#love your writing too

[ritsuuu-0206]

Can I fucking remind you how awesome your art is? Has anyone told u that lately?? Like yes oh my god I die for the angst and hurt and you kill me every time with it, over and over until I'm bleeding on an operating table because it's so much and it's so good. Fighting against all of you to not kill bea AGAIN. XD

But your art is the softest thing I have seen and I love it so much. And I don't think you get enough credit for it because while I bleed out from your angst, I kick out my legs and scream like a teenage girl at your art.

This is illegal, I'm running away

But yes, fluff in the art, angst in the writing cos I can't draw angst and can't write fluff LOL

[redysetdare]

enough stories about how someone learns to truely be happy through love. i want a story where someone is desperately seeking out love thinking it's the only way to be happy only for them to learn by the end that happiness is what they make of it and they don't need love at all to make it.

[ministarfruit]

day 10: love is devotion ♡

(femslashfeb prompt list)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Turtle Takedown Teamwork.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[theramblingvoid]

Low level/continuous pain tips for writing

Want to avoid the action movie effect and make your character's injuries have realistic lasting impacts? Have a sick character you're using as hurt/comfort fodder? Everyone has tips for how to write Dramatic Intense Agony, but the smaller human details of lasting or low-level discomfort are rarely written in. Here are a few pain mannerisms I like to use as reference:

General

Continuously gritted teeth (may cause headaches or additional jaw pain over time)

Irritability, increased sensitivity to lights, sounds, etc

Repetitive movements (fidgeting, unable to sit still, slight rocking or other habitual movement to self-soothe)

Soft groaning or whimpering, when pain increases or when others aren't around

Heavier breathing, panting, may be deeper or shallower than normal

Moving less quickly, resistant to unnecessary movement

Itching in the case of healing wounds

Subconsciously hunching around the pain (eg. slumped shoulders or bad posture for gut pain)

Using a hand to steady themself when walking past walls, counters, etc (also applies to illness)

Narration-wise: may not notice the pain was there until it's gone because they got so used to it, or may not realize how bad it was until it gets better

May stop mentioning it outright to other people unless they specifically ask or the pain increases

Limb pain

Subtly leaning on surfaces whenever possible to take weight off foot/leg pain

Rubbing sore spots while thinking or resting

Wincing and switching to using other limb frequently (new/forgettable pain) or developed habit of using non dominant limb for tasks (constant/long term pain)

Propping leg up when sitting to reduce inflammation

Holding arm closer to body/moving it less

Moving differently to avoid bending joints (eg. bending at the waist instead of the knees to pick something up)

Nausea/fever/non-pain discomfort

Many of the same things as above (groaning, leaning, differences in movement)

May avoid sudden movements or turning head for nausea

Urge to press up against cold surfaces for fever

Glazed eyes, fixed stare, may take longer to process words or get their attention

Shivering, shaking, loss of fine motor control

If you have any more details that you personally use to bring characters to life in these situations, I'd love to hear them! I'm always looking for ways to make my guys suffer more write people with more realism :)

[mediumgayitalian]

“Piper?”

“Here.”

“Damien?”

“Here.”

“Clovis?”

No answer. Nico reaches over and pokes him, hard, and the son of Hypnos startles awake long enough to manage a garbled, “Present!” before nodding off again. At Chiron’s nodded permission, Connor procures an airhorn from what appears to be thin air, grins, and blares it right next to Clovis’ face. He shrieks, flailing off the chair, and would have slammed his face in the ground if Nico hadn’t caught him by the back of the shirt.

“Thanks, man,” he says, yawning.

Nico hauls him back upright, patting him on the shoulder. “No problem. I’m gonna let you fall next time.”

Clovis eyes him warily, shifting at Nico’s too-wide, sharklike grin.

“Noted,” he mutters, sitting straight to try and stay awake. “Jerk.”

Nico pats him on the shoulder again. “There, there.”

Chiron continues with the attendance.

“Butch?”

“Here.”

“Miranda?”

“Yep.”

“And…” Chiron sighs, peering through his reading glasses. “Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…” He glances down at his clipboard, slowly tapping his pen on the edge of it. “Where is Will?”

A groan ripples through the gathered campers.

“Just start without him!” someone shouts, sinking into their chair.

“He always takes forever!” another person agrees.

“Almost like he’s busy running the infirmary that keeps us all alive,” Lou Ellen says drily, but her one vote of confidence is drowned out by several dozen other voices, all complaining.

Before Chiron has to deal with too much of a coup d’état, the rec room door creaks open, and Will comes strolling in after it, ignoring the heaps of boos and launched ping-pong balls at his tardiness. The beam of sunlight from the one dusty window seems, suddenly, to become a great deal stronger, highlighting the blonde of Will’s hair and strengthening the gleam of his easy grin.

“Perforated artery,” he explains cheerfully, settling down in the one empty chair. “Rogue Ares cabin mine went off. Had to do emergency surgery.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth does he kick off his flip-flops, curl up in the rickety wooden chair, place his head on the nearest shoulder — Pollux, this time, who rolls his eyes affectionately and shifts to be more comfortable — and immediately starts snoring.

“Well,” says Chiron after a moment. “Let’s begin.”

“Wait,” Clovis complains, “how come he gets to sleep?”

Instead of answering, because there is no delicate way to say because he’s my favourite and I am a giant hypocrite, the centaur moves on. He gracefully avoids the various mutterings and calls for mutiny, instead running through the usual cabin check-ins at the speed of light to delve into the more interesting — and therefore distracting — things, such as Personal Grievances. This portion of monthly head counsellor meetings is Nico’s favourite, because he gets to sit back, be silent, and watch a bunch of teenagers yell at each other for his own personal amusement. On especially great days, he communicates with Connor through a series of complicated hand gestures to coordinate betting pools. Today, he is up seventy-two dollars. (Did he throw the pool by betting against himself and then inventing a fight with Chiara? Yeah. Did he cut her a deal for halfsies beforehand, making this technically fraud on two counts? Yeah. Can anyone prove it? Absolutely not. Suck on that, Stoll. You wanna be beat at your own game any day of the week? Nico’ll beat you at your own game any day of the week.)

As he’s accepting three dollars from a huffy Nysa (obviously the physical altercation count was going to reach six, c’mon, doesn’t she pay attention to these things), a hoof stamping the ground makes Nico jump.

“Boys,” Chiron says tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose, “that’s quite enough.”

Both campers immediately burst into louder arguments, continuing to flail and smack at each other as their voices get more and more raised and illegible.

“Boys!” Chiron stamps his hoof again. This time, they fall silent, staring at the old centaur with flushed, guilty faces. “Sherman, get Malcom out of that headlock. Malcolm, we are not building a pig pen in the dining pavilion so the Ares cabin can ‘eat in an environment more suited to their mannerisms’.” He pauses, nodding in acknowledgement. “As funny as that was, it was entirely inappropriate to say. Apologise at once.”

“My throat is too bruised to do so,” Malcom grumbles.

“My throat is too bruised to do so,” Sherman repeats, mockingly. “Gods, it’s like you’re asking for me to jump you.” At the immediate catcalls and jeers that follow, he reddens, hastily shouting, “Like mug! Jump like mug him, guys, like beat him up! Shut up! Shut up, or I swear I’ll —”

“Sit down, boys,” Chiron says, banging his hoof again. “For Hera’s sake. It’s like you want to embarrass yourselves further.”

Nico snickers with the rest of the counsellors as Sherman and Malcolm return to their seats. In their desperate attempt to separate from each other to assure their status as Heterosexual, Guys, Please, they manage to bump into each other, losing their balance and collapsing on a heap on the floor, more tangled than before. Predictably, this makes the flailing worse, which is unfortunate for them and their misery but a source of great entertainment for everyone else. Among the hooting and hollering and camera flashes, Chiron sighs, putting his head in his hands and muttering something about teenagers and being too old for this shit. Or something.

“If everyone’s quite done,” he says finally, ignoring Connor’s quip about how he could watch a few more minutes, actually, “I would love for this meeting to end. I have to do something that doesn’t involve teenagers for several hours. All of you exhaust me.”

“Except Will,” Sherman says petulantly, scowling at the still-sleeping medic. Pollux, who by close proximity has become endeared to the human disaster (Nico knows the feeling; he’s still convinced Will has weird powers that mess with one’s oxytocin levels by virtue of smiling as there is no way that someone so annoying can be so simultaneously endearing), glares somewhat protectively.

“Sh,” he hisses, at the same time Chiron says, “If the rest of you spent less time trying to kill each other and more time trying to fix the consequences of said attempted murder, I would be more lenient.”

Lou Ellen speaks up. “Also, Will has that whole cute, can’t-stay-mad-at-me thing.”

Various campers nod and mutter in agreement.

(Nico knew he wasn’t the only one.)

Nyssa clears her throat. “If we’re ready to return back to the actual meeting, I have a point of discussion.”

Chiron nods, gesturing for her to continue.

“The vans are breaking down,” she says bluntly. “Again. Because they’re, you know, older than everyone in the room.” She glances at Nico, frowning. “Well, except for him.”

Nico sniffs haughtily. “Youngin’s, these days,” he says, shaking his head disdainfully. “No respect for their elders.”

Chiron raises a bemused eyebrow. “…Indeed. Nyssa?”

“I need parts again. Preferably from that place in Virginia? They don’t ask questions and price fairly. That would be best. Only I need the van to go get the parts, so. You can see the conundrum I’m in.”

“Easy fix with the chariot,” Chiron decides. “Can someone wake Will?”

“Gladly.”

“Without the airhorn, Connor.”

“Aw. I’m not doing it, then.”

“How tragic. Pollux?”

Gently, the son of Dionysus taps Will’s cheek, shaking him until he blinks awake.

“I was totally paying attention and I think we should go with the second option,” he says, yawning.

“Not asking you to settle a debate, but nice try,” Pollux says.

“Well, shit. That one usually works.” He flicks still-tired eyes around the room, smiling when his gaze rests on Nico. Nico rolls his eyes, willing down the heat to his cheeks. Judging by the teasing edge Will’s grin takes, it does not work. “Whattaya need, then?

“The chariot,” Nyssa says. “Vans are breaking down again. I need a part from a shop in Roanoke.”

Will straightens. “Like, now?”

“In the next day or so, yeah.”

“There’s a strawberry delivery on Saturday,” Miranda pipes up. “So sooner rather than later.”

Will nods. “Yeah, that works. Hell, I can probably be back by —” he checks his watch — “late tonight, honestly. Just gimme the part number and —”

“I kind of meant that I could go,” Nyssa interrupts, looking at him strangely. “I know what the part looks like. I just need to borrow the chariot.”

Will presses his clasped hands to his face, inhaling deeply.

“I would absolutely love to lend you the chariot blessed by my father who has gone totally silent,” he begins, in a tone that makes Nico think that he would not, actually, absolutely love to lend out the chariot blessed by his father who has gone totally silent, “only that the last time I lent someone this super important chariot it came back in pieces.”

“I remember.” Nyssa levels him with a look. “I fixed it.”

“Exactly! So you appreciate how much I would like it to not be broken. In fact —”

“Alright,” Chiron interrupts, holding up a hand. “You’ve made your point, Will, the errand is yours. Choose a buddy to lower the chances of you dying and check in before you leave.”

Predictably, this choice is not well-recieved. Because why would things be easy?

“Totally not fair,” Sherman protests, the loudest of all complainers. “Will’s no less likely to break it just because his cabin thinks they own it —”

“Finish that thought and I will curse you in twelve different ways for the next eight months, Sherman.”

The Ares counsellor snaps his mouth shut, sensing the new, hardened edge in Will’s voice. “Noted.”

“He’s got a point, though,” Damien hedges. At Will’s glare — boy, is that chariot a sensitive topic, Nico is noticing — he holds his hands up, shrugging his shoulders. “We draw straws for small errand-quests, Will, you know that. It’s not fair that you just get to call dibs.”

Will takes a long, slow breath, fingers pressed to his temples. When he looks back up, his expression is flatter than the entirety of the Midwest, jaw set and eyebrow raised. He narrows his eyes, contemplating, then clearly comes to a decision, nodding to himself. Everyone watches with bated breath as he climbs up to stand on his chair, folds his hands together, clears his throat, and says, voice carefully controlled, “Who can guess how many surgeries I’ve done in the last week?”

For a long moment it’s so silent that Nico can hear every rustled shirt as people fidget, every aborted cough and uncomfortable swallow. Will’s eyes are piercing, and he takes the time to stare at every individual counsellor until they meet his eyes, squirming, and look immediately away.

Nico’s impressed. Sometimes he forgets how godsdamn rigid Will’s backbone is.

Finally, someone offers a guess.

“One?”

“Try four,” Will corrects, smile more like a bare of teeth. “I have not had a circadian rhythm since I was thirteen years old. I sleep when I can. And yet, somehow, you clumsy fucks manage to near kill yourself at the exact moment my subconscious even considers approaching REM sleep, every single time, and then I get to spend my next several hours piecing your sorry ass back together by hand, since hymns barely work right now. If I have to see another surgical pin I am going to stab it through someone’s eye. Am I making a point?”

No one answers.

“‘Cause I can make it clearer,” Will drawls.

“No need,” Chiron says hastily. “The quest remains yours, so long as there are no further objections.”

Wisely, no one speaks up.

“Perfect. Nyssa, if you’ll stay behind with me to iron out some details, everyone else — dismissed.”

The tense air immediately evaporates as people practically spring out of their seats, sprinting for the door. Nico is among the last to leave, having to stay and stop several fleeing demigods to collect his wares. On his way out, a heavy arm slings over his shoulders, and he’s suddenly enveloped by the intoxicating scent of lavender body wash and pure sunshine.

“Get off me, Solace,” he complains immediately, coming up to wrap his hand around Will’s forearm in the guise of shoving him off. Will is entirely unfazed, holding him tighter.

“But I have a proposal.”

“Take it elsewhere.” He ducks out of Will’s hold and sweeps his legs out from under him, sending him sprawling with an oof. Unfortunately, he doesn’t look any less sunny and smiley from the ground, somehow making it work for him, actually. He settles against the soft grass, sighing, hair fanning out like a golden halo. He pats the spot next to him, eyes fluttering shut as he basks in the late morning sun, and Nico swallows roughly, joining him.

“You wanna come with me to Roanoke?”

“Yes,” Nico says automatically. Will grins, and he flushes. “I mean, I guess if I have to. Loser.”

“Ever so grateful, Neeks.”

“You should be.”

He keeps his voice prim and superior, attempting to uphold his image, and since he is delusional he convinces himself he’s successful. Will, though, is entirely undeterred, lazy smile still on his face and arms stretched above his head, the picture of unbothered. A sliver of skin shows where the hem of his shirt rises and Nico ignores it. He doesn’t even glance at it, or the glint of Will’s belly-button piercing, at all. Nor is he aware of Will’s shorts riding up, or the curve of his calves as he crosses his legs. All of these things go unnoticed. Obviously.

“I have a proposal for you, if you’re done checking me out.”

Nico shoves his flaming face in his knees. “Did you know that in all the corners of the Earth I have been to, I’ve only encountered three things uglier than you?”

Will’s grin only gets wider. His eyes, even, start to get squinty as the force of his smile squishes his cheeks. Entirely unsubtly, because Will is the least subtle person alive, he reaches out and sends a wave of calming energy into Nico’s body, slowing his rapid heart rate.

“…Right.”

“Three things, Solace.”

“Of course, of course.” He removes his hand, graciously allowing Nico the space to breathe and remind his lungs that their job is not voluntary. “I’ll come pick you up in a half hour? Wear a jacket.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Nico pauses. “Yes.”

“Stellar.”

“God, you say such nerdy things unironically. How do you have friends?”

“I dunno.” He gets to his feet, brushing the dirt and grass from his shorts. “You tell me.” He leans down and presses a smacking kiss to Nico’s hair. Nico presses his fingers into his eyeballs until they hurt, screaming silently into his palms.

He waits until the smacking sounds of Will’s stupid flip-flops retreat before braving the world outside his little ball of misery, squinting at his retreating form.

“I think I should get a lobotomy,” he says out loud to himself, because, realistically, if his braincells are already spilling out of his ears like loose quarters every time Solace so much as smiles at him then there’s not much to lose, is there? and stomps off to his own cabin.

Out of spite, he chooses the New York Giants jacket he got from Percy, just because he knows Will hates it.

That’ll show him who’s bossing who around.

Totally.

———

next

[mummer]

just saw asteroid city last night, pls explain the proposed significance of the kiss!!

answering this publicly hope thats ok! cant do a readmore im on mobile *****asteroid city spoilers below beware*****

i dont remember anyones names so this is gonna sound partly unhinged. okay so the edward norton playwright and jason schwartzman actor (not character, in the black and white parts) are lovers right. tbh i thought this was kind of a gag and forgot about it. but later we find out that the playwright died 6 months into the production. i didnt make the connection that THAT’s why the actor-jason has to suddenly leave the stage and freaks out backstage about how he’s not sure he’s Doing it right. hes not talking about acting!! because he himself is literally grieving his lover while he’s playing a character who’s grieving his wife written by his lover so obviously it’s too much!!! actor-jason is trying to find meaning in his death through his writing but there isnt any meaning in death [gerris drinkwater voice] which is what the play is trying to say anyway. he doesnt think he’s performing grief right even in his own life!!! (and tbh it’s the 50s so he wouldnt be able to perform grief publicly anyway!!!!) the play starts with a car accident… anyone would search for some hidden meaning there, some sign…. so when he talks to margot robbie outside it’s not really about finding the CHARACTER’s motivations it’s about the actor himself being able to process the playwright’s death! and adrien brody director was probably also dealing with that too (him and norton seemed to be good buddies) so the whole “sleeping backstage” thing gets a bit sadder maybe? maybe everyone else got this in the theatre and im just stupid lol but crazy making stuff to me!!! the whole story is about sublimated gay grief that cannot be expressed?!?!

the tweet that caught me onto this was here which posits that the playwright’s death was a suicide but i think that’s pretty stupid and unnecessary because the whole thing about the play asteroid city is that death is random and meaningless. im pretty sure that’s what the alien represents— a shocking and absurd event that isnt outright evil or menacing, not something anyone can predict or make sense of, it’s just a thing that happens to you out of nowhere, it doesnt mean anything. he’s a little black figure, he’s death! giving and taking! aagh

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

Evolution of Eliot/Hardison hugs over the years.

And the one time that Eliot really needed a hug:

Leverage S02E08/S03E10/S04E01/S04E07/S04E10/S05E09/Leverage Redemption S01E16/S02E06.

[sometimesliterate]

dr ratio vs. the genius society | an analysis

this'll also be a comparison between ruan mei and dr. ratio so warning for that one too, just in case.

i saw this post by @chronical-lover

and firstly, i just want to say thank you, especially about mentioning how aeons don't care about humans because youre so right. i wanna expand a little bit on the comparison between his character and the genius' that we've met this far.

ratio ultimately failed to be recognized not because he wasn't smart enough, but because he was too human. he's human first, scientist second. he'll always be human first, he doesn't have it in him to act without emotions no matter how much he wants logic to dictate his every move. his entire character is that he believes every one has a human right to be alive, to learn and to grow. he's there to guide them, not necessarily in the nicest way, but still.

i think contrasting him with ruan mei in the story quest was a perfect idea. when you meet ruan mei, she's kind. she makes the trailblazer feel comfortable, even for just a little bit. she offers companionship, tea, and a conversation. but she does not care about the trailblazer or her creations, something painfully obvious in her actions. when the trailblazer was facing up against ruan mei's failed attempt to make a replica of the emanator of propagation, ruan mei was no where to be found. but you know who was, just in case he had to step in ? veritas ratio. even though both knew that the replica wasn't likely to hurt the trailblazer, ratio was there.

" since you're here, i won't intercede. but should you fail, i will be forced to prevent some avoidable misfortunes "

( i hate this man so much )

but he was there. he witnessed the fight, and once the threat was over, it was time to get going ( his words, not mine ). he was there to witness you fight, and should he had needed to, he would've stepped in to prevent us from any actual danger. however, when we approach ruan mei after the fight, and we look reasonably upset from her, we don't get an actual apology. she says she regrets her actions, but her words aren't actually about putting us in danger. she was upset that her experiment fell short, that she had made another predictable outcome.

" you look.. upset, correct ? i regret my actions. there's no defending what i've done. time and again, my experiments have fallen short, and they've always yielded predictable results. i made a clone but it.. doesn't hold a candle to the emanator. "

she did say that she would be there if the danger proved to be too great, but she was not. veritas, however, was. both of them said that they would step in if needed, but only one of them was actually in a position to do so. only one of them took preventative measures to make sure that you were safe from harm. and that is not the genius ruan mei, no matter what her words say.

ruan mei has a flowery way of speaking. not to say that she necessarily minces her words, she's upfront about a lot of things. but she lures the trailblazer into a false sense of security. she's introspective, and questions her own actions a lot. but she's never apologetic about the way that her actions put other people in danger, just that they don't yield the results she wants.

ratio, however, is curt. we meet him originally as a brooding, mysterious figure. he's mean, he doesn't use a lot of words to get his point across. he says what he means, and he's a fan of effective communication. he doesn't have to worry about himself, he knows who he is and how is actions affect himself and the people around him, and that leads to people assuming that he's egotistical ( which he might be , a little bit. as a treat ) but the reality is that ratio cares more about the people around him that he'll ever let on.

and that's where he fails. that's the fundamental difference between him and those within the genius society. ruan mei, herta, screwllum, and the other geniuses do not care about anything other than results. and yet ratio is kind. he's inherently kind, his actions are all for other people. he's saved a dozen worlds with his inventions. he's a scholar within the intelligentsia guild, and a doctor saving his patient's lives every single day. he wants to guide people from the shadows towards the right answer, he wants to make them use their brains and think.

he does not act without considering other people. he can't be a genius first, and a human second. and that's where he fails to gain nous' recognition. it's not that he's not not intelligent enough to be a genius, it's that even in his pursuit of knowledge, he has not forgone his humanity.

and perhaps, in nous' eyes, that's the difference between the mediocre and the genius. to erase every part of you, your emotions, your empathy, your humanity, in the pursuit of knowledge is what separates a genius from the masses. not having those barriers allows you to really dig deep into subjects that would otherwise be considered taboo or dangerous, because you don't care about how the outcome affects people as long as you can study it. as long as you can get answers out of what you're studying, it doesn't really matter what the test subjects are feeling.

ratio is too human, too caring, to ever be considered a genius in nous' eyes.

[merakiui]

there are no words to express how crazy i am going right now (part two).

[tippenfunkaport]

That viral post that's going around about how people who write "book quality" mlm fic are too "normal" to publish and have real jobs so only "weird" people publish their "shitty" fanfic is so completely out of touch with reality and I am giving a massive side eye to everyone reblogging it.

Not only is it completely, easily verifiably untrue (you cannot enter any professional writing space without tripping over a dozen grizzled scifi writers who got their start by filing off the serial numbers and publishing their Star Trek fanfic even going back decades ago??? it's a whole thing?? plus how can you look at the mlm category on Amazon right now and say with a straight face that people aren't publishing shitty Spirk and Stucky fanfic??? Oh, honey...) it's also the perfect example of this kind of sneering elitism that true artists would never sully themselves by seeking profit, they do it only for the purity of the thing that always somehow leads back to, "no one should be paid to make art, actually."

The only reason you're seeing more published fanfic right now has nothing to do with the idealistic purity of your hypothetical government employee written smut of the past vs the debased scribbles of those awful straights of today and everything to do with the fact that a) self-publishing has created a voracious readership that wants a ton of content so it's become a viable, flexible income stream for many, especially disabled people b) anyone can publish now with self-publishing tools so there are less gatekeepers and c) lockdown got a lot of people into fandom and therefore writing who never tried it before.

And if you really think there's no "shitty" published mlm and no "book-quality" m/f writing out there that started as fanfic, then you are clearly not a reader so why are you even talking about this?

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

AGH FASHION DESIGNER SUGURU AND MODEL SATORU W A NEW INTERN DESIGNER UNDER THEIR WING 😞😞☹️ - 🌺

WAHHHH I LOVE THIS 🥺🥺🥺 the pining and flirting and slowburn of it all… model!satoru and his favorite designer suguru geto, both of them undeniably skilled and born with an eye for fashion….. well-known and adored……..

designer!suguru who gets tasked with showing you the ropes, who’s always so patient and kind despite your inexperience. diligent with his teaching but also so laidback, so easy to talk to… he looks intimidating, but he’s so polite that you can’t help but swoon a little. and he admires your enthusiasm so much…… grows fond of you soooo quickly bc you’re just such a breath of fresh air compared to the divas he’s forced to work with all the time. he thinks you’ve got real potential and he wants to nurture it.

and ofc you end up running into model!satoru eventually…. bc he’s always hanging around suguru whenever he gets the chance. and he’s maybe a little jealous that you’re hogging so much of his personal designer’s attention, but… he also thinks you’re so cute . T_T like a little puppy following suguru around… so excited to be apart of something you’ve dreamed of for so many years……… he looks into your eyes and sees the same sparkle he had before he made it big, and it makes his heart race.

yeah . i’m just thinking abt the peaceful coffee breaks with suguru….. how he’d insist on paying for your drink, ”since he’s your senior” (he wants to be your favorite </3)…… and how he’d just be so protective over his little intern. don’t get me started on the close proximity with satoru when you’re taking his measurements, the glance and smile he sends your way during an impromptu shoot… the way he always calls for you with a sweet coo of ”how’s my favorite intern doing today?”

😔😔😔 yeahhhhhh. they make me feel ill.

[dreamtuna]

“What are these?”

You stared curiously at the paper bag that had been dropped onto the table. It wasn’t uncommon for Levi to bring you small gifts and treats and dump them unceremoniously in front of you like this. It was just the way things were between you.

He sat himself into the seat opposite you and gestured towards the bag. Not sure what to expect, you unrolled the paper and peered inside. You gasped, quickly tipping the bag to empty out some of the contents into your hand. You’d never quite seen anything like them.

“What are these?” you repeated, eyes wide in excitement.

Colourful little drops lay on your palm, sugar coating both them and the table now from tipping the bag. Levi tutted, leaning forward to gather the sugar in a neat pile, using the opportunity to lower his head a little to hide the way his eyes lit up at your excitement. You’d caught it though, your grin widening even further at how he still thought he could hide these things from you.

“They’re sweets,” he explained, reaching to grab one gently from you. “They called them fruit jellies.”

You leaned forward to look even closer at these colourful little jellies, trying to decide which one to try first, what colour could be what fruit. But Levi’s hand was reaching out towards you.

“Open your mouth,” he told you.

He placed the sweet on your tongue, the sugar instantly assaulting your senses, but before he could fully pull back you grabbed his wrist, giving him a soft, sugary kiss on his fingertips. The sweetness engulfed your mouth as he slowly pulled back, hand lingering in yours for just long enough to squeeze it gently.

He made a mental note to get more of these in future.

[adharastarlight]

Regulus, holding a knife against james' throat: you're dead pretty boy

James who just died on the spot: you think im pretty?

Regulus: you'd make a pretty corpse, i suppose

James sighs wistfully

Regulus internally: wtf? he is kinda pretty tho-

[hailsatanacab]

I'll ask after that secret number 8!

I only remembered secret number 8 because I saw your wip here! I'd started this one based on the same prompt, then lost said prompt and stopped working on it 😅

Instead of a snippet, I'm just dropping it all here - maybe that way I'll feel inspired to finish it?

———

It’s a full house for dinner tonight and, really, that should have tipped him off.

Bruce sits at the head of the table, smiling softly as he watches over everyone’s antics. Damian is regaling Dick with everything they saw at the zoo that day (Danny had been so happy to see Delilah the purpleback gorilla again, and her new little additions to the troupe, too!) and how well they are implementing the grant the Wayne Foundation had gifted them. Tim, Steph, Cass, and Duke are all engaged in a thumb-war tournament which Danny has no interest in participating in. It just wouldn’t be fair on them.

Danny loves that look. The one where Bruce’s eyes crinkle when he thinks none of the kids can see him. It oozes love and it makes Danny’s heart, his core, ache. 

It’s been a little over a year since Alfred found him on the street and managed to wrangle him back to the manor to stay—even after the whole biting thing when he realised how rich they were. 

A little over a year here and Danny’s starting to feel like family.

Starting to feel like he might, just maybe, like to make it official.

“Danny,” Bruce says, drawing everyone’s attention. Danny starts at his name, but Bruce’s voice is warm and calm, and his shoulders lose their tension almost immediately. “Danny, I have something I would like to tell you.”

“Uhhh…” is all Danny can croak out, eyes flicking back and forth between Bruce and the rest of them. Smooth. Looking good, Danny.

Except… they’re all happy. All smiles, all relaxed body language, all radiating calm and love and acceptance. Well, not Damian—his face is as thunderous as it always is—which at least means it’s nothing too out of the ordinary.

“Danny, first of all, I just want to impress upon you that this is in no way something you have to do. You are under no obligation to join us and, no matter what, you shall always be welcome with us in the manor.”

Wait, what? Danny squints at Bruce, trying to parse exactly what he’s saying… Is he—is this them asking to adopt him? Do they want to make it official, too? 

It’s been a little over a year and of course Danny has imagined calling Bruce ‘Dad’. Of course he’s imagined being part of the family, of course he wants to make it official!

He can’t help the beaming grin or the bright and bubbling “Yes!” already waiting on his lips. All Bruce has to do is ask, all Danny needs to hear is—

“I’m Batman.”

The smile freezes on Danny’s face.

His lungs stop working, his heart stops working, he stops working, he just—

“And I’m Nightwing,” Dick smiles, breaking the awkward silence. 

Danny’s eyes snap to him, and then down to Tim when he admits to being Red Robin. Duke is Signal, Steph is Spoiler. Damian begrudgingly tells him he’s Robin, but Danny can barely hear it over the ringing in his ears.

“I’m Black Bat.” Cass cocks her head, almost looking concerned. It always felt like she understood him the most. Whenever he was feeling low, too in his memories, or stewing after a nightmare, she was always there, ready to card her fingers through his hair and never mention his tears. It makes his heart ache to think of it now. “It’s okay, Danny.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, but how—how can it be okay? How? 

Danny’s spent a little over a year with them. A little over a year with Batman. 

Batman, who works with the Justice League, who works with…

A little over a year. 

Just under 16 months since he escaped.

“Danny? Are you alright?” Bruce asks

Finally, his lungs kickstart and suck in a shuddering breath, only for everyone to drop their smiles.

Didn’t take them long, did it? Now that their ruse is up, there’s no kindness in their eyes, they’re just… cold, calculating. Evaluating. 

“Why?” Danny gasps, his fingers tingling, his heart in his throat.

Just under 16 months since he—has he escaped? Or was this just another one of their experiments?

"I... I trusted you, why—" Danny chokes back a sob, gritting his teeth as his shoulders shake. Why? Why would they do this? "I was happy here, with you. I thought... Weren't you happy?"

"Danny..." Bruce is looking at him, eyes narrow and eyebrows pinched, in some cruel facsimile of confused concern and all Danny can think is how much of an actor he is. How well he can play the part of a doting father. How much he made him want that.

"I don't understand, why..." 

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you before, I can imagine that it comes as a shock. We shouldn't have lied to you, Danny, but—"

"Stop it!" Danny slams his hands down on the table and pushes himself up on wobbly legs. Even standing, he feels so small. Smaller than Bruce, than all of his adopted siblings. They crowd above him when they all stand, too. "Just stop it! Why are you doing this, why are you still pretending? Stop it!"

It was easier, with Danny's biological parents. The knowledge that they'd do anything to get him on a lab table, to open him up and see what makes him tick, to rip him apart molecule by molecule, had always been there. He knew they hated ghosts. He knew they hated Phantom. He knew they hated him. It was easier because it was something he'd known all his life. When he died, when he became a ghost, he knew what to expect from them. It hurt, of course it did.

But it was easier than this.

"Danny, I'm going to need you to take a deep breath. You're having a panic attack and you need to breathe."

"Breathe?" Danny laughs, the sound harsh and choking, too high pitched in his hysteria. "You're joking, right? Or is this just more of the—the experiment?"

"Danny, please, we don't know what you're talking about, you—"

"You don't know? You're Batman! You work with the Justice League, you work with—" His words choke off as his stomach churns, bile rising in his throat. His whole body itches, screaming at him to leave, he can't go back, he can't, he can't, he can't!

Bruce takes a hesitant step forward and Danny scrambles back, his feet catching on the chair behind him and sending him careening to the floor. Where are the agents? Why aren't they swarming in, ready to apprehend him, strap him back on the table, carve him from the inside out.

"Please, Danny, calm down. We don't—"

Danny stops listening. His back hits the wall and he pulls his knees into his chest, his shoulders dipping down as he begins to sob. His heart throbs inside his throat, too painful to swallow around. Tears fall hot and heavy on his face.

Sure, he could run. He could phase out through the wall and he could be out of Gotham in a couple of hours. He's escaped the GIW once, he can do it again.

But that was before Batman knew who he was. Before he had the World's Greatest Detective on his tail.

Before he... 

He really thought this would be different, you know?

He wanted to make it official.

"Why did... Why were you so nice to me? Why did you make me like you? I really—I really liked you. I-I thought we could be a family."

"Danny, we are a—"

"Don't lie to me!" Danny snaps, but the force of his anger leeches all the fight from him, and suddenly all that's left is a bone-weary tiredness. There’s a lump in his throat that hurts. There’s a line down his chest that burns. "I don't care. I don't care anymore, I don't. Just... don't make me go back there. Please." 

Is it futile? He thought he knew how the GIW operated by now, the depths that they would go to achieve their results, but this... this was a whole new level of pain that Danny thought he had left behind him in Amity.

"We're not going to make you go anywhere, Danny, you're safe here, I promise."

"Safe? Safe? You must have—" he takes a deep breath, tries to stop the quivering of his voice. It’s all starting to make sense, now.  "The reason you're telling me who you are is because you must have told them everything already. I know the Justice League—I know you're working with them, which means the ex-experiment is over now, and they're coming to take me back. And I can't go back."

"Danny—"

"I can’t!” Danny glares at Bruce with all the rage he can, fingernails digging into his skin. “I’m not going back!"

"That's right, you're not going back, Danny. I won't let that happen." Bruce crouches down in front of Danny, his hands open and raised as if he's trying to say he's not a threat. "I don't know who you're talking about, and I'm sorry about that, but I can promise you that you’re not going back there. We will keep you safe."

Danny pulls himself closer, tucks himself further into the wall, eyes flickering all across the room waiting for that tell-tale flash of white as the agents start to swarm.

He should take his chances now and run, he should go, he needs to go!

The rest of them, his brothers and sisters of a little over a year, are spread out, giving him and Bruce some space. The same concern colours all of their faces. Why are they still pretending?

Steph is chewing on her thumb. 

Danny liked Steph and her brash confidence, her jokes. She's been promising to paint his nails for months now, they've just never found the time. He was going to go for green and black, or maybe a galaxy theme, depending on what she felt comfortable doing.

He likes them all.

"You were supposed to be my family." His mouth turns down at the corners and his voice shakes like a child. "You were supposed to—why? Why would you—I don't understand why you would make me like you..."

"This isn't an experiment, Danny," Bruce's voice is steady, soothing. "I promise."

"But you work with them and—"

"Who do I work with?"

"The Justice League."

"Yes, I do, but we—"

"And the Justice League works with them. The GIW." Danny trembles with the name, clutching tightly onto his hoodie. "I'm not going back there, Bruce."

Danny doesn't miss Bruce's look over his shoulder, nor Tim's nod in return. Tim turns slightly to the side to hide his movements, but Danny bets he has his phone in his hand, probably letting them know they can take him now. Guess this is it, then. They'll be here soon, and he'll be gone.

"Kill me."

"Danny? What do—"

"If you ever had any kindness for me, if you ever cared, kill me. Please, Bruce. I can't do it again."

"Danny..."

"End me now. Take my core out and break it, please, before they get here."

[cerise-on-top]

Hi!!

I really love your works and writing on cod! I really enjoy reading it! ❤

Can I request Konig, Nikolai, Rudy and Alejandro reacting to reader speaking to their native tongue?

Take all the time you need! ❤🐱

Hello, I'm glad I can write something people can enjoy! And of course you can, even if I'm not sure I understood this ask perfectly! I wrote it as reader speaking the native language of the lads with them, so I hope that's okay! If you wanted reader simply speaking their own native language, please let me know! Thank you for the request, this one was very fun to write for!

Alejandro, Rodolfo, Nikolai and König with an S/O who Speaks Their Language with Them

Alejandro: He’d definitely be surprised if it comes out of nowhere, but he’s anything but mad. He can speak English fluently, has no problems whatsoever with it, but if he can speak Spanish then he definitely won’t mind either. If you’re a beginner and it’s evident by how you stutter in Spanish, then he’ll be patient with you. He’ll speak slowly and clearly so you can follow while also getting a good feel for the intonations the language has. However, when he just wants to tease you a bit then he’ll speak the way he’d usually speak while also not shutting up either. Alejandro can be eloquent in Spanish if he tries, but he barely ever does, only when he wants to confuse you with words you’d likely only hear from people who are 100 years old. The more you look like you’re in despair, the more it cracks him up. He will apologize afterwards, though, and give you a kiss on the cheek. If your Spanish is already pretty good, however, and you just wanted to surprise him, then congratulations, he’s likely going to speak a whole lot more Spanish with you than before. Just because it’s a popular language doesn’t mean everyone speaks it, so when he wants to tell you something for your ears only while there are people around, he’ll say it in Spanish. It’s comfortable for him, getting to speak his mother tongue with you. He thinks in Spanish, so it’s a whole lot easier for him as well. Tells a lot more jokes in Spanish too, even though they’re some of the worst ones the language has to offer. While they may not be Ghost-level lame, they’re something else still. Come up with your own and he’ll be so proud of you, rewarding you with more awful puns he came up with. He’s just happy he gets to share his language with you.

Rodolfo: As soon as you come up to him somewhat timidly and strike up a conversation in Spanish he’ll be a bit surprised, but absolutely smitten. Since it’s obvious you’re still learning he’ll try to use “nicer” Spanish on you, so more words that aren’t just exclusive to his dialect, or Las Almas in general. Very supportive, he would never judge you for making grammar mistakes while speaking, taking a while to remember a word or mispronouncing something, it’s part of learning a language, after all. Might nudge you in the right direction or correct you gently, but he’d never mean it in a bad way, he just wants to help you. He’ll speak clearly to you, slowly as well, so you can learn from him. It’s not often he gets carried away, but sometimes hearing you speak Spanish is just so cute that he might chuckle a bit or be a bit more excited than usual. A very patient teacher, who can appreciate you trying to learn something new. Now, if your Spanish is already pretty good then he does like holding a conversation with you in Spanish every once in a while. It’s just nice to turn your brain off without having to translate every other word into another language since he, too, thinks in his native tongue. Soft petnames from time to time, or maybe just mixing English and Spanish together when he can’t think of the word immediately as well. Somehow, as soon as he knows you speak Spanish, he’ll believe you’ve taken an interest in the corresponding culture, so he’ll teach you more about Mexico if he can. Teaches you how to cook the food, the customs, what the people are like in general. While he may not be as connected to his culture as Alejandro, he does like talking about it from time to time.

Nikolai: The second you greet him with a cheerful privet he knows you’re in for something. You should have expected such from him as well, though. It’s a gamble with him, he’ll either speak more quickly than he usually does just to mess with you or he’ll hold a prim and proper conversation with you and it all depends on how playful he’s feeling that day. Overall, he’s pretty chill about it, though. You wanna know how to pronounce something? You wanna know what gender a noun has? What his neighbor was yelling about again? He’s got your back. You can ask him the most embarrassing questions a million times, he won’t mind. Besides, if you want to then you can come to Russia and experience everything there first hand. Nikolai knows all the good places in Russia that are suitable for someone who’s not usually there, so you won’t have to worry about anything either. If you want to hold a whole conversation about how tortoises have survived for millions of years, then you can. Besides, hearing you botch the pronunciation from time to time is just the most precious thing there is. Will smile a bit when you pronounce something incorrectly, but won’t ever outright mock you for it. As mentioned before, he just thinks it’s cute. And when you know Russian very well, then he still won’t speak it too often. Nikolai knows eight languages, he doesn’t always think in Russian, usually in English since that’s what most of his closest friends speak with him. If you really insist on speaking Russian with him, he will, but won’t think too much of it. Many people know the language, Russia is a big country, after all. If you want to, then you can spend some holidays there and he’ll show you around since there likely isn’t a better guide in the whole country than him. But he will not make a big fuss out of it.

König: German isn’t a very popular language due to its grammar, so you can imagine his surprise when you walked up to him with the most adorable Grüß Gott he’s ever heard. He could just squish you then and there, but he refrains from doing so and instead focuses on trying to have a meaningful conversation with you. Doesn’t matter if it’s good, doesn’t matter if you’re just asking him how he’s doing, a conversation is a conversation and you’re learning. Besides, you learning German, especially if it’s just because of him, does move him just a bit. Might not always initiate a conversation in German with you because what if you’re not in the mood? But you can always just talk to him in German, he doesn’t mind it at all. Though, he might not be the best person to learn German from since he uses regional words that people his age use. While he does try to speak high German with you, he does not really care much for it, so his dialect slips in every once in a while. But hey, at the very least you get to learn his dialect. As soon as he hears you call someone Hawara he becomes oddly proud of himself, thinking he’s doing well as a teacher even if he barely does anything. He loves Austria, so if you really want to see it, he’s more than happy to take you home, show you Vienna, Styria and Lower Austria and make you try some good old Brettljause. If you already know German, then chances are you’ll only know high German, which is alright too, but please know that from time to time, König will speak his dialect with you, which you might not always understand. He barks quite a bit when he speaks too, making it a bit harder to understand him as well. However, he’s always more than happy to play translator for you and teach you words no one uses anymore, such as hal. Austrian words are a must know for you, therefore you’ll learn fairly early on what a Seidl or an Erdapfl is.