#version without text under read more~

[demiurgic-warrior-chael]

@voiceinthemidstofthefourbeasts

[insertdisc5]

🎮 HEY I WANNA MAKE A GAME! 🎮

Yeah I getcha. I was once like you. Pure and naive. Great news. I AM STILL PURE AND NAIVE, GAME DEV IS FUN! But where to start?

To start, here are a couple of entry level softwares you can use! source: I just made a game called In Stars and Time and people are asking me how to start making vidy gaems. Now, without further ado:

SOFTWARES AND ENGINES FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T KNOW HOW TO CODE!!!

Ren'py (and also a link to it if you click here do it): THE visual novel software. Comic artists, look no further ✨Pros: It's free! It's simple! It has great documentation! It has a bunch of plugins and UI stuff and assets for you to buy! It can be used even if you have LITERALLY no programming experience! (You'll just need to read the doc a bunch) You can also port your game to a BUNCH of consoles! ✨Cons: None really <3 Some games to look at: Doki Doki Literature Club, Bad End Theater, Butterfly Soup

Twine: Great for text-based games! GREAT FOR WRITERS WHO DONT WANNA DRAW!!!!!!!!! (but you can draw if you want) ✨Pros: It's free! It's simple! It's versatile! It has great documentation! It can be used even if you have LITERALLY no programming experience! (You'll just need to read the doc a bunch) ✨Cons: You can add pictures, but it's a pain. Some games to look at: The Uncle Who Works For Nintendo, Queers In love At The End of The World, Escape Velocity

Bitsy: Little topdown games! ✨Pros: It's free! It's simple! It's (somewhat) intuitive! It has great documentation! It can be used even if you have LITERALLY no programming experience! You can make everything in it, from text to sprites to code! Those games sure are small! ✨Cons: Those games sure are small. This is to make THE simplest game. Barely any animation for your sprites, can barely fit a line of text in there. But honestly, the restrictions are refreshing! Some games to look at: honestly I haven't played that many bitsy games because i am a fake gamer. The picture above is from Under A Star Called Sun though and that looks so pretty

RPGMaker: To make RPGs! LIKE ME!!!!! NOTE: I recommend getting the latest version if you can, but all have their pros and cons. You can get a better idea by looking at this post. ✨Pros: Literally everything you need to make an RPG. Has a tutorial inside the software itself that will teach you the basics. Pretty simple to understand, even if you have no coding experience! Also I made a post helping you out with RPGMaker right here! ✨Cons: Some stuff can be hard to figure out. Also, the latest version is expensive. Get it on sale! Some games to look at: Yume Nikki, Hylics, In Stars and Time (hehe. I made it)

engine.lol: collage worlds! it is relatively new so I don't know much about it, but it seems fascinating. picture is from Garden! NOTE: There's a bunch of smaller engines to find out there. Just yesterday I found out there's an Idle Game Maker made by the Cookie Clicker creator. Isn't life wonderful?

✨more advice under the cut. this is Long ok✨

ENGINES I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT AND THEY SEEM HARD BUT ALSO GIVE IT A TRY I GUESS!!!! :

Unity and Unreal: I don't know anything about those! That looks hard to learn! But indie devs use them! It seems expensive! Follow your dreams though! Don't ask me how!

GameMaker: Wuh I just don't know anything about it either! I just know it's now free if your game is non-commercial (aka, you're not selling it), and Undertale was made on it! It seems good! You probably need some coding experience though!!!

Godot: Man I know even less about this one. Heard good things though!

BUNCHA RANDOM ADVICE!!!!

-Make something small first! Try making simple: a character is in a room, and exits the room. The character can look around, decide to take an item with them, can leave, and maybe the door is locked and you have to find the key. Figuring out how to code something like that, whether it is as a fully text-based game or as an RPGMaker map, should be a good start to figure out how your software of choice works!

-After that, if you have an idea, try first to make the simplest version of that idea. For my timeloop RPG, my simplest version was two rooms: first room you can walk in, second room with the King, where a cutscene automatically plays and the battle starts, you immediately die, and loop back to the first room, with the text from this point on reflecting this change. I think I also added a loop counter. This helped me figure out the most important thing: Can This Game Be Made? After that, the rest is just fun stuff. So if you want to make a dating sim, try and figure out how to add choices, and how to have affection points go up and down depending on your choices! If you want to make a platformer, figure out how to make your character move and jump and how to create a simple level! If you just want to make a kinetic visual novel with no choices, figure out how to add text, and how to add portraits! You'll be surprised at how powerful you'll feel after having figured even those simple things out.

-If you have a programming problem or just get confused, never underestimate the power of asking Google! You most likely won't be the only person asking this question, and you will learn some useful tips! If you are powerful enough, you can even… Ask people??? On forums??? Not me though.

-Yeah I know you probably want to make Your Big Idea RIGHT NOW but please. Make a smaller prototype first. You need to get that experience. Trust me.

-If you are not a womanthing of many skills like me, you might realize you need help. Maybe you need an artist, or a programmer. So! Game jams on itch.io are a great way to get to work and meet other game devs that have different strengths! Or ask around! Maybe your artist friend secretly always wanted to draw for a game. Ask! Collaborate! Have fun!!!

I hope that was useful! If it was. Maybe. You'd like to buy me a coffee. Or maybe you could check out my comics and games. Or just my new critically acclaimed game In Stars and Time. If you want. Ok bye

[leynaeithnea]

Greek Mythology Sources

Interest in greek mythology rises anew with the new number of retellings and adaptions...and misconceptions all around...

Claims like "that never happened" or "that's the roman version" are around a lot...but even if you wanted to learn more, where would you even start looking? Where do you begin your research for your next fic, or next discussion? Well...That's for you!

Here is the Post as DOCs to share outside of tumblr (gets updated)

Here's a list of source names, links to access them, maps, family trees & more

Where to access the texts:

ToposText

Database, interlinks all names and places, has almost all sources translated, can find all name mentions of place or character in the sources, has a map with the places

Perseus Collection Greek and Roman Materials (and Scaife Viewer)

Digital Library, nearly all main greek and roman sources, including OG language text and dictionary for those languages (is instable at times, try coming back a few hours/days later and it should be up again)

Theoi Greek Mythology

Database, has summary posts for individual heroes, creatures, gods and events, as well as many translations, has a search function

List of Ancient Sources

Homer's Iliad (8th BC)

Homer's Odyssey (8th BC)

Epic Cycle (and Theban Cycle) fragments (8-6th BC)

Homeric Hymns (7th BC)

Orphic Hymns (2nd BC/2nd AD)

Quintus Smyrnaeus’s Posthomerica (3rd AD)

Tryphiodorus’s Taking of Ilium (3rd AD)

Apollonius Rhodius’ Argonautica (3rd BC)

Nonnus’ Dionysiaca (5th AD)

Hesiod’s Theogony, Works and Days, Catalogue of Women (8th BC)

Statius’s Thebaid, Achilleid (1st AD)

(More under cut)

Virgil’s Aeneid (1st BC)

Valerius Flaccus’s Argonautica (1st AD)

Colluthus’s Taking of Helen (6th AD)

Pindar’s Odes (5th BC)

Plays by Sophocles, Aeschylus, Euripides (5th BC)

Fragments of lyric poets (8th-6th BC)

Athenaeus’s Deipnoshists (2nd AD)

Lycophron’s Alexandra (3rd BC)

Pausanias’s Description of Greece (2nd AD)

Strabo’s Geography (1st AD)

Scholia on Homer (~ 5th BC - 11th AD)

Scholia on Pindar  (2nd AD?)

Scholia on Sophocles, on Euripides (1st BC-15th AD)

Maurus Servius Honoratus’ Commentaries on the Aeneid (5th AD)

Corpus Aristotelicum (4th BC)

Fragments of Hellanicus’s works (5th BC)

Diodorus Siculus’s Bibliotheca Historica (1st AD)

Herodotus’s Histories (5th BC)

Dionysius Halicarnassius’s Roman Antiquities (1st BC)

Plutarch’s Quaestiones Graecae (1st AD)

Eustathius’s commentaries on Homer (12th AD)

Apollodorus’ Bibliotheca, Epitome (2nd AD)

Hyginus’s Fabulae (2nd AD)

Ovid’s Works (1st AD)

Antoninus Liberalis’s Metamorphoses (2nd AD)

Conon’s Narrations (1st AD)

Dictys Cretensis (4th AD)

Dares Phrygius (5th AD)

Malalas’s Chronography (6th AD)

St.Jerome’s Chronicon (4th AD)

Eusebius’s Chronography (5th AD)

Philostratus the Athenian’s Heroicus (3rd AD)

Seneca Plays (1st AD)

Suda (10th AD)

Tzetzes (12th AD)

Duris of Same (4th BC)

Ptolemy Hephaestion (2nd AD)

More Sources:

WordHoard

(Software/Java Document for Scholia on Homer, commentary on the Odyssey & Iliad)

About This Book – Euripides Scholia: Scholia on Orestes 501–1100

Scholia on Euripides

LacusCurtius • A Gateway to Ancient Rome

Roman Sources and History

Little Iliad Fragments

https://web.archive.org/web/20050625081727/

http://sunsite.berkeley.edu/OMACL/Hesiod/iliad.html

Most of these places have older translations for the epics, poems and hymns (with older language), places like Poetry In Translation and https://www.gutenberg.org often have newer translations available for free, though…with a bit of digging most translations even recent ones can be found online :)

Comparing several translations is also good if you want to make any arguments about what a text says without being able to read the text in the original language, does the text really say that or is it just this translation?

It also doesn't hurt to research a little about the author of a work as well to get context for which time and sociopolitical and personal situation they were writing in (it helps to do a quick search into the history of ancient greece too, i.e. epic writers writing during the 7th century BC had different agendas than playwrights of the 5th century during the persian wars, athenians during the conflicts with sparta, or later hellenistic writers after Alexander the Great)

Wikipedia: CAN be used, it's a good starting point, but check the sources cited as much as you can, rather than believing what the page itself says

Links to Maps

Ancient Greece Maps – Ancient Greece: Φώς & Λέξη

User:MaryroseB54 - Wikimedia Commons

Cyowari - Professional, Digital Artist | DeviantArt

Some of the Realms of Greece in the Heroic Age by Yaulendur on DeviantArt

Late Bronze Age Mediterranean Trade, c. 1400-1200 BCE: Empires, Merchants, and Maritime Routes of the Ancient World - World History Encyclopedia

Translators:

Translate to Ancient Greek Online

https://logeion.uchicago.edu

Wiktionary

Ancient Art 

Resources

Harvard Art Museums

Family Tree: 

(Compiled by a friend, not exhaustive) - Note that there are often various different versions of lineage for many characters, so this only represents ONE of many possibilities)

Family Echo

Books

Oxford classical dictionary.pdf

Brief History Of Ancient Greece.pdf

168679208-Ancient-Greece.pdf

Complete Greek Drama

The Ancient Epic Cycle and it's ancient reception A companion.pdf

Final Note

These things should not be gatekept, its time to share them freely

I wish I could offer even more sources via academic books and papers but I fear this would exceed my abilities considering the vastness of the topic of Greek Mythology! But this is a starting point :D Have fun! 

Google Scholar has a lot of secondary sources (scholia commentary & theories), books about history, society, politics, flora & fauna, religion, culture, etc. of the time both of history and mythical history…if you have a friend in academia with university access (if you don’t have it yourself) you can ask them to check if they have access to the papers/books otherwise hidden behind insane paywalls, because a LOT of them are available as pdfs!

I also wish I had more visual/audio sources but this is smth I cant change :") I'm sure there's some good videos on youtube out there...somewhere x)

Feel free to contact me if you have more sources you want to add or any links don't work

[describe-things]

[ID: A screenshot of an article from 2 hours before the screnshot was taken, titled, "Trump rally shooting upends Democrats' Biden crisis", with the text reading: "What to watch: Most lawmakers who spoke to Axios said it is too early to say whether the cessations in tensions will last until the Democratic National Convention next month. But the second senior House Democrat offered one reason for why it might: 'We've all resigned ourselves to a second Trump presidency". This is followed by a screenshot from the Simpsons, first showing a sign outside a building that reads, "Democratic convention inside", followed by the convention itself, with banners hanging from the ceiling reading, "We hate life and ourselves", and "we can't govern!". End ID.]

