#so will poor mr brood

[clownfire]

totally not projecting film-crunch onto a fictional vamp couple... you wouldn't catch me dead writing hurt/comfort for mary and arthur...

[goldenstring6123]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTNXxJ8TM/

THIS IS SO CUTE PLS I CAN SO CLEARLY SEE THE LADS MEN DOING THIS 😭 and the comment section had me dying where is evb finding these MEN 😔🙏

Lnds: Sleepy time!

Warning: No warnings, afab!reader, fem!reader

Authors note: Fluff (not a lot of it) and a bit of domestic stuff.

Sylus:

It had been 30 minutes since you left the bedroom. Sylus was already well on his side of the mattress, reading the news while waiting for you to come back. He thought you were just up and about doing your normal routine of drinking herbal tea and doing skincare, but it was taking you far longer than usual.

He settled the tablet down on the nightstand and walked out of the bedroom. He searched for you in every room he passed by, and when he arrived at the guest bedroom at the end of the hall, there you were, perfectly tucked in under the unused duvet.

You were curled into a ball and too engrossed in the video you were watching; you didn't even notice the black fuzzy threads wrapping around your weird curled-up position. You lifted off from the bed, and when you came to, the view was of Sylus' back as you involuntarily made your way back to his bedroom.

"So you're not going to put me down?" you asked, paying attention to the video again. "Are manners not a thing anymore?"

The brooding man didn't spare you a glance. "I'm not open for discussion. You're supposed to sleep in my bedroom. Our bedroom."

"I just wanted a bed all to myself," you uttered. Here you were, planning what to watch and what to eat for the whole night, and this guy managed to foil it.

"I don't share the same sentiment, sweetie. You have the bed every time I'm overseas on a work trip. It's even infested with your colorful pillows," he opened the door to the bedroom and reeled you in, gesturing to your side of the bed which had vibrant pillows and bed 'pets,' as you like to refer to them.

"You really can't sleep without me, can you, Mr. Big guy? Afraid that someone's under the bed or something?"

"I'm more afraid that you're going to ravage my food pantry when you're not in my line of sight."

"The guest bedroom is nowhere near the pantry and I don't ravage it—I simply take a few snacks," you clarified. "Greg would be sad if the food spoils."

"Either way, you sleep in my bedroom or my couch, nowhere else, sweetie."

"Admit it: You like my company, don't you?" You gave him a cheeky grin.

"Yes, yes," Sylus agreed sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "You make a good meat shield when we get attacked in this bedroom."

"Oh wow. Reduced to a shield." You rolled your eyes in return and slipped under the covers. "That's Onychinus' leader for you."

"Right. Are you done now? I still have an early schedule for tomorrow."

"Alright, alright. I'm heading to bed now. You can sleep."

"Good. Now come here." Sylus opened his arms and you found yourself huddled right into it like it was the perfect mold. You shifted a bit and could feel his muscles relax against your back.

"Why did you feel the need to sleep in the guest room tonight?" Sylus asked under his breath.

"I was planning on reading comics all night. Tara recommended a new romance comic which I like, but knowing you, you'd probably take my phone away."

"Then it looks like I will be the bad guy tonight."

"Maybe. Until you fall asleep." You shrugged.

You hear the handcuffs being pulled out.

Shit.

Xavier:

3:02 AM, it says on the clock. You weren't on the bed. It was cold and it was proof that you never went on it, which was odd considering you told sleepy little Xavier that you were going to stay over. Poor little tired hunter was exhausted after a day's work and couldn't help but doze off while watching you do your little night ritual of moisturizing and doing a facemask.

Xavier sat on the side of the bed, letting out a big yawn. He didn't know where you were, but all he knew was that he didn't like being alone. From his palm, a faint whirlpool of light emanated, enough to guide him through his dark abode. His first thought was maybe you were watching in the living room. You weren't there. He then headed to the small bedroom right beside his, a spare one for guests, but it went unused when you both shared the same bed now.

He tried his best to quietly open the door. There he saw a little bump on the mattress and it made his heart squeeze; you were adorable and looked so small. Xavier tiptoed and folded the blanket away from you. He took a deep breath and lifted you up bridal style, pressing you against his chest.

"hm?…Xavier?" you slurred, vision dark and blurry.

"I'm moving you to our bedroom," he kissed the top of your head and continued his journey to the other room.

"You were sleeping," you paused, looking for the word. The drowsiness didn't seem to go away. "didn't want to…disturb you."

Xavier wanted to say something, but he and you both arrived at the side of the bed. He gently laid you down and placed a pillow between your limbs, which you automatically hugged. Xavier crawled to his side of the bed and yanked the cover over the both of you. Though you both weren't exactly touching, the little hunter's heart eased at your presence.

Gladly, he went back to sleep, hoping to maybe see you in his dreams.

Zayne:

Zayne's house was far too quiet when he arrived. It was only 7 o'clock, and by then you'd usually be in the kitchen, peeking your head out with a ladle in hand. There was no "welcome back" nor a simple "hello," but what did he expect? You were mad at him.

It's a shallow fight, really. Zayne decided to put you on alcohol time-out and took your hidden beers that you were so ready to drink after a grueling day at work. Zayne's judgment was far better than yours because when you get drunk beyond mental capacity, you tend to make a mess of the house, and you turn into a rage-filled, feisty lady. Moreover, you'd been chain-drinking for the whole week, and Zayne was getting concerned because you kept having hangovers.

His hands twisted on the knob to the little library of his house, where he would always find you on nights like these. There you were, curled in the lazy boy sofa and turned away from him. You were awake, but you didn't want to look at your lover.

"I'm home," Zayne declared.

"Dinner's in the fridge. Heat it up," you responded and closed your eyes. Zayne's footsteps grew closer and closer to you, and you felt his palm land on your shoulder.

"Your back will hurt if you sleep in that position."

The sofa might look soft and admittedly it's pretty comfortable to sit on for a long period of time, but with the curled-up position you have, it was bound to hurt when you fall asleep.

"I'm perfectly fine," you replied.

"Don't be stubborn." Zayne decided to pick you up. You wanted to thrash and get out of his grasp, but then you would look childish.

"I don't want to be with you tonight."

Zayne kept his lips in a thin line. He's more than aware that you're saying that because you're mad, but still—It hurts to hear it from you.

Gently, Zayne settled you in the middle of the bed. "I'll sleep in the living room. Stay here," he whispered and tucked the blanket over your shoulders. It was dark in the bedroom, so you couldn't exactly see him. You rolled over to face away from your lover and patiently waited for him to leave.

1:34 AM. You couldn't sleep. A can of beer would do you some good, but your tongue wasn't craving the bitterness of it. Instead, your mind looped over to a few hours ago when you said something that you didn't mean. It was harsh now that you think about it.

Now Zayne is keeping his distance from you. The owner of the house is sleeping on the couch.

With two pillows and a blanket in hand, you made your way down the flight of mahogany stairs. The living room was in full view, and Zayne was fast asleep on the couch. You nudged the two ottomans to the space between the coffee table and the main sofa. Then you threw the pillows and spread the blanket wide, letting it flutter down while you made yourself fit on the ottoman chairs.

You left a few spaces between you and Zayne, one that was filled by the cold pillow.

2:46 AM. Zayne stirred awake and found a blanket draped over his body. Beside him was his supposedly angry lover, clutching the hem of his shirt. He stared up into the chandelier above and took the pillow that was bordering between them, used it as his own, and pulled you closer, nudging the blanket over both of you even more.

Rafayel:

He's standing by the doorway, tapping his foot while a plushie was tucked under his armpit. He was frowning, and you could even see it through the dark.

"What?" you asked, shining the phone his way.

"So you're going to leave me alone tonight? Is that how you're going to play?" He was mad-mad, but that's why you were confused.

"Hey, drama king—you were complaining earlier in the day about my bad sleeping habits—I'm giving you the bed now so you can be at ease, but now you're mad at me again. Do you want me to sleep on the floor of your bedroom or something?"

"Duh? Of course not. I'm just complaining because it's true, but I never said you should sleep in the guest room."

"Then are you going to be alright with my sleeping habits?"

"No."

"Then sleep alone."

An audible gasp could be seen on the expression of the Lemurian. He looked so offended with the end of the conversation, but you weren't having it, so you plopped back onto the bed and hid under the covers, hoping that he'd go away.

The moment you peeked back out, you were rapidly crushed under heavy weight, making you sink to the bottom of the bed. Rafayel lay spread out on top of you, keeping you in your position and crushing you underneath him.

"Get off me! You're heavy!" You struggled underneath the blanket, nudging him and kicking him, but he pretended to be a dead body floating in the water. Rafayel kept still; if verbal convincing won't work, then he'll have to make you change your mind.

"Fine! Fine! I'll sleep with you!" you screamed. He rolled to the side, propped his elbows up, and rested his head on his palm. You just wanted to rub that triumphant grin off his face. He happily scooted underneath the blankets and hogged your side of the bed, wrapping his hand around you and shutting his eyes.

You didn't want to make a big deal of it further and decided to head to bed as well.

You were stirred awake by a strain in your neck. The lids of your eyes lifted at the electrifying pain that traveled to your head. You squinted, barely able to process the faint blue outside the window. Your body was spread out again, and nearby you could see Rafayel making use of the awkward space he was left with.

Guilt washed over your tired body.

Without much thought left, you held onto two pillows and let your body slip down to the carpeted floor. You hugged the pillow and placed another one under your head, liking the furry texture that brushed the side of your bare arms and legs. You closed your eyes again and let the tiredness wash over you.

It was cold for a summer morning. A large yawn escaped your lips and you patiently waited for your eyes to focus, and when they did, your eyes widened immediately at the beautiful sight of a sleeping Lemurian. Rafayel, too, was now on the floor, using his own arm as a pillow.

You tapped on his shoulder, and he just pulled you down back to the floor. "Five more minutes," he groaned, burying his face in your collar. Luckily, it was a Saturday, and you didn't have to go to work. You could indulge him in the meantime.

Author's footnotes: lol the tiktok was very cute, something that you'd see in a rom-com enemies to lovers sort of romance story. It would be a pretty redundant snippet if every situation is the same for the love interest so I took the liberty of changing things a bit.

Layout by me, using Canva Premium | Do not repost

[arc-misadventures]

Jaune is asked FMK on his all female teammates, but instead it’s his mom asking BMI.

Body mass index? No, Breed, Mate, or Impregnate.

BMI: Jaune

Juniper: Oh, Jaune~?

Jaune: Oh great… hell is here…

Pyrrha: What are you talking about, it’s just your mom?

Nora: Hi, Mom!

Rin: Hello, Mrs. Arc.

Juniper: Hello girls!

Jaune: What do you want mom?

Juniper: Can you answer something for me~?

Jaune: No.

Juniper: What? But, I haven’t even asked you anything.

Jaune: Aye, but it’s you, so what ever it is, is something I don’t want to answer!

Juniper: Please~!

Jaune: …

Jaune: Haa… fine ask your question… But, it better nit be MFK, or so help me!

Pyrrha: You relented pretty fast.

Jaune: She’ll keep bothering me until I finally say yes, so I might as well as get this over, and done with.

Rin: Wise choice.

Juniper: Okay, Jaune… BMI…

Jaune: BMI; the hell is that?

Juniper: Breed, Mate, and Impregnate~!

Jaune: WHAT?! What the hell is that?

Juniper: It’s things you do when you have se…?!

Jaune: I know what it is! It’s just, why are you asking me this?

Juniper: I thought you were tired of doing, MFK, so I decided go spice things up.

Jaune: Ironically I would have preferred that… Haa… okay… who are the poor victims you have chosen this time?

Juniper: I want you to BMI: Pyrrha, Rin, and Nora~!

Jaune: WHAT?!

NPR: 😳😳😳

Juniper: What? I’m simply curious what you would do with your friends if given the opportunity to, BMI.

Jaune: But, Mom, you’re asking me to do this to my…

Pyrrha: Jaune, answer the question.

Jaune: What?! Pyrrha, you can’t be…

Nora: Answer the question, Jaune.

Jaune: But, she asking me to…

Rin: Answer the question.

Jaune: But…?!

NPR: ANSWER THE QUESTION!

Jaune: Okay! Okay! Okay!

Jaune: Haa…

Jaune: I would, Mate with, Pyrrha.

Pyrrha: Why?

Jaune: Do you really want to know why?

Pyrrha: Yes!

Jaune: Okay?! Because I believe you are not ready for the other two options because you’re focusing on your career.

Pyrrha: A fair assessment.

Jaune: I’d breed, Nora…

Nora: Why?! Tell me?! What position would you take me in?! How long would you do me?! How many loads would you dump in me?!

Juniper: Oh my~!

Jaune: …?!

Jaune: I s-said, Nora because I thought she would be into it. I didn’t think she’d be that into it!

Nora: I’m totally into being breed like a brood mare by you, Jaune~!

Jaune: Uhhhhhhhhh?!?!

Pyrrha: So that’s what, Nora’s moaning in the middle of the night were about.

Ren: Like yours are any better.

Pyrrha: Y-You know?!

Jaune: And, lastly I would… I would impregnate, Rin…

Rin: Wonderful~! When shall we start!

Jaune: B-Beg pardon…?

Rin: You said you would impregnate me. Shall we get started now, or what?

Jaune: You want me to do that now?!

Rin: Yes.

Jaune: B-But, what about your career of becoming a huntress?

Rin: I much rather have a career as a housewife for our children than be a huntress.

Jaune: But, we’re still in school!

Ren: And?

Jaune: Ah?!

Jaune: Guys help me out here.

Pyrrha: Help you impregnate, Rin? Of course I’ll help~!

Jaune: Help?!

Nora: Would you be upset if you knocked me up while you impregnate, Rin?

Jaune: WAIT, WHAT?!

Rin: Come on, Jaune; let’s go start our happy family~!

Jaune: Ahh, no wait! Mom! Save me!

Juniper: Make sure to drink lots of water dear~!

