#ref is blind as shit

[updownlately]

that should’ve been a pen

[arolesbianism]

Sier? I haven’t even met her! Laugh.

[camping-with-monsters]

When Robin Hood and Snow White were ushered to the dungeon for that pep talk that would embark them on their unlikely quest, it was the warden, named Atalanta Rancoreed, who stayed put, listening in, taking in every word the King said…

Atalanta’s job is simple. To tend to the cellars, to deal with the rough prisoners, to guard Lord Whistlegrimm when he steps into this dark ended place. Atalanta takes this job with pride. It’s a surprisingly perfect fit for a strong-willed guard who’d usually not be fit for a war. Atalanta loves the work. Practically lives for it too. To serve the king with your life is admirable to this warden, even if the job is as quaint as standing by the king should he enter the depths of the dungeon. But it’s still very much an important role. And after having to escort these two idiots and their pet bird down so Lord could give them the scoop, it was just another day.

But that day… Atalanta’s world suddenly changed. When your job is to stand guard to the king while he speaks down here, you just know you’re going to be overhearing a lot. And listen thoroughly to Lord’s words did Atalanta do so well! So much so that the words suddenly got to her head… a tincture that could rise the dead. How curious! You’d think she’d be smarter than to consider what she did, but that strange concoction that Robin and Snow would have to be questing to create sounded awful tempting. But it would be foolish to leave her post like this, especially if the King caught wind of it. But it’s far too promising for her. It’s the stuff of her dreams. And so, enlisting some help from her own brethren, the woman soured by greed snuck away, seeking out the very thing Lord recalled, wishing to claim the cure for her own reasoning. Reasoning she deems much more important than someone as simple as a gardener…

And so Atalanta will be a reoccurring obstacle, hoping to get her hands on what is not her’s to begin with for personal gain. This will be the first time she may resort to villainy to prove her perspective…

——

A MASSIVE thanks to @pazam for being a huge help with this design!

I’ve been super excited to show this one off! She’s got a lot going for her in terms of her character and has some twists with her motives. Needless to say though, these are technically still the reference rough drafts and I promise I’m working on her official reference!

A cool thing to note is that the reason I went with an apple theme is because of some iterations of Robin Hood being presented with shooting an arrow into an apple, and the poison apple of Snow White! This was… actually an unintentional coincidence I did NOT think about until I started thinking more about what kind of villain BMB would have! So Atalanta’s character is kinda an unintentional coincidence!

…as is with a lot of DDG and BMB. I have this weird habit of making spontaneous choices and then those seemingly random choices having meaning later. Pfft.

Fun details here: Atalanta has an arrow shaped tattoo/scar (I haven’t decided yet actually) on her eye to reference Robin Hood (or other iterations of Robin Hood since it’s not strictly to the original story) and the red parts of her face are vaguely shaped like a skull to reference the poison apple! She’s a golden apple though since not only are those common, but also a focus on the original Greek mythology story of Atalanta, who she’s truly named and based after! Rancoreed is a last name I made up with a surprising amount of depth to that I’ll get into later.

[moe-broey]

Oh fuck I need to make an OC ref like a for real official OC ref that's concise and all the important apsects are easily accessible in one place and ISN'T just a series of disconncted doodles in my OC tag🧍

[notdxbya]

What has been your favorite hyperfixation, and why?

I thought about this quite a bit and i think it's definitely ancient greek. who doesn't love the stories of greek gods and heroes? i love the drama, the overall bizarreness and the lingering tragedy more than anything. and honestly there are so many reasons why this is my favourite hyperfixation ever like for starters, most of mythological or historical stories idolizes the gods and the heroes. puts them on a pedestal so high that it is practically inhuman to reach. and they preach us still, to try, to be flawless like them. but isn't to err, is to be human? we can't be perfect. and looking up to picture perfect gods and heroes as our role models and aspiring to be like them would no doubt spread a person thin. but see. the greek ones. they are flawed and they feel in the same ways we do. they are so humanized. they are more relatable. though, i am not saying we should look up to them because they make terrible choices in every five seconds but I like the idea of relating to gods rather than whatever this is you know? i like that apollo's heart breaks and yearns and mourns for his lovers. i like that orpheus looked back because he couldn't bear the idea of walking away after coming so close to eurydice and her not being there. i like that hermes fucks shit up every once in a while and I- there's so much more, yk? They're not gods. They are literally some people. Apart from this, the thing that makes it really really special for me is how close it bought me to some of the most coolest people I've ever met. Also. Who doesn't loves to shit talk about Zeus huh?

[ambersky0319]

I've committed to this. Now all that's left is the rewatch of the series even though I know I will be disappointed all over again

[pinkyqil]

-Ride Or Die

Masterlist

Summary: mapi and r idk just read the fic 🤓

Notes: inspired by the request sent by nonny could be found here hope y'all enjoy this chapter ik it was supposed to be out by Monday 😭 i promise to actually start sticking to schedule I just get busy and don't have writing time so it take a while and as always feedbacks/asks/requesting a chapter or hcs are welcome 🫶🏾

© PINKYQIL

You and mapi had become very close during the season, even off and on the pitch she was like an older sister to you playing an important role in your adolescent life. If you needed advice she was there, you forgot something she always had a backup for you, a ride for partice she made sure to always show up.

Even though you haven't reached the stage to be helping mapi with adults things you always tried your best to show her how much you appreciated her. No matter how much you both get on each other's nerves the sisterly love and protection was there

it became known to the team how you and mapi ride hard for each other and today was a perfect example of that.

Today was game day like any other but the moment you and mapi stepped on the pitch getting to your position. It seems like the other team had it out for her.

Tackles came left and right even when she didn't have the ball on her feet your opponent didn't care either way. You started getting heavily irritated that the ref wasn't doing shit making you pass a stage of angry.

Your last straw was when an opponent came in with a bad tackle and mapi's face scrunching in pain but as usual the reefer was acting blind in the moment.

It was Ingrid who noticed your eyes floating with all sorts of idea and came too you.

"She's going to be alright just don't do something that you'll end up regretting". She told you.

"I wouldn't do such what makes you think of that". You said

"I could your eyes drilling holes into the opponent from a mile away". It was quite obvious to a few if your teammates that you would end up doing something your body language didn't give you away but your facial expression did and Ingrid was the one who understood what was coming.

"Mhmm I won't". You told her which was obviously a lie.

"I'll take your word for it".

"Fine". You said before heading back to your position.

It seemed like the other team continued on there bull shit seeing as the reefer didn't say do nor say anything. The same player who was getting on mapi seem to try doing it again and you knew if she did mapi would end being injured.

So you decided to do the only reasonable thing you ran fast, faster than you've ever done timing in your steps as you dashed and tackled the player sending her rolling so hard on her ass. That the reefer noticed and then decided to card which leaded to you big mouthing to the ref and getting pulled back by patri of all people.

In all cases the game was a tough fight but ended in your favor until you reached the dressing room where another set of caos was released with all the older player.

"que estabas pensando". It was alexia who spoke up.

"Wasn't thinking just doing what right". You told her

"¿Cómo estuvo eso cierto, nena?". This time it was Irene.

"Well for one of i didn't do it Maria over there would have been leaving the pitch with an injury".

"ella tiene un buen punto". Patri said

"La próxima vez hazlo de una manera más crucial". They told you.

Finding yourself a sit next to a very happy mapi after being let go by your captain's.

"entonces te preocupas por mí".

"Yeah Yeah I do care about you estúpido".

"Aye dejaré pasar eso".

No matter how much you both get on each other's nerves the sisterly love and protection was always there.

[alyakthedorklord]

Welcome to Danny’s

Danny making a cafe/restaurant/whatever named Danny’s, in gotham, while on the run from GIW. A bunch of ghosts visit bc danny also makes ecto snacks from the secret menu in a side room. Due to this, it has the same liminal feeling and insane shit that happens in denny’s parking lots. (It’s like the fun sized and feral au by @nutcase8691 but i have a funny name.)

Sometimes Danny’s holds concerts for a famous rockstar (ember). Sometimes suspicious patrons walk right through a wall (into the ghost section). Sometimes there’s a frankenweenie outbreak if Danny is sleep deprived. It’s always freezing and yet somehow no one ever really gets uncomfortably cold. There’s ice sculptures. Plants that twitch and wave even if poison ivy isn’t around. Astrology maps on the walls that sometimes shift into occult symbols and hieroglyphics. Sometimes, after closing, (which is at the weirdest times honestly its open all night but closes random hours of the day) if you look through the slats in the window blinds it’s like you’re staring into the cosmos.

If you set up a fight (meet me in danny’s parking lot, 3am) there will be a referee even if you didn’t communicate it with the shop. The ref gives weapons, knows first aid, and stops fights if they get too rough. The second the fight is over they vanish into thin air.

Danny’s is neutral territory. Sometimes bad guys try to claim it but danny sets them straight. He doesn’t care if its a gang or a rouge, if they mess with his shop, or with anything/anyone too close to his shop, the Man Himself will emerge with a baseball bat, knock people out cold, stand over their groaning bodies and announce, “welcome to danny’s.” He’s never lost. He took out bane once. The Joker he didn’t even use the baseball bat he came after him with his fists. The joker doesn’t even have to be doing anything if he comes near danny will hunt him down. It’s like he has a radar around the shop. Once a really tired Red Robin herded him into the radar with a confused Red Hood’s help bc he just didn’t want to deal. Danny takes the clown out with a spectacular flying tackle before joker even realizes he’s wandered too close.

Jason goes to check it out later. Comes up to the counter to order and the tiny wayne bait guy behind the counter takes one look at him and goes:

“let me grab the secret menu”

“Uh… no, i just want a-“

“Trust me.” The guy says, eyes turning Lazarus green. “You want the secret menu.”

Part 2 of my ramblings (NOT a proper fic)

[eoieopda]

tidal.

but vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “i don’t need a sales pitch. you will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.” 

pairing: vernon x afab!reader type: one-shot (fluff n’ smut) au: est. relationship wc: 4.8k rating: 18+ a/n: i didn’t plan this whatsoever, but i felt so weirdly compelled to write it that i avoided eye-contact with all of my wips, and now… here we are, lol. cw: pov switch, reader is afab + on their period, gender identity + pronouns aren’t designated, blood mention (obvi), unprotected p in v penetration (ill-advised!!), wee bit of dry-humping (ig?), a lil massage, pet names (baby, sweetheart), self-indulgent ref to a favorite docu of mine, and lastly — vernon (yes, this is a warning 🧍🏻) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Vernon isn’t blind. 

He can see you out of the corner of his eye, laying flat on your back, several unexplained centimeters away from his side. With the duvet clenched in your fists, you stare intently up at the ceiling, like you’re waiting for it to move — or trying to move it yourself, telekinetically. You keep your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, as if you expect it to make a run for it.

So, yes, Vernon can see you. 

He just can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.

For a few minutes, he attempts to pay attention to the documentary lighting up the screen on the wall ahead. You were the one that picked it — some wild tale about mother-daughter recluses in New York — and he finds it hard to give a shit about it without your usual commentary. Your hot takes are his favorite part of any movie night, after all.

He’ll be the first to admit that he’s never been good at keeping his eyes off you. Try as he might, he can’t glue his gaze to the television; each glance in your direction sticks longer than the one before it, testing the waters. Minutes slip away just like this until he completely caves, turns his head fully, and stares at you outright. 

You still don’t seem to notice.

His brow scrunches up as he watches you, caught in the middle between concerned, confused, and amused by how absolutely ridiculous you look right now. When he speaks, he tries to sound stern, like he isn’t fighting the urge to laugh.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” is all he gets in response. 

You don’t even look his way. If anything, you tense harder now that his attention is on you. 

None of it makes sense. Not the weird gap you’ve left between your body and his, your total refusal to look him in the eye, or the fact that there wasn’t an argument to precipitate any of this distance. It’s a symptom with no apparent cause, and it’s totally baffling. Brain-breaking, even.

Frowning, Vernon scoots himself across the bed to get closer to you. 

You don’t reciprocate. 

He tugs gently at the hem of your sweatshirt in a silent plea for your attention and receives radio silence in response; unless he counts the way you swallow thickly.

Which, for the record, he does not.

This close, Vernon can feel the anxious energy pulsing out of your tensed-up body in waves, so he leans away and props himself up on his elbow. Desperate to know what broke you and how to fix it, he mutters, “What is happening right now?”

Ope. 

It comes out harsher than it was supposed to, reading more like annoyance than worry, so he immediately clears his throat. Gently and with a brush of his knuckles against your hip bone, he tries again: “Are you okay? Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

A fly on the wall might get the wrong impression and think he stroked you with a live wire instead.

“Oh, my god. No!” You sputter with a jolt, shifting gears quickly from vaguely on-edge to horrified. You shake your head so frantically that Vernon fears you’ll detach it. “No, you haven’t done anything. I’m fine, I just —”

He interjects with a laugh, “— I don’t necessarily believe that —”

Visibly cringing with every muscle in your body, you cover your face with your hands. Not long after you take a deep breath does a meek voice slip out through your fingers, sounding beyond embarrassed.

“I’m so incomprehensibly horny right now that I can’t even look at you.”

For a second, it’s dead silent because he can’t quite process how much of a weirdo you are, or how completely and hopelessly enamored he is with you. But then the dam breaks. His laugh comes out so forcefully that you pull your hands away from your face, eyes wide.

“Is that so?” He smirks, nodding his head towards the television. “Grey Gardens really gets your motor running, huh?”

Absolutely aghast, you swat at his bicep. Then, you sling your arm over your eyes and groan, “I got my period. It has turned me into a sex-crazed monster, I fear.”

Vernon nods in understanding, even though you can’t see it, and hums, “Ahh.”

And he leaves it at that, only because you seem to have more that you want to say. Something you want to ask, maybe, or a reason you may want to give for not jumping his bones at the first opportunity. He’s down, he thinks without hesitation, so long as you are.

But you don’t say anything.

Maybe you aren’t actually down after all, and that’s why you won’t look at him. Shit, are you embarrassed? Should I say something? Silence falls overtop like a weighted blanket, smothering the two idiots who can’t tell whose turn it is to talk. 

Do you or do you not want this right now?

You mumble something that he can’t catch, so he nudges your side gently with his knuckles to encourage you. Just as nervous, you repeat yourself without looking at him, “Period sex is supposed to help with cramps, I think.”

He thinks he’s read the exact same article you have. More than that, he wishes you’d look over at him and see for yourself how completely unbothered he is by this concept.

“If you think about it, it’s kind of like a natural lubricant,” you add in a voice that’s even smaller than before.

Your shyness really might kill him, so he reaches over to grab your hand and gently pull your arm away from your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since you laid down — since you put your self-imposed no-contact order in place — and he feels his stupid heart swell.

For what it’s worth, he feels his dick twitch, too.

You open your mouth to speak again, likely to continue your unnecessary campaigning; Vernon is having none of it. He tugs your wrist just enough to tilt you inward, then he kisses you hard enough to shut you up. A tiny whimper slips out of your lips when he pulls away, and it almost makes him regret his decision to do so. 

But Vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “I don’t need a sales pitch. You will never — ever —  have to convince me to fuck you.” 

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, like this is somehow news to you. It shouldn’t be. He’s told you a thousand times in as many different ways how thoroughly crazy you drive him just by existing so closely to him, but maybe you didn’t take him seriously then.

To emphasize his point, he slips his hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and finds your bare waist with the pad of his thumb. It spirals slowly against your warm skin, making both of you dizzy. Then, sick of the distance, Vernon dips his head down to press a kiss to your temple. 

“Like, ever,” he murmurs, lips following the curve of your jaw. 

Soft, slow kisses trail behind him as he travels down to your lips. Your head tilts further backwards with every single one, providing him with more and more access. 

He states it matter-of-factly because, to him, it is. “I’m down so bad for you that it might be terminal.”

“Oh?” 

You try to laugh but turn to putty when his palm rests fully on the curve of your waist and pulls you flush against him. The surprised gasp you let loose confirms his suspicion: You can feel how serious he is, affirmation throbbing against your abdomen in time with his heartbeat. 

Vernon smirks to himself, relishing your reaction, and bypasses your mouth entirely. A moan escapes from you, soft like an exhale, as his lips move slowly down the length of your neck. Every so often — just to feel you shiver — he flicks the tip of his tongue along the delicate skin he finds there.

“It might be messy…” 

The rest of your needless warning gets lost in a dreamy sigh as he suckles at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Shifting even closer, your desperate fingers reach out and cling to his t-shirt.

Vernon licks a stripe over the galaxy blooming on your skin. He hums, hand traveling upwards from your waist, “Don’t care about a mess.”

And he means it. 

Mindful of any soreness, he smooths his hand over your left breast and massages it tenderly, swearing to himself that he’ll throw the whole fucking mattress out if that’s what it comes down to. For you, he’ll race across town on foot to buy another one, and — fuck it — if the store is closed, he might just break in.

You’re growing impatient; your fingers let go of his shirt and tangle themselves in his hair.

“So needy,” he chuckles low in his chest, teasing. “You know, I think you’re lying. I think it is this bat-shit insane documentary that’s driving you wild, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Stop,” you whine, dragging out the vowel sound. 

You don’t, though; you throw your left leg over his right thigh and shimmy forward until your cunt grazes his dick. Involuntarily, he groans at the warmth radiating off your core. Every part of you drives him just the slightest bit insane. You seem to know it, he thinks as he watches your pupils dilate in real time.

But he can play games, too, so he rolls his hips forward and grinds against you. He pushes you further, “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m not kink-shaming you —”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe!”

Oh, shit. Government name?

“— I’m just a little surprised, I guess.” He sighs with a shrug. “Think you know somebody…”

Your impatience is scribbled all across your scrunched up face. It seeps into your voice when you crash back against the pillows and huff, “Can you please stop fucking with me and start fucking me?”

“Sex-crazed monster, huh?” Leaning over, Vernon punctuates his question with a quick press of his lips to yours.

You whimper, “I’m so serious. I might explode.”

“Then go take care of whatever you need to take care of.” He kisses you again, smiling so fondly that his eyes may even be twinkling. “And I’ll go get a towel.”

You wait until Vernon clears the threshold before launching yourself out of bed at breakneck speed. Stumbling all the while, you race off to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door forcefully behind you. When it clatters against the frame, you finally admit to yourself that you might be a little bit eager.

Maybe.

Opting to keep your baggy, bleach-stained sweatshirt on, you wiggle out of your shorts and — what he refers to as — your crisis diaper. The high-waisted, frumpy, beige panties are utilized exclusively during your period, and to your surprise, they’ve remained spotless. It’s only ever the pretty and expensive pairs that wind up as collateral damage, isn’t it?

As they pool around your ankles, you can’t help but think that Vernon’s nickname for them is pretty spot on. That’s partly why you figured he might need to be talked into this. Unsated arousal aside, you feel as far from sexy as you can possibly get.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, kick what you’ve discarded into a pile near the hamper, and let your sweatshirt shift down to cover as much of your ass as it’s capable of managing. You grab a square of toilet paper; then, you go to work excavating the wad of cotton that separates you from everything you want in this life. 

It is within the realm of possibility that you’re a little bit eager and a little bit dramatic. 

Perhaps.

After discarding the evidence in the small trash can under the sink, you wash your hands as if you’re about to step into an operating theater and not the bedroom you spend half your life in. When you finally feel sterile, you lift your head and catch your reflection in the mirror. Instantly, you make eye contact with the painful, hormonal pimple on your chin — the one you’ve been waging a retinoid war against for days.

“Bitch,” you mutter, like calling it names will be the one thing that finally gets it to shrink. Of course, your plan doesn’t work, but you feel a little less powerless. That’s good enough, you think. At least, as good as it’s going to get.

Now half-naked and certifiably unobstructed, you tiptoe back to your bedroom much more carefully than you left it. Vernon enters from the opposite doorway at the same time, jumping slightly the second he notices you. You ignore his frightened eyes and glance down at the crisp, white towel he’s clutching.

You open your mouth to suggest anything otherwise, but he beats you to it. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead as his mouth widens outwards, a self-aware rectangle. Otherwise expressionless, he lets go of an atonal, “Aaaaaaah”, that tells you he’s caught on.

He says nothing else before turning around and walking back the way he came. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from cackling.

That one’s mine, you think, still as infatuated as you were at the start. I chose that one.

While he’s gone, you try not to move, not to breathe too heavily. Vernon said he didn’t care about a mess, but when he said it, he was speaking theoretically with his hand on your tit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spoken recklessly with your body melting under his touch.

As far as you know, he hasn’t had any experience with this mess in practice. He could wind up finding you about as sexy as you currently feel — to wit: not at all. So, erring on the side of caution, you turn yourself into a statue and wait for the boy and his towel to find you again.

When he comes back, he plants a drive-by kiss on your unsuspecting mouth before skirting right around you. With shocking finesse, he grabs the corners of the — thankfully — black towel, which unfurls in the seconds before he flicks it upwards. It lands perfectly in the center of the bed, flat without needing to be fussed with.

“Wow,” he mutters to himself, taking in his clean work with raised eyebrows.

The impressed look is still on his face when he turns around, but you don’t have time to comment on his feat because he laughs as soon as he sees you.

“Kinda look like Donald Duck with the whole top-on, bottom-off situation.”

I chose this one?

You pout with an indignant gasp, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not wearing a sailor hat, so…. bad analogy. Rude, even.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you in close. You stumble a little on your way into him; the jury’s still out about whether it’s his hushed tone or the sudden movement that trips you up.

Between his thumb and index finger, he gently captures your chin. You follow along with his unspoken direction, tilt your face up to meet his. This close, you can see your own reflection in his pupils, black dilating against the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

Vernon takes a moment of silence as he takes in your features, and he studies them so intently that his eyebrows crinkle on their own. He sighs, sounding so completely serious. “You might get prettier every time I look at you.”

It’s unclear if you’re melting, or gushing; and if it’s the latter, you can’t say which biological process is at fault. Thankfully, the hand at the small of your back keeps your weak knees from buckling when his lips brush over yours.

“Even if you’re dressed like Winnie the Pooh.” 

You feel him smirk even before you hear him laugh at his own joke. Then, you feel his hand slide down to cup your bare cheek, squeezing affectionately. You want to tell him that this analogy is still inaccurate because you’re not wearing a crop-top; but he gently instructs you to ditch the sweatshirt and get on the bed, and your body moves automatically. No questions asked.

Carefully, you crawl up onto the mattress, then you center yourself on the towel. Still on your knees, you tilt your head curiously and ask, “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere,” he breezes, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the dresser nearby. He amends, “Everywhere. All the time, and then some.”

“Better be careful,” you tease. “Talking like that might have consequences. You may never be able to get rid of me.”

His joggers are the next to go. Your sanity follows shortly thereafter, hungry eyes lingering on the imprint of his cock underneath his boxer briefs. You have to clamp your mouth shut to keep from drooling.

Brown eyes sparkling, he steps closer to you, kicking his pants aside as he goes. “Be careful,” he echoes, not a hint of cockiness to be found — just softness. “Saying it like a threat doesn’t make me wish it’s not a promise.”

I choose this one.

Crossing all the way to you, Vernon reaches the bed and climbs up with significantly more grace than you did. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels right in front of you, mirroring your posture and causing your stomach to flip with anticipation.

You can’t help yourself; you lick your lips and look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Naked, please. Like, right now.”

“Damn, I gotta do this myself?” Incredulous, he holds his hands up while glancing pointedly down at his underwear, then back at you. 

You arch an eyebrow, unfazed. 

“Depends.” You shrug. “Do you want to keep them? Because I really will rip them off of you.”

He concedes quickly; he always does. Sighing, he shakes his head and tuts, “Sex-crazed monster,” before pushing his briefs down his thighs. His length hangs heavy between you, but you swear you can feel its perfect ache inside you already.

You have a one-track mind, so you don’t hesitate to reach out and wrap your hand around him. A groan crawls up from the bottom of your chest when you feel the weighted warmth of his cock in your palm. You don’t hold that back, either.

“Fuck,” he sighs, head tilting as far backwards as it’ll go. Unexpectedly, he laughs. He doesn’t catch the quizzical look you shoot him, though he explains himself anyway, “Your hands are so fucking cold, but it feels so good.”

Swiping your thumb over his tip, you spread the pre-cum you find there down his shaft and stroke him slowly. He grows harder with every gentle squeeze, every pass of your fist. 

“We’re learning a lot of new shit about each other today.” You lean forward to pepper kisses across his collarbones. The hum of your mouth against his skin when you talk makes his cock twitch in your hand. “You might have a temperature kink and a thing for Winnie the Pooh.”

He snorts, nowhere near serious, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me,” you counter smugly, and you do mean it.

Vernon tilts his head forward to stare back at you. You’re already turning into a puddle, but if the look he gives you says anything, it’s that your melting isn’t enough for him. His voice is low and velvet-lined when he responds, “How about I just make you cum instead?”

“That could work, yeah.” You shrug.

He runs the pads of his fingers down each side of your waist to your hips, then back again; and each time he does it, you shiver. Reflexively, your back arches, chest pressing against his.

At this, he smirks, “It could? Maybe?”

“We can workshop it.”

“Or,” Vernon so generously offers, “You can turn around and lay down on your stomach. You know, if that’s sufficient.”

It’s not until you whip around and flop down onto the towel that you realize you never responded with words. Oh well. You figure he gets the point, judging by the quiet laughter you hear as he settles with his knees on either side of your upper thighs.

You don’t know what his next move will be — you don’t care, either, as long as he moves in your direction — so you don’t anticipate his palms flattening against your bare back, applying perfect pressure with his thumbs while he rubs away the soreness at the very base of your torso.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as the heels of his hands work out the tension in your muscles. “Have you always been good at this?”

You feel his chest brush against your shoulder blades when he hovers over you. Against the nape of your neck, he murmurs, “Nope.”

He kisses down your spine, mouth trailing after his hands as they work their way back down your body.

“Lemme guess — you read an article? Studied up?”

You get a snicker, then an affirmative hum, then another kiss. This time, it’s at the curve of your spine, just above your ass. Seconds later, he’s kneading the doughy flesh of your cheeks until your whole fucking body tingles.

That’s when it hits you:

Under normal circumstances, Vernon would be face-first in your pussy by now. Devouring you in earnest, like he’s starving. He can’t do that now — and you don’t blame him — so he’s making up for what you both view as a loss.

God, you want him.

One hand disappears from you, but you don’t have to guess where it went. You can hear the barely-there hiss of breath through his teeth when he takes his cock in that hand; as well as the very faint shift of his palm while he pumps himself.

“You’re gonna have to navigate, baby. I dunno how sensitive you are like this, what’s too much — any of that, so you need to tell me how you want me to move.”

Suddenly dizzy over how badly you need him, all you can muster is a nod. Vernon must want a verbal acknowledgment, though, because he leans back over you with one hand bearing his weight beside your head.

He kisses your shoulder and urges you, “Please say so if you need to stop or switch it up. Don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”

“I will,” you breathe. “But I can’t even articulate how much I need you inside of me right now, so please — pretty please — fuck me.”

The tip of his nose bumps your temple affectionately. Right beside your ear, he teases, “With a cherry on top?” And it vibrates down your whole goddamn spine.

“Vernon!” You whine, burying your face in the comforter. It’s muffled, but you warn him nonetheless, “Don’t make me come back there.”

“Aish. Calm down, sex monster.”

The instinct to twist around and glare at him over your shoulder is strong, but every feral urge you feel is stronger. So, when he tells you to spread yourself open for him and tilt your hips back, you do so without even a hint of complaining.

With the crown of his cock slipping through your folds, inching towards your entrance, you hear him curse under his breath. Suddenly self-conscious, you finally crane your neck to the side and glance back at him. 

“We don’t have to,” you whisper. “If it’s gross and you don’t want to anymore, I get it —”

He balks at your suggestion without letting so much as a beat pass. “None of that, sweetheart; no spiraling. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of, like… how to survive how good this already feels.”

Struck dumb, all you can muster is a peep, “Oh?”

“Shit, yeah.” His response comes in a low groan. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

It’s a good call on his part, a suggestion you’re glad to have taken, because the pressure of him entering you is intense enough to knock the wind out of you. Empty lungs likely would’ve led to your untimely demise.

You whimper, already overwhelmed with the combination of pain and pleasure; the best kind of ache. The little, breathy moans must freak him out, however, because his fingertips caress your waist as he checks in: “This okay?”

Your limp arm lifts off the mattress, which you’ve melted fully into, and you form a circle with your index finger and thumb to indicate that you’re okay. The light is bright fucking green; you’ve just maxed out your capacity for speech.

Vernon continues his slow thrust forward, giving you ample time to adjust to his size.

“Oh my god,” he grunts, “This is — shit, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. If I knew how good you’d feel like this, I wouldn’t have waited around for you to ask me.”

That hits like a truck.

He was waiting on you. 

You spent months convincing yourself that he’d need to be convinced, and chickening out before you could raise the idea. Months, and months, and months, of craving him during your werewolf transformation; wasting away over a shitty assumption that Vernon is anything like the people you’ve been with before. 

Christ. 

His credit for putting up with you is long overdue.

Too tongue-tied to speak any of that out loud, you settle for a summary that you hope conveys the message: “I love you so fucking much.”

Mindful of how deep it will push him into your cunt, he leans down over you carefully. Weight balanced on his knees and forearms, he envelopes you in his body heat, trails kisses across your shoulder, and echoes your words back at you between each one.

“Is this too much?” He whispers, rolling his hips slowly.

You feel him everywhere, with every drag of his cock along your walls; and you can’t tell where that throbbing sensation is coming from, him or you. 

You shake your head and sigh, “‘s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Like he knows it’ll unravel you, his large hand comes to rest over the back of yours. His fingers slip through the spaces between and squeeze you much more gently than the vice grip you hold on the bedding below you. He keeps holding you — just like this — through every movement.

The sensation of being this surrounded, this loved, this whole crashes over you like a wave and knocks you off balance.

“I’m so close,” you pant, voice as ragged as your breathing. There’s nothing that he isn’t already giving you with every deep, deliberate thrust into your heat; but you beg nonetheless, “Please, please, please —”

His speed doesn’t increase, but the intensity does. The smack of his hips colliding with your ass does, too, and you feel it reverberating in your bones. Buried as far inside of you as he can be, cock tip kissing your cervix with every high tide, length rolling across your g-spot with every low.

You cum so hard — so completely, invoking every single muscle you have — that you forget how to breathe. With a choked-out gasp, you squeeze your eyes shut and let your orgasm devastate you. 

“Fuck!”

Vernon gets caught up in the current, too, grinding desperately against you until he’s swept up in your wake. You feel him twitch inside you as his release floods, leaving you so lost in his warmth that you feel boneless underneath him.

His face winds up hidden in the crook of your neck, somewhere amidst the baby hairs that cling to the sheen of your sweat. You feel his lips fluttering against your skin when he laughs, “Oh…my god.”

“Mmphf.” You nod weakly in agreement. Beyond blissed, your body still tingles too much to move.

Slurring, you add, “‘s good. ‘s really…”

The rest of that thought dissolves into something between a moan and a yawn.

Just as tired, Vernon pats your ass cheek affectionately and mumbles, “Well said. No notes.”

You tilt your head far enough to free your face from the sheets. When you do, you find your boyfriend fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. In the rare seconds he can, he looks back at you in a daze that seems even more adoring than it does fuck-drunk.

“I think I need to hibernate now,” you announce. “Think you just fucked me so well that I need to take a sabbatical.”

He counter-offers, “Shower first, then sabbatical?”

You wiggle so that you can pull your joint hands to your mouth. You can’t kiss him properly while he’s laid out on top of you, but you can press your lips to the back of his hand and hope he feels how much of you that you pour into it.

“Okay, but, like…. who’s carrying who?”

[arillustrated]

hi my name is august and for the past week or so i have become so consumed by thoughts of avatar the last airbender that it is actually ruining my life and relationships.

yeah so unfortunately i can only be completely insane about this so i have to stop before it consumes me or at least manage the fixation i have for this early 20s zutara au

+ mai bc its really a shame that they didn't resolve her story outside of her relationship to zuko. so i think she starts fight club. which gradually turns into a gladiatorial ring

edit: im typing up everything that i wrote in the drawing bc it just occured to me that not only is my handwriting a mess, but it's also cursive

Image 1

katara: How do you live in this hot ass country.

zuko: What about that literal glacier you live on, hm? Do you see me complaining?

Image 2

Zuko: my plan right now is to soft launch democracy for the Fire Nation. like, i don't think we can do that now because we're so weak, but 10-20 years down the line?

Image 3

Zuko: Honestly, my plan right now is to rule for a couple generations and fix everything that my father and my grandfather did , and then establish a democracy.

Katara: why not a democracy now?

Zuko: because the people of the Fire Nation don't know the truth about their own history. they've been fed propaganda for a hundred years. they need to be able to make informed decisions before i can do that.

Katara: and after that?

Zuko: after that im fucking off to the earth kingdom to take over my uncle's tea house and you will literally never hear from me again

Image 4

from left to right "katara" "need to redo the face" "this is chief katara to me. this is her at around 19/20 to me" "Anime katara. this anime shit is easy" "fire nation katara. putting her at about 14 y/o" "this is a screencap redraw"

Image 5

me: hello greenpeace

katara: after my mother died i had a lot of unchecked rage for the world, so my dad signed me up for tai chi classes to, like, calm me down but i ended up still angry but also really good at tai chi

katara: i feel like im doing well all things considered

me: katara is so special to me. she is a fully realized creation to me. so casual. so passionate about the world. one thing about her is that she is an activist. she has a strong sense of justice. fuck. the train jumped lol

image 6

mai: zuko, im starting a gladitorial ring and i don't know the legality of it so if you could just change the laws as i go that'd be great

zuko: yeah sure that sounds great

zuko, but smaller: wait what.

image 7

mai: REF, ARE YOU BLIND?! WHAT KIND OF CALL IS THAT!

background guy: woah holy shit

captioned: "Mai starts a gladiatorial fight club

[c0stiffen]

It sucks that people gave you shit for your blind Arven AU- it's obvious that yours comes from a place of heart and has care put to it. Do you have disability HCs for the rest of Team Star and/or anyone from Blueberry Academy?

This is very old, sorry for the very late reply! And yes, I didn't have many ideas because I think this question was asked to me when the DLC part two had been released like 1 or 2 months ago so l wasn't very sure.

Thanks to the people who suggested or gave me ideas, especially Drayton because I had no idea what to give him.

About the Team star, yes, I have their old references but I need add things to their refs.

• Penny: Myopia and chronic fatigue

• Giacomo: Selective mutism

• Mela: Diabetes type 1

• Atticus: Vitiligo

• Ortega: Limp

• Eri: Has a prosthetic leg

[nu1lst4rs]

doodled human designs for nightmares gang!

click for better quality

ggrahhb. i love them. will draw individual refs soon. promise. cross has jumped between nightmares gang and star sanses, and therefore is considered a neutral outcode in our au. so ill draw him later.

horror fws the trans community

Star sanses, neutral aus (p1), neutral aus (p2), extras

some headcanons under cut 3_^

warning there is alot of text

> nightmare (they/it)

DESI NIGHTMARE!!!! (this is blatant self projection.)

short. but they always manipulate their height when they're outside of their gang because they hate being short.

chubby because its ass is not used to actual food, and they have a really slow metabolism when it isnt negativity. and now that horrors "forcing" it to eat, they gain weight. fast.

intersex. not sure why i think this but they don't really have a sex, so. erm.

^ adding onto that their fluid in their expression. sometimes masc, sometimes fem, sometimes andro.

has those stupid ass hair curlers and uses leftovers for their tentacles

MATCHING NECKLACES WITH MY OTP AT THE CURRENT MOMENT. usually errormare or bsp. sometimes fluffynight. killermare if nihira is fronting.

also sugar daddy nightmare. its either rich as fuck or have no money at all. (this is kindve a crack hc)

> Dust (he/they)

leaning korean and thai mix for him. because i need to see more mixed characters.

wears pjs whenever he can. gets the most fucking stupid pj pants too. like hello kitty. comfort > style.

always dusty. mostly because he doesn't shower and smells like ASS, but also because they gotta live up to their name somehow.

TRANS MASC. dont care if you say its wrong. EVERYONE IS TRANS. (excluding horror and blue. allies!)

aroace spec 100%. most sanses are, but him in particular. would rather die than do any of the sappy bs. but wouldd love to have a partner. or maybe 3. wink wink.

"2 shorter than killer but gaslights killer into thinking he's taller

doesn't wear papyrus' scarf, but keeps it in his sleeve.

> Horror (he/him)

wanna hc him as native american. but i haven't exactly thought much about what in particular.

tall and bulky. after a lonnggg famine, horror developed an ED. where they stress eat until he's physically ill, or feeling less stressed.

doesn't need the bandages on his face, bur keeps them there because he hates the scar

little big bottom teeth. its something he developed due to the food conditions in HT snowdin.

as much as it happens, horror HATES having blood on him, so he wears an apron underneath his clothes and does the laundry often.

PROSTHETIC LEG!!!! it got stuck in a bear trap when he was in his old au, and alphys didnt really know what else to do. its not the best thing, but its reliable. killer likes to put stickers on it.

has a cleaver named maxine, and an axe called rex.

ace because i dont really think. yeah. gross. ew. intimacy.

> killer (he/they/it)

arabic. its almost canon at this point.

has a selection of knifes in his thigh thing if his magic backfires on them. favourite is its butterfly knife.

is legally blind. his ass CANNOT see. refuses to admit this.

acespec because like look at me. he can barely feel. i just think he'd love the idea of being in a relationship, and desperately want one. but know he cant be in one.

scars galore holy shit. is always somehow simultaneously sloppy and precise with his knifework. him and nightmare have a small rivalry to see who can get the most.

needs to have textures on his clothes. something to ground themself. like "oh shit we're dissociating." rubs pants aggressively. works for us.

transb... transverse...

also DID but this is hinted at in canon

HUh. okay wow that was alot. cres shut up about utmv for 5 seconds (IMPOSSIBLE) (I DIED AFTER 1 SECOND). anyways THANK YOU!!! i will post and draw stars and neutrals tomorrow maybe. just after some sleep because it is 2am. bye everyone 3.<

[updownlately]

'cause all of the small things that you do (are what remind me why i fell for you)

| leah williamson x reader

~~~

"You're such an idiot, you know?" Leah fondly shook her head as she bent down, head coming level with your knee.

You were sat on the bathroom counter, a fresh set of clothes finally on you, as Leah stood in between your legs, medical bag propped open beside you.

You winced as an alcohol pad came in contact with your scraped joint, hissing in pain as she tediously worked to clean the dried blood and grime scattered around it.

“Totally worth it,” you yelped in response, the midfielder having pressed directly on your wound. 

Quickly wrapping a bandage around the area she had just wiped, the blonde rose to a standing position, throwing the wrappers into the bin.

“I can’t believe you didn’t get carded…” Shaking her head in disbelief, Leah ripped open another wipe, gently tugging on your wrist after to bring your arm to your chest so she could tend to the burn on your forearm.

“The ref was blind as shit…is it really that surprising? You saw it first hand when they tackled you like three thousand times in the first half!” 

Your whiny justification brought a smile to the Englishwoman’s face, amusement poorly hidden. 

“Still not an excuse to go all Hulk on them. Had the ref been stupid they could’ve given you a red easily.” 

“Who’s to say they weren’t a complete dipshit? For all we know, they’re likely as oblivious off the field too!”

Body shaking with the effort of holding her laugh back, Leah covered her mouth with her hands in a poor attempt to hide her grin. 

“Baby, you can’t just say that…” 

“Why not? And you’re laughing!” A cheeky smile took over your face, chest filling with pride at seeing Leah’s eyes twinkle at your shenanigans. 

“Love…”

“Nope, not hearing it. Your opinion is overruled….I can totally say it and it is funny.” Tongue between your teeth, you shot the blonde a wide grin. 

Sighing in defeat, the grin not leaving her face, Leah pinched your thigh playfully and quickly finished cleaning the cut on your arm.

Reaching for bandages, she slowly began wrapping it around the decent-sized burn, tongue peeking out from behind her teeth, eyebrows furrowing as she focused on laying it flat. 

You watched the midfielder as she worked, shy smile overtaking your mischievous grin. 

Near heart-eyes on your face, you bit back your grin, chin sloping to the side in absolutely adoration.

Meeting your gaze as she finished, the blonde righted herself, head tilting as her cheeks flushed.

Rummaging through the medical kit to keep herself busy, you almost didn’t hear her quiet words over the noise of supplies being ransacked. 

“Stop looking at me like that…”

Confusion crossing your face, your voice came out equally as soft, shoulders dipping. “Like what?”

“…with that look in your eyes, like I’ve done something special…” 

The nervousness was clear in the captain’s voice, her eyes not meeting yours, hand still fidgeting. 

Slowly grabbing Leah by her shoulders, you gently turned her to face you, hands running down until you were holding hers in your own. 

Waiting for steel blue eyes to meet your own, you brought your foreheads together, pulling her in with your legs. 

“You love me everyday. You put up with my dumb butt- yellow cards, twenty something fouls, and tons of cuts and bruises on my arms, that you don’t hesitate to tend to. I’m practically a McCabe in training yet you’re not complaining.”

“Still-“ Her eyes closed, mouth forming a thin line. 

“No.”

“No?” The confused mumble had you smiling, you quickly kissing Leah’s scrunched up nose before resting your head against hers again, voice a murmur in the small space between you two.

“No. You love me always, and take care of me, and check up on me, and you let me be goofy, and eat all your snacks even if you really wanted them. You always let me sit on the right side of the couch because you know it’s my spot. You make sure my kit bag’s always packed because we both know how forgetful I am. You bring me flowers and snacks on the most randomest of days. You let me cry at the cheesiest rom-coms the world has ever known. You love me on my best and my worst days Leah. You haven’t done something special but you are something special…”

You could hear a fly drop in the silence that took over the room once you finished speaking.

Heart pounding at your own raw admission, uncertainty flickered in your eyes, body slightly tensing, waiting.

Inhaling sharply at the lack of response, you began to pull back, ready to put distance between you two, to apologize (for what, you didn't really know). 

Just as you moved back a little bit, you felt a hand come to rest on the nape of your neck, pulling you back close.

You heard the blonde swallow hard, feeling her exhale fan across your face.

“I love you…”

The quiet admission was a whisper, you feeling her lips brush your own as she spoke. 

“I know…and I love you. You’re my something special, okay?”

Feeling Leah nod in response, you placed a loving kiss on the blonde’s lips, then another, and then another. It was only when the next one was cut short by the both of you smiling, that you pulled back, resting your face in the crook of her neck, the dim light of the fading sun casting an angelic glow as you both relaxed in each other’s hold, revelling in your shared love.

You might be an idiot, but hey, at least you were an idiot in love.

[peachhcs]

his eyes bounced down to a reply in the thread that linked the video footage of the hit. the blonde clicked into the 20 second video where he watched the girl from the other team plow into samy sending her straight to the ground. he watched her lay there without getting up until her teammates began crowding her.

Considering it's an away game, a concerning amount of the umich hockey team are in the stands, loosing it

There are also three very concerned hughes brothers scattered across the country watching

"what the fuck!" ethan yelled as soon as samy hit the ground. the others around him began mumbling in disbelief, waiting for the ref to throw up a red card.

"that was illegal!" mark yelled right alongside the brunette. the two stood there in disbelief and worry that samy hadn't gotten up yet.

"shit, is she okay?" gavin wondered while almost the entire team's gaze never left the girl down on the field.

"she's not getting up," gabe mumbled from beside the older boys.

"shit, come on samy. get up, get up," ethan mumbled under his breath.

by that time, the coach and athletic trainers were on the field with her. no one could see the brunette because of everyone's bodies hiding her from the stands and the other players. there was still nothing from the refs either.

"that was a fucking card! where's the card!" ryan yelled which got boston's side going because they didn't get why a bc kid was cheering for a umich kid.

"why the fuck are you cheering for the other team?" some stranger yelled over at the boys' section.

"fuck off! she just got hurt!" mark yelled back which shut that other person up fairly quickly.

meanwhile, jack and luke watched the live stream from the comfort of their couch, mouths wide open waiting for their baby sister to get back up.

"why isn't she getting up?" jack muttered.

"the other team hit right into her. they haven't even given a card yet!" luke exclaimed and quickly went to his phone to get any updates from their parents that were there.

ellen picked up on the third ring.

"mom, what the hell's happening? is she okay?" luke put the call on speaker so jack could listen in.

"they're still looking at her on the field right now. the guys aren't too happy about it," the older woman explained.

"why haven't they given that other girl a red card? that was an illegal hit. she did that on purpose," luke continued in frustration.

"the refs are ignoring the stands as they watch the replay," ellen said.

"watch the replay? did they not see that girl hit samy purposefully??" jack rolled his eyes.

"hold on, quinn's calling now too. i'm adding him to this call," a second later, quinn joined.

"you're on the call with luke and jack, too," ellen said to her sons.

"what's going on with this play? the live stream stopped showing what's happening?" quinn urged for some answers.

"they're still looking at her. she took a really hard hit. it looks like her shoulder."

"shit. if it's her shoulder, she's not gonna be able to play or they won't want her to," jack hummed and he knew that would piss samy off because she hated being out of the game.

"wait, she's getting up. your father and i are gonna go down and meet her. we'll call you guys back," ellen hurried out before hanging up.

people in the stands began clapping once samy was up, glad she was okay enough to walk. ethan and mark exchanged a glance watching samy walk back through the tunnel with the trainers. they had a huge ice pack wrapped around her right shoulder.

"fuck, that doesn't look good," gavin muttered.

"wait, the refs are coming back out," ethan nudged the guys' arms as they anxiously awaited what the card would be.

the ref held out a yellow card—a warning.

"what the fuck! that was red card!" ethan immediately yelled, not caring if he got kicked out of the game.

"no fucking way. they're blind!" ryan exclaimed as well.

the refs didn't say anything else and the game continued on without samy while the twitter headlines started breaking about the hit.

[microsofttothemax]

finally figured out my raph design!! quite happy w how he turned out, he’s just a spiky boy :]

DESIGN NOTES UNDER THE CUT

his scales and coloring look pretty simple, but it was difficult to find a green pallete that i liked. i wanted to keep in his primary color, but add a bit of ✨flair✨ to him

originally i was going to leave him with a blind eye, but figured that after all the krang shit and the infection he’d probably get, i figure it’d be safer for the boys to just remove the eye altogether lol

his head shape probably changed the most, and for good reason. i wanted to capture his snapper traits w the spikes, and i figure he’d look cool w a “mohawk” of spikes down his head (he did, so i kept it)

the mask was a pretty easy solution to the spikes, just followed his turtle tot ref for that. also yes i kept the bow in his mask, it fits him quite well :]

all in all a success!!

[the-s1lly-corner]

hii!!!

Could i ask for platonic headcannons (tadc) for jax,ragatha, pomni for a reader who acts like Jane Doe from ride the cyclone ( says the most random facts, doesnt know wtf is happening half of the time etc)

Sorry if this is a long ask.

And tysm

Jax, Ragatha, and Pomni x jane doe!type reader!

funny thing is that today ive gotten a second jane doe reader request, like an hour or so ago :O, so ill probably answer that one right after this so !! originally i was gonna tie the two asks into one post but idk, so uh uh !!! we'll see! speaking of, i need to get into RTC, i never really. got into it, outside of some of the songs (ballad of jane doe, talia, and noels lament have changed me) ill also be relying on the other persons ask to guide me on janes personality, so im not totally blind on this !! apologies for any inaccuracies !

POMNI:

she kind of finds your manner of speaking.. uncanny, in its own way. the flatness, the fact you dont put many emotion behind your words. and how you sometimes drop the most morbid bits of information (usually) unprompted

one time the two of you were doing an IHA and the topic of ants came up and you just started talking about how if ants find a rival colony they will engage in all out war in order to survive and claim the resources of the place. why did you start talking about ants? because caine conjured up an ant NPC to serve some role in the adventure

now if you have some knowledge on the digital world and its secrets and... perhaps a means of escape, then she may be more inclined to spend more time with you

RAGATHA:

sometimes she has to keep an eye on you when you guys are having an IHA, just so you dont wander off and possibly get hurt when you decide you dont much care for whats going on

"oh thats nice..! can you tell me more?" when you drop some random facts about something. imagine randomly dropping some facts about centipedes and she just. grins and tries to act casual while you have this sweet little look in your eyes

not much else to be said, i think she would indulge in your little fun facts if she thinks it will make you happy

JAX:

"no one wants to hear about your net facts, reader"/ref

but like its worded a little meaner, if that makes sense

only really seems interested if he can find a way to use the new knowledge to be a little shit

otherwise, i dont think he would interact with you often :( i dont really see him being the type to hang around a character like that SOBS

he thinks its funny if your facts earn a look or reaction from someone else, though

if not romantic, i could see the possibility for a friendship!