#for now here's a snippet

[samssims]

Transcript:

Aly: What did you do this weekend? Dani: Oh, you know...

*Enter spicy montage of doing very much with a vampire*

Dani: Not much. Aly: Tch. You're so boring.

[aiweirdness]

“Slopsquatting” in a nutshell:

1. LLM-generated code tries to run code from online software packages. Which is normal, that’s how you get math packages and stuff but

2. The packages don’t exist. Which would normally cause an error but

3. Nefarious people have made malware under the package names that LLMs make up most often. So

4. Now the LLM code points to malware.

https://www.theregister.com/2025/04/12/ai_code_suggestions_sabotage_supply_chain/

[futuristichedge]

Disability headcanons

[hisui-dreamer]

jamil, who loves showing affection by cooking food for his loved ones, making sure the curry is seasoned to perfection and your favourite dessert to go along with the meal.

and you, with zero spice tolerance but so incredibly overwhelmed with gratitude and affection for how hard jamil's worked. and with your favourite dessert right there enticing you, you're determined to finish every drop of curry on your plate.

...

it doesn't go too well.

indeed, you have finished every drop of curry. but you've also downed around 12 cups of water, and the burning in your mouth is still unrelenting. jamil visibly looks concerned with how much water you're drinking and it's unavoidable you address your non-existent spice tolerance.

jamil sighs, and his eyes show a hint of exasperation you often see when he's following kailm's whims. you avert your gaze to the floor, upset at yourself that you've disappointed him and maybe he hates you now how could you not like his fo-

flick!

ouch! your hands reach up to shield your forehead, and your eyes meet his. not exasperated, maybe slightly, but amused and... loving??

"dummy, don't go forcing yourself to eat what you don't like," he sighs

you timidly explain you could never do that with how much time and effort he puts into his cooking

his smile widens slightly.

"for now, i guess i'll be making more desserts for you then,"

he chuckles at the way your eyes light up.

"here," he feeds you a spoonful of the chilled dessert. "is your mouth still burning?"

oh. you don't think it is anymore.

but your heart sure is.

[catboythanatos]

bro how is there 7k words in this document already NOTHING HAS HAPPENED

+ i decided to address the "stone having an iq thats one point higher than robotnik's" detail bc i think its very funny

[wisteriagoesvroom]

a couple of people have asked for a carlos POV of in theory and actually. thinking about it. it's pretty funny. imagine being carlos, carlos who gets everything in his life he's ever wanted carlos, carlos who feels he has nothing further to prove to anyone carlos (this is a lie btw), carlos who gets saddled with OSCAR, who barely tolerates him, as an executive assistant.

oscar who shows few emotions. doesn't give a f about seniority. thinks carlos is incredibly arrogant (he's not wrong here but, like recognises like.) oscar who knows carlos can't even do his own expenses without having an emotional support espresso or spending half an hour whining to oscar even though he did it himself years before oscar even joined, etc etc.

and carlos has to. endure it. while oscar blatantly ignores his charm offensive and his attempts at being jovial and his bad bilingual puns and carlos, because everyone usually loves carlos, and he-- he just. he cannot for the life of him figure out why he's also so compelled by this australian dude. doesn't know what to do with himself. just keeps interactions to a transactional minimum and puts up a front like he is soooo curt and uncaring about everything but. the warmth seeps through anyway, a vine that's destined to grow despite his attempts not to let it.

so what, if carlos lies awake in bed with racing thoughts too late at night thinking of revenues and EBITDA and platinum tiers and air miles. so what, if this sometimes bleeds into thoughts regarding his work-life balance or lack thereof, and therefore, oscar's stupid little hair swoop, his frown. his insane excel sheet formulas that even carlos, MBA graduate, takes a second to understand. oscar and his indifference and his scary efficiency and the way he talks a bit too fast when he's tipsy and his ice cold hands.

(at the christmas party with yuki. carlos pretends not to listen but hears every word. why would oscar tell yuki all that, and not him, when he’s tried to ask about oscar's interests before? anyway.)

and then. the christmas gifts happen and carlos thinks he's crossed a line. was the terrarium too far, he wonders. normally people love it when carlos is thoughtful like that. his exes even said so. but no! oscar takes the terrarium, the one carlos made a specific detour for on an airline that he couldn't even get miles on!

and oscar just. stares, and stares at the terrarium. then he gives carlos this...look. and it gets embarrassingly intimate and carlos "really does have to go take his call" even though the client did say it is fine to switch to email because, christmas. yeah. and then he's thinking about it the whole way back to madrid too.

then oscar QUITS on CHRISTMAS DAY (rude) for no explainable reason and carlos is like oh my god is it really ME. how can anybody not like ME ? reddit, AITA???

so carlos mulls on it. carlos wants to atone. just maybe. set things straight. let oscar know that. actually. all feelings aside, he was really an excellent EA and carlos wishes him the best with everything. he maybe sends a text to thank him with those very words. but christmas eve comes and goes, and so does christmas day, and there's no reply at all from oscar. what the hell, carlos thinks. no i can't have him leave and there's so much in my email that i – i didn't even say. he just. needs to let oscar know that he appreciated it.

(he doesn't know what "it" is per se. just that. he feels strongly. so he needs to do something about that.)

soooooo then carlos, who values for family more than anything in the world, spends christmas day just only half paying attention to things going on and thinking jesus, what did i do. and his sisters are like, hermano, please just. get it together and sort this out if you care so much. we'll be fine with mamá and papá and piñón okay there's roast ham for days. and his ma is like: "if you are visiting someone at least pack some dessert. where are your manners". and carlos is like "what". and his mum is like: "did i not teach you anything at all. are you or are you not a sainz". so carlos just takes his tiramisu and his sister's teasing and. he goes. might even try to pull a favour from a client to use a private jet and get there in time.

he flies back to the city in a fit of possible stupidity to try and clarify... his feelings for oscar his professional record and integrity.

and then. oscar is. actually HAPPY he is there.

(carlos knows he's happy, not because oscar's face changes. but because oscar puts his actual plant shears down in order to talk to him. which in oscar-world is a very big deal really. before, oscar always used to look like he wanted to stab carlos with a pen when carlos spoke to him. and if carlos were truly honest with himself, and hindsight being 50/50, well– he'd say that actually, the times oscar looked like he wanted to stab him were actually some of the moments he felt most alive.)

and the rest is... well.

you know how it ends.

[infinitelymint]

another little snippet of what's now 8k of Violet feeling like proper shit and thinking a baby might fix it (spoiler alert, it won't)

He cups her cheek and she hates herself a little bit for turning into the touch, for savouring the warmth and the feel of his hand against her skin. It’s been so long since she was last touched with any kind of affection that wasn’t from her dragons. It’s a testament to just how long that she lets him of all people. She squeezes her eyes closed tightly, willing herself to keep the tears at bay.

She’s missed it so much, the feel of someone else’s hands on her body. The comfort of a simple, platonic touch. She has missed the connection, the intimacy, the knowledge that someone cares. Gods, she thinks again, what she wouldn’t give for a simple hug.

“Vi,” he breathes, and there he goes again with the ‘Vi’, breaking down her walls even further. He sounds heartbroken and she can’t quite grasp why. He doesn’t care about her, so why does he suddenly sound like he does?

“I don’t think I’m okay,” she confesses and there’s no amount of squeezing her eyes closed that will hold the tears back now, not when she's finally uttered the truth that she has known intimately for months and months out loud. She feels the tears fall down her cheeks, leaving wet, hot tracks in their wake, like a map of her sadness. It doesn’t take long for his thumb to come up to wipe them away.

“I know,” he says, and there’s none of that brute efficiency or cold detachment she'd come to know from him during the war. His tone is gentle. It’s nothing like she remembers him, nothing like the picture she has of him in her mind. She doesn't know how to reconcile this version of him with the one who's only ever shown her indifference or frustration before.

She thinks that maybe peace time allows some to break down, and others to take care of the pieces that are left in ways that war time never could.

[louroth]

You reach the table, where Y takes up a quarter of the seating space. Although he is tucked into the corner by the lace-clad window, he is not afraid to take up space, arms outstretched across the bench that spans your booth, a dreamy half-smile on his face. You slide in next to S, opposite Y, and covertly ask, “Did you drug him?” S laughs; a dozen bells, ringing. “Gods no. I gave him a stiff drink, and the band is setting up. He has always fancied live musicians.” Sure enough, there is a band tuning their instruments among the mingling crowd of the dance floor. Just in the middle of it, a carpet designates the space for a cello, drums, musicians. A microphone is tapped, reverberating with feedback; no one flinches. The volume is high enough around the bar already, but it settles the more organized the band becomes, barhand waving people off, shushing, handing drinks over with mirth coursing through every twitch and turn of their all-aware movements. Drink-tray carrying girls swirl through the crowd like leaves on a current, trilling, the occasional slosh of liquid gleaming in the warm glow of gas-lit fire. Deals pass between mumbling gentry at the back. Glasses clink. The perfume of oil permeates, near rancid.

There’s a whole world here.

A whole world.

[suegodvester]

One drink and straight to bed, he vowed to himself.

“A water?” The barman scoffed. “The poor man’s choice, I see.”

Wally chuckled. “The choice of a man who just got here from a trip longer than you can imagine. D’ya got any rooms free up in this place or?”

The barman’s face softened, and he laughed as he went to grab a glass of water. Returning, he leaned in as he handed Wally his drinks. “We do, but tell me, have you ever been here before?”

A blush rose up his cheeks as Wally shook his head. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is,” he laughed awkwardly. He suddenly felt very looked at.

“Curious.” The man pulled back, then nodded to himself. “Gotham usually doesn’t show herself to people who haven’t been here before, well, unless she has plans for you. Or so they say.”

“Gotham?” Wally blurted out, eyes widened in shock. “I can’t believe I’m actually here.” He laughed, not because he was happy, but he couldn’t help himself from laughing at his own stupidity. Of course, with all the weirdness going on around here, how didn’t he realize this sooner?

He did it. He found the no-man’s-land that was particularly starting to look like an any-man’s-land to him. The place he had been looking for all along.

“You know, there’s some rumors about-” The bartender started, then stopped dead in his sentence and looked up behind Wally. Right then, Wally felt two, strong hands clasp onto his shoulders.

“You’re in my seat.” A deep, bouldering voice said, the two goons behind him snickering loudly.

Wally looked around him and noticed the two chairs besides him had indeed come up empty. Still, he shrugged and tipped his drink back. “And I was having a really good conversation.” He shot back, not getting off the chair. “Please, do continue.”

He heard a couple “Ooh”’s and “Shit”’s and snickers behind him as the saloon fell silent. All eyes fell on him, or well, them, as Wally shrugged the hands off his shoulders and leaned forward.

“Funny, kid.” The man all but growled. The bottle in his hand -some dirt cheap brand of beer, Wally guessed- came into his view as Wally skillfully -although accidentally- dodged the bottle when he turned the bar chair around. The glass made a painful shattering noise as it came into contact with the edge of the bar, sending shards everywhere.

His attacker staggered back, the intoxication visible in how he tripped rather gracefully against one of his back-up buddies. Immediately, everyone at the bar shot up from their seats and started screaming. Some people saw this as the perfect time to throw some punches around, and Wally winced as he heard the rough sound of a cracking bone right next to him.

It all happened in the blink of an eye, the way this bar fight came to be, but now everyone was in on it. Everyone, except for Wally. Shit, had he really just started this? He frantically looked around, hoping to spot a way out of this mess he had so swiftly created. Hells, he hadn’t even been here for over ten minutes and he already-

A hand slipped around his wrist, and the strong grip pulled him out of his thoughts as fast as he was pulled out of the saloon. When the cold night’s air pushed his hair out of his eyes, his mind cleared. Loud screams and thuds against the walls and floors, although a bit more muted now, made him look at one of the windows.

What just happened?

“You’re really quite something, y’know?” An amused, cocky voice startled him fully away from whatever was happening inside the saloon now, and he traced his eyes to the figure in front of him.

[envysparkler]

hugs

It’s not that nobody else’s hugs are good.  Dick is the master of cuddling, Cass always knows when to go for a hug and when to back off, and Damian’s hugs are the most adorable thing in the world.  Tim does hugs like he thinks they’ll disappear if he doesn’t grip tight enough, Steph hugs like she’s trying to break ribs, and Bruce, as always, is warmth and love and home.

But.  But a Jason Todd Hug is special.

Jason is still prickly, still determinedly straddling the line between outsider and family no matter how many people want to pull him back, and he rarely ever attends the family dinners or parties or any get-together when he’s not in the mask.

But sometimes he forgets, forgets that he’s pretending not to be their brother, forgets that he’s keeping them at arm’s length.  Sometimes he wraps his arms around them – easily, because he grew up to be the tallest, grew up the most like Bruce – and envelops them in warmth and leather and gun oil and protection.

A Jason Todd Hug is special because it means he cares.  Because it feels like a victory.  Because it feels like family, like returning home after a long vacation, like sleeping in their own bed and knowing that nothing will ever get them.

Nobody makes the colossal mistake of daring to say this out loud, lest they get cut off forever.

Until Damian squirms out of Dick’s grasp and snaps, “You’re not Todd, you can’t hug me.”

Dick’s mind goes blank.  Tim, on the Batcomputer, stops typing.  Steph pokes her head out of the medbay, eyes wide.

Dick recovers and then immediately scans the Cave.  No Jason in sight, thank god.

“You can’t just say things like that, Dami,” Dick hisses, “Do you want him to sulk and never come back here again?”

“You’ve gotten a Jason Todd Hug?” Steph asks, eyes wide and betrayed, “How?  How did the baby assassin get a hug?  I’ve been trying for months!”

“You’ve been trying to get a hug from Jason?” Tim blinks at her, while Dick mouths ‘months?’.

“Sure, after I saw you practically melt into it,” Steph says, pouting, “You never do that with Dick’s hugs.  I thought it must be something special.”

“That’s because you never encourage Dick, he will hold on and never let go,” Tim says, eyes dark as he grumbles over his coffee.  Dick magnanimously chooses to ignore that statement.

“It isn’t that difficult,” Dick smiles at her, “Either you go for the ‘looking pathetic’ route, or you ambush him.”

Steph looks like she wants to take notes.  Damian huffs, “Who made you the expert on Todd’s hugs?”

“Well, I get the most hugs, so I should be the expert,” Dick explains reasonably.

Damian and Tim eye him speculatively.  Oops.

“Care for a friendly wager?” Tim asks with a shark smile.

That’s when the whiteboard goes up.

Steph’s in favor of writing ‘Jason Todd Hugs’ on it, but Dick convinces her to keep it to initials because if Jason ever finds out, the competition will be over permanently.  They all add their names to the list.

“Alright, any time anyone gets a hug, we add a tally mark,” Dick says, “No maiming, bribery, or blackmail allowed.”  Standard rules.

“When do we end the competition?” Tim asks.

Dick frowns.  If Jason’s in a Mood then it might be weeks before anyone gets a hug from him, and he wants this to be fair.  To give the munchkins a chance.

“First to ten?” Steph suggests.

“Sounds good,” Dick agrees, “Though if we’re getting Jason’s hugs, we’re already winners.”

They all shake on it, and the whiteboard goes up near a board of other miscellaneous stuff, not hidden but definitely out of visible line of sight for anyone who enters the Cave through the garage entrance and spends only five minutes before leaving again.

~#~

C is added to the list of participants the next day, without any notice or explanation.

~#~

There is a little scribble of a bat on the whiteboard by the end of the week.  There is also a W squeezed in between the T and H in the title.

The competitors look at each other across the Cave and nod.  The battle is on.

~#~

Cass is the first one who gets on the scoreboard, mainly because she drops in on top of Jason on one of his rare visits to the Cave.

Jason was arguing with Bruce, his jaw tightening, his expression shifting from irritation to frustration when the Black Bat drops from the rigging and knocks him flat against the mats.

Jason stares up at her, bewildered.  “Did you fall?” he asks.  Cass widens her eyes in lieu of outright lying, and flops on top of him.  Jason automatically wraps his arms around her and she relaxes into the hug.

“You should be more careful,” he says quietly.

Cass hums, and lets her head rest against the thump-thump of his heartbeat.

When Jason has left, motorcycle roaring away, she takes the marker and draws a single line below the C.

Tim shoots her a dirty look.

~#~

“It’s not fair,” Tim glowers at Dick, hair half-sticking up on one side, as Dick dramatically and pointedly adds another tally to his score, bringing it up to four.

Jason nearly stabbed him, but it’s worth it.

“I gave you my secrets, baby bird,” Dick laughs, “What more do you want?”

“You and Cass just.  Attack him with hugs,” Tim waves his hands to make his point, “That’s not fair!”

“You could attack him with hugs too,” Dick points out.

Tim gives him a flat look.  “Somehow I have a feeling that won’t go over well.”

Dick shrugs, hiding his smirk.  “That sounds like a you problem.”

~#~

He notices it on a visit to the Cave, a whiteboard that’s clearly a new addition, emblazoned with JTWH in Dick’s handwriting.  The W is smaller than the rest, like it was squeezed in after.

Underneath it is a long line of initials with tally marks underneath.  D, T, DW, S, C, and a little stylized bat.  The whole gang.  (Except him.)

Dick is clearly winning, with five tallies under his name, though someone seems to have scrawled in ‘cheater’ underneath those.  Cass is in second place with three, Replacement and Batgirl have tied for third with two, Babs has one, and Damian has a half for some reason.  Bruce, he’s happy to see, is losing.

He doesn’t mention it.  He’s distracted by the case they’re working on, and then by patrol, and by the time he remembers it, he’s irritable and sleep-deprived and bitter enough that the idea that they left him out of their competition fits right at home with his aching heart.

~#~

“What’s JTWH?” he asks, because the whiteboard is in his line of sight and it never stopped bothering him.  Jason tries to keep his voice casual, tries to not ruin the pleasant mood in the Cave, but his next words are a little too sharp.  “And why am I not on the scoreboard?”

Everyone goes silent in a way that’d be freaky if they weren’t all piled on top of him.  He can practically hear the looks being exchanged around him.

“What, afraid I was going to smoke all of you at your competition?” Jason asks.  More looks.  Jason tenses, waiting for it – the ‘you said you’re not part of this family’ and ‘you never asked’ and ‘we forgot’.

“You are,” Cass says simply, patting his head.

“I am what?”

“On board.”

Jason squints at the whiteboard.  Nope, he can’t see his name on it.  “No, I’m not.  And no one told me about any competition either.”

“Silly goose,” Cass says, which has become her favorite phrase ever since Bruce used it once, “You are.  Top.”

Jason frowns, because he still doesn’t – JTWH.  Oh.

“And what do the rest of the letters stand for?” Jason grumbles, wondering what they’re tracking.  How many days since he killed someone.  How many days since he’s threatened them.  How many times he’s yelled at them.  “Jason Todd Was Here?  Jason Todd Water Hose?  Jason Todd –”

“Wayne,” Bruce says quietly from next to him.  “Jason Todd-Wayne.”

Jason swallows.  He can’t quite look at Bruce.  “What does the H stand for?”

Everyone gives each other shifty looks.

“Oh, wow, that bad, huh.”

“Hugs,” Steph rolls her eyes, “Jason Todd-Wayne Hugs.  So, no, actually, you can’t win, because you can’t give yourself a hug.”

Jason blinks at her.

“Steph,” Tim whines from somewhere near his elbow.

“I said that no one was allowed to tell,” Dick sighs, “I said it explicitly.  I warned you all.”

“Tt.  If the competition ends because of you, Brown, I will take my vengeance.”  Damian’s grip tightens on Jason’s leg.

“Well, it was either the truth or whatever his imagination was coming up with,” Steph shrugs.  She’s looking at him like he’s going to disappear.

“Wait,” Jason croaks, because he lost the thread of this conversation somewhere, “You’ve been having a competition…over hugs?”

“Over your hugs.”

[cj-marj]

ShikaNaru snippet

Living with someone is nice. Most times.

There’s a man lying on his carpet. They’re childhood friends; that’s the easier way to describe their relationship. But the term ‘friends’ is a loose word. They didn’t know much about each other as kids, and even when this started, but they’ve always been that way. They come together and break apart like puzzles fit for each other. Their times together were few and far between but each moment was unexpectedly memorable.

Then Shikamaru started coming around more often.

As usual, Naruto welcomed it without much forethought. But when the days grew shorter and Shikamaru remained a constant presence in his house, that lack of forethought came back to haunt him. He became afraid. He enjoyed the company, and he became afraid of losing it this time. This time, he hoped he could glue the lines between them so they would never come apart again. But Shikamaru had a life outside of him. So he carried on.

Some nights, he slept alone, and he didn’t complain. Some nights, Shikamaru would stay over. Some nights, they would stay up working and fall asleep next to each other in the living room. Being the early riser he is, Naruto would awake first and bask in the warmth of his frequent house partner. He would shuffle forward just to count the lashes on his eyes, and the faded acne scars, and note the few moles he finds under Shikamaru’s jaw. Then before Shikamaru wakes, he shuts his eyes and lies there, pretending. At some point, he came to learn that Shikamaru caught on to his ministrations, but he never said anything. He let Naruto have it so Naruto took it.

He shouldn’t want it. He shouldn’t want to want it either, but one day, when Shikamaru waits for him to drop the pretence and he opens his eyes to meet those ever-brown ones he’s coming to love searching for, he gives into his yearning. He realises, or rather, remembers, right there, what a weak man he is for this. He wants this. He wants Shikamaru to stay. He wants to never be apart from him again. And Shikamaru must see it in his eyes, because not only is he good at reading people like that, but Naruto’s never been good at hiding his feelings.

“Morning,” Shikamaru drawls in that low timbre his voice takes on after a long sleep.

“Morning,” Naruto whispers back.

The air is dry and so is his throat. They had forgotten to shut the glass doors last night after they’d come in from smoking. Shikamaru tumbled to the ground laughing at something stupid Naruto had said, and Naruto followed him solely based on the instinct of craving his warmth. They rolled around on the carpet speaking in tongues, sneezing and occasionally giggling into the ground at their own childishness. Naruto was beyond full. The mirth in his heart threatened to explode out of his chest and kill him right there. But he lived, just to fall under the same threat the next morning.

“What’s for breakfast?” His eyes break away and land somewhere on Naruto’s hair. His hand follows soon after.

“Dunno. What do you want?”

Shikamaru’s fingers are warm, but Naruto shivers at his touch. It’s such a clear reaction that he can’t even bother to hide. And Shikamaru sees this, but he continues to run his hands through Naruto’s hair.

“Why’s your hair so messy in the mornings?”

Like a man possessed, Naruto’s hand lifts to ruffle through Shikamaru’s hair as well. The ink strands slip through his fingers without fuss. Tangles never really hold in Shikamaru’s hair.

“Like yours is any better.”

They’re supposed to be bantering, but the tone is off. Shikamaru’s hand is moving too rhythmically through Naruto’s hair and the latter’s voice is too soft to illustrate nothing if not a man in love.

“You should braid your hair before you sleep.” Like he mentioned before, it’s pointless. One brush and Shikamaru’s hair is cascading down his neck like a waterfall. But this is what happens: Shikamaru starts it, Naruto continues, Shikamaru lets him have it and Naruto takes it in the only way he’s ever known.

“It hurts my hands. Will you do it for me?”

With ferocity.

[indighostoast]

fire.

Guess who was in pain after the new video and made this in *checks* yeah no 20 something minutes in the middle of class.

Burn.

And Blue was back in the Nether again, holding up the child as high as she could while she sunk.

And she was back there, screaming, but now it mingled with the chorus of her friends as they burned.

Hurt.

Hurt.

Hurt.

She floundered, jumping and clinging desperately for the edge, there weren’t any piglins to save her now. Just a lava pit under sakura trees. With that flaring white pain that was so hot, it was as if she was encased in ice.

Again.

Why her friends, too? Why them?

.

.

.

Green had been distant recently, so it was a bit of a surprise that he offered to invite them out for a picnic. Of course, they all accepted, though some a bit more hesitant than others.

But she’d been eager, wanting to talk about how nice it was that they were spending time together. Especially since Green started influencing… a few weeks ago.

(Oh, that was a few weeks ago? It felt like both minutes and years at the same time.)

It’s been a month since the channel was created. And only ever since then he’s been spending most of his time out in Minecraft doing Alan-knows-what.

But she trusted him, with the picture of cherry blossoms overhead and the basket and how peaceful it all was. Sandwiches too, he’d even told her not to bring any food since he already brought them himself.

Maybe that’s what he’s been doing in Minecraft instead? Making something nice for them besides editing and recording those videos. (Even being closer to him lately, she still didn’t know much about it all. Besides the occasional dance and the slightly older videos. The ones where she knew his smile did reach his eyes because they weren’t obscured by the sunglasses.)

Thinking back, when they ate, she’d caught Red standing up despite everyone else choosing to sit. (They’d said they just preferred to eat that way, and Blue didn’t give a second thought about it.)

That was, until Green got his phone out. He’d gotten it out before, with a quick excuse of replying to comments. That only got her a shrug in response, a reassuring smile.

“It’s fine, we should just trust him on this.”

Then the ground fell open.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Freezing wasn’t going to do anything. It wasn’t going to get her out of this burning pit of hell.

It wasn’t going to do anything as her body burned.

It wasn’t going to do anything.

But she was watching herself burn to death, her limbs stopping their function as she could only hold on, to the side.

She can pull back up. She had the strength, not the will.

Burn.

Burn.

Burn.

Her eyes closed.

Then there’s another hand against hers, making her open them again.

Yellow was kneeling down, grabbing her arms and hauling her onto the grass.

Blue didn’t move.

She couldn’t move. Not a muscle. Not anything.

Ears ringing.

Burn.

“Are you okay?!”

She couldn’t open her mouth. Someone was screaming in the distance and sounds were echoing off each other. Blurs of color were dancing in front of her vision now that wasn’t that reddish-orange.

But she was there. She was still there.

Fine.

She tried to say, in the tone she’s gotten so used to.

The only response she gave was hugging her knees against her chest.

Staring.

Did she expect him to know?

No, she didn’t.

(It was supposed to be funny!)

[defectivehero]

If you'd like, please write about an injured hero who needs to be carried around by villain! >:D

“One more complaint and I’m dropping you,” the villain announces, briefly readjusting their grip. They have one arm looped under the hero's knee and the other supporting their enemy's back.

The hero has been steadily avoiding eye contact, instead looking ahead. They look a bit flustered, for some reason. “This is humiliating,” the hero sighs, looking down at their ankle with a menacing glare.

“Yes, it is humiliating,” the villain agrees, an annoyed expression on their face as they stare ahead. They thank the stars that they're walking down a rather narrow and abandoned side street. They wouldn't be able to do this downtown, in broad daylight—both because they're too prideful, and because someone may recognize them. “Maybe if you had paid attention instead of tripping over nothing-”

“Hey, that’s not very nice bedside manner,” the hero interjects. The villain has to take a moment to process that statement.

“Bedside manner is for people who are ill or dying,” the villain sighs, “You’re just dramatic.” Gods, why do they even bother? They could be at home right now, washing the dried blood from their skin and melting under the warm water from their shower. Instead, they're carrying the hero across town as if they're some sort of delivery service. Absolutely ridiculous.

“You haven’t dropped me,” the hero points out. They look far too smug for the villain's liking. Indeed, their next remark nearly makes the villain's jaw crack from how hard they're gritting their teeth. “So I must be doing something right.”

The villain takes a deep breath, trying to maintain their composure. Leave it to their enemy to make a simple act of kindness so painful, overcomplicated, and tedious. “You’re clinging onto my neck so tightly that I’ll get whiplash if I drop you,” the villain feels the need to point out.

“Fair enough,” the hero acquiesces. After a moment’s contemplation, they loosen their grip on their neck. The villain can almost feel the weight slowly seeping from their shoulders. They had underestimated the hero's grip strength, it seems.

They expect the hero to be still once more, but their enemy doesn't relax. It only takes a few moments for them to snap. "Stop squirming," the villain demands.

"I was loosening my grip, asshole-" The hero seethes irritatedly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, what was that?" The villain asks, making a show of looking around at the empty street around them. "Was I just insulted for helping my enemy back to their agency—which, might I say, is an entirely voluntary and selfless act of heroism?"

The hero scoffs and rolls their eyes. "Oh, please," they huff. The villain gets the feeling that, if their arms were free, they'd cross them over their chest in indignation. "You wouldn't know heroism if it punched you in the face."

The villain just stares at them, waiting for them to catch on to what they just said. The hero connects the dots moments later, as they evidently realize that they themself have indeed punched the villain in the face before.

An awkward tension clings to the air. The villain continues walking down the street towards the hero's agency, internally cursing their pure heart. If this is how inconvenient it is to be a hero, then they don't plan on doing anything remotely good ever again.

Mercifully, the building begins to appear in the distance. As the villain crosses the street, the hero begins to murmur. “Let’s go in through the back,” they say, “Just turn the corner, there’s a door back there-”

“Oh, absolutely not,” the villain interjects immediately. "If we're doing this, then we're doing this." They readjust their grip once more and stroll towards the elaborate front doors of the city's top superhero agency. They can feel the hero stiffen in their arms.

“Please, no,” the hero begs them. The villain doesn’t bother listening, instead continuing to walk purposefully towards the entrance. The security is laughably lax at this hour. It's when they cross the threshold of the entrance that the hero attempts to break free from their grasp. Thankfully, the villain had been expecting them to do just that, and they manage to hold tight.

The villain pointedly clears their throat, satisfied with the way the occupants of the foyer immediately swivel around and stare with gazes of recognition. “I think I have something of yours,” they announce, looking down at the hero in their arms. At this point, the hero is positively wriggling in their arms—desperate for escape. The villain finally decides to take pity on them and they release their grip, leaving the hero to fall to the ground.

“Ouch.” The hero mutters once they hit the ground. The villain rolls their eyes, knowing that the hero managed to break their fall with a tactical roll and land without injury. They push themselves to stand on one foot and someone nearby rushes to their side, providing them adequate support to remain balanced on one side.

Everyone's eyes are on them, as if they're waiting for the villain to do something. "You may carry on," the villain orders, when a few seconds pass and the onlookers continue to stare expectantly. Their voice seems to break through the confusion and anticipation, and the people scattered around the space return to whatever they were doing. "I've done my civic duty for the year." They mutter to themself, turning on their heel and heading for the door.

"Hey." The hero's voice makes them freeze in place. The villain inhales slowly, summoning more patience. They turn around and manifest a calm expression.

"What?" They ask, struggling to keep the frustration from their voice.

"Thanks." The hero smiles.

"Just- don't let it happen again," the villain answers, looking away from the hero's far-too-bright smile. They turn on their heel and walk away, pushing away any and all feelings born from their enemy's gratitude.

©2024, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

endnotes below!

the villain, holding the hero by the scruff of their neck: look what i foundddd!

the villain: this heroism stuff sucks. the hero: *expresses their gratitude and smiles* the villain, visibly flustered: now hold on a second...

this dynamic really amuses me. I can't get rid of the mental image of the villain holding the hero by the scruff of the neck like a kitten, and the hero just kind of hanging there in defeat. good stuff.

the villain lies awake that night, unable to stop thinking about the hero. :3

and thanks to the anon who sent this request! I posted a cry for help yesterday very briefly and then got embarrassed and deleted it, but! the original point still stands: my ask box is open! send me stuff and i *may* write it!

if ur reading this, ily <3 hehe

tag list: @lateuplight @wit-is-wisdom @greengableswriting @whump-me-all-night-long @noawhite @rekhyt-of-arcadia @the-blind-one-speaks @sufferfictionalcharacters @basically-psyduck @alexkolax @subval01 @emerald-blade @felicia609 @surplus-of-sarcasm @ilickedanenvelopeandilikedit @a-chaotic-gremlin @unknownogre @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @whatwhumpcomments @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @agayprince @starsick1979 @a-lonely-little-ghost @agayprince @plum-tello

click here if you’d like to be on/off the tag list!

[darkfictionjude]

Jude hoe does Nia react to waking up to a breakfast in bed that Birdie made?

For a second I thought you were calling me a hoe

“What’s this?” She sits up, a curious expression in her sleepy eyes.

You lay the tray on her lap. She looks at the food as if she’s never seen eggs before.

“And what’s the occasion?”

“I just wanted to,” you reply with a smile.

She picks up the fork, stabs the scrabbles eggs and puts it in her mouth. She chews silently for a few seconds before dropping the fork and saying, “fine, no occasion. You want something, what it is it?”

“Can’t I just cook breakfast for my girlfriend?”

She ponders this for a second. “Yes but you definitely want something. Tell me as I eat.”

[yuesya]

“A shipment to Arkos, you said?”

“Yup! Logistics wants this delivered before the end of the week.” The young lady types rapidly into the keypad fixed to the wall, and the doors slide open –revealing the warehouse to be stacked high with giant boxes of various medical supplies. Bagpipe cranes her head back, surveying the contents of the storage room. 

“… All of these?” 

“Mhm. It would’ve been included as part of the regular shipment last month, but the guys over in the Medical Department changed something about the new formula that they’re developing, so these got delayed,” the girl explains. “Sorry for the trouble, Ms. Bagpipe.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Arkos… it’s a familiar name, although Bagpipe has yet to go and pay a visit there in person. It seems that she’ll finally be getting the opportunity now.

Arkos is not quite a city, exactly. It’s more of a collective –a gathering of various disparate individuals; a hub of mercenaries and traders alike, in addition to a small regular population that calls Arkos home. The small settlement is located in one of the more treacherous parts of the rugged terrain between Leithanien and Ursus, making it an excellent resting stop for any travelers.

But on the flipside: Arkos is located on dangerous terrain, and one must wonder how anyone had even thought to establish a settlement there in the first place. In a way, it’s genius, but it’s also insanity. Because Arkos is not a mobile city; if a Catastrophe ever came their way, then…

Well. Bagpipe assumes that there must be some manner of precautionary measures set in place. She’s never known Doctor Kal’tsit to invest in a sinking ship, after all, and the agreements signed between Rhodes Island and Arkos would not have been possible in the first place if the Director had not truly seen something in it.

According to the rumors, the first homes in Arkos had been built by their elusive founder and leader herself. Weary travelers had been allowed a place to rest, and none were turned away on basis of race or occupation, gradually leading to a motley collection of individuals who gathered together in the area as time passed.

… And at the same time, there were also rumors that those who dared to cause trouble in Arkos with any ill intentions were all met with violent, bloody ends, without exception. Also courtesy of their great and powerful leader.

Bagpipe is curious as to what the leader of Arkos is really like. Kal’tsit is the only one in Rhodes Island who’s ever met them in person before, and she’s very tight-lipped on the subject, which only adds to the mystery of it all.

[bigfootsmom]

Wip Wednesday

Tagged by the lovely and talented @shyaudacity @daffi-990 @tizniz @diazsdimples @honestlydarkprincess

@eddiebabygirldiaz @bidisasterevankinard <3 <3 <3

Here’s a little bit more of helicopter crash :))

”Buck is gonna be okay, Chimney has him.” The corners of Eddie’s mouth pinch with worry. “Are you okay? Can you walk?”

Tommy doesn’t answer, focusing on keeping his lungs inflating and keeping his vision from fading out as he forces his aching body up. Eddie is immediately there, helping, one hand cupped under Tommy’s elbow and helping to take some of his weight. A small part of Tommy is ashamed by how much he needs the help, but the rest of him is too focused on keeping Evan in his line of sight to pay attention to the echo of his father in the back of his head.

“I can walk,” Tommy gets out between gritted teeth before his knees promptly buckle.

“Shit–” Eddie bites out, struggling for a second under the unexpected deadweight of Tommy’s uncooperative body.

Tagging @iinryer @try-set-me-on-fire @homerforsure @mellaithwen @princessfbi

@buddie-buddie @bisexual-buck @smallandalmosthonest and anyone else who is awake and would like to post!!!