#idk why my brain does this to me...........

[lampridius]

May i request some domestic fluff (waking up next to reader/ eating together/ doing chores/ etc) with Anaxa? :) Thank you!

𝙃𝙎𝙍 𝙈𝙀𝙉 𝘿𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙄𝘾 𝙁𝙇𝙐𝙁𝙁 ᯓ★ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀: anaxa ᯓ★ rules | masterlist | 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 ᯓ★ 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ᯓ★ 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: idk why it's taken me so long so post all of these i've written all of them but didn't have the brain capacity to post them lmao

i'll be editing and posting all my requests now hopefully (if i don't get bored or distracted)

#𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗫𝗔

mornings start quiet. there’s no alarm, no rush - just the golden kind of silence that comes when the world hasn’t quite woken up yet. anaxa stirs when you do, usually because you’re pressed close, breathing slow against his shoulder or tangled around his arm. he doesn’t move right away. he never does. he likes the warmth of you there, the weight of you still half-asleep, the quiet hum of your breathing syncing with his own.

if you mumble a sleepy good morning or tuck your face into his chest, he always gives you a low, fond sound in return. a gruff little chuckle, maybe, or just a hand brushing over your back with slow intention. he’s not overly talkative, but his affection shows in presence, in touch, in the way he doesn’t leave the bed until you’re ready to.

breakfast is usually something simple, something filling. he’s practical like that. he cooks quietly, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy from sleep. he always makes extra without asking, always sets out your favorite drink on the side like it’s just second nature. and if you’re still drowsy and wrapped in a blanket, watching him from a stool while nibbling on something he handed you mid-cooking, he won’t say much - just shoot you the softest look over his shoulder.

you do the dishes together sometimes. you try to sneak your way out of it, teasing, “i cooked emotionally, so technically i don’t have to clean,” and he just rolls his eyes - but he’s already reaching for the sponge with his metal hand and sliding the warm rinse water your way. even chores feel easy with him. there’s no need for roles or arguments. it’s just give and take, steady and simple.

during the day, if he’s working outside with the dromas or fixing gear, you’ll often keep him company. you bring snacks. you chat a little. sometimes you nap nearby while he works, your presence grounding him without distraction. other times, he’ll hand you tools or ask you to hold something steady—not because he needs help, but because he likes doing things with you. he’s quiet about it, but you feel it. every motion says i want you here.

you fall into each other’s rhythms in a way that doesn’t need planning.

he doesn’t hover. he doesn’t smother. but if you’re tired, he lifts things before you can reach. if you’re overwhelmed, he finds something to keep your hands busy without pressure. if you’re quiet, he matches it. if you’re affectionate, he meets you there - slow, grounding touches, a hand on your back, a kiss pressed to your temple without words.

nights end the same way mornings begin: side by side, wrapped up in something soft and simple. you share a blanket. sometimes a book. he’ll let you read aloud to him, or play with his hair, or fall asleep mid-conversation. he never complains. he just shifts to make more room for you and lets the day fade away with you tucked into his side.

and even if the world is unpredictable, even if tomorrow might bring something loud or dangerous or hard - these little things, these shared moments, are his anchor.

and you are home.

©𝗖𝗢𝗣𝗬𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 ● @lampridius 2025

[kimberly-spirits13]

Damian Wayne Dating an Artist HC

Artist Credit: according to Pinterest, this is from heuksae

Warnings: not edited 🤭, None

Note: Thinking about writing a one-shot where Damian and kind of implied artist!reader meet at a gala for the Gotham Museum of Art- also trying to think about some general Damian things to write like SFW alphabet and some off handed oneshots but idk right now 😀- thinking about finding a notebook to write all of my ideas down and then just get through them one by one but I have MANY THOUGHTS LOTS OF TIME

Damian was drawn to you the moment that he met you

What really kicked it off was after you went on an entire speil about your favorite artist and why they are the cornerstone of your inspiration and ambitions, he saw the inside of your sketchbook and knew that you weren't just some amateur with a high opinion of themselves

The two of you sat for an entire hour talking about what you like to create, favorite mediums, favorite colors, the hues that you like to see, the artists that you like, what you're working on next, etc.

It started a bidaily routine of somehow meeting up somewhere and sketching together or picking each other's brains about some sort of artistic matter

He's never really had anyone that is able to give him constructive feedback when he's stuck on something, so he always turns to you when he needs another pair of eyes inspecting his work

The first time you ask him to help you fix something that you weren't sure about, his heart flipped out of his chest

He came to you because he saw you as an equal (sometimes as a superior), and he respected every thought that you so generously shared to the world from your mind

The two of you started dating after some time and hanging out more than what should be possible

one of his favorite dates is having some sort of hot drink like tea paired with Alfred's various pastries, sitting in the Manor's gardens with you, and creating (!doesn't have to just be drawing/ painting because there are many forms of art!)

He prefers the standard oil paint, watercolor, graphite, and sometimes charcol, but he's never forced himself to be married to just those mediums

He leans into realism with some obvious influence of John Singer Sargent, baroque, and hints of greater Impressionism

The two of you are often found wandering around hole in the wall art shops and carrying around a beat up sketchbook full of ideas

Damian LOVES going to the art store with you

he's not a shopaholic in any other scenario, but good weaponry and nice art supplies are his Achilles' heel

The two of you walk around the aisles of art supplies in a store like Dick Blick and spend hours talking about the things you've done with each medium, what you recommend using, what's your least favorite item, swatching whatever you can, and throwing everything into the basket

he insits on paying btw 🤚 even if it was your idea to run and grab a few things you needed to restock, he's whipping out that black card and will not hear a word about it

being endowed with the Wayne fortune, however, does not mean that he does not get excited when there's a sale running

He's the type to text you at 4am saying that he found out a certain store is running a sale that day and to be ready for him to pick you up so the two of you can go

Oil paint is expensive y'all- rich or not, that stuff makes me clutch my pearls seeing the price tag sometimes

Damian has dabbled in making his own paint with things like Gum Arabic and has a small collection of items he found walking around Gotham with an exact label of what it is and where he got it, that he uses to grind up as pigments

kind of starts to look like an old alchemist or something but that's okay

You're the only one that he'd EVER let use these pigments

Once he's perfected the formula and tested things like like fastness, he's making a custom palette for you and presenting it to you at either the most random time in the middle of the night, or as a special occasion present

Loves going to art museums with you and walking around aimlessly all day, studying how a work was done and discussing with one another what you like and dislike about something

He's def taken you to Italy or Paris on a random occasion just to go walk around the great museums there

One day Damian calls you and asks if you're free for the weekend because he wants to fly across the world to go see some museums with you- also the jet is leaving in three hours

like duh you're free

He has a seperate sketchbook that he rarely ever lets you see that is filled to the brim with sketches of you

Damian is kind of mortified when you find out but tries to play it cool

you tell him that it's extremely endearing but don't push it on him further since you can tell he's trying to sink into the void and disappear when talking about it

The two of you have totally left art supplies at each other's houses and at this point. things like brushes and pencils become a communal item

Damian would never use your things without explicit permission though

His paints are some of his most joyous and treasured possessions so he maintains that level of reverence with your collection

If you tell him you're fine with him using whatever, his stomach and heart switch places for a second and he starts to feel a faint blush spreading on his cheeks

To him, it shows how much you trust him that you're willing to lend him something so valuable to your being

Not really an art thing but more of an aesthetic preference, Damian likes tangible items over digital

He has a record player with his favorite records and a vintage film camera where he has a collection of photos displaying the various dates the two of you have been on and places that you have seen together

He keeps them in a leather envelope inside his desk drawer and reaches for them whenever he's missing you

Damian keeps one in his wallet from a time that you two were walking around the gardens one hazy spring morning when no one was at the manor. You have one of his sweatshirts on and a soft smile as you're peering off into the expanse of the gardens holding a sleeping Alfred the cat in your arms

Damian intensly listens to everything that you have to say and finds himself more and more curious about the inner workings of your mind the longer you're together

[crooked-wasteland]

History major anon from doodler16!

Is it me or like-

The lack of world building with the royalty gets to me. It appears to be based off of medieval Europe's structure, but with some modern twists to it. But like-; how do the Ars Goetia function in Hellaverse? Are there kingdoms? Do kings show up with Grimoires and then get milk? What is the purpose of doing their jobs in Hell? Sure, Stolas reads the stars and the prophecy, but does this benefit in Hell in anyway? None of the royal characters speak like royalty or at least with eloquence. Idk. My brain is just... baffled.

Thank you for stopping by!

I've also been left flailing about the whole structure of Hell by this point. I had an extensive back and forth with user Chinesegal a while back that touched on exactly this.

I personally always thought the world should be structured around magic. It seems like it would be fairly important for one's ability to do their jobs. And what if the Kings of Hell are the growing weaker magically, since falling from Heaven? It would make sense as to why something like arranged marriages would exist.

After all, Stolas was told that his marriage was about creating an heir, but why would that be necessary if there are so many potential heirs that Paimon forgets them all? Unless only a rare few of them are actually eligible to inherit positions because of their lack of magic.

But also, this failing magic must be kept from the other hellborn like Imps and Hellhounds. It's the power that keeps Hell semi-functioning, and it's mostly a lie. But that would also explain why Stolas' only job, so far, is a spectacle of magic. It's to reassure the working class people that Hell is still strong and it isn't actually just a hollow imitation of itself.

You know, just some sort of basic world building.

[littlemisslol-fic]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65925274

Hello, I Love You (Won't You Tell Me Your Name?)

Dr. Ivo Robotnik does not need a babysitter. He is a genius. He has five PhDs. He does not need some government idiot looming over his back every second of every day, nor does he want one. When digging into the newest of Walter's sacrificial lambs, he finds something interesting. The previous agents assigned to Robotnik, while all having their own redacted parts in their files, had maybe a fifth of the ink coating Agent Stone’s. Robotnik can’t help but marvel at the number of things hidden. And, wildly, enough, how Stone’s first name is one of them.

First fic in a new fandom let's gooooo--the toxic old man yaoi took over my brain idk what happened

Title from Hello, I Love You by The Doors

Read on AO3 [Here]

Doctor Robotnik is just about at his limit with GUN’s pitiful excuses for agents.

Well. He was at his limit the first time Walters dared insist that he needed a babysitter in the first place, but with every meat-headed ape sent his way that already thin patience pulls all the tighter. He is a genius. He has five PhDs. He does not need some government idiot looming over his back every second of every day, nor does he want one. But Walters, that senile old fuck, had insisted, and thus the in-and-out rotation of bodyguards had begun.

Oh, for a while it was fun to send them packing. To scream and insult and throw things until even the most stoic of agents had run from the lab in a fit of tears. Gave the Doctor a well placed sense of pride to know that he could snap the best of the best over his knee without much effort.

But after a while even that had gotten boring. Enough that all that was left was a deep-rooted offence at having someone in his goddamn lab. When the last one had run out on a Friday afternoon, her hair on fire and her eyes spilling over with tears, he’d hoped that she would be the last. Surely Walters would take the hint soon—it had been over three years of this, he must be running out of meat for the grinder by now.

Alas. Robotnik shows up at his lab at seven am the following Monday and hisses at the sight of Walter’s suit-jacked back in front of his desk. Fucker. He’s so furious that he barely registers a second man standing in the lab, instead barrelling right for the person he knows is the cause of the headache steadily building in his skull.

“Walters,” Robotnik greets with barely contained venom, “what could you possibly want this early in the morning? Don’t you have some tax dollars to be wasting? Why stop short of throwing them in the Hudson?”

To his credit, Walters only frowns. “Doctor, good morning. After your performance on Friday, you may be unsurprised to learn that Agent Stannic has turned in her resignation.”

Oh, so that was her name. Whatever, irrelevant. Robotnik flashes a smile which only make’s Walters’ frown deepen. It makes the wrinkles on his forehead super pronounced, what an old clown.

“Well. She had a good run. What was it, three weeks?”

“Two.”

Ha. Hilarious! Robotnik’s face must convey his distinct lack of dismay; Walters’ nose curls and he looks at Robotnik like a disappointed grandparent. Not that he would know: he has no parents and decidedlyno grandparents to speak of. But this is what he assumes they would look like.

“But because of that we’ve had to find a replacement. Again.” Walters continues like he isn’t signing some poor guy’s death warrant with the fact. Not that either of them care much; they’ve been doing this dance for far too long for it to matter anymore. Walters sends agents in, Robotnik sends them back out. Give and return, endless. Like atrophy. Only Robotnik seems to acknowledge the futility of it.

“I’d like to introduce you to your new head of security,” Walters waves the latest schmuck forward. The Doctor had nearly forgotten he was there–as is, the guy looks like one of the most NPC fuckers to ever set foot in the lab.

Basic.

“Agent Stone,” the guy says. His voice is a smooth timbre. He holds his hand out like he expects a handshake, for Robotnik to play nice. How very pedestrian.

Boring.

“Didn’t ask, don’t care.”

Stone’s hand hangs awkwardly for a second more before dropping. Good. At least he’s not totally brain-dead. Though, from the way his stupid, basic face doesn’t seem to change at the obvious insult—that designation may yet change. Whether it’s due to Stone not caring, or the jab failing to land, is up for debate. Probably the latter. Robotnik doesn’t have much faith in the vacant brain of the man in front of him.

“Fair enough, sir. Either way, I look forward to working with you.”

Bland.

Robotnik doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead he turns on his heel and stalks to his computer, flopping down into his chair and opting to get started on his day. Stone will be one more tally on the list of agents removed from his service within weeks; no point caring beyond that.

He hears Walters mutter something. Stone says something back, which causes the old man to laugh. Bastards, all of them. Government goons, brain-dead and bothersome, loyal to the concept of an idealized America while ignoring the one that actually exists.

Whatever. This new agent will be gone soon enough, just like the rest. Robotnik has always been rough with his toys. It will only take time before he breaks this one too. That’s all.

Just time.

>>><<<

Stone soon proves to be a tough egg to crack. Tougher than the rest, surprisingly, as they draw to the end of six months working together. Somewhere along the line he’s become part of the furniture, a working cog in the Doctor’s carefully crafted machine just as the Badniks are. The Doctor’s still not sure if he’s alright with this new development—but it’s not without its perks.

“Amazing, Doctor,” Stone marvels at the latest additive to Robotnik’s growing army. A more stealthy version of the original Badnik design, quieter, smaller, and with a basic cloaking program to ward off prying eyes. It rather reminds him of Stone, to be honest. Nothing fancy, but scarily efficient.

V3-R4, freshly painted and ready for her test run, hovers between them. She’s still in need of calibration, but he can leave that to Stone. For now, the more rudimentary tests can be done without such hassles.

“Only the best for good ol’ Uncle Sam,” Robotnik shrugs. There’s no need for Stone to know about his more secret agendas; world domination, while on the back-burner, is always in the cards. Once GUN runs out of usefulness, of course. Maybe when the funding dries up.

V3-R4 lets out a little chirp as she circles Stone, scanning him. The Agent patiently stands still and lets the bot do its thing. The red scanner pings once it’s done, displaying a holographic projection of Stone’s employee file.

Stone claps in glee, gentle and smiling wide. “Wonderful,” he coos at the Badnik. “Aren’t you a smart little thing?”

“Just like her daddy,” Robotnik boasts. He scans across the file, noting how much younger Stone looks in his employee photo, and zeroing in on the amount of blacked-out text there seems to be. He lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Stone, you’ve been a busy boy, haven’t you?”

“Hm?” Stone’s still caught up in petting V3-R4, not looking. Idiot. Robotnik takes the time to pull the projection from V3-R4 over to the main computer, still scrolling. There is so much blocked out it’s almost concerning. The previous agents assigned to Robotnik, while all having their own redacted parts in their files, had maybe a fifth of the ink coating Stone’s. Robotnik can’t help but marvel at the number of things hidden.

And, wildly, enough, how Stone’s first name is one of them.

He skips that fact for now. It’s nothing he hasn’t technically seen before, after hacking Walter’s computer for dirt on Stone the first week of them working together. Standard, at that point, to go snooping on each new agent assigned to him—but he’d only skimmed it all those months ago. Now this wasn’t some nameless agent in a sea of same-y faces.

Now this was about Stone, the man who’s faithfully served the Doctor for half a year. The same man who coos over the Badniks like they’re actual pets. The man who makes the best lattes Robotnik has ever had in his life. The man who keeps the lab spick-and-span despite Robotnik’s insistence on chaos.

No longer faceless. No longer a cog in the government’s machine. Now he’s swung close enough to enter Robotnik’s orbit, and that makes him special. And that makes his blocked out file more than a curiosity. It makes it a mystery.

“Doctor?”

Ah. Fuck.

“What? I’m busy thinking. Something you could do more of, you cretin.”

Stone only pauses. The insults never stick, sliding off Stone like water off a duck’s back. Before it had pissed Robotnik off to no end—now, it’s more of a relief. No eggshells between them.

“Would you like me to start making lunch now that V3-R4 is functional? I was thinking tacos?”

Ooo, tacos—NO, don’t get distracted!

“Riddle me this, my boneheaded barnacle,” he says instead. “What, exactly, would cause your file to look like this?”

He throws a hand up to the screen. Stone looks, puzzled for a moment, before clicking his tongue.

“This is my GUN file, doctor,” he says, like that explains anything. At Robotnik’s silence, he continues, “When I was transferred from CSIS to GUN they only were given the basic information. A lot of it is under national security.”

CSIS… which fucking country is that—wait—

“You’re Canadian?” Robotnik spits it like a slur. Because what the fuck?

Stone only shrugs. “I thought they told you. GUN is based in the UK, Canada’s part of the commonwealth. There’s a lot of collaboration—”

Robotnik’s brain is going to start eating itself. “Ap-bap-bap-bap-BAP!” he snaps, “give me the maple-flavoured file then, make it snappy.”

“I uh. I don’t have access to it, sir. I think they destroyed it when I transferred out.”

Fuck. Those poutine loving assholes.

Robotnik stews a little more, slouching in his chair. Stone merely lets him be, vanishing into the lab kitchen to start on the aforementioned lunch, while Robotnik types his way into undermining the Canadian Government’s online filing system. True to Stone’s predictions, any mention of the man is long gone. He’s been with GUN at least five years now, plenty of time for the Canadians to assume he’s not coming back.

Which he won’t be. Stone is barely even GUN’s now; he’s Robotnik’s agent and the Doctor isn’t letting him go any time soon.

But as he stares at the blocked out bar in the FIRST NAME box, he can’t help but wonder. When Stone comes back an hour later he’s still staring, still thinking.

“What is your first name?” Robotnik asks the air as Stone carefully puts a plate down on the desk next to him. Robotnik snatches a taco and shoves half of it in his mouth, trying not to look excited. Damn, these are good.

The Agent blinks at the question. “Mine?”

“No, the other idiot in the room with us.”

Stone only smiles faintly at the jab. There’s a split second of silence before the man finally responds.

“What’s yours?” he asks, which—hey! That’s not fair! When Robotnik splutters, spewing taco bits everywhere, Stone manages to vanish back into the kitchen with V3-R4 hot on his tail. Bastard. It’s only once he manages to choke back the taco in his lungs that he realizes that Stone hadn’t answered his question. He turns back to the monitor and grumbles.

Interesting. Further research needed.

>>><<<

For a while he’s content to let the mystery lay dormant.

Two years go by faster than a blink. Somehow Stone becomes much more than a cog in the machine—he becomes vital, almost as important to the lab’s functioning as the Doctor himself. Somewhere along the line they grow so comfortable with each other that it becomes hard to tell where Stone ends and the Doctor begins.

He should be more concerned about how close Stone has gotten. He should be wary, should keep the man under surveillance and make sure he’s not running back to Walters with Robotnik’s secrets, or to the Russians, or whoever the fuck else would pay top dollar for the little bits floating around in the lab. He should be paranoid.

Should be.

But he isn’t.

“Hammer,” Robotnik grunts, holding out a hand without looking. The weight of the hammer’s handle slaps into his palm not a second later and he can continue without interruption. He gently taps a wayward bracket back into place before holding the hammer back out. It vanishes from his hand the same way it came.

With the bracket peeled back he can finally get to the problem of the day—a badnik had taken a rather nasty hit during a recon mission, and had knocked her circuit board lose. Silly little thing. Robotnik clicks his tongue at the sight of the circuit board hanging freely in the shell and carefully moves it back into place.

“Flux.”

A practised hand that isn’t his darts in and runs a thin paintbrush of flux along the broken joint. Excellent.

“Iron.”

The soldering iron is considerably lighter. No slap. Just gentle pressure of weight. If he weren’t wearing his control gloves their fingers would have brushed. The hand returns and takes over holding the circuit board, gentle and precise. With both hands free Robotnik is quick to snag the rolled up soldering metal that lays next to him. He holds it lightly and runs a thick bead of solder between two components. Easy-peasy.

“That should do it,” he says, leaning back and cracking his spine loudly.

“Excellent work, Doctor,” Stone agrees. The agent moves his hands back from where they’d been holding the circuit, smiling widely. “She looks good as new.”

His assistant is perched on a stool next to Robotnik’s office chair. He’s as at attention as one can be, looking more like a schoolboy than a government attack dog. If Robotnik were a more sentimental man he’d even call it endearing. As he is, it’s more just cursory than anything.

He snaps the maintenance panel back into place and powers the Badnik back on. She runs through her BIOS with a series of clicks and whirs before finally beginning to float once more.

“Good morning, baby,” Robotnik coos, “did you have a good nap?”

The Badnik chirps again, flipping once and displaying a heart in her iris. Adorable. Stone makes a suitable noise of affection at the antics, especially as the Badnik approaches him for the customary pets. He does so easily, happy to provide.

But that is the crux if it, isn’t it? Stone is always happy to provide. Happy to make lattes, and lunches, and pass the doctor his tools for hours on end. In return all he’s ever asked for is a place to set his coffee machine and the allowance to bring in a few snake plants to liven things up. He treats the Badniks with the same care that Robotnik does. He calls them she, same as Robotnik. Hes essential. He’s important.

And it’s then that the Doctor realizes how deep in shit he actually is.

Because there is so much that he doesn’t know about one Agent Stone. He hadn’t known he was Canadian. He does know Stone’s favourite colour (purple), but not where he went to school. If he went to school at all. He knows what the man takes in his coffee, but not his first name. Robotnik knows so much about who Stone is, but functionally nothing about who he was. How he got where he is.

“I’ll start putting away the tools,” Stone says somewhere to the side. Robotnik feels a quick kiss pressed into his hair, light and casual, before the presence of the agent wanders away with an armful of assorted tools.

Ah. Yeah that was another added element that Robotnik hadn’t accounted for yet. Sue him for being a lecherous old man, or whatever—his assistant is a hot piece of very consenting ass, and Robotnik isn’t about to pass that up. However that does throw the gaps in his Stone-Lore knowledge in an even worse light. Sure, they’ve been regularly engaging in a situationship for well over a few months now, but fuck if Robotnik can tell you anything about the guy beyond the surface level.

Stone returns and cuts the brooding short. His smile lights up the room as it always does, so shiny and bright, that Robotnik can’t help but return it. The Badniks chirp, floating around Stone and demanding attention. He’s not sure when they became as attached to Stone as their creator, but by god they’d managed it.

“Sir?”

Shit, caught staring.

Robotnik only blinks, like he’d meant to get caught. “I’m wondering something,” he says. Stone tilts his head like a confused puppy. God damn it, it’s like he was built in a lab to be frustratingly endearing.

“What is it, Doctor? Can I help?”

A million questions flit through Robotnik’s mind, fast as lightning and twice as bright. Who were you before this? How did you learn to do the things you do? Where did you come from? Why are you still here, staying with me? What were you like as a kid? What are your hobbies? Fears? Dreams?

And, most damningly of all:

What is your first name?

They all press against the back of his teeth, demanding. Begging. But Robotnik doesn’t grant them freedom, instead only pursing his lips and settling his face into its normal, sour frown.

“Probably not,” he says snidely, “It’s to do with the sound canon from a few months ago. Wondering if I should have upped the frequency for maximum hearing damage in the victims.”

Stone’s face falls into a similarly ponderous expression. “I’m sure you had your reasons, Doctor. Too high a frequency would add to the potential for friendly fire, after all.”

That is, in fact, exactly why he’d made that choice. His sycophant isn’t as brain-dead as he’d feared, all that time ago. A thing Robotnik finds himself quietly thankful for. It’s a refreshing change to have someone that, while he may not be totally able to keep up, is at least able to ride the waves behind the Doctor’s genius without trouble.

It’s less an correspondence and more a synergy. A tandem.

Partnership.

Fuck. Fuck, he’s losing his goddamn mind!

Robotnik peers back to his desk, to the next project. He needs to get himself together; no amount of handsome agents or perfect lattes will ever change that their situationship will remain just that. His mind, as fixated as it is, must be reeled in and calibrated.

Stone’s still thinking about the sound canon. It’s obvious in the way he bites at his lip and tinkers with a loose screw on the desk.

“Remind me next time to double the damage,” Robotnik says finally. “I want to see those worms squirm, regardless if the idiots firing it can’t keep out of the way.”

Stone’s smile is blinding.

“Of course, Doctor.”

Fuck.

>>><<<

Early mornings in the lab are more than a little dangerous.

Robotnik only just rouses at the feeling of warmth leaving his bed. Most of him is content to continue to doze, soft and serene in the space between sleep and consciousness, but the lack of a familiar body next to him is enough to keep him from slipping back into sleep.

He stays a while longer, chasing the last dredges of Stone’s body heat, before the smell of cooked bacon wafts into the bedroom and finally convinces him into leaving the warm comfort of the bed.

Stone’s probably been awake for a while; usually the man hits the GUN employee gym first thing before making breakfast. Robotnik must have been more tired than he thought if he slept in that long. Ah, well. It’s a Saturday, technically they’re on overtime regardless. Best part of leading your own department of two people—you’re in charge of your own schedule to the bitter end.

The kitchen smells amazing when Robotnik enters. True to prediction Stone is dancing his way through making breakfast, the sizzle of bacon and french toast well underway.

Six years of knowing each other (four of which had seen their situationship develop into such smoochy feelings that could only be called love) had seen them well. Stone’s just as perfect as he was the day Robotnik met him.

Robotnik drops down into his chair. It creaks ominously under his thrown weight. A perfectly crafted latte appears under his nose, set forth by Stone. It has an adorable little drawing of Robotnik’s tired face in it, complete with an Ebeneezer Scrooge type night cap. If this is how Stone sees him, it’s a wonder the man can get out of bed at all.

Sometimes he wonders about that. How Stone sees him. The man’s never faulted in his loyalty, nor his devotion, no matter what kind of scenario they find themselves in. Robotnik knows how he sees Stone, resolute and solid, but…

They don’t even know each other’s first names.

But what are names in place of six years of devotion? Of over half a decade of partnership? What does it matter that he doesn’t know Stone’s first name when he knows the man better than he knows himself?

Robotnik sips at his latte. Does Stone care? Should he?

His sycophant whistles quietly at the stove. Stone’s always so happy in the kitchen, messing around with his recipes to his heart’s content—Robotnik knows he must look the same peering into the guts of whatever mechanical bastardry he’s bringing to life that day. The joy of unleashed passion. Or whatever.

Stone scoops the last piece of french toast out and sets it on a plate before sliding the pan over to an unused burner. He sets the plate, stacked high with delightfully fluffy breakfast delights, down on the table along with a bottle of real maple syrup. Robotnik hadn’t known there was such a thing as fake maple syrup, but apparently having a Canadian in the house came with a very vested interest in the authenticity of breakfast sweetener.

He’s getting off topic.

His agent presses a kiss to the side of his head again. The man sits down as they finally start to eat. It’s sickeningly sweet. Just like Stone, really. God, he really is down bad as the kids say.

Because Stone’s… everything. He’s the floor beneath Robotnik’s feet, the sky above his head. The wind in his sails and the fire in his heart. All consuming, belonging to Robotnik in a way no one ever has. For all Stone is the verbal one about his adoration it is decidedly not one-sided.

And perhaps it’s because it’s early. Perhaps it’s a lapse in judgment. Perhaps it’s some misfired synapse in his brain, but before Robotnik can stop himself he’s opening his mouth and breaking the comfortable quiet between them. Stone’s voice echoes in his mind.

What’s yours?

“Ivo,” he says suddenly, impulsively.

There’s a pause in the air. Stone’s hands still from where he’d been spooning cubed cantaloupe onto his own plate. His brown eyes are narrow for a moment, before widening in realization.

“Sorry, Doctor?”

Robotnik swallows past the lump in his throat. “Ivo,” he repeats. “My first name is Ivo.”

Stone blinks rapidly. Cataloguing the information, committing it to memory. There’s a split second where Robotnik worries—about what, he can’t tell you—but it’s quickly dispelled as Stone leans over and presses a soft kiss to Robotnik’s cheek.

“Ivo,” he purrs. It’s a good thing the Doctor is sitting, as his knees immediately turn to jelly. Stone only smiles, keeping close to Robotnik’s ear. His voice is borderline sultry, seductive. “Nice to meet you, Ivo,” he coos, “my name is Aban.”

Aban.

Somewhere in the back of Robotnik’s brain, a puzzle piece slides into place—but it’s more than that. A warm flutter builds in his chest, one he’s only really felt when Stone cracks right through his walls and offers such trust and love that it sets Robotnik’s entire chest on fire. The feeling of being trusted, inexplicably, with a secret piece of Stone not meant for anyone else.

Aban.

It suits him. Water, clarity, lucid. Fluid and ever adaptable, yet steady enough to wear down even the strongest cliffs. Collected and focused. Yes, it suits his agent very well. Robotnik meets Stone’s grin with one of his own.

“Aban,” he says. Stone, minutely, shivers. Excellent.

“Ivo.”

“Aban.”

“Ivo.”

For some reason they start to giggle. Stone presses another kiss to Robotnik’s cheek, more sappy than before. The Doctor is quick to snag him by the chin and pull him into a proper kiss, one that’s worthy of the man in front of him. He tastes like cantaloupe and cinnamon sugar.

When they finally break it’s easy to sink back into his chair. Stone’s watching him through his eyelashes, carefully casual. Something in Robotnik’s chest settles, a puzzle solved, a piece slotting home. Just another string to tie them together.

And, in another four years, when they’ve finally given up the trappings of the American government and struck out on their own path, shed the skin of propriety and adopted the cloak of evil deeds, Ivo is happy to be the first to sign their marriage certificate.

Full name and all.

[obvithe-bestsoph]

heyyyyy could you write something about cuba? His sisters and reader pranking him (and maybe their parents as well) idk if you remember this trend where the sister is rude to the gf to see the brothers/ bfs reaction. (this description is horrendous😭)

there is a link to a tiktok https://vm.tiktok.com/ZNdhRUp55/

traitors!

masterlist requests word count: 1k

a/n: protective pau is so 😋😋 genre: fluff. summary: you team up with pau's older sister, irene, to prank him. warnings: none.

You’re not a prankster. Not usually, anyway. But when Irene pulls up a TikTok and says, “We have to try this on Pau,” her grin widens. That mischievous older-sister energy is too strong to ignore, and honestly? You’re a little curious too.

You’re going to do the ‘rude sister’ trend. The one where the sister acts super rude to her brother’s girlfriend just to see how the brother reacts. The whole thing sounds ridiculous, but Irene swears Pau will either go full big-brother protective or flop so hard it’s embarrassing. And either way, it’s going to be hilarious.

“You in?” she asks, holding out a pinky.

You hesitate for a split second. “I swear, if he gets mad at me-”

“He won’t. I’ll be evil. You’ll be sweet. We’ll tell him after like, ten seconds.” She grins. “Unless he fails. Then we let him spiral a bit.”

It’s official. You're about to bully your boyfriend, all in the name of fun. Love is strange.

That afternoon, the Cubarsí house is buzzing. Pau’s just gotten back from training, hair damp and curls messy, wearing an oversized hoodie and hugging a bowl of strawberries in his lap. His parents are setting the table for lunch in the next room, and he looks too relaxed for what’s coming.

You shoot Irene a look.

She nods.

You step into the living room with a casual, “Hey, Irene, do you mind if I borrow your charger later?”

Irene flips the switch flawlessly. “Maybe get your own?”

You blink, surprised even though you’re in on the plan. “I- I left mine at home.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a you problem.” She says it flatly, looking you up and down like you’re a mildly unpleasant bug on her wall. “Not everyone’s here to babysit.”

Pau’s head lifts slowly from the snack bowl.

You glance at him, pretending to shrink. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother…”

“You didn’t mean to, but here we are.” Irene leans back on the couch dramatically, flipping her hair like she’s in a daytime soap on TV. “Some of us were trying to enjoy peace.”

Pau blinks twice. His whole brain does a buffering circle. He looks at you, then at Irene, then back at you.

“…Wait. What?”

“I just asked for a charger,” you say softly.

“She has a million,” Irene cuts in. “She’s needy.”

Needy?

Pau straightens like someone just poured cold water down the back of his shirt. “Irene, what are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying,” she says, arms crossed. “She’s always here. Using my stuff. In our living room. It's weird.”

You try not to laugh. You bite the inside of your cheek so hard it might bruise. Pau looks absolutely horrified.

He stands up fast, almost knocking his bowl off the couch. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Irene raises a brow. “I’m being honest. Maybe she’s not the one.”

Oh. Oh. He’s steaming now.

“Okay, that’s it.” He points a very dramatic finger at Irene. “Apologize.”

Irene shrugs. “For what?”

“For being rude, irrational, and totally unfair.” Pau takes a step toward you and puts an arm around your shoulders. “She’s my girlfriend. You don’t talk to her like that.”

You peek up at him. “It’s okay…”

“No it’s not,” he says, voice rising. “You’re the sweetest person alive, and you never take anything from anyone. You barely let me open doors for you.”

“That’s true,” you admit. “I’m aggressively independent.”

He softens a little, but then spins back to Irene. “Why are you acting like this? Did something happen?”

Irene opens her mouth.

“Wait,” Pau says, stepping back like he just cracked the code. “Did mamá say something?”

“What?” Irene frowns.

“About her staying too much? Or papá? You’re always trying to protect me from family drama.”

“No-” she starts.

“Because if they did, I’ll talk to them. Seriously. They love her. Everyone loves her. Irene, what are you doing?”

She starts laughing. Hard.

Pau narrows his eyes. “What’s so funny?”

You break too. The tension, the act, everything crumbles as you double over with giggles. Pau’s still trying to solve the mystery while the two of you absolutely lose it.

“It’s a prank,” Irene giggles. “It’s a TikTok trend. I was being fake rude to see how you’d react.”

You nod, barely able to breathe. “You passed with flying colors, by the way.”

His face. The betrayal.

“You guys are the worst,” he mutters, plopping back down on the couch and covering his face with a pillow. “I was about to write a whole speech.”

Irene high-fives you.

“I was gonna fight *Mum*,” he says dramatically from under the pillow. “Like, actually confront her. About the love of my life being ‘clingy.’ I was about to go full telenovela.”

You pull the pillow away so you can see his face. “Love of your life?”

He blinks. “Okay, don’t use it against me.”

You grin. “Too late.”

There’s footsteps from the dining room, and suddenly Señor. Cubarsí pops his head in. “¿Qué pasa? We heard yelling.”

Pau groans. “They were pranking me. It was fake.”

Irene calls sweetly, “You want in next time, papá?” 

He tilts his head, thinks about it for a beat, then nods once. “Absolutely.”

Pau looks like his whole world is collapsing. “I’m surrounded by traitors.”

“You’re surrounded by hilarious women,” you tease, poking his cheek. “You did good, though. Protective and dramatic. Honestly? Ten out of ten boyfriend behavior.”

He glares. “I’ll get you both back.”

“Oh, I’m shaking.”

“You should be.”

You and Irene laugh, already tossing around ideas for the next prank. But for now, Pau’s hand finds yours, and despite the chaos, he squeezes it gently.

“You know I’d always take your side, right?”

“I know,” you say. “That’s why we picked you.”

And even though he pretends to sulk for the next half hour, the proud little smile he hides behind his snack bowl says it all.

He loves you. He’d fight his entire family for you. And he’s absolutely plotting revenge.

You're not scared. Well, maybe a little.

[papayapastry81]

AHA! Guess what I just thought of *giggles like a maniac* Imagine a Max POV where he's just going along with his day and kind of just expects everything that osc used to do to, y'know, be done like idk dinner or laundry or smth and then sort of realises how little they appreciate him? I don't exactly remember the chapter, I think it was chapter 3 but it was one where Charles says smth about overcompensating and yeah that along with the ask u just posted sort of spurred my brain into action so yeah quite random ik (I acc haven't really thought this through but idk felt like sharing) Moving on... WHAT WAS THAT LAST CHAPTER?!? (Jesus I just typed porr instead of poor what is wrong with me why is typing so hard for me today 😭😭) Poor Osc.. I kind of want more angst tho🥴 Anyway have a lovely day (what timezone u in btw) So yeah lots of love 💕💕

PS: Opinion on CarCar??

oh my, you are meannn but this is DELICIOUS can you imagine max just going about his day like usual. the kind of day that he's used to moving on muscle memory. wake up. shower. coffee is brewed. the right mug already out, not filled because max likes his coffee scalding.

laundry already folded, shirts soft and sorted. groceries restocked like magic, like time never passed. like someone was always a few steps ahead, smoothing out the chaos, cushioning the cracks.

and then-- suddenly-- it’s not.

coffee isn’t made. blinds still drawn. air stale. there's dust on the floor and max stumbles half a second, irritation spiking up. and it doesn’t even hit him all at once. rather, it creeps in, like a cold. like guilt that takes its time settling into the space behind his ribs. he doesn’t even realise he’s expecting things to be in place until they’re not.

because oscar’s not up. oscar’s not moving, not managing, not keeping the world spinning on its axis.

he’s curled into charles on the nest, pale and wrung out, like every part of him has come undone at the seams. like the crash left him so hollowed out that he’s still trying to remember how to breathe.

and max-- max just stands there, slow horror climbing his spine, because when did this all become invisible?

how long had they expected the world to stay soft and warm and clean around them without once asking who made it that way?

and then max opens the cupboard.

he reaches for that one chocolate bar-- oscar’s favourite. the one he always had after his heats. no matter how many times he claims to be non superstitious-- his ritual. his quiet thing. a moment carved out just for himself.

something to comfort amidst the mess that had been the past few days. but-- it’s not there. not in the box. not in the drawer. not in the stash he always kept at the back, like muscle memory.

and that should’ve been fine. people run out of things.

but something in max panics.

so max checks the grocery bags still on the counter-- half-unpacked, a list on top, scrawled in oscar’s handwriting.

he reads through the list and bleeds. painfully slowly.

charles’ comfort foods. heat packs. wet wipes. that one chamomile tea max likes, the one he never remembers to buy for himself. everything thought of, everything stocked in doubles.

except for oscar.

no chocolate. no heat snacks. no easy meals. nothing indulgent. not a single item that says i thought of myself too.

and max just. stops.

and the world tilts, just a little.

because oscar went out. oscar planned. oscar remembered them. provided for them. cared, even when he was crumbling, even when he had nothing left.

and he forgot himself.

not out of carelessness-- but out of habit.

because maybe somewhere along the way, oscar stopped believing he was allowed to matter.

and that’s what does it. not the missing chocolate. not the cold kitchen.

but the sheer, bone-deep realization that oscar had been running himself thin for weeks, months, maybe longer. and they just-- let him.

max grips the edge of the counter like it’ll keep him upright.

his hands shake. his eyes burn.

because how could they not have seen it? how could they have loved him and missed this?

how many times did they look away when oscar started to fold in on himself, just a little? --- welp that was longer than intended 🤸 but yeahh the chap 12 is prolly one of my favs. i didnt have a hard time with words and didn't end up rewriting it a million times and the tenderness of love after it's hurt-- im such a sucker for. and i dont know if there's going to be full blown angst moving forward. we're def leaning more into the hurt/comfort tag. plus, we've hurt osc a lot, let's make up for it at least a little lmao. thank you for reading ! sending you loads and loads of love back<333 [LOVE carcar. snarky rivals to lovers tension would be perfect with them and ive got a smut idea about the plane they shared to bahrain brewing but ive never written smut before so it's still a question mark.]

[rainbowpillar]

Currently very hyperfixated on Muppets Mayhem and I wanted to share my gripes and things i like within the show.

The first thing I noticed is that the color grading is super weird? Like it's quite dark for the bright color scheme of the Electric Mayhem. The intro looks super good and like it belongs to the Muppets but then the rest is super gray.

I truly HATE the human "love quarrel" subplot. It's super ANNOYING. Jay Jay and Nora fall in love even though they barely have anything that connects them together. It's just feels like a shallow plot line for the sake of plot line. And generally the jokes from the human actors can be really awkward and unfunny. Whenever they meet a celebrity there's just this super uncomfortable moment of pauses and remarks. The fact that Jay Jay changed his image based on a delusional love for a girl he broke up with is so yucky.

However the Mayhem and their jokes are great and (to me) really funny! I find myself quoting them all the time and laughing. The puppeteers really know their characters and I think the Muppets (2015) was their intro to understanding their roles. They have great chemistry on camera. I also love that they gave the band members their own individual development (even though it's super short :( ). Kinda wish they had a few more episodes to develop the rest of the gang because it kinda passed way to quickly. And also that they didn't focus SO MUCH ON THE HUMAN SUBPLOT. In my opinion the storyline of Scooter being their manager is so much better, because not only does it reference the first muppet movie, but it would actually give us some time for character development. This is Mayhem's show and i feel like that Nora and the others are way too much in the front. This just made me wanna write the origins of the other band members that didn't get their flashback. (especially Lips because what the hell is up with him/pos). Honestly I kinda was hoping that the show would just be the Electric Mayhem but sadly not. The music is amazing though it scratches my brain in the right way.

The addition of the internet thing splitting up the band, as much as i understand why they put it in, it was still pretty hard to watch. Like i get that they wanted to portray the change in media and how hard it is to conform to it, but it's just...super uncomfortable and whenever i rewatch the series, i skip that specific episode. Idk... Maybe that's just me but like...

Anyway, do better and stop focusing so much on the humans I BEG.

Also i absolutely ADORE Lips, he is my babygirl. A character that basically had no lines in the Muppet Show, now has a mission to save the world and i love it. I love my mumbling trumpet man.

[hamhamkammy]

i haven’t posted here in like FOREVER buuttt I needed to share this because I love the chicken polycule sm it’s insane

small rant under the cut

OKAY DUDE I love their dynamic so much .Like as a trio they’re amazing BUT AS DUOS THEYREE UGHHHHH

lynne and memry has always been one of my otps ..like when I first saw them interacting i immediately think like “yeah they can kiss” THEYRE SO SILLY

tbh I’ve always seen them as like the ship where they kinda just randomly met and they love eachother. like love at first sight yk .. But I love the idea of them being rivaling colleagues n stuff ??? like the idea of that they’re always oh so coincidentally paired up with one another and they’re always competing to do the best on an assignment?? I can’t explain it but yk … and memrys jealousy of lynne being cabenela’s favorite which slowly drives her into thinking “oh my god I’m in love with her”

rindge and lynne is definitely on the more platonic side , sure I enjoy them as a ship but i like to think that cabs always makes rindge look out for lynne and its like rlly cute .. like rindge is basically babysitting lynne but like afar

lynne sort of not knowing of rindges existence is kind of funny lowkey .I love them as a duo so much it’s just to the point i can’t explain and all of it is just “GHHRGRGRGRHRHEHGSGSSG” in my brain ….

DONT GET ME STAARTED on memry and rindge DUDE . THEYRE SO FUCKING ADORABLE whether it’s romantic or platonic I DONT CARE THEYRE CUTE

I like to think how they met is like .. rindge getting into the detective division or whatever and then memry just won’t leave him alone ..Their bond is kind of like “Yeah I make out with them romantically but we’re just bros” memry always flirting w rindge and he does NOT gaf not one bit

They get paired up in assignments together often because people think they’re close when they’re really not and then that’s what causes them to get closer to eachother .. if that makes sense .i also imagine them living next to eachother idk why .Memry also steals rindges hat like 24/7 probably

anyways yeah I’m normal about these guys …. :PP

[omgfangirlland]

It’s been a crazy while but omg I’m so back and I’ve missed you and this page😭. Two ideas for you possibly?

Okay so 1: the ghost seer reader? LOVE, y’all ATE. Especially if she becomes a hunter like I can see her teaming up with the Winchester bros, maybe dating one, especially one like Dean and the Batfam HATES it and them, but they work so well together because they also were neglected and forced to grow up so quickly by their father.

2: one I’ve had for a while but haven’t had time, Mutant reader but if she went to the X-Men instead, especially if she was like “you know what yeah, I do like older men” and dates Wolverine?

Anyways all the love in the world to you!!! -🫀

James, my beloved- well... Logan, my beloved 😩 (Can't believe he's over 190 years old, I knew he was an old man, but I thought like 80 for some reason-)

So- it wasn't three more asks :)) I was just tired apparently.

Idk why, but my first thought of Mutant!Reader is her becoming a cloud of shadows that makes it easy to travel, pass through objects, and if done right, she can pass even through humans, maybe even fuck with the insides or manipulate just parts of her body to transform into what she needs, keys, blades-

I don't even know if I'll use all of that(didn't use any of it)- I just had to put it on "paper".

Also- kept it quite ambiguous on whether the Reader is a student or another member of the X-Men.

When Wolverine first joined the X-Men, he was still quite violent/angry- even a little scary, really- but the kids loved his grumpy ass. He was blunt, rough around the edges, wry humor that didn't always land- the kids called it dad or old man humor- but everyone saw how much he cared for the students and the X-Men. And they all saw how he had a favorite.

He hated you at first. That's harsh, and not the complete truth- he hated how you made him feel, how easy you greeted him and how fast you crawled your way into his ribs, nestling against his heart like you didn't need to know his past, like you saw him and saw exactly what he was and will be. Most of the time, he forgot how much he had been fighting to know his past when he was with you.

Every time Professor X would look at him, with that soft glance and knowing smirk like he's been in his shoes, Logan would tense and grumble about how the old man should keep out of his head. But Xavier didn't need to search his mind, it was written all over his body, all over the way his face relaxed and his eyes got droopy just from hearing your laugh.

Neither of you were subtle. You'd say it to anyone who'd listen- "I want him. You're invited to the wedding." No shame at all in your love for him, in the way you flirted with him, like the poor man's brain wasn't frying just because you called him by name. And him because, no matter what, he always found his way to your side, knuckles brushing yours, or behind you, fingers itching to hook around the loop of your pants, under your belt, pinch the back of your dress or shirt.

The only time he relaxed seemed to be in your presence, and the others used that to their advantage. He got mad, snappy, at one of them? "Oh, I heard (Name) loves flowers-" and Logan just short-circuits, brain cells seemingly rearranging as his tense shoulders drop. "...What kind?" They use that little information as much as they can- it's just like watching an old dog huff for attention.

You notice it too, soon enough, but you give him time to come to terms with it. Not like you don't enjoy his lingering eyes and the warmth of his presence at your side. Doesn't mean you can't have a bit of fun with that.

When he forgot some papers he needed for a lesson, he asked you to get them for him, and when you came back and handed them over, he grumbled about being too old for this stuff, and you saw your opportunity. "It's alright, hun'. It's why you have me." He doesn't freeze at your words, but your kiss to his cheek does make him stop his movement.

The kids watch the man stare into the void for about thirty minutes, lesson forgotten as he wakes from his daydream and just leaves. They knew he was going after you.

The first date was full of awkwardness in Logan's opinion. His hands were shaking, palms sweaty, he almost drank perfume just to make sure his mouth didn't stink- He wanted, needed, you to like him, to want him in your life and by your side. He calms quickly when you intertwine your fingers with his.

He's clingy. If before he was trying to hide his need to be near you, now he's just a cuddly cat, leaning against you, hand on your back or shoulder, pinky hooked against yours, and if you thought you'd be safe in your room, you were wrong.

The man has one arm around your neck, the other around your middle, legs crossing with yours, and his face buried against your skin or hair. He sleeps like a baby, and you do too. With the fan on.

----

I also strongly believe he'll learn to do braids, whether they're ethnic or not, he'll learn it all just to be closer to you for longer.

[jordanpooles]

last night i dreamed i was backhugging jordan. he is truly my babygirl

[lazylittledragon]

ok someone please correct me if i'm wrong but am i weird for thinking those 'audiobooks don't count as reading' posts are ableist as fuck????

[screams-of-the-damned84]

those recent hyde expressions are doing something to me dude

[gifti3]

right now i seem like im normal but i promise you that im not

[luminique]

and when cheesetopia holds an open mic event and lighter gets confident to sing sappy country love songs in front of you and he gets shy after seeing YOU get shy because his singing voice with a hint of a southern drawl made your heart go crazy

lighter only does so after the girls convince him to (and many rounds of nitro-fuel). they knew that he wanted to sing for you but just never found the confidence to. so with some planning, kasa is able to hold cheesetopia’s first ever open mic.

as patron after patron sang, burnice hands the mic over to lighter. he didn’t know it was part of a big plan with the rest of the girls, he thought it was just burnice wanting to tease him. either way, nothing could be more embarrassing than some other customers’ questionable songs and singing abilities so he decided to give it a shot.

you arrived just in time for lighter’s turn, with caesar immediately pulling you by the hand to the best seat for the show. you weren’t too far away from him but it wasn’t directly in front of him. this didn’t matter however, as the moment he began singing, it was like he was a different person.

he was unaware of your presence in the beginning, singing his heart out and instead had his eyes closed behind his shades. he was imagining you, all the moments he had spent with you. right after he had sang the chorus, he opened his eyes and saw you straight in his line of sight. your cheeks were flushed and you were trying your best to hide your flustered smile.

that made his mind go blank for a second that he almost missed the entry for the next verse. just a few lines after, his voice cracked out of embarrassment but nobody seemed to care. everyone else seemed to be in their own little bubble, barely paying attention to him, but you seemed so entranced by his singing. swaying and softly clapping, while trying to hide how attractive his singing voice was.

even though he had messed up a little in the middle, he ended the song with his smooth voice. the song complimented his baritone vocals so perfectly that the original doesn’t even compare to his singing. once done, he made his way to you, completely dismissing the next person in line for the open mic. seeing your reaction, up close, the redness of your face, the ends of your lips turned up in a little smile as you praised him. his heart rate was increasing rapidly, maybe he had one too many drinks for the night.

once it had all ended, kasa and the girls deemed tonight a success. not just because they had made lots of profit from the event but also you and lighter were seen together long after most customers had left. maybe they should consider holding similar events more often in the future…

[wishchip106]

i recently organized my xmfc photo album to follow the sequence of the film and it made me look at this scene again and now i’m going insane and curling up into a ball again

“There’s so much more to you than you know, not just pain and anger, there’s good too I felt it. When you can access all that, you’ll possess a power no one can match. Not even me.”

it was at this point in the movie (when i first watched it) that finally had my brain click and say “Oh they’re gay 🤯” i was uming and uhing about it since i wasn’t sure if they were really good friends or something else entirely up until then😭

god i’m in constant battle deciding if i love or hate these guys they’ve made me so insane they’re all i can think about 24/7 365 SOMEONE SEDATE MEEE

[im-kinno-hello]

and if i made a comic about them making a blog for the weird demon dog they found in the woods just because they are being brainwashed by it and it told them they need to spread the word of what word they don’t even fucking know?