#would be so cool if i could also in the meantime just work for a business like a local bakery wtf 😭

[luck-of-the-drawings]

THIS THING IS SCUUUFFED AS HELL & ITS ALSO THE BEST THING I HAVE ANIMATED THUS FAR. IM SO IN LOVE WITH EMIZEL. JUST WISH I GAVE HIM MORE STUPID TATTOOS. NEXT TIME THO. NEXT TIME. I ALSO LOVE VEX&VIV SOOOO MUCH. charlies flavor of Deranged is my FAVORITE!!

[conm1go]

can't wait to not work for a company... let me be free....

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 8!

in which my thesis proposal got accepted(!!), i made banana bread, and read some brilliant fics <3

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

at long last | tigersharks | 15.8k | E

Buck thinks, I want to be the one giving him pleasure. I want to make him feel good. I want to service him. service top buck <3 this one captures the buddie dynamic so so well!!

can i go where you go | heygirltimeformorning/@heygirltimeformorning | 2.6k | GA

Eddie gets crushed by a mudslide & confesses undying love. this is so beautifully written!! such lovely hurt/comfort while also having some really cute funny moments <3

cheeseburger in paradise | Bookworm0303/@insertlovelyperson | 20.2k | E

Eddie plans a vacation for the first (and likely last) time in his life. listen you don't even need me to convince you to read this. what you need to do is click that little link up there, read the excerpt in the summary, and then lock in and read all 20k of this glorious fic in one go. trust me, that's what you gotta do. i promise you won't regret it <3

fallacy of the local body | littleghost/@ghostlandtoo | 22.7k | E

Christopher is gone for the summer and Eddie is—aimless. Drifting. Everything is different, and he can't fix any of it, much less himself. He wishes he were different. Someone that doesn't have as much baggage, or misery, or so much empty time on his hands. Naturally, he wakes up one morning as Buck. oh, how much i love bodyswap fics <3 such a beautiful fic!! i love how this characterises eddie's reaction to the bodyswap so so much

i don't wanna miss you like this | rainbow_nerds/@rainbow-nerdss | 9.6k | T

Eddie Diaz was living in El Paso—miles away from his best friend who needed him, struggling to cross the invisible distance his son was keeping from him. There was no quick fix for either—but he was working on it. And in the meantime, he could do something to help Buck feel better from afar. the loveliest fic <3 i especially loved reading the letters (and their formatting is so cool!)

i know that you need it | midnights/@rcgersromanoff | 12.7k | E

to say Buck is pent up would be an understatement. so Eddie gives him what he needs. truly an incredible fic!! so hot, so buddie <3

just a group of objects | teaspoonmoon/@young-waverer | 4k | T

Buck helps Eddie pack; Eddie spirals about how many of Buck's belongings they find, mixed in with his. They kiss about it. such a wonderful look at how intertwined buck and eddie's lives are <3 so lovely!!

love language | Daisies_and_Briars/@cal-daisies-and-briars | 3.8k | T

When Eddie reluctantly reveals he can speak Swedish, Buck ends up learning a lot more about him than he bargained for. listen this fic has my heart and the diaz parents can have my fists. great banter and such a good buddie dynamic <3

not doing this alone | carpediaz/@sofa-king-lame | 27.4k | M

The one where Eddie hires Buck as a nanny for Christopher and has to navigate falling in love with someone he shouldn't want (who definitely wants him in return). nanny buck <3 i love his love for puzzles and how easily he slides into the diazes' lives!!

tell me that you'll never let me go | farfromthstars/@doeeyeseddie | 5.2k | T

Eddie goes to Texas. Buck is being weird. It only takes them both five days to crack. love how this one captures eddie and chris!! and i loved the feelings realisation <3

the shapes that you drew | 061828 | 3.4k | M

Eddie comes home from Texas to find Buck in his house, and life continues on from there. i'm such a sucker for buck being in eddie's house when the diazes are in el paso, and this is such a brilliant example of that <3 so good!!

whistle, baby | ameliahart/@melliehart | 5k | E

There, on Eddie’s screen, is a stilled video of a blue eyed man with a cock in his mouth, cheeks hollowed as he stares down the camera. Across the top in bold letters reads the words “Hot Tattooed Hunk DEEPTHROATS and SWALLOWS [Blowjob POV]”. they're best friends and they're in love and i love them so much <3 i especially loved the pro/con bits in this one!!

your gravity (my depravity) | idiotsinkdaisies/@idiotsinkdaisies | 13k | E

Buck has always been good at telling when people want him, spent his later teenage years and early twenties honing this particular skill set. And now he’s learning how to recognize when men want him, how it is entirely the same yet entirely different. His boyfriend wants him. (This, he knows.) Eddie wants him. (This, this is new.) this fic is so so fun!! i love the firefam dynamics here and the buck characterisation is so good!!

[scribblecon]

Heyo 👉👈 I love your writing so much. I was wondering if it was okay, I could request brainstorm romance headcanons with a cybertronian s/o, I love this nerd so much

Hehe of course!! Brainstorm is such a cutie

—

Brainstorm is someone who, despite being extremely self absorbed for the most part, when he falls in love, he falls hard and is not very subtle about it. The moment you walk in the room he starts showing off, trying to impress you. If you are impressed by his antics, he’ll try to act cool but in reality he’s putty in your servos, twitching wings and a suppressed squeal giving him away. He thrives on praise and will be walking on air if his crush compliments him.

If he’s not trying to woo you through showing off his scientific prowess and intelligence, he’s going to be approaching you for conversation, slinging an arm around your shoulder plating if you allow it and giving you playful prods at your face and kibble here and there. He’s a big enjoyer of physical contact.

A major shortcoming of Brainstorm’s though, is while he’s fairly obvious about his attraction, he has a habit of coming across as less serious about his feelings than he actually is. He’d rather be a parody of himself and stay close to you than be genuinely earnest and risk rejection. You’ll have to be the one to ask him out and confirm his feelings are requited. He wants to know for sure that he’s wanted.

Once in a relationship he can get a bit clingy. Work is still a priority for him, of course, but in his downtime, Brainstorm is going to want to spend all his time with his love. He’s so stoked you return his feelings and he wants to make the most of the time you have together. A huge fan of PDA, he will hold servos with you whenever possible and remove his face plate to shower you with kisses until your plating flares and you fans go off. If you’re a mini bot he’s gonna be pulling you onto his lap or picking you up for hugs and smooches a lot, too. If you’re bigger than him, he’s climbing you like a tree.

While he’d think it’s super cute if you’re shy and PDA flusters you, he would also adore it if you were to return the favour. Show everyone that you want him, that you chose him. Become the mushiest couple on the Lost Light and make everyone uncomfortable with your canoodling in public.

Might try moving the relationship along faster than you’re ready for, suggesting you start sharing a hab suite within a matter of weeks. If you tell him he’s moving too fast he’ll back off, even if he complains that not being able to wake up from recharge next to you is absolute torture. He can be patient though. In the meantime, he’ll work on making a double size recharge slab so you can snuggle while you sleep instead of holding hands across the gap between two singles. It’s ready to install whenever you’re ready to move in.

Absolutely devoted. He’s still an egotistical maniac a lot of the time, but Brainstorm will do anything for his sparkmate. Truly one of the most loyal partners you could ever hope to have. You don’t even need to ask him to do things for you after a while, he becomes very good at anticipating your needs and will just. Creates gadgets to help you with things before you know you need them (of course, they all double as deadly weapons with some minor adjustments. Don’t worry about it). All he wants in return is heaps of praise and affection, and for you to listen to him as he explains his projects to you.

[imninahchan]

⌜ 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮: strangers to lovers, my poor spanish skills, casual and unprotected sex [you can't do that, c'mon!], readerʼs a brazilian woman, some portuguese words, dirty talk, age difference, finger sucking, male oral, manhandling, light pussy spanking, ʽpapiʼ, dumbification, dacryphilia. ˚ ☽ ˚.⋆ ⌝

꒰ 𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑹ʼ𝑺 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬 ꒱ sooo never thought about posting something in eng but @femmechaotic (thx baby) showed me her translation and i gave it a second chance. This was originally written by me in portuguese, thatʼs why the reader is brazilian. Eng is not our first language, sorry for any mistakes, just posting for the fun of it♡

𓍢ִ໋🀦 HE'S THE KIND OF MAN YOU'LL ONLY MEET ONCE IN A LIFETIME ─────

You realized this from the moment you laid eyes on him for the first time. Sitting a couple of tables away from his, on the balcony of the hotel lobby.

You simply couldn't help but notice it: the thick strands of dark hair, how his hands run through it, as the gentle morning wind blowed. The basic white tank top, a coat hanging over the chair next to him at the table. His big and pointed nose, his eyes hidden mysteriously behind the lenses of the fancy sunglasses.

He's definitely not Brazilian. You could tell just by the food he chose from the buffet on his plate. Youʼre just so genuinely intrigued by the whole set of ongoings, obsessed with watching him, that you forgot about your own — boring — breakfast. The buns were cooling next to the black coffee in the porcelain cup.

You wanted to open the messaging app on your phone and send a sassy comment to your best friend, saying something like: “omg u won't believe how cute is the guy i just saw”, but you didn't even have time for that. The man raises his chin, with his attention shifting from the phone device in his hands to noticing your presence ahead.

You look down immediately, feeling as if you had committed a crime and you've just been caught in the act. You bite your lip, trying to hold down a childish smile, like a vicious little girl. Your palms starts sweating; suddenly cold. The intention was to keep yourself busy with the porcelain cup in the short meantime, trying to deal with the awkward sensation of being caught.

Itʼs not working, of course. You didn't know whether to drink or not, sometimes you try to sip the hot liquid, but you give up halfway through, lost like a robot in a breakdown. And when he raises his eyes once more, in the same direction as you looked for so long, the man's gaze meet yours again.

It feels, apparently, like youʼre going to faint, to actually die, Jesus! You've never felt so embarrassed in your entire life and you insist on thinking about how you're never gonna be able to eat, think or breathe while being in this crime scene — also known as the balcony of the hotel lobby.

“Get up, then!”, you think to yourself. You pick up on a couple of the cold buns from the plate, taking a sip of the — now cold — coffee, and walking towards the lobby. Like, damn, youʼre not even dressed up, maybe the clothes are not so bad but you donʼt even have any makeup on or hair done the way you liked it so much (and did it religiously every day).

But there is an actual explanation for you not being ready. The plan, initially, was just having breakfast and enjoying the view for a short period of time, so you could visit the downtown in Madrid afterwards. Now, you are running away like a criminal, with your mouth full of bread heading towards the elevator.

When you finally thought that the closing of the gray automatic doors would mean freedom, your heart has one more reason to flutter, as soon as the man steps into the cubicle before he could lose the sight of you.

You decide to chew more quickly, hiding the other roll of bun between your hands. Standing next to you, he takes off his pair of glasses, holding his coat and a crossbody bag.

He looks at you.

— Enzo — he says, and from the way he announced his name, you can tell by his accent that he speak Spanish. You swipe the back of your hand over your mouth, wiping away any remaining crumbs.

— Oi... hmm — You stammer the response in Portuguese, automatically panicking again for a few seconds when realizing that your brain couldn't think of a greeting, even in your first language. After some quick struggles, you tell him your name.

— ¿Eres de aquí? ¿de Madrid? (Are you from here? From Madrid?)

— Ahm... — You stutter, again (unfortunately). — Brasil!

He smiles.

— Ah, sí. Brasil... ¡Es un lugar magnífico! (Oh, yes. Brasil... It's a wonderful place!) — and praises. But his gaze turns sharp, he needs to know: “Entiendes lo que digo, ¿no?” (Do you understand what I say, right?)

— Sí, sí! (Yeah, yes!) — you return with a wide smile back at him, almost hyperventilating.

Your desperation is pathetically noticeable, itʼs cute actually. He watched you, smiles softly, almost like a chuckle. The curiosity gets into your nerves, you wanted to ask more questions, extend the conversation, but the elevator reaches your floor, and you leave, too withdrawn to say anything.

“Shit”, you curse at yourself, it wasn't so difficult to have a decent small talk, you should've said something, anything. You brood all day long, thinking you're such a dummy for missing the opportunity. Why did you have to act like a stupid teenager, huh? Then, after what happened, not even the museums — that you were so excited to visit — were fun anymore, no place in this goddamn city could take away that little thread of regret from you.

In the next day, however, you go down for some coffee at the same time as you did the other day, with the foolish intention of trying to see him again, and thatʼs it, it worked; like a freaking miracle. The man was sitting in an armchair in the lobby, it seemed like he was waiting for you too, what were the odds?

You can even feel your legs wobble.

— ¡Buenos días! (Good morning!) — he greets you. — ¿Cómo se dice ‘Buenos días’ en Brasil? (How do you say ‘Good morning’ in Portuguese?)

It takes a few seconds for you to think and say it back, ‘Bom dia’ (Good morning), you respond. He smiles.

— Es muy parecido (It's pretty similar) — he comments, awkwardly. Then, looks at the buffet, “¿Vamos?” (Shall we?)

Although he sometimes used terms that you completely donʼt know the meaning of and have to ask him to explain again, the conversation is, apparently, going very well. You discover that he is older, Uruguayan, and not Spanish as you immediately thought he was. You tell him a little about the country you come from, and he gets enchanted by the way your accent pronounces his name. Enzo. Paying attention to the ʽzʼ sound, unlike the pronunciation in Spanish.

it was with his company that you explored the city. The both of you went to a small square together, had some ice cream, met tourists hotspots, then chatted while exploring a little shop nearby. You hated to admit it but the situation was indeed romantic. Later in the afternoon, you were taken by him to a bar.

There, the conversation extended even further, including the beer you guys shared. When you didn't understand anything he said, (what was quite often in the conversation) you just laughed, your cheeks getting really hot and red from smiling that much. Honestly, you could leave him talking to himself for hours, just because you loved the husky sound of his deep voice and his pair of brown sparkling eyes.

It didn't mean that you were in love or anything, right? Besides, there was no way you could fall in love in such a short period of time.

But the heat you felt emanating from your own body definitely meant something. It could be because of the dark blue button-down shirt — these pieces never fail to be attractive, right? —, or the silver ring that caught your eyes every time he articulated with his hands in the air. Even his perfume... ah, the perfume! A fragrance that filled your lungs, woody but with a slight sweet note. Projecting all day long, torturing, practically inviting you to bury your face in the curve of the moreno's neck.

At nighttime, he takes you back to the hotel: his excuse was that he wanted to help you with the shopping bags, as if you had bought all of Madrid. And it was supposed to end there, at your hotel room door, simple as that. He hands you your things, and the most he does is lean over, slowly, as if he is silently asking for permission, and so, he places a small kiss on the corner of your mouth, millimeters away from touching your lipstick-painted lips. But you hold his hand, before the man walks away down the hall, you donʼt let him escape.

He approaches you again, his other hand touches the corner of your face. Warm, affectionate. ¿Qué te pasa, nena? (What's wrong with you, baby?) The focus of his brown eyes are on your mouth now, the question is whispered, seductive. The touch of his fingers bypass your jaw until it gets on your chin. ¿Quieres algo más que un beso? (Do you want something more than a kiss?)

Youʼre not sure which words to use, which command to prefer. In fact, you donʼt even want to be thinking. You want to shut your brain, to be so dissociated so that only your body can enjoy the moment. You wrapp your arms around him, your face can finally hid in the curve of his neck, breathing in the intoxicating scent of his. You hear the sound of his chuckle, feeling his big hands being placed on your waist. ¿Qué quieres? Dímelo. (What do you want? tell me)

You look up to him, shy. The tip of your nose rubs against his, creating a friction that, just because of the absurd proximity, makes everything even more tense, burning erotic.

— No Brasil — you say, trying to hide it by biting your lip —, se diz ‘foder.’

Enzo's smile grows, almost in slow motion. “Foder” (fuck), he repeats the word in a whisper. Again, you donʼt even have to think much to understand. Everything sounded similar, and it seemed that your mind was connected to his by a chaotic carnal desire.

The Uruguayan's lips meets yours; his hot tongue brushes against yours. Your bodies take on a life of their own. Little by little, the main setting stopped being the hotel hallway and became your room. The door gets closed with a gentle push from his feet, while the chosen path is towards your bed.

His hands moves up from your waist to grab your blouse and take it off from your warm body. When you lay on the mattress, supporting on your elbows, itʼs the cue the man needeed to messily pull down your shorts.

— ¿Quieres ponerte de rodillas? (Do you want to be on your knees?) — he asks, as he unbuttons his own blouse. The sharp look he gives you, bathed in desire, delirious. On his lips, you notice the smudged red of your lipstick. — Correrme en tu boca... (Cum in your mouth...)

Maybe itʼs your mind lost in urgency, because you donʼt process what was said to you. You keep your eyes still, your mouth half-open, taking in air, panting. So pathetic that all he does is laugh at your face, running his hands through his hair instead of going straight to the belt of his shorts.

— ¿Qué? ¿No lo comprendes, no? (What? you don't understand it, do you?) — the tone used with you bordered mockery. And contrary to what you would normally feel like, it gives room to a sick feeling, butterflies in your stomach, you feel even more horny, stimulated. He leans in close. — Mira. (Look)

And as if you were learning something for the first time, you imitate him when he parts his lips. You let the man's thumb drag over your lower lip, and then his middle and index fingers together slide over your tongue, until they occupy your mouth. “Así” (like that), he pushes and retreats with his hand, in a slow, sensual movement, “Metértelo en la boca.” (Put it in your mouth)

Ah, now you understand him well. Your face burns, the wet way the fingers come out of your mouth, a little strand of saliva kept resisting in the distance, itʼs wanton. You nod, kneeling on the wooden floor, eyes glued to him unbuckling his belt until you could have his erection in full view.

You part your lips once again, as you were ‘taught’. He fills your mouth, up to a point where your nose touches his crotch, and comes back, completely wet. It allows the Uruguayan to control the pace, to catch the corner of your face. You raise your gaze to his, surrendered not only by the lasciviousness of what you were doing, but also by the beautiful view you had of his face from that angle.

Enzo uses the index finger of his free hand to run down the curve of your nose, affectionately.

— Qué ojitos más bonitos... (You have such beautiful little eyes) — he praises you, with a smile. At that moment, you could swear your heart felt like it exploded. — Eres tan bella, nena. Preciosa. (You are so beautiful, baby. Precious) — he sighs, his head falls back, then to a slide side angle. He looks at you in such a mischievous way that you avoid returning the look. — Me encantaría correrme en tu boca... pero prefiero guardarlo todo para dentro de ti. (I would love to cum into your mouth... but I prefer to keep it all inside you)

You get taken back to bed, easily manhandled by him when you silently gave up control of the situation. He comes over, dangerously close, unlocked the front fitting of your bra, getting lost between your breasts as soon as he releases them from the tightness of the piece. You hold onto his hair, restless under the delicious sucking of his tongue, the wild bite of his teeth. You gasp, having to move away from the black threads of his hair while his mouth travels down your belly.

He releases you from the last piece of underwear too, the wet kisses were loud and pornographic, crackling on your skin. The tip of his big nose rubs lightly over the area where he knew your sensitive clit was. His palm run through your wetness, the chill of the his silver ring sliding across your boiling skin.

He clicks two, three slaps in a row that makes you shudder, whimpering softly. Enzo smiles, he didn't need to, but he returned to that mocking tone from before, of someone who had to calmly spell out the commands so you could understand.

He brings his hand to your lips, gave a little tap on the top, de aquí, and then went all the way down again, leaving a wet trail until he gave your pussy another tap, a aquí. And itʼs these little details that makes everything even better. It makes you feel so dumb, foolish, but itʼs so strangely good...

When he puts himself inside you, you lock your legs around his waist, wrapping your arms around him, feeling him dominate everything in you. He, however, insists on eye contact, lifting his torso, resting his forearm against the mattress, to look you in the eye. He smiles, panting like you; moaning low, hoarse. At first, slow, but soon he surrendered to the speed, to the sharp sound of your moans with each stronger thrust.

And there where so many thrilling impulses, fuck it... You want to cover your mouth, close your eyes to try to contain yourself. Itʼs the nasty noise of your bodies in shock, his deep voice, the scent of his hot skin. Youʼre so sensitive that your eyes get wet, a little tear runs down your cheek.

— Oh, no... Perdón, perdóname, cariño. (Oh, no... I'm so sorry, honey) — he stops, his thumb wipes the tear from your face.

'En—', you even started to want to call his name, but the frustration of no longer receiving the same thrilling sensations and to the same extent was such that you only knew how whine; your mind melting, finally murmuring “Dale, dale, papi.” (Give it to me, please, daddy)

Enzo smiles again. He leaves a few kisses on your lips, repeating your words between the kisses, as if he was making fun of your desperation and also the term you used to refer to him.

— ¿Más rápido, hm? Más duro? (Faster, hm? Harder?) — he turns you over on the bed, putting you on all fours. The dirty talk makes you smile, dumb with lust already, clinging to one of the pillows. The Uruguayan's body lead over yours, bringing his mouth close to your ear. — Tranquila, nena. Te daré todo lo que quieras. ( Calm down, baby. I will give you everything you want.)

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

so i have a VERY BAD FEVER AND I WANT CRYO LADIES USING THEIR VISION TO COOL OF sick! S/O

(you can also add any other charafter of your liking ❤️❤️)

(Genshin Impact) Eula, Rosaria, Ayaka, Ganyu, and Shenhe using their vision on a sick S/O

This is completely unrelated to the ask, but while writing this I've been listening to the Winter Soldier theme from Captain America. And for such a lovely ask it is very strange writing to one of the hardest themes I've ever heard in my life.

Eula huffs and puffs when her S/O gets sick, but absolutely does not hesitate to begin applying Cryo therapy.

