#which took way longer than it should have

[heyheydidjaknow]

Two in a row! We’re back in business! We aren’t going for three in a row but I do want to at least acknowledge that Dazai exists if we’re doing the bsd thing now.

Kindling

You were supposed to be fun.

He remembered the day he met you in that coffee shop. He had an hour to kill before a meeting. The shop was dead— the local schools had not been let out yet— and you stood behind the counter, eyes flickering from the clock on the wall above the door to the textbook in front of you. He had never been there before. He never had much reason to bother around largely residential areas before then. He had never seen you before. But you were nice to look at, so he approached the counter.

He liked the look you gave him. Cold, annoyed, almost indignant, desperate in the overblown way students often are: it took you a moment to remember your manners. You must have been new in town. “How may I help you?”

“One black coffee, please.” He smiled politely.

You straightened yourself up, not bothering to hide the way your gaze flitted between him, your book, the clock. “How much sugar?”

He blinked. “I said—“

“You’re not a black coffee drinker,” you answered dismissively, clearly distracted. “I’ve served three guys today already who asked for black coffee and then asked for cream and sugar and— no offense, guy— I’m so not in the mood to waste more of my time.” You picked a pencil from between the pages of your book, grabbing a notepad from your apron. “So, how much sugar, and how much cream?”

“Do you know who I am?”

You paused at that, giving him a once over. “No,” you said. “Should I?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, an easy smile crossing his bandaged face. “No,” he replied. “You shouldn’t.”

You tapped your foot against the ground. “Fascinating. So—“

“May I ask you a question?” He nodded at the book. “How come you’re studying so hard at this time of day? It’s not midterm season already, is it?”

You looked down at the floor. “No.” Your brow furrowed. “Why is this your business, exactly?”

“It’s not.” He shrugged. “I’m just curious.”

You swallowed. “Huh.” Regret. “I’m sorry for snapping at you; I’m in a bit of a rush to get this stuff done.”

“What sort of stuff?”

You held the pencil between your forefinger and thumb, rolling it back and forth between them. “I’m helping a friend with a project. I owe him one, and he’s in a different time zone so my part is due in a couple hours.”

He went on his toes, peering over the register to read the textbook’s text. “Forensic pathology,” he noted. “Is your friend a criminologist?”

You shook your head. “A writer,” you explained. “He needs a comprehensive explanation of how corpses rot, and I’m the only one he knows with an understanding of that sort of thing.” You pursed your lips. “What he doesn’t know is that I’m taking this class as an elective and that I also have no idea how a corpse rots. But I can’t tell him that, because then I’d be letting him down, and he’s put so much trust in me and helped me so many times—“

He stopped you. “That’s all?” He held his hands behind his back. “Well, that’s simple enough. Most anyone downtown can tell you that.” His smile brightened. “How about we make a deal? If you pay for my drink and promise that this won’t take…” He looked back at the clock. It was an hour off. He wondered if you knew. “If you promise it won’t take longer than forty-five minutes, I can give you all the grisly details of human decomposition, with added notes accounting for weather, location, and time of day.”

The look of hesitant relief on your face brought him a sense of satisfaction he had not felt in a long time. You took a deep breath. “Sir,” you nodded, “you have yourself a deal.”

“Call me Osamu.”

You were easy. That was what first drew him to you. You had no reason to lie to him, so you did not. You had no reason to respect him, so you treated him like anyone else. The two of you— at least on the slice-of-life flavored stage the two of you played on— were equals, which he appreciated. Not many people offered him that luxury. The ones who did tended to disappear in the night for one reason or another, but you had no reason to, so you did not. Your problems were largely emotional. You stayed out of trouble. You were consistent. You were simple.

More important than your being simple, however, was the fact that you thought of him as a liar.

He remembered the conversation well. It was a Thursday. He had a couple hours before he was scheduled to help his newest apprentice train. The coffee shop was as slow as it always was and you, as always, stood behind it with a casual dismissiveness that would have gotten you beaten were you in different company. You had been in town long enough to know of the mafia— about a month— but had not yet accepted all of the stories you heard as true. You were recounting one of those stories to him, weight leaned against the counter as you described an incident regarding a teenager with phantom black limbs that could, without his so much as lifting a finger, murder a building’s worth of people in an instant.

“It’s bullshit, obviously.” You took a sip from your water. “I don’t get what they’re trying to prove; if they wanted to scare me, they’d come up with a half-decent lie.”

He did not have to smile around you— to you, he was nobody— but he did regardless. You were fun. “I know him,” he said. “I tutor him.”

You scoffed. “Yeah? What do you tutor him in?”

“Martial arts.” He took a sip from his coffee, which was thoroughly diluted with copious amounts of sugar and cream. You were right; it was bitter. “He’s not very good. He keeps trying to think of himself as a hand-to-hand combatant when he’s much more suited for support and has such a large inferiority complex that he loses all sense of strategy in exchange for a slavish need to validate his existence. In other words, he is close to useless.”

And, of course, you groaned tiredly. “Why are you encouraging them?” you asked. “You already know I know it’s bullshit; what kick do you get out of me already knowing?”

“I’m not lying,” he insisted, knowing you would not believe him. “I’ve been with him on hits before; a couple months ago, we killed thirty people in cold blood.”

And you laughed half-heartedly— as you should; to any regular person who did not know about how many bodies they had hidden, these claims were beyond ridiculous— and said, “Well, I knew the man that trained you, and I know he has a small dick, so what do you think of that?”

“I’m just glad to know he isn’t a pedophile.”

“Shut up and drink your coffee.”

He wondered what you thought of him sometimes. For the first week or so, you asked him questions, but you learned quickly that he was never going to give you satisfactory answers. You probably thought he was an ass, but you still talked to him like you would a peer, so he kept showing up. You must have thought he was a dick. He was sure that he was by your standards.

Once, on a Sunday, he had to attend a funeral. He had some time to kill before, so he walked into the coffee shop, clad in clothes nicer than what was typical, and ordered.

You looked him over. “You got a date?”

“No,” he replied, cheerful. “I have a funeral in an hour.”

You set his cup in front of him. “Oh. For someone you know?”

“My boss,” he explained. “He died the other day so we’re doing a service.”

“Oh.” Your brow furrowed, sympathy making way for confusion. “I’m… I’m sorry, but did you like him?”

He shrugged. “He was alright.”

“How long were you under him?”

He considered it. “A couple years?”

