#dumb ways to deviate

[dumbwaystodeviate]

Can I please get some Allen60 with Sixty deviating during a hostage situation gone wrong? If you're taking prompts that is!

The call from Allen came through on Sixty's HUD. It wasn't expected, not at the start of a human work day but there was generally a 17% chance of it happening on any given morning.

"Captain," Sixty greeted, only giving 2% of his processing capacities to the call.

"Sixty, I need you to listen to me very carefully." Allen's voice was low and tense. "I'm in a hostage situation. You're my only hope."

Instantly, Sixty was replaying the message, analysing background noise, GPS information, Allen's voice quality. It was most unlike his captain to end up in such a situation, he was better than that. A human folly, in most likelihood, especially so early in the morning. Sixty knew for a fact that Allen wasn't at full capacity until he had at least three cups of coffee loaded with sugar.

"Very well, Captain. What can I do for you?"

What Sixty had been expecting was a set of instruction on who to call, what team to assemble, tactical considerations. He got none of those. Allen's co-ordinates put him firmly in the middle of the DPD bullpen which caused even more concern. Surely Connor and Nines should have been able to handle things. Or perhaps not, deviants as they were, they lacked the strict focus of a machine dedicated to its job. It was what made Sixty superior to them both, no matter who said otherwise.

"Okay, I have a list of demands at hand." There was the rustling of paper and what most definitely sounded like badly suppressed giggles from Detective Reed. The man was known to be volatile, maybe he had finally lost his mind and was laughing in the face of danger. Such thought was pushed to a secondary processor as Allen started to read out the demands, "Two glazed doughnuts, one chocolate sprinkled doughnut, one jam filled doughnut, two custard filled doughnuts, three bearclaws, six plain dougnuts, all from the bakery one road over from the police station."

Sixty saved the list even as he tried to figure out how 15 bakery items would help a hostage situation. Usually it was demands for transport, money and assurances of safety. Not...junk food.

Allen kept talking, "-with oat milk, two sugars, a decaf double espresso, a pumpkin spice latte, two chai lattes and an Earl Grey, hot."

Another note made and Sixty was moving through Detroit with determination. These hotage takers didn't align with any known behavioural profile.

"Captain, I need more information. What can you tell me about these criminals?"

"They mean business," Allen replied and there was a smile in his voice. "They've infiltrated the DPD to the highest of levels. They have guns. They've said if I value my life, I will make sure their demands are met."

Checking Allen's schedule, he was indeed due for a meeting at the DPD which explained his presence there. But nowhere could Sixty find any note or information about the hostage situation or even a mention of an ongoing problem. Even as he ordered the list of demands, Sixty was sifting through classified files, desperate to locate any kind of papertrail on this infiltration. There was nothing.

Arriving at the DPD, it looked like an ordinary day. A Stacey waved him through with his bags, the bullpen was bustling like usual. Detective Reed spotted him first and let out a wild cheer.

"Dent-A-Pot! Did you get everything?" He was already reaching for the bags and Sixty stubbornly held onto them. In a hostage situation he was much better equipped to deal with the criminals.

"I have everything that was on Allen's list."

"Release him!" Detective Reed hollered towards the Captain's Office.

The door opened and a sheepish looking Allen stepped out, Connor and Nines behind him, grinning like sharks. Fowler shoved Lieutenant Anderson through the door after them even though he was also smiling.

"Where are the hostage takers?" Sixty asked. Notifications were flashing in his HUD, the only conclusion he could come to was that the DPD as a whole had taken Allen hostage in exchange for baked good. Finally, Allen got to him and plucked the sugar laden black coffee from the tray and took a sip, followed by a relieved sigh.

"Thanks, Sixty. I forgot it was my turn to bring snacks for the meeting. They would have rioted if not for you."

Blinking, Sixty refused to accept that his superior capabilities and skills had been put to use as nothing more than a delivery boy. Faced with the choice of shutting down or punching through the red wall, he opted for the latter. But only so he could punch Allen in the shoulder and maybe drag him off for a very thorough tongue lashing.

[bixels]

This Twitter MLP human redesign drama is a mess, leave me the fuck out of it.

[danieyells]

I cannot stress enough that if you do not make and support the stories and headcanons and fics and interpretations you want to see in the world no amount of complaining that people make things you don't like will help you feel better in the long run

Also consider that just because you don't like more than one interpretation of a thing doesn't mean other people who like a different interpretation don't like others too

[transfemgabriellamontez]

Yonderland, Percy Jackson, One Piece, etc

so important for every character to be an idiot, but each in their own unique beautiful way

[jellyfishsthings]

Interrupted Dates

navigation , dc navigation

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune 

Dick

The rooftop was aglow with fairy lights, strung haphazardly between a rusted chimney and a disused antenna. It gave the space a dreamy sort of charm—romantic if you squinted and ignored the faint smell of city smog.

You sat cross-legged on a blanket, sharing a plastic container of pasta salad with Dick. He was barefoot, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair ruffled by the breeze and the kind of smugly radiant that only came from retelling stories of childhood chaos.

“So then I yell, ‘Ta-da!’—naked, mind you—because I was four and thought I could fly,” Dick said, stabbing his fork into a piece of tomato like it had personally wronged him. “Bruce was mortified. Alfred just... nodded, like he’d seen worse.”

You snorted into your drink. “How are you not traumatized?”

“I am. But charmingly so.”

Meanwhile, twelve feet below, chaos brewed.

Behind a nearby billboard, a truly absurd stack of Batfamily members wobbled dangerously. Stephanie was on top, phone in hand and already live-streaming to a private group chat titled #OperationDickDates??!. Jason had the binoculars. Tim was beneath him, trying to triangulate audio with a dish he may or may not have stolen from the Batcave. Damian, at the bottom, bore the weight of them all with the bitter fury of a betrayed acrobat.

“This is a disgrace,” Damian hissed. “Grayson’s form is off. His landing on the blanket was a ten-degree deviation from optimal angle.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?” Tim whispered. “Not the fact that we’re spying on our grown brother having a date like we’re the Scooby-Doo gang on meth?”

Stephanie shushed them. “Shut up, I think she’s laughing. That’s like, third laugh. Fourth laugh is when I declare it true love.”

Jason adjusted the focus on his binoculars. “Is she feeding him? Bro. She just fed him a tomato. That’s a couple move. This is disgusting.”

“Why are you even here?” Damian growled.

“I was promised chaos and snacks. So far, I have neither.”

Above, Dick paused, brows knitting. “Do you… hear whispering?”

You tilted your head. “Maybe it’s wind?”

“No, that’s definitely someone whispering ‘move your elbow, I can’t see his dumb face.’” He squinted into the shadows. “Give me a sec.”

In one effortless flip, he vanished into the dark like some sort of spandex-clad raccoon. A loud yelp followed.

Moments later, Dick returned, dragging Jason Todd by the back of his leather jacket like a particularly mouthy duffel bag.

Jason looked entirely unrepentant. “Hi. Love what you’ve done with the vibe. Very ‘Pinterest meets crime alley.’”

