#hes just a bag of dicks isnt he

[firstmanned]

“ how many people have you killed? how many? ” - emily @isforever

"THEY'RE NOT PEOPLE, EM-- THEY'RE SINNERS." Adam maintains, hands cast before himself with palms facing toward the seraphim, should she feel the need to lash out. "What does it matter? Even if they were people they're bad people! What happens when their leagues out rank our own, huh? What about when Lucifer takes those leagues and lashes out against Heaven? What you don't think he would? Hellllloooooooo-- Heaven to Emily," Hands swirl as if to accent his point. "The dude is unhinged! He was cast down to the most brutal place in all of creation and made a home there! You don't think there's even the slightest possibility of him rising up? Pfffft." First man makes a throw away gestures and finally allows his arms to rest by his sides. "Besides. I couldn't tell you an exact number even if I wanted to. I LOST COUNT A LONG TIME AGO."

[attractthecrows]

retconning stroud out of the deep roads so i can shove laure amell and the hawke siblings and varric and anders all into the same little camp. they would all have such a bad time

[bbyg4rl]

INTRODUCING . . . CLINGY!BOYFRIEND!JJ

mismatched socks.   wrist kisses.   messy hair.   hoodies.  slow mornings.   back hugs.   matching playlists.   your shampoo.

clingy!boyfriend!jj . . . who always has a hand on you—your waist, your thigh, your lower back, your pinky, even inside your pants.

clingy!boyfriend!jj . . . who won’t let you carry anything— grocery bags? your purse? a box? absolutely not. he scoffs and takes it out of your hands instantly.

clingy!boyfriend!jj . . . who loves being the big spoon, his arms wrap completely around you, chest to your back, thighs around yours, and he’s practically wrapped around your entire body like a shield.

clingy!boyfriend!jj . . . who carries you everywhere just because he can. If your feet touch the ground, it’s either by accident or because he’s too distracted kissing you to notice.

clingy!boyfriend!jj . . . who gets jealous of everything that gets your attention when he’s not getting it—your phone, a book, even a pillow. He’ll huff and yank it away just to replace it with himself.

clingy!boyfriend!jj . . . who has a massive size kink he pretends is casual—but it’s not. he’ll randomly hold his hand up to yours, compares foot sizes, gently presses your wrist against his bicep and grins like his dick isnt straining in his pants.

clingy!boyfriend!jj . . . who would gorilla glue himself to you in a second. he can't think of anything better to do than be by your side all day, everyday.

CLINGY!BOYFRIEND!JJ WORKS BELOW ↓

eating you out on your period (smut) | jj shuts you up (smut) | only you get to call him jackson (fluff)

CLINGY!BOYFRIEND!JJ THOUGHTS ↓

when he just has to keep his hand in your panties | moodboard

[mina-org]

part one - part two - part three - part four (youre here!) - part five- six

a flower box full of dying, turned maroon geraniums stare back at you. fitting, asking simon, expecting anything from simon was the dumbest shit you ever did.

you'd never make that mistake again.

you didn't want him.

but why couldnt you look at him. you couldn't look at him, say anything or move any, it felt like you were choking.

simon? he was fine.

smirking, mocking you, like he hadn't been spamming you.

it doesnt matter though, simon and whatever the fuck is wrong with him isnt your business, not anymore.

you dont owe him anything.

"sorry" stammers out of your mouth as you move past him, as if hes a stranger on the street.

he wont let you though, his fist wrapping around your wrist, johnny's yells turning into howling in this nightmare.

"lets 'ave a chat, love." its a demand, a declaration of his control over you, or the perceived control. the control he used to have.

"could you not hear the phone call? get to fuck and take Johnny with ya." you snap, you pull your wrist away and keep walking.

this isnt right. simon knows you. he knows what days you work, your route there, the drink you buy on the way. he knows you cant stand silence, being alone eats away at you.

you never leave. you can't leave him. why are you walking away?

simons about to grab you and throw you in the boot of his car but Johnny stops him. dragging you through town to the carpark would bring a lot of attention, not ideal when you wanna kidnap a local women</3

theyre sas, they've kidnapped terrorists, this will be easy, they just need to think about it. time and violence solves everything!

gaz cannot believe this shit.

hes done all the heavy lifting, he didnt get to take you out or even text you, hes so much more charming than Johnny, he's great at taking girls out, but you were yarning for simon so it would probably only take him not being a dick, had simon ever even taken you out?

John left your apartment a little while ago because Kate called, he said he'd keep an eye for you but, here you are, emptying out bags, deseptrely trying to fine your phone, while Kyle watches your legs pace, nice and cosy under your bed.

what the fuck is he suppose to do? youve lost something youre gonna check under the bed sooner or later. suddenly no one can answer their fucking phone, ghost was suppose to take you out for coffee, than lunch, then a cheeky 2 for 1 cocktail pitcher, what happened? why are you home? did John take the tool box? how was he going to get out form underneath your bed?

he hears your laptop turning on, soon enough you huffing and puffing. and it slamming shut. soon enough he your footsteps lead into the bathroom and the shower starts and Kyle finally catches a break at least he can get a little show now the cameras are set up.

no.

he has to focus, has to sneak out.

soon enough gaz is back at the flat, meeting up with his Taskforce, whos watching you on the cameras. Kyle would call them a perv but he'd be doing the same if he had an ounce less shame, not a problem for price or simon or Johnny. maybe it comes with age or some shit.

your shower doesnt last forever unfortunately:( so now its Johnny and simon explaining their fuck up, Johnny soon feels a slap to the back of his head from price. Simon and Johnny were in holiday mode and they needed to get it together. you cant slip away.

you wont.

simon wants this done now. but these things dont happen instantly, the walls at the flat are paper thin and neighbours are just so noisy nowadays.

at least they have your phone, you used to always complain about how shitty your family was but simon never quite listened but snooping in your phone was good as your brain, you even used the notes app as a diary! perf

taglist: @skeletonsucker @supernova2205 @wh0re4-alexademi @grr457 @gh0st-spid3r @sweetlittleblackrose @aceywaycy @mooievis @theadultoedge @cheese-pull @imtherain @h0e-02 @misscaller06 @lucilleifer @cherryflavoredguts @junitries @aneternallyexhaustedpigeon @drewsphswife @just-lilita @bvrnxy @crempuffie @erintaro @skyfire93 @my-little-evil-blog @alexalix-z

[junuru]

push to pass

f1 driver!nanami x perfumer!reader

SYNOPSIS — It’s your big break: a private commission from a high-profile client brings you and your small-town French perfumery to gorgeous Monaco in the middle of July, where you’ve just begun setting up your first standalone boutique. But between construction delays, holiday crowds, and the chaos of Grand Prix weekend, peace is hard to come by. And when a handsome stranger stumbles into your unfinished shop—seeking shelter from the paparazzi and asking for a chance to see you again—your careful plans start to unravel in ways you never expected.

CONTENT — mdni, age gap (nanami is 31, reader is 23), takes place in the 1950s, inaccurate f1 history/general history inaccuracies, i cannot stop talking about f1 im sorry, hotel lobby reference wink wink, loss of virginity, nanami has a HUGE dick, semi public sex, public making out, thigh riding, fingering, oral (f! receiving), cum eating, creampie, unprotected piv sex, floor sex, biting/licking, strangers to lovers, mentions of a character death, fast paced romance, angst, happy ending

a/n: this fic is for @lily-bisque’s summer bash collab! thank you sooo much guys for like over 800 notes on part 1, ive never gotten that much on something that isnt an smau and im soooo grateful for every tiny like or reblog ily guys!

push to pass | masterlist | divider | part 1

July, 1956

“Welcome, madame,” your boutique manager greets, her accent prominent, eyes bright as you drop your travel-worn bags into the back of the perfumery.

You exhale as the cool, familiar scent of rose oil and bergamot washes over you, soothing the ache of the early train ride from Grasse. 