“Oh.” You nodded. “So enough time for your nonchalance to be weird. Cool.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s not as if he were my father.” He leaned back in his seat. “He was bound to get shot eventually; I’m just surprised it took this long.”

“He was what?”

“Shot,” he repeated. “In his sleep.”

You lowered your voice, looking around the cafe like someone would come out to shoot the two of you. “What,” you mumbled, “like an assassination?”

He nodded, looking around courteously. “Exactly. But it’s alright; they won’t stick around too long, I’m sure.”

“How come?”

He leaned his head on his hand. “I don’t imagine whoever did it could get very far out of the city. People are upset that he’s dead; I’m sure someone will lash out.”

You crossed your arms, swallowing thickly. “You know most people don’t speak so casually about people getting shot or whatever.”

“Well,” he shrugged again, “it happens often enough. It’s not like being formal is going to bring him back from the dead; who cares?”

“Don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Aren’t you…?” You searched for the right word. “… I don’t know, shaken? He was a coworker, wasn’t he?”

He took a sip from his coffee. “Yeah.”

“So, isn’t his death a bit shocking?”

“Not really.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, actually, that’s a lie. It means I’m in line for a promotion, and I thought I’d have to wait for him to die of a heart attack for it, so I’m happy about that.”

You cradled your head in your hands. “I don’t think you get my meaning,” you insisted. “Do you not feel anything for his death?”

He set the mug down, meeting your eyes. “No,” he repeated. “I don’t.”

Your questions were simple. “Why?”

“Because,” he answered, “His death was inevitable and his life’s impact on mine was nearly nonexistent. All he did was give me orders; why would I care if he died?

You stared at him, meeting his cold, bottomless eyes with ones aflame with passion. “You sound like a serial killer,” you said.

His smile was as vacant as the rest of him. “I feel like one.”

You were fun until you were not. If asked to identify when your relationship— acquaintanceship, friendship, whatever you called it— stopped being fun, he would point to an otherwise inconspicuous Monday morning three weeks after the funeral. The two of you were splitting a cinnamon roll. It was your break and you got a discount and you had no desire to eat a whole one. You were talking about something silly— a friend of yours had broken up with your other friend— when you had stopped in the middle of a sentence to look out the window, seemingly distracted by something. Witnessing this development, he turned to look out the window too, only to see that the scene outside— an overcast sky, street populated by people rushing on their way to work— had not, in fact, changed since he last looked out the window. “What are you looking at?” he asked.

Your words were soft, eyes transfixed on the window. “I need to buy a decent camera,” you murmured. “Or write. Or paint.”

“You want to take a picture?” He looked out the window again. The scene was still the same. “Of what?”

“Leave me alone, Osamu.”

“I’m not messing with you,” he said. “I just have no idea what you could possibly be looking at.”

“Sure you aren’t.” You gestured with your fork, not looking in his direction. “You have a reputation. I refuse to indulge you in something you’ll clown on me for.”

He sighed. “You are being so over dramatic.”

You shot him a glare. “I told you my friend’s boyfriend got stabbed last week and you said, and I quote, ‘I wish I could say the same.’”

“Yeah, but that was a joke.”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny.”

He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not my fault you have a lame sense of humor,” he protested. “Why won’t you tell me?”

You peeled your attention from the window. “You wanna know what I think?” You gave him a cold smile. “I think you’re so neurotically obsessed with knowing everything that whatever joy you’ll get from knowing will be totally outweighed by the amount of pleasure I get at getting to make you squirm for once.” You stuck your tongue out. “You’re the nihilist. Suffer under the weight of your ideals, dipshit.”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “Do you seriously think I can’t get you to tell me? Is this the hill you want to die on?”

“What if it is?” You crossed your arms, mimicking his pose. “What if it was really emotionally impactful to me? What if it was literally nothing and I’m just fucking with you? What, are you going to torture an answer out of me?” Your smile grew. “I get why you do this now; this is fun.”

He huffed. “You’re such a child.”

“No, you’re just easy to read.” You reached for your drink, cradling it to your chest. “Lenin gave himself a heart attack when he came to power, you know; it’s not healthy to obsess like that.”

He crossed his arms. “It was a stroke,” he grumbled. “He died of a stroke.”

“See, like that. You have issues.” You crossed your legs. “ Maybe it’d be good for you not to know.” You covered your mouth as he leaned forward and adopted an all too familiar smile. “And so help me if you try and seduce me into telling you what I saw so help me I will laugh you out of the room.”

His face soured. He stared you down, and you stared back, unphased, because why would you not? The two of you were equals as far as you were concerned; this was how you treated your peers, and despite the fact that the two of you barely knew each other in any meaningful way, you knew him enough to know what the rules of the game he was trying to play were even if you did not know what it was called. “I could kill you,” he said. “I know plenty of ways to do it. I know how to make it hurt, too.”

And you, knowing you had won, replied, “You could, but you won’t. Who would serve you your coffee?”

The two of you stared each other down one last time. Finally– and mercifully, he liked to think– he looked away. “You win.” He tossed his hands up. “That’s all my cards.”

Your smile softened at the edges. “Good.” You sat up. “I’m not going to tell you what I was looking at, but I can tell you how to see it, if you want. That way you get to know but you don’t get to be all smug.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved you off. “Because I’m not allowed to win, right?”

“If I knew you weren’t going to try and rule-lawyer me, I would just tell you.”

“I spend too much time here.”

“You said it.” You set the fork and the cup down on the table. “Close your eyes.”

He groaned. “I am so not into meditation.”

“Is that backtalk I hear?”

“No, no,” he relented, closing his eyes. “I’m with it or whatever. Now what?”

Your voice lowered. “Breathe in.”

He inhaled.

“And out.”

He exhaled.

“Now,” you continued, “what do you hear?”

“You talking to me.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You asked.”

You huffed. “I– look, besides me, what do you hear?”

He paused, considering it. “People outside,” he said. “And the air conditioning unit. And the milk steamer.”

“Good.” He heard you sit back in your seat again. “And physically, what do you feel?”

“Isn’t this a panic attack thing?”

“Answer my question.”

He considered it. “It’s cold in here.”

Your voice was soft. He wondered how exactly this place stayed in business for how quiet it was. “What do you taste?”

“For giving someone who was just talking about flirting–”

“I have a point. What do you taste?”

He meant to say, ‘My mouth.’ What came out was, “Cinnamon and icing.”

He heard you smile. “Good. Open your eyes.”

He did, blinking at the light. You were back to looking out the window; the scene had not changed.

You nodded towards it. “Now, look and tell me what you see.”

He looked between you and the window. “A tree,” he said. “And people.”

“Look at the tree, first.”

The tree itself was, by his estimation, the same sort of tree that could be found just about anywhere in this part of town. There were fewer as the years went on, he knew– there was some government initiative to get rid of the trees on the side streets– but the tree itself was unextraordinary. “It’s dead,” he noted.

Your eyes didn’t leave the window. “It’s overcast.” You sounded a million miles away. “The light from the sun is hitting it from the other side, so the side that we’re on is dull and dark. It’s casting a shadow on the table, on your face.”

He looked down at the table. Sure enough, in the low light, cold shadows laid across the table like faint veins.

“The people,” you continued. “What do you see in them?”

He shifted his attention to the passersby. “People going to work.”

“How are they dressed?”

“Warmly.”

“What color are their clothes?”

“Dark. Are we at the point yet?”

“Almost.” You took a breath of your own. “Now, take all of those things together, and look back out the window again.”

He did.

Nothing had changed. His heart caught in his throat.

“It’s more now, isn’t it?”

He looked back at you.

You witnessed that mundane scene with the seeming awe of an acolyte before their god. It was as though you had never seen a street or a tree or the sun before, as though you would never see it again.

With a horrifying ache in his chest, he realized that he had never seen anything quite so beautiful or enviable as you in that moment. “So,” he asked again, voice tinged with an entirely unbecoming and uncharacteristic reverence, “what are you looking at?”

“I’m not looking at anything,” you replied. “I just remembered how lucky I am to be alive, here, with you.”

He wondered if you would mourn for his indifference like he would.

[austenpoppy]

I mean. Personally I think it was a great idea to have Dick be a cop, but apart from that, why is that job more important than others Dick has had ?

First of all, there's the role it plays in the story. Dick being a cop and then being fired from the force is a very important plotpoint over many, many issues. It just lasted longer (both in-universe and out-of-universe), and we have more moments of Dick being a rookie cop than we have of Dick doing almost any other job. Bartender ? It lasted a few months when he was working for Hog. Blackjack dealer ? It was over in one or two issues, Dick was undercover and it didn't have that much significance. Exotic dancer ? It merely lasted hours, it was a way for Dick to get into a building incognito. Trapeze instructor ? A few scenes here and there were included over several issues, but overall it was more in the background. Meanwhile, there are entire issues dedicated to Dick's time as a cop - like this time he was assaulted then accused of murder by corrupted cops.

It also ties with the overall theme regarding Blüdhaven : unlike Gotham, Blüdhaven doesn't have a lot of psychopaths, but the corruption is rampant. Dick had to fight against dirty police officers almost as much as he had to fight against supervillains - it's significant that two of Dick's enemies, Soames and Redhorn, are corrupt cops.

As an aside, as much as I liked the way Dick managed to get his hand on Redhorn's little book, I think that from a narrative standpoint, Dick should have won against the onslaught of corruption as a cop, and not as Nightwing (even if he knew who to trust because he was Amy's partner).

Speaking of which, Amy is one of the most memorable characters Dick's ever worked with - and again, the building of their relationship, from Amy being distrustful and scornful to trusting Dick entirely to feeling betrayed then protecting him at the cost of her integrity, took months, lots of issues, and is very touching.

I like Hog (and that guy never died, damn it, he didn't live in Dick's building) - but he was barely present. Cheyenne and Shawn were above all love interests, more than coworkers (even if we can skip Cheyenne because those three issues she figured in were...weird...and forgettable). Dick's circus friends ? They have names, but they're still more background characters representing the lost childhood of Dick than actual characters with character development. Dennis ? Seemed like a nice guy, I guess ?

Third, Dick put in a lot of effort to get into the B.P.D. He had to go through the entire police academy and take tests. Museum curator ? He got the post through his personal relationships, even if he had the skills for them. Trapeze instructor ? He was noticed when he helped a kid. Circus owner ? Come on, yes, he invested his money, but it wasn't about what Dick wanted to be "when he grew up", it was about Dick keeping his past alive. Model ? An accident. Taxi driver ? First time around it was the first job offer he could find. Second time... *cough* Ric Grayson era *cough*.

Fourth, being a cop had an impact on Dick's other relationships. Bruce hated that he was a cop (for multiple reasons : he loathed the idea of Dick using a gun, was worried about him, and thought Dick was risking their secret identities). Alfred was initially supportive, but he also started to get worried. Babs hated it because she didn't want her boyfriend to risk getting killed 24/7.

And despite this, Dick remained a cop even after the corruption got brought down, in spite of his loved ones not liking him endangering himself all the time. And thus this is the fifth reason for me saying Dick being a cop has a lot more narrative significance than Dick being an exotic dancer or a bartender, Dick loved being a cop. Genuinely. It wasn't something he did because he needed a job to remain connected to people and still be Dick Grayson. It wasn't "just" an undercover job. He was ecstatic when he got hired at the B.P.D. He was happy doing it, and at one point it became more than an undercover job - though was it even a job, guys, considering he was doing it for free (that absolute madman I swear to God) ? He kept postponing the moment he'd have to resign after his "undercover" goal was achieved. He was crushed when he got fired.

You have to see, for Dick being a cop was about helping people at their lowest/learning information about people he'd be able to help as Nightwing. And Dick loves nothing more than doing that, so doing it 24/7 ? Sign him the fuck up. Like, some of Dick's most significant "cases" at the B.P.D. were about 1) stopping an act of police brutality, 2) being there to stop a domestic abuser and getting back as Nightwing to tell the guy to flee the city, or 3) getting a letter from a little girl, Kesia, who wanted Santa to help her Dad, crying, and spending the time before Christmas investigating so he'd be able to track her (and if that doesn't move you nothing will).

So yeah, Dick's time as a cop was significant. Now you don't like it ? Let Dick do something that would have the same effect. Let him be in child protection services. Let him be a nurse in the I.C.U. Let him be a firefighter.

Now I know people will say that the gym he opened at one point in the Rebirth continuity had to be something he held dear. It's not false, but I don't think he prioritized it the same way or that it was shown to be as important to him as being a cop was. At that time in that continuity, doing so was also an act of independence (considering he was younger) and of convenience (it allowed him greater flexibility to be Nightwing, something being a cop did not, at least in terms of working hours).

I'm still angry about "Dick is a cop". Thing going on.

Dick hasn't been a cop in 21 years (he stopped in 2003) He had numerous jobs since and before that and he was doing it at the time to try to fight the corruption from inside (whether that was a good idea is up to debate it wasn't in my opinion) and he was written as cop by Dixon (deregatory).

Devin Grayson continued and stopped that.

His most common job is being a barista followed up by a gym teacher.

[haveateadude]

hi again ems!! (hope its okay if i call you that 😭) im the one who sent the last req, you wrote it so wonderfully. thanks for your concerns, wishing you the best !!

no pressure once again!! could you possibly write fluff about els taking you on a lil picnic to a flower field ? thank you once again!! 💗💗

picnic date

summary *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ picnic day with your lover

warnings *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ none, this is pure fluff i think

author notes *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ hey!! omg your welcome to the person who sent this!!! i love uuu. i hope you like this one :)) also it's totally okay to call me em!! please feel free to send more request if you'd like!!!

and i'm so fucking sorry this took too long and it's too short. i've been busy lately but i have a week of online classes bc of some weird shit going on in my country so i hope i'll be able to write more.

have a good day everyone❤️

Ellie takes you on a date. A picnic date, precisely. She knows you've been stressed lately, and she thought taking you out might help take your mind off things—at least for a while. You knew it would be lovely, but not like this. This is beautiful. Going to a flower field has always been on your bucket list, let alone having a picnic with the person you love most.

"Ellie!" you exclaim. "Why did you—I mean… Shit. This is beautiful."

Ellie leaves the basket of food on the blanket, then stands behind you, wrapping her arms around you and placing a kiss on your neck.

"You deserve this," she says, resting her chin on your shoulder as you look out at the flower field. It feels like a dream—dating her has always felt this way. "I hope you enjoy it. It took me a while to find a place like this."

You turn around, and her hands never leave your body; they settle on your hips now. "I love this."

The sun peeks through the clouds and shines directly into her eyes and along the curve of her nose. You’ve always thought she’s pretty—but in moments like this, when it’s just the two of you with nothing to do but enjoy each other’s presence, she looks ethereal. You kiss her, both of your hands on her cheeks.

"Thank you for bringing me here," you say as you both sit down. "Really, you didn't have to."

"I wanted to." She shrugs, smiling. "I thought we should do something nice; it's been a while since we've had time for ourselves."

You lean in for another kiss, which Ellie returns happily.

"God," you say, letting your head rest on her shoulder, "What did I do to deserve you?"

"You're asking me that?" she says, incredulous. "You're the prettiest, smartest, sweetest, and coolest girl I've ever met… How could I not love you? That's the real question."

You feel your cheeks flush, a warm pink spreading across your face as you look up at her. You’ve always thought Ellie was prettier than you—hell, you’ve always thought she was better at everything. She’s smart, beautiful, and always knows what to say. But the way she talks about you always makes you feel like she’s put you on a pedestal, for better or worse.

You chuckle, eyes bright with devotion. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too." Ellie’s the one to kiss you now, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "I really can't believe I'm dating you."

After you finish eating, you eventually end up with your head resting on her lap. The sun has faded a bit, leaving blue and orange streaks scattered across the sky. It looks beautiful, you think, as Ellie tucks daisies into your hair, braiding a strand every now and then. It feels nice, her fingers brushing against your scalp.

"You look so sleepy, baby," Ellie chuckles, finishing with a kiss on your forehead. "Are you sure you don't want to head back?"

You shake your head and sit up. "Can we stay a while longer?"

Ellie doesn’t answer; she leans in for a kiss and gently guides you both to lie down until your back hits the ground, with her next to you, propped up on one elbow. One of her hands rests on your cheek, her thumb gently caressing your skin as you keep on kissing.

When you pull away, Ellie rests her head on your chest. You wrap your arms around her.

"I think we can stay here a little while longer."

[1toreyouapart]

The Lies We Tell

***FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE***

Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.

CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, more to come as I actually get things written out.

Just Friends

It's funny how life works sometimes. Someone can tell you they love you in one breath and in the very next shatter your entire reality. One wrong move while driving down the road can alter yours and another person's life forever. A brief conversation with a stranger over a drink and exchanged phone numbers can bring people into your life that you now can't imagine life without them. The latter was exactly how Quinn now found herself in this house, surrounded by the best friends she could have ever hoped for, their banter in the living room bringing a smile to her lips as she dumped snacks into bowls.

The boys had all gotten home from tour a couple days ago, and as always, they had to have a movie night. It sort of became tradition even before Noah had invited her to move in with them. After every tour there was a big family dinner, followed by a movie night where none of them actually paid attention to the movies they chose, too caught up in catching up on everything that happened while they were gone.

"Quinn! Hurry your ass up! I'm starving here!" Folio hollered from the living room.

"Untwist your panties! You're welcome to come help, ya know!" She hollered back.

Truthfully, she should have had someone come help her. The downside to living in this particular house full of guys was that they all were much taller than her. Well, all of them that actually lived there. Which meant everything was up high and she had to climb to reach most things. Meaning it took her longer to get even just snacks together.

"Fucking tall ass motherfuckers," she grumbled, climbing up on the counter to reach some more bowls. She probably should have actually counted how much she needed before starting. Her fault, really. A long tattooed arm wrapped around her waist, hauling her off the counter.

"I swear to God, Quinn. You're going to break your fucking neck one of these days. What do you need?" Noah's voice behind her, somewhat panicked, almost made her giggle.

"Well, if you didn't put shit up so high I wouldn't have to climb to get it! And some more bowls."

Noah shook his head, chuckling. Her best friend and roommate. The person that found her in that bar seven years ago, drinking away the pain of her boyfriend at the time breaking up with her, and somehow took all those broken pieces and put her back together.

When Noah was home they quite literally did everything together. From rock climbing to going to gigs for small local bands. Movie nights up in his room, just the two of them. Shoot, when he was home she barely slept in her own room. Every night, without fail they would fall asleep in his room. It was enough that Jolly had asked them more than once if there was something else going on. And was never satisfied when they told him that they were just friends.

"You could also use the step stool I bought you."

"Step stools are for old people and children. I happen to be neither."

"You're impossible."

"You love me!"

Noah glanced down at her with a smirk as he grabbed some of the filled bowls. Quinn ignored the way her stomach flipped as his dark eyes met hers. Ignored the way her heart began to race. He was her best friend. That she definitely had a crush on. But he could never know that. It would make things weird, and she was happy with the way things were. Truly.

"Come on, my little terror pixie."

