#verms go

[tiny-vermin]

communicatio in sacris by @voluptatiscausa

more art for vol, because these fics changed something in me okay!!

[thetruemxpink]

BAM FLASHBANG

Few months old as well. I couldn't get past the clean sketch and then I forgor about 'em but now i remember so here they are now shared to the internet

You have been t ricked there are no textless versions

[deadddreamers]

just finished season 3 of Sweet Tooth. Why the FUCK do all the shows I watch become the most devastating creations known to man. I love them anyway.

[vermillioncrown]

your local office worker is hiding the desire to crash out or slut out under the shrimp posture and behind their dead eyed stare

[robindaydream]

I think one of the most impressive things about Small Saga for me is how well it balances tone. Like, looking at the plot as a whole and the kind of subjects it deals with, it's not a lighthearted game. You're waging a bloody war of revenge on the world and you kill plenty of people in the process.

But it never feels like it goes too far. It shows a lot of care in which foes you kill vs. which ones you beat up and scare off. I kept worrying about it at the beginning, cause you fight a few enemies that are just, like. A human's pet. And I kept feeling like "oh no I really hope I don't kill them that'd make me so sad" but it never happened. And through the whole game, I never saw the results of a fight and went "aw man that sucks." The game doesn't always give characters the fate they most deserve. Sometimes good people die and bad people live. But it always makes sense and feels appropriate.

And it's also a game full of goofy jokes and silly characters. One of the villains is a fascist dictator squirrel who vapes. At one point you find mouse porn on a bookcase and the characters discuss who they're into. You rescue a pigeon from a trash can. And it's a game full of hope, too. It's a game about making things better and not just letting things that suck keep on sucking.

In the end it left me feeling really happy.

[rozaceous]

ands: the new year's debacle

Wayne Enterprises & Subsidiaries NYE Event, where Director Yang is in attendance with a tall, gorgeous, and mysterious Plus One. They are both seen cheerfully making conversation with Chief Fox, much to the bafflement of the combined office betting pools.

(aka: post bruce and co resolving the UST over the holidays, it's Wayne E's holiday party and he finds out that vivienne and rosalyn know each other, and know each other well. ft: kevin the mortified and unsuspecting office worker.)

“I’m not—” Kevin feels his heels slipping as both Patricia and Claire pretend to double-over with laughter, arms hooked around his as a pretense to frogmarch him towards the trio at the large window of the event space.

“The General likes you best,” Henry says in that obnoxious way where he thinks he’s contributing to the discussion, but it’s just hot air.

“Marvin the Martian’s her favorite,” he refutes.

Simon gives a hard stare over at their wayward co-worker and they all follow his gaze. Marvin “the Martian” is either trying to describe how superconductors work or the mechanics of the wobbling gelatin dessert in his hands to his plus one. Poor woman looks completely lost, as if she’s been beamed to another planet.

“She thinks his nickname is funny, but she thinks you’re actually funny,” Johanna explains with a tone of talking down to a toddler.

Another voice joins their conversation. “Maybe you can go? Female-female solidarity?” He was thinking it, and Michael is the one to say it out loud. He comes up behind Simon, nodding greetings and holding hors d'oeuvres.

Johanna gives him a scornful once-over. She doesn’t move any closer despite the haughty attitude—she’s just as terrified of their boss as the rest of them are.

Kevin continues to struggle to no avail. He hisses, “Ladies, please!”

They’re slowly but steadily inching closer towards doom. Kevin’s never been a proponent of more than a light jog every two days, but the way Henry looks pityingly at him makes him reconsider stopping by the top-of-the-line gym facilities that all WayneTech employees get access to. Unfortunately, it means he’d have to account for running into trouble outside of business hours, as well.

Speaking of trouble—

“Director Yang!” Patricia gives off a bubbly laugh—the only natural blonde on their floor and she leans hard into it. Kevin would buy in, too, if he hasn’t seen how she gave that Enterprise Division asshole Asher Mulland the run-around. He was none the wiser, either; too busy dealing with Director Yang reaming him for wasting everyone’s time when his side pushed for ���tighter integration’ in the first place.

“Patricia, off-hours,” Director Yang says with a small raise of her champagne flute. “I see you and Claire are…” The way she trails off that sentence while looking askance at him makes Kevin want his every molecules to drop down to absolute zero, no motion whatsoever.

If he doesn’t move, she can’t see him, right?

“Kevin’s more fun than the rest of the boys’ club you’re running, Vivienne.” Claire is both purposefully casual and careful with how she says Director Yang’s name. The little curl of the draconian woman’s lips—blood red lacquer and a hint of teeth—at that mockery seems to be a good sign (if an unnerving sight all the same), as the rest of the women in their circle start to laugh.

“We came over because we had to know who you’re wearing?” Patricia ends her statement with a questioning lilt.

“Hervé Léger,” she answers easily, and the striking brunette next to her leans close to clink their flutes together with a laugh. “Nothing wrong with a bit of excitement to greet the new year,” Director Yang says with a warm expression that actually reaches her eyes, curving them into crescents.

“As if you need an excuse to buy more clothes or shoes,” the brunette teases with a winsome smile, and all that prompts is a small flicker of an eye roll before Director Yang leans into her side.

