#but also don't listen to these with these two in mind

[inimitable-ability]

C - crack baby - mitski / california dreamin' - the mamas & the papas

A - autofiction detail - la dispute / alrighty aphrodite - peach pit / anthems for a seventeen year-old girl - broken social scene

S - some kind of cowgirl - slothrust / sweet cis teen - dazey and the scouts / shake, shake, shake - bronze radio return

S - sad boys - dazey and the scouts / sedona - houndmouth / sleeping on the blacktop - colter wall / smile like you mean it - the killers

I - in a world possessed by the human mind - the tragically hip / i don't owe you - latter

D - damini - uss (ubiquitous synergy seekers) / DLZ - tv on the radio

Y - your woman - white town / you weren't meant to see that - the rare occasions / you hear yes - destroy boys, mannequin pussy, scowl

i am indecisive man so every single letter has. at least two songs. and you should listen to all of them i think. also why do like no fucking songs start with c

@clowntownirl you are like the only person i can tag do Not fail me

MOOT / TAG GAME !

mission— spell your real name / name you use on tumblr with songs you like >< ready, set, go !

m — my love, mine all mine (mitski)

i — i love you, i’m sorry (gracie abrams)

c — coraline (lyn lapid)

k — killshot (magdalena bay)

i — i know you (faye webster)

e — either way (ive)

tagging— @puma-riki @flwrstqr @liwinly @woniefication @lilificationn @stvrriki @okwonyo + anyone else who wants to join !

[pellucid-constellations]

Erstwhile

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's Sister!Reader

Summary: You've fallen ill. No one knows what's wrong. No one knows what's to come.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Angst & Illness ✌🏻

a/n: This is a prequel to this fic, but can be read alone if you don't want to get into that lol. Again, I've completely changed the timeline for Rhysand's family, but this takes place after the first war. Also this is my warm up and I haven't written in two months so sorry if it's weird or whatevs love youuu :p

another part of this universe

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

Azriel tucked the errant strand of hair behind your ear that had been bothering him the entire afternoon, the heat of your cheek lingering on his fingers. You did your best to hide the fatigue that followed you in the simple turn of your head, but Azriel could spot it anywhere. Azriel could tell everything about you with one look. 

“Any better?” he softly asked. 

You smiled, and he heard the lie before it left your lips. “I’m feeling perfectly fine. I promise.” 

Azriel hummed. He slid next to you on the loveseat, wings hanging over the back to brush against yours. You fell against him instantly. He tried not to feel worried by the blatant affection you so readily offered directly in front of your brother. 

Rhysand didn’t even make the usual disgusted grimace he so favored in jest. Instead, the High Lord leaned his elbows forward to rest on his knees, the open balcony doors behind him a backdrop for yet another serious conversation. 

“Nothing is progressing.” 

Azriel took in your brother’s words, eyes not leaving your flushed face that rested in the crook of his shoulder. “I assumed.” 

“It’s been four days. Fever, vomiting—she sleeps the entire day. No one… Azriel, you’ve brought in every specialist in Night. No one knows what’s wrong,” Rhys rambled, his words getting caught in the stickiness of his throat. 

“I know,” Azriel choked out himself. He adjusted you against him and you didn’t wake. He knew as soon as he sat down that you were going to fall asleep once more. 

The room was then blanketed in silence. If he listened keenly enough, Azriel could hear Rhysand’s teeth grind together from the tenseness of his jaw. The High Lord brought a hand up to harshly scrub down the stubble he hadn’t had the mind to shave. 

“Cassian’s checking the camps for Illyrian flu,” Azriel offered. 

“It’s not that.” 

“I know.” 

You groaned softly and your expression pinched. Azriel relished in the sound—in the gentle motion of your breathing. 

“Dawn?” Rhysand asked. 

“Just waiting on a reply.” 

Rhysand blew out a long breath, leaning back in the armchair he refused to leave. He knocked back a short class of amber liquid and turned his chin to look out beyond the mountain. Azriel remained frozen. 

This sickness had come on suddenly, prefaced by several long trips across the continent. There was no way of knowing what had caused it because you had been everywhere, so dead set on rallying the courts to amicable relations following the outcome of the war. Azriel had told you to slow down—everyone had told you—but you were too headstrong for your own good. 

It had begun with sleepiness, more difficulty waking you up, and then Azriel’s true alarm came at your rising fever and lack of appetite. And it was all getting worse. Mor was still in Dawn attempting to work out a possible healer, but there was hesitation there. You had been in Dawn just last month; there was no telling if they could even trust those in Dawn. 

Azriel leaned down to press his lips along your hairline. He lingered there, closing his eyes and pretending that none of this was happening. 

“We’ll figure this out,” he whispered into your hair. To you, to Rhysand—to himself. 

When you woke, it was after several long minutes of silence, the beats of stagnant air accompanied by both men taking long glances in your direction. Your deep intake of breath was followed by Azriel turning you to get a better look at your beginning of consciousness. You brought a hand up to rub at your eyes and blink away yet another nap. Your sixth of the day, Azriel counted. 

“Good morning,” you mumbled, all blearily and completely unaware that it was well into the evening at this point. Azriel did not correct you. You clutched his shirt in between your fingers, and a small swell of panic met the relief you showed at seeing him. “Rhys—” 

“I’m right here,” your brother called from across the room. “Haven’t left.” 

“Oh.” You ran a hand over your hair, which Azriel quickly replicated to smooth down the strands you displaced. “Sorry, I thought—Is it lunch yet? Mor and I were going to get lunch.” 

Your attempt to play off the panic was graciously accepted by Rhys, who engaged you in a conversation about your cousin’s whereabouts. 

Since getting sick, each time you woke up, you sought out your brother. Azriel had taken some offense to it at first. He was your mate, had been for years, and he had an intrinsic need to be the one to take care of you. 

But you didn’t do it on purpose, he knew. He had to remind himself that you grew up with Rhys for decades before he had formally met you, and it was easier for fae children to get sick. You had been through several bouts of flu with your family before you had been mated, and this was you seeking out comfort in the ways you knew. 

Rhysand didn’t seem to want to part with you in this state either. 

You didn’t leave Azriel’s side, resting your head by his collarbone as you spoke with your brother.

Eventually, the High Lord heaved himself up from his chair and rested his hand on your forehead, a flicker of a grimace preceding the kiss he pressed to your hair. He left the room with a pointed stare towards Azriel. Take care of her, it said, but Azriel did not need the reminder. 

When your brother’s footfall became too distant to hear, you let out a sigh. “He is probably so behind.” 

Azriel craned his neck down slightly. “What do you mean?” 

“He is High Lord,” you explained, sinking further into your mate when his hand rested on the back of your head. “And his emissary is down. Not to mention the rest of his circle is too occupied with finding an answer to whatever is wrong with me to do anything of substance. And he’s here every time I wake. He is probably drowning in paperwork and missives.”

“He wants to make sure you’re alright.” 

“I am a burden right now.” 

“He doesn’t see it that way. No one does.” 

“I don’t understand what’s wrong with me,” you said next, exhaustion lining each word. 

“I know,” Azriel whispered, the reply like a mantra. He knows, he knows, he knows. And yet he can’t do a single thing. “I know, angel. But we will figure it out. I love you. I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

“I know,” you repeated. “I know, Az. I love you, too.”

part two

[sweetsbelcva]

Castle Crumbling | Jack Abbot x Reader

⟡ He seems to know you better than anyone. A bloody nose and a quiet moment get him talking more than he wants to and feels the wall crumbling.

— fem!reader. No body/appearance descriptions. Age gap (20s and 40s). Reader is a resident and Jack the attending. Mentions of blood. Moments before a mass casualty event. Grumpy x Sunshine kind of.

a/n: This will have more parts because i want to explore this dynamic and i have more ideas but feel free to request and join the conversation!

Jack has never met someone that keeps him on the edge. Never. Veteran, an attending physician, and famous for his stoic face. There's no way you're breaking him.

"Hey, give me a break alright?" you say, sarcastic tone on each of your words.

Jack lets out a scoff that seemed a little too amused, arms crossing over his chest at your request. He looked at you like he was about to tell you to suck it up and get back in the ring.

"A break?" he asked, but his tone was softer than usual. Not exactly concerned,because this was you, after all. But still. "You okay?," his eyes lingered on your face for a moment too long. "You look like hell."

"I know, thank you!" You chuckle, getting ready to go stand close to the pink zone with Mel. Looking around the ER everyone looked tired until a second ago, a mass casualty coming in.

"Where do you think you are going?" he asked dryly, stopping you in your tracks with a firm hand on your shoulder although it was obvious it was a command. He looks for your gaze, you do look like hell.

He didn't even need to tell you why. You already knew exactly why he was pulling you back. He knew you hated being treated like a kid, but there was a slight look of worry on his face. He knows you, maybe too much already.

"But- Dr. Robby said..."

"I don't care what Robby said." the grip on your wrist tightening a little bit as he pulled you closer by his side. He had an annoyingly good way of making you feel so small, basically wrapping you up in his palm.

"You go to the sidelines" Or with me, his mind finished, but he didn't dare say it out loud. "Until you feel better" his eyes scan your face.

"Mel needs help," you say, knowing any excuse that i give him isn't enough.

Goddammit. He heard your excuse, rolling his eyes again. He was so tired of the constant power struggle between the two of you. You were relentless when it came to trying to defy him. He had an urge to just throw you over his shoulder and put you in the break room just so you wouldn't get into any trouble.

"You are my resident." He argued. "That means you listen to what i say."

You look at him, his gaze is heavy on you. Looking for any sign on his face. Her reminds professional, but also controlling.

"Alright," you say, hiding the smile that was coming off your lips. It falls as a smirk. "I’ll do what you say, fine"

He caught your smirk for a flash, raising an eyebrow as he noticed you trying to hide it. But he said nothing about it, letting his hand slowly drop from your wrist.

"Good" he said simply, returning to rearrange his go-bag with a few practical kits. But before you could run free again, he caught the slight frown on your face "Come with me."

You nod, following him. At the center of the pitt Dana is yelling the first ambulances will arrive in exactly five minutes.

Jack gave one last look around the entire pitt before he started walking, keeping a close watch on you to make sure you were following.He lead you to a spot in the hallway with an empty gurney, resting his left hand on the bed as he gestured for you to sit.

"Sit there" he said dryly, disappearing into a small supply closet before he pulled out a pack of gauzes.

"What?" you ask, sitting down. Then you see him disappear but a strange ring in your ears comes, blood running down your nose. You see him come out of the supply closet. It’s like he knew.

You place your fingers on the bridge of your nose, pinching softly and lean your head back. "How did you know?"

Jack rolled his eyes again at your shocked and confused face, letting out a soft scoff as he walked towards you— stopping right in front of you.

"i know you more than you think, smartass." He confesses. He gently, but firmly, grasped your chin between his fingers. "Let me see."

You gasp at his touch, the blush in your face doesn’t go unnoticed.

"It's fine" you say, letting him take care of you. Your heart beats so fast you’re scared he will listen. Your blood soaked hand hanging in the air.

Jack lets out a soft grunt as he took your hand in his. He always seemed so stoic and expressionless to everyone else, but he he was actually a huge softie when it came to you. In his head, at least.

Jack started to clean up the blood with a gauze, soft touches, making sure to clean you up without hurting you unnecessarily.

"I told you not to overexert yourself"

"Seriously, how did you see this coming?"

"I have my eye on you all the time." he said bluntly, throwing away the soaked gauze in his hand. He gently held your chin again, tilting your head towards him to properly look up your nose. He had a serious yet focused look on his face he was more concerned than he let on.

"I'm fine, Dr. Abbot" you say, it comes out more unsettling, your feelings bubbling up inside you. You can't help but smile softly at the fact he has his eye on you.

Secretly, he’s enjoying looking after you, care touches and his controlling demeanor.

"The hell you aren't, smartass" Jack said, scoffing softly as he leaned in closer and he started to help plug up your nose, pausing to look at you again.

"Well, you are a smartass too"

"Sure" he shrugs, his touch leaving your skin. Already missing the contact. "It helps me to do my job, but somehow you always seem to disarm me"

There was an amused look on your face as he secured the gauze properly in your nose. The bleeding would stop soon and you'd be able to go back to work.

You froze once he spoke, raising an eyebrow at his confession. Disarm?

"Is it because we argue?" you ask, your tone shy now.

"Oh please," he said dryly, his attention now directed back to you. He couldn't ignore the way his breath caught up on his throat as he looked at you. "Everyone knows you have some sort of way to get under my skin"

"Oh... But it's fun" you say, shrugging your shoulders.

"Fun?" his face not changing from the usual dry look. He was used to everyone looking at him with respect, never daring to push his buttons. But you did.

"Thank you... by the way"

You fall into a silence, a comfortable one. While you admire his features and he turns away, grunting and looking around the ER.

Jack places his palms against the gurney, and each arm around you almost cages you in. The sound of the ambulances and people already running out to help gets him out off his trance. He grunts again, getting up to stand tall again and not looking at you. He had said some things to you... It was better not to speak again unless its work related.

"Let’s go save some lives, Dr. Abbot" you break the silence again. Ignoring the pang in your chest as he pulls away from your body.

He knew you were right, it definitely wasn't the time to be distracted by you. He'd be an idiot to say that you weren't distracting, but he had to focus on work right now—not whatever it was that was going on between the two of you.

