#perch trying to do taxes

[deadsetobsessions]

Okay, so maybe Tim has no business being in Bludhaven. Tim maintains that since his parents fail at parenting, he can do whatever he wants.

Besides, it's for a good cause. Like, not letting Tarantula get her dirty hands on his big brother in another time line. Tarantula had popped up in the Bludhaven servers - by that, Tim means the endless amounts of threads and underground fronts for criminal activity that he stalks on a regular basis- by being seen with Nightwing. Tim had immediately booked a ride to Bludhaven and bought another burner. He'd try to take care of her himself, but if worse comes to worse, he'd call Deathstroke. He's totally aware of the weird tension Deathstroke has with Nightwing and Tim's kind of banking on that.

Dick's been back in Blud for two months now, Jason having assuaged his mother hen tendencies enough for Dick to get sick of the Manor. Tim hadn't meant to follow since he had plenty of projects to work on now that "SAVE JASON" wasn't blaring at the top of his head.

But then Tarantula appeared and Tim saw red, remembering the way Dick spoke about her and what she did to him.

He bids the driver goodbye. The driver doesn't question his being on his lonesome mainly because 1) Gothamites mind their own busines, 2) Tim gave him a $500 tip to make sure he remains a "good" Gothamite cabbie, and 3) Tim made sure he was dropped off in the swankiest, most ostentatious hotel Bludhaven had to offer.

"Rich people," the cab driver had muttered as Tim closed the door. Perfect.

Tim got his keycard, having checked in under Alvin Draper over the phone. Normally, they'd require an in person visit, but money talks. And people listened when Tim had a lot of things to say.

Tim even feels like he's trained enough to go out! Lady Shiva's training was ingrained into his memory, and Tim's built enough muscle to make use of some of it. He is still nine, after all. He's so much stealthier this time around. Plus, he's got almost his full tool set back. Sure, some of the tech is ancient, but he managed to finagle it to make grappling guns and smoke pellets more along the quality that he's used to.

Tim waits until nightfall, looping the surveillance around his window to mask his exit. Tim adjusts his domino, eyes scanning the city skyline as his handheld computer (god, he can't believe he has to invent wrist computers) tracked reports of Nightwing through Tweetings.

Ah. He's around Seventh. Tim grimaces as his untested joints adjusts to the grappling guns. His dark clothes make him hard to spot, to his advantage as he tracks down Nightwing.

Tim watches, perched on an adjacent roof as Nightwing takes down a crowd of goons with the flips Tim remembered watching from afar and up close in another timeline.

"Blockbuster'll kill everyone you love, Nightwing!"

Tim winces at the rather brutal crunch that followed, Nightwing having punched the guy and knocked him out in one move. He watches Dick sigh, tugging at his hair in stress.

Tim could... no, no. He shouldn't think of murder as a first option. Well, no, he shouldn't think of Deathstroke as a first option. But he'll need to take Blockbuster out before anything happens. And he needs to threaten the new Tarantula before anything happens. He won't allow her to even get close to Dick.

Maybe it's unfair to punish her for a crime she hasn't done, but unlike murder, rape can never be defended. Catalina Flores is a dead woman walking.

Tim stalks his big brother back home and then broke off to begin his short reign of terror over Bludhaven's underground. If he can't get Dick to take a break (and Tim's tried, a lot, over the years) then he'll make sure that the next month is as gentle as possible on his older brother.

Step 1. Murder Take care of Blockbuster

Step 2. Threaten Catalina Flores and her brother.

No. Wait. Tim has a better idea. He's got dirt on them, on top of the murder thing. He'll fabricate Catalina's tax returns, embezzle a shit ton of money from the IRS, and get her and her corrupt brother (because getting your sister out from murder charges is considered corrupt) arrested and locked away. And he'll make sure they stay locked away with some good old blackmail on Amanda Waller.

Tim grins, tranquilizing the building with an ungodly amount of knock out gas pellets, to riffle through the police precinct's files.

Step 2. Threaten Catalina Flores and her brother.

Step 2. Cripple Catalina Flores and her brother with blackmail and the IRS.

In three hours, Tim has everything he needs to begin a temporary hostile takeover. He's got the names of local mob bosses, the big players, and the names of practically every police officer that takes bribes and their... sponsors.

He'll have to cut off Blockbuster's lines of supplies first. Then, blacklist him from local suppliers, mobilize the police precinct against him (by imitating his M.O. perfectly- Tim's not a fucking amateur- and pretending to rob the precinct blind), and then break his knees.

Step 3. Profit

Tim takes out his shiny new burner phone, enjoying the loud sounds of the police squawking through his planted bugs. He lounges on the building next to it, keeping an eye out for Nightwing just in case the man decides to respond to the crisis.

[Unknown: It's RR.]

[Deathstroke: New phone?]

[RR: Who dis?]

[Deathstroke: What?]

[RR: Nevermind. I'll give you forty thousand to shoot someone's knees out.]

[Deathstroke:... That's it? Who?]

[RR: Blockbuster. Bludhaven. Extra twenty thousand if you tell him he's got the spine of a sea slug, kick him in the balls, and post it on Tweeting.]

[Deathstroke: What did he do to you? Deal.]

Tim ignored Deathstroke's question.

[RR: Half sent. Confirm?]

[Deathstroke: Confirmed. Timeline?]

[RR: Three weeks. 21 days.]

[Deathstroke: Confirmed.]

----

Tim grins ferally, all teeth as Catalina Flores looked on in horror at her computer screen.

"Get out of Bludhaven, and don't come back. If you even think of going near Nightwing, I will rip what's left of your pathetic, sniveling swine of a brother apart. You will not enjoy the consequences."

Tim clicks off, watching Catalina and her brother launch themselves into mad packing. He tapped out a short message to Amanda Waller for her and her team to intercept them at the state lines. They'll never get away from Tim's fury. Never.

[Waller: It's done.]

[Waller: I will find you.]

[RR: You can definitely try, Waller. Good doing business with you.]

Tim can see the blood vessel the woman popped after he sent that last message. He laughs.

He saves Deathstroke's video from Tweeting onto his actual, spoofed phone. He destroys the burner phone, less shiny now that he's dragged it through two and a half weeks of breaking heads and terrorizing the Bludhaven Underground. Nightwing hadn't even gotten a whiff of his activities, this Dick being far less experienced and known in this version of Blud.

One more week and Tim can continue his other projects.

----

Nightwing, going about his vigilante business: wow it sure is peaceful

Feral Tim Drake, Nightwing's scary dog privilege: try me, bitch

[mrs-stans]

Sebastian Stan Tells All: Becoming Donald Trump, Gaining 15 Pounds and Starring in 2024’s Most Controversial Movie

By Daniel D'Addario

Sebastian Stan Variety Cover Story

It started with the most famous voice on the planet, the one that just won’t shut up.

Sebastian Stan, in real life, sounds very little like Donald Trump, whom he’s playing in the new film “The Apprentice.” Sure, they share a tristate accent — Stan has lived in the city for years and attended Rutgers University before launching his career — but he speaks with none of Trump’s emphasis on his own greatness. Trump dwells, Stan skitters. Trump attempts to draw topics together over lengthy stem-winders (what he recently called “the weave”), while Stan has a certain unwillingness to be pinned down, a desire to keep moving. It takes some coaxing to bring Stan, a man with the upright bearing and square jaw of a matinee idol, to speak about his own process — how hard he worked to conjure a sense Trump, and how he sought to bring out new insights about America’s most scrutinized politician.

“I think he’s a lot smarter than people want to say about him,” Stan says, “because he repeats things consistently, and he’s given you a brand.” Stan would know: He watched videos of Trump on a loop while preparing for “The Apprentice.” In the film, out on Oct. 11, Stan plays Trump as he moves from insecure, aspiring real estate developer to still insecure but established member of the New York celebrity firmament.

We’re sitting over coffee in Manhattan. Stan is dressed down in a black chore coat and black tee, yet he’s anything but a casual conversation partner. He rarely breaks eye contact, doing so only on the occasions when he has something he wants to show me on his iPhone (cracked screen, no case). In this instance, it’s folders of photos and videos labeled “DT” and “DT PHYSICALITY.”

“I had 130 videos on his physicality on my phone,” Stan says. “And 562 videos that I had pulled with pictures from different time periods — from the ’70s all the way to today — so I could pull out his speech patterns and try to improvise like him.” Stan, deep in character, would ad-lib entire scenes at director Ali Abbasi’s urging, drawing on the details he’d learned from watching Trump and reading interviews to understand precisely how to react in each moment.

“Ali could come in on the second take and say, ‘Why don’t you talk a little bit about the taxes and how you don’t want to pay?’ So I had to know what charities they were going to in 1983. Every night I would go home and try not only to prepare for the day that was coming, but also to prepare for where Ali was going to take this.”

Looking at Stan’s phone, among the endless pictures of Trump, I glimpse thumbnails of Stan’s own face perched in a Trumpian pout and videos of the actor’s preparation just aching to be clicked — or to be stored in the Trump Presidential Library when this is all over in a few months, or in 2029, or beyond.

“I started to realize that I needed to start speaking with my lips in a different way,” Stan says. “A lot of that came from the consonants. If I’m talking, I’m moving forward.” On film, Stan shapes his mouth like he can’t wait to get the plosives out, puckering without quite tipping into parody. “The consonants naturally forced your lips forward.”

“If he did 10% more of what he did, it would become ‘Saturday Night Live,’” Abbasi says. “If he did 10% less, then he’s not conjuring that person. But here’s the thing about Sebastian: He’s very inspired by reality, by research. And that’s also the way I work; if you want to go to strange places, you need to get your baseline reality covered very well.”

A little later, Stan passes me the phone again to show me a selfie of him posing shirtless and revealing two sagging pecs and a bit of a gut. He’s pouting into a mirror. If his expression looks exaggerated, consider that he was in Marvel-movie shape before stepping into the role of the former president; the body transformation happened rapidly and jarringly. Trump’s size is a part of the film’s plot — as Trump’s sense of self inflates, so does he. In a rush to meet the shooting deadline for “The Apprentice,” Abbasi asked Stan, “How much weight can you gain?”

“You’d be surprised,” Stan tells me. “You can gain a lot of weight in two months.” (Fifteen pounds, to be exact.)

Now he’s back in fighting form, but the character has stayed with him. After years of playing second-fiddle agents of chaos — goofball husbands to Margot Robbie’s and Lily James’ characters in “I, Tonya” and Hulu’s “Pam & Tommy,” surly frenemy to Chris Evans’ Captain America in the Marvel franchise — Stan plunged into the id of the man whose appetites have reshaped our world. He had to have a polished enough sense of Trump that he could improvise in character, and enough respect for him to play him as a human being, not a monster.

It’s one of two transformations this year for Stan — and one that might give a talented actor that most elusive thing: a brand of his own. He’s long been adjacent enough to star power that he could feel its glow, but he hasn’t been the marquee performer. While his co-stars have found themselves defined by the projects he’s been in — from “Captain America” and “I, Tonya” back to his start on “Gossip Girl” — he’s spent more than a decade in the public eye while evading being defined at all.

This fall promises to be the season that changes all that: Stan is pulling double duty with “The Apprentice” and “A Different Man” (in theaters Sept. 20), in which he plays a man afflicted with a disfiguring tumor disorder who — even when presented with a fantastical treatment that makes him look like, well, Sebastian Stan — can’t be cured of ailments of the soul. For “A Different Man,” Stan won the top acting prize at the Berlin Film Festival; for “The Apprentice,” the sky’s the limit, if it can manage to get seen. (More on that later.)

One reason Stan has largely evaded being defined is that he’s never the same twice, often willing to get loopy or go dark in pursuit of his characters’ truths. That’s all the more true this year: In “The Apprentice,” he’s under the carapace of Trumpiness; in “A Different Man,” his face is hidden behind extensive prosthetics.

“In my book, if you’re the good-looking, sensitive guy 20 movies in a row, that’s not a star for me,” says Abbasi, who compares Stan to Marlon Brando — an actor eager to play against his looks. “You’re just one of the many in the factory of the Ken dolls.”

This fall represents Stan’s chance to break out of the toy store once and for all. His Winter Soldier brought a jolt of evil into Captain America’s world, and his Jeff Gillooly was the devil sitting on Tonya Harding’s shoulder. Now Stan is at the center of the frame, playing one of the most divisive characters imaginable. So he’s showing us where he can go. The spotlight is his, and so is the risk that comes with it.

Why take such a risk?

The script for “The Apprentice,” which Stan first received in 2019, but which took years to come together, made him consider the American dream, the one that Trump achieved and is redefining.

Stan emigrated with his mother, a pianist, from communist Romania as a child. “I was raised always aware of the American dream: America being the land of opportunity, where dreams come true, where you can make something of yourself.” He pushes the wings of his hair back to frame his face, a gold signet ring glinting in the late-summer sunlight, and, briefly, I can hear a hint of Trump’s directness of approach. “You can become whoever you want, if you just have a good idea.” Stan’s good idea has been to play the lead in movies while dodging the formulaic identity of a leading man, and this year will prove just how far he can take it.

“The Apprentice” seemed like it would never come together before suddenly it did. This time last year, Stan was sure it was dead in the water, and he was OK with that. “If this movie is not happening, it’s because it’s not meant to happen,” he recalls thinking. “It will not be because I’m too scared and walk away.”

Called in on short notice and filming from November 2023 to January of this year (ahead of a May premiere in Cannes), Stan lent heft and attitude to a character arc that takes Trump from local real estate developer in the 1970s to national celebrity in the 1980s. He learns the rough-and-tumble game of power from the ruthless and hedonistic political fixer Roy Cohn (Jeremy Strong), eventually cutting the closeted Cohn loose as he dies of AIDS and alienating his wife Ivana (Maria Bakalova) in the process. (In a shocking scene, Donald sexually assaults Ivana in their Trump Tower apartment.) For all its edginess, the film is about Trump’s personality — and the way it calcified into a persona — rather than his present-day politics. (Despite its title, it’s set well before the 2004 launch of the reality show that finally made Trump the superstar he longed to be.)

And despite the fact that Trump has kept America rapt since he announced his run for president in 2015, Hollywood has been terrified of “The Apprentice.” The film didn’t sell for months after Cannes, an unusual result for a major English-language competition film, partly because Trump’s legal team sent a cease-and-desist letter attempting to block the film’s release in the U.S. while the fest was still ongoing. When it finally sold, it was to Briarcliff Entertainment, a distributor so small that the production has launched a Kickstarter campaign to raise money so that it will be able to stay in theaters.

Yes, Hollywood may vote blue, but it’s not the same town that released “Fahrenheit 9/11” or even “W.,” let alone a film that depicts the once (and possibly future) president raping his wife. (The filmmakers stand behind that story. “The script is 100% backed by my own interviews and historical research,” says Gabriel Sherman, the screenwriter and a journalist who covers Trump and the American conservative movement. “And it’s important to note that it is not a documentary. It’s a work of fiction that’s inspired by history.”) Entertainment corporations from Netflix to Disney would be severely inconvenienced if the next president came into office with a grudge against them.

“I am quite shocked, to be honest,” Abbasi says. “This is not a political piece. It’s not a hit piece; it’s not a hatchet job; it’s not propaganda. The fact that it’s been so challenging is shocking.” Abbasi, born in Iran, was condemned by his government over his last film, “Holy Spider,” and cannot safely return. He sees a parallel in the response to “The Apprentice.” “OK, that’s Iran — that is unfortunately expected. But I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Everything with this film has been one day at a time,” Stan says. The actor chalks up the film’s divisiveness to a siloed online environment. “There are a lot of people who love reading the [film’s] Wikipedia page and throwing out their opinions,” he says, an edge entering his voice. “But they don’t actually know what they’re talking about. That’s a popular sport now online, apparently.”

Unprompted, Stan brings up the idea that Trump is so widely known that some might think a biographical film about him serves no purpose. “When someone says, ‘Why do we need this movie? We know all this,’ I’ll say, ‘Maybe you do, but you haven’t experienced it. The experience of those two hours is visceral. It’s something you can hopefully feel — if you still have feelings.’”

After graduating from Rutgers in 2005, Stan found his first substantial role on “Gossip Girl,” playing troubled rich kid Carter Baizen. Like teen soaps since time immemorial, “Gossip Girl” was a star-making machine. “It was the first time I was in serious love with somebody,” he says. (He dated the series’ star, Leighton Meester, from 2008 to 2010.) He feels nostalgic for that moment: “Walking around the city, seeing these same buildings and streets — life seemed simpler.”

Stan followed his “Gossip Girl” gig with roles on the 2009 NBC drama “Kings,” playing a devious gay prince in an alternate-reality modern world governed by a monarchy, and the 2012 USA miniseries “Political Animals,” playing a black-sheep prince (and once again a gay man) of a different sort — the son of a philandering former president and an ambitious former first lady.

When I ask him what lane he envisioned himself in as a young actor, he shrugs off the question. “I grew up with a single mom, and I didn’t have a lot of male role models. I was always trying to figure out what I wanted to be. And at some point, I was like, I could just be a bunch of things.”

Which might seem challenging when one is booked to play the same character, Bucky Barnes, in Marvel movie after Marvel movie. Bucky’s adventures have been wide-ranging — he’s been brainwashed and turned evil and then brought back to the home team again, all since his debut in 2011’s “Captain America: The First Avenger.” Next year, he’ll anchor the summer movie “Thunderbolts,” as the leader of a squad of quirky heroes played by, among others, Julia Louis-Dreyfus and Florence Pugh. It’s easy to wonder if this has come to feel like a cage of sorts.

Not so, says Stan. His new Marvel film “was kind of like ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ — a guy coming into this group that was chaotic and degenerate, and somehow finding a way to unite them.”

Lately, knives have been out for Marvel movies as some have disappointed at the box office, and “Thunderbolts,” which endured strike delays and last-minute cast changes, has been under scrutiny.

“It’s become really convenient to pick on [Marvel films],” Stan says. “And that’s fine. Everyone’s got an opinion. But they’re a big part of what contributes to this business and allows us to have smaller movies as well. This is an artery traveling through the system of this entire machinery that’s Hollywood. It feeds in so many more ways than people acknowledge.” He adds, “Sometimes I get protective of it because the intention is really fucking good. It’s just fucking hard to make a good movie over and over again.”

Which may account for an eagerness to try something new. “In the last couple of years,” he says, “I’ve gotten much more aggressive about pursuing things that I want, and I’m constantly looking for different ways of challenging myself.”

The challenge continued throughout the shoot of “The Apprentice,” as Stan pushed the material. “One of the most creatively rewarding parts of the process was how open Sebastian was to giving notes on the script but also wanting to go beyond the script,” says Sherman, the screenwriter. “If he was interested in a certain aspect of a scene, he was like, Can you find me a quote?” he recalls.

Building a dynamic through improvised scenes, Stan and Strong stayed in character throughout the “Apprentice” shoot. “I was doing an Ibsen play on Broadway,” says Strong, who won a Tony in June for his performance in “An Enemy of the People,” “and he came backstage afterwards. And it was like — I’d never really met Sebastian, and I don’t think he’d ever met me. So it was nice to meet him.”

Before the pair began acting together, they didn’t rehearse much — “I’m not a fan of rehearsals,” Strong says. “I think actors are best left in their cocoon, doing their work, and then trusted to walk on set and be ready.” The two didn’t touch the script together until cameras went up — though they spent a preproduction day, Strong says, playing games in character as Donald and Roy.

After filming, both have kept memories of the hold their characters had on them. They shared a flight back from Telluride — a famously bumpy trip out of the mountains. “He’s a nervous flyer, and I’m a nervous flyer,” Stan says. Both marveled at the fact that they’d contained their nerves on the first day of shooting “The Apprentice,” when their characters traveled together via helicopter. “We both go, ‘Yeah — but there was a camera.’”

Stan’s aggressive approach to research came in handy on “A Different Man,” which shot before “The Apprentice.” His character’s disorder, neurofibromatosis, is caused by a genetic mutation and presents as benign tumors growing in the nervous system. After being healed, he feels a growing envy for a fellow sufferer who seems unbothered by his disability.

Stan’s co-star, Adam Pearson, was diagnosed with neurofibromatosis in early childhood. Stan found the experience challenging to render faithfully. “I said many times, I can do all the research in the world, but am I ever going to come close to this?” Stan says. “How am I going to ever do this justice?”

Plus, he had precious little time to prepare: “He was fully on board, and the film was being made weeks later,” director Aaron Schimberg says. “Zero to 60 in a matter of weeks.”

The actor grappled for something to hold on to, and Pearson sug gested he refer to his own experience of fame. “Adam said to me, ‘You know what it’s like to be public property,’” Stan says.

Pearson recalls describing the experience to Stan this way: “While you don’t understand the invasiveness and the staring and the pointing that I’ve grown up with, you do know what it’s like to have the world think you owe them something.”

That sense of alienation becomes universal through the film’s storytelling: “A Different Man” takes its premise as the jumping-off point for a deep and often mordant investigation of who we all are underneath the skin.

The film was shot in 22 days in a New York City heat wave, and there was, Schimberg says, “no room for error. I would get four or five takes, however many I could squeeze out, but there’s no coverage.”

Through it all, Stan’s performance is utterly poised — Schimberg and Stan discussed Buster Keaton as a reference for his ability to be “completely stone-faced” amid chaos, the director says. And the days were particularly long because Oscar-nominated prosthetics artist Michael Marino was only able to apply Stan’s makeup in the early morning, before going to his job on the set of “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.”

“Even though I wasn’t shooting until 11 a.m., I would go at like 5 in the morning to his studio, or his apartment,” Stan recalls. The hidden advantage was that Stan had hours to kill while made up like his character, the kind of person the world looks past. “I wanted to walk around the city and see what happened,” Stan says. “On Broadway, one of the busiest streets in New York, no one’s looking at me. It’s as if I’m not even there.” The other reaction was worse: “Somebody would immediately stop and very blatantly hit their friend, point, take a picture.”

It was a study in empathy that flowed into the character. Stan had spoken to Pearson’s mother, who watched her son develop neurofibromatosis before growing into a disability advocate and, eventually, an actor. “She said to me, ‘All I ever wanted was for someone to walk in his shoes for a day,’” Stan recalls. “And I guess that was the closest I had ever come.”

“The Apprentice” forced Stan, and forces the viewer, to do the same with a figure that some 50% of the electorate would sooner forget entirely. And that lends the film its controversy. Those on the right, presupposing that the movie is an anti-Trump document, have railed against it. In a statement provided to Variety, a Trump campaign spokesman said, “This ‘film’ is pure malicious defamation, should never see the light of day and doesn’t even deserve a place in the straight-to-DVD section of a bargain bin at a soon-to-be-closed discount movie store, it belongs in a dumpster fire.” The campaign threatened a lawsuit, though none has materialized.

Asked about the assault scene, Stan notes that Ivana had made the claim in a deposition, but later walked it back. “Is it closer to the truth, what she had said directly in the deposition or something that she retracted?” he asks. “They went with the first part.”

The movie depicts, too, Ivana’s carrying on with her marriage after the violation, which may be still more devastating. “How do you overcome something like this?” asks Bakalova. “Do you have to put on a mask that everything is fine? In the next scene, she’s going to play the game and pretend that we’re the glamorous, perfect couple.” The Trumps, in “The Apprentice,” live in a world of paper-thin images, one that grows so encompassing that Donald no longer feels anything for the people to whom he was once loyal. They’re props in his stage show.

“The Apprentice” will drop in the midst of the most chaotic presidential election of our lifetime. “The way it lands in this extremely polarized situation, for me as an artist, is exciting. I won’t lie to you,” says Abbasi.

When asked if he was concerned about blowback from a Trump 47 presidency, Stan says, “You can’t do this movie and not be thinking about all those things, but I really have no idea. I’m still in shock from going from an assassination attempt to the next weekend having a president step down [from a reelection bid].”

Stan’s job, as he sees it, was to synthesize everything he’d absorbed — all those videos on his phone — into a person who made sense. This Trump had to be part of a coherent story, not just the flurry of news updates to which we’ve become accustomed.

“You can take a Bach or a Beethoven, and everyone’s going to play that differently on the piano, right?” Stan says. (His pianist mother named him for Johann Sebastian Bach.) “So this is my take on what I’ve learned. I have to strip myself of expectations of being applauded for this, if people are going to like it or people are going to hate it. People are going to say whatever they want. Hopefully they should think at least before they say it.”

It’s a reality that Stan is now used to — the work is the work, and the way people interpret him is none of his business. Perhaps that’s why he has run away from ever being the same thing twice. “I could sit with you today and tell you passionately what my truth is, but it doesn’t matter,” he says. “Because people are more interested in a version of you that they want to see, rather than who you are.”

“The Apprentice” has been the subject of extreme difference of opinion by many who have yet to see it. It’s been read — and will continue to be after its release — as anti-Trump agitprop. The truth is chewier and more complicated, and, perhaps, unsuited for these times.

“Are we going to live in a world where anyone knows what the truth is anymore? Or is it just a world that everyone wants to create for themselves?” Stan asks.

His voice — the one that shares a slight accent with Trump but that is, finally, Stan’s own — is calm and clear. “People create their own truth right now,” he says. “That’s the only thing that I’ve made peace with; I don’t need to twist your arm if that’s what you want to believe. But the way to deal with something is to actually confront it.”

[solxamber]

Kidnapped(?) - Malleus x reader

You were sick of the taxes imposed by the aristocrats in your already poverty stricken village. Your idea of a solution? Kidnap their young master , and make them reduce taxes as the ransom, of course. Only problem is that you went into the wrong manor and kidnapped the wrong young master.

crossposted from my ao3!

It’s far too late for a sane person to be awake, let alone breaking into an aristocratic manor, but here you are, perched atop a wrought iron fence. You inhale deeply, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the wild thudding of your heart. Sure, you’ve trespassed on fancy estates before—who hasn’t?—but this time, you’re aiming high. Really high.

Tonight, you’re going to kidnap the young master.

It sounded less ridiculous in your head, but the village’s plight had pushed you this far. Unfair taxes, people going hungry, all thanks to the greed of the lord’s family holed up in their luxurious estate. Someone needed to stand up for the people. That someone just happened to be you.

You’d never kidnapped anyone before, but how hard could it be? Grab the rich guy, ask for a ransom—specifically, less ridiculous taxes—and stroll away like a hero. Easy.

The manor looms in front of you, all dark windows and dramatic architecture. It's almost too easy to slip past the guards. You start to wonder if they’re just really bad at their jobs or if this is some elaborate setup. Still, you can’t help but smirk. You’re so good at this, it’s almost criminal.

Well, it is criminal. But you know, details.

Inside, the place is eerily quiet. Every shadow seems to be watching you as you slink through the halls, making your way toward the young master’s room. You’ve heard the rumors—aloof, cold, basically allergic to feelings. Intimidating him into compliance? Piece of cake.

After a few minutes of creeping around like a ninja, you find a room with the door slightly ajar. A faint light flickers inside. Jackpot. You steady your breath, grip your very intimidating (okay, slightly makeshift) weapon, and push the door open.

Sitting at a desk, seemingly unfazed by your dramatic entrance, is the young master.

“Ah,” he says, turning slowly to look at you. There’s a glimmer of... curiosity? in his eyes. “A visitor. How... unexpected.”

You blink. This is not going to plan. Where’s the panic? The yelling for help? The appropriate reaction to being ambushed at night?

Determined to salvage the situation, you wave your weapon and try your best "intimidating kidnapper" voice. “You’re coming with me! I’m here to kidnap you, and if you want to see your precious manor again, you’ll lower the village taxes!”

There’s a beat of silence.

The young master raises an eyebrow. “You’re kidnapping me? How... amusing.”

Amusing? You falter. “This isn’t a joke,” you insist, shaking your weapon for emphasis. “I’m serious! Ransom, taxes, starving villagers—ringing any bells?”

Instead of, say, panicking or fleeing, the young master stands up from his chair, all calm and composed, like this is a perfectly normal Tuesday night activity. “Very well. I suppose I should humor you.”

You blink again, utterly at a loss. “Wait... you’re just agreeing to this?”

“Of course.” He tilts his head, giving you a strange, intrigued look. “I’ve never been kidnapped before. It sounds rather... interesting.”

And just like that, he strolls toward the door as if this is his idea. You scramble to follow, wondering what exactly you’ve gotten yourself into.

As you lead him through the estate, you’re still grappling with the bizarre reality of the situation. Here you are, attempting to kidnap someone, and the guy is practically rolling out a red carpet for you.

“You know,” you mutter, glancing over at him, “most people don’t just let themselves be kidnapped. It’s not really how this works.”

He turns to you with a serene smile that’s entirely too pleasant for a hostage. “Why should I resist? You don’t seem the type to harm me.”

You narrow your eyes. Is he flirting? Intentionally or not, this guy’s nerve is off the charts.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he says suddenly, voice smooth as silk.

“I’m not giving my name to my hostage,” you snap back. This is Kidnapping 101.

“Ah, of course.” He nods, clearly amused. “Then I’ll introduce myself instead. I am Malleus Draconia.”

Your stomach drops to the floor. Malleus Draconia. THE Malleus Draconia. The name practically vibrates with power and danger, and you suddenly realize you’ve made a colossal mistake. You haven’t kidnapped the young master of the manor—you’ve kidnapped the prince of the fae.

“Oh no,” you mutter, horror creeping into your voice. “Oh no, oh no, this is bad. This is really bad.”

Malleus watches you with mild amusement, an eyebrow raised. “Why the sudden distress?”

You whirl on him. “You’re Malleus Draconia! I— I wasn’t supposed to kidnap you! This is a mistake—like, a huge mistake. I’ll just let you go and we can pretend this never happened, okay?”

But instead of looking concerned, Malleus just smiles wider, a wicked little gleam in his eyes. “Let me go? But I’m having so much fun.”

You gape at him. “You... want to stay kidnapped?”

“Indeed.” He seems completely unbothered by the sheer absurdity of the situation. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve had such an engaging evening.”

Well. This is officially the weirdest night of your life.

The night only gets stranger when you run into his retainers.

“Young Master!” a voice bellows, and you look up to see a tall, green-haired fae charging toward you, fury in his eyes. “What is going on here?!”

Before you can even explain, Malleus casually steps in. “Ah, Sebek. Allow me to introduce my kidnapper.”

Sebek freezes mid-charge, eyes wide. “Y-Your... kidnapper?!”

Malleus nods with an unnervingly calm smile. “Yes. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Sebek’s brain seems to short-circuit, and he storms off, shouting something about telling Lilia and Silver. You groan, burying your face in your hands. “This is a disaster.”

Malleus, of course, chuckles softly beside you. “On the contrary. I think it’s rather amusing.”

Of course he does.

By the time Lilia and Silver arrive, you’ve already resigned yourself to your fate. At least they’ll make your execution quick, right?

But Lilia just grins mischievously, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Well, well. This is certainly the most interesting kidnapping I’ve seen in centuries.”

Silver, on the other hand, just raises a brow. “He seems to be enjoying himself.”

Malleus smiles at you, as though being abducted by a random stranger is the highlight of his week. “Quite.”

You’re about to protest when Malleus turns to his retainers with a firm nod. “I’d like to speak to my kidnapper alone.”

Sebek looks like he’s going to explode, but Malleus’s sharp glance shuts him up. Lilia throws you a wink as they all leave, and just like that, you’re alone with the fae prince. Again.

Malleus steps closer, his calm mask slipping just a little. “You know, I’ve grown quite fond of this little adventure.”

You blink up at him. “Are you serious?”

He tilts his head, lips quirking into a smile. “I propose a deal. I’ll help your village with the taxes. In return, you’ll... continue kidnapping me.”

Your jaw drops. “Wait... you want me to keep kidnapping you?”

“Yes. It’s been rather fun.” His eyes twinkle with amusement. “What do you say?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “This is the weirdest deal I’ve ever made.”

Malleus grins, entirely too pleased with himself. “Wonderful. Now, shall we shake on it?”

And so, your bizarre, extremely non-traditional kidnapping arrangement begins.

Every few days, it’s the same: you sneak into his manor (more like casually walk in, since he always leaves the window open for you now), and the two of you embark on whatever adventure catches your whimsy. Sometimes it’s sneaking into human markets where Malleus marvels at the mundane—like street food or ridiculous trinkets. Other times, you explore abandoned castles with winding, forgotten hallways that echo with untold stories.

It’s almost normal now, the way he expects you to “abduct” him with little more than a raised eyebrow and a soft chuckle as you half-heartedly demand his presence for another outing. The most feared prince of the fae is now, apparently, your willing partner in crime.

The first time you take him to a local fair, though, you realize just how out of his element he truly is. Malleus spends a good twenty minutes, completely entranced, watching a cotton candy machine.

“Is it... magic?” he asks, his (very pretty) eyes locked onto the swirling pink clouds as the vendor twirls the sugary fluff onto a stick.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound coming out far more amused than you intended. “Nope. Just sugar spun into fluff. You’ve really never seen this before?”

Malleus watches the process with a reverence usually reserved for ancient relics, finally accepting the cotton candy as if it’s some kind of delicate treasure. He takes a cautious bite, his expression lighting up like a child’s.

“Incredible,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. “It dissolves on the tongue.”

You bite back another laugh at the sight of this powerful fae prince, someone who commands fear from almost everyone around him, completely taken by spun sugar. “Glad you like it.”

After that, it’s a night of him eagerly trying every strange, sticky fair food he can find, utterly fascinated by things as simple as corn dogs and funnel cake. You can't decide if it’s endearing or a little embarrassing, but either way, you’re having more fun than you’ve had in a long time.

As the weeks pass, the more you look forward to your little "kidnapping" escapades, and that in itself is a whole other problem. Malleus’s wide-eyed curiosity about the human world is... strangely adorable, and while he’s still every bit the regal fae prince, there’s something endearing about the way he asks you questions about everyday things with such genuine interest. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to, his quiet intelligence making for great conversation—when he’s not completely sidetracked by things like human street food.

The more time you spend with him, the harder it becomes to ignore the truth creeping up on you. You’re starting to fall for him. It’s ridiculous, and yet... here you are.

Of course, not everything goes smoothly.

“Human!” Sebek shouts dramatically one afternoon as you and Malleus return from yet another outing. “How dare you abduct the Young Master again!”

You roll your eyes, half-expecting this by now. “Sebek, I’ve told you before. He wants me to kidnap him.”

Sebek bristles, sputtering indignantly, his green hair practically standing on end. “Lies! The Young Master would never allow—”

“Sebek,” Malleus interrupts, his tone calm, but with that unmistakable edge that immediately silences his retainer. “I went willingly. Again.”

Sebek’s jaw drops, looking like someone just told him the sky isn’t blue. “But... Young Master...”

Malleus gives him a slow, deliberate look, his lips curving into a faint, almost predatory smile. “You should try it sometime. You may find it... enlightening. Although,” he turns to you, his voice soft but with an unmistakable possessiveness, “you’ll have to find another human. This one is already mine.”

Your breath hitches as Malleus’s words hang in the air, and you can't help but feel your heart skip a beat. Sebek, meanwhile, looks utterly scandalized, his eyes wide as saucers. Lilia, who has been watching the whole thing with far too much amusement, claps Sebek on the back.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Lilia chuckles. “Let them have their fun.”

Sebek looks like he's about to explode, but instead storms off, muttering something about propriety, while Silver smirks quietly from the sidelines.

One night, after another "kidnapping," you find yourself sitting beside Malleus on a hill overlooking the village, the faint glow of the fair still visible in the distance. The stars hang bright overhead, and there’s a soft stillness between you as the cool air nips at your skin.

Malleus’s voice breaks the quiet, low and thoughtful. “You’ve given me more than I expected.”

You glance at him, curious. “What do you mean?”

He turns to you, his dark eyes holding a depth you hadn’t seen before. “Companionship. I hadn’t realized how much I longed for it until... until you.”

Your heart does something funny at his words, the raw sincerity of them tugging at something deep inside you. Without thinking, you reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face, your fingertips grazing his skin. The air between you seems to still.

“I’ve grown... quite fond of you,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

You swallow, feeling your pulse quicken. “Malleus, I—”

But before you can find the words, Malleus leans in, his eyes never leaving yours, and you feel the warmth of his hand gently cup your cheek. The world seems to fade away as you both hover there, caught between anticipation and something more.

“I do believe,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your skin as his eyes darken with something you can’t quite name, “that I’m falling for you, my little kidnapper.”

Your heart stutters, and before you know it, you’re closing the space between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss. For a moment, everything else ceases to matter—no fair, no adventures, no strange arrangements. Just the two of you, finally giving in to the pull that’s been drawing you together for weeks.

When you pull back, breathless, Malleus smiles, and it’s the softest, most genuine smile you’ve ever seen from him. “Does this mean,” he says, his voice still low and teasing, “you’ll continue kidnapping me?”

You laugh softly, feeling the warmth of his words settle deep in your chest. “I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Malleus grins, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. “No, I suppose not.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

This is my first time posting here so i have no idea what i'm doing and the formatting is probably off because i'm on mobile but i'll slowly figure it out.

[spdrvyn]

miguel being comforting during your period mood swings | drabble

very fluffy. hurt/comfort. reader is a spider-person. projecting MASSIVELY in this one. my bad guys! author had a very bad not good day so this is to ease my nerves a little, enjoy and eat up

Miguel had very much noticed when it started. Your avoidance of him started somewhere around 3 days ago, whenever he made attempts to talk to you, you'd be feeding him as little as possible. It irked him to say the least and he missed you and when he felt like looking at you, you just weren't there.

It wasn't that you seemed mad at him or upset about something else, you were giving him nothing to work with was all. He struggled to figure out if there was something going on, surely you couldn't be that tired every time you talked to him, right?

No, he couldn't stand by this. His duties as your lover were being unfulfilled the longer he stood by and watched you (supposedly) be miserable, this shall not prevail!

He wanted to catch you at a time with not many Spider-People in HQ, he knew that you'd be up anyway. Miguel had brought you to many scenic areas, so he frequented those every once in a while to check if you were there. It was the most bountiful search he'd ever been on and his senses had never been sharper before.

That was when he saw you, perched on one of the many columns. You wore a sweater over your suit to accommodate for Nueva York's chilling cold at night, Miguel rushed to your side. Literally.

You startled with a shrill scream when he landed right beside you, the sound of him landing was thunderous almost. "Jesus fucking Christ, Miguel! Where did you even come from?!"

"That's not important," he doesn't give you any time to process what's going on before you're being scooped up, feet dangling slightly in the air as your hands fly to his shoulders.

"Wha– Miguel!"

"Are you okay?" You paused. "You aren't."

"I didn't say anything for like one second," you sighed. "What is this about? You don't usually drop from the sky when you need me."

"You've seemed off and distant," Miguel had slowly begun to set you down, but still kept his arms wrapped tight around you. Normally, he'd be concerned for the potential amounts of people watching him. But whatever, let them stare. "It's not me, not work, and not friends. What is it? You can talk to me."

You bite your lip. "I've just–" you rubbed your face infuriatingly with your hands. "I'm on my period right now."

"Oh."

"I- I know, it's not the best excuse, but I've been distant because I just didn't want to say anything mean. Gwen made a joke I didn't like, some other spiders were talking about you funny, and I already yelled at Peter B. yesterday so I- I just—" Your head hung low, your shoulders dropped. "I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

Miguel felt like an idiot for not noticing. It all made sense, you opted out on certain missions that seemed too physically taxing. You haven't been to HQ's gym in a while too. Not to mention that you've been avoiding coffee like it was the plague no matter how much you loved it.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, "That one's for Gwen."

He pressed another to your nose bridge, "For the spiders."

He pressed two to your nose bridge, "This is for Peter."

Then he pressed five to the other side of your face, "And these are just in case I did anything that upset you beforehand."

"You didn't do anything actually," you said. "But thank you. You're always so sweet."

"That's just a given, isn't it?" Miguel pressed his forehead against yours. "Baby, you can always tell me when something is bothering you. Even if it's your period. I'll try to do my best to make you feel better, now what do you need?"

"A smoothie and take-out..."

"Let's go get it then."

[me-and-your-husband]

widow's bite (1) || e. williams

summary: "...the dangerous Black Widow is to be approached with caution, as the Black Widow's bite can cause death. she encases her victims with silk, then kills with poison from her fangs."

or

you're a black widow. you're sent to kill Spider-Woman. something inside of you just can't do it.

warnings: smut in future chapters, ellie is 18 and reader is 19, dreykov being gross which is canon, mentions of suicide attempt, canon death (sarah), swearing maybe? probs more, not proofread cause i'm lazy

word count: 4k

a/n: soooo i got this request and although it took FOREVER for me to write it, i was so excited that i just had to make it a series...i SWEARRR i'll try to update regularly but going back to uni is kicking my ass a little. also, ellie is basically mcu!peter. some of the avengers may make appearances. tony isn't dead.

You stood tall in front of the massive screen in his office. Videos of a girl in a red and black suit swinging through New York City illuminated your solemn features. At the top of the screen, there were only a few words: Spider-Woman: TERMINATE.

“She keeps coming so close to discovering our New York base,” Dreykov’s accent spread through the dark room. “I can’t have her getting in the way of my work. This is important.”

You nodded, eyes never leaving the screen.

“You will bring her body back to me. She seems to have some sort of abilities, abilities I can use to make you stronger. Better.” His thick hand slithered up your shoulder. “Do you copy?”

“I copy.”

His lips twisted into a sinister smile, his gross breath hot on your cheek. “Always so obedient.” He licked his lips.

He smiled, “You take off…” he glanced at his watch, “right now. I don’t want to see you again until she's dead,” he spat in your ear.

“Yes, sir.”

"Hey! Come back, mister criminal!”

Faint thwips filled the air as Ellie swung past corporate building after corporate building, chasing some burglar who happened to try robbing Delmar’s when she was ordering sandwiches for her and Joel. He would have to wait. She was just lucky she had her suit under her clothes.

He booked it down the sidewalk, cash flying out of the duffle bag, throwing pedestrians to the side as he tried escaping Spider-Woman.

She grunted as she dodged semi-trucks and cars, bikers and typical New York tourists. She almost lost sight of him when he turned a corner, but she could still hear his laboured breathing.

She could sense that he had stopped, under the impression that he had thrown her off his trail. He was resting in an alley up against an apartment building. Climbing to the roof, she perched herself on top as she looked down at him, hands on his knees as he panted.

“Hey, man, I think you forgot this!” She yelled as she dropped next to him. Before he could react, she cocooned him in webbing and left him stuck against the wall.

“You got a pen by any chance?” She asked, to which she had to dodge a ball of spit directed at her head. “Should've guessed.”

She pulled her calculus notebook out of her backpack with one of her good pens and scribbled a note on it:

“This is the one that robbed the bodega. I think you should cut old Delmar a tax break for his troubles.

Love,

Spider-Woman”

She called it into the station and webbed the note to the criminal, webbing his mouth shut too while she was at it.

As she walked out of the alley muttering “all in a day’s work”, she heard the faint pleas of a small child. Letting her heightened senses guide her, she swung until she found the source coming from an open window in a different apartment complex.

She slid the window open far enough to get inside, putting her hands out in front of her when the child noticed her and was frightened.

“No no no! Just your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Woman, not gonna hurt you! I promise,” she said, getting to the little girl's level. The girl’s eyes softened and she seemed to trust Ellie.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, lip trembling. “My sister…please help.”

“Okay, where is she now?”

The little girl pointed outside of her door, “The kitchen.”

Ellie took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to go help her. You stay right here, okay? Don’t move.”

Something inside of her told her that something was wrong. She brushes it off as someone else being in danger.

As she creeps out of the child’s room, she surveys her surroundings. It looked like a regular New York apartment, a little messy, but nothing her and Joel’s place hadn't seen. Everything was fine.

Until it wasn't.

She suddenly had difficulty breathing when you jumped from somewhere above and wrapped your legs around her neck, squeezing. You elbowed her head repeatedly.

She grabbed you by your hips and threw you off of her, gasping for breath. Her naivety still told her that you needed help.

Was it her naivety?

“Calm down, lady! I’m trying to help you!” she said, still gasping. She watched the girl scurry past her and over to you. “I thought I said—”

She stopped talking when she saw you hand the girl a twenty, eyes still trained on Spider-Woman.

Once you knew the child was a safe distance away, you attacked. His voice rang in the back of your head. No casualties. No witnesses.

You lunged at her, hands finding her throat.

“Woah, at least take me on a date first,” she remarked as she easily slid out of your grasp, jumping up to the ceiling and latching on. She webbed your left arm to the wall. You let out a grunt of dissatisfaction as you squeezed your fist, a blade coming out of your cuff and slicing through the web. It was installed in all of the Widows’ suits in case of capture.

“Oh. That's pretty cool, honestly,” she said as she dodged a bullet from your pistol, flipping down from the roof. You charged her again, this time taking out her legs and pinning to the ground. You threw a hook right at her jaw, to which she exclaimed “Ow!”, catching the next one with ease. Your eyes widened as she flipped the two of you over, pinning you underneath her.

“Look, I don't want to—”

Before she could finish, you had sent electric currents through your suit, effectively tazing her.

In her incapacitation, you were able to flip over again and pressure your knee against her neck. While she struggled for air, her legs flailed underneath her. She managed to knee you in the stomach, opening up an opportunity to throw you off her. You both stood up, ready to go at it again, both slightly out of breath.

“Are you gonna say something?” Silence. “Can you even talk?”

She lunged forward in an attempt to pull down the mask that covered half of your face, a piece of fabric resting atop the bridge of your nose. Before she could grab it, you grabbed her wrists, locating her web cartridges. You released another electric current, frying them.

She stepped back, trying to shoot webs, but to no avail. That's when she saw the text on the bicep of your suit: WIDOW-893. “Shit!”

You threw a swift kick into her abdomen while she was caught off guard and knocked her down to her knees. Her eyes widened as you threw punches at her face, too dazed to think of blocking. When she finally grabbed your fist, she could feel the blood from her nose leaking through her mask and could taste metal.

“You’re a Widow? Like Nat?”

You struggled to get your hand out of her grasp. Instead, you pushed all your weight forward and landed on top of her chest, pinning her arms.

You reached forward and slid your fingers under the fabric of her mask. She struggled underneath you, but you had her pinned and she wasn't going anywhere.

You basked in her struggle, slowly sliding the mask off her face.

“I was sent to kill you.”

“So you do talk. Wait—”

“And that's what I’m going to do.”

“Please don't take my mask off. Please. Please don't kill me. Oh god, I have so much to live for, please—!”

You slipped her mask off completely to be met with her perfectly curved and soft lips, her delicate green eyes, and her pretty freckles, her auburn hair messy from having it under the mask. Her brows furrowed and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for it to happen. When it didn't, she slowly opened one eye, and then the other. She was met with you admiring her face, gaze raking over her features.

Your eyes were wide and seemed slightly glassy, and she couldn't help but wonder why they looked so distant. Why it looked like you were trapped behind them.

She realized you weren't pinning her down anymore. She loosened an arm slowly from underneath you and brought it up to the fabric around your face, gently beginning to tug the mask down.

Your cold grasp on her wrist stopped her. “Don't.”

“Why not?” She whispered.

You tore your gaze away from her, standing up. You turned your back to her.

Looking back at her once more, you said, “Because it will end badly."

You moved to leave through the window, but a thought stopped you briefly

The truth is, you didn't know what to do. It's like you had just gained free will, like she had broken some spell. You had thought you were operating on your own terms until now.

You'd been sent to take out powerful men, some women, usually old, usually established, usually somewhat corrupt. But when you saw the fear in the eyes of a girl your age, your body shocked you back into free will.

Your back still to the girl, you just shook your head and jumped.

She coughed as she pushed herself up off the ground and shoved the mask back down over her face, wondering if she'd ever see you again. If she'd ever find out who you really are.

“This is WIDOW-893,” you said into your comm-link, talking to an obscure agent you'd probably never meet. “I need an extraction. I’m sending you my location now.”

Static sounded in your ear before a harsh male voice began, “Has the mission been completed?”

You elected to ignore the question.

“Has the target been eliminated?”

More silence as you hunted for a place to lay low for a bit.

“Widow, has the target been eliminated?!” The agent’s frustration was palpable in his voice.

You swallowed. “Negative.”

“What do you mean, negative? This mission was of utmost— Sorry? Yes, sir.” Some keyboard clicks. “She can hear you now.”

“893, why wasn't your mission completed?” Dreykov’s invigorated voice droned through the comm. You searched for an excuse that wouldn't get you terminated. Or worse.

“The target seems to have heightened senses. She was able to get the jump on me before I was in position. My identity was almost discovered so I was forced to retreat.”

Dreykov let out a pained sigh. Slowly, he said, “I’m only going to tell you this once, agent, so listen very carefully. You are disposable. The mission must proceed, regardless of your comfort. We can easily terminate you and move on to the next Widow. Copy?”

“I copy.”

“Now, if this happens again, I will have you terminated. You get a pass this time because you're one of the…finer specimens we have. You will not be sent an extraction. You will complete this mission in terminating Spider-Woman. Do not make contact until then,” he said, and you could almost feel his hands slithering up your back and around your neck. “And don't think you're not being watched.”

With that, the connection was severed.

Ellie threw the soggy McDonald’s bag down on the kitchen table as Joel stood at the sink washing dishes.

“Couldn't get sandwiches from Delmar’s. Poor guy got robbed again,” she said as she began digging in the bag for her fries.

Joel turned around to give her a shocked look. “Someone’s gotta look out for the people in this city. Lord knows the cops ain’t doin' much,” he said, shaking his head.

“Well…Spider-Woman looks out for people,” Ellie said, tearing the waters. Joel never really sided with J. Jonah Jameson from that stupid news station, but he was never really for the “vigilante” either.

He sighed. “Look, Ellie…I know you think Spider-Woman is cool and all, and I think it's good that she looks out for the normal people of New York, but I think it's irresponsible. I mean, I’m sure she's got people in her life that love her and she’s puttin’ her life at risk seven days a week,” he said as he dried the dishes and put them away.

“Yeah but,” Ellie said through a mouthful of fries, “If you had that power, wouldn't you be responsible for using it for good?”

“Yes, I suppose. But with great power comes great responsibility, Ellie. And with responsibility comes an immense need for balance. Remember that,” he said, turning to look at her.

Ellie swallowed the last few fries as she took a moment to digest what Joel had said. She gave him a meaningful smile before he turned back around to put the last few dishes away.

She couldn't help but think about your “power”. Was it given to you, or forced on you? How did you become so skilled? You were her age, or at least not far off. She’d never met someone so close to her age who held such a huge responsibility. But was it really a responsibility if you were being forced into it?

She knew she'd probably never come across you again, so there wasn't really a reason to overthink it. Right now, she just wanted to finish her Physics homework and watch The Empire Strikes Back with Jesse.

Weeks had gone by and every moment plagued your mind with thoughts of Ellie. Or rather, if you had it in yourself to kill her.

Your immense training in Covert Ops was indeed handy for situations like these. You shadowed Ellie almost 24/7. You followed her on her commute to her high school, which you noted to be Midtown. You surveilled her through the cameras you'd planted in all of her classes. You followed her after school to the alley where she'd leave her school stuff and switch to her second life. You climbed from building to building as you followed her web-slinging as closely as possible without being seen. You searched and searched for something to justify it, something to prove she's a bad person and deserves to be terminated. But nothing. Nothing when she helped old ladies carry their groceries inside, or rescue little girls' cats from trees, or stop lecherous men from harassing women on the street. Especially nothing when you spied through her living room window and saw her laughing with her dad every Sunday morning.

Three weeks after your first attempt at termination, you had stumbled across the perfect moment to investigate your target’s bedroom. She was at a field trip to the Museum of Modern Art with her class, and her dad was at work.

Around noon, you whistled as you climbed the stairs to the apartment, smiling softly as you find the right one. You knock for good measure, and when nobody answers you slide two bobby pins out from your hair when to pick the lock. Classic, but it always works.

When you open the door you lock it again from the inside so nothing would seem astray. You feel an uncomfortable, throbbing pain in your chest as you look around at the framed portraits of your target and her dad, lots from when she was young. One of her holding a medal in a soccer jersey. One of them at a planetarium together. One of them with a model dinosaur in the background, a hat atop its head, both of them grinning.

You creep through the hallway, looking for one room in particular. Opening the first door, you enter an office space. You decide it might be useful in gathering intel on her family.

You slide open a drawer of the filing cabinet labelled “records”. There seemed to be two sections, one for her father’s business, and one for their personal records. The latter had significantly less material. You slid out the folders and placed them on the desk, taking a seat in the chair.

The first folder read: ADOPTION RECORDS

You skimmed the papers and deduced that about five years ago, a man named Joel Miller (presumably the target’s father) and a woman named adopted a girl named Ellie Williams, but had fostered her long before that with a woman named Theresa Servopoulos, the word “deceased” in brackets next to her name. Anna Williams, her single mother, died shortly after childbirth and a woman named Marlene took her in. However, Marlene gave her up to a foster home once she hit school age.

Another folder read: MEDICAL RECORDS

Ellie had a long history of optometry visits prior to about two years ago, then they just suddenly stopped. There was nothing else really interesting in her file.

Joel, however, was a different story. Medical records that yellowed and flaked at the edges sat in his file from over 20 years ago. He was admitted for a self inflicted GSW to the head shortly after the death of his daughter, Sarah Miller. He was admitted to a psychiatric ward by request of his brother, Tommy Miller, shortly after.

Another file read: ELLIE’S SCHOOL RECORDS

It was evident that Ellie had excelled in school ever since she had settled in with Joel, specifically in the math and science areas. Her transcripts highlighted a bright 4.0 gpa. She had a bright future.

Now with a name for your target, you decided to search her room to gain some more personal intel. Tucking the files away and closing the drawers, you stalked out of the office and down the hall to what was Ellie’s room (the words “Ellie’s Room!” scrawled on a banner on the door making it painfully easy).

The door creaked slightly when you pushed it open. You were immediately hit with the vague sent of pine and mahogany. Dirty flannels and socks were piled in a corner or sometimes littered around the room. An empty ramen cup sat on her nightstand. Notebooks and textbooks filled with complex calculations sat open on her book. Her blankets were peeled back, revealing astronaut bedsheets. “Cute,” you thought.

The cracked open window let in a nice breeze. The light blue walls were littered in posters, photos, and banners. Next to a lesbian flag above her bed were photos of her and the two friends she was always with. Plastered around her room were covers of comics, something called Savage Starlight. There were silly math reference posters, Star Wars posters, and just about everything you would never expect from a crime fighting vigilante.

Her laptop was left open, and a few clicks and an easy password guess later, the screen unlocked to Ellie’s web browser. Her search history made your brows furrow. You expected to find “How to buy weed NYC” or “porn” at the very least.

Search: Is there more than one Black Widow?

Search: Natasha Romanoff history

Search: The Red Room

Search: Dreykov The Red Room

Search: Dreykov Russia

Search: Black Widow Assassins

Search: Natasha Romanoff Phone Number

She had been researching you. Hell, she hadn't done a very good job by the looks of it. And did she really think The Black Widow’s phone number was public information?

You grabbed a figurine from Ellie’s desk and toyed with it as you took a moment to think. Was it really worth taking the life of an innocent girl just for the sustenance of your organization? Was it even your organization? It's not like you could remember how you got there. It's not like you remembered your family, or your friends, or what it was like to have them… It wasn't so bad if you didn't really have anything to compare it to, right?

A soft pressure around your ankles made you look down. Silky webbing coated your boots.

“Sit down,” her voice came from near the window. You turned as much of your body as you could and watched as Ellie gestured to her desk chair. With no choice but to oblige, you sat. She webbed your arms to the armrests, not taking any chances.

She spun the chair to face her direction and then leaned back against the window.

“What do you want with me?” She inquired, green eyes searing into yours.

“I told you. My mission is to-”

“No. If you were going to kill me, I’d be dead already.” Good point.

You broke eye contact and looked around her room dramatically. “Cute room. I like the flag.”

“Tell me what you want with me,” she said, stalking closer to your chair. “I’m not asking this time.”

“What happened to the ‘friendly neighbourhood Spider-Woman’ I met? Do you rest all your guests like this?” You quipped.

“Yeah? Well, forgive me if I’m not so friendly to the one who tried to kill me, has been stalking me for weeks, and broke into my apartment.”

You roll your eyes.

Her large hand wraps around your jaw, forcing you to look in her eyes.

“Roll your eyes one more time and see what happens,” she growls. “Now tell me.”

You jerk your jaw away and kick her in the stomach, enough time for you to effectively sever the webs around your wrists and ankles.

“Fuck, I forgot about those,” Ellie says under her breath as she webs her bedroom door completely shut and stands in front of the window to block your exit.

“Move,” you demand.

“Nope.”

“Move. Or this won't end well for either of us.”

“Nah, I think I’ll just stay right here ‘till you tell me what you want with me.”

You charged her, attempting to throw her to the side and leap through the window she entered through, but she's stronger. She's like brick as she pushes you back.

“Just let me go. I’ve made up my mind anyways. I’m done with you.”

“No can do. I’m not in the habit of letting pretty girls who try to kill me go so easily,” she said, and you felt your cheeks heating up. She webbed the window shut and sat down in her bed, gesturing to her desk chair again. “Come on. I just want to know what your people want with me. Then you can go, I promise.”

You knew it wouldn't hurt to tell her. You'd have to go on the run from Dreykov anyways. Rip your tracker out and all. So you sat and watched as she reached into a drawer in her nightstand and pulled out a pack of peanut M&Ms.

“Want some?” She asked as she peeled it open. You shook your head and she shrugged. “More for me, then.”

“What do you want to know?” You asked.

“Start from the beginning.”

You cleared your throat. “I was given the mission to find you and-”

“No. I get that part, I’m not stupid. I want to know how this happened to you. And how I can help you out of it."

permanent tags:

@winters-fairy @idkwhattonamethisblogs

ellie taglist:

@chrry1ovr @milly-louise @dankpunks @starhrtz @pedrobaby @urlocalgingersnap @wrendermedone @kissyslut @felsweb @darleneslane

a slash thru your user means i'm unable to tag you!

taglists

[raineandsky]

#127

The lock on the door is an easy pick, and with one final touch the door clicks open and allows the villain inside.

Now, the villain is usually well above petty crime. He’s done his fair share of thieving. He’s pick-pocketed, he’s robbed, and yeah, sure, he’s broken into places here and there. But his life is actually fun now, thanks to a villainous promotion and some less of the dirty work, and so stealing ended up rather low on his list of fun weekend activities.

It’s not a weekend, though, and it sure as hell isn’t fun either. This is business, and goddamn if the villain isn’t a professional.

He glances at the screen of the phone in his hand, checking and rechecking the picture he took of the supervillain’s instructions. If only the supervillain wasn’t trained to be a doctor, his handwriting might be somewhat legible. He is though, unfortunately, and the villain is wishing he’d just typed up the words when he had the time before.

I’ve had a ‘tip’ on [Hero]’s address. The villain can just about make the words out. It’s like a word puzzle, which he is notoriously bad at already. I have reason to believe she’s got some important documents in there. Infiltrate, find her stash of secrets, and bring it in.

Easy enough. The fun part of stealing was usually finding the most expensive object, though, and the villain has an inkling that some paperwork won’t exactly make him a millionaire. He tucks the phone into his pocket, taking a moment to adjust his eyes to the darkness before shutting the door behind him and exploring.

He finds a living room, a bathroom, a kitchen, the fridge, ooh she has good taste. The villain plucks a punnet of grapes from the fridge and tosses one into his mouth. The supervillain has him on late nights—he doesn’t have time for dinner at the moment. The hero will have to survive without her grapes.

The office feels like stumbling across a mine of incredibly boring, inexpensive gold. The villain takes to rooting through the piles of papers mounting on the desk. All plain, civilian problems—bills, taxes, a newsletter from the mayor. Nothing exactly incriminating.

“What are you doing in my house?”

Who the hell is awake at three in the morning? The villain wasn’t that loud coming in. He turns dramatically, expecting to make his first introduction to the hero, but he isn’t faced with the hero. He isn’t faced with a hero at all.

An old lady is standing in the doorway, her glasses perched wonkily on her nose and a baseball bat in her hands. The bat is kind of menacing, at first, but then she has to awkwardly adjust her glasses and the illusion is gone.

The villain’s mind is short-circuiting. That’s not a goddamn hero. What the hell has the superhero gotten him into? What the hell is he meant to do with a bat-wielding civilian?

“You’re deaf as well as unlawful,” she adds drily.

“No, no.” The villain's cool demeanour is slipping too fast. “No, I can hear just fine, thank you.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?”

The bat taps pointedly against the woman’s palm. She’d probably injure herself trying to swing it at him. That thought alone is vaguely comforting. Only vaguely, though—she’s still wielding a baseball bat.

“What are you doing in my house?”

“I am here,” the villain starts slowly, “to rob you blind.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. He didn’t expect to run into anyone, much less a civilian, much much less a little old lady. He’s running on a bank of prewritten sentences he used in his thieving days, and for some reason the least helpful one is the one that wants to be said.

The woman’s face scrunches up in an emotion the villain can’t read. At first he thinks it might be distress, or perhaps fear, but then she raises the bat and he realises that, oh, no, that’s actually unbridled rage.

She brings it down in an arc and the villain just about dodges to the side. She doesn’t seem to mind the fact the bat absolutely annihilates her desk in his stead. Jesus Christ, is that thing made of steel?

He may be a villain, and villainy may require a certain amount of balls, but this is where he draws the line. The old lady swings again, crashing into the glass cabinet a hair’s width away from the villain’s face, and he decides that no, he’s not dealing with this shit tonight.

He scrambles for the window, throwing himself out onto the fire escape stairs with his new nemesis in tow. She makes one last swipe at him as he takes the stairs down two at a time.

“I’ll bash your head in next time!” she shrieks after him.

It’s only when the villain is safely on the other side of the building that he slows down. He pulls his phone out, sucking in a deep breath, and unlocks it to look at the superhero’s note again. Really scrutinises it. Then it clicks. He sees the problem.

That’s not a 6. It’s an 8. He was on the wrong goddamn floor.

He stares blankly at the screen for a moment. He’s too old to be putting up with this shit.

He shoves his phone back in his pocket, heaves a age-old sigh, and lets himself back into the building for round two.

[shinobushaori]

I’m literally obsessed w/your work it’s keeping me sane while I try not to think about what’s going to happen to Shinobu in the next movie 💔

I’d like to request just some fluff of Shinobu x a fem reader and they haven’t seen each other for a while. Shinobu is busy being a Hashira and taking care of patients, and reader is busy being slayer taking on mission after mission. Finally, the reader makes it home to the butterfly mansion when it’s already well past dusk, and finds Shinobu slaving away doing late night research. At first Shinobu thinks the reader is some random assistant, but then she quickly realizes it’s the reader, and so Shinobu immediately halts all of her research to dote on the reader. Eventually it leads to the reader gently/lovingly scolding Shinobu for being up late again, which eventually leads to the reader and Shinobu going to bed, and as they catch up, cuddle, and exchange kisses both reader and Shinobu fall asleep. Just very fluffy stuff :D Maybe it even rains too, or it’s cold so Shinobu and the reader have to snuggle up under the covers. All in all just comfort and fluff!

A/N: You're in luck! I actually wrote something really similar but tweaked it a bit to more fit your request. And I'm so happy that my work distracts you as much as it distracts me! Especially from what's going to happen next year LMAO yeah I did find out while writing this tho that I suck at dialogues so that's.. something... hope you enjoy!

LIMITED TIME

- kochou shinobu x f! reader

warning: none

word count: 1.6K

"Finally!"

You squished the demon's remaining ashes under your feet, successfully extinguishing whatever profanities it managed to scream at you. Not bothering to listen to any of them. You're just glad that after a week of overstaying yourself in this village, you've finally gotten rid of the reason you were here in the first place.

It wasn't a strong opponent by any chance but it sure was tricky and cunning. Using ways that even you, who usually just go for the head, think of your actions more deeply. After all, one mistake could lead to a terrifying massacre.

But you waved all of that away. You managed to slay the demon and save people in the process, that's important.

After a while of receiving the countless grateful thank yous, you passed everything else to the Kakushis that had recently arrived with a nod.

"Ame."

Your crow perches on your shoulder and you smile, patting her ruffled feathers as she caws loudly. "Rest! Rest! Rest!"

You chuckle, "Alright, I got it."

Your thoughts wander as you walk towards the direction your crow was guiding you. Warmth settled on your stomach when you realized the familiar pavement and purposely stationed planted flowers as well as the occasional flutter and waves of butterflies.

'Ah.' You fully relax your body, seemingly melting from the warmth on your face alone. You cannot deny that you've longed so much from your family and most of all, from your lover.

It was an unexpected development, you could admit. From close co-workers to friends and then something more. Shinobu captivated you in more ways imaginable and possible. So, imagine the loneliness that clouded you every day that you were away. Being a Hashira as well as her, duties were indeed more important. But sometimes you wish you could be selfish for once and stay one more day with her, free of any worries outside normal, mundane concerns.

Alas, duty calls and you had to be away for two whole months! Countless missions left and right, your recent being the longest you've ever had. It was exhausting and mentally taxing waking up and only having comfort from the frequently exchanged letters sent by the girls and Shinobu before you ready yourself for another night of demon hunting.

Though, you suppose none of those matters now as you stood at the sight of the Butterfly Estate with a tired smile. The sun had already retreated for the day and the bustling mansion was still up and lively, likely nursing after wounded slayers.

You didn't want to possibly distract them so you discreetly went inside and almost immediately bolted towards the work office Shinobu must be working herself on.

You weren't wrong as the clanks and light stomps become audible from behind the thin door.

You widely grinned, you didn't notify any of the girls of your arrival as even you weren't sure when you're free of the duties given towards you. So, you were giddy in your place to surprise Shinobu with your presence.

You raise your arm to knock.

-

Shinobu releases a tired exhale. After the seemingly endless hours stretching on, the beaker she held between her fingers made it entirely worth it. With this specific mixture, she should have a nicely prepared scabbard full of poisonous concoctions of wisteria enough to last a few missions.

'I shouldn't worry for a while.' Shinobu sets the glass aside but momentarily pauses when a knock becomes audible. However, before she could speak, the swish sound of the door harshly sliding enters her ears.

She inwardly sighs, "Aoi-chan, I greatly appreciate your concerns but didn't I-"

"Give the poor girl a break, won't you?"

Shinobu blinks, snapping her head behind. Gaping with widened eyes as your tired state emerged from whatever hell hole you came from.

She eventually snapped out of this quick trance, smirking as you walked closer towards her while she slightly leaned on the table behind. "Oh? Don't tell me you abandoned your missions to visit me? That's sweet but I'm afraid I have to report you to Master~!"

You chuckled, missing her soothing voice yet teasing tone. The two months away truly took so much precious things that you can't help but treasure everything you missed from Shinobu. As you got closer, you immediately pulled her in a tight hug, inhaling the wisteria scent that clung itself onto her and she giggled at your desperate hold.

Feeling you rubbing your head on her neck made Shinobu even giddier, "Now, now. Are you actually coaxing me into not snitching? How cunning of you, my dear."

Already used to this, you didn't mind her teasing behavior. You know just how you could shut Shinobu's mouth and she's well aware of your ability to do so. That in mind, you worked your magic as your hands slowly wandered around her body, while placing small light kisses on her jaw and neck below, grinning at the way she softly sighed as you did so.

Shinobu bit her lip, feeling herself immediately fluster at your touch. She cannot deny she longed so much from you. From your silent touches to the loving gazes. After all, work and research could only do so much to distract her from her aching yearning for you. She's just glad that you're finally free of your duties as much as she is currently too. Tilting her head, she hums at the way your lips last longer on her skin and your palms softly caressing her waist.

"Missed you." You grumbled, leaning away to face her before tilting your head.

"Don't you miss me, too?"

Shinobu chuckles, finding your pleading eyes adorable as she brought a hand to rub your cheek. "Of course I did, my beloved." Her reply easily gets a shy smile from you.

"Good," You sigh, pressing closer towards her again. "..because I missed you so much I could just die."

The Hashira pats your head, loving the way you leaned most of your weight onto her, "Hmmm.. so dramatic."

You completely ignored her words, rather continuing on complaining about your previous missions, grumbling and groaning as if Shinobu was giving attention to everything other than the way you twirled her hair around your finger or the way you lock your jaw the moment you recall something entirely embarrassing or annoying. She could just stare all day and not get tired of doing so.

"..'nobu, Shinobu.. are you listening to me?" She hums, licking her lips and bringing her eyes back and up to your own with a sly grin.

"Something about demons, yes?"

Yep, she wasn't listening. You shook your head. "Well, that's all from me, how about you? I trust that you've been taking care of yourself?"

Shinobu visibly beamed, "Of course, I have-!"

"Don't even lie."

You immediately deadpanned. "You have a futon in here, which you only bring out if you spent a few nights here again. And don't think I didn't notice your cold and untouched dinner set aside either."

Her smile tensed, her head tilting as her purple eyes seemed to glint with a single brow raised. "Well, what's the point of asking something you're already aware of?"

You roll your eyes, "I wanted to test you," You shrug, leaning away from her touch. "I guess you failed."

Shinobu didn't even let a single second pass without her arms tangled around your neck as she immediately pulled you in, her smirk widening.

"Don't think I would let you escape that fast~"

You giggle, easily balancing the two of you as you give her a short kiss. "I'd be saddened if you did." You give her hips a small squeeze, "After all, I wouldn't dream of letting you go."

She huffs in amusement, "My, what a sweet talker you are."

"Says you."

Shinobu laughs, slowly pushing you towards the conventionally placed futon on the side. The two of you immediately cling onto each other, with you burying your head on Shinobu's neck while she lovingly caress your hair, the warm blanket sat above you two.

Pure small moments like these, seemingly ordinary yet profoundly precious, are what Shinobu cherishes the most. Nothing else but love and care radiating from the two of you. How she wishes time could stop and stretch on endlessly just for the two of you to spend time together.

You soon break the long and comfortable silence. "Take care of yourself, will you? Not just for me but for the girls as well."

You take a small peek at her, pouting at the way Shinobu simply smirks with her eyes closed, your words seemingly entering and leaving one ear to another.

"I mean it, Shinobu. Don't push yourself too hard, you deserve a break too."

She sharply exhaled yet the smile plastered on her lips softened hearing your words and you snicker seeing it. You know she secretly likes being taken care well. Although, you doubt she'll agree hearing it.

You return to your supposed location, deep down her nape once again with a satisfied smile. The warmth in your stomach increasingly grows, content being beside your lover like this.

"I love you."

Shinobu feels the heat creep up her face and ears, her heart tug felt painful yet she loved every single beat of it because she knows it's all because of you. You always make her feel like she's floating, always without a single fail. And at that moment, she feels all the strain for the past weeks leave her body as her comfort fully and rightfully embraced her.

Words could never capture the actuality of her feelings and yet it easily left her mouth anyways.

"I love you too."

As she always had and always will.

shinobu secretly liking being taken care of is so so canon to me that i jst had to mention it as a small detail idk why

GRGRGRGG i feel like I could've done better at portraying shinobu but i cant let yall starve any longer so i forced myself to publish this heheheh hopefully i could finish other requests too, have a nice day!

[ihrtsevyn]

HOW TO GET THE GIRL: A LOVERS GUIDE

CHAPTER FIVE: incoming facetime from my lilypad🪷 and hoshi reincarnated🐯 (863)

WARNINGS: slight angst if you squint.

◃ previous ep. ⊹ masterlist ⊹ next ▹

Rubbing your hands across your face in distress, you let out your 5th sigh in the past hour.

Your hands tangled themselves in between the strands of your hair, slightly yanking at your scalp to feel some type of relief from the non-stop pounding in your head.

You couldn't decipher if the cause of the relentless pounding was due to stress, or if your heart had made its way up to your brain and was trying to rattle some sense into you.

You didn't remember tutoring being so draining, then again it had been a few months up to a year since you'd last taken the time to sit in a library and actually teach old material to someone. Maybe it was extra vigorous because all you could think about was the underlying issue of your still present feelings or maybe it was just extra taxing because you knew you'd have to take away more of your free-time to sit cooped up in a library with your longtime crush.

You let out a small whine before your eyes trailed over to your cat that sat perched up on your windowsill. You'd do just about anything to trade places with her.

Before you could even think to wallow in more self-pity, your trance was suddenly broken by an insistent buzzing on top of your thigh.

Incoming facetime from my lilypad🪷 and hoshi reincarnated🐯...

An unknowing smile broke onto your face before you clicked on the green, purposely putting your phone up close to your eyes and eyebrows.

As if on cue, the phone connected to show Yoon and Lily in identical poses making the three of you burst into a small laughing fit.

"Whatcha doin?" Yoon asked, dragging her words out as she propped her phone up against her desk to reveal the stack of ignored homework and lit up nintendo switch.

"Setting up my schedule for the next few weeks." You pitifully murmured before propping your phone up against a pillow.

"I don't know why I accepted to tutor him when I already have so much shit to do." You murmured as you sifted through papers of all of your upcoming events.

"Oh, please. We know why.." Lily tittered as her eyes focused on her own task, flipping through the pages of a binder with a highlighter in hand.

You side-eyed the camera for a split second before going back to marking your calendar. "Ha, Ha, Ha." you plainly uttered with a blank face.

"Don't pretend like we're wrong." Lily added, pointing her highlighter at the screen with a fake threatening sneer.

"We've heard the countless love rambles from you to know you'd jump in front of a moving bus if he asked you to." Yoon countered, failing to conceal her giggles at her own comment.

It was hard to deny their claims or even pretend to be annoyed with them when they were saying nothing but the truth. Your last love ramble was only two weeks ago when you were gushing on how gentle you caught him being with a stray cat outside of the school gates.

It was a vast contrast of how rough he presented himself on the basketball court, and to see him be so soft with a vulnerable animal made your heart beat at a pace that you didn't know was humanly possible.

"Speaking of Niki, I have to text him and get his schedule." you haphazardly mumbled before grabbing your phone.

The call was silent for quite some time but it felt as if the air completely shifted when you made that half-off comment. The widened eyes of the duo staring at you went unnoticed as you searched for his contact name.

"YOU HAVE HIS NUMBER?!" Yoon abruptly shouted before yanking her screen closer to her.

"Uh, Yeah. I need it so we can plan out our tutoring sessions." You replied with furrowed eyebrows and wide eyes, slightly confused by the outburst.

"And this is our first time hearing about it?" Lily interjected, gaping at her phone with a faked hurt expression as she rested her hand on her chest.

"I only got it today! What more do you want from me?" You asked lightly, laughing at their played up antics.

Before Yoon could reply, your phone dinged with a text message, and to your surprise, it was Niki himself.

Yoon's next rebuttal was broken with a quick gasp "Oh, shit. Was that him?" she asked, her hand covering her mouth with slightly widened eyes.

"Yes, actually." You answered, unknowingly straightening your posture as your thumb hovered over the text message banner.

"Well, what'd he say?" Lily asked, her binder quickly being discarded as she shifted her focus towards her phone.

"All he said was 'Hi, this is Niki.' With a smiley face attached." you answered as you laid back in your bed, shoving aside the disorganized flurry of papers on your bed to get comfortable.

"Oh my god, he wants you so bad." Yoon immediately interjected.

You could feel your lips spreading into a smile at her words. "Shut up." You murmured, trying your hardest to force down your smile.

"What should I say back?"

TAGLIST: @sakiimeo @sakuxxi @ilyjxdz @artstaeh @rosas-in-the-garden @k1ttylvr @stilesks @enhagvrl @yourssincerely-mimi @rizzanna-soda @saursoob @haechansbbg @nishislcve @winuvs @kyrojackson @suhiiiies-blog @rikisgeef @soobs-things @jumigurumino @ssukiyakii @baribaaari @eleanorheartschishiya @rikibun @seunghancore @wonik1ss

[starryhutcherson]

do you do male requests? If u do I have an idea 😄 maybe a one shot where the reader is pinning desperately over clapton, but doesn’t think he’d like someone like him since he’s a bit nerdy. But in reality clapton is also the biggest dork ever and likes him just as much:3

━━ OPPOSITES ATTRACT

author's note: i try to keep all my fanfiction gender neutral, except for smut which i write with a female reader, just because i don't really know how to write good male smut, so seeing as this is just a fluffy fic i made it gender neutral as usual thank you for your request! also i stayed up until the ungodly hours of the morning to finish this so pls dont judge if its shit i did my best

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: clapton davis x nerdy!reader warnings: swearing word count: 2500+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

After you’d reached Junior year at Grizzly Lake High, you’d accepted the plaguing reality in which you were a nerd. With your plethora of knowledge regarding random facts, active participation in the school newspaper editorial committee, and expertise in your pre-calculus class, it’s reasonable to say that you were not a typical, soulless high-school student like the rest of the Grizzly population, and it was something that you’d grown to accept.

Being sort of geeky wasn’t all that bad – you had a close knit circle of friends who shared similar interests, and you were excelling in all your classes, so there wasn’t really a reason for you to have contempt towards your social status, right?

Wrong.

You had one very strong reason, a reason adorned in obnoxiously colored clothes and a reason that you were recently paired up with for a science project. 

Clapton Davis. 

You’d had the privilege of sitting near him for nearly a year now, thanks to Ms. Hudson’s seating plan which had situated you just a few desks away from him. To state that you stared at him for the duration of most (all) lessons would be a little creepy, but it was hard not to, when the afternoon hit its peak and you were able to watch the syrupy sunlight crease right over his figure like fine silk — how are eyes that warm possible? Is that shade of brown even real?

You’re in far too deep for someone who you’ve hardly spoken a word to, sure, but could anyone blame you? You couldn’t help it– the lingering glances sent from the overcast shadows of your desk, tucked into a corner of the classroom, pining hopelessly, bouncing your knee with repeated, tense motions and scattering love-heart encircled initials all over your paper. 

Fuck. 

The real kick in the teeth was the fact that Clapton was somebody, at least at this school. He was propped up by popularity and people, effortlessly perched at the head of the social pyramid of Grizzly High, and you certainly were not. Superficial bullshit like this never bothered you in the past, but the fact that Clapton was so comically out of reach felt like a deliberate joke aimed squarely at you, and for lack of better words, it sucked. 

It was taxing labor to try and tolerate your complete lack of a chance with him at the best of times, when you were nestled in the back of classrooms, hopelessly admiring his figure, or passing him in the halls and basking in the fleeting smiles you exchanged – but seeing him up close, being a mere breath away from him, hands making contact for abiding moments that spark against your skin… you deem it the cruelest torture of all. 

The project you’d been paired up for was relatively simple – creating some predictable poster on mitochondrial DNA, but considering the prospect of working alongside Clapton, it became of far greater interest than it should be, science became a highlight of your timetable, a rarity even for you. 

And it’s where you are currently, tense against the stool you’re seated at, knuckles pulsing with a dull ache from cracking them right against the maple wood of the desk — Clapton’s complaining about the point of this whole thing and you attempt to explain the delicate concept of nucleotide composition, while trying not to sound like a complete and utter loser. You’re failing substantially. 

“No, so– the phosphate group is part of the main components which are what form the DNA, but deoxyribose–”

“De–what?”

You huff, wiping sodden palms against the plane of your denim-bound thigh. 

“It’s not—”

“I can’t focus here anyway. It’s too loud,” he grunts, opting to etch his initials onto the side of the desk with deliberate, harsh carvings of his pencil. 

Your gaze swallows up his convex figure. Boredom. Ouch. 

“I can just do it all, if you, uh, want.” 

His head cocks upwards – it’s a tempting offer. But he’s not a douchebag. No matter what people might insinuate. A gradual smirk tugs downwards at the curvature of his lips, hands stilling their previous motions as he turns up to you. 

“No, you don’t gotta do that. Just come over to my place after school or something, you can explain it there, right?”

Your throat clots as though you’ve swallowed mud— your words feel heavy on your tongue and you don’t dare glance upwards from the paper in front of you, in fear of him finding the elation that’s erupting across your guise. 

His house? His house? It feels like an elaborate prank – how how how were you supposed to resist him if he was openly inviting you over? Your nails bite into the exposed flesh of your palm, leaving raw crescent marks in their wake. You couldn’t turn down the opportunity, even if every second would be agony, having him dangled in front of you, so close yet so far. 

You croak out a weak, “Oh, sure, that sounds good—” it sounds better than good. 

But it also sounds worse than it as well. You develop a looming sense of nervousness, forcing your fingers deeper into your skin, choking back a scream of intolerance. What would you even talk about? Sports? Shoes? Or just this stupid project?

He seems to sense your displeasure, because he answers it with a chuckle. “Chill. I don’t bite. Y’know, unless you want me to.”

Cocky prick. 

✩‧₊˚

The walk to Clapton’s house went smoother than you anticipated, casual conversation playing on loop as you wind through the bends of each mundane neighborhood that Grizzly Lake has to offer – his house is the same as a thousand others, but you wear a smile and offer lousy compliments anyway, to which he rolls his eyes a little and tells you that it’s nice or whatever. 

Maybe he’s picked up on your inherent adoration, maybe he’s just toying around with you. You’re not sure– but his damn hypnotic eyes are distracting you from your purpose– mitochondrial composition. Super interesting. 

The pair of you are slumped against his bed, surrounded by sunwashed memorabilia as the afternoon begins to bleed into the evening. Your progress is limited, but you don’t care. Your proximity is the only thing settling in your mind, like dust upon your shoulders and in your throat– you can taste his breathing as it fans across your neck. 

Cedarwood seeps into every crevice of your skin – he’s too damn close. You’re not sure you can take this. 

“It’s sort of like lego.”

Your voice cuts through the incessant tide of your wandering thoughts. 

“Lego?” “Yeah. Y’know— like, okay, the phosphate is the base, and then the sugar molecule connects to that, and then the nitrogenous base is like, your unique pieces, y’know, color, size, whatever, it gives the DNA it’s unique features.”

“Sort of… following?” You grin at the achievement. 

“That’s good!” 

“I never usually get this stuff, so uh, thanks.”

Your heartstrings tangle into one unfathomably tight knot, and your nerves pulse in sharp bouts beneath the surface of your skin. He’s thanking you. And he’s smiling too, pearly whites seeming near opalescent, but maybe that’s your mind, warped with ecstasy. You wished you had more to talk about though. More to offer. But what were you supposed to bring up, your comic book collection? He’d probably laugh in your face. 

“It’s all good. I’m glad I could help you.” His grin widens fractionally. 

“I’m glad too.”

A moment’s silence flutters by. 

“So uh–”

"Should we-"

You chuckle, a smidge awkward, as your sentences overlap. 

“You first,” he tells you, and you shift timidly on his bed, accompanied by the dull squeak of his mattress.  

“Just uh… wondering if I should go.”

He appears to tense, just for a moment, as if your words had implications that you weren’t aware of, but it dissolves as quickly as it came and you can’t analyze his feelings in time. 

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you want.”

Whatever you want. You’re sure he doesn’t want the true answer to that. What you want, what you absolutely want, is mere inches away from you, looking preternatural in the first whispers of a mid-autumn sunset, splayed across his bed with a boyish grin, whatever you want is right there, waiting and daring you to try and take it. You don’t. You can’t. 

“Okay. Uh, see you tomorrow then.”

Shit.

✩‧₊˚

The aforementioned tomorrow is so inconsequentially boring that you debate coming home early. You’ve got nothing planned, no important subjects, and every time you pass Clapton in the hallways, greeted with an elusive raise of the eyebrows or a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it grin, it gets harder and harder to ignore the fiery feelings in your body. 

You can barely take the spiderwebs of angst growing across your stomach, tangled into your thoughts– Clapton. That’s all you can seem to find threaded into every fissure in your psyche. It feels like every stray thought is the gnawing reminder that Clapton isn’t yours. How are you supposed to focus on physics when those honey-sweet eyes are eternally burnt into the forefront of your mind? You’re seconds away from tearing out your own fucking hair, it’s so unlike you to get worked up by something like this. 

Yet here you are. 

Here you are, staring emptily down at your worksheet, filling in the answers with ease, wondering how much easier it would be to attract attention if you had more appealing interests. If you knew how to skateboard instead of the elements of the periodic table, if you spent your money on clothes instead of comics. Shit. Shit, you really liked him and he really probably didn’t like you. It stings like a childhood wound, like hydrogen peroxide festering amongst skinned knees. 

Fuck this.

✩‧₊˚

The day is achingly slow, boredom clinging to the air and swallowing you whole. Each class just feels like going through the motions, your thoughts are stuck on one thing and one thing only, and you hyperfixate on every previous interaction with him, sourly regretting every word you’ve ever spoken, praying he didn’t think they were as weird as you did. 

You want to scream! The schoolbell released you after what seemed like decades, and now you’re shuffling down the streets back to your house, where you can hopefully catch a break from your constant stream of deprecating thoughts, but no. 

The roll of a skateboard pounding against the graveled roads becomes audible as it slows behind you, a familiar voice cuts through the silence. 

“Going home?”

It's him.

You turn around, plastering a weak smile across your face. 

“Uh, yeah. Why?” He inches a little closer, picking up his board and tucking it under his arm. “Can I come over?”

Your stomach snags on itself, an airy sensation spreading across every tense limb. It’s a bold move, but it’s a welcome one. 

“For the project?” He shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Also just to hang out.”

You perk a smile at this, for a brief moment, before it melts directly from your face. Clapton in your house? Clapton in your room? You visualize each poster, each stupid certificate your mom made you hang up on your wall— he can’t go in there. You’d die of shame. 

“Oh, uh, I’m kinda— busy.” He frowns. “Seriously? C’mon, just for, like, an hour.”

“Clapton—”

“Please?”

It should flatter you, how desperate he comes across, but you’re too worried that after he sees you, like, the real you, presented through your room and your stuff and your interests, that he’ll be weirded out, and scamper away to some cheerleader or something. Still, those pleading eyes work wonders on you, and it becomes impossible to refuse them. 

“Okay, fine. An hour,” you mumble, and set off back on your journey home with him following close behind. 

You make it to your house, hesitantly guiding him into your bedroom– he doesn’t seem to have much of a reaction. You were definitely overthinking it. 

He makes himself welcome, collapsing on your bed with a sigh, laying sprawled on his back with his eyes trained on your ceiling, eye to eye with your collector’s edition Return of the Jedi poster, limited edition, signed. 

You tentatively join him.

“You like Star Wars?”

He asks, gesturing to the poster, no teasing present in his tone. 

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

“Seriously? What’s this one about?”

You can’t help yourself– he seems properly interested, and even if the question was merely to start conversation you attack it, spluttering eager sentences about the plot and the characters and oh fuck, you’re really going on about it. His eyes have left the poster and he’s rolled onto his side, vision stuck straight on you, he’s probably judging you. 

You cut your own sentence midway, feeling the apples of your cheeks redden with embarrassment as you shrink back down to your previously timid self. 

“Sorry. My bad,” you mumble, picking a loose thread on your duvet. He notices, faltering a little. 

“What? No, come on. I’m invested now.”

You sigh, your eyes drilling holes into your shoes, where they stay staring. “Why? Why do you keep, like, talking to me and stuff?” He sits up so he can join you, shoulder resting beside yours. “What’d you mean?”

Your body feels uncomfortably taut with the suspense of this tangible moment, and you decide that you might as well get this swollen feeling off your chest before it bursts inside of you. 

A moment’s silence. A bated breath. You harness whatever confidence you can find in yourself (though it’s pretty barren), and go for it before your thoughts can catch up to you. 

“I just– I’m not, like… I’m not like your other friends. And I… I dunno, I… look, I like you. Like, I really like you, and I know it’s stupid, but I feel like you keep on giving me, like, mixed signals– but I don’t wanna—”

“Wait, you like me?”

You let out a begrudging exhale. “I know, it’s stupid–”

“What? You’re kidding right? You’re, like, perfect.”

Your head jolts to him so quickly you’re surprised you don’t get whiplash. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re super pretty, but like– you’re smart, and you’re nice, and you’re funny… you seriously like me?”

You’re barely processing. It feels like you’ve swallowed rose thorns, like every grain of sand has settled in the pit of your stomach, filling you up from the inside out, drying out the cavity of your throat. 

“Y–yeah?”

He chuckles, a noise you want sewn into your memory forever. “I like you too. I totally have for ages.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull. “Are you serious?”

Again, he flaunts that grin that you’ve marveled at for far too long. And it takes you a moment to realize he’s not replying– not with words. But his face is closer than before, and suddenly you could count every freckle, you could name every color in the ring of his iris, and he’s closer still, and only your eyes are doing the talking, and then his soft lips hit yours and everything stone inside you cracks. 

He moves gently, as if you’re made of frozen sugar; his hands find your waist, he paws at it slowly, too much, not enough— and then he pulls away. 

“That serious enough for you?”

You stammer out a butchered sentence, before roping yourself together, somewhat. “You can’t do that!” You choke, though there’s no malice in your tone, because he can hear your smile, even before he can see it. 

“Just did, baby.”

“You’re unreal. This— this isn’t real,” you chuckle in awe. 

“Mmm… I’d say it’s pretty real,” he smirks, reaching for your hand and squeezing it for emphasis. 

“Why’d you like me?” If you hunt for it, you can still taste the vestige of him on your trembling lips. 

“I just said, remember? You’re really generous, and you’re, like, patient with me, when nobody else is. And you’re painfully hot.”

You snort at this. “You’re the hot one.”

“Hey, we can both be hot.”

You giggle, squeezing his hand back, you fall into a pattern. You fade into him. 

“Oh my god, I actually can’t believe this.”

He presses a chaste peck to the canvas of your cheek, spreading a ruby flush that’s all for him. 

“Believe it.”

And you start to.

masterlist

✩‧₊˚

[tunaababee]

Feysand drabbles/fics from the angst/fluff prompt list!

72. “You need sleep.” and/or

94. “I won’t lose you too.”

Please and thank you!💕

72. "You need sleep." thanks for this @asnowfern!! i just hope im doing these babies justice. im hoping i can get around to the second prompt sometime soon if the inspo strikes!!

if anyone wants to send others in, im more than happy to still take requests for it!!

There were always little constants in life that could be relied upon rain, hail or shine. Some a comfort - the way the stars constantly shined with the same fervour above Velaris, the beauty in the changing of seasons, the warmth from those she loved. Then there were the few that were nuisances.

Laundry. Taxes.

Or, in Feyre’s case, the debilitating bout of art block she couldn’t seem to shake.

She dragged her stool back from the canvas, the sound of wood scraping on wood feeling like it was rattling around in the depths of her skull as it echoed through the studio. Classes were on a small break, to give her and Ressina a breather and prepare for a particularly large batch of incoming students. It always warmed her heart with how quickly the people of the Rainbow had embraced their little studio and it brought her such quiet joy.

But right now, Feyre was just about ready to hurl a tube of paint at the canvas in the hopes that it’d shape up a bit better. This wasn’t feeling like the breather she had intended for at all.

She perched herself back onto the stool, arms resting upon her knees as she stared out the window behind her incomplete canvas. No matter how many walks she took or notes of inspiration she stowed away for later, nothing seemed to be sticking. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel like creating - if anything, that was half the problem. All she wanted to do was create but nothing her hands were making was sating the urge she felt in the pit of her stomach, gnawing at the back of her head.

Feyre stared at the canvas with a furrowed brow, deep in contemplation. Originally it had started out as a slightly more abstract portrait of Rhys, but when it wasn’t quite panning out she had started over and tried to angle for something more rooted in realism - a study of the cityscape from the view that the studio afforded her. But she wasn’t quite nailing the details, none of the satisfaction that typically surrounded the process. Back to the drawing board. Now, she didn’t even know what she was looking at. It was definitely abstract. But beyond that, she didn’t know. There was nothing speaking to her, no vision calling to her with even a rough idea of what it could turn out to be.

So she stepped across the room firmly, continuing to play with the colours in her palette and the brushstrokes on the canvas to see if she could salvage anything out of this little experiment.

The determination clouded her other senses, ignoring the waning moonlight and the small prickle on the back of her neck that would have told her that her beloved had quietly slipped into the room. Instead, she let out a small squeak as Rhysand’s arms slid around her waist, gently tugging her closer as he moved to rest his chin on her shoulder.

“Evening, darling.” Rhys quietly purred into her ear, a small smile breaking across Feyre’s face. She turned to press a kiss to his cheek, but he caught her lips with his before she could, gentle and soft.

“Evening to you too. What brings you to my humble little studio?” There was a quiet laugh in her words, her eyes turning back to the canvas even when she could feel his still firmly locked on her.

“Well, I had finally finished up all my dull paperwork for the night only to find our bed empty and my wonderful mate nowhere to be found. Obviously, I’m here to rectify the issue.”

Rhys’ hands moved to Feyre’s hips, his mouth trying to find purchase on her neck when she moved from his grip to put her palette and brush down near the canvas. Maybe if she could work in some of the same shade of purple Feyre could see in his eyes, this piece might start shaping up.

“You’re finished already? I’ve barely even made progress on this... thing. I don’t know what it is yet.” Feyre began to rifle through the paints they had to find the perfect shades to mix as she spoke. Rhysand barked a laugh, that signature smirk spreading across his perfect features. He slipped his hands into his pockets, merely watching his mate for a beat.

“Feyre darling, you’ve been here for quite a few hours now. It’s long past midnight.”

Feyre stopped in her tracks - she knew she had a tendency to get lost in her work, but had she really been stuck on this piece for that long? She immediately stopped what she was doing, hurriedly putting the paints back before crossing the room to the studio window. Leaning out of the window, she could definitely see the moon was past its peak in the sky. Before she could ruminate on it much further, Rhysand turned her around, sitting her on the windowsill before coming to stand between her legs. He rested his brow against hers, eyes boring into her with an intensity that she could never get enough of.

“I’m still stuck though, I need-”

“You need sleep.”

Feyre couldn’t help but huff slightly at him - he was right, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Maybe. But I do need to clean up first, at least.”

With a snap of his fingers, the canvas was leaned against the wall in an out of the way corner, stool tucked under a table, paints put away - everything righted without a second thought.

“And I need to have my mate with me in our bed, lest I go insane without her.” Rhys tugged her closer with a chuckle, chest pressed against hers. Any other day, an inexplicable heat that only he could ever elict would have bloomed in her chest and shot straight to her stomach. But tonight, they were simply exhausted and Feyre couldn’t help but melt into his arms, her own moving up to slide around his neck.

“Then take me home, Rhys.”

“Always my pleasure, darling.”

She kissed him again, firm and passionate, as he winnowed them back into the warmth of their home.

The next day, she had finished her piece - a painting of legs and arms tangled amongst each other, holding one another, tangled in inky black sheets.

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 54

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

I just think they're neat: chapter art by @garbagemilkshake

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Dom Donnie, Human/Turtle Relationships, Turtle Noises, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay

Synopsis:  A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

I am here again to shout out @mothmans-left-nipple with whom I joked about this chapter's concept, here it is in all its silly glory!

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Tucked in at the man’s side, you covered your mouth to stifle your excitement if only for the other diner’s sakes. They too had gone through the upscale absurdity of checkpoint after checkpoint of posh. It was the tax to pay from having your coats taken to your reservation being scrutinized. You were evaluated from the moment you stepped foot inside the building to when you were being led down an intimate hall. It was only then that you were granted true access and left alone in an exclusive dining space. A very specific sort of humiliation you weren’t sure you were ever going to get used to, you did at least enjoy the decor. There had to be something about the lights, angled just so, that illuminated each table in an ornate woven tapestry.

From white tablecloths to cherry wood accents, the silver on the table glittered around place settings crafted especially for you. Your chair had been pulled out once, a nod to your passing, and you took a careful seat. If you perched on the edge it almost felt like you were meant to be here. All a charade, you knew, but you played your part as your companion took the seat next to you and continued to titter.

“When he sings La Vie en Rose!?” Hypno gushed.

“It has to be in French! They have the English version on the soundtrack!”

“The soundtrack!!” You could almost see a heart appear in the magician’s throat.

For anyone around, they probably imagined the two of you were on a date.

A waiter came around to take drink orders and, in passing yours off, you saw your actual boyfriend.

Looking very much like he and Warren were the unwilling participants here as a guise for you and Hypno to go out, that wasn’t so far from the truth. Donnie currently appeared to be trying his best to dissociate while Warren made kissy faces at his reflection in a soup spoon.

“We get it. You both like the show. You’ve been talking about it for hours now.” Warren winked at his visage before dropping the spoon like a weapon in hand.

“Well maybe if someone would watch it with me…” Hypno turned his snout up from across the table.

“I sat with you while you watched it!” Warren swung his body and the utensil to lean on it as if it were a post.

“While you scrolled on your phone leaving hate comments.” Hypno looked, unenthused.

“You love when I destroy the confidence of pompous media influencers. They don’t even have journalism degrees and I’m supposed to listen to some half-baked baby who can’t afford a proper lav blabber about the news?!” Warren put on what you imagined he thought was a debonair face.

Hypno was equally nonplused. “There comes a certain point-”

Curling his wiggly body around the spoon’s handle, Warren crawled up it before seating himself in the bowl. With an alarming amount of skill, he then bent it back and aimed his makeshift trebuchet at Donnie.

“Uh…!” You piped up as your boyfriend didn’t so much as blink in the worm’s direction.

Warren took aim but as soon as he launched himself a ring appeared like something from a dog obstacle course. As soon as his pink body entered it, it jerked upward to scoop him out of the air.

“We said no magic at dinner!” Warren hung a furious limp above the table.

“We also agreed ‘no harassing our guests!’” Hypno’s eye twitched.

“Harassing!? I was trying to wake him up! What kind of etiquette is it to ignore such an esteemed dining companion?!” Warren bounced upright and placed a proud hand to his chest.

“And who would that be?” Donnie reluctantly emerged from wherever he was and flicked a bored gaze up at the worm.

Warren alit with fury and threw himself down toward Donnie.

Only Donnie's aura read smirk as he watched Hypno manifest a bunch of spinning rings in an attempt to catch his husband. With years of clear practice, Warren wormed his way through the onslaught, dodging nearly all of them save the last which clipped the tail end of his body. It caused him to spin wildly where Donnie only prepared at the last moment by picking up a napkin. He then used it to catch the worm as if he couldn’t stand the thought of touching him with his bare hands.

“I believe this belongs to you.” Donnie wadded the cloth and tossed it to Hypno.

“It unfortunately does.” Hypno sighed as Warren fought from within his sack before turning toward you. “Excuse us a moment?”

“Sure…” You bobbed an assuring nod.

Hypno gave you half a thankful smile for it and carried the Warren bundle away to have a stern talk.

“We can leave now.” Donnie didn’t bother watching them go.

“Try to be nice!” You hissed.

He waved down his body in demonstration.

“You agreed.” You quieted as the waiter came around delivering drinks.

You both waited for the man to leave before starting back up.

“Hypno is one thing. He is a contact and supplier. This? I did not agree to this.” Donnie gave the first bubbling simmer of a glower. “Not dinner with him.”

“Warren is…” You started out, but didn’t have a single defense.

Getting here had been a bit of a whirlwind. 

Unlike Mikey who easily steered conversation to and fro, talking to Hypno was more your speed. Branching off from how easily the two of you interacted in public, you also quickly found you had things in common that weren’t related to mixed company. Chatting with him was like catching up with an old friend. Using a bit of his flare, you imagined him folding in like a card into your hand as if he was always meant to be in the deck. 

It also didn’t help that you couldn’t shake your lonely read on the magician. Even as of late, with the addition of his villain’s group, he still seemed broken apart from any sort of support system and didn’t particularly fit anywhere. He was a simple man, who happened to be a mutant, with a craving for the stage, and a deep love for his husband. He had his pride, he had his work, and he said the man he’d married was the one who understood him best. From the way he described their meeting, it very much seemed like the two had found each other at some sort of low point. First rooming together out of financial hardship to eventually growing intimately attached, you’d been a little startled when Hypno had shared a wedding photo.

Warren Stone had, up until that point, been described as nothing short of a larger than life personality so when you were presented with a photo of a worm mutant, it was not something you had been particularly ready for.

You’d bitten your lip on asking about a size kink and was sure they made whatever they did work, on account of how smitten Hypno was. It was past that where you had difficulty keeping your mouth shut. You only knew what you had heard, but it seemed like more than enough. There had been mentions at the gala of Warren’s hard headedness which had been further cemented by the few comments you’d heard at group.

You didn’t like the way Warren treated Hypno.

You had first started out as sly as you could. You made attempts to look past first perceptions and Hypno was happy to talk about his spouse with the slightest prompting. It was only that, with each detail you gathered, your perception was souring fast. It all came to a head when Hypno had mentioned he’d been wanting to try a restaurant with a watercress salad that looked scrummy, but Warren found the plant to be repulsive. Immediately vetoing the entire option even though there was a whole entire menu for Warren to choose from that didn’t include said dish, Warren instead took Hypno out to some place they’d apparently been to a hundred times instead.

Hypno took it in stride. 

You took it as a personal attack. 

You would happily fight a worm for Hypno. 

You didn’t even know if he had powers, but you didn’t care.

The hang out as of yet had been nothing short of a confirmation with no exact planning, but you’d invited Hypno out to the restaurant he wanted on the spot.

The surge of responses had been an avalanche of care, but somewhere along the way, the goal had shifted. Hypno felt indebted to you and asked if the lunch could be pushed in favor of an elegant dinner instead. Something where there was no pretense for mind control, he wished to redo your gala experience without the judgment of others. Finding zero fault in that, you’d agreed only for Hypno to say how splendid it was and say how he’d get Warren on board.

You’d stared helplessly at your phone.

How did you explain you hadn’t wanted the derelict to come?

You hadn’t known each other long enough for you to openly dunk on the man’s husband.

They’d been married for almost two decades.

You did not have enough information.

Hypno, unaware that you hadn’t replied since confirming dinner, told you that Donnie and Warren didn’t have the best relationship and to keep that in mind. He’d gone on to explain seating options before tossing the whole thing out and saying as long as he got to catch up with you then the night would be a success.

You’d approached Donnie without pretense and gravely told him the situation.

The look of disgust that sat on your partner’s face was one that lasted for hours.

There was nothing to be done to get Donnie to agree in that state. 

You’d only waited earnestly until he had calmed down enough for a discussion and then approached him with how you felt their relationship was unjust. Your partner respected you enough to listen, but again, took several more hours until he could muster up a response.

It had been a bitter acceptance if only to see the two break up in real time.

That being another can of worms, you soured knowing the saying was forever tainted by the thought of having to deal with more than one blond headed plague. 

In the span of a day, you were suddenly drowning in plans. There was yours, which had lasted all of five seconds as you immediately realized, for the second time, that their marriage was none of your business. You knew far too little to pass judgment which was doubly reinforced as you had a shuddering thought of having almost acted like the other turtles. You would be hands off in the matter. Your lips would be sealed and you’d act as a bystander at best. You were also Hypno’s friend. If you were to say, treat him like the gilded man he was, then it was out of your hands if it starkly contrasted with how his partner dealt with him.

The thought made you feel a little like you’d been tainted by Donnie.

It brought you to your boyfriend and his participation in the matter. You’d brokered what you’d realized and brought it to Donnie already knowing how he’d react. He had years of being treated like less than from whispers that were too loud to pretend to be anything else. His filth was shouted openly and though for a long time he’d relished and wore it like a badge of honor, that didn’t mean bitterness hadn’t crept its way into his heart.

He had his own plan in regards to the matter and only because you were going regardless of his attendance. He spoke of concerns of safety and there was something honest about his stark attitude that surpassed what seemed like paranoia. He reminded you that his walls would be up, this was a work adjacent activity, which meant that by proxy he’d be on a certain sort of stoic behavior. He’d only cleanly said he would curtail obvious cruelties, but his image was one you knew needed to be preserved. Details of the location were required as he made mention of insurance which was made all the more haunting as he chuckled to himself about a pattern. 

You hadn’t bothered asking and only thanking him for cooperating the best he could. 

He hadn’t accepted and instead urged you to specify who was in attendance if you chose to hang out with Hypno again after this outing. 

You already figured as much, but hadn’t put together that Donnie was trying, in a roundabout way,  to explain to you just how bad the worm was.

Donnie had hatred in his heart. 

A simple fact, you never blamed him for it. 

You just imagined yourself more easy going than him. 

That was maybe why you missed the many seeds being spread as you joined the final plans which were ironing out details with Hypno. The magician had his own Donnie-like hook-ups that he’d joked about acquiring via mind control. Something you long knew possible of the man, you turned a blind eye to his not so sly comments and unfortunately skirted over more. There was Warren’s meddling with the date where there always seemed to be some excuse with whatever everyone else came up with. Once one was finally selected, you heard tale of the worm’s protests from service to chef, all while coming from a man who had supposedly never been to this restaurant before. Through Hypno’s funnel, the comments seemed more casual, spoken as if Warren had refined tastes and not in the tone of voice you would come to know from the worm. 

Meeting the pair at the entrance, Warren had greeted Donnie with a single ‘you’ and introduced himself to you with an outstretched hand you’d tried to shake. In a flick, he dodged to instead place an ancient business card in your palm and told you that autographs were a set price. You’d only stared in a sort of revolted awe before Hypno had stepped in laughing awkwardly.

Things rapidly began to make a lot more sense after that. 

In a silent fury, you had immediately gone to hug Hypno, which surprised the larger man, and couldn’t help but throw a glare at Warren.

The worm seemed not to notice as he asked to get this show on the road.

Speaking to his level of clout, he then proceeded to treat staff like dirt and paid little mind to the rest of his party as he took the first seat at the table.

You had gone from disliking the man to despising him which was only offset by Hypno asking you about the show you’d just watched. A man adept at diversion, you’d gotten swept up and distracted in your excitement to chat about it. Unlike Warren, Donnie had watched with you, but he wasn’t the type to analyze a show. His were bare bones notes on cinematography and spoke less about character’s actions outside of the obvious. 

You loved him, but he wasn’t all that great for theories.

Hypno, on the other hand, was and that was the point of having a multitude of people in your life.

No one was so one dimensional.

Everyone was made uniquely with a full spectrum of experiences.

“… he sucks.” You decided, returning from the rehashing of events that got you here and shrank into your seat.

Donnie took on the faintest air of understanding and you could sense he disliked how you were sitting across from one another.

Already slouched, you made an obvious show of kicking out your legs under the table.

Donnie barely had to move for his shoe to touch yours.

“I’m good.” You gave a little sigh. “Want me to say you told me so?”

Donnie shook his head a single time.

“You’re quiet.”

Donnie quirked his brow a bare centimeter.

You stared for a long moment and saw he was insinuating more. “Hypno has really good hearing doesn’t he?”

“Hippos have multiple auditory channels.”

You lowered your head and resisted setting it on the table. “So he most definitely heard me just…?”

Donnie’s silence said he nodded.

“The one thing I was trying to keep to myself!” You bemoaned and grabbed your glass for an angry chug.

“It’s quite alright.” Hypno spoke from behind you and you choked into your drink.

“Yeah, yeah. We’re back.” Warren huffed, clearly unaware of the double meaning and jumped down onto the table. Inching back to his table edge that he was using as a seat, he tipped his head haughty and addressed Donnie. “Truce for our partner’s sakes?”

Donnie’s eyes didn’t widen, but his brows rose the tiniest increment in the old way that showed astute surprise. “Warren Stone.”

Warren perked up and openly let his jaw drop as he didn’t have any of the same inhibitions. “Did… did you… just say my name?”

Donnie only returned the gaze.

Warren balked and sank down in front of his plate.

Donnie flicked a gaze toward you that said his part was done.

You gave him a nod before turning up to Hypno who hadn’t sat down yet. “I’m sorry… I didn’t…”

“It’s not the first and certainly won’t be the last…” Hypno didn’t look at you, but tipped his head in a knowing way. “I had a hunch.”

“I just…” You felt the weight of what you had to say. “You have only ever been kind to me. I want that for you.”

It pulled the magician’s eye with a faint glint and he finally grabbed his chair. “You’re a sweet one. I’ve sung your praises repeatedly now so you know. Seems I can add ‘protective’ to the list too, it seems.”

You nodded sheepishly.

He tapped the seat before finally rounding into it. “If I were to…” He looked across the table and thought better. “Nevermind, I can’t say I necessarily understand, but I do know why.”

“I…. wish I could say the same…” You admitted just as another waiter walked up.

It awakened the otherwise incapacitated Stone who seemed especially intent on figuring out exactly what ingredients were in what dish.

With orders placed in spite of his nagging, the waiter parted.

“Still on this picky kick.” Hypno eyed his partner.

“I like what I like.” Warren scoffed. “Didn’t you ask me not to do this? Why are you badgering me?”

“I’m not.” Hypno’s hands rose up. “Making observations. Moves the conversation along!”

“Backhanded.” Warren spoke out of the corner of his mouth to no one in particular.

“Honestly!” Hypno grunted loudly and with enough force that you felt the air bounce from the table to you.

Warren made a little mocking face, but said nothing more.

“Oh…”

Your small sound pulled the entire table's attention.

Did they know?

They had to.

It seemed so obvious now.

The corner of Donnie’s lip turned up a centimeter in what you read as another cover for his smirk.

They didn’t.

Was this interfering?

You weren’t sure.

You also weren’t about to sit there for the whole meal and listen to them bicker.

You looked between the pair and Donnie who happened to be caught in between. “Hypno’s ready for a change of pace and you’re too set in your ways Warren.”

“That can’t possibly be-!”

“So, what else is new?!”

Where Warren threw you lazy disinterest, Hypno stared with parted lips at his husband.

Your heart sank.

“Warren…?” Hypno mouthed slowly.

“What?” The worm turned. “Oh, don’t give me those watering hole eyes! This isn’t breaking news!”

“I don’t…” Hypno fiddled with his napkin.

“So we’ve gone stale! It happens to the best of them!” Warren inched up onto his place mat. “Look at these two.” He held up a hand for you and Donnie. “I bet they go at it day and night. Am I right?”

You felt your eyes roll back.

Donnie looked down his beak at the worm as if he could eviscerate the insect with this gaze alone.

“I’m right.” Warren gloated.

“The other tables-!” Hypno rose with indignity.

“Table schmables! Hey, toots! Yeah, you with the wig.” Warren threw his attention to a neighboring older couple. “You two together?”

The woman in question startled. “Y-yes…?”

“How long?” Warren scooted towards her until he ran out of table.

“Ten years?” She looked at her partner who whispered harshly back about not acknowledging them.

“Ten…” Warren gave what was almost a sagely nod. “Got you beat by six.”

“Con… gratulations?” She leaned away from her partner, obviously curious where this was headed.

If it wasn’t for his size, you bet Warren could command a room.

Hadn’t his business card said he was a primetime news anchor?

That made his ridiculous phrasing make more sense.

If Hypno and Warren had anything in common, they were all about branding. 

“Tell me truthfully.” Smashing a tiny fist to a utensil, Warren kicked up a spoon and held it out like a mic. “Do you wake up every morning and see the light of your life lying next to you or do you wake up and think: here I go, up to do this again?”

You heard Hypno’s shoulders drop.

The woman puffed up. “You can’t just ask-!”

Warren arched a waiting brow. “What was that?”

The beat of silence as the other diner’s listened in was deafening.

“T-that…! W-well…!” The woman looked frantically around her meal.

“Just say no.”

You watched horror spread on the woman’s face as she slowly turned to her partner.

“You… can’t, can you…?”

You watched a litany of emotions pass over the woman’s face before she tried to turn rage at Warren.

Warren was waiting with an expression that asked for it.

Her partner threw her napkin down and stormed off.

“Charlotte, w-wait!” The woman scrambled after her.

“A randomly polled New Yorker, everybody.” Warren bowed with his spoon and turned to the table.

Donnie’s face didn’t betray it, but you could hear his voice in your mind complain about sample size.

“That’s… how you see me?” Hypno spoke, a hollowed out man.

“You know I care, but the spark is gone! Need I remind you, that happens. It’s the way of love. You know what matters? I stay. I’m here. Every day!” Warren rolled his head and you realized the band around his neck wasn’t a segment of his body, but instead a wedding ring.

Hypno’s haunted face said this was all news to him.

“Look at it this way.” Warren created a box with his hands. “You know what’s good? Pastrami! The first time you have it? They made a scene in a movie about it! And you know what happens next? It’s still good!”

You abandoned Warren’s explanation to plead silently with Hypno.

You didn’t know for what, but he didn’t deserve this. 

Your gaze didn’t reach him.

“And it continues to be good, but it’s not the same! You also don’t see me ordering anything else though, now do you? Because I love pastrami! Not some two-bit vegetable masquerading as parsley’s answer to wasabi! No! I get the same sandwich that I know is good!!” Warren shoved the centerpiece out of the way.

“So that’s that, then?” Hypno found a small breath.

“Obviously!” Warren reached his husband’s plate.

“Fall back on the old tried and true? Never wanting more?”

“More?” Warren crawled onto porcelain. “What more!? This is it, babe! Plain and simple! As good as it gets!”

Hypno’s lids lowered and you could feel the dark energy coming off of him.

Warren through all his neglect felt it too and his airs dampened ever so slightly even though he immediately tried to boost them back up. “W-what…?”

“Our food is here.” Donnie’s even voice sliced through the space.

You snapped to glare at him. 

For everyone else, his face was the picture of neutrality, but you saw every single withheld cue that signaled he was having the time of his life. 

This was exactly what he had hoped for of the evening and, in any other world, he would probably be openly cackling and taking souvenir videos. 

Hypno turned his head away and it pulled your eye. 

Warren looked horrified as he slowly rotated and scooted back to his place setting with his metaphorical tail between his legs.

The waiters appeared as soon as he got in place and, in a coordinated rotation, doled out your meals.

Out of the corner of your eye you also saw them clear the table of the couple that Warren had scared away.

Staring down at a dish you no longer wanted, you felt Donnie pick up his utensils to heartily dig in.

Hypno moved to eat next. “I suppose a beurre blanc would be too adventurous for you.”

“Sounds French and like I don’t care.” Warren responded bitterly.

“We bonded once.” Hypno opened his mouth and swallowed a bunch of asparagus stalks whole. “Over our love of commanding a stage. The awe in a crowd’s eye as you do the unexpected.”

“No, you bonded over that. I told you I stared at a crew and camera.” Warren fought against his knife and a steak that was larger than his entire body.

“But we both chased a high! You with your new stories and me with magic! We had audiences!”

“I had a fan club. You had a failing career.” Warren gave up and sank down his spindly body.

Hypno’s fists came down on the table so hard everything bounced.

Donnie was the only one who remained unscathed as he hoisted his plate and drink up before it occurred.

“So, that’s it then? You want to have it out now? When I’ve been asking you to therapy for weeks! You’d like to have a go while we’re at dinner! In public! With friends and colleagues!”

“Yeah, no because it would have been so much better at that loser’s club you insist on going to every week.”

“Lose-!” Hypno stood and his chair flew back with a force that took out the table behind him.

The people there were unharmed, but they screamed and scrambled as if they needed to run.

It created a chain reaction of diners fleeing for their perceived lives.

You watched a few of them go before catching on how your partner was almost done with his dish.

He was acting like this was an exciting show always meant to be served with dinner. 

“Take. It. Back.” Hypno loomed, his face dark.

“Not a chance, big guy.” Warren wafted a hand dismissively. “In fact, I’ll say it again since you don’t seem to be catching the important headline. I think you’re wasting your time with those losers!” 

“Speak about me how you wish, but you will not insult my friends!” Hypno threw his hand up and a dozen rings appeared in a threatening hover.

“Open your ears would’ya?!” Warren reared in sudden fear.

“Find yours!” Hypno roared and threw his hand.

Donnie stood with an easy swivel out of his chair as the ring sliced straight through the table.

Warren soared out of sight where you quickly lost his small body in the ornate room. Rings continued to fly and since the worm was their obvious target, you could imagine where he was heading. Scaling the room and up a wall, Hypno shored some curtains. Warren grunted with some random effort, but seemed to be faring well considering.

“Babe, come on!!”

“Don’t babe me!!!”

Donnie appeared by your side.

“S-should… I… get up…?” You wondered aloud to him.

Donnie glanced at where Hypno had taken a hard stance beside you. “You’re not the target.”

“This is my fault…” You whispered.

Donnie’s face softened the faintest amount.

In several clinks, Hypno’s rings fell out of the sky before he turned to you with teary eyes. “No, no! That’s not true! You’re…!”

You stared up at the magician.

He knelt beside you. “You’re the reason I’ve been able to break out of my funk! I hadn’t realized the lull I’d fallen into it! You have no idea what you’ve done!”

“You’re the cause!”

Before anyone could seemingly react, you heard Warren’s voice rushing wrath in your direction.

“I should have guessed! Since you appeared, everything’s been changing. It’s you who’s upset my daily lineup-!”

Donnie’s fist shot out just above your head and Warren appeared in his clutches. “I tried not to interfere.”

In a sickly snap, he ripped the worm in two.

He dropped the pieces onto your dinner and you scrambled backwards in your seat.

“Not at all…” Hypno sneered. “Good catch, mate.”

“D-Donnie?!” You spun around in your chair. “What-!?”

“He’s a worm.” Donnie sent a normal sized glare down at you that caused your nerves to flare.

Outside façade.

Outside façade.

You mentally slapped your cheeks and turned back to watch in horror as one half of Warren animated like a zombie.

“How dare you!?”

You screamed.

“Now, now…” Hypno caught your hand. “He’s alright.” He threw a glance at his husband. “For now.”

“So, I’m the bad guy!?” Warren gestured down his body. “He ripped my tux! Do you know what I have to do to get a tailor!?”

Donnie oozed outright malice that said he would happily do worse.

Warren clicked his tongue.

“I loved how stubborn you were once.” Hypno patted your hand, but was clearly addressing the worm. “You fought for us.”

“I still do!” Warren threw out a tiny fist.

“You fight for what’s familiar!” Hypno turned to shout. “You fight for obvious comfort! You… Have you even seen how much I’ve flourished?!”

Warren grappled with several jockeying emotions before he bitterly looked away. “Your…” His voice dropped until it was nearly a whisper. “Your coat… has been more shiny.”

“I’ve been happier than I’ve been in years, Warren!” Hypno shook and you felt little droplets of tears fly off him. “I’ve…!”

“And what am I supposed to do with that!?” Warren rose up the length of his body. “You just up and left me behind one day while I-!”

Hypno stilled as the words hit him. “Warren…”

“Nothing! Shut up! It’s fine!” Warren had to use his arms, but he got himself turned around and clawed a few inches away. “Stupid body!”

“Warren…” Hypno released you in favor of curling his fingers over the edge of the table as if peeking over it. “Did… did you think I’d moved on?”

“No!” Warren grouched, nearing a midway point and stopping to pant. “This is dumb!”

Hypno put pressure on the table and it tipped.

“No! Hey! Knock it off!!” Warren scrambled to catch the table cloth, but slid openly with everything else.

You watched your dinner fall among a clatter of broken dishes.

You weren’t going to eat it anyway with the worm parts and all. 

Donnie touched your back for a comforting weight.

Warren hit Hypno’s snout and glowered at his husband. “Fine… Just…! Pick me up at least!”

Hypno plucked the worm and held him high in the palm of his hand.

It clearly made Warren feel a little safer. “You… you… woke up every morning, same as me until… you didn’t. You survived another run in with those miserable turtles and tittered about some brain washed buffoon from the gala and then suddenly it’s like the sun’s shining for the first time? What was I supposed to think!?”

“What did you?” Hypno’s snout was still under the table.

“I don’t know!” Warren turned away. “So I followed you! I tried to catch the scoop, but you weren’t cheating! You were-!”

You leaned back against Donnie’s hand.

“You were… smiling all stupid and beautiful by yourself… Like you… smiled at me… I don’t know!” Warren shrank down out of sight. “I can compete with some floozy, but how can I compete with you?!”

Hypno lowered his palm down to the table where his eye level was.

Warren refused to look, but you could see him pouting with all of his lower lip.

“You could have said yes.”

“To what?” Warren flicked some debris off what was left of his jacket.

“Sure, I was fine to go at it alone, but I wanted to do it with you. That’s why I kept asking you to come.”

Warren blinked up a little. “You… you didn’t say it like that!” He rounded on his husband. “You would say things like ‘come eat this gross salad with me!’”

“And you could have said yes.” Hypno’s lids lowered in wait.

“I could have-!” Warren cut himself off and did a frustrated waddle in place. “But I don’t like watercress…!”

“And I still don’t like pimento cheese.” Hypno bounced his palm so Warren could get adjusted. “Some things don’t change; like my love for you.”

Warren stared at his partner.

“Others do and it’s up to you to decide if you’re going to fight that or work with it.”

Warren scratched the back of his head. “Life keeps going, huh?”

“It’s why the news updates on the daily.” Hypno’s snout lifted to show his smile.

“I’m… sorry I called your hokey hippie’s losers.”

“It’s a start.” Hypno gushed and gave his husband a smooch so large he looked as though he’d swallow him up.

“The hair!” Warren swatted, a blush on his cheeks.

With a swirl of his finger, Hypno fixed Warren’s coif.

Warren stewed before giving a lazy glance around. “This place stinks. I’m leaving a one star review.”

“I have…” Donnie approached the conversation and surprised every one of you. “… a secondary location prepared.”

“Ugh.” Warren gagged openly. “Overachiever much?”  

Donnie stood completely stone faced. 

Warren threw a glance at you. “Always thinks he’s the best with all his contingencies. This guy, amirite?”  

You simply stared in response. 

“Or-!” Hypno chirped, rising up to his full height and dispelling the awkwardness. “We can have a proper meal. For real this time?”

Warren stuck a finger into the side of his head as if he was picking gunk out of his ear. “What’s the sitch, Berry Bad guy?”

Donnie’s beak scrunched a near indeterminable amount. “Something less elegant.” He glanced down at you.

You looked back up openly and smiled.

“Tacos.” Donnie told you and set his hand on your shoulder.

“They’re adorable, aren’t they?” Hypno cooed.

“Just like us when we were young and dumb.” Warren wrapped an arm around Hypno’s thumb as if to steer him. “They better have good barbacoa!”

“Their reviews are adequate.” Donnie held out a hand and led you out of your seat.

“Shame about this place.” Hypno glanced back where he was already walking away. “How many’s that make it, love?”

Warren hummed loudly. “Twenty something?”

“Twenty three.” Donnie followed without letting go of your hand. “In the past year.”

“That… what?” You checked in with Donnie.

“Place’s Warren and I’ve… reviewed.” Hypno chuckled from the front.

You shot a look at Donnie.

He passed you the barest turn of his head. “I phoned ahead days ago.” 

“And they still let people… eat here tonight?” 

Donnie gave a knowing micro-tip of his head. “They opted to update their insurance and go for a payout.” 

You stared back at him with a frown. 

“Easily thwarted.” He lowered his lids the smallest amount as if his offer to stop insurance fraud was a grand romantic gesture. 

You bumped him and shook your head with a smile. 

“Look alive!” Warren clapped where he and his husband were waiting at the elevator. “You’re buying as thanks! We put on quite the show! This is your future right here! Take notes and get used to it!” You didn’t have to send Donnie your worries because you could feel them through his grip.

NEXT

La-la-love and thanks to my betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

[fenny-self-ships]

How villains would pull you into a spontaneous hug~~

My first request!! Thank you @bread-bastard!!

Prince John~!

This man is MAJORLY touch starved

But is far too proud to admit it

He’d waltz in after a long, arduous day of taxing the poor into oblivion, tired and grumpy, and just... plop his head against your chest

No arms, no warning, just face buried in the crook of your neck, grumbling under his breath

If you know what’s good for you you won’t say a word -- If you do, he’ll up and leave in an instant, face red and blabbing about insolence. How dare you question his behaviour!!

But if you wrap an arm around his waist... he’s not gonna protest

A shockingly tender moment for how cold he usually is <33

Sir Hiss~!

He seems to be quite a touchy person, given all the gentle coils on the Prince’s shoulder, and the slinking around his back

You’d be doing some menial clerical work, counting coins or signing tax returns (HAH), when he carefully drapes himself over your shoulders like a warm, squishy scarf!

A comfortable place for him to perch, as well as providing you with a lovely neck pillow while you work

The confidence is just a façade, really 

Should you mention it, he’d stutter and squeak out an apology, quickly squirming back onto his cushion

Let him have his moment

Scar~!

Smug and self-assured, he’ll take what he wants whenever he wants it, no warning or room for protest

If he wants a hug, he’ll pull you over with a lazy paw, and before you know it, the entire weight of his feline self is on top of you

At least he’s one of the scrawnier lions

If you complain or try to push him off, he’d just pretend to be asleep

But you can tell. Cocky asshole. 

As much as he pretends to be regal and intimidating, he can be quite the cuddle-bug -- just find the right places to scratch, and he’ll lie with you for hours!

Hades~!

He’s very touchy

VERY touchy

And TALL

If he wants a hug, he can and will pick you up

Lifts you up, holds you against his chest or in his lap, never once stopping whatever conversation he’d started beforehand

If he’s feeling a little more suave, he’ll drape an arm over your shoulder and pull you into his side

Here’s hoping you don’t die of heatstroke in his arms

[shitpostingkats]

QUICK TELL ME IN EXTREME DETAIL EVERYTHING YOU LIKE ABOUT EVERY YUGIOH PROTAGONIST

PROTAGS WHOSE SHOWS I HAVE SEEN:

Yugi: SHORT KING. He is very smol and he weighs ninety pounds soaking wet and he will KICK YOUR ASS like the worlds most high school aged chihuahua. Always the friend who offers to dm when everyone talks about starting a dnd campaign. Despite what canon has gone on to say, I choose to believe he maintained his King Of Games title while using his cutesy deck we see in the Yami v. Yugi fight. Doesn't wear heels to events (that was Yami's thing) and always takes time to talk to fans, even if they run up to him on the street.

Jaden: Altered my brain chemistry on a fundamental level. Depressed and queer and a failure, proving you don't have to be innocent to deserve innocence. Does not pay his taxes. The character for anyone who's ever felt monstrous, alien, foreign in their own skin, then breaking down that none of those things make you less human, less deserving of love. Reads comic books and will enthusiastically lend you 300 issues if you even casually mention you've been thinking of doing the same.

Yusei: My son. My boi. I can say so much on him that I haven't even touched on in my numerous essays rambling about this funky little mechanic. If the ygo shows tend to focus on forms of love that aren't romantic, then 5Ds is about familial love. Yusei is passionate and caring and a bleeding heart. The only shonen protag to ever get told by his mom "You're grounded." and say "Okay." and NOT go fight space gods until his mother gives him the go ahead. He's a revolutionary. He knows the trash collector by name. He's a planet. He's a star with gravitational pull strong enough to change the world. He's Just A Guy.

PROTAGS WHOSE SHOWS I HAVE NOT SEEN

Yuma: Bisexual colored hair. Continuing the proud yugioh tradition to be adhd af. I know he sleeps in a hammock so I'm gonna go ahead and call that he's the kid always rocking in place. Leg bouncer. Dyslexic and doesn't know it, just knows that words are easier to read when looking through the blue tinted screen of his weird visor thing. Possibly kills satan? Good for him. Watches telenovellas and gets overly invested in the plotlines. Would probably eat the popsicle stick because he thinks it's part of the experience. He is NOT stupid he is just a dumbass.

Yuya: Tomato head. Looks somehow exactly like three different people I worked with when I did theatre, right down to the googles perched on the forehead with mismatched lenses. I've seen arc-v's opening and idk why but I really like the animation of him slinging his jacket over his shoulder. Really wonderful gender. One of those kids that didn't know about heterosexuality until he was at least ten, then proceeded to be very upset and confused by the concept. The guy leading the rowdy table at waffle house at 10pm that will at some point burst into song and disturb every patron's night but their own.

Yusaku: The kid at the same waffle house just trying to order a coffee. Draws in the margins of his notebook. Skateboards. He does not like to talk about either of these things, but then one day you show him a video with like a million views of some guy inking a giant masterpiece, or doing a backside tailslide off a shipping container and he'll just casually go "Oh hey that's me." Desperately in need of a stim toy and a hug.

Yuga: Had a phase where he was obsessed with firefighters. Also likes to light things on fire. Is shocked everytime when the result of lighting a thing on fire is Thing: *Is On Fire*. I don't think he uses hair gel I think he just scrunches up his eyebrows and concentrates really hard and his hair just Does That. Really wants a dog. Shockingly good at math, favorite number is 25. All of his pencils have bite marks and the erasers are completely chewed off.

Yudias: Looks like a glaceon. It's really heartwarming to see yugioh continually get autistic representation right; a lot of stories don't include the fact that we carry swords and can fire lasers from our eyeballs. Every time I see him I want to hand him a wrapped sandwich, a babybel cheese, and a clementine. Would probably enjoy keeping plants on the windowsill. Every picture I see of him, he is either wondrously excited, or completely baffled, to find himself in the situation he is currently in.

[cardcaptorsakura96]

Taxes, Taxes, Taxes-Chapter 16

Fandom: Supergirl

Characters: Kara Danvers, Clark Kent, Samantha Arias, Lena Luthor, Lillian Luthor, Ruby Arias, Oliver Queen, John Stewart, Diana Prince, Bruce Wayne, Barry Allen, J'onn J'onnz, Alfred Pennyworth, Lois Lane, Cat Grant, Lucy Lane, Damian Wayne, Felicity Smoak, Streaky the Supercat

Summary: What if superheroes had to pay a property damage tax every time they had a fight in the city?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15

Kara and Lena chuckled as they watched Barry and Felicity examine the Kryptonian food synthesizer. They kept announcing what they wanted and watched in fascination as the food appeared out of nowhere. Streaky stayed perched on the counter observing their behavior until she fell asleep.                                                                         

Felicity marveled, “I have never believed in magic, but this is beyond anything I have ever seen.”

Barry beamed and said, “I can’t believe these things from Star Trek are real.”

Felicity looked back at Lena baffled and said, “Why are you not more excited about this?”

Lena smirked and said, “Our hospital labs have been working on this technology for the last three years. It is not nearly as sophisticated as the one that is here, but we hope that we can get it to the point that it can provide food for the entire hospital.”

Kara beamed at Lena and said, “That is amazing!”

Lena looked down shyly and said, “Thanks.”

Barry looked at Lena with marvel and said, “Kara is right. That is an amazing feat. How were you able to do it?”

Lena waved her hand with an embarrassed look on her face and said, “We still have a long way to go on this project. Ideally, we would want to cure world hunger, but if we can at least have it up and running in the hospital, that would be a huge step in the right direction. We partnered with scientists from the Naran planet to make the food synthesizers. I have liked working with them so far because they have left detailed notes and easily explain their process so everyone can understand.”

“The Naran is a highly technological society. Besides being the original creators of the food synthesizer, they have made some of the fastest spaceships and are believed to be the original time travelers outside of speedsters,” said Kalex. 

Kara, Lena, Barry, and Felicity jolted when they heard Kalex speak. 

Kalex frowned and said, “I hope I didn’t disturb you guys.”

Kara shook her head and said, “You’re fine. I think we just didn’t realize you had entered the room is all. You have been quiet all this time.”

Kalex nodded thoughtfully and said, “I will have a reminder to make my presence more know to you guys from now on.”

Kara chuckled and said, “You really don’t have to go through all that trouble.”

Kalex smiled and said, “No, my goal is to make your life here easier. Plus, it would be good for me to learn social norms. I have the knowledge from the internet, but I am sure that there are things always to learn about this society.”

“I can see that. Having spatial awareness is a good thing especially if you are trying not to scare someone off,” said Felicity while grabbing a blueberry muffin from the food synthesizer. 

Kalex smiled and said, “Spatial awareness. Got it!”

Lena looked at Kalex thoughtfully and said, “How long have you been alone here?”

“Hmmm….” said Kalex thoughtfully as she tapped her chin. Her eyes began to glow for a couple of minutes until they heard a ding. She turned to Lena smiling and said, “I estimate based on how old this apartment building is that I have been in the device at least 40-45 Earth years.”

Kara raised an eyebrow and asked, “How do you figure that?”

“Well, Kal has been on Earth for the last 35 years and your parents purchased this place five years before Kal’s arrival on Earth. I am not sure year wise when Krypton was destroyed or how long it would have taken Kal to get here since Jor El had made a custom made ship for Kal to travel in that wasn’t approved by the Kryptonian space board. Thus the estimation,” said Kalex. 

Kara nodded hesitantly. She didn’t know if she would like the answer to her next question. 

She shook her head, sighed, and said, “Why did my parents think to come to Earth and purchase this apartment? How could they even afford it?”

Kalex smiled and said, “Excellent questions!” Kalex tapped her chin thoughtfully and said, “I think the best way to start is to ask a question first. Do you remember the AI system that Krypton used?”

Kara frowned and rubbed the back of her head and said, “Yes, I have been wondering that because I think it has somehow found its way to Earth.”

Lena frowned and asked, “What do you mean?”

Kara turned to the others hesitantly and said, “Brainiac started off as Kryptonian AI.”

Lena, Barry, and Felicity looked at Kara baffled. 

“Wait, you mean the same Brainiac that almost set off the major countries’ nuclear warheads and almost caused a nuclear apocalypse several years ago?” asked Felicity wide-eyed.

Kara nodded somberly and said, “The very one.”

Read the rest on AO3

[electricbluebutterflies]

from the wedding prompts: last-minute arguments for joel/tess?

Modern AU, PG-ish, and also on ao3.

This is what Tess gets for thinking a trip down to the courthouse would be the easy option.

Tess is, as far as she’s concerned, not really the marrying type. She is also aware that changing her status would make certain parts of her life a lot easier, and if nothing else it’ll mean no weird looks from the lady at the tax-prep place next year, and-

Easy option. Yeah. Like goddamn hell it is.

She has no one to blame for this but herself – it was her idea, anything big they do is her idea, Joel just goes with her occasional uncharacteristic moments of ambition bless his heart – and she’s kinda side-eyeing herself for deciding two weeks ago that it was about time for them to get married, and-

“You seen my tie?”

“You own a tie?”

Fifteen years as… honestly their dynamic has always had more of a roommates-with-benefits tendency than anything Tess would ever describe as romantic, and it suits both of them fine, but still-

“Think it may have fish on it?”

Yeah no, she remembers it now, clearance-rack abomination bought a couple years ago because someone wanted to appeal a parking ticket and come to think of it that was the last time they had any reason to be near the courthouse, and she’d thrown it out right after because it hurt her eyes bad enough she didn’t even want to get on top of him when they got home from that little adventure, and-

“Don’t have any memory of the thing,” Tess yells from her perch in the bathroom. She’s figured that such a life-altering occasion might be the first reason she’s had in multiple years to put on makeup, and eyeliner has never been one of her talents, and-

“The hell are you doing?”

She turns and glares at him, dark brown pencil liner still in hand. “Bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

“Last I checked we’re driving together, so-“

“Don’t mean you get to come in here and bother me. Not when I’m already-“

“Now I’m just more confused.”

She loves him, to the extent she’s capable of love, this tree of a man who does apparently own a solid-color button-down and they are both trying today and-

“Figure we’re just doin’ this once, so-“

“You know you don’t need that.”

“Perfectly aware, but… it’s an occasion, I thought-“

“Whatever you want.”

Which in that voice tends to mean he’s totally giving up, but-

“If you don’t think I look pretty, you could just say that.”

She is not changing her mind about the pink sleeveless dress – every stable surface of this house has seen proof she doesn’t belong in virginal white, not to mention her bein’ on the other side of forty – but maybe almost-matching lipstick is a bad idea or-

“You look fine.”

“I do not want to look fine, I want-“

“You’re overthinking this.”

“In an hour I am going to-“

“Do you still want to-“

“I would not be trying to stab my goddamn eye with a mascara wand if I didn’t want to marry you,” Tess hisses. “Now go… I don’t know…”

“Nah. Keeping an eye on you so you don’t bug out and-“

She takes a couple steps closer and takes a long deep kiss, just enough to get him breathless. “You wanna help?”

“That a good idea?”

“Probably not, but…”

(He does fix a few hairpins. This is what tall guys are for.)

[consumption-ofsins]

It's there again.

That monster, perched on his friend's shoulder.

It lies there, garbling it's words about 'taxes' and 'children', the words a neverending chime in Suguru's ears.

The middle schooler doesn't know what it is. He's never known what those things are- most likely might be some made-up thing his mind has made, considering he's the only one who can see them.

A sigh comes from his friend, and they roll their shoulder, expression wound into an uncomfortably tight one.

“Is something bothering you?” Suguru can’t help but ask, eyes struggling to stay fixed on the one seated next to him.

His classmate, Itsuki, looks up; brown eyes staring into black ones. "Oh-" They look startled, as if not expecting anybody to notice their burden. "No, nothing really. It's just my shoulder." One of their hands reaches up to grip it, the joint rolling again. However, it doesn't do anything to deter the creature sitting atop Itsuki. "It's just-" A breath is taken in through their teeth. "It's been aching for the past few days, and I don't have any idea why. I've tried everything, too! From stretches to heat pads, nothing's working and it's been getting on my nerves. Like, am I getting old now? I'm only fourteen! What's next? Balding?"

Suguru shifts, lifting his elbow to prop against the desk, palm smushing against his cheek. "Being bald for a yearbook photo wouldn't be ideal." He muses, a smile playing on his lips.

"I don't want that to happen!" Itsuki wails, throwing their arms up- wincing, as they're once again reminded of the ache on their shoulder. "The entire school's going to make fun of me! I'll be known as the bald guy for my entire middle school career, high school career, and my adult career! Isn't that just awful?!"

His friend can't see the thing.

Only Suguru can.

A chuckle leaves him, "But being bald would have it's perks, no? If you were to polish it enough-"

His red-haired friend screams in despair, interrupting him. "No- no! Do not even try to entertain the idea! I don't wanna hear it!"

Itsuki can't see the thing.

Only their friend can.

"Hold on," Suguru starts, raising his hands in a pacifying manner. "Just hear me out. It'd be a nice mirror-"

"NO!"

His friend can't see the thing.

Only he can.