As long as it wasn't contagious anyway.

With one hand gently resting against their forehead as she sits next to them in bed, Eula can't help but brush her fingers across their hair while doing so.

Her expression is gentle, until the moment S/O speaks up.

(Eula) "Am I enjoying this? Of course not, my plans must be halted because you had the audacity to fall ill. Something I will not forget easily, of course. I could always freeze you right here and now."

Yet, her hand is resting on S/O's face still, fingers rubbing down to their cheek as if they were made of glass.

Rosaria honestly didn't think of using her Cryo vision to bring down S/O's fever.

She really only used it for work, and S/O sure as hell wasn't on her list for tonight of people to use it on.

But, at their insistence, she lets her hand cool them down, being very careful to use it sparingly.

(Rosaria) "If it gets too cold, let me know, I guess. Don't say I didn't warn you, though."

Rosaria tries to be as gentle as she can, and has to remove her gloves to avoid poking S/O in the eyes.

Her own hand feeling S/O so tenderly gets her a little flustered, the only way S/O can tell was by her actively avoiding meeting their eyes.

Ayaka felt like a stroke of genius hit her when she brought S/O's high temperature down.

With a smile, Ayaka eagerly sits down with S/O in order to help.

(Ayaka) "Please, rest easy S/O. Would you like anything to eat while I'm here?"

She could just hire some help or get Thoma to help S/O, but part of her quite enjoyed being the one to care for S/O.

It was unfortunate they were sick, but she sure wasn't going to complain about spending time with S/O, especially when she could actively help them.

The entire time she's with them, Ayaka's smile never really goes away.

Ganyu has done the same to herself whenever she felt under the weather, though without too much effect since she was used to the cold.

But she breathed a massive sigh on relief when it had a visible effect on S/O's fever.

(Ganyu) "Ah, good! It's working! The medicine should be working soon, but in the meantime!-"

She brings a little bit of her paperwork to get through as she sits next to S/O, multi-tasking to help them recover.

Even if her S/O insists that they don't have to worry, she'll still take care of them anyway.

Work was important, but the love of her life was even moreso.

Shenhe, on top of retrieving some medicinal herbs and creating a brew concocted by her master, helps S/O's fever with her Vision.

...By grabbing onto their forehead with her entire hand, looking like she was about to crush their head instead of heal.

(Shenhe) "Are you comfortable S/O? Please relax and I'll bring down your temperature."

Careful with both her strength and Vision, she used them in moderation in order to help, much to S/O's terror when half their vision was blotted out by her palm.

The entire time Shenhe is focused on making sure S/O recovers well, trying her best to make sure they were comfortable.

Was it entirely comfortable? Truthfully, no. It was a little awkward.

But damned if S/O wasn't grateful that Shenhe was trying.

[random-dragon-exe]

I kinda hope it's acknowledged in A New Wish that Peri and Jorgen are related.

Like there's a lot of potential with it.

Remember the FOP episode where Jorgen got sick and it was revealed that Cosmo and Jorgen are cousins? Then in the meantime, Cosmo had to fill in for Jorgen's role?

Maybe it's just me, but I'd like to see a similar thing happen, but this time, Peri has to fill in for Jorgen, and enforce the rules.

The reason why Jorgen picks Peri would be that he doesn't want a repeat of last time with Cosmo (the rules shattering nearly ended the universe).

So this time, he picks Peri, who he feels is more responsible.

It'd be fun to see Peri kinda lose it and bite off more than he could chew while trying to enforce the rules and take responsibility of the role. But at the same time, he'd totally hide how he really feels so he could make his dad proud (also Jorgen).

I'd like to imagine that this would happen after the battle of the big wand, because of Jorgen assuming that since Dev's memories were wiped and Peri isn't a working fairy godparent, he could do the job.

Idk, this concept just sounds so cool to me and seems like something that could actually happen.

Plus, we could potentially get a full hug between Cosmo, Jorgen, and Peri, just saying.

[mamawasatesttube]

ok i put a longer post abt tim's Emotional State in drafts for when my brain is less melted but re: tim and going to college im just gonna get a lil silly with it. hear me out.

i have this whole vague story in my mind for tim's college days moonlighting as red robin as he tries and figures out what he wants out of life. (it's a while after rr leaves off and all because he's like. Super Depressed for a hot minute and then has to drag himself through actually bothering to get his GED and applying to college, etc., but eventually lucius is like hey. you're great with gadgets, and you clearly love tinkering. i'd hire you for r&d in a heartbeat but you need at the least a bachelor's of engineering. i know you have a lot of the technical skills, but you need a degree. so tim goes ugh fine i'll get a goddamn engineering degree how hard can it possibly be.)

anyways. i think it's a universal experience that if you go to college and you hang with the STEM crowd, you will unfortunately get to know at least one Fucking Guy. it's like brentwood arc; tim does make friends, but there is just this One Fucking Guy he cannot stand and will never stand. this Fucking Guy is in the common room playing his guitar at midnight. he's drunk and yelling and laughing really loud when people have exams coming up. he's convinced everyone adores him. there's also a detective/supernatural plot going on. the subplot is just that tim hates This Fucking Guy.

at some point, there's a story beat where he as red robin has to rescue That Fucking Guy from a real dicey situation, and That Fucking Guy is really shaken and grateful to him, and he's like okay. maybe. maybe we are making progress. but then the next time he encounters This Fucking Guy as tim drake, the guy is just like. "ohhhh hey drake you missed it last night, it was AWESOME!!! i had to save red robin from a KILLER ROBOT. he's pretty cool though i guess. i bet you wish you could be more like him huh??" and tim is just. I Will Not Grind My Teeth About This. I Will Not. his life is a fucking joke. he dismantles the toaster oven in the common room kitchen to cope. it's definitely to cope and not just so that That Fucking Guy won't be able to heat up his pop tarts in the morning.

at another point, This Fucking Guy looks at street mode, lowkey, unremarkable Normal Car-looking redbird and goes, aw, dude, i thought your dad is loaded?? he only got you a generic-ass sedan?? that sucks lol, if you want we can take my car down to the game instead. and tim is just Say One More Fucking Word About My Baby I Dare You I Fucking Dare You One More Fucking Word.

(also i like to toy with the idea of this being a university in metropolis - he's out of gotham, but not too far. keeps him from getting antsy about what if he's needed because he can get right back over there. and in the meantime, he can hang out with kon and kara a lot, and occasionally enable and be enabled by lois lane and her snooping habits. there's another subplot in which tim and lois get up to shenanigans. at least once.)

it's sort of an introspective thing of him trying to come to terms with the way he no longer wants a fully normal life the way he always used to assume he would - he has the option to walk away from the cape now, like he always thought he would one day, but he just can't give it up anymore. he's fallen into the same black hole he watched dick and bruce dive headlong into. it's also about him finding joy in tinkering and working with his hands and getting to spend more time as tim drake first and foremost. and it's about him venting to kon about That Fucking Guy while they have a lil picnic on the green while kon loses his absolute shit laughing. all against the backdrop of a little mystery or something. <3

OH and also, most importantly. zoanne wilkins is there and laughing at him for assuming college would be easy. and kon gets her into wendy the werewolf stalker. My City Now.

[pandafruit]

Ok, I’ve been tossing this AU around in my head for AGES, and I have to get it out or I’m gonna explode.

So in TEC, it’s made pretty clear that there are numerous risks to reviving Butler that even the fairies can’t fully account for. No healing like his had ever been attempted before, and there was really no telling what was gonna happen.

What if, in the face of all this, Holly refuses to heal him?

She’s not a trained medical warlock. She’s on her own. And she’s being asked to desecrate the body of her friend, with unknown, possibly catastrophic results. She refuses, tries her best to console Artemis and goes home.

Now, a lot changes from here.

Artemis obviously isn’t giving up hope. He transfers Butler to longer term cryogenic storage and has human surgeons fix his wounds as best they can in the meantime.

Artemis and Holly’s friendship is shattered. Artemis could never forgive her for not even trying to heal Butler. Holly doesn’t hate him in turn, but she does (mostly) believe she did the right thing, and wishes he would see her point of view. The LEP might still occasionally contact Artemis for help (though not for long - I’ll get to it) but the two of them remain, at absolute best, frosty around each other from then on.

Spiro and Blunt are no longer getting the “off to prison” treatment lmao. Artemis contacts Carla Frazetti and convinces the Chicago mob to turn on Spiro and assassinate both him and Blunt. Afterward, Artemis ends up taking Spiro’s place as benefactor and strategist for the mob. In return, Carla provides him with a security detail when needed (which is how I’m getting around Artemis not dying without Butler every 5 minutes lmao). The relationship proves very beneficial to Carla, and absolutely horrible for Artemis’s moral compass.

Artemis becomes obsessed with learning how to use magic - if the fairies won’t heal Butler, he’ll do it himself. This strains his working relationship with the LEP to the breaking point, and he eventually becomes a fairy fugitive. (I’ll be honest, this one is just bc I think Warlock!Artemis is cool as hell. They should’ve let him keep the magic >:(((( ) (Also cue tragic-yet-awesome scene where Holly is trying to bring him in and they get into a magic fight. The drama. The cinema).

Speaking of his magic! Artemis is no longer actively monitoring Foaly’s work, and the calculation error for the demons goes unnoticed until far too late. Thousands die in Hybras’s return to Earth, and the fairies come dangerously close to being revealed altogether.

When Artemis’s Atlantis Complex hits, because of his decidedly more amoral life path and extra dabbling in magic, it’s a hundred times worse. He has full blown hallucinations, panic attacks, multiple alters, and can no longer access fairy help for any of it. He stumbles by with human OCD treatments, but it’s not nearly as effective. He still refuses to see a psychiatrist.

Eventually, years down the line, Artemis masters magic well enough to revive Butler. It’s both better and worse than it would’ve been had Holly healed him - he no longer has to deal with the Kevlar strands thanks to the human medical intervention, and Artemis was able to train for years specifically to heal him, but the extra time in stasis means it takes even more of Butler’s life force to revive him.

When Butler finally awakes, he no longer recognizes the cold, paranoid, angry young man he used to dutifully protect. Butler may have been the one who was revived, but it’s Artemis who came back wrong.

There’s a million different ways this AU could go, but this is the stuff I’ve been tossing around. Also I know for a fact I haven’t hit every plot hole - PLEASE please share what you guys think would happen with me!! As of rn, I have no name for this AU, so I would appreciate suggestions for that too lmao

[ddreamywitch]

Chapter One - Dinner and Diatribes

knight!benjicot blackwood x princess!reader

word count: 4.3k

warnings: benji is (hot and) bothered, probably inaccurate depiction of knighting ceremonies

song: Dinner & Diatribes - Hozier

a/n: I only fleetingly proofread this, please excuse any mistakes <3

prologue

It is a swelteringly hot day.

Humid, stale air presses down upon the kingdom, torturing anyone who dared to venture to so much as lift a finger.

Weather like this is not made for exciting endeavours.

In fact it is made for remaining in a shaded area, or within the castle walls or in the cool waters of the sea, but you are not granted any such indulgences today.

Your handmaiden, Marion, winces at your gasp for air. “I am sorry, princess. Would that I could spare you this, but a lady of your status simply cannot leave her chambers without a corset.”

You smile at her reflection in the mirror. “It is not your fault, dear. I shall suffer the confines of a corset, just as the common folk suffer their afflictions. ‘Tis but a small price to pay for a lavish dinner.”

Marion returns your smile but it does not look at all convinced, rather than dread-filled.

She does know her princess well, after spending many years in your service and loyally devoted. She knows when you are happy and she knows you as you are now, which is decidedly unhappy and yet determined to convince your surroundings of the opposite.

Marion does not understand why you always are so insistent upon these matters, she figured you might be a little less ashamed to be honest with your handmaiden, who had seen you bare after all.

But Marion also does not understand how hard it is to be outwardly emotional after being taught over and over, for years and years, that you may do nothing but smile tepidly and sit prettily.

You let her finish the lacing of your corset and briefly you clutch the back of your vanity chair. “God be good, that I might survive in this merciless warmth,” you mutter through a haphazard giggle.

Your handmaiden directs your gaze at your dresses. “I have picked out your simplest gowns, princess, should you think them fit for the occasion?”

A knighting ceremony has never happened in the time she had worked for you.

Or they have, but you were simply not the one to be doing the knighting, so the question of the wardrobe did feel rather overwhelming, with nothing to go off of.

Your head tilts slightly to the side as you take them all in and though you can feel your heart, in your now uncomfortably squashed ribcage, scream out for a thin and modest dress, you know deep down that it would be much better to wear something more precious.

To your knowledge, a fair share of the nobles were to attend this little festivity.

A sigh escapes you and you shake your head. “Might you fetch me the gown with the flowers embroidered? I do believe the king would like me to make a good impression upon our visitors tonight, it would be about due time that he attempted to convince me of marriage once again.”

This time Marion’s smile seems genuine, at the light ridicule of your father. “I shall see to it, princess. In the meantime, I think Ser Rodrick would like to bid you his goodbyes.”

You cannot help the pain this causes you. The notion of having to part ways with your former knight did not sit well with you at all.

Your robe drapes around you and the door creaks open.

Marion is always impossibly quick and quiet. She flits through the castle not much unlike a little mouse and you do not even know in which moment she leaves.

Whereas Ser Rodrick with his ever imposing silhouette was not ever subtle.

Your gaze meets his in your mirror and you think that you could weep right then. He seems to share this idea.

“I wish I were but a few years younger, princess, so that I could remain by your side a little longer.”

There is a thick clot in your throat, so thick that you may choke on it. “You’ve performed your duties beautifully,” you say, fighting tooth and nail against the tears threatening to spill.

Slowly you turn to face your sworn protector.

A man like Ser Rodrick, you found, is hard to come by. His kindness and honour seeks its match and after the many years together, he had long transcended his position and become more of a confidant, dare I say, friend instead.

He had known you from a sticky, wild childhood, through the years of your growth until now.

Long gone is the babe he was sworn to protect, with its clumsy movements and relentless howling, replaced by what you are now; the realm’s delight, a fair young woman, grown into the shape of a dedicated princess.

He bows his head down. “I shall miss you dearly, princess.”

Your laugh is a watery, wet thing. “Oh, you shall not. I will write you many letters. Your retirement shall not be as peaceful as you think, my good Ser.”

The setting sun reflects in the shine of his armour, a chest plate painted hues of gold and orange in this light. It bears the sigil of your father’s house and it heaves now with his heavy breathing.

“Your brother has asked me for guidance on who to pick and I put forward the youngest Lord Mormont. A northerner with a northerner’s honour.”

You nod, fingers fiddling with the belt of your robe, fiddling to find the right words now but they do not come to you and so you remain silent.

There could not be a good replacement for your knight, how could anyone ever understand you again, the way that Ser Rodrick had.

“Child, do not fret. I am away from court, not from the world,” he says. “And I shall reply to your letters with great pleasure.”

“How come you are not to be at the ceremony? Should my old protector not be there to see me off to my new one?”

Rodrick shrugs. “It is the way of tradition. I will be dismissed by your father and leave the court in mere moments.”

It is unfair really, it is almost embarrassing to you, to insult Rodrick and have him retire, like an old horse, as though he is no longer a capable fighter.

It had come as a bit of a surprise to you as well, not much of a warning of any kind had been given to you, before your father informed you not even a week ago of this rather drastic change.

The thought that you were to share every waking moment with a stranger bothered you relentlessly.

You cross the room quickly, manners and protocol thrown to the wind as you throw your arms around your knight’s neck.

It is awkward and tense, his iron and steel exterior boring into your soft flesh, but nonetheless he does not pull away, offering you comfort the best he can.

You are the third born child of the king, and though it was undeniable how popular you were at court and with the smallfolk, your father did not care much.

You were not an heir or a spare, you simply were there and as you bent and broke yourself to garner his attention, it was Ser Rodrick who would look down at the flushed cheeks you so often donned as a child and impose his gentleness on you.

As you grew you found yourself wondering how much the blood in your veins meant, what it mattered that the king had put you into your mother’s womb, when it was somebody else who you found yourself in the care of.

“Oh dearest, your mother would be so overcome with delight at the sight of you today,” he whispers when you finally pull back, one large rough hand on your shoulder. “What a marvellous person you’ve become.”

The hurt and love in your heart intermingle and threaten to burst through its seams. The gripping force in your neck does not fade and so, to the best of your abilities, you inhale a deep breath.

“You must visit soon, Ser Rodrick. Whenever you’ve grown sick of spending your days lazing about,” you attempt at a jest.

He shoves at you a little bit. “And you must remain out of trouble. At least for a few weeks.”

You huff. “I am nothing short of a saint.”

“You are,” he says. “You truly are.”

You dare not let the tears spill from your eyes and you dare not look into his, where you are sure you will find the same sheen as in yours.

“I must go, but rest assured a piece of me remains with you.“

In the most royal demeanour and grace you can muster, you curtsy to him. “I am indebted to you forever, Ser Rodrick.”

He kisses the back of your hand, unmarred and soft against his, not a speck of dirt beneath your well-kempt nails. “Farewell for now.”

You do not wish to say farewell and so you do not. You would see him again after all, at least on your birthday, you would certainly see to it.

Silently you watch him leave you behind and though you know that you are not truly without protection, you do wonder who else at court would ever be so honest and gracious with you again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You regret not having given into your desires, the moment you put on this wretched ball gown.

Though the sun is almost entirely gone now, its force still lingers in the air and you think you may be strangled by it.

With great urgency you cling to your wine chalice, about the third pour deep in hopes of ridding yourself of your sweaty discomfort.

It was a wonderful gown, a pale green shade, its bodice and hems embroidered with rosy flowers. The king always liked you in these distinctly girlish dresses, the perfect picture of an obedient and compliant daughter.

He sits to your right, drunk and distracted by his latest mistress next to him.

Lady Cathcart, a notorious sinner, as many liked to say.

Marion had once told you that Lady Cathcart was an expert at fellatio. You do not know what that means, but you assume it could only be of immoral nature.

Bile rises at the sight of them, unapologetic and public shame brought to your mother’s memory.

You avert your eyes and redirect them to your brother next to you.

His attire clashes with yours, a dark purple, not at all youthful and much more suitable for the heir to the throne. He looks just as annoyed as you feel, though you’ve gone to great lengths to hide it.

“Tristan?” You tap your chalice against his.

He breaks out of his reverie with wide eyes. “Sister.”

“When is the ceremony to begin?”

With nervous eyes he scans the room. It bustles with gowns and nobles and servants. “Not much longer,” he somehow ascertained through the sight of this. “Why do you ask?”

“I would like to be excused for a few moments,” you explain and your brother does not question why.

He was often a very crass and forward young man, but he did harbour a certain softness to his younger sister. With the wave of a hand he gives you permission and you do not wait any longer, your chair screeching across the floor immediately.

Fingers curled around your skirt layers, you make haste for the gardens, lest you fall unconscious before you get there.

It was too late to change your dress now, so the sweet solace of the royal gardens would have to serve you as an opportunity for a breath of air.

Air that wasn’t stained with the ladies’ expensive perfumes or the intense spices of dinner.

Air that wasn’t tainted with your father’s misbehaviour.

Your breathing had become quite laboured and you cursed the extravagance of your family, especially now, as your gown had become your body’s prison.

Guards open the doors and the moment you are out of prying eyes you drop into the grass beneath you.

It is no longer soft and ticklish, the way it had been a few short weeks ago, in the wakes of spring. The harshness of summer had turned it coarse and mean against your exposed arms.

It is not very suitable to lay around on the ground like this, but the stars above are spinning and you feel you could have died if you spent a moment longer upright.

Lord Mormont, you think to yourself. A very quiet man, your senior by a few years. You had only spoken with him fleetingly and never about anything of great interest, to either of you, you assumed.

It leaves you wondering whether he would become this constant distanced force in her life. Not only a protector but also somebody who would keep her in line.

In your many years with Ser Rodrick, you had worked out a rhythm with him. You had gotten used to one another and therefore, after so many hours spent together, a strong foundation of trust rests beneath your friendship. He had never chastised you for your shortcomings as princess, he had let you venture outside the castle walls with Marion and had not uttered a single word to your family.

You’re not sure that Lord Mormont would be so tolerant. Northerners were notoriously serious about their duties, he does not seem like the type to take lightly to things like this.

With your face turned upward to the moon and your mind racing, you do not hear the approaching footsteps until it is too late.

A face leans above you.

The young man has a crooked sort of look to him, not as princely as the faces you are accustomed to.

A scar graces his lip, accompanied by a bend in the slope of his nose.

Princes and noblemen rarely carried traits like this, he looks rather common.

Right now he also looks at you, rather confused.

“Looking for anything down there,” he teases as heat shoots into your cheeks, more than the high temperatures had already caused.

You sit up, fumbling to straighten your appearance at least a little bit, the rash movement sending you back into your previous state of low-level vertigo.

The man does not think to offer you a hand and you are once again taken aback by his…commonness.

“What is a lady like you doing, tumbling around in the gardens at night?”

His hands land on his hips.

Maybe he was the stable boy of one of the Lords that were visiting.

His clothing reveals no sigils to you, a simple black attire with a red cape.

No, he could not be highborn.

“What, cat got your tongue?”

Your eyes widen at the realisation that you are simply sitting there, not speaking.

“I felt a bit faint,” you explain. “Would you offer me a hand, young man?”

His brow raises a little but he extends one to you anyways.

Like Rodrick's, his hand is witness to hard labour, again a stark contrast to yours.

Unlike Rodrick though, he grips you with more force, all but yanking you upwards. Nausea brews in you.

“I thank you,” you mumble. What a queer young man.

He is more brave than a servant, to address you so haphazardly.

He grunts in lieu of a real answer.

“Tell me, what’s this place like? Seems like a fucking shitshow so far.”

