#how does stash work

[isdalinarhot]

worst cravings known to man vs “hey so long as I don’t relapse today I’m 100 days sober :)” what if I just exploded and died. Common Dalinar Problems

[seungisms]

( skz reaction ) condom or no condom .ᐟ 

🖇️📂 who in skz likes to fuck with or without a condom

genre: smut, minors dni, warnings: unprotected sex, public sex, slight breeding kink with chan cause grrrr, humiliation kink, overstimulation, small size kink with seungmin (his dick is too big for you cause i said so) creampies 🗣️🗣️🗣️ note: got super carried away and this is kinda dog but let’s gooooo

방찬. BANG CHAN

condom. he already has seven other kids he doesn’t need one more. mainly uses them cause he can’t be trusted when he swears he’ll pull out and cum on your stomach or tits instead. the faster his orgasm is to approaching the less he’s able to think about what he’s actually doing, every single coherent voice inside of him screaming for him to pull out is ignored as his cock fucks into you deep and sloppy - the promise of finally filling you up until his cum is spilling out past your little hole just makes it far too appealing to stay buried inside of your tight pussy, determined to leave you a sticky used mess once he’s done. hates himself for it but his breeding kink is dangerous, this man has to battle himself everyday to not fuck you until you’re full and pregnant, so convincing him to ditch the condoms will take some work. beg cutely enough and he’ll give in. swears he’s only doing it to shut you up but the second he sinks his bare cock into you he’s losing every lousy ounce of self-control he might’ve had, mouth drying up and eyes trained on the way your cunt struggles to take him. and he can feel every single nook and cranny of your plush cunt in ways the condom just doesn’t allow and he just can’t find it in himself to rid himself of the pleasure of finally filling you up the way you so desperately crave.  he can normally hold his orgasm out for a few good rounds, ensuring you’re completely fucked out when he finally does cum - but the first time you go without protection he’s busting inside of you within minutes. always buys you the morning after pill though and apologises for cumming inside of you, trying to ignore how good it felt to fuck your pretty pussy with no barrier.

리노. LEE MINHO 

no condom. when he cums, he cums hard. so wearing a condom just makes no sense to him and he’ll just end up ripping it off mid fuck, filling you up over and over until it’s leaking out of you, cussing under his breath that he should’ve fucked that stupid thought out of you for even suggesting to wear one in the first place. prefers having you on some type of brith control instead cause with the amount of cum this guys feeds into your pussy a condom isn’t gonna do shit. he’ll wear them when you first start dating just cause he wants to make sure you feel safe and comfortable with him but the second he catches wind you like it RAW?? he’s taking a lighter to every single condom he’s ever owned, in the trash, never to be seen again. and anytime you try to suggest using them again he’ll act so fucking offended, knowing fine rightly how much you love receiving the loads of cum he gives your greedy little pussy to even humour the idea. far too addicted to the feeling of filling you up over and over until your pussy is left all creamy and sticky and you’re crying that you can’t take anymore to ever think about going back, especially not when he’s felt the addicting press of your cunt smothering his dick and milking him for all he’s got, he couldn’t even fathom the thought of wearing them again.

창빈. SEO CHANGBIN

both. he’ll always try to remember one but gets such a bad case of pussy tunnel vision that most of the time he’ll forget about the stash he keeps in his bedside drawer. tries to keep one on him cause the amount of times you’ve found yourself getting fucked in some random empty supply cupboard or bent over his studio desk have been too many to count cause this man can’t keep his dick in his pants for the life of him, only realising he doesn’t have one when it’s far too late and he’s already painted your pretty pussy sticky with his cum. he’s far too impatient and just can’t ignore the feeling of needing to get his dick wet no matter how hard he tries, somehow always manages to convince you to let him fuck you raw when he doesn’t have a condom, swearing he’ll pull out but he wasn’t prepared for how much he’d love filling your little cunt up again and again until you just can’t take anymore of him. hates the part of him that gets off on seeing you stained and dripping in cum, and might even start telling you he ‘forgot’ to buy more while he was at the store - just to have the sight of your cute cunt all used and spilling over marked into his brain. 

현진. HWANG HYUNJIN

no condom. nothing gets him off like fucking you with no condom. he loves the risk of it all and the fact that he can turn you into a pretty mess with just a few pumps of his dick. loves fucking you raw so much that he’ll have videos saved on his phone of his cock stretching you out - soft praises of, ‘taking me so well angel,’ hardly audible over the sloppy sounds of his cock pumping into your pussy. needs to be as close to you as humanly possible so wrapping a piece of rubber around his dick to devoid himself of the heavenly feeling of your cunt suffocating around him just makes no sense. completely loses himself in the heat of your pussy, locks his jaw and rests his forehead on your shoulder when he’s fucking into you - just so he doesn’t lose all sense of sanity just from the mere feeling of your cunt milking him for all he’s got, and he’s prepared to give you it all. in the early stages of your relationship he’ll try to at least pull out for your sake, but the more he did the more he noticed your thighs locking around his hips to keep his dick firmly planted inside of you, forcing him to empty his loads into your greedy cunt and he just has to thank whatever god there is out there for blessing him with a girl that’s as eager for his cum much as you are. 

한. HAN JISUNG

condom but he forgets half the time. jisung gets so pussy drunk so quickly that protection will be the last thing on his mind, especially when he gets the chance to finally bury himself deep into his favourite place - your pussy. he likes the idea of being safe and protected but his hunger for your pretty little cunt to be wrapped around his cock any chance he can get just stands in the way of actually doing so. it’ll get to the point where you’ll have to carry them instead cause this man is prepared to fuck you nearly everywhere you go, doesn’t matter if you’re in public or not, he’s gonna beg to have your sweet walls wrapping around him near daily. if you actually do make him wear them it won’t last for long, he’ll whine and beg and near damn cry cause it’s just not the same :( and you have him so pussy spoiled that he might actually get blue balled all thanks to the rubber separating you both, might even pull out and take it off just when he’s fucked you dumb enough that you won’t notice, slipping back in and near sobbing the second your pussy swallows him up again, every raw twitch and spasm making his dick swell up even more. likes making a mess of you far too much to commit to condoms so they’ll become an increasingly rare occurrence in your relationship. 

필릭스. LEE FELIX 

condom. as much as he wants to he’s just far too paranoid about accidentally knocking you up to actually fuck you raw. also likes knowing you feel comfortable during sex and as appealing as thought of making your pussy all creamy with his cum is, he’d be a worried mess afterwards. makes sure he always has one in his wallet, cause with the amount you beg this man for his dick he’d rather be safe than sorry. even when you’re being all needy and he’s teased you to a state of being completely fucked out, whining about how much you need him to fuck you when the heavy weight of his cock bumping against your clit just isn’t enough - he’ll still find the will to ignore the painful swell of his dick to pull away and go grab a condom, chuckling and kissing away the cute pout of disappointment that sits on your lips when your hope of having him fuck you raw was once again shattered. tells you to stop being so goddamn ungrateful and take what he gives you :( with or without a condom this man KNOWS how to work his dick so he’ll fuck you stupid no matter what. the further you get into your relationship the more willing he’d be to finally ditch the condoms, but the second he slips into you with no rubber for the first time is the second he loses every ounce of control - fucking into you like an animal and suddenly your sweet, doting felix is gone and is now fucking you deeper and harder than he ever has before, wondering how he’s went all this time without the feeling of fucking you raw. 

승민. KIM SEUNGMIN 

no condom. this man will laugh straight in your face if you ever try to make him wear one. he knows fine rightly how greedy you are for his cum so he won’t take you seriously at all, fully arguing that a pussy as cute as yours shouldn’t be left all empty and sad without a cock in it and would look much, much prettier if it was dripping in cum. and he’s more than happy to be the one covering your little cunt in it. anytime you try to suggest using a condom he’ll make sure you regret it, forcing you to sit on his dick and fuck yourself over and over until that stupid thought was completely rid out of your pretty little head - pumping load after load into your pussy until it’s left all messy and sticky and begging for a break. loves reminding you how much you’d miss the feeling of his cock filling you up if he actually used one and deep down you hate that he’s right. sometimes he gets a little carried away cause the sight of you covered in his cum just goes straight to his dick, likes fucking you in public and making you walk around after with his cum dribbling down your thighs, knowing if you bent over just a little everyone around would get an eyeful of your cute ass painted in it peaking out from under your tiny skirt. and he’ll just have to fuck another load into you later that night from the thought alone. his cock is too big for you, and he gets such a nasty kick out of this fact, watching the way his cum from earlier that day trickles out of your pussy when he’s fucking you - only for him to push it back in with his cock and force you to take even more of it. loves seeing his cum drip to of your used cunt when he’s done and no amount of condoms is gonna take that away from him. 

아이엔. YANG JEONGIN

condom, but he’s easily persuaded to ditch it. jeongin is just there for a good time and as long as he gets his dick wet he doesn’t really care. he’ll always have one in his wallet just in case but the second he gets a taste of your pretty pussy he’s only able to think with his cock and completely forgets the concept of protection. this man needs you almost every hour of the day and most of the of the time wrapping a condom on his dick is the last thing on his mind, he’d much rather it be your pussy instead. can’t think straight when he’s turned on and the only fix is you. you’ll literally have to pry him off you when he’s this eager, lips chasing after you with a small whine of protest when you pull away from him in the backseat of the company car he’s somehow managed to squeeze you into after the rest of the boys and managers were busy setting up for rehearsal, trying to get him to focus long enough to grab a condom but he’s just too busy rubbing the fat head of his cock into your cunt. he’ll be so pouty when you stop him again, ‘forgetting something jeongin?’ and he’s just like, ‘uhhh, no? i remembered to turn my computer off this time,’ and just gets right back into trying to stick his dick into you finally. only realises he forgot a condom when he’s already fucked a load into you, letting out a small sigh of relief once he pulls his softening cock from your used pussy, watching the way his cum follows and dribbles out past your folds. but he can’t find it in himself to care cause you’ve never looked prettier. always helps you clean up after though :( 

© seungisms - all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated. 

[batbetbitbotbut]

This absurd yarn is 45% cashmere, 55% silk. I have never worked with anything even remotely like it - no cashmere, no silk, and definitely nothing so thin as 92 wraps per inch. Ninety fucking two.

New, it originally cost £200/kg. A very, very kind weaver in Scotland was de-stashing and sent me 5 kilos for £50 total (plus shipping).

I have many dreams for it but right now I mostly have screams. I have no real idea how it will behave in weaving, so I've wound a small warp for some sampling and a scarf. This is 3.5km of yarn (a bit over 2 miles) and it weighs 119 grams (a bit over 4 ounces?). For those of you playing along at home, each 1kg cone is thus 30 kilometres of yarn (nearly 20 miles). It does not feel like any other yarn I have ever touched.

Because it's so thin (difficult to handle or even see) and so valuable, I am using it with a "dummy warp" - I have left the remains of the baby blanket warp on the loom and then I tie the new warp to it, thread by thread by single fucking thread. This means I don't have to set up the loom all over again and almost none of the fancy yarn will become "loom waste", the unweaveable section of warp at the end of a project. But it also means tying every knot, perfectly in order for each end of both the old and new warps, without the cat getting too interested.

24 knots down, a mere 1000 to go...

[a-hermit-pining]

LADS Men When You Move in with Them

AN: Sorry for anyone who followed for jjk but that phase is over for now people. I am playing LADS and kinda obsessed so I just have to write about it. I'm still finishing main story so let me know if I'm off but this is just fluff for fun. I might just extend my househusband series for LADS bois.

Pairing: Lads boys x fem reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: How do LADS men react to reader moving in with them.

Xavier:

The second you’re out of sight, Xavier is on a mission. Your skincare collection? Compromised. Tiny vials of serums and creams vanish into his hands as he experiments, utterly fascinated by how good you always smell.

Did he scream when he mistook your fake lashes for worms? Yes. Would he ever admit to it? Absolutely not.

So don’t be surprised when your shampoo, conditioner, serums, and lotions start running out at an alarming rate. This other worldly prince will not hesitate.

Zayne:

Zayne, dressed in his eternal black-on-black, will take an unreasonably long time staring at his closet once you move in. Because next to his monochrome fits? Your colorful, glittery clothes. He’s fascinated. Maybe even a little in awe and jealous.

You might even catch him pulling out his secret stash of cardigans from the depths of the void, trying to match your vibe just a little.

Also? He loves watching you do your hair. The man is mesmerized by air wrap, loves running his fingers through freshly curled hair.

And his watch collection? Now proudly displayed next to your jewelry. (He's so cute istg ><)

Sylus:

Does the sudden invasion of cutesy decor completely wreck Sylus’ carefully curated aesthetic? Yes.

Does he resist it? Hell no.

Be it Hello Kitty blankets on his sleek black leather couch or tiny fairy garden decor in his study, Sylus lets your presence take over his space without a fight. A cute blanket is a cute blanket, perfectly good for cuddling.

Also, Mephisto? Number one fan of pecking at your shiny trinkets.

Rafayel:

Your foster kitten loves him.

Rafayel, the man who wants 'nothing to do with cats', suddenly finds himself the chosen one. The second you move in, the tiny gremlin attaches itself to him. Following him from room to room, napping in his studio, demanding attention with its judgmental little eyes.

And despite his dramatic sighs and endless complaints about your “vicious monster,” you know the truth.

Because one day, you catch Rafayel casually working while the kitten sleeps in his lap. And before he can argue, you adopt the little guy permanently.

(Oh, and you get another cat for yourself, because fair is fair.)

Caleb:

Caleb owns a ridiculous amount of tactical gear. More than you, even.

But never in his life did he think he’d see a penguin-themed holster.

Yes, he was aware of your growing plushie empire. No, he did not expect the theme to continue onto scabbards and grips.

And yet, here you are. And here he is. In awe.

Does he judge? Not at all. Does he join in? Absolutely.

He now owns matching sock complementary to your gear aesthetics.

Colonel in the streets, pookie in the sheets.

[deerdroo]

I took two margaritas to see if alcohol could make the cramps go away and it did!

Sorry, ibuprofen, I think what we had it wasn't that special

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Mobster

Chicago - 1931 The Height of Prohibition The mafia is earning top dollar smuggling alcohol into the country. And one mobster has his eye on you.

Yandere! Mobster who's a made man, who drives a nice car even after the stock market crash forced most people to sell theirs.

Yandere! Mobster who wears a tailored suit and fedora, his black hair swept back. Who everyone in the neighbourhood says is a good guy, a decent man, even if he does work for the don.

Yandere! Mobster who pulls up next to you when you're walking home from work. It's late and clouds are scudding across the moon.

Yandere! Mobster who leans out his window and offers to drive you home. Who says these streets ain't safe for a pretty girl like you.

Yandere! Mobster who's known you since you were children. Two kids from immigrant families, playing together in the tiny bits of open space your apartments could offer.

Yandere! Mobster who keeps looking at you and marvelling at how grown up you both are. Where did that scruffy little girl go? And when did you get so pretty?

Yandere! Mobster who spends the whole drive chatting about old times. Who makes you laugh at his stories about running from the landlady and stashing his school books behind the canteen.

Yandere! Mobster who leans over you and pulls the door closed when you move to get out. Who looks you dead in the eye when he asks if you're having trouble with your rent.

The mob is a big part of the community afterall, and he knows just about everything.

You drop your eyes, embarrassed. Your brothers have their own families to care for, you say. Things are hard but if you pick up a few more shifts at the factory, you might manage it.

Yandere! Mobster who sighs and digs in his suit pocket. Who pulls out a stack of cash and counts it right in front you.

Yandere! Mobster who offers you enough for two months of rent. A small fortune to someone from your part of town.

You shake your head, horrified. You can't afford the interest, you tell him.

Yandere! Mobster who scoffs and asks if you really think he's offering a loan when you've known each other for years? It's a gift, to keep your mama out of the cold.

Yandere! Mobster who smiles at the hesitant way you accept the money. You're too proud to ever ask for help and he knows it. Just like when you were kids.

Yandere! Mobster who gets out and opens the car door for you like a gentleman, even if he knows the whole apartment building will talk about it.

Yandere! Mobster who grins that charming, good guy smile even though he has a gun holstered under his jacket and a shovel in the trunk. Who says he'll consider things even if you cook him dinner some time.

Yandere! Mobster who visits your ma while you're at work. Who tells her he's interested in you and wants her blessing. And your ma is all too happy to give it. He's such a good boy, she says, and she knows he's always had a soft spot for you.

Yandere! Mobster who insists on driving you home after work everyday. Even when you blush and complain that he's going out of his way.

Yandere! Mobster who gratefully accepts the gifts you offer him. Fresh baked bread, jars of your mama's famous marinara sauce, homecooked meals... Who eats so much better when you take care of him.

Yandere! Mobster who eventually runs out of luck and straight into trouble. What was supposed to be a routine whiskey delivery turns out to be a sting operation.

Yandere! Mobster who sees his partner get a hole blasted right through him and almost die. Who fires at the cops until his tommy gun is red hot and smoking. Who ends up with so much blood on his hands he ain't sure it will ever wash off.

Yandere! Mobster who finds himself at your door afterwards, his coat drenched by the rain.

Yandere! Mobster who doesn't resist when you pull him inside and strip away his jacket and shirt. There's blood on your hands after you hang up his coat, and you pretend not to notice it.

Yandere! Mobster who can see your curiosity fighting against your sense. In the end, you don't ask him a single question about it.

Yandere! Mobster who sinks gratefully into the bath you draw for him. And who falls asleep the second his head hits your pillow.

Yandere! Mobster who's gone by morning. His bloodstained coat gone with him.

Yandere! Mobster who asks around about you and finds out you've got a whole score of fellas vying for your hand.

Yandere! Mobster who let's it be known that he's interested in you and watches with satisfaction as all your potential suitors drop away.

Except for one. He just spits and says you're a grown woman and can choose your own man.

Yandere! Mobster and his buddies pick the guy up after a late shift. Tie his hands behind his back and gag him before they toss him in the trunk.

Yandere! Mobster who beats the shit out of him. Who breaks his nose with a knuckle duster and his ribs with a crowbar. Who grabs his hair with bloody fingers and hisses that you're off limits.

Yandere! Mobster whose buddies lounge against the warehouse wall and smoke, never bothering to question what a simple dock worker did to deserve such a brutal beating.

Yandere! Mobster who sniffs your hair when you hug him. He's like a dog - always making sure other men haven't left their scent on you.

Yandere! Mobster who let's his hands wander when he takes you out dancing. Who kisses you goodnight and let's his lips brush your neck before he pulls away.

Yandere! Mobster who goes home and jerks off to you, his teeth bared and head bent forward. Who snarls at you to take it, take it like a good girl.

Yandere! Mobster who tells his don about you - how pretty you are, how clever, how discreet. The man leans back in his chair and pulls on his cigar.

She'll never make a liar of you. You should marry her just for that.

Yandere! Mobster who shows up at your door a week later, an engagement ring burning a hole in his pocket.

Be my girl. And I promise I'll take care of you.

You think about the night he came to you covered in blood and not speaking a word. You think about your friend from the docks and the way he dissappeared. You think about the way people look away when you're with him in public.

You say yes, as though you have a choice.

[readwritealldayallnight]

“Believe the briefing’s down that way, LT.” Soap says, walking alongside the Lieutenant as they make their way to meet the rest of the task force, when he notices the older man starts turning down the wrong hallway.

“Small detour.” Ghost replies in his deep Manchester accent, continuing on his way, uncaring whether the Sergeant follows him or not.

“Where we goin’?” The Scot turns to quickly follow him, curiosity piqued, knowing Ghost is nearly always religiously early to briefings. He has however noticed him appearing nearer to the start time recently now that he thinks about it, something that wouldn’t mean anything should it have been anyone else, but with Ghost, these minuscule changes never came without reason.

“Jus’ have to scratch an itch.” Ghost utters, barely glancing sideways to see the bewildered expression on Soap’s face.

It’s not long before Soap recognizes that they’re on their way to passing by the med bay, confusion worsening when he notices that the Lieutenant keeps fidgeting with something in his pocket. Something that’s making a - crinkling noise? Just as they reach the doors, he watches him pull something out- almost doing a double take at the sight.

“What the fuck are ye doin’ with a bunch o’ lollies?” The Scot asks, befuddled.

“Jus’ shut up and watch, Johnny.” Ghost quickly murmurs, pushing through the doors and walking in a confidently past the nurses station without a care, as though he does this every day. Maybe he does-

Soap tentatively follows behind him at a slower pace, unsure of what he’s walking towards exactly, but utterly intrigued nonetheless. As he turns around a corner, he sees Ghost has just walked up to you, one of the bonnie medics he’s seen around.

“Morning.” You smile softly at him, warmth apparent in your gaze towards the tall man. “Was wondering if you were coming or not.”

“Pick a colour.” The Lieutenant practically grunts at you, holding up a handful of colourful lollipops towards you in his large gloved hand, ignoring your teasing.

“Think I’ll do red. Matches my nails.” You say, leaning towards him to reach a hand out and pluck said lolly from his grasp. Both men watch as you remove the wrapper, pink tongue peeking out from your mouth to wet your plush lower lip. Soap feels the wires in his brain click as well as his pants suddenly tighten when he sees how you wrap your lips around the sucker, closing your eyes and letting out a small, satisfied hum as you taste the candy and pull it out with a ‘plop’.

“Thank you, Ghost.” You blink up at him sweetly, sticking your tongue out to lick at the lollipop this time before sealing it back in the wetness of your mouth, eyes locked with the man before you the whole time.

The first time you met the Lieutenant was while treating him in this very med bay. Already enamoured with you to begin with, the deal had been sealed when you had pulled out a few lollies from your coats pocket, offering them to him. He had come back to see you the next day, his own stash of candy in hand, saying something about how it was only fair that the doctors got sweets every once in a while as well. ‘Every once in a while’ turned out to be every single morning you worked, truly nothing more than an excuse to see you.

And if you looked up at him so sweetly as you licked at the treat, his blood never not rushing down south in the process, well then that was just an added bonus wasn’t it?

Readjusting his tactical pants and licking his own lips, Johnny had never been so grateful to Ghost before.

[dduane]

i cant belive that you of all people are at risk of homelessness >:(

homelessness isnt a problem that should exist in general, but you, specifically, should have like a million dollars from the star trek novels alone

(chuckle) Wouldn't that be lovely! (And it's kind of you to be thinking that way.)

But alas, that's not how it works.

When you're working in/for other licensed universes—which is always on a work-for-hire basis—the only really significant payment(s) you're likely to see will happen when you've turned in a given book and it's been formally accepted. And even then, the payment's rarely going to be higher than low-to-mid five figures... which (after your literary agent gets their cut, and after your taxes on the income get paid) won't take you very far even in a single year, let alone the years that follow.

If you're very lucky in your publisher, or have a very good agent—which I do—you may even manage to get some royalties on such a novel. But they'll be at the low end of the scale—maybe 2-3% of the cover price. (Bearing in mind that even for original novels in one's own universe, an author rarely gets more than 8-10% of a given book's cover price in royalties.) And when the book goes out of print, the royalties stop.

So just because the owner of the IP makes a lot of money off it, doesn't mean that any significant amount of it necessarily trickles down to the writer. (sigh) Nor does the fact that a book is good, or the writer is good, or both, make any significant difference in this branch of mathematics. Eventually, pretty much inevitably, sooner or later sales of a book drop off and the publisher lets it go out of print.

(shrug) It's not like I didn't know this was eventually going to happen when I wrote my Star Trek work. I did that because I loved Trek (and still do), and I was sure I could write a better Trek novel than anyone else had up until that point. (And maybe that was even true. Who knows.) To have done the work was the thing that primarily mattered.

But let this be a reminder to folks that only a low percentage of writers make enough from their writing alone to live on: and that something like 90% of writers at times live at or near the poverty line and sometimes slip below it. ...And for all of us, even for strong writers who seem moderately successful and have other income streams, bare patches happen: times when publishers don't pay (for example, I still haven't been paid anything for Disney/Marvel's reissue of my Spider-Man books), times when you can't work, or times when accident or illness or other unexpected circumstance eats the cash you've stashed away to serve as a cushion.

This is not a safe lifestyle. With talent and luck and endless slogging away at/over the writing mechanism of your choice, and with the support of your readers (whom I'm very much thinking of at the moment!—and thanks again to the Ebooks Direct customers and Ko-Fi friends who just now saved our butts), it can be survived. Which, from day to day, @petermorwood and I do our best to keep on doing.

...In any case: people who even at this end of time can say things about my work such as you did at the top of this, make me feel like about a million dollars. 🙂 (And since today I have both an upper respiratory infection and laryngitis, that's quite a trick!) ...So thanks.

ETA: for those curious, to deal with local physical issues I am now making this chicken soup, which—whether or not it has any actual therapeutic benefit—is still going to be very nice. ...It annoys the shit out of me that I have to leave out the onions and garlic, which would quickly trigger my IBS and subject me to an entirely different level of pain; but such is life. We've got all the other ingredients on hand sans the fresh turmeric, and if there's one thing this soup's short on, it's chilies. Which around here, believe me, is a deficiency that Peter's well positioned to remedy. :)

[thegreatyin]

What, precisely, is fallen London, and how can I play it? Ive been told it's a browser game, will it work on my phones browser or only my computer's?

SWEEPS EVERYTHING OFF MY DESK. SLAMS MY HANDS ON THE COUNTER. you're in luck because advertising this game is apparently my specialty.

fallen london is a free browser game that works on anything with an internet connection!! laptops, phones, tablets, the decade old 3ds you have stashed in the back of your closet- if you can open a web browser, you can run fallen london. the UI obviously differs between desktop and mobile, and desktop has the benefit of extensions that can make your life marginally easier, but that's all a strictly optional affair.

as for the game's actual contents; fallen london is a text-based horror game closely reminiscent of classic "choose your own adventure" books. you play as a new arrival to an alternate history version of victorian london that now flourishes in a deep, dark, marvelous (and more than slightly eldritch!) cavern known as "the neath", with the goal of making your name and ultimately pursuing one of the four possible ambitions that brought you here to begin with. along the way you encounter a wide variety of strange and inexplicable things, including but not limited to;

men with the faces of squid (who are not truly men)

actual real soul-stealing devils (who originate from Actual Real Hell, which is also london's next door neighbor)

snakes that are eternally bound to the realm beyond mirrors (who have an infamous feud with sapient talking cats)

treacheries of time, law, and all that which the gods hold dear (including the ability to bypass death itself)

sirens who are convinced they're dead (in a place where, as stated, death is easily bypassed)

sentient landmasses that get REALLY annoyed if you don't pay your taxes on time (and are also single and ready to mingle)

fabric that is not fabric (which is held in quite high value by certain giant bat monsters)

spiders that eat eyeballs (but are, fortunately, easily distracted by shakespeare)

genres of colors you didn't think possible (in seven fantastical flavors!)

batkissing (not canonically, but in our hearts)

batfucking (this is, somehow, marginally more canon than the above thing)

batmarriage (no.)

batdivorce (in comically large spades)

The Hat Man (who's in love with and yearns to become like a sentient island)

gay people (a lot of them)

trans people (also a lot of them)

doomed love, in all possible forms (as well as those who try and collect it)

this thing (this thing)

and last- but certainly not least-

a pitiful hope that perhaps, just perhaps, all shall one day be well. (even when you know it won't be.)

it's a game with lore as deep as the ocean, and a staggering wordcount (4.5 million!) to boot. it's not perfect, but it's something i've grown to love deeply, and in my experience? if it doesn't click for you, that's understandable. but if it clicks for you, it really does click for you. i recommend it to anyone and everyone who so much as looks its way. who knows! it may just surprise you 🦇☀️🦀🌃

as a further incentive, here are some out-of-context items and excerpts:

as stated, you can play it right now for free at fallen london dot com. there is a subscription and a small bounty of microtransactions on offer if you want to support the development team, but at no point is this ever required, and you will be playing for years before you reach the end of stuff to accomplish. all major content updates are free and available to all players, and FOMO to this day remains virtually non-existent. as once again stated, the browser specs are non-existent. if you can run google, you can run fallen london.

so head on down!! give the neath a try!! follow admiralty orders and dump a bunch of bombs directly into the zee (underground sea) whilst accidentally waking up a giant grieving sea urchin that screams fire and violently pursues your demise!! (that's what we're all doing right now, anyway.)

if the browser game isn't for you, there's also other outlets with which to explore the universe. you can find the spinoff games Sunless Seas, Sunless Skies, and Mask of The Rose available to purchase right now on steam, and there's recently been a very successful kickstarter to adapt the game into a TTRPG. it looks very cool so far. im very very very excited for it :)

in lieu of having to come up with a conclusion for this ask, im instead going to direct you to the MoTR stupendium song (which you'll find linked below). it says far more and advertises far better than i could ever dream of. also, it's a straight bop, and "all ends/swords pens" has lived rent-free in my brain for months.

welcome to the neath, delicious friend. we hope you enjoy your stay ❤️

[vrystalius]

Yearning and crushing.

What do they act like when they are utterly in love and yearning for you?

Pairing: Astarion, Gale, Zevlor, Rolan, x gn!Tav!reader

Summary: During the early stages of your misadventure, he cannot help himself but never stop yearning for you.

Genre: Fluff, lime (does anyone use lime and lemons anymore?)

Words: 2.3k

Note: I’m hosting a small event over at my blog. Check it out if you’re interested <3 I’m choosing four participating users at random to receive a personalised letter from their fav char<33 All of this is happening in act 1 btw.

Astarion Ancunín // The Pale Elf

Yearning scale: 8/10

He denied himself the pleasure of thinking about you in a romantic way other than to use you to get protection, power and a willing source of absolutely delicious blood. Really falling for you would be very stupid and have no benefit, really. Astarion never viewed himself as someone who deserved love, especially yours.

But during every battle Astarion’s concentration began to waver more and more. His eyes scan the area in panic until he finally spots you somewhere, being very occupied by trying to finish off the gnoll growling at you. He knows you’re capable defending yourself and finishing off some enemies and it is a delight to watch you fight, but that caused him to miss more and more, with both daggers and his crossbow.

You notice how his whole face lights up whenever you saunter over to him to do some small talk after a long day. His eyes look much softer and his smile becomes less guarded, less planned. It was adorable but you never mentioned it to him, or else you might never see that off-guard smile again.

At first you were adorned by Astarion and showered in flirts and compliments to love-bomb you and bind you to him, something he has done wo many countless times, but slowly he feels himself regretting playing up his flirtatious persona. He thinks you might not like him anymore when he stops with the over-the-top flirts, the nightly trysts and most importantly, the sex.

But deep down he was hoping and praying you’ll still like him for him.

Slowly, Astarion will insist on staying close with you no matter what. The group splits up to explore a cave efficiently? He is definitely sticking by your side. You’re heading to the Emerald Grove to stock on some food for tonight? Don’t mind him tagging along, he just needs a couple of healing potions. You’re injured and need healing? Out of the way Shadowheart, he got this with some alcohol and bandages.

“I’m sure you wont mind taking me with you to that grove again, I wanted to talk to that Tiefling by the forge. I’m thinking about asking very nicely to have a little taste of his blood… But I won’t if you get jealous easily, my darling.”

Astarion quietly yearns for you. He knows how to (mostly) control himself and his tongue around you to not accidentally start coughing up the butterflies terrorising his stomach by praising, flirting, teasing you, doing everything to try and make you like him by any means, even if he has to play a persona.

He has to let out this pent up love for you somewhere, so in the evenings he’ll retreat and quietly stich up his clothes that were torn during the day, check his daggers for sharpness but then also open up the hidden notebook he stashed away under his pillow and sketch a little. Mostly you, really, in all kinds of poses and situations.

He never sexualised you in any way, simply sketching you in almost domestic situations from his view; the way your face lights up in delight when Scratch brings you another drool-drenched sandal, your face scrunched together in disgust after tasting one of Auntie Ethel’s mold pies on accident or you just relaxing after a hard day. Astarion quietly admired you from his tent as his pen works against the paper. He’s not really talented in it but it’s a nice way to unwind. He is praying though that the dog never gets the bright idea to steal his notebook and drop it into your lap or he will beg Shadowheart to cast moonbeam and incinerate him.

Gale Dekarios // The Wizard of Waterdeep

Yearning scale: The ultimate yearner ™/10

Let’s be honest, Gale is not very subtle with his yearning although the wizard thinks he is being very smooth with it.

Before having the moment with you in the weave where your minds interlinked, where you imagined kissing him, first carefully, then passionately and with vigour so shamelessly while he stands there rooted in place, trying not to explode (literally), Gale has been dreamily watching you.

He wasn’t even sure why he fell in love with you or how exactly it happened, Gale had a dream about you with him in his wizard tower in Waterdeep, not exactly using his desk the way it is intended to be used. He woke up with the orb flickering in his chest and a all too familiar warmth spreading through his lower abdomen.

With every artefact you sacrifice to him and with every minute you listen to his boasting and rambling, Gale stopped fighting the feelings that were growing inside him every day and accepted that yes, he did just fall in love with the stranger that pulled him through a portal, fed him boots without hesitating and never seriously judged him for his poor decisions. He hasn’t met anyone besides Tara that was very judging.

He can’t act on his feelings yet, though. Gale can’t even let his mind slip for a moment and let the sweet, sweet thought of your lips pressed against his, your tongues dancing with each other, his hands feeling up your waist to pull you closer and closer as if trying to absorb you. He gets ripped out of these fantasies by a sharp pain in his chest and the all too familiar feeling of the orb becoming restless.

It physically hurts him to yearn for you. The orb is like a handcrafted punishment by his goddess Mystra, which it is, but not in the way she probably intended.

His way to painlessly express his admiration for you is mostly by talking; he rants and over-explains the littlest things that can sometimes accidentally come off as condescending, but you were always interested for whatever reason, even if he just listed all the different types of elementals and all the kinds he has met himself before.

But Gale also very openly expresses how highly he thinks of you. You always heard cheers like “A perfect hit!” or “You are doing absolutely amazing!” from the half dead and bloodied wizard that is surrounded by goblins but still thought about praising your skills. Sometimes his mouth worker faster than his brain and he’d accidentally compliment your very natural musk or point out how beautifully shiny your unwashed hair has gotten. It was probably meant to be a compliment.

Oh, it was starting to become a torture. Gale wakes up in the middle of the night after a blissful dream of strolling through the markets of Waterdeep together, playfully arguing who gets to cool what tonight, worrying about nothing other than to remember get Tara’s favourite treat. Rolling over in his bed he could feel his chest tighten, his hand instinctively gripping his nightshirt, trying to soothe the orb by touching it. He tried to take a deep breath, his fingers spreading out over his chest slowly.

His eyes fluttered shut and his lip quivered slightly as his other arm began to move to wrap around his own body. The wizard rolled over onto his side to stare at the tent wall, his own arms hugging himself, trying to make a fraction of his fantasies about you come true. But Gale would never allow to even properly think about asking to spend the night with him; it would be selfish to do so.

Zevlor // Leader of the Tieflings // Exiled Hellrider

Yearning scale: 6/10

It was probably wrong to feel the way he was feeling. You defended the grove and the refugees against goblins without questions and weren’t even disappointed about not getting a reward. You walked around and talked to the Tieflings, setting some dispute between three siblings, saved Arabella from the mad druid and offered to kill the goblin leaders for them.

Zevlor tried to push away the racing heart that seemed to flare up every time you showed more and more simple kindness for his people and others. He justified it to himself that the fluttery feeling in his chest and the warmth spreading embarrassingly fast on his face is just his gratitude manifesting in other ways, but during the small celebrating party you allowed to be held at your camp and after too many cups of vinegar for wine, it all dawned on him.

“Go, enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it. Don’t spend all your time on me, I’m sure many here would want to have a word with you instead.”

He admires your courage and selflessness, but his feelings reach far beyond that. To be able to share a cup with you was incredibly flattering but also a little selfish, he thought. You are quite popular in camp and Zevlor can’t deny the looks the other companions give you, so he tries to shoo you away and enjoy yourself. Having your attention all to himself, somewhere in private and in a situation that isn’t stressed by looming fights and threats would be an absolute dream.

A dream he didn’t allow himself to realise.

Besides, he’s an older, Hellrider-exiled Tiefling and an Oathbreaker Paladin with a group of refugee kin to look after and lead to Baldur’s Gate. Zevlor is barely able to love himself, how in the world are you supposed to be able to love him? Surely you deserve to be with someone more deserving of your love and devotion.

Even despite barely interacting with you, it was difficult for him to part from you and your troupe but there was a city for him to safely escort the refugees to. Duty calls and so does the road.

For now, Zevlor will just silently dream about you at night and think about your whereabouts during the day. He didn’t allow himself to get distracted too easily but during every small moment of respite his eyes would briefly close and his mind slowly travelled to you. He always wondered where you are right now, what you are doing. How far along have you come in your journey? Last he heard Halsin joined you on your quest for a cure against a tadpole.

He secretly wonders if you are still wearing the Hellrider Gloves he had given you as a thanks after redeeming Kagha and buying them more time to pack in the druid grove. It’s a childish thought but Zevlor really hoped that they serve you as well as they once served him and keep you safe. And maybe you think of him when you look at them.

For now, Zevlor has to focus on getting his caravan to Baldur’s Gate safely. The apparently cursed and so called “Shadow Lands” are the only way. Hopefully he can get them through in one piece.

Rolan // Wizard’s apprentice

Yearning scale: 8/10

Oh he has got a big, fat crush. Or at least that is what Cal and Lia have been teasing him about for the past days, hours and minutes. Ever since you stepped into the dispute the three had about whether they should leave the grove or not, Rolan has been more squishy and distracted.

He keeps seeing you around the grove, talking the Tieflings there and listening to what they have to say, trade with that druid merchant before heading over to Dammon to buy some new armour for you or your companions after the plates broke down. Rolan’s eyes would be scanning your whole body from the position he was standing, trying to see through your clothes and armour to check for injuries.

He knew you are an adventurer of some sort, talking to Ethel about something in your head and stocking up on a lot of healing potions. If not for you fighting through goblins Rolan would’ve used Thunderwave to send those scum to the afterlife. So he greatly appreciates your efforts and all it must take to finish them off.

His eyes would sparkle every time you even briefly passed him. You didn’t even had to look at him and he would feel his tail wagging embarrassingly fast behind himself as he tried to avoid his sibling’s knowing glances and how they 100% know what was going on.

Rolan doesn’t really understand himself and why his brilliant mind decided to choose you to pine on. You, someone he will leave behind and probably never see again. You, who only interacted with him a few fleeting times. You, with that heroic attitude and need to fix everything, you with that stupid smile you gave that woman Ethel, you simply existing. He felt childish for feeling like this.

He knew you’d make short work of the goblins and their leaders but his heart still managed to flutter in admiration after finding out what you managed to do. The wizard prepared his stupid party-trick spell until you got back to the grove, trying to cast the beautiful spell he had been casting since childhood over and over until it was perfect. Performing it in front of you asked for a bottle of wine or three to get some courage.

After bowing and getting some applause from you, Rolan’s eyes still stuck to you well after you gave your compliments and departed. He couldn’t help himself but feel jealous of that vampire in the corner, the purple wizard in the other and literally everyone else that breathed near you. Everyone wanted to have a piece of you— of course. You’re the hero of the party.

Rolan wanted to hog your time and attention to himself, though. He wants to sit down with you and for once just listen to you talk instead of him doing some boasting. It doesn’t matter what you were talking about, he wants to listen and watch your lips move, maybe fantasise about leaning in closer and sharing a kiss.

But alas, there’s an apprenticeship for him to attend in Baldur’s Gate. The road was calling and he had to move on with his travels. It doesn’t mean you left his mind though, every moment he did not spend checking up on Lia or Cal, getting into an argument with one of the kids or whatever, he spend daydreaming about you.

Maybe you’ll see each other again under better circumstances. He really hopes so.

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

I wanted to write a request I swear but my hands moved on their own and wrote something that has been on my brain for like a week or so :,) Forgive me lmao. I’ll be answering asks and requests soon tho!

Check out my personalised letters event <33

Make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33 You are loved.

[gojosconsort]

FUCK YOU (ON THAT BIKE) ♡ // SUKUNA

⁀➷ CONTENT. you thought you could bug sukuna while he’s working on his bike and get away with it. big mistake—he’s about to fuck you raw on that leather seat ‘til you’re crying his name.

♡ PAIRING. afab!reader x boyfriend!sukuna

♡ WARNINGS. mdni. choking (a little), spanking, finger-fucking (mouth), degradation, dacryphilia, manhandling, creampie, hair-pulling, spit, tears, sweat, grease (sorry), motorcycle sex, bratty!reader, sukuna being sukuna (sorry, not sorry)

♡ WORD COUNT. 2,400

you’re sprawled out on the shitty old couch in BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA’S garage, legs kicked up over the armrest, scrolling through your phone like it’s the only thing keeping you from dying of boredom. the air smells like motor oil and stale cigarettes, and the faint hum of some trap beat leaks from a busted speaker in the corner.

sukuna’s over by his pride and joy—his matte-black motorcycle—hunched over it with a wrench in his tattooed hand. he’s been at it for hours, tweaking shit you don’t even pretend to understand, and you’re starting to get antsy.

“yo, how long you gonna fuck with that thing?” you call out, not even looking up from your screen. “feels like i’ve been sitting here forever.”

he doesn’t answer right away. just grunts, like you’re a fly buzzing around his head he’s too busy to swat. you roll your eyes, tossing your phone onto the cushion beside you, and sit up. the leather of his jacket you’re wearing—stolen from his stash—creaks as you move. it’s too big for you, swallowing your frame, but you like how it smells like him—smoke, sweat, and his cologne.

“sukunaaa,” you say again, louder this time, dragging out the last syllable like a brat. “c’mon, i’m bored as hell. entertain me or some shit.”

he finally looks up, those sharp red eyes fixed on you. his jaw’s tight, grease smeared across his cheek, and his black tank clings to his chest from the heat and even when he’s annoyed, he’s hot as sin. maybe especially when he’s annoyed.

“you see me working, yeah?” he snaps. “shut your damn mouth ‘fore i give you somethin’ to do with it.”

you smirk, hopping off the couch and sauntering over to him. the concrete’s cold under your bare feet, and your shorts ride up your thighs as you move. you know he’s watching, even if he’s pretending not to. “what, you gonna put me to work? i ain’t touchin’ that greasy-ass bike.”

he snorts, tossing the wrench onto the workbench with a loud clank. “you couldn’t handle it anyway, princess. too busy runnin’ that mouth.”

“maybe ‘cause you’re takin’ too damn long,” you shoot back, leaning against the bike’s seat, arms crossed. you’re close enough now that you can feel the heat rolling off him, see the way his veins pop under his skin as he flexes his hands. “thought you were good with your hands, big guy. guess not.”

that does it. you see the shift in his face—the way his eyes narrow, lips curling into something mean and dangerous. he steps toward you, slow and deliberate, and before you can blink, he’s got you caged against the bike, one hand slamming down on the handlebars beside you. the metal groans under his grip.

“you wanna push me, huh?” he growls, leaning in so close his breath hits your face. it’s hot, smells like menthol and alcohol, and your stomach flips. “keep talkin’ shit, see where it gets you.”

you tilt your head, grinning like an idiot ‘cause you love this—love how easy it is to rile him up. “what you gonna do about it, ‘kuna? spank me?”

his hand’s on you in a second, rough fingers grabbing your jaw, tilting your head back so you’re forced to meet his glare. “you’re fuckin’ annoying, you know that?” he mutters, but there’s this spark in his eyes—and you know you're winning. “can’t even let me finish my shit without actin’ up.”

“maybe i just want your attention,” you say, voice all syrupy and fake-innocent, batting your lashes at him. his grip tightens, and you can feel the calluses on his palm scraping your skin.

“oh, you’re gonna get it,” he says, and then he’s moving, shoving you back against the bike so hard you stumble. the leather seat digs into your ass, and he’s on you before you can catch your breath, one hand fisting in your hair, pulling you closer.

“sukuna—!” you yelp, half-laughing, half-shocked, but he cuts you off with a hard kiss, biting your lip hard. it’s messy, nasty, and you’re already soaked, thighs squeezing tight like that’s gonna hide it, but then he shoves his knee between them.

the denim of his jeans scrapes against your flimsy shorts, and he grinds his leg right up against your pussy, slow and deliberate, pressing in ‘til you can feel the friction burning through the fabric. it feels so good, teasing, and you can’t help the little moan that slips out, muffled against his lips.

“shut the fuck up,” he snarls against your mouth, tugging your head back so your neck’s exposed. his teeth graze your throat, sharp and mean, and you whine, hands scrambling to grab onto his shoulders and nails digging into the hard muscle under his tank while he’s still working his leg against you, grinding that thick thigh right where you’re throbbing. the pressure’s got your hips twitching, chasing it without even meaning to, and you’re damn near panting already. “you wanted this, yeah? fuckin’ beggin’ for it with that smart-ass mouth,” he says.

“didn’t... ngh—didn’t say that,” you gasp, but it’s a lie and he knows it, that bullshit excuse dying on your tongue as his knee presses harder, rubbing up and down, making your head spin.

he smirks like he’s about to ruin you and love every second of it, then he’s spinning you around fast, shoving you down ‘til you’re bent over the bike, chest slammed against the seat. the leather’s warm from the sticky garage heat, clinging to your skin through your thin-ass tank top, and your tits are pressed so hard against it they’re practically spilling out, making your nipples perk up even more against the rough leather.

“bullshit,” he says, kicking your legs apart with his boot, spreading you wide like you’re his to play with. his hand cracks down on your ass, a sharp, stinging smack that makes you yelp, the sound bouncing off the garage walls, and you hear him chuckle—like he’s getting off on it.

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, yanking them down just enough—barely past your ass, fabric bunched tight around your thighs, pussy dripping and on display. “look at you, fuckin’ dripping already,” he mutters, smearing a rough hand over the wet mess between your legs, “needy little slut.”

you whimper, pushing your hips back toward him, ‘cause yeah, you are needy—have been since you walked in here and saw him all sweaty and pissed off. there’s something about sukuna when he’s like this, rough and unfiltered, that makes you stupid for him. “just fuck me already, asshole,” you mutter, glancing over your shoulder at him.

his eyes flash, and then he’s yanking his jeans down. his cock springs free, thick, heavy, veins bulging under the skin, tip already leaking a fat bead of precum that glistens in the dim garage light, and fuck, it’s so long and girthy.

he steps up close, smirking at how you’re bent over, ass up, and grabs your hips with those big, rough hands, fingers digging in ‘til it stings. you’re already a mess—needy as fuck, whimpering soft and pathetic under your breath, little “please, ‘kuna” sounds slipping out ‘cause you can’t help it, you want him bad.

he doesn’t rush it right away—nah, he’s a fucker like that and you hate him for that—shoves his cock between your folds first, sliding that fat length back and forth, teasing you with it. the tip catches on your clit, smearing his precum all over your slick pussy, and he grinds it there, slow and mean, letting you feel every inch of him rubbing up against you ‘til your whimpers get louder, needier, hips twitching desperate for more.

“fuckin’ wet for me,” he mutters, then he pulls back just enough, pushes your soaked panties to the side with a flick of his thumb, and slams into you—bottoming out in one brutal thrust that splits you open, making your whole body lurch forward against the bike.

“fuck—!” you cry out, hands scrabbling against the bike for something to hold onto. the stretch burns, sharp and overwhelming, but it’s so good, the kind of pain that melts into pleasure fast. he doesn’t wait, doesn’t ease up—starts fucking you hard and fast, hips snapping against yours with a force that makes the whole damn motorcycle rock.

“this what you wanted?” he growls, leaning over you, one hand wrapping around your throat. his fingers dig into your skin, not choking yet, just holding you there, keeping you pinned. “huh? fuckin’ take it then.”

“y-yeah,” you moan, voice breaking as he hits that spot inside you that makes your legs shake. the bike’s shaking too, creaking under the weight of his thrusts, and you can hear the wet slap of skin on skin, the filthy sound of him pounding into you. it’s nasty, raw, everything you love about him.

he tightens his grip on your throat, just enough to make your head spin, and you’re gone—clawing at the seat, gasping his name like a prayer. “sukuna... fuck, ‘kuna, don’t stop—”

“fuckin’ loud,” he says, but you can tell he loves it, loves how your so messy for him. his other hand slides down, smacking your ass again—once, twice, ‘til it stings—then grabs a fistful of your ass, pulling you back onto him harder. “gonna make you scream, brat.”

and he does. he fucks you like he’s trying to break you, each thrust deeper, rougher, hitting that sweet spot over and over ‘til your vision blurs. your thighs are slick, dripping down onto the bike, and he laughs when he notices. “messy fuckin’ slut,” he says, reaching down between your legs and smearing something onto his fingers before shoving them into your mouth. “taste yourself.”

you groan around his fingers, sucking on them like he wants, lips stretched tight as he shoves two thick digits into your mouth, pumping them in and out like he’s fucking your face with them. they’re rough, calloused, tasting like salt and grease, and he’s not gentle—thrusting deep ‘til they hit the back of your throat, making you gag.

your tongue flattens against them, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, and you can barely keep up, slurping messy and loud. he’s watching you, eyes dark and hooded, loving how you choke on it just for him. “fuckin’ nasty,” he mutters, voice hoarse, and he pushes them deeper, curling them against your tongue ‘til you’re whining around the intrusion.

you suck harder, hollowing your cheeks, and he curses under his breath, hips stuttering against you, cock still buried deep inside. “shit, you’re tight—gonna... ughh... fuck—” he cuts himself off with a growl, yanking his fingers free with a wet pop, a string of spit trailing from your lips to his hand before he he pulls out of you just long enough to flip you onto your back. the bike wobbles, but he steadies it with one hand, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

“look at me,” he says, slamming back into you, and you do—eyes locked on his as he fucks you senseless. his face is flushed, sweat dripping down his jaw, and he looks like a goddamn animal. got your legs hooked over his shoulders, one hand gripping your thigh so tight you’re gonna have bruises shaped like his fingers tomorrow, the other braced on the bike to keep it from tipping over while hips bullies his cock into, the wet slap-slap-slap of skin on skin echoing in the garage louder than the trap beat still buzzing in the background.

his cock’s thick, stretching you open every time he buries it to the hilt, dragging against your walls in a way that’s almost too much, the head hitting that spot inside you over and over ‘til your toes curl and your vision starts to white out. his muscles flex under his tattooed skin with every roll of his hips, like he’s claiming you, breaking you apart just ‘cause he can. “gonna cum for me?”

“y-yeah,” you whimper, nails digging into his arms. “please, ‘kuna—”

he grins and then his thumb’s on your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that make your whole body lock up. it’s too much, too fast, and it sends you crashing over the edge hard. you scream, just like he promised, voice tearing outta your throat raw and desperate, back arching off the bike so far you nearly slip.

your orgasm rips through you—messy as fuck, intense, a hot flood that leaves you trembling, thighs soaked, and tears spilling down your cheeks ‘cause it’s overwhelming as shit. your chest heaves, little sobs breaking free between gasps, and he doesn’t stop—keeps fucking you through it, cock slamming into you relentless, dragging out every shudder and twitch, crying his name in wet, broken hiccups. “s-sukuna... fuck—‘kuna—”

“fuckin’ good girl,” he mutters and then he’s coming too, burying himself balls-deep with a guttural groan that rumbles through his chest. you feel it—hot, thick spurts filling you up, spilling out around him ‘cause there’s nowhere else for it to go—and he doesn’t pull out right away, just stays there, hips pressed flush to yours, panting heavy and ragged.

he leans down, your tears are still streaming, salty and warm, but hen his tongue flicks out licking a fat stripe up your cheek, tasting the wet mess of your cries. “fuckin’ crybaby,” he murmurs, but he loves it and you whimper, half-embarrassed, half-gone from how fucked-out you are, his breath hot against your skin as he stays buried inside you, his cum dripping down steadily between you legs.

when he finally lets go, you’re a wreck—sprawled out on the bike, legs trembling, his cum leaking out of you onto the leather and he smirks. “marked my shit up,” he says, nodding at the bike. “guess you’re good for somethin’.”

you laugh, weak and breathless, barely managing to lift your hand to flip him off, fingers shaky. “fuck you.”

“fuckin’ act up again, huh?” he shoots back, zipping up his jeans with a lazy tug. he steps away, leaving you there sprawled like a used rag, and grabs the wrench off the workbench like nothing happened, crouching back down by the bike to mess with it again while his cum’s still dripping out of you onto the floor next to him, and he doesn’t even glance at it—just keeps working.

you pull yourself together, sorta, hair a sweaty mess sticking to your face and flop back onto the couch, limbs heavy like they’re made of lead. “still bored,” you say, just to fuck with him.

he glares over his shoulder. “keep it up, and round two’s gonna be worse.”

you grin. “promise?”

��———— ୨୧ —————

⁀➷ masterlist

[layaispunk]

OOH OKAY could you write one where reader is trying on bikinis for dbf Joel and things get hot and heavy and he’s an absolute MUNCH?

love your writing!!🫶🏾

spring cleaning with dbf!joel

pairing: joel miller x female!reader

a/n: thankyou to all of you who sent fic requests! i'm working on them one by one. ♡

wc: 1.5k

warnings: unprotected p in v smut, 18+ minors dni, established relationship, dbf!joel (could be any joel you want) age gap not specified, reader does not live with parents, dirty talking, lmk if i missed something pls

Joel had only meant to stop by and fix the damn window.

That was the plan, anyway. Show up, use the tools that were permanently stashed in his truck, tighten a hinge here, swap a pane there.... and go home. Easy.

Except now he was sitting on the edge of your bed, hands planted on either side of his thighs, watching you dig through a little drawstring pouch.

It was just supposed to be spring cleaning. You were going through all of your stuff because you were moving out, and you put two boxes. Keep, and donate. Joel was in your bedroom, surrounded by half-filled boxes and open drawers and clothes you’d been flinging over furniture all afternoon.

You looked up from the pouch with a grin, one of those expressions that always knocked the wind out of him.

“I totally forgot I had these.”

You reached in and pulled out a tiny scrap of bright fabric. Then another. And another.

Joel blinked. "What're those, baby?"

“Bikinis,” you said, laughing, spreading them across the bed. “God, I used to collect these. I haven’t worn half of them since college.”

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw. His eyes caught on a black one with gold rings at the hips, and his brain short-circuited a little.

You looked over at him, casual as anything. “Should I just donate all of them?”

Joel cleared his throat. “I mean… seems like a lot.”

“I should try them on first,” you said thoughtfully, holding one up to your chest. “See if they still fit or if I still like 'em.”

He gave a small, helpless laugh. “I think that's a good idea, sweetheart,”

You turned, already walking toward the bathroom. “Yeah. D'ya wanna be the judge of which ones I keep?”

His head tilted. “Oh, is that how this is gonna go?”

You smirked over your shoulder. “You did offer to help today.”

“Didn’t know that meant sittin’ here helpin' you spring clean,” he grumbled, but his eyes were already following you. Your hips swaying just a little more exaggerated as you disappeared around the corner.

When you came back out, you were in a red two-piece that Joel immediately knew would be etched into his memory until the day he died. It was the kind with a halter top and those little low-rise ties at the hips. It looked like summer and sex and trouble, and suddenly Joel wasn’t sure if he was breathing properly.

You twirled, hands on your hips. “Too much?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared.

Your lips curved. “Joel.” You stepped closer. He let his gaze travel, slow and deliberate, over your bare thighs, your stomach, the soft curves of your chest. When his eyes met yours again, they were darker. Hungrier.

“Well?” you asked, coy. “Keep or donate?”

He gave the faintest shake of his head. “Darlin', if you think I’m lettin’ you give that away, you’ve lost your mind. It really suits you.”

You bit your lip, barely able to hide the way your body lit up under his stare. “Want me to try the next one?”

He nodded, voice low. “You go on ahead. I’ll be right here.”

Right here. On your bed. Palms getting sweatier by the second. Heart thudding like he was twenty years younger and hadn’t already spent countless nights with you.

He adjusted how he sat, legs a little wider, eyes fixed on the doorway as you turned to disappear again. He tried to look casual, like he wasn’t dying inside. Like he hadn’t just watched his girl stroll out of the bathroom like she belonged on the cover of a vogue magazine.

You were gone for less than a minute before your voice floated in from the bathroom.

“You better not be falling asleep out there.”

He huffed out a laugh. When you finally stepped out of the bathroom, he looked up and went completely still.

This one was different, black and white polka dots. The top had better structure, cupping your breasts just right, giving you that kind of shape that made his mouth go dry. The thong bottoms were black, sitting high on your hips and left your legs bare all the way up.

You stood there in the doorway, adjusting the strap over your shoulder like you didn’t know what you were doing.

Joel leaned back a little and exhaled through his nose. “That one’s trouble.”

You tilted your head, giving him puppy eyes. "You don’t like it?”

He gave a small shrug. “Didn’t say that.”

You smiled. “You’re allowed to have an opinion, you know. That’s why you’re here.”

“Thought I was here to fix your window,” he muttered.

You walked further into the room, standing a few feet in front of him. “Yeah, but you already fixed that. So now you're helping me.” You grinned.

He let his eyes trail up, slow and unhurried, until they met yours again. “Mm. Should’ve charged you extra.” He muttered, sarcastically.

“For what?”

“For this.”

You snorted. “You’ve seen me naked before, Joel.”

“I know,” he said, nodding. “Still feels like you’re settin’ me up.”

You folded your arms. “How?”

“You're showin' me bikinis and askin' which ones to keep, but they all look like that. What exactly am I supposed to say?”

You raised a brow. “That it fits?”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees again. “It fits.”

You bit your cheek to keep from smiling. “Comfortably?”

He gave you a pointed look. “Sweetheart, you’re wearin’ a piece of string for the bottoms. There's no way that's comfortable."

You laughed, turning around to check yourself in the mirror behind him. Joel couldn't stop staring at you.

“I think this one makes my boobs look better,” you said thoughtfully.

The bikini looked good, but you couldn’t decide if it felt right. If you liked the cut. If it made your hips look weird. If the color washed you out.

Joel was still sitting on the bed, hands braced behind him, watching you with that quiet look he always had when you got like this. Overwhelmed. When your brain spun out in circles and you couldn’t settle on a damn thing.

“That one’s a yes,”

You turned to him with a frown. "Joel, If you're gonna say yes to all of them, I’m gonna end up keeping every bikini I’ve ever owned.”

Joel gave a half-shrug. “Baby, I'm sorry. I think you look incredible in all of them.”

You let out a frustrated sigh and turned back toward the mirror. “I just… I don’t know. I can’t tell anymore. I've been getting rid of things all day, I can't decide anymore."

His voice came quieter this time. “C’mere.”

You looked over your shoulder.

“I mean it. Come here.”

You hesitated for a second, then stepped over to the bed, standing between his knees. Joel watched you for a beat, his hands resting loosely on his thighs.

“Sit,” he pointed to his lap.

With a soft huff, you eased yourself onto him, your thighs settling on either side of his. Joel shifted slightly, accommodating your weight, hands coming up to rest gently on your hips.

You let your arms drape over his shoulders, your chest still rising and falling a little faster than usual from the back-and-forth with yourself. Joel’s gaze flicked up to meet yours.

“Better?”

You nodded slowly. “I'm overthinking everything. I know I sound dramatic, but I feel exhausted.”

His thumbs brushed a slow arc along the curve of your waist. You let yourself breathe a little easier in his care. "I understand, baby. You've been cleaning around all day." The contact, the warmth of him, the quiet way he listened without rushing you, grounded you.

Your hand slipped up into his hair, absently scratching your nails along his scalp. Joel closed his eyes at the feeling, his chest rising beneath you in a deep, slow breath.

You stayed like that for a moment, just breathing together. Just his arms around you and the quiet.

Then you said, softly, “I need a break.”

Joel opened his eyes again. “Then take one, baby. I’m right here.”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. Then the corner of his mouth.

Your hand slipped from his hair to his jaw, your thumb brushing over the stubble there. You kissed him properly now, soft, slow, lips barely parted.

Joel’s hand tightened on your waist. “You sure?” he murmured, voice low, eyes not leaving yours.

You nodded. “I just want to feel good for a minute. Want you to make me feel good."

His forehead pressed to yours. “Then I got you.”

Joel’s hands slid up your back, slow and warm, before trailing back down to your hips. He kissed you deeply, with his hand cupping the back of your neck like he wanted to hold you still for a second, keep you grounded in him.

“Lay back for me,” he said, voice low and steady. “Just let me take care of you.”

You moved without hesitation, easing onto your back on the bed. Joel followed, kneeling between your legs, hands already on the drawstrings at your hips.

He glanced up once, gaze catching yours, waiting for any sign to stop. When you didn’t give one, he tugged slowly, the little bow slipping free.

He dragged the thin string down your legs with that a gentle touch, then he pushed your thighs apart and settled in between them like he belonged there.

“Just relax, baby,” he said, kissing the inside of your thighs, higher and higher. His hands held you firm, thumbs pressing just enough to spread you open.

You breathed out shakily, head tipping back into the pillow as he kept going, mouth trailing up your thigh like he was in no rush at all. One hand slid up your stomach, slow and steady, until his palm cupped your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in lazy circles that made your hips shift, desperate for any kind of friction.

“Joel…” you murmured, voice soft but tinged with a hint of frustration.

He smiled against your skin, his beard scratching gently at your thigh. “Mm? Somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?”

“You’re teasing me,” you said, a little breathless.

“Yeah, honey, I am,” he said, kissing the curve where your thigh met your hip. “You been runnin’ around all day, stressin’ yourself out… Thought I’d slow things down for you a little. Let you breathe.”

Your hips shifted toward him, aching for more and needing him closer. "Joel. Please.”

He looked up at you through his lashes, lips still pressed to your inner thigh. His voice was low and steady, thick with want. “You don’t need to beg, baby. I’m gonna give you what you need.”

His hands smoothed along the tops of your thighs, firm and steady as he settled in lower. "You just relax for me now,” he said, voice darkening just slightly. “Let me take care of this perfect little pussy, yeah?”

Your breath hitched, thighs twitching under his grip. Joel pressed a kiss right over your center, slow and steady. You whimpered softly, hips lifting, and Joel just groaned against you.

“Jesus,” he muttered, half to himself. “You’re soaked, baby. That for me?”

You nodded, fingers curling into the sheets.

“Thought so,” he murmured. “Been sittin’ on my lap lookin’ like that, all soft and pretty… You knew what you were doin’, didn’t you?”

His voice was all gravel and heat now, words brushing against you like a caress. “Gonna make you come on my tongue, sweetheart. Not stoppin’ till you’re beggin’ me to.”

And finally he leaned in, and his mouth was everywhere, like he wanted to memorize the way you sounded, the way your body moved beneath him, how your hands tangled in his hair and pulled him closer.

His tongue dragged slow and deep through your folds, his hands teasing your nipples, as he groaned against you. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and rough between licks. “Just like that, baby. You sound so fuckin’ pretty when you moan for me.”

Your hips rolled toward his mouth, needing more, and he let you use him like that, his hands firm on your thighs.

“Could have you like this for hours. Don’t even think I’d stop.”

You whined at that, fingers tangling tight in his hair.

“Look't you,” he said, lifting his head just barely, his mouth slick and lips pink. “All worked up from my tongue. You needed this, didn’t you?”

You nodded, breathless.

Joel ducked back down, his mouth sealing over you again, and without warning you felt one thick finger slip inside you, then another, slow and careful.

You gasped, your whole body jolting. Joel moaned like it turned him on just to feel how tight you were around his fingers.

“Yeah, there you go,” he rasped, his fingers curling just right as his mouth moved with purpose. “So fuckin’ tight, baby. You're takin’ my fingers so well.”

His pace picked up just enough to make you squirm, the push of his fingers matching the soft suck of his mouth. He was everywhere, relentless and still somehow gentle, reading every sound that came out of you like it was a guidebook to your pleasure.

“Let go for me,” he murmured again. “Come on my fingers. Let me feel how bad you needed this.” Your thighs were trembling now, chest rising fast, lips parted as little gasps and moans slipped out without filter.

Joel’s fingers never lost rhythm. Slow, firm curls, each one dragging right against that spot that made your vision blur. His mouth moved with purpose, tongue working you over like he’d studied exactly how to pull you apart.

You felt it building, tight and fast, curling low in your belly and your hand gripped his shoulder like you were holding on for dear life.

“Joel,” you gasped. “Joel, I’m—”

He lifted his head just enough to say it against your skin, voice rough and steady.

“That’s it. Give it to me, baby. Come for me.”

That pushed your orgasm over the edge. Your whole body tensed, a moan breaking from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you. Joel slowed a little bit, coaxing you through it, fingers still moving while his lips kissed your inner thigh, murmuring soft praises into your skin.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” he breathed. “So goddamn perfect like this. Let me feel it. Just like that.”

Your head collapsed on the pillow, thighs still twitching, chest pressed to his shoulder.

He pulled back slowly, fingers sliding out, slick with your release. "You alright?” he asked softly, voice gentler now.

You nodded, still catching your breath. “Want you up here.”

"You want my cock now, baby? You got me fuckin’ rock hard," he murmured, voice rougher now. His hands tightened on your hips, thumbs rubbing small circles over your skin.

After he got undressed, with one firm hand he lined himself up carefully before sliding in, every inch sending fire through you both.

He began to move, slow at first, making your eyes roll back. "Fuck, Joel." He caught your moan in his mouth, biting your lower lip gently before pulling back just enough to whisper, "Gonna fuck you real nice and slow, baby,"

His hips rolled into yours with more force, every thrust deep, while his hands explored your body like he was memorizing every curve.

“You like that, don’t you? Feel so damn good wrapped around me.” he rasped, voice thick with desire.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, arching your back as he drove deeper, slower, each thrust measured to build you higher.

“Come on, let go for me,” he urged, voice rough and low, “Let me hear you, sweetheart." The coil inside you tightened, heat spreading fast until you shattered around him, trembling and gasping. Joel held you through it, hips still grinding steady, until his own breath hitched and a deep growl rumbled from his chest.

With one last slow, deep thrust, he followed, gripping you tight and burying himself fully as his release rolled through him. He collapsed against you, forehead resting on your shoulder, voice softer.

Joel pulled back just enough to smile at you. “You keep me busy.”

You nudged him lightly. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

He chuckled. “Nope. Lucky me.”

You rested your head on his chest, feeling h heartbeat.

Joel’s hand moved slowly over your back. “Want to rest? I’m here.”

You shook your head. “I’m fine. Just want you to stay a little bit longer.”

He smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

ty for reading<3 requests are open!

[moralityandmusings]

DP x DC: Corner of Shadows

Alfred Pennyworth has been a lot of things in his lifetime: an intelligence agent, a friend, a butler, a pseudo-father, a pseudo-grandfather, a medic, and more. But the one thing that he rarely gets a chance to be is, well... wrong.

He'd noticed things in Gotham seemed quiet lately, though he was superstitious enough not to voice that thought aloud. A quiet Gotham was a plotting Gotham, and he was wary and alert for whatever she was brewing. It was odd though, since Batman and his affiliates had managed to arrest and incarcerate the most destructive of the normal rouges in Arkham. Alfred knew that wasn't a long-term solution, but it would hold them for at least a few months before they inevitably were broken out. Alfred's sense of dread peaked on a Wednesday afternoon in late April. He had been doing his day's tasks, notably at the exact moment he was dusting in Bruce's study, when he felt a chill. Now, Alfred had been the caretaker of Wayne Manor long enough to know it's secrets: what windows were sealed shut and which could sneak open, what rooms and hallways created drafts and where the origins were, and the most likely hiding places for stashes of coffee, weapons, or even people. Bruce's study had never once incited a chill.

Alfred, though, was a professional. So, he didn't even pause in his task. He simply angled himself to reach the next set of shelves and snuck a glance around the room under the guise of reviewing his work.

He noticed it in the far corner of the room.

In his brief glance, the corner appeared darker than normal, as though the shadows had warped themselves out of their normal crevices to conceal something or someone. He considered, for a moment, hitting the panic button tucked away on the shelf behind him. However, he was not one to back down from a skirmish, nor was he incapable of handling one measly threat on his own. No need to concern the family until he knew whatever shadow creature or demon they were dealing with.

It wouldn't be the first time Alfred has faced down a demon. It also wouldn't be the first time he'd come out victorious. "I'd rather hope you were not planning to remain hidden in that corner. If so, I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you." Alfred said, keeping his back to the corner and continuing with his dusting with a purposeful air of nonchalance and passivity.

Even without a straight view of the shadowed corner, Alfred could feel the tension grip the air. "If you are here to steal from Master Bruce or one of his children, I'd kindly suggest that you exit through whatever means you entered. If you intend to harm them, I'd suggest you reconsider unless you plan to challenge me. Contrary to my family's beliefs, blood does not magically disappear out of the carpet, and as I do not know what you are, I'd hate to have to take the time to figure out how to best clean up yours." It was with this thinly veiled threat that Alfred chose to turn around and stare down the corner of the room, hopefully engaging in direct eye contact with whatever creature lurked there, or at least close proximity to it. It was as though the shadows were fighting with themselves. Almost imperceptible to the naked eye, they seemed to elongate and shrink back in rapid succession. It almost appeared that they seemed to be anxious. Then, a voice. It was akin to nails scraping down a chalkboard or the explosion of static through a radio on full volume in close quarters. It was a violent and powerful voice that hinted at fear and destruction. "What makes you so sure you would win?" The shadows seemed to tremble. Alfred smirked.

"I've dealt with many things in my life. Enough to know that demons, wraiths, creatures of the night, and even the most violent humans all have one thing in common: they can still cease." The shadows seemed to tilt. Alfred paused for a second, it almost looked like when a child or dog would tilt it's head in confusion or thought. "Cease." The broken and grating tone suggested that the reply was not a question, more like a thought for itself.

"Life does not always end in death, and death does not always extinguish existence. However, even one that is dead can still cease to exist if given the right... persuasions." Alfred lightly grinned. He knew to an outsider that it would seem vaguely threatening, even if the grin was only created out of his own amusement seeping through. The room was still. The shadows had stopped their rhythmic twisting, finally stationary. However, they were still stretched and warped beyond their usual means. The being was still present, even if it had yet to reveal itself.

It seemed, to Alfred, the creature was thinking, and he, ever the polite host, chose to let it.

After a long, quiet moment, the being spoke again. Only this time, the broken static and sharp noises ceased. Instead, the voice of a teenager, maybe even a child spoke. "What if... What would you say to a being whose existence was a constant fluxuation of life and death? Constantly living and dying and living and dying again and again, a never-ending cycle. How would you handle a being like that?" Alfred paused for a moment. He didn't let his own confusion at the entity show on his face as he realized his assumptions about this being a demon or shadowed creature here to cause harm were wrong. He had a job to do, after all. And even if this was not one of the children he was tasked with helping raise, he would not harm or threaten a child. "I'd invite the being for a cup of tea." "You'd..." There was a long pause, even longer than the standoff from earlier. It seemed Alfred's answer had truly shocked the shadows. "Why?" "Life can be incredibly isolating. Death even more so. I'd dare say, young sir, that if one was constantly walking the veil between both, regardless of if they teeter more towards one way or the other, that the being could, simply put, use an ally." The tension that had begun to stifle the room dissipated almsot immediately. As the shadows started to expand out from the corner, slowly inching their way towards where Alfred stood as though expecting him to move, to strike, Alfred stayed perfectly still and poised. There was no flinching or startling to be perceived. The shadow stretched along the floor until it stopped about half a food from the tip of his left shoe. The shadows slowly, slowly, slowly crept the rest of the way until it barely brushed the top of the well-worn leather shoes. When he didn't react, didn't move away or lash out, then the shadows quickly receded back from whence they came. Then, in the blink of an eye, in the corner sat a boy.

As far as Alfred could see, he was thin, dirty, and the staining on his clothing suggested that he was injured or had been so recently. His pitch black hair was matted and greasy, the bags under his eyes and sunken in face suggested he had been alone, likely hiding, for much too long. His gaze, however, was strong. The direct stare he landed on Alfred suggested that he was being cautious and his tensed posture indicated he would bolt if Alfred handled this incorrectly. So, Alfred leveled his own gaze back, allowing for warmth and care to flood back into his features, casting out the cold and ironed exterior he had thrown on in the face of a potential threat. "So, young sir, would you prefer a black or green tea?"

[flwrkid14]

Bruce shares custody of Tim with Harley Quinn

Yeah, you read that right. Gotham’s broodiest billionaire vigilante and the queen of chaotic energy are co-parenting Tim Drake. And, somehow, that’s not even the weirdest thing that's happened to the bats this year.

Why? Two words: Joker Junior.

The details are locked down tighter than the Batcave, but here’s what everyone knows (or guesses): Joker broke Tim in ways none of them can fathom. He didn’t just try to kill him—he tried to make Tim like him. And while Tim clawed his way back from the brink, he didn’t do it alone. Harley was there.

She was part of the nightmare. And then, unexpectedly, she was part of the healing. She stepped in, helped Tim survive when Joker was doing his worst. When it was all over, when Joker was (temporarily) gone, she didn’t vanish into Gotham’s chaos. She stayed.

And somehow, somewhere along the way, Tim started calling her “Mom.”

And Bruce didn’t stop him.

Cue the Batfamily losing their collective minds.

Dick is pacing the Batcave, gesturing wildly. “Bruce, this is Harley Quinn we’re talking about! You don’t just co-parent with a rogue! There are laws against this! Or, like, there should be!”

Jason is sitting on the Batmobile, arms crossed, voice dripping with disbelief. “She’s literally a former rogue. She tried to kill you! Like, more than once. This is insane, even for you.”

Steph is perched on the edge of a desk, trying (and failing) not to laugh. “Okay, but, like, can you blame Tim? Harley does make amazing pancakes. Better than Alfred’s, honestly—”

A scandalized gasp echoes from the other side of the room.

Cass just watches quietly, her head tilted, but there’s a small, knowing smile on her face. She gets it. She’s seen the way Tim softens around Harley, how he relaxes in a way he doesn’t around anyone else.

Damian glares at Bruce like he’s lost his last shred of common sense. “Father, you have truly surpassed yourself. Allowing that woman into the sanctity of our home—”

Duke raises a hand cautiously. “Okay, but can we at least talk about how Tim basically has diplomatic immunity now? No rogue in Gotham is gonna mess with him. He’s Harley’s kid!”

And it’s true. Between Harley’s reputation and Poison Ivy stepping in as Tim’s unofficial stepmom (because of course she and Harley got back together), the rogues have adopted a weird kind of reverence for him. Tim’s no longer just a bat to them—he’s Harley’s kid.

Picture this: Tim’s out on patrol, and Riddler has the gall to interrupt with a riddle—only to end it with, “You’re sharper than I thought, kid. Guess Harley taught you well, huh?” before disappearing into the night.

Harley’s brand of parenting is chaotic but deeply personal. She knows Tim’s tells, the way his hands shake when he’s overwhelmed or the too-quiet moments when he’s retreating into himself. She’s the one who sits cross-legged on the floor with him, working on puzzles and cracking jokes until the tension lifts.

She carries extra band-aids in her purse because “Ya never know when a fight with some thug is gonna leave ya with a paper cut!” She also leaves sticky notes on his projects with scribbled messages like “You’re a genius, baby boy!” or “Don’t forget snacks!” They’re goofy, sure, but they make Tim smile when he needs it most. She keeps a stash of snacks in the Manor because Tim forgets to eat when he’s working. She shows up with pancakes at 3 a.m., douses everything in syrup, and calls him “baby boy” in that soft tone that makes Tim feel… safe.

Even Harley’s chaos has an odd kind of comfort to it. She’ll burst into the Manor unannounced, dragging Tim into impromptu “self-care parties” with face masks, bad rom-coms, and every flavor of ice cream imaginable. Somehow, it works.

Ivy, on the other hand, balances Harley’s energy with her own structured nurturing. She insists on “proper nutrition” and occasionally sends Tim home with meal prep containers filled with organic, eco-friendly food labeled things like “Stress-Busting Smoothie” or “Brain-Boosting Soup.” If Bruce raises an eyebrow at it, Ivy simply reminds him that “The human body can only fight crime properly with the right fuel, Bats.”

One time, she cornered Bruce in the greenhouse, pointing an accusatory finger. “If you send Tim out on patrol without a proper meal or at least six hours of sleep, I swear, Bruce, your rose garden is compost.”

And while Harley is the queen of hugs and chaos, Ivy is the one who sits with Tim on the porch at night, talking softly about resilience and regrowth, using plant metaphors Tim pretends not to understand but secretly finds comforting. Once, after a particularly bad night, she gifted him a small cactus with a note: “Even when it feels like the world is trying to tear you apart, you’re stronger than you think. Also, low maintenance, like you.”

Bruce knows the family doesn’t fully understand. But as he watches Harley teaching Tim how to make lasagna one night, the two of them laughing as the kitchen turns into a war zone of flour and tomato sauce, he doesn’t regret it.

Sometimes family doesn’t look like you think it will. Sometimes it’s stitched together from the most unexpected pieces.

And sometimes, it’s an ex-rogue, a traumatized teen, and a brooding billionaire all trying to figure out how to keep the lasagna from burning.

Welcome to Gotham.

[thecassafrasstree]

Had a few folks interested in how I made the patches I posted for Solarpunk Aesthetic Week, so I thought I'd give y'all my step-by-step process for making hand-embroidered patches!

First, choose your fabric and draw on your design. You can use basically any fabric for this - for this project I'm using some felt I've had lying around in my stash for ages.

Next, choose your embroidery floss. For my patches I split my embroidery floss into two threads with 3 strands each, as pictured. You can use as many strands in your thread as you prefer, but for the main body of my patches I prefer 3 strands.

Next you're going to start filling your design using a back stitch.

First, put in a single stitch where you want your row to start.

Poke your needle up through the fabric 1 stitch-length away from your first stitch.

Poke your needle back down the same hole your last stitch went into so they line up end-to-end.

Repeat until you have a row of your desired length (usually the length of that colour section from one end to the other). Once you have your first row, you're going to do your next row slightly offset from your first row so that your stitches lay together in a brick pattern like this:

Make sure your rows of stitches are tight together, or you'll get gaps where the fabric shows through.

Rinse and repeat with rows of back stitch to fill in your patch design.

When you're almost to the end of your thread, poke your needle through to the back of the fabric and pull the thread under the back part of the stitching to tuck in the end. Don't worry if it looks messy - no one's gonna see the back anyway.

This next step is fully optional, but I think it makes the patch design really pop. Once your patch is filled in, you can use black embroidery floss to outline your design (or whatever colour you want to outline with - it's your patch, do what you want). I use the full thread (6 strands, not split) of embroidery floss to make a thicker outline.

I use the same back stitch I used to fill the piece to make an outline that adds some separation and detail. You could use most any 'outlining' stitch for this, but I just use back stitch because it's just easier for me to do.

Once you're finished embroidering your patch, it's time to cut it out!

Make sure to leave a little border around the edge to use for sewing your patch on your jacket/bag/blanket/whatever, and be careful not to accidentally cut through the stitches on the back of the patch.

If you have a sturdy enough fabric that isn't going to fray, you can just leave it like this. If not, I recommend using a whip stitch/satin stitch to seal in the exposed edges (I find that splitting your embroidery floss into 3-strand threads works best for this).

And then you're done! At this point you can put on iron-on backing if you want, or just sew it on whatever you wanna put it on. Making patches this way does take a long time, but I feel that the results are worth it.

Thanks for reading this tutorial! I hope it was helpful. If anyone makes patches using this method, I'd love to see them! 😁

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 15. The beginning of the end

PREV PART trigger warnings: (threatened) violence, (past, kinda) medical + physical + emotional neglect, mentions of drugging, anger, the start of yandere behaviour, delusional behaviour, swearing, tell me if I missed any!  main m.list      series m.list

Jason is going to do something he’ll regret, and this time Dick feels no reason to hold him back. After your little stunt of just leaving to your friends house for a week, without a phone, and ignoring Damian at school Dick feels no reason to make shit easier for you. Perhaps he’s feeling petty, disregarded like a piece of trash. But then again, isn’t he just that?

In the week you had left Bruce had found your medication stash, and instead of taking it like he predicted he would he sabotaged it. Adding a little bit of drugs that’s meant to make you sleepy enough that you’ll need more help, at least that’s what he told Dick. He doesn’t know if he believes his adoptive father, it’s clear he’s spiralling.

Dick remembers your mama, he remembers her warmth, how she saw through his disguise and how she helped him with grieving Jason. Gods, she was an angel descended down to earth to leave too soon. It makes him think of how similar your future fate might be to your mother’s, it makes him question Barbara if she knew what he could do to bond with you further, but no one but Duke knows and he made it clear he’s not on their side. He likes to think your mama would have sided with them, would have given them the grace you refuse to give. She wouldn’t, she would curse them all to a crueller fate the Joker had given Jason.

But your pills isn’t something that enraged Jason. No, he found that it was quite a good idea. It was your blatant disregard for their feelings, to a degree Dick could understand why you disregard them but he won’t lie and say it doesn’t hurt.

So here he is, with Jason waiting for a few of your friends ready to threaten them. At least he convinced Jason to not go as Red Hood, isn’t he so kind?

Now, there is no time to get distracted, your friends will pick you up at work tonight and they need the fear of your brothers in them.

“I’m so excited for (Name) and Maria,” Francis says to Willow, grinning ear from ear. Oh perhaps the brothers will listen tot his for a short moment. “they finally picked an act for the talent-show.”

“About damn time,” Willow agrees, grinning just as big. “oh and I cannot wait to see that Damian’s face, he’s going to be so surprised that (Name) is even participating!”

Okay, now they’ve heard enough.

“Excuse me,” Dick greets them with his award winning smile (no really, he won awards). “could we have a moment of your time?”

Willow and Francis look at each other and pulled a disgusted face, a face that pissed Jason off enough to grab Francis’ collar. “We shouldn’t be polite to these little fucks,” he hisses as he drags Francis in an alley, something that makes Willow follow immediately. And by the look in her face she was about to kick Jason in the fucking nuts. “they need to be learned a lesson-”

“Get your hands off my fucking brother, you sibling beating bitch!” She shouts, kicking Jason in the side but it does nothing. The kick was like a little tickle and Jason laughs at how pathetic it is. Truly, (Name) you want these pathetic little fucks protecting you?

Dick tsked and forced Willow to stand in a corner with her brother who looks suspicious. “We don’t want to fight,” he says, but it’s a clear lie. And when he saw Willow’s deadpan he gave her a smile that Willow could only describe as crazed. “yet.”

At least Francis has the sense to attempt to protect his little sister, but all Jason could think about was smashing his head in the wall for filling you with thoughts of leaving. For giving you the confidence to act like a bitch (what they don’t know is that this won’t intimidate Francis and Willow, no, they’ll tell you all about it and whatever you do. Don’t worry they’ll stand by your side). “Don’t glare you little shit,” Jason hisses at Francis. “you have no right, who the fuck do you guys think you are?!”

Willow scoffs; “Maybe we need some context to two strangers pulling us in an alley and clearly having a fucking issue with us!”

She knows who they are, Dick is sure of it. She has to.

“Because all I see is two insecure men that can’t believe their little sibling is fucking awesome and no longer needs them!” She shouts, and now it hits him. Willow doesn’t see them as Dick and Jason, no. Simply as two poor brothers. “And now you are fucking intimidating us?!”

Well turns out Jason has less self-control then Dick remembers, because now it was Willow’s head who was smashed into a wall. Blood dripping down her face, and for a second Dick has a moment of clarity. What the fuck are they doing? They are meant to protect civilians, yet here they are smashing a small girls head in a wall. Francis makes a sound of surprise and quickly pulls Willow to his side, his eyes wide as he spoke; “You know at first I couldn’t believe (Name) that the Wayne’s are such pieces of shit. But now I know that’s even too kind.”

Dick chuckles. “As if anyone would believe you if you were to tell them what happened then and now,” Francis smirks as if he knows something Dick and Jason don’t, which he’ll ignore for now. “so run along and see this a warning. Stop corrupting (Name), or this won’t be the last of this.”

“Even without us,” Willow starts, slurring her words a bit. Jason still frozen in shock of what he just did and the fact that Dick didn’t stop him. “they would have ‘turned’ against you, you neglectful motherfuckers.”

With that the two they left, not knowing what storm was coming when (Name) comes home.

BAD ENDING 0.16 NEXT PART (main story) As the titel says, it's the beginning of the end! I know it hasn't gotten all too bad yet but from this chapter forward I will be going 2 ways, a bad ending and a good ending. Idk yet how many chapters they will each get, but basically the bad ending means that the batfam gets their preffered ending (with a few hiccups) and the good ending means you'll get an escape ending which will be ‘the main story’ because the good ending takes a different path than the bad ending. And the bad ending is more extreme so I'll make a seperate masterlist for the chapters for that and a seperate taglist.

taglist:@prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret