#gremlin brain cell

[ladyofthecreeddraws]

The only thing I'm gonna say about this is uh. imagine the sounds.

Full: direct | Bsky

[confused-wanderer]

Hear me out: Bruce immediately thinks Damian is Dick’s when Talia drops him off.

All of Bruce’s son’s, adopted though they may be, bear a strong resemblance to Bruce. Something that Dick also exhibits. Bruce’s playboy charm, his flirtatious flings: Also something Dick embodies. Dick who turns up the charm and really leans into the persona when he wants to piss Bruce off. Even if it includes disregard for the protocols and rules Bruce has in place to ward off anything that could be traced to their vigilante identities.

You can’t tell me he doesn’t take one look at Damian and realise that perhaps this was the product of his last major argument with Dick a a while ago. His physical features might have differed a bit from Dick himself, however Dick’s family was Roma, so Bruce doesn’t think much of it . Damian held the same murderous instincts, the same acrobatic ease, and tiny figure reminiscent of Dick’s childhood days. When Talia tells Bruce Damian’s his son, Bruce takes one look at this murder hungry gremlin and connects the dots : .. he’s my son’s son?

- over text -

Bruce: Dick. We have talked about this. Safety always comes first. Please come to the Manor by tonight. Alfred and I will be waiting.

Dick: ?

*many many hours after not receiving a reply and one deduction later*

Dick: So he’s yours.

Bruce: ?

Dick: We’ve talked about this B. Safety always comes first. Please come to the Manor by tonight. Alfred and I will be waiting.

[ajaxbell]

The cast is back for The Truth S3 and I could die of happiness.

This video is 25 mins long and really the most important part is that Zhang Linghe called Liu Yuning and asked him what to wear to this livestream.

Melons say filming mid-March, the 12th through the 28th?

[hhholycow]

stop using chhinkni every day challenge

[wintershub]

Fankids!!

Luz (she/he/they), Manic and Surges surprising book smart kid. She was an extremely rebellious and an utter handful as a teenage but began to mellow out by the time they hit adult hood. Got work in the medical & detective field (mainly to ensure no one else went through what her mom went through) acts more grumpy than she actually is, Manic often gets her to lighten up.

@determination-personified

[darkhatkid]

This is a callout post of my sibling's cat warcrimes

The little gremlin woke me up at 3am and once attempted to steal my food once

My food

If I I could I would put him in kitty jail

@midnight-smallwood your cat is a gremlin and a master of manipulation

[hypermaddj]

OC-tober 2023 day 1. Favorite OC Favorite OC? well who else to draw than my favorite necromancy wizard, my murderous 13-year-old looking vampire child Namira von Ravenwatch! She is a little sassy murderous gremlin and she is very precious to me ^^ A little bit about Namira she is a bookworm, a powerful wizard, a fashionista, and a frequent breaker of the Geneva Conventions during her time in the lovely land of Barovia when I played her in a Curse of Strahd DnD campaign.

[autisticlee]

random thought. I always thought it's weird that family lines are based on the men, like the kids only get the men's last names. the wives have to take the man's last name. families get so upset that the family line/name dies when there's only daughters. that's so weird to me. I know why it's a thing. because ~men own and run everything~ historically. I remember my grandpa being upset that out family name/line ends with my generation because his sons all had only daughters.

but why didn't they just stop doing that if they want their names and lines to continue so bad. (rhetorical question. I know men hate women to put it simply. but realistically, why not overocme your misogyny you weird ass peasants. anyway.) women pass on genetics too. they technically pass on the family line. and it's 2023, with people still in that mindset. women 99.9% of the time take the man's name as well as the kids. you can legally let your daughter pass on the family name to her kids if you want some family name honor thing, idk. use your brains, break out if misogynistic traditions, and do what you want. (not that I completely understand the big deal about passing on family names or whatever either but you know 🤷)

[intromortal]

⭑ INCH BY INCH ⸻ park sunghoon ◜teaser◞

(TAGLIST CLOSED)

you have a boyfriend gifted with a pornstar cock, but he refuses to use it on you, too scared he'll end up hurting you. so your best shot is to devise a plan to get him to crumble, and even if things don't unfold quite as expected, what matters is the result anyway... right?

starring ⋆ f!reader x park sunghoon

this work contains ⋆ smut, minors so not interact. multiple smut scenes, sunghoon being diabolically hung, my extremely poor attempts at humor, besties jaykewon, established relationship, nasty nasty shit... brat tamer sunghoon sorta kinda, some degradation but nothing crazy (i think. maybe i'm just a freak), alcohol consumption, implied driving under the influence, jealousy, slutshaming (not from hoon), a tiny bit if violence, blood, injury, and patching up said injury :3 ⸻ rules m.list

length ⋆ teaser ⸻ 1.2k words. full fic ⸻ around 15k words. hopefully less but it's me so :p

taglist ⋆ (closed!) either comment here or send me an ask! please make sure to have a visible age somewhere or i won't be able to add you.

"I just don't get why he won't stick it in me."

"You have such a way with words."

You throw a fry at your best friend, only to get more irritated when he catches it midair with his mouth. Jungwon chews it loudly with his mouth open—because he knows it annoys you to death—then washes it down with his coconut milkshake that he won't let you get a sip of because 'using the same straw as me counts as cheating now that you're dating Sunghoon'.

"Okay but why? You're a man. What's the thought process behind this? Tell me."

"Girl, it's your boyfriend. You tell me."

"What if he doesn't fine me att—" A fry hits you right on your forehead, and it's like the impact activates your brain cells, because of course Sunghoon finds you attractive, that is not the problem.

"Now, let's be honest with ourselves please. None of that shit."

Your back hits the bed with a soft thud, arms spread out as you stare at the very familiar ceiling of your room. A sight you've been taking in quite often recently, while trying to come up with a plan to get Sunghoon to dick you down good.

Jungwon shoves a fist of fries in his mouth, barely chewing before speaking again. "I don't get why it's such a big deal."

You roll onto your side, facing the blonde little gremlin occupying the space next to you. "It's a big deal because— why is your ass on my pillow. Jungwon get—"

He silences you by feeding you a handful of fries from the container on his lap. "You were saying?"

You gulp them down quickly before replying, because you're civilized enough to do so, unlike someone else. "We've done it all, and I know he's scared of hurting me, but I can also tell he's holding back. I'm ready– I've been ready. It's just… whenever I think it's gonna happen he pulls back so suddenly, like he's restraining himself."

"Mhh… you've talked to him about this, right?" Jungwon looks at you in a way that feels entirely too judgmental, like skipping the communication part is something you do often enough for it to be a pattern. Something he needs to check off of a list before he gives you more advice.

He's not completely wrong. As in, at one point in your life you had made an habit out of assuming people's thoughts and intentions, but that is in the past. And those people are not your Park Sunghoon.

[...]

"Of course I have."

"And?"

"Won, he just tells me I need more prep. I've had plenty of that, trust me. Like, he's spent the last month using this toy on—"

"Okay, okay I get it. I trust you, spare me the details."

"—Point is, I'm more than ready. I know it's gonna be uncomfortable and a bit painful at first, he's like… so huge it's—"

"I get it."

"—but that's a given with how big he is. I think it's just… him being nervous, really."

"Have you… tried to, uhm. Take charge? Maybe you calling the shots would make it easier for him to let loose." Jungwon looks down on his lap as he plays with the rings adorning his fingers.

You wouldn't say he has ever been particularly shy per se, not when it comes to discussing your sexual life, even in heavy detail. He was the boy your mother made you take a bath with after a whole day of rolling around in dirt as a kid, because his wasn't around a lot of the time. The same boy who has seen you toothless and with horrible haircuts, who has seen all your embarrassing phases.

Talking to Jungwon was much more akin to talking to yourself rather than venting to a diary, because he stored secrets in his heart that you would never be comfortable writing down on paper. Except he also calls you a dumbass when he needs to.

It's been a little different ever since you started dating Sunghoon freshly out of college, but you imagine it can't be helped since Jungwon has known both of you all his life.

