#‘unfounded’ where honey

[elliesbelle]

It’s clear u were an early 2010s sjw w the amount of unfounded aggression and entitlement, you don’t gotta tell us 💀

‘unfounded aggression’ i’m a nonbinary lesbian who’s a teacher and a person of colour who grew up in a poor immigrant family and is not a citizen of the country they live in

[berryblu-soda]

hey yall wanna know something abt my completely different vibes on and offline?

online ive been assigned strawberry flavour in different forms by various people; probably aided by having "berry" in my name hehe; something sweet and small and generally well liked

in contrast, IRL? ive been assigned mint... also sometimes lemon; bc i get anxious being percieved, so i end up cutting back on the "hiiiii :3" part of my personality, and falling back on a blunter- more reserved but friendly aspect, so its way less sweet but still "fresh" i suppose (<- insane take on talking abt oneself) ("stay fresh" what is this? splattoon???)

[hades-in-bloom]

Bitten Lips

a/n: happy Astarion brainrot—two silly blurbs for both Tav (#1, w/ Spawn A) and The Dark Urge (#2, w/ Ascended A) using the same keywords (see the title; like, also don’t ask how and why, pretty please). Summaries and additional warnings per blurb below. As always, proceed at your own risk. Minors DNI! Masterlist xoxo

spoilers for Act 3

warnings & contents [for both]: depictions of self-harm (non-suicidal); mentions of blood; the reader could be any gender; Tav/Durge could be any race or class; age gap (hard not to with a 200-years-old vampire); could’ve been a headcanon

[1] : lucky one

Spawn!Astarion Ancunin x Tav!Reader

summary [1]: Tav is nervous, and somehow it makes Astarion climb a wall.

+warnings & contents [1]: unadulterated comfort with a pinch of anxiety; silly bad habits driving Astarion insane; cheeky Tav

soundtrack [1]: måneskin — honey (are you coming?)

***

Astarion snaps when you bring wandering fingers to the bottom of your face again.

“Stop it,” the elf demands, mouth pressed into a thin line as he attempts to keep his frustration in check. You wince slightly, picking a string of dry skin from your wounded lips once more without realising the gravity of your actions.

“Sweet hells,” Astarion grumbles. “Why would you do it? It’s disgusting.” A bizarre mix of annoyance and worry is almost palpable in his well articulated voice. He’s seen worse sights, but you hurt yourself—that’s what he finds appalling.

As thin blood gushes out of a fresh rip on your lip, unadulterated guilt floods your essence instantly. You feel your cheeks heat up, and anxiety crooks your fingers, while you finally realize how sore your lips are since you kept violating them repeatedly in the past half an hour, agitated and a little bit overwhelmed. A prospective of turning into a mindflayer with no lips whatsoever soon down the line would make anyone nervous after all.

Astarion gives you a long stare, so you look away and mumble, “I’m sorry.” To be honest, you didn’t expect him to pick up on your silly bad habit; no one ever pays that much attention to it—there are always bigger problems to tend—but somehow he does notice.

Your tongue runs across your bottom lip, and you taste metal.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?” The vampire frowns, his voice rising an octave. He frets, however hides the feelings behind a playful facade everyone’s been so used to. “Otherwise you’re ruining that pretty face of yours for no reason.”

He asks difficult questions, so you huff, unsure of what you’re supposed to say. You’ve never been great at talking about your feelings, bottling up your emotions deep down instead, where no one would ever think of rummaging.

“You didn’t expect me to always be a damned ray of sunshine, did you?” You revert your gaze to him reluctantly.

To be fair, usually you’ve smiled inappropriately often. If there were any expectations in this regard among the party members, you are the one to blame for it.

“Gods, no. Also, too much sun is bad for my health, so...” Astarion shrugs off your cynicism without a second thought. “You do you, lover.”

The pale elf’s stare lingers on you way too long for your liking, mildly unfounded uneasiness growing inside you. You want him to drop it; you want him not to care, when you don’t have answers for him. Of course, it’s too much to ask. You lose your patience at once, rolling your eyes in defeat.

“You won’t let it go,” you acknowledge, and his lips curl into a faint smile in response.

“I will if you stop doing that,” the pale elf retorts with a hint of desperate outrage as your finger innocently slides over your sore lip unwittingly, probing before the next torture.

You turn your obsession into advantage, and there’s a mischievous spark in your eyes. “I won’t be able to stop by myself.”

He catches up almost instantaneously, with his gaze fixated on your bloody, tortured lips now for all the wrong (or right?) reasons.

Astarion eliminates the distance between you two with a shameless smirk forming on his face—the smirk you knew quite well.

“Darling, aren’t you lucky,” his voice sings, and he wraps his arm around you, pulling your bodies close, leaning forward meaningfully. “I might just be willing to help you out.”

[2] : broken one

Ascended!Astarion Ancunin x Consort!Dark Urge!Reader

summary [2]: Astarion’s partner falls a victim of their dark urges once again.

+warnings & contents [2]: Durge is durging; mentions of murder; mild descriptions of death; unhinged kisses; implied power struggle?

soundtrack [2]: bella poarch — villain and dutch melrose — runrunrun

***

Tonight the palace giggles in your voice, and It can only mean one thing. Astarion hears what you did well before he steps into the bedroom, blood champing under the sole of his exquisitely made shoe. Right there, in the epicentre of massacre, your figure is hunched over maid’s body, now lifeless. Her head hangs limply from your lap, while your twitching fingers are sorting through strands of gore stained hair.

Astarion takes stock of the committed atrocity for one moment before he begins to approach. “What a mess,” he sighs, slightly wrinkling delicate features in annoyance, making his verdict. “Why, little love—this one is particularly sloppy.”

You have not come to senses yet to argue; there is a dreamy, unsettling smile on your face as you glance at your beloved glassy-eyed. Astarion smiles tenderly in return, his fingers gripping your chin to lift your head.

“Poor thing,” the man cooes a tad condescendingly, seizing the moment, when you are incapable of biting back.

Animalistic grunt escapes your throat, and you snarl, but the vampire lord holds you in place tightly. He covers your bleeding, bitten in heat of the urge lips with his own, fangs dragging over your sore skin, making you gasp, almost weep instead.

At other times headstrong and fierce, able to fight back against his caring tyranny, at this point you are exhausted. You cling to his embellished doublet with the last of your strength, pleading, surrendering yourself at his mercy.

“My lovely consort,” Astarion mutters with affection, satisfied with your obedience to the point of one’s disgust.

The pale elf kicks back maidservant’s body with his foot and picks you up in his arms, holding tight to his chest as he carries you to your shared bed. You can feel the urge leaving your body, taking your consciousness away with it.

“It’s going to be over soon, my love.” Astarion whispers soothingly, although you can’t hear him anymore. “It’s going to be over soon.”

[maraschinomerry]

Dinosaur Plasters

Pairings: George Karim x fem!reader (can be read as platonic or romantic)

Summary: Years after being forced to say goodbye to your best friend, you join Lockwood & Co and one of the members seems awfully familiar...

Content: childhood friends reunited, emotional goodbye, misunderstandings, small mentions of blood, one instance of mild bad language

A/N: inspired by finding some cute heart print plasters I forgot I bought and immediately deciding George would be the clumsy kid who needs his own personal first aid kit

Word count: 3.6k

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea

As a child, from almost as soon as you could walk, your mother would take you to the park near your house every week without fail. This was nothing particularly special as most children in the town, situated on the outskirts of London, ended up there at some point in their youth. You were unusual, though - your favourite was not the swings, nor the roundabout, nor the huge wooden climbing frame. In fact, it was not a part of the playground at all. It wasn't even the duck pond. Your favourite part of the whole park was the sprawling patch of woodland at the back of the playground. Only the most inquisitive children dared venture beyond the treeline, and even then many turned quickly back to the safety of daylight when faced with the gloom of the towering, tightly packed branches. Anything could be lurking in the darkness, and all it took was one unfounded rumour of a mysterious figure for it to become almost completely neglected. You didn't believe the stories, and actually thanked them for giving you uninterrupted access to your own personal den: a clearing a little ways further in. The first few times you visited, your mother accompanied you to make sure it was safe, and the two of you had gathered fallen branches to build a makeshift hut which still stood to this day. After that, she was more than happy for you to go alone, especially since there was no risk of you falling foul of any other children.

You were six and a half years old the day it happened. The call of the woods took you from your mother's hand as she veered towards a bench with her book, and you raced excitedly through the trees. The path to your den was second nature by now, and you allowed your attention to flicker to the intense scent of a fresh patch of wild garlic as you wove between the trunks. The edge of the clearing coming into view spurred you onwards. You didn't see the twisted root which had been uncovered by the weekend's storm disturbing the dirt around it. With a yelp you pitched forwards, body following the momentum of your outstretched foot and the other one yanking you back to where it had caught under the obstacle. Thankfully the force of your fall pulled it free, saving you from a sprained ankle, but your outstretched palms skidded roughly across the ground and something sharp and painful dug into your right leg below the hem of your shorts. When you pushed yourself into a sitting position and dusted off your hands, you winced at the droplets of blood forming in a sort of lattice on your grazed knee, a couple having already been left on the rock you'd collided with. This was supposed to be your safe, magical space. This wasn't supposed to happen. Your lower lip trembled as your vision grew blurry.

"Whoa, are you okay?" a small voice asked from behind. Frantically blinking away your tears, you looked up at an equally small and rather owlish boy, haloed against the soft rays filtering through the trees by a mass of black curly hair. In reality, he probably wasn't staring that widely, but the absurd thickness of his glasses magnified his dark, worried eyes to almost comic proportions.

" 'm fine," you sniffled, trying to tame where your hair had fallen out of its pigtails.

The boy moved further into the light, peering anxiously at your knee. Now you could make him out more clearly you could tell he was about your age, dressed in a vibrant orange coat and blue jeans and with the straps of a backpack fastened across his chest. "That looks sore," he frowned, nodding to where the droplets had merged into a thick red pool.

"I think it's not bad underneath, it just stings."

"I can fix it, if you want."

"Like a doctor?"

He nodded enthusiastically, unclipping his backpack and rummaging through the front pocket. "Yep, I'm going to be Doctor Karim when I grow up!"

It sounded so professional that you couldn't help but trust him as he found what he was looking for: a green pouch and from within that a thin white packet. He tore open the packet and pulled out a wipe which he pressed to your knee. It was cold and damp, and gave a biting sensation which made you draw breath in a hiss through your teeth.

"Sorry," the little doctor mumbled. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"Oh, I'm going to be an agent." Your Talent had been apparent from the beginning and your mother had been trying to gently prepare you for the inevitable. Perhaps that was why she was comfortable letting you go off into the woods alone - you were quick enough to sense any threats and sensible enough to run from them.

"Whoa," the boy said again, this time drawn out in awe. "Well you're really really brave so you'll be a good agent." He gave you a bright, gap-toothed grin. The sharp pain disappeared from your skin, and he stuffed the now pinkish wipe back into its pack before taking out a large plaster. A hint of bluish colour was visible through the wrapper. That was odd, all the ones you had at home were plain skin tone. He peeled and pressed it to your knee with mastered ease, and you glanced down to see a square covered in blue and green triceratopses.

"Thanks, you're already a very good doctor."

He grimaced, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a slim rectangular plaster of a stegosaurus on his forearm. "I get lots of practice. Mummy says I'm like a baby giraffe."

You giggled, picturing him wobbling about. "We match!"

He helped you to your feet, watching intently how you placed your weight on your injured side. "Yeah, now we can be dinosaur buddies!" He paused, expression growing serious. "Is your mummy or daddy in the park? I can walk back with you."

"My mummy is." Your father wasn't in the picture. You glanced towards the path and thought about heading out of the woods, about your mother taking you home immediately to check over you, of saying goodbye to your new dinosaur buddy and maybe never seeing him again. You turned back into the clearing. "I'm okay, I can stay. Do you want to see my den, Doctor Karim?"

"Yes please!" he grinned. "And my proper name is George."

You took his hand and led him into the hut. "Mine's (name)."

—

Nearly 18 months was spent with you and George at one another's houses on every given opportunity. After emerging from the woods you'd managed to get both your mothers to meet and they got along well enough for regular play dates. Quietly, they were relieved the two of you had finally found a proper friend.

"Mum, can George come round for tea?" you asked one evening, bounding into the kitchen. Your mother was putting the finishing touches on a chicken pie she'd made, face flushed from the heat of the oven and apron covered in flour.

"Sorry love, not tonight. Brian's coming and we're going to have a family chat." Brian was her partner of almost a year. He lived in the Midlands, and came to visit whenever he wasn't working or you two would go up to see him. He was a great guy and you loved how happy he made your mother, but you were still disappointed to be kept away from your best friend.

"Family chat? About what?"

"Patience," she chuckled, "he'll be here soon, it wouldn't be fair to leave him out, would it? Just stick with us on this and then you can go and see George after tea, deal?"

The family chat turned out to be more of an ambush than a chat. Brian had proposed, and you were all going to move to his place up north. Immediately. Your mind was reeling.

What about school? As if the concept didn't exist outside of London.

I thought you wanted me to join one of the big agencies. A weak argument at best; you'd been adamant from the offset that you'd rather join a smaller, more personal operation.

Are you selling the house? Of course she was, otherwise the move would really just be an extended visit.

You were running out of ways to avoid the inevitable. A cold weight settled in your bones as for the first time in your life all the fight left you. You finally voiced it, the words coming out quiet and cracked, "But that means I have to say goodbye to…" You couldn't bring yourself to finish.

Brian glanced over apologetically as your mother laid a gentle hand on your arm. "I know, love, I'm sorry. We'll wash up, you go and talk to him."

You were in tears by the time you reached the Karim household. George's father answered the door, and by the pitying look he gave and the way he invited you in without questioning your emotional state, you knew your mother had already told both his parents.

You trudged up the stairs, every step harder to take than the one before it as they led you closer to the hardest thing you'd had to do in all your eight years. Maybe if you never reached the top, you could pretend it wasn't real, that you'd never have to face such a definitive ending. But that wasn't how it worked, and you steeled yourself as you reached the landing.

George was laid on his bed reading a comic when you nudged his door open. The moment he saw you, he shifted upright and rose to meet you. "What's wrong?"

"Brian proposed to mum."

"Oh." He knew how well you got on with the man. "That's a good thing, isn't it? Why are you sad?"

"Because we're going to move in with him."

"But he lives hours away."

You nodded slowly, resolve crumbling against his confusion. How else were you supposed to break it to him? Tears began to form again, and the sinking realisation dawned across his face. "You're leaving?"

The dam burst, and you collapsed onto his bed with a sob. "This weekend."

He sat down next to you with a sigh, crushed expression all the more apparent when he took his glasses off to wipe them angrily on his T-shirt. "It's not fair!" His anger subsided. "I don't want you to go."

"Me neither." You scanned the room, taking in the stacks of books, the cartoon posters on the wall, the half-drunk glass of orange juice on the side table. Looking everywhere but at him. It was the only way to stop it from hurting.

"It'll be okay. You can come and visit whenever you want, we can have a sleepover. Mum and dad say my big brother can't have a girl stay in his room, but you can stay in here if I ask nicely." He was trying so hard to be optimistic, you couldn't bear to tell him otherwise. It would be easier for him if he thought you were coming back. It would be easier for you if you could pretend he was right. You nodded shakily, wiping your eyes as you held your arms out. He buried himself in your shoulder, and you clung to him as though you could give him a lifetime's worth of hugs in one go. When you let go, you quickly stood and moved to the door before he could react to follow. You turned back with an unconvincing smile.

"Bye bye, George. See you soon."

—

London was just as busy as you remembered it. You hadn't been back even once since you left but now, stepping onto the bustling platform, it felt like only yesterday. But it wasn't. It had been many years, enough for you to grow up, join an agency and become a fully trained agent. Oh, if only George could see you now.

You'd thought of your best friend a lot since you parted ways. There had been other friends in that time, sure, but none you connected with as well as him. A small part of you wondered if he was still in the city, if you'd find him again by chance or by design.

A taxi took you from the train station to Portland Row. Word of the famous, or infamous, Lockwood & Co had spread throughout the country and you knew as soon as you read about the odd little agency, spearheaded by its namesake and the incredibly talented Lucy Carlyle, that it was where you wanted to work. Small enough to be what you'd always planned on, but big enough to give you the right opportunities. You'd written to Mr Anthony Lockwood and he'd invited you for a sort of interview. With the sun beaming down, you crossed the iron line and knocked confidently on the door. A shuffling sound preceded the clicking of the lock, and as the person inside revealed themself your breath caught in your throat.

Before you stood your childhood all grown up. Light brown skin, unruly black curls, dark eyes shining behind much thinner glasses, orange checked shirt. George. You faltered. This was too good to be true. It couldn't be true. Could it?

The boy peered at you curiously, and the hopeful part of your brain almost convinced you there was a spark of recognition in his eyes. Oh my god, it's you. I can't believe you found me. I never stopped thinking about y-

"Can I help you? Miss…?"

You snapped back to reality. He was still peering at you. "Oh, um, (last name)." His expression dropped a little, and your heart sank. He didn't recognise you after all; it wasn't him. It had been so long, it didn't occur to you that the name you gave, which you and your mother took from Brian after the wedding, wasn't the one George had known you by.

"You're here for the interview. Come in."

The boy led you into a cosy sitting room, where people you recognised as Lockwood and Carlyle were deep in discussion. They looked up when you entered and smiled.

"Ah, Miss (last name), welcome," Lockwood gestured to one of the sofas for you to sit. "Thank you for coming, it's an honour to have our agency so in demand. I believe you mentioned in your letter that you've heard of my associate? Lucy, meet (name)." The girl, Lucy, gave a friendly wave, which you returned. The other boy had disappeared, and you fought the urge to look for him. It would be weird, he wasn't your friend, he was a total stranger. That total stranger, as if summoned by your thoughts alone, returned with a tray of tea and handed you a cup. "And of course," Lockwood continued, "you've just met George." You almost choked on your tea. It wasn't possible. Of course it was, George was a common enough name. But to look so much like your George? Still, he hadn't recognised you. He'd forgotten all about you. Or perhaps he was choosing not to acknowledge you, that was how much it had hurt him when you left. How could you possibly say anything to remind him of that pain now?

—

Those first few days at Lockwood & Co were the most beautiful torture. You grew more certain by the minute that the boy who met you at the door was your George as the memories of his little quirks and habits came flooding back. The way he wiped his glasses when he was annoyed. How he couldn't always make a 'th' sound. His slightly messy handwriting. But it had also been so many years that things had changed, just enough that you couldn't be absolutely certain it was him. It wasn't like you could ask, either. You'd ruled out talking to him about it that first day, but you hardly thought you could approach your new colleagues and ask "is it possible that the boy currently roasting a skull in a jar is my long-lost childhood best friend who doesn't seem to remember me or care that I'm back?" All you could do was be grateful that you had him, or at least a semblance of him, back in your life.

You were on your way up to the attic room you shared with Lucy when a loud banging ahead made you pause. Tiptoeing onto the landing, you found the source of the racket: George, in only an oversized T-shirt, pounding on the bathroom door and drowning out the roar of running water within.

"Come on, Lockwood!" he yelled, slumping his forehead against the door with a thud. Your George had done that once when you locked him out of your room. He'd taken the last piece of cake from the kitchen and you'd stormed off in a sulk until he headbutted your door enough for you to let him in, where he promptly presented it to you because he'd taken it to share.

The water continued.

"Anthony John Lockwood, stop hogging the shower or so help me god!"

The water continued.

Glowering, George stormed past you and down the stairs. You began to follow, intrigued by what he had planned. Seconds later, you heard the squeak of the kitchen tap, and seconds after that a shrill yelp came from the bathroom.

"You're a bloody dick, George Casper Karim!"

Oh god. It was him.

Butterflies exploded in your stomach and fireworks in your chest as you raced down the stairs to the kitchen. George was nowhere to be seen, but a stack of papers had appeared where he normally sat at the table. You moved closer. On top was a brochure about Fittes. You pushed it aside to find CV templates, an article about one Quill Kipps, a news clipping about Marissa and Penelope Fittes, a stapled sheaf entitled "application form". You slumped into the nearest chair in disbelief. You'd finally got confirmation that a miracle had occurred and brought your best friend back into your life, and he was preparing to leave it all over again. This must have been how he felt. It was unbearable. Not much wonder he was acting like he never knew you if this was what you'd done to him.

"Whoa, are you okay?" that oh so familiar voice came from the entrance to the basement. George was at your side in seconds, one hand on your back and the other clutching worriedly at your arm as you tried to suck in enough breath to fill the hole in your chest.

"It's nothing," you lied.

"It doesn't seem like nothing. Did something happen? Are you hurt?" He traced down your arm to your hand, feeling for a cut or bump.

Every feeling you'd been holding back finally burst free in a helpless cry. "You're leaving! I just got you back and now I'm going to lose you all over again! I can't believe I put you through this, it hurts so much and not in a way that Doctor Karim can fix."

The hand in yours stilled and he took a sharp, juddering gasp. You turned nervously, terrified of how he might be looking at you. The face you found, incredibly close, was soft with amazement and as close to crying as your own.

"It's really you," he whispered.

You squeezed his hand, your lungs slowing with relief. "I didn't think you recognised me, or didn't want to remember."

His hand stayed in yours, and the other wiped away your tear. The brimming of his own tears had fogged up the bottom of his glasses. "Why wouldn't I want to remember you? You meant… mean everything to me, and when I heard your name I hoped it was you, always knew you'd make a great agent, but then your surname was different and you didn't seem to know me so I started doubting myself."

"Sorry," you mumbled. "We took Brian's name."

George chuckled lightly. "And, what, you figured I was mad at you for leaving and that's why I didn't say anything? (Name), I know it wasn’t your choice, and even if it was I'm not going to risk you walking away, I can't lose you again." His thumb rubbed tenderly across your cheek, but you averted your gaze to the documents on the table.

"But you were planning to leave."

He followed your gaze. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I've had these forever, I just put them out when Lockwood's winding me up. Drives him up the wall to think I might quit."

"I know the feeling."

He laughed, then suddenly jumped up and ran out of the room with only a "wait there" shouted back over his shoulder. You frowned, puzzled. Moments later he returned, shoving the papers to the other side of the Thinking Cloth and replacing them with a thin off-white rectangle tinged with blue. A dinosaur plaster.

"It's stupid, but I've been saving this ever since you left. No more hurt, right?"

You picked up the plaster with a smile and pulled him into a hug that you thought you'd never let go from. He pressed a quick kiss into your hair as he leant in.

"Not unless you're there to patch me up, dinosaur buddy."

[butcherlarry]

Weekly Fic Rec 40

It's been another ten fic rec lists, so you know what that means! A random list of recommendations of something not Superbat/Batfam/DC related. This time, it's meat related! Tbh, I don't know why I haven't done that before, lol.

Anyway, on to the fics!

Latchey by goldkirk - Batfam, complete. Tim joins the family early fic! He also runs a blog full of all his batfam photos (secretly, of course).

Fears Unfounded by OdosBucket - Superbat and Batfam, complete. Jason has some worries about Bruce's new partner, Clark.

Mission: seducing Superman by Speechless_since_1998 - Superbat, wip. Battinson figures the only way to stop Superman is to seduce him. Shenanigans ensue. Selina, Harley, and Ivy help.

The Price of Blame by AlexaAffect - Batfam, complete. Jason finds out that his siblings keep blaming their fuck ups on him to Bruce. He decides to start charging for his services. Shenanigans ensue.

painted blind by IHadHimOnTheRopes (CarterReid) - Superbat, wip. More of the soulmates fic, but from Clark's POV.

non-disclosure agreement by pomeloquat - Banebat, complete. A very good, very smutty fic from the BBWO collection. Also it's a pomeloquat fic, which are always a delight to read.

all that he can hold by shipyrds - Superbat, complete. Another lovely, smutty fic, with a focus on breathplay/choking. It also gets very Soft at the end, which I also enjoyed.

Borrowing a Bed by Anonymous - Superwonderbat, complete. A short fic where they all share a bed at the Kent house. Bruce is in the middle, of course.

Behind Closed Doors by Taxi_Cab_To_Slowtown - Pennywaynes, complete. Ace Thomas and his lovely spouses, Martha and Alfred :)

(Love) Triangles Have Multiple Centers by frozenpotions -Superbat, wip. More of the identity porn fic. Dick makes an appearance and he is a Delight.

Gently in the Night by Internedionality - Cloisbat, complete. Bruce isn't doing to well after Jason's death. Clark helps, then Lois. More Ace Bruce, because I'm a sucker for that.

The Heart Grows Fonder by Yippekia - Superbat, wip. Another lovely smutty fic from the BBWO collection. Clark goes off planet, but leaves some company behind to take care of Bruce :)

a sky of honey by TheResurrectionist - Superbat, wip. More of the omgaverse Superbat fic. Clark finally meets Jason.

nocturn by TheResurrectionist - Superbat, complete. Part of a room full of coral series. What Lex is doing in 'a sky of honey' when Bruce is going through his heat with Clark. He has a big sad, Bruce and Clark help.

Custody Exchange by SalParadiseLost - Bruharvey, complete. A creepy fic, just in time for the holiday! Jason is the child of Bruce and Harvey. Bruce is a monster, and so is Jason. Bruce and Harvey share custody.

