chose to do it anyway” is not something anyone said or even really implied. that’s honestly one of my main issues, if the cast said “we were aware it was bad storytelling but it was fulfilling gameplay/conclusions for us” i’d honestly respect that! i’d find it frustrating but it’s in line with their frequent emphasis that this is for them before anyone else. what they’re saying instead is “this is for us, so sometimes enjoyment at the table overrides conveying a coherent and consistent story” while also trying to maintain “we’ve actually told a story that’s as strong as previous campaigns and the complains from fans are just repeating the same complaints as always.” which. is patently false (while there are some ‘critiques’ that are the same in terms of ‘but my blorbo didn’t get to xyz’, most of the Actual criticism of c3 is based on the things c1 and/or c2 succeeded at and demonstrated the the players ability to convey a strong narrative through dnd mechanics and gameplay) and also very much a have your cake and eat it too situation. anyway, again: very fair to be disappointed and i’d be lying if I said i wasn’t myself in some ways, but you can express disappointment without using a strawman

[angel-of-depravity]

Subtle obsession is so wild actually

It starts off as a small thing, really. Just wanting to talk a lot. Text between doing things, maybe staying up a little too late in the night. Little do I realize you're making notes (all the easier to make when I yap and yap and yap when you really get me going)

Then with that, you start proposing "outings" (read: thinly veiled dates)

You take me out barhopping because I tell you it's something I enjoy, despite never having thought I would. You subtly note my tolerance (and, by that same account my physical intolerance and make sure I don't drink too much, just enough)

And then at one point you lure me over. You say something about this new weed vape you got- tastes really sweet and you think I'd like it (obviously, you remember me nonchalantly saying I have a hell of a sweet tooth, of course I'm gonna be down)

You don't get me crossfaded. This time. You'll hold that for another occasion

I don't notice how you've only taken one hit off this thing when I'm over, and I've accidentally repeated the mistake of not consciously thinking and instead hitting the thing like it's a cigarette (you remember the story I told you about one of my vapes I had, that because it was a cylindrical thing I did the same thing with that. You made sure this vape was the same)

You also remember me faux complaining how horny weed gets me

We're sat on the couch and I'm getting almost incessantly cuddly, definitely a lot more than just my usual like of you being the one touching me (you made the very short list of people I actually enjoy touching me, but you know I'm not someone who gets this touchy)

You test the waters.

As I'm laying against your side, head on your shoulder as we're watching something on the TV, you slowly wrap an arm around my waist. I don't say anything- which is good. You know if I'm not liking something I make it very much known the second it's going on. Sure that might make some think I'm a bitch, but it definitely works in your favor for knowing exactly how to get your hooks in me.

I still don't say anything when your hand wraps around to rest on my belly, and when it brushes lower you just hear a whine followed by me burying my now more flush face into your neck. Oh yeah, that weed's definitely working its magic.

You pull me onto your lap, and I don't stop you. I'm already halfway gone- but the fact I don't fuss is still a good sign. You wanna be able to get your hands wherever you want them to be.

You pull more whines from me as you get bolder. Thighs, hips, I don't even stop you when you inch your way to my tits. All I have in me is to whine because I've gotten to that level of high where I'm little more than a ragdoll that can feel what you're doing.

You continue to make mental notes, too, about which places get me to whine the most. The answer is a tie between inner thighs and my tits for now.

It's hard for me to move, but after a bit you realize I'm pathetically trying to rut my hips into yours where you pulled me to be straddled in your lap. Everything you're doing just feels so good, I can't help it. You take it as a greenlight to go further.

You manage to get me down to my bra and panties, my panties being soaked from your touch and the weed. Though, when getting things off, you realize I'm starting to sober up a bit and pressure me to take another couple hits to put me back down. And just one for yourself- why not?

Actually, those additional hits? You decide to shotgun them to me. You haven't actually kissed me through this, and it's something you've been dying to do. Perfect excuse, right? Besides, your tolerance is definitely sturdier than mine in the weed department, you'll be just fine.

And, it didn't seem like I was complaining much when I tried to lean into you while doing them.

You've got me right where you want me. High out of my absolute gourd and perfectly pliant and wet. This isn't the final step of your plan, but it is definitely a crucial part.

You pick me up to scoot me around, where I have my back to you. You then get your cock out from your jeans- which is almost painfully hard at this point- and you pick me up by my hips. You carefully move my panties to the side and are slow at letting me back down on your cock. It's a little hard when I feel so good to be inside of, but you don't wanna scare me... today. And you know I'm funny about sudden movements and such.

I whine and moan with every inch. And fuck if I don't feel full. Tears spill from my eyes- not because I'm in pain, but because I feel too fucking good.

