#except dink

[sleepy-the-loz-enthusiast]

You ever get the overwhelming urge to hug fictional characters

[tallykale]

i made them into stevens universes too if anyone cares

[goodkwuestion]

I've been re-reading your stories these past days. I'm a big fan by the way. and I wanted to ask how you feel about Gallavich children? I noticed that you don't have any mention of their plans to have children in your fics. Not that it's very important to me lol I'm just interested in your thoughts ☺️

My general attitude to children in fiction can be summarised thusly:

I do feel a little guilty sometimes because I know canon Ian dreams of fatherhood and is chock-full of dad jokes. I compromise by giving them pets and the occasional wild niece or nephew, though. Really, who needs more than this?

[jellybeanium124]

500 piece jigsaw puzzle I spent 3.5 hours obsessively completing (excluding dinner break, thank you adhd medications for always have my back)

[trees-to-meet-you]

Apart from slamming the door open, Susie entered the classroom rather calmy (that is— she wasn’t yelling or making a fuss. She just asked if she was late)

[wetpapert0wel]

@ my ex ay yo get ur shit off my calendar lmao

[xenofelinae]

i do love my job but it gets frustrating when i only have 2 hours of actual work to do in an 8 hour shift

[kenyummy]

✰ 07. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 07. a fools own parade.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: im not really sure if it counts as it's a very small passage but tw for a lil bit of an identity/existential crisis??? not very sure haha I mostly just write what comes to mind

also, first father appearance! yay! he finally shows up, and he's as mysterious as ever, hehe. next chapter will be either dink focused or ... someone else... 🤔🤔🤔

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

You dab at your nose with a tissue, cringing at the sight of crimson still pouring out from it. How hard was that guy's chest, anyway?

A thick bandage is stuck tightly on your nosebridge, taped to your skin and soaked in blood. Changing it every hour was a giant pain, but you'd rather have a bloody bandage than clothes.

Thinking back on it, you almost can't imagine the look in Tim's eyes again. Nothing strange. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but different enough to make the hair on your arms raise.

(You're the greatest anomaly in his life. Isn't it natural a detective wishes to solve such a damning mystery?)

How differently his entire composure grew once he saw you laying there, dirtied hands clutching your face. Was it normal for a guy like him to change his entire stance at such a moment? You'd be inclined to believe he couldn't care less about something like this, from all those diary entries spanning several years.

But seeing that look, when you'd stopped him from coming closer, putting distance between you two, as you thought there'd always been, how could you possibly think that? That look of worry, fingers twitching as he reached out, and expression of pure betrayal when you'd stepped backwards. Away. From him.

Wasn't that how it'd always been? You couldn't stop thinking. Maybe you were wrong? Maybe your spidey sense, for the first time in your life, was wrong?

They say that a fool's time spent thinking is wasted time.

You spent hours sitting at your desk pondering all of this. What it meant. Why your siblings seemed to all give you this strange, sinking feeling in your stomach. Raise goosebumps up your arms.

Soon, these thoughts spiralled back to your home. How you could help Reed. Speed up the process. Not wishing to mess with his delicate work nor rush him, but also getting restless with this family.

This family who's known you for their whole lives, yet seems to similarly know nothing about you. This you, their you, any you. Too little to care, too much to hate. The worst kind of balance that upset the universe and made your stomach twist with bile.

But at this point, you weren't too sure who was who, which was which.

If, tommorow, you'd lost everything and if you were caught in a blazing heat, would it be you who had died? Or somebody else? Would it be you in that coffin, underneath a stone who's name carved into it, did not belong to you?

The concept of being your own person, what did it mean? What could it mean when there were more of you, exactly the same, only shaped by their environment? An endless amount of copies, down to the genetic level, each in different worlds yet unmistakably the same?

When you stare into the mirror, nothing is the same except the red that flows down your knuckles when you slam your fist into it. Nothing remains the same except what you look like inside.

Though—in the end—even that belonged to them, didn't it?

You barely ever see your sister, nor her blonde friend. The ginger haired woman has more pressing matters to attend to than ever seeing you, it seemed—something you'd actually grown to appreciate, seeing how positively suffocating those other "siblings" had started to become.

Dick, who was thankfully off in Blüdhaven around now. Jason, who should be out doing his own thing, but seemed to always spare some time for you... as much as you insisted on him not doing that. Tim, who always stared with a little too much intensity and danger hidden behind a sharp smile.

And Damian—your only blood-related sibling, seeming to take great pride in such a fact as he brings it up far more often than not.

You'd begun to realise a distinct lack of a parental figure in your...—

This. This life.

Not yours. This life absolutely was not yours. Everything is seriously messing with your head. Belonging to another unfortunate soul, who happened to have your name, shared your face and voice, yet was everything you never were. Experienced things you never did, yet as you lived in a freedom they could never dream of.

You pitied them more than anything else. But that didn't mean you could just give everything you've ever known up. Your people, your city, your friends, your freedom. This blood that runs through your veins and makes your heart beat steady—it may belong to them, but you never will.

As it spills, you will be free. Losing that chain that binds you and perhaps you will be allowed to feel that wind hitting your face once more. Allowed to swing, fly, feel air and be everything you were destined to become.

Your suit forms over your body and you leap out of your window, leaving nothing but a gust of wind in your wake.

Because, despite everything, it is still you.

The Spectacular Spidey seems to swing and never sleep—the alliteration in the title of this news article you've read makes your head hurt. Said only as an unfortunate pun referring to how you swing from building to building, and only operate during night hours.

(Yet, still careful on avoiding your dearest family... as difficult as that may be—your senses are seriously saving your skin... wait, now you're using alliteration—)

You don't have anything against working during sunlight. In fact, it would be preferable for you. But escaping from school has now become increasingly more difficult after you'd "opened your heart" to MJ and Harry.

Both were completely convinced you were spiralling down a bad path after how you'd acted with Jason, or concerned for both your homelife and general wellbeing—sometimes you truly did damn yourself for picking such good friends.

Nevertheless, you couldn't possibly be worrying about something like that right now, when there's a much bigger problem right in front of you.

A man dressed in a rag-like coat lay beneath your heel, defeated and hands bound together with your webbing.

You'd originally expected to leave immediately, hoping to catch Reed before he was off looking for whatever new part he needed for his grandest project. But now, you can't even hope to move at this point—swamped by flashing cameras and microphones shoved into your face.

Suddenly, you're so incredibly grateful you wear a mask, because you aren't too excited at the prospect of having such unflattering photos of you taken.

"Spidey! What are you doing in Gotham?"

You stammer, "Uh—well, you know—"

"Spiderguy! What's your thoughts on the articles calling you a knockoff Batman?"

"How am I anything like him?" You gesture to your bright red suit. "Also, it's not Spiderguy—"

"Spidey! Spidey! How do you create that webbing fluid? Is it organic? And is it environmentally sustainable? Who's going to clean it?" The reporters move closer and closer.

You inch backwards, "Uh—well, you know, my webbing dissolves in a couple hours by itself, and of course it's sustainable—"

Before you can finish, a multitude of voices all ring through your ears at once. Piling atop eachother, all at the same time, forming into a mush of different tones and accents, indistinguishable from one another.

You can't even hear anything anymore, not until a voice, loud and clear, cuts through a multitude of others and strikes your ears with ease, "Hey, Spidey! Our viewers have a question for you—how have you gotten past Batman? I'm sure you know he doesn't allow metahumans in Gotham, right?"

You freeze. Shocked, but soon, that shock soon morphs into confusion at what exactly a metahuman is.

"I... uh—" You glance to the side. You know, doing this will spark way too much gossip for your own good. Doing this is practically asking for those headlines that, while technically true, are completely outlandish. You were a reporter yourself (for your alter ego, to be fair—but it still counts).

You know this can't end in any other way than complete disaster.

That's why you reach up, webbing to a building and wave goodbye to those pesky paparazzi, "No comment!" With all the wit a Spider must have, you decide that your flight or fight response instead chose: Web away with a sly remark.

"They should be around here, Batman."