You sighed. “Hi, guys.”

Stephanie popped up like an excited meerkat. “Hi! You’re really pretty, by the way.”

Tim climbed over next, holding what looked like a home-wired parabolic mic. “Please don’t hate us. I had nothing to do with this. Except the part where I helped rig the surveillance array.”

Damian dropped from the billboard last, landing in a perfect crouch. “This entire endeavor was idiotic. But I recorded Grayson’s subpar trapeze flip for future blackmail purposes.”

You blinked. “Wait—how long have you all been watching?”

Jason shrugged. “Since the pasta salad.”

Stephanie nodded. “She laughed four times. That’s how you know it’s real.”

Dick stared at all of them. “You built a totem pole. Behind a billboard. In a wind tunnel.”

Damian sniffed. “It was Tim’s idea.”

“Lies,” Tim said. “I organized it. There’s a difference.”

You glanced at Dick, who looked like he was oscillating between mild amusement and full-on big brother meltdown.

He sighed dramatically, then turned to you with a hand outstretched. “Would you care to join me in fleeing the scene of the crime?”

“With pleasure.”

As the two of you retreated—blanket in hand, pasta salad container tucked under your arm—you heard Stephanie whisper behind you:

“I’m giving this a nine out of ten. Docking one point for no kiss.”

Jason grunted. “Give it five minutes. They’re totally going to kiss on the next roof.”

 “So…should we… follow?” Tim whispered.

 “NO.”

Jason

You were tucked into the coziest corner of the bookstore café, the one with the overstuffed chair that made ominous creaking noises when you sat in it, but held firm like a trusted secret. The golden afternoon light pooled on the hardwood floor, catching the soft steam curling from your shared cappuccino. Jason sat beside you, strangely gentle today, his leather jacket shrugged off, sleeves rolled, as he thumbed through a battered paperback of Pablo Neruda.

He cleared his throat—gruff, a little self-conscious—and then looked at you like you were the only real thing in the world.

“‘I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees,’” he read, voice low and slightly husky. Not quite polished—more like poetry scraped over gravel. Honest.

You smiled, fingers brushing his under the table, and he blinked like maybe he couldn’t believe he was allowed to have this—this calm, this softness, this weird, wonderful stillness.

Then—

“Is he blushing?” came a stage whisper from the bookshelf display to your right. You both froze.

From behind a rotating rack of pastel-covered romance novels, Dick and Tim peeked out, both wearing oversized, obviously fake glasses and pretending to browse.

Jason closed the book slowly.

Dick leaned sideways with all the stealth of a golden retriever trying to sneak a sandwich. “Look at him go. He’s quoting Neruda. Neruda, Tim. My angry cactus of a brother has feelings.”

“Do we have this on video?” Tim hissed, digging in his coat like he might’ve bugged the café.

Jason squinted. “Are they... wearing mustaches?”

Sure enough, both of them had slapped on wonky adhesive mustaches. Tim’s was starting to peel. Dick’s had migrated halfway up his cheek.

“They think they’re subtle,” you whispered.

Jason reached for the sugar packets, calmly selected one, then flicked his wrist like a sniper on a sugar-fueled vendetta. The packet arced cleanly over the romance display and smacked Tim right between the eyes.

“Ow!”

Dick choked on his latte.

Tim ducked behind the display, rubbing his forehead. “Did he just bean me mid-sonnet?”

You turned to Jason, impressed. “Did you seriously just assault your brother with sweetener while reading poetry?”

He grinned. “He deserved it.”

“Fair.”

From behind the shelf came Dick’s voice, unbothered and very much still spying. “Hey, we’re just trying to witness emotional growth.”

“And possibly blackmail material.”

Jason raised an eyebrow and called over his shoulder, “Get out before I start reading Yeats in a threatening tone.”

“Threatening Yeats?” Dick said. “You are in love.”

Tim emerged, dramatically clutching his sugar-packet injury. “This is how I die. Not in battle. Not in a tragic lab explosion. Murdered by Splenda™.”

“Get out,” Jason said, standing halfway. “Or I swear to God, I’ll recite sonnets until you sob.”

Dick raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, no need to traumatize the civilians.”

They backed out, knocking over a cardboard cutout of Jane Austen and leaving a half-eaten croissant on a poetry display. The barista glared. Someone in the back clapped.

When it was quiet again, Jason sat down with a long sigh and opened the book again. He didn’t look at you for a moment, just flipped a few pages like nothing had happened.

You leaned in, brushing his hair gently behind one ear. “You were blushing, by the way.”

He met your gaze, eyes warm and half-lidded, lips twitching. “Yeah, well... you’d blush too if you were reading love poems to someone you liked in front of two idiot brothers dressed like a community theater production of Sherlock Holmes.”

“True,” you admitted.

He found the page again, cleared his throat, and murmured, “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where…’”

And for once, no one interrupted.

(Not even when Dick and Tim snuck back disguised as a couple on a painfully awkward first date. But that’s another story.

Tim

  It was a clear night at Gotham’s old observatory—cold enough to see your breath, warm enough to be out without freezing, the kind of in-between that made you feel suspended in time. You were perched on a folding blanket with a thermos of hot chocolate between your knees, wrapped in one of Tim’s oversized hoodies, watching him fine-tune the telescope with all the reverence of someone handling a sacred artifact.

“This model’s based on the Cassegrain design,” he murmured, adjusting the focus ring, eyes narrowed in concentration. “The mirrors inside reflect the image back to a focal point—it’s more efficient for deep-sky observation. Which is perfect because Orion’s Nebula is peaking tonight, and you can see the whole trapezium cluster if—”

He stopped, mid-ramble.

“Too much?”

You grinned, sipping the hot chocolate. “Never. I like when you go full-nerd.”

Tim flushed just a little, half-hiding his face behind the telescope. “Right. Well. You’ll see it better if you look around there—” He gently guided your hands. “—past Rigel. That’s the blue supergiant. It’s—”

“—Eight-hundred sixty light years away,” you finished.

He looked at you like he might die a little from fondness. “I think I love you.”

A crunch echoed above you.

You froze. Tim’s shoulders tensed. Another crunch. Muffled whispering. Something—or someone—was shifting behind the dome’s inner wall.

Tim sighed, not even looking up. “They’re watching.”

You tilted your head. “Should we invite them down?”

He shook his head solemnly. “No. Let them suffer in their self-inflicted cringe.”

Inside the observatory’s mechanical guts, Damian muttered, “You’re breathing too loudly.”

Cass responded by flicking him on the head.

Steph hissed, “I told you to bring snacks. You said popcorn was ‘too loud,’ and now look where we are. Starving. Cold. Emotionally invested.”

“I am not emotionally invested,” Damian said with the conviction of someone absolutely emotionally invested.

A beat.

“They’re holding hands,” Steph whispered. “Look. Right there. Hand. On. Knee.”

Cass’s voice: “Aww.”

Damian gagged audibly.

Tim adjusted the telescope again. “Bruce is here too.”

You blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Tim just nodded toward the corner of the dome where, sure enough, Bruce stood in a trench coat and fedora like a noir film detective, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Possibly proud. Possibly plotting. Definitely out of place.

You whispered, “Why is he in a trench coat?”

Tim didn’t look up. “He thinks it’s ‘subtle.’”

Another creak. A hushed “Shhh!”

Five minutes passed in silence. Tim showed you the Andromeda Galaxy, soft-spoken and a little breathless as he described the gravitational pull between it and the Milky Way.

Then—

CRASH.

The trapdoor on the upper level flung open. Damian Wayne fell through it like a cat yeeted off a counter.

He hit the floor in a roll, popped up in a dramatic stance, and declared—very loudly—“That was intentional.”

Cass landed beside him a second later in a perfect superhero crouch. “We tripped.”

Damian hissed. “You tripped. I performed a tactical descent.”

Tim didn’t even blink. “Welcome. There’s cocoa in the thermos. Please keep the stalking to a minimum.”

Steph peeked her head down the ladder, grinning and holding her phone up. “I’ve been filming this whole time, by the way.”

Bruce descended the stairs silently like a disappointed cryptid.

You looked around at the chaos, then at Tim, who was now sitting with his head in his hands.

You gently patted his back. “You okay?”

“I was trying to explain redshift,” he muttered into his palms. “Now my little brother has announced his ‘tactical descent’ like he’s a D-list Avenger.”

From the floor, Damian snapped, “I heard that.”

Tim looked at you. “Please kill me.”

You offered him the cocoa instead.

“Same thing,” he mumbled.

Steph flopped onto the blanket beside you. “So... on a scale from one to tragically adorable, how serious is this?”

Cass stated calmly “Eleven.”

Damian made a face that would make the sun turn green as he stated that everything was disgusting. Bruce tried to argue that the kids were simply bonding, which resulted in Damian making yet another disgusted face at them.

You looked at Tim, smiling. “Want to get back to the stars?”

He nodded quickly, tugging you gently back toward the telescope, his hand slipping into yours like it belonged there. “Yes. Away from the goblins.”

“You love the goblins.”

Tim’s smile twitched. “No, I tolerate them. With... grudging affection.”

Behind you, Cass whispered, “He’s so in love.”

Steph whispered loudly  “Like... epic poem in love.”

“Please.”

Tim ignored them, realigned the telescope, and said softly, “Okay. Your turn. Let me show you something beautiful.”

And he did.

(The goblins mostly behaved. Until Damian tried to sabotage the cocoa supply. But that’s another story.)

Damian

It started with an invitation tucked beneath a hardcover book you’d left at the manor: On the Aesthetic History of Violence. Inside, in impossibly neat handwriting:

“You are cordially invited to a private tour of the Gotham Museum of Modern Art. After hours. Dress appropriately.”

Signed only: D.W.

You showed up in a black coat and clean boots. Damian arrived ten minutes early in a bespoke turtleneck and the kind of dark wool coat that whispered money and museum quiet. No cape, no scowl. Just a calm nod and a half smile when he saw you.

“You’re late,” he said, not unkindly.

“You’re early,” you countered.

His eyes softened like a secret.

The museum had shut its doors to the public at 6:00. By 7:15, it was yours alone. Echoing floors, tall ceilings, marble columns leading to hushed rooms, all flooded in warm golden light. Damian walked you through the Impressionists first. He spoke softly, almost reverently—about oil brushwork, the interplay of light and motion, how Manet weaponized color. There was something about hearing him—Damian Wayne, child of war and shadow—talk about atmospheric perspective like it was something holy.

“Look at the emotional architecture,” he murmured, pausing before a muted Chagall. “The structure of grief in the way the lines collapse toward the left. You can see the subject wants to leave the room, but the room will not let her.”

You turned toward him. “That one reminds me of you.”

He blinked. No quip. No snort. Just...stillness.

A breath. Then another.

You watched the silence settle into his shoulders, unsure if he was flattered or panicking. You were about to joke it off—when suddenly—

“HhhHKKk’CHHSHH!”

A violent sneeze echoed across the entire museum like a grenade in an empty cathedral.

You both turned slowly, as one.

From behind a marble bust in the Romanticism wing, a crackling voice came over the coms: “Sorry—allergies!”

“Stephanie,” Damian said in a voice usually reserved for supervillains and disappointed Shakespearean monologues. “This is why I don’t take them anywhere.”

You barely suppressed a laugh. “You knew they were here?”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hoped I was wrong.”

Down the east corridor, two distinct silhouettes peeked out from behind a 9-foot sculpture of Artemis. Jason was wearing a museum security badge upside down and holding a clipboard he was clearly using as a tray for takeout. Stephanie—crouched beside him in a trench coat and baseball cap—was whispering into a walkie-talkie with the stealth of a small rhino.

“I told you the mic was too close to your face,” Jason muttered.

Steph hissed back, “Sorry, I sneezed. It’s dusty in here!”

Back in the Impressionist gallery, Damian rubbed his temple like this was all personally offensive.

“And why,” he asked the universe, “is Todd carrying egg rolls in a museum?”

“Because,” came a crisp British voice from the main atrium, “someone has to maintain standards.”

You turned to see Alfred Pennyworth—immaculate in a faux security guard uniform—holding a silver tray of hors d’oeuvres like it was wartime Versailles.

“Would you care for a prosciutto puff?” he asked you, deadpan.

Damian looked like he wanted to dissolve through the floor.

Alfred added, with a glance toward Steph and Jason: “Miss Brown tried to bribe the actual docent with a Crunchwrap Supreme. I had to intervene.”

You took a puff pastry and tried not to laugh.

A voice from the shadows: “Pfft. Amateur.”

From behind a false wall, a gloved hand polished a modern sculpture. You blinked. “Is that... Dick?”

“Richard has infiltrated as a janitorial subcontractor,” Damian muttered, sounding so tired. “He insisted it was ‘part of the immersive experience.’”

“I’m wearing coveralls and everything,” Dick’s voice called proudly from behind a giant steel cube. “Museum chic.”

Damian turned to you, exhausted. “Please believe me when I say, I wanted this to be romantic.”

You looped your arm through his and smiled. “It still is.”

He paused. “Despite the surveillance?”

“Because of it,” you teased. “It’s very us.”

Damian blinked. Then—slowly, reluctantly—smiled. A real one. The kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but was still a rare and quiet thing.

“I loathe you,” he murmured to the empty air.

“Love you too, baby bird,” came Jason’s voice over the coms.

“I have no siblings,” Damian muttered, guiding you toward a post-modernist piece shaped like an unraveling staircase.

From behind the bust, Steph whispered: “Did he just blush?”

Dick whispered back: “I’m so proud.”

Jason: “I’m gonna cry. That’s our boy.”

Steph: “Wait—can we do a slow clap?”

Alfred: “If you start clapping, I am tasering everyone and leaving.”

Back in the gallery, Damian took your hand and placed it over his heart. “Ignore the interlopers. This painting reminds me of you. Bold color. Sharp lines. Impossible to look away from.”

You smiled, a little breathless. “Now you’re being romantic.”

He tilted his head. “You started it.”

Behind you, Steph sneezed again.

Damian didn’t even flinch. “I will burn this museum to the ground.”

[heavenlybodies333]

Study Buddy -S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

You’re going to fail. Again.

You already feel the burn of it in your chest when you drop your pencil for the third time and let your head hit the kitchen table with a dull thud.

“Don’t cry,” Spencer says, sitting across from you with a soft smile. “That’s statistically proven to ruin your retention rate.”

You groan. “I hate statistics.”

“That’s not a healthy mindset.”

“I’ve taken this class three times.”

“And you’ll pass it this time.”

“Why? Because you’re here?”

He raises a brow. “Yes?” You glare at him. He laughs. But he softens almost immediately, reaching out to tap the top of your notebook gently. “Look. You’re not dumb. You just panic when numbers stop behaving like words. You need muscle memory. You need to trust the patterns.”

“You sound like you’re flirting with a math problem.”

He grins, almost proud. “I am.” You groan again, but this time you manage a smile too.

You hate that your dad asked him to help. You hate that it’s the one favor you didn’t have the energy to say no to. Because now Spencer’s here every night, giving you soft praise and patient corrections—looking at you like you’re not a walking disappointment.

Spencer slides your pencil back toward you with two fingers. It bumps your wrist. You stare at it like it’s a weapon. “You’re going to pass,” he says again, voice calm. Certain. “You just need to get out of your own way.”

“You sound like my therapist.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Does your therapist also make you flash cards and bring you pastries from that overpriced bakery on 9th?”

You glance at the croissant on the corner of your notebook and shrug. “Not lately.”

He smiles again—God, that gentle, knowing smile—and says, “Try this one. And this time, don’t second guess yourself.”

You look down at the formula he’s written out. You walk through it slowly, out loud like he taught you. Your hands shake less now. You write the answer down and look up, heart thudding. He doesn’t check the paper. He just looks at you and nods. “Correct.”

You light up instantly, so relieved you almost cry again—but for a different reason. “That’s the first one I got right tonight,” you breathe.

“Yep. And it won’t be the last.”

Your chest aches in a different way now. Because he looks so proud. Like he always does. Like he’s the only person who sees you trying and not failing. You want to kiss him. You really, really want to kiss him. “Spencer,” you say, soft. His name lands a little too warm between you. He meets your gaze, cautious now. His voice lowers. “Yeah?”

Your fingers curl around the pencil. “Can we take a break?”

He nods, already reaching for your water. “Yeah, okay. Ten minutes?”You shake your head. “No.” You push your notebook aside. “I mean a real break.”

He freezes, catching the edge in your tone. You stand up slowly and walk around the table. Your fingers trail along the surface until you’re beside him. You sink to your knees between his legs. He looks down at you, breath caught. “Are you—”

“You said I need muscle memory,” you whisper, hands sliding up his thighs. “Let’s build some.”

His eyes flutter shut. “Your dad asked me to help you study.”

“And you are,” you murmur. “You’re very good with your fingers.”

He exhales sharply, head tilting back as your fingers find the button of his pants. “This is wildly irresponsible.”

You blink slowly. “This is what I want.” That’s all it takes. His mouth is on yours before the words have fully settled in the air. He kisses you hard and low, and when you gasp, he swallows the sound, tugging you up off the floor and into his lap like he can’t bear to be apart for a second longer.

Your thighs straddle his. His hands slide up beneath your shirt—warm palms against warmer skin, lifting and learning and memorizing you in real time, breath hitching while he kisses down your neck and slowly works his hand beneath the waistband of your leggings.

“What’s the formula for standard deviation?”

You gasp as his fingers drag through your wetness, teasing. “I—fuck—you’re evil.”

“Answer correctly and I’ll make you come,” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. You whimper.

“You said you needed incentives.”

You try to focus. Try to pull the answer from the recesses of your brain while his fingers slide in, curling just right. He moans softly against your ear. “Say it.”

“Square root of the variance,” you pant. “It’s the square root of the variance.”

“Smart girl.” he breathes, kissing the inside of your thigh again like a reward.

“Now,” he whispers, fingers slipping deeper, “what are the 3 formulas for non-Linear regression?”

You whimper. He plays with your slick, watching your face melt. “Come on,” he murmurs. “You know this. Exponential, logarithmic and?”

You moan instead of answering, and he grins, mouth at your jaw. “Wrong. Try again.”

You half-laugh, half-plead. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m your tutor,” he says, punctuating it with another slow thrust of his fingers. “And this is positive reinforcement.” Your breathing picks up, but before either of you can take it any further, you hear a noise in the hallway.

You freeze. Spencer pulls back, eyes wide, a slight panic flashing across his face. You both scramble to straighten up, pretending like you weren’t just about to cross a line you never intended to—but both of you wanted to.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath.

Spencer’s voice is low. “We should… talk about this.”

You nod, quickly fixing your hair. “Yeah. Later.”

But the truth is, both of you know it’s only a matter of time before you both cross that line. And when you do, it’s going to be anything but casual.

a/n: Spencer Reid x hotch’s daughter is my Roman Empire

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[soullessdianthus]

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐊ö𝐧𝐢𝐠

Warnings: innocent!reader, very nsfw (cockwarming, toys, orgasm control)

Poorly translated German, correct me if needed!

Note at the end (worth checking).

✧°.  Perv!Boyfriend!König would wake up with a morning boner quite often, especially when he sleeps next to his beautiful and cute girlfriend. But instead of waking you up and asking to help him out (because he knew how much you loved to sleep), König would gently move you to your stomach and bend one of your legs in the knee. 

✧°.  A sudden stretch of his fat cock bullying its way into your pussy, woke you up nonetheless. And when you whimpered underneath your boyfriend, he was already holding you down and peppering your cheek with kisses.

✧°.  “Such a good girl for me, helping me out, ja?” or “Please, please, please, schatzi, it hurts so much.”

✧°.  He would bottom out and make you cockwarm him for a couple of hours of peaceful sleep. 

✧°.  Perv!Boyfriend!König would buy you different clitoral vibrators and dildos (all smaller than him of course, so you couldn’t be fully satisfied without his cock) just to devour the sight of his pretty, innocent girlfriend fucking herself dumb with those toys.

✧°.  He would make you bounce on that stupid dildo until you were a weeping and soaked mess, asking for release, your arousal dripping down your plush thighs. How could he decline your wishes heh? 

✧°.  If you were a good girl, of course. If you had been bad… Perv!Boyfriend!König would be merciless in his deviations – making punishments last for hours or not allowing you to cum until he says so. Sometimes it could be weeks.

✧°.  Perv!Boyfriend!König would not watch porn, because why would he, when he has you? His little girlfriend being naive and oblivious, allowing him to record her as she gives König a blowjob. 

✧°.  He’s not a super crazy fan of lingerie though. Like every other man, Perv!Boyfriend!König would like to see you dressed up for him, casual shorts or slutty skirt – as long as it’s revealing it’s good!

✧°.  Perv!Boyfriend!König silently fantasies about turning you into a cockdrunk bimbo!