Huffing she followed him into the living room. Noah had called her a terror pixie from the night they met. However, the calling her his little terror pixie was something new. And she absolutely hated how warm and fuzzy it made her feel inside. Best friends weren't supposed to feel like that towards the other.

"Fuck off, Bigfoot."

With fake indignation she found her spot on the floor with him, settled right between his legs. Long arms wrapped around her, pulling her back against him, settling loosely around her waist. Quinn didn't miss the look everyone shared, or the way Jolly smirked at them. Like they all knew something she didn't. Or maybe they were, once again, reading too much into the way her and Noah were together.

[luc-obsession]

Kept

No matter how many bracelets and dresses Diluc bought for you, you still winced from his touch.

Wiped away his kisses when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Dove under your covers whenever he came to check on you.

Diluc couldn’t spoil you into returning his affection.

So he sat in his office chair as he rethought his strategy.

He’d confessed to you days after he stole you from the wild, your lifeblood.

Diluc saw what he did as a necessary evil, but to you, this was unforgivable treason.

Trying to buy your desire was the wrong approach. No, he should cater to your needs instead.

By becoming one of them.

If you and him mutually depended on each other, then it would be impossible for you to leave. Or even want to.

You already needed him financially; your commission money had long stopped rolling in.

But he wanted your heart to rely on him, too.

To replace your longing for the leaves with his touch. To take the wind’s spot in your heart with his firm voice. To make you savor the scent of his cologne instead of the forest’s flowers.

He was no longer satisfied with being your lover; he wanted to become your compulsion.

Inside his mind, another plan began to take shape.

. . .

Diluc began to come to your room more often. At first, just to wake you. Then, to bring your meals. Eventually, he brought your gifts, which were a lot different than before.

Your pearl necklaces were now love lockets. He brought you colognes with oddly familiar notes. Your fantasy novels were slowly overtaken by the fresh stacks of romance ones he bought.

He was determined to dominate your headspace. To influence you into loving him, whether you wanted to or not.

In weeks’ time, he’d fully replaced his maids in your life. They still helped him, of course, but as far as you were concerned, they didn’t exist.

It was much harder to ignore a generous, active lover who came to you every hour.

Just as it was much harder to resent someone who constantly chipped at your walls of scorn.

. . .

After Diluc hugged you goodbye and left, you peeked out the window. To see if some Fatui had ambushed him yet, obviously. Maybe then you could see the outside world again.

It was odd. You thought Diluc was a good friend, but he turned out to be a creep. A really possessive one at that.

It was nice to have free food and clothes, but that didn’t matter when you couldn’t spend any time outside.

Still, you walked back to your room as you picked up your love story, back where you left off.

Reading about those characters running through the lush grass of Chinju Forest wasn’t quite the same as being there, but it was close enough.

Sometimes, you'd replace the characters in those books with yourself and Diluc. If he were less restrictive, less controlling, then it could’ve been a dream.

You could’ve loved him, had he kept things the same as before, and confessed. Unfortunately, that wasn’t how things turned out.

So now you sat here on your warm bed, trailing the words on the page.

Everything reminded you of Diluc. The male protagonist’s height, the necklace with his name that hung around your neck, and the door in front of you.

As soon as you’d forgotten about him, he’d show up again, holding something that took either a lot of time or a lot of money.

You wanted to forget the overbearing redhead. But he wouldn’t let you. The more you stuffed those thoughts of him away, the more they’d find some way to creep back.

Your captor had no place in your heart, but he’d taken up every square inch of your mind.

He’d already won, but you couldn’t let him know that. Not if you wanted to keep the little space you had from him left.

[tiger-in-the-flightdeck]

DC Social Media Part 5

Rent-A-Bat is online and looking for investors!

Prev | Start | Next

[cozy-the-overlord]

Someone tell me to write

[icezeebee]

Noticed that submissions were closed so I’ll just post this. The idea and (y/n) design are from @yanderelinkeduniverse , I also just made it for them.

[babychosen]

i've been denying how i feel (you've been denying what you want)

the line between a work trip and a girls trip quickly blurs as amanda and courtney spend a weekend away word count: 1985

thank you @sage-lights for always believing in me

The few days of Buffer Festival felt like a lifetime to Courtney and Amanda. In the mornings they explored the city and its quaint cafes and picturesque parks, and then in the afternoon and evenings they got to dress up and hit the stage. It was a vacation, even if it wasn’t. Their work trip was becoming a girls trip as time passed and neither of them wanted to admit it.

The magnetic connection between the pair grew stronger as time passed. After they went out on stage during the screening on the first day of the festival, Amanda felt something shift. Courtney’s staring became almost too much to handle and Amanda began to worry the audience would catch onto the invisible tether that had the two of them roped together all night.

After the show and the meet and greet the first night, Amanda was filled with awe, and unexpectedly: passion. At first it felt friendly, like admiration, but it morphed into something Amanda knew she shouldn’t feel. She wanted to feel close to Courtney—needed to, even.

The car radio hummed lowly in the background of their late-night drive through downtown Toronto. Amanda’s eyes were closed for the most part, trying to block out the blinding street lights. With Courtney’s head resting on her shoulder, she was sure she could fall asleep if she let herself doze off.

Amanda came back to consciousness a little when she heard the volume of the radio turn up. She opened her eyes to peer at Kiana in the front seat reaching forward to turn the volume knob, saying something about how much she likes the song. Amanda immediately recognized it as ‘Do I Wanna Know?’ by the Arctic Monkeys. She was familiar with it, but not too familiar. She shut her eyes again, blocking out the lights and listening in.

I’ve dreamt about you nearly every night this week

She felt Courtney shift closer into her side—if getting closer was even possible. Amanda convinced herself it was just a pothole in the road that jostled them around.

Do I wanna know? If this feeling flows both ways?

Courtney placed a hand on top of Amanda’s knee, and Amanda knew there was no pothole that could make a person do that. She wished she had worn anything but a dress and pantyhose, because there was basically no barrier between the warmth of Courtney’s hand and the skin of Amanda’s knee. 

Amanda wasn’t one to pay attention to lyrics, but Courtney’s actions felt in sync with the words. Amanda tuned out the song once again, trying to focus her attention anywhere but on the hand on her leg and Courtney’s uncanny timing.

It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you

There was no room for doubting herself when Amanda felt Courtney move their hand inward on her thigh and squeeze lightly. Amanda inhaled shakingly, hoping the ride would come to an end soon for the sake of her sanity.

She tried not to dwell too much on their car ride, because it would only lead her to making assumptions that she shouldn’t (like letting herself believe Courtney reciprocated her desire for affection).