It clicks then. He does not know that you are the princess. He thinks you to be of a lower house. It would make sense, with the position he found you in but your appearance surely does not speak to that of a lower house.

Men are always so indifferent to these details, they do not realise their worth.

You clear your throat. “Well, the royal family is rather kind. And there are many feasts and festivities held here. It can be quite interesting,” you say.

He shakes his head. “��Course you’d say that,” he mutters just beneath his breath.

You cross your arms. “What do you imply?”

“You capital people are all the fucking same. Insufferable flatterers.”

It is not often that people speak so frankly to you. You are not sure whether that might be why his words offend you or because he is simply wrong.

“I am no flatterer.”

His nose scrunches. “Yeah? You’ve never seen the princess and doused her in compliments? Never made eyes at her boring brother?”

“I would have you know that her brother is not boring and the princess is a very humble person. She does not care much for feigned niceties.”

“Sure. Whatever you say, birdy.” He lets the name roll over his tongue like it is a term of endearment, delicious and something to relish in.

Now you take a step back. “Watch who you are speaking to, you fool.”

He does not seem troubled by your reaction, lets one hand run through his wild dark hair. “And who is that?”

“A lady. You would do good in learning the pillars of chivalry.”

He laughs, bitterly and full of sarcasm. “Oh trust me I know chivalry and I know it well.”

The garden feels different now, charged with an energy you could not quite put your fingers on. He seems an iresome lad and you decide that you needn’t handle such treacherous behaviour displayed in front of you.

What a fool he is, to speak so lewdly of your family in the very heart of your father’s kingdom.

“Well then, you should learn to mind your tongue. This is no place for words as yours,” you spit and once more grip the skirts of your dress. “I shall bid you goodnight.”

He does not do the same, you think you even see him roll his eyes before you turn your back to him.

It is the curse of manhood to always think they have a right to something. It is what leads them into violence and wars and their own demise.

Women are not troubled with such foolery, women are taught to keep their mouths shut and they hold the wisdom of listening in high regard. It is why they always know the secrets of the castle before any of the Lords hear of it.

You cannot help but shake off your head at this rude intrusion of your peace, this imbecilic attitude.

He would learn his lesson soon enough, he would not make the same mistake unscathed with any other courtiers.

Before you enter again you reach into your hair, checking to see whether it had fallen apart in your short time on the ground, but Marion is too good at her job. Despite hours of dancing or riding or windy weather, it seems that no hair falls amiss no matter how intricate or complicated the style.

A blind man could have picked you out as the princess, you are sure of it.

Huffing and puffing with anger, you drop back into your seat next to your brother, willing this god-forsaken day to finally come to its end.

Your brother ushers a servant to refill your cup. “Are you quite alright?”

“I think my corset is laced too tight and my closest friend has left the city but other than that, I am splendid,” you reply, a misdirected hit of venom toward your innocent brother.

He nudges you with shoulder. “Are you not excited about meeting your new knight? I’ve heard great tales of him.”

You shake your head no and gulp down the sweet wine in a hurry. “I cannot imagine.”

“What? He’s more a myth than a man.”

Liquid goes down the wrong pipe and you nearly choke. “Mormont? In what world?” You ask, entirely incredulous.

Tristan’s eyes widen. “Father has not told you?”

Your eyes tell him to be honest with himself. When has their father ever given you the graciousness of staying informed? He hadn’t even told you of your mother’s death, leaving it to your oldest sister to do so. It does not come as a surprise that once again you are left in the dark about matters that directly concern you.

“It is not Lord Mormont. Father attempted to create peace in the Riverlands,” Tristan begins to explain.

An odd feeling of dread creeps into your bones. “And?”, you inquire, voice taunt but before your brother manages to get out an answer, your father rises.

He is drunk, he sways softly from side to side and you can see his Lady Cathcart’s fingers curl around his leg in an attempt to keep him steady. The room falls quiet, eager to hear their monarch speak.

Insufferable flatterers, the young man pierces your thoughts again.

Some bit of skin is pinched, right beneath your breast and it sends a sharp pain down your side when you straighten your back once more, harsh enough to leave you distracted.

It is odd, you cannot seem to find clarity today, your thoughts distant and flimsy, like water in your hands.

“A special honour shall be bestowed on one of you young lads. The honour of protecting the sanctity of our kingdom's delight, my beloved daughter,” King Alexander boomed, the slightest hint of slur to his words.

Polite claps follow suit and beneath the table you begin to twist the rings on your fingers.

“Now, our council has given great thought to our choice and we are certain that we have picked the most suitable man in the kingdom, for his reputation exceeds him.”

Whispers flood the room and it takes much of your self-constraint to not take your brother’s hand like a little child.

“Benjicot Blackwood, shall be sworn in, in our midst, tonight.”

Bloody Ben.

Tristan is right. There’s many tales to be told of the heir of Raventree, none of which have anything to do with knighthood and to you, all of them are terrifying. A man like that to watch over you with hawkeyes.

You would have much preferred the stoic Lord Mormont.

You swallow thickly.

“My dearest shall knight him herself.”

Your father has not looked at you yet, perhaps he does know that he will face nothing but contempt. He is a drunkard but he is a king and perhaps even a good one and it does take at least somewhat of a brain to be one.

You blinked, once, twice and then you smiled—a practised smile, not much alike to a real one—and got up.

The lightness in your head leaves your periphery blinded, but you have learned after many years of life under the watchful eyes of the nobility, to not stumble, no matter your state and with graceful steps you walk around the table reserved for the highest ranks.

Well, and Lady Cathcart.

Your knees bend very deeply before your father as his sword slices the air.

Nobody thinks to keep you up to date, but nobody needs to tell you about things like this. The manners and the conduct of behaviour at court are ingrained into your brain.

You do not have to be told when to bow or when to rise.

The sword is heavier than expected, it quivers a bit in your hold when your father passes it across the table to you.

It’s gorgeous, with engravings along its blade, flowery gardens, lush hills, stormy seas, it shines in the candlelit hall.

The grand doors creak upon and you cannot bear it any longer, you whirl around, all dizziness ignored, impatient to see the legendary bloody Ben.

At the end of the path he stands, simple black clothes, dark red cape and crooked nose.

Your jaw drops, only by a little.

From the distance parting you, you can’t be certain but Benjicot Blackwood looks about as surprised as you.

He shouldn’t be surprised, you think, he should be worried.

The sword is still awkward in the gip of both of your hands, but the face you make is practised.

Marion had once compared it to Rodrick’s steel armour.

It takes the man a torturously long time to finally reach you, each step dragged as though something was pulling him the other way.

He looks at you, like he wishes to challenge you, but he kneels, not with poise, moreso dropping before you like a sack of potatoes.

Through strands of hair he peaks up at you and it is a funny little turn, you wonder what you must have looked like looking up at him in the garden

Solemnly you clear your throat.

“ Wilt thou, upon this day, pledge thy fealty to the House Aprikate, and stand as a Knight of the Crown?” Your voice drips with an authority that feels strange on your tongue, an unfamiliar power vested in you.

“Yes, your grace.”

You almost feel bad for him, it does not seem so honourable to be kneeling like this, head firmly directed down, so clearly beneath you for everyone to see.

“Doth thou wish to abandon thy self, and be sword and shield for the sake of the greater good?”

This time he pauses a little longer. “Yes, your grace.”

You lift the sword from where you hold it against your mid, slowly and pray to god and all his saints that the tremble of your hand is not too noticeable.

With much tenderness you touch upon each of his shoulders.

“I do hereby dub thee, Benjicot Blackwood, knight of honour. May your courage and devotion become a shining example throughout all the land.”

And so it is done, your chest constricting and heart writhing within. You cannot say what it is that pushes you over the edge, but you see the way he looks at you, as though you have damned him to hell on earth.

Something jolts down your spine and finally your arduous work of remaining composed unravels, darkness cloaking your sight.

A gasp reverberates, mayhaps yours, but you are unconscious before your body tumbles to the ground.

[agaypanic]

Body Swapping With Benny Weir Headcanons

Masterlist

Request Something!

A/N: Tumblr ate the request but it literally just said "request where the reader and benny weir get body swapped". i was gonna do a full fic but i couldn’t figure out how to start it so im doing headcanons instead :3 there's some sexual stuff towards the end but not much

***

The reaction to body swapping with Benny depends on what your guys’ relationship is

If you guys are just friends, there’s both playful and serious arguing

The serious arguments are about how the hell you’re gonna switch back

“Benny, you need to fix this.” You whispered sharply, feeling weird about the fact that you were looking right at yourself, knowing that Benny Weir was in your body. 

Benny raised your his hands in defense. “Uh, first of all, I don’t even know how this happened. Second, you’re the warlock now. So you fix it!”

You grumbled in annoyance, wishing you could hit the boy without ruining your face. “Let’s just go find your grandma.”

And playful arguments are more like this

“For the love of god, don’t look at my dick, Y/n.”

“Hands off, Weir! Just because you’re in my body doesn’t mean you can touch it.”

“How have you lived life being this small?”

“Not all of us are freakish giants.”

But if you guys are friends crushing on each other

It gets awkward QUICK

You’re in your crush’s body, which is kind of cool

But he’s also in your body

Which is not as cool if you have any physical evidence of your feelings for him

You and Benny decided to try and wait out the body-swapping, hoping it would end the next day. But that meant that you had to teach Benny how to act like you in the meantime so your family wouldn’t suspect anything. They didn’t know about any of your and your friends’ supernaturalness, and you planned to keep it that way.

“Okay, when you get home, just go to my room. It’s the second door on the left when you go up the stairs.” You instructed as you walked Benny to your house. “The bathroom is the first door. Mom texts me when she’s leaving work in case I have to help with dinner, so keep an eye on my phone. But don’t try to text anyone else.” You said the last part like it was a life-or-death warning. It might as well have been because if Benny saw your messages with the girls, he’d know that you had the fattest crush ever on him.

Benny nodded along. “Got it. Don’t text anyone but your mom.” Suddenly he smirked. “I already do that, though.”

“Ew!” You cringed, pushing him away from you. He laughed, but you didn’t find it that amusing. “Don’t talk about my mom like that in my body.”

If you’re together, it honestly depends on how far into the relationship you are

If you haven’t been together long, you might act how you would if you were just crushing

But if it’s been a while, you guys handle it pretty well

Lots of innuendos and freaky talk

“What was the first thing you did when you woke up in my body?” “...jerked it.”

“We should switch bodies more often, I look sexy as hell.” “Please stop arching your back like that, we’re in public.”

“So this is what it’s like to wear a bra…” “Yeah, kind of sucks, right?” “Totally. Maybe you should just… stop wearing them.”

Probably had sex while body-swapped just to see what it was like

***

Benny Weir Taglist: @batmandallyboy @june-julie

[samwinchesterswifu]

Waiting For The End (Dean Winchester x Reader Angst)

Based off the ending of Season Five

Song Inspo: "Waiting For The End" by Linkin Park

Warnings: so much fucking angst. heartbreak.