Patchwork Pod by Ktkat9 - Superbat, wip. More of the mer Bruce fic! Also, Bruce is back!!

we shall be free; we shall find peace by mediant - Superbat (eventually), wip. More of Clark being a long time prisoner of Lex. Latest chapter was sad (not that that's a bad thing!), but Kon is a teen now!

And now for the meat recommendations! I grew up on a beef farm raising Angus, so most of these are going to be beef since I'm biased that way. But if you poke me, I could give you some recommendations of some other species too (except fish, not a lot of experience there).

Of steaks that come from the middle meats (ribeye, loin), I have a fondness of ribeye steak. BUT ONLY if it comes from the front of the ribeye roll. The reason why is because there is a cap muscle that wraps around the major loin muscle (longissimus dorsi) called the spinalis dorsi. It's so much more tender and flavorful than the actual ribeye muscle.

Below is an example of what I mean. It's that flat muscle wrapping around the oval shaped one:

Next is the Flat Iron steak! That muscle is called the infraspinatus, and is the second most tender muscle in the carcass! And also cheaper than the most tender muscle, the tenderloin (like, more than half the price per pound). It comes from the chuck, or shoulder of the beef carcass, and hangs out on top of the shoulder blade.

Below is a picture. Note, there is a thick piece of connective tissue that lays in the middle of the muscle. It has to be filleted out (sort of like fish), then you'll have two long strips of meat. This picture has the connective tissue out.

My finally recommendation is a more economic option, cube steak! It comes from the back leg, or round of the carcass. I tend to not like meat that comes from this primal because I always find it so dry and tough. Most of the time, my family just grinds it all for ground beef (adding fat trim so it's not so lean). But, we do request or make cube steak whenever we get one of our beef carcasses processed. Eye of round (this is the same muscle as your hamstring in your leg) is used, but top or bottom round can be used as well. Since those muscles are so tough, they are mechanically tenderized using a cuber, where you drop the meat through some blades a few times until it's tender. I like to bread mine in seasoned flour, brown them, and then drop in a crock pot with cream of mushroom soup or cream of chicken soup (sometimes both if it's a large batch). It cooks while I'm at work, and when I get home, I make some potatoes to go with my meat and gravy. I have fond memories eating this after a cold day of helping Dad with farm chores as a kid.

Below is an example:

Again, if you want any recommendations for other species, let me know! But to be honest, a lot of the cuts from a pork or lamb carcass is the same as a beef, it's just smaller with (maybe) a different name.

Happy reading (and eating)!

[non-stop-imagines]

whenever you’re ready don’t be shy to drop a lil teaser and a release estimate for that Charles fic 🙈

Hehehe, I thought you'd never ask... 😈

(I literally have not read through it yet so this little blurb is horribly unedited;It's also from kind of the middle and broken up into pieces but just enough for you to be able to pick up what I'm putting down 😚)

_____★_____

You decide, for the practice session at least, that you were going to sit up in as private of an area of the Paddock Club you could find. You didn't have the energy to hear anymore "You look different but still cute!" compliment. You knew they all meant well, that in a normal situation you would've loved this type of attention, but when your mind has been flipping through painful past memories where people doubt anything you did and told you that you wouldn't get anywhere dressing the way you did, the last thing you wanted to here was anyone else saying that you're "still cute". Yes, you were fully aware that you got to this point, viral video, and thriving YouTube channel and the hottest, most supportive boyfriend on the planet by being "cute", which was essentially just you being truly and unapologetically you, but what if that cup was running out? What if people initially got pulled in because of that, but expected you to change eventually? What if that was what Charles was thinking?

You had already found an empty table in an unfounded corner of the large open room, a large white wall with a TV screen on it, partitioning you from the rest of the room, giving you the moment of soliace you needed. You even briefly closed you eyes to take a deep breath and ground yourself, and it was working until you heard heels clicking toward you. The quiet attempt at retreating is what finally made you open your eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I saw you and was about to come say hi, but then I saw you trying to...meditate or something..." It was Lily.

"You can sit, you know..." You giggle at the fact that she was still standing, but your small smile falls a bit when you see her eyes moving around your appearance.

"Oh, yeah. I like the look, by the way. It's-" You interrupt her words by with a quick "stop" hand gesture.

"If you say cute, I am going to rip every piece of hair that I have in this claw clip out." The look you gave Lily made her hesitantly finish sitting, and rethink her compliment.

......

"All I have seen were rave reviews about your outfits and how in love Charles is with you." Her hand is finally removed from your person after her comment, reaching in her clutch that was placed on the table and pulling out her phone.

"Yeah. I guess those are the majority, but there have been other ones...meaner ones..." You trail off into your own thoughts while more cars roared by, continuing when you have the prolonged feeling of Lily's eyes on you, waiting to see where you were going with it. "Lily, how often does Alex say you look sexy in something?"

"I-uh-woah. You caught me off guard there, um..." She stopped to seriously consider your question. "I guess kinda often. Especially when he can tell I'm excited about an outfit or it's, like, a special occasion. Why?"

"Charles has only ever said I was "cute". Or "pretty". Or "beautiful". Never sexy. Not even if I try to lead him into saying it." You turn around for a moment to check where Charles stood on the Practice session leaderboard and how much time was left. "I honestly have no idea if Charles thinks I'm sexy."

"Oh, honey. I'm sure he does." Her fingernails went to caressing up and down your back as she turned all of her focus towards you while Alex goes 3rd fastest.

.......

"Lily, you genius!" You exclaimed, catching her off guard again, this time by throwing your arms around her neck and giving her a couple of light, glossy pecks to the cheek.

"Anything to help." You were already typing away at your phone, nearly vibrating with excitement, imagining Charles reaction. Another round of car roaring traveled by, but the speed of those machines had nothing on that of your scrolling thumbs.

[dewofthesearosemarygrey]

Nathan And Elizabeth Vs Jack and Elizabeth

I've noticed a Lot of People saying Not another Mountie, Or that they don't want anyone Replacing Jack, or that Elizabeth Is just Jack projecting again on Nathan. I think there is some merit to that argument but a lot of the worry is Unfounded Lets look at some of the similarities and Differences and Why I think Nathan is a Good choice for Elizabeth and NOT a replacement.

Similarities.

Nathan is a Mountie

Nathan Loves Elizabeth

Nathan makes Elizabeth think deeply

Nathan is friends with Bill

Nathan has a dog

Nathan is not good at speechmaking

Nathan uses intuition

Differences

1.Nathan is Quieter than Jack

2. Nathan Has a daughter figure.

3. Nathan is a mountie by Job rather than Calling and would give it up for Elizabeth. His calling is more to be a family protector figure.

4. Nathan has only a few best friends, but loves and protects them intensely, wheras Jack was more generally friendly.

5. Nathan is a more awkwardly quiet dorky hero , Jack is more confident and bold hero

6. Nathan is more sensitive, Jack is more thick skinned.

7. Nathan is more small detail oriented, Jack is more big-picture.

8. Nathan is much less jealous than Jack he wants Elizabeth to be Happy even if its not with Him whereas Jack was more Annoyed/Angry at Elizabeth's other suitors such as Billy and Charles and Abigail had to tell him outright that he was Jealous and that the best way to Get Elizabeth Back would be to be nicer. "you catch more flies with Honey than Vinegar"!

When we first met Jack he was Bold confident and really annoyed at having to Look after Elizabeth. his relationship with Elizabeth was Hate-to-love dynamic and there was a lot of rough teasing banter and Jealousy.

With Nathan it is a Completely Different situation when he meets Elizabeth it is a shy but friendly meeting, and as we know from season 8 he had chosen by himself to come there to look after Elizabeth, The Exact Opposite of Jacks Situation. His whole goal was to protect her and leave it at that, Until he began slowly to make friends with her and find out what an amazing woman she was. then he didn't want to Love her becuase He felt Guilty about it, but slowly they overcame that and became really close Friends When she Chose Lucas he was the one to Go to Lucas WHY? Because he loved her so much he wanted her Happiness no matter what even Over his Own Happiness, Jack would never have done that for Elizabeth He Loved her a lot But not quite at the cost of his own Dreams, Goals and Happiness. Jack and Elizabeth had a healthy Balenced relationship where both could Express there own personalties and follow there callings, but I think Nathan Loves Elizabeth in a different and more Selfless way than Jack something which would be Amazing to see play out on screen, not to even get started on the mixed Family Dynamic! This difference Is why after saying Not another Mountie in season 6 I changed to Team Nathan in season 7

[historia-vitae-magistras]

butt?

I had to substitute it for arse, sorry. Exploratory fic I began to explore some character dynamics and what the lifestyle of 4 growing nations and their mother in their last real time together would be like in a slightly Post-Roman Iron Age estate as the Migration period picks up and Germanic peoples cross the North Sea to make a home. I believe of these earlier themes have their origin with @balladofthewhitehorse.

5th Century AD, Cumbria

"Rhys," Alasdair appeared at the fence line, his face gloomy. Rhys had stopped here for his mid-day meal halfway between where the shepherds had herded the sheep in the northernmost glen and their home behind on the hill. It'd been a long two days in the hills. He offered the cider flask to his brother as Alasdair approached, his frown deepening. It wasn't raining, and the day's work wouldn't have been hard. Bad news, then. It was always bad news.

"What is it this time?"

"Rot in the south store."

"Oats, rye or wheat?" Rhys asked. The rye they might go without, but the rain hadn't come so early that anything else should rot.

"Oats,"

"Fuck." Rhys sat on the low wall of flagstones and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck,"

He glanced up. His brother looked even more dour. "Gods, what else?"

"Seven horses," Alasdair said, sitting beside Rhys, boneless and upset.

Rhys gaped at him. "Seven? That's three more than were sick yesterday!"

"It's spreading." Alasdair shrugged helplessly. "I took the healthy ones into the third stables, and it didn't help."

"Is it distemper?"

"I didn't think so," Alasdair said. "They weren't so feverish, and there wasn't pus, but now I don't know.

"So, no horses to sell this year. At least half the oats are gone."

"Rhys." Alasdair's ingot grey gaze fell heavily, and Rhys glanced at his brother.

"I know," He said, and Alasdair didn't look convinced. He looked at his elder brother with a firm look. "I know."

"If we can't pay the tributes…"

He thought of the mustached helmets of the German kings and exhaled. "We don't know that we can't pay. There's plenty to sell."

"It's not just a lack of goods I'm worried about. It's been a bad year for everyone. There might not be anyone to sell to."

"There must be," Rhys said, pulling his cloak tighter over his shoulders. "There will be. We'll figure it out."

"I suppose all we can do is pray," Alasdair said.

Rhys frowned. Alasdair was the one with a mind for numbers, but he always worried, and they always managed before. So what if the horses would not fetch the total price if they were ill come market day? There was still the wool, the fine worked saddles he and Alasdair had made the year before, and plenty of cattle, sheep, honey and mead to sell. There were options. They had options.

"I'll see to the horses; if none of them die, we'll be fine," Alasdair said. "We have ore too. I might get a good price for my boar spears."

"Maybe," Rhys said. His hope was teetering precariously on the assumption that his brother was overly worried.

There was an unspoken sense of doom between them, both praying their worries were unfounded. Rhys grimaced after they parted ways at the outer gate, Alasdair marching off to the stables and Rhys to the poultry yard and the hives. One of the women in his mother's service alerted him to the fact that another of the hives had gone dark with rot. Honey was expensive, and now there wouldn't be enough to sell and use themselves over the long winter. Rhys waved her off with a pinched-off smile.

He stood in the poultry yard for a long moment, leaning against the half gate that kept the hens, quail, and ducks safe in their enclosure and away from the hounds. He watched Arthur tumble after a goose, laughing as it squawked and ducked him. Their dinner pail of scraps and grain was sitting neglected as he played, but Rhys looked on, letting him play. They'd have to keep more honey than what he'd wanted to sell, if only for Arthur's sake. Honey cakes with stored apples and cheese or on bread were one of those precious things that would cheer him when the worst of the winter gloom gripped him worse than any of them. Arthur rolled to a halt, cackling as the goose bobbed angrily and finally noticed him.

"Rhys!" He grinned, leaping to his feet and making a beeline for him. He exhaled a loud "oomph" as Arthur knocked into him, throwing his arms around him. "You're back!"

"I was only gone a night," He laughed. "How is Mother? And where is your cloak? Have you lost it again?"

"The same," Arthur said. "Maybe a little better. She laughed this morning when I fell right on my arse out of bed. Bridgie pushed me."

"Good! And you probably deserved it. You kick in your sleep." He replied, and his smile was genuine. Mother had at least made an effort to shake her recent gloom then. She'd been thinner, paler, and sadder than he'd ever seen her in the last few years, and it hadn't gotten any better as the days became shorter. "And your cloak?"

"I forgot it!"

"You'll catch your death." Rhys ruffled his hair. "Hurry and feed the birds and come in for dinner."