When they parted ways at their hotel Amanda could still feel the pull between them. She longed to be closer to Courtney and the temptation to walk down the hall and knock on Courtney’s door kept Amanda up all night. She convinced herself to stay put but still replayed the possibilities in her head over and over again until she fell asleep that night.

The second night went a little differently. It was tame…

“Why are you still carrying around one Timbit, Amanda? It’s probably cold and hard by now,” Courtney playfully prodded her.

“It’s a souvenir! Don’t judge me.” Amanda let out a firm huff and crossed her arms over her chest, the lone pastry rattling around in the box in her hand. “Besides, how else will I show people that I won the Great Debate?”

Courtney stared at the glaring sash across Amanda’s chest. “I don’t know, Master Debater… you tell me.” They reached across the elevator and ran a finger along the silky fabric of the sash. Their fingers brushed over Amanda’s stomach lightly and it sent a chill throughout her body. 

Amanda’s knee-jerk reaction was to pull away because she knew it was wrong, but the elevator door opened before her mind even had the time to process the touch.

Courtney pulled their hand away from Amanda and walked out into the hotel hallway as if they hadn’t just caused Amanda’s heart rate to quicken.

“You know, maybe you should keep that Timbit. Take it home, Angela might want it,” Courtney wondered, turning around to face Amanda as they walked backwards towards their hotel rooms. Amanda gave Courtney a toothy grin, because she knew damn well they were right.

Amanda stopped when she reached her room door, and Courtney walked a few steps further to their own.

They exchanged quiet goodnights and Amanda slid her keycard into the door, swiftly turning the handle to open it. Before she could fully step into her room, a voice stopped her: “Hey, we don’t have to check out until later in the morning tomorrow. Wanna watch a movie?”

She took a step back into the hallway and smiled at Courtney. “I thought you would never ask.” 

Courtney slipped their key card into the door, opened it, and then tossed the card at Amanda.

Amanda excused herself to her room to change into something more comfortable for the evening. She slipped into a comfy pair of sweatpants and a hoodie after removing her makeup, and exited her own room. She walked down the hall to Courtney’s, using the keycard they had given her to use to get in without having to knock. Just walking in felt… wrong, but they were close friends—just friends. Amanda pushed the door open to see Courtney already tucked under a blanket on the bed with their own hoodie on.

“Amandaaa,” Courtney drawled, reaching out her arms towards Amanda. “It’s cold. Get under the covers and never get up again.”

Amanda tiptoed to the bed, lifting up the blankets and sliding underneath them. It was already warm and cozy, and Amanda loved it 

“I didn’t realize there was such a tiny list of movies for us to pick from… so, it looks like we can either watch an old western, or a cheesy Hallmark holiday movie. Pick your poison,” Courtney laughed.

“At that point I’d almost rather watch something on one of our phones… I guess a Hallmark movie works. I mean, they can’t all be bad, right?” Amanda asked, wishing for the best.

… until it wasn’t. 

The second night was giving in to temptation. It was throwing caution to the wind because they were in a romantic city and the circumstances felt just right.

Amanda spent the entire movie realizing that her suspicions of Courtney sharing similar feelings towards her were not founded on nothing. 

It started with Courtney cuddling into Amanda’s side, keeping her arms and legs to herself. 

And then they draped a leg over Amanda’s body after a fit of laughter. 

And then an arm, which led to a hand snaking underneath Amanda’s hoodie. (Courtney claimed they were cold, as if the covers over top of them weren’t enough warmth. Amanda didn’t complain.)

Courtney roamed her hand all over Amanda’s torso to places it probably shouldn’t go, but Amanda couldn’t stop her when the heat at her core was ripping her resolve to shreds.

The movie ended and a silence fell over them. Amanda’s hand was on Courtney’s back, gripping lightly at their tank top as the pads of Courtney’s fingers traced the skin below Amanda’s breasts.

The air in the room was heady and suffocating. Amanda couldn’t tell if she was the only one breathing so heavily, but she didn’t care. She knew Courtney could feel the light buck of Amanda’s hips and the squirming under their touch that she just couldn’t quell—the complete, unrestrained desire that she had been feeling all night.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure, Amanda. You feel this, too, don’t you?” Courtney rasped, gesturing between them.

Amanda answered by sucking in her bottom lip and nodding. 

Hearing Courtney say she felt it too was transcendent.

The following morning didn’t feel right. It was a feeling Amanda couldn’t quite put her finger on.

They went for breakfast in the morning, took their coffees to-go and walked around a park for a couple of hours. They marvelled at the leaves changing colours and basked in the cool weather. The pair soaked up every last bit of the city that they could before they had to make their way to the airport and board a flight back to LA.

But the previous night was never brought up. Not at breakfast or at the park. Not in the airport or on the flight home. Not even back at the office, a week after returning.

So now, in the middle of their first shoot week back, Amanda’s beginning to crack under the pressure. She didn’t consider the fact that she would reach her limit—that telling herself to forget it ever happened would become too burdensome to handle.

They’re professionals, so Amanda assumed hiding the tension from their fellow cast members would be a breeze, but people caught on, and soon enough the chatter reached Amanda’s ears one lunch hour. Courtney was well within earshot too, so she knew that they heard it too. Amanda heard something along the lines of ‘Did something happen on their trip?’, though she knew it was with good intentions. She knew this cast was better than stooping low enough to gossip.

At the end of the day, she was determined to talk to Courtney and smooth things over. Apologize if she had to, but hopefully just settle the tension.

After a Smosh Mouth shoot, Amanda pulled her phone out of her back pocket to send a text to Courtney, but was greeted instead by a text from them.

Court 🌻 hey. meet me in the art dept? everyone’s left for the day already

It was short, but Amanda didn’t sense any hostility in the message. She wasn’t surprised to hear from Courtney first, considering how prompt both of them can be.

She made her way to the art department and found the doors almost fully shuttered, but the lights still on. Amanda easily pushed open the door and saw Courtney leaning over the workshop table, nervously fiddling with their thumbs.

“Hi,” Amanda said timidly. She pulled the sliding doors closed and paused in the doorway. “I-”

“I’m sorry, Amanda.” Courtney interrupted, turning around to face her. “I’ve been ignoring you and it’s unfair. I should have told you that I was processing things. Instead I pushed it away and I dealt with it on my own.”

Amanda nodded sympathetically, knowing all too well where they’re coming from. “You could have talked to me—I also could have talked to you,” she admitted.

“Yeah, well, unfortunately we’re both a little dumb.”

“Hey! No, we’re just… navigating uncharted territory. Shit’s hard, Court,” Amanda reasoned.

Courtney nodded with a frown still tugging at the corners of lips. Amanda noticed and opened her arms to welcome them into a hug. Courtney didn’t hesitate to practically fall into Amanda’s embrace.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything-”

“Well, what if I want it to mean something?” Courtney asked, her voice muffled by Amanda’s hair.

Amanda struggled not to let her giddiness show. “Then I-I guess it can mean something.”

Courtney pulled back from the hug. She looked up at Amanda and kept her arms wrapped around her waist. “What do we do about the rumours going around?”

“What they don’t know can’t hurt them.” Amanda smirked, eagerly pulling Courtney in for a kiss.

[stardestroyer81]

Nearly four years ago, long before you could find them just about anywhere, I found a post praising the plague doctor Squishmallow, jokingly calling it 'bingus'. Jokingly— and as a byproduct of being in my plague doctor phase at the time— I quipped that if I ever wound up finding one, I would name it Dr. B. Ingus.

Fast forward to 2024, and not only does the real Dr. B. Ingus now reside on my bed, I've also finally concocted an original design for the brilliant plague doctor turned plushie, largely in part of being invited to a plague doctor community on tumblr! 💜🖤💜

(If you would like to read a brief explanation on how Quincy T. Page's mentor now assumes a plush form, check underneath the cut for a bit of lore!)

Dr. Brenius Hildegard Ingus, better known as 'Doctor B. Ingus' or even simply 'Dr. B.' was once a standard plague doctor... for lack of a better term. Ever since his youth, he knew he wished to pursue a career in tending to patients, and he would make good on this dream once our nation found itself plagued with a contagion most potent... the Everdark Plague.

Brenius spent every waking moment of his corporeal life formulating a cure, though as the years went on, he feared that old age would put an end to his research, effectively doing away with everything he had done to rid of the Everdark Plague. However, Brenius— ever steadfast— made a vow that not even death could stop his heroic efforts.

Somehow, a deal is made, and Brenius' soul is set free from his mortal vessel, allowing him all the time in the world to continue his studies... at the hefty cost of immortality. Ever selfless, he hires a local toy maker to create a new vessel to store his restless soul in; a charming plush toy designed in his likeness. While it takes a while to get used to his new form, Brenius resumes his studies in secrecy as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, now vowing to only speak to plague doctors he trusts with his studies.

Personality-wise, Dr. Brenius is a very well-spoken, considerable and sophisticated man in spite of his now-smaller stature. In his past life, he was quite the fashion aficionado, and collected headgear of all kinds to top off his outfit, his current hat he immortalized himself with being his favorite.

[blujayonthewing]

SUPREMELY frustrating that we found something actually really cool and intriguing and plot relevant in tonight's session but I'm still so constantly preoccupied with whether the DM is going to 100% kill us with sheer poor game design that I barely have enough brainspace left over to even enjoy it

[burnthatbridge]

I truly thought I'd never ever finish this fic but here it is in all its glory:

i'm down on my knees (i wanna take you there) by burnthatbridge E  | 5k | no archive warnings

Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Relationship: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Tags: Glory Hole; Blow Jobs; Getting Together

Summary:

Buck is… a little drunk. So, he honestly thinks, when he first spots it, after stumbling into the stall, clumsily undoing his fly, and taking a very needed leak, that he’s seeing things. It takes him reaching out — with a hand he was already going to wash and probably should doubly do so now — and sticking a finger through it to convince him that the sight hasn’t been fabricated by his inebriated brain. It’s real. It’s a glory hole. His first thought is, huh; his second is, I have got to show Eddie. aka the glory hole fic i cannot believe i wrote

Pictures for the banner from Unsplash.

[moonverc3x]

@startistdoodles pssst hey,,, I really like Prisma and Planet Permafrost (theyre so pretty! both of them!) you should tell me more about Planet Permafrost and/or its inhabitants 👉👈

arrghhghg ice planet mine beloved <3 I would LOVE to live here...

[nanamikiicreations]

Encouragement Ace! I saw @xamaxenta's post about making an Ace standee you can write encouraging words on and so I made my own while I wait for theirs to release! Go follow them to see when they make their cheerleader Ace standee(I can't wait to get one!) PNG below if you want to make your own encouragement Ace!! Tag me if you make one I'd love to see what other's write make him say lol

Link here in case tumblr makes the PNG too crunchy! Also I was trying to make another one for my friend and it got messed up in the lamination machine ToT Ace was too powerful! Here is crunchy Ace

[skatiet]

On Grief and Loneliness (Excerpts From My Journal Since My Dad Died)

content warning: grief, loneliness, family member death, family member illness, suicidal ideation, existential crisis, loss of childhood home, animal death (nothing particularly graphic; just being thorough)

December 26, 2022

One month later… I miss him. That’s all there is to it, really. The immediate trauma of it all–seeing his face every time I close my eyes, hearing myself call out to him–has passed for the most part. Now it just feels like there is this empty space in my life. I keep half expecting to see a text or missed call from him, keep wanting to check in, even though I know he’s not there. Going back home and having him not be there… I try not to think too long or hard about it. It’s been a lot of that lately, just choosing not to think too much about it.

Christmas was low-key. I didn’t feel much of the magic of the holidays. Part of that is just because of getting older, I think. Next year, I want to be more festive. I just want to live life to the fullest to the extent that I can. I know my dad would be proud of me no matter what, so now I just want to make a life that I can be proud of, too.

I’ve had a few moments (or days) of really bad anxiety/depression, feeling like nothing is going right and it’s not worth it to keep trying, but I keep going, still. I am trying to be present and feel things as deeply as I can, especially the good things, and hopefully, I can find a balance between burying my sadness and feeling it to the point where I feel hopeless.

January 14, 2023

Often, grief is found in the little things, just like joy or love. I drink his tea and remember making it for him when he couldn’t do it himself, when standing was too difficult, when I was desperate for him to have something in his stomach. A splash of milk and a spoonful of honey or sometimes sugar. How he said I made it extra sweet. How I was adding as much milk, honey, and sugar as I could get away with, trying to give him as much energy and strength as I could. How he would fall asleep waiting for it to cool. How I had to remind him to drink. Reheating it again and again. The desperation those mugs held. Now, it is warm and comforting.