Jaune: You traitor!

~~~

Glynda: Mr. Arc…

Jaune: Yes, Professor Goodwitch…?

Glynda: You impregnated… your entire team…

Jaune: Yeah… Mom, put ideas in their heads, and well… that happened.

Glynda: I see… Juniper getting involved would certainly answer things… But, let me ask you something.

Jaune: Yes, Professor?

Glynda: Why wasn’t I involved in this game of BMI?

Jaune: …

Jaune: Eh…?

[marleyybluu]

Boys

dad!Oscar x mom!reader

Sum: Oscar's not a fan of his daughter going on a date.

WC: 928

Warnings: old draft not proofread.

this was not what I originally wanted to post but this was in my drafts so I'm letting it go out into the Tumblr world.

"Ay! Papaaa! It's not a big deal!"  The teenage girl dramatically raised her voice throwing an outfit on her bed, she suddenly hated her closet. Her father's arms crossed over his chest, an unhappy look on his face as he stood in the door frame. "Who is this guy? Why have you never told me about him? Where is he taking you?"

You chuckled rolling your eyes at the small argument as you stirred your pot of food, your youngest sat in her high chair giggling her head off. "You're laughing? Girl you are next." You joked pointing at her which only made the twelve-month-old laugh even more. A bedroom door slammed and your sixteen-year-old appeared. "Ugh!! What is wrong with your husband!?"

He was dad when everything went her way but was quickly your husband once when things go awry.

You shrugged. "You know how he is, girl, but I mean you could have said something to him."

 She let out an exaggerated sigh and plopped herself down around the kitchen table. Your daughter had let it be known to you and you only that she had a crush on a boy named Nico at school, you'd known of  Nico, met him a few times and seemed nice. Then one day your girl comes home squealing with joy about how the young man liked her back and asked her out on a date. You were happy for her and found it a bit cute that she'd reached this stage in life, a bit cautious of what was to come if the unspeakable happened.

Young heartbreak was a bitch.

Oscar on the other hand was not too fond of the thought of his daughter, his precious angel, going on a date with a boy he's never heard about. The doorbell rang causing your child to jump up, her hands ironing out her light blue dress from any creases, even though there were none. Your brooding husband came sliding down the hall on his way to open the door. You had asked her to turn down the stove so that you could beat him to the door so he wouldn't terrify the young boy.

He caught wind of what you were doing at picked up his pace, you attempted to match him and almost met up with him until he shoved you out of the way, not so hard that you would plummet onto the floor but enough to knock you off balance. 

 Oscar had made it to the entrance his iconic scowl returning to his face as he answered the door. The young man swallowed, fear visibly creeping in when he was met with a more well-toned, and well-tatted man who looked like he was ready to put his foot where the sun doesn't shine. "Who are you?" He nodded. 

 "I'm uh, I'm Nico. I'm... I'm here to pick up Nia... if that's okay." He stammered. 

"Well, it's no-"

"Nico, hi sweetie how are you?" You chimed in pulling on Oscar's arm, your nails digging into his skin causing him to hiss and cuss under his breath. "I'm good Mrs. Diaz. How about yourself?"

"I'm great. I think Nia should be here any second she's just grabbing her jacket."

"Where you guys going?" Oscar asked arching his brow. Nico played with the bottom of his black shirt, the poor kid was sweating. "Just the movies, McDonald's or something after."

You smiled. "That's nice."

Nia cleared her throat as she appeared from behind her mother. "Hi, Nico." She blushed. His smile was all of a sudden brighter. "Hi Nia, you look pretty."

"Thank you. You look pretty too." You softly smiled as you watched Nia's face fall, probably thinking what she said was stupid. 

"Thanks."

The young girl said goodbye to her parents and they watched her get into the passenger seat of his car and drive off. You closed the door turning to Oscar who still had a frown on his face. "You are a piece of work Spooky."

He kissed his teeth, you never called him that unless you were upset. Now, technically, you weren't mad at him you just wanted to sting him a little for almost ruining your daughter's nice evening. "She couldn't wait until she was at least twenty-five to start dating." He groaned. 

You raised your eyebrows in amusement. "You didn't wait. I didn't wait. We were their age once Papi. Es la vida. Let her grow."

He pouted, that was his firstborn, the first to have him completely wrapped around her finger, poor Oscar was at her beck and call no matter what. So, as much as he hated to say it out loud, he was sad that his little girl was growing up right before his eyes. Your husband followed you back into the kitchen, slithering his hands around your waist, holding you close. He hummed at the smell of your hair pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

"If, and I mean if, he breaks her heart. I'll come with you to beat him up." The two of you laughed. "Deal."

Oscar turned his attention over to your youngest who was stuffing her face with a small store-bought cupcake. He smiled at the icing covering half her face, he grabbed a paper towel and wet it before wiping off her face. Her little hands reached for his face and he leaned into her tiny palms, kissing all over her face causing her to explode into a fit of laughs. He took her out of her high chair lifting her in the air. "You gotta wait a little longer than sixteen to date okay mi amor."

You kissed your teeth and threw a kitchen towel at him. "Estúpido."

More Papa Spooky otw bcus i have a problem

if you liked this fic feel free to like this fic. Comments and reblogs are appreciated. For the newbies I see y’all I just can’t respond.

Peace and love

Tags: @skyesthebomb @darqchilddaydreamz

[lizardboiii]

At The Tone ┃ DCU

Barry Allen x Spider-Woman!Reader

┃ Summary: Sometimes bad things happen to good people - and that’s where the Justice League comes in. Too bad you weren’t interested.

“Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be" Billie Eilish, "What Was I Made For?"

│cw: SFW, alcohol abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief, hurt/comfort, violent themes

│wc: 3.9k

│chapters: One shot

│notes: This fic has been sitting unfinished (with 2k words!!) in my drafts for a WHILE. randomly decided it needed to see the light of day ig. was gonna make it nsfw but i low key hate it and just wanted too move on oops. enjoy <3

・❥・

│One Shot: At The Tone

You have five new messages.

“Good afternoon, Spider-Woman this is Cla-”

You heard a throat clear.

“It’s Superman. I see you still aren’t picking up any of the team’s calls,” He swallowed thickly, “I understand your recent loss was… hard. Something none of us would have wished for anybody.”

You could feel the tension in his voice.

“Please take all the time you need. The league is more than capable of taking care of New York in your absence for the time being.”

The sound of a pen clicking disrupted the message every so often, “But at least give us some indication you're alive…and well. The team cares about you,” He chuckled warmly, “Even “Mr. I Work Alone” Batman himself.”

His laugh dropped abruptly with a soft sigh, “Call me back when you can.”

Beep

You crawled out of bed slowly, dragging your duvet behind you like a cloak. The plush cotton laid heavy on your shoulders. You wondered if this was how Big Blue felt every morning - the weight of knowing everything depending on him once he bore his iconic red cape. 

You knew what that weight felt like, and you knew what it felt like to have it all come crashing down.

You have four new messages 

“How’s it hanging, Spidy? Haha, you get it?” A dramatic sigh escaped the machine, “Sorry, poor timing.”

He took a moment to regroup, “It's Green Lantern, just calling to check in. Headquarters has been depressing without you. I mean even Martian Manhunter is down in the dumps. It's a total bummer.”

Another sigh, “Listen you don't have to call me back if you don’t want to, but at least let Flash know you're still alive. He needs you more than he lets on.”

Beep

You groaned at the shrill ring of the answering machine. The outdated tech was too cherished to be discarded but the pulsing headaches you received from it almost outweighed the fond memories of Aunt May.

Thoroughly woken up, you entered your kitchenette. Your eyes shifted between the week old coffee pot on your stove to the half empty Hennessy bottle next to it. 

Maybe this time you would make the right choice. A sober evening is a good evening. However, the battle was always rigged to begin with and the winner already predetermined.

The Hennessy felt burdensome in your hand as you took a long swig. It burned violently down your throat, eating at your skin, before finally settling warmly in your stomach. Though you hated to admit it, it satisfied you more than any pot of coffee could.

Staggering to your couch, courtesy of one of New York’s finest sidewalks, you flopped down. The cushions were well used and musty. But who were you to pass up a free couch?

You have three new messages

“Spider-Woman.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“Your recent inactivity has caused some concerns regarding your whereabouts. The league seems to be having a hard time focusing on missions with your absence.”

Bats’ uncertainty leaked through the phone as he thought of his next sentence, “You have my condolences, Webs. However, the league cannot continue to work with this distraction. Please report to the Hall of Justice immediately.”

He hesitated, “We are worried.”

Beep

An involuntary snort escaped you. Bats’ attempt at comfort was interesting to say the least. He was surprisingly awkward for a leader of the Justice League. Though you supposed dark and brooding was his brand.

You have two new message

“Greetings, Spider-Woman, Wonder Woman speaking.”

You could hear muffled arguing in the background.

“Batman may have been a bit…straightforward in that last voicemail,” She attempted a fake laugh, “Please do not mind his bluntness, he is merely just as concerned as the rest of us. In his own way at least.”

A loud slam made her curse under her breath.

“I apologize I must go, the “children” are fighting again. Don’t hesitate to call back. See you soon, Webs.”

Beep

Lifting the liquor to your lips, your brows creased when only a drop hit your tongue. Out already?

You let out an exaggerated sigh before placing the empty bottle on your coffee table. A quick glance at your barren pantry told you everything you needed to know. You’d have to go out and get some more. You felt your face scrunch. That means you have to go out in public.

You weighed your options. 

You could stay inside and continue to peacefully hide from the world, but you're guaranteed to sober up eventually.

Or you could make a quick trip to the convenience store down the road and pray the minimum wage employee can’t smell the alcohol on you from a mile away. 

You hummed thoughtfully. Though, now that you think about it, there’s a off chance you might run into the supe that’s covering your city for the time being. Then again, there’s a very high chance it’s not someone from the Justice League, a member from The Team at best. 

Massaging your forehead, you tried to remember the last time a Justice League member took a leave of absence. A blonde goatee flashed in your mind.

That’s right. Green Arrow was out for a while when he got busted up pretty bad. His protégé, Speedy, ended up babysitting Star City in his absence. You bit your lip. 

But you didn’t have one of those anymore.

You have one new message

“Hey Webs! Sent me to voicemail again, huh?”

An awkward laugh made the machine crackle.

“Just calling to check up on you. How are you doing? Feeling alright? Just say the word and I can grab you anything from anywhere. I mean literally anywhere. They don’t call me the fastest man alive for nothing!”

You could practically hear the large smile embedded on his face.

A large sigh passed through the speaker, “It’s been a month now. The team misses you…I miss you. A lot actually.”

He paused.

“Just call me back alright? I need to know if you're okay.”

Beep

Your hand paused over your front door handle. Flash’s deep voice was like a siren's call, beckoning you in. 

What you’d give to turn around. What you'd do to call him back. It took everything in you to force yourself away from his voice.

Your best friend. 

Your confidant. 

Your everything. 

You have zero new messages

・❥・

You weaved through the bustling sidewalk with a slight wobble, managing to dodge a third of the people you almost crashed into. Night was quickly approaching. That meant the streets were only going to get busier. 

More people = More crime = More superheroes.

Fumbling into a dimly lit alley, you avoided Main Street completely. It was too risky. Even in your civilian disguise there was no guarantee your voice wouldn’t be recognized - mainly by your teammates but especially by… Flash.

You recalled how often you sought each other out in the Hall of Justice. Whether it was meddling in the business of others, or simply enjoying the company of one another.

His hand always seemed to find its way to the small of your back. Gently resting. While his thumb delicately circled the thin fabric of your suit. 

He leaned in closer than he should. The dull smell of his cologne inevitably picked up by your heightened senses. 

It wasn't how friends should behave - but that's all you ever were. Friends.

Thwack!

You slammed yourself against one of the side walls in surprise, extinguishing your mind of complex thoughts. Creeping closer, you cursed in your head when harsh thumps and muffled grunting filled the air. 

“Where’s my money, Huey?”

Crack!

“I-I don’t know! Please!”

Whack!

You recognized the tell-tale sound of blood splattering against the ground, akin to paint splashing. The sound made you nauseous. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you thought of your next move. 

Now, on any normal occasion you’d swing in all heroic and save the day. But today was different. You were different. 

Excuses flooded your brain as you tried to explain to yourself why you felt little desire to help the abused man. 

Your suit was at home crammed somewhere in between an ugly Christmas sweater and a latex bodysuit you practically begged Cat Woman not to give you. 

Even if you had the energy, you were still considered MIA to the league. You’d basically be spoon feeding them your location. 

Your internal dilemma didn’t last long as the pummeling swiftly came to an end. Peaking around the corner, you watched the assistants retreat into an adjacent alley. They moved lazily. Clearly they didn’t expect to be caught.

You could still catch them.

You found yourself making an internal description. Two Caucasian males both wearing black beanies and disgustingly outdated puffer jackets. The taller one sported purple and green. While the shorter preferred yellow. 

Your foot shifted before you felt yourself hesitate. Maybe you shouldn’t. They’d probably be caught soon enough anyways. 

If anything, the supe covering your city would swoop in and haul their asses to the local jail. Especially when you called an ambulance for the man who was passed out on the ground. It would put this area on tonight's map. You sighed and finally allowed yourself to relax. 

This was fine. 

Everything was fine. 

Shifting your eyes to the ground, you located the poor soul who suffered the attack. His breathing was ragged and wet. You were quick to put two fingers on his neck, checking for a pulse. A wave of relief crashed through you when you felt a steady beating.

Pulling out your phone, you immediately dialed 911 and requested an ambulance, anonymously of course. You stayed with the man until you could hear loud sirens growing closer. Your sign to leave. 

Exiting the alleyway, you reached the small convenience store in record time. The adrenaline in your system was starting to make quick work of the alcohol in your bloodstream. 

You could feel your senses beginning to come back. Eyes clearer. Ears sharper. You could practically hear the heartbeats of everyone in the store. 

Groaning at your misfortune, you beelined for the alcohol section in the back. My god was it beautiful. Itching to return home, you grabbed a random bottle that had the highest percentage. Taste didn’t matter. Only the effect.

Glancing at your selection you choked on your own spit. 30 dollars?? The glass bottle was swiftly put back as you grabbed the cheapest one you could find. Tucking the Shitty K under your arm, you turned to walk to the register.

“PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP, OLD MAN.”

You froze. Extending your neck out, you caught a glimpse of the register. 

Purple, green, and yellow.

You had to be fucking kidding.

You watched as the two assailants from the alley held the elderly cashier at gunpoint. His form shook like a leaf. 

“Please! Just take the money and leave!”

You caught his eyes as he begged for his life. Tear filled and shaking. You could have prevented this. If you would have just stopped them when you had the chance none of this would have happened.

You could have saved the man in the alley. Saved the poor cashier.

