#INSTEAD OF YOU KNOW ACTUALLY SAYING WHAT I MEAN WHICH WOULD MAKE FUCKING SENSE IF I VOCALISED IT

[theomachst]

❝ ... i guess i'm just scared of losing you. ❞ // hey but like - consider one(1) Roche being deeply concerned for him

It doesn't come as a surprise: his little fledgling is growing, maturing by leaps and bounds. Perhaps Rhapsodos had been too mired within his own personal woes to notice it's insidious leakage into what should be effortless and genuine, the depth of his caring for the other SOLDIER and his progress as a rising young star on the cusp of nucleosynthesis.

He can feel the pride swell within his chest, his smile aglow with heartfelt emotion, even as he gently and steadily begins to pull away from the younger man's orbit. This had always been the plan since he learned what laid in store for him. He couldn't trust himself to fade away gracefully, with poise and perfection. He'd rip and rend, scratch and tear at even the kindest of hands offered in 'understanding', as well-intentioned as it was, he could not ignore that, no- They did not and could not understand what he was going through, thinking of every passing day, unless they had lived through it themselves. The starkness of it, in high contrast to everything else that had come before- It's fathomless enormity, yet it's bone-chilling precipitance.

The End.

"I know to what heights you'd yet soar, my friend. You cannot let anyone stand in the way of your upward momentum. It's not enough to want to be like someone-" he trails off, staring down into his own flexing hand, feeling the tightness of the bandages hidden just beneath the protective layers of leather and fabric.

"-in fact, I'd advise against limiting yourself that way. It is your own unique path that you're establishing, hammering out in flame and steel. Look up to those who came before, certainly... but you have to be willing to eclipse that image you've built within your own mind, and don't let it hold you back. Especially if it happens to be my own."

He claps both hands upon Roche's shoulders, giving a firm jostle, as if to ground him in he reality of that moment.

"Promise me," he demands rather than requests, the gravity of his expression perhaps too intense for the snippet of wisdom he's extrapolating.

"The last thing I want is to hold you back, Roche."

[hellisharchive]

・﹒・ hypersexual nights

Summary: How various Hazbin and Helluva Boss characters react to a hypersexual reader!

Warnings: 18+, sexual scenarios, Vouyer!Vox, does hypersexual not tell you enough lol just read it

Parings: [Seperate] Saint Peter, Lucifer, Valentino, Adam, Vox, Mammon, and Striker x hypersexual!reader

Notes: HOLY SHIT THIS WAS GONNA BE FOR 300 FOLLOWERS NOW ITS 400 FOLLOWERS! As a celebration, have this! I'm an hypersexual aroace myself so hypersexuals rise up! 💪

﹒Adam﹒

・He would notice how you always were down to fuck, almost every day in fact, how could he not? You've been the only one to truly keep up with him as most other people always had "low" sex drives and wouldn't be in the mood when he was. So you were like a blessing just for him when day after day, you would always be up for sex at any given moment. When you told him you were Hypersexual one day after a good fuck, he just laughed in your face.

・"Hypersexual? You're always horny? Bitch PLEASE I already knew that. You ask for sex like- every day and never shut up about it. That's why I like you so much. You want to be fucked just as much as I want to fuck"

﹒Saint Peter﹒

・He is a pretty innocent soul, he swears occasionally but when it comes to sex? Oh boy. And you? Being hypersexual? You always flirt with him in a suggestive manner, wanting him to just admit that he likes you. He can't help but simultaneously love the attention as the thoughts you always put in his head, but feel so embarrassed and dirty about it. He always seems to short circuit whenever you flirt with him, but he never says no, so you keep doing it. He of course noticed it after the first few times, you being on par with Adam in sexuality, how could he not? But when you admitted that you were hypersexual and he finally understood.

・"Oh? That's why you uh- why you're always flirt with me! Haha...and say those...really uhm...dirty things... Not that I mind of course! I actually uh...kind of like it..."

﹒Lucifer﹒

・He had his suspicions very early on, it was so obvious to notice how you and Angel Dust got along so well with the topic of sex. He also noticed how you always made sex jokes and talked about sex even without the porn star around. And when it came to him? You always seemed to get flustered whenever he flirted with you, always ensuring to make it dirty, and it worked everytime. After you got together, you almost pounced on him, wanting to have sex early on. He didn't mind it, but in fact, wanted it. You then apologized and said you were hypersexual, meaning you couldn't not think about sex constantly. He just laughed and pinned you down on the bed.

・"Oh I know very well, very well. And I will enjoy fulfilling every. Single. Desire. You could ever ask for"

﹒Mammon﹒

・He isn't exactly the smartest tool in the shed, but he knew you were just as greedy as him. Not in the money sense, no, no. But in sex. You haven't yet gotten to that point in your relationship yet, but he could tell you were denying taking the step. Was it because he was a Sin? He didn't know. All he knew is that if you didn't fuck him already, he was going to fuck you first. So he confronted you and you said you were scared of him just using you for sex due to your constant sexual nature. He reassured you that he truly did love you, but couldn't deny that someone just as greedy as him was very nice to have around.

・"Oi! Don't be scared mate! I won't use ya just for sex and toss ya away! I love ya too much for that. But ya know- I'd be down to fuck every single night if that's what you want"

﹒Vox﹒

・He is an interesting case. He isn't the best guy around and loves to spy on you. So, when you act all innocent and sweet around him, yet fuck yourself silly with a stupid toy screaming for him so incredibly often it becomes a pattern? Yeah, you're hiding your sexual nature. Which is odd, but probably so Valentino didn't swoop in to take advantage of you. Instead of talking to you, he let your feelings build and build and let your toy eventually not be enough for you. You finally burst into his office and told him you knew he was watching you while you masturbated. He was taken aback at first, but then laughed as he realized you loved that he watched you.

・"You need the real thing, huh? Was waiting for you to finally say it you dirty little whore"

﹒Valentino﹒

・He noticed immediately as you would constantly flirt with him in a suggestive way and he would flirt back just as hard if not harder. It was so easy to notice, he played into it very hard and took advantage of your very sexual nature. It was easy to get you hooked quickly and you never had to say a thing. He fucked you in every way he could imagine and you loved every second of it. It was a mutual understanding between you two- the thought of telling him that you're hypersexual was laughable in every sense of the idea.

・"Oh baby~ you wanna be fucked into the mattress again? It hasn't even been three hours amore~ you're still horny? I'll make sure you can't walk anymore after~"

﹒Striker﹒

He isn't apposed to sex, he just hates it when people makes jokes about it when he's just trying to do his job. In fact, he loves sex, have you seen the huge statue where his dick is very endowed? That man is full of himself and knows he can fuck good. You started out as a target for him and at first your sexual flirting threw him off his game. But after many failed attempts of cat and mouse, you finally managed to get him to admit that he liked it from your non stop remarks.

・"Ok fine- yer hot and I wanna fuck. Don't look at me like that! Not my fuckin' fault yer always telling me you wanna suck my cock"

[a-hazbin-reader]

I've seen you mention that alastor would make little deer bleats in a few fics, do you have anything for the reader hearing him bleat for the first time, like reader said something flirty that caught him off guard or while petting his ears, alastor would definitely be the time to be like "what ever are you talking about dear, you're hearing things" and try to change the subject out of embarrassment

- 🐞

I LOVE IT

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Suggestive, Explicit s e x towards the end

Description: ☝️⬆️

Alastor makes deer noises, usually when he's pissed off or exerting some of his power

It's a very emotional and unintentional thing, something he normally can't help or hide

Usually, you can hear buck grunts, warning calls, though elk bugle sounds dominate most of the other noises he makes

You didn't even know he was capable of making softer sounds until you found out by accident

The two of you were alone, sharing a romantic moment with you in his lap and his hands caressing your body

You had pulled away from the kiss to catch your breath when his twitching ears suddenly got your attention

Not that Alastor minded, keeping his mouth busy with your neck and shoulder instead

As if you could ever pass up the opportunity to touch those fluffy ears...

You couldn't help but scratch and rub his furry ears, leaning into kiss one while giving it a playful nip

Only to be surprised by the soft bleat that escapes from Alastor and the way his entire body goes stiff out of embarrassment

"Alastor, did you just-"

"Would you look at the time?! I must go, darling! Things to do, people to see!"

Leaves you on the floor, on your back, and in shock

You try to bring it up to him later but that doesn't work-

"Alastor, about that sound you made..."

"Hm? Oh! I merely had to clear my throat! Not to worry, darling! It won't happen again."

"But I want it to."

👀

It becomes a game between you two, well...more of a game for you, Alastor has never been so nervous in his fucking life

You're on a mission to hear that adorable noise again by any means possible

He's eating breakfast?? You're leaning over him and kissing along his neck while pouring him tea

Which doesn't work, he just tilts his head and gives you a contented growl before continuing with his meal

He's taking a small break? Eyes closed and relaxed? You try going for his ears again, massaging them

That doesn't work either, instead he gives you a warm smile and pulls you down to lay with him

You try flirting with him, maybe you can say something sultry and catch him so off guard he makes that sound again?

Instead, you just get yourself into trouble because instead of something small and subtle you just drop a fucking bomb instead

You corner him and pin him to the wall, mustering up every bit of courage and control to push forward

"Do you believe dreams can come true? Because I dream of you cumming inside me."

WHAT THE FUCK Y/N WHO TAUGHT YOU THAT PICK UP LINE

Angel

Oh that makes sense

It doesn't work, instead Alastor gets a predatory look on his face and he's pulling you closer to him

"Luckily for you, my dear~ I happen to have a soft spot for dreamers such as yourself~"

Oh fuck

It actually does end up working in your favor, just not the way you thought it would

You don't even remember how you end up naked on your back, legs spread to accommodate Alastor between them

Both of you are close, having been at it for hours at this point, desperate ragged sounds coming from the two of you

Your nails are digging into his back, no doubt leaving nasty marks that he'll later tease you for

He has one clawed hand on your hip while the other grips and makes deep grooves into the headboard

You're nearly out of it, mind fizzy and hot with the feeling of being so full of Alastor's cock that you almost miss your chance

You know exactly how to get that sound out of him

Suddenly, your legs lock around him and you're tugging him down to you to give him a desperate steamy kiss

He's caught off guard and startled but eagerly reciprocates your actions, chasing a building orgasm between you both

He pulls away to growl and pant, head rolling back as his thrusts become sharp and erratic

You tug him back to you by his hair and suddenly give him a watery smile, barely able to hold on because you're so close

"A-Alastor...haa...I love you...~"

And that's what does it, his eyes widen in surprise as he suddenly releases inside you, letting out a pathetic sounding bleat

He's so mortified afterwards, burying his face in your chest as you comb your fingers through his hair. Both of you shuddering and trying to catch your breaths

"You...you are an evil evil person..."

You can't help but laugh and kiss his head, scratching around his antlers affectionately

"I love you too, Alastor~ Every part of you~"

This one got away from me...it's probably not what you asked for but... I hope you like it!!

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 7 - Black N' White Knight

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Dick tells Tim, hand carting through his hair. The two of them are in the kitchen, at the breakfast bar. Tim sitting in front of his laptop with his legs crossed, and Dick tapping one foot agitatedly against the marble floor. While Tim might not be grinning ear to ear, it’s pretty obvious for anyone who knows him that he’s delighted by the tale Dick just regaled to him.

And what a tale it was. He hasn’t seen you in a year and a half, and then when he does, he finds you teary eyed staring at a picture of him shirtless at the gym. Bruce had always told him the way he played with the paparazzi would come to bite him in the ass one day, but he really can’t say he expected… that.

Obviously, it had to be a prank. That’s his first thought. That’s his only thought, really. What other explanation could there be? An accident? Maybe you’d forgotten what his room looked like. It wasn’t like he kept much personal stuff in his Wayne manor room, the only markers his clothes and the letters he kept in his drawer from his parents.

And you were wearing his clothes, of all things. He’d be surprised if you forgot how much of a Superman fanboy he was, seeing as he’d spent many hours ranting to you before the explosion. So, a prank. A show of good will, an olive branch maybe? It was more likely you were just fucking with his head, as you’d done in the past. Never like this, though.