MINORS DNI

A/N: of course my first story of 2025 has to be a dean shit show. enjoy the pain lol

Word Count: 1,042

Summary: Not only does she lose her best friend, but also her lover.

The days that followed Sam’s magnificent sacrifice felt draining and incredibly lonely. She also lost someone that felt like a little brother to her. After all these years of growing up with the boys. Her best friend was gone, and her lover was absent. She had driven home with Bobby that evening after Sam jumped, understanding that Dean needed some time to cool off. She had tried to call him more than a few times to check if he was alive only for it to go to voicemail. Each night was restless just like her father. These times were spent with her reading up demonology books and helping hunters on their cases. She desperately wanted to take a few days off herself to let loose. But, she knew she had other important work to do. That’s how the Singer’s worked. 

On this particular day, she was in the family shop working on her two-door ‘67 Cherry Red Chevy Chevelle Convertible. She remembers the day that Bobby had gifted it to her. For her first Vamp kill at 16. He was so damn proud of her for taking that thing down like a champ. She smiles fondly peeking into the back seat, remembering her and Dean’s first kiss that summer when the boys had come to stay while John went on a hunt. 

It was a brisk summer evening in late July. They had just finished a picnic and were laying down in the backseat to stargaze. One of Dean’s favorite pastimes despite what Sam knew of his brother. His head laid in her lap while she was propped up against the door. Her fingers playing with his semi-grown out hair. Earning soft hums of approval from Dean in the process. Dean in the meantime softly caressed her thighs. These moments, while small, felt large in their tiny world. 

“Do you ever wish you could, just, escape it all?” Dean whispered from his spot. Glazing up at the belt of Orion. 

“You know I always do De, why do you ask?” 

“I wonder what it would be like for us to have an apple pie life,” he replies, taking a quick peek at her before shifting his gaze back to the stars. 

“You want to settle down with me?” She asked in a hush tone. Honestly shocked that a young boy had such big thoughts. 

“Yeah.” Dean says with a cheeky smile. Finally meeting her eyes. 

Before she could respond, Dean had flipped from his position and was now sitting on his knees. He leans in timidly. His eyes shifted between her own, and her lips. 

“Dean,” she breathed out heavily. Caught by surprise. 

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers. 

As she nods he quickly leans in with her permission. His lips tasted sweet like the butterscotch candy they had just shared. Her hand comes to cup his neck, keeping him in the kiss for a few seconds longer before he pulls away. 

“Yeah, I think I would really like to settle down with you,” he whispers with a glint of hope in his eyes. 

A sharp knock at the metal door pulls her from her memory. Dean stood in the doorway with his hands stuffed deeply in his pockets. 

“Can I talk to you?” He asks in a deep voice. Something hanging on the edge of his tongue she couldn't quite catch. 

“You know you always can,” she replies with a nervous smile. 

Dean moves to lean against the front of her Chevelle. His hands help him steady. She copies his movement. After a few moments of silence, a sharp fire starts to form in her chest. He was never this quiet unless something truly bothered him. 

“Dea-” 

“I’m leaving,” he states coldly. 

She looks at him baffled. Not once did she ever imagine he could say those words. 

“What?”

“I’ve already talked to Bobby. He’ll take care of you, he always does. But this-” Dean pauses for a moment and looks at her. 

Her heart sank in her chest. She knew that look. Hollow and empty.

“Whatever we had, between us, it’s over.” 

A short laugh leaves her lips. There was no way this man was serious. 

“You’re joking right? After everything we’ve-”

“I’m going back to Lisa.” 

Nope, he was serious. 

“Fine.” She replies coldly. She knew what Lisa meant to Dean, and if it was that easy for him to forget their history. Then, fine. 

“What?” Dean asks. A shift in emotion flashed across his face before returning to stark emptiness. 

“If that’s how you want to do things, then fine. I was willing to wait for you Dean. Whatever time you needed after Sam I understood better than anyone,” she pauses and takes a deep breath. “But if you wanna throw that into my face, then fine. You’re free to go.” She waves her hand dismissively. 

A small scoff leaves Dean as he begins to walk away from her car. He takes a moment to pause and looks back at her.

“Just like that?” He asks. Completely aware of what he was doing to her. 

“Yep. Just like that.” She responds coldly. 

“This was never meant to last,” she spits in spite. 

Dean looks at her wide eyed and hesitant. But yet again returns to being robotic. 

“Yeah, this was never meant to last.” He replies and fully walks away. 

She watches him climb into his Impala. The same car they shared their first intimate moments in. She watches as he adjusts the rear view mirror to be able to see her full figure. He sits like that for a moment. Almost hoping that he would run back to her, but that's not how the Winchesters did things. Her heart cracks as she hears the engine roar to life and as he speeds off onto the highway. 

As she was certain he was far from view she slid down against the hood. Once sitting on the shop floor, she brings her knees up to her chest with her head resting against her front bumper. Deep sobs leave her chest as she starts to process what just transpired. The man she loved was gone. That she was certain. And this hurt more than any pain any monster can inflict. 

[flatw00ds]

Hello 👋

Coming from your Twitter, and your recent post there.

I just wanted you to know: I hope you're okay. I hope things get better for you, and for your friends (though I understand that the road ahead [esp in the US] is... bleak, to put it mildly). I've followed you & your art since your OFF Askblog. Your work's been an inspiration and an absolute JOY, the entire time! Take all the time you need for yourself. Don't burn yourself out; we've got a long road ahead.

In the meantime- do you have a Ko-fi or anything we can contribute to? I want to support you without adding to your workload, if possible.

hey, thank you so much for sending in such a sweet message?? I took a while responding because I wanted to have my action plan in place, but here's how I think my post-twitter, sometimes-tumblr online presence is going to pivot.

I'm going to have a small discord channel for people to hop into, located here:

If the link doesn't work, I'm flatw00ds on discord as well and would be happy to send anyone who DMs me an invite. I've already uploaded some exclusive sketches and peeks at my not-yet-fully-live neocities website!

My hope is to have the discord run as a free archive/sketchbook that's a little less public that twitter and a little less intimidating than one-on-one DMs. I struggle with communication and a large audience, I think, and I'm testing this out as a middle ground. I'll still post on tumblr though!

I think it would also be cool if I could use this as a way to thank paid patreon members with like, free raffles of physical art pieces bc I don't do a lot of shows/like selling my stuff, etc etc. I have a pile of unfinished zines and stuff I'd like to dig out and start archiving too!

[viriscribe]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ - ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟ ᴋᴏᴍʙᴀᴛ - ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ᴄᴀɢᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ᴄᴀɢᴇ x ᴀғᴀʙ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ - "ғᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇɴᴇss ɪs ᴇᴀʀɴᴇᴅ."

ᴋɪɴᴋs : ᴅᴏᴍ! ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ᴄᴀɢᴇ, sɪᴢᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ʀᴇᴄᴏʀᴅɪɴɢ, ғᴀᴄɪᴀʟs.

(ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜᴛ)

The position you found yourself in was downright pornographic. 

“Pluh.. please, Johnny..” You could barely register your own words. You were stripped bare, kneeling on the mansion’s cold marble floor. Johnny was sitting across from you, leaning back comfortably in one of his many lavish chairs. He was fully clothed, still in his suit from the award show you’ve arrived home from.

“No way, babe. You made your choice, now it’s my turn to have some fun.” The actor spoke down to you, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. “Think you can just play the innocent princess around those showbiz bastards?”

You shook your head, unable to come up with a retort. Mere hours ago, Johnny was accepting an award for his latest movie. His first one fully written and directed by him, it was a huge event for your lover! As he was swept away by adoring fans and paparazzi alike, you wandered to get anywhere but there. The lights, the glamor, it was a lot.. to put it simply. These events weren’t that special to you, but for Johnny you’d sit through them all. That doesn’t mean you couldn’t come up with your own fun, though. As the sea of reporters and cameramen flashed away, you cozied up to Johnny. A normal thing, a cute pose to assert your status as a couple. The position was like this, you’d stand in front of Johnny, your fronts facing each other. You’d look over your shoulder and give the cameras a big smile, the works.  This time, however.. you ‘accidentally’ place your leg between his. The perfect angle, not enough to send suspicion your way from any passing guests, but close enough for Johnny to feel your plush thighs right against his crotch. The silk fabric of your slip dress made it oh so easy to slide your leg back and forth, providing that sinful stimulation. 

Johnny flashed his Hollywood smile, trying to keep his cool. “Damn..” A breathy plea left his lips. “You vixen, in front of the crowd..?” You could feel him stiffen through his pants. “Fucking wait until we get home.” He wrapped an arm around your waist, quick to pull your body flush with his. You swallowed hard, not sure if the right feeling was to be scared or satisfied with your little stunt. 

That brings you back into the present, where your pussy is dangerously close to the chilly floor. Johnny knew what the temperature would do to you, but he also planned for your current brattiness. He made you kneel with your legs slightly spread, a hard position to hold for long. Sooner or later that cunt was going to meet the ground. Seeing you suffer in the meantime was a bonus.

“Please what?” He scoffed, “You didn’t give me a choice before you started rubbing on my dick.” The man pulled out his phone, taking a lewd shot of you. You tried to turn away, but it was no use. 

“I just wanted to have some fun..” Your breathing was labored, you legs were beginning to shake. “You know how I feel about award shows..” 

Johnny was quick to fire back. “And you know how I feel about disobedient sluts.”

Your mouth hung open, a tinge of pleasure sparking in your sex. Dominant Johnny Cage was something you’d never get over. As sweet, cocky, and secretly nerdy he was… the man was kinky. A pervert behind those sunglasses, but anyone could’ve guessed that. 

“You have a choice.” He called out your name, his words dripping with desire. “We can go to bed now and talk about this in the morning.. Gods know how fucking tired I am.” A beat passes, and you almost don’t catch Johnny unzipping his fly. “Or, you can show me how sorry you are. Earn my forgiveness for that stunt.” 

Even in his half asleep horny state, Johnny had the mind to give you an out. Fuck, you’re gonna marry this stupid guy. You decided to answer by looking up at Johnny with doe eyes, “I’ll do anything to be forgiven, sir.”

A throaty groan came from the man, and you knew you were in for it now. Your mind raced with the thought of your punishment. Was he going to make you kneel while he fucked your throat? Made to show the camera how much cum he can pump into your little mouth? Or was he going to take your over his knee, giving you spanks until your tears coated the floor along with your wetness. The possibilities were endless, and you were more than eager to please. 

“Stay there, princess.” Johnny got up, leaving you to kneel in the living room. As he wandered off, you couldn’t help but feel exposed. Not because you were fully naked, but due to the huge outlook right onto the city. That fucker probably designed his mansion with that view in mind, and all the dirty things he could do with that in the background. 

You struggled to keep the kneeling position, tempted to give yourself a break while your lover was gone. Though, maybe this was part of the game? He had cameras everywhere and you didn’t want to risk being caught disobeying again tonight. 

Johnny’s footsteps alerted you to his presence, the predatory aura sending shivers down your spine. In his hands was a favorite of you both. A quite sizeable fantasy dildo, one you’ve taken many times. It was large from the tip to the base, only becoming wider the way down. You gulped upon laying eyes on it, getting a good idea of where this was going to go. 

“H-Honey..” You shifted, your pussy dribbling right onto the tile. 

Johnny quickly shushed you, not pleased that you were speaking without permission. 

“Up.” He spoke and you obeyed. “You’re going to ride this cock until I know you’re truly sorry for what you did.” You nodded, turning your head to look for the bottle of lube that usually comes along with the toy.

“Oh, no.” Johnny laughed, “You’re not getting that luxury tonight. Plus..” He stepped forward, dragging a finger through your folds. “It looks like you’ve got enough down there already.” He couldn’t deny it, he was impressed. The effect he had on you was otherworldly, one the man would never take for granted. Johnny watched as your essence slowly ran down his finger. 

“Mmph!” You startled as he suddenly shoved the coated finger in your mouth, making you taste yourself. Johnny bit his lip as you began to suck on his digit. 

With a ‘pop’ he pulled back. The toy was then placed securely on the tile, a convenient suction cup keeping it in place. 

“Go on.” The stage was set, Johnny was going to enjoy this. If you did a good job to please him, then maybe you’d get the privilege to as well. “Put on a show for me.”

You sunk to your knees once more, squatting over the sizable toy. You didn’t dare look up at your lover, you already knew the fucker was recording. 

The tip of the dildo was thick, providing a sharp pleasure as you rubbed it along your cunt in an attempt to get some sort of lubrication. Your folds gave way to the toy, coating it in your slick. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the penetration. This was quite the task to do without a warm up, but it was your punishment after all. As the dick breached your cunt, you immediately cried out. It looked fucking massive in Johnny’s hands, now you can only imagine the view he was seeing. Your size difference was a massive turn on for the man, awakening the need to push you to your limits whenever he could. 

“Look at that, it’s stretching you so nicely for me.” Johnny smirked at you, angling the camera to perfectly frame your stretching pussy. 

Your vision blurred, the feeling of taking such a huge dick was heavenly. Pathetic half groans involuntarily slipped past your lips. Once the tip was inside, you paused before continuing your descent. 

Johnny hummed, mocking your predicament. He had all the time in the world. Seeing you so willing to please him was intoxicating. You took the shaft of the toy with ease, whimpering as you neared the base. Your breathing was labored, your eyes blown wide with need. As your cunt hit the base, a wave of fullness washed over you. Being oh so full, stuffed with cock… it suited you. The feeling of being pushed to your limit and then some, it was addicting, to say the least. And that was just on the receiving end. Describing your lover as ‘turned on’ was a severe understatement. The whole time you were sliding down on the toy, Johnny was stroking himself. One hand holding the phone recording your debauchery and one sating himself. 

“Ride it, bitch.” Johnny commanded, drunk with the authority he had over you. 

You didn’t need another moment. Your hips began to move, grinding on the dildo. Every inch of your cunt was being rubbed by the silicone. A steady growing ball of pleasure began to build in your core. You let all of your inhibitions go, humping it like a slut. The pace you set for yourself was relentless, wanting to give Johnny the show he wanted. He made sure to zoom in on your breasts, their bounce only made your act more vulgar. 

“Feel sorry yet?” He laughed at you, degrading you. “I want to hear it.”

You looked up at him, showing a hint of embarrassment. Johnny wasn’t going to let shit like that slide and you knew that. “Don’t act shy while you’re fucking yourself. Apologize to me as you fuck yourself.” 

Who were you to deny him? You knew your place, humping the toy as your lover pleased himself mere inches away from your face. If you stuck your tongue out far enough, you could get a taste of his dick. 

“I’m..” You began to bounce up and down the dildo, chasing your own orgasm. “I’m so sorry.. I’m sah..” Broken apologies fell from your lips, sad attempts at forming a sentence. “I’m so sorry, Johnny..!” Your legs twitched, you were close. Johnny knew this of course, but didn’t say anything. He was curious to see if you’d ask to cum, or risk further punishments. 

“May..” Your walls clenched around the cock, barely letting it go to fuck yourself. “May.. I.” Johnny huffed, pretending to not understand your gibberish. 

“May I please cum, Johnny!” Screams and moans errupted from your drooling mouth, “I’m so fucking sorry for what I’ve done, see! Please let me cum..” 

With a single word, Johnny allowed you your precious release. You fell forward, holding onto his leg as you fucked yourself to completion. It was a display of pure love and submission, you had never felt more safe and more vulnerable as you were in this moment. The pleasure snapped like a tense wire, and you felt your orgasm flow from your cunt and onto the floor. 

“The camera loves you, that’s it right there.” Johnny framed your face in the recording, catching your climax in real time. And if you humiliating yourself under him wasn’t enough, Johnny came as well. His cock shot ropes of semen all over your face, painting you for his final act of dominance. 

You smiled at the camera, wiping some of his cum off your face. With a dazed chuckle, you licked your fingers clean, blowing a kiss to the camera before the recording ended. 

 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚________________

“Babe.. do you really not like award shows?” Johnny held you steady against his bare body, massaging shampoo onto your scalp. His aftercare consisted of a nice shower, one where you’d never move a muscle. After this, he’d wrap you up in blankets and hold you close as you drifted asleep, or maybe put on a movie. It depended on how spent you were. 

You shifted in his grasp, turning around to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Honestly, no. Though, I like you. I love you. Seeing my handsome boyfriend get recognized for his talent makes all of the screaming fans and flashing cameras worth it.” 

“Hah.. you called me handsome.” Johnny hummed a tune while he finished cleaning you both up. Of course, that’s the part he heard.

[criswritessometimes]

finals season

author's note// the ted smut tag looked lonely, so i wrote this after having a dream that ted was my professor helping me with my final.

contents - SMUT below the cut, mdni, student/teacher relationship, professor/sir kink if you squint, gentle dom ted, praise, oral sex (f receiving), reader is afab and uses she/her, penis in vagina sex, little aftercare

it was finals season, and you were up to your eyes in work for your final script for your script writing class for your masters class, along with the film analysis essays you had to grade for a position you took for the semester. you usually didn't mind your ta job; you loved picking films apart piece by piece and understanding the lighting motivation and how actors delivered their lines. however, it was the week after thanksgiving and no one wanted to do their work, even the professor didn’t want to show up. you took the same class in undergrad with the same professor, professor nivision. you remember in undergrad discussing that week's film sometimes breaking them frame by frame. when he saw you applied to be his ta for the semester, ted immediately chose you. he texted you before class that he would be there halfway through the class. even though ted was in his office, he wasn't there. he typed up a word document for you to read to his students at the start of class.

you look at your watch, waiting for the hour to turn. as it reaches 9am, you walk over to the door and shut it, then walk back to the front as the students are chatting amongst each other. “ok,” you start clapping your hands together in front of yourself getting everyone's attention, “hi morning everyone, professor nivison is out this morning and i don't know when he’s gonna be back so you’re stuck with me for the meantime.” you joke, no one laughs, “he left me a document to print out and read to you all but i didn’t have time so i’m gonna read it off my phone.” you pull up the email and start. “hi everyone, i won’t be making it to class this morning, even if you see me, i’m not here. (y/n) is incharge this morning so please direct all questions to her. if she cannot answer your question, email me and i’ll get back to you when i can. for class today please make sure you’re working on your final papers. also, anthony harpers, chase mathas, emma peters, and clara van schroll, i still haven't received your proposal for your paper, please submit it in blackboard by midnight tonight so i can approve them so you will still have time to research and write your paper. feel free to run your ideas by (y/n) if you need too. just as a reminder, if you see me during class time, no you don’t. have a good class.” you finish; it just clicked, he just left you with his class on a thursday morning. you look up, “i think we all know what needs to get done, if you need me i'll be at the front working on my stuff.” you turn to sit at professor nivison’s desk and open your laptop to catch up on grading for the current class and to do another editing pass for your script. a few students came up to talk to you about their papers, which was more than you thought.

At around 9:45 am, the door opens, and you see professor nivison with his backpack on his back and a cup of coffee in one of his as he makes a beeline for his office, saying, “i’m not here.” before he shuts his door. you breathe deeply, trying to focus on one of the students the professor called out on wanting to write his final paper on the movie master of disguise; you think for a moment, “well what do you think you can glean from that movie that hasn’t been discussed when you talk to a general audience about it?” “uhhh the human condition of having to disguise yourself to be a different version of yourself around different groups of people in your life, like umm coworkers, friends, family members, community member.” he explained, rather well; you were impressed, and that could be an interesting paper and discussion point for the movie. “i mean i’m cool with it, just submit the explanation to blackboard for professor nivison to see.” he thanks you with a smile on his face, fearing rejection of his idea, and sits back down. after catching up on grading, you check the clock: 10:04 am. you still had 26 minutes with this class and decided to work on your script for the remainder of the time. people start to leave as the clock turns to 10:30 am. “email professor nivison if you have any questions.” you yell to them as everyone starts to leave, too focused to move your eyes away from the screen.

a few minutes later, you get up with your laptop to sit with professor nivison. you knock on the door and don’t get an answer; you knock again, “its me, ted.” “yeah its open.” he replies. you open the door to see him typing away on his laptop, focused as well. you sit in one of the chairs facing his desk and look around the office as you wait for him to finish. it’s a small office and you look around in the warmly lit space like you’re looking for something new, as if you don’t spend more time here than at your own apartment. “alright,” he offers you a soft smile, “how was it this morning?” you breathe out, obviously exhausted, your hand rubs over your face. “fine, i guess? one kid wants to write his paper on the dana carvey movie master of disguise and i told him to run it by you so good luck.” “hmm should be an interesting paper,” he tuts and shuts his laptop, “how are you doing though? i feel like both of us have been so busy, i haven't gotten a chance to get a temperature check from you.” you remove your hand from your face and look at him and smile sleepily. “professor nelson had me redo half my script, the same script i was doing last month, because he didn’t like the flow of it. half the students in your film analysis class are turning stuff in late and i have to grade it so they can get immediate feedback. i’m also script supervising a film this weekend and i don’t want to but it's for my friend donna. i’d feel bad for dropping it.” you vent to him, “oh and i have an essay on the history of film which i haven't started and is due by end of semester which is in like 9 days.” your head falls back into your heads and you groan into them, “ughhh my brain has been running a thousand miles a minute and i just want it to stop for a minute my god.” you look back up, “the short of it is i'm just tired, sorry to spill everything out.” “no please don't apologize, it's healthy to talk about. do you want help on your script? i can always give it another set of eyes.” he offers. “actually yeah, i’ll just send you the final draft file.” you open your laptop and email him the file. “sooo, where were you this morning?” you ask. “i had a dentist appointment and i didn’t want admin to know i wasn't going to be here at the top of class. sorry to leave you to babysit the class without telling you up until an hour before,” he explained. “meh, it's fine, i was able to get some work done so that's all that matters to me.” you reply, and he smiles back. 