“Thank you, Colette,” you murmur, undoing the buttons of your linen coat. “How’s the stock looking?”

“Ready. Nervous,” she adds with a little smile, “but ready.”

It’s been almost a year since you opened the Monaco boutique. Though you still spend most of your time in Grasse, where your creations come to life, the boutique on the Riviera has become something of a symbol.

And timing, especially this weekend, is everything.

Outside, the city is already humming with Grand Prix tension. You can feel it in the air, thick with heat and engine smoke, the streets narrowing with barricades and velvet ropes. It’s not even noon and there are already men in suits drinking champagne on balconies and women in silks parading down the promenade like it’s a runway. The kind of crowd that lives for spectacle. The kind of crowd that will wander into your boutique curious, and leave with something expensive in their purse.

If you play it right.

The little bell above the door jingles as Colette unlocks it for the day, the gold-painted letters on the window catching the light.

What once was a dream is now pressed into reality: scent cards, silk ribbons, etched bottles, and the signature line—the very one that started it all. The perfume you made that week last year. The one that still clings to a memory you never quite shook.

You run your fingers over the familiar bottle, the lavender still present, faint and steady.

“Do you think it’ll be as crowded as last year?” Colette asks.

You nod, distracted. “Probably more.”

“I know it’ll be busy,” Colette says as she lines up the scent blotters near the cash desk, glancing sideways at you, “but do you think I could have a little time off this Sunday?”

You lift your head from the inventory sheet. “Sunday? What for?”

She hesitates—just long enough to seem guilty. “I was hoping to get an autograph.”

You arch a brow. “From?”

“Kento Nanami,” she says quickly, like she’s been holding it in all morning. “He’s doing a signing. Just a short one near the paddock entrance. Can you believe it? He never talks to the press, never does fan events—but this weekend, he’s actually showing up.”

You blink, caught off guard, the name punching through you with more force than you’d like to admit.

“He is?” you manage, keeping your tone even.

She nods, warming to her excitement now. “It’s all over the radio. Apparently his team asked him to do more public appearances this season. And now that he’s top of the standings again, people are calling it his golden year. Everyone’s dying to see him. Especially if the rumors about him retiring are true.”

Your eyes drop back to the sheet in front of you, though the numbers have already blurred into nonsense.

“I don’t mind if it’s just a few hours,” Colette continues gently. “I’ve never seen him in person.”

A beat passes. You nod. “Go ahead. Just coordinate with Léon so someone’s on the floor.”

She smiles, grateful and a little giddy. “Thank you, madame.”

But you barely hear her.

You slip out the back door just after noon, the boutique humming with low conversation and the occasional jingle of the entry bell. Colette’s handling the front just fine, and the deliveries are all accounted for.

You figure you’ve earned ten minutes and a cigarette.

The alley behind the boutique is shaded and narrow, still damp from last night’s wash of summer rain. You lean against the wall, one foot crossed over the other, and strike a match with the easy rhythm of someone who’s done this a thousand times before.

The first drag hits slow and warm.

You’re halfway through when a sharp crash—glass on tile—rings out from inside.

Then a muffled scream.

Your heart skips. You toss the cigarette, crush it underfoot, and shove open the back door in one quick motion.

The scent hits you first—something floral and heady, familiar—mixed with the sharp, unmistakable note of spilled perfume.

Colette stands behind the counter, eyes wide, hand over her chest like she’s trying to calm a racing heart. A shattered bottle lies on the floor near the display tray.

She doesn’t look hurt. Just stunned.

“I—” she starts, breathless. “I guess I can work Sunday after all.”

You follow her gaze.

And then you see him.

Nanami stands just inside the boutique, tall frame slightly hunched like he’s aware of the space he’s taking up, one hand tucked into his coat pocket, the other holding a bouquet.

Roses, white this time, with sprigs of lilac tucked between the blooms.

Your breath catches, somewhere between disbelief and something you can’t name.

He looks the same. A little older, maybe. A little more tired around the eyes. But still—him.

Colette clears her throat and turns to busy herself in the back, clearly trying not to stare.

Nanami steps forward, expression unreadable.

“Sorry about the bottle,” he says softly, voice like gravel warmed in the sun. “I didn’t mean to startle her.”

You’re still staring.

“Can I help you?” Colette asks, her tone polite but far too curious, already sauntering over like she’s hosting a royal guest.

You step in quickly, intercepting her with a smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I got it,” you say lightly. “Go to the back and sort the new shipment.”

Colette blinks, just once, and then a slow grin creeps across her lips. She leans in close enough to whisper, “You know him!”

You lift an eyebrow. “You’ll still get your autograph, don’t worry.”

She exhales a dreamy little sigh, and disappears into the back room without further protest—though you know she’s going to eavesdrop shamelessly through the door.

The moment it clicks shut behind her, the boutique feels quieter. 

Nanami still hasn’t moved. His fingers are tight around the bouquet, knuckles paling just a little.

“I didn’t mean to drop in unannounced,” he says, eyes flicking over your face, as if checking to see whether he’s crossed a line.

You step closer, slow. “No appointment?” you tease. “You must be important.”

His smile is faint, but real. “I was hoping you’d still be here.”

You glance down at the flowers, then back at him. “It’s been a year, Kento.”

“I know.” A pause. “But I never stopped thinking about you.”

“Are you here to buy perfume?” you ask, folding your arms gently across your chest. It’s meant to sound teasing, detached—but your voice betrays you just a little.

“No,” he says simply.

Then, after a beat, “But if that’s what it takes for you to talk to me, I’ll get something.”

Your mouth twitches—almost a smile. The same steady, self-deprecating calm he’d had back then, folded neatly between his words.

“You don’t need to bribe me, Nanami.”

“I wasn’t sure,” he says, eyes earnest. “I didn’t know if I’d be welcome.”

You ignore him, ensuring he doesn’t feel too welcome. 

“We don’t really sell cologne,” you say, stepping around the counter, your fingertips grazing the edge as you move. “But we have some unisex fragrances in our signature collection. Toward the back.”

Nanami follows you, quiet as ever, the low sound of his footsteps syncing with the soft hum of the boutique. You stop at the display case—hand-cut glass, brass detailing still warm from the morning sun—and lift the lid.

He leans slightly forward, scanning the row of crystal bottles, each labeled with delicate script.

His hand hesitates over one, then closes around it gently.

You glance at the name etched in gold: Final Lap.

Your heart gives a small, almost imperceptible lurch.

He turns the bottle in his hand, brows slightly furrowed. “This one.”

It’s not a question.

You swallow. “That’s… our bestseller.”

He uncaps it, bringing it to his wrist, and breathes it in—slow and quiet, eyes closing just for a second.

“I didn’t know you kept it,” he says.

You try to laugh, but it comes out soft. “I renamed it. It didn’t feel finished until after you left.”

He meets your gaze. “You made it after that night.”

You nod. “You picked the last note, remember?”

A flicker of warmth passes through his expression, something just shy of wonder.

“It smells like you,” you add, gently. 

His smile is slow—small, but certain.

“Then I’ll take it,” he says.

“Then I’ll take it,” he says, setting the bottle down with a kind of finality that makes your heart stir.

You begin to ring him up, fingers moving automatically over the till, though your thoughts are elsewhere—on him, on the weight of a year spent wondering, on the ache that never quite settled.

“Why’re you here, Kento,” you ask quietly, not looking up.

He doesn’t hesitate. “You,” he says.

Your hands still.

“I tried to respect your wishes and leave,” he continues, voice low and even. “I thought maybe the space would help. That time would dull it. That you’d forget me, and I’d forget you.”

You glance up, meeting his eyes.

“But I didn’t,” he says. “Not for a second. There’s just something about you. About that week. About how I felt when I was near you, like maybe the rest of it didn’t matter.”

You swallow, the click of the register drawer the only sound between you.

“Do you really think this could work?” you ask, softly.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I know I want to try.”

You hand him the bottle, fingers brushing his. He holds your gaze like he’s anchoring himself to it.

“My contract expires after next season,” he says, voice quieter now, more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it. “I’m not planning on renewing it… and I know I’ll be lonely once this is all over.”

His eyes flick away, like he can’t bear to look at you when he says the next part.

“So, please. Just give this one chance.”

You don’t answer right away. The silence stretches. The boutique feels still, suspended between past and present, between memory and something that might still be possible.

He exhales. “This is embarrassing,” he says, shaking his head faintly. “I’m sorry. You must have found someone by now. I apologize—”

“Stop,” you interrupt, your voice catching. “There’s no one else.”

He looks at you.

“There never has been,” you say, more softly now. “It’s only been you.”

The words hang in the air, bare and unguarded, like they’ve been waiting a year to be spoken.

His shoulders drop with quiet relief, the kind that feels almost like surrender.

You step around the counter slowly, like you’re not entirely sure if the moment will hold—but it does. He doesn’t move as you reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You cave all at once—like something inside you finally gives way.

Your arms wrap around his neck, the movement sudden, a little desperate. The bouquet tumbles from his hands to the floor, forgotten, petals scattering across the tile as he pulls you in by the waist, his grip firm, grounding.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, your face buried against the curve of his neck. “I was so rude to you last year. You must have felt so… used.”

“No, sweetheart,” he says, low and soft against your ear. “It’s okay.”

“It’s really not,” you breathe, pulling back just enough to look at him, your hands sliding down to rest against his chest. “I was just scared. I didn’t know you that well, and I push people away because I’m scared they’ll treat me like my father did.”

His expression doesn’t change, but his arms tighten—just a fraction.

“I spent every day over the past year regretting not saying yes to you,” you whisper. “Every single day, Kento.”

He studies you for a moment—eyes steady, jaw tight with the ache of something he’s been carrying just as long.

Then, gently, like he’s afraid you might disappear again, he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Then let’s stop wasting time,” he says. “Let me try. Just let me love you the way I’ve wanted to from the beginning.”

You take a small step back, not in retreat, not in fear, but in the kind of pause that comes when something is too big, too important, to meet without breath.

Nanami doesn’t move forward. He lets you have the space. His gaze stays steady on yours, open and unflinching.

“It’ll be hard, I know,” he says. “But I don’t want to regret this—the way I regretted not being there for Yu.”

The mention of his name lands with a quiet weight. You’ve heard it before, once, whispered over dinner when he thought you weren’t really asking. Now it sits between you, a truth he no longer hides.

“I have no intentions of hurting you,” he says, voice firmer now. “Not ever.”

You blink, the lump in your throat pressing up against your silence.

“I know I can’t promise we won’t fight. Or that it won’t be messy, or lonely sometimes,” he adds. “But I can promise I’ll show up. I’ll call. I’ll write. I’ll make the effort, even when it’s hard. You deserve that.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, overwhelmed—not by doubt, but by how simple he makes it sound. Like the love you’ve always been afraid to ask for isn’t impossible after all.

“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” you say quietly.

“Then don’t be,” he answers, stepping forward now, slow, deliberate. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

And when you let him gather you into his arms again, it feels different this time.

“Okay,” you say, the word soft but certain.

His brows lift, just slightly. “Okay?”

You nod, a faint smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. “Okay, we can give this a shot.”

For a second, he just looks at you—as if he’s making sure he heard you right, that he hasn’t imagined it. Then something unspools in his shoulders, something long-held and heavy, and his hand finds yours again like it always belonged there.

He leans in and kisses you—slowly, respectfully, like he’s savoring the moment as much as he’s asking permission all over again.

You kiss him back with no hesitation.

AUGUST 12, 1956

“NANAMI SPOTTED WITH LIPSTICK SMEARS AND A SMILE — WHO’S THE MYSTERY WOMAN?”Crowd-favorite keeps quiet after being photographed post-GP in Germany. Fans speculate romance.

OCTOBER 21, 1956

“NANAMI TAKES THE TITLE — REDEEMS LAST YEAR’S LOSS IN STUNNING FINAL LAP.” Victory at the Italian Grand Prix secured his fourth world championship title.

MARCH 5, 1957

“KENTO NANAMI BREAKS SILENCE ON BEST FRIEND’S DEATH — ‘THIS CAREER WAS NEVER JUST MINE.’” In a rare interview, the four-time champion reveals the truth behind his racing origins.

JULY 14, 1957

“THE MYSTERY WOMAN RETURNS — NANAMI’S COMPANION SPOTTED AT BRITISH GP.” Identity remains unknown, but sources confirm she traveled with the team to Silverstone.

OCTOBER 6, 1957

“‘IT’S TIME.’ — KENTO NANAMI ANNOUNCES RETIREMENT FROM FORMULA ONE.” Four-time world champion says goodbye to racing, announces plans to move to southern France.

MAY 18, 1958

“FORMER MASERATI DRIVER KENTO NANAMI MARRIED IN MONACO.” Weds longtime partner in private ceremony. Sources confirm he will join her perfumery business in Grasse.

taglist: @bluukive @callme-naomi @seellove @southrasiansandas @roresgf @bxnfire @seokjinfairy @araveticazx @mylilsodapop @nanasrambelingsons @dilfkentolover @papoiyu @hannibuttered @cherryredkissez @tqrxi @angelkiyo @caffine-exe @meikstv @crustyaintdusty @thegriffinbird @blueemochii @xombied @salmonroebonitoflakes @casssiesthings @homeslices

[avatar-of-procrastination]

How the moonboys react to you training

A.N: here you go babies! another moonboys hc!!

Requests are open! Feel free to hmu <3

Warning: contains suggestive stuff ender the cut. minors dni. 18+. i mean come on, jake himself is a warning

(English isnt my first language. Please pardon any grammatical/spelling mistakes. Gifs not mine. Divider by @firefly-graphics. NOT PROOFREAD!!)

Steven

"holy shit"

This guys is absolutely whipped for you. He stands by the door, in awe

The way the dim lights accentuate your curves, glistened by the thin layer of sweat you've worked up, makes his heart beat faster

He can't believe he has the honor of calling you his

"Stevie, you're staring again" He shakes himself out of his daze and slowly walks to you, eyeing you up and down. You feel the heat creep up your face and try to cover yourself up, suddenly feeling shy.

"Don't cover yourself baby. You look ethereal." "Stevie, I'm covered in sweat and I stink. I'm far from that" "Every part, no matter how you feel, is amazing to me. I could spend all day explaining everything I love about you."

You don't know what to say. Steven does that to you. Make you feel like the most beautiful thing in the world. He doesn't even have to say it. The way his eyes travel over you, is all the ----- you need

You gasp as he pulls you into a hug, his face buried in the crook of your neck. He softly bites you below your ear and you let out a low moan.

"Gods, Stevie. You'll be the death of me"

Marc

If you though he was obsessed with you before, he just got to a whole new level, He'd be absolutely feral.

Seeing you demolish the punching bag ignites something deeply animalistic in Marc

If he could, he'd have you raw on the floor, marking you all over. But he waits patiently for you to finish your set, before walking towards you, stalking you like his prey

You're definitely turned on by the way he looks at you but you decide to have some fun

Marc comes upto you and tries to hold your face but you quickly maneuver around him, holding his arm to his back

He is stunned by your actions and stills up when you breathe down his neck

"Can't have you disturb my session now, sweetheart"

You can hear Marc groaning and grin to yourself, you were gonna get it now

Marc couldn't let you win. Not when he's so desperate for you.

He twists his hand, and flips you over him, onto the mat. You land with a thud, and he wastes no time in climbing over you. His hands press lightly over your neck, not hard enough to choke you, but just enough for you to get lightheaded

His other hand pins yours above your head and he lowers himself onto you, essentially caging you between him

"I can think of another session you'd be more interested in, sweetheart"

Jake

You know, I know, the whole world knows this man is a sex machine

He's always looking for a way to fuck and you're not complaining

You love it. He makes you feel like a goddess he treats you like one

So naturally, when you push him off of your sweaty body in the basement-slash-gym to get some more workout done, he looks like you've lost your mind

"Where do you think you're off to?" "Jake, I need to train. You know that." "I can think of many better ways to train, babygirl" "Yes Jake, as much as I love that, we can't do it now. When Harrow comes, I can't just drop my panties and fuck him. I need to train"

Oh no. You messed up. rip u

"What did you say?"

"I only meant that I needed to trai-"

But nothing could stop Jake now. The fact that you mentioned fucking harrow was enough to make him see red.

He pounced on you before you could even react, making you both fall onto the mat

He wasted no time in pinning your hands above your head and leaning down until his face was mere centimeters away

"What did you say?"

"I-I didn't mean-"

You didn't finish before you felt your self being flipped over.

Jake had you caged between him and the ground. You felt his dick press up against your ass

"You were saying something, babygirl. Something about fucking someone else?"

"Shit Jake, no I-Ahhh!"

You involuntarily arched your back as you felt his palm smack your ass.

Oh you were definitely fucked

"Can I take you up on your earlier offer Jakey?"

"I think you need to punished for your earlier comment first, cariño"

[lostmonsterposts]

Another Bruce and Jason headcanon from my fucked up little head.

[Angsty, hurt/comfort, canon character death, ambiguous/hopeful ending, suggested superbat but can be read platonic]

So when Jason died, his room was preserved perfectly, everything in the place it was on the day he died. Bruce can't bear the thought of changing anything, so it stays a time capsule. It's locked 24/7 and only Bruce, Dick, and Alfred ever go inside it. The other kiddos know it's silently off limits, no matter how long it's been it's an extremely sore spot for the family.

Let's say for this head canon (and for some extra angst) Jay died like a month before his birthday. Bruce already got Jay his presents and he'd rather cut his own arm off then get rid of them. So when his birthday comes up, Bruce writes a letter to him. It was supposed to be something small, its not like his baby would ever be able to read it. But it ends up being 17 pages back to back, and its very therapeutic. Bruce puts Jay's presents in the corner of his room on his desk, and puts the letter in the middle of the bed. And he starts something for himself.

For every birthday and Christmas be buys Jay his gifts, and puts them in his room. And usually at least once a week, sometimes more, sometimes less, Bruce writes a letter to Jay and puts it into an envelope on his bed. And this goes on for years, its a way to connect with his boy and makes him feel just a bit better.

Then Jason comes back.

But it takes a long time for him to come back to the family. Bruce doesn't know if he'll ever come back, and he wouldn't blame the boy. So he still writes and buys gifts. Because at least he can get a better idea of what Jason would want (he had been trying to guess what his baby would grow up to like and it just made him feel awful).

Eventually Jay feels comfortable going to the manor when he pleases, and hanging out with his siblings there (mostly). One day, while totally (not) beating tim at Mario cart, the other boy had mentioned that his old room is always locked when Jason asked if he had seen an old console in there.

Days later, that little fact had bugged Jason tremendously, so he went to the manor when everyone should be out and broke in. He wasn't prepared for what he saw. While it weirded him out that it hadn't changed, the console was where he left it, and his homework was still on the desk, the laundry basket that was tipped over because he was in a rush that morning. But 2 things were obvious added. A large pile of presents in the corner of the room, neatly arranged.

And the absolutely massive fucking pile of letters on his bed. There had to be hundreds if not thousands, he's surprised there isnt letters all across the floor too. And he's beyond confused, What could possibly be the reason that they're storing letters on his bed? Jason tentatively steps to the bed with the same precision he would approach a bomb, and grabs a random letter. And it's.. addressed to him.. they all are, that he can see.

He carefully opens the seal (because of course its wax sealed, this damn family) and pulls out the letter. It's dated four years ago, and its from Bruce? He's talking about bringing Cassandra home for the first time and trying to get her adjusted to the family. Saying how he he needs to get better at ASL quickly since he's so rusty- what the fuck is this? He opens another letter and its much the same, life updates, current cases, Bruce missing Jason.

Not really knowing what to do, Jay grabs the backpack he brought with him and stuffs as many as he can in there. He ends up grabbing 2 of his old backpacks and a small duffle bag to get them all, and then goes back to his apartment in crime alley. It takes 2 days but he reads all of them, every single letter. And god damn. He knows Bruce has always had a flair for the dramatic but he forgets how much of a romantic his is with life.

But he has never felt more like he understands Bruce more than he does now. It's like he peeled his skull back and rooted around his brain. All his thoughts, fears, and regrets laid out plain as day, a decade of how Bruce ticks. And while there is still much work to be done to mend the relationship, Jason dares to feel hope.

When Bruce goes to put another letter on the bed a few days later and finds it empty, he damn near has a heart attack. But when he looks through the security footage and sees it was Jason, he calms down. Then he has another almost heart attack because, fuck! Jay has the letters and no one was ever supposed to read them let alone all of them. He's terrified at how this will affect their relationship, they have gotten so much better over the last few months! Jay isnt leaving the room when Bruce walks in and even sat on his end of the table at lunch the other day (duke was between them but it was the closest he's been without actively trying to kill him).

And now Jay has all of those horrible letters? He knows he should have burned them when he had the chance, what is his boy going to think? He's halfway convinced he needs to ask Clark to abuse his powers and destroy the evidence when he walks into his study. Maybe if he takes him out to that one Mexican restaurant that Clark loves but Bruce despises, its so cramped and loud, he would do it for him. Though his trail of thought is halted when he finds an envelope on his desk, in the same stationary Bruce personally uses. Cautiously, he opens the letter inside and-

Old man,

I forget how dramatic you can be.

I should call you Hamilton with all these letters.

Im still angry about other things, but I am sorry for saying you never cared.

I can see you did.

-The favorite,

Jason

And while there is still much work to be done to mend the relationship, Bruce dares to feel hope.

Lmk if yall want more :]

[thedemonofcat]

Dude this isnt wven a request or anything I just need to be a freak about geraskier

But Jaskier really is just the damsel in distress, Geralt saving him time and time again is just romantic as fuck when he's not being a total DICK

At that moment, Jaskier began mentally cataloging the many, many times people had either kidnapped, cursed, or attempted to murder him. He’d gotten quite good at this little game.

“Alright, let’s tally it up,” he said, raising a hand and starting to count on his fingers. “First, there was the duchess who tried to drown me in rosewater. Sounds romantic, doesn’t it? It wasn’t. The petals clogged everything.”

“One,” Geralt muttered.

“Then those bounty hunters in Oxenfurt who mistook me for a spy. I told them, no self-respecting spy wears this much velvet. They didn’t listen.”

“Two.”

“Oh! That coven of bargain-bin witches who tried to make me their familiar. Turned me into a tabby cat for three days. Still coughing up the memory of those hairballs.”

“Three.”

Geralt sighed heavily.

“Don’t interrupt, I’m on a rhythm,” Jaskier said, picking up speed. “Four: locked in a tower after a baron’s daughter claimed I’d ‘enchanted’ her with song. Honestly, as if my charm were anything but organic.”

“Five: the cursed lute. Never trust a dwarven merchant peddling ‘haunted heirlooms of heartbreak’—especially under a full moon. My fingers danced nonstop for a week.”

Geralt blinked. “Your fingers danced?”

“Yes. Without me. It was traumatic and deeply undignified.” He gave his hand a wary glance and wiggled his fingers experimentally.

“Six: a vampire mistook me for a particularly theatrical blood bag. Called me ‘too sweet.’ I’ve chosen to take that as a compliment.”

“Seven: troll wedding. I was the bride. Don’t ask.”

Geralt didn’t.

“Eight: insulted a royal poet. He cursed me to speak only in rhyming couplets. Three weeks of lyrical misery. Nearly strangled myself with a ribbon.”

He paused, tapping his chin. “Nine… There’s one more… Ah! Right! The mob in Novigrad that chased me out for ‘corrupting the youth.’ I was merely teaching the lute. And a few harmless drinking songs. And possibly a bit of romantic rebellion.”

He turned to Geralt, flashing a grin. “And that, dear witcher, was just this year.”

[the-fyre-flie]

Bruce Wayne VS The Batboys on April First, aka the boys tormenting their father.

Dick: Enjoys the classic harmless pranks. Milk dyed orange to look like orange juice, candy packages re sealed with things like carrots and vegetables, squirt guns from around the corner, etc. It's not really April Fools but more like April Silly Day. His best prank ever was managing to swap out Bruce's cowl with one that had a fake mustache attached to it and kept Bruce for noticing it for an entire patrol.

Jason: Slightly more harmful pranks. Buckets of water above the door, sending "I love you guys..." to the family/friend group chat, photos he stole off the internet of a hospital room. Enjoys yelling "April Fools!" Over the phone and immediately hanging up. Once managed to rig the bat signal into a confetti canon and got scolded for hours when Batman showed up to a rainbow sparkle-y Commissioner Gordan.

Tim: Elaborate pranks and wild goose chases. Will set up a mystery, like faking going missing/being kidnapped, wait in an warehouse for like an hour until the Bat family finds him, and when they bust in to rescue him, grins like a mad man to say April fools. The one year he was ACTUALLY kidnapped he had to frantically call them like "GUYS THIS ONE ISNT A PRANK" and for a few minutes only received "good one Timbo" and "haha sure man Alfred says dinner is at 8 tonight"

Damian: He doesn't really understand the concept. The first time the holiday came abound, he would just say insulting things and deadpan "April fools" but eventually got the hang of it and joins Dicks harmless pranks. He'll offer someone candy and smugly announce his successful prank when they open the bag and find cucumbers.

[rmbunnie]

I like Batman. I like Batman as a character. I like Bruce Wayne. But it is very unserious when people act like Jason Todd, or maybe Damian, the robins as a whole, or any one writer, or any specific story arc, is singlehandedly corrupting Bruce’s character into an severe and inflexible colleague and distant, emotionally-unavailable father. Because even if he hadn't consistently been a questionable, loving yet unhealthy AT BEST father figure in the majority of his appearances since the early 80s (and I do mean to Dick, to Cass (actually shaping her into his image in Batgirl 2000 at the cost of her social development and autonomy ISNT good,) a BAD mentor to Steph, not even getting into Helena, like truly it’s not all about Jason?) The first well-written book that comes to mind where his morality is at its worst imo? That’s Wonder Woman: Hiketeia. No robins, no batfamily, just Bruce putting aside Wonder Woman’s input and the context of the situation and chasing down a girl who killed the men responsible for trafficking, assaulting, and killing her baby sister, to the point where it ends with her jumping off a cliff.

And the thing is I still like reading him in Hiketeia, because he fills the role he needs to fill in that story well, his actions align with his wordview even if it’s taken to the extreme in an uncharitable way, and he keeps my attention. I just think it’s goofy how some of us on here look at the guy who’s big character trait is being a hard-to-know, stubborn, and condescending control freak who puts other people's emotions on the wayside in favor of his mission prolifically, and go “all he did was LOVE TOO MUCH! His mean kids and associates and teammates are PUNISHING HIM for LOVING with his BIG BIG HEART and it’s tainting the narrative!” And you could say “well Hiketeia doesn't count, Greg Rucka is just a hater!” (though I certainly wouldn’t.) But when the issue is Damian entertaining the idea of leaving the family business, and before that it’s Red Hood stepping on toes, and then, wait, before that it’s Green Arrow and Wonder Woman, and then Huntress, and then oh wait we can’t think about the weird patch with Nightwing where their relationship was super rocky, and then Jason but before he died, and of course the Green Lanterns are basically treated like punching bags for him to do something awesome then- Like maybe if it’s a consistent pattern spanning what, 20, 30 years now? The issue isn’t Damian or Red Hood alone, or PKJ or Greg Rucka or Judd Winick or Marv Wolfman + George Perez or even Jim Starlin being a hater, but your blorbo just having extremely well-documented character flaws?

[skobeloffico]

What type of lipgloss do you use??

Synopsis: gojo uses your lipgloss without knowing what the color means.

Satoru Gojo x reader

Tags: drabble, porn with plot (unbelievable), reader matches his tip color to Pantone colors and hex codes, reader is a FREAKY (who isnt), blowjob, whimpering gojo, not proof read.

Pt 1. of JJK men's dick analisis, what makes them so special? (Other parts here)

You were knocked out, laying in the soft bedsheets as the blinds shut out the annoying sun. Some droll escaped your lips as you dreamed of who knows what — could be some cutesy stuff like bunnies, maybe dreaming about your ethereal boyfriend.

"Love?" Gojo stirred you awake with a soft hand, already dressed in the Jujutsu Tech teacher uniform "can I use this lipgloss? It's named peach soda" you barely registered his words and nodded while swatting your hand up and down wanting to go back to slumber. Gojo just chuckled and stood up walking to your vanity and applying the gloss, slightly licking his lips for the taste "it's actually good.." so satoru decided this lip gloss is his, for now.

Gojo actually got compliments for his lipgloss color from some random women at a bus station, asking what the shade is and what brand, he proudly showed them the container. "Yeah my partner picked it out, it's actually good! My lips never felt softer." He smiled already imagining how he will come home and right before opening the front door he'll apply the gloss again, then kiss you sloppy style until you both are breathless in the morning.

But on the on the other hand you were freaking the fuck out.

"Where is it.. oh no, no no." you searched everywhere. Your bags, pockets, the floor, even going through gojos sock drawer in case he wanted to play a prank on you by hiding it. To no avail you decided that you'll buy an another one, but it's soo sad it was the perfect shade that matched satorus tip color.

Resting a hand against your forehead as you remembered your last time where you left it and you swear it was on your vanity right infront of the mirror (since you used it so much), you also recall a memory of satoru asking you about a lipgloss.. but it felt like a distant dream — not really real.

So you caved and opened your laptop, searching the internet for a new lipgloss and lipstick — knowing buying two of the same shade but different texture might be a good back up plan since you like to have atleast one thing on you that reminds you of your lover. "This one is pretty.. vitamin glaze and oil infused lip gloss, Hm seems pretty close." So you added it to your shopping list, and before you knew it about 2 hours passed as the internet window shopping consumed you.

"Honey, I'm home!" Satoru voice sang through the spacious apartment, as he walked to your shared bedroom. "Whatchu doing?" He said resting his chin on your shoulder as you sat behind the desk (to be fair his posture was downright awful right now) "shopping for new lip glosses, but I got carried away" You said clicking through the older tabs, as gojo watched with interest and a pout "You know, I'll buy them for you." He said as he kissed your shoulder and looked at you through the side of his eyes "I know but, I wanted to treat myself for once."

As you turned to him fully you saw the gloss on his lips, the one that's too pink to be his normal hue. The color you are too familiar with. "Satoru.. did you use my lipgloss?" Satoru just smiled and reached into his pocket showing you the long, slim tube "Yeah, it's actually pretty good. Sweet too!" He complimented as if making a commercial.

You stared at his lips, then at the tube.

"You know why I bought this lip gloss?" You questioned as satorus blabbing came to a halt "Uh, I don't think so?" He said sarcastically with his hand on his hip, giving attitude.

With an dramatic eye roll you leaned back into the leather chair, intertwining your fingers as some villain who would reveal their secret — borderline heinous plan. "Maybe we should freshen up our memory Hm?" You said with a finger resting in your lip, hand reaching for the desk drawer and finding color pallets and color finding sheets.

"Let's see last time you were a.. Desert Sand by pantone." You said handing him the colored paper swatch, satoru looked so bewildered.

"I'm still not understanding.. why does it l9ok like my tip color" He said while looking down at your sitting form as you looked through your other swatch options "Well 'cuz it is." Turning back to him with multiple swatches in hand — as you looked up you saw the prettiest blush on your boyfriend.

"Take your pants off, I want to see if your tip changed." You smiled innocently as if it's a normal thing to do.

But you were surprised when satoru eagerly took off his belt and let his pants pool at his ankles, standing in just his heart boxers. You raised your eyebrow at the weird choice of underwear "Hey I didn't think we were going to bone today." You snorted in response and took off his boxers resulting in satorus cock to spring out — slapping against his toned clothed abdomen.

"Let's see.." You brought the swatch to his tip and looked for the perfect match. "This one's too pale, too tan.. Hm this one seems right its the nice shade and hue your tip has." Satoru smiles down at you as you show him the swatch besides his cock — a perfect match, but it stunts satoru when you place his cock head against your lips and smile.

"This will be a good lipgloss color. Not too obvious but subtle enough — hot aquarelle pink, funny name isnt it?"

Satoru just groans at the sight "Oh baby don't tease me.. so you are telling me all this time you wore my tip color without telling me?!" You hummed against his cock as it rested on your lips "I did tell you though." You retort as you took satorus cock into your mouth, wrapping a tight hold on his base — making him whimper out your name as a whisper.

All the noises satoru makes are pretty, makes you smile that you can make him feel good. You licked at his slit, softly, just to drive him a little crazy.

"Please baby.." He whimpered, resting his hand against your head and his other hand almost breaking the edge of the desk at how hard he gripped it. The next trip to IKEA will be fun.

You let go of his base and took more of his length into your throat, hollowing out your cheeks to take more of his long length in. To be honest satoru wasn't thick — he was LONG.

You almost gagged — scratch that you did gag when you first took him into your mouth. He apologized profusely that night.

You hummed against his cock as above you satoru saw heaven, eyes glazed and mouth agape. Then you knew its time. You sped up the rhythm of your mouth, the quiet shlicks turned into loud slurps and before you knew it satoru came into your mouth. His hand that rested on your head just gripped your hair without realizing, as he bucked his hips into your mouth with vigor and breathless pleas.

"Baby please.. give me a minute and we — we can go back to that." You looked at his twitching cock and took it into your palm, wrapping two fingers around his head and wiping the dribbling cum from his tip onto your lips "this is a fine color too, don't you think satoru?"

© Scobeloffico : Don't repost my work, don't plagiarize it on different sites (ao3, wattpad)

[strrykais]

ᝰ.ᐟ off the record

ball fondlers ⛹️

✎ lee jeno; some may say he is a dick, mostly because he kind of is, he doesn’t like telling people what to do twice, and absolutely hates repeating himself. he happens to be the captain of the basketball team, father wanting him to go pro. he didn’t want to go to the big leagues, he lost his passion when his mom died. jeno has always been obsessed with history before them, but instead of learning it jeno wanted to discover it so he now majors in archaeology, because one day he will uncover something great.

✎ lee jenos private: his diary if having a diary was cool for a guy.

✎ mark lee; LOVES to call himself troy bolton just because he is on the basketball team and majors in dance. though his father isnt exactly forcing him to go pro, mark just really wants to open up his own dance studio for under privileged kids.

✎ lee haechan; from a young age haechan was bullied until he met jeno their second year of high school, when jeno straight up punched his bully. now he follows jeno around like a little puppy even joining the basketball team. haechan chose to major in education to be someone that can protect kids, so they dont suffer they way he did.

✎ na jaemin; slut, whore, dirt bag, cunt. all the names he relishes in being called by his flings. jaemin was on the team until he realized he could be putting all this sexiness to good use. now he works with giselle on her gossip column, because people love to pillow talk, all while working on his major in photography. ended up picking up sign language because giselle always brings yn around, and he hated being left out of conversation.

✎ zhong chenle; hates that jeno got the captain position over him until he met jenos dad. now chenle just feels sorry for the guy. but he cant help but like pissing off the guy because chenle thinks jeno mad is funny. the certificated yapper in both groups, chenle get completely focused during games or even when he is working on his game design. he later becomes yn’s translator, the middle man, and he wishes he could kill myself for volunteering.

they all met during basketball tryouts but ended up creating a smaller more private groupchat because the team hated when they spoke in there when it wasn’t about basketball.. jeno just got dragged in it because haechan was the one who created it ..

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taglist : @ldh0000 @depressed-hoe2001 @jungaji @thegracerammy @sunghoonsgfreal @jenohyun @jenoleeaesthetic @neozon3nha @dreamiestay @dinonuguaegi @morkleesgirl @skysole @dudekiss3r @bluedbliss @synthwxve @413ktz @mrsjohnnysuh @hyuckies18 @jeonghansshitester @multifandomania @n0hyuck @mango-bear @gnabnahcbby

reblogs, likes and replies are appreciated! feel free to send constructive feedback/thoughts in my asks!

[lafiametta]

hey this isn't so much of a prompt more of a word vomit, I can't stop thinking about Igor in the final car scene.

Like even before she climbs onto his lap, his face is just so wide eyed and vulnerable and when she initiates sex he's almost bewildered and he's just so focused on her and you can tell it's about being WITH her and not just having her body like it was with Vanya.

Like even when he tries to kiss her, i know some people are like 'its so clear she doesnt want it and he's forcing it' but i dont think it's that simple. Like you pointed out, he moves very slowly when he first tries to kiss her and I noticed when she pulls back his reaction seems to be Confusion (also when having sex your brain isnt in the same rational place as it is when you're an audience watching a movie, what's SO CLEAR to us isn't always clear to the characters)

I dunno, Id love your thoughts or even a Igor POV of that scene I'd love if you wanted x

Weirdly enough, Anon, I had someone send an ask on almost this exact same question about five minutes after you did, so I’m just going to answer you both here! (Update: it was you, twice! Thanks for letting me know!)

At some point I’ll probably end up giving the fic treatment to the car scene from Igor’s POV, but for now, I’m more than happy to just offer my humble analysis of what I think is going on.

And it’s even more heartbreaking than I originally thought.

(This got long, so I put it all under a cut.)

From the moment Ani takes off her jacket, you can just see this mixture of confusion and surprise wash over him. He dropped off her bags on the porch; he clearly thinks she’s going to be getting out of the car shortly. But as she takes off her jacket and turns directly to face him, the seductive expression she makes for men at the club now firmly in place (which is the first time in the scene she’s smiling — or close to it), he’s realizing that she plans to stay in the car for a while longer. Once she climbs in his lap, it begins to click (“Oh, she wants to make out in the car”) and he’s obviously okay with that, based on the way that he tries to move his mouth closer to hers right before and just as she releases the seat lever. By that point, it’s clear he has feelings for her and while going straight to making out may seem like a bit of a jump, there’s the hope that maybe this means she has feelings for him too. And right after his seat falls back, he gives her this disbelieving little grin, and it’s like, oh no, Igor, this is not going to be the sexy little make-out session you’re envisioning right now.

(What makes it so much worse is that she has no intention of kissing him or offering any sort of display of feelings; he’s not even going to get any kind of foreplay besides a preparatory handjob before she gets right to what she sees as the primary transactional act.)

It’s when she starts hiking up her skirt that you can see him getting confused again (even more so when she moves his hands to her ass) and then, when she goes for his waistband, you can see him shift into complete disbelief (and not in the “I can’t believe this is happening” way, but in the “what the hell is happening” way).

I imagine that some part of him wanted to know what was happening enough to stop her, but he’s a man, and a girl he likes is suddenly stroking his dick, and that’s not really a place for rational thought, you know? (Watch his hands as she’s stroking him; he can’t help himself from instinctually squeezing her ass.) He definitely understands that if he says anything or makes some kind of “hey, hold on there” protest, she might stop touching him, and he doesn’t want that to happen.

So mostly it’s a mixture of shock and pleasure as she strokes him, with him closing his eyes and burying his face in her chest as he gives in to the sensation of it. He must know something’s off, but he just doesn’t want it to stop.

Even with all that, he’s still not prepared when she pauses to get her fingers wet and then reaches back down to maneuver him inside her. Whatever he had thought might happen between them at this point, this wasn’t even in the realm of possibility. (The night before she had accused him of wanting to rape her! And now they’re having sex!)

All he can do is just stare at her, wide-eyed, or else close his eyes and just feel what she’s doing to him.

When she finally gets him positioned, she leans back (to create a little more physical — and presumably emotional — distance between them, I imagine), but he continues to look up at her, as if he can’t look away, as if the intimacy of what he thinks they’re sharing can only be expressed through this kind of intense, continual eye contact. And maybe it’s there that he starts to convince himself, despite how fucking weird and off the rails this all is, that because she’s doing this with him, it must mean something, and he must mean something to her. He wants it to be real so badly and you see that hope just shining out of him the whole time she’s moving on top of him. (In an interview I read, Yura Borisov talked about how he saw Igor as a lonely person, and I think it makes sense that Igor would be more invested — or even desperate — to hold onto a connection with Ani.)

As she quickens the pace, she throws her head up and looks away, breaking the connection. That’s when he reaches up to her face, holding it in place and bringing her eyes back to his. He wants her to look at him, to see him, to acknowledge what (he thinks) is happening between them.

And if maybe if it’s real, if the connection they’re making with their bodies is an indication of an actual connection, then he can kiss her. It’s clear he wants to kiss her — he’s been trying to since she climbed into his lap. He arches up super slowly, but clearly intent on moving his mouth closer to hers. I don’t think he’s fully registered that she’s stopped moving on top of him, or that she makes these tiny jerking motions to get out of his grasp. As you said, it’s clear to us as the audience that she’s trying to resist, but to Igor, so caught up in the pleasure of her body and — perhaps even more powerfully — the sheer desire to make this encounter into something deeper and more real, it’s not something he has the capacity to notice.

And then she squeals and pulls away and starts hitting him, and at that point the spell (such as it was for Igor) is broken. He’s completely confused at first, then focused on trying to get control of her limbs so she’ll stop attacking him. This is the girl he remembers from their first meeting, the out of control one who screamed and landed those impressive blows to his face. But like that first meeting, he doesn’t fight back, instead simply restraining her so she doesn’t do any more damage.

For a moment, they just look at each other, barely breathing, and I think it’s here that with everything stripped away, he really does see her. He’s been watching and observing her for the past two days, but now he can see how much of a front she had really been putting on, how much her confrontational bluster and attitude had been hiding. Because underneath all of that, she’s a hurt and heartbroken girl, the pain of what she’s feeling written all over her face. The life she had imagined has been ripped away from her, and the man she married and thought she loved ultimately rejected her. And Igor, even though he must have been disappointed to realize that she didn’t climb into his lap and have sex with him because she had feelings for him, clearly gets that what she’s going through at that moment matters more. She needs someone to be there for her, to accept her and acknowledge her pain.

So he pulls her into his arms — and kisses the top of her head, just fuck me up why don’t you? — and lets her feel everything she’s been keeping in. She’s just sobbing her heart out in these spasms of despair, and in the emotional gut punch of it all we don’t even notice that he’s close to crying too. As he holds her, his eyes are wet and he keeps blinking, as if to keep his own tears at bay. (I didn’t even realize this was happening until I rewatched the scene to answer this ask; it’s subtle and absolutely phenomenal acting by Yura Borisov.)

So heartbreaking. So good. I hope the Oscar voters are taking notes.

[sunlitlemonade]

my liege may we hear your thoughts on the jason helena comic blease 🙏 i need to form an opinion

babe. i believe in you. you CAN form an independent thought. cheering you on. sjedhskb i say this with love. regardless!

my thoughts: -> more helena content? fuck YES -> more jason content? fuck YES

-> they're not in gotham.... hm... ok fine -> the cop thing….. AUTHOR CONFIRMED COMIC IS NOT PRO-COP!!! we'll see how much dc editorial lets them stick to that.

my thoughts on fandom reaction: -> everyone needs to get a life -> 'helena is being passed around batboys like a blunt' god forbid a grown woman fucks whoever she wants to? these ppl really will see a adult woman have relationships in a franchise notorious for having a limited dating pool & immediately act as if the only good thing she can do is..... not be with men? because that decides her worth? wheres the sexual liberation NOW huh. also just because she was 'with' dick once doesnt mean thats her only personality trait. grow up. so what if she's dick's ex? she's not allowed to be with other ppl anymore? nice! cool! got it! -> 'this will RUIN helena & she will treated sooo bad' wow. are we forgetting when dick kicked her for bruce when she made a MISTAKE? shes been the punching bag for the bats for veryyy long. also new52 did more damage to her than a comic with jason might. -> 'new writer on the block lets all shit on the comic that hasn't even been released yet!' good job everyone! very proud of the mob mentality & the sheer disrepect we have towards creatives trying to build a career, especially with baseless complaints because theres nothing to even complain abt yet. like. women [especially trans women in this case] will always always always have to prove themselves & grovel & beg to be heard. this is a NEW FUCKING ARTIST PLEASE GET YOUR SCREWS BACK IN PLACE GUYS IM REQUESTING YOU ALL TO FUCKING BEHAVE

god forbid anyone brings new ideas & dynamics to the table. really. thats so boring. characters should only ever interact with the characters they first interacted with!! i understand the want for a further building of those previous dynamics & what not but sometimes new flavour is needed especially with characters that have been a bit stagnant

-> also someone started talking abt how helena should finish the jokers work for him by killing jason because he shot at dami [ok so we're regarding the comic where a teen who was murdered attack a child? like that makes sense for jasons character right? & is surely the characterisation to be used?] & because of how he 'threw mias past at her face'…. by saying theyre the same? he literally said theyre the same. implying to have a similar past. like. its clear as day for anyone with reading comprehension skills. so. youre just shitting on a csa victim. because of what? the fact that hes a man? is that is what is being said here? that men can't be csa victims? ok..... thats surely a good & humane take to have! [sarcasm in case yall couldnt tell]

-> 'author has written beast world & will hence make this a bad jason comic'..... she isnt lobdell or zdarsky or daniels or morrison who have consistently written him badly. be fr rn. she has written him in one comic [not even even mainline] & theres scope for lot of improvement. complain when the comic is out & if it turns out bad. ppl will whine & bitch & moan & scream themselves hoarse over anything. generational run of being miserable! great job.

i mean i understand the wariness. a few mutuals have said as much to me. i understand. but lets wait till we have something to complain abt before we decide its going to be the worst thing everrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

-> that one post that goes 'helena fans we didn't want her here either' or something..... like SEKFEKRFN as if associating a character with jason will automatically KILL THEM LMAO. i for one am very intrigued! like with all of this said, this could be bad but lets stop acting as if helena & jason interactions can't be interesting. two amazing characters coming together is the very formula for something that makes you want to look. why exactly would jason fans not want her there? i like her & i like jason & seeing them together would be really cool, if handled well. so maybe stop speaking so confidently on behalf of all jason fans. not even every jason fan agrees with you. idk what youre on abt lmfao

EDIT [July, 2025] : apparently gretchen has confirmed she has read no comics for either characters. this considerably lowers my expectations of her and genuinely makes me wonder why writers bother writing when they aren't interested in the lore at all. it is maddening and it is frustrating. but as i have mentioned above lets wait till we have something concrete to criticize.

[amoeganism]

HIIII I just saw your post about your event and thought I'll be silly and request smthing ^_^ ok sooo first time meeting ness ! 😯 (one shot or hc whichever you feel more comfy writing! <3) have a great dayyy (⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠) ♪

ACADEMICALLY SMART BUT EXTREMELY STUPID alexis ness

aka. how u meet ness aka academic rivals to lovers but ness dont gaf bc hes just trying to #play #ball

you meet him at quite a young age and share a few things in common

ill fitting school uniforms and the wandering eyes of any child

while you find yourself fascinated by the numbers written on your teacher's chalkboard, ness is folding dinosaurs and stars on pieces of scrap paper, mumbling to himself

you didn't mind him and he didn't mind you

you guys were classmates and that was that

but then middle school came around and you started acting like you had a stick up your ass 24/7 as long as ness was around

like wtf that mf almost never studies why is he at the top of your class...

suddenly you get distracted in classes because you're focused on drawing mini ness figures with fat x's covering his face and devil horns

ness sees this one day after your notebook fell to the ground and at first is like omg!!! cute drawing of me as a fantasy creature but then he was like wait what the fuck why do they have it out for me????

he barely thought about you until then but apparently you've developed a passionate hatred for him just because he scores higher grades

he still has no clue

you are FUMING

so you start studying even more if that's even possible

while you go to your schools library to bust your ass in the textbooks ness goes outside with a ball he managed to shove into his bag and starts kicking it around

ness: :D ball!!!! no school!!! ball :D

you: KILL YOURSELF KILL YOURSELF KILL YOURSELF KILL YOURSELF

after one particularly hard test that you flopped (it was like an 80% be serious) you caved in and asked ness with help studying

he looked at the material and was like man idk it just makes sense

little boy thought you were going to punt him into hell like he does with his football

him, terrified out of his mind and just wanting to go to his football club meeting, sits down and looks at the material

you show him your notes and he quickly explains it but is running late on time

he gives you his number and says hes going to text you help

you went home that day like ???? that dude lied to me he isnt sending me shit ??? before it clicked

he does not text you because he does not have your number... he gave you his number...

so you swallow your pride and shoot him a message, begging for help a second time in the same day and on his end, he laughs at you a little but offers to call

you guys work on the subject for a good couple hours and before you hang up, you offer to study together for future exams because he's admittedly a good teacher

ness is trying to find a way to say "no thanks i don't care about school good luck tho XD ROFL LOLLLLL" but then he realizes that it's going to make his parents trust him a little more

he accepts and you guys go to the library together once a week

he finds that you're actually kind of funny and cool and not just a human bomb that's plotting his death

he tries to be slick about offering to meet more often

"oh... this unit is a lot more difficult than the last one.... you wanna heh.... come back tomorrow? *gulp*"

"ok"

"WOOOO"

one day ness told you he was going to try out for bastard munchen and you somewhat knew of them because of ness going on tangents about football

you supported him on it, not realizing it would cut down your weekly meetings

suddenly there was an alexis-shaped-hole in your chest but you didn't want to admit it to him

and for alexis, there was a you-shaped-hole in his chest that he tried to fill by training with kaiser and the rest of bastard munchen

yes, the team was filled with dicks, but none of them had the same foul personality you had!!

texts dvery day checking up on each other but it was nothing like hanging out in person

calls were better but still not the same

as soon as he heard about his first off day, he called you and asked to hang out

you tried to be nonchalant about it but who were you kidding both of you guys wanted to see each other again

although the directions of life the two of you were headed towards were almost polar opposites, being reunited at a stupid library table for the first time in months was all that mattered

[tastelikeglttrr]

hi bbys !!! the Chloé paddington bag is my dream statement piece and has been on my mind hellaaa so heres a little something about that!

authors note: i feel bad because i feel like ian isnt as much of a dick as i write him to be but omfg it was just too good of an idea not to write him as like the most insuffurable person ever.

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

The argument had started over something small, stupid, even. You were trying to talk to him about your week, the way you’d been feeling overlooked, dismissed, like you were constantly fighting for a place in his busy world.

He’d been distracted again, barely looking up from his phone. And when you pushed a little harder, when your voice cracked mid-sentence and you said, “Do you even care about what I have to say, Ian?” that’s when it snapped.

He shot up from the couch, voice sharp, eyes harder than they needed to be. “God, you always fucking do this. Turn everything into some unnecessary emotional shit.”

It spiraled fast. You accused. He deflected. You cried. He cursed. Then he grabbed his jacket, muttering something about going some place and slammed the door on his way out.

Now, hours later, the sky was dusky pink, the city humming below, and you were perched on the edge of your fire escape, a blanket draped around your shoulders and a half-finished blunt between your fingers. The chill didn’t bother you, it was the silence that stung. The kind that settles deep in your chest.

You were on your second drag when you heard the front door click open behind you.

Footsteps. Slow, unsure.

You didn’t turn around. Not even when the window slid open behind you and Ian stepped out, hoodie on, jaw tight, shopping bag in hand.

Neither of you said anything for a moment. The only sound was the city, the low rush of cars and the hum of distant voices.

“You’re smoking again,” he muttered, leaning against the fire escape railing, a few feet away from you.

You flicked ash over the side, not looking at him. “You’re back.”

“Yeah.” He shifted, fingers tightening around the bag. “I needed to chill. Didn’t mean to leave like that.”

You finally turned your head, eyes narrowed. “But you did.”

He stared back, jaw ticking. “Shit, you made it pretty easy to walk out.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” you snapped, voice sharp. “You act like I’m insane for wanting to be heard.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking away. “You always think the worst of me.”

“No, Ian,” you bit, sitting up straighter. “I just finally stopped pretending you’re doing your best when you’re not.”

That hit. You saw it in the way his gaze dropped, in the way he shifted like the weight of your words had finally landed. The quiet buzzed between you, thicker now.

He looked at you again, then down at the bag in his hand.

“I got you something,” he said suddenly, softer this time.

You arched a brow. “What, a sorry you think I’m a shitty boyfriend present?”

He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re awfully predictable.”

There was a flicker of something dangerous in his grin. “You done?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.” He stepped closer, holding the bag out now like it was a peace treaty wrapped in pretty gold lettering. “But maybe this’ll shut you up for two seconds.”

You glanced at it, then back at him. “Ian”

“Just open it.”

There was hesitation in your fingers as you reached into the bag and pulled out a familiar beige dust bag, Chloé. Your breath caught. There was no way.

When you pulled it back, the soft leather, the signature padlock, the chunky hardware, it was the bag. The Paddington. The one you’d shown him weeks ago, half-jokingly saying, “God, I’d die for this bag,” while he’d scrolled through something else on his phone, barely glancing up.

Your fingers froze on the strap.

“You remembered,” you said quietly, not quite trusting your voice.

Ian let out a dry laugh, “Yeah. I listen more than you think.”

You didn’t say anything at first, just stared at the bag, heart caught somewhere between melted and confused.

He reached for your hand gently, his thumb brushing your knuckles. “Look, I know I fuck up sometimes. I’m kinda ass at saying what I feel. But I swear I hear you. I see you. I just don’t always know how to… show it. So this is me making an effort.”

You looked at him, really looked, and there was that softness in his eye, the one he always kept hidden behind sarcasm and short replies. It made your chest ache.

“Ian… I didn’t want a gift,” you whispered. “I wanted you to get it. To understand me.”

“I know,” he said. Then smirked slightly. “But the gift doesn’t hurt, right?”

You let out a breath that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. 

It wasn’t perfect. Maybe not even fair.

But in that moment, it was enough.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his arm as you gently held the bag in your hands.

“Next time, just listen the first time,” you murmured holding your pinky out.

“Next time,” he linked his pinky with yours solidifying his promise, his hand slipping around your waist, a little too tight, a little too possessive. “But you gotta admit… I’ve got taste.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away.

 Because he did have taste. 

In bags. 

In you.

everyone tell me theyre proud of me for writing!!!

personal apology from me to ian for making him such an asshole.

xoxo,

korie