... something about me in tears turns you on more and I can feel your cock twitch inside me from it. I don't question it- hell, I can't even fucking think at all with how high and how deep in the pleasure you got me.

There's a few minutes where I'm just warming your cock before you start fucking me in earnest. Your hands are easily getting me close to cumming already and the only other thing you're doing is playing with my tits. I'm leaning my head back against you, and then you realize I'm fucking drooling on myself. How cute that I'm that brain dead at the moment. It doesn't take much more for me to let out a sharper whine and for my pretty cunt to be tightening on you.

And that's only the first in several you get me to- and you're rather proud of yourself. You've heard me bitch and moan about how everyone else I've slept with couldn't get me to cum even once, not without me doing 90% of the work on my own pleasure. Which at that point I might as well have just been masturbating, really.

And maybe when I'm reflecting later, I'll chalk up the fact you "forgot" a condom to both of us being high and impulsive. I wanna see the best in you at this point- I don't think twice about it.

You absolutely did it on purpose though.

You know my silly little self has frequent and horrendous bouts of baby fever and I let slip at one point about my god awful breeding kink. If you're the one to fulfill that wish, with how things are going? I don't get a choice in if I stick with you or not, not really anyway.

You rut your hips up into me as deep as you get when you cum inside me, maybe a small whine from yourself as you bury your face in my hair and grip me tight around my torso. Just the feeling of you cumming tips me over one final time too- all the better chances for your seed to take, then.

We sit still for a long minute, and then you carefully pull me up and off and set me to the side for a second while you put your dick up. Once taken care of, you carry me back up to your room. Dolls are meant to be held by the people who claim them, aren't they?

And you remember when I was yapping about medical facts about how being held releases oxytocin- the love chemical. And you were definitely gonna use that shit against my touch starved ass.

You get woken up by me a couple of times in the night, but it wasn't anything that breeding me again didn't fix for at least a little while. I couldn't help waking up whining and wet and more than ready for another round- even if this was definitely something I'd never ordinarily do. And who were you to say no to your pretty fuckdoll, all cute like that even if I was still absolutely high as balls?

I'm still a little high in the morning- but I'm functional. I only kinda half remember things, but I don't seem upset in any capacity. Which was good, it means everything you've been doing has been working like a charm. Hell, I openly express reluctance to get out of bed because that means being away from you which is all the better.

A couple weeks go by, and sure you use condoms while I'm sober, but it also doesn't take very long for me to start getting nauseous in the mornings.

You convince me to move in, for a plethora of reasons of course. And now you really have me where you want me.

Loving, clingy, and carrying your baby.

[muqingslover]

[ I absolutely adore Caleb and recently I've entered my Zayne era so today I want to talk about their relationship. (not based on canon just the voices in my head) ]

Yes they might have their issues but I wouldn't say they outright hate each other's guts. I believe they would actually be really good friends if their feelings for you wasn't part of the equation. Their dynamic works out sooooo good for one another if it wasn't for the conflict of interest it actually pains me that we won't see them getting along GRAAAH Infold I beg of you give me content of them together

Like I've mentioned before I like to think that their beef is mostly one-sided which, to me, means Zayne would be the more "mature" of the pair. He has a naturally caring nature so despite being aware Caleb doesn't like him (and they're technically competing for your heart) he can't help but worry about him, especially because you care about him.

Each time boy wonder showed up with bruises and scratches from practice or some other endeavor Zayne would force him to sit down and let him take a look by using the argument of "Do you want them to worry? Then sit. I'll make it quick."

Another sweet thought is Zayne coming over after his classes and finding you and Caleb dozing off while studying together. He would cover both with a blanket and remove anything that could interfere with your or his sleep (music playing, turning off the TV, glasses ECT)

Meanwhile Caleb reads him better than anyone. He may complain about how Zayne is so "stone faced" the whole time, but he KNOWS exactly what he's thinking and feeling for most of the time without even really trying. It's a skill he picked up while growing up — He always paid so much attention to the details for your sake that at some point he ended up getting very good at reading people in general.

What this means you may ask? Well my lovelies, Caleb is much more confident in expressing himself and he knows how to refuse requests he feels uncomfortable with or simply don't want to do (safe it for when they're about/from you) but Zayne not always can do that. In fact, during his early years, he was absolutely terrible at it and guess who came to rescue? That's right, our boy wonder.

"Please Zayne, just cover for me one more time?"

'...Oh, alrig—"

"Whoa whoa hold your horses! Sub-Zero has plans with me so no can't do, man."

"We don't—"

"Shush. Grab your things, let's go!"