Source

[queen-of-signs]

💘Venus in Synastry - Are They Setting You Free or Setting You Up? 🔥

Note: These are all my personal observations and patterns I've noticed over the years. Take what resonates with you more and leave the rest. Lemme know in the comments if it hits home!

Their Venus in ur 1st - They want to "have" you before they know your name and also memorize your face like it's art. You walk around triggering their romantic fantasies without trying. Their taste shifts toward you like you're the new standard of hot, even if you don’t fit their “type.” They might stare at you for too long and pretend they didn't when you look at them. They might become desperate to "earn" your attention. You spark their inner romantic and inner pervert at the exact same time. They def would get jealous if you smile at others' jokes or give attention. In a relationship, they would go out of their way to let everyone know you're theirs. Can expect royalty treatment from them. If it’s one-sided, it feels like you’re being adored from a distance while they project a fantasy you never agreed to, or the other way around. After a breakup, their fixation can twist. Love turns bitter, and they might mock you for what they once worshipped.

Their Venus in ur 2nd - They def wanna know your fav food and anything fav of yours. You trigger their desire to invest their time and effort into you. Touch is currency now and you’re holding all the wealth. You trigger their inner sugar daddy, even if they’re broke. They want to feed you, spoil you, and then bite your shoulder a little. Your scent is burned into their memory. You make them want to show up, show out, and show off. They think about what your body would feel like under their hands. A lot. They like watching you do normal stuff like drink coffee, take your shoes off, comb your hair, exist. They prefer to be half-naked with you and prefer the same in return. If you’re not into it, they’ll still linger, hoping you’ll eventually “get it.” Breakups hit them in the wallet and the soul. They feel like they lost an investment.

Their Venus in ur 3rd - You start catching feelings after the fifth “lol” they send. Their voice does things to you that it shouldn’t. They text you just to hear your thoughts, not just your plans. You suddenly care what they think of your taste in music, food, etc. You talk for hours and somehow never get bored with them. They complement you in ways that make your brain short-circuit. You catch yourself laughing and blushing at the same time. They like the way you talk, even when you’re angry or crying. You become their favorite person to overshare with. It’s the “did you get home safe?” texts followed by a thirst trap. If it's one-sided, they leave you on read or ghost straight up. After a breakup, you’ll miss the way they spoke to you more than anything else.

Their Venus in ur 4th - They show up soft, comforting, then start touching your heart and your thighs. They want to know what breaks you and what blankets you. You suddenly feel like telling them secrets you haven’t even told your therapist or people close to you. Their affection feels like a warm bath, until you realize you’re drowning a little. They might like to talk or make out with you under dim lights. They’ll cook for you, then pull you onto their lap while it simmers. You start imagining a future with them in your house and hate how natural it feels. They def will like your bare face and messy hair. You start missing them before they leave for work. You feel like they see the version of you, you never know you had. Every time they touch you, it feels like they’re writing a love letter on your skin. On the flip side, they act cozy until things get too real, then vanish into emotional fog. You’ll start feeling like home to them, but they’ll treat you like a layover.

Their Venus in ur 5th - They make you feel hot and beautiful. They flirt like it’s a sport and you’re the trophy they plan to snatch. You catch yourself smiling when they walk in, even when you’re annoyed. They want you want them so bad. They gas you up and push your buttons like it’s foreplay. They would def complement you and praise you. You start craving their attention like sugar, then crash when they withhold it. Jealousy creeps in fast in some cases and suddenly you don’t like them laughing with anyone else. You light each other up, but it’s hard to tell if it’s love or just a spark fire. They might chase hard, then disappear when you stop clapping for them. If it's one-sided, you might feel like a background character in their love show.

Their Venus in ur 6th - You find them sexy when they’re focused, sweaty, or quietly solving everyday problems. They want you on your grind but also in their bed by 9PM, every night, no exceptions. They notice your health, your habits, your little flaws and want to be the one who helps fix them. Their affection is practical...until it turns filthy behind closed doors. They would take out the trash for you, run errands or pay bills. They want to earn your love with consistency and lowkey obsession. It’s not “I love you” every day but it’s “Did you eat?” “Text me when you’re home.” “I got you.” They might give and give, hoping you’ll notice and resent when you don’t reciprocate. They can micro-manage your day and tell you where to go and what to do or wear. They can become possessive over your time, space, and energy, quietly controlling. The relationship might feel more like an obligation than romance after a while. When it ends, you either miss them or feel relieved it's over, and thank god.

Their Venus in ur 7th - You look at them and think “yep, I could be seen in public with that.” You start fantasizing about joint accounts and matching rings after the third date. They trigger your romantic side, even if you thought it was dead. They fit your type in ways you didn’t even realize you had. Eye contact with them feels like vows you didn’t agree to yet. You might mirror each other’s moods, words, and even bad habits without noticing. Being with them makes you want to become a better person. The connection feels like it should be permanent, even when it’s fragile as hell. There’s a calm in their presence, until silence stretches too long and hits like a bruise. On the flip side, they might reflect what you want to see without ever really giving it. The silence between you starts to feel louder than any breakup. You’ll wait for a text that doesn’t come, because they know how to disappear quietly. Losing them feels like losing a version of yourself you almost believed in.

Their Venus in ur 8th - Fantasy overload! You want to know everything about them. Their touch feels like it unlocks a door you didn’t know you locked. You think about them in the shower, during arguments, when eating, mid-orgasm like nonstop. Jealousy or longing hits early and hard, even if you're not "together." Sex feels less like pleasure and more like a psychic ritual. You crave their secrets as much as you crave their skin. They know what turns you on and off and keep their finger right on the switch. You start to obsess over how much they know about you, how deep they’ve gotten, what they’ll do with it. They seduce you by showing you your own darkness and making it feel like love. On the flip side, you might get hooked while they keep it surface, leaving you craving a depth they never planned to give. One day, you feel seen, then invisible to them. If it ends, it can be violent or crazy.

Their Venus in ur 9th - They make your brain tingle and your pants/skirts tight/wet in the same sentence. Long talks turn into long stares, then long nights. It’s hot until they start drifting like a tourist who never unpacks. They light you up in ways that make you question what you thought love was. They make you feel like anything is possible and also that nothing is guaranteed. You crave their mind like a drug and keep going back for another hit. You don’t know if it’s love, lust, or a crash course in letting go but it’s a ride. If it ends, you realize too late that they came to teach you something, not to stay for the final chapter.

Their Venus in ur 10th - You wanna have their last name. They make you want to succeed and strip, often at the same time. You start imagining what you’d look like as their power couple aesthetic. You want them to respect you and ruin you in equal measure. You feel like the world notices when they look at you. Their attention makes you stand taller, talk smoother, and act like someone worth owning. They love seeing you in control, but they want to undo it slowly. They want to be seen with you, not just close, but claimed. They might put you on a pedestal and might believe everything you say. Can be a simp at times. If it's one-sided, you’ll feel like an accessory they show off but never truly hold. They might withhold affection if they feel it threatens their control or pride.

Their Venus in ur 11th - Their flirting is masked as inside jokes that go way too far. You start dressing hotter “by accident” when you know they’ll be around. Every group hang feels like a secret date only you two are in on. You feel freer with them than with anyone else, and somehow that’s what traps you. They make you feel known in that scary-good way....then ghost you for a week. They hype you up publicly and text you “you looked hot today” privately. You go from memes to sexts to emotional heart dumps in one night, lol. They show up like a best friend, but stay like an unresolved crush. Even if you’re not even together and one or both of you are already imagining a situationship playlist. On the flip side, they might give you mixed signals. You’ll be stuck between friendship and thirst with no map out. They might use connection to stay close, while keeping you at arm’s length. Emotional honesty gets dodged with sarcasm, distractions, or disappearing acts.

Their Venus in ur 12th - They feel familiar before you even know their last name, like déjà vu. Their presence lingers like perfume on skin hours after they leave. You can’t stop thinking about them, even when nothing has technically happened. You crave them in silence, and it somehow feels louder than screaming. Every interaction feels spiritually charged and low-key forbidden. Sex with them (or even imagining it) feels like a prayer you’re not sure you should say. They feel like the answer to a question you didn’t know your body was asking. Loving them feels like surrender, that's sweet, scary, and somehow sacred. If one-sided, you might obsess in silence while they sleep peacefully, unaware. This love can feel like waiting for something that never lands.

Some patterns I've noticed over the yrs:

Venus in 1st/5th/7th/9th/10th/11th/12th -> You love their mind, looks, presence, or life philosophy from afar. “We’d totally fall in love if we met…” Can have celeb-crush energy. Deep emotional obsession with someone who has no idea the other exists.

Venus in 3rd/5th/7th/8th/11th -> Can be one-sided. Friends with benefits situations, a hookup, one-night stand situations, short-term affairs, one person doing all the effort, to keep a score, etc can be seen here. Can be toxic too.

Quick Synastry Reality Check 💋

Synastry is about energy exchange between two people who actually know each other. That means: 🖤 You’ve met. 🖤 You’ve talked. 🖤 There’s been some kind of interaction or mutual vibe, even a little spark.

If you’ve never met them, never spoken, or it’s a one-way obsession (like a celebrity, athlete, Youtuber or influencer)…that’s not synastry, that’s projection.

No, that famous player or that YouTuber is not secretly in love with you because their Venus falls in your 8th or 5th house. Yes, synastry can feel intense, but it needs both people to be involved in some real way for it to work.

It’s energy. It’s chemistry. It’s connection. Not a crush on someone who doesn’t know you exist. I'm saying this here bcoz I got a few people in my DMs asking me, and I wanted to address it. Thank you for reading!

💌For readings, check out my pinned post for pricing! ✨💌🪐

[greengoblinswifey]

Temple— Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— they always say “your body is a temple” and boy is nicholas’ body a temple you love to climb and worship.

warnings— PURE SMUT. fingering, hand job, oral(m receiving), unprotected sex, mirror play, spit kink, praise kink, degrading kink, body worship, ass slapping, choking, creampie, daddy kink, breeding kink, cum eating, rough sex, aftercare, fluff.

a/n— ovulating and wrote this based on these pictures because he looks so good, ugh, i NEED him. (not prof read)

You were wandering the aisles of your favorite boutique, surrounded by the chatter of other shoppers. Just as you picked up a cute dress, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out, expecting a simple text, but what you saw made your breath hitch and your pussy throb.

Nicholas had sent you a picture of himself shirtless, standing in his bathroom with the light cascading down his chiseled abs, his hair slightly damp and tousled and then one with the hat you gifted him on. He looked incredible, his physique had transformed since you first started dating for his new roles, becoming more defined and muscular, and it left you utterly speechless.

You couldn’t help but bite your lip as heat pooled in your core. God, he looks good. You remembered when you first met him, he was charming and sweet, and you loved him just as he was then. But this new version of him? It ignited something deep within you. It was as if every sculpted muscle was begging for your attention, and all you could think about was how much you needed him inside you, pounding you.

The dress you were holding suddenly felt heavier as you clutched it tighter, trying to maintain your composure in the middle of the store. Your thighs clenched instinctively, and you could feel the flush creeping up your cheeks. How was it possible for someone to look that good? You found yourself blushing, desperately trying to focus on the price tags in front of you, but your mind was racing with thoughts of him.

You quickly typed back, your fingers trembling as you tried to keep it casual. “Wow, what are you trying to do to me?” You hit send, your heart racing with anticipation. He was always playful, but this felt different, this felt more personal, more intimate.

As you made your way to the cash register, you could still see him in your mind, his body the definition of perfection. You swiped his card without a second thought, the thrill of using his money adding to your excitement. If only he were here right now. You imagined him behind you, his hands resting on your hips, whispering sweet nothings as you paid.