[ab4eva]

‘Tomorrow Will Be Too Late’

Part 3

Summary: Elvis Presley x Reader / For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved two things - Elvis Presley and time travel. After seeing the 1968 Comeback Special for the first time, you decide to try and get back to him for one incredible night, by any means necessary.

Author’s note: I’m starting to realize not everyone is as into time travel as me lol I promise you this is very very light on the sci-fi and very heavy on Elvis and reader.

Warnings: NSFW - 18+ only. Language, infidelity, p in v, oral (m. receiving), fingering, spanking, daddy kink, angry Elvis.

Word count: 5,396

TWBTL Masterlist

-

Morning sunlight peeks through the curtains and you squeeze your closed eyes tighter against it. You feel a warm presence behind you, legs curled into the back of yours, a heavy arm draped across your middle and a large hand lightly cupping one of your breasts. The events of last night come flooding back to you and your nipple under his hand, Elvis’s hand, stiffens to a peak. After you had lost yourself, first to your tears and then to Elvis, you had lain awake with him into the wee hours of the morning, tangled up in the bedsheets and each other, talking. You heard about his nerves preparing for the Christmas special and his fears about how his fans would receive him - or if they even would. He talked about his worries that he was no longer relevant, just some washed up singer and actor the older crowd was into. You had tried to reassure him, as best you could, that his fears were unfounded. You knew, of course, the end result. But you couldn’t exactly tell him what you knew, because then that would lead to how you knew. And you didn’t think Elvis was ready for that. You told him about yourself, where you grew up and about your family. Those things were fact and you happily shared them, wanting to give some small, true piece of yourself to him. He teased you sweetly about how you had met in the hallway yesterday, saying you were the first girl that truly fell for him. A familiarity had enveloped you both, a camaraderie, as if you were the only two people in the world. A Taylor Swift lyric floated through your head at one point and you spoke it out loud, to Elvis’s delight.

“Have I known you twenty seconds, or twenty years,” you had murmured, laying on your stomach next to him, lightly tracing his features - eyebrows, eyes, nose, lips, chin and back again. His long body was stretched out and relaxed, an arm folded beneath his head as he looked up at you, the fingers of his other hand skimmed delicately across the skin of your shoulder. His eyes had lit up at that and a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

“I was just thinkin’ the same thing, only not in so many words. But I love the way you put it, honey, very poetic.”

Elvis stirs a little behind you and your thoughts return to the present. You keep very still, enjoying the feeling of his skin on your skin, his body pressed all along yours. You would stay here forever if you could, in this sweet communion, this closeness that rivals everything you’ve ever had with someone else. He’s breathing softly near your ear and his breath stirs a piece of hair that tickles your cheek. You try to ignore the itch that is now begging to be scratched, unwilling to end this idyllic moment. You try and hold out for as long as you can before you reach up and scratch your cheek, causing Elvis to grip your breast tighter. He stretches and sighs before burying his head in the crook of your shoulder and rutting his hips a little against your backside. He’s already semi-hard and you push your rear end back into him and he groans sleepily, moving his hand down to your waist to draw you nearer. You feel the scratch of his stubble as he begins planting open-mouthed kisses across your shoulder and down your arm. You reach a hand back and grab a handful of his hair as he continues his assault. A hand trails down your thigh, making you jump a little, before he takes hold of your knee and draws your leg back over his own, granting him access to your soaking heat. He cups your mound and teases your folds with a long, delicate finger.

“Already so wet for me, baby? Mmm,” he hums sleepily against your shoulder and you feel his smile. Your head arches back against him as he makes contact with your sensitive clit for a moment, your breath stuttering. His other hand slips underneath your body to your breast, running his knuckles back and forth over your hard nipple. You buck against him at the sensation and he inhales sharply. He dips one finger, then two, inside of you, his other hand still teasing your breast. He slowly pumps his fingers in and out and all of your concentration zeros in on the feeling of the drag of his digits inside you, as you tighten around him. Your lips fall open and you breathe little sighs that seem to spur him on. His palm finds your aching bud and he gently adds pressure, causing you to buck your hips again. He buries his head in your neck once more and starts to suck, using his tongue and his teeth. It’s almost too much - his hand on your breast, his mouth on your skin, his fingers moving inside you with a steady rhythm, curling up to hit the most delicious spot. The fact that he’s touching you, so intimately, with such familiarity only adds to your euphoria. It sends you hurtling towards the edge, then over it. You clench fiercely around his fingers, sucking them back in and trapping them at the knuckle, keening out his name like a prayer, a curse, a plea. He gathers you to his chest with his other arm, holding you close against him as you ride out your orgasm, finally collapsing back against him, spent.

“Good mornin’ to you too, baby,” he rumbles in your ear, the feeling reverberating against your back as you try and catch your breath, still coming down from your high. He rolls you over onto your back like a rag doll and moves to hover over you, the weight of his body pinning you to the bed. Your legs instinctively open to him and he settles between your thighs.

“Goddamn, Elvis,” you gasp, heart still racing, face flushed and eyes unfocused. He rakes you over with his eyes, hunger burning hotly in them, before trailing kisses across your face, kissing everywhere but where you really need him - your mouth. You try and catch his lips with yours but he’s too quick and pulls back to smirk at you. You focus on his plump, swollen lips before raising your eyes to meet his blue ones, silently pleading with him. He gives you a look that you can’t quite read, like he’s trying to figure something out, his eyes searching yours. Whatever it is must pass because he leisurely lowers his mouth to yours, finally. He’s in no hurry as he nips and licks and sucks at your mouth, your lips, your tongue. It’s the most sensual thing you’ve ever experienced and a fever blooms in your head, your chest, your belly. You feel his rock hard length against your stomach and reach down to take him in your hand, locking your eyes into his. You move your hand up and down at a measured pace, thumb grazing his engorged tip and he hisses through his teeth. He thrusts his hips into your hand and groans softly, his head dropping to your forehead. You kiss him hungrily then move your ministrations to his jaw, his shoulder, biting softly.

“Please…Elvis,” you beg in a whisper, “I need you. Inside me.” He doesn’t make you wait long before he takes himself from your hand, finds your slick entrance and slides home, filling you to the brim as he did last night. You let out the breath you’ve been holding as he starts rocking in and out at an agonizingly slow pace, every time he leaves you empty it seems to take an eternity for him to return and fill you. The pleasure is so unbearable that tears well up in your eyes and you can’t help the strangled whine that falls from your lips. You’re clawing at his shoulders, his back, his hips, needing more than what he’s giving you. This urges Elvis on and he grips your hip, slamming harder into you, driving in and out, his slow movements becoming faster and more desperate now. He draws one of your legs up and over his forearm, bringing you impossibly close to him, the new angle sending you into a tailspin, your head thrashing from side to side on the pillow, your breath all but gone. Your fingers find your clit and almost immediately you’re clenching around him so hard he jerks to a momentary stop, choking out a grunt and then re-doubling his efforts as he keeps pumping into you. You grab his hair, making him look at you, fighting to hold his gaze as you fall apart, wanting more than anything to feel connected to him in this moment. His eyes are wild and sweet as they watch you come undone. Not long after, his eyebrows furrow and he grits his teeth as he finds his release deep inside you, still staring into your eyes like they’re the last thing he’ll ever see. His warmth spills into you as you cling to his broad shoulders, one hand cradling his cheek as he trembles and finally crumples, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him, tucking you into his chest.

Neither of you speak for a moment, too exhausted to to string words together. For your part, you’re feeling emotional and slightly fragile, lost in the innumerable thoughts swirling in your mind. You hadn’t anticipated the actual toll this would all take on you, but it’s hitting like a ton of bricks now and you turn cold at the thought it will be over soon. You can’t stay here forever, as much as you would like to. You start to shiver uncontrollably and Elvis pulls you closer, covering you both with a blanket.

“You ok, darlin’?” He whispers against your head, his lips resting in your hair. He rubs your arm to warm you up and you just lay there shaking, unable to stop, unable to speak. Tears threaten to fall but you keep them at bay, closing your eyes and breathing to try and calm yourself.

“Yeah, baby. I’m ok,” you say, forcing your voice to take on a normal tone. “Better than ok.” You snuggle into his arms, trying to enjoy the moment. “Oh and I was thinking… do you think maybe…” you pause and he looks down at you.

“What?” He says, eyebrow quirking up.

“Maybe you could wear the leather outfit back here tonight?” You’re blushing and he knows it.

He chuckles out loud, deep and amused. “You’re a dark horse, Y/N. Anybody ever tell you that? I’ll see what I can do.”

From there your day passes in a blur. Elvis is needed on set by 11am and leaves you behind at the hotel to get ready, having ordered some dresses to be sent to the suite. You hadn’t brought any other clothes with you, planning on only staying one night. It was easy really, Elvis assuming you were staying at another hotel and choosing to have some options brought up for you from the hotel boutique, it was just easier that way he said. He gives you a quick peck on the mouth and lingers just a little, enough to promise that there’s more where that came from, later. He arranges for a car to pick you up and take to you the studio, where Jerry will ensure you’re seated in the audience for the taping. You end up being close to the stage, where you can see Elvis and he can see you, but far enough away where you don’t draw attention to yourself. It’s one of the most thrilling things you’ve ever experienced. You didn’t expect to actually get to see Elvis, in his element, up close and personal. His connection to the audience is unparalleled, he feeds off their energy and love. You can see it in his movements, his voice, the way his enthusiasm builds with every song. By the end, he’s buzzing, almost levitating off the stage floor. The audience is in a frenzy and Elvis in heaven. He’s made eye contact with you a few times, and every time it happens a shot of adrenaline shoots through your veins, setting you on fire, eating you from the inside.

So when you find yourself back in his hotel room later that night, waiting anxiously for him to walk through the door once more, you practically throw yourself on him the minute he does. He’s clad in head-to-toe leather, hair slightly mussed and a cheeky grin on his chiseled face. You’re so aroused from the events of the day and it feels like it’s been an eternity since you’ve kissed him, felt his soft, pliant lips against yours. He groans into your mouth and wraps his arms around you.

“Every time I saw you in the audience today I was so turned on I thought I might come, right then and there,” he says, unashamed. Your face flames at the very thought and he pulls you in for another kiss. “But I didn’t, I saved it for you, baby. All for you.” The telephone rings and Elvis pulls away momentarily, which annoys you to no end. You just finally got him to yourself again, after having to share him all day with other people, having to keep your distance and wait while he finished things up after filming. You entwine your fingers through his jet-black locks and pull his mouth back to yours, crushing his plump lips with your own. His hands find purchase on your hips and he pulls you into him roughly, slamming you against him, as you wrap a leg around one of his, keeping him locked in your embrace. The phone continues to shrill and he reluctantly breaks the kiss again, removing your leg and untangling your hands from his hair, holding them away from his body. You whine a little and he gives you a smirk, slightly shaking his head.

“Sorry honey, I gotta answer. Could be important, the boys know not to disturb me unless they absolutely have to.” He releases you and walks over to pick up the phone on the sixth ring, and you can tell he’s slightly annoyed at being interrupted right as things are heating up.

“What?” He demands rather harshly into the phone. “Oh, sorry baby…I didn’t realize it was you.” Your heart drops to your stomach as you realize who it must be and for a moment you’re overcome with guilt, sick at what you’re doing. It’s true he would be doing it with someone else if it wasn’t you, he’s no angel and you know this. But still. You never thought you’d be a home wrecker. A hussy. The other woman.

“Honey, I’m sorry, I can’t right now, the guys have me going over the schedule for tomorrow…mm hmm.” He sits down on the side of the bed and listens for moment, holding up a finger to let you know he’ll be a minute. You’re not interested in listening to him though, you’re so needy in this moment and you’re not exactly sure why. You drop to your knees on the plush carpet and slowly start to crawl towards him, unable to stay away for even a minute. He lifts an eyebrow and inhales a sharp breath, then shakes his head once, hard. NO. You suddenly feel possessive of him, like he belongs to you and no one else. Like you have every right to be here, every right to touch him now - when you want and how you want, wife be damned. Even though you have absolutely no right to feel this way, absolutely no claim on this man. But you don’t stop crawling on your hands and knees to him. He lifts a booted foot and places it on your shoulder, trying in vain to hold you back, giving you a look of warning as he does. You look up at him, mouth parted and eyes lidded and place your hands on his leather-clad leg, inching them slowly up to his sturdy thigh, and simply moving it out of the way. You kneel between his legs and lay your head in his lap.

He jerks a little at that, his voice faltering mid-sentence for a moment and he tries to move away from you, to create a little distance but you just move with him. You sit up fully on your knees, running your hands over his chest and nuzzling his neck, taking the earlobe not occupied by the phone in your mouth and sucking. He takes a ragged breath and stands up suddenly, knocking you on your backside, your elbows catching you before you fully hit the ground, and your mouth falls open in shock and hurt. He starts to pace a small distance in the room, taking the phone with him. You look up at him from the floor, glowering, your eyebrows drawn together and a frown on your pretty face. He just looks back at you, equal parts annoyed and turned on.

