#enby-i-barely-looked-at-them

[adadwithaplann]

Hey @Enby-I-barely-looked-at-them, you blocked me from replying to your Gofundme post, and that’s kind of weird, but here we go!

You say there was a “mutually agreed upon” restraining order, but that’s not how DVPOs work. A Domestic Violence Protection Order is court-issued after evidence is presented—usually by a survivor seeking safety. It’s not a handshake deal or a mutual decision. It’s a legal response to harm.

If you did nothing wrong, why would a court restrict your contact with someone and their child? Why is that order in place? You’re asking the internet to side with you, but you’re not telling the full story. You’re leaving out what led to the order—what you were accused of—and that’s not a small omission.

Framing yourself as a victim while ignoring the person you harmed is manipulative. You talk about fairness, but where is that concern when it comes to their safety and peace?

You also call yourself a “dedicated dad,” but what exactly have you done in that role lately? Have you provided support—financial, emotional, or otherwise—in the last several months? Or is this dedication only showing up now that you want sympathy online?

You don’t get to twist the facts to look more palatable online while someone else is living with the aftermath of your actions. Survivors deserve protection, not public smear campaigns dressed up as crowdfunding posts.

[honey-lemon-halo]

Kink I assume you have: Knife play

teehee yeah <3

[kryptonite-cutiee]

Pass the happy!🌻🌈When you receive this, list 5 things that make you happy and send this to 10 of the last people in your notifications

Let’s see 5 things that make me happy 🤔

1. SHARKS

2. Bratz

3. How cunty transparent colourful plastic consoles were

4. Funky and weird earrings

5. Miraculous Ladybug!

[showeredinstardust]

I am not a big Tumblr poster. Ok? I'm an observer in all aspects. A lurker, if you will. I don't reblog stuff. I barely even like things. I only follow people sometimes.

But recently I've been scrolling through the 'transandrophobia' tag a lot more than I used to. recently I've seen posts that send me into a train of thought that's like. "People really think like this?" And it's more tiring than I realize sometimes. So I'm putting my thoughts into this post.

I've recently watched masculine trans people and queer people of all kinds getting the short end of the stick. I watch people put others down based on their masculinity, and I think- if this is such a big issue when done to femininity, why in the world would you think it's acceptable to flip it around? Feminism has never been about saying that women are better. It's never been about hating men. It's been about uplifting women so that they'll be seen as equals, and breaking both men and women out of patriarchal mindsets. It's about uniting over the fact that no group of people is better than another.

Trans men and enbies and mascs do not have whatever perceived systemic privilege you think they do. Trans people in general will only ever have conditional privilege in specific situations, if that. Society only praises performative masculinity- the kind that fits into their neat little boxes of 'should' and 'shouldn't'. Masculine queer people have never fit into those stupid little boxes. Trans men. Mascs. Butches.

I'm tired of this. Tired of the 'femininity good masculinity bad' talk. You're not children. Grow up and learn some nuance. Trans men are whiny and annoying to you because they've never had the privilege of being anything other than invisible. Constantly erased and brushed off so when they start getting angry you see it as an attack because you haven't cared to see them before. You haven't cared to see them when they were scared. You haven't cared to see them when they were just begging to be seen. You haven't cared to see them as anything other than traitors or thieves or anything because until it's not about you anymore, you don't give a fuck. You only look at them when you're personally slighted by whatever they have to say.

What does it cost to have empathy for other's lived experiences? Nothing. When a group of people is telling you what they've consistently and repeatedly been through, you listen to them. You don't shut them down because of an immutable trait. You don't shut them down because you've never seen it happen. You don't shut them down because they're not your idea of someone who's oppressed. That's not how this works. People are angry for a REASON. Masculine queer people have every right to be angry. we've been pushed aside and had statistics ignored and been told that other people's oppression is more important than ours simply for what? the sin of masculinity?

Now, above all, trans people should be united. Instead of fussing over whatever sort of strawmen and caricatures you have in your head, we should just be listening to each other. we should be able to listen to other's lives and traumas and pains without throwing a fit over words or theories. Having words to describe oppression is important. Being able to label your pain is important. But none of that matters more than what's happening to people in their real lives. the people who are dying. The people who are being raped and silenced and shunned out of public spaces and even their own homes. No words will ever matter more than the people who are actively hurting due to your refusal to even look in their direction.

if you want to talk about this, be my guest. Ask me questions. Tell me I'm wrong. Whatever. I just have a need for this to be known above all else. I don't care what people on the internet think of what I have to say. This site is a fuckin cesspool. so's every other corner of the internet.

Thanks for reading.

[p1ercemyh34rt]

No I will never shut up about the glorious rep in Dr stone, especially queer rep

I know going “I love how they don’t make a big deal of it and it’s so natural” then going and making a big deal about it doesn’t make sense but THIS IS EXACTLY THE KIND OF STUFF I HOPED FOR FOR YEARS?? HELLO?? It’s written INTO their characters like it’s amazing

Senku, Stanley, Xeno, Ryusui, Francois , and Gen are the most like obvious.

Senku is clearly not heterosexual. I’m sorry no way a heterosexual man shows that much disgust when a girl confesses to him. I’m not saying he’s gay even if I HC him as such but at the very least he’s on the aromantic or asexual spectrum. I personally think if he wasn’t aroace he would be gay. Ik it’s probably a coping mechanism but it’s also funny to watch Senku flirt with guys whenever he’s terrified and or they’re abt to kill him

Stanley and Xenos relationship makes me want to drop to my knees and wail. So so beautiful. Xenos obviously a bad person but I love how they show his soft side for Stanley the way he looks at him when he’s a statue when he gives him little fake cigarettes it’s so elegant. Drst writes characters who are considered bad people to have soft sides like Xeno and also make the protagonists people who aren’t really saints at all, making them feel more human. Stanley is clearly in love with Xeno which is why he gets so damn peeved when he gets kidnapped and there’s no hetero explanation for the scene where Stanley gets revived again. And I love how they made Stanley the most masculine man who literally served in the military gay and wear makeup. Literally. Hes not afraid to wear lipstick like YES I ADORE IT. Again he SERVED IN THE MILITARY he has like a 10 pack and is masculine as hell and he’s still such a well written homosexual character who’s comfortable in his sexuality and gender. Epitome of masculinity fr fr.

Francois is enby, using they/them pronouns. I love how Ryusui says gender sex race nothing matters when it comes to sheer talent, which is why the writers don’t tell much too about them. They’re just pure talent and live to serve and even though they’re a butler they’re still not robotic and stuff, same with Senku- he’s not that into romance but he’s still definitely not nonchalant at all.

Ryusui , the greediest man in the world. He desires everyONE and everyTHING. My pansexual probably polyamorous KING. He don’t care abt ur gender or whatever he wants YOU!!

Gen Asagiri, this one.. he’s definitely queer... im not saying it just because he’s the most feminine out of all the men (though I LOVE how again they made a very feminine male character and made him so well written) , but because of the clear admiration he has towards Senku. You could say it’s not romantic that’s fine - QPR sengen still peak. In my opinion he’s either gay or bisexual. He barely also shows interest in women, when he does it’s clearly for keeping up his facade. Again, he’s genuinely mesmerized by Senku and what he does. I love sengen but if we’re talking canon, they’re definitely one sided. The way I see it, no way Gen doesn’t feel anything for Senku. Also cmon.. just look at the guy.. listen to his voice… cmon. Cmon. Cmon. Cmo-

Again I’m OBSESSED with the way their sexualities are written into their characters and personalities, and how it’s shown so well.. if that makes sense.. love this show so much please if you haven’t seen Dr Stone watch it if you want a show with glorious characters, story, and rep for neurodivergent people (autism specifically with Senku and Sai) and queer people.

[andy-wm]

Back to WHO : the MV

This is a continuation of the earlier post that discusses the song WHO, by Jimin. That post was a first impression focused on the lyrics - while this one looks more closely at the MV.

(Remember this is my interpretation, not an official statement by Hybe)

The more times I watched the music video, the more I wanted to yell, because look...

IT'S REALLY STARING US IN THE FACE.

And again, kudos to Jimin's team because it's the most obvious thing in the world ever but only if you ALREADY KNOW what's going on.

Here's a summary:

The music video loosely represents Jimin's attraction/sexuality/love life as a timeline.

New colours - a new spectrum shall we say - filter into his life even though he's trying so hard to 'keep to the program'.

He searches high and low for a girl to love, but alas, nobody makes the fireworks happen for him. Then Billboard Boy crashes into his life, threatening to destroy everything. Jimin has to weather the storm and figure out where his place is because Billboard Boy is a major disruptor - a tornado in fact. In the end, the fireworks are popping and the chaos is happening, and Jimin has to just go with it and finds his place again. His colours have been getting brighter and louder as he goes along and in the end he's prepared to walk away from everything in order to be the spectrum he is.

<<I'm not saying it's literally a count of how many girls or boys or enbys he's kissed. I hope his kissed all of them and then some, frankly, but that's none of my business.>>

A few things to pay special attention to:

Burning cars > cars = masculinity. fire = hot. 1+1=2.

Dancers > people he's interacting with

Rough weather, as represented by the wind-whipped papers and eventually even cars being tossed about the set > His attraction to men (and dare I say it, culminating in a focus on one man in particular)

Colour flares, machine text, and marks on the tape (horizontal lines etc)

Are you ready? Let's go...

Jimin enters the scene looking like sex on legs (no surprises) and strolls casually onto the road. Immediately our view of hm is blocked by a pop-art style poster blowing across the screen. It's immediately followed by a car coming around the corner onto the road. The car is on fire. Jimin watches it pass by and follows it.

He follows the burning car.... and so it begins.

The narrative starts from before BTS even exists. Jimin encounters several female dancers who he has brief and sexy interludes with. In fact i don't think there's a single woman in this MV who he doesn't at least look at. He really does try everything (and everyone) in his efforts to find HER.

BUT WAIT.... rewind...

Let's go back to the poster... it depicts a street scene much like the one we see here, with the words:

WHO IS!! TORNADO OF LOVE

Note: those are exclamation points not question marks.

It's not a question. This is telling us UP FRONT IN BIG LETTERS that 'WHO' is tornado of love.

I could probably stop here and just say 'ok go watch it again' but it's too much fun to go through all the details.

So let's continue...

Jimin has a little more steamy choreo with the female dancers before the lyrics tell us he has so many people to see and places to go, and he leaves them and joins 6 other men in what looks like a work environment....

Hello we are BTS!

Yes you guessed it... like Yoongi did in Haegum, Jimin has his members represented here. (Fan chant going off in my head...) and more delicious choreography follows.

Notice that while Jimin was dancing with the girls, the only signs of rough weather were a few glittery specs floating through the air, barely noticable. Those bits of glitter multiply when he joins the 6 men, and instead of a sprinkling of glitter, it starts looking like a light snowfall.

That's all about to change....

The first moment of reckonning:

At the end of this section of choreo, as Jimin sings 'who is my heart waiting for' and moves into the next phase we have a barely visible flash of light across the screen and rainbow colours bleed into the footage (at 1.14).

This is also the moment the significant rough weather starts. I'd say this is where Jimin starts noticing how he feels, and the turmoil begins, because this is also where he makes eye contact with the camera (1.23).

He sees us watching.

Fuck. I had a moment here. There's a look on his face as he walks past the camera and stares right into it.

AUTO CALLIBRATION...

As another millisecond flash of light and rainbow colours seep into the footage, The machine text 'AUTO CALLIBRATION' appear on the screen and flash there for a couple of seconds.

CALLIBRATE: To standardise... by determinning the deviation from a standard so as to ascertain the proper correction factors (Meriam-Webster definition).

"Get a hold of yourself, Jimin. Reset (your behaviour and desires) to correspond with expectations"

Jimin makes a very determined bee-line for the nearest girl and dances with her, ignoring the burning car in the foreground.

This brings us to the next phase of the narrative, and the next location - the performance space in front of the OASIS cinema.

(Do you see the doors of the cinema - BTS referenced again).

As he dances with this girl, the camera zooms out and we see that a crowd has gathered outside the cinema, watching them, but the crowd does not seem friendly and the dance seems performative - the movements are exagerated and obvious. The girl has Jimin in a headlock at one point and then she pushes him away and leaves. All in all it's an unpleasant event.

At this point the BTS members return (Although now there's one missing) and they dance with and around a number of female dancers. flashes go off in the crowd as the choreo is performed.

As they dance the wind picks up quickly and papers and cans are blown about. Even when Jimin is obviously interacting with female dancers the weather continues to pick up. Dancing with the girls isn't helping.

The camera pulls back and we see the same car as before, still on fire.

This is the moment when the penny (or billboard) drops.

All the other dancers scatter, dissapearing in a matter of seconds as the billboard comes crashing down. The billboard blocks his path. Wherever he had been planning to go - or whatever course of action he had planned to take - this man on the billboard forces a new decision. Jimin has to rethink his plans.

Jimin turns and goes in the opposite direction to everyone else. (A similar scene occured in Like Crazy, Jimin going the other way, rejecting the norm, going against the tide).

The machine text flashes "REWIND ... REWIND" on the screen and we see Jimin heading back to where all this started... where the original car on fire was seen.

He's travelling his own path now, but as he walks, alone in what seems to be the wrong direction, we see the store lights brighter, reflecting off cars and filling the space around him.

He's going through the motions with the girls he passes but the interactions are brief and in one case he actually dodges the girl completetly.

He retraces his steps amidst the chaos, and the weather really goes nuts. Now there are cars being thrown through the air, streetlamps exploding. The storm is almost upon him.

As Jimin steps into that original street again, the one with the neon letters spelling BLISS, the machine text reads PLAY. It's almost ike he's having a redo, where he accepts who he is from the start and allows the chaos to happen. And the chaos DOES happen, because the tornado has arrived.

THE TORNADO OF LOVE.

There's a flash and the whole screen is flooded with colours, blanking out the footage.

Jimin can no longer dance in step with everyone else at this point. He's doubled over, belting those high notes at the climax of the song while the chaos rages in the background. Without the music to give his actions context, it almost looks like hes in agony.

Sparks fly, lights flash, even the film itself is affected...

He eventually gets it together and rejoins the choreography, picking up his life so to speak. But his callibration is forever changed. the colours that bled into his life are there for good now, and and as he walks away after the music stops, we see that those colours are not just for the performance, they exist outside of that.

A note about the light flares we see throughout the MV:

It was really hard to catch these, some of them were literal milliseconds. I had to slow the MV down to play at .25 original speed and even then they were fleeting - well hidden.

Only the one at the very end was really visible.

In this one, the word PAUSE appears, as the MV ends. I wonder if that relates to their military service?

The flares of light and colour, those rainbow flashes, aren't always easy to find. Youvhave to be prepared to seek them out.

We will find them if we look for them, but i think Jimin won't show his true colours until after the lights go down and the performance is over.

I respect his decision (if that's what that is) and i will continue to meet him here his stands. I'll support everything he does knowing what I know and I'll continue to search for and uncover the hidden messages he sends us.

[raikiriwolfwrites]

Bitterness, Sweetened by Your Lips

Lucanis is struggling after Weisshaupt. Emotions boil over and Rook is there to offer long needed reassurances.

Enby RookxLucanis

Warning for allusions to Caterina's A+ parenting and panic attacks.

Chapter 6 - Catharsis

Read on AO3

Lucanis landed heavily against the stone, jolting upright with a wince as Ghilan’nain screamed in disbelief at the blood trickling from the cut on her face.

He’d missed.

The tap of Caterina’s cane echoed in his ears, moving closer, ready to chastise him for his failure. He was ready to throw himself back at Ghilan’nain, prove he could complete the job, when Rook’s shout made him pause. The rhythmic sound of a cane on stone morphed into Rook’s heavy footfalls as they ran up to him, gloved hand a vice around his bicep to pull him back.

“Let’s go!”

“Give me another shot!” He tried to twist out of Rook’s grip, but they held firm.

“Too late, back to the eluvian.”

He wanted to keep fighting, fix his mistake, but writhing walls of blight were building up around Ghilan’nain and spreading fast as she raged. Logic won out over anger. Rook was right, the window of opportunity was gone. He hesitated for one final second, watching his target disappear from sight behind a grotesque, fleshy, barrier of blight, before pivoting on his heel and following after Rook and the others.

Rook shouted to Holden as the team drew together in their sprint for the exit. “Is it working?”

The ethereal glow of the eluvian seemed as strong as ever as they approached. The familiar floating islands of the Crossroads just visible through its shimmering surface. “I hope so.”

“Best odds all day.”

One by one they ran through to the safety of the Crossroads beyond.

-----

They all went their separate ways in the Lighthouse, agreeing to meet up in the dining hall once they’d all cleaned off the blood, sweat, grime and blight of Weisshaupt.

Lucanis mechanically cleaned up and redressed in his casual clothes. Leathers and blades were wiped off, checked over, and put away. Dust and sweat cleansed from his skin with a cloth and warm water. His body followed the familiar motions of fastening his waistcoat and heading to the kitchen to start preparing coffee while his mind whirled. He couldn't tell where his agitation ended and Spite’s began over the loss of their kill. They twined together, a negative feedback loop of emotion buffeting him from the inside as he desperately clung to his routine, and the familiar rich scent of Andoral’s Breath, to keep himself grounded. He tried taking deep, controlled breaths to reign the emotion back in, but it felt like trying to empty the Treviso canals with a coffee cup.

He doesn’t quite remember everyone else arriving, or sitting down at the table, but the next thing he registers is the solid presence of a chair beneath him and at his back. A press of warmth at his knee from his left draws him away from himself and he looks up from the coffee mug clutched like a lifeline between his palms.

Rook isn’t looking at him, they’re watching everyone settle in their seats, but he shifts his leg under the table to return the pressure, grateful for the contact as people start talking. He sips his coffee as the conversation washes over him, the words barely skimming his consciousness as he focuses on centering himself with even breaths.

Harding is the last to take her seat, with a missive in hand. “Evka sent word. Last of the civilians made it to Lavendel. Janos and his people held the line long enough for them to escape Weisshaupt. And the Wardens are in Lavendel, too.”

“What’s left of them, you mean. Over a thousand…that’s how many fellow Wardens I had. And now…One god. One Archdemon. That’s all it took to nearly wipe out our entire Order.”

“I promise you Davrin. We’ll make Ghilan’nain pay. For every Warden she killed. Every child left alone. There will be a reckoning.”

“How? We all saw what she did. That’s beyond…”

“We killed her Archdemon, though. That’s something, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. After it turned into a snake monster with too many heads! Are all blighted dragons going to do that? I don’t know how to fight that!”

“Well, at least we’ve made Ghilan’nain mortal.”

“Mortal or immortal doesn’t matter if we can’t get close enough.” The feeling of eyes boring into the side of his skull grates on his senses enough to pull his focus back to the table. Davrin’s look of disdain is aimed right at him as he continues. “We had our shot at her. And we missed.”

Spite’s anger is a writhing mass behind his eyes, melding with and feeding off his own frustration. The unsubtle jab, salt in a wound he was already picking the edges of raw. But he manages to keep his voice level to reply. “Say what you mean Davrin. I missed.”

“Nobody blames you for that, Lucanis.”

He held back a scoff. Harding may not, but she should. The target of his contract was there, he’d had his chance, and missed.

“Yeah? Maybe I do. This Crow has a demon inside him, right?”

Davrin’s words sank like hooks into the open wounds of his failure and he relished the sting. He needed to be better.

“Now that’s not–“

Davrin had found the target for his righteous anger and Harding’s interruptions weren’t going to stop him.

“How do we know we can trust him? Maybe the demon pulled his punches.”

Spite railed at that. He was clenching the mug in his hands tight enough he worried it might shatter as he fought back against Spite clawing for the reigns. But the porcelain held, as did his control, if only barely.

“Okay. Hold on. Now we’re getting–“

Between Davrin’s words, Spite’s vicious tantrum thrashing behind his eyes, and his own swirling temult of emotion, his patience and temper were fraying and he couldn’t help but snap back. “And you, Warden? What about the blight that runs through your veins? The same blight that Ghilan’nain commands so effortlessly.”

Even Emmrich’s deep well of patience seemed to be running dry as he attempts to settle them all down again. “Just a moment, please–“

“Enough!”

Rook’s deep voice cuts sharply through the bickering like a knife. A rare thread of anger steeling their voice enough to make everyone instantly fall blessedly silent and listen.

“Stop arguing. We’ve got no chance if we turn on each other. Chaos helps the gods, and hurts this team. It will get us killed, one by one.” They looked round the table as they spoke, meeting everyone’s eyes in turn. Lucanis gathered himself enough to meet them with a veneer of calm contrition as they finally reached him. Everyone looking suitably calm or chastised, they continue, addressing the whole table. The frustration has faded, but the hard edge to their voice remains, brooking no argument. “So get it together. We need to figure out how to defeat them.”

Emmrich is the first to break the tense silence. “We’re all in agreement on that point, Rook. But the question remains— how? We barely survived against one of the gods.”

Lucanis picks at the memory, trying to find the loose thread, where the job went wrong. He was so close. He cannot keep the bitterness from his tone as he mutters, “I nearly had her.”

“Nearly. But you and Spite are not of one mind, Lucanis. Fighting for control…it’s no wonder you missed such a rare opportunity.”

Emmrich’s words aren’t meant to be an attack, he knows, but still they fall like a lash on his back, another brand woven into the tapestry of failure across his skin.

Rook’s voice anchors him in the present and he clings to the comfort of it as it cuts through the turbulence in his mind. He feels the brief reprieve of the eye of the storm as he locked on to their words.

“We’ve all been distracted, but we’re not in this fight alone. We have allies and friends in all sorts of places. We reach out to them and eventually someone will find something that will put us on the trail of the gods. There’s so much going on that we can’t control, but the least we can do is help our allies, help each other. We can’t afford distractions, but we have time to prepare. For now though, we need to rest and cool off. We killed an Archdemon today, and we all made it out in one piece. And when the time comes, we make the gods pay for the ones who didn’t.”

Everyone read the silent dismissal in Rook’s words and started to slowly trickle out of the room, the tension between them not quite gone, but certainly lessened. Lucanis was the last to rise as Rook watched the door shut behind the others from their seat at the head of the table.

In the subsequent quiet, his own thoughts become loud again, he feels raw as his mind is pulled in every direction at once, an unrelenting force pounding behind his eyes.

But he has to keep it together. He can’t let Rook see how close the threads holding him together are to snapping. Rook deserves better than a patched up shell of a man, straining at the seams. He needs to be better. He needs to work, and prove that he can fulfill his contract.

The mask of collectedness doesn’t slip into place as easily as he would like but he manages to hold it together enough to try and reassure Rook. He hopes it’s enough for them to leave him alone to scrape together enough of the scattered pieces of himself; to build them back into something resembling Lucanis Dellamorte, the Demon of Vyrantium.

Rook reaches up and catches his forearm in their calloused palm as he rounds the table, concern clear in their expression.

“I’m fine. I just need some time alone to get my head on straight.”

They seem reluctant, but unwilling to push after the day they’ve had. They let him go, voice soft. “Whatever you need to do.”

He misses the warmth of Rook’s palm as he pulls away but he can feel the mask slipping. He can’t let Rook see. They have the whole team to hold together, they don’t need the added stress of holding him together, too. The roaring in his ears is starting to build again and his focus tunnels in on the pantry door, so much so that he doesn’t register Rook’s voice, talking to the empty air beside them as he firmly shuts the door behind him.

-----

He doesn’t even make it into the pantry fully, managing to close the door before the dam breaks and he collapses back against it. The thick wood doing more to hold him up than his own trembling limbs.

His back muscles twitched, besieged by a phantom ache, the memory of pain awakening as if fresh. Every thought, every doubt, every recollection of his failure compounding, layering over each other like the crack of Caterina’s cane on his bare flesh. His back itched and tingled where the scars mapped his skin. Each a lesson. One he thought he had learned well, paid for in sweat, blood and bruises seared deep into his bones.

He can faintly hear Spite, feel the brush of his sharp magic as his manifestation rages around him, but it’s distant, muffled. His mind sunk so deep into the maelstrom of his own feelings that even Spite’s can’t quite get through to him. His hands come up to clutch at his hair, the sting of his harsh grip a penance. Caterina’s firm hand always followed sharply on the heels of mistakes and failures. Until he learned not to fail. That pain had moulded him into the Master Assassin he was lauded as, made him stronger.

The ‘Demon of Vyrantium’ never failed a contract.

His family was nearly all gone. His home was under occupation. He had lost a year of his life to pain and darkness, only to escape with a mind and body that wasn’t even his own any more.

If he couldn’t even complete a contract, what did he have left.

What use is he to Rook.

His breath shakes, chest aching. One hand claws at the chain at his throat, ripping it off along with his cravat. The top button of his shirt falls victim to the harsh rake of nails and is sent flying, clattering across the floor alongside the crow skulls and chain. The hand returns to its tight grip in his hair and he closes his eyes to fight off the black encroaching at the edges of his vision, back sliding down the door until he meets the stone floor with a heavy thump. It should feel cold beneath him. He feels nothing. Disconnected from the sensation, and too entrenched in the depths of his own mind to notice.

The crumbling stone walls of the Ossuary close in around him, crushing the breath from his lungs. The trickling of water through the cracks becomes a flood. The water slowly rises up around him, engulfing him in its numbing embrace. He rakes blunt nails across his scalp to feel something other than the oppressive weight closing in from all sides.

The pressure builds, a vice around his ribs as his heart tries to break through them from the inside.

The dark nothingness he falls into is a relief.

-----

Spite growls and rages around the pantry as Lucanis shuts the door behind him. He throws his spectral form into the shelves, thrashes at the food, candles and other objects littering the pantry. But nothing budges.

He wants to break.

Kill.

But without Lucanis’ form he can’t.

The Lighthouse is the closest thing he’s felt to the fade since he was ripped from it, forced into a vessel not made to fit.

But he. Still. Can’t. Touch. Anything.

It’s part of the Fade, but disconnected somehow. Or maybe it’s him that disconnected. Forced into a mortal shell, not even a mage who can access the Fade. Only a tenuous link where the veil is weak allowing him to pull things through to help Rook.

His fury returns to its primary target.

Zara.

It’s. Her. Fault.

In the Fade the world would bend to his whims. With enough determination, anything was possible. But now be’s trapped. And Lucanis isn’t keeping his side of the deal.

He whirls back to where Lucanis is hunched by the door, surprised that he hasn’t been told to be quiet or wrangled back into the dank cell of the Ossuary in his mind.

Lucanis is ignoring him.

He stalks closer.

“Let. Me. OUT. We make them PAY. For what they did to. US.”

He was shouting in Lucanis’ face now but his eyes were screwed shut and he still wasn’t listening.

“You. Keep. Us. TRAPPED.”

He seethed, inches from Lucanis’ face, chest heaving from his outburst despite not needing to breathe. Still nothing. His anger simmered down as he looked closer at Lucanis.

Something was wrong.

The sour notes of distress permeated the air. The tangle in his mind where their emotions met was a turbulent mess. Feelings old and new knotted together and tore where they caught on sharp, unhealed edges. He prodded at the divide between them and was met with damp stone.

He couldn’t reach Lucanis.

The body before him was trembling, breaths thin and short. He watched it slide down to the floor.

He prodded harder at the link between them only to be met with a jolt of pain. No. That was Lucanis’ pain.

Lucanis was hurting.

He needs Lucanis.

But how can he make it stop.

He flitted about, unsure, but unable to do anything. He kept niggling at their bond. The mental wall keeping him out started to crumble as the body before him curled in tighter on itself. It collapsed, but there was only silence beyond. It felt like in the Ossuary, when Lucanis retreated into his mind, closed off from all feeling to escape the pain.

With the mental barrier gone, he was thrust into control of Lucanis’ body, catching it before it dropped sideways onto the floor.

It felt wrong. Like the adrenaline of battle coursing through his veins, but instead of adding strength, it left limbs shaking and weak. His chest felt bruised, heart beating too fast, finally starting to slow back to normal.

Lucanis needs help.

Rook.

Rook helps.

Rook, who’s magic feels like home. Who always listened, helped people who ask, and those who don’t. Who is kind but doesn’t hesitate to cut down those who stand in their way. Rook’s presence is a comfort to them both.

He forces shaky legs to stand and leaves the pantry with one goal in mind.

-----

Rook collapses onto the chaise with a heavy sigh. Weisshaupt had gone poorly yet, somehow, that meeting had been worse. Post battle adrenaline had made tempers short. They had done the rounds, checking in on everyone afterwards, and thankfully the team seemed to have settled down again. They have some time while their allies gather more intel, time they can use to help get everyone back on task and focused.

Lucanis was the only one they hadn’t spoken to. He said he needed some time, and they had to respect that, as much as they wished to be there by his side. They could see he was taking it hard, Davrin’s misplaced frustration not helping matters. They breathed out another weary sigh and dropped their head into their hands, rubbing at their eyes.

Maybe a short nap, and then drop by and see how he’s doing.

The rattle of the door handle lures their head from the cradle of their hands. The sight as it swings open has them jumping to their feet and rushing to the door.

“Lu- Spite!” The purple glow in place of dark brown is familiar, if unexpected. But the state he’s in sends a surge of panic through them.

“Rook.” Spite’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, a subtle tremor to it that makes Rook’s heart ache.

It’s the most dishevelled Rook’s ever seen Lucanis. His clothes are rumpled, cravat, collar pins and chain gone. They can see faint red welts across his neck where the shirt gapes open without the top button holding it closed. There’s a faint sheen of sweat across his skin and an unsteadiness to his limbs that contradicts the usually precisely controlled movements of the master assassin. Even without being able to read his eyes past the purple glow, his face looks lost and unsure. That more than anything, so unlike how Spite normally carries himself in Lucanis’ body, sends tendrils of anxiety racing through them.

Their hands flit over him, trying to find the source of the problem. Finding nothing obvious they move back up to gently cradle Spite’s face between their palms, smoothing their thumbs slowly across his cheeks. “Spite? What happened?”

Spite surges forward and buries his face into Rook’s neck, inhaling deeply, and their arms wind around him securely. They reach one arm out to shut the door, locking it behind them as they gently steer Spite towards the chaise.

They take a seat, pulling Spite down beside them. He clutches at Rook, face buried back in their neck as they settle. Lucanis’ body seems to lose some of its tension at the contact.

“Spite? What’s going on?” They probe gently, but receive no response except for deep breaths into the hollow of their throat. “If you can’t explain it, can I have Lucanis back to talk?”

The hair on his head tickles their chin as he shakes his head in a violent ‘no’.

“Lucanis hurts. Old and new. Then he hides.”

There’s a tightening in Rook’s chest, a deep regret from leaving Lucanis to dwell alone. Spite’s resonant growl over Lucanis’ voice vibrates against the skin of their neck with a wash of warm breath. But he pulls back to look at them, hand clutching at Rook’s shirt.

“Rook helps.” It’s both a statement and a plea.

The warmth at being trusted to help wars with the pain of knowing Lucanis is hurting, that Spite is hurting and confused. “Anything I can do, please, just ask.”

Spite shakes his head again.

“Rook. Safe.”

Rook blinks, confused, but reaches out to take Spite’s hand, running a thumb over his knuckles as they wait for him to elaborate.

“WE. Are safe. With Rook.”

Oh.

“Can’t reach. Lucanis. But he comes back…when it’s safe. Rook. Safe.”

They felt a surge of affection, they knew how hard it was for Spite to articulate through Lucanis. The effortless trade of thought and feeling between spirits in the Fade impossible to translate into inelegant syllables, especially in a body he had to fight to contain him. But he came to them. He and Lucanis needed help and he trusted them, explained where Lucanis could not.

“Thank you, Spite.” They pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “If you need to be here with me, you should at least be comfortable then.”

They set to removing Lucanis’ boots and waistcoat, setting them off to the side as Spite watched on.

“Come here.” Rook beckoned softly, guiding Spite down to lay along the chaise, head resting in their lap. They started running a hand soothingly through his hair and he nuzzled his face into Rook’s stomach, melting into the comforting touch with a rumble of contentment.

“I think you need rest too, Spite. I’ll be here as long as you and Lucanis need.”

They kept up the motion of smoothing their hand through his silky hair until Spite stilled fully, body relaxed. They kept caressing his hair gently, and they waited to see whose eyes would greet them when he woke up.

-----

He came to slowly, warm and comfortable, sighing softly at the gentle scratch of fingers against his scalp as fingers combed through his hair. He pressed his face deeper into the warm, soft fabric against his face. A soft chuckle jostled him slightly and he turned his head enough to slit an eye open. Rook was gazing fondly down at him. A myriad of emotions flickered across their face, he was still muzzy from sleep so couldn’t place all of them, but he thought he caught a shadow of concern mixed in with the affection.

Rook’s hand slipped from his hair to cup the side of his face, rubbing soothing circles at his temple where a headache was starting to make itself known.

“Back with me, Lucanis?”

The ache behind his eyes and throughout his limbs brought back a flood of memory. He winced, he hadn’t wanted Rook to see him like this. He can’t quite muster words to explain so he decides to hide his weakness away in Rook’s shirt once more, letting out a deep, shuddering sigh of defeat into their stomach.

“Lucanis? Please talk to me. Let me help.”

There was an edge of desperation to their voice. The thought of causing Rook undue upset outweighed his shame. Schooling his expression he levered himself upright, out of Rook’s lap. Rook didn’t let him go far though, pulling him into their side as he sat next to them.

He tried to think back, rubbing his eyes to ease the dull throbbing behind them, but everything after he closed the door to the pantry was a dark smudge in his memory. The loss of time always made him wary.

“How did I get here?” He asked quietly, voice rough from disuse.

Rook reached out to clasp his hand. “Spite was worried. He brought you here.” He could see them turn to him out the corner of his eye, feel the weight of their gaze, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet it. That first bit gave him pause though.

Worried?

Spite had control, and he came here?

Spite was there, quiet in the back of his mind. He tried to reach out but Spite stayed stubbornly tucked away, almost sulking.

“I know you took Weisshaupt hard. I’m sorry I didn’t come and check on you, but you said you needed some time alone-“

“No.” He couldn’t stand for Rook to blame themself over this. “You did everything you could, for everyone. I just l…didn’t want to you to see me like that. You have enough to deal with without my failures.”

The arm around his waist tightened. “You didn’t fail, Lucanis. We fought a god. We killed her Archdemon, wounded her, and we lived to tell about it.”

They didn’t understand.

“You shouldn’t go easy on me, Rook! I had her. She should have never gotten away from me. This was our contract, Rook. I don’t fail my contracts.”

“Ghilan’nain was a giant face in the clouds, Lucanis. I asked you to stab a cloud.”

“And I missed the damn cloud!”

“My point is: That was impossible, and you still almost did it. That’s not small. Things always go wrong, we learn and we grow. No one is infallible. You’re human, Lucanis.”

He chokes out a bitter laugh. “Am I?” Rook tenses beside him, but he cuts off the protest he can feel forming. “I thought I still had this. Whatever else I am, I’m a professional. After the Ossuary, I thought at least I could still take out a target. I need to work.”

Rook’s presence was a tether keeping him from spiralling like he did before, but he could feel the frustration building up behind his eyes and they stung with unshed tears.

Rook coaxes him to turn towards them with a soft grip on his jaw. He relents to the pressure. There’s a steel in their eyes “And you will. Next time we go in prepared, and we will succeed. Together. For now, forget about Ghilan’nain.”

“But that’s why I’m here. If I can’t do this, what use am I to you.”

“Lucanis…I’m just happy you didn’t get killed out there. Yes, we hired you for your reputation. But you have saved my life, the lives of everyone on this team, more times than I could count. You look after us in and out of battle. I’ve seen you buy gifts based on a throwaway comment that no one else even remembered. But you listened, and you did.”

There’s a strange ache in his chest, not like the one from before. He wants to look away, but Rook holds firm, willing their words to sink in.

“You don’t just cook for us, you go out of your way to make sure everyone gets a taste of home. You give them comfort in a world that has little to spare right now. Of course we value your skills, you’ve trained hard to be as good as you are, but that isn’t all we care about.”

He could see tears shimmering at the corners of their eyes, felt matching ones trying to escape his own. They took a steadying breath before pressing their forehead to his, voice deep and sure.

“You could fail a thousand contracts, and you would still matter. Especially to me.” They hold Lucanis’ face, not letting him break eye contact, even as they lean back to put a few inches of space between their faces. He’s subjected to the force of the full, open, honesty on their face, their eyes shimmering wetly with every ounce of emotion laid bare. Their words struck deep beneath years of knotted scar tissue. Unravelling something deep in his chest.

Caterina had honed him as a weapon his whole life. He didn’t know what he was beneath that. If there was anything left once Lucanis the Crow was stripped away. But Rook made him want to find out. Rook saw Lucanis, demon and all, and saw someone worth caring for. Liquid gathered unbidden in his eyes as his walls started to crumble.

“You are more than your blades, Luca.”

He broke.

Buried his face in Rook’s shoulder and clung to them like a lifeline as decades of pent up emotion washed out. Strong arms pulled him into their lap fully and wrapped around him, holding him in place. They made no comment on the wetness spreading on their shirt, only clutching him tighter, hands stroking soothingly wherever they could reach as they pressed their cheek to the top of his head. A shield to keep him safe from the outside world as he fell apart.

-----

Lucanis didn’t know how long he had been curled up in Rook’s lap, but they had stayed like that in comfortable silence as the tears dried on his face. A weight lifted from his chest as he relaxes into the hold. He slides his head away from the damp patch of shirt to nestle more comfortably against the warm skin at the crook of Rook’s neck.

Pressing a kiss to the skin he mutters a quiet “Thank you.” into it. Their response is simply a low hum as he feels a kiss returned to his hair. His throat is dry, the tear tracks have left his cheeks feeling tight, and he there’s a sense of contradictory lightness and exhaustion deep in his bones. He thinks he might end up stiff staying like this for much longer but there’s a layer of peace blanketing them that quashes any need to move.

He wraps his arms around Rook to sit in a more comfortable embrace against them and they shift to accommodate him easily. He allows his mind to wander in the quiet and something Rook said came back to him. He leaned back to lay against the meat of Rook’s shoulder so he could look up at them curiously.

“You called me Luca.”

The statement caught them off guard, and they blinked at him for a second while they processed, before smiling down at him apologetically.

“Ah, sorry. Do you not like it?”

“No, it’s…” he looked down at his hand, fidgeting with the worn fabric of Rook’s shirt. “My mother. I don’t remember her well, but I remember she called me that once. When I was young.” He looked up into Rook’s eyes, smiling softly, and pressed a hand over their heart. “I like being Luca to you.”

The kiss he was pulled into was gentle. The faint hint of salt still stained his lips but made the kiss no less sweet.

They traded soft kisses for a short while before relaxing into a comfortable position to lounge together, trading idle conversation into the night.

And some wholesome post chapter art

[adaze-4d4z3]

I dunno go my random swap au my brain conjured up during a cyclone because of course I did.

Yapping about the au under cut :>

It’s like normal up to the point TwoTime tries to kill Azure but he fights back and accidentally hurts TwoTime badly like probably not going to make it badly.

TwoTime being you know a crazy ass cultist eggs Azure on to do the sacrifice himself so he can have their life instead, it goes through and bro is traumatised. :3 He does it very reluctantly and my god does he just want to cry.

Azure tried to get Two Time outta the cult before but it didn’t work and now that his partner is dead… yeah no he just runs away from the cult with TwoTime’s body, finds family outside the cult that help him get a secluded house and bury TwoTime. He also covers up that spawn symbol on his shirt. He like lives normally for a few months before his forsakening. He had massive red flags throughout his entire life in the cult, does NOT want to be even merely associated with them.

Headcannons now ig

Azure

-Came into the cult with a family member when around ~7ish give or take, always felt out of place in the cult itself though.

-Goes by his full name (Azurewrath) since I headcannon only TwoTime really called him Azure, he forgot his old name before the cult so it’s the best he can do.

-The dagger is the same one that he stabbed TwoTime with, the blood has dried on there and won’t come off no matter how hard he tries.

-He wallows in guilt at killing his lover but also can’t really process that fact that he was going to be sacrificed and doesn’t know if to forgive them for it.

-Any kind of respawning makes him feels wrong, like just respawning at the cabin or in matches

-He can cook well but knives make him feel wrong/ uneasy so he sticks to other things when helping out.

-Scars on his hand where he grabbed the dagger from TwoTime during the altercation. The scar on his arm is from dodging the initial attack.

-His tail is almost always between his legs like a scared dog/cat, if it isn’t it’s lashing out around his legs like a weird shield to wrap his legs in.

-his fingerless glove is under the thick gardening glove on that hand, the other one he buried with TwoTime.

-Actually going insane that TwoTime is back because he buried her and he is so, so afraid of what might happen if they knew that.

-Wings/Tail bones look kind of dull, even when they glow. He refuses to take care of them.

-Spawn symbol still glows when in 2nd life even if covered up.

-Has no idea what kind of relationship TwoTime and him have now.

TwoTime

-They/She pronouns/ afab, barely anyone addresses them with she/her pronouns though, the switch to They/them was more of a natural thing so it just kinda still lingers, still enby tho. (Bruhhh I called them by she/her when I first started playing and I can’t stoppp so fuck it headcannon now) (I have actually no idea how people could think they were a guy tho ;>;)

-Born into the cult and was one of the best followers/students.

-Cleans the ritual dagger constantly, it’s very shiny :>

-Holds the scars she got from Azure in very high regard and makes no effort to hide them, seeing them as a sign of devotion and love.

-The scar on their side is the first one in self defence from Azure, the one on their throat is from being sacrificed.

-Scarf is Azure’s.

-Has sacrificed too many people that the halo, eye and second tail are constant fixtures in their 1st life.

-The black eye “bleeds” as the body can’t handle that much power inside it and it’s kind of in shock being resurrected, the iris there is a spawn symbol that glows.

-Still her normal height, they just look taller/ more imposing because their tails slither on the ground like a snake giving off a vague look of levitating.

-No they can’t fly the damn wings are just bones.

-Wings/tail/halo glows and is a very bright white in comparison to Azure’s.

-Very very happy to see Azure again while in rounds and straight up didn’t kill a single person during their first few rounds because they were getting to know all of his friends, and is very happy he has friends now. (Azure only really talked to TwoTime during their cult days)

-Everyone literally thought TwoTime was another survivor until they weren’t in the cabin after the round ended then mass panic ensued.

-Definitely still thinks Azure and them are still in a relationship and is planning a wedding or dates in their head. Literally kicking their feet and giggling lol.

-Sees the rounds as just more sacrifices to the spawn, does not care who they sacrifice but hesitates and shakes a little when she does Azure, reassuring him that he’ll come back.

-Feels guilty for trying to sacrifice Azure and still does when they have to kill him during rounds.

-Thinks The Spectre’s voice is the Spawn’s.

Somewhat ideas for their kits (man I don’t know how many seconds or how much of effects bruh) (cooldowns too) (or names lol)

Azure

Passive- basically reworked Twotime’s passive lmao, but 120 damage for the respawn, activates automatically when killed, gives weakness and haste. (the numbers worked out better :<)

E- a burst of a bunch of poisonous plants that gives the killer poison and slows for 2? Seconds, probably has a bit of range

Q- has to be charged by hitting E, a stab from the ritual knife, 30? Damage, 40 if done within 2? Seconds of E hitting. (Basically while the E is active) Stuns killer for 2? Seconds

Why?:

Passive: I don’t think he willingly respawns, he’d want to stay dead rather than have anything to do with respawning ever again so it activates automatically like a last ditch resort to stay alive. Haste as like adrenaline and weakness since you know, the wings are his fucking spine ripping out bro.

E: Give the botany man his plants lmao

Q: he wouldn’t want to stab someone so unprepared and vulnerable, so E needs to hit and bonus if he can take advantage of it. Also he ain’t really of a sneaky guy like TwoTime.

TwoTime

Passive: has multiple lives of low health, 100-> 200-> 300-> 500. 1100 total. Each stage giving buffs to attacks. On last 500 life, attacks against them deal halved damage. They enter next stage immediately after “dying”

On kill regain half/quarter? Of that survivor’s max health

LMB: basic attack, 10-> 20-> 30-> 35 damage. (?)

Q: long ranged, throws dagger, 2 charges before going on cooldown, if they aren’t used consecutively/ within 5? Seconds of each other go on cooldown

E: Focuses vision in their spawn eye, gain blindness (screen monochromatic too) reveal aura of nearest survivor and the survivor with the lowest hp. For 5secs?

R: lunges forward, distance grows with each life lost 40dmg

F: carves respawn point into ground, any survivors or them standing near or it makes it so they lose hp, stops losing hp from this on last life and instead gains speed.

Why?:

Passives: They’re based on respawning so a mechanic where they die to get stronger seemed cool, it also forces sentinels to balance when they go to stun her so they don’t accidentally buff them to hell and back.

If they’re constantly losing hp they might accidentally die so regaining some health upon death and reflects gaining a new life sacrificing others.

Q: I had no ideas for a ranged attack, I dunno something quick seemed nice lol.

E: the usual person revealing thing, monochrome vision to reflect the spawn

R: probably could scare someone with how far this could eventually get and how fast. Kind of like a sneak attack like they did to Azure.

F: more culty stuff and a way to lose hp in round without sentinels, more people on the spawn point faster they lose health/ more speed they gain. Speed, reflects their want to keep doing these sacrifices for their religion and I guess eagerness.

[kaeyas-beloved]

four sides and a bottom

Character: Kaveh

— a box full of your things, that’s it, that’s all

CWs: gn!reader (you/your), ANGST, hurt/no comfort, aftermath of a breakup

val’s no sympathy november masterlist

gonna apologize for dipping for so long but i'm also warning you that it could very much happen again <3 also i'm a little rusty with writing pls be nice to me :(

Kaveh wishes your relationship could’ve ended on good terms. He wouldn’t be able to kiss you or cuddle up to you with a glass of wine after a tough day, but at least you would still be his life. That and that alone would be good enough for him.

On rougher days, the words you spoke echo in his head, disrupting him as he goes about his day. When his mind isn’t occupied it’ll wander to the last day he was able to call you his, making even simple tasks like working or making a cup of coffee painful. A pang in his heart followed by an uncomfortable weight on his chest, throat blocked, barely able to breathe.

“We’re done Kaveh. No more, I can’t keep doing this!” The architect squeezes his eyes shut, willing away the repeat of the past. Without thinking, he takes his almost forgotten glass and downs a greedy gulp of the dark red liquid, the sweet yet bitter drink coating his throat and stomach, making his head spin and his heart beat just the way he likes it - stuttering and skipping as if to stop and bypass the thoughts he’d rather forget.

As much as the deadline loomed over him, Kaveh couldn’t, for the life of him, work on his latest project. Instead, his eyes kept trailing to the box pushed against his closet, the contents overflowing and peeking out for the world to see. By the fourth glance he groans and stands up, chair dragging along the wood floor and nearly toppling over from the force.

Some days he doesn’t know why he keeps this box of reminders around, other times he knows exactly why. People will cling to the last things they own when it affects them so greatly in life. You, by far, were one of the greatest effects on him.

There’s a clink and a thud as Kaveh sets the box of your things on the table, and it’s almost sad how he’s able to identify exactly what made each noise. He’s only memorized everything in it a dozen and a half times after all. A pocket watch, a picture frame, a scarf, a sketchbook, a ring. Meaningless things on their own or to the outside eye, but to you and Kaveh, they meant the world.

Clear as water he could remember when he gifted each of these to you, save the frame and picture. That was your own doing, something you had set on your desk because you liked looking at how happy you both were that day (or so you said - he thinks it's just because you liked looking at him specifically).

He’d given you the scarf to stay warm one night, the watch because you said it had a pretty design (you scolded him a little after finding out he almost spent all his mora on it for you as a gift. You were still touched nonetheless though). The sketchbook was given after you let slip that sometimes you liked to doodle. You always said you didn’t feel as talented as he was, but he’d always shoot back and say that as long as you appreciated the art of it all, the process, and you drew with a smile, then anything you drew was perfect (you were perfect).

The ring was a promise, one that he hadn’t intended to break. This gift you were too speechless to get on his case about financially because the words of love, dedication and loyalty that he added along meant the world to you. The promise to love you forever, to always take into consideration your feelings, and to one day make you his.

In some poetic, way maybe each item was an accumulation of things he was willing to give, when the reality was that you only needed him. Thinking on it now, it hurts more knowing that his absence was what caused your split in paths. Then again…

“Everything hurts when I’m not with you… I miss you.”

Tag list (both regular and event exclusive): @spoopy-fish-writes // @that-enby-alien // @xenuuu // @kaeyaloml // @mariposa666haruka // @quackquackmfs // @kunikuzushiii // @genshin-impact-writings // @ventisweetheart // @lordbugs // @leena-shi // @ari-the-wr1ter // @xiaos-wife // @milkwithspiceyicecubes // @stygianoir // @francisnyx // @leemidnightmoon // @bisexuawolfsalt

+

@kaiserkisser // @multipleshadesofblue // @moloteco-real // @kithewanderingme // @scaramood // @ii-lily2 // @esuz // @kochothehoe // @cindywasneverhere // @kaeyastittysucker

[llavender-honeyy]

࿇˚࿔ sebastian invites you backstage…

⟢ genre ; pure smut

⟢ pairing ; seb x afab!enby!reader

⟢ wc ; 4.2k

⟢ summary ; after the performance and the crowd died down, you knew that familiar shag of black hair and the lazy, almost uninterested eyes peeking from the backstage door was a contract. a loaded one, surely–there was no way of knowing how your night would play out by walking through that door. the last gulp of your overpriced cocktail, the hurried goodbyes to your friends, and the unwavering stride you embodied to follow him through it was your signature.

⟢ warnings ; 2nd person pov ; they/them pronouns for reader ; explicit smut [piv] ; no protection used ; bottom/sub reader ; general size difference ; dubcon [coercion, drugging/aphrodisiac] ; smoking [cigarettes & weed] & forced inhalation [reader receiving] ; accidental cigarette burn [reader receiving] ; groping ; reader kinda goes along w everything ; oral [f receiving] ; i heart seb’s nose uhhh ; 1 singular usage of the word “slutty” ; cervix fucking ; squirting ; creampie ; and please feel free to lmk if i forgot anything significant !

⟢ a/n ; reminder that this is a work of fiction! i do not condone or support any illegal/unsafe activities as described below in reality. and just for clarification’s sake, the “mystery drug” i describe is just your run of the mill fanfic-grade magic aphrodisiac, to be on the safer side. stay safe, be responsible, and surround yourself with comfortable people !!

byf & dni | navi | m.list

starts under the cut !

its not like you really had a chance anyways. the truth is, you were fucked from the moment he spotted you. and it just made it all the more easy for him to go through with it, too, what with him making it out to be your idea; your tease of a threat–your innocent joke–to find him backstage was met with a taunt of his own, and really it’s cute how obedient you were to follow instructions when he beckoned you from around the back door after the show. down to those shocked, wide eyes you looked at him with, just the spitting image of a helpless deer.

it was even cuter when, after he’d ransacked his precious stash to provide you both with a shot of liquor in celebration of finishing the performance, you were too stupid to notice the hastily dissolving tablet as he handed you the small glass. stupid because he didn’t even try to hide it—had it right under your nose literally while he pretended to conversate with you before coaxing you into finally downing it. could barely keep himself contained when he saw how it went down your throat, itching to squeeze it closed or stuff it full he didn’t know. hopefully soon, you’d be in the right headspace to make the decision for him.

its only a couple more minutes of letting you lead the conversation–‘i don’t mean to be a bother to your band mates,’ ‘what was that drink anyways?’ ‘it’s getting kind of warm in here, don’t you think..?’–before he sees your eyelids set deeper and your lashes fluttering as you try to keep them open. he’s already buzzing with excitement, the anticipation coursing from his gut to his fingertips and the top of his head, nearly turning himself dizzy in the blur but he brings himself back with the thought that you were way too easy..

he cracks a forced half-smile, soft in a way to be unassuming, and uses the adrenaline to will himself into standing from the tattered black couch. he smears his palms on his too-tight jeans–they were drenched–and almost laughs at himself for being too easy to get excited.

he makes his way to the door in a steady stride, looking back briefly to see you lay yourself on the couch lazily fanning your face. you’re watching him and he wonders for a moment if that’s concern lacing your eyebrows. he attempts to sway your worries with another tight lipped smile, gripping on the handle of the door as if to open it and let in some air, just to wiggle it to double check it’s left locked.

“hey–” he turns with a hand out, palm facing down, “don’t worry.. i’ll take care of ya.”

he feels that same buzz of excitement when he hears a whimper get caught in your throat. he swallows thickly, keep it in your pants, fuck, and keeps himself from pouncing now by busying himself with cracking the small vent-sized window high on the wall adjacent to the couch. not just for your sake at this point, but for his own too.

his hand digs in his zipped open jacket for that familiar rectangular box, fishing out a cigarette with practiced movements and lighting it with equal ease. the end burns with orange embers as he takes a deep inhale through the filter, puffing at it a few times and letting the excess smoke wash over his raised hand. the harsh sensation on his throat contrasts to how it soothes his mind–each inhale almost a peek into the euphoric buzz that will be getting to indulge in you all while he convinces you it’s what you want. it's what you need now that his handy little drug has taken effect. he’ll make sure of it.

he turns on a heel to step back towards you, eyes on how you’ve tucked your legs up near you on the couch and the resulting swell of your thighs. his mouth is already watering and he needs to take a heavy gulp before he speaks again,

“look, see…you’re just a bit hot, right?” his smirk this time is genuine, but ideally you won't be privy to the real reason why, “people don’t usually wear thick sweaters like yours to crowded shows like this,” a low chuckle gets caught in his throat, focused on making sure his hands trembling with excitement don’t drop his half-smoked cigarette on your face while he brushes a few stray strands of hair back into place.

and the sweater you wear isn’t even that outlandish for the event; in fact it was probably standard attire, rips and tacky graphic and all. but at this point he’s banking on the fact that you hold him on too high a pedestal–and are gullible enough to believe him.

you nod slow, in a manner like you didn’t really hear him but go along with what he says anyways.

“it’s.. yeah… makin’ me dizzy, too..” and another victorious ding sounds in his head. he can’t hold himself back another moment, greedy paws already going to grab at the sweater resting on your waist while he makes room for himself on the couch with your resting form. scrambling like he just can’t help himself, like he needs to be pressed up against your warm and smaller-than-his body in the next few moments or he’ll truly snap. he manages to fit in front of you, almost pushing you back down into the cushion with how oppressively he traps you in.

“don’ worry, i gotcha,” he huffs under his breath, like it doesn’t matter to him whether you heard or not. it’s not genuine reassurance in the first place anyways.

there was really no reason to wiping his palms before; he can feel how the sweat is already back on his hands and the back of his neck, prickling his skin with the accompanying goosebumps that arise from feeling and hearing your pathetic breaths fan between you two. almost like a teaser for how he’ll have you sounding in a few moments, once he gets out of his head and the fantasies planted in his brain just from the way you had watched him while he was on stage.

his free hand curls around the thick of your sweater at last. his eyes are glued to where your skin peeks below the hem, and his lecherous smirk is an unconscious reaction when you don’t seem to protest his upward tugs at the fabric. in his haste the burning out cigarette gets tucked between your pretty pout, just to grab both your wrists and maneuver them above your head.

“stay just like that,” like you had a choice in the first place–your muscles were way too weak at this point to try and struggle. entirely uncoordinated and way too eager he pulls up your sweater, revealing the expanse of your soft tummy to his dark hungry gaze. and even despite just placing the cigarette in your mouth, he spares no time as he pulls almost desperately to get it over your head and off your arms, leaving the cuffs around your wrists like flimsy make-shift handcuffs.

another high pitched whine of yours blesses his ears and his cock pulses with his heart for a beat until–

“mmh.. s’gross,” manages to tumble past your lips and the white roll falls as a result, landing at your collarbone next to the strap of a bra he’s sure you hadn’t planned to show anyone; literally ripping at the seams and very obviously well-worn. he was shocked you managed to open your mouth again, chuckling lightly in disbelief–no, awe–at your determination to stay conscious. like you want to bear witness to what his depraved mind has convinced him to do.

like it somehow makes it okay if you seem conscious enough to say no if you want to, but you don’t, and who is he to say no to you offering yourself up so nicely. the way you squirm under his weight and rub your sticky skin against his palms you don’t even know that you’re only making it more exciting. how the light bounces off your sweat and creates a mesmerizing pattern, only sucking him deeper into the spell you had unknowingly put him in. or maybe you did know and that would make it all the better–because that’d mean that you want it.

you squirm again from the sensation of the burning end of the cigarette singing your collarbone. blinking he realizes his palms are groping the fat of your chest and molding to the shape of his hands, bulging between his digits and turning his mouth dry.

as if burned by your touch he draws his hands back with another idea. he suddenly remembers the joint he indulged in only halfway and set aside before he had to make appearances for the show, left for later on the very coffee table next to him; now in his hold again with his lighter fast approaching.

“try this instead then,” he speaks between a harsh drag of his own and another that he huffs into your mouth as he grabs at your jaw meanly to keep it open. 

he exhales the heavy smoke into your untrained lungs and yet your sputtering coughs don’t dissuade him–in fact they make it all the harder to not shut you up with his own mouth; show you how to handle the green and just let it take over your mind so he can take over your body.

he’s practically trembling in his excitement; it’s a wonder how he doesn’t collapse right on top of you where you lay catching your breath. you make it even harder on him when your eyes, squeezed shut to protect against the fanning weed smoke, drop tears down your temples thanks to how hard you’re coughing. your mouth, opened so wide to take in large greedy gulps of fresh air yet all you get is more of the dizzying smoke sucked from his own stash that he’s bestowing unto you–be grateful that he’s willing to sacrifice so much.

he finds himself a moment later almost having gotten carried away–thank god he caught himself before his own mind slipped too far. between his fingers is now just a roach and fuck rocking the hardening bulge in his pants up against your thighs suddenly feels so heavenly. and to think–had he not done all this, he might’ve never known! now that would just be too unfair, y’see–you’re such a tease–so he just had to make it right. eyelids setting heavier over his eyes already he drops what was left of the roll to the floor, uncaring of where it ends up.

his self control has thinned enough now, he decides. he can practically taste you on the tip of his tongue–saccharine and syrupy he just knows it. can’t bear to have it so close but so far anymore.

your bottoms are being tugged down to your thighs before your mind even has a chance to catch up, what with you still reeling from the smoke in your lungs and the resulting haze. you only register how exposed you’ve suddenly become when the air of the room feels cool against your inner thighs and sends a shiver up your spine.

“shit– you’re s’wet..” he huffs the words like they were never meant for you in the first place–maybe they weren’t, almost reverent and entirely desperate. your eyes finally open again, fuzzy and unfocused when you realize he hasn’t just exposed you, no–he’s already dived in, can’t even help himself. the line between your copious amounts of slick and the saliva dripping from his greedy maw is entirely blurred and the resulting sounds make your head heat with a self-conscious flush.

“w-wait… what are you…!” your confused plea falls on seemingly deaf ears, small and far too hushed to be convincing. your weak neck attempts to lift your head to catch sight of the mess of hot breath and spit between your legs.

should be illegal how good you taste–how well the drug worked–making you pour all this sweetness like an overflowing pot of honey into this frenzied bear’s mouth. his hands dig into the backs of your thighs, carving small crescents into the flesh. with brows furrowed he only sinks in further, drinking you down in earnest and worshipping your little hole.

it’s enough to make you squirm under his surprisingly strong grip, but with that powdered pill coursing through your veins you aren’t sure if your hips are bucking away or towards him for more. it’s effects we’re almost dizzying, a swift punch to your senses and making you feel hot, oh so hot. covered in a thin sheen of sweat and radiating every mind-numbing throb from your core to your every nerve. with that cursed nose of his, big, but strong–yet cute, you’d thought earlier in the night, bumping against your swollen clit sending involuntary shocks of pleasure through your every hyper-sensitive limb. and when he gives that a break just to suck and flick at it hard with his tongue, you know. you know that your hips are canting towards his awaiting mouth, that you welcome the trembling of your legs from the unending onslaught of his ministrations, and that you want more.

“did you.. what’d you jus’ say?”

the poor thing you are, all drugged up and pliant, didn’t even notice you said those words out loud. even all sluggish and quiet, he’s sure he heard those words right and it damn near makes him short circuit on the spot.

“not.. ‘nuff… need more,” you almost don’t recognize your own voice, how breathless and faraway it sounded in your own ears, the words processing then instead of before they tumbled out of your mouth. and… well, who was he to deny you offering yourself up so nicely.

between the heartbeat rattling against his ribcage like a bird in captivity and the same heartbeat just below his waistband, he’s wound up enough to know he doesn’t need to ask anymore questions–not that he really had to. he unclasps his belt with one hand, keeping your legs up with the other; not bothering to pull his own pants down more than necessary. just enough to flip the zipper open and dig his hand down his briefs to yank his cock out.

and he wastes no time at all lining himself up with your weeping hole which he just can’t seem to tear his eyes from, clenching around nothing but his swollen tip and turning his mouth dry. it’s as he blinks slowly, almost a split-second decision to sink himself in entirely that he curses lowly and the breath is punched out of both of your lungs.

you feel even better than he could’ve imagined, somehow. whether that be the weed in his system, or that pill in yours, or his own underestimation. he’s throbbing and aching to pound you silly and soothe that tight burn low in his gut–if only he could get a grip first. his sweaty palms release your legs which fall uselessly to either side of his hips, the heat from them alone enough to have him reeling. he hunches over you like he’s mounting you, gripping at your hips like a lifeline and holding your ass up off the couch to get even deeper. nudging right up against the spongy spot inside that makes you whimper. so pathetic and high-pitched he’s convinced you’re out to kill him.

he almost laughs, “ooh, fuck.. you have such a slutty little hole–” a depraved smile on his face but his brows furrowed, really just in disbelief. and it’s as if saying it out loud made it all the more real, but he still holds his breath as he grinds involuntarily into your gummy walls just to check. “s’like you’re suckin’ me in..” he scoots in closer, letting your hips rest on his thighs. and interestingly enough, he can’t seem to sit still.

the hot drag of your walls along his cock is all he can focus on, all he can bare to keep up with. he’s truly screwed himself somehow–put himself in the position of being devoted to humping up against you until he can’t anymore. “fuck, wait.. quit– quit squeezin’ so hard,” he’s choking up, unable to catch his breath with how restless his hips are. practically huffing down your neck and drooling over your skin, hunched over like a man starved finally getting fed. in some twisted way he is; finally found the one that’ll satiate his craving, sit back and let him take what he needs, but not just that–you asked for it, and that fact alone is making him go haywire.

“c-can’t,” you hiccup, mind already utter mush and body jolting with every gushy thrust. your fingers are clawing at the outturned sleeves still encasing your wrists; unable to get them off with your arms as weak as they are, you opted for leaving them there. in hindsight, it was a good decision. especially considering it was the only thing keeping you grounded right now, no thanks to the guy who was seemingly trying to fuck you right off the edge of the couch. the one who doubles down when he notices your back bowing reflexively, using it as motivation to really give you more like you asked for. “s’too m-much!”

“nonono, you wanted this,” he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and tugs you back towards him with his bruising grip, your head ending up positioned in such a way where you have no choice but to watch him sink into you over and over, “yer gonna– mmfuck– take it,” his voice breaks and so does the sharp tone, pleading more than anything through his low whines.

for a moment, you cant look away–every lewd clap of skin ringing in your ears accompanied by the sight, the feeling–and when he drags you on the couch to properly fuck into you, changing the angle and rearranging your insides to fit his shape you fall apart.

every thrust is a pain turned pleasure shooting up your spine, the blunt tip of his dick bullying your poor cervix, but you still only want more. you’re so close already, can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. whatever was turning you silly was doing a damn good job, engulfing you in a heat that’s only being soothed by how relentless his thrusts are into your gummy walls. tightening the knot in your core, promising that sweet release, making your head and eyes roll back just before you will your lazy gaze to the source of a low broken groan.

you almost yelped out, one of his hands suddenly flying up to brace himself up against the armrest and effectively caging you in. after getting over the startle your eyes blink open again, refocusing on the face above you. his furrowed brow and slightly parted lips are dripping both sweat and saliva on your flushed skin, his own cheeks and nose similarly pinkened. the expression he makes, the utter desire and desperation written in his darkened eyes, literally drooling over you–your heart flutters suddenly and you can’t break your eyes away.

before this all started, before the drink and before even having the conversation that led you into this very room, you couldn’t deny your attraction to him. all quiet, brooding, mysterious; the only thing you knew about him was that the sight of his talented fingers stroking at the keys of that keyboard, lost in the music amidst the impressively-bustling bar crowd made you feel things. things not too different from what you’re experiencing now, just… intensified.

you tuned out everything else between the ad-libs of other onlookers and the pestering of your friends, your eyes settled snugly on the dark haired man up on the short stage that you could swear looked back at you. multiple times. and every time he did it was like you were bolted into place; at a standstill ignited by the skip of your heart like you were exchanging unspoken words.

after the performance and the crowd died down, you knew that familiar shag of black hair and the lazy, almost uninterested eyes peeking from the backstage door was a contract. a loaded one, surely–there was no way of knowing how your night would play out by walking through that door. the last gulp of your overpriced cocktail, the hurried goodbyes to your friends, and the unwavering stride you embodied to follow him through it was your signature.

in the end, all you really cared about was getting him into your pants. and it ended up happening.

a broken moan tears from your throat, garbled and needy in a way that makes his head spin, almost confusing him, “f-fuck.. you really want this, don’t you…” it takes everything in him to stay up straight and not crush you under his weight when all you do is stare back like he’s the only person in the world. he drops his chin to his chest, hearing the beat of his heart rumbling in his ears to the same rhythm of his pulsing cock. turned so sensitive from the weed and the tight squeeze of your cunt like you’re trying to milk him for all he’s worth.

in an effort to stave off his own orgasm he grabs at the fabric of the armrest and your waist like a lifeline, his eyes closed tight enough to see stars.

“gonna.. c-cum,” you really are out to kill him, he thinks.

“wait–” he gasps, if not a bit too late; the tight squelch around him a sign enough that you’ve already started tumbling over that peak, “just a bit.. l-longer,” with the amount of pre spilling from him already and how taut his balls get squished against your ass, he doesn’t know if the words are meant for you or himself.

after everything, tossing and turning the idea around in his head–the very idea that landed you here in the first place; he can’t help but want to savor it. at least a little, y’know? relish in the siren song that was your moans and whimpers, lose himself in the feel of your devilish pussy… but hell, he’s been holding on by a string for too long and it snapped the second he felt a gush of pure wet splash up against his pelvis.

his hips squish down into you, trapping you between the scratchy couch cushion and the sudden flood of hot cum in your walls. “fuckk–” he hisses close to your ear, the arm holding him up having finally given up and opting to rest on his forearm instead. he doesn’t dare to let up on grinding down into you, the feel of you constricting around him and the mixed release spilling out far too addicting. you clamp down so hard it’s like you’re trying to force him out, pulling out every last drop of the thick white his cock rubs into you.

his heavy pants feel almost sticky against your neck and collarbone, spreading tingles over your sensitive skin. as the tension dies down the chill of the room enters your senses, prickling at your skin to raise goosebumps, cooling your throat as you drink in the freshness.

breath finally finds you again–him as well, it seems–the labored rise and fall of your chest evened out. but you still hear the beat of your own heart, noticeably speeding up when he starts shifting above you.

even after just resting above your head your arms are still weak and trembling, like loose rubber bands. you find the strength in your shoulders though to finally pull them back down and the sweater sleeves around your wrists finally slide off. not knowing what else to do with your hands, you decide to take a risk and rest them on his arms.

he lifts himself back up but his head is still cast downwards. the long hair of his fringe covers his eyes, messy and riddled with stray hairs. his skin is flushed a deep pink, but that can easily be explained by anything that took place within the last 10 minutes. what otherwise can’t be is how he doesn’t even try and meet your eyes–but he also doesn’t move to take his softening hard-on out yet either. both of his hands grip into the cushions of the couch, the fabric straining and groaning under his palms like he’s holding himself back from something.

his entire mind has been jumbled into disarray–he’s not sure where to start with the scattered pieces floating around his head. you’ve effectively thrown a wrench in his plans. it was simple before; easy, foolproof even. but it turns out he was the fool the whole time. how was he to try and go through with finishing up quick, dumping you out back after having his way with you once like was written in his mental plans, head out with his bandmates and fuck off to who knows where next. how could he ignore the residual rhythmic spasming of your cunt, your thighs pressing meekly to his hips, how the slight inhale of breath you take before speaking to him sounds so similar to the ones you took while he filled you to the brim–

“c.. can we keep going? m’still, y’know…”

the good thing about plans is: when one fails, there’s always a plan b.

↳ ty for reading ♡

[harleehazbinfics]

Learn more about you Cannibal chef! reader m.list | Author profile

Word Count: 512 A/N: Hello, lovies! Been so long since I updated. But hey! I came back to also say I graduated woohoo! Nothing permanent yet, I don't want to get your hopes up with daily updates like I used to since I'll be looking for a job now, omg. But, I'd love to hear requests from you. I honestly don't know what more I should add to Cannibal Chef!Reader. I'm out of creativity lmao. THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR HOLDING OUT THIS LONG! MWAH!

"Good morning, Miss Rosie!~"

"Y/n! Sweetheart! Here to take your order?"

"Yup!"

"Here ya go. Looks like a big order. Did something happen?"

"Unfortunately, yeah. So, Sir Alastor was in a good mood, and we went to eat at a restaurant in the circle, but the food was so inedible that Sir Alastor had to spit it out in public. Something, I've never seen him do honestly. Then after we bumped into the Vees and got into a bit of a scuffle with them. After making it back to the hotel, Sir got splashed with alcohol right in the face," you mutter, awkwardly laughing.

"Well, that's one hard day he had there. You gonna make him something then?" she asks flashing you her sharp teeth.

"Mhm! I was thinking of making hotpot or a casserole. He must be famished after such a tiring day," you smile.

You then hear the bell tower chiming then whipping your head to see the time.

"Well, that's my cue. I'll see you around Miss Rosie!" you called before leaping from building to building.

"Take care, dear!"

You arrive at Alastor's room where you hear the bathroom door close and hear the rushing water after. You nodded to yourself as you walked to the kitchen he conjured just for you and tied your hair back to prep your meal.

After leaving it on the stove with a timer on. You strolled back into the living room and picked up Alastor's drenched clothes into the laundry chute for you to deal later. Of course, not before you took his handkerchief and took a whiff of it. Eyes drawing into hearts that in delight.

Amidst your happiness, the handkerchief got tugged away and thrown into the chute along with the rest of them. Alastor stands behind you, still dripping with water from the bath. Chest bare-naked and red shorts around his waist, and his towel on top of his head as his hair stuck on his forehead.

"Come on now, if you wanted one you could have just asked, sweetheart," he says with a smirk before pinching your pouting face.

He turns away from you and sinks into his favorite chair with a drawled sigh. You compose yourself and slowly walked beside him after.

You pursed your lips and pouted, "You just don't understand the smell fresh from the source, Sir Alastor."

"Oh, believe me. I know the feeling," he chuckles, waving his hand as shadows appear under you and lifted you onto his lap. He embraces you and sniffs from your collar, as you stared at him with shaky heart filled eyes as he stares back with his half-lidded ones.

"I-I never knew you were this cheeky, Sir," you stutter under your breath nervously. Your hands on his chest while he purrs under you snuzzling closer and closer.

"There are many things you don't know yet," he mutters as he grazes your neck with his teeth then his eyes flicker from your neck to your eyes and asks, "Would you like to learn?"

"I'd love to." <3

Cannibal Chef! Reader Taglist 🍴:

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[chainnoli]

I feel like I need to make this clear about my own personal headcanons within the “Batfam” because apparently lately everyone is obsessed with the term to the point they believe they’re all actually fucking related and I ship Jaytim even though I don’t write about them often anymore and I do nawt want people assuming shit about me LMFAO

Ages in “main” continuity

Bruce: 40’s

Alfred: 60’s

Dick: 24

Jason: 22

Tim: 18

Damian: 13

Familial Relations

Damian is Bruce’s blood son, Damian thinks of Dick, Jason, and Tim as his brothers.

Jason only thinks of Damian as his brother, maybe Dick but its history. Doesn’t consider Bruce his father, completely moved on from that part of his life. It’s unrealistic to me to write or imagine him playing happy big family with people he viewed as part of his dead life. Damian was there when he was reborn and he practically raised the squirt (in my hc).

Tim doesn’t think of Bruce as his dad but views him as a paternal figure since he was taken in. Thinks of Damian and Dick as his brothers, Jason was his idol and someone he looked up to. They barely interacted and it’s annoying when people act like he and Jason have the same dynamic like Jason and Dick did.

Dick considers Bruce his dad, Damian and Jason and Tim his brothers.

Sexualities/Gender HC

Bruce: Bisexual Man with a preference for women. Cis: He/Him

Dick: Unlabeled but has rizz with everyone. Doesn’t really give af about the gender thing so if you called him a woman he would just roll with it but personally just goes by He/Him or “any” if asked for a preference

Jason: Pansexual on the Aro spectrum. Probably due to a lot of his traumas, so outside of that probably also just panromantic. He’s a cis man but has definitely thought about identity stuff after the Lazarus pit. Goes by He/Him or They/Them. It/Its if he’s feeling funky.

Tim: Bisexual with a preference for men. Enby icon. Goes by He/They pronouns but sometimes just forgoes them altogether if possible. (Just use Tim in place of pronouns for entertainment).

Damian: In some aus he’s cis in a lot he’s transmasc (honestly if I don’t specify just assume Trans! Dami). Goes by He/Him. Aroace spectrum, really only falls for Jon (sometimes Billy or Colin). Unlike Jason, his isn’t due to traumas or emotional blocks. Maybe he’s born with it, maybe it’s maybelline.

Alfred: deffo has done drag at some point. Could see him with an ex bf on the battlefield before losing him tragically.

Shipping Wise

Literally none of the Batfam with each other with the explanations above because I do believe the others do have a familial relationship aside from JayTim- and even then I ship KonTim as well and BerTim or whatever the ship name is lol

Damian: Jon, Billy, and Colin (boy is not fucking straight LMFAO)

Bruce: Talia and Selina, they’re both goated ships I cannot pick which one is better (Joker only in the Lego universe and also the one joker from telltale’s Batman)

Dick: literally only Kori, I’m fixed shipped for life 🫶

Jason: Tim, Kori (sometimes the dynamic be dynamicing), Artemis- but also I like him single a lot of the time because I feel like he would avoid relationships and human connection bc he has issues

Tim: Connor, Bernard, and Jason (get Stephanie outta there let my girl live outside of their toxic ass mess 😭)

And that’s all, obviously no one has to share my headcanons and if you want to headcanon Jason and Tim being brothers because it’s just more fun for you then go right on ahead I ain’t discouraging anyone from that! Just wanted to write this so people understood I wasn’t shipping from a certain point of view and so they can be prepared if I do include jaytim in anything (which I may not considering how the fandom is nowadays).

Also I didn’t do the girlies or Duke Thomas because I only included the “inner circle” Batman and Robins Batfam to explain since the others don’t have the weird drama and stigma these ones do.

[bluestrawberrybunny]

How to Fluster an SMG3 [Aster34 Fanfic]

Aster belongs to @shygirl4991 (and tagging @b-r-i-n-g-x because they are the #1 Aster Fan and made their ref sheet)

It was a regular day at the Showgrounds, or regular enough for the SMG4 crew that was. It was actually rather boring to say the least.

Two people sat on the couch within the castle. One was an enby with blonde hair and purple eyes who wore an orange plaid flannel with a black t-shirt underneath, a nonbinary pin, and jeans. Their nails, which were currently being run through raven black hair, were painted a dark black. The other was a man with black hair and blue eyes and wore a blue turtleneck sweater and white overalls.

SMG4 was currently lying with his head in Aster's lap as they ran their fingers through his hair. Both were scrolling through their phones aimlessly, sharing different things they found that they thought the other would like.

Really they were both just biding their time until their boyfriend, SMG3, was finished with work. Because it was a very boring day so far.

Aster sighed, setting down their phone and looking at one of their two boyfriends before getting an idea. An evil smirk appeared on their face as they tapped 4's forehead.

"Hey 4," they said, "wanna do something fun?"

"Hm?" 4 asked, barely looking up at them from his phone. "Yeah. Sure. Whatcha got in mind?"

"Well," Aster laughed, leaning an arm on the couch and leaning their hand against their fist, "since we both seem to be bored and SMG3 is currently at work, why don't we play a little game~"

4 put down his phone, giving his partner a confused glance. "What's the game?"

"We go over to 3's cafe, and whoever can make him the most flustered, wins."

"What's the prize?"

"Making 3 extremely flustered."

4 laughed. "Sure. Be ready to lose though," he said, sitting up and stretching.

"I was going to say the same thing to you, Dear," Aster said, grabbing 4's chin and planting a kiss on his cheek before standing up and heading towards the door.

SMG4 huffed as he stood, face going red. "Dammit," he mumbled to himself as he followed them out, "they're gonna win aren't they?"

Meanwhile, inside 3's Coffee N Bombs, SMG3 stood at the counter, taking orders from customers as Eggdog bounced around the cafe entertaining people.

The bell above the door rang, earning 3's attention. His red eyes looked up before seeing two very familiar faces.

Aster waved at the man, SMG4 standing beside them with a large smile on his face.

Clearly they were up to something...

The two walked up to the counter as the most recent customer grabbed their coffee and took a seat.

"Hey Darling~" Aster said, leaning an arm against the counter and giving 3 a flirtatious wink.

"What do you two want?" 3 asked, getting the feeling that his two lovers didn't have any good intentions related to their visit.

"We can't stop by and pay you a visit?" 4 asked, pouting at the man in purple.

"Oh, you two are definitely up to something," 3 said, looking between the two. "Spit it out. What do you want?"

Aster gave a fake scoff, turning away but keeping their purple eyes locked on SMG3. "How rude. We can't come and see our boyfriend while he's at work?"

Oh, they were definitely up to something.

"Or come over for coffee either?" 4 added.

"Exactly!" Aster shouted. "Our intentions are pure, I promise, Darling."

“Somehow, I doubt it,” 3 mumbled under his breath. “Do you want coffee or are you both just here to bother me?”

“Both,” 4 admitted with a shrug.

3 glared at the two. “… so…?”

“My usual, please,” 4 said before giving Aster a side eye. He then reached over the counter, grabbing 3’s hand as he jotted down the order. “But can I take you to go?” He asked with a wink.

3’s face went red as he stared at his fellow meme guardian. “I… um…”

Aster smirked at 4, but quickly turned their attention back to 3. “Darling, are you feeling ok? Your face is all red~” They reached out and gently touched 3’s cheek. “And you’re burning up!”

“OK!” 3 shouted, quickly pulling away from both of them, mind swirling in pansexual panic. “One Cyanide Supreme Latte. Aster, you getting any coffee or a bomb or… something?” He didn’t dare make eye contact with the two.

4 and Aster smirked at one another. It was far too easy to get under 3’s skin.

“Well, I guess I can have one of those too,” the enby said with a shrug. “But one question remains. What’s the price?”

“Huh?” 3 asked, cautiously looking towards them.

“How much do I owe such a beautiful creature like yourself?” They asked, placing their chin on the back of their hand. “I mean, I already know you’re priceless. But how much for the coffee?”

“Oh. Uh… well…” 3 attempted to come up with a coherent sentence, red eyes darting back to the notepad in his hands he was using to take orders on.

4 glared at Aster. There was no way he was going to let them win this. He had to pull out the big guns if he was going to stand a chance against them.

3 went about making the coffee, keeping a wary eye on the other two with a face redder than Mario’s hat.

“I’m winning~” Aster laughed quietly, smiling at 4.

“Stupid… high rizz…” 4 mumbled, crossing his arms as he attempted to come up with a plan to outdo them.

They laughed, placing both hands on his shoulders as they leaned into 4’s ear. “Well, how else did I pull two handsome meme guardians~?” They whispered.

A shiver went down 4’s spine as he glared at Aster, cheeks becoming a faint red. “Asshole.”

“You love me~”

“Sadly…”

3 rolled his eyes as he watched the two before placing their coffee on the counter. “There. On the house. Now go away.”

“Aww, Darling, trying to get rid of us so soon?” Aster asked with a playful pout.

“Yes.”

“Damn. Tell us how you really feel,” 4 laughed, grabbing his coffee and leaning against the counter. “But seriously though, what’s wrong with wanting to hang out with our handsome boyfriend?”

“When you two start nonstop flirting with me?” 3 asked, looking between them. “It’s fine whenever we’re alone or with friends, but seriously? I am working here.”

“Exactly,” Aster said, leaning over the counter and kissing 3’s cheek. “That’s the fun part.”

3 huffed, crossing his arms and looking away, earning giggles from his partners. “Bakas… both of you…”

“Aww, SMG3,” 4 cooed, walking behind the counter and putting an arm around 3’s waist. “You’d be bored without us.”

“My life would be so much more peaceful,” 3 laughed, avoiding the blue and purple eyes looking him over.

“Oh, Darling,” Aster said, looking behind them to see no one paying any mind to their antics. They walked behind the counter with the other two, lifting 3’s chin. “You know we love you.”

If 3’s face could have gotten any redder, it would have.

Whatever braincells were left within 3’s brain finally kicked into gear. “Ok,” he said, pushing the two away from him, “I love you too, but…” He pointed towards the door. “I have a business to run. So… out.”

“But Darling, we’re bored,” Aster whined, grabbing 3’s hand and placing a kiss on his knuckles. “Just a few more minutes?”

“We won’t bother you too much,” 4 agreed, wrapping his arms tightly around 3 and placing his chin on his shoulder, pouting up at him.

Aster joined in, placing their head on his other shoulder and pouted, continuing to hold his hand as they wrapped their free arm around his waist as well.

SMG3 shook his head. “Nope. Out.”

“But-” the two tried to protest before 3 pushed them out of the cafe.

“Out!” He shouted before slamming the door shut behind them.

Aster crossed his arms. “Rude.”

4 sighed. “Dammit… who even won that?”

“Me, obviously,” Aster laughed.

“Damn. I don’t even get a chance in that one?” 4 asked, crossing his arms.

“Nope. Sorry, Dear, but I’ve just got more rizz than you.”

“You saying I can’t rizz you up?” 4 joked, standing up and holding out a hand to help the other.

“Oh, I never said that,” they said, smiling up at him as they took his hand.

It’s shorter than what I usually write, but hope people liked this short oneshot! Go check out The Chains of a Fragile Soul on WattPad and AO3! Highly recommend it!

[scary-yuri]

The bitchy phase of HRT (enby, possible trans dude on T) is really starting to kick in so I need to rant about this.

The misogyny in fandom spaces is one of those things that make me feel like the Joker because why can I find miles upon miles of content on men and gay pairings, but jack shit about the women/nonmen and sapphic/lesbian pairings.

It's unfortunately an issue that extends to a lot of the fandoms I'm in (Fallout, Portal, Disco Elysium, ect ect ect) and as someone who is sapphic, I feel like a starved Victorian child asking for the tiniest bit of porridge. Why can I find so much fanart of Kim and Harry, or Arcade Gannon or Boone, but barely anything when it comes to the women of those games.

And when you bring this issue up, there's at least one mf who will reblog with (#ermm im a gay man), as if being gay instantly negates your internalized misogyny. You DON'T have to be romantically attracted to a character to give a fuck about them, oh my god people.

"The women are boring" but then they turn around and make the most bland pair of men the most popular pairing in the fandom. Nine times out of ten, the women aren't actually boring either.

Don't even get me started on how people will bend over backwards to villify women but then treat the genuine asshole man like he did nothing wrong (looking at YOU, Portal fandom). I could go on for hours.

TLDR, some of you hate women and are just too afraid to admit it.

[tumbleweedsthesecond]

Clone high season three headcanons.I BASED THEM OFF THINGS IRL I SAW AT MY SCHOOL and cause I see them as completely different from s1 I wanted to give the old ones new looks. Sorry about the quality

Abe- abe reminds me of guys at my school that wore shorts every day no matter what the weather was even if it was freezing. That's why I gave him shorts sorry if it looks weird 😭 also slighhht mullet like barely I could kinda see him growing it out a little and gave him more moles. His legs were bugging me so I'm sorry if his hand looks weird that is not on purpose :(

Joan: s3 Joan is completely different to me and she gave me this vibe from girls I knew. Ill draw her redesign more cause in that pose it doesn't show off the movement of her shirt that I imagine in my head because her shirt is kinda crop top. Wanted to compliment her more awkward vibe in s3. The hair just makes sense to me I have an idea of it in my head ill draw more.

Harriet: I like Harriet alot actually but that may be because she adds more plot and I like her. I didn't change her clothing much I know her design isn't that good I know. But this is more hc. I think the pants make sense for her and I changed the green a bit. The hair is because dye can't stay forever and it fades but I tried to give it still a cartoon flare in a way which is why it fades weirdly. Had to get rid of the socks sorry.

Frida: originally had an idea to change the pants to dark green with gold zippers on the pockets on her knees but I was drawing her and my idea of her became clearer. Her pants are supposed to be baggy but its hard to show from that direction I like those pants she's wearing I have some. I thought it'd help skater vibe a bit. Also her lacing on her shoes is the sapphic flag! Sorry I changed her nose so much irl Frida has a different nose to me but I may be nitpicking.

Cleo: Idk how to feel abt how it turned out in my head she wears black shorts. Maybe skirts too obviously. Longer hair cause I hc s3 Cleo has it straightened while I think s1 Cleo had dreads

Jfk: s3 jfk is fun to me I guess. Tried to give him more of a popular 'jock' vibe I knew at my school but I barely changed much. In my head his hair is fluffier. Ill be sure to draw him more too. Probably should've given him different shoes

Confucius: I don't like the color of his horror but decided not to change it. Wanted to give them more a YouTube vibe. I've got to draw this one too because I will get used to the hair. In my head they have longer hair. I hc enby in some wayyyy but is still trying to understand themselves. Like they're just getting used to it, mainly after getting with Joan

Topher: not much to change weirdly he's the character I draw the most. I was thinking abt giving him a different shirt that suits his vibe too but I like his coat. In my head he wears sweatpants I don't know why. His coat is longer in my head and some acne. hope his hair still fits the weird kid vibe. My weird son🙄

[raikiriwolfwrites]

Bitterness, Sweetened by Your Lips

Spite knows what he wants, and Lucanis learns that sometimes he can have what he wants. Rook gets their own personal weighted blanket.

Enby RookxLucanis

Chapter 11 - Midnight Wanderings

Read on AO3

The sound of the door clicking shut rouses Rook. They’re fairly sure that it’s nothing dangerous, the wards of the Lighthouse have been nothing but secure, so they don’t jolt awake as they might otherwise. Eyes still bleary they prop themselves up enough to look over the back of the chaise, squinting into the darkness to see who it is.

Lucanis’ lithe form stands in the doorway, body fidgeting uncharacteristically. The otherworldly purple glow in his eyes quickly clues Rook in to the fact that Lucanis isn’t the one who steered his body here.

Voice still hoarse from sleep, a quiet rasp that breaks the silence of the room. “Spite?”

At the sound of their voice Spite steps forward, rounding the chaise. They glance up curiously as he stops next to them. Propped up with one arm supporting their weight their blanket slips down to pool at their waist, leaving their bare torso exposed to the slight chill of the room. Lucanis is in the soft, loose shirt and trousers he usually sleeps in, now that he’s better at trusting Spite enough to try and do it more regularly. It brings a soft smile to their face. “He fell asleep, huh?”

Spite jerks a short nod, an odd expression on his face that Rook can’t quite make out; the expressiveness of Lucanis’ warm brown eyes shrouded by the violet haze. A reticence that they don’t usually associate with Spite. Rook rises further, about to ask what’s wrong, when their words are replaced with a breathless, “-oof!” Their back meeting the chaise once more as they find themself with a lapful of Lucanis-shaped demon. Their arms instinctively come around to secure him, waking up fully as worry starts to gnaw at them. Spite winds his arms around Rook, burying his face into their neck with a deep inhale.

“Spite?” They probe gently, concern lacing their voice. Things had been going well between him and Lucanis, what could have gone wrong to have Spite acting like this? Had he slipped back into the Ossuary again?

Their slowly spiralling worry was immediately dissipated by a soft rumble of words against their throat.

“Missed Rook.”

All their muscles unwind at the admittance, relaxing their body back into the chaise as they let out a relieved chuckle. Skimming a hand soothingly up his back they pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re welcome to come find me, any time.”

“Lucanis. Miss Rook too.”

Rook hums softly in acknowledgement, smiling against his hair.

“Well I need sleep, but you’re welcome to stay.”

Spite’s arms clutching tighter is answer enough.

He lets out a growl of displeasure as Rook displaces him momentarily, moving him away slightly to pull the blanket out from under him. He seems mollified once he realises what Rook is doing and is quick to make himself at home again against Rook once it’s free, settling happily as Rook drapes the blanket over them both. Spite’s, well, Lucanis’, body is a comforting weight as they drift back to sleep, a solid wall of warmth easing them into a deep, restful sleep.

-----

Lucanis drifts awake slowly, warm and comfortable, the most well rested he has felt in…years probably. Eyes still closed he luxuriates in the unfamiliar feeling. Spite’s so quiet in the back of his mind that he could almost imagine it’s a quiet morning in Treviso, one before the Ossuary, the gentle up and down movement beneath his head like a gondola bobbing on the canals. The cocoon of warmth and steady reassuring rhythm beating under his ear almost lulls him back to sleep once more. His mind, however reluctantly, starts to wake up though, finally cataloguing all the unfamiliar sensations, and his eyes fly open with a start.

A familiar scarred chest came into focus first, explaining the heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of their breaths. He watches his own hand flex where it lays against their ribs. Beyond that, he can see one of Rook’s legs sticking out the edge of the blanket covering them both, hanging off the side of the chaise as they sprawl comfortably on their back. Sturdy arms cling loosely in sleep, keeping him safe and warm, a hand slipped under the hem of his shirt to rest skin on skin at the small of his back. Sleepy thoughts of Treviso are banished as realisation sets in, but the feeling of home lingers.

His stirring and internal panic must have roused Rook, their breathing hitching slightly before a deep inhale and a sleepy hum buzzes beneath his ear. He tries to sit up, sees Rook blinking slowly down at him through thick lashes as apologies tumble from his lips. “Rook! I’m sorry. Spite- He-”

Rook takes no heed of his words and simply tugs him back down against them, arms tightening around him as they roll onto their side so Lucanis is sandwiched between the back of the chaise and Rook’s broad body. Lucanis is startled into silence as he is practically engulfed by Rook, finding himself settling down from his brief panic as they hold him close and nuzzle into his hair. He breaths out a sigh as he melts into the embrace, pressing his forehead to Rook’s collarbone he tries again, grounded by Rook’s embrace. “I’m sorry he intruded on you, I’ll talk to him.” He tried to send a wave of chastisement Spite’s way and was soundly ignored.

Rook petted a hand through his hair as they shimmied down to be face to face with him. Lucanis met their eyes, they were still slightly hazy, sleep clinging to them, but the affection in them was crystal clear and it warmed his insides as much as Rook’s body heat was warming the rest of him. Their voice was husky and slow, vibrating against his chest where they pressed together.

“No apologies necessary. You’re always welcome here. Both of you.”

Spite stirred enough to send an echo of smugness his way and he rolled his eyes, fondly exasperated. “Don’t encourage him.”

Pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to Lucanis’ lips they pulled back with a smile. “Good morning.” They said as they nuzzled their nose against his.

Lucanis could only hum in agreement, certainly the best morning he’d had in a very long time, and returned to Rook’s lips. They remained entwined, sharing languid kisses in their bubble of warmth until finally deciding it was time to face the day.

-----

The next night Rook is awoken again by muffled footfalls. Opening their eyes they see familiar purple looming over them, still hesitant he says quietly, quiet for Spite anyway, “Rook?”

Shuffling over to make room they let Spite wind around them again and settle down to sleep. They slip into unconsciousness with a smile on their face.

-----

Lucanis wakes, but not where he went to sleep on his cot in the pantry. It’s warmer, a faint blue green glow behind his eyelids instead of the usual dim candlelight.

At the exasperation Lucanis sends his way internally, Spite replies indignantly.

Rook safe.

Ours.

Home.

Lucanis softens at that. He does feel safe in Rook’s arms and he’s glad that Spite can feel at least some semblance of that too. His sigh is a mixture of contentedness and resignation but he nestles deeper into Rook’s embrace to enjoy the moment anyway.

-----

The third night Rook doesn’t even open their eyes as they hear the door click shut, simply lifting the blanket and back asleep before the weight has even settled fully against them.

-----

He wakes to the now familiar press of warmth, Rook a steady presence beneath him once more. Waking up fully he presses his forehead against Rook’s muscled chest with a groan of annoyance.

He feels Rook’s chuckle rumbling beneath his forehead before he slides up to press a good morning kiss to their lips, warm hands settling on his waist. Lazy kisses are exchanged in place of words for a few more minutes before the real world beckons once more, and they go their separate ways to dress and prepare for the day ahead.

-----

Lucanis lounges against the counter in the kitchen, savouring his last sips of coffee before heading to bed. He glances up at the sound of the door, unsurprised to see Rook having long since learned the sound of their footsteps. What surprises him is the fact that they’re wearing their usual sleepwear, with the addition of a loose shirt he assumes was thrown on for modesty for their walk across the Lighthouse.

“Here for a nightcap? I can make you a cioccolata calda?” He questions as Rook beelines towards him and steals a quick kiss.

“Hmmm not quite.” They whisper against his lips before pulling back, snagging a hand to twine their fingers between them as they recline against the opposite counter. They lounge in amicable silence as Lucanis finishes his drink. Rook begrudgingly lets him have his hand back to wash up the cup, smiling as Rook takes it from him to dry it with a cloth before setting back on its shelf and claiming his hand back. Lucanis raises a brow in question as Rook tugs him towards the pantry door, Rook throws him a wry look.

“I figured we may as well cut out the middleman and save Spite a walk.”

A light flush creeps onto Lucanis’ face as understanding dawns, Spite crowing in victory behind Rook. Despite having slept beside Rook for the last 3 nights, unintentional as it was on his part, the thought of actually going to bed with Rook sends flutters of nervousness and anticipation through his stomach.

“…I would like that.” He looks up at Rook, almost shyly, as he grips Rook’s hand tighter and reaches out to open the pantry door.

Stepping in they both pause, blinking in surprise at the sight before them. Glancing at each other before looking ahead, the view unchanged.

Where Lucanis’ cot was previously nestled against the far wall, there’s a now plain wall adorned only with a thick wooden door. Sharing another confused look between them they tread lightly towards the new door. Lucanis steps slightly ahead of Rook, distantly knowing that it’s likely perfectly safe in the Lighthouse, but wanting to shield Rook with his body just in case. Turning the handle the door swings slowly inwards, hinges creaking lightly.

Rook bursts into laughter behind him as he freezes. Their arms wind around his waist as they stifle their slowly fading chuckles into his hair.

Their voice is still tinged with amusement when they regain enough breath to speak. “Even the Lighthouse agrees it’s a good idea.”

The room ahead of them is small, cozy, but not cramped. A spacious bed takes up the majority of the fairly narrow space, midnight sheets shot through with threads of deep purple that catch in the candlelight. The colour reminds him of the shadowy tones of Spite’s wings and he feels Spite preening behind his eyes.

The bed sits nestled in the far right corner, a set of drawers in the remaining space between the bed and the other wall, his spare weapons are already mounted on racks against the left hand wall, with space for more. He eyes the room critically: single entrance, the creak of the door hinge would alert him to anyone trying to enter, the door is thick and sturdy with a solid looking lock, the bed frame is flush with the floor so there’s nowhere for anyone or anything to hide within, and the bed itself looks very comfortable.

Rook watches him study the room, apparently following his train of thought and remembering their previous conversation about his chosen lodgings as they move to stand beside him, nudging his shoulder lightly. “And it’s still close to the coffee.” They joke, and Lucanis can’t help but smile back. He turns to push the door closed, sliding the lock into place. Grabbing Rook’s hand he pulls them the last few feet to the bed, they toe off their shoes and are about to crawl onto the bed but Lucanis stops them with a hand on the back of their shirt, reaching for the hem questioningly as they turn back to him. He blinks up at Rook through his lashes as he runs rough fingertips across their stomach, lifting the shirt. “Feeling your skin against mine is…a comfort.”

Rook gazes down at him gently, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before withdrawing and tugging the shirt over their head. They caress Lucanis cheek gently before throwing back the covers and making themself comfortable near the wall. Lucanis thinks for a fraction of a second before shucking his own shirt and folding it up with Rook’s on top of the drawers. Settling into the bed beside Rook he finds his now favourite position against their chest, luxuriating in the planes of bare skin pressed together. Sliding a hand up Lucanis’ side they query softly, “Are you comfortable like this?”

He hums agreement into Rook’s neck, “I never wore a shirt to sleep before, Crows aren’t particularly shy, but since anyone could just wander into the pantry, I picked up the habit. But since we have this room now…” He drapes himself comfortably against Rook, their arms settling more snugly around him in turn, fingers skimming the bare skin of his back after tucking the covers tighter around them.

He feels Spite itching at the back of his throat and relents, tensing minutely as Spite slips to the forefront to rumble into Rook’s throat. “Rook. My favourite.”

Spite takes one final breath before slipping back into his mind, content just having Rook close, Lucanis’ body relaxing again. He presses a kiss to Rook’s shoulder and settles back in.

“You’re my favourite too.” He confesses softly. He hears a quietly uttered, “And you’re mine.” as he drifts to sleep with a smile, secure in the knowledge that he’ll wake up exactly where he started for once.

-----

“You’ve been looking awfully chipper lately, Lucanis.” Neve teases, glancing pointedly between him and Rook at breakfast.

He shrugs nonchalantly, taking a deep drink of his coffee. “I’ve been sleeping better since Spite and I came to our agreement.”

Rook shoots him a knowing look, and he hides his smirk behind the rim of his coffee cup. She doesn’t need to know that the new agreement is that they get to fall asleep in Rook’s arms.