“(y/n),” he starts, “i would like to extend an offer to you, and excuse my bluntness about this.” he leaned forward on his desk, you were fully engaged with what he had to say. “i uhh have a way to silent your brain for a bit,” he looks away then back at you, “i could fuck you.” “you know what, sure, why the hell not, i need some kind of release right now.” you agree. “great, lock the door,” he says, opening a bottom drawer on the desk to grab something. you do as you're told and leave your laptop on the chair you were sitting on. “ok, what no-” before you’re able to finish your sentence, he almost pounces on you, catching you in a heated kiss, holding you against his body. your arms wrap around his neck, and his hands move to hold your sides, wrapping around your back since he is much bigger than you. he, pulls away, “yeah? wanna keep going?” he asks as your face flushes. you nod furiously. “oh c’mon sweetheart, gonna need to hear you.” he tuts, holding your chin to force you to look up. “yes sir, please. i wanna keep going.” you reply. he smiles, “that’s my good girl,” his thumbs rubs small circles on your cheek and leans into your ear. you can feel his warm breath on your ear as he says, "go ahead and hop on my desk for me. ok dear?” you nod once more and do as told. your legs dangle over his desk as he stands between them.

ted’s hand returns to your chin to hold it as he leans in to kiss you again. his other hand travels down to your core that was covered by your jeans. as you feel his fingers start to rub circles on your clothed clit you gasp into his mouth, he takes this opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. your hand is gripping onto his desk and holding onto his waist. he pulls away from you, “let’s get these pants off, i wanna taste you (y/n).” you start to undo your belt as he works on your button and fly; once both of them are undone, you lift your hips as ted's fingers find the top hem and pulls your pants off leaving you in your underwear. he captures you back into a kiss as his fingers trail back to your clit again, this time you have a slightly bigger reaction. your breath catches in your throat as you feel his warm finger against you again. “aww baby, so sensitive aren't ya? can’t wait to see your reaction when i’m tasting you.” he mocks, pulling away from your lips to trail down to your neck. he nips it as if asking for permission. “you, can bite. try to keep it below the collar, i wanna try to stay professional.” you pant out, feeling dizzy from his touch. he continues working his way down until he has to pull your collar. ted tries with it, he really does, but he’s just frustrated with the thing. he comes up, and you can see his pupils blown out. “this needs to come off.” he’s saying it more to himself than you as he’s pulling you up and quickly taking your shirt off, to be discarded somewhere on the floor. he resumes kissing your chest nipping and sucking, leaving marks all over your chest and at the tops of your breasts. during this, you can’t help but moan at his actions, your hands threading through his hair to hold him there. his head comes up, “so pretty for me sweetheart.” he praises. he kisses down past your breasts and over your stomach, landing at your stomach with his chin resting on the band of your underwear. his fingers play with the elastic band, watching your body react. you grind in the air, wanting any kind of attention past your hips, and you whine out of frustration. “aww,” he mocks, “do you want more? all you need to do is ask.” “please, need you, professor.” you whine out, reaching for his head to try and push him into your core. “yeah?” he asks ignorant of what you want. of what you need. “please need your tongue on me, sir.” “such a good girl saying please,” his voice is sweet as he starts to pull your underwear down. you feel when it’s off as your slit is left cold by the air in his office chilling it. “is this just for me sweetness?” he asks, referring to the fluid that the wet spot left from your underwear. “its like a welcome gift to your pretty pussy.” he comments. 

as you’re about to reply to him, the sentence is caught in your throat as his mouth envelopes your slit. you moan as your hands reach down to hold his hair, “fuck, professor nivision, fuck. oh my god.” he pulls away from you, “all that from just feeling my tongue on your slit,” he’s rubbing your lips to move his saliva and your fluid around, “i can’t wait to hear you while i fuck you.” his fingers hold you open as his dives back in. your eyes roll to the back of his at the thought of him fucking you. ted pushes your legs up to open you up more for him. in your dazed state, you understand what he wants and rest your heels on the edge of his desk. the room is warm, filled with your moans and his mouth making out with your core. you feel his finger against your hold, teasing it by just putting the tip of it in. your hips buck up in response. his finger moves from the top of your slit near your hood and slowly moves down to your pussy, slowly pushing in, searching for your g-spot. you moan, tightening your hold on his hair when he finds it. he smiles against you as his tongue focuses on your clit, writing letters on it, sucking it, biting it slightly. “oh my god, professor nivison, gonna cum.” you moan out, your back arching off his desk. “cum on my face baby, you got it, cum baby.” he encourages, sucking at your clit and massaging your g-spot. ted continues until he feels your orgasm wash over you as you tighten on his finger, then release, contraction ensuing. your hands loosen their grip on his hair, and he comes up to you and kisses you again. your legs wrap around his waist as you lazily kiss him back, still trying to catch your breath. he lifts you up carefully, flipping you onto your stomach. your legs hang off the desk and he starts to kneed at your ass with one hand while the other one grabs the condom he pulled out earlier. “you’ve ever had sex?” he asks casually, throwing his glasses next to you. “yes sir.” you answer as you hear the metal of his belt clank against itself. “ok good, glad i’m not taking your virginity or whatever.” his hands leave you as he rips the wrapper of the condom and puts it on, rolling it down to the base. “really don’t need a story coming out about me getting my ta pregnant.” he jokes as he pushes the head of his cock into you. right before you can bite a comment back, you feel him enter you. your tongue lulls out of your mouth as you go limp on his desk. ted notices this, “oh sweetheart, the head only in and you’re already fucked out on my cock. so good for me huh?” he leans down and kisses the back of your neck. he pushes more of his cock in until he’s fully sheathed in you. ted groans into your neck as he pulls out and pushes back in again, trying to be careful with you. “fuck, so big professor.” you moan, your cheek against the desk with your face to the side. he grins at the comment and pulls your arms behind you to hold onto you with one hand on your waist, occasionally slapping your ass. his pace continues, speeding up a little and chasing his own release. you meet his thrusts against your ass as you can only hear his groans, your moans, and the sound of skin slapping and the increase of it. “fuck,” he moans out, “gonna cum soon sweetheart?” you nod your head against the desk, “gonna cum sir.” he leans down to kiss your temple. “good girl, cum all over my cock, empty your brain baby.” he praises increasing his speed as his thrust are frantic and sloppy as he’s about to cum. you moan out his name as your walls tighten around his cock, holding him in and you feel him empty into the condom as he stops, holding onto your waist. ted catches his breath before he pulls out of you leaving you with an empty feeling. 

you hear the snap of the condom coming off as he pulls his pants back up and tightens his belt again. you’re still laying there, fucked out, as your breathing slows while fighting the urge not to fall asleep. his hand rubs your back, and you hum at the touch. “come on, let’s get you up.” he whispers. you push yourself up, and he holds you, helping you stand. he cradles your face in his hands, and your hands come up to touch his. he pouts, “feeling better?” you nod, “mhm, yeah. thank you,” as you kiss his hand. “anything for my favorite ta.” he pulls you in for a hug. you get your underwear, pants, and shirt back on with his help, and he kisses your forehead once more before you leave. “is there anything else i need to do for you, professor?” you asked, fixing your hair a bit so you can walk out with a little professionalism to your name, “nope,” he takes a seat at his desk, putting his glasses back on, “just keep grading those papers for me.” 

[ledesaid]

Seeking a Father for Saturday ►○◙◄ #1

Do you know the solution to enjoy the snack table on Bring Your Child to Work Day?

Billy had an idea, you might be thinking of the same answer, and no, it doesn't include cloning himself...

Just asking for a small, tiny, and harmless favor.

What could go wrong?

There is a gift bag at stake, and Billy knows from a good source, Nightwing, that Batman has included two limited edition toys and a generous supply of various candies for several weeks for each child who confirms their attendance.

"So... if I didn't hear wrong... you want me to bring you in your mortal form on Saturday?"

"Yes?"

There are very few people Billy would ask this of. Really very few. If he really didn't want Batman to find out, this was the way... or so Billy believed.

"Your bravery flatters me, kid, but that statement is going to get you in a lot of trouble. I've already pawned my firstborn."

"So... is that a no?"

"Sorry, Cap, but hey, there are many good guys in the league, try another. I've heard from a good source that Batman has a horde of kids at home. Jefferson calls them Batman Incorporated."

Well, getting Constantine's help would have been easy, but he didn't want to impose... but he had no more viable ideas. It would be very strange for Victor to say he's his dad, and Zatanna would scold him for lying like that...

It's not a lie, it's not a lie if the truth is slightly altered to be clarified at the end... preferably before the day ends. A simple "Hey, it was just a godchild, nephew..."

But now he was doubting... His secret was important... who in the league?... Who in the league could he ask for help?

As Mr. Constantine said, Billy was brave... he needed an adult who was also brave... Someone who could lie... obscure the truth and have fun in the meantime... Brave...

Brave... Brave like...

A lantern.

And coincidentally, he had three today. Hal, Jon, and Guy.

Billy knew Jon wouldn't be very open to helping if he found out he was a child; Hal prided himself on being single and not having kids; Guy was someone who couldn't be forced to tell the truth... He was a cool guy!

And you know what would be even cooler?

For him to be his ticket to the gift table!

Finding him alone in the cafeteria was lucky and even more so that there wasn't a Kryptonian in the watchtower to spy on their conversation.

"Hey, Guy, got a minute?"

"You're in luck, big red cheese, my burger is taking its time, shoot..."

"Well.... you've heard the fuss for Saturday... for the day to bring..."

"... your gremlins to work, Nightwing is spamming everywhere."

"I have a small... Yes!, a small... um..."

He didn't think much about it certainly, this was very spontaneous. How could he tell Guy, 'Hi, I'm a kid who wants you to be my dad for Saturday and hey keep it secret or Batman will eject me from the watchtower for not meeting the minimum age'?

There's no way. Not in Billy's mind at this moment. And wasn’t he supposed to be the brave Captain Marvel?!

"Look, Guy, I'm actually a ten-year-old kid who wants a gift bag and the whole show on Saturday, but I can't tell Batman or he'll kick me out..."

It's an understatement to describe how Guy’s expression bewildered. Billy supposed it didn't go so badly upon seeing Guy laughing heartily while slapping the cafeteria table.

"Damn, Cap! That's the funniest thing I've heard in the last decade!"

But Billy didn't blink. He also didn't doubt. It took a bit, but Guy seemed to understand that Billy was serious.

"Hell, you must be joking... You're joking, right, Marvel?"

"Not at all."

Guy looked at Billy from head to toe... Trying to find some logic...

"Are you an underdeveloped kid or something? Or is it some magic thing that gives you these steroids?"

"A magic thing."

Guy grabbed his burger to savor it.

"Well... I've seen weirder things out there."

"So... is that a yes?"

Guy mumbled unintelligible things while chewing, but to Billy's surprise who was about to run away...

"If you cover one of my shifts, we have a deal, Cheeky Red Cheese."

---------------

Part 2