He tells himself it's only because if Zayne worked himself to death then you would be worried about him and Caleb doesn't want to share any more attention than what he already has to. It's true of course, but not the full truth.

Caleb will pick up where he can't fully express himself by understanding what he wants without words while Zayne will be the rock he could lean on even if he is too stubborn to admit he needs the support because he doesn't feel the need to be the "perfect gege" like when with you.

[ I will continue to push the Zayne and Caleb agenda so come along for the ride pookies 🤭 ]

[wisteria-lodge]

Hey there! I was wondering if you could help me with a writing quandary I'm coming up against currently? Do you know how to write a badger primary protagonist so that they're not.... kind of boring??

For a bit of background, I have a character in a story I'm writing who I've decided is a badger primary, but when I try to write about his moral reasoning, it all just comes out as flat stock phrases. I've never really known a healthy and kind badger primary (though I did grow up around a lot of authoritarian badgers who I was absolutely on the receiving end of dehumanization from - part of the reason I'm writing him as a badger is to challenge my own experiences there), so I'm falling back on the whole "Overly Ideal Hero" thing and it's just not working. When I try to add more complexity to this character's actions, he either ends up being a bird primary (like me) who has a very badger looking system or if I try to lean more heavily loyalist, he ends up being a snake primary (like my younger sister who's also my best friend) who has a broad definition of his people.

Basically, how do you write a badger primary who's not crying over puppies and kittens and doing the whole "why can't we just get along like in middle school?" speech from Mean Girls constantly, while also not having them veer into being a bird or snake? Thanks!

There can be a kind of fascinating sadness to a Badger primary. They draw their personal strength from their chosen community, even when they know their community is flawed - the same way a Snake sticks with their Person even when they're wrong and failable. Badgers are romantics, and Badgers are patriots. They are loyal to this almost spiritual core idea of what their county ought to be - and can sometimes bring the ideal and the reality closer together, through sheer willpower.

I had a fantastic time writing Elim Garak, a incredibly morally gray interrogator/spy from a sort of sci-fi West Berlin. The tragedy of him is that he believes the propaganda, so when he sees his country stray too far he defects, in order to save it from itself. But he never stops being a patriot, and a lot of his conflicts revolve around whether he is able to adopt a second community and/or forgive himself for potentially betraying his first.

Clark Kent is absolutely a puppies-and-kittens Badger primary, but what's wonderful about him is he still feels loyal to his original community (Krypton) - which he cannot be a part of because it no longer exists. He loves his adopted community (Earth) with all his heart, but because he is a Badger, he is so conscious of the fact that he is an outsider - and specifically an outsider with the potential to be a gigantic threat. So he is hyper, hyper aware of the power dynamics surrounding him at all times. It gives everything he does this weight, because he is just. so. careful. Spock is another torn-between-two-incompatible-communities Badger, which is always a good premise, and his sparring partner Dr. McCoy is a Badger... constantly running into situations where he can't save everyone. But he just keeps getting back up. (complaining the whole time, or course.) I'd put Mad-Eye Moody in that same category - just wrote a fun thing with him.

Draco Malfoy actually has a very loud Badger primary, in contrast to his Snake primary parents. He actually believes all that stuff about the continuity and importance of the Malfoy name, and it's not okay for Voldemort to undermine it even if Draco himself would personally benefit and get a lot of power out of the exchange. I do have a big huge fic about post-war Draco coming, and one thing I really enjoyed was the way Draco needs to adapt the tradition and family history that gives him so much power and stability - into something that can still exist in a post-Voldemort world.

Universal Badgers are great when they're interacting with something the majority of their world doesn't consider a person. I loved writing Eddie Brock because... of course the homeless lady is a person, and so is the security guard, and the cashier at the convenience store, and yep the black goo monster symbiote, he's a person too. So when Venom gloms onto his head, and learns how to relate to humanity through Eddie, that's the lesson he learns, and Eddie becomes Venom's equal partner.

Contrast him with the villain of the first Venom movie, the very Elon-Musk coded Carlton Drake. Drake's issue is that he fundamentally sees people as expendable, so when he gets his own symbiote... of course Riot learns that people are expendable. So Drake becomes merely a body that Riot controls. Which, in the end, is why they lose.

[everettswritings]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do little!shadow milk cookie x cg!reader? Like imagine shadow milk cookie is regressed and being fussy and pouty, so reader decides to cheer him up my ticking him. Also you can choose what made him so fussy!

I absolutely can, that’s adorable! I’ve never really thought of little!Shadow Milk before, but that’s probably because all of the agere requests I’ve gotten of him are CG! requests. Is it just me, or do Little!Readers always get more fics? I’m not complaining, it’s just a pattern thing. (Kink/NSFW accounts DNI!)

“No, baby! You can keep playing later, right now it’s nap time.” You scolded lightly, trying to remove the toy from your little one’s grasp. He huffed and held it closer, pouting and puffing up his cheeks.

“No!” He shouted, kicking his feet at you when you tried to grab his toy again. You sighed, he was always so hard to deal with whenever he decided to throw a tantrum. You kneeled down to his level, “You’re getting tired and cranky, sweetheart. Come on, you’ll feel better after a nap. I’ll let you take Mr. Bunny with you.” You offered gently, trying to cool down the situation. He gave it some thought, then shook his head stubbornly “No, I don’t wanna take a nap!”. Honestly it wasn’t anything new for him to hate nap time, but today seemed like more of a struggle than usual. You couldn’t help but wonder if recent events had something to do with it. “Are you still pouting over that meanie that took your Soul Jam?” You asked, brushing some of his messy hair out of his face, and the big grumpy frown he gave you told you all you needed to know.

He wasn’t going to be letting it go anytime soon, was he? Frankly speaking, most people wouldn’t. You sighed, trying to think of some way to kill two birds with one stone: get his mind off said meanie, and tucker him out so he goes down for a nap. You then smiled to yourself, having the brilliant idea to fight fire with fire. You fully sat down beside him, crossing your legs out in front of you and propping yourself up casually.

“Alright, baby, you win. We can play a little more.” You said, already putting your plan into full motion. His face lit up “Okay!”, immediately accepting the offer he jumped into your lap, laughing as you let out a little “Oof!”. He really thought he won, didn’t he? Unlike what transpired a while ago. But now was not the time to dwell on that, the witches know bringing it up again would send you straight back to square one. No, no. Now was the time to take action and send his butt straight to bed! You chuckled and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer. “Comfy, sweetheart?” You asked, he nodded, “Good… because the tickle monster’s coming to get ya!” Without leaving any room to argue, you immediately started tickling his little tummy.

He immediately squealed and started giggling, kicking his legs again, “Nooo! Hehehehe! Hehehe! No tickle monster!” He protested. You knew he didn’t mean it, though. He always loved when the “tickle monster” came to get him. You leaned your head over and blew a raspberry on his neck, making him squeal with delight once more, “Hehehehehe! Hehehehe! Hehehe!” He couldn’t even say anything without thousands of giggles pouring out. You kissed his cheek, then started nomming on it like you were eating it, “Num num num! Ooh, I could just eat you up!”.

With each passing moment, the little one’s laughter was growing louder and louder. You didn’t stop, though. You kept tickling him, even as he wriggled and squirmed like a little jellyworm. Both of you knew he needed this, after all.

With one hand still on his tummy, you reached the other over and started pinching his knees, “Tickle tickle tickle! Tickle tickle tickle!” You grinned as he started kicking even more. However, you couldn’t help but notice that his giggles were getting softer and his eyes were growing heavy. Your plan was working flawlessly! You put your arm under his legs and scooped him up, carrying him while still tickling him- but the tickles were growing softer as well. You double-checked to make sure you had Mr. Bunny with you; after all, you promised you’d let him take the little toy to bed. When you were finally in his room, you set him down in the crib. It was white and it had a mobile of blue sheep and twinkling stars attached.

As much as he tried to fight it, he couldn’t stay awake longer. As soon as the little one’s head hit his soft pillow, his eyes instantly closed. You gave his tummy a couple more pokes, then set down his toy beside him and pulled his blue and white checkered quilt over him. You gave the mobile a little twirl, set a sippy full of water on the table close by, and kisses his forehead gently. “Sweet dreams, baby. I’ll be here when you get up.” You whispered. You then left the room, turning off the light as you went, and shut the door behind you.

The end.

Ahh! So cute!! Anywho, I hope you enjoyed. It does feel a little shorter than my normal fics and I do apologize for that.

[mroddmod]

little scrapped comic bc it felt a bit ooc to me in hindsight

[thenotoriousscuttlecliff]

Seeing people say that we never see the Doctor and Ruby talking for more than 30 seconds makes me think 73 Yards and Dot and Bubble has just clouded their memories because the first four episodes of this era are almost nothing but the Doctor and Ruby talking and bonding.

Yeah, the Doctor-lite episodes meant we haven't had as much lately, but so many are going on as there's been none at all, as if every episode before 73 Yards was like Rogue where they were mostly separated in their own plotlines.

[forcedhesitation]

astarion origin playthrough worth it just for all the extra moments where he does the "sad wet cat" face