⟡ If you like it please reblog and comment. If you want more you can request!

⟡ dividers by cafekitsune / gif by patrick-stewart

[lin-sterling]

my hot take on bodies

now listen, I'm not here to debate anyone or god forbid analyze whatever heteronormative lens people use for their gay glasses, okay.

I'm only interested in being horny and sharing my headcanons.

so, Hans is like an inch or two taller than Henry and I love it.

but I imagine him a lot slimmer than Henry and I don't care about game models.

he's still muscular mind you but in an... sort of elven smooth kind of way. he is long and lean and more elegant. narrow palms, thinner fingers, etc. and he has less body hair and what he has is blond because carpet matches the drapes so it adds to that elven look.

Henry is b e e f y, okay. and hairy. not smooth at all. big juicy pectorals he's more stocky and he has that "I could bench press three children at the same time and you know I'd also be a great dad to them" look lmao.

BUT and this is important. neither of them are shredded and dehydrated like a dried fish. Henry loves food and he's been a lazy fuck living in his parents house for 20 years of his life. sure, blacksmithing and all, but that just means he probably has killer arms and stamina. but he isn't a bodybuilder. I'd say he has a healthy amount of padding pretty much everywhere.

and the only common thing Hans has with a fish is that they both breathe liquids, only Hans uses alcohol instead of water. do you know how many calories there are in alcohol? even with all of his training and hunting that has to go somewhere. he is an archer and a swordsman and... his belly is probably not a perfect washboard, he is a little bit soft there. and his ass is nice and round from all the sitting around in a bathtub he does lol.

stay tuned for more of my ramblings written right after I've flopped out of bed without turning on the ol' brain

p.s. there are tons of amazing art out there but I'm not basing my thoughts on any drawing, none of them are fully what I'm imagining and I can't really draw myself so... rambling about it will have to do

[blue-wolfe]

Hello hello! I want to ask you because I love baking sometimes even while re-listening Camp here and there so I want to ask two things

★•What are the characters favourite baked goods if they have any (for Sydney because I'm so thoughtful I guess like his favorite milkshake or whatever.)

And the other question:

★•What should I bake next while listening to camp here and there because I have no idea and my family isn't giving me suggestions (Keep in mind I'm not too much of a talented baker)

It can also be your favorite baked good I don't know

Sydney likes lavender honey butter cookies :) But it's probably a treat for him to have any flowers baked into a butter cookie. He's a big "bitter" taste fan, like the taste of flowers, considering he notably drinks tea on the regular.

Jedidiah seems like the type of guy to like a pumpkin pie, if ya know what I mean, and anything cinnamon, ginger, or spicy.

Yvonne likes anything lemon, such as lemon tarts or lemon cake. Joshua is a fan of alcohol reductions like bourbon cake, cherries jubilee, etc.

Marisol loves a good pudding, creme brulee, or custard, especially mango pudding. Salem likes egg tarts and anything with a nutty flavor.

Juniper likes coffee cake, coffee desserts like tiramisu, or A Good Scone. Rowan enjoys plain vanilla because he's easily overwhelmed by strong tastes. Just a scoop of vanilla ice cream for him, thank you.

Soren doesn't like sweets. He avoids them. At most he'll eat that hard candy with bugs in it.

None of this is remotely relevant to the narrative, and I'd never thought about it until now.

[yutassweetangel]

𐙚 my hero

ii. saturdays

{spiderman!scaramouche x reader}

YOUR POV

As you woke up that morning, you were immediately sick in the gut. Lumine likes scaramouche. Sweet baby lumine, likes disgusting wretched scaramouche.

The thought alone made your stomach turn and twisting in knots. And she, expected you, you, to be kind to him of all people. At least show some decency, she said which made your stomach churn the more.

You would have to commit the impossible for your best friend.

_

Trudging into the school building, you feel something hard bumps into you. To no surprise at all, it's Scaramouche.

Right, decent.

"Hey, Scara." You greeted, bitting the inside of your teeth—and tasting iron in the process— in an effort to not curse at him.

He, immediately, raised a brow, not sure to believe what he just heard. You guys were rivals, you never exchanged greeting. Only curses, middle fingers and insults.

He looked around, as though trying to find some kind of hidden camera in the school hall, nope. none. You were actually greeting Scaramouche Kunikuzushi Raiden.

"This is a joke, right?" He asked, like he was still trying to see the joke behind all this. "Is this some sort of prank?" you shook your head, and he snickered.

"if your trying to be nice to me for, some reason beyond me, like, trying to get me to like you? then forget it." He said, folding his hands with mockery written all over his face.

Ah, now that's why you hated him,

He was an irritating, egotistical, narcissistic jerk.

"Well, it's not for that reason. Believe me I wouldn't want you liking me for any reason whatsoever." you pointed out, matter—of—factly

"Whatever makes you kill yourself." how about you kill yourself, huh? You said, silently. "I don't have your time so I'll go to class now, if you don't mind." not that you needed his permission. You huffed walking away from Scara when he opened his stupid big mouth again to saying another meaningless thing.

"You know no one's in the school except for us, right?" he said, crossing his hands and doing that sassy stance he always did to make you feel dumber.

You retorted, "and so?" You turned on your heel, eyeing him up and down. "What are you insisting?" You questioned him. He followed your actions—eyeing you up and down—before responding. "There is no class as of now, you fatuous idiot."

this.... ugh.

He scoffed seeing the annoyed and angry look on your face."I guess your smarter in those pictures the principle loves hanging around." He insulted you before walking off his back turned to you and you had resist the urge to hit the back of his head with a rock.

If there were a day where you could kill anyone on earth, Scara would be the first on your fucking list.

Decent my ass.

I mean, what did lumine see in this guy?

_

_

Well, you friends were of no help.

You peaked over the book that covered your face to see Scaramouche, either listening to music, or chatting with friends on his phone.

It felt so.... awkward. You would wished for someone, anyone to break the silence. And unlucky for you, he did.

"will you stop ogling your eyes over me? It's annoying." He leered and you kinda wished he'd just continued to shut up.

"if you don't like me looking at you then why'd you follow me here?" You retorted, gritting your teeth in between your words. You also slam the book on the table to cause some sort of reaction from him—but he remained unfazed, not even jolting or flinching.

"Excuse you? You followed me, remember? Your afraid of the dark." He said, narrowing his eyes at you in disgust.

And that was true, you were afraid of the dark and it was just becoming morning, and it was still very dark, and you'd rather be with the worst person in the world than being alone, but how did he remember?

You told him you were afraid of the dark years ago when you were on a camp trip in tenth grade and you, Venti, Lumi, Childe and him got lost and you just started venting about the dark because, one, it was dark, two you thought you'd die that day.

It wasn't really a secret, but you didn't expect him to remember, and if he did you expected him to be taunting you.

You pushed these thoughts away though.

"I'm not. I just... prefer to be around people." You said, denying the further—very true—claim. He scoffed, tauntingly. "Then go to a cemetery, there are plenty of people there."

you'd know, huh? You mused, silently.

"Didn't know little miss. perfect could bite." He said and you then realised you said that out loud. Curse his good hearing.

"Whatever, how did remember that I was scared of the dark anyways?" You asked, you curiosity getting the best of you. You just wanted to know, you wanted to stretch the rubber, the rubber that your relationship with him stretched.

In your head, you had a rubber for everyone—friends, family, enemies—to stretch your comfort zone. For every time you ask something weird, or out of place, or uncomfortable.

And right now, this one might just snap.

He looked at you, both amused and unreadable, only Scara could do both at the same time. "What would I gain if I told you?" Of course he wouldn't tell you. He was so.. stubborn. "Come one. Don't be so childish, tell me."

"Childish?" He looked almost offended. Guess you hurt his ego with that one, heh. "Yes, childish." You took a deep breath. This is exactly what you were talking about. Childish. Then, forcefully,continued, "you should really grow up a bit, Scara. We're in our senior year after all."

Then, it hit you like a fucking train. It was your senior year. The final year. And maybe, the last time you'd see scara. I mean you were happy! You really were. But another part of you, was sad.

Again, you shoved all that bullshit away. "Grow up? I think I have clearly grown a lot better compared to you." You clenched your fist. "You've been, what? Five foot three since middle school?" Unclench. Take a deep breath. Don't talk mindlessly.

Nobody—excluding the librarian—was in this room. But the walls had ears, they said. If whatever you say to Scara spread out, before you graduated, your done. Deep friend to the crisp done.

"I could fit you in my luggage., you know?" The rubber might now have snapped, but your patience, you dignity, you sanity—is about to snap. "Look at you! So small, so petite, so frail, so—"

"if I'm so short—" you paused, huffing in anger and emphasising on the short—"then why don't you out some inches in me?" You smirked, as if you solved a difficult equation before everyone else in the class.

What you said wasn't your fault though. Venti, who you realised wasnt a very good influence, used to say this to Zhongli when he used to fancily say he was short. This comment would shut him up.

But then, you realised—Scara isn't Zhongli.

No no no nonononononononono. You didn't mean that. You didn't actually mean to say that. It was a slip of tongue! You kinda—really—hoped he'd ignore it, but telling from his shocked face to smirk, you knew he'd taunt you for this till you die.

"Please ignore tha—" unexpectedly, Scara interrupts you and says something to embarrass you more.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

You. wanted. to. die. That was the last thing both of you said before you went back to both your businesses in the library—even in the awkward silence—before students started pouring in, tired and mumbling curses either at the universe, Adam and Eve for eating that goddamn apple, or the school.

You stood up, ready to get to class before you caught, from your peripheral vision, Scara sleeping peacefully, slumped over with his head resting on the surface of the table.

At first, you snickered. Thinking of the devious things you could write on his face with a Sharpie while he slept, but then another train hit you—this time a little harder than the first time—he was actually.... cute? When he didn't speak, of course.

However, you realised—WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING? Scara? Cute? Haha, kill yourself.

You quickly pulled a Sharpie out, and drew on his face, a little cat nose and whiskers before walking triumphantly to class, ignoring any of those... things you thought earlier. You'd rather walk dead than thing that vacuous imbecile cute. Ha, cute. Don't make me laugh.

_

"wait, wait, wait. Slow down." Your friend, Hu Tao stopped you mid-ranting. "Your telling me, he remembered you were afraid of your the dark.. and you didn't hop on his dick right then and there?" She said and you couldn't help but roll your eyes.

"Not helping, one and Lumine likes him, two." You said before continuing on to the part where you... told him to put some inches in you.

Despite this being the most horrifying thing to ever happen to you, this caused Hu Tao to let out a fit of laughter. "Wait, what? LMAO did you actually say that?" She exclaimed, causing people to side–eye you from afar.

"Shhh, be quiet, and yes unfortunately, I did." You drag your hand into your hair in frustration and embarrassment. "Damn, why didn't he fuck you then?"

"Bro!" Why did you have such senseless friends? This is why you talk to lumi about this stuff, but you couldn't tell your best friend that you told her crush—your enemy—to fuck some inches into you.

"Ok, ok," she raised her hands up as if in surrender. "Uh, just, let it pass?" You groan. Knowing Scara, the last thing he'd do is let you forget you ever said that. He'd the type of person to post a tweet saying: remember that time you said that thing in the library and tag you with a smiling face with three hearts. That's just Scara for you.

You bury your face in your hands and groan at the thought. You slide your hands down your face, wiping your palms on your face and sighed in frustration. "I'm going to go to class." You say, already getting up.

"Why?" She asked, looking like a five year old asking you how sex worked. "Because I don't want to speak to you anymore." Is what you would've said if you weren't such a nice friend. "I need to help the teacher with something earlier." Hu Tao nodded, opening a box of cookies and cream pocky she had been saving since.

You walk towards class, your friends still filled with thoughts of the incident in the library—what if he tells Lumine? Or worst, if he tells the whole school. What if he actually takes it seriously? gasp what if he tells Childe.

All these filled your mind before the scent of something burning crossed last your nostrils, squeezing your lungs of the stench. Smoke. Was something burning?

You rushed quickly to where the scent was more prominent, making your way to the school garden filled with multiple non-toxic flowers like tulips and jasmine's—the multicoloured tulips of blue, orange, pink, complimenting the plain white jasmines. It was... surreal to look at.

The garden was popular for confessions, or where couples hung out, or where wanna-be-influencers took sceneric photos of themselves. Or where you stayed when you wanted some peace and quiet. The birds chirping, the sky greeting you, the fairy lights on the fences—which only glowed at night—making it looks aesthetically pleasing.

And not to mention, the most important part of this whole garden, the big oak tree in the middle of the tulips and jasmines, surrounded by fairy lights covered fences. It was magical. If you were younger, you would've wanted to build a tree house on that tree and never leave.

Either way, you approach the tree, scrunching up your nose when you realise the scent is coming from behind the tree. And what was behind the tree didn't shock you all too much, but it did amaze you: Scara, that purple headed bastard, under the tree smoking a cigar in the morning.

You watched as he inhaled and exhaled the intoxicated air like it was a breathe of fresh air. You could never understand smokers. What you thought was burning was not the school, but rather Scara's lungs.

You watched immensely as he repeated his actions, watching as his lung probably cried for help and cried for him to stop before he dies, but he continues anyways, unaware of how much damage was going on to his body. And he was a biology major for that matter.