This was just… bizarre.

“I can’t either,” and of course, Tim sounds near estatic saying that. The love of chaos ran true in that one.

Dick had managed to wrangle his life under control a few years back, and despite the universe seeming to try to unravel it at the seams, he was indisposed to let it simply happen. Even if you of all people had changed. No, Dick was getting older, and he was finding his taste for chaos a lot more… limited.

He didn’t want to suffer it’s affects. He was currently suffering it’s affects.

“I knew something was going on when she showed up to the party, but this…” Tim pauses, leaning back in his chair, “It’s gotta be a prank, right?”

It said a lot about their family that this was all the assumption they defaulted to.

“It could be something else. Did you even take her to the hospital after?” Dick offers instead, overthinking as always. This situation seemed to be made for overthinking, though.

Tim hums. “No, we did not.”

Then he turns his stare to Dick, like he’s expecting something from him.

“Seriously?”

“What? You’re the friendly one.”

Dick very much did his best to seem like the friendly one, at least. Tim was well aware it was a complete farce, though. Dick was nice but he could also be a bit… well… a bit of a dick. Another thing he’d been trying to overcome. He was doing better than when he’d been seven, at least.

Dick sighs, pressing his hand to his forehead, “I’d probably just end up accidentally nagging her, and then she’d never speak to me again.”

“That’s not my problem,” Tim shrugs, glancing back down at his laptop and squinting.

“It is, actually. Because if she stopped talking to me you’d probably be the next one till the girls and Duke came home who has to talk to her.”

“She could talk to Jay,” Tim offers, because he’s a shithead. Dick bets he did the same with Bruce, “And besides, I’m busy doing surveillance.”

“You mean stalking.”

“I do it to everybody, stop making such a big deal out of it.”

Dick sighs again.

“Hm, you might want to check your phone,” Tim says, in a way that suggests he has once again tapped the network. Keeping him out of Dick’s private life was like Sisyphus and his boulder. He still wasn't going to give up, and the time Tim and Steph mercilessly bullied him for getting dumped over text had made him all the more so.

‘Dont_try’: hey. can you come pick me up? thx

“Please, tell me you sent that and are just messing with me,” Dick begs, staring down at his phone in mild despair. Chaos. Always fucking chaos. Despite how hard he tried, he could not keep his family out of trouble. God damn it, when he’d gotten this job he’d been the one made for trouble. Where did he go wrong?

“Honestly, sounds like the sort of thing I’d do, but the girl just got bitch slapped so I really think you should respond fast.”

“What?!”

“She’s fine now, run to the bathrooms I think. You know for such an upstate place you’d think they had better camera positioning,” Tim mutters, complaining that he can’t watch every single little movement you make. Dick thinks he should probably worry about this, as it’s a clear sign of another decline for his sanity, but he’s now got this shit to deal with.

“Why, Tim? What is going on? Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Hm?” he’s engrossed by the computer, “Ah, the shitty boyfriend… some soup- ha, how is she such a clutz? Maybe we should get her head checked again- and… an altercation of some kind? I don’t know, I can’t see it properly.”

Dick leans forward in his stool, clasped hands covering his face for a moment.

“Are you going to reply? If you don’t soon, she’ll probably make it a bigger shitshow,” Tim says, nudging his foot against Dick’s. Dick, good big brother that he is, takes a deep breath and steadies himself. Even if this is really not what he wanted for his holiday, he’s dealt with much, much worse.

The press will have forgotten about this within the week. You, however, likely not. He’d promised to help you all those years ago, and even if he had no idea why you were reaching out to him, or if you would even be amicable when you met again, he’d still damn well do it.

He glances back down at his phone.

“What is going on?” Dick repeats to himself, and Tim’s head cocks to the side. There’s that familiar cat that got the cream grin spreading across his younger brother’s face, and it just really isn’t welcome right now.

“Intrigued yet?”

Unfortunately for both him, Tim and especially you, Dick already was.

He’s in his car in five minutes flat, finger tapping against the premium leather wheel. The sound of it is the only thing that manages to keep him sane.

Riding up to the place, Dick realises that no, maybe the press won’t be over this within the week. Considering the amount of paparazzi swarming the place, he doubted you’d be free for at least a few months. To be fair, the mysterious ex-wayne making such a scene was a bit of a big deal. Before you’d been basically invisible, despite your immense wealth and past.

Invisible? Dick thinks he spots at least twenty cameras. And that’s not even mentioning all the phones inside that would’ve gotten up close videos of whatever happened. Their legal team would handle it fine, that which Barbara or Tim couldn’t wipe from the face of the earth. And that was very little, all things considered.

Dick has to push past the calls of his name, ignoring all the intrusive questions volleyed his way like the pro he was. He still makes sure to listen carefully and store away every vital bit of information, as well as remember the logos on the film crew’s van. Eventually he makes his way to the front of the line, and the flustered front of house immediately recognises his face and sweeps him inside. Dick ducks in with a thankful smile, which he admits, falters when he enters the scene.

A scene which you are not in. Your gold digging boyfriend was, though. Of all the things Dick regrets with you, it’s not breaking the horrid relationship the two of you had apart. Or well, the fact that you totally, loudly hated his guts. He was a sensitive guy, y’know!

He sees your terribly boyfriend - George, Dick remembers - raging at some poor servers, and he knows he need to go sweep in and save the pour soul. It’ll be a hard fight, he can already tell.

Before he does so, he sends a quick text to his phone.

Underwear_guy: Where are you?

Don’t_try: I’ll be right out.

Shockingly, that was the truth. You come striding into the restaurant, and immediately all eyes are on you. It makes you stutter-step. Dick can see you visibly stiffen up, before you manage to gather your courage and keep walking. You don’t even pay him a single glance as you walk straight towards your fuming boyfriend.

You try to whisper, keeping your voice quiet and your conversation private. The boyfriend seems uninterested in the idea.

“What the fuck are you thinking?!” he cuts you off.

You glance around, and then say something else. It seems like you’re trying to defuse the situation, but George seems uninterested by the idea. 

“This behaviour is ridiculous. You need to get it together, we’re in public!” he yells, like he isn’t the one causing a scene. He seems to be trying to intimidate you back into silence. But today and well, yesterday too, something is different about you.

Okay, that’s enough of that. Dick’s intervening.

“You cheated on me! You deserve it and everything that’s coming to you!”

Or, uh, maybe you’ve got it covered.

-

George’s shocked face is almost worse than when you literally bit him. Guess he expected you to be a bit more demure after that encounter. He should know better, the other version of you seemed to have been even more spiteful in nature.

Today again, you prove you are a less than stellar person. You’d stopped caring about George as soon as you’d discovered he’d cheated, but you were still angry. Not jealous, but furious. Bubbling up your throat, rage and bile and the urge to attack him once again, even if you just want to go home.

Your teeth grind. Your jaw ticks. And oddly, you realise you have a real taste for George Lancaster’s limbs.

Though your life had changed (literally) in the past few days, you were still the same girl from your first twenty-first. You wanted George Lancaster to suffer. Even more so, now that the evil cunt had hit you right in the face. The hit had stunned you, though. More emotionally than physically, but it had shocked you.

You couldn’t say you were a coward. You’d spent far too many days in your teenage years indulging in self-destructive behaviours to think that. But something about this pathetic man was scaring the shit out of you. You think that made you more pathetic, but you couldn’t quite tell. That’d be victim blaming, right?

You did have a habit of blaming yourself. It was just usually your fault.

…Maybe you shouldn’t have bit him, no matter how much the response was instinctual or his screech was satisfying. This was all too confusing, all too much. You needed to get back to your apartment, lock the doors and barricade them so nobody bothers you. And then maybe hibernate for a week. You needed some time to process all the stupid bullshit you were experiencing. The wayne manor was too much, your horrible white apartment was too much, George fucking Lancaster was too fucking god damn much.

You take a deep breath, and manage to stop yourself from bolting like a deer. Deal with the problem at hand. Deal with it now, deal with it!

“I’m leaving, and we are done. It’s that simple,” you tell George, trying to drill in a message that he seems unable to comprehend. At this point you’d assume he’d be trying to apologise, manipulate back into his good graces, but you think you might’ve completely broke him. Broke the script.

Good. That was damn well good.

“Can we talk about this somewhere else at least?” George replies, eyes flicking to Richard Grayson’s angry gaze. At least you think he’s angry. You can’t quite gather the courage to look directly at him.

Also, there’s the manipulation! You wish you weren’t right this time.

“Sure, but I’m bringing him, and my answer will absolutely not change. You hit me.”

“You bit me!”

Well, yeah, not your best moment. You don’t think you can regret it, though.

“Then I think this relationship is ending on equal terms,” you reply, trying your best to just get him to quit it. It is obviously not working by the way his expression darkens.

“I’ll tell the press everything,” George threatens, which, well, is sort of a shitty threat because I don’t even know what he’s threatening. ‘Everything’? Couldn’t he be a bit more specific?

You shrug. It is the wrong response, you know it is, but you’ve completely ran dry of fucks to give. Couldn’t be much worse than the bullshit happening right now. The press were already very well fed, considering the situation that was today. George makes a small sound of fury.

“We’ll sue,” Richard Grayson, the white knight that you’d daydreamed about, comes to your rescue. Is it odd that it’s kind of flustering? You probably shouldn’t be flustered.

George immediately snaps his gaze to Grayson’s, giving the man a look with a healthy dose of fear. Couldn’t blame the guy. Even if he was the second smallest of the three remaining brothers, he was still well known for being strong. His family often did kick-boxing, and their sister, Cass, often whooped their asses. It was sort of satisfying to watch. Anyway, his physical prowess from fighting to weirdo gymnastic bullshit was evident in his svelte build.

George was many things, but he wasn’t an idiot. With just the one threat from the Waynes legal team, he skitters away like the little rat you know him to be. He leaves the restaurant, and he very obviously does not pay or even leave a tip. You suppose you have the cash to make up for it. Then, ignoring the paparazzi, you were technically home free. You glance to the side. Richard Grayson’s beautiful face looks a mix of confuddled, frustrated, and exhausted. He still saved you, though, even after the fool you made of yourself.

White knight, indeed. It almost feels a bit anticlimactic, but it’s the results you wanted. And yet, an ominous feeling befalls you. Somehow, you don’t feel you’ve seen the last of George Lancaster. You just really hope the old you hadn’t committed any crimes. A tabloid? Humiliating, but livable. Prison? Not so much.

Not that the rich stayed in prison in Gotham, or even the rest of the world. It was kind of strange to realise you were sort of above the law now.

You glance at Dick, pulling your uncomfortably wet shirt away from your chest. You’ve sort of been bled dry of any shits you could give at this point, so you decide, very maturely, to make jokes and ignore all your problems. It had gotten you this far.

You’d seen this behaviour before. Many, many times. It was what usually got you fired. But now you didn’t really have to worry about that, so why should you worry about causing a scene and ruining your life a bit more? It wasn’t yours, after all.

“What do you think?” you joke, elbowing Dick. He looks down from glaring at the entrance George just slipped out of, to you. His blue eyes are a damn near shock to the soul. It takes everything in you not to start fidgeting.

“Think of what?” he responds, and despite how hard you try, you can not read his expression.

“I’m trying to make some more news. Don’t think the reporters got enough the other day,” you say, gesturing to the giant stain. It’s still Dick’s shirt. You hadn’t realised till now, but the Beatles was now some sort of green soup. Is it kind of gross of you to acknowledge that at least the soup smelled good?

Probably. You didn’t actually get to eat anything here. It’s also probably a bit weird that you’re thinking about eating at a time like this. Probably.

“I think you’ve done enough, honestly,” he says, glancing at the camera flashes from outside.

He sounds exactly like your mother, it’s almost uncanny. Well, this version of him technically knew her. You’re still not sure how well en-meshed your two families had been before the disaster, but maybe he’d picked up some traits from her.

…That… you’re not sure how to feel about the idea. The old green monster bubbles up at the thought, and you can’t tell if you’re jealous your mum got to meet Dick Grayson, or that Dick Grayson might’ve gotten to know your mum.

“We should leave,” he says, cutting off your bitter inner thoughts, “I know you don’t like it when the magazines bother you.”

You don’t? You don’t. Yes, that makes sense, ‘you’ definitely wouldn’t have. And it’s not like you feel comfortable with them either. In fact, if you think about the fact your drowned rat appearance will be on every tabloid in the city by tomorrow, probably alongside photos from your birthday, you feel so nauseous you could collapse. Going to compartmentalise that one.

“Yes, going, let’s go,” you say, following Dick out of the restaurant.

Despite the fact that the security guards are trying their best, it’s getting quite rowdy out here. When Dick wraps an arm around your shoulder, shielding you with his body, you almost just pass out right there. His muscles… Your heart simply can’t take it. As it is, Dick notices you jump like a foot in the air, and backs off. He still makes sure to try and protect you from their vision as much as possible.

Still, in an act that is purely rebellious, you turn and give them a big smile and a wave. Even as you hate every single person on the other side of the divide, you want to make one thing very clear. You will not be cowed by someone like George fucking Lancaster. Your peace sign and wink are a message to them, to him, and to yourself.

Despite the fact that this new life is one you have no idea how to handle, you know one thing. Put on a face, and it’ll always be easier.

Dick is probably wondering what the hell happened to you for you to be acting this way. Your shirt has a giant stain on it, you just broke up with your cheating boyfriend, went through a traumatising experience just a few days ago, and you’ve got the biggest grin on your face. This behaviour speaks more and more of a full blown mental breakdown. And it’s not the first you’ve had or the last.

There’s paparazzi snapping thousands of photos of the two of you, and instead of shying away as ‘you’ used to, you throw up a peace sign. One of the papps drops their camera. That confuses you a bit, as your peace sign deflates slightly. Didn’t they want more pictures? Weren’t you supposed to pose…?

For all you stalked celebrities online, you realise you have no idea how to pretend to be one. This is going to become an issue, you can already tell.

He points at a car, and you assume it’s his because he starts making his way over. He’s obviously done this sort of thing before, using and guiding the security with a smooth confidence. Even still, the two of you are a bit too close for comfort.

Which you prove, by putting your foot directly in your mouth.

“I don’t have abs, but do you think the press would like my stomach like they like yours?” you say, and almost immediately regret it. Another poor joke. You are deflecting so hard. And why the hell did you bring that up, you dunce? You feel your brain cells draining the more you’re around this guy, it’s not healthy for you.

“Please don’t pull your shirt up in public,” Dick sounds like he’s about to have a mental breakdown. It’s spreading, like the plague. You’re patient zero, of course. Even still he gets you guys to the car, and opens the side door for you. You follow his wordless command and slip into the passenger seat.

“I won’t. Sorry, sorry,” you reply, to relieve him of some of the trauma you’re currently inflicting.

He glances back to the papps, and then back down at you. His smile bowls you over like he’s getting the last strike in a fucking 300. He genuinely is the most beautiful human being you’ve ever seen. Thankfully, he closes the door so you have a moment to gather your sanity before he goes around the car and gets in the driver’s seat.

You hope you’re subtle when you shift away from him slightly. It shouldn’t be that surprising really. You were stupid on average. You would be stupider around attractive people. You would be frankly disastrous around someone as blastingly hot as Dick Grayson. The Waynes in general turned you into a drooling idiot.

Good god, you need to get out of this car. As soon as you think that, Dick is pulling away from the parking spot and out onto the streets. He makes slow progress because Gotham traffic, but eventually you manage to flee the horrifying stares of the cameras. Already you can tell it’ll be giving you nightmares. Probably along with images of the guy who tried to rape you and Damian Wayne sneering at you.

“So, how are you feeling?”

Despite how you wish it not, Mr. Grayson decides he’s going to start a conversation with you.

“Good,” you reply, the answer instinctive and an obvious lie.

You can feel his gaze on the side of your face, but you don’t dare return it.

“That’s good to hear,” he says, and his voice is gentle. Sort of infantilising if you’ll be honest.

While it is very clear to anyone who looks at you that you have no idea what you’re doing, you’d rather he didn’t bring it up. You’ll figure it out. You’ve always managed to figure it out. This is what you get for asking for help. Really, despite your momentary panic you could’ve taken George. Probably not physically, but…

“You can talk to me if you want, you know?”

“Can you stop the car, please?” you respond, when that question immediately activates your fight or flight response. Dick must notice something about you, because he quickly shoots forward and into a momentarily available parking spot.

You scramble with the door, shoving your way back out onto the asphalt. The immediate distinct smell of Gotham, even Gotham’s richer districts, calms you down. Sewage, the ocean, and the ever present smoke and fog.

Fuck’s sake. You aren’t making yourself look anymore well put together.

Clearing your throat, you turn and find Richard Grayson coming around the car hood towards you. There’s a worried look in his eyes, and you really don’t know how to deal with it. It’s like you made a deal with the devil. By getting rid of George, you’d gotten a new problem - and an infinitely more complicated one.

Shit, you need to stop making rash decisions when you’re having panic attacks. You’d say you should probably try and stop having panic attacks entirely, but you don’t really know how to do that.

The sound of your name has you snapping back to attention. Dick looks even more worried.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, taking a few slow steps towards you. Again, infantilizing. Like you’re a wild animal about to run. Wait, weren’t you just comparing yourself to a chihuahua? Well, it’s not the same when other people do it.

“I’d like to take a walk,” you say, hand scrunching into your pyjama pants, “Alone, I’d like some time alone.”

“…In that?” He glances down at the stain that is slowly starting to dry. It’s making your skin itchy, but at least it’s not as cold.

“I can buy something,” you say, remembering one of the apps on your phone was connected to your bank account, which you had to assume was pretty full. It’s kind of stupid that you haven’t checked that yet.

You’re starting to feel a bit defensive towards your own intelligence. Maybe it’s because you seemingly keep making all the worst decisions.

Dick doesn’t make it any better.

“Do you have cash on you?” he asks, showing how little faith he has in your general abilities to survive as an adult in Gotham.

“I do, I’ll be fine,” you insist, because god damn it, you will be. You just need a fucking minute.

You ran from the Wayne manor because you felt like you were being watched, and then as soon as you showed up at the world’s most uncomfortable apartment, the haunting wraith known as George dragged you out in your P.J.s. You could figure it the fuck out, if these people would give you some fucking space.

Richard Grayson seems to realise that you’re getting upset, because he goes quiet for a moment. After staring at you for a moment longer, for which you manage to find the courage to maintain eye contact through pure stubborn will, he asks you one final question.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride home or something?” he asks, still seeming so determined to help you.

His suggestion brings flashes of images of you breaking down in front of the Bruce Wayne to mind. From almost a birds eye view, you see yourself sobbing against your own ruined dress as the billionaire looked on. Bile literally jumps up your throat, and it takes a lot of willpower not to grimace at the suggestion.

“Look, Mr. Grayson, I really appreciate-”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”

Once again, you feel the urge to simply sprint away from your own problems, but you manage to hold yourself still. Still, you can’t think of a solution. You can’t really think much of anything. Instead you stare at Richard Grayson with your hands threaded together and your lips pressed into a thin line.

Though you open your mouth to speak, you find you have no excuses ready or available. You’ve talked yourself into a corner already, and it’s your third day in this world. Marvellous. Maybe you should just tell the truth.

Still, the dangers outweigh the pros. They don’t know you, they don’t have any real reason to take care of you. If they believe you, they’ll toss you out onto the streets penniless. And if they don’t-

You blink. There’s a highway sign behind Dick, and it catches your attention like a lightning bolt. ‘Arkham Asylum 800 miles’. It’s white blocky letters on green panelling feels like a sign from god, warning you from the path you consider taking.

And then you realise that you might actually get sent to Arkham if you say anything, and you resolve to never tell a single soul about what has happened to you. You’ve heard enough stories about the asylum, and by god, you are not being roommates with the fucking Joker of all people.

Eventually Dick realises he’s not getting anything out of you and he sighs, shaking his head. His annoyingly perfect hair mesmerises you for a second, but you manage to wrangle your brain back under control. He really doesn’t make it easy.

“I just want to know if you’re safe. If you’re going through anything, you know we’re always happy to help-”

“Dick,” you say his name, face twisting in discomfort, “This was a… a one time thing. Usually I can handle my problems. It just… it caught me off guard. George cheating was a huge shock, and I needed someone to stand by me.”

“And you know I always will, right?”

Ah. That’s… Dick Grayson was a stranger. You didn’t know him, and more than that he did not know you. He did not know what you would do, could do. You didn’t think anyone did, not even yourself.

It’s a silly idea to expect your celebrity crush to save you, and it’s one you find you can’t stomach it at the moment. It makes you feel disgusted with yourself at the idea. It’s too indulgent, too silly. It’s very simply, not possible.

You’ve given up on relying on miracles. These lessons had been beaten into you, really. You didn’t want to have to learn them again.

Your feelings must show on your face.

Dick lets out a whoosh of air, frustration palpable. He carts his hand through his hair. It still looks perfect. The world is unfair, yadda yadda.

“You run hot and cold, you know?” he gives you a grin. It says a lot about his ability to act, seeing as it seems almost natural. Almost, being the key word.

Also, he is absolutely correct. The chihuahua effect is in full-swing. And you know what? You are probably going to continue to run hot and cold, because you’ve never made a decision in your life. He’ll just have to get used to it.

You raise your hands and shrug, in the universal ‘what-can-you-do?’ motion. He wasn’t wrong. You were being completely erratic. Not even you knew what you’d do next. At least life isn’t boring these days, right Right? You wonder who you are trying to fool, because it’s certainly not yourself.

“I’ll contact you if I need anything,” you lie, because it seems to be the right thing to end this torturous conversation, “And I’ll make sure to keep contact with Alfred. You can talk to Jeanine if you need anything, as well.”

Dick, unfortunately, calls you out on your bullshit.

“But not you, right?” he says, smile still printed on his face.

Woof. You think… you’ve hurt his feelings? Ah shit, you instantly feel like the scum of the earth. Still, you don’t know how you could fix this. Arkham is a genuine threat lingering over your shoulder, you don’t know enough about your new cut-throat billionaire world, and you can not lose any faith they have in you. Any that you have left, that is.

You’re sorry, but this is coming down to survival. And you are a greedy person, after all.

In the end, you don’t have anything to say, and Richard Grayson leaves without a word. Watching him walk towards his car, you feel… bad. Really bad. The part of you that is still crushing on this guy, a very large part of you, feels like you’ve ended the earth. The other part, the one that recognises that once again you’re going to have to fight for yourself… well, she thinks so too.

Maybe… maybe you could fix this. Apologise. Once you’ve gotten your bearings and know you’re safe and 100% financially stable, maybe you’ll figure it out. Give him his shirt back after you’ve dry-cleaned it.

For now, you give him your back as well.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[cusimmrbrightside]

I have always liked the idea of the school for mutants being very literally a school, and I know yes it is but I mean in the sense of if you want to be an X-men, you have to be a teacher. They have exams at the end of years, they have Ofsted checks (for those who don’t know what they are, it’s essentially people coming to check that the school is good at being a school) and they have teachers for every subject, which brings me to my next point;

“I’m Right You’re Wrong, Here’s What The X-Men (‘97 specifically) Would Teach As Subjects”.

(Also this is based off of UK school system but I use American terms like “seniors” and “AP” and “Midterms”)

Maths Teacher Gambit is surprising, for a guy most assume to not being entirely smart, an idiot goof off who’s the comedic relief. But you need to know numbers to gamble, and that he does with being very well versed in mathematics way past an AP level. He’s made the promise for every senior class that he will teach them to play blackjack on the final day, and has only ever lost once. Which is when the rule of “no betting real money” came into place.

English teacher Jean reminds me of the kind of teacher who would let the social outcasts into her class for their lunch breaks. The kids more likely to be bullied and she will fight tooth and nail to make sure those kids bullies don’t come into that classroom. they’re loud and shout and shouldn’t really be in there but no one has to know and she certainly won’t be telling them to leave any time soon.

Physics teacher Magneto is very specific to my highschool experience I’ll be honest. I had a physics teacher who was an actual Dr with a PHD and he hated being there. His classroom has (well, had since the building was knocked down about 5 years ago now) this one cabinet that was never fully shut, it was always open just about an inch or two, and he’d stand with his foot hovering just above it and then slam down on it whenever we got too loud so the noise would shut us up. That’s very magneto coded. Erik Lehnsherr would purposefully make the cabinet always a little open so he can do that.

Biology teacher morph is just a funny concept, a person whose physical form and change and morph into just about anything. They are considered one of the “fun” teachers, you could easily convince them to let you watch a movie all class as long as it was biology centred, but with classics like Osmosis Jones, you’re not stuck watching a documentary about animals giving birth.

Chemistry teacher Storm does not fuck about with children’s education. She is not strict by any means whatsoever, she just will not bend to someone saying they want to watch a film or should do a practical instead of theory. She has a set curriculum. She knows what she will be doing by the first week of the summer holidays and already has the room set up all pretty and organised.

Geography teacher Scott has the unfortunate job of telling his students that, they just won’t be looking at memorising country flags and politics. But hey!! Rocks are cool!! Beach shores are cool! Lake formations are cool! He’s the vice principal and designated nerd teacher. He once beat the elite four for a student on their copy of Pokémon Red because the student promised they’d do well in their midterms. Yes, he was in his 30s when the game came out, he doesn’t care.

History teacher Logan is a walking fun facts book. He’s exhausted, goes on smoke breaks on every gap of time he has, dislikes his job and will randomly get passionate about one specific topic, and will then dedicate his next 4 classes to that topic. Having been through a lot of modern history with personal experiences, he’s able to bring a lot of souvenirs to show his classes. Bullets, helmets, clothes he once wore hundreds of years ago, his personal memories of basic inventions like the vaccine.

PE (physical education) teacher Rogue is full of fun sports games, you can join any kind of sports team you can imagine and if you ask nicely enough, she’ll put Just Dance on a projector in the sports hall so you can just play that instead of actually play an actual sport. As long as you leave her class exhausted and without time to have a shower before your next class then she’s succeeded in making whoever your next teacher is absolutely miserable (bonus points if it’s Logan with his enhanced sense of smell).

Art teacher jubilee does believe that there is a right way to critique art. And she can be a little in your face about it. She does think you can have wrong opinions especially when it comes to your own art. If she overhears you saying you didn’t something wrong, she’ll scream into a megaphone “adapt, improvise, overcome!”. There are no mistakes! She’s eccentric, bubbly, creative and brilliant, the only one suited for the job.

It wouldn’t be a school without budget cuts. That’s why Nightcrawler is both the languages and religions teacher and he’s beloved at both. He comes up with roleplay scenarios the students can play to help learn their chosen languages, he has varied religious texts in his room and when he says to the students “I’ll pray for toy during exam season” he’s not actually joking.

(I forgot about Hank I’m actually going to cry he’s one of my favourites and I forgot about him. He’ll be in pt two or smth.)

[sorrelchestnut]

I've seen a fair number of posts both here and on reddit that question why Tav (or the Dark Urge) would end up as a group leader for any other reason that "game mechanics say so." There's the requisite "okay, well if you play a high charisma character I guess it makes sense," or on the other end of the spectrum, "if you're playing Durge and murder someone right off the bat everyone would be too scared to tell you no." And I get where people are going with this! I really do. But it also fundamentally misunderstands a facet of human nature, which is that the vast majority of people do not actually want to be in charge, because that means being held responsible for the outcome. Accordingly, most people will dither when a group consensus is needed: have none of you ever tried to get a group of friends to agree where to go for dinner? Yeah, it's like that, but waaaay worse.

A lot of times "leadership" is just the willingness to say, "fuck it, y'all do what you want, but I'm doing this." I see it all the time in a corporate environment, where people will go back and forth on group meetings without anyone making a decision until finally one brave soul goes "in my opinion the clear answer is x" and then everyone gratefully goes along with it. Because now it's not their responsibility when something goes wrong! They're just following along with someone else's suggestion, and maybe it works or maybe it doesn't, but at the end of the day they don't have to worry about the consequences unless they're personally affected. In which case they might step up and argue back, and then they're stuck being a leader, too. Welcome to adulthood!

Lae'zel is the only one who ever even tries to exert some kind of control, when she tells you to follow her lead on the ship, or calls you her subordinate in the Grove. But, crucially, she doesn't ever make any serious attempt to take control: you can just tell her, "lol, no," and she sort of confusedly gives way, because she doesn't know how to handle this scenario. In her world there are commanders and subordinates, and everyone knows where they stand and falls in line. She's never actually had to take control of a situation and so at the first sign of resistance she falls back on the dynamic that's familiar to her, which is executing the commands of someone older and more experienced. She goes through a lot of growth over the game, to the point that she can take over as a resistance leader in her own right by the end, but at the beginning she's a wet-behind-her-ears private with some decent combat chops and it shows.

Otherwise, your party consists of:

Shadowheart, who's trained in infiltration and assassination and does NOT want a lot of attention brought to her or her mission for a variety of reasons;

Astarion, who has literally been a slave for two centuries and canonically takes a while to realize that he can exert an opinion beyond complaining about it;

Gale, whose only friend is his cat and couldn't project-manage his way out of a wet paper bag;

Wyll, who was probably trained for command at one point but has been doing the lone-hero thing for a decade and has a very large secret that he's trying to conceal; and,

Karlach, who's only ever been a bodyguard and a soldier and is genuinely just happy to be here.

Honestly, it would be more a surprise if Tav/Durge didn't end up as their unofficial leader, given the general power dynamics at play. The first time Tav/Durge says something like, "fuck it, we need to do something instead of stand around arguing about it, let's go check out those ruins over there," it's a done deal. They're The Captain Now! As long as they don't make decisions that fundamentally oppose something dear and important to the other group members, they're not even going to get any argument. Because at the end of the day, not one of these walking disasters has enough trust in themselves and their decision-making skills to feel any kind of certainty that they can choose the right path forward. If someone else is going to take that decision out of their hands? They're going to follow, no questions asked, right up until the moment they can't.

[andhumanslovedstories]

I’ve been struggling lately with the feeling that my job is pointless. Intellectually I know it is not—nursing is one of those professions where you get to be real smug about knowing the value of your work. But it’s still felt very pointless. Like I’ll start a shift thinking, “what am I even doing here,” and end it thinking, “what have I actually even done.” It’s been a ROUGH couple months.

But I had a really good shift last time I worked, which was good for the soul and also a very useful data point. I got to do pain management advocacy and symptom management, met a bunch of cool patients, did education for new nurses, and had several long heart to hearts, which the kind of midnight heart to hearts that I think are the most important part of night shift, all of that while being well staffed with very pleasant and appreciative patients and coworkers, and I was still like. Pretty depressed. I had a sense of satisfaction and moments of joy and meaning, but it turns out that one good shift did not cure the depression that has been latched on to me for the last few months like some kind of fucked up mental health leech. As I realized I was still depressed and that it was still interfering with my life even when everything was going well, the sense of peace washed over me was the best I’d felt in a while. Because I was like, okay! None of my usual stuff as worked! I have no excuse not to try something new to get my brain out of the shit ditch it’s slipped into.

So I’m applying for short-term disability. I’m worried I won’t get it, and I’m not sure what the next step is if I get rejected, but I feel so much better having decided to pursue it. It’s so much fuckin paperwork for sure, to a degree that’s overwhelming except that that the form could be a checkbox that says, “you want money?” and I’d be like “THIS IS TOO MUCH.” I’m totally not writing this post instead of finishing an email to my manager. I’m definitely not writing this post to avoid dealing with coordinating all my various care providers. I’m certainly not at every moment worried that I’m secretly faking all this so I can get three to nine weeks of a cool summer vacation.

I was thinking about how I almost flunked nursing school in my final semester because I turned in assignments late for a class with a “no late homework” policy. The professor said that this was reflective of real life, where if you miss deadlines you’re just fucked. I ended up appealing my grade and passing, because frankly it was a weak reason for making me repeat a final semester when there was no issues with my actual work or knowledge. During my appeal, I was like “I also think this policy is ableist. Harsh penalties for late work hurt students with health problems, especially chronic health problems when you aren’t asking for one week off due to the flu but instead for a general and never ending flexibility. I’m not trying to make an excuse but explain why this policy is a bad one. Disabled healthcare workers are an asset to healthcare.” I’m trying to remember my own argument as I pursue help. My depression and ADHD and eating disorder do help me be a better nurse, not because like depression gives you superpowers, but because I manage my chronic illnesses every day, in ways that range from hardly noticeable to life or death. Being kind to patients means being kind to myself, and vice versa.

I’m rambling. I really do not want to do this paperwork or send these emails. And I’m not sure if I deserve the leave I’m trying to take. But I miss being love with my job. I miss enjoying it. I wouldn’t judge someone else for going on medical leave, and my job doesn’t want me to burn out or quit. It almost feels like I have to be skeptical of applying for leave because no one else is. Everyone I’ve spoken to has been very supportive, including my manager. And considering how many unpaid days off I’ve had to take lately, disability leave would be an improvement over some of my recent paychecks. All in all, short-term disability makes sense and seems like a reasonable response to circumstances. But FUCK. I wish it required like 90 percent less documentation.

[hoodoo12]

Bad Date (2/2)

The conclusion. Beetlejuice takes his reward.

NSFW. Beetlejuice x f!reader

You’d walked home arm in arm with Beetlejuice, but he didn’t follow you inside once you were through your door.

“Gotta get rid of this thing,” he explained, holding up the baby sandworm he’d carried back from the restaurant.

He hadn’t crushed it under his heel, like he wanted to, because of your gasp of horror--“It’s just a baby!”--but he also refused to let you keep it even though you thought it was sort of cute in a look-but-don’t-touch-it kind of way.

“Why don’t you slip into something more comfortable, baby,” he continued, “and I’ll be back in a wink.”

You didn’t know how long a trip to Saturn actually took, but you agreed eagerly. You were so glad he’d come to your rescue!

Beetlejuice was gone between one blink and the next, and you locked your door behind you.

⁂

Something more comfortable, huh? You knew what he had in mind. You kicked off your heels and shed your dress. Your bra and panty set was lacy but plain pink. Digging through your drawers, you found a matching set that was black and silk, which would be more to his fancy. You debated a garter belt and stockings; most guys seemed to like them but Beetlejuice wasn’t most guys, and lots of time they were more in the way than worth it.

In the end you decided against them. Maybe you'd wear them in the future for him.

You sat, then stood, then sat again. You were full of nervous energy and just wanted him to get back from dumping that sandworm. Then, just when you thought maybe you should get a robe because you were getting chilly, he reappeared.

He looked just as put out as he did when you summoned him in the restaurant’s restroom, and he was covered in a fine layer of yellow dust.

“You’re back!” you said happily, redundantly.

Beetlejuice didn’t seem as elated as you were. “Gods, it’s been a solid day and a half since I sat down,” he groaned.

That didn’t make any sense to you; less than forty minutes ago he’d been sitting at your table at the restaurant, threatening your date. The hard expression on his face didn’t give you any room to mention that discrepancy, however.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you said instead.

He nodded, and looked over at you as if seeing you standing there for the first time. His eyes skipped down your mostly naked body, and a smirk slid oily across his face. It wasn’t the most pleasant expression.

“Oh. Right. This,” he said, and that wasn’t reassuring, either.

You opened your mouth to ask what the hell was going on; from what he’d said and how he’d looked you over you thought he’d wanted some action, but he continued before you could say anything.

“You said you owed me. Back at the restaurant, for saving you from that d-bag. Right?”

You had to agree.

The smirk on his lips lifted to a leer that showcased some of his sharper teeth. “And remember? I told you not to go on that date.”

That made you frown a little; it toed the line of possessiveness.

“You refuse to put a name to what we have, Beej, so there’s no reason for me not to think about dating other people!” you retorted, a little sharply.

Your response made him drop his chin and examine you from under his brows. It made you feel like you were under a microscope; it made him look a little dangerous. You didn’t cow away under his intense gaze, however; although you could feel one hand start to tremble, you stood your ground.

Finally he said, “Well then, baby, I think a little punishment is in order, don’t you?”

You wanted to snap something sharp back at him again, but a bolt of cold, then hot, fell and rose in your gut. Some of your sexual encounters with Beetlejuice were hard, simple fucking with few niceties or gentle romantic gestures, but nothing had ever stepped over the line into “punishment” territory. Did he mean spanking? Did he mean he expected you to suck his dick hard and exactly how he wanted it, with lots of spit and gasping for air like in a porno?

Or was it something even more?

You couldn’t deny that although a bit of worry wormed through you, it excited you too.

Beetlejuice didn’t seem to care you hadn’t answered him. In your silence he boldly looked you over again and said,

“That’s not bad, but--”

He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, and your bra and panties went from solid black to black and white striped. You should have known. He snapped his fingers and between one breath and the next you were suddenly on your bed, flat on your back. The blankets and top sheet had disappeared, and so had your pillows. Beetlejuice stood at the end of the bed, fully clothed, and staring down at you.

You moved to sit up.

“No. Nope!” he corrected you immediately, and an invisible hand forced you back down.

“I won’t make these too tight, babydoll,” he assured you, and before you could protest or ask what, exactly, he meant by that, your arms were stretched above your head and your wrists were held firmly by skeletal hands that appeared out of your headboard.

“Hey! Beej!” you exclaimed, slightly alarmed. You twisted against the restraint, a little.

In a flash, he was beside you on the mattress instead of standing at your feet. He leaned in close enough that you could smell the dirt on his breath, but not close enough to kiss you. He grabbed one of your wrists lightly, stilling your movement.

“Trust me,” he said in a low voice. It was almost, almost, a question.

You searched his face, especially his eyes, but despite the unexpected restraint and his announcement of “punishment” earlier, you didn’t find anything malicious hiding there. You couldn’t deny you were a little concerned, but you did trust him. So you nodded.

A quick, pleased smile flitted across his face, and he let your wrist go. The hands kept you in place.

“Now. I think one more thing would be a good idea--”

The last thing you saw was him lifting one eyebrow in your direction again before a blindfold covered your eyes.

Although surprised, you stopped yourself from crying out this time. From the weight and feel of the fabric on your face, you guessed it was his tie.

The mattress shifted as Beetlejuice got off the bed. Blinded and restrained, you didn’t know where he was in the room. He could still be beside you, at the foot of the bed again, or floating right above you! The unknown made you shiver a little, and it was hard to tell if it was in worry or anticipation.

You waited.

And waited.

And waited.

There was no sound of movement; no creak of a floorboard or subtle rustling of his clothing. There was nothing touching you. You felt suspended, with no stimulus but the mattress under you, the bony fingers holding your wrists, and the slightly moldy smelling cloth draped over your eyes. It was hard to relax when you didn’t know what to expect.

You waited some more.

Suddenly a horrible thought ambushed you.

What if Beetlejuice put you in this position, making you feel exposed and vulnerable, and then he just left you here?!

There was still no sound of anyone else in the room. He didn’t breathe and could be as quiet . . . well, as quiet as the dead when he wanted to be.

The same dread thought rushed through your mind again. Did he leave you here alone? Was this the punishment he meant?!

You pulled against the skeletal restraints but they held you fast. You tossed your head back and forth to try and loosen the blindfold. Gulping and tasting the beginnings of panic, you weren’t too proud or embarrassed to call for him. You opened your mouth to ask where he was, yell, demand to know what was going on--

Before the words came, a finger slipped between your lips.

You were so surprised you let your mouth hang open for a moment. The finger moved past your teeth and nudged your tongue. It had a mild flavor that you imagined dust might taste like, and you didn’t let yourself think about it any further than that. A second finger dipped into your slack jaw, and with two of them pressing your tongue you closed your mouth on them and sucked.

A short chuckle came from somewhere to your left. At least you knew where he was now.

Parting his fingers with your tongue, you gave them both attention. When he must have felt they were sufficiently wet, he dislodged them. You nipped the tips of them as they retreated back past your teeth, and Beetlejuice made a slightly deeper noise.

For a second you were disconnected again, then his fingers moved down the side of your neck, to the hollow between your collar bones, to between your breasts, leaving a drying trail of spit in their wake.

He lifted them, and you found them against your lips again. You opened your mouth with no reluctance for him.

His fingers rooted in your mouth once more, and again you sucked and licked them. This time when he pulled away a thin moan escaped you, following after them. He repeated the trail he’d made the first time on the opposite side of your neck and down, ending at the fabric holding your bra together in the front.

There was a beat of a pause, and finally the mattress shifted as he joined you, crawling up between your legs.

You thought he was on your left?

Never mind. You automatically hooked your legs around him and earned a “tsk” in displeasure in return. The next thing you knew, thin bony hands grabbed your ankles and your legs were straightened and spread to accommodate him without your needy demand.

Spread-eagled before him made you feel even more exposed, but at least you knew where he was now.

Beetlejuice must have settled on his knees because you could feel only feel the outer fabric of his trousers between your legs. Then his hands were on you: stroking your sides from armpit to hips, pinching occasionally. It both tickled and made your skin warm, and you wiggled a little under the caress. It didn’t feel like he was sitting back on his heels. You couldn’t quite picture the posture he was in; he must be straining over you, holding himself at an awkward angle so no other part of his body touched you--

When his hands left your sides and cupped your breasts, giving you a sharper pinch through the fabric of your bra, you gave up trying to figure out what position he was in.

He stroked your chest in long movements too. You were frustrated by the lack of skin on skin contact before he was, and had to endure him playing with your tits but not actually stimulating them exactly how you liked for much longer than you wanted. By the time he was bored with it too, your nipples were hard and the fabric brushing against them hurt a little.

Luckily, Beetlejuice wasn’t known for never-ending patience. Just as you were going to tell him to hurry up, already--and damn the consequences--you heard the faintest snapping of his fingers and suddenly, your tits were free and exposed.

The sudden brush of cooler air made you nipples tighten even more, and once again you heard a chuckle from him.

His fingers closed around them. After the muted stimulation, that touch was like an electrical shock and you arched towards him with a gasp. He rolled and pulled them gently, continuing to make you gasp, and when the mattress shifted again and his mouth closed over one of them, you bucked and moaned.

Beetlejuice’s tongue and mouth weren’t room temperature, but not warm either. The shock of him taking a nipple into his wet mouth made you involuntarily try to reach down and grab his head, but you were held in place by the restraints. This time you felt him laugh at your aborted effort, and he sucked at you until you writhed and cried out. He continued to play with the other one, then switched to give them both the same attention.

Each suck and nibble sent pleasure down your body, where it settled deep in your gut and groin. You couldn’t help but want friction between your legs, but Beetlejuice wasn’t touching you there and your thighs were held apart. That built a different frustration in you.

Finally, he released you from the torment he’d given your now-tender nipples. Before you could say anything, his mouth found a patch of skin lower on your rib cage that it liked, and he sucked there too.

He kissed and licked and sucked his way over your torso, once darting up to your neck to latch on there. You felt the pressure of his teeth indent the thin skin and turned your head, not to displace him, but to give him freer access to the spot. As you did, he stilled completely and you froze too. Arousal tempered with a drop of fear swirled through you; you wondered what was going through his mind?

Beetlejuice didn’t break your skin. The intent was there, you could tell. Instead, after that long moment of anticipation, he released you.

You were panting as you turned your head back upright again. You could feel he hadn’t moved away, and a slight breath on your face clued you in that he panted as well. Some of his breather habits came to the surface in situations like this. You couldn’t see him, of course, but thought that if you lifted your head up off the mattress you’d find his mouth.

He obviously didn’t want you to move; if you dared try to kiss him, what would he do next? Would another skeletal hand come from nowhere to cross your forehead and pin your head to the mattress?

You decided not to risk it.

Beetlejuice’s hands roamed down your body again, and just as you felt him shift to move away again, his tongue licked a vertical stripe up over your lips. It startled you and you gasped; the tip of it darted inside for a split second but before you could open your mouth more for a proper kiss, it was gone again. The next noise you made was a sigh of disappointment as he continued to work his way back down your body.

He gave you the same attention as before. Sucking. Licking. Nipping. There wasn’t a spot on your front that he hadn’t lavished some attention on. A faint odor of stale saliva drifted to you from the amount of spit he’d coated you with, but you didn’t care. You wiggled under him, gasped and moaned, and tried to nudge him further down. You wanted him and his mouth between your legs.

Even though he hadn’t done anything--not even cupped you, not even dragged a solitary finger along the fabric of your panties, not even come close enough that you could feel his clothing brush you there--your pussy felt hot. You were wet. You just wanted this teasing to stop and for him to pay some attention there--

As if reading your mind, Beetlejuice shifted and plopped himself down between your legs. He was no longer on his knees but on his stomach; you could feel his--unclothed? When did that happen?--shoulders pushing your thighs further apart. His fingernails dug under the top edge of your panties.

When you lifted your hips so he could pull them off you--gods how you wanted him to pull them off you, or make them disappear like your bra, or something--he let the elastic snap back into place.

You groaned.

You didn’t care any more. You were going to beg him--

Beetlejuice’s mouth covered your pussy.

His hands kept you grounded by holding your hips. He didn’t strip you naked; he mouthed and licked and sucked you through your panties. The silk became heavy and soaked completely through with the combination your wetness and his spit, and the smooth feel of the fabric between your clit and his tongue made you writhe.

You cried out. You pulled against the restraints, all of them, you wanted to grab his head, you wanted to squeeze him with your thighs to hold him in place, you wanted him to suck your clit so hard, you wanted him to push aside your panties and shove those fingers that had been in your mouth into your pussy--you wanted not just that but his tongue and his cock inside you--

Your cries turned to sobs as he teased you. Bliss ratcheted higher and higher in your gut. Even with sodden fabric preventing direct contact between the two of you, you were going to come. Your throat tightened, your limbs shook with the force of the tension you used straining against the hands holding you back. Your hips canted instinctually to provide him better access and that first spark of an orgasm rippled through you--

Beetlejuice stopped.

All touching ceased. His mouth was no longer against the wet mess your panties had become. You hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been gripping your hips until his hands were off you too.

The abrupt lack of contact made you cry out in a different voice, filled with distress and bafflement. For a moment your body arched towards him, still seeking stimulation. You couldn’t hold the position for long, pulling against the restraints, however, and you flopped back to the mattress with another sob.

Your body shifted as Beetlejuice moved over one of your legs to be beside you. The movement made air current drift over your body and you shivered due to the sweat that had broken out over you.

This was not what you expected when he said “punishment”. You could have accepted and even gotten into a spanking. You would have been okay with him using you like a slut. But a tormenting tease with no finale? It was almost too cruel.

A finger hooked under your blindfold and pushed it away. You felt too weak and disappointed to thank him for removing it. You just wanted the bony hands on your wrists and ankles to be spirited away as well, so you could curl into a fetal position and try to will your body to forget all the pleasure it’d just been subjected to and then denied. You imagined that Beetlejuice was going to tell you that he was leaving and that you weren’t allowed to touch yourself; he’d be watching and if you brought yourself to orgasm he’d probably be devious enough to repeat what he did tonight the next time you got together with him too.

When you opened your eyes, however, the sight that greeted you wasn’t what you expected.

Beetlejuice was naked, as you’d surmised, coated in a thin layer of sweat, like you. The yellow dust that had been on his clothing had left a thin coating on his neck. His hair was wilder than normal, and his lips were shiny as he mimicked breathing through his mouth. His pupils were blown in deep arousal. His erection pressed heavily into your side.

Once again, he interrupted you as you opened your mouth to say something to him. With his lips near your ear, he groaned in a guttural voice,

“This was supposed to be punishment. A punishment! For you and me. Neither of us was going to get off, neither of us deserve it--”

He choked his own words off with another wordless groan as he involuntarily rutted against you.

You tried to wrap your head around what he just said. You weren’t quite able to.

“Beej, just . . . what?” you panted.

His lips found your neck and ear and he dragged his tongue along your skin. He continued to caress you sloppily between words.

“It was supposed to be punishment for both of us, baby,” he groaned. “You for going out on a goddamn date and me for not telling you I want you for my-goddamned-self. I want you, baby, I don’t want you seeing anyone else. I wanted to get you so hot and bothered and then stop, just for a tease, just to show you there's no one but me who can make you feel so good, but the sounds you made and the taste of you--fuck--I’m so fucking turned on I just want to fuck you so much right now--”

His voice rose to a desperate, needy whine at the last word. You were so wet between your legs you didn’t know it was possible to get even wetter, but heat surged through you again.

“Beej, Beej--” you croaked to get his attention. When he lifted his face to yours you said in the same desperate tone, “I learned my lesson. Did you learn yours?”

“Fuck, baby. Shit. Yeah!”

You looked him dead in the eyes. “Then get these hands off me and fuck me.”

At your demand, a surprised then lecherous smile broke over his face. He kissed you properly then, his tongue diving into your mouth and stealing your breath. The next second your arms and legs were released and you dragged him bodily on top of you. With his weight pressing you down you tried to shimmy out of your dripping panties; with a flicking motion of his finger Beetlejuice assisted and made them disappear as well.

With one hand grabbing the back of his head and the other gripping his waist, you didn’t release him or his mouth as he reached between the two of you, adjusted himself and pushed forward, filling you in a single, delicious thrust with his cock. You cried out; he did too with a deeper noise, and he set a frantic, blistering pace that would have not worked if you hadn’t been so thoroughly aroused from all the provocation he’d graced you with.

Your pussy felt hot, slick, and tight. The friction was glorious and you didn’t check yourself as your fingernails dug into him. Usually this rough and swift thrusting was enough to undo him first, but this was exactly what you needed to make your nerve-endings explode again.

You came with a sustained cry, locking your legs around him to keep him deep inside you.

Beetlejuice rocked his hips a little, instinctually, but held mostly still as you were lost in waves of pleasure. Just as you were coming back to the surface and opened your eyes to focus on him again, his brow furrowed and he pushed forward, harder into you, moaning with an open mouth as he came too.

You were shaking. He was shaking. It took several moments for you to catch your breath and will your hands and legs to open enough to let him go. It took him an extra moment to unglue himself from your belly and torso. You noticed the palm that had held the back of his neck was coated with that yellow grime, but you couldn’t make yourself care. Carefully he sat back, and you groaned in a combination of pleasure and disappointment as his cock slipped out of you.

Beetlejuice crawled over your leg and collapsed on the mattress beside you.

The two of you lay panting in euphoric exhaustion. You may have made a mistake going out with some random guy, but the evening couldn’t have ended any better. You turned to face Beetlejuice, to thank him for coming to your rescue and for the best punishment you’d ever received.

Just as you opened your mouth, your stomach growled. He looked at you with a smirk, so you slapped him lightly on the chest.

“I didn’t actually get to eat dinner, remember?” you informed him, instead of telling him the things you meant to. You sat up, swung your feet over the side of the bed, and stood up. As you made your way to the door, you asked, “You want anything from the kitchen?”

“Nope. I don’t like seeing you leave, but I love watching you go.”

You threw an eye roll over your shoulder at him but didn’t hide your grin. You could thank him later, and you were sure he knew how you felt anyway.

fin!

[ckret2]

Which are you personally going with for the obviously-3D pictures of Billy wearing sneakers: a) Billy in Sneakers is just a translation of one cute thing to a more 3D friendly cute thing, or b) We don't actually know how the second dimension works and it's wrapped and tangled in an incomprehensible and impossible to parse way that we limited beings shall never fully understand but which allows for sneakers? I could see you going either way tbh

God that's no contest, option A all the way. I've been working option A in every drawing I've made of Bill's dimension for well over a year. Option B's needlessly complicated for no benefit in a way that contradicts the lore we already have and that would open up a whole bunch of unnecessary cans of worms.

Bill all but says he's visually "translating" the image for our benefit. And we already know from Exwhylia in Journal 3 that Alex is well-versed in how physics & vision work in Flatland, and J3 heavily implied that Exwhylia is similar to Bill's home dimension. Sure, Bill says you'd need psychedelic food poisoning to fully understand his world, but the J3 Exwhylia page makes very clear that even if a human can see the lines that make up a world like his and understand intellectually what they represent, that doesn't mean you'd actually make sense of what you see—which accounts for Bill's claim just fine.

Combine that with all the themes Bill's universe borrows from Flatland (inability for normal people to see "up," a very conformist society, a plot based around one enlightened character futilely trying to teach the people around him about the third dimension, etc), and there's absolutely no good reason not to think his world's design is passably similar to Flatland or Exwhylia.

So, why do we all draw baby Billy and his family like this

instead of accurate to a Flatland-style 2D universe like this?

Because that ain't cute. rigid fidelity to the lore is less important than good storytelling and that means if you want to show your audience (i.e., us real people) how cute Bill was as a baby, you've gotta say "fuck it" to the lore and draw a cute triangle. Not draw a lore-accurate line and say "if you were a Euclidean that would look sooo cute to you, trust me bro." Making it actually look cute is what we all do as fanartists, and it's what the artists did in The Book of Bill.

Anyway who says his dimension needs to be some bizarre incomprehensible thing in order for him to wear sneakers? There's nothing stopping him from wearing squeaky sneakers in an accurate Flatland-style 2D universe. They'd just be built different. His shoes would look like an outline around his foot. Here, have an accurate Flatland-style 2D baby Bill (top down view) (with a squeaker in his sneaker)

I even kept the baseballs on his shoes.

[kissitbttr]

RANDOMMM SCENARIO BUT… famous athlete(soccer player) comes up to Wife and flirts with her (???) while her and miggy are at a club or something. 🫨

ooo this gon be a one jealous miggy🤤🤤

-

miguel is fucking furious,

he and his wife had planned to have a date night. a nice drink at a cocktail bar would do the two of them good. in which he refused at first. he offered a dinner and gentle walks with ice cream but it seems that his wife managed to make him agree with her instead . thanks to her gorgeous puppy dog eyes and seduction, he actually complied. under one condition, that she has to stay by his side the entire night.

‘aw baby, you know i wouldn’t stray too far away from you. I wouldn’t like to dance alone anyway’

that’s not why miguel wanted her to leave his side for more than five minutes,

if she did, then miguel has to look at some twenty something year old mother fucker trying to hit on her like this exact moment,

it’s because he knows how gorgeous his wife is. her presence alone could make people’s head turns and men to fall to their knees. let alone if she opens her mouth and speak, they could easily be entranced and fall in love,

how would he know, you ask? because that’s what she did to him the first time he met her,

he brings his glass of whiskey to his lips, taking a slow sips as his eyes settled on another brunette man trying to entertain his wife by the bar,

five minutes. miguel fucking left for five minutes to go to the bathroom and some pubescent fucker already is trying his ways to woo her,

it’s not like she’s actually interested with the guy. he could sense the boredom radiating from her, and he doesn’t even have to stand close to her,

it makes him laugh.

her ears perk at the sound of a familiar sound that she loves, turning around and flashes a smile before reaching a hand to his waist making him mirror her expression,

“miguel, darling. this is christian. christian king. he’s a—“

“number 07. football league. nice to meet you” on the contrary, miguel’s tone doesn’t sound inviting at all, in which she’s quick to notice but doesn’t say anything,

the guy however, is appalled. eyes wide at the size of the man before him who looks like he could snap his neck in half.

miguel’s impossibly large physique has never failed to intimidate people. how could it not? he’s one of the strongest spider-man for crying out loud! not to mention the amount of hours he put in during the workouts. especially when he’s in during the bulking season to put on more muscles,

lord have mercy whomever tries to cross him or disrespect his wife

“oh.. I didn’t know she came with someone” the guy gulps nervously but try to at least smile. “miguel o’hara? a friend of bruce wayne’s right?”

he scoffs, “hardly” he twirls the glass softly in his hand as the other snakes around her waist, showing him that she’s taken. “acquaintance is more suited”

christian lets out a hum, nodding along as he awkwardly tries to avert his gaze. miguel’s wife however is enjoying this weird interaction, her eyes flickers between them before smirking,

“christian here just asked me out on a date. to go watch him play”

hearing that makes christian choke, while miguel raises his one eyebrow at the bold question the man had the nerve to ask,

“that so?” miguel heaves a small humorless laugh, sounding pissed. he watches christian struggle to put some words as he shakes his head,

“t-that was before i knew she came with someone, i swear! sorry i mean no disrespect” he puts his hands up in defense, feeling scared that her words will affect his life. because the way miguel is staring him down hard,

there’s 99% chance that christian would walk out of here with broken arms,

“saw you kept touching her too, compá. you interested in my wife?” miguel steps in closer while she remains quiet, biting back a smile,

“no! oh my god, no! of course not i was—“

“how old are you?”

“21”

“shit” miguel chuckles as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “look, you got to find one your age, kid. she’s taken. beat it”

christian nods fast, grabbing his drink off the table and mutter a soft sorry before scrambling off and away from the two,

his wife has her legs crossed, exposing the soft and delicate thighs between the slits of her dress while eyeing her husband who refuses to leave his gaze off the poor guy,

she smirks widely, elbow on the counter before chuckling causing miguel to look at his woman. which then his brows dip into a frown,

“you were enjoying that”

“i did” she confirms, moving to graze his cheek and down to the collar of his shirt. “you handled that better than i did”

“you complaining, cariño?”

“kind of. I should’ve prompted a fight”

“jesus, you’re crazy”

she leans closer, breath ghosting over his mouth as he looks down at her, mind going fuzzy. “you love it.”

“ay. si lo tengo, bonita” he sighs dreamily, planting a quick kiss on her ruby lips. “i still don’t like how they keep trying to take my woman away from me. first, it was at the cake test for our wedding and now that fucking kid—jesus is really testing me”

“what? you know i’m hot. some people just can’t help themselves” she shrugs innocently, giving him her best doe gaze while sipping on her cocktail,

with a groan, he pulls her in. “you’re pushing it, querida” eyes jumping between her eyes and mouth. “but you’re not wrong”

her lips stretch into a smile, pressing a finger on his chin to keep his eyes locked in his,

“you’re my husband. and i’m your wife. we’re tied, baby. you are stuck with me”

the nickname and the reminder puts him at ease for a bit, softly unclenching his jaw, head nodding at the thought of his wife being his forever,

his beautiful, beautiful wife,

“i mean, unless you want us to—“

“don’t even think about it” he grunts, giving her butt a spank with a glare. the gesture makes her giggle,

“you’re fucking mine”

[silverynight]

Dynamight's type

Izuku has noticed that whenever someone asks Katsuki's certain questions during interviews he gets really irritated; it's usually things about love and relationships that bother him the most.

It's one of the many reasons why Izuku hasn't told his best friend he likes him romantically; maybe Katsuki is not interested in romance at all or he just hates sharing his love life with the world.

Although it's not like Izuku ever thought he had a chance; he probably doesn't. Sometimes he thinks about looking for someone to start a relationship with.

"Let's move in together," Katsuki tells him for the... actually, Izuku has lost count of how many times he has told him that.

But Izuku always thinks he doesn't mean it because it doesn't make sense.

"Why?"

"Just because..." Katsuki says this time, looking particularly frustrated.

"We don't have the need to," Izuku points out, getting a little bit confused by his friend's response.

"I know."

"Kacchan... what if one of us starts dating soon? Wouldn't that be–"

The look Katsuki throws at him is enough to make Izuku shut up immediately; the other pro hero not only looks angry, he also seems hurt.

"Are you seeing someone?" The way Katsuki asks the question makes it look like each word is hurting him somehow.

"No, but–"

"I'm not going to start dating an extra!" Katsuki growls and, as usual, he walks away more irritated than when the day started.

Izuku honestly doesn't get it.

However, he usually goes back to normal when his patrol begins.

Until a reporter finds him after an incident; just right the moment after Katsuki and Izuku manage to save a group of people from a villain.

Actually, there are a couple of reporters, one of them even tries to corner Izuku and instead of asking him about the villain or the civilians, she asks Izuku about romance.

Alright, Izuku has started to get why Katsuki gets irritated at those type of questions.

"Are you dating someone at the moment, Deku?" The young woman asks, smiling at him and using one of her fingers to play with her own hair.

Izuku doesn't understand; is she nervous?

"Uhh... no."

"That's great!"

Not that far from him, one of the reporters is asking about Katsuki's type... again.

"So what would your ideal date be, Deku?" The reporter manages to draw Izuku's attention away from his friend.

"Maybe an amusement park? Sharing a crepe?" The green haired hero doesn't mean to make it sound like a question, but interviews always make him feel flustered.

"That'd be a perfect date for me too!" The girl says. "Would you like to–"

"DO YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW MY FUCKING TYPE?" Katsuki's loud voice cuts off the reporter who's interviewing Izuku.

"Of course, Dynamight!" It's a good thing most of the reporters are used to Katsuki's explosive personality already.

Instead of answering right away, Katsuki gets closer to Izuku and to everyone's surprise, grabs the other pro hero's freckled face and kisses him on the lips.

"There. That's my type!" Katsuki growls as Izuku's face turns completely pink. "Him. Only this nerd. Now, fuck off!"

The female reporter who was asking Izuku questions looks particularly upset about what happened, although it seems like she's a little bit reluctant to go... but she does anyway when she notices Katsuki is glaring at her.

Izuku doesn't get his hopes up, because it's obvious that Katsuki only wanted them to stop asking questions about his love life.

"But Kacchan... they're going to think we are–"

"Move in with me."

"Why?"

It feels like this is not the moment to have the same conversation all over again, but there's something different in Katsuki's eyes this time; he looks determined.

"Because I'm in love with you, oblivious nerd!"

Izuku's face is on fire, he's sure of it; Katsuki just told him he loved him. It almost seems like it's a dream.

"Are you sure, Kacchan?" His voice doesn't sound shaky at all, which is something Izuku feels ridiculously proud of.

"Of course I am! Wouldn't be asking you if I wasn't!"

After a heartbeat in which Izuku thinks about all the time they've been together and tells himself this is going to work, he nods.

"Let's move in together, Kacchan."

Just a year later, Katsuki proposes to him and of course, Izuku can't help but tear up. He's never been so happy before.

***

Patreon

[reachartwork]

crossposting from twitter;

are you guys really telling me in the entire two years that this has been a Federal Fucking Issue for a certain type of extremely online artist you still have refused to learn even for a second how it actually works?

the information has been widely available for you to consume and teach yourself for the past two years (even longer if you've been paying attention). at this point if you say and believe shit like this you are deliberately keeping yourself stupid uninformed, i'll be diplomatic. and it's sad to me because if you knew how it worked you would be substantially less afraid of it!

it genuinely makes me upset that instead of just accepting a new medium into the artistic world these people are just doubling down and will continue doubling down on MAKING THEMSELVES UPSET FOR NO REASON via anti-intellectualism.

if you're going to reject out of hand an entire art movement and its purveyors, you can at the very least teach yourself how it works to have a more informed criticism. this person even SAYS that they like it!

it's like... i don't know, if i went to critique a bunch of brutalist sculptures and expressed my displeasure at not knowing where the rocks they quarried and carved into these statues came from. like does that make sense? there's a total mismatch here of what they know vs what the actual problem is here (in this case, this person does NFTs, which is what you should've started the fucking thread with!)

i don't know. i know it's a fools game to worry about this but it makes me really upset that there are people in this world who are just... incurious. like to me that feels like humans trying to understand cthulhu. what do you mean you don't research the things that make you afraid so that you can understand them and be less afraid?

i don't really have a point here i'm just sad and annoyed. anyway.

[sturnsmadl]

mute 2.

< previous

contains-no use of y/n, cursing, light fluff, unestablished friendship, mentions of tough time at school

pairing- grumpy!chris x mute!reader

please read the authors note at the bottom :)

its chris' second day and to your suprise he's not very liked so far, you managed to escape from him yesterday but today was different. it was like he was tracing your every step because when you turn around? he's there. it was lunch period and normally you go to the old makeout cupboard, where everyone would go make out with their boyfriends, seniors, ex's and even other people's girlfriends. that was until the teachers found out and another random closet started getting used. instead of constantly sitting in a bathroom stool and getting made fun of you starting using the closet to finally eat lunch in peace.

Flashback!!

after you left the classroom you head straight for the cupboard and sit down on the floor against one of the shelving units. you open ur beat up, pink lunchbox you've had for as long as you can remember and look over what you packed for yourself today. lunch ends just before u can finish and you pack up quickly, needing to leave the cupboard before the halls fill up and people realise where you disappear to at lunch.

Flashback ends!!

unfortunately chris had a feeling, and a strong one too. chris could sense something was off about your silence and even if you were hated for it he would figure out what it was, he'd made the effort to follow you around like a spy for the whole day and at lunch he finally saw where you disappeared into yesterday. he has no clue why your hiding in there all the time but he knows he's going to find out either way. he follows you and waits a few minutes before opening the door and going in, closing it behind him. you look up from the floor and see him, your heart immediately stops and you, as usual stay completely silent.

"what the fuck..."

he stares at you then you see his expression slightly soften which suprises you as its completely different from the whole mean, tough demeanor he gives off. he sits down opposite you and sighs to himself as he looks around where youve been sitting at lunch for god knows how long.

"what are you doing? there's empty tables out there.."

you shrug softly obviously not going to speak and tell him your hiding so no one can see you eating alone, he looks at your beat lunchbox, your old backpack and your clothes and he can already tell your not the luckiest of people but he still thinks your insanely beautiful and just simply misunderstood.

weeks later

its been around 2 weeks since chris found your spot and everyday without fail he's came in and sat on the cold floor with you to eat his lunch just so ur not completely alone. he's always rambling about his day or how another teacher has become one of his worst for simply asking him to do his work, of course you dont say anything but you listen to him and you nod to show him your listening. you've weirdly became kind of comfortable around chris which isnt a feeling youve felt in a while and your honestly thinking about speaking to him while he rants on about how shit his old school was and how he's glad he was finally kicked out so he could start again. your so tempted to speak and while he's mid sentence you crack.

he groans " and the gym teacher? actually the biggest dick ive ev-"

"chris." you whisper just loud enough for his head to shoot up in shock.

a/n- ok i know this is also very boring :/ but i swear now that shes talking its gonna be a lottt better and more entertaining!

edit- wait i hate this dm omg. i promise promise promise that next part will be juicyyy

tags! @bellaonthelow @muchloveforhacker @moonk1ss3d @sturnclouds @christophersgf @ellizzyy @fratbrochrisgf @phoenix062 @pixxiies @conspiracy-ash @blahbel668 @monroesturnns @gwennybenny @sturnobsessedwh0re @pixie-sticks-are-good @wurlibydominicfike @anitahunt @ilusa @watchu-mean-baby-keem @babyalliah-777 @imtheprett @sturniolo-fann @coochiedestroyer1 @scarlettbitches

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Could you write a story with 90’s slash where he’s drunk and is being all lovey and touchy in front of the rest of the band? And the band is surprised seeing him like that? With like fluff but also smut?

A/n: There isn't a whole lot of fluff but it is there in parts, I'm sorry I really suck at writing fluff lol but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless <3

Warnings: Smut, Slash is drunk, oral(f receiving), fingering(f receiving), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You’d dropped by the studio with lunch, a regular routine you’d fallen into. It’s become so regular that the guys started chipping in and making requests, multiple stops at a time even. You didn’t mind if it meant getting out of the house and getting to spend time with your boyfriend, Slash.

This time, however, you walked in on a very different scene.

Slash was sitting in a chair, his guitar on the ground beside him and he couldn’t reach it. Instead of standing up to get it he just kept lazily reaching for it over and over again.

He had a bottle of Jack Daniels in his other hand, half empty and it was still cold. There were a few empty bottles on the floor around him.

Duff came over and took the bags of food from you. “He was like this when he got here.” He said, his voice quiet so Slash didn’t hear, not that it would really register with him.

You let out a heavy sigh and nodded. “Figured.” You chewed your cheek and went over to Slash, taking a seat on the armrest of the barcalounger he was on. You pulled his hair out of his face to get his attention. “Hey baby, what are you doing?” He looked over at you and it took a minute for him to register who you were but when he did the biggest smile came to his face.

“You’re here!” He gleamed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his lap. “Missed you so much!” He said as he littered kisses all over your face, you couldn’t help but giggle, even though his breath reeked of alcohol.

“It’s only been a few hours?” You said, looking up at him with a raised brow.

“Oh, shut up, that’s too long!” He whined, a pout tugging at his lips. Slash always had been super pouty. You threw an arm around his neck and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“The fuck is this?” Axl’s voice boomed, though he didn’t seem mad. You glanced around and noticed that all eyes were suddenly on you two.

“What do you mean?” It’s not like they didn’t know you two were in a relationship and it’s definitely not the first time you’ve been affectionate with Slash.

“Slash has feelings!” Steven exclaimed, a wide smile on his face.

“We’ve never seen him so...” Duff trailed. “Cuddly?” You shrugged and relaxed back into Slash who stared at you with nothing but fondness in his dazed eyes.

“Why don’t you stick around?” Axl asked. “Keep him in check so we can actually get work done.” You agreed and everyone got back to work.

Except for Slash.

He refused to let go of you for even a second, which made it much harder to play guitar. He zoned out and wouldn’t speak at all. All he did was nuzzle into you, kiss you and run his hands over you, crossing over more and more sensitive spots.

Slash drunk wasn’t your favourite, but him being so openly affectionate was sweet to you. You told yourself it was because he wanted to do it when he was sober but just didn’t have the courage to. It made sense since the main cause of his drinking and drugging was because he was introverted and it made it easier for him to exist with humans.

What started as innocent touches quickly turned sexual as he kept trying to get his hands under your waistband, constantly pulling and tugging at your clothes, kissing your neck and shamelessly grinding his crotch on your ass.

You tried to get him to stop but he wouldn’t, saying he just loved you so much and how he needed this, needed you. The band around you guys kept laughing at it which only spurred Slash on.

It crossed a line when you looked away and Slash lifted your top, revealing your chest on the one day you didn’t feel like putting on a bra.

You pulled your shirt back down and got off of him. “The fuck is wrong with you?” You scolded, glaring down at him. He looked right back up at you with nothing but desire. But he seemed confused, like he didn’t know what he did wrong.

Slash stood and wrapped his arms around your waist. “I just wanna love you.” He mumbled, words slurring together.

“Come on,” Axl teased, “just let him love you.” The rest of them were all giggling as well. You rolled your eyes and stormed off, angrily dragging Slash behind you, ignoring how he stumbled on his own feet to keep up with you.

Outside their studio space was a long hallway leading into many more hallways and a few more studios but among them were janitorial closets and other small rooms for little things scattered between. Perfect for you to push Slash into.

You locked the door behind you with the intent to scold him but he was already on his knees and tugging on your waistband again. “Slash, are you kidding me?”

“No.” He answered in a cheeky tone, big smile and giggling as he pulled your pants down. You should’ve stopped him but you didn’t want to. His touches bothered you in front of everyone but you couldn’t say no when he could make you feel so good.

Slash pulled your panties down and licked between your folds, licking up your slick before focusing on your clit. He couldn’t stop giggling which only sent vibrations straight through you. Your hands buried in his curls as your hips bucked to meet his lips, bordering riding his face. He didn’t even seem to notice, getting off on giving you pleasure.

You caught him palming himself through his leather pants so you kicked his hand away. “Only good boys get to cum.” You said, voice breathy as you continued to push his face into you. His hands gripped your thighs, needing to occupy them somehow so he wouldn’t touch himself he pushed one finger into you before adding another.

The small closet quickly filled with your moans and Slash’s muffled giggling along with lewd noises. You were sure that if anyone passed by they would hear but right now you didn’t care as your first high crashed down on you and you held Slash’s lips to your clit as you gushed on his face.

You pulled away and Slash’s body relaxed. He’d been holding himself up on his knees but he let himself hit the ground, now looking up at you like a proud puppy.

[vigilskeep]

a quick guide to dog lords, telling your arls from your teyrns, and generally how ferelden works

okay, this isn't quite what anon asked for, by which i mean not at all, but unfortunately they activated my interest in some of my favourite lore. it should hopefully contain a lot of the relevant stuff and i’ll try to branch out to less fereldan specific information in other posts!

okay, let’s start with the hierarchy. there’s four kinds of noble in ferelden

royalty: you know who these guys are. except for during the orlesian occupation, ever since ferelden became one kingdom, it’s been ruled by the theirin family. which i think is for 388 years, i really hope that’s right, i got out a calculator

teyrns: these are super powerful lords, basically banns so powerful that other banns swear fealty to them. they’re second only to the king, who is essentially just the most powerful one of them. there used to be a lot of them, but with one dynasty in power for so long, that kind of opposition has been eroded away. there are only two remaining: the couslands of highever in the north, and the mac tirs of gwaren in the south

arls: these are extra special banns. they answer to a teyrn or king and hold a strategic fortress for them. we know of six—amaranthine, south reach, denerim, redcliffe, west hills, and edgehall—but i’m unsure if that’s because they are only six or because there are unnamed others

banns: these are your common or garden noble, the lowest ranking and most common. this is your local lord type. they seem to vary the most in power, though, with some banns having big speaking roles in the landsmeet

but i kind of should have written that list in the opposite direction. what do i mean by that? well, in your standard medieval hierarchy, and in a lot of the rest of thedas, power comes down from the king, who lets you hold the land. but in ferelden, most of the land is owned by freeholders: commoners, well-off enough to own their land but still not by any means nobles.

how does that work? well, let’s say i’m a freeholder.

i own my land, but thedas is a rough place. if i want to keep my land, i’d better swear fealty to a bann. i’ll pay him a portion of the goods produced on my land, and in return, he’ll protect my land from anyone wanting to beat me up and take all my goods... and also, you know, not beat me up himself, as he probably would if i didn’t have any bann looking after me. it kind of sounds like he has all the power, right? like a medieval protection racket? it’s certainly how he gets his power and wealth

so i, freeholder harker, have signed up with bann jeff. it makes sense, because he’s the closest to my freehold, and i want soldiers to actually get here in time if i’m in trouble. that’s why my family has been swearing fealty to his family for generations. it’s just how things are done

but the thing is: i hate bann jeff. maybe he takes too much of my harvests, maybe he sides with a different freeholder when we go to him with a dispute, maybe his men don’t mind their pleases and thank yous when they come for my goods. i’m well within my rights to say fuck bann jeff and leave him. especially if there’s another bann nearby who would be perfectly happy to take my goods instead and treat me right. and the less freeholders bann jeff has, the less resources and men he has to make a fuss about it with. if bann jeff pisses off enough people, he might not have any freeholders left at all. and where will his wealth and power come from then? maybe soon he won’t be a bann at all

of course, bann jeff’s family might feud with the family of the bann that stole me away for a few hundred years. but that’s hardly my problem, is it? “courting” someone else’s vassals is apparently the biggest cause of conflict within the bannorn

anyway, this isn’t just how banns work; it’s how all power theoretically works in ferelden. there are no serfs/“unfree” men. every peasant has a right to go where he will and choose which freeholder he works for, just as every freeholder has the right to choose their bann, and banns who swear to teyrns can break away. (the latter is probably less common because a teyrn could fuck you up. i’m guessing you’d have to get the king’s backing about it to survive that.) and even the king answers to his lessers in the landsmeet, the super ancient gathering of nobles where law is made, which can override the king on any matter of law. (but they’re not going to do it if the king is really popular or powerful, because. you know. there’s a limit to all things called common sense and they would prefer not to get squashed about it.) but generally, everyone who holds power in ferelden has to curry favours with their so-called lessers in order to keep their goodwill.

everywhere else in thedas thinks this is weird as hell, by the way. having to court the approval of those beneath you? even the king having to do that? wtf? but the level of freedom means everything to fereldans. it’s their highest ideal and they’re really proud of it.

(the people who really don’t have a voice are what the ttrpg calls “low freemen”, which according to its handbook, consists of criminals, prostitutes, and elves. they still have the right to freedom of movement and to be paid for their work, but they’re not going to have freeholders and banns seeking their favour and speaking for them, and they typically have to resort to bribery for entrance to cities, their homes are bought and sold by others on a whim, things like that. ultimately it makes their position incredibly vulnerable to abuse, as we see in the games. i’m sure we’ve all played the tabris origin. there’s a reason the potential boon to get a bann for the alienage is so wild.)

so, let’s say you made it, everyone loves and/or tolerates you, and you’re a noble. what good does that do you and what can you do? firstly, you have a voice in the landsmeet, which is super important and means the king wants your goodwill and advice. more generally, you have three basic functions of a noble: raising taxes/tribute, commanding soldiers, and dispensing justice. nobles are expected to live off the wealth provided by their land and it would be hugely looked down on if they did work instead, with exceptions for, like, military careers and the chantry, which are respectable for their status. they raise militia from the commoners when necessary, and they also have trained soldiers or possibly knights (see postscript) in their service. that means you can protect your land and you can win glory and spoils when the kingdom goes to war, it also means you’ll be expected to provide those men when your liegelord calls for them. and lastly the law is their responsibility. remember how in the awakening dlc you had to make judgements as the arl of amaranthine? like that! the smaller scale you are, the smaller scale it’s going to be. in turn, if you want a dispute sorted by a higher power, you have to go up to your liegelord, maybe a teyrn or the king, or if you can’t get one of them, a more powerful bann or arl in the area. possibly the chantry would be an alternate option? if it’s just about finding someone you will both listen to, which is usually the main issue

some privileges other than the standard “power over those beneath you” that you can typically expect to belong to the noble class, even if it’s not specific to dragon age: the right to carry a sword, the right to have a coat of arms, the right to precedence on formal occasions and a special seat up front in your local chantry... sometimes niche ones, like fabrics and clothing that are only permissible to wear for people of a certain rank, so it distinguishes them. you can expect favours from/common class interests with your king, you would expect to be given a trial or treated chivalrously if things did not go your way, depending on era you might be captured for ransom in battle rather than killed outright, you probably have exemptions from certain royal taxation... etc. etc.

that’s what i have! i hope these are some helpful fundamentals and that anyone who has more knowledge than me on any aspect feels welcome to contribute it

P.S. as an aside, i’m a little confused about the fereldan use of knights. they definitely exist as lesser nobility, but i don’t understand how they fit into the hierarchy. a real knight was typically a vassal who held land from his liegelord and fought for him in exchange. i... don’t know how that works in the context of land ownership mostly going upwards. they’re definitely around, anyone addressed as ser is a knight, you have the knights of redcliffe and people like ser jory and ser cauthrien. (someone in an order like the templars has the rank of knight and gets ser and everything, but is not a noble.) as a rule of thumb i think generally they’re probably just members of noble families with that dedicated military training and no greater title to lay claim to? i’m basing that on stuff like nathaniel howe being sent as a squire to his mother’s cousin, a chevalier; if he’d completed that he probably would have been a knight unless/until he inherited his father’s place? i don’t know. i’m making this up. and on the other hand, there’s very little distinction in fereldan between your regular noble and a some kind of warrior class, which is why i struggle to see the purpose. (there are also inexplicable career soldiers who are not knights. what the hell is funding that upkeep and armour, buddy. you and whose land ownership? this is why you were fighting the darkspawn with your whole arms out, aveline. stop trying to imply ferelden has a standing army you can go off and join. yes i see you carver lore. i will not buy it.) ANYWAY, because knights are more prevalent in certain areas, i do wonder if it’s an import from the long orlesian occuption, based on the knightly order of chevaliers? i don’t fucking know. worth chewing on

[genericpuff]

I know LO has been over for a while but something that's always confused me is the 10 year punishment thing. (I dropped the comic before the judgment so correct me if im wrong)

apparently Persephone was sentenced to 10 years in the mortal realm. Yet she complains that Zeus keeps extending her punishment but the timeskip only ends up being 10 years? (From 20 yrs old to 30). that makes it sound like she had a shorter sentence that was extended to 10 yrs (what a fuckin slap on the wrist if it was).

Either her punishment was 10 yrs and Perse was just banking on early parole release or she always had a short sentence which ended up being a measly 10 yrs anyway.

But then that would mean Demeter's punishment period was either tied directly to Persephone's or (for some reason) she had a full 10 yr sentence while Persephone got an initial shorter period

If it's not either of those then shouldn't her punishment be longer? 11, 12, 15, 20 yrs instead? Would make more sense that she was mad if she had to serve at least twice as long as she was told to

Ah so actually she wasn't sentenced to 10 years, she was basically sentenced to a perpetual punishment until Zeus felt certain conditions were met, such as her filling all of the responsibilities of Demeter and turning Minthe back to normal.

So the reason it wound up being 10 years was because Zeus kept finding reasons to extend the sentencing, clearly in an attempt to keep her away from Apollo as he was already suspecting that he might use Persephone's fertility goddess powers to overthrow him.

(joke's on Zeus though, he was overthrown with a poison cupcake lmaooo)

That said, Persephone was... really dumb when she failed her 10th inspection. Primarily because she broke one of the rules Zeus put in place for her before he did the inspection-

Like it's really funny in hindsight to read this scene because at the time the narrative was definitely trying to make us believe that Zeus was the bad guy here, and to a point he's definitely fucking around and not actually planning on letting her out of confinement while also doing jack shit to get to the bottom of his own suspicions regarding his son... but also girl, if your plan was to prove to Zeus that you had filled your end of the bargain, then why try and give him the letter prior to your once-a-year inspection? Either you're failed again over some arbitrary made-up bullshit reason so you can use the guilt-trip method after he's already screwed you over, or best case, you pass and you can deliver the letter to Hades yourself! It was a really dumb move on her part to immediately jump to asking him to bend the rules he made for her when she should know Zeus isn't gonna feel obligated to 'owe' her anything, and is completely contrary to her being as "smart and cunning" as the narrative tries to make us believe (remember when she hustled Hades at chess and lied to him about having a driver's license? where's that Persephone?)

And yeah Zeus really isn't wrong when it comes to how Persephone herself is such a "uwu look at me I'm a smol widdle baby girl, please break the terms of my punishment for me because I asked with tented eyebrows bats eyelashes" , this is honestly why so many people like Zeus as a character in LO contrary to how much the narrative tries to make us hate him, because while he's absolutely an asshole who deserves to be knocked down a peg, at least the narrative doesn't try to gaslight us into thinking he's a good person like it does with H x P. Zeus is a shithead but unapologetically authentic; Persephone and Hades both pretend like they're saints on earth (and the narrative tries to sell them to us as such) meanwhile they're constantly picking on lower class people and using their power and influence to get their way even when they haven't earned it.

But also yeah, it's funny how the fans will say "age doesn't matter when you're a god, time doesn't mean anything when you're immortal" to dismiss the massive age gap between Hades and Persephone, but then cry foul over Zeus keeping her in confinement for 10 years which is a pretty bare ass minimum sentence when you really think about it. Like, if the passage of time really is that inconsequential to a god, then how is 10 years even a punishment? It's only suddenly seen as a massively unfair punishment when it's Persephone who's suffering it.