March 17, 2023

My dad loved Ireland and Boston and the town we lived in (all the places he was from). He loved rock music. He loved hiking. He loved stamps and antiques and magic tricks. He loved pizza and sushi and steak, lobster rolls and burgers and desserts. (He really loved food. He even liked trying vegetarian options and eating them with me.) He loved cats and dogs and owls. He loved people; he saw the good in everyone. He loved my sister and me. And we love him.

March 24, 2023

The wind is loud, and everyone is safe inside their homes, and I am safe, too, but this doesn’t feel like home.

June 14, 2023

It hits me that I’ve lost so much all at once– a family member, a home, so many things that used to be mine. I’ve lived so many places that it feels impossible to settle in, to feel secure. So much of my life has been spent on the outside, always feeling like an afterthought, never a first choice, and I wonder if I’ve ever belonged anywhere.

June 15, 2023

I’m not a holiday person. At some point, I realized that assigning too much meaning to one particular day is a great way to end up disappointed. It doesn’t matter what I think, though. Every calendar will still tell me what I’m meant to be celebrating, or what someone is meant to be celebrating who believes in something I don’t. I don't believe in much, actually. That never felt more true than after my father died. I told my mom I don't believe anything happens to people when they die, that I think they are just gone, and she cried. I don't cry much, either, especially not when other people do. I cry because I’m frustrated, because I’m stressed, because I’m tired. I cried when my dad died, but not as often as I felt I should in the days that followed. I know grief is individual and no way of grieving is right or wrong or normal. That doesn’t make me feel any less alone when my grief isn’t crying, isn’t seeing signs of him or talking to him, because to me, he isn’t there. He is gone. My grief is anger. It’s frustration that I will never see him again. It’s missing him, and it’s aching, and it’s emptiness. It’s a hole in my life where he used to be. It's the time I spent on phone calls now allotted to something else. It’s one less text message to send, one less person to tell stories to. It's the unsettling feeling that my life has already been the best it will ever be, because he will never be in it again. It's listening to songs and looking at photos and feeling something that doesn’t feel like enough. It's wanting to comfort the other people who lost him because they are sadder than I am. It's having regrets about how it all happened and then realizing it’s pointless to feel that way because it’s over. There's no changing any of it, only learning from it. And feeling like nothing matters because everyone I know will die, and I will die, and what’s the point of anything anyway. I'm terrified to forget anything about him. I write down every memory that comes up so I won't lose it. I hold tightly to the things he gave me and the things I have of his. I am halfway waiting for it to hit me, to feel some overwhelming wave of sadness, too late for anyone to understand it, but I also think maybe it will never come.

July 13, 2023

Grief spirals outward. Hope spirals inward. But I don’t want the grief to lessen. It makes me feel real. It makes me feel human.

August 26, 2023

Buyer beware–I don’t believe in ghosts, but the last two owners died in this house, and I know a part of me will live here forever.

September 1, 2023

Four bedrooms. Four names in permanent marker on the workbench in the basement, four letters each. Four cats buried out back by the property line.

December 4, 2023

A year passes, and every change creates a new version of me that he’ll never know, and how different can I become before I’m no longer the person he knew at all?

May 15, 2024

I feel like I’m cursed to forever be running in this race where no matter how hard I try, how fast I move, I will always be in second place (if even that). Never the first choice, never the favorite. They think they know what loneliness is, but they are discussing it with each other while I watch from afar. I can grow and reach and try and try and try, but I will never be enough.

May 19, 2024

How am I supposed to be a grown adult but still have the same feelings as when I was a child? Is this just going to be my entire life, never feeling like anyone actually cares about me? I don’t want to give up on people, but I am so fucking tired of trying and never getting what I want in return.

July 2, 2024

I’ve tried to make it sound pretty, tried to make it sound wise, twisted and turned the words around in my head, but I can only come back to: the only person who ever made me their first choice is dead and gone forever. And I don’t know how to make that sound nice.

[ren1327]

"Dearest Gentle Readers" character list

Here are the characters and roles they have based on the show.

Under the cut as not to clog time-line

.

Violet Bridgerton - Mrs. Bowman (Camp Creteceous)

Anthony, 23 - David "Dave" (Camp Creteceous) A

Benedict, 21 - Brandon "Brand" Bowman (Camp Creteceous, Chaos Theory) A

Colin, 19 - Yasmina "Yaz" Fadoula (Camp Creteceous, Chaos Theory) A

Daphne, 18 - Kenji Kon (Camp Creteceous, Chaos Theory) O

Eloise, 17 - Darius Bowman (Camp Creteceous, Chaos Theory) B

Francesca, 17 - Jessica "Jess" Harding (Telltale's Jurassic Park) O

Gregory, 13 - Maisie Lockwood-Grady (JW: Fallen Kingdom, JW: Dominion) B

Hyacinth, 11 - Kadasha (Battle at Big Rock) A

Portia Featherington - Claire Dearing (JW, JW: Fallen Kingdom, JW: Dominion) A

Prudence, 19 - Zachary "Zach" Mitchell (JW) O

Phillipa, 18 - Grey Mitchell (JW) O

Penelope, 17 - Samantha "Sammy" Gutierrez (Camp Creteceous, Chaos Theory) O

Simon Basset, 21 - Benjamin "Ben" Fitzgerald Pincus (Camp Cretaceous, Chaos Theory) A

Will Modrich - Roxie (Camp Cretaceous) A

Alice Modrich - Kayla Watts (JW: Dominion) A

Madame Delacroix - Mae Turner (Camp Cretaceous) B

Lord Nigel Berbrook - Kash D. Langford (Camp Cretaceous) A

Mrs. Berbrook - Lewis Dodgeson (JP, Camp Cretaceous, JW: Dominion) B

Credessa Cowper, 20 - Sonoya Santos (JW: Dominion) O

Lady Cowper - Zara Young (JW) O

Queen Charlotte - Ian Malcolm (JP, The Lost World, JW: Fallen Kingdom, JW: Dominion) O

King George III - Alan Grant (JP, JP3, JW: Dominion) A

Brimsly - Nick Van Owen (The Lost World) B

Lady Danbury - Ellie Sattler (JP, JP3, JW: Dominion) B

Prince Fredrick - Eric Kirby (JP3) A

Lady Whistledown - Brooklyn (Camp Cretaceous, Chaos Theory) A

Mentions of deceased:

Edmund Bridgerton - Fredrick Bowman (Camp Cretaceous) A

Archibald Featherington - Owen Grady (JW, JW: Fallen Kingdom, Jurassic World: Dominion) A