"Gonna continue watching me or are you gonna come over here?" said the gremlin. "What—im not watching! In my defense, I thought something was burning. I didn't know a biology student who knew what smoking does to his lungs was smoking up a blunt here. If I did, I wouldn't have even come here—" You explained, stopping when you realised you were talking too much, and two, he probably didn't even care.

So, you approached him, resting beside him on the tree, your hands behind your back and propping you off the tree. "Is that so." He finally said, eyeing you from beside you and suddenly making you self-conscious before continuing to smoke.

The air was filled with silence—and smoke—and you didn't even realise why you were here, sharing your morning with Scaramouche. Again.

It filled with much rage that your body and mind worked like two different people.

You decided to speak, since he didn't do much of that. "So, you still smoke?" You asked, as if it weren't obvious. You expected a, "no shit, Sherlock." or a, "and grass is green." Comment to come out of him. Maybe even "what do you think I'm doing?" Instead, you given a simple, "yeah.

Yeah. Maybe the cigar did something to him. You were used to his nonchalant attitude, but not towards you.

"Oh, is that so." You should really stop talking and go to class, but another question itched at the back of your brain, and you suddenly didn't want to leave until you had asked it. "Just say it." Scara said, as if knowing you wanted to say something.

"Oh...b—but it's kind of—" he cut you off, smirking, "personal? Just spill it. If I'm uncomfortable then I won't answer." Wow. You surely weren't expecting Scara of all people to be mature about this.

"Unless your asking me to fuck you again." There it is. The teasing Scara you were accustomed to. You take a deep, staggered breath before speaking, "do you.. still do drugs?" You immediately wanted to stop. You weren't close enough to be doing this. The rubber band was snapping slowly.

"No, I try not to." He said simply and you wanted to kill yourself. Maybe you should take Kokomi's advice. "Oh, well, that's cool." That was all you said before the two of you went back to silence.

Why were you even here? Weren't you going class or something? How did you get here?

Suddenly, Scara throws the cigar in the ground, crushing it under his designer shoes and tucking his hands into his even more designer jacket.

And all of a sudden you felt self-conscious, but kept affirming yourself that you didn't need designer to look cute—you thought in your baggy grey sweatshirt and jeans.

A smile creeps up on his face, "Race you too class?"

"What—?" Before you could even process the challenge, he's already sprinting to class, looking back at you to stick his tongue out before facing forward. You immediately followed his actions, sprinting forward, a few spaces behind him.

Looking at the nape of his neck and wishing you could stab into it and watch blood gush out it.

When you get to class, panting and bent down with your hands on your knees to catch your breath. You see Scara leaning on the wall beside the class door, arms folded and a triumph look on his face. He was sweaty, but not breathless. At least not as you were.

"I won, you lost." He declared before smirking his smirk of mockery and entering class while you stood there, still panting.

Twenty-fifth. That was the twenty-fifth time Scara best you at something. You always counted it in your head mentally how many times you best him—how many he beat you. It was stupid, dumb even. But it felt so good when you rang in your head a twenty or a score higher than that in your head every time you beat him.

Right now, you two were tied. You didn't want to count it as a win, but a win was a win. If you were better, faster, you would've won him despite being far behind.

You let a grunt that came out more like a whimper due to just running to class without even stretching. You cursed Scara's name.

To your delite, the class door opens again, and without looking up, you immediately start insulting the person in front of you, thinking it to be Scara. "You vacuous asshole! That was an unfair race! I call for a rematch."

You suddenly look up to find a longer pair of legs wearing blue, torn jeans, a plain button up shirt and a confused look on his face. Childe. His ginger hair bounces as he tilts his head slightly, face flushed and his veiny arm—which you would would choke you, in a non-kinky way of course—reach to the back of his head, scratching it.

"Ohmyfuckinggosh—" you cursed, standing straight now and a hand slapped over your mouth in both shock and for shutting yourself up. "Hey yn—"

"That wasn't meant for you." You cut him off, not meaning to. A pause of silence passes. "Huh?" He said, almost dumbfounded, as though he didn't hear you just curse out his purple-headed friend earlier.

"What I'm saying is—i mean— sorry?" You apologised, coming out like a question. You didn't know whether you should kill yourself or kill Scara for this mess. For one, you were sweating, patches of visible on your forehead and underarm. Second, you were caught not being... The brightest person in front of your crush.

"Oh, no. no, no, no." He repeated his no's, getting lower each time he did. You wished you could make his voice your new alarm in the morning.

"You don't have to do that. Your not insulting me, right?" He reassured, giving that that rivalled even summer. A smile that made flowers grow in your stomach and your heart to kick the heck out your ribcage. "Oh, yeah. Of course." You said, trying to sound calm and leaning on an imaginary armrest.

"Anyways," he continued, letting the awkwardness pass, "I just wanted to know if your still on Saturday. I heard your a pretty busy person—" "of course, I'll be there."

Pause. That sounded too eager. Like you were dying to see him on Saturday (Which you were.)

"I mean—yeah, yeah. I'll see if I'm still free on Saturday. And if I'm busy I'll inform you." You went on. "Great! Would love to see you there." Love. He said he'd love to see you there.

And suddenly your day was ten times better. He gave you that signature wink, which looked more like he was blinking than a wink—but it was still cute.

Saturday started to sound like a show which only aired once in while which you were dying to watch.

_

Class was casual. It was normal, until the end where you got a 87.90% on a test.

Hold the phone.

While other cheered at getting just a 60 percent and above, you debated with your teacher, asking him to have a reconsideration, give you a make-up test, at least approximate your score to 90 percent instead that outrageous and selfish 86.90.

Meanwhile, Scara made fun of your desperate from his seat, waving his 98 with his tongue stuck out. It's like the universe was fucking with you today.

"I can give you then 90 percent and that's it." Professor. Alhaitham, your philosophy teacher said, pushing his glasses the met the bridge of his nose. You gave him an exasperated thank's before leaving the classroom to find Scara there, leaning against the wall opposite the door.

Had he been standing there? That's embarrassing.

You snorted at the thought of him just standing here for the past five,ten, maybe twenty minutes, just waiting as people walked passed him, giving him weird looks.

He cleared his throat. "Anything funny?" You shake your head, rolling your head in the process. "Yeah, but I wouldn't tell you." He repeats your action, rolling his eyes too. "Whatever."

He pushes himself off the wall, and was now standing a few inches away from you. He wasn't that tall, but you still had to look up to see his unbearable and disgusting face. "Two points for me, zero for you. How does it feel to be a loser?" He said, egotistically, and you couldn't help but scoff. "I expect a award, you know, maybe a gift." You answered jokingly and it was his time to scoff. "Wouldn't you be a good girl and like to get a reward?"

This bitch. Why did he have to make everything kinky.

"I didn't—i didn't mean it like that." You sudden confidence wavered. Your face was now heated. "Aha!" He exclaimed, like he just discovered something that could change the world forever. "So, you're a prude."

"What—" you said in disbelief. "I am not! I'm just... Shocked." You defended yourself, hugging yourself and tugging at your sleeve.

"Prude." He repeated.

A frown, soon followed by a deep sigh escapes your lips, "not."

"Prude."

"Not."

"Then you have a praise kink."

"The fuck. No."

"Yes, you do."

"No."

"Yes—"

The both of you go back and forth for a while before you realise—what was the point of this. You sighed, pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. He was stubborn, you'd give him that. "Ugh. I don't have time for this." You groan, kind of admitting defeat. "So, you admit you have a praise kink and a prude?" /

"That's not what i—ugh, forget it. Reasoning with you is as round as circle." You bellowed, your patience wearing thin. "What's that meant to mean?" He asked, brow raised. You didn't know what it meant either. "I guess I'm saying is that... It's like going in circles." You explained as though you were explaining maths to a second grader.

He snorted, "that's dumb."

"Whatever." Was all you said before walking away.

_

_

You rolled in your bed, curled up with your dove covering your whole body, leaving your head pocking out, head and phone buried under it. I

In the dark, the other source of light provided was the blue ray of your phone as you let out a sigh. You don't know how many you've let out just today. Suddenly you get a text from Childe.

_

_

Right. Saturday. Saturday might just be your new favourite thing. Maybe name your child Saturday and explain to them why. "Well, mommy and daddy actually fell in love on a Saturday."

But you were getting ahead of yourself. Saturday hadn't even come yet. You just had to wait.

_

Soon enough, Saturday comes rolling around. When you wake up, you breathe in the fresh air which smelled like—a dead rat?

You sniffed the air some more, confirming what you just smelled. Yep, that's definitely a dead rat roaming around your room. You moved closer to find the rat under your sink plumbing system.

You scrunched up your nose, pinching it your hand and picking up the rat with a piece of paper you found nearby your coffee table. Looked like an old newspaper which you never read.

When that was done you trashed the rat with the rest of your disgusting trash—old paper, black nylon probably filled with a dried, smelly period blood stained pad, mushy, wet rice, rotten apple and other trash considered things.

At 4:31 am (cause you woke up early), you brushed your teeth thoroughly, using that new mint toothpaste that your grandma bought you, took a bath using a body scrub you bought on sale, washed your hair, applying a leave-in conditioner to make it smell nice.

Afterwards, you do your skin care which included a cheap variety of products also bought on sale—a cleanser, a moisturizer you stole from your older sister and sunscreen so you don't, you know, burn.

Then you applied light, clean makeup, apply a fruity perfume dressed in a strawberry print pattern on a white background with a red long sleeved cardigan on top. You paired this with a thin gold necklace and earrings.

By 5:08 you were out with a white messenger bag filled with a laptop, notes and a few necessities—mini makeup bag, lip gloss, perfume, mirror, water etc.

Once you were outside, you regretted your choice of clothing. It was cold once you entered campus grounds—since childe was a boarder.

The cold wind of autumn caresses your skin and you shiver. Suddenly, someone bumps into you and a tired "oh, sorry." Comes from beside you. Followed by the sound of your phone collapsing to the ground.

You reach down to pick it up, reassuring the person when they had already bent down to pick it up for you. You reach up to collect your phone and say thank you when you realise who it was—Scaramouche.

Yep you guessed it.

You immediately change and narrow your eyes. "What are you doing here?" You asked, snatching your phone from him. "Not even a thank you?" He ignored your question, sighing and looking away for a bit before looking back at you.

He wore a black basketball jacket with the letter "S" imprinted onto it paired with a black button up shirt, one button undone. It was a simple choice of fashion, but it still looked expensive and model perfect.

Everything he wore looked expensive and model perfect.

Suddenly, his eyes roamed around your body. And you felt self-conscious, tugging your short red cardigan to cover your—whatever you could cover up.

He looked back at your face, and you swore something flicked in his eyes, or you saw his ears turn a slight shade of pink. Maybe it was the cold or your head playing games with you.

"Well?" You asked again. "Why are you here?" You interrogated him, folding your arms. "Huh? Oh, I live here." He responded hurriedly, pointing at the boarder building which you look over at.

"Oh." Was all you let out, realising you were stupid for questioning him like he was a stalker. "Well—why aren't you in your room?" You continued to question him, like he didn't have the right to walk around where he lived. "Uhh, I was taking a walk."

"Why?"

"Hey, why are you questioning me? Why are you here?" You stayed silent for a moment, almost forgetting your purpose for being here. "I'm here for Childe." You simply said.

"Oh, your date thingy. Well, congratufuckunglations." You knew he didn't meant it. So you huffed when you walked past him before he grabs your wrist, pulling you back in front of him causing you to let out an "ack!"

"What gives?" You asked, the warmth of his hand on your wrist still burning his wrist and out of nowhere, you stopped being cold. "You can't enter in there." He warned.

The fuck? Was this fucker out of his mind?

"Why can't it?" You asked. "Because, it's a male boarding house." He stated, and suddenly you felt stupid. "Oh." Was all escaped your lips. And you almost winced when you felt the warmth of his hand leave your wrist.

"So, what? You expect me to stand and wait for him to come?" You asked, your patience wearing thin. "Pretty much." He answered. You scoffed. "This is ridiculous!" You exclaimed, making a little hmph sound.

He rolls his eyes before the next line fall from his lips to your ears, "I can escort you to our room, your royal highness." He said, the nick–name said with every ounce of sarcasm, causing a rush of agitation to rush to your neck.

"Fine. Whatever." You said simply. You walk down the campus at it was there—when you weren't rushing to class or the library to finish a last minute assignment—that you take in, fully, the beauty of the campus.

Like, as of now, the two of you stood at the car park where whites lined were formed to assist the drivers to park properly, patches of grass, covered with cobble were rowed Infront of each parked car and empty slot for a potential parked car with the smell of mother nature—dog shit, flowers and grass—mixed into the air.

Soon the air shifted as you enter the boarding house. It becomes... More tense to say the least. Or maybe it was you. You shifted uncomfortably in the male boarding house. Chandeliers that hung above you which glowed gold and coated the white walls a similar colour, the smell of... Male up in the air—which consist of socks, dirty clothes and male perfumes.

It wasn't a home you'd like to live in, but a home Childe lived in. Even the bastard beside you lived here.

As you walk up the luxurious boarding house, Scara comes to a halt and you bump into his back. You quickly stand straight, quirking a brow at him when he turns to face you.

"Here it is. Me and Childe's room. Rule number one, don't peep into my stuff while I'm gone. Rule two, don't steal snacks that specifically read "scara's food don't eat or I'll cut your fingers off. Rule three—" you cut him off before he could continue his rambling. "What makes you think we're going to stay here?" You asked, anger laced in your voice.

Arrogant asshole.

"I'm aware of that," He says, rolling his eyes. "I just don't want you peeking at my stuff, you know since you asked me to fuck you—" Scara is cut off by the sound of the door clicking and flying open.

There, you saw your dream man at your door; messy ginger curls, black hoodie, dark grey puffer jacket, dark grey baggy jeans.

You swapped your hand over Scara's mouth before he says something to fuck you up as usual. "Hey yn," it was like lights flooded behind him as angels sung. "Ready to go?"

prev || next

╰┈➤ my hero materialist

synops𝐢s → scara was many things to you—the cause of all your headaches, the stone in your shoe that could never seem to get out, the reason you go to sleep crying—but definitely, very obviously, you hated him. maybe 'hate' is strong, it's just some rivalry. and spiderman was the opposite of that. he was muscular, his suit tugging at his biceps and quadriceps you couldn't help notice. He was heroic, friendly—like you said, the opposite of scaramouche. But soon,the truth is revealed and you find out the secret identity of your superhero was actually your worst enemy?

૧ᵘᵉᵘⁱⁿᵍ : ˢᵒ ʰⁱᵍʰ, ᵈᵒʲᵃ ᶜᵃᵗ

notes - sorry this took so long AUGH I was hyper fixating about Caleb and my body was not resonating with my mind

Caleb is just so AUGH. making a fic about him the

This is so short and so bad help. Next chapter is better trust 😭

Had to watch a venom movie for prt 3 to be good can somebody say power 😔

also childe whas curls and no one can prove me wrong 👹😡

Also the reason the screenshots are so big is cus I'm using a tablet. No, I am not an ipad kid. Yes, I don't have a phone. LET ME BE. 👹

Also, scara bio major? Anyone??? Tell me this isn't canon.

And anyone digging the rubber band thingy? Like relationships so thin it can cut like a rubber band if not taken care of 😭 idk how to explain it but you get it.

a/𝐧 → thank you all SM for the love and support couldn't have done it without yall mwah mwah THANK U FOR 90 FOLLOWERS TH IM JUST A GIRL HELPPPPPP this one is SM better than the last draft I think the world was basically saying that it was bad. Sorry the smau is so short, I'll try to do more next chapter

p.s - next chapter has HEAVY angst and my indecisive ass decided to make it dual pov instead of one for each night or chapters or whatever 😭

taglist (open):

@kyouzki, @rumitome @wandereryumee, @procacao, @w2atissense, @erebhs, @fuhrasloves, @lyzisbitchingagain, @emvss, @anaxugoras, @yu-yumi, @mywillt0live, @key2yourheart, @franaby, @lxkeeeee, @hanakokunzz

[cece693]

I'VE DECIDED AND YOU'RE WHAT I WANT

pairing: bucky barnes x male reader synopsis: You and Bucky were dancing around each other—you know it, he knows it, the tower knows it, hell, you think even Fury knows it—yet you reject every one of his advances. It's not that you don't feel the same way, but after everything that Bucky has gone through, you don't want him to be pressured into anything. He deserves some peace after Hydra. However, Bucky knows what he wants and is determined to show you that.

You’re halfway through your morning run around the perimeter of the compound when the sound of metal-shod footsteps falls in rhythm beside you. You don’t need to look to know it’s Bucky—his gait is unmistakable. “Mind if I tag along?” he asks, breath perfectly even.

You shrug, pretending the sight of his damp hair and sleeveless tee doesn’t light up your hindbrain like a Stark-tech billboard. “Free country, Barnes.”

He chuckles. “So they tell me.”

The two of you do another lap in comfortable silence. Then, on the downhill stretch, he tries once again. “Dinner tonight? Nothing fancy—just the little shawarma place in town. No mission talk, no debriefs, just…” His lips twitch. “Just me wantin’ to hear you complain about the Mets in real time.”

Your heart catches in your throat. It would be so easy to say yes. Instead you slow to a walk and tug your sweat-rag from your pocket. “Bucky, you deserve a clean slate first. Space. Time to figure out what you want that isn’t tied to Hydra nightmares or SHIELD paperwork.” You wipe your face, avoiding his eyes. “I’m not—”

“—one of my trauma projects, yeah, I know the speech,” he finishes, frustration evident on his face. “You ever notice you’re the only one who thinks I’m made of glass?” You open your mouth, but he’s already lengthening his stride, jaw clenched.

Natasha finds you later in the common room, frowning into a mug of post-run protein sludge. She drops onto the sofa, boots up on the coffee table. “Remind me why you’re holding Bucky at arm’s length like he’s radioactive?”

You puff out a laugh. “Radioactive? He’s more like freshly decommissioned ordnance. Safe if handled right.”

Nat’s brow arches. “He’s also a grown man who survived a century of brainwashing. I think having dinner with you is the easiest thing he's going to do.”

“Not if he feels like he owes me," you mutter.

Something softens in her expression. “He doesn’t owe you. He likes you. There’s a difference.”

You start to argue, but she’s already on her feet. “Listen. Bucky has spent months rebuilding his life. Therapy sessions, sparring drills, the whole Wakandan de-programming package—and if he wants to date you, that's his own decision. Nothing forced him to want that. Now, new plan: I’ll prove Barnes can make choices for himself. You’re free tomorrow night?”

“Nat—”

“Excellent.”

At 0900 sharp the next day, Natasha materializes outside the weapons range, one manicured finger crooking at Bucky. “Barnes. Tactical image adjustment. Let’s move.”

Translation: Makeover.

She marches him through a barbershop redolent of bay-rum and Sinatra, where three inches of hair hit the floor, revealing lazy waves along with trimming the rough edges of his beard into something that whispered approachable instead of fugitive. A vintage shop is next—Henley's soft as sin, a caramel leather jacket that hugs his shoulders like a promise, jeans trimmed to Stark-level precision. Last stop: a corner café that still whips egg creams the 1943 way. Under café fluorescents he studies his reflection in the window glass. “Look at me—trying to pass for normal,” he muttered.

“Normal’s overrated." Nat says. "But comfortable? That’s sexy. Now all that’s left is words.”

Bucky swallowed. “Those I can handle.” A beat. “Probably.”

Night slips over the compound like a velvet drop-cloth, the sky stuffed with pinhole stars. You’re in the upstairs kitchen nuking leftover dumplings when the lights cut out—then bloom back on in soft amber, so mellow it feels intentional. A single Post-it sits beside the microwave, handwriting compact and measured: Roof. 20:30. —N

You check your watch: 20:12. Natasha Romanoff never sends invitations late.

The freight-elevator deposits you amid the HVAC labyrinth, but someone’s transformed the concrete plateau. String lights arc between ventilation stacks; a vinyl blanket spreads near the parapet, weighted by two diner mugs that steam in the crisp air. The scent of cocoa and cinnamon drifts over warm asphalt. And there—hands tucked in his caramel jacket—stands Bucky, looking unfairly handsome in moon washed denim. The makeover is noticeable but not costume; it’s him, refined instead of re-forged. He watches you register the scene, mouth curving. “Hey.”

Your pulse stutters. “Nat’s handiwork?”

“She’ll insist on royalties,” he concedes. “But the legwork’s mine.”

You nod toward the blanket. “What’s in the mugs?”

“Proof I’m not a trauma project: dark cocoa with cayenne. I remember you saying spicy chocolate was your ‘final-meal dessert.’” He shrugs, almost shy. “Figured I’d test the memory, see if you’d veto it yourself.”

The implication lands: choice—yours, his, shared.

You ease down opposite him, accepting the mug. The heat bleeds into your palms. “Look,” he begins, “I get why you’ve been careful. Hydra didn’t just mess with my head—it messed with my perspective. For a while, anyone who treated me kindly, I figured they must be wanting something in return."

You start to protest, but he lifts a hand. “Then Sam point-blank asked me one question,” Bucky goes on, the string lights painting molten flecks across his eyes. “‘If you could have anything today—no guilt, no handlers—what would it be?’ I opened my mouth and realized the answer wasn’t a shrink, or more mission time, or absolution. It was you, across some tiny table, judging my shawarma technique.”

He huffs a brittle laugh, then sobers. “That scared the hell out of me, because it meant the want was mine. Not Hydra’s rewiring, not Steve’s nostalgia, not anyone else’s idea of who I’m supposed to be.”

You turn the mug between your hands, the cinnamon-cayenne perfume a small storm under your nose. “Bucky, wanting something and being ready for it—”

“—aren’t always the same,” he finishes gently. “I know. That’s why I’m not asking for a five-year plan. I’m asking for tonight, for tomorrow’s shawarma, for the right to text you bad ‘Get-Mets-soon’ puns when their bullpen implodes.” A tiny grin tugs one corner of his mouth. “Space to figure things out shouldn’t mean you have to stand way over there.”

The argument you’d been polishing for weeks—healing takes isolation, you don’t want to be another shackle—suddenly feels thin, see-through. This isn’t a man looking for a medic; it’s a man offering his real name and seeing if you’ll say it back.

You set the cocoa aside, scoot across the blanket until your knees brush his. “Okay. Ground rules,” you say, heartbeat rattling like dice. “One: when the nightmares hit, you wake me instead of disappearing into the gym at 3 a.m.”

His shoulders loosen, as if he’s just been given oxygen. “Deal. Two: if the Mets lose by ten runs, you have to let me gloat—Yankees fan privilege.”

You groan. “Cruel, but fine. Three: if either of us starts feeling like the other’s therapist, we tap out and call the actual therapist.”

Bucky nods, solemn as treaty-signing. “Four: kisses are mandatory after successful treaty negotiations.”

“Barnes—”

He leans in, testing, leaving you the last inch of choice. You close it gladly. The kiss is unhurried, a careful press that tastes of peppery chocolate and pent-up hope. When you part, breath mingling white in the chill, his grin turns boyish and a little stunned, as though he’s stumbled on spring after a Siberian winter.

“Sam’s gonna take credit for this,” he murmurs.

“Let him. Nat will extort him for hush money.”

[dandysworld-meh-imagines]

Hi!! I’m the person who requested the Looey x twisted reader headcannons.

I’m here again to request twisted sprout x reader pretty please!

Twisted Sprout With The Reader Headcanons!

Hello again, dear!! I remember you! Incoming twisted strawberry food!! Someone tell me I'm not the only one who like getting spotted by him cuz he lets out a whole scream sksks but here you go, dear! Thank you for requesting! <3

-Anna

-You thought a twisted almost your size was scary? How about one that was the TALLEST? The good news for you is that Sprout was able to recognize you.. a bit too quickly. Well, something about you running away from danger made his overprotective instincts light up again as he rushed to help you. He might not have cupcakes anymore but he was definitely reliable with his huge claw hand and tendrils spawning wherever he wants them to. With just one red painful eye and the other covered in ichor though? He really tries his best to keep an eye on you, especially when the other twisteds want to injure you well.

-Funnily enough, Sprout's very tall size can be used to your advantage when walking around, because that's what almost every twisted is going to notice first! They usually don't notice you first and even if they do later on, Sprout is already intimidating enough that they usually walk away with frustration. The ones that go for you first? Sprout doesn't really like it but he raises his hand and WILL scream to scare them away, if it doesn't work, Sprout has the tendril ready riiight underneath them, trapping them for a good while so they don't dare get closer to you.

-Good luck wanting privacy because Sprout won't leave you alone, he feels like he had failed to protect you when he has become like this but even though he can't join you in other floors (he doesn't trust himself if he is around your teammates, even if he feels like protecting them too), he really hopes you stay safe in future floors, he even tries talking to you but all that comes out is this.. muffled, very weird sound. His mouth IS covered by ichor after all. You definitely notice his shoulders dropping when you look up at him kinda startled from the noise, Sprout wishes he could talk with you again, his precious one.

-He does really enjoy it when you talk though, especially because he very much missed hearing your voice he so adored. Even though he can't really reply, he does do gestures and more to show you that he is listening. Sprout might not understand all your words but your tone does say something to him. You find out that smaller words that were repeated often was something he does seem to at least understand. It's also pretty cute how he sits down, just looking down at you with this quite soft expression as you ramble. If you are the type to stand up and move around, his eye will always follow you curiously. Even though it's kinda sad, you still find it somewhat cute when he tilts his head at you a little if he didn't understand anything.

-If things get serious, Sprout hesitates a lot doing this because he doesn't want the ichor sticking to you though he protects you with his huge hand, blocking any attacks that were coming your way. He doesn't like hurting his old friends but he does push them back kinda hard with his hand, growling at them. When the twisted gets up still though? Sprout used his tendril to grip on their leg tightly so they won't come closer to you, he refuses to let it happen. Afterwards, he picks you up in his arms as he walks around. It's pretty scary seeing anything from this height but with Sprout trying to control his grip on you, you feel like you will get caught if you ever slipped from his arms, something he also won't allow.

-Showing affection between the two of you can be tricky. Sprout feels hesitant a lot because of the ichor covering a large part of his whole body but he doesn't really mind it if you want to hold his free hand or cuddle the side of him that doesn't have ichor. He knows that touching ichor won't automatically make you a twisted but it's still something he fears, especially because if he ever sees you as a twisted, it would definitely break him. With enough convincing or you not minding the ichor sticking on you, he.. might allow it. He couldn't lie though, he really really missed holding you like this. He's definitely the big spoon no matter what, he doesn't want you really out of his sight.

-You hear soft growls from him as he stands guard behind you while doing machines. Nothing much goes on in his mind other than to protect you and make sure absolutely nothing gets near. Sprout isn't exactly the type to wait for twisteds to get near him or you to take action, he always uses his tendrils to give a warning from afar to them to stay out of this area. He is pretty desperate in this, even using more than one tendril to hold a twisted down completely so you will never have to worry about them getting to you. If you want, he can even go out and find all the twisteds himself, taking them down for you and your team to complete this floor. He avoids getting close to your teammates, though. He thinks he might accidentally hurt them.

-Whenever he hears the ding sound from the machine, Sprout comes back to you and he accompanies you throughout the entire floor. One thing he likes to do is pick up items from the floor and hold onto them or even give them to you if you have enough room for them in your inventory. He holds onto everything and leaves them outside of the elevator, even if some of the items had ichor on them, well.. the candies are still edible, right?? But everything you can't pick and hold onto for the entire floor, Sprout definitely can and that's what he does. He can't really help with machines (not with those big ass hands) but he can at least be useful in other stuff!

-Sprout always keeps his distance when the last machine is finally done and the entire team makes it back to the elevator. Even if the alarms freaks him out, he can control himself and go for the twisteds that were potentially hunting you or a teammate. If everyone is on the elevator, he stands still as he watches you for the last time for a good while as the elevator door closes down. He doesn't know how to feel as he slowly turns around and starts wandering again, just hoping that you stay safe, especially because he can't be there for you to save you in the future. He can't lie, though, he feels.. empty when you are gone. He didn't even realize his aching body starting to hurt again this fast. Seems like spending time with you again helped him forget the pain.

-Sprout doesn't know whether to hope you come down to his floor again, because if you do, that means that you must be struggling to avoid all the twisteds in all the other floors and encountering danger like no tomorrow. He wished he wasn't a twisted anymore so he could protect and stay by your side as well as your teammates. He does yearn for you a lot and he does want you around, holding you close to his arms so nothing could ever harm you ever again but he knows that's just not possible. He hopes you don't end up like him, he loves you too much that even imagining you as a twisted makes him feel awful.

Thank you for reading! <3

[russellius]

Russell: "Why haven't I signed for Mercedes yet? Contracts are overrated".

Updated 05/31/2025 07:00 CEST [translated from Spanish]

George Russell, Mercedes' F1 leader after Hamilton's departure last year, spoke to Mundo Deportivo in an exclusive interview in Barcelona, at the Spanish F1 Grand Prix, to reflect on many of the issues affecting drivers today. The Englishman (15 February 1998, King's Lynn, Norfolk, England, United Kingdom), at all times very attentive, explaining himself in a relaxed, easy-going and polite manner, spoke of the importance of the mental aspect for any driver, of what is not seen behind the cameras and the hard work they have to do in terms of everything that surrounds the competition.

And of course, he discussed the reasons why he has not yet renewed his contract with Mercedes, which expires at the end of this season. His results speak volumes about his quality, speed and the merits he is doing to sign his signature, with four podium finishes in the first six races, before his Mercedes struggled more than it should have done in the last two rounds. Russell says it's a ‘confidence thing’.

How are you? I'm interested in getting to know you a bit more as a person. Are you a different person when you put on your helmet and compete?

Well... No. I think I'm the same person. I don't have an alter ego, although some people do and when they come to work they want to show themselves as a different person. But the fact is, when I am in my personal life, I like to be in a quiet place. I like to be in the countryside, in the water (he likes diving), away from everybody and just with my girlfriend, my family, my friends. Whereas when you go to a circuit and you have a hundred cameras looking at you, people asking for autographs and it's different. It's not normal. So, naturally, you're a little bit different. Also, when you're talking in front of the camera, you have to be a bit conscious of what you're saying. And that's why “Drive to Survive” (Netflix F1 series) has been so successful. Because we drivers have felt that we can be ourselves. Because if I say something on “Drive to Survive” and it's aired in a year's time, there will no longer be an instant reaction based on an event. But yes, both on and off the track I try to be the same person. I try to be humble.

Is it difficult to disconnect from Formula 1 or is it a kind of obsession?

I've had to learn to switch off because I realised that my obsession with Formula 1 wasn't making me any faster. So I disconnect from F1 by playing iRacing on the simulator, or either playing paddle tennis or scuba diving. That's my way of switching off, because the brain needs to recharge. After a race, you're exhausted physically or mentally. And we all know that if you've run 20km, the next day you need to relax. But we're not very educated or taught to know when you're mentally exhausted. If you've done the equivalent of a 20km run in your mind, what do you need to do to recover? And I wasn't good at that before. And you can try to keep it up for a month, two months, three months, but by the time you get to the 15th or 16th race, you're going to be wiped out.

And this mental training is important for everyone in the world, in their daily lives. You have to listen to your brain and take care of it.

I think it's important for everybody. I'm trying to adopt it also with my engineering team, because they work like crazy. From the beginning of the day, they are looking at a computer screen for at least 12 hours a day. And sometimes there comes a point where more is not better. You have to be efficient with your time and know when to step back. So it's not about being lazy, it's about being smarter with your use of time.

We consider you a bit Spanish, because your girlfriend is from Jerez. What do you like about Spain and Jerez? I don't know if you go there from time to time?

Yes, I am a bit. And yes, of course I go to Jerez. It's a coincidence because I was testing in Spain, in Jerez, for a long time. And then Carmen and I met in London. Carmen had been living in London for a long time and when she told me she was from Jerez, I didn't believe it. And she didn't believe that I had spent so much time there either because [she] didn't know anything about racing. In Spain I love how close all the families are. It's a real tradition that on Sundays the families get together. The cousins, the aunts and uncles. They are all very united. And I like that very much. Unfortunately, it's not a habit we have in our family in England. But also because I used to [race] every weekend. Whereas in Spain, it's really part of the culture of the people. And the food. Spanish food is underrated. Italy and France get all the credit in Europe for their food. But I think Spanish food is probably one of the best in the world. The weather is always good. And the lifestyle is very laid back. Especially in the south of Spain.

Would you like Barcelona to remain on the calendar?

I like Barcelona, to be honest. The problem is that if I could choose, I would like to have 30 races on the calendar. If my job consisted only of racing, of driving, I would be happy to race 30 races a year. The problem is that it's not just racing. I flew on Thursday morning to Barcelona and had a sponsor event. Another sponsor event on Friday night. I have a sponsor event on Saturday night. You have interviews all weekend. On Sunday there are activities with the team partners. That's the most mentally exhausting part. Driving is honestly the easiest part of our weekend. Because that's what we do. I've been racing a kart since I was 7 years old. I was born to race. I wasn't born to talk in front of the camera or be an actor when I do a commercial. Or they think you're like a model. It's not like that.

Could we say that when you are in the car is the moment when you are most relaxed despite the pressure to perform?

When we get in the car is when we are free. That's when I am myself. I am free from the noise of everything around me. That's my space. Nobody distracts me. I'm here to do what I love the most. I am quite rational. I understand that talking to you today is what people want to hear from us. That's what makes Formula 1 so special. Without the fans, Formula 1 is nothing. But if I'm honest, my conversation with you doesn't make me any faster. At best, I am the same. Or because it requires energy from me, maybe it makes me a bit slower.

Let's hope not.

It's nothing to do with you, but, I did a 6 hour sponsorship event on Thursday. Does that make me faster? No. It brings money to the team. It brings money to me. But now is when you have to find the balance. That's the big challenge. Because you can't value how much it takes away from you. The team knows that with a sponsorship day they get X amount of money. But I can't tell you if going to that event makes me a tenth or 0.001 slower. Because I'm not training, I'm not resting, I'm not in the simulator. It takes away time that I could be spending on driving faster. This is the big challenge that all drivers are facing at the moment. So I would love to do more racing, but do less of the other things.

You are performing at a high level this year.

Thank you.

You are Mr. Consistent or Mr. Podium. That's why we are surprised that you haven't signed your renewal with Mercedes yet, as your contract ends at the end of the season. Why?

Because… Because there is confidence. I think the abnormal thing is to see Leclerc signing for five years, Lando signing for five years, Oscar signing for three years. A lot of these drivers… Maybe I'm forgetting some names now, but a lot of these drivers have signed very long-term contracts with their team. That's not normal. Mercedes has always had an approach of… I wouldn't say working year to year, but for my part, not having signed is not a concern for me. Because contract or no contract, if you perform, you're good, and if you don't perform, you're not good. There were drivers like Daniel Ricciardo, who had a contract, but he was left out. Checo Pérez had a contract and he didn't continue. So, a contract doesn't mean anything in Formula 1. For me, when I drive, I'm fast and I'm on the podium, that gives me more security than a piece of paper with a signature on it.

Do you want to stay at Mercedes? Because it is said that the Mercedes engine for 2026 could be one of the best.

Yes, but McLaren also has our engine and we are now far behind McLaren. At the moment we are closer to Williams than McLaren. So of course there is a lot of positivity around our 2026 engine. But this is noise, it's not facts. Because how do you know what the others will do? I know what Mercedes has. But I don't know what Ferrari has. I don't know what Red Bull has. So all this noise, it's bullshit. Of course my intention is to continue with Mercedes. That's where I want to be. And nothing would make me happier than to win with Mercedes. Above all, for the people. Because they are the ones who have worked so hard to get us back on our feet and to win, and it's not easy. But contracts in Formula 1 are overrated.

Does it bore you to always hear the incessant rumours of a possible Verstappen signing for Mercedes? Do you consider it disrespectful to your work and the level you are showing?

Not really, no. No, because the fact is that there are two seats in a Formula 1 team. And I have already said that I would be happy to be Verstappen's team-mate. But the fact is: why wouldn't a team want Verstappen? If I were Toto (Wolff, Team Principal at Mercedes), and you had two options… If you could have any driver and all the drivers were available, I would choose myself and I would choose Verstappen. If I were in Toto's shoes. So I don't see it as disrespectful. That's the way the sport goes. And Ferrari, if I could choose, I would choose Verstappen and Leclerc. McLaren would probably choose Verstappen and… here maybe it would be more challenging: Norris or Piastri. But if by 2026, every team could choose their drivers, Verstappen would be the number one choice for all teams. So it's no disrespect. It's just reality.

In your last three years in F1, all of them as Hamilton's team-mate, you beat Lewis in two of them. Two out of three. What did that mean for you?

I believe in myself. I know what I'm capable of. If you finish ahead of a seven-time world champion, it shows you're not an idiot. And I know that the reason we haven't won races is not because of my driving. And I think it's for the team as well… If Lewis had retired in 2021, I think it would have been very difficult for my reputation, because you could have thought that Lewis is leaving and suddenly you go down. But it's just proof that when you're winning in F1, it's a combination of the driver and the team. And look at Fernando (Alonso) when he came to Aston Martin (2023). He did six podiums in six races or something like that. And then this season, until recently, the team was out of Q1 in a lot of races.

Speaking of Fernando, every New Year's Eve a photo of you with him goes viral. It has become a tradition that you celebrate the arrival of the new year together. What can you tell us about that?

Fernando and I get along well. Our girlfriends get along well. We have a close relationship and we respect each other. It has become a bit of an annual tradition. We have eaten together several times on his boat and we get along well.

What do you think of the level he continues to show at the wheel?

It's incredible, he's the one who gives me the inspiration that it's possible to continue. It has also helped me to talk to other athletes. For example, I spoke to Novak Djokovic. He told me that when you are twenty years old you can do a lot of things with your body, but if you don't work in your twenties, you will be punished in your thirties. So, when I look at Fernando, he did the work in his twenties and in his thirties and that is allowing him to continue.

It's an investment.

Exactly, you have to invest (in your body) for the future. That's why I'm working harder on my own body now than I probably need to for today. Because it's not for today, it's for ten years from now.

Thank you very much for your time.

Thank you very much to you.

[clickety-clacker]

Introducing: ARTIFRACTURE, my newest GGG AU!

Summary: When the rift was opened, the gods weren't entirely sucked from the rift... but some gods ended up losing more than others. Huzzle Mug and Click Clack have to work together to find the parts of their minds that they lost, with their quest being made much more difficult by two certain mortals...

More info below the cut!

To get a little bit more in depth, this AU relies heavily on my own personal headcanons of how gods function both physically and mentally, and how that can be manipulated and explored. It's also in part a foray into the relationship between Huzzle Mug and Click Clack, two gods I don't see interacting much, but I have a lot of thoughts on their relationship.

Essentially, a god is not just their body.

While their 'body' is their tool to interact with things (and is easier for them to control because they used to be humans), their entire realm within the rift is them. When Inspekta pries open the rift at the end of the game, you can see things from their realms flying out, forming the debris around the spire. This physically 'damages' the gods, and though the rift is closed, a lot of them are left very tired, drained, and sickly until they can recuperate.

But some gods lost more than others. Huzzle Mug and Click Clack both have something in common they don't share with the other gods- dual consciousnesses.

I've touched on this a bit for Click Clack in my fic Act Zero, but essentially...

When a god ascends, their mind is also changed to help them better process their new role, depending on their domain.