You could have saved Uncle Ben too. 

Your eyes watered. Fucking pathetic mistake. What the hell were you doing? You weren’t a teenager anymore. You were a grown adult who should have learned from your mistakes by now.

Shifting your eyes from the vodka to him, you pressed your lips in a thin line. You didn’t know what hurt more. The fact that you were repeating past mistakes or the fact that you wanted to take the more expensive alcohol and leave unnoticed.

When did you become this? 

No wonder you let Spider-Girl die.

You needed a drink. Desperately.

Abruptly, a whiplash of red and yellow snatched you from your daydream. The streaking shape blew over the newspaper stand before spinning around the starstruck perpetrators. You knew those McDonald's colors from anywhere. 

Kid Flash.

Like any speedster, he removed the gun in milliseconds before tying up the confused robbers. They stood no chance against the meta-human.

Dusting off his hands, Kid Flash smiled smugly at the dumbfounded duo, “Guns aren’t currency, you know?”

The man in yellow thrashed violently, “What the hell-Kid Flash!? Why are you in New York? Spidey taking a break or something?”

You cringed.

Kid Flash’s boyish voice laughed awkwardly, “Something like that.”

You need to get out of here. Now.

Slowly backing into the aisle, you clenched your teeth when your elbow hit the shelf. The bottles tinked in a symphony, altering everyone in the store of your presence. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Instantly, you snatched your coat hood and covered your face and hair. Staring into the grime covered tiles, you prayed Kid Flash wouldn’t think too much of it.

“Hello?”

Of course. The one time he’s actually thorough.

“Are you alright?”

Bright yellow boots came into your vision as you tried to conceal yourself further. You hunched into yourself with clenched fists. Mistaking your actions for something else, Kid Flash placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey it’s okay! You don’t have to be sacred!”

You bite into your lip eager to escape the conversation, “I’m not. Please let go.”

Kid Flash laughed, sounding a little too similar to Flash in your opinion. Removing his hand from your shoulder, he stood next to you with his hands on his hips. 

“Then why are you hiding?” A red glove entered your vision. It was headed straight for your hood.

You slapped his hand away, “Didn’t your parents tell you not to talk to strangers.”

He shrugged, “That rule doesn’t really apply to superheroes.”

You couldn’t contain the breathy laugh that left your throat. You hate to admit it but you actually really missed the kid. 

However, you failed to realize your mistake. If anyone knew your laugh it was Kid Flash. You spent way too much time around him and Flash for him not too.

There was a long pause. 

“…Webs?”

You flinched hard, “Wrong person.” You internally cursed at yourself for the obvious slur in your voice.

“Are you drunk?”

“…No.”

His hand grabbed your upper arm tightly, “Where have you been? Are you okay?”

You gently pulled against his hold, attempting to break free without force, “I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t,” Kid Flash raised his hand to his ear piece, “Just let me notify Flash-”

“NO!”

Your arm flew up to the communicator without thought. Taking advantage of his surprise, you were able to snatch the high tech earpiece from his loosen grip.

“Hey!” 

Kid Flash grabbed at you. His lanky limbs attempting to reclaim his lost device, “Let go!”

“You let go!” You shoved his face away with the palm of your hand. 

Kid Flash merely continued to grab at the air around you, “Never!”

If this was any other situation you would have laughed. The pair of you looked like children fighting over the last dessert.  

However, this wasn't just any situation. This situation involved Flash. 

“Listen to your elders you brat!” Finally, after a well fought struggle, you managed to hold the device out of arm's reach. A much needed success after the month you've had- 

“Webs?”

You halted in your tracks.

The small communicator in your hand blinked on and off, identifying an unstable signal. 

“Webs is that you?” Flash was urgent, “Wait there! I'm coming-”

You crushed the device in your hand. Terrified.

Small fragments engraved themselves into your skin, dotting your hand red. What have you done? 

“Batman’s gonna kill you for that, you know?” Kid Flash laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

You frowned, uninterested in entertaining him. Kid Flash merely smiled awkwardly. It was evident the boy was taken aback by your unusually serious demeanor. 

The thought didn't take up much space in your mind. You could only think of one thing. When would Flash decide to appear out of thin air?

As if conjuring the hero, a red bolt flew through the mostly empty convenience store. The glass doors shook from the force. While newspapers scattered through the air, Vogue landed atop the cashier's head. 

Though he moved faster than the speed of light, he stood before you still. Unmoving. It was as if you might fade away if he got too close. 

“Webs,” His voice was laced with reverence. 

Your mouth went dry, “Flash.”

The tension between the two of you was thick enough to cut with a knife, suffocating you. Maybe this was how Flash planned to get back at you for ignoring him. Slowly killing you with hypoxia. A metaphorical death pertaining to how he felt during your absence. 

“Woah, this just got really awkward.” 

Kid Flash’s voice suddenly reminded you of his presence. He swayed uncomfortably. Trapped between you and Flash.

The younger male pointed his thumbs at the door, “Should I leave…or?”

“Yes.” 

Startled at your synchronous voices, Kid Flash quickly shuffled toward the door, “Alright. See you later?”

Flash nodded his head in response, ushering his protégé away. Kid Flash couldn't leave fast enough. Magazines, once again disturbed, twirled around the ground from where he left.

You stared at the loose paper. Preferring the sight of perfume ads then whatever expression Flash held. From the corner of your eye you should see him shift. He moved with unease. Your mouth curled slightly. He never was able to stop moving for long. 

“Webs, I-”

You cut him off, “I’m sorry.”

Flash furrowed his brows in confusion, “You don’t need to apologize. It's not your fault.”

“But it is,” You clenched your teeth in frustration, “It's always been my fault.”

The taller male crossed the space between you hesitantly. You flinched when he placed his large hands on your shoulders, completely engulfing them. 

“It wasn't your fault, Webs. Nobody could have known.”

“I could have saved her,” you finally met his gaze, “I was right there.”

You saw his eyes widen slightly, clearly used to your masked form more than your real face. 

Your name spilled from his lips. 

Not just Webs - your name.

You took a shaky breath, “Barry.”

The name was foreign on your tongue. You had tried to keep your personal life separate from hero work. Though that only lasted a year. Barry managed to weasel his way into your home life before you knew it.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

Barry’s hands slid from your shoulders down to your hands, caressing them softly. “Believe me when I say this,” He took a deep breath, “I’ve been in your position before. We all have.”

Breaking eye contact, your stare bore into the wall of cheap booze, “I know.”

“And I know,” He cupped your cheek, “That drinking away your problems won’t help. It only makes it worse.”

You bit your lip, “I just want to forget.”

“I know. God, I know. I want to go back and change that day every time I open my eyes,” He placed his head in the crook of your neck, “But I've been down that road before. And it's not sustainable.”

Your eyes felt hot, your throat dry, “I don’t know what to do.”

Barry pulled your smaller frame into his arms, “No one does.”

You sunk into his embrace, inhaling his scent.

“Let me take you home, Webs.”

“Okay.”

・❥・

You held tightly onto Barry, arms circling his neck, as he brought you home. You had barely enough time to blink before you were standing in front of your apartment’s door.

Barry hesitantly let you down from his hold. Though his arm stayed wrapped around your waist for support. You gave him a gentle smile as a thank you. 

Unlocking your door, you were immediately reminded of the state of your apartment. Dirty laundry and loose items scattered the floor. 

Shame crept up your neck. The uncaring attitude towards your humble abode seemingly disappeared.

Barry entered slowly, taking in the messy state. His eyes were quickly drawn to the empty bottles strewn about your floor. Unsurprisingly, he began to pick one up. Then another. And another. You snapped when he started to replace your trash bag.

“Barry.”

His head whipped toward you, only focusing on you.

“That's enough,” You tried grabbing the bag from him, “You don’t need to.”

Barry held onto the plastic tightly, “I want to.”

You shook your head, “It's my mess. Leave it.”

“No.”

You jolted in surprise at his commanding tone, “Why?”

He tossed the bag to the side, “Why?” 

Laughing dryly, he shook his head, “Why not? Why wouldn't I take care of you?”

You averted your gaze, “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“But you do,” his voice was imbued with desperation, “If you didn’t, I wouldn't have spent a month doing everything in my power to find you!”

Your face felt hot, “I didn't ask you too!”

Barry closed in the space between you, “You didn't have too!”

You weren't sure when the tears began to pour down your cheeks, “I never wanted you too! I just want to be alone! Why can’t you let me be?”

“Because I can't let you be!” Barry’s hand slammed down on your tiny island counter, “You're all I think about! From the moment I wake up to the time I go to sleep, all I know is you. I would rather you hate me for the rest of my life just to see you for a moment than ever ignore you.”

You felt like a deer in headlights, “What?”

“That day when Spider-Girl died,” He gripped the counter, slightly cracking it under the force, “I felt like I lost a piece of you too. And I could bear it.”

You felt like you lost your breath when Barry met your gaze again. His eyes were laced with anguish. Bloodshot rims already forming.

“I know you're hurting. I know what I am experiencing is nothing compared to what you are going through,” He searched your eyes, “But I'm in love with you! And I have been for as long as I can remember.” 

The start of a cry made his voice waver, “And this is definitely poor timing for a confession, but I can’t lose you-”

You weren't exactly sure which one of your muscles was still intact enough for you to move. However, the feeling of plush lips against your own thwarted any other thought.

Barry stood rigid for a moment. Hands clenched at his sides. Then, he dominated the kiss like his life depended on it. His hands held onto your waist tightly, before slowly making their way to your face. You couldn't remember the last time you felt this happy.

Pulling away, you took shallow breaths, “I love you.”

Barry smiled and swiped a loose teardrop from your cheek, “I love you too.”

The warm moment didn't last long. Your mind was quick to remind you that there was a reason Barry had to confess in a messy studio apartment rather than someplace special. That reason was because you were broken.

You pressed you mouth into a thin line, “Do you still want me even if-”

“I want you no matter what,” Barry didn’t allow you to get another word in, “We can go through this together.”

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, “You're not alone, Webs. You never were.”

You swallowed hard, “Together?”

"Together."

・❥・

[ichorai]

would that i ; din djarin.

track twelve of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; din djarin x gn!reader

synopsis ; din didn’t consider himself a very jealous person. no, he wasn’t affected at all when the kid seemed to want to spend more time with you than him. not even a little bit.

words ; 1.5k

themes ; fluff, mild pining, kinda sunshine & grump trope

warnings / includes ; grogu eats a frog, mando gets v flustered, reader jokingly calls him daddy lol

main masterlist.

Bag hitched over your shoulder, you tugged on your hiking boots, bending over to double-knot the laces. “Hey, I’m going out to the market to grab some spare parts for the ship,” you called to the brooding Mandalorian in the cockpit. You were met with a quiet grunt in response. Finished with your shoes, you straightened yourself up and peeked your head into the front of the ship, watching Din work on some frayed wires by the control panel. “I’m taking the kid with me.”

This made him halt in his ministrations, and he turned to you. “Isn’t it easier if he just stays with me? Keep him here.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you nodded stoutly. “Alright, lemme ask him. Hey, bub,” you cooed, picking up the tiny creature from his floating carrier and setting him on the ground, equidistant between the two of you. Grogu peered at you with wide eyes, before rounding his head to look up at Din, then looked to you once more. He let out a garbled noise of confusion. “You wanna go to the market with me or stay with Mr. Grump over there?”

Silent, Din watched as Grogu began waddling towards you, seemingly excited at the prospect of going out to explore. 

With a hum of satisfaction, you scooped the kid up into your arms, shooting the masked man a victorious smirk, before striding towards the exit. 

“Be back before sunset!” he barked out, earning him a mock salute from you, then proceeded to incoherently grumble under his breath about how going to the market was really a one-person job, whilst fixing up the banged up ship definitely required more than a single pair of hands.

Clementine flames licked at the air greedily, crackling as Din tossed another wedge of wood into the fire. The setting sun cast long shadows over the secluded, wooded area your little group was hunkering down in, sparsely lit with the heated glow of the fire and the cold luminescence of the distant stars in the sky. You sat on the opposite end of the fire, blowing warm air into your palms to ebb away the numbing cold sewn into your skin.

The kid was snuggled up to your side, cooing as he tried to grab floating embers of the fire that drifted past him, carried away with the frigid night breeze.

Din studied the two of you, his mask betraying no expression whatsoever. Though Din was a man of few words, he was also a man of keen observations, always entirely aware of his surroundings. He noticed the way the orange of the fire tinted your skin with a near angelic glow, how the rustling of leaves behind him seemed to perfectly accompany your tinkering laugh as you smiled at the kid’s ministrations, how your eyes brightened with all the galaxy’s light within your irises. 

His attention was reluctantly drawn away from you when the kid waddled off to the side, having spotted a bulbish frog—which, presumably, looked like a tasty snack to him. 

With a gentle smile, you got up and circled around the fire to sit beside him, foliage crunching beneath your haunches as you settled down. 

“What’s on your mind?” you asked, just audible enough to hear over the pops of the flames. “You’re thinking so loudly.”

There was a moment of silence, the quiet weighing heavily over the both of you.

“It’s nothing,” he replied finally. “Nothing to worry about.”

Not wanting to pry, you hummed in thought, about to tell him that you’d be all ears if he had something to say, but promptly held your tongue when you caught sight of the kid swallowing the poor one-eyed frog whole.

“Spit that out!” both you and Din ordered at the same time. You glanced at each other, and your shoulders shook as you began to laugh, the corners of your eyes crinkling with such genuinity that was rare to find these days. 

You couldn’t see it, but a trace of a smile slowly appeared behind Din’s helmet.

The kid had finally fallen asleep—it took hours of you setting him firmly on your lap and telling him to shut his eyes until he began to relent, curled against your stomach and stealing your body warmth. Sleep was tugging at your own sleeves, whispering gentle static into your ears and weighing down your eyelids. 

Din had passed by the two of you multiple times as he tended to the many laborious upkeeps of the ship, silent as a ghost, but his mere presence was loud enough for you.

It was only when the ship’s door slid open did you startle out of your half-unconscious state, blearily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You glanced down at the small form on your lap, gently patting his little wrinkled head. 

Carefully, you got to your feet and lowered Grogu into his floating carrier, tucking him into a mottled brown blanket with nimble fingers. The kid stirred mildly at the jostling movement, but settled down when you hushed him quietly.

Satisfied that he wouldn’t spring awake and scamper out of his carrier to swallow down more frogs, you left the ship, sliding the door shut behind you.

The night’s chill was stronger than it had been a couple hours ago, the cold steeping into your muscles and freezing your bones. The moon bathed the forest in a hazy, pearl-hued luminescence, reflecting softly against Mando’s armor. He was watching the vast, dark forest, broodingly quiet. You came to stand beside him, shivering slightly.

“Done with all your little errands?” you asked, trying your best to keep your teeth from chattering. You took his silence as an affirmative. “You really like keeping yourself occupied, huh?”

More silence. In the distance, a frog croaked.

“I would’ve been more than happy to help you if you’d asked, by the way. You didn’t have to do all that by yourself. I used to be a mechanic, you know?”

Din risked a glance to you, holding his breath for reasons unbeknownst to him. You looked awfully serene basking in the sweet cold of the night, which made his chest ache with a tender kind of longing he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A life he knew he couldn’t have, perhaps.

He tore his eyes away before he could dwell on that thought too much.

“What are you doing out here? It’s real cold out,” you murmured, angling your head to look at him. It sometimes frustrated you just how unreadable he was—not even considering the mask, he rarely ever gave anything away with his body language. You wondered what went on in his head. “Are you okay?”

For the first time since you came out, Din spoke. It was tentative and slow—fittingly cautious in nature. His voice sent a thrill up your spine—it wasn’t often that the two of you would genuinely converse about something other than the ship’s upkeep. “The kid likes you.”

A surprised look splintered through your expression. Of all things you expected him to say, that most certainly wasn’t one of them. “Well, yeah, I’d hope so. I love the little guy, even though he eats like a starved wampa.” You narrowed your eyes at him, the beginnings of a smile painting across the corner of your lips. “Oh, maker, you’re jealous, aren’t you?”

Before he could formulate a proper response, you stepped closer to him with a teasing glint to your eyes that he misliked. You patted his chest in mock-comfort.

This close, he could see the fine details of your features much more clearly—he noticed the small, faded scar across the bridge of your nose, slightly darker in color than the rest of your complexion, he noticed the soft curve of your cupid’s bow, and he noticed the slight arch to your eyebrows, as if expecting him to say something.

Oh, right. He should probably say something.

Din flushed hotly beneath his helmet, finding himself at a loss for words. 

“I’m sure the kid loves you just as much, if not more than, he loves me,” you surmised, still with a teasing lilt to your words. “After all, we both know he considers you his guardian—if he could talk, he’d definitely be calling you father. Or, actually, that might be too formal for him—maybe daddy, or something. Pops, even.”

Din huffed, amused. “The kid wouldn’t call me daddy,” he deadpanned, finally finding his tongue. 

You beamed devastatingly gleeful, and he could just about feel his heart disintegrating into sand and spilling through the crevices of his ribs. 

“Why not? I think it suits you.” You shrugged, still grinning so wide it was a wonder your face hadn’t split into two. Oh, you were going to be the death of him one day. “I’m gonna head back in—I’m freezing my ass off out here. Good night, Din. Or should I say daddy?” You barked out a laugh, clearly pleased with your little joke, before trudging away from him, chortling to yourself along the way.

Din watched as you slipped back into the ship, your words ricocheting in his head over and over again. He exhaled heavily. 

He was digging himself a deep hole here—and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to stop.

[cevansbrat0007]

Hey Brit! Did Andy survive April fools this year, sans any fake spiders in his cabinets?? 💞

Warning: Fluff, April Fool's Day Shenanigans, Minors DNI

A/N: Takes Place in my Growing Pains Series. Not beta'd, all mistakes are my own. Likes, Comments, and Reblogs appreciated.

I'm so glad you asked, especially since I didn't get around to writing a fic the way I had initially planned. Here's what happened:

As you might have guessed, April Fool's is a day that is near and dear to Baby Girl's heart. However, her loving husband, Mr. Andrew Barber, also made it known that he would like to have a spider-free day.

In fact, he actually made a point of emphasizing just how much he would prefer it.

And our girl, who is ever the doting wife, heard him loud and clear. Her poor husband did not want to be subjected to arachnids of any kind. And to be honest, she was fine with that.

But no one said anything about a possessed doll.

With her plan now in motion, she stopped by Target while out running errands to purchase this doll, along with some clear wire and some heavy-duty duct tape. Baby Girl was so filled with mischievous glee that she cackled all the way to the checkout lane.

After that, all there was left to do was wait. Although she did practice just a little. She watched a couple of tutorials and did a brief test run while the kids were out with Grandma. It took her a little bit, but once she got the hang of it she could hardly contain her excitement.

On the big day, Baby Girl knew she had to play it cool. Mostly because Andy woke-up feeling automatically suspicious, on account of the fact that he now has trust issues. All because of her.

It took a while, but by around 2:00pm in the afternoon, she had successfully lulled her Big Man into a false sense of security. So much so that he actually felt safe enough to fall asleep on the couch in his own home.

A rookie mistake.

While he was napping, our Girl quietly busted out the step stool and somehow managed to rig her demon doll to the ceiling fan without waking him. Next she grabbed the corresponding remote before retreating to her designated hiding place.

And then she called Andy's name.

It took a few tries, but the moment began to stir she turned the fan on low and waited to see his reaction. And boy, he did not disappoint.

As soon as that unholy doll began to "fly" around the room, Andy let out a positively terrified scream before trying and failing - not once, but twice - to scramble over the top of the couch before landing on his ass with a resounding thunk.

By the time their kids wandered into the room to see what all the commotion was about, it was to find their Mama laughing so hard she could hardly breathe. And once she managed to stop laughing long enough to explain her little prank to their brood, they got a kick out of it too. Junior and Rory found it especially funny.

Meanwhile, Andy was so put out by the whole ordeal that he didn't speak to his wife for the better part of an hour. Of course they made up later that night. But it doesn't change the fact that that poor man has officially had a new fear unlocked in the form of creepy ass dolls.

Thanks for the ask!

[gayandfairycore]

can you do one headcanons about Peter & edmund (Narnia) dating the same gender (male reader) and they're jealous because someone is flirting with reader?

A/n hello! Thank you for requesting:) I’m sorry it took so long, this is my first headcanons, like…ever! So sorry if it sucks!! This is not proofread

Also warning for sexual harassment (not from Edmund or Peter) nothing too graphic or explicit, reader does get pinned to a locker at one point, angry, swearing as well, and jealous narnian boys (tho that’s not much of a warning 😩)

Peter pevensie

•peters a very protective partner, but I feel like it takes a lot for him to get jealous.

•like I feel like he’s see maybe another light flirting with you

•He trusts you and your relationship he’s be like that’s a little weird

•Oh well ik my boyfriend he wouldn’t cheat

•Bless your heart you just thought this knight was being nice to you

•So you thought nothing off it!

•Just friendly chatter after training,

•And before training,

•And a little during…

•This knight would distinctly try to push Peter out of your life.

•By always partnering with you when sparring despite you wanting to partner with Peter

•It was safe to say Peter was tired of it

•You didn’t want to be mean by telling this knight to bugger off

•So one practice Peter ensures he’s there early enough to snag you as his partner.

•He could see the anxiousness dwindle when it was him on the other side of you and not the knight.

•Peter wanted to make sure you knew he wasn’t angry at you.

•That practise you were the calmest you had been in awhile just by peters presence

•The panic rushed right back when you were in the change rooms taking off your chain mail.

•You got there a little later helping peter pack up

•What you didn’t realise was you weren’t alone, before you knew what was happening this knight was leaning over you

•Holding your head in a lock between his arms pinning you to the lockers

•“Pleaseeee y/nnnn you know I could treat you so much better then peter” he cried

•“Just give me a chanceeeee.”

•It was safe to say you were very taken aback

•You were like uhm tf?? No.

•Mr knight man was not down for that answer and attempted to push himself onto you

•Before your beloved boyfriend turned up sword positioned between mr knight mans shoulder blades

•expression ice cold like try me bitch!

•“He said no, you should learn to respect others wishes not to touch them, pig.”

•It was safe to say peter kicked him off the guard after that.

•Tho it took both you, edmund, Susan, and Lucy to hold him back from executing that son of a bitch.

•safe to say after that whole experience Peter and you both held up in his chambers just holding eachother

•sweet boy apologised so profusely that he didn’t step in sooner 🥺

Edmund pevensie

•Poor baby boy is very protective like Peter but also very easily jealous?

•He’s got self esteem issues

•After the witch edmund would be terrified to lose you

•So when he sees a random citerzin talking too you

•Making you laugh, smile, and god forbid they touch you.

•And you reciprocate

•This man would give you the BIGGEST SILENT TREATMENT

•Like you’d come back from a walk after he saw what he saw he’d just be sulking alone

•In the libary, in the dark, brooding.

•I can just see you going to plant a smooch to his lips

•And man just turns his head like a child

•You’d immediately know something was up

•“Edmund? Are you alright?”

•“aM i AlRiGhT” he’d initially mock your concern for him.

•Opting instead of talking about his feelings accomodating his fear of abandonment

•He’d try to distance himself

•You ain’t having it

•You sit him down, and just reassure him that you aren’t? Leaving him?? And give him a hug.

•Reassure him that he’s the only boy you could ever love.

•And that that little interaction meant nothing.

•After Edmund feels reassured that you love him

•y’all would just hold up in the libary together his head between your legs

•(Not like that)

•And y’all would just read aloud to eachother in front of the fire

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: sometime while teddy was in canada PARTIES: @mayihaveyournameplease & @mortemoppetere LOCATION: a seedy bar SUMMARY: emilio and beau meet in a crowded bar. it is not love at first sight. CONTENT WARNINGS: unsanitary tw

The bar wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t empty. People mingled, the smell of alcohol wafted with perfume and B.O. Beau made eyes at anyone who would look at him. Which wasn’t a lot of people. Most of their eyes seem to glance right over him. Why people didn’t look down was unbelievable. He wasn’t even that short. And short kings were in! Didn’t they know that? Beau nursed his drink, a little sullenly, a lot seductively to anyone who dared look at him. No one approached. He was going to have to make his own move. That’s when Beau saw him. Mr. Right. Fluffy hair, leather jacket, moody scowl. He drank like he didn’t care if he lived or died tomorrow. Beau liked that in a person, it screamed depression. Depression screamed vulnerability. 

Beau siddled on up to the beautiful stranger, bottom lip bit, hands in his pocket, eyes on seductive mode. “Hey handsome, come here often.” It was the first thing Beau thought to say because he wished someone would say that to him. Wouldn’t that be novel? He was very handsome after all, it would be a compliment to get called handsome. “Why don’t you buy me a drink and we talk for a bit.” He winked, sliding into the chair next to medium height, dark and handsome. “I’m Beau, can I have your name?”

—

He got stir crazy, sometimes. Usually when he was stressed out, when the walls of whatever room he was in started shifting into ones he’d left behind years ago with blood on the paint and bodies on the floor. He felt uneasy in his own skin, like someone was watching him even when he was home alone. On those days, he’d found it was easier to be out and about and around people. 

And alcohol. He always needed alcohol.

It made a bar the perfect setting, especially on a night like tonight. It wasn’t crowded enough to be stifling, but wasn’t empty enough to be uncomfortable. Emilio sat in front of the bartender, drinking his whiskey in silence. The poor guy had tried making conversation at first, but Emilio had tipped him a little extra and waved him away, making it clear that he wasn’t in the mood. The bartender got the memo.

Apparently, the bar’s patrons didn’t. 

Emilio tensed as someone slid up next to him, nostrils flaring in quiet irritation as the man spoke. Months ago, if he were feeling the way he was feeling now, he probably would have interrupted the come on to ask the man to fuck in the bathroom just to give himself an outlet, but things were different now. There was Teddy, and while they hadn’t quite talked about exclusivity, Emilio didn’t want anyone else. “No,” he replied flatly, not looking up from his drink. 

After a moment, he held up his left hand and tapped his wedding ring. He wasn’t technically married anymore – he didn’t think it counted when the person who’d put the ring on your finger had been dead two years – but the ring got him out of conversations like this one. People were a lot more willing to accept that than they were an explanation that you were dating someone. “Try someone else.”

—

“Haha,” Rejection used to send a ripple of rage down Beau. It used to drive anger to the surface, a boiling pot overflowing and burning the stovetop. “You’re not very nice, are you? Haha. That’s okay, I’m also known for being mid-height, mysterious and brooding.” Now rejection didn’t bring anger, because Beau was always angry. It was always bristling under the surface, a full moodlet that couldn’t possibly fill more. It’s just, the people of this town didn’t respect him enough. They were all so self obsessed. They didn’t care about people other than themselves, like say, the extremely handsome brunette with the big fuck me eyes that just wanted everyone to fall over themselves for the chance to talk to that loveable stranger. 

But see, there was a fundamental problem with Beau (if you didn’t include everything about him) he just couldn’t take no for an answer! His legs swung off the bar stool as he smiled up at the stranger. The smile burned his cheeks as it fought the rage, but he was good at smiling. Everyone thought his smile was charming because he practiced it constantly. He really worked hard to be the most likable guy in town, if only people would get out of their asses long enough to notice. “Haha,” He added, for good measure, because the rage inside him wanted an outlet. Like punching a wall, but nice guys didn’t punch walls. They smiled and said haha.

“Try someone else?” Beau took a sip of his drink, it was fruity and sweet. He hated the taste of alcohol, and how bitter it was. “Can’t two extremely hot men have a friendly conversation without such hostility? Haha, whatever happened to kindness? Don’t people ever want to make friends anymore? We could be friends.” Beau batted his extremely long and beautiful eyelashes, that to anyone else might look like he had something in his eye. “Say, you’d look better if you smiled. Come on. Let's see a smile.”

—

“No, I’m not,” Emilio agreed. Nice, he thought, was too often a mask that people wore. Most people were shit. They were bundles of rage and selfishness held together by blood and bone. Kindness existed, of course — kindness was in Wynne’s tendency to leave food on the counter for him, or Teddy’s insistence of pausing the movie they were watching any time Emilio needed to get up and walk around — but nice was different than kind. Nice was less honest. Emilio didn’t think he was particularly kind, but he knew he wasn’t nice. He disliked lying too much to be that. 

Irritation was a distant thing in his chest as the man continued speaking, because he’d really hoped he’d walk away. He wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone, and he especially didn’t think he was in the mood to speak to this person. He no longer enjoyed people who approached him in bars only to hit on him. It felt boring to him now, like something unable to hold his interest for long. “I am not being mysterious or brooding.” He was only mostly sure what those words meant. “I am drinking. I want to keep drinking. I don’t want to talk.” 

But the man just kept going. He told Emilio to smile, and the irritation moved closer to the surface. “I have enough friends, I think. I’m sure you can find one somewhere else. Over there, maybe. Or in another bar. Maybe another city. I think this would be fun for you.” As long as you get away from me, he thought. 

—

At least this guy knew he was an asshole. Beau swung his legs (being too short for his feet to touch the ground) his feet thudding against the bar. “You could be, if you tried. I’m nice. See? This is me being so nice to you. Isn’t that nice? It’s really nice. So maybe you should take a turn and be nice too. Then we can be nice to each other. Isn’t that how friends are made? Whatever happened to community? Do people not care about community anymore? I care about community and you’re in my community so I’m being nice to you. And that’s nice, don’t you think? Isn’t it lovely being nice?” Beau was good at talking. A lot better than this guy. He wasn’t even trying to have a conversation. It was like he wanted to be rude. On purpose. God, Beau could not stand people sometimes. 

Beau started laughing. “You know what you remind me of? A caveman? You’re like all grrr scowl scowl. Not the guy who invented fire or the wheel. Those cavemen were probably nice, and probably didn’t spend all their time sitting by themselves. Fire guy probably wanted to keep all his friends warm, while they were drinking together. Because you know you can drink and talk, right? Maybe they didn’t have that in your cave, but people have been doing it for centuries now.” Beau took a big sip of his drink, just to give the man an example. It really seemed like he needed it; “And the guy who invented the wheel probably wanted to help people. He was probably talking to the people in his community and realized he could provide a service that no one else could! A wheel! Isn’t that fun? That’s so fun. Maybe you should think about that, while you’re sitting alone in your cave.” 

“It’s okay to admit you have no friends. I would believe you. I really would.” Beau could take a hint. The thing was, he chose not to. “Say, how about I be your first? On the house. Because you don’t know what it’s like, and I? Well I have lots of people who I call friend.” There was a distinction between having a lot of friends and having people you call friend. After all, Beau was comfortable calling anyone a friend. “Let's kick it off. Why don’t you give me your name?”

—

“It would be nice,” Emilio said slowly, “if you talked less.” Christ, he could hardly keep up with what this guy was saying. The repetition of the same words over and over again made his head spin a little, his uneasy grasp on the English language struggling to keep up with the barrage of verbal bullshit being flung in his direction. Some people, Emilio had learned, just liked to hear themselves speak. They’d say just about anything so long as it meant their mouths got to keep moving. Sometimes, it could be almost charming — Jade liked to talk, and he didn’t mind her — but other times? It was beyond annoying. This man fell firmly into the latter category.

The man who was still. Fucking. Talking. He was droning on about cavemen now, and Emilio tried to tune him out. He took a swig of his whiskey, sighing as the stranger went on and on and on. What was with this guy? Did he know how to shut up? Emilio’s fingers twitched. He’d be lying if he said there was no part of him that wanted to rear back and take a swing at the man just for irritating him. He’d been up to his ears in problems lately, and his temper was shorter than usual as a result. But you couldn’t punch strangers just for being annoying unless you wanted to be kicked out of bars, and there were only a few left in Wicked’s Rest that would still grant him entry. 

Finally, the guy seemed to tire of his own voice enough to ask Emilio a question. The brief pause that followed was almost a relief. “Sure, I’ll give you my name,” he said. “It’s ‘Fuck Off.’ You want me to spell it out for you? F… U… C…” He trailed off, downing the rest of his drink and waving to the bartender for another. “Look, cabrón, there are plenty of other people in this bar. Go bother one of them. I’m not in the mood for it.”

—

“Oh, you don’t know how to spell fuck do you. There is a k at the end.” Beau was laughing. It was radiating off him in the same air that kept Cherynobl too hostile to reinhabit. “You really are a caveman. That’s okay. I find it endearing.” Beau was fluent in Spanish, which should be noted about him, or he might have said that cabrón wasn’t a word. Alas, this wasn’t the first time he’d been called cabrón and it probably wasn’t going to be the last. The word slid right off him, like water sliding off a little baby duck’s back. He figured it was because of the horns, goats had horns, and the literal translation was a male goat. Thus, he’d never figured out that it was used as a curse. 

Beau knew this anger. Because the truth is, he was angry once. (If you ignored the fact that he was angry every day, every day the way people treated him was wrong, every day people didn’t respect him the way he deserved, every day they didn’t love him when he was the most loveable person anyone had ever met.) That had been when he was lonely and didn’t have friends. Now he had so many friends and no reason to be angry and sad! He could help here! Some people just needed a little crack in that silly little eggshell. And then he’d probably be so grateful and fall madly deeply in love with Beau and worship Beau for the rest of his life. And that would be nice because his hair was fluffy and cute. 

“If I leave now, we’ll never become friends. Hahaha, and don’t you know that it’s up to the extrovert to pick up the introvert? Lucky you! This is introvert adoption day and I’m choosing you to bring home with me.” Beau threw in a wink. He was good at winking because he practiced them in the mirror. Anything to make sure people realize how cute and handsome he is. Beau reached forward and tapped a cute little boop against the man’s nose, sealing the deal. Adoption complete. 

—

Emilio wondered, absently, how many times this man had been punched throughout the course of his life. He imagined the number was a high one, figured it was something that happened often. Mentally, he began going down the list of people he’d call to bail him out of a holding cell when this interaction, inevitably, ended the way he imagined so many of this guy’s must have. There was no way in hell he’d bother Nora or Wynne for it, Teddy was still in Canada, Xóchitl had more than enough going on, things with Jade were tense… Would Kavanagh bail him out if he called her? He was pretty sure Kaden would leave him in the cell and take photos. Javi might pick him up, but he’d probably demand Emilio pay his bar tab in exchange, and that didn’t sound particularly fun. 

The action of mentally scrolling through the list of people he’d likely owe a favor to by the end of the night served to calm him a little, if only because it distracted him from the irritating babble spewing from the man beside him. Emilio poured a little more whiskey down his throat, swallowing the burn and letting it settle in his chest. The man was still going. His fingers twitched, yearning to clench themselves into a tight fist and make contact with a nose that didn’t look nearly broken enough to reflect the current level of irritation the stranger was responsible for. 

Maybe Teddy would come back from Canada just to bail him out if he knew the situation.

“I don’t want,” Emilio said slowly, “to be your friend. I have said this already. How many times should I repeat before you realize? Do I need to say it another way? No quiero ser tu amigo. I am not going home with you.” A hand reached out, finger tapping his nose, and it took all the self control Emilio had not to start swinging. “If you touch me again,” he said lowly, “I am going to punch you very hard in your face.”

—

“Haha, woah! Who said anything about coming home with me. You’re so full of yourself. Haha. It takes a lot more than one drink to come home with someone of my caliber.” The only reason this didn’t qualify as a lie was because no one had ever come home with Beau after one drink. Fae magic really was full of loopholes, as long as you knew how to work your intentions right. “I’m more of a take me to dinner, and seduce me, kind of guy, haha. Don’t you know the type? Haha. The type is me.” Beau lived in the blissful place where rejection meant nothing. There was no anxiety riddling his chest with thoughts that reminded him actions had consequences. Sure, he’d been met with many consequences for his actions through the year, but every time Beau decided that was the exception to the rule. The rule being, he was perfect and nothing else bad could possibly ever happen to him.

“Haha, I’m just being friendly. You’re being really rude, you know that right?” Beau batted his beautiful eyelashes. “Do you always try to bring home friends you make? Haha. You must be really into board games or something.” He was being purposefully obtuse. That was another thing about rejection. As long as you twisted your words, and pretended your intention was different, then they were the ones being weird to reject. They were the people being the problem. They were making assumptions when Beau? He was just being a nice little guy. He was being friendly. He was always friendly. That’s why his cheeks always hurt from smiling and why he was always ignoring the inferno burning inside of him.

“You know, anger looks ugly on you, haha. My mom used to tell me that anger makes a person ugly. It ruins their face and it scars their soul, haha, you don’t want to have a scarred soul because you were mean to a stranger who just wanted to be your friend, do you?” He put on the pouting face, the kind you would see from a child on television series, that always worked to get them their way. He wouldn’t call it a puppy dog face, because all puppies he had met were brats that piddled everywhere. Beau was better than any puppy. He never piddled anywhere he wasn’t supposed to.

—

An argument bubbled up in Emilio’s chest. He had mentioned taking Emilio home with him, had talked of adoption, and Emilio realized belatedly that it was some kind of metaphor too complicated to squeeze through the ever-present language barrier that sat between him and an English conversation. But arguing with this man meant carrying on speaking to him, and Emilio had little desire to do that. All he wanted was to sit and to drink and to pretend that nothing in his life was falling to pieces. “I do not like dinners,” he said instead of arguing, “so you should go find someone who does.” 

But the guy just kept fucking talking. No amount of rudeness was making him leave, despite the fact that he was happy to point out aforementioned rudeness. “Yes. I am being rude. Which means you can go. There are other people in this bar you could bother. Most of them probably won’t punch you.” The unspoken addition to the statement being that Emilio would, if the guy didn’t fuck off soon. He wasn’t particularly good at swallowing his anger or his irritation; there’d never been enough room in his chest to house it all without it spilling over.

“I don’t care about my soul.” He was pretty sure he’d lost it a long time ago, anyway. “I’m angry. You being here is making me more angry.” What the fuck was he doing with his face? The guy looked like he was trying to take a shit. Emilio gripped his glass a little tighter, loosening his hold only when he heard the beginnings of it creaking. Shattering the glass wouldn’t end any better than punching this man would. It would actually be less satisfying.

—

“Everyone likes dinner.” Beau informed this man and that was kind of him. It was kind of him to correct this man who clearly knew nothing, not even about himself. How did Beau keep finding himself in these situations? Across from hopeless people who needed a calm guiding hand. Really he should open a charity for how many helpless and clueless people he ended up helping. Maybe that would be tax deductible. Oh, he’d like that a lot. Beau’s eyes flitted up and down his newest tax deduction, wondering just how much he could save. “Everyone eats. It’s part of being alive. Haha. Everyone likes dinner. Especially with me.” That was a bold statement, but he had nothing to back it up. Because no one ever wanted to eat dinner with him. He was tired of eating alone, if he was being honest. 

“Acceptance is the first step to change, haha.” This conversation could be going better if this man would stop trying to send him away every five minutes. At least he knew he was being rude. “Today is the perfect day for change, haha. No one is going to punch me. Look at me.” Beau planted his chin on the palm of his hand, smiling up at the stranger. “I’m too cute to punch. You wouldn’t punch a little guy, right? I’m just a little friend. No one wants to punch me. That wouldn’t be fun. Oh, is that what you’re into? Bar fights? I’ll help you start one. I’m not a fighter, but I’ll watch. Everyone has their hobbies, haha.”

“Angry is good. You’ll need that in the bar fight.” Beau turned around, leaning his back against the bar as he scanned the crowd. Who looked the most punchable. Beau eyed the crowd slowly. Who looked good, who looked good… Him. Beau spotted the beefiest man in the crowd. That man looked like he could punch. “Be right back, amigo.” Beau slid off the bar and marched his way across the room. If Emilio was curious enough to watch, he would see Beau march up to the strange man, make him bend down to whisper something in his ear and point at Emilio across the bar. The man got angry fast, skin turning a deep red as he shouted. It was just like a scene from a movie. The music stopped, the crowd parted. The man marched over to Emilio and swung a punch. Beau scrambled behind, grabbing his drink and moving the side to watch with delight. 

—

This man was sitting across from him and telling him that he was wrong, not about something objective but about himself. It grated on Emilio in a way few other things could manage, made his jaw tighten and his body feel hot. He was familiar with the kind of rage that was washing over him now, knew it better than he’d ever known anything else. Throughout his life, few things had been as constant as his anger. His short temper was something his mother had often tried to hone, to weaponize. Few emotions were though useful for hunters, but rage could be sharpened into a knife with relative ease. He was itching to use that blade now, holding back by reminding himself over and over and over again that he was in public, that this idiot was probably human, that you really couldn’t kill people just for being annoying. 

“I am going to punch you,” Emilio said. “I do want to punch you. I don’t care if you are a little guy. You’re very annoying.” Maybe threatening him would make him go, or maybe Emilio would have to actually take a swing. He almost hoped for the latter; with the irritation building in his chest, he thought punching this man might be good for him. The man was still prattling on, talking about barfights and hobbies and Emilio wanted nothing more than for him to shut up. He tuned him out, trying to focus on the drink in his hand.

After a moment, the man left. Relief felt like a flood washing over Emilio; he wasn’t attentive enough to recognize that the stranger planned to return, or to pick up on what his plan was. He leaned over the bar, ready to ask the bartender to pour him another drink, when someone walked over and took a swing at him. It was through a lifetime of training that Emilio dodged the attack despite the lack of attention he had paid to its arrival, ducking beneath the fist and sliding out of the barstool to stand. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He dodged another fist. This one slammed into the person who’d been seated on Emilio’s other side, who took enough offense to the assault to get to his feet as well. A chain reaction started around the bar as drunk patrons began to join the fray.

—

Beau didn’t like fighting. It was brutish. People who needed to fight weren’t intune with their emotions. They weren't smart enough to have eloquent conversations that positioned them into getting what they wanted. They were dumb. Probably from taking too many punches to the head. However, if his little introvert wanted to fight, then his introvert would fight! That was how kind Beau was. If he’d said it once, he’d said it a hundred times. He was Beaunevolant. The big man came over swinging. His little introvert dodged, and that was cute. Go little buddy! Beau was sure to cheer silently in his head, as not to draw attention to himself. He vehemently did not want to get dragged into this fight. 

A full out scene was beginning to establish in the bar. One person turned into five turned into twenty. It really felt like everyone was fighting. Beau giggled as he watched. How simple humans were, always falling for the tricks of fae. He tracked down his introvert, a true and pleased smile on his features. “Are you having fun yet?” He asked, ducking under a table and looking up as he asked. He had to be extra careful no one punched him. His face was the money maker after all. And what if they broke one of his horns? That would be a damn shame. “A fight for you to punch people! Just like you wanted!”

—

To Emilio, a fight made more sense than a conversation. Words were difficult to understand, especially in English. Most of the time, people spoke too quickly for him to keep up. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what they were saying, couldn’t translate it into something understandable before they’d moved on into talking about something else entirely. Throwing a punch was the same in every country. Violence transcended the language barrier in a way nothing else ever really could, made complicated things simple. Emilio didn’t know how to talk to people nearly as well as he knew how to hurt them. He hadn’t been looking for a fight tonight — and that was a rare thing on its own — but here he was in the midst of one all the same. 

He probably liked it a little more than he should have.

It was only when the insufferable little man returned that Emilio realized how the fight had started. This, of course, took a little bit of the fun out of the whole ordeal. The last thing he wanted was to give the stranger anything he might enjoy. “I wanted,” he grunted, catching a fist that was thrown his way and shoving it backwards into the face of the very man who’d thrown it, “to punch you. I still want to punch you.” Maybe a little more now, all things considered. 

—

“Haha! There you go being rude again.” Beau let his laughter roll over the noise of a fighting crowd. This was far from this first observed bar fight, but he did find it to be a dull past time. What did fists get done that words couldn’t? Beau kept himself safely under the table, making sure no violence would breach his bubble. “Don’t punch me! I’m not very punchable, honestly. Besides, I’m too hot. Hot people don’t get punched. That might ruin their hotness, and then who will you stare at and think “Wow he’s so hot?” Beau let a fresh wave of laughter out. “Just kidding, just kidding. How long do you think this fight is going to take you?” 

—

God the man was annoying. The more he spoke, the more he grated on Emilio’s nerves. And maybe that would have been fine, if not for the fact that he just kept talking. It was like he had no idea how to shut up. Each word was another nail scraping the proverbial chalkboard of Emilio’s mind until, finally, he lost his patience for it. Turning towards the man, Emilio reared back his fist and swung, the resounding crack one that seemed to reverberate through the bar even over the chaos. The man went down, and the talking finally seemed to cease. Emilio sighed, relief washing over him in spite of the chaos.

Leaning down to the now unconscious stranger, Emilio dug around in his pocket until he found a wallet. He pulled out a few bills and set them on the counter amidst the chaos, placing his empty glass on top of them to keep them from being blown away. Making eye contact with the bartender, who looked exhausted, he added a couple extra to the pile. Then, dropping the wallet on the irritating man’s chest, Emilio stepped over the guy and made his way towards the door.

If this was what socializing got him, he’d much rather just drink at home.

[lydiablackblade]

What I need today to cope with the S2 ending #1.

Today I want to see that everyone on Whickber Street is silently and in mutual understanding teamed up to support Crowley after Aziraphale had left.

He is not a daily guest anymore but he pops up time to time to do a quick check on the bookshop and on Muriel.

And when he does, Nina makes sure he always gets his shots of espresso and never let him go without it. Sometimes she offers different kind of roasts just to "survey".

Maggie recommends him small indie rock bands he might not know and she even gives him CDs so he can listen to them in the Bentely (only for him, she still sells vinly for the customers)

Mr Arnold invites him to his jazz band's gigs (they are playing quite good, tho) and as fellow Dr. Who enthusiasts sometimes they have a long conversation about how the Tardis works (Crowley knows it better anyway)

When Crowley is at Nina's, Mrs Sandwich comes over, sits to his table and shares every saucy gossip from the neighborhood whispering loud enough to let everyone hear them. She even manages to make him some sort of smile sometimes. Even some snores.

Mrs Cheng regularly invites him to her restaurant to eat with her family. (He rather drinks than eat, but still. And he'd never admit but he likes how the Cheng family shares the food with each other)

When he "dines" at the Marguerite's (I mean ordering something and stare at it then go for the alcohol) - Justine makes sure he always get an extra glass of wine and let him sit all night at the table until they close just brooding and playing with the utensils.

Mutt and his spouse managed tempting him once participating to one of their classic D&D game nights with their friends. It was a rather good evening but miraculously the dice was always in Crowley's favor somehow.

Even Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets tried to have a small talk with him at the pub. Although he still doesn't know if Crowley was an escort or sugar boy (too old to be called boy honestly) who grew attached to his client too much or if he's a mob member or what was the real nature of his relationship to the former bookshop owner with whom he was seemingly glued together, but he thought he knows the feeling very well ghosted by Mr Fell, so why cannot he give comfort this poor fellow? After two minutes of trying to have conversation he practically run away from the pub bumping into tables and customers in panic. Nobody knows for sure what happened, all they saw was the ginger goth pushed back his shades to his nose and someone sweared he had heard hisses and a saw sudden flick of change of Crowley's face to something monstrous, but he was drunk already so no one believed him.

And for Crowley's utter surprise, once when he killed the time in St. James's Park, the Azerbaijani Sector Chief dropped a big bag of frozen peas next to him to feed the ducks and gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder then moved on without a word. The human of course had no idea what had happened, all he knew this person now sits alone on the bench radiating sorrow without the blond man next to him. He lost comrades during his many years of service, so he could recognize the signs. "That's the nature of our profession buddy, but you'll be alright" he messaged with his act.

And Crowley honestly doesn't understand why everyone is so kind to him.

[fuctacles]

So i made that post some time ago...

Maxine was nearing the rebellious teenage years Steve was so scared of. She was already a feisty kid when he met her all these years ago, slingshotting cans off tree branches and fighting with her brother, and she made no sign of stopping. She was a savage on a skateboard, crashed other kids in arcade games and looked up to strong female role models, like Wonder Woman. Steve was happy to call her his daughter. Even if she hated it.

She liked to spend time actively, so he wasn’t surprised when she got into sports. It was a thing they could bond over. Recently, though, all she could talk about was music. She was pestering him about getting her a guitar, and he was slowly warming up to the idea. Robin, of course, was encouraging it.

He already took her to a music store, grabbing a couple of cassettes that made him dread the worst. She picked some rock bands and while Steve didn’t want to play on these stereotypes, he wasn’t thrilled to think she may become one of these brooding alternative kids dressed in black. She was feisty, but she was a radiating sun that he would rather keep burning than get shrouded by dark clouds.

And so when he heard the door slam loudly, he sighed softly, recognising an end of an era when he heard it.

Max stomped into the kitchen, fuming.

“They are cutting down the art department funds,” she said without prompting, her bag dropped unceremoniously on the floor.

That was not what he was expecting.

“What?” he frowned, watching her open the fridge and grab a box of chocolate milk. She angrily stabbed it with the straw.

“Exactly! They are transforming the practice room into a gym, and Mr Eddie had to move all the instruments into his class and the drama club.”

And there it was. The famous Mr Eddie. He was the reason Max took a sudden interest in music, and apparently, now the reason she was so furious about school funding injustice. Steve sighed.

“Unfortunately, the school thinks liberal arts aren’t as important as sports.”

Max’s eyes narrowed as she studied him. Her gaze slid down to his ancient swimming team hoodie.

“But you don’t think so?” Right?” Her eyes narrowed threateningly. Steve scoffed.

“I might have been a jock in high school, but my best friend plays in an orchestra. I think the funds should be divided equally.”

“Good,” Max drew out like she was content for now, but he wasn’t completely off the hook yet. She sat down in front of him, sipping from the milk box and studying him. “All the after-school practice has to be done at the drama club, which makes the schedule really tight. You know Mr Eddie used to give guitar lessons there? Now he’ll have to do house calls.”

“Mhm,” Steve nodded, eyeing her wearily. He flipped the page of the magazine he wasn’t reading. 

“Mr Eddie used to practice there with his band too.”

“Mhm.”

“Now he has nowhere to do so.”

“Poor guy.”

“He said he’s looking for a place to practice. Told us to ask our parents.”

“Max…”

“We have a big garage.” 

“Max.”

“Steve.”

He sighed.

“I’ll think about it. If he doesn’t find a better place, he can give me a call.”

Max let out a victorious whoop, but he held out his hand to stop her.

“Max, I’m serious. Only as a last option.”

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes.

And so, about a week later, Steve was picking up his phone to an unfamiliar voice.

“Mr Harrington? I’m Eddie Munson, Max’s music teacher. She told me you have some garage space I could borrow?”

Steve looked at the ceiling, leaning against the wall.

“Did she say it was only a last resort thing?”

The man on the other side chuckled.

“Oh, believe me, I wouldn’t be bothering one of my student’s parents if I had other options.”

“Okay. What do you need then?”

“I’ll take whatever you can give me, honestly. I’m kind of desperate,” the man sighed, and Steve felt a bit bad. The guy just wanted someplace to practice his craft.

“Okay, okay. So… I have a two-car garage space, but it’s only my car and I can park at the curb, you could have the whole space to yourself. I’m home most afternoons, so as long as you’re not too loud and give me a heads-up, any day works.”

“Hello?” he frowned when only silence answered him, but soon the man on the other side was laughing.

“Wow, you’re just as nice as Mad Max claimed.”

“She did? I thought I was, and I quote, ‘a raisin in her cereal’.”

The other man burst out laughing and Steve smiled.

“Ah, I’m not going to reveal her soft spots any further then.”

“Maybe I should show you the place before you commit? It might not be big enough for your needs.”

The man on the other side hummed in thought.

“Yeah, good thinking. Is today fine? I’m finishing in a couple of hours.”

“Sure. Do you have something to write, I’ll give you the address.”

Three hours later, the doorbell rang and Steve wiped his hands on the towel to open the door.

Eddie Munson was nothing that he expected from a music teacher, but after a second thought was what he should have expected from a music teacher who Max said was cool.

“Eddie Munson,” the man introduced himself, extending his hand full of chunky metal rings.

“Steve Harrington,” Steve shook it, the fingers unexpectedly rough against his skin.

The guy was of a smaller build than him, on par with his profession. His long hair was tied back, revealing a row of silver earrings. He was wearing a band tee and a leather jacket. He didn’t look like a teacher at all.

Steve motioned him inside.

“Come on, I’ll show you the garage.”

“It’s not in the basement, right? Should I be worried?”

Steve gave him a puzzled look.

“You know, leading a stranger to your basement to never be heard of again?” Munson explained.

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, maybe not with the hawks I have for neighbours. Probably half the street knows I have a guest by now. So I better let you out at some point.”

“Some of these suburban moms should really get a job, huh?”

“They should, yeah.” Steve nodded, leading him through the kitchen to a plain side door. he opened it and flipped a switch. “Soo, that’s it. Would that work for you?”

The teacher stepped in, passing by Steve to look around. The garage was big, made for two cars, with only Steve’s Beamer taking up half the space. Besides some spare tires and boxes of Christmas decorations, there was nothing else inside. 

The man spread his arms, spinning around. Steve let out a surprised snort. The guy was probably his age and a teacher on top of that.

“That would be great, Mr Harrington! Are you sure about that? Like, sure-sure?” He stood in front of him, and Steve’s mind has already been set, even without the hope glistening in the man’s eyes.

“I’m a man of my word,” he nodded.

Munson swayed on his heels.

“We play metal, though? Might not be your thing.” He smiled weakly, like he was expecting a rejection. Steve frowned at him.

“If they let you do it in school, I think my garage will be fine. I have headphones, too.”

Munson beamed at him, dimples at all. And it was like a punch in the gut, a feeling he hadn’t felt since Max’s brother.

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” he nodded stiffly, blinded by the soft metalhead in front of him. What did Max get him into?

Speak of the devil, there was a distant slam of the front door from the inside of the house. Steve winced.

“Want me to let you out this way,” he pointed to the garage door. “She won’t let you go that easy.”

Mr Munson only laughed. 

“It’s not a problem. Mad Max is one of my favourite students.”

“I thought teachers aren’t supposed to play favourites?”

“I’m not the teacherest out there, truth be told.”

Steve eyed his ripped jeans.

“I can see that.”

He led them back to the kitchen, where Max was hidden head-first in the fridge. She leaned back when she heard the steps, and her eyes widened at the sight of two men.

“Mr Eddie!” She slammed the fridge close, and Steve winced as he heard the bottles inside rattle against one another. “You’ll be using our garage?”

“Seems so, kiddo.”

Max made a victorious fist pump.

“Mike’s gonna be so jealous!”

Munson let out a startled laugh, while Steve scrunched his nose. 

“Don’t tell that’s all this is about. I thought we were doing something nice for Mr Munson.”

“We are, we are!” she placated him quickly, waving her hands. “Pissing off Mike is just a bonus. A very nice bonus.” She grinned sweetly.

“You’re, um…” Steve looked to the side to see the man scratching his cheek awkwardly. “The only parent who agreed. Most of them don’t trust me because I play metal.”

“Steve isn’t like that!” Max reassured quickly. “He’s not a judgmental bigot!”

Steve gawked at her choice of words while Munson laughed.

“A judgmental bigot wouldn’t raise such a great kid.”

“Duh.” Max beamed and Steve warmed all over. 

Being a single father was frowned upon even without their backstory. And Max’s attitude usually fuelled negative comments about his parenting. So it was nice to hear something good for a change. Maybe Steve could even make a new friend in this shitty town.

The teacher stayed for a coffee and insisted on being called Eddie. Steve found out he and his band had a show in a few weeks and were planning a small tour across the state over the upcoming break. But most of the visit was just him listening to Max and her teacher talking about bands he had no idea about. 

“I’ll tell the boys, and we could come over on Thursday? If that’s okay,” Eddie cocked his head as they led him to the door. 

“Sure. Works for me.”

“Sweet,” Eddie smiled, and again it did something pleasant to Steve’s heart. “See you tomorrow then, Red.” He fist-bumped the girl. “And you, Steve,” he raised his fist towards him. It took Steve a second to react and knock it with his own, but Eddie didn’t seem to mind. He waved at them, and soon Steve was watching a ratty black van speed away from his curb.

“I told you he was cool!”

“Uh-huh.” Steve closed the door. “You did.”

[dorypaxx]

[Optimus Prime x reader] Late night

Warning: Oral sex, hehe 💀

Hi, it's me again. Don't say anything, just a story written by someone who horny all night. Wish you have a good experience!

±+++++++++++++

Optimus always works late into the night, although it may seem odd that he is a giant robot, 8 meters tall and sitting still while brooding, thinking about the future of the Autobots in exile on Earth.

And of course, (Y/n) will wake up with Optimus. Not for some romantic reason like "I'll wait for you all night" or something, it's simply that her bad habit of staying up late is being surreptitiously legitimized by the Autobot leader. If the person I like doesn't sleep, it makes sense for me not to sleep, right? So (y/n) slept late more than a week in a row, and it was only when Ratchet warned Optimus that staying up late would be bad for (y/n)'s body did he realize the seriousness of his condition problem.

Rolling around in Optimus' giant fingers while he tries to keep himself as light as possible has always been (y/n)'s favorite because it feels like being lifted by a giant gentleman Holding in the palm of your hand is an interesting experience that not every girl can taste. And the way a leader is always thoughtful, seriously confused with this mischief also makes (y/n) laugh.

"Little girl" Optimus sighed "you should go to bed early"

"I don't like it!" (y/n) pouted while clutching Optimus' thumb, like a fat hamster sulking.

"(Y/n)"- When Prime's voice sounded a little stern, (y/n) decided to surrender, no one could resist Optimus Prime's deadly seductive voice. But she still wanted to flirt with Optimus

"Okay then, I'll go to bed early on the condition.... You have to sleep with me"

Optimus's blue optics are wide open, and (y/n) can clearly feel the cyborg's body heating up. Well, even if the two have established a love relationship, Optimus is still really far from the human way of showing affection, even though his age must be older than that of human ancestors. (y/n) recalls the first time the two kissed, actually (y/n) kissed Optimus: a small peck on the corner of Prime's mouth, the first kiss smelled of heavy metal, the taste of engine oil and go with Optimus' confusion. Fortunately, as a leader, he quickly calmed down and pulled up his face shield and asked (y/n) to warn him when she wanted to kiss him.

"Virgin and old bot" what (y/n) thought at that time

"Alright" Prime sighed, even though Cybertron did not need to breathe. He gently hugged (Y/N) in his palm, striding towards her room in the base. Arriving at the door of the room, Optimus placed (Y/N) first and began to transform.

After a series of metal collision clips, Optimus has turned into a human shape. With blue hair, angular face, and turquoise eyes. Despite being in human form, Optimus is still very high, about 2 meters. Not yet (Y/N) to react, Optimus was as fast as lightning opened the room and pulled her in and slammed it. Until now (Y/N) realized that her beloved Prime was naked, so she peeked a little bit between the legs of the great leader of her home,

Just a little…

oh

OH

Dinosaurs tyrant …

Quickly averting her eyes, (y/n) decided to change his clothes to go to sleep. As she began to lift her shirt to reveal her bra underneath, Optimus coughed lightly, and (y/n), like a sly bitch, ran in front of him, pulling her bra off so that Optimus could see it. seeing it all, pleased to see Optimus go blank with his eyes wide open.

Plunge onto Optimus with her body only in his underwear, (y/n) mouth grinning vile like a slut. And poor Mr. Optimus, still shocked by the scene he just saw, could only freeze, awkwardly embracing his triumphant little lover in his lap. (y/n) finds Optimus's reaction so cute, she decides to hold Optimus' head, then kiss him !

Still a little smell of metal and machine oil, but (Y/N) was soon used to it. Optimus now adjusted his emotions and decided (Y/N) to see who is the owner here. Prime flipped over (Y/N) again, holding one hand with two hands of (Y/N), and the other hand stroked the girl's lips.

Without notice, Optimus suddenly bent down to kiss (Y/N) and put his tongue into the exploration. (Y/N) Coordinate by opening his mouth, using his tongue to wrap the opponent's tongue. The tongue of the two teased, chasing each other in the wet mouth. The sound of her saliva, the girl's breathing seemed to make Optimus addicted. Greedy smoking saliva from the opponent, engulfed her in a deep kiss and enjoyed enjoying the result: A (Y/N) is small, helpless under his body with a pink face, long eyes. The water is slightly swollen and the lips are slightly swollen. Optimus bent down, kissed her forehead and began to praise with his warm voice "beautiful", he pulled the kiss down the white neck "charming", then bite slightly on the smooth round chest "softly" , the kiss pulled down to the navel" considerate " and when Optimus's face was buried between the legs of (Y/N), Prime raised his head to look at the girl with a slight smile" Mine "

(y/n)'s face is hot, this bot is HOT as fuck !

Suddenly, Optimus put (y/n)'s legs on his shoulders so that the girl's secret place was right next to his face. As soon as (y/n) felt something was wrong, Prime brought his tongue up and lightly licked his clitoris making (y/n) shiver. Damn, he really wanted to... And before (y/n) could even think about it, Optimus had inserted his tongue inside her. (y/n) wanted to scream because of the pleasure Prime's tongue gave her. Now (y/n) is like a little doll letting Optimus play with his hips trying to rise, trying to squeeze Optimus' face, begging for more pleasure. Optimus still slowly stirred inside (y/n) and gently stroked her clitoris with his fingers causing the girl to moan louder. This is Prime's punishment for her for teasing him too much!

(Y/N) gasping for breath while her small pussy is being licked by the leader Autobot. Her toes bent, her hands were released now gripping Optimus's hair, half pushed out, half pulled in. Her body was hot, her breathing and Optimus understood that she was about to reach the climax. Prime suddenly bite slightly into the clitoris of (Y/N) and suck it hard, causing her to scream.

Fuck, she just felt ... happy ! Her pussy sprayed water and Prime has inspired it in his mouth, drinking it all as if it was a delicious high -end Energon…

After getting orgasm, (Y/N) almost exhausted, lying still in bed while Optimus leisurely went into the bathroom to bring a pot of warm water and a clean towel gently cleaning it there for her. (Y/N) Starly looking at Optimus, who restored the serious face as usual was seriously cleaning the pussy that was just destroyed by the tongue of a alien robot.

After finishing his job, Optimus hugged himself (Y/N) who was also naked into his lap, pulled the blanket to cover both and turning off the lights.

In the night, the girl's voice resounds

"Your huge cock can't use- Ouch! Why did you hit me!?"

"Sleep early" Optimus grumbled before they both fell into a dream

A long time later, (Y/N) when he remembered asking Optimus' tyrannosaur if he could fuck her, he regretted it. That thing made her cry, begging Optimus for forgiveness MANY TIMES. But for the future, leave it for later.

Goodnight !

[korisreblogcorner]

Good morning again red dead community. I listen to too much country music so here’s a ficlet based on colter wall’s Sagebush Waltz. I haven’t written in so long and this is my first red dead fic. If you’re mean I will start casting spells ❤️ hope this helps

[rated E for like. One single paragraph. 👍🏻]

Charles is a giggly drunk. Arthur’s come to find that out as time goes on, and has come to understand this as the reason he rarely drinks much, even when the gang has a reason to drink. Well, the gang hardly ever has a good reason to drink, but they’d come up with one all the same.

Sean coming home was as good a reason as any to carry the crate of beer out of the provisions wagon and take a round.

Arthur wasn’t a giggly drunk, but he also wasn’t one to sit and brood. He usually became rather chatty, pacing around looking for the next person to trade a short conversation with. Thankfully with the rest of the gang just as inebriated as him, they didn’t seem to mind his pestering as much as usual. He was caught up in a conversation with Lenny about paints he’d secretly been pining for- knowing the wish was pointless, but wishing nonetheless- when Karen fell into his back and grabbed the hat off his head.

“ARTHUR- Arthur More-gan… I wanna dance!” The woman slurred, eyes not exactly focused on Arthur, but close enough that he could tell she probably recognized him as the man she was addressing.

“Ion dance.” Arthur whined, wanting more than anything to keep chatting with Lenny about his paints.

“Y’know- cowboys gotta rule- Mr.- Mr. More-gan.” She giggled, putting his hat onto her own head. “Some… prolly some’ ‘bout their hats… prolly…”

“We’ll ‘en go find yew a cowboa.” He complained, turning to Lenny again- not really noticing that the man had slumped against the table and had fallen half asleep at this point, the poor lightweight- but was stopped when two hands grabbed his hips and pulled him away.

“C’mon! I’know yo’ c’n dance Arthur Morgan!” She laughed, spinning the man around and slipping into his arms. Arthur rolled his eyes, but ended up with a tired smile as the woman laughed, both falling into position and swaying to Javier’s playing. Arthur looked out and saw Dutch and Molly dancing as well, both in a similar state of drunken infatuation, and he silently hoped it would last longer than just tonight.

Looking back at Karen, he noticed his hat missing from her head of curls. “Yew already got someone wantin the next dance, mister.” She explained, smiling as she directed Arthur’s attention to Tilly. The young girl sat proud with Arthur’s hat on her head, only having had a few sips, but still swaying slightly where she sat. Sean tapped Arthur on the shoulder, arguing a bit as he took Arthur’s place in Karen’s arms. Arthur twirled a bit, laughing at the two- the camp’s worst kept secret- before holding out a hand for Tilly.

“C’mon Till, let’s show 'em how it’s done.” Arthur slurred, a smile stuck on his face. Tilly jumped at the opportunity, always one to dance given any circumstance.

Tilly was always a giggly person, but Arthur couldn’t help but notice how hard she was trying not to be. “Wha’cha lookin at, Till?” Arthur asked, twirling the girl under his arm.

“Sadie n Charles.” She responded, doing her best to not stare as she laughed to herself. She turned them to the music, letting Arthur see what had got the girl so giggly, and, to be fair, Arthur struggled to hold in a laugh as well.

The two seemed unfit in eachother’s arms, Sadie’s hold too tight, and Charles’ steps too heavy- but they still worked together to find a balance that some would call dancing.

Though, what really caught his attention were their hands, Sadie’s resting on Charles’ hip, and Charles’ on her shoulder. They’d switched roles, a move that had Arthur imagining Charles in other “lady’s” roles.

He remembered when he was nearly gouged by a boar, escaping the beast’s rampage by the skin of his teeth. He’d torn the leg on his favorite pair of jeans, and felt down about it nearly the rest of the hunting trip he’d taken with Charles. He recalled waking up the next morning to the jeans folded neatly by his tent, mended with a clumsy hand, but a caring one. He knew Charles would rather him not mention it, so instead he made them both coffee as a thank you.

He also recalled returning to camp just before sunup, damn near dead on his feet as he slipped off his horse- a standard breed named Annabel, though Arthur was a bit embarrassed to admit she only responded to ‘Sweetie’- and stumbled back to his cot. He was about to fall back and sleep till noon- until he noticed Charles sitting by the wood’s edge, likely returning after the nightwatch. In his hand was a soft looking brush, which he gently ran through his long black hair. It was such a quiet moment that Arthur just couldn’t help but stare, wishing it were his fingers carding through those locks instead of thin boarhair.

Arthur remembered the night he finally gave up keeping his mind right. There were so many things in this world he couldn’t have, why deny himself in the one place he could have everything?

Felt different though, as he touched himself to the thought of his friend with his knees by his ears, ladylike in every way except physical. He felt quite lucky for the seclusion of the mountains as he whimpered, spilling over his hand as he imagined Charles’ soft lips finally touching his own.

If Arthur were to guess, he’d say his memory of tonight would be less of dancing and drinking and singing, and more of how Charles’ masculine silhouette cut so handsomely in the moon’s gentle light.

In the now, Arthur stifled a laugh, spinning Tilly and dipping her over his knee, just to show off a bit. Sadie noticed Arthur’s gaze and scoffed, clearly saying something to Charles, who shook his head, glancing over his shoulder and smiling as Arthur lifted Tilly- squealing, but smiling- by her waist and spun her. Tilly laughed loudly, holding tight to Arthur’s hat as she was placed gently back on the ground. She danced over to Charles and Sadie, but miscalculated which head to drop the hat on, and instead of yellow locks, it fell on black. Charles laughed, holding his chest as he shook his head. He reached for the hat to remove it and give it to either of the blondes that requested it first, but was stopped as a hand fell over his, keeping the hat in place.

Arthur- really not a giggly drunk- chuckled a bit, looking away as he kept his hat atop Charles’ head, setting aside his foolish notions of pride, and finally speaking up.

“Charles- I-“ he paused, wishing against reason to just take the world back two seconds so he’d have more time for his drunken mind to come up with something clever to say. He failed, and instead said what he wanted to say.

“I’ll dance with you, if you’ll have me.” Arthur mumbled, kicking at the dirt as he felt Charles’ hand squeeze just a bit. “Lord knows I’d be glad to have you.”

Tilly and Sadie shared a look, but Arthur couldn’t see anything past Charles’ smile, shaming the glow of the moon. “Sure.” He giggled, short on words as always, falling into Arthur’s arms.

“Don’t think you can twirl me like Tilly.” Charles joked, face red with drunkenness.

“You’d be surprised. I’ve done harder things for less reward.” Arthur responded, using his couple inches of height to properly spin Charles, both laughing, and both ignoring how much closer they held each other when resetting.

[cloudycaffeinatedcryptid]

Who do you think is most and least like their website and in-game descriptions? I feel like we don’t always see everything they describe on screen (which might be due to those script edits we all love thinking about).

Laura's excited to spend a quiet summer in the woods as a camp counselor alongside her boyfriend Max. It's the perfect way to apply her resourceful, curious nature before she returns to her veterinarian studies in the fall. For Laura, everything's falling into place.

Laura is described in-game as Studious. Independent. Determined.

Ever the class clown, Max has trouble applying himself and seeing things through, unlike his girlfriend Laura. Fortunately, his friendly attitude and unfaltering loyalty make them a great match, provided she doesn't get sick of his lack of ambition—which won't cut it if their plan to go to college together has any hope of success.

Max is described in-game as Mr. Witty. Sarcastic. Helpless. Dependent. Friendly.

Abigail is so deeply buried in her sketchbook that she can't see how well her artistic skills and kind disposition are appreciated by her peers. Socially awkward but sweet and sincere, she's dying to find some romance before the summer is out.

Abigail is described in-game as Shy. Artistic. Indecisive.

Kaitlyn embraces the idea of living out loud; always going toward the fun and never afraid to stir the pot a little. Her amiable nature and ingenuity means she can adapt to any social environment, often allowing her to slip into the de facto role of 'leader,' though she sometimes struggles to express her own needs in stressful situations.

Kaitlyn is described in-game as Quick-Witted. Headstrong. Cunning.

Like many teen heartthrobs, soft-spoken Nick strikes that perfect balance between handsome athleticism and nerdy vulnerability. His fatal flaw is an unwillingness to drop his stoic guard and let people in.

Nick is described in-game as Polite. Awkward. Impressionable.

Emma is something of a documentarian, capturing and commenting on nearly everything through her phone's front-facing camera for her loyal followers. As a talented actress and enterprising influencer, she runs the camp's drama activities, teasing out the best (and worst) in everyone she meets.

Emma is described in-game as Confident, Performative, and Self-assured.

Most won't 'get' whatever's coming through his headphones, but Ryan lives for connection, even if he does lean into the whole brooding, handsome loner thing. Beneath the reclusive persona is the heart of a hero, determined to prove himself to those he cares about.

Ryan is described in-game as inquisitive, stoic and charming.

Campers and counselors alike love Dylan's oddball humor and deep musical knowledge, broadcast daily over the camp's PA system… but beneath the affable, edgy persona of his radio voice, a much different person lies in wait, terrified of rejection.

Dylan is described in-game as Sarcastic. Laid-Back. Sociable.

Jacob is accustomed to being the most popular guy around. Despite some self-centeredness and obnoxious bravado befitting your typical jock, Jacob's got a charming streak and genuinely wants his fellow counselors to have a good time, especially Emma.

Jacob is described in-game as Athletic. Arrogant. Funny.

thank you for bringing this to my attention, i'm eating a dictionary in frustration. i have been yelling about this for twenty minutes & i have a lot of Thoughts

okay i'm going to break this down in stages. for starters, Laura's website description is fine, sounds pretty accurate, but i'm not sure about her in-game description. we don't get a chance to see her be "studious" during the game & it doesn't sit right to me that despite her motivation very clearly being driven by Max's situation, her traits don't reflect that. i would propose something like "Loyal. Determined. Clever."

poor Max, he's reduced to helpless and unable to follow through. that feels unfair - he's too busy being a depressed dog in jail. we don't see enough of my beloved for me to make a judgment call on his ambition (also why does he get so many descriptor tags??) but he has so many good traits so i don't think we should capitalize on his bad ones. he should be "Good-Humored. Dependable. Friendly." none of this helpless shit for my precious boy

Abi's all seem pretty accurate but the "indecisive" trait makes me sad :( we don't get to she her MAKE a lot of decisions barring the one to shoot Nick or not. the scene at the bonfire where she can't pick someone to ask truth or dare feels unfair. i wish we'd gotten to see more of her bc i don't even know what to put in place of it

no real complaints with Kaitlyn's, they got her pretty well. altho i would LOVE for insight on what the fuck the last sentence means. we barely get any backstory on Kaitlyn & i want some

Nick is not fucking stoic, i'm sorry. his fatal flaw is being fucking weird & having no social skills. i don't think his trait tags need changed but if they did i recommend throwing "odd" in there somewhere

i don't have a lot of complaints about Emma's, but if they were going to make her website description so heavily focused on her "documentor" status, i think they should have leaned into it more. have her playtime feature more optional photos, using her camera or something - just more on that concept. also i feel like "confident" & "self-assured" are too similar, so i would replace one of them with maybe "probing" or "argumentative". with love, of course

my man Ryan has a pretty good description but i vote to change "stoic" to "antisocial" or something of the sort bc stoic sounds too mean :(

Dylan, my love :(( why are you so sad :(( they all love you. he's so sad & scared. i don't mind his tags but i would adjust it a little. "Witty. Intuitive. Sociable." maybe. i don't know

and Jacob. first of all, athletic isn't a personality trait i don't think. & funny seems kind of lazy. this idiot deserves a little better maybe. we get to see a lot of different parts of him but they don't seem to go anywhere. i'm thinking "Overactive. Eager. Sarcastic." or something along those lines

[enigmaticemperor]

Long story short, last month was HECTIC and I'm surprised I could even write a handful of fics for @hinnyfest November 2k22. Over the past few months, I discovered that I really loved writing and I'd like to continue using those Hinny prompts to write more one-shots, if it's ok with everyone. Here's prompt #2: "I did something bad...."

Harry ran as fast as his legs could take him, eager to get far away from the dark, gloomy dungeons. He didn’t fancy staying there one more second. And he would bet his Firebolt that Snape didn’t want him to either.

Pain seared through his skull, and he clutched his scar. Headaches have been more frequent recently. With Umbridge banning him from Quidditch, finding out about the DA, even more closely patrolling all owls and floos, and Occlumency lessons from Snape, nothing seemed appealing anymore. He was waiting for the year to end to finally be rid of the old toad and be with Sirius. 

Considering the fate of all their Defence against the Dark Arts professors, he doubted Umbridge would be back next year, and he could get back to Quidditch.

He turned sharply into one of the tapestries, keeping a lookout for Peeves. The moment he stepped out, something, or rather, someone, bumped into him. 

Harry stumbled backwards but regained footing and caught the person by the arm.

“Hey, watch where you’re - ”

“Sorry - ” 

He could recognise that voice even in the dark, and he pulled them back into the tapestry.

“Harry? Is that you?” Ginny lit her wand. Now that he could see her face, she wasn’t scared. Instead, her face was flushed, and it looked like she was holding back laughter.

“Yes,” he whispered, “How come I found you running away?”

Ginny acted affronted and said, “Excuse me, Harry, but Ginny Weasley doesn’t run away.”

Harry smiled teasingly. They became very close after she brought him out of his brooding, and he felt like a prat for making her feel like what she went through was nothing. He apologised, and it was then he found out how much fun she actually was and how much he enjoyed her company.

“Well, what do you call what you’re doing now? Keeping distance from the evidence?”

This was another thing he found out. Ginny had impeccable taste in mischief.

“Something like that,” she smirked and peeked out of the tapestry. She immediately stepped back on Harry’s toes, but he didn’t make a sound. 

Filch’s voice could be heard. “Who did that? Who did that to poor Madam Dolores? I’ll chain you by the wrists when I see you. Pity the old punishments aren’t around anymore. Sniff ‘em out, Mrs Norris. We’ll find them.”

Harry and Ginny were chuckling silently, and he asked, “What did you do?”

Ginny bit her lip, and now Harry was even more intrigued. She looked so bloody adorable like that. What was he thinking? He pushed that thought away.

“I did something bad, Harry.”

“Anything done to that old toad isn’t bad.”

“Oh, I know,” she said darkly, “but this is something I haven’t done before.”

“So?”

Ginny’s chocolate brown eyes twinkled as she said, “There’s a portable swamp outside her office.”

Harry smirked, “A portable swamp? That’s weak, Weasley.”

“Not if the office is flooded,” she said.

Harry looked at her admiringly, and she blushed, but she went on, “And she’s a canary now.”

The first word that came out of Harry’s mouth was, “How?”

Ginny looked confused, “What do you mean how?”

Harry nervously tried to explain what he meant. He didn’t want her to understand it the wrong way. 

“I know you’re really good, but how did you pull off all these without Umbridge catching you?” 

“That will remain a mystery, Mr Potter,” she smiled and brushed some seaweed off her shirt.

“You threw a dungbomb outside her office, she came out, you slipped a canary cream in her tea, she squeaked for Snape, you flooded her office, came out, dropped a portable swamp and now are running away from Filch,” he guessed.

Ginny’s jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

“I know you.”

She poked him in the side, “Tell me.”

“That will remain a mystery, Miss Weasley,” he grinned.

She pouted, and he couldn’t resist that, “I have the map, and you asked me for the cloak after lunch.”

“Still, you couldn’t have found out the rest with them. You’re going to be an amazing Auror, Harry.”

His eyes were downcast, and he looked defeated when he said, “Not if Umbridge has anything to say about it.”

“The old pink monstrosity will be gone after this year ends. You will become an Auror if that’s what you want to be. And McGonagall will help you from what I heard from Ron,” she said supportively, her hand on his arm.

He swelled with happiness that someone believed in him, and Ginny felt that she was getting to him and was happy that he didn’t shy away from her touch.

“Thanks,” he said shyly, picking at his robes.

They looked at each other for a moment, which was rudely interrupted by Filch’s voice echoing in another corridor.

“Well, we must get going,” she said. She ignored both of their red faces, pulled out the invisibility cloak and handed it to Harry. He draped it over both of them, and they silently and stealthily made their way out of the tapestry and towards Gryffindor Tower.

They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady and were let in after Ginny whispered the password, and Harry poked his head out of the cloak.

Once they were in, Harry said, that irresistible smirk on his face, “That is bad, Gin.”

“Oh, I did something bad, Harry,” she said smiling, “but why’s it feel so good?”

“Because it’s Umbridge?” he suggested.

“Maybe it is. Goodnight, Harry.” She walked up the stairs slowly, not wanting the moment to end.

“Goodnight, Gin,” Harry smiled. “Maybe call me the next time, yeah?”

“Sure. Next time will be bigger, and I’ll need your help,” she beamed, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Oh, I thought Ginny Weasley didn’t need any help,” he teased, hands in his pockets.

“I’ll make an exception for you, Harry.” She made her way up the stairs, now a spring in her step and Harry couldn’t help but think that at least something good would come of this year.

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Also, I have compiled all my one-shots written so far for Hinnyfest November 2k22 on ff.net

[copiousloverofcopia]

Prime Mover Ren, I have a desire for more short, one-shots of Terzo as a daddy. 💕

Ask and you shall receive Ghestie (even if it takes me forever to do it cause #primemover) lol

Anyways this little drabble was actually inspired by the Ministry BBQ art by @beepophobia and in honor of Father's Day!

So Happy Father's Day to all the Papas out there and HERE WE GO!

Terzo's Day

Also available HERE on AO3!

SFW below the cut!

The air was thick with sweet smell smoke and delicious shimmering meat. The sounds of laughter and small children playing, surrounded the Abbey grounds. As the afternoon sun shined brightly upon them, Terzo sat on one of the many picnic benches wearing a gray tank top to keep cool as he sucked back on a can of Peroni Nastro Azzurro—quenching his thirst. He was enjoying the day, his family close at hand and a happiness in his soul he could not find the words to describe.

"Fratello the grigliata mista di carne is gonna burn." he jabbed, watching his brother with Mr. Saltarian at the grill. Secondo was sensitive when it came to his cooking skills and Terzo’s playful commentary had definitely struck a nerve. Secondo starred up into his brows. Regaining composure before deciding to respond.  

"Cazzo, you keep your comments to yourself. I can handle the meat." he replied, balancing the cigarillo in his lip. Terzo shot back a wide-spread mischievous grin. Secondo, instantly regretting the way he phrased his words before Terzo blurted out his response. 

"Oh I bet!" Terzo laughed, dodging the ketchup bottle that caming flying across the table at him. Mr. Saltarian shaking his head at the juvenile antics of these supposed, “Heads of the Church”. A little bit of sibling rivalry and some good natured ribbing was par for the course at any Ministry barbeque. Today’s carnivore culinary exploration however was special. A celebration in honor of Father’s day and Terzo was determined to enjoy every minute of it.

The clergy, siblings, and ghouls all had gathered with their families in abundance. The Abbey grounds, almost faire like in its jubilance and brimming activity. It was on days like this when the full community of the Abbey came together in something other than prayers and rituals. Something other than their commits to Lucifer in which to allow themselves a moment of respite.  

Terzo was grateful, acknowledging that he had everything to celebrate. His beautiful Prime Mover Alessandra, was carrying their third child in her womb. Only days away from welcoming another yet Emeritus into his brood. Terzo, fully determined to populate the world with his unholy spawn. 

Two of which, Filomena and Dante, were gleefully running around with the ghoul kits as the grownups were preparing lunch. Terzo and his brothers had all huddled together at the grill. All of them bickering as to the right way to prepare the feast, a pastime that was one of the simplest pleasures.

It wasn’t that long ago that Terzo’s regard for Father’s day was barely a footnote to be mentioned. Every year the same unenthusiastic celebrations as he actively avoided fatherhood. While he and his brother’s were close, Nihil wasn’t exactly the type of father figure to be celebrated and so for all the years leading up to Alé, the day was nothing but monotonous and draining. Terzo, counting down the minutes until he no longer had to pretend to care about Nihil. 

Now this day was for him. He was now a father to be celebrated, a fact sometimes he still had trouble wrapping his head around. Terzo smiled as he watched those around him. Nihil was pouting that Secondo had shoved him off the grill, while Sister Imperator, in her new wide brimmed hat and back dress, consoled him. Secretly giving Secondo a thumbs up as they’d managed to evade Nihil’s poor cooking. 

Terzo caught sight of Copia, his best friend and their new reigning Papa. He was running around like a chicken with its head cut off as he dashed back and forth, grabbing all the things forgotten inside. Copia’s people-pleasing at an all time high during things like this. Terzo couldn't help but smile at him as he passed, buns in head and an anxious look on his face. 

Then Terzo set his sights on Primo. His eldest brother seemed at first to be content. Enjoying the outdoors even more so than normal—if that was physically possible. But underneath Terzo sensed something—a quiet sadness behind that old worn smile. 

Terzo placed his hand over Primo’s, catching his brother’s attention as he scooted up closer to the table, leaning over to speak. “You alright old man?” Terzo asked him. Primo at first said nothing, letting out a sigh as he continued to watch the activity around him. Taking a moment before his eyes met with Terzo’s across the table. 

“I will be…Fratellino…” Primo began, Terzo now concerned. The hint of melancholy in his voice and the painted smile seemed to be holding back something that Terzo had never recalled seeing with Primo before—pain.

“Si? What is wrong?” he asked him. Primo got quiet, clearing his throat and nodding as the siblings and ghouls passed by their table. Terzo knew that he was stepping into unfamiliar territory but he had to know. 

“Just promise me that you will never take what you have for granted.” Primo said quietly, his tone and demeanor betraying him. Allowing Terzo to see that there was more unsaid but that Primo couldn’t muster to speak. 

“Primo?” Terzo proceeded with caution. 

“Promise me that you will always honor Alessandra and love and cherish every child she bears you. That you won’t take for granted the blessings Satanas has given you—or you may end up an old bitter man like me.” Primo said with a smile. Terzo smiled back at him, it was evident then that while Primo had lived a long life, he had missed out on things—things for which he now had regrets. Terzo squeezed his hand tightly, struggling himself to maintain his composure as he spoke again.

“I promise fratello—I promise.” Just then little Mena came dashing up to the table. Her purple sundress, completely soaked and the curls of her dark hair dripping wet. 

“Dad!” she cried, “...Dante won’t stop squirting me with the water guns! I have asked him to stop but he won’t!” Terzo pivoted around on his bench, looking over to see his very guilty looking son staring back at him. Terzo allowed Menta to take his place as he stood. 

“Piccolo uomo, vieni qui dal tuo Papa.” he commanded Dante. His little boy was the spitting image of him, a mess of hair and a charming smile. He approached his father like a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs. His hands suspiciously hidden behind his back. 

“Yes Daddy?” Dante asked. His voice, sweet and his face adorned with the softest, round cheeks that Lucifer himself would be unable to resist pinching. Terzo dropped to his knees before him, bringing himself eye level with his son.

“Dante…sii serio piccolo. Have you been spraying your sister with the water again?” he asked him. Dante shook his head no, adamant that he hadn’t done anything wrong. It was then Terzo could see Alessandra coming up from behind them. Holding a pair of soft towels and a look of exhaustion spread across her beautiful face. 

Just as she reached them, Secondo called out that the food was done and the whole of the Abbey came running up from all around them. “Sorry I have been trying to keep up with them but it’s getting a bit hard.” she smiled standing before Terzo. He smiled back up at her, placing his hand on her belly and feeling their child kicking away inside her. 

“I can only imagine amore…but It seems we have a problem.” he said, sending her a wink.

“Oh, is that so?” Alé laughed. Mena stood up beside her father, still dripping as Terzo explained. 

“Si, apparently there is someone who looks exactly like Dante spraying Mena with a water gun.”

“Ah I see, what a weird coincidence. You see I seem to recall letting Dante and Phil’s nits get the water guns out from the green house.” Alé laughed again.

“Indeed.” Terzo replied, listening to Primo holding back his laughter from behind him. “Now Dante…are you sure that it wasn’t you?” 

“Yes.” Dante proclaimed. Alé raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to be honest with his dad as she knew the truth. And even more importantly she could see something Terzo could not. 

“You’re being too hard on the boy.” Primo commented, Terzo turning to face his brother before Dante spoke. 

“Daddy?” 

“Yes Dant—-” Terzo shouted as he was hit full force in the face with a cold stream of water. The likes of which was powered by the pair of water guns that Dante had hidden behind his back. Instantly Primo and Alessandra burst out in laughter. Watching as Terzo panicked a moment before opening his eyes and flipping back his dampened hair from his face. As his vision came into focus, he watched as his mischievous little boy ran off laughing with Mena trailing not far behind him.

Terzo turned back to face Primo, “Still have regrets?” he chuckled, the face paint running down his face. Primo nodded and smiled, Terzo was a lucky man and even though it wasn’t always easy he loved being a father to his children. He loved them more than life itself and that while it wasn’t always perfect it was his. And today was his day.

Notes: grigliata mista di carne -popular Italian barbecue dish of mixed grilled meats Piccolo uomo, vieni qui dal tuo papà- Little man, come here to your Papa. sii serio piccolo- be serious little one