A/N: Yall and I are feral for Perv!König!!! I might open my requests for a while soon... Just a heads up...

[mymoshangthoughts]

oki NEW CONCEPT

so

pidw! liu qingge regresses from the point of death all the way back to the point where he was a disciple

the thing is, shit is Different

he's like, 15, a disciple, and shen jiu has only barely followed yue qingyuan back to the sect

and the thing is, shang qinghua is Different.

it's not that liu qingge was ever like, besties with qinghua. the two of them maybe went on a few escort missions and attended meetings together, but they were never close

but heres the thing:

airplane doesn't have an ooc lock.

why would he? for shen yuan, of course 'shen qingqiu' can't change personalities 100% over night, that's gotta be a gradual shift. and shen jiu was a fairly major antagonist in the original book. he had a prominent role. and his personality was a huge part of fulfilling that role.

shang qinghua on the other hand? his position in the story is so irrelevant that the system would have let him kill mobei jun. he's a one note villain. barely spoken of, barely written about. airplane himself barely knows the guys actual personality, bc literally this character only existed to betray the sect and then die off screen. shang qinghua, in the original pidw, shang qinghua was as irrelevant as qin wanrong. such a pointless character that you, my dear reader, prolly had to go look her up because you forgot she existed.

all of that to say, the system had absolutely no reason to enforce ic behavior onto airplane. only that airplane had to commit to certain missions. even if the system had tried, airplane doesnt even know this dude well enough to pretend to be him.

and what would be the point? no one in this world has ever met the original shang qinghua.

except for the regressed liu qingge.

and heres the other thing.

airplane isnt like... changing the plot as dramatically as shen yuan did, but he IS changing the plot. just literally by existing. by being a strange aberrant person who wasnt there initially. by doing things that airplane would do and not doing things that og!shang qinghua would do. it's a drop in the bucket, change wise, but it does change shit. it does effect the people around him and how they behave.

so liu qingge's first suspicion is that perhaps shang qinghua also regressed backwards in time. it would make sense. it's not like liu qingge is acting like himself. he's not the same person that he was as a teenager.

but.... shang qinghua isn't acting like the adult shang qinghua that he knows either. in fact, his behavior is COMPLETELY different. like that is a whole ass different person. liu qingge isn't the most observant guy on the planet, but he's not BLIND. this shift is as dramatic as the difference in personality between wei wuxian and lan wangji. that is NOT the same fucking person.

so now liu qingge is investigating airplane, because he is absolutely not about to sit there and let some skinner demon wear his shixiong's skin or whatever the fuck is happening

and see heres the second stressor that liu qingge is dealing with:

shen jiu tried to save his life. he failed. he failed spectacularly. but the person he thought was the worst scum ever had tried so desperately to save him from his qi deviation and that's not exactly something you brush off

and even more so: liu qingge is no longer a dumb teenager.

when liu qingge was an actual teenager, he was busy with his training and overall, just a dumb kid. and look, it's not like he grew up to become a super genius or anything, but he's not as wrapped up in his own bullshit as he was as a kid.

so when liu qingge met shen jiu for the first time, the real first time, he didn't see any of the signs. he saw a snappish and angry person who treated yue qingyuan like shit and clearly got a nepotism hire and had no morals and looked down on everyone and just all of shen jiu's actual flaws.

this liu qingge tho? he's been a peak lord for years now. he's seen shit. he's been places. he's no longer a fairly sheltered young master who has no idea what happens in the real world.

and it only takes one good look at shen jiu to make it obvious just how much abuse he's endured. he hasn't had years to learn how to conceal his trauma better. he doesn't have the cultivation level yet to fight for himself. he's just an abused ex-slave with trauma practically roiling off of him in waves and liu qingge, as an adult, is sitting here absolutely baffled as to how his teenage self missed every single sign

so now he's paying more attention to both shen jiu and airplane, because holyfuck he might have been partially wrong about shen jiu literally this whole time, and because that is NOT shang fucking qinghua. and shen jiu hates him just as much as before, because trauma, and he notices the unnatural attention directed at shang qinghua so now shen jiu is paying an unnatural amount of attention to shang qinghua

which would be all great and magical and fine if shang qinghua wasn't currently hiding a recovering ice demon in his leisure house

[xoxojisu]

hihi i saw ur post abt damianya being like katsuki x reader and what do we think abt a CROSSOVER. like katsuki and u watching them being like "us in another universe"

SO US!

synopsis: watching damian and anya (sxf) reminds you of katsuki and you.

notes: bubbly reader. i dont usually go for crossover/complicated/canon deviation but i mean its damian and anya how could i not

it's after school. you and katsuki are chilling under a tree near the courtyard, the sun dipping low, golden light pooling around you. he’s leaning against the trunk, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded like he’s bored, but he hasn’t stopped watching them for the last ten minutes.

anya is giggling about something. she probably said something weird and is laughing at her own joke again. damian’s face is bright red, eyebrows twitching like he’s trying to hold back a crashout. he flails. he sputters. he calls her stupid. he crosses his arms and looks away as if he doesn't like her.

you sigh dreamily. “they’re so us.”

katsuki grunts. “the hell they are.”

you smirk. “uh huh. you don’t see it? the yelling? the blushing? the emotional constipation?”

“i wasn’t that bad,” he mumbles.

you hum, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you were worse. you said my laugh was annoying the first time you thought you liked it. you told me your homemade white day chocolates were actually hate-chocolates.”

“tch. i was under.. stress.”

you giggle. “sure, sure. stress. same stress damian just tripped over a bench trying to act like he wasn’t trying to sit next to her. and offered her her favorite food saying he just 'happened to have extra.'”

you both watch as anya pokes his cheek with a smile and damian turns scarlet and drops his water bottle, all motor control fleeing from his body.

katsuki exhales through his nose like he's getting war flashbacks. “he’s doomed.”

you smile. “so were you. speaking from experience, kats?”

he grunts in half-acknowledgement before he glances down at you. his expression softens, just barely. “…was worth it.”

your heart does that dumb swoop thing it always does when he gets like this. all quiet affection tucked behind loud attitude. you wrap your arms around his middle, face tucked into his hoodie.

“he’ll figure it out. he’s got good taste, after all.” you smile, referring half to damian but also half to katsuki.

katsuki watches damian fumble his way through giving her a compliment poorly disguised as an insult. watches her tilt her head to try to figure out what he was saying and then beam. watches damian look away like she’s the sun and can't stare too long or else he'll be blinded.

“…yeah,” he mutters. “looks familiar.”

you grin into his chest, silently rooting for the two. you do like the grumpy tsundere x sunshine combo, after all.

masterlist

[dialoverswritesssx]

dl inheritance lore ( just something i was thinking about )

this has been going around in my head and i jut saw a post talking about what makes ayato different and it got me thinking. What if the proposed heir isnt shu (even though hes the eldest) but ayato..stay with me

Their mothers

First lets start with the little information that is shown about Beatrix

She was from an arostracratic family , but didnt inherit a title ( like lady ...) Reiji says this as " there wasnt anything special about her." Hes refering to the fact that back in those days inheritance was HEAVILY influenced by who your parents are . Also i dont think beatrix was dumb and that she must have know she had to secure her newfound status but thats an essay for a different time.

Cordelia was the daughter of a head of a clan ( wich already gives her more power ) not to mention directly related to the first bloods (which is why they want to kidnap yui and focus on keeping the blood "pure" )

in diabolik lovers theres this influence of "experimentation" by karlheinz , like how he essentially groomed cordelia from a young age because he knew her genes were powerful and he wanted powerful children

so from a social sphere pov , cordelia outranks beatrix by well... quite a bit

also there are supporters of the vibora clan ( cordelias clan aka. the demon clan) who were backing up ayato to be the next king ( like the "grandfather" shown in young blood.

this is probs because they must believe that relations could be influenced and supported between clans

Ayatos character and powers.

Ayato is a very strange character in dl

you could argue that he shows a level of empathy and actual feeling in the way that he lives and feels about others.

for example in one of laitos routes , he really really wants to die - ayato clocks him and shows genuine affection and care towards laito even when her tries to kill him.

he deviates from this cycle of abuse wich look like (from just dl in general) either exremely rare or practically impossible.

When he inherits karls powers he seems both comprably more quick to actually figure out how to use them and can use them really well

hes the only diaboy that im aware of ( correct me if im wrong ) whos shown to mimic karlheniz's time manipulating ability and if we go off cannon , only karl can do that which is part of why he was seen as omnipresent and godlike

sorry if this is a yap but i LOVE dialore and headcannons

also if anyone knows anything about beatrix please tell shes like a black hole where info goes missing

@yuikomorii <---- og poster :]

[khattikeri]

genderbending svsss is a really interesting mental exercise.

let's say PIDW is still meant to be a jerkoff fuel harem novel, but luo binghe is its female protagonist.

there are many ways this can go. instead of being a zero-to-hero male revenge fantasy, PIDW could instead have our plucky yet bright MC luo binghe, dogged by misfortune, slowly turn dumber and bustier with every arc. the plot eventually disappears entirely so she can stumble into trouble and get fucked (with widely varying levels of consent) by different attractive men.

it'd be a misogynistic, pornographic logical nightmare that ignores any interesting worldbuilding. peerless cucumber melons ragequits at the end and the new shen qingqiu begins lesbian mommy hours. but as shen yuan fills plotholes, it becomes apparent that luo binghe didn't legitimately turn dumb.

her bimbofication was a defense mechanism of her own-- in a sense, that IS her equivalent of blackening, because nobody will care or bother to help her unless she gives them a taste of her body in exchange. her shizun and the rest of righteous human society hated her from day one. it's a hypocritical madonna-whore complex society out there, and luo binghe will never be accepted as a pure or good maiden. why not just collect men who might dote on her a little?

unlike a male luo binghe, who embraces his demonic side to chase after the masculine ideal of powerful domination, a female luo binghe might cling to her whatever remains of her own humanity, and in doing so atrophy in pursuit of a useless ideal of submission.

her manipulation is playacted mindlessness. she won't ever reach the top of anything meaningful. but that doesn't matter, because this PIDW isn't about girlboss girlwin. it's still male gaze-y porn. the story maintains a thin veneer of framing luo binghe collecting men while staying submissive to them in bed as "her own power", but in truth, she has utterly and completely given up.

being taken advantage of is totally power! appearing unwilling, naive, virginal, and shy is power. she's just a girl... who happens to be half-heavenly demon, and fetishized like hell for it by anyone who knows. her place in the world can't be on the top; that's too ambitious and demonic for a girl like her. her place will be beneath someone else, and she can live with that. she can learn to like it anyway, what with the universe itself conspiring to make her have sex everywhere she goes.

she'll never get the love and care she really craves. so why bother trying to struggle and think and fight for it?

(a moment of silence for the bleak picture i've painted.)

anyway, after shen qingqiu's qi deviation and strange personality shift, i imagine luo binghe would become far less apathetic (and far less interested in men). she'd become closer to the cunning yet sweet and softhearted powerhouse we know her as. and in her desperation to not be thrown away, she'd go to any lengths to prove herself...

[enbyleighlines]

My Fav Dave Everything! Characters Thus Far

Under a Cut because my thoughts are Not Safe for Work

#1: Timothy Timepiece

Pretty high-strung autistic British catboy with an extensive pocket watch collection?? And his idea of a date is teaching me how to gently and methodically care for them???

Why is all of his talk about adhering to an established routine genuinely arousing??

10/10 idea, no notes, this is now my soulmate

Unfortunately our love would be fated to fail irl bc I have adhd time blindness. My constant tardiness would disgust him, and rightly so, but this is a video game and it’s nice to have the option to dream

I think he has an alter-ego named Timmy but I honestly am too afraid to disrespect his precious sccccchedule so rip to me I guess

Sad his route is so short; I need to go on about 10 more unique dates with him pls and thank

#2: Mateo Manta

Soft boy bod plus a soft boy personality?? Consider me SOLD

Mateo pls just let me take care of you I am begging on my knees

His blushy face is EVERYTHING

The entire concept of inanimals itself is really creative and the inaminals themselves are all so, so adorable

I want to marry Mateo and have a thousand inaminal children together

#3: Betty the Bed

Cutie patootie alert!

Her bed frame corset is probably my fav piece of fashion in this game

The bite lip is craaaaazy hot

The sapphic longing of being in love with a friend and being afraid of crossing a line while also being ridiculously obvious about your feelings is so iconic and relatable

I am always down for a nap

#4: Maggie

Originally I was just gonna befriend Maggie, but then she started to show romantic interest in me, and she was soooo cute about it that I ended up falling for her

The way she gets so aggressive during interrogations is hawt

But her shy, flustered side is also soooo cute, and that gap moe btwn her plucky self, her aggressive self, and her shy self is fantastic, 10/10 character

Pls keep calling me gumshoe, Maggie, idk why but that’s really doing it for me

#5: Lux

Lux seems like the type of person who would have bullied me relentlessly in high school, a la Regina George from Mean Girls, and luckily for them I am into that shit

I feel like April from Parks and Rec from that one episode with Tinnifer like wow Lux you are the worst person I’ve ever met and I am obsessed with you

If Lux has no fans then call the police for I am deceased

Keep being you boo you have never done anything wrong and I love you

#6: Washford

Unfortunately, Washford has decided that he hates me because I don’t have enough smart points to fully appreciate MacBeth

Which is super not fair, but whatever

I only understand about 60% of what he’s saying at any given time but he’s got that long wavy hair with the streaks of silver and that fancy white bow in his hair and he’s terribly melodramatic and poetic and tragically, inexplicably sad and I love him

I love him enough to look past the washboard abs, which I know are considered conventionally attractive but they’ve personally always given me the ick

Washford pls give me a second chance, I promise I never once found you boring

Confusing? Yes. A touch irritating? Also yes. But boring? You are the furthest thing from boring, my love

I’m sorry my avatar character is too dumb to talk about Shakespeare with you. Just as the real me would be incapable of properly wooing Timothy, my avatar is incapable of properly wooing you

I promise irl I am more of your intellectual match. I’ve got zero common sense and negative rizz but if there’s two things I do have it’s a minor in English lit and a profound appreciation for the classics (excluding Faulkner, but let’s not get into that mess)

Unfortunately it seems our love is not meant to be, but hopefully I can still matchmake you with Drysdale down the line, insufferable as he can be

#7: Tydus Andromache

I am drastically deviating from my usual tastes here, as I don’t generally find muscular people of any gender attractive, but…

A trans-coded She-Ra lookalike? Don’t mind if I do

The way she speaks like an old timey Greek hero is really feeding my current hyperfixation with Epic the Musical, Hadestown, the Hades video game, Song of Achilles, etc

I am lowkey terrified to continue her storyline tho bc I don’t want to see any of her beloved Dipodgenes suffer

Queen you are so devoted to your cause and I salute you

Please tell me I can romance you without killing any of your tidepod warriors in the process, bc I will cry

#8: Dorian

This one isn’t even romantic, I just appreciate him being a defender of friendship

The uniform would normally be a huge red flag for me, but his smooth voice, strict adherence to his moral code, and his cutie patootie personality do a lot to balance it out

He seems to be really guarded (bc of a painful past?) and I want to hurt whoever made him feel like he has to conceal parts of himself

Thank you for telling me about all the other characters, I really appreciate it

#9: The Hanks (specifically Hank #5 but the others are good too)

Like many other cultured people, I appreciate a good himbo. Not romantically, but more in the sense that they are precious and I want to protect them

And these Hanks seem to be in dire need of some protection

Luckily for them, I am here to watch out for them like a protective bear mother, while also being fondly exasperated at their adrenaline-fueled antics

I am torn btwn finding Hank #3 hilarious and feeling like he needs to be put in horny jail. Maybe both things can be true

#10: Scandalabra

I feel like this one was added as a personal dig at me specifically bc I was a strange child who went through an unfortunate and very real phase of being in love with Lumiére from Beauty and the Beast

On that alone, I was prepared to hate him. And oh, I do

But I hate him in the way that I delight in my loathing. I wish there was a love-hate route, one where I could essentially bully him into a twisted friends with benefits situationship

Note to developers, why is there not an option to make a masturbation joke when he mentions polishing his knob??? I kept waiting for the option, but no

Fuck this prissy little fop. Fuck him in both the literal and colloquial way. I need to scandalize this candelabra in the worst of ways

And this post is getting monstrously long, so I shall cap it here.

Anyone have any idea of who I should try to romance next? I like my guys soft, submissive, and breedable, and my girls and theys mean, witty, and fabulous

[vermont-writes-fanfic]

Getting Hurt While Protecting Them (Deviant Edition)

Request:No

Warning:Burns, Zlatko’s Death, injuries, blood,cursing

Characters:Kara,Alice,Marcus, Connor

A/N:This is the deviant version of a post I did a while ago which is linked here

Deviant Kara + Alice

You came with Kara and Alice to Zlatko’s house where you met Luther and Zlatko, after the mans true intentions were revealed and you tried to keep Kara from losing her memories,but Luther was instructed to take you away and he did so. After freeing yourself with the help of other androids in the basement you made your way to where Kara was having her memories erased. As you were trying to figure out what to do, Zlatko found you and the two of you bagn to fight. You had thrown a water body between the two of you to distract him and gotten wet in the process, when he grabbed on of the snapped wires, which allowed Kara to fall to the ground and retain her memories, you sustained a nasty burn. You powered through it despite the shock in your body and knocked him out with a near by pipe before grabbing Kara.

“Are you okay?” She asked as you pulled her up.

“We can check later, we need to find Alice.”

After doging both Zlatko and Luther you both managed to find Alice and in a remarkable turn of events Luther swapped sides and rose up with the experiments in the basement to kill Zlatko.When the four of you finally got a chance to settle down in an abandoned amusement park, Kara checks Alice and then goes straight to you.

“You are hurt, did Zlatko do this?” She questions, the caoncern is evident in her face.

“Yes and no, I was dumb and threw a bottle of water in a room full of electrical appliances,so he took his shot,” 

She pauses searching for the right words to say before running water over it it and wrapping it up to the best of her abilities.

“Thank you…you saved Alice.”

“No, I saved my family.”

Deviant Marcus

Marcus didn’t make a habit out of trusting humans, but you had helped pull him from the android graveyard and help piece hisself back together again with your own two hands and he knew he could trust you.He knew that at anyone you would put your life on the line for the safety of another androids whether they had deviated or not, and you had in the past, not to mention you treated his goal almost as seriously as he did.

The incident happened when you joined him for a hesit of thirium and biocompenents, he had been shot in a vital component during a chase. You took his arm over your shoulder and helped him escape, but in the process of fleeing over a gate you were bit in the thigh, your jean shorts soaked in your own blood the wound seeping blood the entire journey back to Jericho. It was here, after he assessed the other adriods and you finished helping others replace their components, that he noticed you were wounded.He places a hand on the wound, his eye scanning it with a look of concern.

“Why didn’t you get that taken care of?”

“Others needed their components replaced,” You respond shrugging as he removes his hand, the artificial skin covered in an alarming amount of your blood, “I didn’t sit down until just now, so I never got to it.”

The moment you finish speaking, he hoists you up on a broken interface and takes a closer look. After inspecting it, he cleans the wound and bandages it up, all the while he is telling you how human and stupid it was.

“You’re not even listening are you?”

“Half-way, that’s gotta count for something,” You smirk as he looks up at you.

“Why didn’t you just leave me there?” His eyes narrow as he asks you the question, as if expecting something different than what you say.

“Well,” You sigh dramatically, “Jericho just wouldn’t be the same without Markus, the big, bed, fearless android leader, now would it?” You tease, nudging his shoulders as you slide down and off the interface.

You only chuckles a little and shakes his head.

Deviant Connor

Hank wasn’t answering his phone and everywhere you and Connor turned androids,devaint or not, were being executed in droves. No where was safe until you and Connor stumbled across an android named Markus who gave Connor a single mission: to collect soldiers for the andriod army. You refused to leave Connors side as he carried out said mission and he had no choice but to let you. An android entering a human made it much less suspicious anyways, and it worked up until the second model of Connor approached. You could always tell the real Connor, for the longest time he didn’t believe he had a lick of human emotion or deviancy in him until it was nearly forced out of him.

You watched in anticipation and fear as Hank had the gun trained on you, then Connor, then Fake Connor. He wouldn’t let you move an inch, assuming you were a replica to,as he questioned the two androids. You didn’t think twice when you stopped infront of your Connor when you heard the gunshot.You didn’t even stop to look where the bullet when when Hank shot the right Connor as you turned around and gave Connor a once over, looking for any kind of injury that would indicate he was damaged. 

It wasn’t over yet, with all the commotion and the trouble in the elevator before hand the three of you had to move fast. And move you did, you made it to the frontlines with Markus and had the honour of standing beside him as you watched history unfold infront of your eyes. Overtime, Connor had developed a habit of observing his surroundings visibly but now he is dead still and his hand gun equiped is steadily rising. You gently hold the gun in your hands and call his name, your voice prying him from Amamnda’s grip. The alarm of nearly killing you sets in, and as he looks to where you have the fun pointed his LED flashes red. Your shirt is covered in blood, with the adreanline of a possible Civil War on your hands you hadn’t noticed that you had been running around with a bullet embedded in your side.

The moment the standoff had ended, Connor rushed you to the hospital where you were taken care of. He sat on the bed next to you, his LED pensively blinking as he stared at the ground, before he finally spoke, clearly still trying to wrap his processors around what had happened in the past 48 hours.

“You let him shoot you…”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Why?” When he asks this, he turns to face you his eyes scanning your face for any signs of unwell mental stability but he finds none. You’re heart rate is normal, your respiratory rate is pristine, no signs of PTSD or early truama, yet you’re lying in a hospital bed with a hole in your side.

“Because I didn’t want you to die, Connor.”

“He was aiming for a non-vital component in my body, I had a 96% survival rate even if he shot me.”

“I didn’t like that 4%.”

“Oh…thank you.”

“You can thank me with a kiss,”

Hank walks in the room hears this and laughs talking about how someone owed him 50 bucks and a bottle of booze.As the two of you share a gentle kiss.

[10yrratiolover]

My health is on the decline so have some more Ratio headcanons to make me feel better

He makes a detailed list when grocery shopping and he sticks to it pretty strictly, only deviating from it on very rare occasions

I kind of hate the headcanon that he has a boatload of ducks, mostly because it reminds me of the phenomenon that fandoms will dumb characters down to liking one thing bc it was mentioned/shown once

^ that being said, I do think he would have a couple, most were given to him as gag gifts but

Freakishly fast walker, he's got places to be

A mild case of RBF, he furrows his brows a lot and it makes him look like he's scowling

I don't think he needs glasses to see normally, but I think he'd wear reading glasses like the ones in his BP icon since he reads so often and doesn't want it straining his eyes

I think he'd go out of his way to avoid scheduling classes, lectures, tutoring, etc really early in the day. He needs a few hours minimum to enjoy some peace and quiet at the beginning and end of the day.

Based on his character introduction, I think he does suffer from some kind of chronic insomnia, he mostly struggles with getting to sleep since he finds it hard to turn his mind off

Night time is also when his stress levels increase, mostly since when he's lying down with so much less stimulus/things to think of he starts to wonder if he accomplished enough/anything that day or if it was wasted

I've seen people talk about him not caring about his own gender, and I 100% agree with that

He presents masc but he really doesn't care, he also doesn't think about it much because he's got other more important stuff to do

I think he'd be a gamer god at Minesweeper, definitely not projecting

He actually genuinely enjoys socializing, even with idiots at times, in cases where he has to stay home because he's sick or whatever he's genuinely miserable about it

Sort of based on my post about his eyes but I think he'd have pretty good vision in the dark, like not 100% clear vision but better than an average person

^ Doesn't turn on the lights of his house if it's nighttime and he's not doing anything important, if he needs a midnight glass of water he's just walking around in the pitch black

[mochinomnoms]

i just want to saw that you really cooked with the trey scenario and it’s been on my mind since you posted it. like imagine the banter between the two?? the way i would perceive every interaction i would have with him as condescending especially with his cute, infuriating smirk while he over on the side thinking of how to subtly get your heart (and how to sneak in a few baking puns too). smth smth trey shares a family recipe and we point it out and trey is deflecting hard.

-🪸

Im glad you liked it! I've been working at a bakery for a few weeks now and I was surprised at how little baking I do (which is none). 90% of the job is packaging the goods to sell in the store! So the idea just came to me while at work!

In all good fun, I think Trey would try to poke a bit of fun at you, though he does firmly believe in the superiority of a proper bakery versus a grocery store one. He'll acknowledge that he's biased, but not wrong.

But with the wrong tone and a prefect who woke up on the wrong side of the bed that morning, Trey is suddenly met with a one-sided rivalry that he could end with an apology, but...

Well, forgive him for this, but Trey finds it very funny and endearing how offended and angry you get. Especially when your immediate response is to challenge him to a bake off (which you lose, miserably).

It's such a deviation from your usual mannerisms. You're always polite, kind, and attentive, and the fact that he's the only one to rile you up over something that's really so trival is actually a bit fun to him. Trey has had to be a big brother figure for the last few years and regin in Riddle as best as he can, so it's nice to have a bit of fun.

You're just mad that this fedora wearing, broccoli-color haired, 5'11" asshole called your old job "pseudo baking". So what if he's technically right and you didn't bake anything from scratch yourself? That doesn't mean he gets to say it to your face without consequences!

Most of the banter is you giving Trey snide comments and him replying with amused, teasing remarks. Normally he wouldn't let this escalate to the level it's at now, but damn it you're awfully cute and it's actually a bit fun watching you scramble around in the kitchen to make simple cupcakes.

"I know the recipe! I just didn't have to make it since I did a later shift—BUT I still trained for baking stuff you know!"

"Sure. Of course, baking pre-made mixes right?"

"Oh fuck off. 'PRe-MaDe MIxeS—' shut the fuck up!"

"Oh, did I hit a nerve? It's fine if you did, you're a grocery store baker, after all. Sorry, sorry."

"No, you're not! You're fucking smirking! The audacity—I should use this spoon to smack that dumb smirk off your pretty face, you moth—"

You shut up pretty quick after your slip of the tongue, focused on the handwritten recipe card that looks like it's been passed down a few generations at this point. Trey's started to flush pink, though his smile is softer and more fond now, as he continues watching you in silence.

Like I said, he's having fun in his own way. You, on the other hand, are fighting off the heat in your face as you're wondering at what point you started finding his stupid face attractive.

[ulfdis-voludottir]

So-called leftists who "believe in rehabilitative justice" when they get to use something from 8 years ago when the person was 19 to harass a random trans woman. Because murders and rapists can be rehabilitated but people who did dumb shit at 19 can't possibly change and grow in the subsequent eight years.

And shut the fuck up about how it's "black people's choice to forgive or not forgive her". Forgive what? The only people in a position to forgive or not forgive anybody are people she actually fucking hurt, not people whose lives have literally never been affected by her. It was eight years ago and you had no fucking clue it happened. Your "forgiveness" or lack thereof is entirely meaningless and nothing but yet another vehicle for progressives to bully trans women for any slight deviation from their imagined ideal.

You're using very old and, let's be honest, exaggerated racism on her part to justify current transphobic harassment (which this is, stop fucking lying, nobody buys it) in an environment where, currently, trans women have it worse than black people (with the exception of black immigrants) in every way.

I think it's funny how "allies" and "pro-trans" leftists are always the first to try to ruin trans women's lives over meaningless bullshit. Funny how this same shit never happens to cis people to anywhere near this degree. Almost like it's all empty rhetoric or something.