The human mind cannot properly multitask. Thus, gods who needed to constantly multitask had their consciousnesses split in two, which now work together as one being.

Huzzle Mug is the god off innovation, yes, but also the future. To be so good at inventing and innovating, it has to be able to see future possibilities. But seeing every possible future is too much for one mind to handle, so it has one mind that is constantly perusing futures, and one that's focused on making decisions in the present. The 'future sight' consciousness will supply any information of what will happen when the active/present consciousness decides something.

Click Clack does something similar. He has one mind that processes the script of the world- the narrator- and one that is the 'character' or the editor. One cannot be both!

But having two means they sit 'looser' within their realms, more prone to dislodging... and that's exactly what happens.

When parts of the God realm are sucked out of the rift, Huzzle Mug's future sight consciousness and Click Clack's character/editor conscious are sucked into the mortal realm.

This changes how they portray themselves, pictured above.

Click loses his 'face' as he's lost his character, and Huzzle Mug loses it's floating eyes and limbs. It also gets more splotchy and drippy when it gets emotional, and it's feet posses thumbs.

On the left is how they look at the 'beginning' of the AU, and on the right is how they look near the 'end' once they begin to function better together... and thus influence each other.

Meanwhile...

Disconnected from their realms and cut off from the rest of their bodies and minds, the parts of their consciousness they lost have to go dormant to survive (as opposed to fading into nothing), and take the form of objects. Click Clack's consciousness takes the form of a fountain pen, and Huzzle Mug's takes the form of a bag of marbles.

These items are found by Patience Zero and Dr. Cara respectively.

Though they're inert, they still possess some of their powers. The pen still has the power to make minor edits to the world, and the marbles still have the ability to tell possible futures. Patience uses the pens to actually edit her stories to make people enjoy them and listen to her, and Cara uses the marbles to evade getting in trouble... until one day, he gets a vision of Huzzle Mug finding him and Patience and being utterly pissed.

He assumes the worst, and goes out to find Patience, and convinces her to go 'on the run' or else the gods are going to hurt them. Not true, but fueled by paranoia, they go on the run... not realizing that what they possess aren't just objects that belong to the gods, but part of the gods themselves.

Huzzle Mug and Click Clack, on their own, struggle to function- but together, Click Clack's narration acts as Huzzle's future sight, and Huzzle acts as Click's 'character' and direction.

Equally, Patience and Cara have to work together to avoid capture from the gods and their followers.

There's a bit more to the AU, but this is the gist! If anyone ever has any questions, comments, concerns or thoughts, PLEASE feel free to send in asks! I'm happy to talk about them! :D

[threegoldfish]

Marc is listening, does not interrupt the other - not even once. Just sits there, takes in the sight of that man moving in the most subtle ways, explaining; Talking about how brains work, how minds try to keep themselves sane while handling whatever is coming for them.

All of this makes sense in a way that it's almost frustrating to comprehend - nothing comes up that causes Marc to doubt any of that doctor's observations, his explanations. Another swallow, another inhale of air, with Marc shifting in his seat ever so slightly to get into a more comfortable position as his fingers keep twirling around another, tugging on skin, on bones, making them pop softly as he does. A subconscious thing, still trying to relieve some inner stress that has accumulated within the center of his chest upon waking in that damn room, without having any memories of what must've happened before...

---But then, dark eyes widen all of a sudden and Marc looks back up from where his gaze had been drifting a bit, another wave of surprise hitting him out of nowhere. While he has no fucking idea what OSDD means, it's what follows after that catches his interest in a way that has his blood turn cold, send a shiver along his spine---

You’ve got one part of you that feels like the ‘real’ you - Marc. That’s you right now. And when ‘Marc’ can’t handle something, a different part of you steps in.

Another blink, a soft gasp of sorts as Marc knits his brows once more, tilts his head... No. No, this cannot be about Steven, right? No. Steven does not--- he does not appear without Marc knowing of it, no. Whenever it happens that the other takes over to live his perfectly normal, happy life, Marc is aware of it happening and can watch him - can take control any time he wants, isn't left in the dark. In fact, Marc can even make him appear consciously, is doing it on purpose...

"...OS... DD?" Curious, but also very hesitant and almost scared once again, he breathes that weird term into the air between them - then looks down onto his hands, as if wondering whether they're still there, before his dark pupils are back on the other. "What... what does that mean? What do you mean with... with--- a different part of me stepping in? I'm... I-I'm aware of myself, I know who I am, and I know what I do."

...Usually. Marc presses his lips together with so much force that they're turning white for a solid second or two and he exhales a breath before shaking his head, disbelief and something utterly overwhelmed flooding him as moments pass, one after another. "I mean... until--- until that happened, the... thing. I don't remember any of it."

Lids fluttering a bit, Marc's gaze falls away again - focuses on Harrow's pen instead, the way it just lies there now, since the other has put it down mere moments ago.

He has to think of Steven again...

Only when Marc went quiet again did Arthur shift in his chair, nodding just a bit to show he was listening. He clicked his pen once, twice - and then set it down. “You were never chemically sedated,” he promised; finding it interesting that that would be a concern. It was likely due to the stigma around hospitals, but it was fascinating all the same - if only because Marc was acknowledging that he found his state in the moment to be worthy of sedation. 

“If you had posed a danger to yourself or others, or reached a state where you were unreachable, we have protocols. But we never begin with chemical. I’ll try talking to you first, to ground you. If that doesn’t work, then we’ll get the guards to come in, and they’ll help me hold your arms in a place where you can’t hurt anyone. If you keep fighting, then it depends on the situation. Fighting other people around you will put you in seclusion - you might have heard of a padded room.” 

His lips twitched into a smile, as if he found something funny there. “If you hurt yourself - which you almost did - then you’d be restrained to your bed. Soft restraints, just cuffs to keep you from hurting yourself until the episode has passed. But even that requires oversight. Paperwork, documentation. Getting to the point of needing chemical sedation is a near-impossibility.” 

It felt important to lay that out, if only because keeping clarity was important. 

“To be clear, your episode wasn’t dangerous. You panicked, you were disoriented. But you weren’t violent. Your mind is doing something that it’s built to do - it’s trying to protect you, that’s it. Your mind is compartmentalizing some things - like… putting certain memories or emotions into a box, if it’s too much to handle all at once.” 

The mind was an amazing, fascinating thing. Arthur had a small obsession with it, perhaps, just seeing and reading about the things it could do; even this was fascinating to him, an interesting case that he was already eager to pick apart. 

“Most people do that,” he promised. “Compartmentalize. Daydreaming, zoning out, just… putting something away, so you don’t have to think about it until later. That’s normal. But, you’d agree, this is more than ‘zoning out’. This is something that’s starting to take shape.” 

He didn’t shift again, but did keep his speech slow - kept his eyes on Marc, in case any of this set him off again. He didn’t suspect it would, there was always comfort in hearing ‘this isn’t your fault’ - but it was possible. 

“There’s something called OSDD. It’s not something that I’d call a solid diagnosis, but it also might be as far as we get.” He adjusted his glasses, jaw shifting, displeased briefly with the thought of that before he continued again. 

“Basically, it means that your brain is splitting up parts of your experiences so they don’t touch each other. You’ve got one part of you that feels like the ‘real’ you - Marc. That’s you right now. And when ‘Marc’ can’t handle something, a different part of you steps in. It’s not broken or wrong, it’s just how your brain has built itself. It’s your brain trying to help you.” 

Arthur let it sit again, for a moment. His gaze didn’t leave Marc, didn’t push, but left silence. He nodded again, his voice gentler. “I can tell you more about what that might mean. I can explain it more, or tell you what we should do next. But if you’d rather wait to talk about that, that’s okay. You’ve already handled a lot today, and I don’t want to overwhelm you.” 

[starkspondwater]

So I'm stupid and accidentally deleted the ask but this was a request from @sagesbard! The request was for Kyle x a bratty and whiny reader basically taking it too far and causing Kyle to snap (which both reader and him very much enjoy!) I did play around with the prompt you gave me a little so I hope that's alright!

Summary: Kyles had a long few weeks, and just wants to relax. Unfortunately you have a habit of running your mouth until he just can't take it any longer- making him take things into his own hands, quite literally. (SMUT)

Word Count: 3964

Warnings: spanking, hair pulling, edging, rough handling, some domming

Run Your Mouth- Kyle Broflovski x Bratty!Reader

A slam of the front door broke the quiet atmosphere that filled the apartment. 

Kyle knew what was going to happen, and already his hand was up and pinching the bridge of his nose as he waited. It had been a lovely afternoon, one where he could actually get some work done on a bullshit project his boss assigned as well as take a reading break in his favorite chair. These days were few and far between, with hectic scheduling and project deadlines, Kyle wasn’t entirely sure he’d been able to properly breath for weeks. Hell, he was sure you were even getting a little frustrated with the amount of time he spent hunched over his work laptop at the table, or not joining you for game nights with friends. He was just…tired. 

So to have this time where he could just sit was wonderful. He could actually put his mind off his work for a moment while he allowed something else to take its place. But as he heard the thump of footsteps along the carpet outside he knew his office sanctuary was soon to be intruded upon.

“There you are!” You had burst through the door, work clothes still hanging on your frame as you walked in and plopped yourself directly down on the top of his desk. The skirt you wore for your waitressing rose up slightly as you settled, soft thighs on display. You only briefly readjusted to move a few papers that crinkled beneath you. “You would not believe the day I had!”

“I have a feeling you're going to tell me,” Kyle sighed, placing a finger between the pages.

You registered the tone in his voice, but chose to ignore it, already opening your mouth and letting the hellish day you had spew forth. You knew it was annoying, barging in and doing this. You knew how Kyle loved his space. However, you also knew that he wouldn't tell you no.

The relationship you had with Kyle was an odd one. Both of you had tempers that came to life with surprising ease and yet, you still got along better than a house fire. Even with a few arguments here and there, the bond you two shared had only seemed to grow brighter. Kyle was more strict than you were, growing irritated at those little inconveniences that threw a wrench into well laid plans. You were far more lax, but nary a thing needed to happen for complaints to make their way from your lips. 

One would look at the two of you and wonder how long it took before one killed the other, but somehow, someway, you clicked. You found Kyle's need for planning and his want for things to be a certain way grounding. It was an anchor on the drama filled life you seemed to attract. And while Kyle wouldn't ever say it out loud, you knew he loved how much you talked. You were not only entertaining, but with what you brought to the table the noise that filled his head finally quieted. In a weird way, you brought that man peace.

So yes, despite the fact that he was obviously comfortable and doing something, you took the opportunity to yap. There was something kind of fun about riling him up, if only to wake him up enough to spend time with you. It was just how things were, he and you were used to this!

“And I just don't understand what the fuck her issue was. I was doing my job!”

“Uh-huh,” Kyle hummed, his eyes starting to gloss over.

“Kyle, are you listening?” You pitched up your voice slightly, catching the way his head perked at the sound.

“Of course I was, m’just…thinking of other things.”

Hm. That wouldn't do at all.

“Could you please pay attention?” You whined lightly, keeping a smile from forming on your lips. 

Oh, how he hated the whining. You knew this well, already catching the way his right brow twitched slightly. 

“Anyway, on top of all of that, they've started asking us to clean the bathroom-”

“Love,” with a tense smile, Kyle looked into your eyes, the corners of which were tight. “I still have a bit to do in here but I'll be done soon, can this wait?”

Placing a finger to your mouth, you tapped your lips teasingly. He knew you weren't actually going to comply with his request, and you knew that it was his way to tell you that you were getting on his nerves.

“But I just have so much to tell you! Are you saying you don't want to talk to me?” Folding your arms, you pouted. “I wouldn't have thought that my boyfriend would treat me so badly!”

“Uhhhh yeah, sorry. Continue.” He huffed, settling his shoulders back against the chair.

“So, then she went on to try to tell me how to do my job, like I hadn’t been there longer than her! What the fuck even is that?” Kicking your legs you started in on a particular coworker, one he had heard about many times before as she continued to get on your nerves. With each kick, your heel thumped against the drawers. The sound was dull, but loud enough that with each thwack you could see a tick appear in Kyle’s jaw. 

“Hon, could you stop kicking please?” 

“...No. And what did she even mean by that anyway, it’s not like she’s my-”

“I said please.” The tone of his voice caught you off guard. It was tense, much like when you argued, but there was something else there, something that shot right to your core making your quim start to pulse. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were boring holes straight through your own.

You also caught the distinct tent in his jeans, the bulge straining against his fly. 

Experimentally, you kicked once more, keeping your eyes on his. He said nothing, only staring with that same blank expression. It was as though he was trying to hide how this all was making him feel, despite the fact you could clearly read it.

You kept still, allowing your legs to simply hang. With your compliance, Kyle seemed to get a pleasing gleam in his eyes. You could even see the way he moved himself to adjust for what he had going on down below, which only appeared to get harder. Interesting.

With a sigh, the redhead laid back, his book opening once more. He supposed if you wanted to stay while he read that would be fine, you were quiet for now and that was-

Tap tap tap tap. Manicured nails tapped along the edge of the desk’s surface, and from how loud they were it was obvious you were putting more force into those motions on purpose. You could practically see the anger climbing up Kyle’s body, rising up to those well matched fiery curls.

Painting on a saccharine smile, you continued your tapping before softly saying, “Kyle, you know you can’t just tell me what to do, right? It’s not like you ever could- hey!” 

With zero warning, Kyle reached over and hauled you off his desk, dragging over to where he sat. The book he had so carefully kept marked fell to the floor with a clatter as he moved, a startling sound within the small space. With a strength you didn’t realize he had, he easily turned you over his knee with your body now draped over him. You tried to look over your shoulder as you felt him flip up your skirt.

“What are-ow! Kyle!” You felt a sharp slap on your ass. You barely got his name out before you felt another one on the other cheek, stinging just as badly.

“I asked you nicely. I let you come in here and interrupt my work. I let you complain about fucking everything.” Smack! Smack! Smack! “And yet when I ask for one thing, you say no?!”

The bite in his voice wasn’t as sharp as you might’ve expected with the words he was saying, instead something more playful and aroused colored it. From your position you could feel his erection pressed tight to your belly, layers of clothing doing nothing to hide it.

Kyle looked down, his eyes taking in the slight shaking of your backside. Rubbing gently, he considered for a moment what he had just done. It’s not like he hadn’t given your rump a tap here and there, but…he had definitely gone much harder than he probably should have. It felt good in the moment, but it was no excuse to… His train of thought stopped as his hand dipped lower, the tips of his fingers feeling the moisture between your legs. You liked this. Those whimpers were ones of pleasure. With that in mind, he dipped a finger in, relishing the whine that fell from your lips.

“Please,” you had uttered, right before clamping your mouth shut. You were playing a game, and it wouldn’t do to give in so early. Swallowing thickly, you raised your voice. “Just one?”

At once you felt another digit enter the fray, Kyle already pumping his hand at a grueling speed. Dropping your head, you could only lay there and feel the way those fingers entered you. It was effortless the way he used those hands, easily reaching spots that brought out the true meaning of what the French called “the little death.” It wasn’t long before he retracted that hand and addressed you once more.

“Get up,” the command came out huskily, his breath coming out in puffs. “At the desk.”

Grinning, you got yourself up, slowly walking over to the desk. You were drawing this out, and he knew it. He scoffed as you leisurely took those few steps, hand lightly tracing over the wood as you turned back towards him. Raising a brow, you waited.

Kyle looked both uncertain and wild, his gaze serious despite the slight hesitation in how he moved. He wanted you, and he wanted you a particular way…he just didn’t know how to ask for it. Biting the inside of your cheek, you came to the conclusion that you would need to be the one to push him there.

“Well, Kyle? I don’t have all day to stand here.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you tilted your head teasingly. “I mean really, Ky, I came in here for you and you can’t even decide what to do?”

Like a switch was flipped, those movements filled with trepidation stilled. In one long stride he was at your side, tall frame much more imposing than you remembered. “If you have time to run your fucking mouth, then you have time to turn around and bend over.” 

You wanted to snap back, but the tone change was like an electric shock to your system. He was in control. Or at least he wanted to be, whether he fully knew that or not. Turning, you lowered your front down onto the flat surface.

“You whine and whine and bitch all day, and I can't even get a single moment to myself!” Kyle's voice sneered as he hurriedly undid his buckle. The sound of the zipper drawing down made your belly flip, excitement coursing through your veins.

You went to look up at him from your place on his desk only to feel him roughly push you back down. “Don't move.”

You could feel the uncomfortable jab of papers and documents beneath your chest, but at this point you didn't truly mind it. Seeing this side of Kyle was…hot, admittedly. He never broke like this, his hands always gentle and soothing, guiding you both to something wonderful. But here and now he was taking. He was going to take and take and take until you had nothing left to give and the thought of that made your thighs tremble in anticipation.

“And just what the fuck are you excited for?” A sharp smack hit your backside before you felt him line himself up to you. You could tell by the way the cockhead slid through your folds that you were sopping despite him not even touching you for very long. With a grunt you felt him glide in, stretching you with a delicious heat.

It wasn't slow like all the other times you did this, the adjustment to his size a little more difficult, but the feeling was just as good. Kyle had stopped once he buried all of himself in you, his breath ragged and coarse. You could only gasp feeling how he pulsed inside.

“Well? You got anything to say, brat?” He breathed out shakily.

You were thankful he didn't have a clear view of your face, afraid of what he'd say if he saw the smirk that resided there. The way he said that once again proved a little something to you. All the whining and bitching and moaning? He didn't mind it nearly as much as he let on. Why, from how he felt inside your cunt, you could tell he was more than aroused by it. He needed it.

“I want you to moovveeee,” the whine came out long and high pitched, like a practiced line in a play. “It's the least you could do.”

“Oh yes, the least I could do for your bratty ass is fuck it, huh?” With an abrupt thrust of his hips you yelped, drawing a dark chuckle from Kyle. “God, you just talk so, so much. You'd think a good dicking down would put a stop to it but no.”

By now Kyle had started to truly fuck you from behind, his fingers pushing into the supple flush of your hips as he drove himself in over and over. With each push you felt the rough edge of the desk along your waist, light scratches only adding to how rough he was handling you.

“Hard-Harder!” You moaned, trying to keep that same whine evident. “Jesus Ky, it's like you’re not even trying!”

Another smack hit your ass, the fat still jiggling as it bounced from his thrusts. You would laugh from the feeling if he hadn't reached up to grab a handful of hair, forcing your head back.

“You think I'm trying? Fucking really?” Grunting, Kyle readjusted his grasp, ensuring your head only moved when he saw fit. Leaning down slightly to whisper harshly into your ear, he said “if you wanna act like a little slut I might as well treat you like one.”

At that a chill went down your spine, the words seeping in bone deep. You barely had time to dwell on this before you felt your mind go blank.

With a hard yank, Kyle plowed into you hard and fast, the sound of skin on skin loud and borderline obscene. Between the pain in your scalp and the pressure of his cock pounding into you, you were lost. Pinned to the desk and unable to even turn your head, you could do nothing but take what Kyle gave you. And you loved it. You wanted to give him anything, everything you had.

And from the sounds that fell from his own mouth you could tell just how much he enjoyed this. Unlike with your usual lovemaking, his moans became much more feral, more desperate. In some way it was as if he was ramming every ounce of what he had been feeling these last few weeks into you.

To know he could do whatever he wanted, that he had the strength to do so, was enough to bring you close to the finish line. You could feel that pressure mounting so sweetly, the whines you once uttered turning into keening, begging for release. Just as you felt your walls flutter, suddenly you were left cold and empty.

His hand left your hair, and you felt him step back. Confused, you turned and took in his flushed form, particularly noting that he was still hard, the head of his cock angry and red.

“Um…”

“Yes?” He said with a frown, arms hanging at his sides. “Is there something wrong?”

“You didn't…I didn't…” you tried, the haze of being so close to coming still slowing your brain. That climb to absolute satisfaction that you should’ve been feeling dissipated, disappointment quickly taking its place.

“I don't think you've earned it, brat.” Stepping up, he leered down over you. For a split second, the corner of his mouth turned up. “Besides, I'm not done.”

You could only gape, understanding dawning. He wasn't going to let you come. He was seriously not letting you finish. What the fuck?

Opening your mouth, a complaint dancing on the tip of your tongue, you were interrupted by him scooping you up to sit on the desk, legs spread wide to accommodate him. You were silenced by the look in those eyes, dark, green, and positively sharp. With a few light taps to your mound, he chuckled at the light gasp that escaped you.

“I thought you had more to say,” purring he slid his cock downwards, teasing and slow. “Was I wrong?”

“Maybe shut up and keep fucki-oh fuck!” Ramming himself in, Kyle was back full force in slamming his hips into your own. “You can do fucking better, asshole.”

Hooking a leg up with his arm, Kyle set your right ankle up onto his shoulder. Your thigh burned with that stretch, but seeing your leg up near his head was enough to make you forget all about it. At this new angle he seemed to be able to drive himself further in.

“God you feel- ugh, shit.” Sweat dripped from his brow, ginger curls plastered to the front of his forehead as he kept pumping into you. “Keep talkin’ t’me.” 

The demand was slurred but you followed nonetheless. You didn’t even register what you said, mean little whines pouring out as you tried to hold yourself together. With each word Kyle drove himself further and further in madness, pounding harder, faster, more brutal with every single thrust. 

For Kyle, he wasn’t quite sure what was coming over him. This was not who he was with you. You both had toyed around in bed before, trying new positions and everything else. He didn’t see the need to let the frustrations from his life flood over into what he had with you, he didn’t wish to sully the bed he made with shit that didn’t matter. He didn’t need to show off. But now? This? This made him feel like some other person, someone hot and angry. Alive. 

The next time you felt yourself nearly topple over, waves of pleasure only just barely breaking over the walls, you felt his hand seize your chin. With his thumb and forefinger firmly grasping you, he ensured your eyes could only see him.

“You don’t get to cum until I say you can.” He growled, slowing his hips. “When I said you have to earn it, I meant that.” 

His pupils were blown wide as he took in your appearance. You were a mess with your shirt bunched over your breasts, something he only hazily recalled doing, and hair sticking up every which way. And yet, despite that, your mouth still persisted.

“Fuck you, you can’t tell me what to do!” You tried sounding big, but as Kyle ramped up his movements you could feel the fight leaving you. “You don’t own- mmm!” 

With swift movement, Kyle placed a digit within your mouth, his own turning up into a grin. “I think if anyone saw how I have you now, they’d think differently.” Popping the finger out, he dropped your legs, instead grabbing back onto your hips. “No one else gets to fuck you like this. No one but me. You can deny it all you want brat but as far as I’m concerned? You’re mine.”

You struggled to hold back your own orgasm at that statement, head swimming from every one of your senses. From how he fucked into you, the feel of his skin smacking into yours, the smell of sex absolutely engulfing the room, and now he had to say that? He had a hold over you, strings attached to every single limb, every single nerve ending. A puppet master finally taking control.

“Say it.” 

“I’m you- oh! I’m yours, Kyle!” You nearly cried as he finally brought his hand over to rub along your clit, pressure becoming far too much. “Yours!”

“That’s more like it- fuck! All mine.” 

Kyle’s rhythm broke down, the speed and intensity in which he had been going beginning to grow rough and uneven. It was as he started breathing the words cum for me, come on, cum for me baby that you finally let yourself unravel, Kyle following right after.

With one final hard thrust, he remained inside, like he didn’t want a single drop to go to waste. As the air cooled the sweat upon your skin, you registered the soreness in your thighs, along the backs of them in particular radiating up to your battered ass. Kyle, for his part, looked shaky.

The room was silent aside from heavy breaths. Your ears still rang as the ghosts of all that went on bouncing from the walls back towards you. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but something told you that you were not supposed to be the one to break the quiet.

Kyle stood there, breathing hard. His hands stayed on your hips, grip no longer tight as he gently swiped his thumbs along your skin. He looked...pensive. With a faraway gaze he retreated into his own thoughts, taking into account all that had transpired. He had never acted in such a way with you, never had those thoughts about taking you like that. 

“Um…are you alright?” He asked after a time. You could feel how he had softened up, but still he stayed. Wary and exhausted, he looked at you.

“More than okay,” chucking, you reached up to pet his head, fingers brushing through damn curls. “Didn’t realize that sort of thing got you off!”

Immediately he sputtered, face red and eyes shifting elsewhere. “W-well it’s just…it’s not…”

“Relax. I enjoyed it, dummy.” Gently grasping those curls you brought his face down to yours in a  searing kiss. “Had I known I would’ve played that game with you much sooner.”

“Oh, yeah?” smirking, he finally slid out, eyes panning down to take in his work dripping out of you. “I suppose we could…make it a regular thing. Felt pretty good if I’m being honest.”

“I bet it did,” and you knew it did. The tension in his body had evaporated during your coupling, shoulder now relaxed down from his ears. He was tired, that was for sure, but also somehow lighter. Like a weight had been lifted. “Sex is supposed to be a stress reliever, and what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t take part in that?”

You observed him a moment, eyeing how his chest rose and fell, his cupid's bow as he licked his lips, the flutter of his lashes with every blink. It hit you then that in all this time, you two hadn’t even kissed. Reaching up, you gingerly took his head in your hands, smiling at how he melted into your touch. For someone who just took control, he gave it very freely just as quickly after. 

You placed a sweet kiss to his lips, allowing him to lean into it with a hum. Once more you marveled at how relaxed his entire being was, how he could finally let himself just be. It was something you so sorely missed.

And you resolved to make sure you never had to miss it again.

[omgfangirlland]

Random but imagine neglected reader or batsis has a pet frog or snake.. Maybe even the weirdest creature in her room. Reader was so neglected that she decided to adopt or take care of any animals she sees.. Just imagine the look on the batfamily once they see her petting or a xenomorph cuddling up to her like a puppy. (I have another alien in mind but I can't remember the name.. It's kinda pink and its head opens like a flower?) Reader is basically just collecting aliens and weird creatures like it was a mundane activity.

(Sorry if this is a bit of a mess.. I'm writing this at 3am with one eye open)

-🔱

NOT RANDOM AT ALL HELLO- I LOVE THIS!!!!!!!

I dropped everything because all I can think of is an elder Yautja seeing this young hooman ordering a xenomorph and his own lost bloodhound around and just being like-

"Does this mean this little hooman has won the hunt/been bloodied???" Which it doesn't- but the sheer craziness of seeing a Xenomorph listening to a human made the Yautja pause for a second.

also the flower alien- is it the demogorgon from stranger things? Because I'm giving you a demodog and making it stay a dog-ish species (at least for now, idk where the story may take me)

Xenomorphs could definitely be tamed by someone with powers like Ivy, aka pheromones, and the likes, BUT it's so much funnier to think that bugs/lizards/aliens/monsters/demons/etc just see Batsis and immediately think safe/mother/friend- and I'll leave if that's a power to y'all but I'm a normie!Reader dick rider with this one.

P.S. CHANGED MY MIND HALFWAY THROUGH, BATSIS IS OLDER AND GETS AN ELDER YAUTJA LOVER, FUCK YOU BRUCE (I'm also stealling the hellhounds from the Super Predators, thank you~)

You weren't athletically inclined, nor were you smart like Tim or Barbara, or your other siblings, or your dad. But that didn't mean you deserved to be ignored and brushed to the side like this- and it took you a while to come to terms with that.

But once you did, it was freeing. You accepted whatever they gave you and were satisfied with it. The monthly allowance was half put away for "dark days" and the rest was spent mostly on useless shit- it just was too much to spend on neceseties- or put to the side in the "spare change" section.

Dick questioning you about where xyz is? "I don't know." And you don't even register him sighing and leaving anymore. Damian is arguing with Tim while Jason pours gasoline on the fire by trying to pull you into this? "Yeah- sure- go Brooklyn Robins or whatever."

And since Duke officially moved in with his uncle, you've seen even less of the girls- or you started ignoring them like they used to do you. It didn't matter in the end, you've long ago found something else to give your love to, starting with a small lizard.

It was by pure coincidence, really. You've told Alfred to stop picking you up from school a long while ago, which the man tried to argue against, but eventually gave up. As fate would have it, it was the right choice in your eyes, especially since you found a little leopard gecko thrown away in a little hamster enclosure.

Poor thing had dysecdysis, and you couldn't just leave it to suffer, almost blind and with circulation cut off from the incomplete shedding of its skin. You did everything you could to make it easy for the little thing- took her to a vet, bought her the biggest enclosure you could fit and filled it with all necessities and beyond, fed her the healthy diet she needed, and soaked her as much as she needed. She's old now, but still kicking her little limbs around. Athena is what you called her.

You were eleven then, and barely a month passed before you found the oddest little thing failing to fight a chicken. You couldn't even describe it- a skeletal quadruped with an elongated head that went backwards and a tail longer than its body and a sharp end- how was it even holding it's head up, you weren't sure. But you did find out that, after feeding it for two hours straight every meat the family had in the freezers, it reached its maturity and stayed roughly the size of 114 cm. Fluffs seemed a fitting name.

(MK-19 on Artstation)

Between Fluffs and what new oddity you found, you've raised chickens, an old cat, the vet you've been visiting for years gave you 2 snakes, a corn and a sand snake, taken care of two mangy dogs, and found them new loving homes- which made Fluffs quite sad to have his friends gone.

But it didn't take long for a new, permanent friend to appear- well... evolve. See, you thought you found a very deformed frog at first, but after five days of feeding it a regular diet, it evolved like Fluffy did. Its tail gone, and limbs longer, it looked silly even as he stood at 80 cm tall. You've named him Goober.

(Ellen Humbler for this article and her instagram)

You weren't sure how your family didn't find out about them, they weren't quiet at all- but maybe they just didn't care as long as you specifically didn't get in the way of Batman and his helpers. You couldn't complain, not when Fluffs and Goober got along so nicely, cuddling each other and sleeping as close to you as they could.

When Damian came, you couldn't risk it anymore, so you bought the empty land across the manor, deep in the forest, and moved, only visiting the manor to raid for Alfred's food. (and steal the meat because you were too lazy to go buy it since nobody wants to deliver to your new address)

It... it was surprisingly nice to be away from them. You didn't need to walk on eggshells anymore, no need to hide or deliberately quiet yourself just to make sure nobody yells at you for making "too much noise". You've never been as happy or relaxed.

There was no place to fall asleep watching the stars outside at the manor, but once you had this piece of land- that's exactly what you created, a little nook made of glass and filled with pillows and fluffy blankets.

You don't remember closing the door- you don't unless it's raining, honestly- but you're sure Fluffs and Goober went to terrorize their bowls of food as soon as you closed your eyes. They couldn't have come back so soon. And they sure as hell didn't have horns. Ugly thing he was, but you couldn't help cooing at it as it whimpered, nudging your hip while showing you his wounded paw.

(Screenshot from the movie Predators 2010)

It didn't agree with any name you threw out, and after a while, you gave up, nicknaming it Predator- he still seemed pouty about it- but accepted it better than the other names.

His actual owner found his loyal companion in quite the predicament- sitting on your lap, all 130 cm and 140 kg of it, while you rubbed his belly and kissed his forehead. And as the Yautja's eyes moved from the unbothered dog xenomorph and demodog at your feet, to his hellhound, to you and back, a million thoughts running through his mind, you could only stare at the well over 2-meter-tall alien as his mandibles clicked.

Predator immediately perked up as he recognized his master, but he didn't move. He actually got even cozier in your arms. His master needed a good mate, and he found the best one.

(I was actually thinking of specifically Ahab while thinking about the x reader thing- but OC Yautjas are a thing, and I sure as hell didn't give specifics 💁‍♀️)

[bekaterrier]

Happy Audio Drama Sunday! Don't forget, your mind is yours alone. Do what it takes to make yourself comfy. Build a library in there, play some music, draw the blinds, listen to an audio drama, kick out unwanted guests. Make it your home.

@saffronandperi S3: I love it when fantasy goes sci-fi, and this season did it so well! I was not expecting it but it was so much fun. The new intro music especially was perfect for setting the new scene. It was also a perspective shift for the show as we usually hear all the shenanigans from Peri's point of vuew on the helpline. Saffron got to live out elements of her favourite tv show and successfully rescue the dragon eggs, as well as learn a thing or two along the way. I'm interested to hear if we'll learn more about Peri's side of the story, other than wrangling goblins. 🧚‍♂️

@forgedbondspod - Chapter 19: Aww Hermes going to Phae for gay panic time! I'm loving the growth of their friendship. And then Phae admitting to starting to feel some type of way about maybe wanting a relationship of her own... Wonder where that'll go? 👀 Di, Apollo and Artemis' conversation was too funny. Ugh Hera, it is killing me to hear how much going along with Zeus' charade is sapping the life out of her. Please let's hear Hera fight Demeter! 💍

@vestaclinicpod Episode 25 - Calculated Risk: Another time travel episode!! Going through the loops from the time traveller's perspective was so fun (not for them though). So chaotic!! I think it was a really great portrayal of the organized chaos of skilled professionals dealing with a serious situation. I'm not a nurse or doctor, but I was a lifeguard and that was definitely my experience. Also how convenient is it that Dr. Adra's former anaesthetist shows up right as the team needs one for NOSL11... (P.S. Fellow Patreon subscribers, how about that ending of this week's bonus episode? 👀) ⚕️

@morrowforge Mage With a Mic Ep3 - Fangs For Nothing: That certainly wasn't the vampire convention we were all expecting! It sounds like we're hearing an inkling of a broader mystery...why did someone want Mage Doughball to be there? What did it accomplish? Very curious indeed... 🎤

@monkeymanproductions Waiting For October S1 Episode 8.5 - Karo: Some final thoughts from Karo at the end of the season. I really love how things are set up for the between-season mini-series (the MOON) and going forward. Karo and Vonnie are going to have some work to do together, and we still have so much to learn about Karo and October. Also my fingers are crossed that the cat Karo is talking to is Frederick (who was just being stubborn by not saying anything) and they'll be around to keep Vonnie company in S2! 🎃

@re-dracula Week 4: A couple of very brief notes from Jonathan, the first of which brought a glimmer of hope that was almost immediately dashed, the second of which really hit home just how helpless he is. Our poor friend is really in it now... 🦇

[ducksido]

Spam you with stuff? Don't mind if I yes~ could I get headcanons for the leech twins and rook with a fem leopard shark mermaid reader that's introverted and super chill but has no problem dealing with them and matching their vibes. Maybe she also has a huge obsession with birds since moving onto land and likes rambling about them to anyone who'll listen. Thanks!

Floyd Leech

Floyd adores your energy. Not many people can hang with his unpredictable moods, but you? Cool as sea-cucumber soup even when he’s bouncing off the walls.

He’ll try to mess with you—suddenly wrapping his arms around you or pulling you into random dances—but when you just blink at him and go, “You done?” it makes him wheeze-laugh every time.

Calls you “Sharkbait” or “Chomp-Chomp.” “You got that quiet shark thing goin’ on… makes me wanna poke you until you snap~!”

He’s not into birds much himself, but when you start rambling about how kestrels hover like helicopters or how ravens mimic human speech, he watches you with the most intrigued expression. “You get more hyper about birds than I do when I see a big ol’ shrimp. Kinda cute~”

You once showed him a video of a shoebill stork. He kept replaying it and now imitates its deadpan stare when bored.

If anyone tries to shut you up mid-ramble, Floyd immediately clamps an arm around you and glares. “Aww, but I like when she talks about her funky lil’ featherfish~ keep goin’, Shrimpy!”

Jade Leech

Jade is fascinated by you. Another merfolk? A shark mermaid, no less? He’s intrigued by your species, your relaxed temperament, your precise, sharp-eyed way of observing the world.

He tries to fluster you by getting close, commenting on your lovely gills or the sleek patterns of your tail when you're transformed. You never rise to the bait. That just makes him more invested.

He once watched you swim lazily in your tank at Mostro Lounge and said, “How serene. You remind me of a predator waiting to strike. I admire it deeply.”

Finds your bird obsession adorable. He asks thoughtful questions—like what birds mate for life, how migration works, or if you’ve tried teaching a crow to bring shiny things to you.

The two of you once spent an hour comparing ocean and aerial apex predators. You were excited. He was enchanted.

May sneak weird mushrooms into your bird-feeding spots as “presents” for your crows. You’re used to it.

You’re the only one who can tell when he’s genuinely amused vs scheming. He respects that immensely.

Rook Hunt

Rook? Oh Rook is obsessed. Your shark-like grace, your quiet intensity, your passion for birds—la beauté sauvage!

He’ll wax poetic about your “predatory serenity” and how your eyes gleam like “moonlit coral reefs.”

You just roll your eyes and go, “You gonna let me finish my bird fact or what?”

He listens so intently when you ramble about birds. You’ll mention obscure mating dances or how different birds preen, and he’ll nod like you’re reciting sacred scripture.

He has a surprisingly vast knowledge of birds too and will happily go full info-dump mode with you. “Ah, oui! The lyrebird, a master of mimicry. Did you know it can even imitate chainsaws?”

He once composed a whole poem comparing your hunting instincts to an osprey and read it to you by candlelight. You clapped once. He was delighted.

Finds it charming that you don’t flinch at his intensity. You ground him without dulling his passion.

If you ever transform into your mermaid form on land (say, in a fountain or pool), he’s immediately sketching you like a court painter in awe of a myth.

[braiviac-5]

I feel like we all talk about the psych polycule and how they're all gay/every combination of characters work---BUT we NEVER seem to talk about Gussiter?!?!!

I love Shassie as well but Gussiter makes just as much sense, though I'd argue they make MORE sense together... ‼️💥💥🍍⁉️⁉️

1. Season 5, Episode 2: "Feet Don't Kill Me Now."

Like, c'mon son!... Them tap dancing together had to be one of the most homosexual scenes in the entire show. Gus (accidentally) found a way to calm Carlton's mind---super cute, proud gus, so mad this was never brought up again?!?! No even ONCE do we see Carlton "tap dancing" again (unless we do.. I haven't entirely finished the last season of psych [i have one or two eps left] and the movies. But I doubt it's going to come up again😪💔)

2. Gus is similar to Shawn, but a better fit for Carlton. (Gussiter>>Shassie)

Shawn is super childish, silly, loud, annoying, ect and Gus is also silly and extravagant but more mature, responsible, but outshinned by Shawn---something that he has in common with Carlton. (Edit:) And Gus is so intelligent with an amazing ability to retain information, so he's super knowledgeable on tons of different topics. There'd definitely be some long overdue yap sessions in the middle of cases with Lassiter listening to everything he's saying, until he realizes that there is a murderer on the lose that needs to be taken in.

3. Gus is KNOW to be into "crazy chics."

Carlton is a crazy chic! And by crazy I mean possibly autistic, definitely not nuerototypical, possibly a robot, with angry issues and an attachment to his gun. He has a murder wall. He's dating someone in jail. I don't know how else to say he's crazy, but you get what I mean. Gus has fallen in love with someone in a mental hospital and was ok with dating her even after learn she has multiple personality disorder and is somethings a man! Gus can handle Carlton's craziness, which is proven by his relationship with Shawn.

I love Gussiter!!

Thank you for coming to my ted talk 😛😛. My arguements aren't perfect but I enjoy talking about them. They are ‼️💥💥💥‼️💥‼️💥🙏. I am not hating on any other psych ships, they all are amazing in their own ways [yes i did say "(Gussiter>>Shassie)" but I did once have a Shassie obsession. it is also great and I think I have an overall Carlton Lassiter obsession. He's literally me guys💔]. Long live the psych polycule. Gussiter rules🙏🙏