“Listen, I’m sorry darlin’, I just won’t be home tonight. We’ve got so much work to do for tomorrow,” the lie rolls easily off his tongue and that gives you pause. You knew this must have been something he was used to, something he did often. But to see it so blatantly play out in front of your eyes stirs mixed feelings. You had read about him and all the women he had been with over the years but in that context it was always in the past and long since over. Yet here you were, in the middle of it. A chill snakes up your spine before you’re pulled back to the present, Elvis still on the phone.

You pout on the floor where he left you, shooting him daggers with your eyes. He shoots them right back, still talking to her and more than a little peeved it seems. You know you should have been patient, waited for him to finish his call. With his wife. But you couldn’t help it, you needed him. Needed to be close to him, needed to feel him, to touch him. And he just…walked away. He pushed you off and ignored you. More than that he knocked you over. Accidentally, of course, but that doesn’t stop the hurt you feel. The annoyance. Why? It’s something so minor, technically you’re the one at fault here, but it eats away at you for some reason. This possessiveness you feel for him is new. It’s so unlike you. You’ve always been at ease with yourself - confident, self-assured. At ease with the men in your life - not clingy, not jealous, not caring if they talk to other women. So why are you acting this way with Elvis? There’s something niggling at the corner of your brain but you’re not sure what it is. Your thoughts are interrupted as you hear Elvis begin to wrap up his phone call.

You stand up quickly and walk to the bathroom, looking over your shoulder and shooting him a mean look as you saunter away. His eyes burn into yours and it shoots lightening through your body. You stand in the doorway and as soon as he hangs up the phone, you look him right in the eyes and slam the bathroom door. Loudly. Then you lock it. Let him try and ignore you now.

“Goddamnit!” You hear him roar and that has you shaking a little - from fear or arousal or both, you can’t be sure. His heavy footsteps grow closer and stop outside the bathroom as the doorknob turns uselessly. You hear him growl lowly before a fist lands on the door and makes you jump.

“Y/N, goddamnit, open this door right now!” He bangs again, it shakes the door and for a minute you’re actually scared he might try and bust it down.

“No.” It’s a statement. A refusal. A challenge. You’re being a brat, you know, but you can’t help it. There’s something inside of you pushing you towards the edge of whatever cliff this is and you are powerless to stop it. It’s deathly quiet on the other side of the door. Your heart beats a quick thrum in your chest and you place a hand over it, hoping to slow it down a bit. What the hell are you doing? You’ve never acted like this in your entire life, not once, and now you’re playing some sort of sick game with Elvis? This is not what you came here for.

“Y/N, you better open this goddamn door right now or so help me god… I will break it down,” he says through gritted teeth, control wavering in his words. Your blood runs cold and you know he means it. You don’t know much but you do know that what Elvis wants, Elvis gets. No matter what it takes. Not matter what he has to do to get it. You’ve read enough about him to know this is true. So you believe him when he says he’ll break the door down. You swallow and take a fortifying breath through your nose, your body and mind and soul suddenly buzzing, unsure what lies in store for you now, but knowing it will take all of your willpower to withstand whatever it is. You unlock the door with a click but leave it closed. You sit on the edge of the bathtub instead and wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, when your heart is in your throat and you’re shaking so badly your teeth are clattering together and you think you might have a panic attack from the anticipation, the doorknob turns and the bathroom door slowly swings open to reveal Elvis, still clad in the leather outfit you boldly requested he wear home tonight. His face is like a gathering storm, ready to rain down thunder and hellfire on you. His eyes flash a color of blue you’ve never seen before and his nostrils flare just a touch, his jaw clenched and unmoving. His hands though. His delicate, slender hands, rather than being balled into fists, rest easily at his side, one of them drumming a steady rhythm on his thigh.

He smiles though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You open your mouth to say something but can’t think of a thing to say. You want to apologize, truly. You know your behavior was unacceptable, what the hell had come over you? But the words won’t come. You’re feeling stubborn and fragile, your ego and feelings bruised by him. The closeness you felt this morning has all but dissipated. So you close your mouth and look away from his intense gaze and the anger and desire that radiates out from him. It reaches you where you’re perched on the edge of the tub and does funny things to your insides. He steps forward, tired of waiting, and grabs you by the wrist, hauling you to your feet and out the bathroom door. You resist at first, dragging your feet, but that just makes him grip you tighter, his fingers rubbing and burning where they meet your wrist. So you let him pull you into the bedroom where he drags you over to the bed and flings you down on it as he stands over you, blocking your view of anything else. All you can see is him. All you can feel is him. All you want is him.

“I asked you to wait while I talked to her. What part of that didn’t you understand? She is my wife, dammit, and I owe her my undivided attention when she calls, at the very least. What am I gonna do with you, honey?” He asks, breathing hard, his irritation with your behavior unmasked. The fact that he won’t say her name out loud sits heavy in the air. He just stares at you and you realize he’s expecting an answer from you. You gulp and look up at him, vulnerable in your position on the bed. And then you realize that this whole time, this game you’ve been playing, has unconsciously fed right into one of your fantasies. You don’t know if you can say it out loud, not to him. You feel your face burn red and he tilts his head, interested in what’s got you so hot and bothered. His mouth lifts in a half smile and an eyebrow quirks up. He remains quiet, forcing you to speak.

“Spank me, daddy, and call me little girl,” you whisper. Elvis’s mouth falls open in shock, his eyes widening a little and the vein in his neck apparent as he stares down at you. He stands frozen, his chest rising and falling, barely. You can almost read the thoughts that flash through his mind and across his face, his eyes lidded as his tongue snakes out and licks his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth. He abruptly makes up his mind and hauls you up from the bed, pulling you into his arms.

“OK, little girl,” he says, lip curling up into a sneer, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “If that’s what you really want.” An involuntary noise escapes your lips, something between a moan and a sigh, and you squeeze your legs together, your core already flush with arousal. He sits on the side of the bed, long legs spread, and you can see the outline of his already hard cock through his leather pants. He clenches his jaw, gripping your wrist as he tries to pull you down onto his lap. You resist, pulling against him, suddenly scared.

“You asked for this, honey. Now, be a good girl and take what I have to give ya. The longer you drag this out the worse it will be,” he says firmly, but not unkindly. You swallow the lump in your throat and nod your head, allowing him to pull you onto his lap and across his knees. He rucks your dress up around your waist, and pulls your panties down around your thighs. You inhale as the cool, air-conditioned air hits your newly exposed delicate parts and contrasts with the warm leather against your skin. His left arm is on your back, holding you down firmly. You feel so foolish perched there, splayed over his legs - what had you been thinking, asking for this? That is until the first smack hits you without warning, bolting you forward a little with the impact. You can’t breathe for a minute, shocked and unprepared as you are, only able to focus on the stinging feeling his hand left on you. You dimly hear him speaking above you and it takes everything in you to focus on what he’s saying.

“Now little girl, do you understand why you’re being punished?”

“Yes, daddy,” you choke out.

Smack. His hand lands on your other cheek and you close your eyes tight with a gasp.

“And why is that?” He palms your cheek softly, warm hand soothing the burning sensation there.

“Because I interrupted your phone call with your - with her,” you say, unable to bring yourself to say her name out loud. Not here, not now.

Smack. “And what happens when bratty little girls interrupt important phone calls?”

“They get spankings,” you whisper, clutching the bed sheets in your balled up fists.

Smack. That one hits decidedly lower, his fingers grazing your slit and you let out a high-pitched moan. You feel him shift under you, his right leg starting to jiggle slightly. It jolts your already sensitive core and has you biting down on your arm as pleasure rolls through you, stifling a whimper. His broad hand rubs your back, pressing down a little more firmly, to steady himself or soothe you, you can’t be sure.

“You know I’m only punishing you out of love, dontcha honey? This hurts me more than it hurts you.” Smack.

“Yes, daddy,” you say through gritted teeth, tears starting to track down your cheeks now. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, the heat growing in your belly.

“One more baby. I think you’ve learned your lesson,” he says as he brings his hand down once more, harder than any of the previous times and you let out a little yelp, slumping lifeless over his knees, the tension gone from your body now that it’s over. You lay there a minute, forehead resting on your arm, vibrating and trying to catch your breath. Elvis runs soothing strokes over your stinging ass and up your back, landing at your neck, massaging it with one hand, stroking your hair. He just lets you stay there for a little while as he calms you and you feel ready to move. He helps you slowly sit up next to him on the bed and wipes the tears from your cheeks, taking your chin between his fingers and looking you in the eyes.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” He truly wants to know, you can tell it isn’t in him to be cruel, ever. Firm, yes. An asshole sometimes, yes. But cruel for the sake of being mean? Never. You nod your head, you don’t trust your voice right now. He smiles and pulls you in for a kiss, which does more to speed up your already racing heart than it does to calm it. You reach between his legs and cup his stiff length, palming him through the baby soft, heated leather. He whines a little which is all the encouragement you need to stand him up and jerk down his pants, a little frantically, his rock hard shaft springing free against his belly. You push him back onto the bed as you slip to the floor between his spread legs. You take his cock in your hand and use your thumb to rub gentle circles around the swollen, leaking head, looking up at him to make sure he’s ok. You’ve never given a blowjob to an uncut man before, but being the girl you were, you had done your research. His blue eyes beg you for more and you lean forward to place tiny licks all around his hyper-sensitive tip, swirling your tongue lightly. He sucks in a breath and leans his head back, stomach muscles already quivering. You savor the way his exposed throat looks as he swallows, the way his long lashes rest on his cheeks, eyes closed in ecstasy. You work your mouth down his shaft, moist lips dragging up and down, lightly sucking and licking as you go. He groans above you, eyes snapping open to look at you as he weaves his fingers through your hair. “Atta girl,” he praises, voice strangled and breathless.

You finally take as much of him as you can in your mouth, using your hand slick with spit to grasp the rest of him. You begin to suck lightly, not too hard, ever mindful of his sensitivity. His fingers grip your hair tighter, sending a tingle down your spine and prompting you to speed up your pace a bit. He’s been excited all day and it doesn’t take long before he’s coming in your mouth, hot and salty, the only warning is his hand clenching a tight fist in your hair and his hips rutting up into your mouth a little.

You hold onto his hips as he pulses in your mouth, again and again, swallowing his seed little by little, until he falls back in the bed, gasping, one hand clutching his chest, the other pulling you with him to lay by his side. You snuggle into him, your fingers rubbing circles through his chest hair, the open leather jacket still encircling his upper body. His hand is around your shoulder and your feel him look down at you and hesitate before speaking.

“Baby…where’d you get the whole “daddy” thing from?” He’s curious and that surprises you a little. “Not that I’m complaining, mind ya. Just surprised is all.”

“Are you kidding me, Elvis?” You say, incredulous, looking up at him and smirking. “With the leather? You fucking deserve it.”

Tags: @aconflagrationofmyown @meladollsims @godlypresley @jelliedonut

[suzukiblu]

Omegaverse anon

That's such a kind offer, thank you so much

I'm into DC stuff right now, Clark pining for Kon to be his pup Gave Me Life, I love found family dynamics and H/C so much a lot of your work is right up my alley already 😀

Let me seeeee, then, I don't have any fully-finished DC omegaverse of my own, I'm pretty sure, BUT here's some goodies I think you might dig! Your mileage may vary, obviously, so mind the tags, but I think all of these fics are interesting and I enjoyed them myself.

. . . also gonna be honest, there's a lot more nursing fic in here than I expected, haha.

You and me and them. Let's be pack. Let's show the world we chose each other, by Ace_of_Hearts4444. This is, like, the literal first fic I thought of for DC omegaverse recs, especially for your listed likes. Pack dynamics-heavy AU WIP where being stray is dangerous and unhealthy, especially for presented people, and Kon just so happens to present while stray. So Young Justice immediately makes a pack for him, naturally, with a side of alpha!Tim/omega!Kon. And uh, then Clark gets in trouble for obliviously letting his clonebrother/clonekid/clone?? run around stray, haha. Also just about literally everyone in here is my fave dynamic for them, haha, I think this author is in my HEAD.

This Isn't How Things Are Supposed to Go, But We've Always Been Unorthodox, by RenkonNairu. This is an AU Tim/Kon WIP with alpha!Tim accidentally marking omega!Conner Luthor and the subsequent fallout, and also omega!Clark's PTSD from Lex being a bastard and angst about the pup he couldn't stand to keep while alpha!Bruce very patiently attempts to court him. Warning for past rape/noncon with Lex/Clark.