Your thoughts swirled with desire, longing to feel his warmth against your skin, to wrap your arms around him and pull him in close. His body was a temple, you thought, it was a holy site you craved to explore.

With a final glance at the dress in your hands, you decided to head home, your mind set on what would happen once you got there. You needed him, and you could already envision the fire igniting between you two as soon as you walked through the door.

As you rushed through the front door, adrenaline surged through you. You barely took the time to drop your shopping bags before you heard the unmistakable sound of the shower turning off.

You quietly made your way down the hallway, the steam still lingering in the air, and as you approached the bathroom, you caught a glimpse of him stepping out, droplets of water glistening on his perfectly chiseled body. Nicholas looked like a god, one you craved to worship, his muscles taut and glistening under the dim light, every curve and contour accentuated.

You leaned against the doorframe, mesmerized, your breath catching in your throat. This was everything you’d imagined and more. He dried himself off with a towel, completely unaware of your presence, and for a moment, you relished the view, every single inch of him was a work of art.

But you were done watching. The heat radiating from your core was too strong to ignore, and all rational thoughts slipped away. Without a second thought, you slipped out of your clothes, leaving yourself bare and vulnerable in the dim light.

The chill of the air contrasted sharply with the heat building inside you, but it only fueled your desire further. You stepped into the bathroom, your heart pounding, and when he finally turned to face you, his eyes widened in surprise and hunger.

“Nicholas,” you breathed, your voice thick with need. You stepped closer, the space between you two disappearing as the urgency of the moment enveloped you.

“Hey baby— oh shit.”

His towel dropped to the floor, forgotten, and in that instant, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, raw, exposed, and yearning for each other.

“Oh god, I need you so bad,” you whined, your body pressed against his as you desperately kissed him all over his chest and tipped to meet his cheeks and lips.

Nicholas pulled you close, laughter in his eyes as he felt your warmth enveloping him. “What’s gotten into you, pretty baby?” he teased, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You looked up at him, your heart racing as you felt the heat radiating off his body. “Look at you,” you replied, your voice breathless. “Walking around here looking like this, sending me pictures of you shirtless… God, what do you expect?”

With a mischievous smile, you moved behind him, admiring his tall, muscular frame in the mirror. You couldn’t help but caress his abs, fingers tracing the defined lines, marveling at the way his body felt under your touch. He threw his head back in pleasure, a low groan escaping his lips as your hands explored him.

The atmosphere shifted, the playful banter giving way to something more primal. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his body responded to your every caress. His thick, long cock was painfully hard now , and you could sense the need in him building, mirroring your own.

You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him gently as you both stared into the mirror. The sight was mesmerizing, his face contorting with pleasure, the way he fell apart under your touch, completely lost in the moment.

As you continued, you watched him unravel, utterly captivated by how hot he was, how perfectly he fit into your desires.

“Look at yourself daddy, I’m making you feel so good, you look so fucking sexy,” you panted, speeding up your movements.

You bit your lip as you felt him jump and throb in your hands, everything he did made you feral. Then, with a shudder and a low moan, you felt the warmth spill onto your hand, a testament to the electric connection between you two.

“Open your eyes,” you demanded. They fluttered open and he watched in the mirror as you sucked his cum from off your fingers before lifting them up to his lips making him taste what was left of himself. He hummed in content, the sound going straight to your pussy but you would deal with that problem soon.

“No,” you said, determination lacing your voice as you looked up at him. “I need to give you more. I want to show you just how much I appreciate you.”

Slowly, you sank to your knees, eyes locked onto his as you let your tongue glide over his chest, savoring the taste of his skin. You trailed your tongue down to his abs, worshipping every ridge and contour. “You’re so beautiful,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry. “So sexy, Daddy.”

His breath hitched at your words, and you could see the effect you had on him, his body responding to your every move. You reached down, wrapping your hand around his cock again, feeling him harden beneath your touch.

“Look at how big you are,” you praised, your voice dripping with admiration. “So perfect in my hands.” You leaned closer, giving him a teasing lick, savoring the taste of him, and your eyes rolled back in pleasure at how good he tasted. “Mm, you taste amazing daddy.”

With that, you took him into your mouth, feeling him fill you completely. The sounds of his pleasure willed you on, and you began to move, sending him to the back of your throat, lost in the rhythm of worshipping him. “You taste so good,” you whispered between breaths, and Nicholas groaned, his hands tangling in your hair, urging you on.

“Just like that, baby,” he praised, his voice thick with desire. “You’re fucking incredible.”

You continued, letting his praises wash over you, and as you felt him hold your head down and cum down your throat, it was like fireworks exploded around you. You savored the moment, knowing you had brought him to this point of ecstasy.

You couldn’t help but smile as you looked up at him, feeling bold. With your fingers, you gathered the rest of his release from his hard cock and brought it to your mouth. You took it in, savoring the taste, and smeared it and your saliva over his chiseled abs. You couldn’t resist the urge to lick it all off, your body shuddering with each stroke of your tongue.

“God, you’re fucking perfect, y’know that?” he said, watching you with a mix of awe and desire. “I appreciate that, baby. But now, it’s my turn to make you feel good.”

He positioned you in front of him, hoisting one of your feet up onto the counter, giving him a better angle. “Open your mouth,” he commanded softly, and you complied eagerly, watching as he spat into your waiting mouth. You swallowed it happily, feeling the rush of satisfaction.

Nicholas trailed his finger down your body, stopping at your soaking wet pussy. As he slipped a finger inside you, you gasped, your body arching toward him instinctively. “Look at yourself in the mirror,” he instructed, his voice thick with lust. “Look how beautiful you are.”

You glanced up, eyes locking with your reflection. The sight of you, flushed and breathless, sent a thrill through you. Nicholas’ finger worked expertly inside you, curling just right, and the pleasure began to build. “That’s it, baby. You’re so beautiful when you come apart like this,” he praised, his gaze never leaving your face as he watched you surrender to the waves of ecstasy. “Let me see you feel good.”

With each movement of his fingers, the pleasure surged higher, and you found yourself lost in the sensation. “Daddy,” your moans filling the room as you finally reached your release, trembling under his touch.

“That’s it, I’ve got you baby, daddy’s got you,” he cooed, rubbing your clit fast as your body jolted and slowly came down from your high.

Nicholas trailed kisses down your neck and across your shoulders, his lips warm against your skin. “Look in the mirror, baby,” he murmured, his breath hot against you. You obeyed, your heart racing as you met your own gaze, feeling every kiss ignite your desire.

With a sudden, playful movement, he bent you over the counter, a sharp smack landing on your ass. “You look so sexy like this,” he teased, watching you wiggle your backside against him. You grinned back at him, biting your lip. “You look like a Greek god,” you shot back, and he smirked, pride flashing in his eyes.

“Oh yeah?” he replied, holding your neck gently but firmly, bringing you back against his chest. You arched into him, feeling his hard cock tease against you as he slipped inside, filling you completely.

He began to pound into you roughly, his grip on your neck ensuring you were locked onto his gaze in the mirror. “Keep those eyes on me,” he commanded, and when you felt the urge to close them, he shook you slightly. “Look at yourself!”

“Daddy, you feel so good,” you gasped, feeling the pleasure building inside you.

“Tell me more,” he urged, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me how fucking hot I am.”

You nodded, breathless, “You’re so hot, so beautiful. I love your body, daddy. I love how you look as you pound into me.”

“Such a dirty slut,” he teased, reveling in the sight of you enjoying every second. He rubbed your clit, sending shocks of pleasure coursing through you. “Look at yourself being fucked.”

With a loud moan, you surrendered to the man behind, your release washing over you as you cried out his name like it was the only word you knew.

Nicholas smirked, a glint in his eye. “I’m not done with you yet,” he declared, hoisting you up effortlessly, arms hooked under your legs. He turned you sideways, positioning you perfectly so you could watch him slam into you.

“Worship me,” he commanded, his voice deep and gravelly making you throb.

You felt a surge of excitement course through you, and you nodded, biting your lip as you gazed into his eyes. “You’re everything, Nicholas. So strong, so perfect,” you whispered, your heart racing at the power he held over you, “you’re so fucking beautiful, your body is a work of art.”

With each thrust, he drove deeper, filling you completely. “That’s it, baby. You know how to treat me right,” he growled, his tone playful yet commanding. “Show me how much you want me.”

You leaned forward, kissing him passionately, your hands roaming over his chiseled chest and arms. “I need you,” you breathed between kisses. “You feel so good. I can’t get enough daddy.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice thick with lust. “I want to see you cum again.”

You gasped as he hit that sweet spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. “Daddy!” you cried out, feeling yourself on the edge once more. “I’m so close!”

“Then let go for me,” he urged, his eyes locked on yours, watching as the ecstasy took over. “Worship your man, baby.”

With one final thrust, you felt the familiar rush of pleasure envelop you as you climaxed, a wave of satisfaction washing over you. “Nicholas!” you cried, and he groaned in response, losing himself in the moment as he held you close, his body trembling with the intensity of it all but still not releasing.

He didn’t let you go. Instead, he laid your body down on the counter just a little, your legs wrapped tightly around him as he pounded into you once more. The world flipped upside down as you caught your reflection in the mirror, his tall frame hovering above you. The sight of him, muscles glistening and face twisted in pleasure, made your head spin.

“Who’s your daddy?” he asked, his voice thick with desire, his hand firm around your neck, exerting just enough pressure to send shivers down your spine.

“You,” you gasped, barely able to catch your breath. “You look like a god, so so h-handsome.”

The feeling of being so close to him made you dizzy, and his relentless thrusts only intensified the sensation. “I’m gonna fill you up and breed you like a bitch,” he growled, and your body responded to his words, craving more.

“Please,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper as you gasped for air, but the urgency in your tone said everything. “I want it. I want you. I want your cum inside me!”

He smirked, the heat of his breath against your skin sending another wave of pleasure through you. “Since you think I’m so perfect, we’re gonna make the most perfect little babies,” he teased, pounding harder, deeper. You could feel the tension building as he brought you closer to the edge once more.

With a final, powerful thrust, he filled you completely, each pulse of his hot cum sending waves of ecstasy coursing through both of you. You felt him tremble against you as he held your neck tightly, ensuring you were looking at yourselves in the mirror.

As the high faded, exhaustion washed over you. He scooped you up into his arms, your head resting on his shoulder like a baby, ironic, considering what just happened. He brought a towel to clean you up, laying you gently on the bed, his lips trailing soft kisses across your skin.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmured, pride evident in his voice. “You took me so well. I’m so proud of you. You’re so perfect, princess.”

You cuddled into him, tracing circles on his pecs as you kissed his chest, savoring the warmth and safety of his embrace. In that moment, everything felt right, the world outside forgotten as you enjoyed the afterglow of what you had just shared.

[shinig6mis]

you never should've clicked that link.

but curiosity had its claws in you, and that night, while you were alone in your dimly lit room, you let it win. just a quick look, just to see what was really lurking on the dark web. that's what you told yourself.

one wrong click and your screen glitched. blacked out for half a second. then a text box popped up with white letters against a pitch-black background.

???: cute pajamas

your breath caught in your throat. the cursor blinked, waiting. you didn’t type anything or move at all. you simply stared as your heart hammered against your chest. your fingers twitched toward the laptop lid.

another message.

???: go ahead and close it

???: i’ll still be here

your skin prickled. and then, at the top of your screen, you noticed the tiny, glowing green dot. the camera light.

without thinking, you slammed your laptop shut so fast it nearly slid off your desk. scrambled back, stomach twisting. no way. no fucking way.

on the next day, you took your laptop to a repair shop. paid extra to have it cleaned, reset, scrubbed of whatever digital parasite had burrowed into it. but then the guy behind the counter just frowned, clicking through your system. “there’s nothing here,” he said. “no malware, no viruses. your laptop’s clean.”

all that really needed to be repaired was the tiny crack on your screen after you shut it so fast.

tomura was bored.

he had planned to fuck with you, that was all.

another dumbass poking around where they shouldn’t, clicking shit they know they're not supposed to. he almost closed out after the first few days of watching.

that was until you started talking to yourself when you were alone, making little noises when you stretched, humming under your breath while working on assignments. the way you’d pause videos to read comments, or sit cross-legged in bed while scrolling on your phone.

it was stupid. pointless, really.

but for some reason, it was hard to look away.

so he didn’t.

he watched you like a habit he couldn’t quit.

and eventually, you started leaving your laptop open more often. but the paranoia still lingered, coiling in your stomach when you were alone too long. that feeling of being watched never really went away.

a couple nights later, your screen lit up again on its own.

there it was again.

???: how long r u gonna keep ignoring me?

you glared at the webcam, hoping he could feel it through the screen, as your fingers hovered over the keyboard and typed.

y/n: how long are you gonna keep watching me, creep?

tomura laughed at that.

???: so she does talk

what the fuck was going on right now? your hands were sweating. you wiped them on your thighs, forced yourself to keep your eyes narrowed at him.

if he could still message you, still access your screen, then he knew everything. your files, your passwords, your location.

the realization sent a cold shiver down your spine.

y/n: what do you want?

this time, the reply was almost instant.

???: already got what i want

tomura wasn’t sure what exactly had changed. watching had been enough, at first. knowing he could listen in on your rambles, see the way you chewed your lip while concentrating on a homework, the absent-minded way you twirled a strand of hair when you were bored—it was all pretty amusing.

but he wanted more.

you fascinated him. the way you blushed when you saw a cringey scene in a show, the way your brows knitted when you felt troubled. all your unfiltered reactions.

people were so fake, so performative, but you—alone in your space, forgetting he was right there—you just felt so real and right to him.

and while tomura has seen plenty of people, it was rare for him to actually see the real version of someone and continue to grow attracted to them.

he wanted to see you up close. wanted to make you react to him.

it was a crowded café near campus. you had been staring out the window absently, hands wrapped around your drink as your eyes focused on whatever reading you were trying to dissect on your laptop.

you looked so at peace that tomura almost didn't want to ruin the moment for you.

but he couldn't help it as he lifted his phone and typed on his screen.

your device buzzed with one new message.

???: found you

author’s note ♪ 　 ͙ㅤ 　(՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞) i love my boy tomura so bad yall don’t understand :< p.s. honestly can’t remember when i wrote this ?? i just found it in my drafts ermmmm…

© 2025 shinig6mis | do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work.

[cochineal-leviat]

"Our dear party celebrate after acquiring the third orb to unlock the House of Dormont. Their location? A tavern. It is a night to drink your worries and sorrows away. Hopefully, they will be able to relax before continuing their formidable journey.

Unfortunately, the booze has more unintended consequences than the group had considered. Especially on their new roguish member."

This is my first ISAT fic (that I have finished), and I am so stoked to share it with everyone! I also drew a comic with it because I was so excited about the story. This is definitely one of my best comics yet. I have been experimenting with panelling, and I am getting the formula down now after much trial and error.

I had a lot of fun designing Siffrin's clothes under the cloak (I even drew a reference for it in my sketchbook). I love designing clothes <3. Especially tunics. It seems a little too fancy for Sif's tastes, but I am chalking it up it being a gift from someone from a long time ago rather than something Siffrin would buy or get on his own)

Please enjoy~!

*Edit*

I decided to continue the comic because of the overwhelming support I received (o゜▽゜)o☆. The link is under this paragraph.

Part 2

(Also, there are no spoilers for the game itself! Except for the ending notes of the fic, but I will place a warning there)

Different coloured pages without text under keep reading

Initially, I worked with different shades of grey for anyone: Siffrin has violet grayscale, Isabeua red, Mirabelle yellow, and Odile Green. But I ended up putting a black-and-white filter on it for unification. Please let me know if you guys prefer the 'coloured' versions more or not, and I will change the comic pages into the OG colouring. The purple for Siff is giving, but I am unsure if it is too noisy.

[satoruined]

in which the strongest sorcerer asks you out on a date.

GOJO SATORU arrives twenty-three minutes late to a meeting he insisted on scheduling.

the higher-ups are dialed in already, projected in harsh pixels across the briefing room’s high wall screen. utahime is mid-sentence, explaining some strained cluster of regional curses in hokkaido, when the door slams open and in comes the strongest sorcerer—radiant and unapologetic, his polished black dress shoes clicking against the tile.

“apologies,” gojo announces cheerfully, breezing past protocol, posture, and of course, shame. “had a very important meeting with someone extremely high up.”

“with who?” you ask with a raised brow. he lifts a paper bag. it reads croissant croissant in cursive.

“myself,” he replies, dropping into the seat beside yours.

“took me out for breakfast. because self-love is the foundation of any healthy workplace environment.”

utahime looks like she’s on the verge of rupturing a blood vessel. shifting slightly in your chair, you angle your head without turning it fully, and murmur behind the shield of one hand, voice pitched low enough not to carry:

“…are those mochi socks you’re wearing?”

staring straight ahead, gojo lifts the hem of his tailored slacks a fraction, revealing a flash of pale fabric: pink, round-faced mochi with arms. one is holding a flag. he wiggles his ankle.

“business casual,”

the meeting drags on, a mire of mismanaged exorcisms and pressure from the kyoto school. gojo contributes nothing except red sharpie doodles in the margins of a terrain map—one of which is labeled “enemy base” and drawn to resemble a cat.

afterward, the other staff shuffle out in varying degrees of exasperation. only two remain. one out of obligation. the other… out of reasons unknown.

“you really skipped half the briefing for croissants,” you quip.

gojo shrugs, unrepentant. “i invited you. but you didn’t come.” he adds, with a pout.

“no you didn’t.”

he looks genuinely offended. “i thought about inviting you telepathically. didn’t you get the memo?”

your brow lifts.

“fine,” he concedes, mock-humbled. “next time i’ll text you. with my phone…so cold, so impersonal.”

the corner of your mouth twitches despite yourself. “what, and ruin your reputation for spontaneous irresponsibility?”

he grins. finishes the pastry slowly, more contemplative than usual, and flicks the crumb off his thumb like he’s stalling.

then, offhand: “you free now?”

“for what?”

“coffee. with me. ideally somewhere you won’t start quoting the handbook at me.”

“you’re on thin ice, gojo satoru.”

“…emotionally or professionally?”

“both.”

the smile he gives isn’t his usual one. not the cocky, lopsided smirk meant to provoke. you decide you like this version better.

“shall we?”

“now?”

“before i disappear again. i know how much you miss me when i’m gone.”

you give him a look.

he adds, a beat softer, “c’mon, my treat. i’m being generous. open-hearted. warm. lovable.”

“lovable?”

“undeniably,” he says, rising to his full height.

“but i’ll let you pretend otherwise, if it helps you sleep.” he waits for you at the door, hands tucked in his pockets, head tilted as if he’s already mentally elsewhere—but his eyes under the blindfold never leave you. not until you move.

and when you do, he falls into step beside you, quiet for once. he’s decided—for reasons you’ll never get him to explain—that this afternoon is his to waste with you.

[yan-randomfandom]

Yandere!Huntrix Imagines

[separate] 2nd POV, but feel free to interpret however!

🪻— Rumi

"Don't leave. Don't leave!"

Rumi is pathetically, incredibly dependent. Just subtle. Like the rest of her shame, she buries her feelings, with the raw hope they never rise to the surface. She doesn't exactly have a good support system (Celine). Rumi has to resort to believing the problem will go away if she keeps singing.

But, I guess... if someone did know about her patterns before the reveal, then everything is much more noticeable. She comes to you to breathe. To let go of fear, to let go of her burdens... maybe she's become too attached.

Because you know. You understand. You don't judge, you don't stare—you smile and send reassurance her way. Accepting her for who she is. Rumi feels safe and loved.

Even your touches against her patterned skin don't feel forced nor appeasing. She melts in the gentle contact, closing her eyes, relishing in how genuine your affection is.

However, you distract her too.

She can't sleep. You're not with her. Why aren't you with her? The only one who knows about her predicament—gone from her sight. Demons can reach you without her knowing. She can't protect you if she can't see you.

So, Rumi worries. Worries and worries and worries. She has to text you every moment of the day, especially night, expecting a reply back from you within 10 minutes max.

If you don't reply, she'll genuinely lose it and invite you to her home (permanently). To protect you, of course.

She'd never forgive herself if another demon got to your soul. That's hers.

🌻 — Zoey

"You're too much, and not enough."

Zoey has an unhealthy need to please everyone, even if it costs her herself. The majority of her life, she never felt like she belonged. She has to calculate every decision—choose the right one that will make everyone happy.

Well, maybe the 'everyone' doesn't include her, she thinks constantly. Think about the others first. This is where her darling comes in.

You keep asking what she wants. What she needs. What she wishes. She watches you, patient and understanding, not having violent reactions in her reluctant choices. Suddenly, her affection goes deeper from the surface level, and into your very soul.

But, uh, maybe what you're trying to go for goes the opposite way.

Zoey's too eager. She wants to please you so bad, like you did for her. A favor for a favor, maybe?

She'd casually ask you what you like. Casually ask your preferences — for example, if your love language is quality time, bet. She'll drop everything and spend more time with you. Even if it costs inconvenience, because you matter most, she violently needs to make you happy.

In most cases, she seems perfectly normal. But only because it's what you need at the moment. She's fitting in easily with your wants and needs, her desperation swept fully under the rug.

Zoey simply has to make sure you never want to leave.

🌷 — Mira

"I don't get to have a family."

Mira's the type to overthink, but also technically not? Overly blunt, short fused, highly aggressive... her words, not mine. All she wanted was to be free, to be herself. She had to leave her own family and find her own path—which led her to you.

Maybe you complement her personality well. Or even the opposite, she sees too much of herself in you. Either way, you can't hide anything from her; she can read you from a mile away. Perhaps that's what got her so intrigued by you.

She has self-awareness. Maybe a little too much, in fact—why does she feel so aggravated when you're talking to another person? Is she jealous or something? This has to be one of the pettiest reason ever to get worked up over.

Perhaps thinking about it too much is a bad idea. Now she's stuck, obsessively in her mind, on this version of you.

Is it a version she made up of you, though? You look at her like she's flawless, you smile at her like she's the most important thing in the world, and you understand her like no one has ever dared before.

She hasn't gotten this much attention from people with her own blood. The affection is so nice, so addicting, so validating—it feels too good to be true.

It shouldn't hurt to indulge a little more, right?

— in Bobby's words, I LOVE MY GIRLS !!! 🗣️🗣️‼️‼️

[demiurgic-warrior-chael]

@voiceinthemidstofthefourbeasts

[rxmye]

" 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 "

𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐂 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 — you're his entire world, his only thought, the very illness that has corrupted his mind and body . . .

gender neutral reader / yandere oc x reader / mentions of sleep medication / pathetic yandere / suggestive content / a character slightly aimed towards people with a savior complex

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: edited, Lucas first fanfic is out !! . . click here to read it !! <3

He was someone with fleeting attraction—yet a hopeless romantic, who'd spend most of his class time doodling away in his notebook instead of taking actual notes, writing these scenarios that played out in his mind—tired hazy doodles of small characters, blurry lines of writing, scribbled out text, as he struggled to stay awake—

He had never had a proper sleeping schedule, and if he did he'd never stick to it, a night owl who often faced the consequences of his own actions, sleep medication was something he was all too familiar with, the feeling of being restless without sleep, his nerves always on edge, dark circles under his eyes made him feel insecure, and alarmingly out of character.

He felt something touch his back, he froze, nerves all over the place, a pit growing in his stomach as he turned almost instinctively to face whoever touched him, pushing their hand off harshly . . . "Hey Yoichi . . what's up with you man, why so aggressive?!" Lucas asked . . and then he froze, letting out a nervous and rather embarrassed chuckle, "Ah—um . . sorry Lucas . . just feeling a little tired that's all", he replied softly, voice barely coming out.

To be quite honest, when he first saw you, Yoichi thought nothing of it, he sat at the very back and you for some reason, sat in front of him, not that he minds, you're presence covered him from the teachers eyesight, which allowed him to do whatever he wanted, he was even able to drift off to sleep during that period.

However, it wasn't until he found himself, drawing tiny versions of you in his notebook, little doodles, pink ink staining the paper as he hearted your initials together—his name then your last name . . your name then his last name . . . names of future children—that he realized he was crushing on you . . . big time.

His emotions was fleeting, it had always been, he didn't think much of it . . it was just a simple crush, everyone has one of those, and they go away with time.

Yoichi was a punctual student—and a well organized one—he'd rarely forget his books, much less the notebook with his embarrassing doodles of him and you, it would ruin his image to be quite honest . . yet for some reason he had forgotten it in class today, it could've been his ever-growing restlessness due to a lack of sleep, or maybe the caffeine that's been fucking with his head since early in the morning—he sighed—knocking himself out of his own thoughts, as he twisted the doorknob, hopefully the teacher left the class unlocked.

The door was open, to his utter relieve . . . wait . . . "y/n?", he spoke, taken aback—you were soundly asleep on your desk—you looked so at . . peace . . . calm? . . . Nothing could describe the emotions he felt as he approached you, slowly reaching over to his desk and grabbing his notebook, quickly stuffing it in his backpack—he should go . . , that would be the best course of action . . .

Yet he couldn't . . . he knelt down on the floor, leaning his head on the desk, starring at your face, looking into every curve and line, in his eyes every imperfection just made you even more perfect, the pattern of your breath was soothing to his otherwise restless mind, a soothing scent radiated off of you, and for the first time in months, he felt sleepy . . . like he could sleep without a care . . . everything felt so right. . .—nothing felt displaced or disoriented.

That was the day that started it all, it seems, Yoichi had started forming something that was akin to obsession, he couldn't sleep at all without you—a piece of you—something that reminded him of that calming scent that he felt that day, you calmed his overdriven nerves, you halted his troubles for more than a fleeting moment.

Yoichi knew what he was doing was odd, especially when he found himself picking up the wrapper you threw out, and taking inhaling it, his eyes growing half lidded—he felt like a drug addict—drunk off of you . .

Fleeting touches would tick off his ever delusional mind, a small compliment could set him on overdrive and in the back of his head he knew he was growing addicted, a pit in his stomach grew as he felt slightly disgusted with himself, with the obscene and rather degrading things he'd do, just to get something touched by you.

Lucas stared at his friend, who seemed no better than dead, "Are ya' okay?" he asked, looking him up and down, "You look like a train-wreck", he stated half out of concern and half out of clear disdain and possibly curiosity, "Is it normal?", Yoichi spoke up, taking a gulp of air as he continued, "to want someone so badly that it's hard to explain—like—a part of me feels obsessed, like I feel like carving my own heart out and showing them just to prove my love wont be enough—they could claw out my fingernails—and from where I'm standing, I'd still look at them with only love . . . but at the same time I feel disgusted with the feelings I feel—", Yoichi kept blabbering on, until his friend shushed him, taking a sip of his drink as he jokingly replied, "I mean . . if you love them that much, then their clearly the one . . ."

Yoichi blanked out, as Lucas chuckled, he has no idea how much of his teasing words Yoichi would take to heart that day nor of it's lasting consequences . . .

want more, buy my limited time only advent calendar?

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[maskedbyghost]

last part of toxic ex!Simon Riley x f!Reader

You weren’t even sure what you were supposed to feel anymore, and maybe that was the worst part of all of it, because at least when you were angry, you had direction, something to aim at, something to burn down, but now everything just felt kind of… flat.

You were tired in places you didn’t even know could get tired, your body was carrying weight that didn’t belong to you anymore, and your brain kept trying to replay every fight, every night you waited for him to show up and he didn’t, every time you thought maybe this time, only to realize he hadn’t even noticed that you were hoping.

You weren’t sad, because that part had already happened, that storm had already come and gone and ripped through every soft part of you, and now there was just this… this weird emptiness. This dull ache that sat in your chest.

And the worst part was that you still kind of missed him. Or not even him, really, just the idea of him. The idea of someone who used to know how to make you laugh without trying, someone who used to touch your back in passing like he couldn’t help it, someone who used to say your name like it tasted good in his mouth. You missed the version of him that only existed in your head now, the one you used to imagine was just hiding under all the bullshit if you could dig deep enough to find him.

But you weren’t stupid anymore. At least, not in the same way.

So when the first text came through, just a short, careful message that read: Morning. Hope you slept okay. Don't worry, I’m not expecting a reply. Just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you—you didn’t answer it.

You stared at your screen for a few seconds, heart doing that annoying lurch it always did when his name popped up, and then you locked your phone and tossed it on the bed.

You weren’t going to do this again. Not for a text that took five seconds to type.

And when he sent one again the next day? Same thing.

Made coffee and thought about how you always put way too much sugar in yours. Miss that.

Still no reply.

The third day?

Morning, love. I just opened a cupboard and found one of your hair ties. I held it like a grieving Victorian widow for three minutes. So that’s fun.

You almost smiled at that one. Almost.

But you still didn’t answer.

He didn’t double-text. Didn’t follow it up with a question mark or a “Did you get my message?” or anything that would’ve given you more reason to roll your eyes. He just sent one a day. Always in the morning, and a little nervous, like he was scared you might actually block him again, but was still doing it anyway.

Day after day, for a full week. You didn’t block him this time. But you didn’t answer either.

Because part of you wanted to see how long he’d keep doing it without getting what he wanted. How long he’d be willing to sit in the quiet. How long he’d go before breaking the pattern and asking for more.

And honestly? You didn’t even know what you wanted him to do. You just knew you weren’t going to make it easy.

Not this time.

It had been a long week, and you weren’t even really in the mood to go out, not at first, not when your friends were pulling outfits out of your closet and hyping you up while you just stood there pretending like you weren’t still kind of hollow inside, like your stomach didn’t still do that annoying twist every time you saw his name pop up in your notifications, even if it was just another one of his dumb, soft morning texts that you still hadn’t replied to.

But they didn’t let you stay home. They dragged you out, shoved a drink in your hand, and told you you were hot and you deserved to feel good again. And honestly? After the second drink, after the third song, after the lights started to feel warmer and your feet started to move on their own, you started to believe them a little.

You danced, you smiled, and you let your body move without thinking too hard. And when some guy stepped close and started dancing with you, you didn’t say no.

It wasn’t anything crazy. You weren’t grinding on him or making a scene. You were just letting yourself feel something that wasn’t grief or guilt or the hollow ache of remembering someone who used to know every inch of your skin and now felt like a stranger who texted you about breakfast.

And then you turned.

And you saw him.

Simon.

Sitting at the bar.

Alone.

He wasn’t drinking. There was a beer in front of him, but he wasn’t touching it. He wasn’t watching the game on the screen behind the bar or scrolling through his phone or pretending not to notice you. No, he was just sitting there with his forearms on the bar, that stupid hoodie pushed up to his elbows, and his eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the goddamn room.

You froze for half a second, caught mid-step, one hand still raised like you were about to toss your hair back and laugh, and your heart just… stopped. Because there was something in his face that made your chest feel like someone had wrapped their hands around your ribs and squeezed.

And he didn’t look away.

Not when you turned back toward your friends. Not when the guy you’d been dancing with leaned in to say something. Not even when your friend grabbed your hand and spun you around, laughing. Simon just watched quietly.

Like he’d seen everything he didn’t want to see and couldn’t look away from it.

You didn’t go over, you didn’t acknowledge him, you just danced. Let yourself move more freely. Let yourself pretend that he wasn’t sitting twenty feet away, like he was reliving every mistake he ever made and feeling every single one of them hit all at once.

And when the night ended, when the music died down and your feet were sore and your throat ached from yelling over the speakers, you walked out into the cool air with your girls, arms linked, laughing and stumbling a little, too tired and tipsy to care.

And there he was again.

Leaning against his car, hands in his jacket pockets, hair slightly messy, that same unreadable look on his face, but softer now, just tired. He’d been waiting there for hours and would’ve waited longer if he thought it meant you’d speak to him.

“Need a ride home, ladies?” he asked, voice low but smooth, but he didn’t look smug, didn’t look flirty. He looked like someone who knew exactly where he stood and was offering anyway.

And your friends?

Oh, they swooned.

One of them leaned in and whispered, “Is that the Simon?” like he was a celebrity instead of your ex. Another one literally fanned herself with her hand and said, “He could drive me home any night.”

You rolled your eyes. But you didn’t say no.

He opened the passenger door for one of your girls, helped another into the backseat, didn’t comment when they giggled a little too loudly or gave you a look that said this is so not over. He didn’t push. Didn’t even try to talk to you, really. He just drove.

Like he wasn’t breaking apart slowly behind the wheel.

He dropped them off one by one, and every time one of them got out, she’d turn and give you a look—one of those do you want us to wait? do you want us to make an excuse? kinds of looks—but you just shook your head.

Until it was just the two of you.

The silence filled the car, awkward and pressing down on your chest until it was hard to breathe. You didn’t say anything. Neither did he. He just kept his eyes on the road, jaw tight, fingers flexing slightly on the wheel like he was trying not to say the wrong thing.

He pulled up to your building and parked, let the engine idle for a second too long.

Then he looked at you

“I wasn’t there to ruin your night,” he said finally, voice rough and low like it hurt to talk. “I didn’t even know you’d be there, swear to God. I just… I haven’t seen you laugh like that in months. I didn’t know if I should feel happy for you or fucking sick.”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t come out like a confession or a slap.

So he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and then added, even softer:

“You looked happy. That’s all I’ve wanted. Even if it’s not with me.”

You still didn’t speak. Your hand was already on the door handle.

But before you stepped out, he leaned slightly forward, not close enough to touch, just enough to say it:

“I’d rather watch you be happy from a distance than fuck up your peace again. But I’m not gonna stop hoping you let me try.”

Then he leaned back, hands back on the wheel. And you opened the door and stepped into the night, heart pounding, head spinning, trying to decide if it was anger or longing or both curling up in your chest.

You didn’t look back until you reached the door to your building.

And when you did?

He was still there.

There were moments when the world slowed down and no one was talking and nothing urgent needed doing, where you’d stop and realize you didn’t actually know how you felt anymore. Some mornings, you woke up feeling like maybe you could move on. Other mornings, you missed the shape of his arms around you so badly you had to physically sit on your hands to keep from texting him first.

And through it all, Simon kept texting.

Every single day.

Not demanding, not pushing, not trying to force a response. Just… there. Sometimes it was early in the morning, sometimes mid-afternoon, sometimes twice a day if he thought you’d had a bad one. And even though you never replied, not once, you read every single one.

Morning. Hope today doesn’t suck. I mean it. Go drink water or something.

Dropped my toast butter side down. Is that karma? Did I deserve this?

Just walked past a couple holding hands. I don’t wanna talk about it.

There was a dog outside the bakery this morning. I told him about you. He seemed supportive.

And you’d always read them.

Eyes rolling, lips twitching, heart doing that annoying little ache that you swore you were done feeling. But still, you didn’t reply.

Not until the bookshelf.

You got home late one night, tired and irritated and already half-ready to crawl into bed and ignore the world. Your bag dropped to the floor with a dull thud, and you kicked off your shoes, not even looking up as you walked toward your room, fully intending to faceplant and scroll TikTok until your eyes hurt.

But then you looked up.

And froze.

In the corner of your bedroom was a brand new bookshelf. Not a flimsy little piece from a discount store. No, this was beautiful, tall and dark-stained, filled with books so neatly arranged you thought you might be hallucinating for a second.

“What the fuck,” you muttered, stepping closer, blinking hard like the furniture might vanish if you stared at it too long.

And then you saw the note.

Taped to the shelf with one of those dumb gold star stickers.

A gift for you. I found your Goodreads account. (Your friend helped me. I bribed her with cupcakes. She’s disloyal.) These are all from your TBR list. Yes, all of them. No, I don’t want to talk about how long I was in that store.