“Where would she be without her shoes?” Chief Fox adds on dryly. “They’ve been making a statement since her undergraduate showcase. The terror of her division, too, if the scuttlebutt’s to be believed.”

“The terror of her calves, more like,” Statuesque Brunette jumps back in.

“But you have to admit they look amazing.” Director Yang’s tone takes on an unrecognizable quality.

Kevin has to admit nothing. He’s not looking at how his boss is in a dress that shows off her arms and shoulders and back and legs, and even if he were, his brain would do him the courtesy of applying a pixelated modesty filter over things no human was meant to perceive.

She looks over at them as if on cue and his mind goes blank with momentary terror. Maybe she can read minds. Maybe Claire says something agreeable or whatever, and Patricia nods along, but he can’t process the words.

It’s bizarre and hair-raising. She’s never gone out of her way to make it known, but within the first two years of working at WayneTech it was factual that Vivienne Yang was a hardass at best and a tyrant at worst. The fact that she’s rarely wrong and backed up all but officially by the CTO of WayneTech and acting CEO of Wayne Enterprises Lucius Fox means that she has leeway to be as despotic as she pleases. It’s true that one would have to monumentally cause something to go FUBAR for her to turn her attention on them, but those with survival instincts cringe at the sound of ‘click-clack-click-clack’ heels marching directly towards their desk.

The horsemen of the apocalypse in his dreams wore fitted suit jackets and pussy-bow blouses, and were all the more terrifying for it.

Hires that didn’t know better and got cocky—they were usually the type to run their mouths, fuck up anyways, and got made examples out of. It’d be better if she yelled, but she would coldly and without pause tear into every bit of their professional and technical integrity until there was nothing left. If it were Kevin, he wouldn’t even dare apply to a different job elsewhere, non-compete clauses notwithstanding.

When he gains awareness of the conversation again, it’s at the mention of his name.

“—must be Kevin.” Statuesque Brunette smiles over at him, with the most perfectly manicured and shaped hand reaching out for a greeting. She’s taller than him, too. “Vi’s told me a lot about you. I’m Rosalyn.”

“I—ah—” And thank god he automatically reaches over to shake her hand, even as he stutters. To his horror, Patricia and Claire are nowhere to be seen. He’s on his own. “All good things, I hope? We’re, well…’the nail that sticks out gets the hammer,’ as they say around here.” He tries for a joke to break the tension.

“You stick out in a good way,” Rosalyn says warmly, reassuringly, except it makes him that much more afraid. “Notable work, great attitude.”

Director Yang doesn’t point out anything unless it’s an egregious error. It’s either ‘good, proceed,’ ‘alright, I see,’ or the dreaded ‘hm.’ And then it all goes downhill from there.

“You’re the division’s foremost expert on frogs, right?” Rosalyn brings up, her straight, ivory teeth flashing in a show of mirth. She tucks shiny, flawlessly wavy hair behind an ear.

“Toads, actually,” comes out of his mouth before he can process the fact that Director Yang has 1) seen his work desktop background, and 2) told her plus one about it.

“Toads, Ros,” Director Yang concurs and takes a sip of champagne. “There’s a difference.”

He must be in a lucid nightmare right now, because Chief Fox nods thoughtfully and Rosalyn hums before asking, “So, what is the difference?”

His parents were right; he should have gone to church more and played less in the swamp, because a toad-shaped demon takes possession of him to rattle on about the differences and he can’t stop himself. The fact that Director Yang and Chief Fox hold a little side conversation but still have the wherewithal to nod along, even adding in little factoids of their own to Rosalyn’s follow-up questions, traps him in this never-ending psychotic break.

“—and Michael’s finally here to complete the duo act,” Director Yang drawls when Kevin has a pause. “I was wondering how long you two could bear to be separated.”

“These two submitted the winning proposal for the small-sat bid, yes?” Chief Fox turns an appraising look towards them. “Good work.”

“And lively all-hands meetings, from what I hear,” Rosalyn comments wryly.

Cold sweat drips down his back, and Michael’s not doing any better now that he’s also in their sights. His smile freezes in a way that starts to look like a grimace.

“So, how were the holidays?” Director Yang brings everything back to polite, standard conversation. “I assume everyone’s hard-fought-for and well-deserved PTO was spent wisely?”

“That does include you, too, Vi,” Chief Fox says.

Rosalyn chuckles. “Oh, don’t worry about that—she was forced to take it easy because—”

Kevin thinks he might prefer the regular work week interactions—at least he has those rules of engagement memorized. Here, he feels like a bug on display in front of the two most terrifying individuals at the company and a cheerfully intimidating plus one; the mood is awkward and Michael’s expression shows he clearly regrets coming over to bail him out.

---

Half an hour later, Kevin and Michael have made a partial escape and are lingering to the side of the room’s large window and attempting to look like they’re making conversation instead of standing awkwardly close to the curtains and eavesdropping as Rosalyn is now regaling Chief Fox with the details of a recent house tour she and Director Yang had taken. She has him honest-to-god chuckling. It’s just not right.

Kevin and Michael are still sharing bulging eye contact at the revelation of Director Yang getting a house with anybody, much less her apparent girlfriend(?) —Chief Fox seems to handle this information with more grace, but then he actually seems to like Director Yang—when Rosalyn is interrupted by the man of the perpetual hour.

“—wiring done by someone who’s idea of electricity hasn’t gained any sophistication past flying a kite in a storm based on the way the bathroom light sparked when I turned it on—”

“Of course I’d find you with the smartest, most beautiful women in the room, Lucius,” says Bruce Wayne, a half-emptied glass of champagne in hand as he smoothly sidles his way into their conversation. He and Chief Fox exchange a brief handshake and inquiry-answer about Chief Fox’s wife, who had other obligations.

And then—

“Hi, Bruce.” Rosalyn leans in to hug Mr Wayne and kiss his cheek. Kevin makes a choking noise and Michael elbows him to make him be quiet, transfixed by the way the very fabric of the universe is unraveling in front of them. “I was wondering if I’d get to see you this evening.”

“If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve been here that much sooner, Rosalyn,” Mr Wayne returns. He pecks her cheek back and releases her, hand trailing her midback as he pulls away. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“I’m Vivienne’s plus one.”

“Bruce,” greets Director Yang with a smile that for once has settled on something that doesn’t look like she’s considering evisceration. Her handshake appears similarly nonviolent; she even goes so far as to add a second hand on top. Kevin and Michael glance quickly at one another, neither sure if it’s a play for dominance or an uncharacteristic but genuine expression of warmth. “Happy New Year’s.”

Mr Wayne reclaims his hand, head tilted just slightly, but still looking happy as a clam, if a little confused. “Happy New Year’s, Vivienne. I didn’t realize the two of you had gotten on so well! Glad it was a worthwhile referral, then.”

“Very worthwhile,” Rosalyn agrees. “I’m sure I must’ve thanked you for the introduction back then, but I’m happy to reiterate it.”

“Of course, of course.” And Mr Wayne’s eyes are flicking between Rosalyn and Director Yang, apparently taking in the lack of distance required for him to do so. Director Yang’s smile, meanwhile, evolves into more of a smirk. Kevin shivers as he weathers a flashback to when Director Yang had given Director Schroeder enough rope to hang himself with and watched him do so while in an inter-department meeting.

Kevin clamps a hand onto his companion-in-misery’s elbow, and Michael doesn’t even flinch when his fingers dig in through the fabric of the suit jacket, too busy staring.

“Mr Wayne introduced them?” Kevin asks in a frantic whisper. Why would Mr Wayne even know Rosalyn? Why did he know Rosalyn first?

And Michael frantically whispers back with the horrible speculation of, “I think Director Yang stole Mr Wayne’s girl out from under him.”

Kevin struggles to find evidence to argue against that fearsome proposition. The closest that he can come up with is that Rosalyn isn’t the wafer-thin type that Mr Wayne’s been seen with in the past. Regardless, she (and Director Yang, in fact) both have the polish of Mr Wayne’s supermodel pursuits, somehow—every woman in attendance is dolled up and dressed to impress, but there was an ineffable and insurmountable difference between them and the two women in front of him.

He thinks it’s dark magic, personally. Blood of the innocents, perhaps.

“Rosalyn was just telling me about an ill-fated house tour their real estate agent gave last week,” Chief Fox segues. Whereas Director Yang is terrifying like a guided missile strike aimed at your desk, Chief Fox is worse in the way of finding assassins invading your home in the dead of night; Kevin can never get a read on him. Is this social grace? Or adding fuel to the fire?

“The house was Murphy’s Law in residential form.” Rosalyn takes her cue masterfully. “It was almost comical, though poor Sharon was nearly in tears when a door literally swung off its hinges at the end.”

Mr Wayne blinks and gives a little laugh. “You didn’t mention you were house-hunting, Ros! I’d be happy to set you up with my agent.”

“We found a place in Fashion last week,” demurs Director Yang, eyes sharp though the rest of her expression is pleasant.

Kevin’s pretty sure the way Mr Wayne is showing his teeth now is more about holding in a scream than smiling. He can completely commiserate with the feeling.

“Finally, it’s been months,” agrees Rosalyn, apparently impervious to the tension Kevin is currently absorbing into his nervous system. He’s attempting to expel it, and Michael is taking the brunt. His elbow is probably going to have bruises. “Needs some work, but it’s gorgeous and has—what was it Sharon said?”

Director Yang answers, “Good bones.”

Rosalyn nods, satisfied. “Weirdest turn of phrase. It has a sturdy foundation, anyway. And doesn’t seem like it’s been shot up by the mob recently, at least, which is more than one of the houses we looked at can say.”

“Some poorly plastered-over bullet holes in the foyer,” Director Yang says with an amused raise of an eyebrow. “Semi-automatic, gives it character.”

Rosalyn’s cheer contrasts with her next words: “Though no visible bloodstains in that one! That was the house we looked at on Irving and Park—”

“Terrible HVAC, too—”

“It’s been quite the adventure, in any case,” Rosalyn concludes. “But I suppose that’s house hunting in Gotham for you. We’re only waiting on the home inspection now that the holidays are wrapping up, but that should go fine, and then it’s just closing. We’re hoping to move in in February.”

“Fingers crossed.” Director Yang takes a drink from her glass, glancing fondly up at Rosalyn from the side of her eyes.

Fondly. Kevin is going to combust, especially when Rosalyn nudges into Director Yang’s shoulder.