Oracle's voice rings out through the earpiece. Barbara had taken the liberty of helping him in his little crusade after seeing that stunt on live television—that spider-hero running away after hearing that metas weren't allowed in Gotham... though, it provided more questions than answers.

Babs was growing restless. For one: that reaction possibly explained why they were so wary of any member of their family even coming close to them. Always running at the first sight of them, webbing away faster than they could hope to catch up. Escaping Batman and his Robin, Babs couldn't help but wonder about them.

They're good. Smart. They're not some new hero. Clearly whoever's behind that mask has experience.

But this raised far too many questions in it of itself. Why had you only popped up now? Why not years ago —if, judging purely by her own gaze, with the years of experience in crime fighting you must have? Why Gotham?

And perhaps, the most daunting question of them all, "Who exactly are you, Spider?"

Bruce's gruff voice reaches her ears, "What was that?"

Her eyes widen, not realising she'd spoken aloud. Shaking her head, she relents, "No... sorry, it's nothing. Right... according to witness sighting and where they were last spotted, you should be meeting them in the middle right now. Do you have any sightings?"

Bruce shakes his head, jumping over to the top of the next apartment block roof—cowl landing in a swoop behind him. "No. Not yet. See if there's any new sightings."

Bruce Wayne was beginning to grow tiresome of this new hero's antics. Running around through Gotham without a care in the world—all too bright and cheerful as if this was all that mattered. Running around as a meta—unchecked and absolutely dangerous.

Nothing good could come out of this. Not without knowing exactly who you were and what you wanted. He never was a dictator type—never had it in him—but with a crime-riddled city like Gotham, he had little choice.

One small mistake could ruin everything. Collapse all that he's worked so hard to create. A better city, a better future. A regular human—as he is—couldn't possibly ever handle a rouge meta... and in the end, this city may not want him, but he really is the type of hero it needs.

So, that's why, instead of patrolling through his sector—he asks Orphan, Batwoman, and Spoiler to take over for tonight, so he can do some much needed digging into this anomaly.

Tim told him that his webbing sample, one he managed to collect around a month ago, when he'd first come into contact with them, had dissolved within hours. Not enough time to perform any kind of intricate testing, not by a long shot.

Batman has taken the almost passive stance—uncharacteristic of him—but now, he realised with such a slippery Spider, he had to do what he does best, and corner them.

His whitened eyes dart up at the flash of red that flies past him. He snaps his head back and finds the Spider—the one he'd been looking for all this time—swinging from building to building, fast.

But not nearly fast enough. With one false swoop, Bruce is after you, grappling towards you, eyes narrowed and mind absolutely determined.

"Batman? Batman?" Oracle pipes up—he assumes she's been talking for the past couple minutes, but only realised she was speaking into his earpiece now. "Can you hear me? Do you have a visual?"

"I see them. Nearly have them."

The Spider darts their head over their shoulder almost frantically—moves stuttering when they see how close he's gotten toward them.

"Hey! Why are you so obsessed with me, huh?" Thrir voice calls out—unlike anything he'd ever heard. "I mean, okay—yeah, I get it. But if you want a fashion taste like mine, I can make you a suit of your own!"

He clenches his jaw to stop himself from saying anything back.

Their voice grows more framtic at his silence, "H... Hey! You're getting really close, there—let it go! I'm not a villain! I swear!"

More silence, and they seem to let out a loud groan of frustration, seemingly aimed at him.

They stop. Heels landing flat atop a building, and Batman, with his cowl wrapped around him like a cloak, follows on their heel, stalking closer towards them.

You raise your hands in defence, stepping backwards and shaking your masked head, "Waitwaitwait—! Don't get violent with me, I don't want to fight you!"

"Then what do you want?" His voice grows deeper, more gruff and cold. "No metahumans are allowed in Gotham without my permission. There's too much trouble that comes with it. Too many difficulties."

He pauses. "Too much crime. Too many deaths. Unnecessary, preventable ones. Who are you to be an exception?"

"I said wait—!" You shriek as he practically stalks into your personal space bubble. "I'm not a metahuman!"

He stops in his tracks. "... What?"

You let out a heavy sigh, now that he's stopped. Batman taps on his earpiece, "Oracle, can you hear this?"

"Reading, Batman."

You look around, to see nobody. "Oracle? Who's Oracle?" You never read anything about an Oracle.

"None of your business. Now speak. If you aren't a metahuman, what are you?" His whitened eyes narrow, and suddenly those pointy ears aren't so silly looking anymore.

You blink. Once, then twice. "Would you believe me if I said I was from an alien planet full of spider-people?"

Despite the reprocessing telling him your backstory would have on you being near non-existent—you still aren't too fond of the idea of the Batman, your father, knowing your secret backstory.

Besides, Oscorp really does exist in this universe, too—Norman is actually pretty nice. You don't want any unwarranted blame falling on him.

"Not a chance." He folds his arms over his bat-symboled chest and you falter with a sigh.

Worth a shot.

"Fine." Not to say he was the reason you finally relented—but his stare was pretty unnerving. "I was bit by genetically modified spider on a school field trip. It altered my DNA so I became stronger, faster, could stick to walls and became three times more flexible than the average person."

You finish with a winded breath, eyes scanning his expression for any hint of an emotion. You found none.

"Why should I believe you?"

Pausing, you glance away. Crouching down on that rooftop, on the ledge, staring down at the city below. Dimly lit roads and the people littering it. So much like your home, yet so different.

You could see why Batman was this city's protector. You could see why he was so careful about this world, and you almost respected him for it. At the same time, though, you couldn't help but think to all those chicken-scratched diaries.

By a helpless child, unable to depend on anybody but him in this world, and he had still failed. For that, you couldn't face him. Not now, not ever.

"You don't have to believe my story." You finally manage to unlodge the words from your throat. "I'm just saying that whatever your rules are—my existence doesn't defy them. You have no reason to keep chasing me down."

His sharp, whitened eyes narrow. It's the only thing visible in such deep darkness where he lingers.

"Actually..." Oracle's voice rings out through Batman's ears. "Their story... might have some truth to it. Check this out—Oscorp's been working on developing a, quote, super-powered spider. Says spider venom is the cure for disease and pandemics. They've been developing in this field for a while."

A super-powered spider sounds absolutely ridiculous, he thinks. But nothing he hadn't seen before. In a world full of aliens, heroes, personification of life, death, and everything in-between—he shouldn't be surprised at the prospect of gaining superpowers from spider venom.

Looking down at you now—slouched, facing away from him, and almost seeming restless... "Oscorp."

You look back at him, confused. "Huh?"

"Did that spider come from Oscorp?"

... You bite down on the inside of your cheek, hard. Looking back away before you could stop yourself. "No. I'm not from around here. I live far. Far away."

"What do you mean by far away? Why are you in Gotham, then?" He steps closer, to the point he's standing over you with all that intimidating bat-aura that makes the criminals of Gotham run for the hills. Still, you can't bear to see him. Because if you do, you know you'll spill everything you've been holding in like a waterfall.

"I don't know," you admit, honestly. "I don't know why I'm here. I want to go home, but I don't know where that is anymore. All I know is that, while I'm here, I might as well help people. Because... that's what I do."

For a moment, there's no sound other than the honking of cars on a busy road. He's quiet, as silent as he always is. Always was. For a moment, you think you almost see him as that father from so long ago.

But only for a moment.

"... How old are you?"

To your surprise, he doesn't immediately go to accusing you of lying again, or keep his standoffish persona any longer—only asking you this simple, yet strangely personal, question.

In simple words, you're really confused. "What? Why does that matter?"

"You sound young. Too young. And from the way I've seen you fight, you're experienced in fighting high, street-level crime. If I had to guess, I'd say you've been doing this for at least three years. Maybe more."

Sweat beads at the back of your neck, and suddenly everything starts caving in, crumbling like failed architecture. How did he know? How could he have possibly—

Batman continues, "The way you talk, and the way you behave in the public eye, you can't be an adult. I'm assuming you're a child. Meaning you've been fighting crime since you've been in your early teens, right?"

"What are you talking about?" You stand up at your full height, staring up at him. Glaring, as well as you can manage from underneath those refractive lenses. He doesn't back down. "I'm not—"

"You're a child," He repeats. "Don't carry this weight. You don't have to carry the weight of—" Gesturing towards the ground below, he stares down at you, strangely sadly, "All this. Especially not all by yourself. Not as a child."

The only word you want to spit out at him is hypocrite.

"Don't act all high and mighty. That Robin you have looks 12. You're saying a 12 year old is capable of fighting crime but I shouldn't? I'm nearly an adult, for god's sake! I'm—"

You slap your hands over your masked mouth, but still continue. "Don't treat me like I don't know better. You don't know me. You have no idea what has happened in my life."

"I only take Robin under my wing because he needs it. So I can watch over him."

You glare, "So what? So he can turn out like you?"

"So that he doesn't."

And to this, your lips feel sealed shut. You want to say something, but you can't. What could you possibly reply to this?

Even Oracle is silent. Not a word, not a peep. Nothing. The honking of cars has ceased, and it's like the world itself had just gone quiet for that one, stunning moment.

"You're not from here, so I don't know you," Finally, he speaks, and it's like the silence has been shattered like glass. "You're right. But... you're a child. You aren't obligated to this. This isn't your responsibility—to make this world better. If you can live normally, you should."

Isn't such normalcy why you ended up like this in the first place? All those entries, wishing to be like the rest of them—and here your father is now, telling you to be yourself.

If only they had heard this, you think, bitterly. Then, you'd know you were right. That he would only ever see you if you had become one of them.

The thought makes your stomach churn. How pretentious could this man—this devil—possibly be?

"You're wrong. To live normally like this, when I was given the strength to be better, to do things to be a better me... that's just wrong." You clench your fists, hard. "I already made that mistake before. It doesn't matter whether I'm 18 or 80. All that matters is that I'm doing what I know is right."

You pause, allowing the words to sink in. "But to discard the normally in your life is a waste. That's why I live the way I do. To protect the normalcy around me, the ones who can't protect themselves. With great power comes great responsibility... my responsibility is to be the best Spidey I can be."

...

You angle your wrist up and don't bother to look back at him when you walk away, "You and your birds can come after me all you want, but I won't stop doing what I think is right. 'Cause I'm a hero."

When you thwip away, you aren't so sure how you'd forgotten that. How a hero protects the ones they love above all else.

Your family aren't heroes. Perhaps, to the public, and even the whole world—but not to you. They'd failed to protect that child, a miserable, small child, left in that massive world.

To make it so they felt they had to save people, to take that responsibility of power to matter—that was their greatest failure.

"... Batman?" Barbara's voice is a dramatic shift from the silence that started to consume him. "Batman,are you okay? Batman? ... Bruce? Are you..."

He takes a moment to regain his composure, world still spinning as he speaks, "I'm fine. They're... they're okay." Saying the world's like they're hard to spit out, or like he's unsure himself. "I'm coming home."

Barbara wants to say something. About that spider. About what they said to him. Power, responsibility, protection, normalcy, love. But she doesn't. By the sound of his voice, he seems just as frazzled as she is. A conflicted Batman means no good for anybody, including her.

So, she will let him think. Oracle can take a back-seat for now. So can Batman. For now, she's just Barbara Gordon. And he's just Uncle Bruce.

Holding her tongue, "Cass and Steph aren't back yet. Kate left a while ago... said there was something she needed to do. ... Everyone else should be at home, I think..."

"Okay." He murmurs, quieter.

Barbara shuts her mouth and leans back in her chair. There's nothing else for her to say, so once more, there is silence.

...

When Bruce returns back to the Manor, he finds himself pushing past everything and everyone, including Alfred, and rushing up the stairs. Not even bothering to take off his suit fully—tossing his helmet behind him and walking away.

Down a hall to the left, then up right, then left again. Stopping once he, finally, stands in front of a door. Blank. Colourless, dull. Like the rest of the manor, blending in away from those extravagant suits and too-bulky armours.

After a brief moment of confliction, he brings his fist up, and knocks. Standing there, almost the size of the doorway, waiting for any kind of reply.

"Hello? What—"

You freeze at the sight of your father staring down at you—this time, his eyes were as blue as ever and his face was less grim. This time, you could see the greying of his dark hair and the crease of his brows.

This time, there was no escape.

"[name]." He says your name as if it's foreign, unfamiliar. Testing it out like a new spice or seasoning, then seeming to come to the conclusion that he likes it. "It's been a while."

You're frozen in place, mouth open yet unable to speak. What could you possibly do now? Run? Swing? Duck past—

A hand places itself on your shoulder and every siren in your body blasts itself tenfold. Blaring like the most buzzing and painful alarms—so awful that you have to grab the side of the doorframe to stop yourself from falling over.

Panic gnaws at every side of you, chest rising and falling erratically when your headache grows.

What is this? This is so much worse than when I'm with Jason—

His face morphs and blurs as does his words, yet you manage to catch the few, "I think we should spend more time together. Become closer, like how it was before. You are my child after all. The only one who doesn't have patrol or scoutings with me. That calls for more regular ways of bonding, right? That's my responsibility... as your father."

He's smiling. Hardly so, but you're about to collapse. A deafening buzz in your skull, you spit out any agreements you can manage through squeezed eyes, waiting for him to go, to leave, so for a moment, you can finally breathe.

"I'm glad you agree," he says, moving back. Clearing his throat, he looks down at you, recovering as he gives you space. "Next week, then?"

You clutch your head, jaw taut and stance tense. It's a wonder how he hadn't noticed your absolute discomfort, but you digress—just wanting him to go. "Sure."

"Good, then—" Before he can finish, your door slams shut in his face and once again, that barrier has returned. Bruce pauses, staring at that slab of wood keeping you from his line of sight.

Bruce lingers for a few moments longer, fingers hovering the handle, before retracting back and swallowing thick.

Batman walks away, but glances twice over his shoulder, cowl falling behind him.

You slump down your door with a heaving sigh, feeling your head start to clear and breathing stabilise.

That feeling of fear, of utter terror—it was the feeling you'd get with Jason and Tim, but tripled. It was torture. Absolutely awful. Unbearable. You'd not relt anything while you were Spidey on that rooftop, but seeing him here now send your senses spiralling into a whirlwind of chaos.

You grab your head and it falls onto your knees, pulled up to your chest.

Your eyes fall bleak and everything blurry again. Are you going to cry, like a child? To prove him right again, that you're afraid of this? Of him?

Maybe you were more similar to his version of you than you were lead to believe. Maybe—

Still, though, your phone buzzes.

A strange sounding noise compared to the cheap, hand-me-down one you had in your other room. Probably spammed with stupid videos from MJ, and worried texts from Harry. Maybe even the odd "how are you?" from Matt, or something.

(You still don't know how he texts, but that's beyond you).

You pick up your phone, despite the lingering thought it could just be from one of your family members. Siblings, or father.

... You were half right.

From a contact customised to say, the #coolest auntie, there's a text.

Hey, kid. Let's go out. It's been way too long.

You stare down at the bright phone screen for a few seconds longer than you should've. Surprised, sure, but just as confused. Swallowing and considering your options for a second.

You haphazardly let your fingers fly over the keyboard. If your contact name for her was this comfortable, she must be a good person, right? Maybe she could provide an outside perspective on everything. Your family, their hero-lives, even you.

You press your lips tightly together narrowing your eyes down at her contact profile picture. Short, red hair and a smug smile. Pale skin, and the features reminiscent of your father.

Sure. Where?

When you watch the text bubbles pop up on the screen, you can't help but wonder what exactly you're going to do next.

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taglist is open!

[pineyw00dsshesquatch]

Instead of the gut wrenching sequel we got, I woulda taken a previous generation spinoff. Papa Inu, Totosai and Myoga having adventures.

Is Inu Papa the instigator to all their antics or did Myoga have to coax him like he often does for Inuyasha? Do we show the wars with the Panther tribe? How did Inu Papa meet Totosai and decide he was a worthy Smith for his fang? What about Hosenki, the jewel crafting demon who made the black pearl? We could see InuPapa/Touga's romantic escapades and maybe baby Sesh. Roll that timeline BACK next time, please.

Take that "Inu/Kag's perfect daughter had to survive alone" and shove it straight up yer buttcrack, Sunrise.

for those who dont watch the show, one thing you must know about inuyasha--the dog boy--is that he has at least one flea. this flea was passed down in his family in much the same way that old rich noble families pass down butlers. im not making this up. his name is myoga

[birdyshewrote]

“Birthday Girl”

Wolverine x Female!Reader

written by birdy

Wade Wilson throws you a rink-a-dink birthday party every year, and this year is no exception. But this time, you have a new guest.. and he’s been watching you for a while.

Notes- hi. ive never written a fic before EVER, so pls be nice. this is mainly for me to be able to get my thoughts out of my head because I’ve been thinking about this man for way too long. happy birthday bitches 🫶

WARNINGS/TAGS: smut- 18+ Logan Howlett x Female!Reader, Logan calls reader “Kid”, light smoking and alcohol consumption, Wade being a menace

——————————————————————————

You had caught glances of him a few times in the hall. The scent of smoke, leather and alcohol that belonged to only him drifted in the air behind him for a few seconds even after he had walked into the apartment room across from yours. There had been a few times where you stepped into the elevator and musky cigar smoke had filled the small space. You didn’t complain though, secretly savoring the intoxicating smell, taking more, quicker breaths than you needed too. You couldn’t deny the knot it put in your stomach and the weakness it put in your legs before stepping out of the elevator, down the hall and into your own room.

Eventually, you were tired of the mystery. Two weeks into the seemingly one sided tension, you trapped your long time friend and even longer time across-the-hall neighbor, Wade Wilson, into the elevator with you. Ever since the stranger had moved in with Wade, he had stopped inviting you over. Your birthday was coming up, and so was your annual not-so-surprised birthday party. Once the elevator doors closed, you started,

“Hey, who’s your new roomie?”

Wade scoffed, putting a hand across his heart on his chest, the other gripping a full black trash bag that smelt of blood and for some reason bubblegum scented air fresheners. “THATS how I am greeted nowadays? No, ‘Hello Wade’, ‘Looking good Wade’, ‘Here’s that five bucks I owe you Wade,’

You roll your eyes, putting a hand on your hip stepping away from him. “Okay, first of all, I do not owe you five bucks. You OFFERED to pay for the funeral arrangements after you killed my fish-“

“He looked hungry, who knew fish could be over fed?” He interrupted.

“I told you before I left!” You argue back. “I was only gone two days and you-“ You rub your forehead and shake your head, frustrated. “Whatever. Not relevant. Hello Wade, you do look good.” You say, defeated.

Wade giggly adjusted his weight to his heels, to his tippy-toes, then back to his heels again “Thank you.” He said, satisfied, and turned back to the doors.

“You didn’t answer my question. Your roommate? Who is he?” You ask again as the elevator dings and the doors creakily open.

He raised an eyebrow, looking at you sideways as the two of you walked down the small lobby. “Uhm, news flash doll face, Blind Al is not new. She’s an OG. Been here a while, silly.”

“Not Al.” Talking to Wade was like trying to a horse with dementia. “You know, ‘Mr Tall and Handsome,’ always sulking, ‘I don’t care about no smoking rules.”

Wade throws his head back, “Ooohhhh, you mean Peanut. What about him?”

“No introduction?” You ask confused, watching Wade as he carried his trash down the hall, holding the entrance door open for you.

“Well, I don’t know. I guess Iuh… I forgot.” He stuttered as he led you down the wet alleyway, towards the dumpsters.

“Last month you called me into your room to show me your new toothbrush. You have a new roommate and you just, ‘forget’ to introduce us?”

Wade shrugs, shifting the thin, plastic bag straps in his hand uncomfortably as he walked.

The truth was, Wade did not forget. The truth was, in fact, that one of the first things Wade had done was mention your existence to Logan before he was even fully settled in the apartment.

“I think you two would hit it off, hardcore. And I mean, HARD.” Wade had said.

“Absolutely not.” Logan grumbled, immediately shutting him down, not even looking up from the blow-up mattress he was unrolling in the living room.

Wade sat on the couch arm rest, looking down at the burly man. “Come on Wolvie, let a girl heal your cold, withered heart. You’re a tough, ‘don’t get too close’ typa guy, she’s an ‘I can fix him’ type of girl, I personally think it’s a perfect match.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m telling you to drop it.” He snapped, glaring up at Wade. “I don’t need you playing Cupid here, you hear me? I swear to God, if I hear you that you’ve even said my name to anyone I’ll get the fuck out of here and never look back. I don’t need to be getting mixed up in any of that shit right now.”

Maybe years ago Logan would have been a flirt, he wasn’t new to women or relationships, but he had been through too much. He had lost too much. He’d never admit it, but the truth was, the infamous Wolverine was scared. Scared of intimacy, scared of getting attached, scared of loss, scared of you. Still, this didn’t change the fact that he had been secretly watching you leave your apartment through the safety of the peephole of his own door. And yeah, maybe if you weren’t so loud coming out of your apartment he wouldn’t know your schedule within a week. Like what time you wake up to leave for work or school, or what time you come home. What days you take your trash out or do your laundry. And when he found one of your sweaters lying around the apartment when he first moved in, what should he have done with it? He was holding onto it for safe keeping. And yeah, he knew it was yours, but only because your sugary perfume clouded his nostrils and made his head feel fuzzy. It was so recognizable, he knew immediately the sweater was yours. Maybe if you wouldn’t drown yourself in the body mist he wouldn’t instinctively know when you were just in the hall, he told himself. It wasn’t his fault he had animalistic smelling.

He couldn’t, however, find an excuse for how he’d hesitate in front of his door, watching for the elevator to stop at your shared floor, wait for the doors to open and inhale the scent of your panties from down the hall once you saw him, then he’d unlock his door and rush in quickly. Sometimes if he was unlucky he’d steal a glance of your full body out of the corner of his eye.

None of this meant anything though. He could contain the animalistic urges he had towards you. Especially when he caught a glimpse of your thigh when you knelt to pick up a dropped grocery. He could handle himself when he heard your thick, sweet laugh through walls when watching a show or movie. But at the same time, what harm would it cause if he touched himself while inhaling the scent of your hair, sweat and perfume through your abandoned sweater late at night? And keeping it locked away in a locked dresser wasn’t creepy, it was just there until you asked Wade to look around for it.

He could handle himself from a distance. He knew this. He knew his limits.

He had been woken up from the couch after a long afternoon of drinking and despair by a loud “SURPRISE!” followed by laughter and clapping. He did not know there was a party going on, let alone a party for you. He was completely blindsided when you were standing within ten feet of him, in his living area, talking to Al and Wade and the others, laughing that sweet laugh

Shit..

Where could he escape? The front door was no longer an option, everyone was clustered in front. Maybe he could make a run for it through the bedroom and out the window? Or maybe take his chances down the escape ladder through the-

“Sleeping beauty has awaken!”

Shit.

Before you could blink, Wade was pulling you through the small cluster of friends to the couch, where a very confused, very hung over, very huge piece of man stood like a deer in headlights. This was your first time seeing him up close, and shit was he alluring. His hair was untamed and messy from his interrupted sleep, his thick brows furrowed. Frown lines prominent as his large muscles twitched under his shirt-

“Hey, his eyes are up there you horn dog.” Wade publicly snapped you back into reality. Immediately flustered, you began trying to save the situation that was doomed from the start.

“I wasn’t looking at- I wasn’t even doing anything, Wade!”

“It’s okay, I know you weren’t. He’s just a moron.” He put an understanding hand up as he spoke. Fuck his voice was so deep and low, almost a growl. It felt rich and threw shivers straight to the back of your throat and straight into the dark jeans you wore. You swallowed. Hard.

After an awkward greeting, Wade had basically pushed a drink into both of your hands and left you to fend for yourself. Logan took a seat on the couch, the worn furniture dipping under his weight. He was clearly uncomfortable. He kept his eyes low, rarely meeting yours. He threw his arm over the head of the couch, spreading his knees. He pulled out a cigar and gestured to it. You couldn’t tell if he was offering you one or asking if you’d mind if he smoked, you shook your head no to both. You politely sat next to him, pulling your legs under yourself next to him.

Unfortunately, this man was not the easiest to speak to.

“So, Logan. You’re new.” You fidget with the cup in your hands.

He lets out a low “Mhm” while taking a puff, then lets smoke pool out of his mouth and drizzle out of his nose, before speaking again. “Yeah. Don’t really know how I ended up here. Just, kind of did.”

You nod, looking around the room. 2016-2018 pop hits played on the pink Hello-Kitty speaker Wade had bought for himself, now sitting on the kitchen table next to the drinks. Various characters lounged around the apartment chatting and eating pizza and drinking.

“Seen you around, y’know.”

You turn to face him again.

“Oh?” You ask, sipping your drink.

He nods in return. “If you need help bringing groceries up to your room or somethin’, you can just let me know. Heard you drop a few things before.” His top lip twitches just the slightest in what you assume is his version of a smile. He puts the cigar back into his mouth and chews.

You furrow your brows at the sarcastic banter. “Oh yeah? Didn’t know I had a stalker.” You bite back, smiling while doing so.

“Not stalking you, kid. Just minding my own business and getting interrupted every two seconds by my noisy neighbor.”

After this, the two of you spoke more fluid. Relating in Wade’s schemes and circumstances became a common interest. You felt yourself becoming more and more comfortable with the man’s presence. After your second drink, your leg rested against the rough denim of his thick thigh. He said nothing about it, so you continued to speak to him. You were unaware of what he was thinking or feeling.

He was freaking the fuck out. Especially when you asked him to go outside with him to get some air. He agreed, and the two of you slipped out of your own party. The night was dark as you walked through the city-lit pathway to the side of the building. Logan watches you and takes another puff of his cigar as you stretch in the open air. You sigh, relieved to be out of the stuffy room.

You could feel his eyes on you. The heat and heaviness of his lingering eyesight, watching your every move as if you were his prey. It made you nervous. It made you intrigued. You wanted to be in his sight, and he wanted to keep watching you.

“You shouldn’t smoke so much, shit’s awful for you you know.” You say, leaning on the brick building next to the tall, muscular figure.

He gives you a slow, sharp smirk in return, his canines showing through resting on the cigar.

Your heart begins to thump and he looks deep into your eyes, like he sees through you.

You let out a shaky exhale as your smile fades and take a step closer to him. He takes the cigar out of his mouth and looks down at you, shaking his head.

“You don’t want this, kid.”

You pause, trying to read his face in the dim lighting. “I do, and I think you do too.” You speak low and soft, like if you’re too sudden with your movements he’ll get startled and dash away. You slowly raise a hand and rest it on his hard, warm chest. You feel it rise and lower, he’s heaving now.

You bring your face up, closer to his. He doesn’t move, so you whisper into his own lips, “Logan, it’s okay.”

The light encouragement is what he needed. He looks down at your parted lips, pushes the lit cigar into the brick wall next to you, putting it out and dropping it, before muttering back,

“Well, you are the birthday girl.”

He leans down to give you what you’ve been asking him for, and what he’s been yearning for. He kisses you, slow and respectful at first, stepping in front of you. He puts his large, rough hand in between your head and the jagged building, protecting you as he pushes you against the wall. You bring a soft hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down farther into your space. He tastes like alcohol and smoke, and you couldn’t get enough. The kiss gets sloppier as you welcome his tongue into your mouth. You look at his face through squinted eyes, only to see his brows furrowed in deep concentration and self-discipline as to not overstep. You shut your eyes again as you grab his other hand, dragging it to your waist. He lets out a soft, low groan in response to the contact of your skin. Your waist feels so soft and warm is his heavy grip. He softly paws at your side, then up your loose shirt. He pauses underneath your bra, and you arch your back in response.

He breaks away, a trail of saliva connecting the two of you momentarily before breaking. “This okay? You’re sure? I can touch you like this?” He’s almost pleading, even with all of the consent in your body. He looks down at you, eyes half lidded.

“Yes, Logan. Stop asking me.”

He nods, smiling slightly, and slowly shifts his long, thick fingers underneath the garment, and towards your chest. He brings his mouth to yours again, greedily taking and lapping at your mouth. The scent of your arousal intoxicates to him. You clench your legs together, to which Logan uses his thick, sturdy knee to break you open and apart. You feel exposed to him now, resting on his knee. The rough denim rubbing sends jolts to your throbbing core. The kissing is wet, his stubble rubs against your lips as he gently bites your tongue with his canines. His hand gently gropes your breast, while pushing his knee against your dampening soft area. He brings his calloused hand down back to your waist, slowly guiding your hips to rock against his knee. He uses his other hand against your head to gently grip your hair and push your head closer against his mouth.

Logan didn’t get you a birthday present, but he was definitely making up for it.

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Request? Idea? What if we got saved by Dink but like, it was a total accident and he never even meant to save us. But either way we make it our mission to repay him~ if u know what I mean 😉

Oh, trust me, I do ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Death By Chocolate and Other Evil Anecdotes

Pairing: Dark Link x Reader

Warning(s): Death by chocolate ;))

Notes: I think y'all are gonna enjoy this one. Partially dedicated to @yourlocaltreesimp for inspiring me to crank this out <33 I like to keep my anons on their toes.

Masterlist

The first thing you noticed about the personified incarnation of evil was that his eyes were red.

Redder than blood, redder than the sky during those insane moons, and captivating in the sense that fear alone had left you totally and completely unable to fathom moving from your crouched spot on the cobblestone. Groceries scattered, nerves tense as you prepared for the fight of your life in the shoddiest alley you'd seen in your life. What had started as a regularly-scheduled trip to the backwaters of Hyrule for some long, thick leeks was turning into something entirely different, though you would be a liar in refusing to admit that, amidst the existential terror, there wasn't a bit of relief in your heart as his irises bore terrible holes into the very same organ.

It probably had something to do with the cooling bodies of the men who'd attempted to assault you on the way out of the market, but you were no genius. Probably.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" The evil version of Link, the Hero, growled. His teeth were white and lightly pointed, though hardly more so than the sharp taper of his ears. Thick, red-black blood coated his dark tunic, an iron-scented remnant of the carnage that had occurred moments earlier, and the sword in his left hand was similarly stained. He needed a bath—desperately, with the urgency of a teenager yet to leave home and learn basic hygiene, except it was wholly due to the fluids coating what you hoped was skin and not some clever illusion containing a demonic eldrich creature—but you felt as though telling him would not end well.

It was definitely the weapon. You also hoped the rumors were wrong about his apparent proclivities for hylian flesh.

Even so, he had saved you, cutting down those foul men as though they were nothing but flies, all the while murmuring about some kind of debt. You doubted he even noticed you were cowering against the masondry until the last one attempted to make a grab for your ankles, which promptly lashed out to break what you assumed was his nose. That had felt good.

Until you locked eyes with Dark Link.

The impatient raise of a white-tinted eyebrow snapped you from your thoughts.

You swallowed, not daring to make a grab for the precious leek lying two feet over. Did he consider vegetables weapons? Did you want to find out??

"Um," oh fuck, oh god, it was like he was seeing inside of you. That was weird, right? Red was such an unnerving color, especially when it was being directed at the quivering depths of your soul. Would he kill you if you screamed? Was there anything you could say to ensure the continued safety of yourself and your precious vegetables?

You swallowed.

Your throat was dry.

"Thank... you?"

The demon tilted his head, boots scuffing against the cobblestone as he turned to fully face you. The sun hung high in the sky, though the alley was quiet, and you couldn't imagine anyone coming across the scene. Perhaps the villagers would hear your screams, but it would be far too late by that point. You'd either be dead, dying, or eaten.

...Hylia, you really hoped he didn't eat people.

A burst of sunlight caught his stark hair, illuminating the silvery strands in a backdrop so beautiful it could have been stolen from heaven itself. Again, you gulped.

Dark Link was terrifying.

Dark Link was, coincidentally, also dashingly attractive.

It was very conflicting.

Lips that had no right being as plush as they were peeked open.

"How odd," mused the demon, drawing a half-step closer. If not for the pinched lines on his forehead, you would have thought he was amused. His sword glistened a wet crimson in the blinding light. "This is usually where the screaming begins."

There was something almost bored in the way he spoke, yet you didn't dare miss the sliver of intrigue nestled in a tone so dark. Still, it didn't seem like he was going to kill you yet, so you allowed your shoulders to un-hunch against the thick stone wall, knees losing the tightness keeping them pressed to your chest, though you maintained a steep bend in case a well-placed kick to the shins was required.

"Do you... want me to scream?" You squeaked tentatively, and immediately regretted it. That was practically an invitation, for Hylia's sake!

Dark Link's eyes narrowed to mere crimson slits. He stalked forward, until the blinding sun against his back forced a long, thick shadow to cast over your body. The air was so tense that a knife could have cut straight through it, leaving nothing but broken strings and halfhearted breaths while you wondered what you had done to deserve such a fate. Eventually, when he was close enough that you swore the threads of his white trousers were countable, a thick silence fell upon the alley. No one breathed. No one spoke. You couldn't even hazard a glance at the poor leek on the ground. At least one of you was meant to be eaten.

When the tension reached its boiling point, so had the demon's patience.

"I—"

"Please don't eat me!" You blurted, throwing your hands up to cover your face. It was the least you could do before being consumed.

Another silence settled over the alley, noticeably more uncomfortable than the first.

"...Excuse me?"

You could have cried, you really could have. An eye cracked open, only to shut again on account of the whithering gaze sent to you by none other than Dark Link. Was that you or did he look genuinely offended? When you failed to respond, there was a noise of digust, long and loud.

"I'm not a fucking cannibal."

You cracked both of your eyes open again. That was good. You didn't want to get eaten, though it still didn't save you from a similarly painful death.

"Oh."

Oh, for Hylia's sake—

A thick cringe escaped you. You sounded painfully terrified and it was clear as day, if he hadn't already noticed the hunched posture and curled fists. Was he into that? Did you care enough to find out?

"...Are you, um, going to...?" you trailed off, not quite brave enough to give him anything to work with.

The demon stood to his full height. He couldn't have been taller than you, but it didn't matter when he had a sword and you had your own sniveling will. Another sigh was exhaled, and a bloodied hand smeared a small amount of crimson on his cheek when he rubbed it. "Are you looking for death?"

"I'm looking for my vegetables," you admitted pitifully.

Dark Link's expression flicked to something resembling deep annoyance. He scanned the ground, eventually landing on the leek lying in a rapidly congealing pool of blood. You felt your soul die a bit when his lip curled.

"Disgusting."

On instinct, you opened your mouth to defend your purchase, only for it to snap shut when a thick veil of smoke erupted from the cobblestone, swirling around the length of his body before tightening in one magnificent motion, nearly blocking out your view of the sun in its terrible brilliance.

When it cleared, Dark Link was gone.

Your brain whirled at the single blue rupee sitting in place of his left boot.

The next time you saw Dark Link, it was in the forest outside your home. Baking was a guilty pleasure of yours, meaning you would go to the far ends of Hyrule in exchange for some cacao pods, but with Beedle the Traveling Merchant's invaluable business model, happiness was only a short walk from the safety of your porch.

Until the lizalfos' came, of course, because, really, when didn't they?

A terrible hissing noise filtered from beyond the pseudo-reliable wood of your door. You hissed a breath through your teeth and shoved the chair even harder beneath the knob, even as the hinges rattled and thick oak threatened to splinter beneath the heavy bangs landed upon it.

"Leave me the fuck alone!" you yelled, nearly tripping over yet another fallen leek in your haste to secure the perimeter. The door wouldn't last much longer, but you didn't care, scurrying to the small kitchen for a knife. At least you would die with dignity, this time.

Another screech rattled the air, but it sounded... different. Pained. You moved an inch forward, clutching the knife close to your heaving chest, and dared hope that someone had come. Anyone.

BANG!!

You nearly fell over when something thudded against the thick wood, and it was silent once more. Eerily silent.

Until you heard footsteps; loud, heavy... yet so distinctly unlike the scritch-thump of lizalfos talons that the sniveling hope in your chest fluttered, if only for a fleeting, wonderful moment before reality set in. Was this it? Was this death? You hadn't even perfected that chocolate chunk cookie recipe yet!!

The footsteps halted.

You waited.

A second ticked by. Then two, four, six...

Your heart nearly leapt from your throat when there was a soft knock on the door.

Did... did lizalfos' knock on doors now? Was that a new hunting strategy you were about to be made painfully—and literally—aware of? Maybe you should just pretend—

"There's no one home!"

—FUCK!

There was a pause. Then, the knock sounded again. You briefly wondered if suicide was the way to go, if only to spare your poor mind the embarrassment of having announced to a home intruder that you weren't home. Lovely.

But, seeing as death was likely around the corner, you slowly un-wedged the chain from beneath the door handle, slowly opening the door to reveal the shadowy figure of none other than Dark-fucking-Link.

The silence stretched for an eternity when your eyes met; narrowed crimson on... well, you were frankly a bit too terrified to consider the sordid meeting of gazes, but it was an interesting sentiment nonetheless.

"We really need to stop meeting like this," you croaked weakly, fingers curled around the doorframe, though what you really meant to say was we need to stop meeting. Immediately.

The demon huffed. He looked annoyed, though you were half convinced the pinched position of his brows and unimpressed scowl were chronic. Once again, a motherlode of dark blood coated his attire, and the stench of iron bordered on mind-numbing, but slamming the door on him seemed like a terrible course of action. Did that mean inviting him in would be more appropriate?

"...Can I help you?"

"I do not require your help," hissed the half-man-half-shadow before you. Still, he didn't look intent on moving anytime soon, and something told you he wouldn't be swayed if you decided to brandish a leek as a weapon. You doubted it would last against that sword, anyways.

When yet another beat of silence passed, you had enough. Donning your best unimpressed energy, you forced a mirroring scowl.

"Are you hungry?"

The demon blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused," you said without missing a beat, jerking your thumb towards the kitchen. "I'm making cookies. You're free to have one so long as my door stays on the hinges."

A shocked silence ensued, but you didn't wait up, turning on your heel and letting the door fall open in what had to be the most casual act of suicide in all of Hyrule. With luck, he'd be too weirded out to bother, and you'd get to live another day. Score!

Unfortunately, when the sound of booted footsteps stuttered behind you, you realized that the goddesses must either be dead, crazy, or laughing their holy little asses off at you. When you turned to grab the ingredients for the dough, there he was, standing in the middle of the floor like a lost child, if you could even call him that.

Nothing was said as you steadily pulled down the flour, sugar, yeast, chocolate... until everything was accounted for and Public Enemy #1 was still in your house waiting for chocolate chunk cookies.

"So," you let the word hang for a bit, grabbing a wooden bowl from the counter and cracking the first of two eggs into it. "Do you typically go around saving people or am I just unlucky?"

The demon snorted, shoulders losing a bit of their tenseness. Granted, he still looked ready to slice you to death on the hardwood, but you could handle those odds. "You're awfully mouthy for someone in your position," he pointed out. You weren't as scared as you should have been.

Crack, went the second egg as you lightly smashed the shell on the rim of the bowl. "...Would you prefer I scream?"

His answer was instantaneous. "No."

"Noted."

You added a generous amount of sugar to the mixture. Dark Link's stare went supernova, and you gasped fauxly. "Oh! You're not on a diet, are you?"

There was a beat as the demon in your home fought to regain his bearings. "What."

"I'll take that as a no," and, just to fuck with him, you poured two more spoonfuls. When no more judgemental gazes were issued, you shrugged and added one more. "You can sit at the table, if you want. Just don't get blood on any upholstery please."

It was probably the politest way you could have told someone not to bleed all over your stuff, but the sentiment remained intact. Dark Link's stare bore holes in your face, though it was hard to tell if it was bafflement or another emotion you didn't dare decipher. After what was quickly becoming a pattern of recurring tense moments, he moved to claim the chair closest to the door, sitting down with a noisy squelch that you desperately tried to ignore.

...How do you navigate this?

For several long, agonizing moments, the silence reigned supreme. it wasn't a problem, because any distraction capable of diverting your attention from the blood-caked half-man-half-shadow in your kitchen was a welcome one. It was only once the dough was mixed, balled, and dropped into the small pan did a rather rude cough interrupt the rather perilous dynamic.

You pivoted, hands covered in flour and heat-melted chocolate, and stared.

"...Do you need something?"

"You are strange," was the scourge of Hyrule's apparent realization of the morning, and it was so out of left field that you couldn't help but level him with another stare that couldn't help but be a bit judgmental. What was he expecting, to go deaf from all the proverbial screaming?

"So are you," you tried when he said nothing else. A gruff humph from the direction of the shadow-turned-hylian forced you to be a social person once more. "What brings you to my neck of the woods? I doubt it's my cooking."

Dark Link's brow crinkled in presumed disgust. Darn. "It's not, you vain mortal."

You shrugged, deeming it safe enough to turn your back long enough to toss the pan of half-formed cookies into the newly-roaring hearth. However terrifying the shadow-man in your home was, something told you that if he truly wanted you dead, you would have been a long time ago. Was he lonely? Carnally stunted? Unable to commit evil without sugar? The world may never know, but you sure as hell wanted to.

"You live alone," the shadow-dude observed after another painful silence.

You didn't bother with a glance, merely tossing your baking gloves off and leaning against the wall with a contemplative look at the ceiling and whatever mysteries it held. "Yup."

"Why?"

"So I don't have to interact with people," you said with a perfect deadpan. If he got the reference, Dark Link merely made another sour face and moved on with his arms-crossed viewing of your kitchen. You tried not to eye the large sword propped against his temporary seating arrangement as it dripped crimson liquid onto your floor.

The conversation was going nowhere. In what world was it acceptable to bake cookies for Hyrule's Most Wanted? Did you even care? Was this a hostage situation??

Well, you reasoned as the room began to feel a bit too small, at least he'll wait until the cookies are done before eviscerating me. You hoped. You really did.

Twenty minutes passed in the blink of an eye. Being the seasoned baker you were, it wasn't hard to notice the steady rise of the cookies, as well as the golden-browning edges and mouth-watering scent. Dark Link's eyes remained transfixed on the hearth as you pulled on your gloves once more, quickly grabbing the pan and placing it on the counter to cool, only pausing to spare him a glance in between eyeballing the validity of your creations, informing him with a vague: "They'll need about five minutes to cool."

The embodiment of evil said nothing. You didn't press; it probably wasn't a survivable encounter, anyway. With nothing else to do, you knelt and took hold of the poker resting beside the hearth. A soft sputter could be heard as you tapped at the burning embers, coaxing the fire to shrink, the action expedited by the generous dusting of ashes you gave it with the small shovel. The smell of melted chocolate filled the kitchen, wafting in the air as you stood, dusting your clothes free of any stray debris.

Another minute passed.

Your eyes flicked up to peer at the man sitting across the room.

You reached into the nearest drawer for something to scrape the cookies from the pan, landing on a wooden spatula that had definitely seen better days.

Dark Link's grip on his sword tightened. He was terribly unsubtle, but you kind of preferred it.

A soft scraaape filled the kitchen as you freed one of the outer cookies, taking the barest of moments to admire the pale gold crust and mouthwatering dollups of rich brown chocolate dotting the crumbly surface.

"Here," you crossed the kitchen in a few long steps, holding the cookie before you like an offering of peace or a particularly crummy shield.

For a moment, nothing moved. He didn't move, yet you refused to budge, leveraging the cookie with a bit more conviction until, finally, the chair squeaked lowly and a gloved hand reached to accept the gift. You watched with bated breath as a pair of beady crimson eyes regarded the creation with utmost scrutiny, so intense that you were sure his gaze alone could burn it to a crisp. Probably. You sure as hell felt heated when those blood-reds were staring you down.

Grayscale lips parted, revealing the sultry flash of pearly whites before they sunk into the sugary flesh of the cookie.

A second passed. Then two, and three, and f—

"This is..."

Your heart nearly leapt from your throat as you waited for the verdict, a bit about what it would mean for the immediate future, specifically pertaining to your life.

"...satisfactory."

Thank Hylia, you thought, shoulders falling nearly an inch as a hopeful sort of relaxation kicked in. It was the highest praise you could remember hearing, which meant a lot considering it was coming from a man who legend said liked to spend his free time desecrating villages and lives alike.

"Do you... want another?" You asked as the cookie was consumed in one large bite. Clearly, it was more than satisfactory, but there was no reason to push your luck.

A hand extended.

You immediately plopped another steaming delicacy in the center of his covered palm, which retracted at the speed of light as the demon tried and failed to hide how much he truly desired your cookie. The tension in the air seemed to lighten as the second treat was demolished, even more so when you had to foresight to scoop a third cookie and wordlessly point it in his direction.

Sacrilegiously, the legends had forgotten to mention the incarnation of evil's apparent sweet tooth.

"I have no interest in your moral frivolities," said the demon with a conviction so staunch you almost believed it.

You cocked a brow, feeling a bit more bold now that his sword was sheathed and your baking had apparently hit a soft spot. "Then... leave?"

Dark Link—the embodiment of.... evil??—haughtily shook his head and took another egregious mouthful of chocolate cookie goodness. "Nay," he said, chewing in what had to be the most obnoxious way possible. "You shall supply me with these... chunk creations."

Ah. Okay. At least he was eating something that wasn't you.

"Okay," you nodded along, not willing to entertain the risks sure to come from denying Dark Link of, well, not many people had met him and lived to tell the tale, but you were sure your end was just around the corner. It must have been a long corner, because the only violent action occurring was the crunch of his teeth against the cookie, which was hardly anything to write home about. "When do you, uh, want them?"

There was a beat as he processed your query, then a haughty sniff that had you wondering if violence really was the answer: "I shall return at midnight."

Goodie, was your first thought, followed by the haphazard wondering attributed to the supposed sleep schedule of someone like him. How many fingers would you lose at suggesting seven in the morning instead?

"...I'll be ready."

A crumb-encrusted hand patted your head in a manner that was so glaringly condescending that it nearly sent your sensibilities into a coma as the bastard shadow man grinned. "Good."

Your jaw nearly fell to the floor when he snagged two more cookies, shoved one into his mouth, and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

A blue rupee lay in his place.

You ran a hand down the center of your face.

That's a wrap! Hope y'all enjoyed my unofficial apology for the April Fool's fiasco 😭

[sits-bound]

Bound: First Watch of Night by @tackytigerfic

When you decide to bind a book using black on black, it's not going to be easy to photograph. Just in case you were wondering.

@toomuchplor and I decided to do a little exchange of this fantastic fic, and this was the one I sent to her.

It's a long, long, long fic (274k) (and yet, I still didn't want it to end) and I couldn't decide if I wanted to bind it all in one volume and attempt to round it, or just leave it flat, even though it would be very thick, but then it occurred to me (or a friend suggested) that I could split it into two volumes!

So that's what I did. You know what was really cool? I divided it at the halfway point, after chapter 10, which worked out well. The page count was very similar, and the second volume had 11 chapters, so it was all very even.

But what I discovered was that the last line of chapter 10 is the same as the very last chapter of the book! I don't know if it was a coincidence or on purpose, but I thought it was neat. (I suppose that could be considered a spoiler which is why I'm not specifying what the actual sentence is, so please put this out of your mind if you haven't read this yet and you find yourself at the end of chapter 10.)

So anyway. Okay. I now had two volumes and had to decide how I wanted to differentiate them. I was going to do one white and one black, and while that would have looked cool, I fear it would have insinuated some kind of meaning (light vs dark) that isn't necessarily like, the first half vs the second half. And one of the ideas that had been knocking around my head was "searchlights". So that's where I went with the covers. I wanted all black, and I found a great sparkly black HTV (sorta starry nightish, you know) and went from there. I'm quite happy with how it came out!

Except I meant for the two searchlights to be facing away from each other when you put both volumes next to each other, but if that's the only mistake I made, I can live with that.

I'm especially proud of the silhouettes on the spine, they both started as photographs that I pulled into Adobe Capture and was able to turn into SVGs so they could be cut by my silhouette. And I'm extra proud of my Silhouette for keeping Harry's glasses intact. (I tried just finding clip art of silhouettes (too many uses of that word here) but for whatever reason, most silhouettes are of businessmen?!? Anyway. It all worked out.

The title pages for each volume are slightly different too. The first has one figure, the second has two. Just a little thing.

The bookmark charms are a little 1 and 2 I made with shrinky dink material.

More details:

This is the HTV I used The body font is Arno Pro (my beloved) The cover font is Montserrat The chapter and drop caps are in various forms of Lulo The small caps at chapter starts is Rig Shaded Images came from Pixabay

[radarsteddybear]

I spoke too soon about being able to shake them free of each other :/

And it's finished! (Minus the keychain; turns out I need larger jump rings after all.)

I am pleased to inform you that LeBeau is already stuck on top of Kinch and Carter's stuck on top of Colonel Hogan 😂 I guess there's a bit too much space in there, but my only other option (one side layer instead of two) wouldn't have left enough space for them to move at all. Hopefully I can shake them free of one another.

Update: I popped the top off and I might try to put down a bunch of layers of sealant to see if that'll take up the extra space any. Probably not, but maybe it's worth a try.

[weepingtalecowboy]

Hyrule Warriors strategy lol

Fanfic prompt: A thing I absolutely love about Hyrule warriors is how the game needs strategy and how said strategy evolves

You go from

“Please go there I will carry you there but please don’t run off”

Too

“GET OVER HERE RIGHT THIS SECOND OR ELSE…!,!”

like you end up barking orders like a literal drill sergeant

You have absolutely no faith that anyone would go where they need to

I spent more time in the menu barking orders than I did actually holding and taking over zones

Even funnier is how replaying the game absolutely makes a difference

Where in games like windwaker or twilight princess you are forced to progress slowly through the game

No matter how good you get at them you still need to wait for bosses to enter second and third phase

Or more specifically need to either tear down the barrier (or skip it but that’s hard) or turn into a hylian in both games

The only thing that changes is that you can play the game better and more reliably than before

In Hyrule warriors the learning curve makes replaying the game hilarious

Because the second you genuinely understand the strategy for the game you play it completely differently

Fighting Volga the first time is literally more about precisely mashing buttons and aiming at him every single time than anything else

I beat him in like ten seconds flat

Like from a time travel fix it perspective Hyrule warriors let’s you do everything immediately

Like imagine warriors getting sent back in time to the first ever fight in Hyrule warriors and literally the second he gets promoted he goes full drill sergeant mode on people

Where first time you learn the usefulness of dragging people to do stuff rather late

You also eventually don’t trust anyone to do stuff if you aren’t outright controlling them immediately

This time around warriors got the confidence to scream at people right after he got the promotion lol

It probably looks so funny when a near new recruit gets the audacity to threaten everyone the second he gets promoted

And then out drill sergeants a higher up and finishes missions in like half an hour the most (respect speed run )

But only because he scared everyone into obedience (like npcs run like they would die if they don’t get to the ordered position right this second)

And kept tabs on all the zones that need to be held

While also ignoring literally every enemy except the generals , redeads and other special forces (honestly redeads make NPCs a new level of ineffective… way to slow)

Only doing side missions for two seconds and then doing the main ones exclusively

And boosting moral like crazy (because of how fast you get side missions done)

You legitimately become a tank at some point in Hyrule warriors and not even replaying the entire game would balance it out

Tune and mask probably feared the captain when he went drill sergeant (and you go drill sergeant way too often in this game)

We need more drill sergeant warriors in the fandom

Because in the game nobody disobeys your orders and runs like their lives depend on it

The chain needs to experience drill sergeant warriors when fighting a boss (maybe dink)

No honor for the evil … you trap them in a corner and keep beating them into submission and don’t stop until they disintegrate

Cia didn’t even have a chance lol

We need more time travel where the character simply immediately becomes their best possible form because they simply had a growing as a person arc they could skip this time around

Arguing with that guy about stuff involving missions is probably not recommended

Time and wind just sit back and watch as warriors get into drill sergeant mode and wait till one of the links gets to do pushups

You have better luck with literally any other type of discussion but not military or mission related lol

[wilds-ponytail]

Sky, to Dink: The only thing I will be waving is your decapitated head on a stick in front of your weeping mother!!!!!!!!

Hyrule, taken aback: Good Lord

The rest of the Chain (except Legend): Good… Lord??

[skyward-floored]

Hey what are your thoughts on the groups from the latest update btw?? 👁️👁️

- hero-of-the-wolf

They’re really interesting!!! Some of them were pretty unexpected, but I’m excited to see how they all unfold.

I made a post about this already but Time putting Sky with Twilight was so smart of him. Sky is the best swordsman and best equipped to take care of the Shadow if he shows up, and I’m sure Time is remembering how Dink was actually running away from the Master Sword in shady escape. Dark Link is really unlikely to mess with Twilight with Sky there, and I appreciate how Time figured that out so well. I’m also curious about what kind of conversations they’ll have without Time or the others around, I’m betting the Master Sword will come up again 👀

Legend and Hyrule seems like an odd group, and Time even mentioned he regretted that he had to put such experienced people together, but aside from boomerang shenanigans it actually kind of makes sense. Legend is okay-ish with teamwork, but Hyrule seems like he’s allergic to it. Putting them together will hopefully make them realize it’s not a solo mission this time, and they’ve got to rely on each other’s instincts and knowledge. Plus downfall duooooo I can’t wait to see what they get up too AAAH

Warriors pointedly chose Wild to go with him. Obviously he’s finally going to follow through with his earlier statement from Sunset pt.5:

—and Wild (and Wind lol) knows it.

(I love Wind’s little “oooohhhh you’re in trouuuuble)

There’s been a lot of discussion about how Warriors is going to lecture Wild, and I personally think he’s going to be firm, but not mean. He’s not going to blow up at Wild, that’s not his style (unless Wild argues back and Warriors roses to the bait, but I don’t... think that’ll happen). I think he mostly just wants Wild to understand what was—and is—at stake.

Warriors is military. You follow orders in the military. When you don’t follow orders, you get yourself and others killed. You have to rely on your fellow soldiers and your plan of attack, you can’t just run off by yourself and deviate from the plan and Warriors knows that. He went through something similar on his adventure, he got cocky and thought he was invincible, started disregarding anyone except for himself. He nearly died because of it, and in this instance, Wild could have died because he was blinded by his emotion and risked being injured just as badly as Twilight.

It’s not exactly the same, but I’m sure Warriors is looking at this and going “well crap that’s me”. So I think he’s going to give Wild a quick “here’s what you did wrong and don’t do it again because I’m trying to keep us all alive and you’re making that difficult so try and listen to orders so we can accomplish our mission here???” lecture. And I’d bet good money ol’ Dink is going to interrupt him partway through because he’s out for both Warriors AND Wild now for multiple reasons and they’re totally doomed :D

Aaaaand Time Wind and Four. I think they’ll be really fun to follow, I can’t wait to see more of Four and Wind together especially. Maybe they’ll FINALLY NOTICE EACH OTHERS’ SHIELDS and put together maybe being related. I’m hoping. I’m hoping so bad. I’m also eager to see Time and Wind interact some more (yay!) and also Time and Four because we haven’t seen a lot of them together yet. Maybe even some realizations that Four comes before Time..? Maybe. We’ll see. I bet Four will have to shrink for a puzzle though.

So yeah I’m really excited to see how things are going to go :D