You take a deep breath, shoulders slumping with the motion. Yeah, like that would ever work. "He doesn't give up dominance ever, really. I have tried a few times but…" you trail off, thoughts suddenly plagued with images of Sunghoon putting you back in your place instantly whenever you tried to take charge.

You have already given it some thought, a lot of thought, actually. What wouldn't you do to have Sunghoon under you and at your mercy, so responsive to every touch, perhaps even tied down. Yeah, you're gonna have to bring it up more seriously to him, maybe then he would let you—

"Are you seriously fantasizing about dominating your boyfriend right in front of my cheddar fries?"

But you're gonna continue that thought another time.

"Let's see then…" Jungwon continues, evidently determined to find a solution to your problem. "Maybe act out? Would that work? Mhhh… I don't know, you're already very annoying day to day and he puts up with that…so."

Jungwon genuinely looks like he is putting so much thought into it, somehow it makes it more offensive.

"Yeah. And who grew up next to him? You. Exactly. You trained his patience, if anything," you retort, but Jungwon doesn't even give you the satisfaction of acknowledging it, because you both know that you do love to be a nuisance to your boyfriend whenever you get the chance.

"Wait." Jungwon perks up after a seconds of deep thought, making the plushies on your bed fall on the floor, but the situation is so dire that you don't scold him. Instead, you cast a hopeful glance in his direction. Please let his brain cells work for once in his life.

"Isn't Hoon like, terribly jealous every time someone brings up that time you and Jay dated in high school?"

The cogs in your brain turn, and if someone was to walk into the room at that moment they would be able to smell the fumes coming out of your and Jungwon's head.

Jungwon continues, though he doesn't need to, because you have caught what he is hinting to already. "You need him to snap? What better reason to if not some good ol' jealousy. Am I right?"

But of course he is, that little gremlin genius.

"And, it just happens that a few high school acquaintances are organizing a get together soon. You know people will bring up you and Jay, just drag Hoon along. It's fate."

"Have I ever told you that you're my bestest friend ever and that I owe you my life, Won?"

[newlyfoundwren]

Probably not a hot take, but Rick should have made Jason just a little more of a freak. Not too over the top, but just enough because we already got:

Percy: Wanted by the FBI no less than 5 times and is described as “fighting like a demon” and still has self esteem issues when it comes to fighting. First magical horse girl

Annabeth: The worst abandonment issues you’ve ever seen to the point where her life goal is to build something that lives forever. Also wanted by the FBI and keeper of the brain cells

Piper: daughter of the most popular movie star and hates it. Former kleptomaniac turned professional gaslighter

Leo: ADHD gremlin who built a ship in 6 months which is based off of a drawing he made when he was a toddler

Hazel: Died in 1930 and doesn’t understand modern technology but swears like a sailor. Second magical horse girl and part time witch

Frank: The only one who isn’t ADHD or dyslexic and wishes he was. The chillest person you’ll ever meet but his dad is also the god of war. Third magical horse girl

And Jason’s just the normal one. He needs to not be normal

[almostempty]

clint eats it from the back (clint x f!reader)

wc: 1.9k | other fics | rating: 18+ | 

summary: clint comes home to find you half-naked and half-asleep and eats it from the back and then gives you that dick (as he should)

a/n: @yxtkiwiyxt said ‘clint eats it from the back’ and i thought this might jumpstart the gremlins that have been holding my brain cell hostage so here’s some pwp <3 

tags: pussy eating, backshots, raw creampie (as always), dirty talk (if i wrote it and he isn’t groaning and spewing filth send a medic), spanking (i can’t stop won’t stop), clothed sex (whip it out and stick it in already!), established relationship (they like each other idk i can be a little soft sometimes okay) 

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You’re half-asleep when the front door swings shut.

The blinds in the bedroom tap against the window, making the shadows in the room dance. The soft thud of his boots wakes something in you. Enough to stir but not enough to really move.

Facedown in the middle of the bed, one knee bent and the other leg straight, you're wearing nothing but Clint’s well loved t-shirt. The one that smells like cigarettes and sweat... in a comforting way.

You’d been waiting. Maybe you fell asleep, but you can’t say for sure. You don’t even know what time it is.

He steps into the bedroom, but doesn’t say a word. Traffic and city noise filters in through the window, carried by the sticky summer night breeze.

But all you hear is the sharp breath he takes.

Like he’s been hit in the face with something he didn’t expect—and he’s not usually one for surprises.

You don’t move. Not until the mattress dips beneath his weight.

A big hand slides up your thigh. Slow. Heavy. Possessive.

His rough palm stops at the curve of your ass and squeezes. Hard.

Clint doesn’t ask if he can—he just spreads you, exposing everything before massaging your smooth flesh with a hint of affection.

“You been like this all night?” His voice is low, scraped over pavement. “Laid out like a fucking present for me?”

His thumbs bruise the crease at the top of your thighs, demanding an answer from your hazy mind.

You grumble into the flattened pillow, too tired to be sweet. “You’re late.”

A single sharp smack to your ass jolts you more awake. Not hard enough to hurt—just enough to remind you he can.

“I got busy,” he snaps, stern and half-growled. “Didn’t say you could fall asleep.”

You’re shifting toward clarity, but not enough to resist when he grabs your hips and lifts them, dragging you onto your knees with your face still buried in the pillow.

He sighs—heavy, like it’s too much. Like you’re too much. “Fuck me. Look at this fucking pussy.”

Both hands spread you wide, fingers dimpling your flesh. He’s not gentle. Clint palms your ass, squeezing and manipulating you until you squirm.

His stubble scrapes along your delicate skin as he noses closer, breathing you in like he’s been starving. You don’t bother hiding your moan. He likes that.

“So wet for me,” he mutters to himself. His warm breath teases your slick seam, making your thighs tremble faintly and drawing a needy whimper from you.

He laughs. A little mean and a lot indulgent.

“That’s right, baby. My filthy girl. Always dripping for me.”

He stays fully dressed—boots on, jeans still zipped—while he readjusts, sinking between your legs.

Then the wet heat of his mouth makes your brows draw together and your mouth part. With his tongue flat and slow, he licks one long stripe from clit to ass, like he’s claiming every inch. You gasp, hands scrabbling against the mattress.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice thick and muffled between your legs. “Back it up for me.”

You arch instinctively, and his hands flex in response before sliding underneath your legs, wrapping around your hips to hold you against his face.

“Oh, shit,” your voice is barely above a whisper.

His mouth is on you, in you, tongue fucking into you—messy and unrelenting. You can’t help it—rocking back, grinding down, chasing the friction. The wet sounds are obscene, and his hungry groans melt into your skin.

Every time you whimper, he doubles down. He wants it loud.

He bites, nips the soft skin where your thigh meets cunt, just to hear your gasp and feel you tense in his grip. Then soothes it with his tongue, like it never happened.

“Look at you,” he pants, voice thick. “Face down in my bed, moaning into my fuckin’ pillow like a whore. You love this, don’t you?”

You whine something desperate, words half-formed and foggy.

And then he’s sucking on your clit, bringing you right to the edge—everything pulled taut—just to ease up and make out with your pussy until you’re liquid again.

He presses a kiss to your clit. “Tell me. Who’s this pussy belong to?”

“You,” your voice already sounds far away. “Only you.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, proud and rough. “My perfect fuckin’ mess.”

“You’re gonna come like this,” he growls into you. “All bent over for me. Like you should.”

You bite your lip hard. You’re close. He knows it. One hand slips between your legs and spreads you wider. Lewd. Greedy. 

Then he’s nearly overwhelming you entirely.

Lips wrapped around your swollen clit until your thighs are shaking. Then again, with a wide tongue, he uses his whole face. The friction of his facial hair, the pressure of his jaw, the ridge of his nose—like he was divinely created for your pleasure.

Though in this moment, it seems like your pleasure is all his.

You’re soaked, chasing the release he keeps taunting you with. He’s moaning into you, rutting his hips against the bed like he needs it too. He never stops moving, working you closer expertly—like you’re his to control.

And you are.

Your knees give out as you finally break, but his hold on you is so strong it doesn’t matter. Your thighs quake, and you cry out—wrecked and loud. You don’t give a shit if the neighbors can all hear.

He doesn’t let up until you’re twitching from the overstimulation. Then he hums with a satisfaction that would make your face hot if you weren’t already blazing from the whole act.

When he loosens up, you collapse forward, melted and buzzing. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, laced with reverence.

“Not done yet,” his voice is lusty, with a hint of strain in it. “You hear me?”

You nod weakly, hitching a breath when he gives you one more slap.

Behind you, fully dressed and still hard in his jeans, Clint smiles.

You’re still catching your breath when he moves. The bed frame creaks as his weight shifts. You hear him undo his belt. Hear the zip of his jeans.

You don’t even lift your head—just hum softly into the pillow in anticipation.

Clint chuckles once behind you. Not with amusement—but with hunger.

“Too wrecked to talk already?” he murmurs, rubbing a hand down your spine. “Didn’t even need to get my dick out to have you all fucked out.”

You whimper again, hips tilting toward him instinctively.

“Goddamn.” The word falls from his lips like he’s mesmerized. “Laying here… legs open, pussy still dripping on my sheets like you don’t have a single thought left in your pretty head.”

You don’t.

Not a coherent thought, anyway.

He pushes the faded t-shirt higher up, bunching it around your ribs, baring every inch of your glowing skin to his greedy eyes. His hands stroke along your back and down your legs.

“You’re so fucking easy for me,” he growls. “One taste and now you’re already begging for cock to fill you up.”

You shake your head, a little desperate now. “Not begging.”

That earns you another slap, right against your throbbing, swollen cunt. You yelp.

“No?” Clint’s voice shifts—something mean bleeding into the edges of it. “You’re soaked, face down, ass up, pushing back on my face like you’re in heat, and you’re gonna tell me you’re not begging?”

His hand wraps around your hip and yanks you back until you’re flush with his crotch. Until you can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

He grinds you against him once, slow and firm, causing you to choke on a moan. The friction is one thing—but it’s the way he maneuvers you with confidence that has your eyes rolling back.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s what I thought.”

He grunts lowly, freeing himself from his jeans and stroking once, twice, and then—

He pushes in with no warning.

You gasp, mouth open, eyelids slamming shut as the stretch steals the breath from your lungs. He’s thick, hot, and rough in just the way you like. He drives in deep, holding you with a bruising grip while you adjust.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “That never gets old.”

He doesn’t give you more time—slides nearly all the way out of you before slamming back in, hard.

He sets a rhythm and creates a debased symphony. The bed knocks against the wall, your skin slaps loudly in the dark room, and your breathy moans are punctuated by his reflexive grunts.

His jeans drag against the backs of your thighs, the rough fabric a constant reminder that he hasn’t even undressed for this. That finding you half-naked in his bed, in his shirt, might as well have been a demand to fuck you stupid on sight.

Clint leans over you, his chest pressing into your back, one big hand curling around the back of your neck—not choking. Just holding.

Just claiming.

Just fucking you the way he wants. Getting more honest with every snap of his hips as he unravels for you.

“This what you wanted, baby?” he growls in your ear. “Want me to use you like a fuckin’ toy? Fill you up nice and deep?”

You try to answer, but all that comes out is moans in the shape of unrecognizable words.

He bites your shoulder, sharp. Not enough to break skin, but enough to leave a mark.

“Say it,” he demands. “Say who owns this fucking pussy.”

“You—fuck, Clint—it’s yours,” you gasp.

“Damn right it is.”

His other hand slides down your front, rough fingers finding your clit and circling fast and filthy. You sob—your body already too close, too sensitive. It’s dizzying and sharp.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”

“Yes!” you get one word out before your mind liquefies.

It hits hard—sudden and overwhelming—your whole body clenching, pulsing around him as he groans loud and desirous behind you. He fucks you through it, losing the last of his restraint you didn’t know was still in place, escalating with single-minded determination.

“Gonna come,” he growls. “You want that? Want me to fill this pussy up?”

You can’t even speak—you just moan, nodding frantically into the sheets.

“Yeah,” he snarls. “That’s right. Take it. Take all of it.”

He comes with a drawn-out moan, pulling you down onto his dick as he pulses inside you—like you might collapse without him there to steady you.

His hand is still wrapped around your neck, his body draped over yours, and his cock still buried deep inside you.

Then he exhales.

His tone shifts—less urgent. More awed.

“Jesus,” he mutters.

You hum something soft in response, completely boneless under him.

Clint pulls out with a soft groan, and you feel the drip of him between your thighs—warm and shameless and exactly what you wanted.

He leans down to kiss your spine, then rests his forehead there, breathing heavy. For a moment, that’s all you hear.

Then the world starts to seep back in—the low hum of the fan on the dresser, the bass thumping from a house party down the block.

You’re still not sure if you’re fully awake. But if this is a dream, it’s the best one you’ve had in weeks.

Then his hands are moving again, warm and real and right where they belong.

“Hi, baby,” he murmurs, almost too quiet to hear.

You smile into the pillow, a whisper of a laugh barely leaving your lips. “Hi.”

And god, he loves coming home to you.

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thank you for reading! pls let me know your thots <3

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@dontlookatme121

[phantom248]

Li Lun's first few attempts at sprouting the stubble don't go very smoothly.

Many flowers and sprouts were trimmed of in the process.

As for Zhu Yan, all his protests about "but I am a noble white ape! Ape!" get derailed when he he sprouts a tail like a monkey. Cause yk, an ape behind is literally so smooth if it ever had a tail it got sucked back in.

And that was before the spectators got to the point of his beard and hair having different colors.

(Now what did Li Lun do to offend Gong Yuanzhi? Exist?😅)

Gong Shangjue actually manages to wrangle all of them. Somehow. His years of experience as the diplomat of Gong sect came in handy.

Anyways, they make the plan and head to the palace. A rendition of beauty and 3 stooges plays out. Very entertaining for all spectators.

In the end, after all the hair, flirt, sweet and blood theu poured in the mission, it turned out to be useless as it turned out that Zhuo Yichen had planned and executed his own escape and was gone before these 4 dummies even reached the palace. He even had to return back to rescue his rescuers lol.

Everyone lives AU where baby dragon ZYC gets kidnapped by a nine-tailed fox masquerading as an Emperor’s consort, and his two demons have to rescue him.

They concoct a good plan, but because they just recultivated into human forms, their combined demonic power is close to zero. So they can’t masquerade themselves well.

Li Lun manages to sprout a decent stubble.

ZYZ has to pluck his own tail to make a fake beard- something LL will never let him live down

Bonus points if they run into these two and get derailed

Because the stabby Didi who looks exactly like ZYC seems to have a personal vendetta against Li Lun, and LL can’t choke his way out of this one

And ZYZ is absolutely at a loss on how to deal with a certain GeGe because the man reads him like an open book and ZYZ can’t fight or flirt his way out of this one

[stillalivebydemand893]

Camping chaos

18+(repost)

Story:Camping with the Campbells means forgetting tents, drinking too much, and way too much yelling. Erik forgot the tents because “adulting is hard, okay?” Now four people have to sleep like sardines,and nobody’s happy about it. A camping trip Erik won't forget

“HAVE I NOT TOLD YOU A DOZEN TIMES TO BRING THE TENTS, ERIK?” you shouted across the fire which Bobby had just barely avoided setting ablaze in his failed attempts to get it going.

“I FORGOT, OKAY? SOME OF US HAVE JOBS NOW,” Erik shot back, tone laced with defensiveness—and just enough drama to make your eye twitch. This was typical. You two bickered like it was an Olympic sport, and you were both going for gold.

It was the annual Campbell sibling camping trip, and, as Julia’s best friend—practically a part-time resident at their house—you’d been unwillingly adopted into the tradition. The problem? There were supposed to be four tents. But thanks to one very specific, very brain-cell-challenged idiot, there were only two. Meaning now, the four of you had to squeeze in like sardines.

“Erik, you literally work four days a week, bro,” Bobby muttered while fiddling with his half-assembled tent.

You were now stuck sharing one with Julia. And while you loved her like a sister, the girl snored like a bear in heat. There was no way you were surviving the weekend without entering full-blown sleep-deprived gremlin mode.

“I swear to God, Bobby, I will shove peanuts down your throat. Whose side are you on?” Erik snapped.

You and Erik had... a thing. Complicated, messy, undefined. He was like the male version of you, if your male version were infuriatingly hot and missing half a brain cell at any given moment. Of course, you’d never say it out loud. But Jesus, sometimes the man made you want to throttle him—and other times, kiss the smug off his face.

“Can everyone chill and crack open a beer or five? Where the hell is my vape?” Julia groaned, rummaging through her bottomless pit of a bag.

“It’s in your back pocket, love,” you sighed, pointing without even looking. This family was pure chaos, and you were somehow always the designated sanity.

Erik was already cracking open his second beer. Man could hold his liquor like it was a second language.

“I’m going for a swim. Who’s coming?” he called out, already pulling his shirt off like he was in a movie. Your eyes, traitorous as ever, lingered a beat too long.

“Take a picture, sweetheart,” he whispered as he brushed past you, low enough for only you to hear. “Might come in handy later... you know, when you’re thinking about me at night.”

“Fuck off, Campbell,” you snapped, trying to sound annoyed—despite the fact you’d already taken a mental snapshot. Strictly for... research purposes. Obviously.

“Erik, you’re going to catch a cold! Can you not make us call the damn helicopter again like last time?” Julia yelled from your tent—now hers and yours, thanks to Erik’s ongoing streak of being an unprepared, chaos-loving dumbass.

Last time, Erik managed to poison himself with wild mushrooms because “a fairy told him to.” The fairy? Bobby. Dressed in your stolen skirt and Julia’s cropped tank top, blackout drunk and twirling around the woods like a forest nymph on a bender. It was... unforgettable. Unfortunately.

“Come on, peach,” Erik called back with that shit-eating grin, already halfway to naked. “We could skinny dip and finally get you that UTI you’ve been lowkey dying to experience.”

It took everything in you not to march over there and rip those nipple piercings out with your bare hands. The man had a gift—he knew exactly how to bring out the absolute worst in you.

Not that you could pretend the idea of sex with Erik hadn’t crossed your mind. Frequently. Unfortunately. But admitting it would be a dangerous game. One whiff of that secret and his ego would skyrocket so hard it might kill the rest of you on impact. You’d kissed him once, back when you were seventeen, during a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven at his cousin’s birthday party. It was your first kiss, and of course, Erik had made it unforgettable. His lips had been too soft, his hands too confident, and those seven minutes? Not nearly enough for your already hopelessly hormonal teenage self.

“I hope a fish catches your dick piercing and bites it off,” you called after him sweetly.

He flipped you off with both hands and dove into the lake in his boxers like a reckless idiot. Typical. He was going to get sick. And—what was this? Worry? No. Shut that down immediately.

The night rolled on like a drunken fever dream. Julia was hogging the tent, FaceTiming her boyfriend Jack and giggling like a schoolgirl. Bobby had passed out in a chair by the fire, one sock missing and a marshmallow half-melted on his hoodie. You and Erik? Locked in a beer pong showdown with the intensity of a deathmatch.

“Come on, sweets. You can’t beat the king,” he bragged, arms raised in victory pose, grinning like he owned the world.

“So you’re admitting you have an alcohol problem,” you shot back, lining up your toss. “Told you those AA meetings would do wonders. I already signed you up online.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous. “My only addiction here is you. And you’re keeping me on the edge, peach. How long till you finally give in?”

Your laugh caught in your throat. The air between you crackled. He wasn’t joking this time. His voice was steady, his gaze sharp. He looked too damn good in the firelight—like something carved out of temptation itself. Moonlit, tousled, eyes too dark to be safe.

“Keep drinking. Maybe you’ll black out and wake up sane—” you started, but your words died as he stepped in, smooth and sudden.

His hands found your waist. His face was inches from yours. Your heart stuttered like it forgot its job.

“I’m dead serious, peach,” he whispered.

You blinked. Something was... off. He was never this forward. For all his cocky lines and annoying winks, Erik usually pulled back before things got too real. This version of him? Eyes locked on yours, voice low and heavy with something unspoken? That wasn’t part of the script.

Your hand rose instinctively to his neck. Jesus, he was burning up. You pressed your palm to his forehead.

“Fuck, Erik. You’ve got a fever,” you whispered, torn between concern and the selfish desire to not move away from him.

He blinked, dazed. “That’s why I’m spinning…”

And then he dropped like a sack of bricks.

With some unholy combination of adrenaline, panic, and brute strength, you managed to drag his feverish body back to his tent, muttering curses under your breath the whole way.

I swear, when he wakes up, I’m going to strangle him to death. You thought it as you let his feverish body collapse onto the mattress.

The tent was way too small for two people. You cursed whatever version of yourself agreed to this trip. And fine, yes—you were now climbing on top of Erik, straddling his lap like this was just another Tuesday. Maybe you were sick too. Mentally, emotionally, hormonally—you were hitting the trifecta.

You sat on him, knees digging into the thin mattress, struggling to peel off his damp shirt. What am I doing? you thought. I should leave him outside to convulse like the feral man-child he is. But you couldn’t. You loved him. Unfortunately. Stupidly. Quietly.

“Come on, babe,” you whispered, shaking his arm gently. “You’re drenched and I need to change your shirt.”

“Peach…” His voice rasped out of nowhere, low and sinful. “If you wanted to ride me, you could’ve just asked.”

Of course he’d say that.

You froze, mid-shirt tug, watching him blink up at you through heavy lids. He propped himself on his elbows like it was no big deal he was half-dead and burning up.

Changing his shirt should not have been intimate. But it was. His skin was flushed, hot to the touch, and he was letting you take care of him without the usual sarcasm (okay, less sarcasm). If it weren’t for the fact that he was radiating the heat of a small furnace and swaying every ten minutes, it might’ve been… sweet.

Once he was in a fresh shirt, his hands found your waist again.

“Peach, I’m freezing… I think I’m dying,” he muttered, burying his face between your breasts like some fever-stricken, needy golden retriever. You went red instantly.

You ran your fingers through his hair, trying to focus on anything but the very present, very real bulge pressing against you. Not now. Not the time. Get a grip, Y/N.

“Erik, babe, I need you to take some aspirin and go to sleep. Can you do that for me?” you pleaded, already preparing for a battle of wills.

He looked up, eyes gleaming with mischief despite his pathetic state.

“And what do I get in return?” he asked, voice dark and teasing, the corner of his mouth curling like a villain mid-monologue.

“What do you get—? A punch in the fucking face!” you snapped. “I dragged your ass all the way back here like some fever-ridden caveman rescue mission!”

But then—of course—came the puppy eyes.

Those stupid, weaponized puppy eyes you hadn’t seen since he guilt-tripped his dad into buying him a BMX bike on his twelfth birthday.

“Please, sweets,” he murmured. “I need you… I’m so cold.”

His grip tightened, pulling you flush against him, the heat between your bodies making it very hard to pretend you were unbothered. You bit back a noise, something between a groan and a prayer. The friction was torture.

“Cold and bipolar. Jesus Christ,” you muttered under your breath.

You gently cupped his face, making him look at you again. He was flushed, pupils dilated. Beautiful in the worst way.

“Okay,” you said softly. “Take the aspirin… and we can cuddle. Just cuddle. Until you feel better.”

That was already more than you should’ve offered. For your sake. For your dignity. For your heart.For your already soaked penties.

“Fine,” he agreed almost instantly, shocking you with the lack of protest. You handed him the pill, and he downed it, that stupidly sharp Adam’s apple bobbing as you pointedly looked away.

Then he flopped down onto the pillow with a dramatic sigh.

You slid off his lap with great internal mourning, turned off the lantern, and whispered a desperate prayer to the camping gods above.

Please. Just one night. Let him stay still. Let me survive this. And maybe—just maybe—let me keep pretending I’m not in love with him.

How could someone be so devastatingly cute and Satan’s favorite problem child at the same time?

You lay there, eyes squeezed shut, trying to pretend Erik wasn’t practically glued to you. He’d clearly decided sleep was optional. His fever had gone down, but apparently, his urge to test every ounce of your willpower was still running dangerously high.

He was pressed against your back, body heat leaking into you like you weren’t already overheating. His arms were wrapped around your waist like he was trying to fuse your souls together. His head rested in the crook of your neck, his breath warm and slow.

You were boiling. Not from the sleeping bag. Not from the night air. From him. You didn’t know if you’d make it till morning without combusting. Or worse—doing something you'd pretend to regret.

“Peach…” he murmured, voice low and soft—too soft. Then his lips brushed your neck, just barely there, but still enough to set fire to your spine. “Thank you for taking care of me tonight.”

And then, as if those words hadn’t already punched you in the heart, he bit your earlobe. His mouth moved to your neck, slow kisses landing like small detonations across your skin.

He kissed you like he needed it to breathe.

You gasped, your back arching into him before you could stop yourself. His bulge was right there, against you, undeniable now. Your body betrayed you instantly.

“Erik,” you whispered, voice shakier than you’d like. “You have to stop. Or we’ll do something we regret in the morning.”

You hated yourself for saying it. For being the voice of reason when every inch of your body was begging to say something else. Something like: Don’t stop. Don’t take your hands off me. Please, just fuck me already. But instead, you were here. Lying. Dying. Sweating. Fantasizing about voluntarily checking yourself into a mental hospital as soon as you got home.

He didn’t answer right away, just tightened his grip, his lips hovering at your pulse point. He exhaled slowly, like he was trying to rein himself in too.

You weren’t sure what scared you more—how badly you wanted him... or how deeply he made you feel.

His hand moved over your chest, fingers squeezing your breasts just hard enough to pull a moan from your throat.

“There she is,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “My little birdy.”

Your heart fluttered wildly. You didn’t know how much more you could take. His hand slipped lower, sliding under your panties, and when his fingers circled your slick core, something in you snapped.

“Erik… please,” you whispered, trembling—ashamed and proud all at once.

“Please what, princess?” His voice was pure smug heat, low and dangerous. You couldn’t see his face, but you could feel the smirk radiating off of him.

“Please touch me already,” you begged, and that was all he needed.

He pushed his fingers inside you with a hunger that made you shudder. One hand claimed your breasts like they were made to fill his palm, the other working between your thighs with practiced, reverent rhythm.

“You look so fucking hot, Peach,” he growled against your neck, biting your collarbone. “You have no idea.”

Was this real? Or did you die of beer poisoning and go to horny heaven?

His fingers, his lips, the way he whispered your name between curses—it was all too much. You came hard, his name on your lips, his grip tightening around you like he couldn’t bear to let go.

And then… you said it.

“Fuck, Erik, I love you so much.”

He froze.

Little devil froze.

“What?” he asked, voice hollow with shock.

You sat up, horrified. Why did you say that? You could see it in his face—confusion, panic, something unnameable—and now your own brain was doing cartwheels through every possible scenario, none of them good.

“Oh, nothing—I just… I need to look for my vape,” you stammered, grabbing your jacket. “See you.”

And then you bolted out of the tent like the emotionally unstable Olympic sprinter you were.

Looking for your vape. Really? That was your excuse?

Mental checklist: ✓ Run ✓ Hide ✓ Never return Perfect. Executing plan Vape-and-Vanish immediately.

“Sweets! Wait up—!” Erik called after you, but you were already disappearing into the woods like a gremlin fueled by panic and regret.

He groaned, tossing on a hoodie and stumbling out after you.

“She left me in shock. With a boner. And possibly a black eye. God—I love her so much,” he muttered, winded and shirtless, lungs barely keeping up with his legs.

“Peach! Come on, talk to me!” he shouted into the darkness. He knew exactly where you’d go.

And there you were, by the lake, sitting on a rock and probably plotting your permanent relocation to a remote, vape-friendly monastery.

“Can you at least wear the damn AirTag I got you last Christmas?” he panted. “I can’t chase after you all my life. I have asthma.”

You turned around, snorting.

“You don’t have asthma. That’s just your excuse to hide your banana vape addiction, dork.”

He laughed—and it was the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. You would never, ever get tired of it.

“Smartass. Get up,” he said, extending a hand.

And you did. What more could you possibly lose? Your dignity was already gone, right along with Bobby’s mysterious missing sock.

“Erik, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that, I—” He cut you off with a kiss.

Soft. Familiar. Real.

Your heart tripped all over itself. You melted into him, your hands tangling in his hair, his mouth stealing the words you couldn’t figure out how to say.

You moaned into his kiss, the two of you breathing hard, your lips chasing each other like they’d waited too long.

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

“I love you, Peach. So much.”

He kissed you again, slow and full of everything he’d never said out loud.

But then — “Wait… Peach, you okay? You’re kinda burning u—oh shit.”

You barely heard him before your legs gave out. Luckily, he caught you, arms already around you.

“Fucker,” you muttered weakly. “You gave me your fever.”

“Guilty,” he said, sweeping you into his arms bridal-style. “Gave you my heart too, Peach. All yours.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead as you tucked your face into his chest, finally giving in to sleep.

You were in Erik’s arms—sick, yes. But also in love. And finally, finally… his.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Two immortal duo consist og Wade and Logan, now add a gremlin isekai reader who is worse than the two combined. Dumbaßs duo + no sel preservation gremlin🙂

Literally the definition of dumb, dumber and Dumbest.

There’s not a single working brain cell between you, Wade and Logan and it shows. With how often Logan and Wade were at each others throats with you egging the pair on, needless to say it was a mystery how you managed to live as long as you have, superpowers put aside and all that.

Where chaos wasn’t anywhere to be found, you were there to create it tenfold without taking your own safety into consideration, and for that alone was the main reason why your close death encounters was terrifyingly well within the double digits.

Random villain: do you have a death wish or something?

Reader: depends on the situation and how I’m feeling at the time.

Logan : comes with the territory at this point.

Wade: is it wrong to want to feel something as deeply as a knife in your gut?

Random villain:…have any of you considered therapy.

You, Wade and Logan aren’t the best influences on each other, if anything it was the exact opposite. Anything that was remotely dangerous it seemed as though Wade developed the mentality of a teenager and would dare either you or Logan to do it.

Logan says no almost immediately but you say ‘bet’ and we’re dead set on proving Wade wrong, only for Logan to grab you by the collar of your shirt and drag you away from the dangerous situation, all the while you pout and cross your arms over your chest. ‘I never get to do anything fun.’ You mutter under your breath.

Logan would shoot you a glare. ‘You’ve got a fucked up definition of fun if you thought swimming with electric eels as fun.’

You shrugged. ‘It could’ve been had I was given the chance, but unfortunately someone,’ you glared back at him, ‘is a fucking buzzkill.’ Logan ignores you as Wade goes and strips himself down and swims with the electric eels instead, much to your dismay.

You once dared Wade to draw on Logan’s face once when he was asleep -bad decision on his behalf, especially when you and Wade were involved- with marker pen once and needless to say there was a lot of dicks being drawn and Wade ending up with several -healing- wounds to the head.

‘I technically said to not get clawed by Logan.’ You told him as you watched with morbid interest as the wounds in his head closed up one by one.

‘So what you’re saying is I didn’t win.’ Wade asked.

‘Not by a long shot.’ You replied.

Wade sighs as he fiddled with his baby hands. Yes Logan cut off both his hands as well for good measure. ‘This fucking sucks!’

You patted him on the back reassuringly. ‘There, there.’

Logan is technically the more level headed of all three of you, but that was putting it lightly given how quickly his temper was to rise at the slightest inconvenience, however considering how you and Wade could be in general it was best to have someone who’d wrangle you both in from time to time.

Wade: *opens your bedroom door to utter darkness, the light of your phone illuminating your face*

You. *hissing* get the fuck out scrotum face or I’ll shove your swords up your ass and through your head!

Wade: *closes the door and looks at Logan* no matter what you do, don’t feed that fucking thing after midnight.

Bonus; you probably adopt like three rats, two raccoons and a possum and claim them as your babies and Logan and Wade wouldn’t even bat an eye.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

How You Turn My World; Chapter 1

Your day started with chaos, and my dear, it looks like it will continue to be chaos. But only time will tell. The Underground holds many surprises in store for you.

Characters; Grim, Lilia Vanrouge, Deuce Spade, Ace Trappola

Content; Gender-neutral reader, cat shenanigans, building the plot

Content Warnings; Swearing, illusion to marijuana but there is none

Word Count; 4.6 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

Don't put my work into AI; I'll make sure you go to the Underground and don't return. Mwah mwah, kisses~

Ah, the joys of cat parenthood. Days spent cuddling your little bundle of furry joy. That’s what your friends preached. That having a feline roommate was easy and rewarding. That you would benefit by having a cute and fuzzy companion that didn’t demand much of anything. That you would love your little kitty friend like a child. Well, either your friends were liars with questionable senses of humour, or you drew the short stick when it came to choosing a furry companion. And there’s always the possibility of it being both, what with having Ace as a friend and all, but you just hoped it was just your shit luck and not that you had shit friends.

Seriously, though, what higher power did you manage to piss off to deserve the royal hobgoblin of a cat you have? He has shit and pissed in your plants on several occasions. Demolished every single curtain he laid eyes on like he had a personal vendetta against them. Stole your breakfast off your plate right as you were about to take a bite. Puked on your last pair of good white shoes, which still had stains on them because they wouldn’t come out. The cherry on top of it all though was that he insists on yowling and crying in the middle of the damn night for no good reason. Rudely awaking you from the dead of sleep because he demanded attention. With how loud he was, you were surprised that you hadn’t gotten a noise complaint from any of your neighbours… yet. But then again, you could hear the upstairs neighbours’ children screaming bloody murder every so often — what were their names, the Clovers? They were probably so used to it that they threw you a bone, or they didn’t want extra grey hairs from filing a complaint to the landlord. So maybe Grim wasn’t all that bad, but he was still a gremlin child. 

“MROWWWWWW!!!!!” Ah, so tonight was no different then. Grim had decided that you needed to be woken up before even the birds started to sing, needed to be yanked out of the land of dreams. That whatever had caught the attention of his singular brain cell was more important than you recharging so you don’t accidentally say the wrong thing to your boss. Since last time you had slipped up and called him dad, even though no one in their right mind would leave him alone with a rutabaga unattended, and he went on a two-hour long monologue about how much of a kind and generous person he was for you to see him as a father figure. And your salary wasn’t high enough, nor would it ever be, to deal with his eccentric and maddening behaviour.

Maybe, just maybe, if you ignored him and stared at the ceiling long enough he would stop his caterwauling and go to sleep. “MROWWWW!!!!!” Apparently not.

Just one night, ONE NIGHT, of peace and quiet. PLEASE. But you knew that if you didn’t get up soon, he would get up on the bed and put his fluffy butt in your face… like he did last night and the night before that. Sighing, you begrudgingly got out of your cocoon of warm, fluffy, blankets, and hoped you would soon be back in them after dealing with Grim. Hopefully, he was just complaining about his food bowl not being as full as he would like it.

What was the time anyways? Three-thirty in the morning? Ugh, Grim! What did Ace say about it, ah, yes, “Primetime witching hour. Demons and all sorts of creepies” yada yada yada. But you didn’t pay any mind to him, as his annoying smug look would taunt you in your mind even though he was probably sound asleep, blissfully asleep. Something that you wanted to be doing, but woefully you were not.

Stepping out into the main living space, you shot the grey fuzzball the stink eye. “What the hell do you want? You absolute gremlin!” You hissed through gritted teeth, very much annoyed with your brat of a fur child and wanting nothing more than to crawl back to bed, hell, even the loveseat would suffice.  

The offending feline just trilled at you in response, and his tail vibrated, happy that you had come out to see him. How is he so cute but so annoying? He rubbed against your legs before trotting off to one of his hidey holes, which also served as his nest of your stolen socks. He has a weird obsession with socks. But he popped back out, holding something in his mouth. Something small and fuzzy that didn’t look like any of his toys.

“Prowwww,” he dropped it at your feet as if saying that catching whatever it was, was the equivalent to paying his share of rent. Which, it was very much not.

You closed your eyes and pinched your brow. Please be one of his toys. PLEASE be one of his toys. You chanted to yourself in your mind and then opened your eyes. Unfortunately, it was not one of his toys. The small, fuzzy thing in question seemed to be a mouse or some other kind of rodent. It was too late (too early?) for this, and quite frankly you didn’t have the brain power to confirm whatever the hell it was. All you knew was that it looked like a mouse, therefore it was a mouse.

“Is this what you’ve been screaming about this whole time? A mouse,” you sighed. Shaking your head, you went to the bathroom, grabbing some paper towel so you could at least put it outside for something else to eat, or go back to nature in some other way. It was better than just being left to decompose in the communal garbage bin. When you came back out though, it was nowhere to be seen. Now, either Grim decided to eat it like a good kitty cat, or, with your luck, it was still alive and was now running amuck in your apartment.

Grim’s chattering was coming from the kitchen now, and he was up on top of the fridge. It was running amuck in your apartment, how lovely.

“Why, why, are you like this?! Get down from there!” You really didn’t have the energy for this.

Grim just blinked at you before his eyes dilated. He leapt down from his perch on the fridge and was pawing at a corner by the window. Looking down and you couldn’t make out anything on the floor. But you had the oh-so-brilliant idea to look up toward the ceiling. The ‘mouse’ was very much alive, and wasn’t a mouse at all, since it was flying around and banging itself against the corner.

“YOU CAUGHT A FUCKING BAT?!”

He had indeed caught a fucking bat. And bats were normally fine, when they were outside. Not when they’re flying around your apartment at three o’clock in the morning and your cat is losing his goddamn mind trying to catch it. So no, this was very much not fine. 

The bat was about as pleased as you were with this whole situation and kept on flinging itself against the glass of the window, desperately trying to get back outside. How the hell did it get inside in the first place? That could be pondered on upon at a later time, as the first priority was getting it back outside.

“Don’t fly towards my head, bat. I’m just trying to get you back outside. You’re a nice bat, right? Nice bat, nice bat,” you whispered in a non-threatening tone. Could the flying mammal understand what you were saying? Mostly likely not. Hopefully it understood that you, unlike your cat, were trying to help and did not want some fresh bat as your late night snack tonight.

After what felt like forever fuddling with the window to open with a broom in hand, just in case the bat decided to dive bomb your head, you finally got the cursed thing open. 

Grabbing Grim, who was still trying to catch the bat for a second time tonight, you got back to your bedroom and locked the door shut. You hoped that the bat would take the hint that it now had a path to freedom, but only time, and a bit of sleep, would tell. Slumping against the door frame, you sighed and looked over at Grim. He was playing with the door stop, the boing, boingg, boinggg sounds filling in the quiet. Whether it was to amuse himself, or to annoy you was a fifty-fifty bet.

Just as you were about to crawl back under the covers a string of anxiety connected in your head. Shit, did Grim get bit? DAMMIT GRIM! After leaving a somewhat desperate and tired call to your vet’s voicemail, alongside an apology for the late call (early call?), you peeked outside to see if the bat was still flying around. According to Google, the bat should be tested for rabies. You did not trust your no brain cell having fluff ball to know better than to get bit by a possibly rabid bat. But it was gone, so yet again, you were out of luck.

You had enough with today, even though it had just really begun. Pulling up the covers, you sighed in the dark warmth of your blanket cocoon. Grim was busying himself by trying to pounce on your feet, but you ignored him, falling back to sleep and hoping that the rest of your day wouldn’t bring any more shenanigans, migraines, or small flying mammals.

…

…

…

By some miracle, you managed to get Grim to the vet the very same day. Your boss agreed to let you work from home because he is ever so kind and generous… It did help that one of the other higher-ups nearly nagged off his ear upon hearing about the condition of your cat. Even through the phone you could hear it, and could only imagine the spectacle it must have been. Oh well, you had the day off and that is what mattered… but you would be lying if you said that you didn’t cough out a laugh just imagining the scene on the other side of the phone.

You were relieved, Grim on the other hand was not having it. To be fair, you did trick him into his crate with some tuna. He made his disdain known to all though by crying the entire way there. You almost felt bad for him, almost being the key word. 

“You have no one to blame for this but yourself, ya know.” You huffed at him, feeling your shit sleep all too well. “Crying about it won’t help you any.”

Grim let out a pathetic little mew. His little, bright, blue eyes being the only visible part of him, which peered out miserably from the crate. Caving to the kitty manipulation, you poked your finger in as a peace offering. Grim booped his nose to your finger and then proceeded to nibble on it; such a vicious beast.

The vet visit went as well as you could hope it could, as Grim only tried to maim the vet a few times. Hey, it was an improvement from last time, as he had actually peed on them. So yes, trying to maim was vastly better than seeing your figurative child pee on the doctor. You’re pretty sure your vet didn’t go through years of schooling and thousands of dollars into debt just to get peed on by your unruly cat. But Grim was won over by the offering of that cat gogurt, his nose and stomach betraying him. Note to self, stock up on some of that stuff.

The rest of the visit went on without a hitch; he had some blood drawn, got his booster shot for rabies, and even managed to squeeze in a bonus nail trim. There was no evidence of any bite or puncture marks, so Grim by some miracle, did indeed have enough brain cells not to get bit.

“Grim will have to be watched for about forty-five days,” the vet hummed, checking Grim’s chart. “Since you don’t have any other animals it shouldn’t be too difficult to keep him in quarantine. If you see any symptoms be sure to bring him back, just in case.” They gave you a tired smile, and then turned that smile towards their cantankerous patient. “And thank you for deciding not to pee on me this time, Grim. I’m not so bad, see?”

Grim swatted at them, which was his answer to the vet’s question. In Grim’s book, the vet was that bad.

Ignoring his attitude, as you would whenever you came across a screaming toddler and exhausted parent while doing your grocery run, you turned back to your vet. “Thank you, and sorry for Grim. If it makes you feel any better, he’s just as much as a gremlin child at home as well.” At least today went better than last time.

The vet chuckled goodheartedly, “Don’t worry about it, I have more unruly patients than little Grim here.”

Damn, they have seen some shit, haven’t they? … Maybe I should, I don’t know, bring them a gift basket next time I’m in? Or maybe a gift card for a spa day or something??? You should really get them something for the amount of dry cleaning they probably needed to do.

With the visit over, and Grim having a clear bill of health, you shoved him back into his carrier with zero decorum, closing the door as fast as possible before he could escape and try to hide behind the counter like he did last time. I know your tricks, cat. Speaking of bills, the one that was waiting for you at the front desk was enough for you to point an icy glare at your unruly ward.

“You’re lucky that I love you, asshole.” And much like the vet you too got a swat as your thank you. Wonder if this is what the Clovers feel about their children? At least their kids didn’t wake them up in the middle of the night with a bat they caught… You shook your head, moving past those thoughts, and hauled your wailing cat back home.

…

...

By the time you got back to your place, it was just a little past noon. The rest of your day was wide open, and you didn’t really have anything else to do, since taking Grim to the vet was the most urgent of your tasks. Your place could benefit from some tidying, since your boss had recently been demanding more as of late and has been even less useful than he usually was… which was saying something. Seriously, how does he have his position? It was baffling. You swore you could hear his monologue playing on loop in your head whenever you thought of the man, which you tried to keep to a minimum for your own sanity… whatever little of it still remained that is.

Shaking your head to rid the annoying voice, you put on your favourite playlist and got to work. You took your time, putting away the dishes, vacuumed the main room, and even got rid of the dust on the high shelves. But your place was small, so it didn’t take very long for you to tidy up, and deep cleaning could wait for another day when you had enough energy to mentally and physically deal with that undertaking.

You knew that your email probably had a few messages, but it could wait. You weren’t on the clock and therefore didn’t have to check it. Only do the stuff you’re required to do when you get paid, it makes your downtime way more enjoyable.

But, you were bored. The cleaning helped with it, but with the majority of it done and the more intense stuff waiting for another day, you had nothing else to do. And while doom scrolling through social media may fill in the time, it too, was boring, predictable.

… There were two people though who were the exact opposite of boring and predictable. And yes, they did give you your fair share of migraines and questioning your life decisions more than you usually do, they were your best friends. And you were in need of having a movie night with them.

Opening up the group chat, you typed in a message.

| The Responsible One | You guys down for a movie night at my place tonight?

And almost immediately, Ace replied.

| Ginger, derogatory | depends  | ya got fiid?

Deuce responded shortly after.

| Mama’s Boi | Yeah, I’m down | What time? | . . . | And what’s fiid?

|The Responsible One | How does 6 sound?

| Ginger, derogatory | IT WAS A TYOP | *TYPO | I MEANT FOOD | F O O D

| Mama’s Boi | 6 works for me

| The Responsible One | I took a screenshot of that btw love you Ace | Thanks Deuce for actually giving me an answer. | What FIID do you guys want?

| Ginger, derogatory | FUCK YOU | … but yeah 6 works 4 me | any is cool with me

| The Responsible One | Yes yes, fuck you too Ace | Bring your own snacks it is then | See you guys at 6!

That gave you about ninety minutes to hide your good snacks, since the last time, Ace had made himself too comfortable and ate all your fancy treats that you paid way too much for. But like they say, you deserve to ‘treat yoself’ … Ace still owed you for those snacks though. They were fucking expensive, prick.

…

Ninety minutes didn’t take very long, but you managed to hide some of the mess that you hadn’t tackled in your bedroom; it could stand to wait. And the first of your dork friends arrived right on time, count on Deuce trying to be punctual… even if he was panting like he had run a marathon to make it.

“You know,” you sighed, “you didn’t have to sprint here.” You grabbed a glass, filled it with some ice water, and handed it over to your flushed and heaving friend. Please don’t pass out on me. “It’s not a race.”

Deuce took the glass and downed it, still catching his breath. He lifted up the tote bag he was carrying, “Mom made brownies.” A series of coughs escaped him, but he gave you a bashful smile and showed off the multiple Tupperware containers filled to the brim with still warm chocolatey divineness. “Didn’t want them to get cold! Oh! She also made extra for you too!”

He is such a sweetheart… but he’s also pretty dense at times, still a sweetie though. You could have just warmed them back up in the microwave — yes, they weren’t the same as fresh from the oven, but still — you didn’t have the heart to tell Deuce that though. He looked so proud that he made it on time and that the brownies were still warm. What did you do to deserve Deuce as a friend? 

“Also,” he fished around the tote bag, “I brought extra popcorn, since we ate all of yours last time.” And he pulled out an unopened bag of popcorn, the bashful smile turning bright.

Deuce took a step forward, but stopped and backpedalled, taking off his shoes. After he set them neatly by the door, he made his way to the kitchen, and set all of his assorted belongings on the meagre counter space. Once he unloaded the tasty cargo, he made his way over to your loveseat, which had seen better days, and sat down, getting comfortable.

He was looking at you, and there was a little crease in between his eyebrows. Deuce only wore that look when he was worried. “Are you feeling okay? You seem a bit… off.” 

You gave him a tired smile, “Meh. Tired, stressed, not enough money. You know, the usual.” You noticed that his frown was only deepening, so you took a seat next to him and patted his shoulder. “Seriously, Deuce, I’m okay. Plus you got enough on your own plate without worrying about me. I’m going to be fine.”

Deuce pursed his lips, but let out a long sigh, accepting your answer without much fuss. You were capable of dealing with whatever it was, he knew that. You were one of the most capable, and stubborn, people that he knew. You would be fine in the end. “Whose turn is it to pick the movie this time?” He asked, stretching out, trying not to bump into you.

“Hmm, your turn actually,” you hummed. “But–”

Bzz! Bzzz! BZZZ! Someone was buzzing your door, repeatedly pushing at the button. Only one person you know did that. BZZZZZZZZ! And he wouldn’t let up until you answered the door.

Groaning, you got out of your spot and peaked through the peephole. On the other side was none other than Ace, who’s leg was bouncing and he kept on pushing your damn buzzer.

You only opened the door when he decided to lean on it, making him almost fall… almost. Maybe next time would be the day where you would see him eat dirt. “Happy you could join us on this lovely evening,” you drawl, doing a little bow.

Ace rolled his eyes at you, “Seriously? Feeling petty tonight I see.” He too took off his shoes, since the last time he wore them in and tracked in mud from outside, you made him clean it up. He learned his lesson that day, and really didn’t feel like cleaning your floor again.

You smiled at him, “Yeah, yeah I am~” You dropped the smile and went back to your comfy spot beside Deuce. “Also,” you turned around right as Ace was about to plunder your fridge. You glared at him, and he backed off, giving you a sheepish look. “Don’t even think about stealing my food, there’s popcorn and you have food at your home. Unless you want to start paying for my groceries, stick to what’s on the counter.”

Closing the fridge, Ace busied himself by making himself some popcorn, and sneaking a brownie or two in his mouth as he waited for the microwave to finish making his treat. While he was busy in the kitchen, you and Deuce were slowly going through the seemingly endless catalogue of movies. 

“What are we even watching tonight? There’s no special occasion,” Ace mused, sitting on the counter, swinging his legs back and forth. “Action? Horror? Sci-fi? Perhaps,” he paused and made a kissy face, “romance?~”

You stared at him, until he dropped the kissy face. “Never do that again,” you deadpanned, turning back to the screen. “Found something?”

Deuce was hovering over a title, Labyrinth. “Can we watch this? Mom said it was one of her favourites when she was a kid.”

Ace plopped into the armchair, and started chowing down on his fresh popcorn. “Dude, your mom probs just had the hots for, uhhh, Jared? Or whatever his name is.”

You threw a pillow at him, but missed unfortunately, and Ace flipped you off. “First off, Ace, his name is Jareth not Jared. And yeah, we can watch it,” you said, stretching back and getting into prime comfortable blob position. Oh yeah, you weren’t getting back up. 

Once Deuce got up and brought some snacks back in, you started the movie. And damn, these brownies are divine. You really needed to ask Ms. Spade for her recipe. The popcorn was decent, overall meh, but the brownies! THE BROWNIES!!!

You all settled down after being rationed your snacks, and you pressed play. Ace and Deuce both nearly choked on popcorn when Jareth appeared.

“WHY ARE HIS PANTS SO TIGHT?!” They both choked in unison. 

You just rolled your eyes and ignored them, trying to focus on the movie. Other than you nearly having to do the Heimlich manoeuvre on the both of them, the movie continued without incident, until a certain gremlin decided to start crying right as Magic Dance began playing. Seriously Grim, must you choose the most inopportune time to act like Toby does in the movie? But that’s life with a cat.

You paused the movie and looked at Deuce. You were in prime comfortable blob mode, you weren’t getting up. Deuce patted you on the shoulder and went to go see what on Earth Grim was screaming about. Ace just continued to scarf back brownies, thank goodness you hid some away before he got here, or else you wouldn’t have any come tomorrow.

But Deuce came running back out of your room, since that was where Grim was. And you were about to question why he looked like he’d just seen a ghost when something blurred right past him; something small, fuzzy, and flying.

The damn bat is back?! Yeah, you definitely felt like you were cursed.

Now, you could either get up and deal with the bat, since Deuce was just trying to shoo it outside the window with a mop and Ace was screaming much like Grim was, or you could stay warm and comfy and hide under the blanket, pretending that this wasn’t your waking reality…

Option B was really tempting right now, to be honest. Sighing, you got up, massaged your temples to collect yourself, before arming yourself with a broom yet again. Grim has his rabies vaccine, you don’t, so you weren’t taking any chances.

“WHY IS THERE A BAT IN YOUR APARTMENT?!” Ace hissed, ducking as the bat swooped near him.

You opened the window right open, almost threatening to take it off its bearings, “Because the universe hates me, that’s why!” Was it dramatic? Yes. Did it contain a seed of truth? Yes. So that’s what you went with. Was it really an exaggeration though? In the past twenty-four hours it really felt like the universe was sending you a personal ‘Fuck You ♡ ' letter with a kiss mark on the envelope.

You and Deuce tried to work together as a team to coax the bat outside. Come on, the window is wide open. Come on bat, get your fuzzy ass out of my place. 

All that was happening though, was some scene that belonged in a Three Stooges act. With Ace and Grim screeching — yes they counted as one collective unit — Deuce trying his best, but not getting anywhere, and you feeling like you were about to explode from the stress and noise. Even on an impromptu day off, you didn’t get a break, not really.

Getting whisked away by the Goblin King is looking real appealing right now. The bat swooped down close to you, and your instincts kicked in and you swung at it, making it crash land into your coffee table, right into the popcorn. And alongside the popcorn getting spilled everywhere, there was also a poof of green sparkles.

When the green sparkles subsided, there was a strange person with long black hair and red streaks, wearing something that looked straight out of a Ren Faire, and he was standing on your table. The strange man looked straight at you, and you looked back, blinking fast. Did Ms. Spade give us a different kind of brownie? Or is this actually happening?

He snapped his fingers, and you watched as he slowly disappeared into another poof of green sparkles. You were backing up, since hey there was a stranger in your place out of nowhere, but thanks to your shit luck, you tripped over your own feet, tumbling into them. And as the green poof subsided, both you, and the stranger, were nowhere to be seen. Leaving a very confused Ace, Deuce, and Grim to wonder what the hell happened to you.

And honestly? You were thinking the same. Where the FUCK am I?!

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Tags; @busycloudy, @eynnwwyjth, @identity-theft-101, @ithseem, @krenenbaker, @ryker-writes, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

~~~~~~~

Author's Note; And I'm finally showing this to the world, after months of collecting dust in my Google Docs. I have no idea how long this fic will go on for, and the length may be dictated by how much feedback and interaction this gets, so yeah. General rating for this is Teen but might change in the future; I won't tag people if that happens though, cuz, yeah.

If you enjoyed this story, and want to read more of my stuff while I slowly work on more installments to this fic, check out my masterlist! Please ignore any spelling mistakes, I write and die with no beta.

[evilminji]

I wanna Make Bruce "Father of Many Terrible Terrible Gremlins" Wayne... babysit Lil Baby Man.

It's... it's the fuckin Fenton Dream Catcher again, man. Danny was so certain he BURNED it. After the last... Incident(tm).

But, NO! Here he stands. Well, floats. Barbecue sauce on his ti- *cough!* He means! Be-split between two Selfs! Like... *checks watch* FUCK. Less then 25 minutes before the Big, Fancy Ass, Multi-Realm Council of Stuffy Significance Etc Etc. He can never remember the name. It's long, takes up like three pages. NOWS NOT THE TIME!

Look.

There is Responsible Him! And.... THAT.

THAT is his inner gremlin. His "but it would be FUNNY tho" impulse. The grand ol "do it for the Vine, fenton!". Commit to the bit! It has three brain cells and uses ALL of them for Cartoonish slap-gag evil. That time he super glued the screaming chicken voice box into the exhaust pipe of Vlad's mo-ped? The Oorbez? Hiding all his novelty socks under the snow to be found come spring like a bountiful Packers themed harvest?

Do not let the tiny dimwitted blep face fool you.

He is a MASTER of psychological manipulation.

And YOU, Bruce. Owe me that Favor from *sees multiple intrigued people trying to listen in* .... That Batman Thing we did. (OH COME ON!) So pay up. Watch him. Here's the Ectoplasmic Container Play Pen. The Kiddy Harness he can't phase out off. A list of contacts. And a fresh bottle of headache medication.

O7

I'd pray for you. But that would probably be condescending, given where I'm headed. So instead, I'll remember you as you were. Moderately well rested and free of my nonsense! See ya in... probably a month!

Toodles~☆

@hdgnj @hypewinter @the-witchhunter @spidori @babbling-babull @mutable-manifestation @lolottes