“Well, that’s—I’m glad you’ve found a place,” says Mr Wayne, sounding a little faint, and looking like the champagne has hit him with a two-by-four instead of BAC.

“Thanks, Bruce.” Rosalyn beams, her cheeks gone a little pink.

“How long have you and Vi known each other, Rosalyn?” Chief Fox asks. “She’s so tight-lipped about her personal life, I’m afraid it’s a mystery.”

“Oh! That’s—” she flashes a quick look at Director Yang “—a little under a year?”

“Eight months,” says Director Yang.

Rosalyn clears her throat, pinking a little more, but Chief Fox just makes a noise of sudden comprehension.

“Ah, so it’s you we have to thank for the office’s standing desk trend, then.” He raises his glass at Rosalyn, eyes crinkled.

“Trend?”

“It caught on after Director Yang got hers and everyone started making a fuss about her timers for changing desk positions.”

“I—well—yes, I suppose that was me, then. I didn’t realize it’d made a fuss, though. Vi, you didn’t say!”

Kevin and Michael share yet another aghast look, and Kevin is rapidly revising his ranking on who present is scariest, Rosalyn now taking the top slot. Anyone who can get Director Yang to do their bidding and make Chief Fox laugh and who somehow knows Bruce Wayne well enough to be on a first-name basis deserves the gold medal.

Rosalyn takes a sip of champagne, seemingly a little flustered, and her bright lipstick doesn’t even leave a mark on the glass. Just in case Kevin needed more evidence of her uncanny, eldritch powers.

---

Nothing as gauche as a shouting match, dramatic declarations, or running off into the night happens as the New Year’s ball drops.

Instead, the attendees are all witnesses to various anomalies: the domesticity of Rosalyn and Director Yang fetching drinks and hors d’oeuvres for each other, giggle fits from the women and a round of full-bellied laughter from Chief Fox, and glassy-eyed looks cast over the edges of a speedily replenished series of champagne flutes by Mr Wayne as he makes his social rounds. Whether the expression was caused by sentiment, alcohol, or pure bewilderment was the point of contention fueling a new betting pool.

The cherry on top is when Rosalyn, herself some glasses in, starts loudly care-taking Director Yang.

“—I can see the goosebumps, Vi!” she chastises, starting to shrug off the jacket of her fuchsia pantsuit. Kevin is gratified that Henry also chokes at the arm muscle and cleavage displayed by the now-visible camisole, the same shiny fuchsia fabric as the suit.

“My coat’s in the car, I’ll be fine,” Director Yang—pouts?!

“Yes, it’s doing you so much good in the car.” Rosalyn manhandles Director Yang into putting on the jacket over her silvery-gray dress while Director Yang sulkily submits, but Rosalyn ends with an affectionate kiss on the cheek that has Claire gasping and clutching onto Patricia, making a high-pitched coo.

“Mr Fox, I think we should take this as our cue to exit for the evening,” says Rosalyn, arm lingering around Director Yang’s shoulders.

Director Yang gives a sharp, two-fingered jab to Rosalyn’s ribs, making the woman let out an “Eep!”

“Lucius, please, Rosalyn,” Chief Fox protests, and Michael’s jaw drops at his words. Chief Fox’s eyes are sparkling at the scene in front of him, though Johanna has been keeping the tally on everyone, and he’s had five glasses by now according to her. “And of course. I’ll be in touch with Vi about Tanya and I having the two of you over for dinner once things settle down on the housing front.”

Rosalyn seems to inflate with the force of her happiness at the prospect. “Absolutely, I’d love to meet her! Luke and Tam, too, now that I’ve heard so much!”

“Little Luke’s a riot,” Director Yang says dryly. “You should grill him on how he thinks shoulders work.”

“Those sound like fighting words.” Rosalyn nods, completely serious, though not losing the sense of good humor she’s kept throughout the night. She and Chief Fox shake hands and exchange genial goodbyes, while Director Yang detaches herself from her date long enough to give the man a two-armed hug. Rosalyn then returns her arm to Director Yang’s shoulders, steering her towards the valet service at the exit.

With the intimate proximity and rhythmic complexity of tango dancers, ‘clickety-clack-click-clackety’ and away the devil saunters with her consort.

The office pool pivots back to watching Chief Fox when, in the aftermath, he approaches Mr Wayne—who had watched the two women leave with his brow furrowed ever-so-slightly—and they share a few words before Chief Fox gives him a clap on the back that looks suspiciously conciliatory.

Johanna assesses her nearly empty flute of champagne. “I need something harder.”

Kevin just wants Mr Wayne’s two-by-four from earlier in the evening, hoping that traumatic brain injury will still be less traumatic than everything he’s been forced to witness tonight.

[theory-acrhived]

you seem silly. fun lines on your face and fingers. whatever that is. you look like some kind of robot.

"What? I don't have any markings." He looks at his hands with fear, god he hated being around tech all day. It would be horrible if he was tech...

"Wait... Since when did I ha-"

His voice is interrupted by a crack and blood pouring from a perfect crack in his face.

...

...

...

The elevator started up already, someone must have called it. That person would know right?

[merrowyen]

Kendime not

“Kovalamayı bıraktığında huzur sana gelir hayatın sana gelmesine izin ver. ”

[grandgartsbyofficial]

Wait I straight up skipped over where Sporting KC let Melia go. Like - what is their plan??

I'm not out here saying Sporting needs to keep all their players after the season they just had. But remember their late 2023 comeback??? They straight up EMBARRASSED their little brother St Louis in the playoffs.

And was Melia really the issue?? I see letting MLS legend Johnny Russell go - but Melia wasn't terrible??

[tiny-vermin]

women should be sweaty in the garden and also touching each other. like if u agree 👍

‼️ cottage wives for @chernozemm ‼️

my commissions are open too !! <3

OKAY the vision for this was initially like this ^^ really cropped image of just their torsos so you couldnt see their faces and her Hand. but then i got carried away and its all there now!

i also got a lot of help for this from my artist besties (blows all of u a kiss) because i love second guessing myself. 7 + 9 = 14 yaknow. but sometimes this is good cus i did fix a lot of things. eg crowleys braids did NOT look this pretty until i redid it like 4 times. lmfao.

[coolemmasulivan2]

Easy Mornings

Pairing: Pedri Gonzalez x Reader

Summary: A playful morning with Pedri.

Word count: 1151

Author's note: Yes, I'm in a Pedri kind of vibe. Can you blame me?

Si no e' contigo, amor Yo no quiero a nadie má' Tú, na' má' tiene' lo que a mí me encanta Gata, aprovechémono' Mamita, casémono'

The bed was cold when you reached for him. Your fingers curled around the empty white sheets, the warm and familiar scent of him already dissipating into the air.

For a moment, you wondered if you had only dreamed the night before. Had he really stayed over? Had he left? The thoughts ran through your head.

Soft morning light seeped through the curtains, casting long shadows on the walls. You sat up, still groggy. Pedri's jacket and hoodie were still draped over the yellow armchair in your room, confirming that he hadn't left.

So where had he gone?

With a sleepy frown, you slipped out of bed, padding barefoot through the quiet house. The bathroom was empty, and as you passed through the hallway, you caught the faint sound of something rhythmic, thump, thump, thump. A ball bouncing?

You followed the sound, and as you reached the back door leading to your small garden, you found him.

Shirtless, in nothing but sweatpants, his toned back glistening slightly under the morning sun. A football bounced effortlessly between his feet, his movements fluid, almost instinctual. He was lost in his own rhythm, completely unaware of how long he had been out there and completely unaware of your presence.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "¿Incluso en tu día libre, eh?" (Even on your day off, huh?)

His head snapped toward the sound of your voice, eyes widening slightly as he realized he was no longer alone. He trapped the ball under his foot and a wide grin spread across his face.

"I got up to go to the bathroom, then I saw the ball, and, well… the sun was out, the weather's nice, and--"

You raised an eyebrow. "And you lost track of time!" You finished for him, amused.

Pedri smirked, eyes twinkling. "Can you blame me?" He kicked the ball up, balancing it on his thigh. "Además, eres la única que puede verme jugar así." (Besides, you're the only one who gets to see me play like this.)

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. "Qué suerte la mía." (Lucky me.)

"Muchísima suerte." He teased, finally tossing the ball aside and walking over to pull you into his arms. "Now, are you going to join me, or just stand there looking pretty?" (Very lucky.)

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I think I'll just stand here and admire the view."

He chuckled, dipping his head to kiss your neck. "Smart choice." He pulled back with a playful glint in his eyes. "But you're not just going to stand there forever, are you?" Before you could respond, he reached down and grabbed the football, and tossed it toward you. "Vamos, muéstrame lo que tienes." (Come on, show me what you've got.)

You caught it with both hands, a smirk forming on your lips. "I played football in school, you know." You lied, teasing him.

"Oh?" His grin widened. "¿Debería preocuparme?" (Should I be worried?)

"Tal vez." You let the ball drop to your feet, nudging it from one foot to another, but before you could pass it, he stole it effortlessly. You groaned. "I didn't realize we were playing as rivals." You said, eyeing him. "I don't like playing with you. Maybe you should practice with your team." (Maybe.)

He raised an eyebrow. "Already giving up? You didn't even try."

"I just woke up!" You defended.

He smirked, nudging the ball back toward you with his foot. "Then you better start practicing, because I don't take it easy on anyone, not even you."

You huffed, determined now. You let your foot brush over the ball before swiftly moving forward. But before you could even take a proper step, he flicked it away again, laughing at your effort.

"Nice try." He teased, dribbling the ball in a tight circle around you. "Pero tendrás que ser más rápida que eso." (But you're gonna have to be quicker than that.)

You sighed dramatically. "Okay, fine. You win. I officially retire from football."

He grinned, stepping closer. "Smart decision."

You were about to respond when he suddenly reached down, grabbing you by the waist and effortlessly lifting you off the ground. A surprised yelp left your lips as he spun you around, holding you tight against his chest.

"Hey!" You laughed, gripping his shoulders. "Put me down!"

"Not until you admit I'm the greatest footballer you've ever seen." He said smugly, his grip firm but gentle.

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “That's not happening."

He hummed, pretending to consider his next move. "Then I guess I'll just have to hold you here forever."

"Fine!" You caved, breathless from laughter. "¡Eres el mejor futbolista que he visto!" (You're the greatest footballer I've ever seen!)

He finally set you down, but not before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "Sabía que lo admitirías." (Knew you'd came around.)

You swatted his arm, still grinning. "Eres un presumido." (You're so full of yourself.)

He shrugged. "Solo cuando estoy contigo." (Just when I'm with you.)

You let out a dramatic sigh, shaking your head. "I don't know why I put up with you."

"Porque soy guapo." He said smoothly, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "And because I make the best breakfast." (Because I'm handsome.)

You perked up at that. "¿Ah, sí?" (Is that so?)

He nodded, taking your hand in his. “Come on. I'll make us both something to eat. But after that, I think I'll need some more time to teach you a few tricks."

Hand in hand, you both made your way back inside, but just as you reached the doorway, you tugged on his hand, stopping him.

You tilted your head playfully. "Don't I get a reward for at least trying?"

His lips twitched into a smirk. "¿Intentaste?" You pouted and nodded. "And what kind of reward are you thinking?" (You tried?)

You shrugged, faking innocence. "Algo… lo suficientemente convincente como para que quiera jugar otra vez." (Something… convincing enough to make me want to play with you again.)

He chuckled, stepping closer, his hands finding your waist. "I think I can manage that."

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss. His touch was warm and he pulled you closer like he never wanted to let go. The rest of the world faded and you got lost in the way he kissed you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, a teasing grin on his lips. "¿Convencida?" (Convinced yet?)

You let out a breathless laugh. "Tal vez uno más solo para estar segura." (Maybe one more just to be sure.)

He chuckled, indulging you in another quick kiss before finally pulling away. Smiling, you followed him inside, your hand still in his, already looking forward to whatever the rest of the day would bring.

[dearstvckyx]

Promise you that'll make a baby with you , Make a momma of you - Gavi

After the shocking news of an unexpected pregnancy at just 19, you and Gavi are forced to grow up fast. Now, months later, the baby decides to come early — right in the middle of one of Barça’s biggest matches. With Pedri as your panic-stricken birthing partner, Gavi racing from the stadium, and emotions at an all-time high, the journey into parenthood begins in the most chaotic, heartwarming way possible. Featuring godfather Pedri in full crybaby mode, a stadium’s worth of love, and Gavi being Gavi: emotional, extra, and absolutely in love. - The Neighbourhood , Jealou$y

Pablo Gavi x Reader (ft Pedri, Gavis Family, Barça Players)

Warnings: Language (in both English & Spanish) , Descriptions of childbirth/labor (nothing overly graphic) , Emotional themes , Lots of crying , Pedri nearly passing out from stress (I had to add this) , PROBABLY BADLY WRITTEN SPANISH IM STILL LEARNING

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

Camp Nou – VIP Box

You gripped the edge of your seat, trying to breathe through the tightness spreading across your stomach. At first, you thought it was just nerves. Then warmth rushed down your legs.

You blinked. “Pedri…”

He was on his phone, half-watching the game. “Hmm?”

“Pedri.”

He looked over—and saw the panic in your eyes before he noticed the puddle beneath your chair.

“Oh, mierda.” He jumped up, already fumbling for his phone. “Vale, no entres en pánico…”

“Estoy teniendo el bebé, Pedri! AHORA MISMO!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, breathe. I got you,” he said, kneeling next to you. “You’re good. You’ll be fine.”

You grabbed his hoodie and screamed as another contraction hit.

“Ay DIOS, me está MATANDO!”

“Tú puedes, vale? Vamos. We’re going. I’m calling the car—” he rambled, speaking rapid-fire as he motioned for security.

“¿Dónde está Pablo? ¿Por qué no está aquí?”

Pedri helped you into the wheelchair. “He’s still playing. But don’t worry — I texted him. He’s gonna come. I swear.”

⸻

At the Hospital – 20 minutes later

You were already in a gown, gripping the bedrails like they were lifelines. Pedri sat by your head, holding a cool cloth to your forehead with shaking hands.

“¿Puedes verme? Mira mis ojos, vale? Solo respira conmigo,” he said.

You gasped, “Dios mío, esto duele más de lo que pensé!”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” he said, visibly panicked. “Estás siendo tan valiente, joder… nunca había visto algo así.”

“I CAN’T DO THIS—”

“Yes, you can. Yes, you are. Look at you! You’re doing it right now!”

⸻

Back at Camp Nou

Gavi was still in the game, unaware, until his phone buzzed on the bench.

A message from Pedri:

Your girl is in labor. We’re at the hospital.

Coach glanced at the message, then at Gavi. “Vamos,” he muttered, waving him over.

Gavi jogged toward him, confused. “¿Qué pasa?”

The coach smiled knowingly. “Buena suerte… y felicidades, papá.”

Gavi froze, realization hitting like a freight train. He sprinted off the pitch, waving off the crowd’s confusion.

Shower. Clothes. Bag. Phone. Car.

⸻

Labor room

Back in the labor room, pedri is still doing his best to calm down his best friend, and himself.

Then the door slammed open.

“MI AMOR!” Gavi’s voice cracked as he ran in, bag still slung over his shoulder. He looked wild — flushed from the sprint, hair damp from a quick shower.

Pedri stood and stumbled back. “Oh thank God. I’m OUT. I’m so out.” He threw his hands up and bolted out the door like a soldier who’d seen too much.

Gavi raced to your side. “Estoy aquí, mi amor . Estoy aquí. Perdóname por no estar antes.”

You burst into a fresh round of tears as he kissed your temple and took your hand. “I was so scared.”

“I know, I know. But I’m here now. We’ve got this, okay?”

You squeezed his hand like it was your last anchor.

⸻

Delivery Room – Hours Later

Your screams filled the air, but you barely heard them. All you felt was the pressure, the burn, the need to finish this. Gavi never left your side, whispering to you constantly.

“Eres increíble, juro por Dios… Nunca te había amado tanto,” he murmured.

Tears streamed down your face as you bore down one last time—

And then the cry filled the room.

You gasped. “Is that—?”

Gavi looked at the nurse in awe. “¿Está bien? ¿Está bien él?”

“Si,si.” the nurse smiled, gently laying your newborn son onto your chest.

You let out a sob, holding your baby for the first time. “He’s so… tiny.”

Gavi sat beside you, tears streaming. “Nuestro hijo… míralo.”

⸻

Recovery Room – Later

The door creaked open slowly. “¿Puedo entrar?” Pedri whispered, peeking his head in.

You smiled, exhausted but glowing. “Si, godfather.”

He froze. “What?”

You glanced at Gavi. “We talked about it. We want you to be his padrino.”

Pedri blinked, then walked in like a zombie and looked down at the baby in your arms. He reached out, gently took him, and sat in the chair nearby.

Then he started crying.

“¿Qué te pasa, Ri?” you laughed weakly.

“No sé… es que… he’s beautiful. I just—” His voice cracked. “You guys are like family.”

⸻

A couple hours later

The room you were set in was now full of Barça Teammates, Coaches, and Gavi’s Family

Soon, the whole room was buzzing. Teammates poured in. Coaches shook Gavi’s hand. Someone brought cupcakes. Pedri’s family showed up and hugged you like their own daughter.

Then the door opened again—and in walked Gavi’s mom.

The room went quiet.

You tensed immediately, holding your son a little tighter. Gavi noticed and placed a hand protectively on your back.

But then his mom crossed the room, eyes on you—not the baby—and gently sat beside you.

Without saying a word, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around you.

“Lo hiciste muy bien,” she whispered, brushing hair from your forehead.

Your lip trembled. You melted into her shoulder and cried again, this time from relief.

⸻

Later that night

The room had cleared out. Gavi sat beside you, his arm around your shoulder as you held your baby in your arms. His fingers brushed over the tiny ones poking out of the blanket.

“Somos tan jóvenes… pero mira lo que hicimos,” he whispered.

You turned to him with tired, misty eyes. “Lo hicimos juntos.”

He leaned down, kissed your forehead, then smirked—classic Gavi mischief lighting up his eyes.

“Te lo dije, ¿no? Que iba a hacerte mamá.”

You turned slowly, face blank. “Did you seriously just say that?”

He grinned. “Prometí, y lo cumplí.”

You swatted his arm. “Idiota.”

“Mm, pero sexy.”

You groaned and looked down at your baby. “You’re gonna grow up with a dad who thinks he’s funny. I’m so sorry.”

Gavi just laughed, resting his head on your shoulder as you both stared at the tiny life you made together.

“Todo por ti,” he whispered.

Note: this was part 2 of this fic - part 1

[vermillioncrown]

I need you to know that I read the snippets from tnc and almost cried because of how miserable everyone is

good, it's meant to be miserable as fuck 🥰 means "nailed it"

less facetious answer: the characterization exercise that comes from crafting an au is the real test of understanding. or one's ability to be convincing. characters aren't just flat expressions of some personality traits, likes and dislikes, skills, and catchphrases. there's interiority that has to be implied by their expression (the show, don't tell thing). they have to come from somewhere, have a background, reasons why they are the way they are, and when you dig through that, you can find a core of what is "them."

a lot of times, i find au's to be some dudes wearing blorbo's face as a cardboard mask. play-acting blorbo in each other's roles. it's a shallow interpretation of what makes that character that character in the watsonian sense.

so, everyone is miserable in this au because of who they are, and the particular way they meet each other/their roles in each other's lives. everyone is not at an advantage in this au. no one is in the position to understand each other, and their attempts to do so hurt each other more. everyone has a nasty shell they can retreat behind with very little impetus to come out for reconciliation.

and this was a discovery as @rozaceous and i talked through the what-if at the start, not the overall intent, as much as i delight in the rancidness (that's from seeing our thoughts being implemented).

[summercreolefanfictioner]

a spicy sunset with hinata shoyo

summary: "one look and he knew you're going to be his biggest sin" themes: slight nsfw, romance, summer getaways, basically brazil!hinata and his damn hotness ugh

Hinata had always known, from the moment he saw you come out of the rest house, that you were the biggest temptation walking on Earth right now. The way you slightly lifted your skirt up to avoid the puddle of water after the drizzle of rain from last night was enough to send him fuzzy emotions he couldn't name, gulping at the thought of your bare skin teasing his senses. And sometimes, he would catch you innocently gazing at him like you were begging him to approach you. Of course, he would approach you, claiming it was because you two were both Japanese, and it would be better if he showed you around even though all he wanted was to get your attention all to himself.

So one day, during a warm sunset, you didn't hesitate to invite him into your room, and he couldn't resist the way you were biting your lip so hard as you pulled him in by his shirt. The neighbors wouldn't hear a single thing; you made sure to turn on the vinyl player, a song with a mix of heartbreak and romance playing in the background.

This was a bad idea, Hinata warned himself many times as he kissed you like he wanted to devour your soul. He had always known the aftermath would burn, but he begged to differ. You two were already burning in this room, the warm sunset illuminating outside, and all you could remember was how love felt so orange (which was weird because orange is not a feeling.)

Hinata's caresses on your skin were desperate, hungry to feel you even though you were sure your skin was touching his already. Tongues exchanged in a battle, and he wished he could memorize your taste always (or even better, if he could always have your taste so he wouldn't go looking for it every single time.) His mind was telling him to stop, that you would be gone from Brazil in a few days, but his heart and body were convincing him that this moment was just right; that it was perfect.

"Shoyo..." you moaned in his ear as he continued touching you in places no one could, your fingers entangled in his hair.

He wanted to blame his hormones, or the heat, or the way you softly spoke to him in Japanese. Maybe he just felt homesick. Maybe it was because of seeing too much girls on the beach. But fuck excuses. He wanted you badly, and he even couldn't contain himself the moment you gave him a chance to touch you like this.

A heated glance. A brief touch. A soft kiss.

He took you to heaven, pinning your hands above your head.

"El muchacho de los ojos tristes

Vive solo y necesita amor

Como el aire, necesita verme

Como al sol, lo necesito yo"

author's note: i just had to write it aaaaaaahhhh 3rd year and brazil hinata shoyo got me on a chokehold

[deadqueerboys]

Kiss me, you know they'll love it!

Headcanons: Kissing them on stream.

Pairing: Wilbur x Reader, Tubbo x M! Reader, Quackity x Reader. (Separate).

Wilbur Soot:

First of all, he knew what he was doing. It was just a normal minecraft stream. This got him kinda bothered after a while. And he knew what he had to do to take this bother out of him.

Wilbur says to chat: "Holy.. oh, fuck.. i'm going to the bathroom guys, i'll be right back." He pretends he mutes and turns off the camera, we know he's a good actor.

He calls you, and since the moment you enter the room, he stairs at you with puppy eyes. You ask him why he is looking at you like that, Wilbur just smiles and places his hands on your waist, pulling you closer.

"Will.. aren't they seeing it?"

Wilbur simply doesn't care. He didn't node or deny it. He just got up and put his hands on your cheeks, kissing you passionately.

Chat goes crazy! A lot of people freaking out, they didn't even know he was dating someone.

After he does it, he also pretends to turn the camera and mic on so he can see everybody going crazy again.

"I'm back chat.. did I lose something?" He asked with a smirk.

Tubbo:

It's a late night stream, not a qsmp one, just a normal and chaotic as usual. Tubbo is doing something on his laptop. It's been a while since he's all quiet. Worried, you knocked on the door, calling him;

"Hi babe, what u doing?"

He explains to you something that doesn't matter how much he says, you'll never understand. When he looks at you, his eyes shine, making a dumb but cute smile.

"What? Don't look at me like that dickhead.." You ask, in seconds, he's stood up, hugging you, making you stay closer to him before he kept giving you kisses.

It's so lovely!!!!!

"Stop being mean with me. You're literally my boyfriend!" He giggles and finally kisses you on the lips, a very calm kiss for his natural exited way of being.

"So.. is this camera on?" "Oh.. shit."

He doesn't really care. If you're weak or shorter than him, he gonna take you on his lap, he kept giving you kisses until he get tired, which never happens, or until some giftsub appear on the stream he notices that or he turn the stream off or he let you go.

Now that people know you guys are dating, he'll make sure to bring you sometimes to make a stream with him, always being clingy.

If somebody on the chat flirts with you, he'll be pissed off, not just pissed off, but.. wow. He started to complain about it all the time. Even out of live, he's not the jealous type, but God, he's offended!

Quackity:

He doesn't care.

"Oh, but they'll see us and.." Stfu. He. Doesn't. Care.

Quackity puts you on his lap while streaming, giving you a tight hug.

Small kisses around your cheeks and neck.

Arms are always around you.

He does the possible for talking in your language, so if it is English that cracked fucked up voice comes out, whispering nasty things on your ear.

And, as you guys know, some even more nasty things for you if you speak spanish or portuguese.

I can imagine a pretty "Ah, é? Você sentiu falta de mim hoje..? Eu tenho certeza que posso fazer você se sentir melhor.." In portuguese while he bites the your ear, slowly and teasy.

Or a simple "Mhm, te ves tan bien usando esa ropa, apuesto a que te gustaría verme besarte a través de ella." Coming from him with an innocent smile.

And again, "What if they hear it?" He. Doesn't. Care.

He cares only about you and you feeling good receiving cuddles from him.

Normally, the chat is accustomed to it, just saying things like;

"Come on, man!!!"

"Please, Quackity, can we keep going with the stream?"

"Oh, well, we're losing him.."

He smiles and gives you a big kiss before letting you go. He stayed in a good mood for the rest of the night.

[employee052]

im making vermes (the narrator/hermes (Epic the Musical) fusion) into his own character now instead of being strictly a fusion so take a look at this gayass /aff

(doodles + alt ver. under the cut!)

ALSO this new design is going off of some items i found online that i could buy, AND this spring fit i gave vermes a while back