Soft as a petal, sharp as a knife, by BearlyWriting. This is kinda angsty but def has found family and hurt/comfort elements to it; pre-death Jason presents as an omega and makes some understandable misassumptions about the situation, and Dick helps him through it. Warning for past rape/noncon prior to Jason coming to the manor and Jason being afraid of it having happened again.

punishment verse, by dexdefyingstunts. This one is honestly, like, very porny but also is pack dynamics/found family and hurt/comfort. Long story short, alpha!Jason gets gangbanged back into the Batpack by Bruce and his brothers and it's, like, surprisingly sweet but also kinda dubcon. Warning for dubious consent, past underage, and implied incest, but it's mostly incest between adopted family members and isn't intended to be either any kind of romantic relationships or abusive, it's a hierarchy thing in the AU. Just mind the tags, basically.

Sweet Like Honey, by Nightwang. This is literally just "no one gave Kon decent sex ed and surprise, he's an omega!!" Tim/Kon porn. Basically, Tim helps Kon through his presentation heat and they're both cute about it.

Baby mine, by PrincessKinny. Dick has been hiding his secondary gender but that stops working when Damian happens and his inner omega decides that is His Pup and he needs to goddamn PROVIDE for him.

Omega Milk, by Ellegrine. Series about omega!Jason slowly starting to let various pack members nurse from him and strengthening familial bonds in the process; goes from Damian to Tim to Dick to Bruce. Definitely covers hurt/comfort and absolutely thriiiiives on miscommunication and Bruce being unnecessarily stoic and fucking himself up emotionally in the process.

Baby Birds, by iselsis. One of Dick's pups tries to steal Batman's tires and Dick lets the alpha take them, assuming he's going to be the trade-off for Jason and Tim getting a safe home living with Bruce Wayne. Warning for Dick spending basically the whole fic assuming he's about to be sexually assaulted, though said assumptions are unfounded and it's actually just all sweet and domestic and a little bit heartbreaking.

a kind of faith prevails, by julodinae_sunsets. WIP where newly-rezzed Jason presents as an omega and Talia decides that means he should be pupsitting for her. Canon proceeds very differently from there, and Damian will NOT tolerate anyone trying to take him away from his new umm'i.

Wet Nurse, by Cheesy_Potatoes. Bruce is an omega and everyone keeps bringing him their traumatized pups to nurse. WIP.

Omegaverse Jewels, by Zinc10. Jason presents belatedly as an omega and takes the inconvenience about as well as can be expected. Tim/Jason and a lot of Batpack fussing as everyone takes their turn trying to get Jason home.

I Have Worn a Coat of Scars, by Ellegrine. Omega!Jason has self-esteem issues and alpha!Dick fucks them better; that's it, that's the fic.

the pillow fortress of solitude, by feelingwhimsy. YJ cartoon fic, season one era. Everybody finds out Superboy is half-human by finding out he's an omega, and Robin and Wally bro-cuddle him through it. Ending this rec list on a cute note, haha.

[tinytinyblogs]

Hi!<3 was wondering if you could write a yandere seungmin where reader finds out he’s obsessed and gets all bratty calling him creepy and stuff until he shoved her on the bed and puts her in her place

Keep in mind

It was all about timing, and you only figured it out now. His forever.

(yandere theme, obsessed seungmin, and a lot more) 1,4k words

💬Ta-da! Request complete (fingers crossed)! I'm always in training mode, giving it my A-game. Other requests are open season, just a friendly reminder that I don't write smut. I hope you understand.

Stray kids masterlist here

He used to be a portrait of chivalry, wrapped in charming cuteness. A constant, caring presence, admired by all, his gaze forever on you. Wherever you went, his shadow lingered, an echo of every word whispered on your lips, every opinion uttered about you. He devoured your secrets, accumulating them like trophies in his ever-growing shrine. His excitement, once endearing, morphed into a chilling possessiveness. Every gift became a claim, every memento a stolen piece of your soul. Your reflection, captured in his lens without your consent, became his currency, an ever-expanding catalogue of your existence. Behind his mask of innocence, a disquieting reality lurked. You dismissed your anxieties as unfounded, your worries mere whispers in the wind. But a nagging doubt refused to be silenced. And then, with a single, foolish 'yes' to his seemingly harmless request, the truth shattered the illusions.

He wasn't smitten, he was enthralled. This wasn't puppy love, it was a predatory obsession. The scales fell from your eyes, revealing a darkness hidden in plain sight. The cute prince had become a stalker, leaving you trapped in a gilded cage of his own making. The air hung heavy with a stifling dread as you stepped into Seungmin's room. It was a macabre museum of your life, each carefully collected item a chilling testament to his obsession. Photos plastered on the walls, your possessions eerily familiar in their alien display, cast grotesque shadows under the flickering light. Every inch screamed of your stolen intimacy, a suffocating tapestry woven from the threads of your life. The click of the front door echoed in the tomb-like silence, a brutal punctuation mark on the spiraling paranoia gnawing at your insides. Then, his voice, like honey laced with cyanide, slithered from behind you, "Glad you could make it."

"Surprised to see you here. I almost expected you to run off with your shiny new coffee buddy." Every nerve ending in your body screamed. The sickening sweetness of his words, the way he knew about your coffee shop conversation like it was etched into his bones, it all solidified the terrifying truth. He wasn't your charming friend, he was a puppet master, pulling the strings of your reality. A tremor rippled through you, nausea churning in your gut. "Sick," you rasped, the word falling short against the immensity of your disgust. His secrets, whispered against the backdrop of your adoration, felt like a slap in the face. The years of admiring him from afar, building him up in your mind, now crumbled to dust, leaving you with an aching sense of disillusionment. You spun around, facing the monster he truly was. "Seungmin, you're... goddamned sick," the accusation rang out, a strangled cry against the suffocating darkness of his obsession.

Yet, Seungmin's face held no remorse, only a chilling serenity. The air crackled with his warped delight, his eyes gleaming with predatory hunger. "Insane, Stay away from me!" your voice rasped, the words hollow against the suffocating atmosphere. But your plea bounced off him like a feather against steel. Laughter, cold and metallic, erupted from his chest, echoing in the cramped room like a chorus of demons. "I hate it, i hate you." His laughter echoed like cruel applause as your choked whisper of hatred washed over him, each chuckle twisting the knife deeper. "Oh, Y/N," he drawled, the familiar charm morphing into something monstrous, "that's hardly fresh news. This," he gestured expansively at the shrine to your stolen privacy, "this is just a love letter, penned in stolen moments." You recoiled, the nausea returning with a vengeance.

The Seungmin you'd known, the gentle, almost fragile boy, was a wisp of smoke blown away by the chilling reality before you. This monster, capable of collecting your existence like trophies, could do more than crush an ant. He could crush you. "Me? Sick? Crazy? Insane?" His smile, once boyish, now held a cruel edge. "What else, my dear Y/N? Let's hear your full repertoire of accusations." His voice, still honeyed, twisted with a hint of irritation, as if your resistance was an inconvenience rather than a threat. He leaned closer, a predator savoring his cornered prey. "Tell me," he breathed, his eyes glinting with a twisted challenge, "what else shall I be for you?" The room spun as he lunged at you, his predatory smile glinting in the dim light. You stumbled back, searching for any avenue of escape, but Seungmin was upon you in a flash. His hand, once seemingly so gentle, clamped around your waist with an iron grip, his strength far exceeding anything you'd ever imagined.

He spun you, your vision twisting as the world tilted and the plush bed rushed up to meet you. A gasp escaped your lips as you landed with a jarring thud, his heavy form pinning you down. His arms caged you, their warmth a suffocating contrast to the icy fear slithering up your spine. "Cat got your tongue, little mouse?" His voice, once melodious, now dripped with a cruel amusement. You saw a flash of something unfamiliar in his eyes, a dark hunger lurking beneath the surface. You tried to push him away, your breath coming in ragged gasps. But it was like fighting a shadow, his hold unyielding. His face loomed over you, his smile twisting into a predatory smirk. "Call me whatever you like, Y/N," he purred, his voice brushing against your ear like a venomous whisper. "But remember this," his eyes bored into yours, pinning you as surely as his body, "you will never, ever be out of my sight." The air thrummed with a suffocating silence, broken only by your choked breaths and the rapid hammering of your heart. You felt small, helpless, like a fragile butterfly trapped in a spider's web.

The Seungmin you once knew, the boy of sun-kissed smiles and gentle whispers, had vanished, replaced by a dark stranger whose eyes held the glint of a predator savoring its prey. The harsh crack of his fist against the bedframe echoed in your skull, the world tilting on its axis. A stunned silence stretched before his voice, laced with a dark amusement, washed over you. "Stay away from you?" he mused, his face a chilling tableau of conflicting emotions. He leaned closer, his hot breath a cloying presence on your cheek. Your eyes locked onto his, the once familiar warmth extinguished, replaced by a possessive glint that sent shivers down your spine. "My dear," he uttered, his voice a honeyed trap, "that's the exquisite beauty of today. You are finally mine. All mine." The weight of his words pressed down on you, each syllable a heavy stone pinning you to the bed, to him, to this suffocating reality.

You envisioned sunny afternoons spent in carefree laughter, stolen smiles shared with someone new – all ripped away in a single blow. "No more stolen moments," he continued, his gaze tracing the lines of your face, a predator savoring his prey. "No more whispered secrets traded with fleeting shadows. No more need to stalk your every step, for every path now leads back to me." The room shrunk, morphing into a gilded cage, the air thick with unspoken threats. His words, laced with a twisted affection, were a chilling promise of forever, a possessive claim etched into your very being. You tried to escape the suffocating hold of his gaze, a desperate attempt to reclaim your stolen breath. But his fingers, quick and cold, snagged your chin, dragging your attention back to those eyes you once mistook for innocent pools of sunlight. Now, they burned with a possessive fire, an unsettling echo of the darkness hidden beneath his charming facade.

"Make sure you etch this into your fragile little mind, darling," he purred, his voice dropping to a silken whisper that sent chills down your spine. "From the very first moment, I set my sights on you. You were mine, in my mind, in my soul. And nobody, nobody on this earth deserves the flicker of your attention but me. Not a knowing smile, not a whispered word. Understand?" He leaned closer, his breath hot on your skin, a palpable threat hanging in the air. "Because if you stray, if your eyes dare to linger on another, I won't hesitate to show you exactly what I'll do to them. You'll witness firsthand the wrath of a jealous god, and I promise, you won't like the picture." He pulled back, a chilling smile twisting his lips. Seungmin traced the lines of her face, a map he'd memorized over countless stolen glances. Her fear, though muted, was a heady perfume, intoxicating him with its promise of absolute control. He'd craved her for so long, a phantom limb finally finding its missing piece. And now, with her under his arm, the world felt whole, complete. "Keep in mind, darling."

©Tinytinyblogs

[bronx-bomber87]

Happy Saturday :) S2 like I said before chock full of goodies. The hits keep coming with this one. This one has ton of amazing gifs sadly Tumblr keeps me to 30. Had to pick the most essential ones. They gotta raise that limit haha I need least 50 with good eps like this haha

2x06 Fallout

We start the ep off with Rachel telling Tim about the wedding she has an invitation to. Tim immediately says he doesn’t do weddings. (For you he doesn’t….) Rachel ignores this and tells Tim, Lucy got one too. That Lucy used to date him and it’s going to devastate her. Tim asks if this guy slept with this girl while they were dating? She says living together…ugh poor Lucy. Rachel asks him to take it easy on her today. He fights her a bit and becomes a lying liar who lies. Tells her how Lucy isn’t his friend but his rookie. Ok honey…sure…Whatever you say. That it’s not his job to help her through her messy social life. Rachel pouts a little and he cracks. Says he can take it down 2 percent ha

Cracks me up how very confused Lucy is by this announcement. Look at her face. She is put very off guard by this offer. She instantly questions why he’s letting her drive. Probably thinks this is a Tim test she doesn't understand just yet. Too funny she doesn’t trust it for one second why he’s allowing this. It’s not like him at all. She knows him too damn well to just accept it. The distrust is immediate and doesn't go away. I mean look at him rolling his eyes below it's almost painful for him to allow this haha Why wouldn't she question it?

I do love that this is his way of cheering her up without her knowing it. Not a bad first swing at 'taking it easy on her.' Tim knows how much she wants to drive the shop. He’s trying to be indirect about it. Even though he knows he can’t get anything past her. Her smile walking to the shop is too cute. Lucy couldn’t be more excited to drive today. She is not sure what brought this on but she's going to roll with it. Well for a minute.....

Lucy can’t be in the shop more than two seconds before she’s questioning this kindness again. Lucy being Lucy just can't let this random surprise go. Tim is just letting her drive without a catch. No rhyme or reason. Very unlike the Tim she’s come to know. Always so methodical in everything he does with her. This seems unfounded to her. Out of left field and they both know it. It's cute he thinks he can ever run something like this past her without suspicion.

Lucy’s facial expressions during this scene made me laugh so much. She’s on edge waiting for the other shoe to drop. Her face saying Who are you? The funniest part of this scene is Tim not looking at her. He knows if he looks he’s gonna fold quickly. Eyes are the window to the soul, and Lucy has a free pass and can let herself in whenever she wants to read him. Tim knows this. Why it's hilarious he refuses to let Lucy really look at him.

No one has ever been able to read him like she does. Tim is painfully away of this fact. The minute Tim gives her eye contact this ruse is over. He won't have even made it out of the station before this crumbles. Cracks me up he refuses to look her in the eye the entire time. The more she looks at him more he looks away. Like Lucy is willing him to look at her and he just won't do it. I’m dying lmao Also my god look at his jaw line sweet lord. * fans self*

They report to a Liquor store where there was a counterfeit bill used. It's obvious Tim knows the owner since they're on a first name basis. Their reactions to how badly it was counterfeited is too cute. Says ‘Hunderd’ LOL Tim asks how Amari how he and his wife are? He says they’re in couples counseling. Tim empathizes tells him to hang in there.

Lucy looks shocked he’s being so personal. I love that Tim has scattered ‘puppies’ all over. There is a history there we don't know about with Amari. I adore getting to see this side of him. He’s so much softer than he lets on to be as we all know. Lucy can see that chewy center hehe. Amari hands them a pic off his security camera. They tell him they'll start to look for this guy right away.

Tim tells her after they leave that she should’ve gloved up before touching the bill. Lucy says he’s right and she’s sorry. Lucy questions why he didn’t say anything to her while they were inside? Tim tries to shrug it off says no reason…You can't BS the person who reads you best Timothy. They barely make it past their first call before she is calling BS on this niceness. He's such a bad liar.

Lucy tells him he always calls her out in front of people when she messes up. Asks him why he’s being so nice to her today? Tim fails once again in his reply. Says he’s not.... Weak defense Tim very weak. Look at his face. Couldn't lie to her if his life depended on it. Lucy puts two and two together and gets very angry. She know Rachel said something to him.

Tim admits to it and says he didn’t want to do it either if it made her feel better. Breaking news It doesn’t lol First time we really see Lucy get defensive with him about her personal life. I think she knows this whole nice thing wasn’t genuine at all. Lucy figured that much out from the jump. She just didn’t know why till now. Lucy gets more defensive and goes on a mini rant about how it’s not a big deal, she’s over him, and is ‘happy’ for him. This doesn't bother her at all.

Eric is at it again with the perfect facial expressions. Tim’s face says it all in response to her rant. He too is calling BS. He knows she’s not being truthful about how she feels about this whole thing. It was noted in the finale by Tim how 'She is good at a lot of things lying isn't one of them.' Lucy may know him very well but it’s a two way street. Tim is well versed in all things Lucy Chen. He know's she isn't being her usual honest self about this wedding.

Lucy tells Tim she doesn’t need special treatment from him. Trying to put on a brave act for him. After this confession Tim doesn’t hesitate to reverse his driving decision from earlier. Tells her he’s going to drive then. Lucy is bummed but doesn't fight it much. Honestly it’s what she needed. She was off balance with him doing it anyways. So he’s righting the ship by driving the shop (and the situation as we will see later on.) He stopped the being nice routine minute she called him on it. From here on out he handles it really well. It’s far more genuine and from a place of actual caring.

Since she's back in passenger seat Lucy starts to verbalize her feelings and anxiety. Like one does. Saying she's sure Tim thinks she’s being stupid about the invitation. He shoots back saying he thought this didn’t bother her? Lucy ignores his jab. Tim tells her he was just grateful to not talk about it. Haha Lucy continues on despite him. Can’t understand why they would invite her? To humiliate her?

Her spiral just beginning. Tim is trying to head it off with his patented logic. Says maybe they’re trying to make amends? Lucy doesn’t buy that for a second. Before she can rant more they find the counterfeit guy. During their arrest their phones goes off. Lucy looks panicked when she reads it. Instantly looking at Tim for an answer. Says a missile is inbound for LA. To find shelter. So they cut their guy loose and head back to the station.

Lucy is panicking checking the time every 5 seconds. Says they only have 13 min. Tim tells her to stop checking the time. Lucy asks him if he’s serious? They’re about to be burned up by a giant fireball. Tim goes into protect Lucy’s mental state mode. I always love how he puts her first in these kind of scenarios. He knows she's panicking so he does everything in his power to keep her calm. Redirect her thoughts.

Tim tells her they’re not it’s a false alarm. That counting down the minutes wouldn’t accomplish anything, even if this was real. Lucy asks him you want me to think about something else? He says pretty much haha Lucy replies it can’t be done. Tim takes this challenge and runs with it. He starts with the distraction of talking about the wedding she refuses to truly talk about.

God I love them. Both calling each out even when the world is possibly ending. Can't help themselves. Tim pegging her lie about the wedding and her about his false alarm comment. Their banter is the absolute best. The chemistry just from their 'fighting' gets me every time. After their sassy shots at each other Tim does what he does best. Distracts her. Pushes Lucy to really talk about how she is feeling about this wedding. What she would do if she could?

Lucy ends up breaking the emotional dam she had been holding in all day. His face as she gives in and starts explaining what she would do is fantastic. First off her plan is amazing. I adore it. I'm all for vindictive justice for those who have wronged me haha I'm with Lucy on this plan 100 % (My Slytherin side is showing and I do not care haha) Second the look on his face. He could not look more impressed with this plan. He is so proud of her. He’s proud of himself too. Tim finally got her to share her true feelings about this.

Look at his face. He is so happy he got her to share. (but he didn't want to talk about it right?) He knows how cathartic this was for her. That she needed this release all damn day. Not his perceived 'being nice to her.' Tim successfully distracted her even when she said it wasn’t possible to. These two. Gah s2 is so damn good for them it’s insane. Taking care of her in a way that is true to them and to him. Rachel had the best of intentions when she asked Tim that. Truly she did. But it just isn’t them to have Tim fake kindness. Also proof how much it didn't help or work.

This is one of the best scenes of the episode. It's so true to who they are more than anything else. Them discussing revenge and him having a bug guy she can use. This scene helped her much more than the ‘niceness’ of earlier. Tim telling her he has a friend at USC that could loan her cockroaches. Love it. So much for ‘Chen isn’t my friend she’s my rookie’ crap from earlier Timothy. She is your friend sir there is no denying. The more you fight it the more that wall starts to crumble. Hehe You don't do what he just did for 'just his rookie' The denial on his end is unreal.

They respond to Amari’s liquor store being looted. His employee took a bottle to the head. Tim tells them to head to his house check on his wife. Amari says no if its not real he’ll lose everything. Lucy makes a ballsy remark. Says no wonder they’re in therapy.... Damn girl LOL Tim doesn't even stop her. Just watches her put him in his place. Tells him the people you love need him more right now. That in moments like this that's where someone should be. Lucy is wonderful afterwards says they’ll hang back protect his store.

Tim checks his watch and Lucy catches him and says busted ha She asks how much time they have left. Tim says enough…Grabs bottle of whiskey takes a swig and offers her some. I love that he was ok sharing a bottle with her. End of the world. Might as well get a good drink out of it. She tells him she’s not a whiskey kind of girl. Grabs her own bottle. Amazing. I love their little smiles in this scene too.

There is Something really beautiful about this scene. Underrated moment for them I think. What I love is how they’ve decided if they’re going to die least they’ll die together. They legit were ok with this being their last moment together on earth. Lucy is going on about being with those you love during this. Who is she spending possibly her last moment with? Tim and vice versa. They clink their bottles together and chug away. God damn they’re cute I can not. Nice little scene of levity in a rather intense episode all around.

The alert ends up being a false alarm. They head to the hospital to check on Wesley afterwards. Rachel is with them I assume she drove them since they chugged hard alcohol earlier haha. Tim asks her again if she wants the cockroaches. Adorable. Lucy tells him no thanks. That today showed her she’s ok with the wedding.

That she only stayed with him cause she couldn’t afford to move out. Poor thing. Rachel asks if they’re going to the wedding? Lucy says no but she’ll get them a present. Tim being all cute asking if they’ll be a roach in it? LOL The beginning of their inside jokes I love it so.

Thus ends the ep for their scenes at least. Damn good episode for them my goodness.

~~~~

Side notes non chenford

This is such a good episode all around. it’s eps like this why I adore this show as a whole. It was super intense but in a good way. The whole bomb shelter with Wesley and Nolan doesn’t get more tense than that. Wes being stabbed and Angela finding my heart. The hospital scene also gets me in the feels. Harper showing up is huge. Tim sees it and gives her a nod. Step in right direction for her.

Harper had a great episode. That maternal instinct to protect her daughter. Even though she knew it would set Donovan off. I did love Nolan coming to her defense. Such a good ep for her. Mekia is amazing. That single tear when she’s explaining to Donovan that’s she trying so hard to change. I love her SL so much. Her growth is unreal. This is just the start.

[zoeykallus]

hihi! i really love your writing and every contribution you add to the clone lover fans! your account is one of the few that i check nearly everyday :)))

i have a request if you don't mind. how do you think the bad batch would react in a situation where you're being mind controlled to attack them? (similar to how ahsoka was in the mortis arc)

thank you if you do this!

Aloha! Oh wow, thank you! Love to read that! :))

Interesting idea... let me see...

The Bad Batch x (mind controlled) Fem!Reader HC's - Not Yourself

Warnings: Tension/Strong Language/Angst

Summary: You are the only one in the group who does not have a helmet that can filter pollen, gases and the like. On an alien planet, this becomes your undoing when you and your batcher run through the alien vegetation, and you accidentally stir up pollen that has a similar effect to rabies.

______________

Hunter

He sensed it coming somehow, still, as you lashed out at him, you got him good, almost knocking him off his feet.

"Damn... Cyare! Easy there, it's me, Hunter"

He can see in your reddened eyes that you don't see and much less care who he is right now.

Hunter fends off your attacks, punches, kicks, you even try to bite his hand. Finally, he gets a good grip on you, spins you around and clasps his arms and legs around you. However, he can't do much now.

He tries to get to his com, but you use every little opportunity and he has to strengthen his grip around you again and again.

"Cyare, listen to me! It's Hunter, I'm not a threat to you!"

He has no choice, he hastily grabs his blaster and stuns you before you can break free. Hunter sighs, finally reaches for his com and warns Tech. He puts binders on you and throws your unconscious body over his shoulder.

"Let's hope Tech knows what to do with you".

___

Of course, Tech knows what's going on. When you come to, you are yourself again, but with the worst headache you've ever had.

"Fuck...", you grunt, "My head"

"Cyare?"

You blink and look at Hunter's worried face.

"Hunter? What's going on?"

He sighs relieved.

"You were not yourself"

He explains what happened, and you feel so sorry and guilty.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, not really", he says with a smile, "You worried me though"

"Sorry", you say meekly.

Hunter kisses your forehead and says, "It's okay. But maybe we should think about getting you a helmet"

Echo

He's so surprised, your kick wipes him right off his feet. Echo just manages to throw up his arms as you throw yourself at him.

"Mesh'la! What are you doing!!!"

He can only grab one of your arms, he only has one hand. He has no choice but to turn your arm behind your back and pin you to the ground.

"I'm sorry, Cyare, but I have no other choice. I don't know what's wrong with you, but please snap out of it!"

You squirm under him like a wild animal and Echo just doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want to hurt you, but at the moment he already does, by necessity.

"Please, Cyare"

You growl and roar full of unfounded rage, you don't know where it's coming from, you don't know anything, just that you want to lash out and attack everything. Who is sitting on top of you right now, holding you down, you don't even know.

But Echo is in luck, Wrecker is coming his way.

"Over here! Wrecker quick!"

Wrecker rushes over.

"What's going on?!"

"I don't know, but I don't know what to do with her. She's aggressive, attacked me."

Wrecker tries to look at you and you also immediately try to attack him.

"We need to sedate her if we don't want to hurt her" Wrecker says seriously "There's something really wrong with that, but we can't help her here, Tech needs to take a look"

Echo knows Wrecker is right, he doesn't like the thought, but he has no other choice.

Wrecker understands that Echo has reservations and takes over the task of stunning you.

____

Back in the Marauder, Tech knows what to do, thanks to the Maker. When you come to, you have a headache and are a little disoriented. But you see Echo's face and know you're safe.

"Echo, honey, what happened?"

He patiently explains to you what happened while holding your hand.

"I'm so sorry about that! Did I hurt you?"

Echo smiles at you.

"No, you scared me, I admit that, but you didn't wound me".

You sit up with his help and hug him tightly.

"I would never have forgiven myself for that either".

Echo kisses your temple," It's alright, my darling".

Wrecker

He holds you with one arm of his while you fidget and flail. For an outsider, this would probably be an incredibly amusing picture. Wrecker, however, doesn't find it funny at all.

"Stop that! Mesh'la, what are you doing? You're going to hurt yourself!"

He doesn't really know what to do, you're not really a danger to him, he can keep you at a distance relatively easily, but your behavior really worries him.

"Mesh'la, you're scaring me, please stop that, it's not funny".

He realizes relatively quickly that you're not playing a prank on him, there's something really wrong with you. He drags you back to the Marauder like a wriggling, growling bundle.

____

Tech raises his eyebrows.

"What the hell? Oh, I should have guessed that, bring her over here, hold her tight."

Wrecker looks puzzled.

"Please tell me you can help her, I want my Cyare back."

Tech nods and says, "Don't worry Wrecker, you'll get her back, I know what to do, she just needs a sedative and an antidote. I have both right here. Hold her tight"

Wrecker does as he is told and Tech gives you two injections. Gradually you stop fidgeting and fall asleep.

When you wake up you feel exhausted and your head is killing you, but you are yourself again.

Wrecker gently strokes your cheek and says, "Hey, Cyare. Are you yourself again?"

"What?" you ask, dumbfounded.

Wrecker and Tech tell you what happened.

"Shit," you grumble, "Thank goodness you're so much stronger than me."

Wrecker chuckles, "That's right, you were pretty wild".

"Sorry," you say meekly.

Wrecker kisses your temple and says, "Don't worry about it, the most important thing is that you're okay again".

Tech

At first he is indignant, because he is once again engrossed in his holopad when you knock it out of his hand.

"Hey! What… woah!"

He hastily backs away from your blows. At first he is completely overwhelmed and confused. But his mind turns on, he suspects what's going on, because he read about the trigger of your behavior at the same moment you knocked the holopad out of his hand.

"Cyare…?!"

He doesn't want to hurt you, so he has to react quickly. He draws his blaster just in time to stun you. Tech leaps forward and catches you before you can hit the ground.

"Sorry, I should have researched about the flora and fauna first," he says guiltily to your unconscious body.

The treatment is quite simple, and he has everything necessary with him. He gives you the antidote right on the spot and puts a breathing mask on you before calling for help to transport you safely back to the Marauder.

____

When you wake up, Tech is sitting next to you. He smiles at you as you look at him.

"Hey, Cyare. How are you feeling?"

"I think my head's about to explode," you say honestly, rubbing your temples.

"That's normal, in a few minutes this feeling will pass, don't worry".

You reach for his hand and ask, "What happened anyway? How did I get here?"

Tech explains to you what happened and he looks crestfallen and dejected.

"I'm sorry" he finishes his explanation "I should have done my research much earlier before we went out there"

"Oh sweetheart," you say softly "It's not your fault"

He avoids your gaze and sighs, "It kind of is".

You stroke his cheek and gently say, "No, it's not tech."

When he looks up again and into your face, you ask him, "Did I hurt you?"

He shakes his head.

You say with a grin, "My smart boy probably reacted quickly and correctly"

Tech smiles shyly and steals a kiss from you before smugly replying, "He did"

Crosshair

He doesn't see it coming. It happens fast, and he is very confused at first.

"What the hell, Kitten?! Don't... Aahrg!"

You bite his hand as he tries to hold you back. It's a reflex, he doesn't mean it, but he smacks you with his backhand right in the face.

"Ah shit... Kitten, I didn't mean t-Ugh"

He hit you pretty bad, your lip is bleeding, but you don't seem to feel any pain, you ram your shoulder into his stomach and him right off his feet, interrupting his apology.

Crosshair lands hard on his back, and you're right on top of him, clawing and punching at his chest. Without the armor of his, you'd probably would have made quite some damage by now.

"Kitten! Stop!"

With a growl, he rolls around, pins you down under him. Wriggling, twitching and squirming under him, you give off sounds he's never heard from you before.

"Kriffin hell! Would you stop that?!"

He finally realizes he can't get through to you and has to immobilize himself somehow to get you back to the Marauder.

He takes his blaster to stun you.

"Sorry, Kitten"

____

He is furious when he gets to the Marauder.

"TECH!"

Tech comes towards him with a furrowed brow.

"What's the matter? What happened?"

"You tell me! She freaked out all of a sudden and attacked me!"

Tech frowns and says, judging, "She's bleeding on her lip. Did you hit her?"

Crosshair sighs, "She bit me, it was a reflex, I'm sorry, I'll apologize as soon as she's back to her senses."

He looks worried and adds, "She will be back to her senses, right? You can help her?"

Tech nods.

"She'll be okay, I think I know what the Problem is"

____

As you wake up later, you feel like run over by a speeder, your head hurts, your bones hurt and your lips hurt. Groaning, you open your eyes.

"What the fuck happened?", you ask, blinking against the ceiling light.

Crosshair's face appears over yours.

"Hey Kitten. How are you feeling?"

"Like having the worst hangover ever"

Tech says in the background, "That's normal"

Crosshair explains what happened, and you pout, "You hit me, didn't you? My mouth hurts"

He sighs and looks away, a little ashamed.

"Well, you bit me, it was a reflex. I'm sorry, it'll heal, don't worry"

"How bad was the bite?"

Crosshair shrugs and says, "Didn't have a look yet"

As he tries to pull off the glove, you can see it hurts him pretty bad to do so. He seems surprised about it himself. Tech jumps up.

"You di'kut! Why didn't you tell me earlier?!"

The bite looks pretty bad, the teeth marks are deep, it's even bleeding a good bit.

"Oh shit... I'm so sorry!" you say and feel like crying any moment.

Crosshair shoots you a look. "It's fine, don't you dare and cry now"

You bite your tongue and lower your gaze.

Crosshair sits down next to you, wrapping one arm around you, while Tech takes care of the bite. The sniper kisses your cheek and says, "Relax, it's fine, love"

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@puppetswithteeth

@palliateclaws

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@starwarsnerd111

[delirious-donna]

Home Alone [Kakashi Hatake]

an: not entirely sure where this came from, the idea simply struck me as I went about my morning routine before work. I hadn’t intended for it to spiral quite as it did, but hey ho!

pairing: Kakashi Hatake x female reader

warning: NSFW, male masturbation, thoughts of cheating (these are 100% unfounded), voyeurism, mentions of implied sex, cumshot, established relationship, Kakashi is so pretty

Masterlist

“Fuck.”

The softly uttered curse floated to you from the door that is held ever so slightly ajar. It made you stop, your heartbeat escalating instantly as you thought over the implication of that word.

Sure, it could mean many things, but that tone - spoke of carnal desires. It wasn’t born of frustration or anger, it was almost whispered as if it could no longer be held inside.

It was a noise you had heard on many occasions, often moaned aloud as the pair of you lost yourselves to the rampant lust that roiled beneath the surface. His head tipped back, eyes rolling to the back of his skull as you rode him slow but with conviction. Making every downward slide count towards the mounting orgasms - stoking at the fires until they were white-hot.

Was - was he cheating on you?

The mere thought of him with another woman turned your stomach, the churn so painful that you clutched your abdomen in fright.

You looked between the two doors, your options laid bare as you fumed silently at your indecision. And then, you heard it;

“Oh fuck, y/n,” he moaned.

His voice was laced with purest honey, dripping sinful sweetness with those three little words. The world tilted on its axis, but this time, for all the right reasons.

You scurried like a church mouse to the bedroom door and peeked through the gap. The sight made you stamp down on your own moan of delight.

Kakashi sat upon the bed, his back pressed against the headboard and head tipped so his face was gazing at the ceiling. His pajama pants were pushed down his legs, pooling around his knees whilst his torso was naked to the eye. One hand gave slow deliberate pumps around his girthy cock as the other gripped into the sheets beneath him.

Your mouth ran dry at the sight - goddamn him for being this gorgeous. Corded muscles straining from the control of his ministrations, his well-sculpted abdomen quivering each time he twisted his palm atop the oozing head of his cock and the beautiful pink blush that dusted his cheeks. Another throaty moan flew to your ears, attached to angel wings.

Did you dare sneak closer?

You decided that you did indeed dare, it was imperative that you slip closer. It would hurt your neck to continue watching at this angle and there wasn’t a chance that you were walking away now.

He didn’t notice the door opening ever so cautiously, too lost in the myriad of his fantasies to realise that he was being stalked like he was prey.

The bed dipped as you crawled towards him. His face snapped to yours, eyes widened in surprise and perhaps a slightly guilty expression. You stopped between his legs, a delicate finger tracing along his naked thigh and a gentle smile on your lips.

“Y/n, I - I didn’t realise you would be home so soon.”

“Sssh, baby. Keep going,” you cooed, encouraging him to resume stroking himself.

Kakashi complied with your wish. Thick fingers gripping his shaft, twisting his fist with renewed vigour. His hips visibly clenched, preventing himself from bucking into his own palm.

His eyes never left you - though they trailed from your face, down your body and back again - you felt hot all over from his stare. It was as if he had stripped you bare with those searing eyes.

You were both panting; the air felt thick and sticky as it pressed down on the pair of you. Arousal filled your nose, a mixture of his and your own that was making your panties slick beneath your dress.

Kakashi growled, the sound resonating deep in his chest and you keened for him. Desperate to slip your own hand below the flimsy material of your dress, to push your fingers roughly against the damp patch of your panties and rub like a needy girl. This was about him, not you, your pleasure would come, you knew it would.

Watching him come undone was decadent. Ropes of creamy essence shot from his cock, painting his skin like some kind of erotic artwork. It splashed against his stomach, droplets landing on his chest and coating his fist.

“Princess, holy fuck!” he whimpered, pushing the fallen silver hair from out of his face.

He trembled in the aftershocks of his orgasm, breathing coming in laboured pants as you swirled a finger through his seed. His skin was the canvas, his essence the paint.

“My turn?”

[zolf-loadsahitpoints-smith]

ok since everyone else is doing it i’m gonna throw my hat into the ring with my own completely unfounded, vibes-based tma theory that’s probably not right but would be cool as hell:

a magnus archives ttrpg!

JUST THINK ABOUT IT!

how cool would it be to have a system where players can choose between being the archivist, an assistant, an avatar, or even just a victim! aligning yourself with the powers gives you certain abilities and weaknesses as does working at the institute. i imagine it would be a very lethal system. most characters will die and every time someone fails a roll against a malevolent force they come closer to being claimed by one of the powers.

all the characters have two meters kinda like honey heist, human and monster. every time they make a connection or reject power they gain a point in human. every time they break a bond or give in to darkness they take a point in monster. if a character maxes out human they are saved from the powers and can be retired into safety. if they max out monster they lose their humanity and are now under the gm’s control. i imagine it would be a cross between powered by the apocalypse and call of cthulhu. they would probably also set up a game with cast members to promote it, maybe on the main feed or a new one (which could be what “the magnus archives 2” is referring to).

some possible class options

archivist: you know but do not understand. automatically eye aligned. you have the power to compel people and to read minds. you have a reputation within the avatar world whether you’re aware of it or not and they will do favors for you. you are dependent upon the Eye for continued survival and will slowly lose your humanity unless you can do something about it.

assistant: you didn’t sign up for all this. you have research skills and a secret that motivates you to keep going. however, you don’t have the notoriety of the archivist and it’s your job to keep them grounded. you are also very easy to kill.

avatar: you fully signed up for this. depending on your alignment your powers could range from invisibility to being a human candle. you are vulnerable to the archivist and possibly something mundane like fire extinguishers.

monster: i am not a who archivist, i am a what you remember very little about who you were before you were what you are now, if you ever even were anything else. you have more powers than the avatar but you are even more vulnerable to the archivist and if you are somehow cut off from your power you will cease to be. (i think it’d be so fun to play as the not-them personally.)

i also think it’d be fun to toy around with the idea of being a monster hunter, cultist, messiah, victim etc but i need to stop now cuz i have work to do and if i don’t cut myself off i’m just going to create my very own magnus rpg right now

evidence

•jonny and sasha literally run a ttrpg company

•alex is a gm who loves hurting his players in new and exciting ways (source: literally all of rqg)

•a lot of the main cast/crew are otherwise involved in ttrpgs and would probably be totally hyped for this

•it would be fucking awesome

[perotovar]

shuffle the top tracks playlist and post the first ten

tagged by @northernbluess thank you, honey!! <3

heaven - unfound

gold dust woman - fleetwood mac

granite - sleep token

where owls know my name - rivers of nihil

blood - bad omens

anywhere but here - pvris

bloodline - northlane, health

the sensual world - kate bush

opaque - terror forms

between sea and sky - kardashev

no pressure tags: @kedsandtubesocks @undercoverpena @scenaaario @chronically-ghosted @swiftispunk @userparamore @iero @daggertongue