Also, a real question... Did you mean to save the one where the guy kidnaps her and she calls it romance?? Are we not calling the police in these?? Also what is a ‘reverse harem’ and why is there a dragon on the cover?? I’m not kink-shaming, I swear. Just... blink twice if you need help, or like... a stable relationship?

You stood there for a full minute just staring at it, at the books, at the note, and at the fact that he had spent God knows how much time and money finding your unread books and building you a whole-ass bookshelf and then roasting your taste in spicy novels like that would somehow soften the blow.

And then?

Then you laughed.

Like, really laughed. Loud and unexpected, almost wheezing as you reached for your phone and opened his message thread for the first time in forever. Your fingers hovered for a second. Then typed:

I read the smut so I don’t text you ‘come ruin my life again’ at 2am. It’s called coping. Don’t judge me.

His reply came instantly:

Okay, well now I have 4 tabs open trying to figure out why that man in your book liked being stabbed. You scare me. I miss you. It’s confusing…

And that night, you fell asleep with a stupid smile on your face for the first time in forever.

Some days, it felt easier. You could get through a full twenty-four hours without thinking about him every time your phone buzzed, or without letting his name run laps through your mind just because you saw someone wearing his cologne at the store, or caught the tail end of a song he once hummed under his breath while cooking eggs at 2am in your kitchen.

Other days it was still a mess.

He still texted. Every morning without fail, like some broken record that somehow never made you roll your eyes hard enough to block him again. Sometimes you answered, short and sarcastic “wow you’re up early” or a “why are you telling me about your toast again.” Sometimes you didn’t. Sometimes you read his messages and stare at them for too long, and lock your phone before you can type something you’d regret.

Sometimes you laughed out loud when he sent you a picture of a dog in a sweater and said “he said he misses you, not me, just you.” Sometimes you wanted to scream when he followed it with a soft: “I miss you too though. Every version of you.”

You didn’t know what you were doing. Not really. Letting him text you, not shutting it down completely, letting him hang in the doorway of your life like he was waiting to be let back in if you just gave the word.

And today, it all felt like too much again.

So you left your apartment, pulled on a hoodie, headphones in, and wandered out until your feet took you to the park. You didn’t have a plan. You just needed to be somewhere else, somewhere quiet. You sat on a bench near the edge of the lake, watching ducks paddle around, watching couples walk hand in hand, the same aching scene you thought you were done getting crushed by.

But it still hit you.

The soft stuff always did.

A girl sat across the path with her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder while he played with her fingers. An older man helped his wife sit down carefully on a bench, then pulled a thermos from a bag and poured her something hot while she smiled at him like he was the only person in the world who mattered.

It made your chest tight again, that type of wanting that snuck up out of nowhere and sat on your ribs. Not for someone in particular—just for something that didn’t make you feel like you were bracing yourself all the time. Something that didn’t break and beg and promise, only to leave you rebuilding everything from scratch again.

And then you felt it. That weird shift in the air. The kind of awareness you’d only ever felt when he was near.

You turned your head. He wasn’t moving toward you, just standing there a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking at you like he didn’t know whether he was allowed to come closer or not.

You didn’t speak, didn’t wave, but you didn’t leave either.

So he walked over. Sat on the opposite end of the bench, he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to get, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

You didn’t say anything for a minute. Just sat there, watching the water.

And then he spoke.

“I’m not trying to win you back in some big dramatic way,” he said, glancing over at you now. “No grand gesture, or some stupid speech. Just… me. Every day showing up and being better. Whether you want to forgive me or not.”

Your throat felt tight, and you hated that.

You hated that your first thought was that he looked tired. Not messy tired, not in a falling-apart way, just like someone who hadn’t had a full breath of air since you told him to leave.

You looked back at the lake, arms crossed over your chest like that would keep anything else from slipping out.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” you said eventually. “I don’t have a big answer for you. I don’t even know if I trust you again, or if I should.”

“I don’t expect anything,” Simon said. “I mean, I hope. But I don’t expect. I just wanted to see you, even if we just sit here in silence and you never text me back again. This is enough for me.”

You both sat there quietly, for a long time of nothing but wind and leaves and distant laughter from a kid feeding the ducks with too much bread.

“I still think about it, you know,” you said suddenly, almost surprising yourself. “Everything. But I also think about the nights I cried myself to sleep, and how exhausted I was all the time from hoping you’d show up the way I needed you to.”

Simon flinched a little, like your words landed right where they were supposed to.

“I know,” he said. “I think about that too.”

You let your eyes close for a second, just to breathe through the ache.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you said, softer now. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to, or if I even want to.”

“I’ll wait,” he said.

You turned to look at him, finally, really looked at him, and he didn’t smile or try to touch you or do anything that would tilt the balance.

He just looked back.

And then you stood. Brushed off your jeans, adjusted your hoodie, and slung your bag over your shoulder.

Simon stood too, but didn’t reach for you.

“I’ll see you around,” you said, voice unreadable.

He nodded. “I hope so.”

You gave him one last look, something tired and unsure but not entirely closed off, then turned and started walking down the path.

He didn’t follow.

And maybe you’d text him tomorrow, or maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe this was a step forward, or maybe it was the start of goodbye.

But either way, for now, you didn’t feel like you were drowning.

And that was enough for now.

----------------------------------------

I left the ending open on purpose because honestly it’s up to you. Maybe she forgives him eventually. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she texts him back that night, or maybe she blocks his number the second she gets home. Either way, I wanted it to feel like those unfinished things we all go through sometimes. So whatever ending you pick in your head? That’s the right one.

Thanks for reading. <3

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb @havoc973 @jajouska @fruitymoonbeams-blog @cece2608

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

„Just One Hour.“

(Yandere Batfam)

A/N: this was inspired by a ask from @oatyoooo

Hope you like it!! And yeah somehow I love writing drabbles so much. But I’m working on the next chapters!! and maybe a new series?🧐

Anyways have fun reading! Some facts that I mentioned here (like Y/N being able to speak multiple languages) I will explain further in the main series :)

She could hardly breath anymore.

Not from sickness — but from their version of love. If that’s what it even was.

To Y/N, it didn’t feel like love. It felt like a gilded cage. Velvet-wrapped chains. She could smile, speak, move — but only within the lines they traced for her. Everything she did was monitored, shadowed, echoed back to her in suffocating waves of “care.” Cameras in her room. Panic buttons in her school bag. A bracelet tracker disguised as a charm. And her brothers — rotating guards who never let her walk alone.

Even her breath felt observed.

Today it was Damian.

As always, he walked her to her first class, stood at the door until she stepped inside, and then lingered for a moment longer — making sure she didn’t try anything stupid. He’d taken to doing that since she ran. He didn’t say it aloud, but she could tell by the way his hand always rested near the hilt of his katana — even inside the school.

Once she was seated, he turned and left for his own class.

But today…

Today was different.

One of her teachers was sick. No substitute. Meaning Y/N had a free period.

Usually, this would mean Damian would expect her to sit with him in one of his more advanced courses — or at the very least read quietly in the library under a dozen invisible eyes.

But this time…

He didn’t know.

Nobody knew.

It was sudden. No one informed him. And for once, no one stood breathing down her neck.

She sat with the news in silence. Her books unopened. Her eyes fixed on the grey clouded sky.

And then — like the smallest rebellion cracking through stone — she stood.

She told her friends she had to go see the nurse. Something small. Nothing to worry about. She gave them the smile she always gave. That perfect, sweet, believable curve that no one ever doubted.

And she left.

She didn’t even realize she’d left her phone in the classroom — still zipped in the front pouch of her bag. It buzzed softly against her book, unnoticed. Unimportant.

Her feet carried her out the gate.

Out of the school.

Out into the city.

She didn’t plan on going far — she just wanted air. Just one hour. She wanted to exist without their eyes, their rules, their guilt. She just wanted to walk where she wanted. Without a shadow behind her.

And somehow, her body had remembered the way.

The botanical gardens.

The ones she had loved as a child. The ones she stopped visiting because she feared it would remind her family who her mother was. Because when you’re the daughter of Poison Ivy, touching soil always felt like a loaded question.

But now?

Now it felt like a sanctuary.

The air was humid and green, heavy with flowers. The plants — bright, blooming — called to her. And they listened, too. She stepped through the overgrown paths with soft fingers brushing petals, and something in the stems curled toward her as she passed. She didn’t mean to make them — but they did.

She sat in the heart of the conservatory, where no one ever looked. Her shoes off. Her skirt brushed with pollen. Her hands sticky with petals. And for the first time in months, Y/N breathed.

She didn’t notice time slipping past.

An hour became two. Two became nearly three.

She didn’t see the text notifications piling up on her school phone. Because it was still zipped in her bag… back at school.

⸻

Meanwhile, back at Gotham Academy…

Damian’s eyes flicked toward the clock.

She should’ve passed his hallway ten minutes ago.

He stood. Books forgotten. The soft murmur of his classmates drowned beneath the buzz in his skull. Something was wrong. He felt it. Like blood freezing under skin.

His steps were sharp and fast as he returned to the wing where Y/N’s cancelled class had been scheduled. The halls were half-empty — most students having dispersed after the unexpected free period.

Damian didn’t knock. He shoved the door open.

A few students still loitered inside, talking, giggling.

No teacher.

His eyes scanned the room.

She wasn’t there.

She wasn’t there.

His vision narrowed. His boots were already stomping toward a group of familiar girls — her so-called “friends.” He didn’t bother with introductions.

“Where is she?” His voice was low. Sharp.

The girls blinked. One flinched.

“W-We don’t know,” one whispered. “She said she had to go… somewhere. She said it was just for a little bit.”

Damian’s fists clenched.

And in his mind — all hell broke loose.

Damian’s fingers were white around his phone as he pressed it to his ear.

He was already pacing the empty hallway when the call connected.

“She’s gone.”

Tim blinked.

“Gone?” he repeated slowly, eyes flicking to Dick and Jason, who were sitting on the couch across from him. “What do you mean gone?”

“I mean she wasn’t in her class. She lied. She left school. Her friends said she went off on her own.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Jason’s voice cut in from behind the phone — loud and hot like gunfire. “What the hell do you mean she left? You were with her, demon spawn!”

“I brought her to class,” Damian growled, his voice low and strained, “She had a free period. It was last-minute. I didn’t know. She slipped through.”

Dick was already standing. “I’ll run a trace.”

“No need,” he said grimly. “After her last stunt, we all agreed she couldn’t be trusted. I made sure of it.”

Jason sat up straighter. “What did you do?”

Tim’s voice was cold and steady. “She has a chip. Internal. In her shoulder.”

Jason’s mouth twitched, jaw tight. Even Dick, whose fingers were curled into fists against his knees, didn’t speak for a moment.

None of them liked that it had come to this — drugging her during sleep, inserting a tracker without consent. But after what she did the first time — after the month she’d spent hidden from them, alone in some godforsaken part of Gotham, starving, shaking, terrified — they couldn’t risk it again.

Love meant protecting her from herself.

Even if she hated them for it.

“Where is she now?” Dick finally asked, voice hard. The old warmth was gone. His blue eyes burned sharp, hot with something possessive, something near-broken.

Tim glanced down at the glowing signal on the map. “Downtown Gotham. Botanical garden.”

Jason let out a string of curses. “Of course she went there. Of course.” He threw on his jacket, already striding toward the bikes. “Let’s go.”

Damian’s voice snapped out over the comm. “Not without me. No one touches her until I’m there.”

They didn’t argue.

_____

Y/N sat cross-legged in a small patch of dappled sunlight, hidden beneath the swaying arms of a white wisteria tree. The petals swayed gently around her face. Her fingers stroked a curling vine at her side, and the stem shivered — as if nuzzling back.

The garden had changed since she was little.

Or maybe she had.

The plants didn’t shrink from her anymore. They watched her. Responded. Whispered back, in their own way. They curled toward her fingers, bent toward her breath. One vine in particular coiled upward slowly, swaying toward her cheek as if trying to tuck behind her ear.

“You guys remember me, huh?” she whispered, voice quiet and cracked with soft laughter. “I used to be scared someone would see. That if I talk with you, they’d think I was just like her.”

She didn’t say the name.

She didn’t need to.

But here, the ghosts of Ivy were kind. Not cruel.

She leaned back against the bench and let her eyes flutter shut, letting the plants hum around her in their secret way. Her stomach growled after a while, a soft pathetic sound.

She sighed, rubbing at her eyes. “Right. Food.”

That’s when she realized—

Her backpack was gone.

It hit her all at once. Her bag. Her phone. Her watch. Her class schedule. Everything was still at school.

Her blood ran cold.

Her brothers were obsessive. All of them. She’d survived under their radar for barely more than a month when she first ran. And that was before the craziness, the implants, before the curfews, before they reminded her what they were willing to do when she disobeyed.

Panic shot through her lungs like cold water.

“I need to get back,” she whispered aloud, stumbling upright. “I need to go. I need to go now—”

She sprinted out of the wisteria grove, heart pounding. Her flats slapped the pavement as she pushed through the winding hedges and warm glass walls. If she could just make it back, sneak in before the final bell, grab her bag—

Maybe they wouldn’t know.

Maybe they’d never know.

She darted around a corner, breath hitching, only to freeze—

Her breath caught.

Jason’s hand slammed against the glass wall beside her head, his towering figure casting a long shadow over her. His other hand wrapped around her upper arm in a grip that made her freeze. She flinched instinctively — cheeks warm, knuckles scratched, her school skirt rumpled and dirt-speckled from kneeling in the garden for too long.

“Where the hell have you been?” Jason’s voice was low. Not quite yelling. But almost worse — like thunder building behind steel.

She opened her mouth, but her words caught.

Behind him, the others had caught up. Dick, flushed with exertion, eyes glassy with disbelief. Tim was silent, his arms crossed, his jaw set like a ticking bomb. Damian stood stiff at the back, chest heaving beneath his uniform, green eyes narrowed and burning.

“I—” she started, licking her lips, “I had a free period. Mr. Keane didn’t come today. I just— I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think,” Jason snapped, “That’s exactly the problem.”

“Jay,” Dick’s voice was quiet, warning — but he didn’t stop him. None of them did.

Y/N stepped back, but Jason’s grip didn’t let go. “I just wanted to be alone for a bit. I didn’t even realize I left my bag— I didn’t mean to—”

“You forgot your phone,” Tim said sharply. “We couldn’t reach you for almost three hours. Your last ping was in school. You know what that looks like from our side?”

“I know,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Didn’t mean to—?” Damian let out a sound close to a scoff, stepping forward at last. “You’re lucky we found you. Do you even realize the risk? You could’ve been snatched off the street by any low-tier thug with half a brain. Or worse.”

“I wasn’t— It’s the garden,” she said quickly, her voice rising with desperation. “I was in the botanical garden, I just wanted to— I used to love going there— I thought it’d be okay—”

Jason exhaled hard, scrubbing his face with one hand. “If you needed space that bad, you come to me. I’ll take you out. You don’t disappear. Not again.”

Y/N’s lips parted. Her voice was small. “But I didn’t want to burden—”

Before she could finish, Dick had already reached her, tugging her out of Jason’s hold like it was nothing. He threw her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing — which compared to him, she did. She yelped, kicking weakly.

“No, no, I can walk—!”

“You lost that privilege the second you lied,” he said coldly, not even breaking pace.

Her fists hit his back, but it was like trying to punch marble. “Put me down, Dick!”

“Not a chance.”

“You’re being unreasonable! It was just one hour—!”

“It was three,” Tim corrected sharply.

She whined, her fists falling uselessly at her side.

„"يا حمقاء صغيرة,”

(— little idiot) Damian muttered behind her

Her eyes widened as she twisted in Dick’s grip.

“I am not—!”

“You are,” he growled, stalking after them. “You’re too weak to even go to the restrooms alone in school without getting dizzy. And you thought running off alone to play with plants would be safe?”

Y/N froze.

The mention of plants— his tone.

Then he added, tone colder now, sharper than glass:

“Tell me, did they whisper to you like your mother’s always did?”

That shut her up.

Her body tensed like a slap had landed. Her fists curled into her skirt. The breath in her throat vanished. Dick felt it immediately in the way her small frame stiffened against his shoulder.

“Damian,” he warned, his voice suddenly icy. “Shut. Up.”

Jason didn’t warn. He struck.

A hard jab against Damian’s arm sent the younger boy stumbling sideways.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he barked, voice a mixture of fury and disbelief.

“She has to hear it,” Damian snarled, but Jason pushed him back with another shove, harder this time.

“You don’t speak to her like that.”

Behind them, Y/N was silent, face buried against Dick’s shoulder now. Her eyes were wide, wet, full of something she couldn’t name. Shame. Pain. That old ache that had clung to her since childhood.

The fear that no matter what she did — they would always see her as Poison Ivy’s daughter. Not theirs.

Not truly loved.

None of the brothers spoke after that.

Even Tim, who usually deflected the tension, cracked a quiet joke or shifted the conversation to calm her down — stayed silent.

They were tense. Quiet. Fury buzzing beneath the surface. The weight of it followed them all the way to the car. All the way back to the Manor.

Back to the place she already knew would feel like a cage again.

______

The manor was cold when they stepped inside, yet her skin burned under Dick’s hold.

He hadn’t let go.

Not for a second.

He sat her down on the plush couch in the great room, but his arms stayed around her like a steel frame. Not tight — not hurting — but immovable. She squirmed once and he pulled her a little closer, as if to remind her:

You ran. I caught you. You don’t get to slip away again.

Her legs dangled off the edge of the cushion like a child’s. Dirt smudged her socks and the hem of her uniform skirt. Her hands were curled in her lap, nails bitten to the quick. Her face tilted down.

She didn’t dare look at any of them.

Still, when Alfred stepped in — calm, quiet — she managed a small, broken, “Hi, Alfred…”

His gaze swept over her in an instant, old eyes catching everything. Her flushed cheeks. Her mussed hair. The tension vibrating off the boys like a coiled spring. She wasn’t crying, but she looked like she might if one of them raised their voice too loud.

He knew the signs.

He always had.

“I see we’ve had a bit of an afternoon,” Alfred said gently, folding his hands behind his back. “You’ve stirred the lions’ den, Miss Y/N.”

She smiled weakly, eyes glossy. “Wasn’t on purpose…”

He hummed. Then softened. “Well. I was just about to prepare cinnamon rolls. Fresh. Extra soft. Shall I bring you one, dear?”

Her entire expression cracked open like sunlight through fog. She nodded instantly, eyes wide, round, desperate. “Yes, please…”

Jason, standing with his arms crossed by the fireplace, said nothing — but his jaw unclenched. Even Tim relaxed slightly.

Damian grumbled from his post behind the couch, “She wouldn’t be hungry now if she hadn’t skipped lunch to roll in garden weeds.”

Y/N flinched.

Then—

SLAM.

The front door snapped open with a crack like thunder. It slammed into the wall hard enough to rattle a frame loose.

She jumped in Dick’s hold — heart jumping to her throat, twisting around to look.

Bruce.

Her father’s silhouette stood at the threshold, tall, cloaked in tailored black. No cowl, no armor, no Bat — but the same grim gravity. The front of his shirt was still half-buttoned, the collar askew. He hadn’t come from the Cave.

He came from Wayne Tower.

And it had taken him less than seven minutes.

Y/N turned sharply to Dick, eyes wide. “You… you told him?”

He looked almost guilty — almost — but firm. “He’s your father.”

Even Jason didn’t protest. Even he knew this wasn’t something to hide.

Y/N’s blood ran cold.

If the brothers were fire, Bruce was ice. Controlled. Composed. Crushing.

His heavy steps echoed into the room. He didn’t say a word at first. He simply walked toward her, scanning her body the way only he could — for injury, signs of harm, danger. He crouched in front of the couch where she sat wrapped in Dick’s arms.

His eyes — steel-blue, unreadable — narrowed at her cheeks.

"You’re dirty,” he muttered, thumb swiping at a patch of soil.

She stiffened.

“You’re not hurt?” he asked lowly.

“N… no,” she whispered.

A beat. Then he stood. Tall. Unforgiving.

“Then explain.”

Every brother was silent now.

Jason leaned against the wall, arms folded. Tim stood behind the couch, half in shadow. Damian was unreadable but sharp, like a blade ready to draw.

Bruce’s gaze bore into her like a spotlight. “Why did you leave school. Why did you go off alone. Why did you leave your phone. And why the hell didn’t anyone know where you were.”

“I… I had a free period,” she mumbled. “I didn’t know I would— I thought I could—”

“You thought wrong,” Bruce snapped, voice cutting through the air.

She shrank into herself. “I just… I saw everyone was busy and I didn’t want to be a bother—”

“You’re not a bother,” Tim said tightly, the first to speak.

“I just needed air,” she said faster. “The garden— I haven’t been there in years—”

“Why?” Bruce’s tone was unrelenting.

She blinked.

“Why that garden?” he pressed.

“…Because I used to go there with Mom,” she whispered.

A pause.

Her voice broke. “She used to tell me the poppies whispered back.”

Bruce said nothing.

The entire room held its breath.

Jason looked away.

Damian’s jaw twitched.

Tim’s fingers tightened around the back of the couch.

Dick held her just a little closer.

And Bruce, for one brief flicker of a second — seemed to hesitate. A twitch in his brow. A flicker behind his eyes. Something he would never voice. Guilt, maybe. Memory. Something older than shame and deeper than pride.

But it passed.

“I should ground you for a month,” he said calmly.

She looked up at him, startled.

“But you’re not leaving my sight for a minute.”

He turned to Alfred. “Set up a cot in the Batcave. She’s coming down with me tonight.”

“But—!”

“No phone. No friends. You want air? I’ll give you filtered oxygen. The safest in the world. But you’re not walking out of a five-foot radius again without one of us at your side.”

“You can’t—!”

“I can. And I will.”

He looked at her. Dead on. “You don’t vanish on us again, Y/N. You don’t get to vanish. Not now. Not ever.”

Her lips trembled.

But she said nothing.

Because part of her — the part that had died once already — knew he meant it.

And another, smaller part…

…wondered if this was what love looked like, when it was so twisted it wrapped around itself.

——-

Y/N sat on the edge of the stiff cot like it had personally offended her.

Her arms were crossed. Her chin tilted high. The toes of her fuzzy socks tapped the steel floor in uneven frustration. Alfred had brought her pajamas and tucked her hair gently behind her ears before retreating with the same calm grace he always had. But even the cinnamon roll he left behind — warm, dusted with sugar, perfect — sat untouched on the tray in front of her.

She wasn’t eating.

She wasn’t talking.

She was pouting.

And grumbling.

Loudly.

In German.

Tim, hunched over a monitor just a few feet away, flicked his gaze to her every few seconds like she might suddenly explode. Bruce, standing by the Batcomputer, had tried ignoring it.

It hadn’t worked.

“Was habe ich getan, um das zu verdienen,” she muttered in a pointed tone, hands flopping into her lap as she stared at the cave floor. “Kein Buch, nicht mal ein Fernseher. Nichts. Aber sie erwarten, dass ich hier wie ein Hund sitze.”

(What did I do to deserve this? …. No book, not even a TV. Nothing. But they expect me to sit here like a dog)

Tim blinked slowly. “Did she just call herself a dog?”

“I didn’t talk to you,” Y/N snapped in English.

“You said it near me.”

“I was talking to the floor.”

Bruce closed the file on the screen. The glow of it dimmed.

Then he turned.

Y/N immediately looked away, her brows twitching into a deeper sulk.

Without a word, Bruce stepped over, towering like always. She expected him to bark another order. Or drop a lecture from ten feet above. Instead…

…he crouched.

His knees popped slightly as he bent to match her height.

It still didn’t quite work — he was too massive, too broad — but he tried.

“Du bist wütend,” he said calmly in German.

(You’re mad)

She blinked.

Then narrowed her eyes. “You don’t get to use my secret language against me.”

He tilted his head, amused. “It’s mine too. You were just better at remembering it.”

She didn’t answer.

He looked at her — properly this time.

No cape. No growl. No cowl. Just Bruce. And in that moment, somehow… her dad.

“I know you think this is unfair,” he said gently, voice low. “But I have to do this.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, you want to. Because you all like keeping me in cages.”

His jaw clenched. “You ran.”

“I sat in a garden.”

“You didn’t tell anyone where you were.”

“I forgot my phone!”

“You forgot us.”

That shut her up.

For a moment.

Then she exhaled hard through her nose. Her voice cracked slightly.

“I didn’t mean anything bad.”

“I know.”

She blinked, surprised by the immediacy of his response.

His eyes held hers. “I know you didn’t.”

There was a beat of silence between them.

Then she shook her head, expression tight. “I just needed space, Daddy. Just… a second. You guys left me alone all the time before. You didn’t even care. For years, you didn’t even notice I was at the table. Now I’m not allowed to blink without all of you watching.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“It’s too much.”

His face didn’t move. But something in his shoulders shifted — almost imperceptibly. The Bat didn’t bow. Bruce Wayne did.

“I’m trying,” he said, so quietly it was almost a confession.

She sniffled. Her hands balled in her lap. “You’re all so mean to me.”

His breath caught. “Y/N…”

She looked up.

And for a moment — a sharp, heart-wrenching second — she wasn’t a runaway or a danger or a rule-breaker or a risk.

She was just his daughter.

His little girl.

And she looked so small in this cave.

Bruce exhaled softly. He reached out — let his hand rest on the tray, not her, not yet. He wasn’t sure if she’d let him.

“You don’t understand,” he said lowly. “None of us can imagine this world without you. Not anymore.”

Her lip wobbled.

He reached for the cinnamon roll, tore off a small piece, and held it out.

“Eat.”

She stared at it like it was poison.

Then — slowly — she reached for it, bit the corner of it off like a sulky bunny. Her lips chewed. She glanced up to make sure he wasn’t smirking.

He wasn’t.

He was watching her like she might fall apart again.

“…It’s good,” she mumbled after a second.

He nodded.

She took another bite. Then a third. Soon the whole piece was gone and she was licking sugar off her thumb.

“Don’t tell Jason I ate it. I‘m mad at him.” she said.

“Too late,” Tim called from the side, not even looking up. “The Cave has audio.”

She groaned.

But she kept chewing.

And Bruce, still crouched, simply stayed there. Watching. Guarding. Not as Batman.

Just a man who didn’t know how to hold the world… except through her.

_____

The soft sound of breathing filled the Batcave.

It wasn’t coming from the men pacing between computer terminals, or the quiet clicking of keys. It came from the cot in the corner, tucked just beside the Batcomputer’s glow — where the youngest member of the Wayne family had finally fallen asleep.

Y/N layed curled on her side, a blanket half-draped over her legs, her cheek pressed against a plush pillow Alfred had insisted be added for her comfort. Her lips were parted slightly, a smudge of cinnamon sugar still tucked at the edge of her mouth from the roll she’d devoured in slow, sleepy defiance.

And curled protectively around her frame — like a sentinel — was Titus.

The massive dog rested his snout gently across her calves, tail flicking once in mild alertness. No one was getting close to her without getting past him first.

Tim sat in front of the main monitor, legs stretched, one hand lazily navigating security feeds. The other hand was curled beneath his chin. His coffee had gone cold.

He hadn’t stopped working.

But his eyes kept drifting.

Back to her.

Every thirty seconds.

His sister.

His soft, delicate, reckless little sister.

He studied her curled fingers. Her flushed cheeks. Her messy hair that had fallen from its clip.

He exhaled slowly.

“Good thing I put that tracker in her.”

He muttered it under his breath, a near-whisper. Not proud — but not ashamed, either. She didn’t know, of course. None of them had told her it was in her. In her arm, just beneath the skin, placed during a routine visit after her last escape. Painless. Seamless.

Permanent.

He tapped the screen.

The red dot — her signal — blinked steady from her current location. Safe.

He let himself breathe again.

Footsteps echoed behind him.

He didn’t need to turn to know who they belonged to.

Dick came in first, helmet tucked under one arm, still in Nightwing gear, hair windswept and eyes immediately scanning the Cave.

They softened the second they landed on her.

Jason followed a second later, tossing his helmet on a nearby table with a huff. Red Hood was still splattered with grime from the streets, but his expression cracked the moment he saw her there — safe, asleep, untouched.

He blinked.

“…Tch. Gremlin,” he muttered, low.

Dick walked right to her and knelt beside the cot. His gloved hand reached out, fingers running lightly through her hair.

She didn’t stir.

“She refused to eat earlier when I offered,” Jason grumbled, folding his arms. “Acted like I was trying to poison her.”

Dick smiled faintly. “She took it from Bruce. Of course she did. She’s still mad at us for telling him.”

“She can be mad,” Jason said gruffly, but his eyes didn’t leave her face. “Better mad than missing.”

Tim hummed in agreement from the desk.

“Doesn’t matter how much she hates it,” he said, turning slightly. “She’s not going anywhere again. Not without one of us. Not without ten of us, if I can help it.”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

Tim tapped the side of his temple.

“Every message she sends. Every step she takes. I see it. She’s not going anywhere I don’t approve.”

Dick didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he pulled the blanket up over her shoulder and tucked it beneath her chin.

“…Good.”

Jason sighed through his nose, eyes still locked on the quiet, dreaming girl in the cot. His voice was softer this time.

“Next time she wants flowers, I’ll drive her myself.”

Tim snorted. “You’d burn the garden down if it looked at her wrong.”

Jason didn’t deny it.

Dick leaned over and kissed her temple.

“…Goodnight, little bloom,” he whispered.

They didn’t leave the Cave for hours.

They watched her sleep.

And not a single one of them planned to let her out of their sight ever again.

[boobearymuch]

Their Habits —♡ LADS Scenarios

—♡Summary: Everyone has habits, but not everyone enjoys having you point them out... —♡Tags: gender-neutral, pure fluff —♡A/N: Silly thing I whipped up after being told I bounce my leg too much lolll —♡ masterlist

—♡ Zayne

Zayne squints so much without his glasses. He insists he only needs them when his eyes get tired—but clearly—that wasn’t the case. “Zayne, look!” You eagerly pointed out a flyer posted on the door of his favorite boba spot. They were hosting an event next weekend, it read, and encouraged customers not to miss out on the opportunity. You watched his hazel eyes sharpen into a squint.

“Event…?” He still had trouble reading it, though, and absently tugged your clasped hands forward as he leaned in for a better look. After a few seconds, his eyebrows relaxed, and he hummed appreciatively, “They’re introducing new flavors. Perhaps we should…what?” 

You failed to conceal an amused smile. “You need your glasses, old man.” The nickname was not received well, by any means.

“The text is small.” He answered coolly, “The average person would also have difficulty reading it.” Then he slipped his hand around your waist, eyes narrowing, “And I’m not old.”

You couldn’t help yourself, you laughed, “Have you considered contacts?” The look he gave you was deeply unamused, “No, no, you’re right. You look cuter in glasses, anyway.” Zayne's ears tinted pink under your playful stare. 

“...Let’s go inside before they close.” You pinched his flustered cheeks.

“Are you sure? The menu is so tiny. What if you can’t read it and order the wrong thing?” Your mouth promptly shut after his grip on you tightened in a warning. Zayne remembered to bring his glasses on your next outing (and the one after that).

—♡ Sylus

Sylus hums nonsense when it’s too quiet. It’s like he constantly needs to fill silences with some kind of noise. Even his humming is off-key…

“What song is that?” 

Sylus barely spared you a glance, “What song?” His fingers worked a microfiber cloth into the metal of his pistol. 

“The one you were just humming.”

He huffed, “Didn’t realize I was humming, sweetie.” Then he removed the cloth to admire his handiwork, “Don’t you recognize it?”

You almost felt bad for saying this but, “...No?” Sylus finally glanced up from his work to shoot you a look. A concerning one.

“Really? You had it on repeat all day, yesterday.” Horror dawned on you at the realization, “The chorus has been stuck in my head since morning…” And then a laugh sputtered from your lips. 

“Oh my god, that sounded nothing like it.” Sylus glared and returned his focus to his pistol with what you could only describe as a pout. 

“What a picky kitten.” You bit your lip to stop the smile threatening to break loose. He was a god awful singer, but the room felt emptier without his noise. Gently, you padded over to where he sat, and invited yourself onto his lap. Despite his mood, a hand wrapped around your waist without hesitation.

“Sing it again.” Sylus’ hold on you tightened, “I think I like your version better.” A soft chuckle left him, and quietly, he hummed once more.

—♡ Rafayel

Rafayel taps. All. The. Time. Taps his legs, hands, pens, pencils, anything and everything within reach. And he’ll deny the hell out of it when you ask him to stop. “I wasn’t doing anything,” The candies on his phone screen lit up and exploded with color as he scored another combo. Too engrossed in his phone to realize the arm slung around your shoulders was still tapping you. You leaned into him with a huff.

“You’re doing it now.”

Rafayel gave you a sidelong glance, frowning, “I dunno what you’re talking about, cutie.” You suddenly captured his hand to still it, and Rafayel gave you the most scandalized look, “If you wanna hold it that badly, I’m not stopping you.”

“You’re not even aware you’re doing it,” You blinked incredulously, “Are you?”

Rafayel threw his head back and groaned dramatically, “Doing whaaat?” Then he lifted his head to press his forehead against yours and huffed, “Is this your way of telling me to get off my phone?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You look like a fish up close like this.” Rafayel pulled away to roll his eyes and clicked his phone off.

“Alright, fine, you have my attention.” Then he began tapping his foot, “You know, that’s a little offensive to say to a Lemurian. You could get cancelled for that.”

Your hand drifted to his bouncing knee, and you watched as both your hand and his leg now jumped up and down. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?!”

—♡ Xavier

Xavier is always chewing on something, and it is almost always never gum. It’ll be something random, like a straw from a drink he’d long since finished. The strings of his hoodie, a toothpick. Once, it was a plastic tie. He reminded you of a teething puppy; he’d probably chew on wires if you left him alone long enough. Today, though, his chew toy of choice looked a lot like…

“Xavier, is that my pen?” 

He blinked, eyes floating from his comic book to your frown, “Yours…?” His jaw froze mid-chew. 

“Yeah,” You scooted closer on the couch, “the one from my desk at work.” 

A blush crept along his cheekbones, but he didn’t drop the pen like you expected him to, “...Are you sure?”

Your eyes fell to the pen trapped in the corner of his mouth, “The one with little stars on it? Yeah, that’s mine. I thought I lost it at work, why do you have it?”

The comic book shifted in his hands, “I found it, that’s why.” This explanation would be more convincing if he hadn’t shifted his gaze sideways. His blunt fingernails picked nervously at the corner of his book, curling the edges.

“Xavier,”

“Okay, I borrowed it.” You bit back a chuckle, and he guiltily removed the pen from his mouth. It shined with his spit, and the cap bore teeth marks, “You can have it back.”

You couldn’t hide your grimace fast enough, “...Actually, you can keep it.” Xavier merely blinked before bringing the tip back to his mouth. Then a smile curved the corner of his lips.

“My pen now, hm?”

[gooserings]

“... Is everything alright in here?” Time felt compelled to ask. Legend smacked one of the papers on the wall without breaking eye contact. “I’m gonna solve this fucking thing if it’s the last thing I ever fucking do. Sit down.” Time liked to think he had decent survival instincts. He sat.

from MATRICES by @imperialkatwala !

look. look the meme just fits so well. i couldn't imagine anything else for the entire time i was reading. all of the dialogue in the background is directly from the fic, including legend’s death threats to hylia :)

version without background text under the cut:

feel free to use, but pls credit

if i had a nickel for every time ive read a fic that included legend losing his mind over figuring out time travel, i’d have two nickels. i want more nickels. (i think the other one was This is an Adjuration by notfreyja, which almost killed me when i read it)

as an extra bonus, here are the color layers for this piece: