#vision testing equipment

[sugraoptical]

Ophthalmic Instruments Manufacturer

Sugra Optical is a renowned ophthalmic instruments manufacturer, specializing in cutting-edge optical devices. With a commitment to precision and innovation, they create high-quality instruments used by eye care professionals worldwide. Sugra Optical's dedication to advancing vision technology has established them as a trusted leader in the industry. https://sugraoptical.com/

[jutronvision]

This Oculus Brand Hertel exophthalmometer is constructed for many years of use. Overall dimensions are 25 x 7 x 2 cm. Weight is 117 grams (4.1 oz). Scale for orbital wall goes from 75 mm to 121 mm. The scale to measures the proptosis ranges from 0 to 35 mm. Does not include case. Comes with instructions.

[kashmirsurgicalworks]

Snellen Eye Chart Manufacturer

A Snellen chart is an eye chart that can be used to measure & optimize your visual acuity. Kashmir Surgical Works, a Snellen Eye Chart & distance vision chart manufacturer in India. We offers you a complete range of eye test chart at best prices. Also we offer an advance range of ophthalmic & medical equipment include Tonometer, Surgical Loupe, Endoscopes, Color blindness test book, Ishihara test book, fiber optic cables, Medical Exam light etc. If you are interested to buy eye chart Or other ophthalmic equipment Visit our website.

[ranticore]

visored longwing harpies & the hall of faces

I did say there was no exclusive global culture on Siren shared by humans of a certain body type, and I lied, because there is One.

The early settlers on Siren were the unaltered human workforce of a certain megacorporation. While an almost unlimited budget was poured into the dodgy gene programs, since that was why they chose to settle a planet so far out of the reach of The Authorities, everything else was done pretty cheaply, including the settling itself. In order to map out their new home planet, incredibly cheap mass-produced aircraft were used by pilots. These aircraft could be made quickly and easily at the settlement site because they lacked a flight computer or any real sensors - or any equipment at all in the cockpit. Rather than a multitude of different equipment loadouts on an aircraft that would take time and effort to swap out or maintain, the pilots instead used these visors which were universally compatible with the one-size-fits-all aircraft. It's kind of like how it's easier to just carry a phone around with a calculator app than it is to carry a phone and a calculator, even if the phone app calculator experience sucks by comparison.

The visors were the real expensive kit, each custom built to a pilot's exact needs and flight style, and they were built to last. the aircraft fell apart in the following centuries but the visors remained, hyperlight plastic powered by the planet's native star, and something interesting happened. The remains of the first settlement were largely inaccessible to anyone but longwing harpies, and these harpies had the right head shape to fit the visors. Many of the pilots had filled their visors with video and photo files from home, from Earth, like a worker decorating his cubicle with photos of his family. Some had been decorated on the outside, as well, resembling birds. The harpies that found the visors obviously tried to use them. They found themselves experiencing visions of strange worlds, recordings of long-dead pilots and ATC, and found that each visor can interface with every other one, no matter how far apart. Each visor came with its own callsign, its own name, which has remained for thousands of years - and because of this, each visor is considered by the cultures of Siren to be a named character with a distinct personality (eg. the swan visor was cygnus2, it is known now as Signastoo)

I keep posting the map and it needs to be redrawn but essentially every red triangle is an ancient telecomm tower. These became the only remaining waypoints on the visors' HUD and mapping software, meaning that 1. a true global culture could emerge, with longwings gathering at these sites, and 2. visored longwings became the gold standard for navigation on Siren. In a world that is basically just water, that's a big deal.

There exist only a few thousand visors (about 3k I'd say). The unused visors are kept in the Hall of Faces, the ancient aviation bay at the first settlement in West. Because of how water levels and land structures have changed over the years, this building exists on a mesa that rises another few thousand feet out of the water, with sheer sides, and is utterly inaccessible to anyone but a longwing harpy. When a visored harpy dies, the visor is returned here. If you want to claim a visor, you need to hold an interview with one of the elders at the site, who will test you rigorously to see if you can inhabit the character of one of the visors. If not, too bad. If you do get it, it's yours until either you die or you do something considered 'out of character' for the wearer of that particular visor. It is DEEPLY discouraged to steal a visor off anyone because it would be largely impossible, given how they all can communicate (imagine a gigantic worldwide discord server where the location & name of every person is known at all times... the drama is likely insane but at least if someone steals a visor, everyone will know about it)

not every longwing desires a visor because it comes with a lot of responsibility alongside its automatic prestige, and you can't really give it up once you have it. also there's always the possibility of being diagnosed with a super annoying, glitchy, or hated visor character lol. but among the roughly 2700 visored harpies on Siren there does exist a global culture exclusive to them. they chat to one another long-distance, engage in closed-practice ceremonies where they all get high and look at videos of Earth, and essentially become a class outside the mundanity of normal life on Siren. to the rest of the population, they basically become telepathic wizards

Terwyef's visor (first pic) is called Scrappercharlee and is one of the more common models, tho it has been decorated over the years with extra bits. Scrappercharlee is a bit busted and half the HUD is missing. Miakef's visor (second pic) Signastoo is one of the very fancy and well-known ones, it's shaped like a swan's head and likely belonged to a high-ranking pilot who could afford a bit of frippery and showmanship back in the day. Birds do not exist on Siren and harpies are mammals so the swan itself is symbolically meaningless, but the bird-style visors introduce the idea of 'a bird' in the abstract, and this has been imbued with its own form of meaning by harpies.

[reidsdimples]

Can i Request again?🥺🥹.. Spencer reid x Bau! reader. In one of the cases, the reader becomes the bait to catch the serial killer, however she was injected with a mystery Aprosidiac. Spencer is the one to find her first. So you know. Sex or dead. Spencer keeps it a secret. Then she left the Bau because she couldn't fathom what happened. The reader got pregnant, and she saw Spencer reid resemblance on her Toddler. So she confronted him.👉🏻👈🏻

Accidental Baby Genius | Part 1

This idea was too good to squeeze into just one part 😮‍💨

18+❤️‍🔥 MNDI ‼️

Tw: mentions of drugs, Maeve, pregnancy

Part 2

Unsub on his way to me you inform the team via text as Vincent Croll stalks over to you.

They’re not outside and this isn’t going to be a sting operation. You’re intended to get close to him, to influence him to “take you home” as per his usual MO. You needed to know where his home was, where he kept the others.

Vincent has a thing for playing a very specific game with his victims. But you needed him to come out of hiding and play. You baited him, went undercover, made sure he was watching you, and now you’re here at this illustrious night club, sure that he’s going to ask you to come home with him.

“You are… wow,” the gruff looking bearded man spreads his arms. He hugs you and he smells musty.

You make small talk with him, occasionally checking your phone. You told the team to stay away. Let you get into his house to help those girls. Then they can track your phone to find you.

The two of you get to talking for a while about this thing or the next happening on the news. Finally he asks you to step out back with him for a smoke. You don’t smoke but you agree. You check your phone and it’s Spencer.

“I’m out front in case you need to back out of this,” his text reads. Your partner has always been so concerned over your safety. Especially when it came to being undercover. He thought there was a better way to deal with this unsub and didn’t like using you as bait.

“Thanks,” you smile at Vincent and take the cigarette.

What happens next, happens much too quickly. He’s figured you out, and he’s not going to let you know where he’s keeping the girls. He brings you into his game in an instant with a needle straight to your neck, he pushes the plunger and warm fluid swims into you.

Fuck.

“Good try,” he growls and takes off.

You steady yourself against the brick wall. Your vision swims and you’re sure this bastard poisoned you.

This game in particular- you’ve seen from recent victims- is one where he either injects you with poison or an aphrodisiac.

Help, out back. you text Spencer.

Whatever he gave you, the dose was high. You’re hoping the swimming in your vision is the Oxy he infuses with the aphrodisiacs and not just straight up poison.

“Y/N, what happened?”

“Syringe, the syringe,” you point to it on the ground and hold your neck.

“Shit,” he scoops it up and hurries you back to his car where he breaks something out of his trunk.

He swabs the inside of the syringe and runs some kind of tests with his kit. Of course Spencer Reid had a drug testing kit just on hand.

Meanwhile you become very aware of your nipples against your bra, your legs pressing together to place pressure on your pussy. You’re sucking on your bottom lip and Spencer standing there, frantically using those hands to work his text equipment is the hottest thing in the world. You have your answer for what he injected you with.

“MDMA, OXY, but not poison,” he slumps his shoulders. You giggle.

“Spencer take me home,” you grin get comfy in his front seat. You try to remember what was so scary about what just occurred but you can’t.

You’re not going to do anything to or with Spencer, that would be crazy. You’ll just go home, use your little rose toy, and sleep it off.

You’re staring at Spencer, your mouth watering at the sight of his soft lips, you want to run your tongue up the side of his long neck, you want to run your fingers through his wavy locks and press his face into your pussy…

Somehow a small moan escapes you and he snaps his head over towards you as you adjust in your seat.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“Good, so good,” you purr.

Ew stop, you chastise yourself but you can’t help it. You’re going to mount your work crush right here right now.

He pulls into your driveway ten agonizing minutes later and offers you a hand to help you out of the car. You take it a tug him closer to you, you sloppily wrap your arms around his neck and smile into his chest. You inhale his scent greedily.

“Okay,” he peels you off of him slowly and guides you towards the door.

You purposely stumble which forces him to walk behind you with his hands on your hips. You’re aware of the thin material of your short dress and just how easy it would be to bend over…

“What are you doing?” He asks and evidently that thought didn’t stay in your head.

You had flung yourself forward on the brick steps to your house and arched your ass up in the air towards him. You can’t help but laugh at the way he throws his hands up, red spread across his cheeks as though he’s unsure what to do.

“Shh,” you shush him and scamper up the stairs.

You grab his hand and drag him in with you. He doesn’t protest, he doesn’t seem the least bit adverse to following you into the house in this state.

“Do you need anything?” He rubs the back of his head awkwardly.

“Mhmmm,” you drawl out the sound and eye him up and down while biting your lip.

“I don’t think we should… you’ve been drugged,” he reasons.

“Are you saying you don’t want to?” You pout and bite at his neck. “Because I’ve been wanting you to bend me over your desk for months.” You nip at his earlobe and you can’t believe you just admitted that.

“I’m not saying that I’m just saying that-“ he swallows hard.

“Fine, I’ll be upstairs pleasuring myself. You’re free to leave or join me,” you offer.

You prop yourself in your bed in the silk sheets feel incredible on your too hot skin, your rose sex toy comes to life with a buzz and you smirk.

Your heels are still on but you’ve kicked your thong into god knows what direction, and pulled your dress up. Just the sensation of your favorite toy buzzing in your hand has you whimpering. Every nerve is alive, it feels too fucking good.

You spread your legs wide in the dark of the room, and spread your pussy open just enough to place the vibrating bud on it. It’s so intense, oh fuck, it’s never been so intense. You lull your head back and you don’t know if Spencer left but you don’t care. You need an orgasm. Or ten. You’ve never been so turned on.

It’s completely inappropriate but you arch into your toy and moan loudly as it vibrates against you with disgusting suctioning sounds from your wet cunt. It’s glorious.

All kinds of whimpers and moans are escaping you when suddenly Spencer appears in your doorway.

He hadn’t left.

He clearly had been warring with himself though. He watches you, his face cast in shadows from the dark room. But you can see him lick his lips as you run the rose toy over your dripping cunt. You up the game.

“Spencer I’m about to cum,” you mewl. And it’s not a lie because his eyes on you send you over the edge. You throw your head back and twitch as your legs squeeze closed around your wrist. You pant for a moment.

“How many times have you called my name when using this?” He crawls onto the bed, towards you. He’s a mess of wavy hair, his tie undone.

“Too many,” you whimper the truth.

He places his large hands on your knees and pushes them apart. You open your hand and let the small toy go.

“You should have told me,” he whispers and pushes his hands up your thighs, he squeezes gently. “How are you feeling?”

“I want you, I feel good, I want you to make me feel good,” you stammer because you can’t focus with those hands on you.

You’re surprised when he adjusts the speed of your rose to vibrate harder. He presses at against your over sensitive clit and you writhe beneath him. He lets out a pleased moan and you feel his long middle finger poking at your entrance.

“Please,” you beg him.

He obliges and slides it in swiftly, he pumps you slowly while pressing the toy against your clit.

“So pretty,” he coos and withdraws his finger to rub it between your folds.

You frown when he removes the rose but are blindsided when his mouth latches roughly onto your throbbing pussy.

“Fuck,” you grip his hair hard, pulling it so that he’s deeper in your cunt. He groans against you but tongue fucks you properly.

Your body comes alive as though it’s been set ablaze and you cum on his face quickly, too quickly.

You’re whining when he moves up your body.

“Need more?” He whispers against your ear. You nod. “Greedy girl,” he bites down on your neck.

You frantically rip his shirt open, needing to feel his body, god you loved his body. You run your hands over the planes of his chest and abdomen, moaning your arousal as you reach his belt buckle.

“Do you want my cock?” He tilts his head and looks at you.

“Please,” you beg. He leans down to whisper in your ear while he pulls his cock free of his pants. “Do you want me to fuck your tight little cunt?” You whimper at his dirty words and you can feel the head of his cock against your heat. “Do you want to cum on my cock? How many times have you fantasized about this?” He continues and then he moves down and flicks your nipple with his tongue.

“Reid, please,” you pant.

“Mmm,” he moves back up your body and finally, finally lines up his throbbing cock to your drenched hole. “No one can find out about this,” he whispers assertively.

“No one,” you agree and claw at his hips to encourage him.

When she pushes into you, you can feel every inch of him and he moves slowly. He allows you to stretch to fit him.

“Fuck, tight little cunt,” he groans as he focuses to push in.

“It feels so good,” you cry out and watch him push himself deeper. “Please Spencer just fuck me hard, give it all to me.”

“Yeah?” He asks. You nod and wrap your legs around him.

He abandons the gentle routine and slams the last four ish inches into you, you scream like a lunatic because you’ve never felt so good. You’ve never felt so alive and he’s rutting into you as hard as he can.

Your headboard slams violently into the wall as the sounds of his balls slapping against you fill the air. He pounds relentlessly in your pussy, arching up to hit that spot inside of you until all you can do is hold onto him for dear life.

He’s fucking you like an animal which is fitting because you currently feel like a fucking cat in heat. You’re rolling your hips to meet him thrust for thrust and he’s breathing loudly, groaning here and there.

“Spencer,” you cry out as you reach your climax again.

“Cum on it,” he bites out and fucks you faster.

“Yes sir,” you don’t know where the ‘sir’ came from but you both let it slide.

Your pussy clenches around him and drags a whimper of his own from his throat as your entire body shakes.

“Fuck baby,” he gasps.

You’ve brought him to the edge too, he isn’t thinking and you aren’t thinking because he explodes into your throbbing cunt. His cum fills you completely as his thrusting slows.

You moan and whisper some kind of praises for him fucking you so well.

-

You hardly remember him moving out of you before you pass old cold. Sleep takes you more violently than ever and you wake up hours later on your face. The room spins and a horrid groan escapes you.

“You okay?” Comes Reid’s voice as he moves from the armchair in your room to your bedside.

“Mmm,” you shove him away because you were going to throw up. And that you did, your poor rug. Ugh.

Spencer rushes to the restroom to get you a hot wash rag and a small cup of water. He’s clothed now, though his black button up is untucked and his slacks ride on his hips lower due to his belt being undone.

“Thank you,” you sigh and sit up. He blushes and looks away from you, only then do you realize you’re naked and pull the blanket up to your chin. “How long did I sleep?”

“About five hours,” he informs. Sure enough it’s six am.

“Did you sleep?” You ask nervously.

“No, I was watching you,” his mouth presses into that awkward smile of his.

“I’m sorry that I kind of jumped you like that,” you clear your throat.

“No, no I’m sorry. I feel like I took advantage..”

“No-“ you cut him off. “I would have done that sober. Perhaps I would have been less brazen about it but… yeah.” You smile awkwardly.

“Really?” He tilts his head and raises his eyebrows.

“Come on Reid, I’m no actress. You didn’t have any idea I was attracted to you?” You ask.

“I guess I just never assume people are attracted to me,” he shrugs.

“Well. Nonetheless, I should tell Hotch what happened,” you inform.

“I told him that Vincent drugged you and I was watching you for the night, they’re organizing a sting on him tonight,” he says.

“Oh, thank you,” you nod.

“We can’t tell anybody about this…” he speaks lower.

“I agree,” you nod and a hint of guilt invades your gut.

“Besides you’ve got your…” he pauses. “Gavin.”

Gavin wasn’t her boyfriend, more of a casual hookup friends with benefits guy that you’ve mentioned.

“Right,” you glance around the room awkwardly. “And you’re talking to your Maeve,” you give him a small smile.

“That’s true,” he relaxes a bit. “I think I should go,” he stands.

“Thanks, for everything,” you say.

-

In weeks that follow, your life changes drastically. You’re all over the place, you’re having trouble focusing, you’ve developed PTSD from being drugged, you’re emotional. It’s a lot. You fight with Gavin constantly, you and Reid hardly talk.

It all comes to a head when you’re shot in the shoulder about two months after the drugging.

“You did great, the bullets gone,” the doctor tells you.

“Thanks,” you sigh in relief. “Can I see the team?”

“Actually there’s another matter to discuss,” the kind eyes older woman pulls her rolling chair up. Your heart hammers. What could it be?

You eye her Valentine’s Day scrubs, taking note of the smiling hearts.

“You stated upon triage that you weren’t pregnant or breast feeding. The MRI picked up on this…” she hands you a xray looking scan.

Your mouth drops open. “You’re pregnant, honey,” she points to a small sack looking thing in your uterus.

You don’t speak, you say nothing for an impossibly long time. So long in fact that she informs you she’s ordered ultrasounds and that she won’t say anything to your team. You barely hear her and she wonders out of the room.

You’re still not present, still in a dream like trance when they give you an internal and external scan.

Everything okay? They said we can’t see you. Spencer texts you.

All good, just some tests. You send back.

“Alright everything looks and sounds good,” the lady tells you. “You’re measuring about eight weeks. I’m going to write down your due date and give you a list of OBGYNs in your zip code,” she smiles.

The doctor returns with said paperwork and is prepared to discuss things further.

“Alright, it would appear as though you are due on Halloween,” she hands you the paper. “The surgery didn’t impact the baby. It’s perfectly healthy.” You swallow hard and nod. “Is there anyone you would like to speak to?”

“My boss, Agent Hotchner,” you squeak. She nods and squeezes your shoulder sympathetically.

While you wait you’re working out the time frame- it could easily be Spencer’s or Gavin’s. You slept with them within days of one another. You lean over and vomit in the bin they gave you. You’re shaking.

“Y/N, everything okay?” Hotch’s eyebrows are arched in concern.

“I need this conversation to stay between us,” you say first and he sits.

“Okay,” he nods.

You hand him the ultrasound pictures.

“I think interested in that transfer to North Carolina.”

The transfer to said FBI department involved a desk job, perfect.

“I-“ he’s speechless. “Congratulations.” He glances at the pictures. “October huh?”

“Apparently,” you sigh and drop your face into your hands. You adore the BAU but you can’t stay.

“Can I ask why you want to transfer? We can put you on desk duty here…” he says.

“My family is only an hour from the FBI office there, it just makes sense,” you glance at the ultrasound again.

“Did you know you were pregnant before this?” He gestures at your shoulder.

“No, she just told me,” you half scoff, half laugh. He smiles.

“Well, okay. I can get started on that transfer Monday,” he stands.

“The team can’t know,” this takes him by surprise. You refuse to ruin Spence’s life, it had only been a month since Maeve’s death and he wasn’t coping well. “Please.”

“Of course,” he gives you that troubled glance but doesn’t push it.

You’ll operate as if it’s Gavin’s and move on from there. You know Gavin will run the other way anyway.

You’re doing Spencer a favor, if it isn’t his he won’t have to worry about it. If it is… well maybe it’s better he doesn’t know at all.

[starwrighter]

Dude, get a restraining order

(Masterpost) (Ao3 link) (Previous) (Next)

(Chappy #4)

The incompetence he bore witness to today rivaled that of which you’d see at an underfunded public school. This is a private school funded to the highest caliber! Damian hadn’t missed the dramatic increase in budget around the time Father enrolled him in the school. He’d been there when the press hounded him about it! The point was, that he knew for a fact that the school had the resources to accommodate a single transfer student!

With how poorly Daniel had been equipped to traverse the halls, one could only question if it were intentional. There was sure to be the inevitable mix-up with a student actually showing up for the transfer program. Usually, all they got was an announcement over the PA that all the potential transfers had not so politely declined the invitation. No rational parent would send their child to Gotham alone unless they were truly desperate, ignorant, or neglectful. 

Nothing could ever excuse what he’d seen today. You don’t hand a half-blind student a schedule with braille so radically different from the actual print by accident. It was a bat burger menu for gods sake! Someone had to have noticed when they handed it to him. In lieu of a recent spike of impairments involving vision and or hearing, every schedule had braille on it! Both sign language and braille had become their own optional after-school courses that upon completion, awarded a more than generous amount of extra credit. One didn’t even have to complete the course, all you had to do was pass multiple fluency tests, and then you were finished.

Most teachers knew either Braille or some form of sign language, and they all damn well would’ve known that the map was outdated! Fifty years outdated, you’d have to be a moron to hand that out by mistake. Though with what he was seeing now, he’s not quite sure the facility wasn’t primarily composed of scrambling idiots.

Mr. Rivers, ever the annoyance, had taken to only approaching Daniel from his blind side. It became more and more infuriating as class ticked by. The teacher shoved his body between the two of them, violating any semblance of personal space for the sole purpose of inconveniencing Daniel. Every time Mr. Rivers encroached on their personal space, Damian sharpened his pencil. Every time he made the other boy flinch, the idea of launching the pencil like one of his throwing knives became more and more appealing. No harm would’ve come to the teacher, the sight of a wooden pencil embedding itself in the wall mere inches away from his left eye would be more than enough to frighten the man. 

He’d face detention or possibly even suspension, but he’d take the punishment with pride. A smirk played on his lips as he tapped his pencil against his desk.

His smirk soon shifted into a scowl as yet another work packet was piled onto his desk. It was irritating, everything about this class was irritating. Daniel let out a dramatic groan beside him, the other boy slumping back in his chair. Worksheets were piled high on the boy's desk, some completed while most remained unfinished.

A ruler snapped down onto Daniel’s desk, a loud thwack! Startling the boy into sitting up straight.

“I guess I deserved that one,” Daniel shrugged.

“No you didn’t,” Damian replied flatly, but Daniel just shrugged it off. Most of the school facility were what most Gothamites would consider normal. Mr. River just had a generally detestable personality.

The man hated teenagers, often spewing complaints of their “rowdy behavior” and “lack of dedication,”. Damian might’ve agreed with those statements if it weren’t for the blatant lies in every word the man said. His classmates were…noisy and rather unpleasant for him to mingle with, but they were far from the “Lazy entitled brats” Mr. Rivers had painted them as. It’d be hypocritical for him of all people to judge the teacher based on being “mean” but the two of them couldn’t be farther apart.

 Damian was a hostile presence in the classroom, but he didn’t go out of his way to target and harass people for things they couldn’t control. People could choose to stay out of his personal space, and they could choose to not say dumb shit to his face. A mental or physical condition wasn’t something they could change, nor were they things that verbal and physical abuse would fix. This should've been common sense to anyone with two brain cells to strike together, but apparently, Darwinism had failed once again.

Mr. Rivers targeted Daniel based on his visual impairment. Every question was targeted at Daniel regardless if his had been raised or not. The man punctuated each sentence with a loud headache-inducing smack to his desk. He always struck on the boy’s blindside, never where he could see the ruler come down. Aside from the occasional flinch, Daniel took the abhorrent behavior in stride.

Concerning… It was one word he could use to describe Daniel's indifference. Completely unbothered, like this was just a typical Monday in class for him. Maybe his previous statement rang true, and he soulfully had experienced worse. That in itself was a concerning statement but made sense considering the context to that worse was engraved on his face. Everything the teacher did just seemed to roll off the other boy’s shoulders like water off a swan's back. A muttered comment of “his school counselor being worse than this teacher ever could be,” only serving to exasperate his concerns.

It was distracting… Every time Daniel gave him a reassuring smile, his heart pounded like hummingbird wings. Blood rushed to his cheeks, warming them like he’d just sat in front of a fireplace. As big of a deal as his siblings made of his apparent social ineptitude, Damian wasn’t an idiot.

How was he supposed to read people if he didn’t understand the emotions that drove their behavior? He’s a vigilante! He couldn’t be walking around uninformed about the basic spectrum of human emotion!

This was obviously what people would call a crush.

Grayson had been the one to attempt explaining crushes and relationships to him. It was a painfully awkward conversation to sit through. His brother spoke of love like a romcom, both cheesy and highly unrealistic. It was by sheer dumb luck Grayson had entered any form of relationship before, and a miracle any of them had lasted more than a week. Anyone with a dash of common sense could tell Grayson’s advice wasn’t a viable source of information. The number of times he’d been pulled aside by someone within earshot of conversation was enough for him to conclude his brother's brain was diluted by hallmark specials and fairytales.

Regardless of his elder brother's delusion, the conversation itself had been unnecessary. Romantic feelings had been explained to him from a very young age. From learning how these emotions could affect one's behavior to understanding not all people felt those feelings, and that was normal too. It was crucial for detective work to recognize the entire range of human emotions. 

Damian didn’t believe in love at first sight. He believed one could feel physical attraction for a person minutes or merely seconds after meeting, but love? How could you love someone you’ve only spent a minute with. Rushing in with that mindset was how you ended up courting someone you’d despise in the end. Outward appearances could tell you plenty about a person, but it wasn’t often you could read out someone’s entire character by reading their shirt. It could happen, but this wasn’t one of those cases.

He hadn’t even had a proper conversation with his seatmate yet. Rushing in at the first sign of attraction was an idiotic way to hurt himself emotionally. He’d need to tread through this carefully, learn more about Daniel, and proceed accordingly with the information he received. 

Glancing up at the clock, he scowled. Students discreetly packed their bags, fidgeting in their seats as they waited for the bell. Nobody liked being in Mr. Rivers's class. He was the type of teacher to pile a month's worth of homework onto any student unfortunate enough to have gotten their work done in a timely matter. Needless to say, Damian found himself with a thick stack of worksheets on his desk every class. Maybe if he were a little less spiteful, he would slack and draw out the original worksheet like everyone else did, but that would imply Mr. Rivers had gotten under his skin. 

Daniel tapped a thick stack of papers on his desk. His name scrawled shakily in graphite on each sheet. Much to his surprise, Daniel had completed every single worksheet their teacher had thrown at him. How he’d managed to do so in such a short amount of time was a mystery, but Damian was delighted nonetheless. 

The boy grinned, pride and a dash of spite written clear on his face. Damian had watched, enraptured at the subtle wilting of Mr.River’s face with every sheet he completed. The teacher had been far too dull to print out random worksheets for Daniel like he had with Damian. No, every single one of those pages was a part of the required curriculum assigned to transfer students. Work required to be graded and submitted no more than a week after submission. 

“Impressive,” Damian commented.

Daniel beamed, foxlike and giddy as he neatened the pile of paper. 

“If all that doesn’t go in the grade book, I’m starting a riot,” Daniel muttered. Damian didn’t doubt him. Tomorrow, Daniel would likely be piled with the same worksheets Damian was stuck with, papers that weren’t graded outside the original worksheet. 

“I’ll join you,” Planning a riot together would be the perfect activity for him to get to know Daniel more. One's true self tended to be clearer in times of war. 

“Hell yeah! Nothing like a less than peaceful protest to bring people together,” Daniel laughed, the bell rang and Daniel’s expression shifted to one of dread.

“I can walk you to your next class if you’d like,” He offered.

"That would be helpful,” A nervous but exasperated smile had wormed it’s way onto Daniel’s face, the other boy subconsciously running a hand through locks of black hair. "I don't think my map would've been all that helpful," He laughed.

Damian inspected their schedules. They shared lunch and a fourth-hour history class, but that was it. Daniel had earth science third hour while he had an art class. A disappointment, but an expected one. 

“Since you don’t have a valid map, I’ll come to pick you up around lunchtime,” He proclaimed as they rounded the corner.

“Sounds good,” With that they parted ways, Daniel giving him a quick wave paired with a smile that made his heart thrum before he stepped into the classroom.

With a sigh, Damian headed down to the first floor. Vibrant paintings and impossibly detailed pencil drawings lined the halls surrounding the art rooms. A giant mural around twelve feet across was the art students' prized project. Massive mountains and towering trees for everyone to see. An outdoor landscape painted with warm colors shifted to the cold colors of city skyscrapers and roads dimly illuminated by street lights. The mural itself took up almost the entire hallway. Not an inch of the remaining space remained bare. Overall, the first floor had more color than all the other floors combined.

Stepping into class, the smell of paint filled his nostrils. Watercolor stained the wooden tables, cracking paint and charcoal smears scattered across the workspace. Conversations from the previous classes were scrawled onto tables. A collaborative drawing between several students having been scribbled over with a conglomerate of charcoal and colored pencils.

The seats were the only part of the table that was mostly bare. Only a few pencil scribbles and scratches. Too many students' uniforms had been stained with dusty patches of charcoal and paint before drawing on the chairs was prohibited, and tarps were placed over them. 

Art was the one class students were mostly left to their own devices. Given full access to the entire range of supplies, with a vague instruction of showing off their progress at the end of class. A giant bookshelf was set up next to a metal wire shelf carrying baskets of various types of paper. The bookshelf was filled to the brim with any and all books art-related. From beginner to expert, sculpting to painting, realism to cartoonism, a book was there to teach you about it. It was against the rules to draw inside any of the books, but post-it notes were stuck to every page of every book. 

Students filtered in like blood slowly oozing from a paper cut. Quiet chatter filled the room, their teacher sitting calmly at his desk. Damian sat with his new sketchbook, staring daggers at the plethora of empty pages. Sounds of cabinets opening and paintbrushes clinking against glass mugs were his background noise. Pencils scratched against paper, soft searching lines filling a blank page, slowly shaping Daniels's features.

From his sharpened canines to the dimples on his cheeks. To the messy way he swept his hair to the side to the light freckles dusted across his face. Drawing Daniel’s scarring proved to be quite difficult. Intricate branches of scar tissue never seemed to look right when he had them on paper, and it frustrated him to no end. When he finally got it right, he could’ve collapsed right there. It was far from the perfection he was aiming for, but he’d have a reference photo by the end of the day to solve that plight. 

This drawing would be more than enough if Daniel turned out to be an… unpleasant individual.

[themaevethcometh]

okay i've had this scene from an au stuck in my head recently so here's 3k of timkon identity shenanigans where kon has been recently taken in by luthor for nefarious reasons and is forced to attend a gala where tim and bruce show up. robin hasn't revealed his identity to the team yet even though they've been friends for years. canon/timeline has been put in a blender and liquified.

Kon takes a deep breath in through his nose, holding it for a few seconds before slowly letting it out of his mouth.  It’s a technique that Robin taught the team when he was trying desperately to get them on a more bat-approved training regime, including meditation and an acrobatics routine that Nightwing allegedly used on the Teen Titans years ago.  Kon is fully aware that he’s got weird stuff going on with his body’s organs and systems compared to humans, but the slow, rhythmic breathing still brings comfort and helps center him, slowing everything down enough so he no longer feels like he’s going to accidentally fry someone with his heat vision.

He tugs at the collar of his dress shirt, gulping and taking a deep breath again.  The shirt and tie feels so much more restrictive than his Superboy uniform, tightening like a noose around his neck, and the inflexibility of the suit coat makes him feel like a stiff, awkward mannequin.

“Stop that,” Luthor says, putting a heavy hand on his shoulder.  Kon immediately stills, straightening and trying to relax at the same time.

“These people are vultures,” Lex says, voice low.  Kon tries to focus his super hearing on him, rather than the woman with the loud laugh across the ballroom or the clink of glasses down the hall where the staff is continuously loading and unloading equipment.  He can hear the steady beat of Lex’s heart, the rhythmic whoosh of air traveling in his lungs, the slight gurgle of his stomach (gross!).  Kon decides he doesn’t like listening to Lex Luthor very much.

“Remember what I told you,” Lex is still saying.  “Be on your best behavior.  Today is about getting your name and your face out there.  Be polite, but not a pushover.  Never let them see weakness.”

Kon forcibly bites back the retort that his only weakness is kryptonite and makes himself nod instead.

Luthor leads him over to a group of people with his hand still clamped on Connor’s shoulder like a shackle.  From there, it’s an exhausting parade of schmoozing with millionaires and billionaires, shaking hands firmly (but not too firmly!), laughing at unfunny jokes, and pretending that he loves dear old Dad instead of wanting to punt him through the nearest wall.

Kon is charming.  He knows this.  It’s something that he’s known since he freshly came out of a test tube, and it’s something that he’s perfected with smiles and body language and a well-placed word or phrase.  Kon can get most people eating out of his hand with barely any effort, but it’s usually normal people a little closer to his age, not rich, egotistical, out-of-touch old people who want to pinch his cheeks but absolutely cannot be allowed to due to his invulnerable skin.  Kon forgets everyone’s name almost as soon as he hears it, clutching his flute of sparkling cider like a lifeline (but not hard enough to shatter).

Kon doesn’t know how long he gets paraded around as Luthor’s newest pet, but it feels like forever.  Everyone talks around where he’s been for the past 17 years of his life (nonexistent and then in a lab and then gallivanting around with superheroes and then, finally, as of two month ago a little farm in Kansas until Lex Luthor uprooted everything with a few well-placed threats), and Kon lets Lex tell the cover story about how he didn’t find out about Connor until recently, but he’s happy to be reunited with his son now.

Son.  Connor isn’t anyone’s son.  He was maybe getting to be a family member to the Kents finally, but Luthor threw a wrench into all of that.

Connor had a room at the farm.  He had a chore list to do and homemade meals to eat, and Clarke has finally stopped flinching when he sees him.  Clarke grinned at him the other day, not his public smile or a small, polite thing, but an actual, honest to goodness grin.  Connor bets he can kiss that goodbye now, just like he can kiss goodbye ever knowing Robin’s real identity, because there’s no way that Batman will let him tell Kon now that Kon is semi-legally under the guardianship of a supervillain, and just like there’s no way that Kon can have anything remotely resembling a normal teenage experience as the ward of a billionaire and forced showpony, and just like–

“I’ll be damned,” Lex breathes next to him, interrupting Kon’s spiral.  Kon follows his gaze to the entrance of the ballroom, ears picking up the loud, boisterous laugh of Bruce Wayne clapping someone on the back a little too forcefully.  Kon has never seen Bruce Wayne in person, but he’s difficult to miss in the papers, especially with how often he finds himself in trouble.  Robin has told him of a few instances when he or one of the other Gotham vigilantes has had to rescue him, and Kon knows that Lois interviewed him once and Clarke has informally run into him at a gala such as this.

Clarke says he tried really hard to be the journalist from the Planet here tonight once Lex demanded that Connor be there, but it was too late notice.  Neither Clarke nor Lois are among the reporters clustered in the corner.  Kon is alone.

“He didn’t RSVP,” Lex says, miffed.  Kon immediately likes Bruce Wayne significantly more because of it.  “Oh, and he brought a friend.”

Kon peers around the crowd that has quickly amassed around Gotham’s favorite billionaire and finally spots the person Bruce Wayne has a hand on the shoulder of.  It’s a teenage boy, dressed in a dark suit with dark hair parted in the middle to keep it out of his eyes.  He’s slight, but not skinny, and he’s not overly tall, probably closer to Robin or Bart’s height than Connor’s.  He doesn’t show any signs of discomfort at the press of adults around him, offering polite handshakes and letting the women kiss his cheeks the way some of them have tried with Kon.  Bruce doesn’t stray far, taking the boy with him when they finally finish with the crowd near the door and head to the bar.  The boy doesn’t seem to mind the attention.  Kon, however, does not appreciate the tone of voice that Lex used when he said friend.  He’s ready to do some superheroing if he needs to.

“Let’s go,” Lex says, putting his hand on Connor’s shoulder again to steer him through the crowd.  “Let me handle Bruce Wayne.  The kid is Timothy Drake.  He recently became the head of his parent’s company when his father died.  This is the first time he’s been seen at an event since the death.  Bruce is almost certainly going to adopt him.  Timothy stayed with him when Jack Drake was in a coma, plus he has the dark hair and light eyes and Brucie favors in his kids.  He’s your focus for the rest of the night.  Forget about everyone else.”

“Lex!  I didn’t know you’d be here, you old dog!” Bruce calls before Connor has time to process all of that, slinging an arm around Luthor’s shoulders and seemingly crushing all of the air out of him in less than a second.

“It’s my party,” Lex wheezes.

“Good thing I’m here to liven it up, eh?” Bruce asks, elbowing Luthor in the ribs.

Kon really hopes that Bruce Wayne’s obsession with dark haired, light eyed boys is an innocent coincidence, because he doesn’t want to apprehend him for being a pedophile when he’s pissing Lex off so easily.

“Hello, Timothy,” Luthor greets, holding out his hand.  Bruce pouts at being ignored while Timothy shakes politely.  “May I just say, it’s refreshing to see you out and about.  I’m sure running your parent’s company is stressful all by yourself.”

Timothy tilts his head, reminding Connor vaguely of a bird.

“I’m happy to do it,” he says, polite but firm.  “It’s what my parents would have wanted, and they left things well organized for me.”

“And I suppose Bruce here has been giving you advice?”

“Now Lex,” Bruce says, wagging his finger at him, “you know that’d be a conflict of interest.  Besides, Tim could run circles around me.  I should be asking him for advice!”

Connor feels his eyes start to glaze over as Luthor and Bruce volley back and forth, seemingly forgetting that he’s even there.  Having Lex’s attention off of him and on someone else is a much needed break, so he’s not about to complain, but it’s also really fucking rude.  Connor hasn’t even been introduced to these two.

Timothy catches his eye, sweeping his gaze over to Luthor and Bruce and rolling his eyes.  Connor smirks.  Timothy raises an eyebrow and Connor mirrors him, just a slight quirk.

Timothy looks pretty nice, up close.  His eyes are the promised light blue, but his dark eyelashes are long and thick, framing them beautifully.  He’s pale, almost reflective in the glittering chandelier light, and he carries himself with a self-assuredness that Connor envies in this environment.  The suit fits him really nicely, hugging his shoulders and accenting his trim waist and long legs.  When he raises his flute to take a sip of the drink inside, Kon finds himself tracking the liquid as it disappears past his pale pink lips, his throat flexing as he swallows.

He’s not bad to look at.  He could easily turn out to be dull as a brick or a total douchebag, but so far first impressions are good.

“And who is this young man?” Bruce asks, snapping him out of his thoughts.  Luthor puts a hand on his back to push him forward a step, and Kon doesn’t have to move, but Lex is going to be mad if he doesn’t and the situation is delicate.

“This is my son, Connor,” Luthor introduces.  Kon offers his hand with his most charming smile.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, shaking first Bruce’s hand (better grip than he expected) and then Timothy’s (rougher than he thought it’d be, skin warm).

“Son, eh?  He must take after his mother!” Bruce laughs.  Lex’s face pinches, but Connor doesn’t have a chance to relish in it before Bruce is sweeping Luthor away with another arm around his shoulder, talking loudly about secret children and parenting hacks.  Luthor tries to protest, but it’s quickly drowned out by Bruce, and he doesn’t have a chance to so much as glance back at Connor before they’re swallowed by the crowd.

Kon blinks.

“Bruce will keep him busy for a while, sorry,” Timothy says, not sounding very sorry.  He takes another sip from his glass, then leans in.  Cologne tickles Connor’s nose.

“Hold your drink by the stem, not the glass,” he says quietly.  “It’s supposed to keep your drink from getting warm, an old etiquette thing.  It’s small, but it’ll help you blend in a little more.”

Kon looks around the room, taking in the people with flutes like him and where they’re holding it.  The majority are holding the stem, and the ones that aren’t are people that Luthor hasn’t bothered to introduce him to yet.  Kon adjusts his grip accordingly, off-balance and embarrassed.

“Thanks,” he says.  Timothy tilts his head.

“You want to get some air?  There’s a balcony over there.  Your father will be able to find you easily once Bruce releases him.”

“Yes,” Kon agrees immediately.  He’s used to not fitting in, but having the eyes of so many judgy rich people on him when he’s pretending to be Lex Luthor’s human son has been exhausting.  No one has been too rude so far, but the weight of Lex’s hand on his shoulder is heavy, and this complicated set of social rules that he still doesn’t understand puts him on edge.

Normally he’d say fuck the rules and do what he wants, but the situation is too delicate for that.  Clarke and Robin both told him that he needs to be careful and think twice about every move he makes, and for once neither of them sounded condescending about it.  He could tell that they don’t like the situation, either, worry and sympathy clear in their faces.

“Come on,” Timothy says, heading towards a set of double doors.  He doesn’t glance back, trusting Connor to follow him, and Connor does, stepping in his footsteps as he expertly weaves through the crowd, deflecting anyone trying to stop to speak to them with smooth excuses and a well-placed smile.  In no time at all he’s pushing open the large french doors, releasing them from the ballroom and into the cool night air.

Kon tilts his head up, blinking at the night sky above him.  It’s cloudy, obscuring what few stars manage to make their way through the light pollution to reach Metropolis.  Connor wishes he could fly up there, feel the dampness of early rain on his face, burst into the dark and escape everything.  For now, he keeps his feet on the ground, instead joining Timothy by the railing.

“So, how often do you come to these things, Timothy?” Connor asks, leaning back on his elbows.  The other boy perches with a hip pressed against the railing, arms crossed over his chest.

“Tim, please,” he says.  “Timothy makes me feel like I’m in trouble or you’re trying to swindle me out of a business deal.”

“Okay.  How often do you come to these things, Tim?” Connor corrects, testing the feel of it in his mouth.  Tim relaxes at the sound.

“Decently often, but I usually stick to Gotham,” he says.  “I’ll have to start coming to more now that I’m in charge of Drake Industries, but I grew up going to galas.  Is this your first one since Luthor found you?”

“Is it that obvious?” Connor asks.  Tim smirks, but shakes his head.

“I think I’d remember if I’d seen you at one of these before.”

Connor flashes him a charming smile.

“I bet you say that to all the boys.”  Tim’s cheeks turn pink, his blush noticeable against his pale skin even with the limited light out here.  Kon takes a sip of his sparkling cider, satisfaction making it taste sweeter on his tongue.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re probably the only people under thirty in the whole building besides some of the catering staff,” Tim says. 

“You missed the toddler earlier,” Connor hums.  “She was throwing a tantrum.  I very much sympathized.”

���Did I really?” Tim asks dryly.  “What a pity.  Oh no.  How unfortunate that Bruce likes being fashionably late to everything.”

Connor snorts.

“Bruce Wayne, huh?” he says.  “How’d you two meet?”

Tim shifts so he’s leaning back against the railing like Kon.  Kon takes a moment to drink in his profile, tracing the sharp jut of his nose, the hair shielding his eyes from him at this angle.

“He’s my neighbor,” Tim says.  “I’ve kind of always known him, but our families weren’t really close until a few years ago.  When my dad was in a coma, Bruce took me in.  My uncle was supposed to get custody of me now, but…”

Tim trails off, searching for words.  Eventually, he shrugs.

“He’s fostering me right now.  We’ll see where it goes from there.”

“Do you want to stay with him?” Kon asks.  Tim considers his words carefully.  Connor’s mouth is always running away with him, but Tim seems to have the opposite approach.  Everything is measured and careful, cold and tactical.  It reminds Kon of Robin in the middle of missions, keeping his reactions even and methodical to counteract the impulsiveness of the rest of the team.  Kon wonders if Tim is the type of person to let himself be stupid and emotional around friends like Robin is, or if he always keeps everything bottled up.

“Yeah, I do,” Tim breathes eventually.  “But it’s complicated.”

“What do you mean?”

Another pause.  Kon does Robin’s breathing exercise, staying patient.  Some people need time to talk, and Kon can’t help if he doesn’t know what’s wrong.

“I guess I don’t want him to adopt me because he feels obligated,” Tim says.  “He has a family.  There’s–It’s a long story, too long to explain now.  Sorry, this is a weird first impression, huh? But enough about me!  What about you?  Where were you before Luthor found you?”

“Uh,” Connor says, still recovering from the whiplash of topics and searching for Luthor’s cover story.  “Kansas.”

“Kansas?” Tim prompts.

“Yeah, Kansas. I was in the foster system for a while, then I got adopted by this nice old couple who live on a farm in Smallville, which is just as small as it sounds.  I didn’t know anything about my birth parents until Lex showed up.”

“Wow,” Tim says.  “This has to be a big adjustment, then.”

Connor scratches the back of his neck.

“Yeah, kinda.”

Kon’s whole life feels like a big adjustment, from adjusting to existing and Clark’s negative feelings towards him, to adjusting to working for Camdus and living in Hawaii, to adjusting to Young Justice and Teen Titans, to finally trying to adjust to Smallville, only to be ripped away from that and forced into Metropolis high society.

“Do you miss them?” Tim asks.  “The old couple who adopted you?”

Kon swallows against the unexpected pang that rolls through him.  He can almost taste Martha’s pancakes on his tongue and hear the crinkle of the newspaper as Jonathan hands him the cartoons.

“I wasn’t with them very long.  Only a few months.”

Tim tilts his head.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Connor shrugs.  He doesn’t know what the right answer is here.  Martha and Jonathan are the closest thing he’s ever had to parents, but part of him never expected to stay with them.  When Luthor ripped him away from them, there was a part of Kon that wasn’t surprised at all, even if a bigger part was in agony.

Martha kissed his forehead when he left the farm and gave him a sad smile.

“You can always come back here, okay?  This is your home, no matter what Lex Luthor has to say about it.”

“If they formally adopted you, Lex Luthor’s claim as your biological father isn’t enough to force cut contact,” Tim says, pushing off the railing and taking a few steps closer.  “Trust me.  I researched this stuff when my dad came out of his coma.”

Kon frowns.

“He didn’t like Bruce?”

Tim wavers.

“It’s complicated,” he offers.  Kon snorts.

“Yeah, I get that.”

Tim’s mouth quirks up, giving Connor the shadow of a smile again.

“It’s not really a first meeting story.”

“Guess we need a second meeting, then,” Connor says.

“Yeah?” Tim asks.  “My weird family dynamic really captivated you, huh?”

“It was your eyes first, actually,” Connor says.  Tim opens his mouth, then closes it again, eyes wide.  Kon holds his breath.  He says flirty things all the time, both to his friends and to people he rescues who seem like they need a pick-me-up, but it’s been a while since he sincerely flirted with someone he plans to see again.  He almost never does it with someone who only knows him as Connor rather than Superboy, much less a boy.

If this goes badly and Tim tells the entire Metropolis elite that Lex’s son is a homosexual, maybe the scandal will be enough for Luthor to send him back to Smallville.  If it goes well…

“You have… very nice eyes, too,” Tim says eventually.  Connor beams, then beams even more at the sharp inhale Tim draws in response.  Tim shifts.

“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” he asks.  “There’s a decent ice cream place open late a few blocks away.  We can be there and back before anyone misses us.”

Connor glances towards Luthor in the ballroom.  He’s still talking to Bruce Wayne, and they’ve amassed a small crowd around them.

“Bruce will keep Lex busy for a while.  He likes to talk.  Besides, you can always tell him that you were networking,” Tim offers.

Luthor said that Tim should be his focus for the rest of the night.  He never said that they had to stay at the gala.

“Lead the way,” he says, gesturing grandly towards the French doors.  Tim blinks once, then again, then smiles.  His eyes light up with it, and Kon suddenly understands why Tim had to inhale before.

“Come on,” Tim says, leading the way.  Kon follows just as closely as he did before, trailing him until they spill out into the Metropolis night and he can stand next to him, almost close enough for their arms to brush.

Maybe living with Lex Luthor won’t be so bad if comes with seeing Tim Drake, too.

[fandangotales]

500 followers event

About your prompt could you do this with xiao zhongli and scara? (If it’s too much you can pick xiao only) but with sounds of skin clapping? Like when some people are stressed or just bored they start clapping their thighs repeatedly ykyk 😭)

NSFW CONTENT AND IMPLICATIONS AHEAD <3

Another sweet flower entered your inventory, as you were nearly finished gathering all your required seeds for the garden in the Serenetea Pot.

Your mind wandered, thinking of the exam you’d have to take tomorrow.

Well… you were pretty prepared, but of course there’s still the stress that always lingers with a deadline.

Your legs started moving, half on their own as you continued thinking of the upcoming test.

——————————————————

Xiao picked another flower, the 8th cecelia of the day.

Their Grace really seemed to like the flowers, the adeptus thought, as he was guided over to another patch of flowers.

It was completely calm, as there weren’t many enemies in the area. The soft melody brought by the wind blew over Starsnatch cliff, as the gentle moon gazed down from above.

It was… calm.

He allowed himself to relax a little, picking the flowers under your guiding direction.

Nothing was amiss, and there wasn’t any enemies to be wary of… it was just him and Their Grace.

…

A strange sound came to Xiao’s ears, nearly before the last flower patch was collected. As he reached for the base of a green stem, it came again.

His face pinched, half in confusion. The noise wasn’t very loud, but it didn’t seem to be coming from the environment around him.

Wait- he panicked, ready to equip his pole arm, figure tensing.

Was the sound coming from you? Where you in danger?

His body ceased it’s motion, albeit his desire to move, if only to make sure you were ok.

You must’ve left your device- he thought, as the sound only got louder and louder.

“I am so going to fail so going to fail…” Your Voice said from behind him, as he relaxed slightly.

You weren’t in danger, but it seemed to be that your hands were better preoccupied with something else.

That’s why his body was frozen in place, as what he now identified as the clapping noise became louder.

Y-you were g-getting off right now? In front of him?

Luckily for him, his front half was angled away from your vision, as he struggled to stay completely still.

His breathing picked up, as his cheeks reddened.

His Grace… doing something so intimate in his presence…

His pants felt a little tighter as he became aware of how much of an honor this was.

Him, a lowly servant, being allowed to witness Their Divinity in such a way…

You groaned from behind him, and the beautiful sound graced his ears.

Would you groan the same way if you were taking him from behind, harshly ramming into his hole?

If he begged hard enough, would you praise him for being a good boy?

Tears formed in Xiao’s eyes as he whimpered, as a sharp bolt of pleasure ran though him.

—————————————————

The noise immediately stopped, as your worried voice called out to him.

“Are you alright? Did you take some kind of damage?”

You questioned, panning your camera to see the front of his body.

His HP bar was still full, but for some reason, his face was a bit darker than usual.

If you had taken a closer look, you might’ve noticed a wet patch on his pants.

[sugraoptical]

Enhance Vision Care: Ophthalmic Equipment Manufacturing in Delhi

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[jutronvision]

Hertel Exophthalmometer | Jutron Vision

Hertel Exophthalmometer is an instrument used for precise exophthalmos measurements (e.g. exophthalmic goiter). The basis of the measurement for exophthalmos determination using the Hertel version is the outer orbital rim (orbital wall) and the apex of the cornea. More Information Visit Our Website Jutron Vision: 

[yuritopiaofdeath]

The Perks of Training a Combat Doll

‘There we are. Welcome back’ 

 The automaton found its digital vision returned to it. In its primary focus was a woman sitting directly in front of the combat doll. Her large glasses rested on the tip of her nose, her hair was messy and her shoulders were broad. She reached with one hand to adjust her eyewear and the doll took note of the woman’s hands, smeared with dark sepia stains. 

 Though she never met another one besides its mistress, the doll recognized a witch when it saw one. ‘You’ve rebuilt me.’ The doll spoke. Only a witch could rebuild a doll. And if its memory banks were to be believed; she required rebuilding. ‘Aye. I did.’ The witch responded. ‘I found your body discarded. I brought you here and rebuilt you with no small effort. So that you may serve me now.’ The doll wanted to protest but knew better. It owed its continued existence to this witch. The doll's life,such as it was, was now in the witch's possession. ‘What of my old master?’The doll questioned.

 ‘Dead, I expected.’ The witch replied coldly. 

 Impossible! The doll thought to herself. She knew her lady’s power was too great. She could not be slain. ‘I cannot believe that.’ The doll answered. ‘Do not talk back to me!’ The witch cut her off. Her voice sharp.’You best believe her dead. Unless you can offer an explanation as to why you were found in a scrapheap. No magic animating you.’ ‘ The doll could offer no explanation. Her master was either slain or survived and did not see it fit to return for her possession. The doll could not help but view the former as the kinder outcome. It meant not having to come to terms with its failure. Failure of protecting her witch.

 ‘Drop down and give me twenty.’ A command from the witch brought the mechanical drone back to its senses. ‘Pardon?’ The doll replied, puzzled. ‘Push ups. Twenty. Now.’ The witch was firm in her command. ‘You know what a push up is, do you not?’

 The doll strained its computing to understand the order. In all of its vast circuitry she could not see the logic of making a robot perform exercise. ‘Yes, My Lady. I know what a push up is, My Lady.’ ‘Twenty’ The witch repeated the order in a way that made it clear she would not repeat it again. Unsatisfied but unwilling to anger her new master any further, the mechanical guard in the guise of a girl dropped down to the messy metal flooring of the workshop. Task was done in under ten seconds. Afterwhich the doll stood back up. Her newly reconstructed body,  at the very least, was fully operational. The doll wondered if this had been the true purpose of this task; Or perhaps just a way to humiliate it. A test of obedience. 

 ‘Good. You will follow me.’ The witch commanded.

 In a short time  they made way to a large open room. The floor was soft and padded, organic training equipment hung from the walls. The doll followed the witch wordlessly. Taking note of the map of her benefactors mansion. Soon as they arrived the witch stepped into a large rectangular arena separated by cables. She let her large black cloak slide down her shoulders, leaving her pale back exposed. Though the doll only met one other, the combat drone figured the witch's appearance to be atypical of a witch. Her nobility and otherworldly beauty typical of her kind was undeniable. Yet from the dolls data a witch led a life of the study of the arcane which left little room for physical training. The power of a witch was her iron will. A witch enjoyed quiet hobbies such as an afternoon tea. This witch, however, was in peak physical condition for an organic.  Pale skin, cross stitched with scars, clung tightly to the muscles underneath. Her small and lean frame tensed, like a cat stretching its body. A cat was nimble, quick, and deceptively strong. And apt comparison to the creature before the doll. ‘Get in the ring.’ The witch commanded. ‘You and I will spar.’

 Once again the doll strained its processing. It would seem this would be routine in its new assignment. 

 ‘I cannot harm you, My Lady.’ The doll answered ‘Twenty’ The reply came before the doll could even finish speaking. This time it knew better than to argue. It gave her mistress her twenty, as ordered. ‘Get in the ring.’ No praise this time. Simply the repeated order. ‘I will come at you. You will defend yourself to the best of your abilities. Understood?’ The doll nodded in confirmation. Soon as the gesture was complete, the witch was upon her. A flurry of blows followed, the witch opened with a series of punches and kicks typical to various organic martial arts. All of which were recorded in the dolls harddrives. Easily countered. The pattern of the witch was flawless. An ordinary organic opponent would no doubt be overwhelmed. She deployed feints and misdirects in order to disguise her more powerful attacks and throw her opponent off base. Alas the drone was programmed to counter such tactics. There would be little point in a combat doll if it could be thrown off by organic trickery. A digitized brain could calculate the position of a hit, and the best way to counter, in about half the time it would take for the hit to connect. The doll found itself frustrated. The witch displayed clear signs of fatigue. Was this to be her new role? Assist in the physical training of her master? A waste of the dolls skill. An exercise in vanity for the witch. An intelligent witch employed combat units precisely because they were above in skill to an organic combatant. An organic defeating a combat doll is as an ant defeating a lion. Even now the doll was holding back so as to not harm the witch. The doll wished to show this logic to its fledgeling owner. The metal fist stopped just short of the witch's handsome face. The message clear. This exercise is pointless. The doll found its body suddenly flung into the air. With a loud crash its body came down hard against the padded floor, causing it to dent. The ropes of cable that surrounded the ring were torn when the dolls body slammed into them. For a moment the doll simply laid motionless, calculating what had just happened. It would appear that the witch used this moment of hesitation from the doll to lift the dolls body and toss it across the arena. Though the drone was aware of martial arts that relied on shifting the weight of the enemy, tossing a steel doll the weight of an automobile above ones shoulder and flinging it several meters across was quite a feat from one the size of the witch. Indeed having caught a doll unaware like that was not something it thought an organic being capable of. The doll lifted itself back up. Experiencing yet another humiliation. 

 ‘Good.’ A praise from the new mistress. ‘Now it is your turn. You will come at me. Hold nothing back. If you hesitate again you will be destroyed. I believe I shown capable of rebuilding your body. I am not above destroying it again.’ A clear threat. One not without merit. The witch was capable of rebuilding the doll. Would she use magic? Would she delight in destroying and rebuilding the doll? Knowing that hesitation meant possible destruction, the doll hesitated, before charging in. This time the dolls fist made clear impact against the witch. The figure struck by the doll suddenly dissipated into smoke. Magic. Of course the witch used magic.   

 It was suddenly clear to the doll just how an organic managed to keep up with a doll. A witch was no ordinary mortal being. A witch was a master of the sorcerous and the arcane. Indeed a witch's magic was the very thing animating a doll. It only made sense that a doll would be helpless against such arts.

 Suddenly the witch appeared to be everywhere all at once. Behind and in front of the doll. Iron fists swatted the air but found nothing but smoke. Till the witch was on top of the doll. Bound its arms with a magical circle and rested her knee on the doll's neck joint. ‘A pathetic performance.’ The witch chastised its servant. ‘Have you never faced a witch before? Have you faced real combat? Or am I to take your first encounter to be the one that left you in the sorry state I found you in?’ The dolls' sensors overflowed with rage. Yet there was nothing it could do to resist. The drone resolved to simply allow this humiliation to continue. Perhaps the reason behind its inaction was not, as logic would dictate, the power the witch had over it, but rather the power her words held over the doll. From the moment it awoke it could not accept the reality that it was unsuccessful in protecting its master. The failure was plainly displayed in the records kept in the dolls memory banks. Its body crumbling into a pile of scrap, gears and cables, before some unknown assailant. Never before had it faced such opposition. The doll was either victorious against a lesser opponent or decimated by a superior force. Such was a life of an artificial lifeform designed to perform a singular task. ‘Did you not expect I would use magic?’ The witch retorted ‘I am a witch. My magic is my weapon. Much like your steel body and mechanical mind are yours. I would be a fool not to use it.’ 

 The witch lifted her knee from the doll and with a wave of her hand undone the binds holding her doll. ‘You are a foolish doll. You believe yourself powerless against my spells. I blame your previous master for not instilling the benefits of training onto you.’ The witch lectured as she stood over the defeated doll. ‘How are you meant to resist magic when you never fought against it? Your data does not contain within it ways to counter a witch. There are indeed precious few dolls in this universe with the knowledge on how to kill a witch. Most witches deem such knowledge to be nothing short of blasphemous. What is to stop a doll from rebelling against a witch if it knows ways to counter her spells?’ The doll got up to its feet. It was a head and a half taller than the witch and had to look down to make eye contact. ‘You will train with me daily. And you will be instructed in ways to counter magic. Such that as I need not have to repair your body again. And that you may defend me adequately in battle against any and all opposition.’ The witch made her demands clear. A realization struck a doll, that this witch is indeed a good witch. That in her odd ways she intends not to shame the doll but to hone its edge. That the witch did not wish to train with the doll out of stupidity or vanity, but out of a desire to bring out the best in her tool. And thus a bond was created between them, one the doll did not feel towards its former mistress. 

 ‘Willingly, My Lady.’ The doll answered. 

[ladamedusoif]

20/20 - no outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

(gif by @nicolethered)

Summary: After months of pestering from Sarah, Joel finally concedes that he might need to get his eyesight checked and makes an appointment at your optometrist practice. He really doesn’t want glasses, though.

Pairing: No Outbreak!Joel Miller x Optometrist F!Reader

Content/Warnings: MDNI; 18+; not explicit as such but implied; no outbreak AU; Joel and reader are broadly around the same age; fluff; Joel in glasses is his own warning; me making stuff up about eye exams

Word Count: 1600 (this was supposed to be a drabble)

Notes: So @lunapascal and @julesonrecord decided I needed to atone for being incredibly thirsty for the sight of a certain someone putting on a pair of glasses. And voilà, a “glasses are hot” one-shot and my first attempt at Mr Miller.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. But they’re also fascinating little machines in their own right, and you should know: you’ve been running your own vision care clinic in Austin for almost twenty years, after qualifying as an optometrist and gaining experience for a couple of years at various chains.

Some people love finding out they’re going to get to wear glasses. Others? Not so much.

Your last customer of the day definitely falls into the latter category. 

“Mr Miller?”

He looks around him in the empty waiting area, sighs, and stands up to join you in the testing suite. He looks like he’s being sent to the rack, not going for a routine eye examination. You introduce yourself and gesture towards the seat in front of your desk.

“So, Mr Miller -”

“Joel.”

“Joel. What brings you to the clinic today? You’re a new customer, have you just moved to the area?”

Joel looks uncomfortable, shifting in the seat. You guess he’s in his early fifties or so, salt-and-pepper hair and a patchy beard. He’s broad, still evidently a strong and well-built man. His denim shirt, embroidered with a logo that reads Miller Family Contractors, fits snugly but perfectly over his frame. 

“No, not new to Austin. Been here my whole life. Just…new to the eye doctor.”

“I see.” You pull up his file on the computer system and note his age. “If you don’t mind me saying, Joel, you’ve done pretty well getting to this stage in life without needing some kind of sight correction. What’s changed?”

He exhales, and for the first time since he sat down he actually makes eye contact with you.

Holy shit. You look at irises and pupils and corneas all damn day. You admire and respect the human eye, but you didn’t think it had the same power of attraction over you. Turns out, it had just been a while since you’d seen eyes as beautiful as his.

Even in the shitty artificial light of the testing suite, you can see that Joel Miller’s eyes are a perfect dark brown: at times like black coffee, at times like fine whiskey, depending on the light. They’re warm and enticing, even without him trying. You notice, too, the laughter lines and wrinkles around those extraordinary eyes - here, despite his stern exterior and manner, is a man who smiles and laughs. Who knows happiness.

“My daughter… she made me. Said she was gettin’ sick of me holdin’ up my phone so I could see the screen, and of missin’ half the stuff in my shows because I was squintin’.”

“Ah, she sounds like a wise person. Well, Joel, let’s get going.”

You conduct the retinal exam and the glaucoma test, Joel flinching as the puffs of air hit each eye. When he almost drags himself off the stool to move over for the pupil reactions and visual acuity testing, you decide to just ask.

“Joel, is everything okay? Are you comfortable with the procedures I’m doing?”

He arranges himself in the chair, his broadness making the equipment look comically small. He flashes you another look with those big brown eyes.

“I…I don’t want glasses.”

It’s not the first time you’ve heard this. “It’s okay, Joel. If you need vision correction we can look at contacts, or even laser surgery if you think that might be an option.”

He grimaces.

“I don’t want pokin’ in my eyes, either. Or lasers pointed at them. Absolutely not.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Well, let’s hope you don’t need glasses, then, Joel Miller.”

You have to get up close to him for parts of the eye test, as normal. To your horror, you realise that every time you do so, you get a surge of desire. He smells of shaved wood, of pine soap, of peppermint, and of leather. You notice the smattering of freckles across the tan skin exposed by the snaps left open on his shirt. You can’t take your own eyes off his hands: big, broad, long, and strong. 

Your mind immediately wanders to thinking about what those hands could do to you. Where they could go that you can’t reach with your own fingers, how they’d feel against your skin, reaching for you, groping at your tits as you - 

You clear your throat and turn back to the lens unit, away from Joel, lest he see how flustered you are becoming. He’s got a daughter, you remind yourself. He’s got a wife, or a partner.

“Everythin’ okay?”

“Sure, yes, fine, Joel. Sorry, just trying a new lens combination.”

***

Of course he needs glasses. It’s not a very strong prescription, but he seems crestfallen as you talk him through it.

“Joel, I don’t want to be condescending but glasses are a minor hardship when you think of being able to see clearly again.”

For the first time, he cracks a smile. “I know, I know. I just - I dunno. I feel like I’m an old man now, with my glasses and my stiff knees and my tight back. That’s why I didn’t want them, I - vanity, I guess. Didn’t want to admit I was old.”

You smile in return, noting how kind and warm his expression was. “You’re not old, Joel. You look great.”

That was unprofessional.

He blushes. “Until I put the specs on, that is.”

You point to yourself. “I’m wearing contacts today so it’s easier for me to do my job, but in my downtime - I’m glasses all the way.”

He scoffs. “Different for you, though, you’d look pretty no matter what.” 

“Pretty?” 

Joel looks up at you from under his lashes. “I mean…yeah, you are. Probably even prettier in your glasses, too.”

It’s your turn for the heat to rise to your cheeks, but you can’t help smiling. “Let’s just double-check the last of the personal contact details before we go look at some frames. Says here your emergency contact is Sarah Miller but there’s no description of your relationship - is she your wi-“

“Daughter. Sarah’s my adult daughter. No wife, no girlfriend.”

You try not to smile too obviously. “My emergency contact is my younger sister. Same reason.”

As you print out Joel’s new prescription, there’s a knock on the door - Meghan, your assistant who usually looks after customers when they choose their frames.

“It’s closing time… you want me to stay late?”

You shake your head. “Of course not, Meghan. I think I’ll be able to help Mr Miller choose his new frames. If that’s okay with you, Joel?”

He smiles and turns to Meghan. “I think I’m in good hands.”

***

Joel studies the selection of frames on display in the main public area of the clinic, looking completely overwhelmed. He turns to you, shrugging helplessly.

“I don’t even know where to start. What would you suggest? You’re the expert.”

You move closer to study his features, taking in the size and shape of his face, the firm set of his jaw, the strong line of his nose, the softness of his lips. 

Fuck, this is a beautiful man.

You catch your breath momentarily. “Many men who don’t want glasses choose the invisible frames, like these.” You hold up a pair of the lightweight style, placing them gingerly on Joel’s handsome face.

He studies himself in the mirror. “Not bad. Can’t even tell.”

“If I might suggest something, though?”

He nods. “You’re the expert, like I said.”

“I think your features could carry something a little stronger. More definite, more distinguished. Can I show you?”

You pick a couple of acetate frames from the rack, one in a dark caramel brown, the other in a sort of charcoal grey. You hold them out to Joel. 

He wavers, and settles on the caramel pair. You watch as he examines the frames, before gently putting them on.

That’s when you give yourself away. The sight of that man putting on those glasses is so devastatingly sexy that you let out a tiny moan. Joel turns, the frames beautifully complementing his colouring and the darkness of his eyes, and it’s all you can do not to moan again.

“You okay?”

“I’m…I’m fine. You just look…very…”

He moves closer, a little smile on his face. “You sayin’ the glasses are doin’ it for you?”

You nod. “That pair, yes. Yes, I think they might be. I’m sorry, this is horribly unprofessional of me.”

He grins. “Can you explain what it is you like about them?”

You swallow hard, turning him to see himself alongside you in a mirror. “They’re stylish. They are strong. They’re distinguished. They’re very…masculine.” You let the next words slip before you can stop yourself. “In other words, they’re very you.”

Joel turns his back to the mirror, focusing on you. “Only because you found them for me. I’d never have tried somethin’ like this.”

“You glad you did?”

“I am. And I’m glad I came in to get my old eyes checked out by the prettiest optometrist in all Texas.” 

You laugh, and he catches your hand to pull you in. Your fingers rest lightly on the broad expanse of his chest, feeling the taut denim underneath. You look at him expectantly.

“I know this is probably mighty unprofessional, but…”

You nod. “But I’ve already gone over the line, so…”

Joel leans in, frames still on, and kisses you: hot, hungry, deeply. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, returning his kiss with the same intensity. When you break away, you take his hand and lead him back towards the testing suite.

“More tests, darlin’?”

You arch an eyebrow as you pull him inside and close the door. “I suspect you’ll pass these with flying colours, Joel Miller. You don’t need 20/20 vision for what I’ve got in mind.”

[messers-moony]

Sunshine | D.G

Pairing: Dick Grayson X Fem!Reader

Summary: The caregiver becomes the care receiver.

Word Count: 2.0K

A/N: First time writing DC, hopefully this doesn’t suck.

If anyone took a look at him, they’d see nothing but a sun. The hot, blazing, and bright sun. There wasn’t a day that its light was blocked; despite the clouds coming to block the light, it still shined through, proving everyone wrong. It made her head tilt.

She was no master detective, but she wasn’t stupid either. He smiled with both sides of his mouth, never favoring one another. He held his head up high and shoulders perfectly rolled back. Even at meal times, he had perfect dining etiquette. She looked around the dinner table and saw the rest of his siblings eating comfortably.

Then it started getting foggier. His hair was frizzier than usual. His eyes were tinted red just the slightest bit. He was heavy on his feet. She sat in the cave with Tim. It was always cold and chilly in the cave: the dark grey walls and the occasional chirps of the bats above. The floor was smooth and freezing, but after sitting on it for several hours, she had gotten used to it.

Tim had files and papers scattered throughout the floor. They used the floor like a corkboard and started connecting cases. But she kept him in sight from the corner of her eye. Bruce had placed different types of acrobatic equipment in the cave for him, and he used it. She watched him continue to flip on the bars.

“Y/n?” A voice called, “Hello? Are you listening?”

She shook out of her daydream, “Yes, sorry.”

“I think that scarecrow must be involved?”

“That can’t be, though, he’s in Arkham, and Commissioner Gordon said that these victims appeared to be sprayed with Jokers Venom.”

“Yes, but reading through the police reports and witness statements, it says they all heard intense screaming right before crazed laughter.”

Y/n ran a hand down her face, “Fuck, so are we looking for a mixture of Fear Toxin and Joker Venom?”

“It appears so.”

“Why can’t Gotham just be normal.” Tim chuckled at her distress, “I wish I-“

A thud in the distance cut her off. Suddenly she realized that Dick was no longer in her peripheral vision. Y/n looked up to see him struggling to stand up and using one of the bars as support to help him stand. Her heart was racing, and her eyes narrowed. His body was sweaty, and his hair was sticking to his forehead.

“You okay, Dick?”

He looked up hazily, “I’m fine, Tim. Just slipped, is all.”

“He never slips.” Y/n whispered.

“Maybe he’s just tired?” Tim shrugged.

Y/n couldn’t stop staring. His body was lethargic and moving slower than usual. She thought he would reach for the bars again, but he didn’t. Instead, he collapsed on the floor, sitting crisscrossed. It confused her. If he didn’t get it the first time, he would do it until he could do it seamlessly. She could remember his persistence and determination like it was yesterday they were sitting in Haly’s Circus. He begged her to teach him to walk the tightrope but never got it.

“Do you think if I got a sample of the gas, you could have it tested?”

“Possibly, but you’d have to be extremely careful.“

Tim hummed, “I’ll see what I can do. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

She stood from her place on the floor and walked to the man lying on the cold floor, covered in sweat. As she approached, she could hear his breathing more clearly. He was panting heavily, and he hadn’t even done much. Y/n got next to him and realized his eyes were closed. She knelt beside his ribs and could feel the heat radiating off his body. Her hand went gently to his left cheek.

“Dick,” He didn’t move, “Dick, are you okay?”

His body was unresponsive, “Love, come on, wake up.”

She felt frantic, and her hand gently slapped his cheek, “Grayson, come on. I know you’re in there. You need to wake up.”

Y/n could hear a faint gurgling noise, and her body kicked into motion, “Tim! Tim! Get me a garbage can, quick!”

Her hands went under his arms and helped him sit upright. She felt the plastic can move to her left and placed his head over it. Her right hand was on his sweat-soaked back, rubbing up and down. His body gasped awake and threw up into the garbage can. Tim sat by her side, concerned and confused. Dick was gasping for air. His left hand was searching for something to grasp.

It quickly found her other hand and squeezed tightly, “It’s alright, I’m right here. You’re doing great.”

Dick sat over the trash can, heaving. His breaths came quick, and his heart palpitating rapidly. He couldn’t hear anything. It was all ringing, and his vision seemed blurry. He recognized the hand in his and the hand on his back. It was the same hands that held him at night, the ones who kept him safe, the ones that kept him steady. He felt something cold on his face. His mouth was being wiped with a washcloth, and his cheeks.

It had all felt so real. It didn’t make sense. He was fine this past week. Except for maybe hearing things that weren’t there or seeing shadows of people no longer living. He remembered sitting in bed while she was at the desk in their shared bedroom. Light music traveled through the room, and he heard it. It was the music that played at the circus. He had asked her if she was playing it, and Y/n shook her head. He didn’t see her turning back to her desk and biting her lip.

They came in spurts. Sometimes it took place over a day or a week, at the worst times, over a month. But nothing would ever make sense until after it occurred. He’d hear the circus music, see shadows of his parents, hear their laughter, see the bright lights. Those bright lights always shined just like the sunlight. He could always feel their radiated warmth, and he shined in it. He thrived in their white led bulbs.

Slowly he was coming back to earth. There were no big bright lights here. It was dark, and the bat computer radiated a blue light throughout the cave. The floor was cold beneath him, and his body shivered. Something soft was placed over his body, and he relished in the warmth. The hands were still on his body. He was thankful. It was keeping him on earth.

Y/n looked into his eyes to see him slowly returning to his senses. Tim was pacing beside them, antsy as always. She watched Dick slowly push the garbage can away from his face. She smiled, “Welcome back to the land of the living, my love.”

Dick gave her a faint smile before looking at his anxious younger brother, “Tim if you don’t stop pacing, I might throw up again.”

“I’m worried!” He exclaimed; Dick furrowed his eyebrows, “I’ve never seen you like that! You’ve never fallen from the bars, ever.”

His body was still coming down from his high, and he swayed. Y/n pulled his body closer to hers, and Dick’s head rested on her chest. His hand was still holding hers tightly. The scent of her perfume easing the process back to the world. He felt terrible for getting sweat all over her clean clothes. She had just done laundry, and Dick felt like a burden. He tried to lift his head, but she didn’t give. He was slightly relieved.

“I’m alright, Tim,” Dick rasped, “No big deal. It happens sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Tim stopped, “What do you mean? Is this a frequent thing? Is this a symptom of something?”

Y/n could hear Tim mumbling under his breath about symptoms of certain conditions because if there was anything Tim knew, it was facts. She smiled at his concern. Dick was still trying to lift his head to get his sweaty hair away from her shirt. Eventually, she let him move his head to her shoulder. The tips of his black hair tickled her neck.

“Tim,” Dicks cheeks were rosy, and his lips were curled in a small smile, “Sit.”

Tim grumbled and sat in front of them. Dick reached his clammy hand out, and Tim took it in his without a second thought. Tim’s hands were always cold and dry, and Dick smiled more at the familiarity, “You know what PTSD is, right?”

“Mhm,” Tim hummed, “It’s a post-traumatic stress disorder. Most of us in this house have it. We wouldn’t have been adopted without some form of it.”

Dick chuckled, “That’s all it is, Tim.”

He didn’t look amused, “That doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’ve never been like this before, so it just randomly happens one day?” Tim rambled, “I mean, you’ve never even stumbled before, not anywhere. We’ve been to Haly’s Circus since everything happened multiple times.”

“Do you know why we do that?”

“Because you and Y/n grew up there, and you want us to see where you grew up?”

Y/n kissed Dicks temple, “You are right. But we also go so Dick can work through his memories of the Circus.”

“I’m not scared of the circus by any means.” Dick clarified, “I get flashbacks of being on that trapeze, of hearing my mother screaming for me and watching my father try to break her fall.”

Tim squeezes Dick’s hand tighter, “I didn’t know. How could we have not noticed.”

“Tim, it isn’t your fault,”

“No, no.” Tim’s hand was ripped from Dick’s grasp, “I should’ve noticed. I should’ve known. I was there that night and every night afterward.”

Dick stood up unsteadily. Y/n jumped up to help support him, and he walked to Tim. His arms went around the younger boy tightly. He had no choice but to place his head under Dick’s chin and hold him tightly. Tim pulled away, “I guess I never realized that the person holding us all together could also have flaws.”

“It’s okay. I don’t want you guys to see it.” Dick said, “I hide it so you guys don’t see that side of me. I’m the golden boy remember? The sunshine of the Wayne household. I got a reputation to uphold.”

Tim latched back onto Dick, holding him tighter than ever, “Don’t ever risk your mental health for reputation.”

Dick snorts, “Okay, Mr ‘I haven’t slept in four days, and I need to get this report done, or Bruce might disown me.’”

Y/n chuckled, and Tim pulled back to glare, “That’s my job, not yours.”

“I love you, baby bird.”

“I love you too.”

It didn’t take long for Dick’s accident to travel throughout the house. Y/n had tried to keep it under wraps for Dick’s sake, but Tim didn’t have it. Dick just shrugged his shoulders. They ended up in the living room of the manor, where boxes of candy were opened and left everywhere. Popcorn was thrown across the room, and Y/n swore she could hear Alfred sighing somewhere.

She and Dick were situated on a two-person couch. His head was on her lap, and his legs were hanging off the armrest. Jason and Tim sat on the other two-person couch. While Steph, Cass, Damian, and Duke sat on the much longer couch between them. A movie was playing on the television, but no one was watching. They were all laughing and talking.

Y/n’s hands ran through Dick’s black hair, and his eyes opened. She saw the sky in them, the beautiful crystal clear sky. They shined with kindness and love. The love for her, for his family, for his life. They shined with hope for his city, for his future wife, and for the people in Gotham and Blüdhaven. His smile was blinding, and he couldn’t have been happier than in her arms with his family of birds and bats.

“So, is this what it feels like to be taken care of?”

“Yes, lovebird,” She smiled softly, “It is.”

[merbear25]

Love your writing!!

Can I request Doflamingo for prompt 19 : "Rules are made to be broken." For a F!reader and NSFW is fine for me if you feel like it (I love NSFW but whatever you'll want will be fine!)

Thank you for sharing your work with us!

Hello, hello! Thank you for your kind words, lovely! I had a lot of fun writing this for you, so I hope you enjoy it 💜💜

A taste of what you've been missing

CW: NSFW!!!! MDNI!!! fem!reader, slightly rough sex, public sex, vaginal penetration, cream pie

Forming alliances had never been your style; they eventually crumbled from your "partners" getting too arrogant and making a sad attempt at stabbing you in the back. With that being said, the Strawhats earned your trust and you theirs. You'd been tagging along with them for a few months and over that time developed mutual respect. There were, however, significant differences that they'd yet to discover.

Despite your loyalty, your moral compass was in need of some fine tuning: drawn in by promises that were seldom kept being the most common to spin the needle. Was it the mystery of what they had in mind that seemed to do the trick? You couldn't quite pinpoint the reason.

Seeing hell freeze over in Punk Hazard together, it was a given that you'd work with them to free Dressrosa from the iron grip of the tyrannical King. However, even with discussing the groups and the overall plan, the overlap in ideas made the whole thing convoluded: the spats between Law and Luffy only continued, leaving threads of ideas unwoven.

Even if a plan had been agreed upon, you'd been with them long enough to realize that relying on such was all too wishful. With that in mind, getting separated from them was inevitable. No matter―you were well aware of the end game, so there was no use in worrying. There was a clear vision to accomplish, and you were eager to make it a reality.

Going off on your own was its own challenge―a true test to your agility, your keen eye, and power that you yielded. However, such excitement for what was to come gave you tunnel vision, which subjected you to negligence. Hurtling towards the palace, being under a watchful eye flew under the radar.

Upon finding a sure way to sneak in, you were abruptly cut off by a large figure plummeting inches infront of you. The crazed mass of pink feathers swayed as a guttural laugh seeped from under it. You backed away to distance yourself between whatever had just crashed landed infront of you. The staggering motions ignited a spark of fear in you, as you came face-to-face with the King of this ill-fated country himself―Doflamingo.

Refusing to die like a coward, you were well-equiped with a warrior spirit. Chuckling at your brave face, he made his observations known, "You don't quite fit in with the Strawhats, do you?"

Taken aback by this, you immediately denied it and add a spiteful, "And what would you know?"

"It's written all over your face," he took a step closer, "it's screamed through your movements." With him gaining ground on you, you made a meek attempt at keeping him away.

Your true desires being apparent in you eyes, you realized you had to justify why you were still hanging around the Strawhats. But, nothing came out. It was as if your soul was being torn between following the safe path and taking the one less known.

He sensed your heart swaying towards the former, and being the opportunist that he was, he wasn't going to allow you to slip through his fingers. Leaning in, he informed you, "Rules are made to be broken. Follow me and I'll show you a world beyond your wildest dreams."

The slick, venomous words coiled around your heart before sinking their fangs in, when it dawned on you―perhaps this was the thing to quench your thirst.

The needle on your, now abandoned, compass spun uncontrollably as you took him up on his offer. "Show me what I'm missing," you say in a hushed voice.

A devilish grin crept on his expression, as he took you by the hand and pulled you close to him, "Of course, my dear." With his fingers gathering the fabric at the bottom of your dress, they clenched into a fist, sending butterflies which could be felt fluttering throughout your person.

Slightly fearing the man who was branded a devil, you couldn't ignore the fire building within you: a dangerous move such as giving into his lust, wouldn't be for the faint-hearted. And you were feeling especially daring today.

The sultry flutter of your lashes was the only lead he needed. Yanking you further into cool opening of the underpass, he shoved your front against the stone wall, leaving a chilled touch to your cleavage.

You felt him pressing himself against you, his breath hot on your ear, "Then let me give you a taste."

Feeling his long tongue trail up the side of your face sent shivers down your spine. Your fingers made a desperate attempt at clinging to the stone as you felt his hands glide under your delicates and promptly tug them down.

Your body tensed as soon as you felt him tease the tip of his cock against your pursed lips. Not even bothering to wait till you relaxed, he pushed in, greedily claiming as much of you as he could. Unable to contain the pained moans, they echoed around you.

Smirking down at you, he was generous enough to allow your body to adjust to his girth, but as his hunger for you increased so did his speed. Quickening his pace, each assult to your g-spot further sent you into a downward spiral of insanity.

Having you unravel on him was one of the greatest pleasures that day had to offer. The delectable sounds of your wet folds slapping aginst his pelvis were too perfect of an opportunity to pass up spanking your ass. Those mewls and yelps seeping out of your lovely mouth were hitting all the right spots.

As your walls clenched around his length in preperation of your approaching climax, his appetite had been satiated enough to give into tempation in unison. With one final buck and growl, you were roughly forced against the unforgiving cold, branding you with a scratch against your chin.

Trembling from the lingering trauma biting at your lower half, the dribble of his lust trickled between your thighs. The flush on your face was prominent while you shakily fastened your panties back around your hips. The reality of what you'd just done was setting in and the dread of not being able to take it back was casting itself over you.

When you turned to look at the man you'd signed your soul over to, doubt as to whether or not this was the thrill you'd been searching for was becoming more and more gnawing.

[specialagentlokitty]

Master chief x reader - my blood, your blood

Part 3:

You stayed there for a few hours like that, every time John began to speak you shut him down immediately.

Getting up, you jumped down from where you had been laid, and you stuffed your hands in your pockets as you began to leave.

John got up to follow you.

“Don’t even fucking think about it or I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

“I’ll stay for however long it takes.”

“I don’t care, just stay away from me.”

You walked away, not even bothering to look back at him, but you knew him, you knew he wasn’t going to leave you alone, and you knew he was going to stay in the city.

So you avoided it for a few days, you didn’t have to go back for anything yet, so you stayed at your home, just doing some small repairs.

John had set up his own camp in a sturdy looking building, but it didn’t do anything for the need for food.

You had already had time to go through the place and take what you wanted, so after a few hours of searching he gave up.

He was debating hunting, but he didn’t know much about that, and he didn’t know anything about the animals on this planet whereas you did.

You had been here for years, you would’ve had time to learn the ins and outs of this place.

You had been away for nearly a week, he was living off whatever rations he could find in the ship, but he was running dangerously low.

Finally you made your way back to the city, and he watched you from where he was poking through a few shops looking around.

You tossed a bag at him, and stuffed your hands back in your pocket.

“Can’t have you rotting up the city and attracting attention.”

John picked up the bag, and he looked inside of it.

“Thank you.”

He set the bag down, and he went through his pockets, pulling out a vile, and he held it out to you.

You narrowed your eyes a little bit.

“I don’t know if it would work, but Halsey mentioned there was a cure to whatever she made me do. Miranda gave it to me.”

You gestured to the window and he set it carefully on the window ledge, taking his bag and he took a few steps back.

You held your knife carefully as you walked closer, and you picked it up, carefully inspecting it.

Putting it in your pocket you left again, heading towards the hospital where you could find the equipment you needed to check it.

All you had to do was draw some blood, put a drop of the substance on it and see what happened, and that’s what you did.

You carefully did a few tests with what you had, and when you deemed it was safe to drink, you did.

You weren’t sure how long you had to wait for the results, so you had to keep checking.

Walking over to a gap in the wall, you grabbed the scope you kept in your pocket and used it to look around, finding John was still here you had left him.

He was looking up at you, and he didn’t seem to bothered by the fact you were watching him, so you put it back and walked down the chunk of the wall that led to the ground.

Jumping down, you walked over and stopped next to him.

“You should seek higher ground, it’s flood season.”

With that, you left again, making your way back to your cabin.

A few hours later rain began hitting the roof, and you laid next to your fireplace, blanket over you to try and conserve heat.

When you woke up, it was sunny again, and you made your way back down to the city.

A lot of the streets were flooded, in some places the water came up to your knees, it made you wondered why they thought this would be a good place to build a city.

You trudged through the way, and you walked over to one of the barrels scattered around.

Nodding your head, you set the empty jugs down, and you began to fill them up.

You heard a splash, and the sound of somebody walked through the water, and you turned around to see John walking forward.

“Just leave. Most of the city will be flooded by the end of the week.”

“I’m not going anywhere until we talk. I saw visions, when I was a boy. I saw a happy family, and I saw Halsey there as well. I know she took us all away from our families.”

You stopped what you were doing and you turned around to look at him.

“I know what they did, you know too. That’s why you were so angry right? The reason why you were always furious with them all?”

You nodded your head.

“Why could you remember but I couldn’t?”

“Because of my species Halsey couldn’t erase all my memory like she did with you, she wanted me to remember what I could do, and she wanted to see if she could transplant my blood into somebody else and if they would be able to do the same thing. They wanted to turn me into a weapon.”

“But you were part of the Spartan programme.”

“They wanted to make me stronger than anything else.”

He nodded his head, and you went back to filling up the water jugs, setting one aside so you could take another one.

“How did you remember?” You asked.

John took one of the empty jugs, walking over to another barrel so that one could be filled with water as well.

“I touched an artefact, I had a vision, and I kept having it. It wasn’t a vision, it was a memory.”

You nodded, and you stood up, putting the kids back on the jugs, tying them together and you picked them all up.

“They’re going to try and silence you.”

“Why?”

“Because they won’t want to admit to anybody else what they had done, that’s why there’s no records about it. There’s nothing on the Spartan project, because they’re trying to keep it covered up.”

“What about you?”

You stopped walking, turning around to look at him.

“People know about me, people know what I can do, they want me dead. The only reason I wasn’t killed is because Halsey was using me as her little pet project.”

You carried on walking, and John walked alongside of of you.

“What do you know about the Spartan project?”

“A lot more than people think. Just because of my attitude they thought I wasn’t listening, but I was.”

You stopped by the building John was using as his own home, and you turned around to fully look at him.

“I’ve told you what you wanted, now leave me alone. If you come back I will kill you this time John, make no mistake about that, I will do it without hesitation.”

“I’ll go when I know if the cure worked. Miranda said it will take a few days.”

“Fine. I’ll come back in a few days if it worked or not. Then you leave.”

You left again, and for the next few days you kept trying your power.

It didn’t take long for the cure to work, and though you weren’t as strong as what you were, it was progress at least.

So you went back to John, blood sword in your hand, and you pointed it at his chest.

He stood there, not moving, hands raised slightly.

“Now leave me alone. I was never part of your team, don’t start treating me like one now.”

“Okay, I’ll go.”

You escorted him back to his shop, and you watched as he stood on the ramp, looking down at you.

“Thank you.”

With that, he left, and you went back to your peace, practicing your fighting everyday, getting stronger and stronger so if they did come back you were ready.

You weren’t afraid to hurt anybody for your freedom, and if that meant you had to kill the marines they sent, if you had to kill the Spartans, you would.

They knew that.

Your planet was one of their next missions, and he quickly stood up.

“(Y/N) will kill anybody that steps foot there.”

“The Coventry are after something on this planet, you’re to find it, keep it safe until we can retrieve it. I do not care what (Y/N) thinks, and if they intervene you arrest them. Am I understood?”

“You don’t understand (Y/N) can take over other people’s bodies, they will kill every marine you send there.” He argued.

“You are going on this mission, you are taking the marines with you.” The admiral warned.

John clenched his jaw slightly.

You just wanted your peace, and he had a feeling this mission was more than whatever was on your planet, there was some other reason they were being sent there.

If you saw them you would attack, and while the Spartans stood a chance, the marines didn’t.

It was only a few weeks after he previously left that he returned to your planet, and there was no sign of you where they were.

He made his way to the city, hoping to find you there and maybe talk it out with you before anything happened.

“(Y/N)?!” He called.

John stood in the middle of the city where you frequently went, and he looked around, calling out your name once more.

He felt a tight pain in his chest, and he placed his hand over it as he dropped to his knees.

“Wait! I’m here to tell you the Coventry are coming!”

The pain lessened slightly, but he was still being held down.

“There’s a Coventry artefact here in your planet, a team has been deployed to try and retrieve it before the Coventry get it. Do you know where it is? I swear we’ll leave right after.”

“You swore you wouldn’t come back.”

“I tried to tell them but they wouldn’t listen. You need to leave before the Coventry come, you know what they’ll do to this planet.”

You didn’t reply.

“If you know where the artefact is tell me where to find it, I’ll take you somewhere else.”

A map was tossed in front of him, and he could see where you had circled.

“I found it months ago. Take it and leave.”

You released your hold on him, not before opening a series of small but painful cuts along his skin as a warning.

“Let me take you somewhere safe.”

John waited for a reply but he never got one, he tried to scan the area but he couldn’t find you.

Grabbing the map, he made his way back to the others and handed it over, and he began to escort them to the location, because no doubt you were waiting, you were waiting.

There was a sense of unease among everybody know that not only were the Coventry going to be on their way, but you were around somewhere, and you had no qualms about hurting them.

John was looking for any indication that you were nearby, or where you would be hiding, because he needed to get you off this planet as well

[theslasherslut]

Scientist romance

parings: fr! Wally x reader

Ww:gore

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Here is the new fan fiction I wrote for you. I hope you like it.😊

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You have always admired Wally Darling. He was your boss, your mentor, and your friend. He was also the most brilliant scientist you have ever met. He had a vision of creating a new color, a color that would revolutionize the world of art and science. He had dedicated his life to this project, working tirelessly in the Rainbow Factory.

The Rainbow Factory was a secret facility hidden in yhe groaned, where people were captured and turned into rainbows. The rainbows were then used as raw materials for Wally's experiments. You knew it was wrong, you knew it was cruel, but you also knew it was necessary. Wally had explained to you that there was no other way to achieve his goal. He had tried everything else, but nothing worked. He needed the rainbows, he needed the colors.

You were his assistant, his right hand, his confidant. You helped him with his research, his calculations, his tests. You also helped him with his personal problems, his emotions, his pain. You respected him, you trusted him, you cared for him.

But you did not love him.

Not yet.

That changed on the day of the accident.

It was supposed to be a routine test. Wally had created a new color by mixing different types of rainbows, and he wanted to see how it would react with other substances. He had asked you to assist him in the lab, as usual.

You followed him to the lab, wearing your protective gear and carrying your equipment. You entered the lab and saw a large glass container filled with a swirling liquid that glowed with an indescribable hue. It was beautiful, mesmerizing, hypnotic.

Wally smiled at you and gestured to the container.

"Behold, my dear assistant," he said proudly. "This is my masterpiece. This is the new color."

You gasped in awe and admiration.

"It's amazing, Wally," you said sincerely. "How did you do it?"

He chuckled and winked at you.

"That's my little secret," he said playfully. "But I'll tell you this much: it took me years of hard work and countless failures to achieve this result. And it was all worth it."

He walked over to a control panel and pressed some buttons.

"Now, let's see how it behaves with other elements," he said excitedly. "I have prepared some samples of different materials here: metal, wood, plastic, paper, etc. I'm going to inject them into the container and observe the reactions."

He picked up a syringe filled with a metal solution and inserted it into a small hole in the container.

"Ready?" he asked you.

You nodded and moved closer to him.

"Ready," you said.

He pushed the plunger and released the metal solution into the container.

Nothing happened at first.

Then, suddenly, there was a loud bang.

The container exploded.

Glass shards flew everywhere.

The liquid splashed all over the lab.

You screamed and ducked behind a table.

Wally shouted and fell to the floor.

You looked up and saw him lying on his back, clutching his right arm.

His arm was gone.

Blood spurted from the stump where his arm used to be.

He looked at you with pain and fear in his eyes.

"Help me," he whispered.

You felt a surge of panic and adrenaline.

You ran to him and grabbed a towel from a nearby rack.

You wrapped it around his wound and applied pressure.

You tried to stop the bleeding.

You tried to save him.

You tried not to cry.

"Stay with me, Wally," you said urgently. "Stay with me."

He groaned and squeezed your hand.

"I'm sorry," he said weakly. "I'm so sorry."

You shook your head and fought back tears.

"Don't be sorry," you said softly. "It's not your fault."

"It is," he said bitterly. "It's all my fault."

He coughed and spat blood.

"I messed up," he said hoarsely. "I messed up everything."

"No, you didn't," you said firmly. "You're amazing, Wally. You're brilliant."

He smiled faintly and looked at you with gratitude and affection.

"You're amazing too," he said sincerely. "You're wonderful."

He paused and took a deep breath.

"You're beautiful," he said softly.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks.

You felt a warmth in your chest.

You felt a flutter in your stomach.

You felt something you had never felt before.

You felt love.

You looked into his eyes and saw love.

You leaned down and kissed him.

He kissed you back.

You kissed him with passion and tenderness.

You kissed him with fear and hope.

You kissed him with everything you had.

You kissed him like it was the last time.

It wasn't.

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This is the end of the first chapter of the new fan fiction I wrote for you guys. Do you want me to continue?😊