#yeah he cannot float so-

[novsurfff]

hi hello there’s my stupid ahh ahit oc

i love noodles

[rhymaes]

Mysterious Lotus Casebook, Ep. 40 // The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights, John Steinbeck

[akkivee]

it’s not a big section of the fandom but i’ve seen a few pieces of fanart where sanrio hitoya, cat dad of five, takes in ichiro as another cat kid and yes absolutely

[crescenthistory]

hi! i have this really cute idea for regulus x fem! reader. so reader is a animagus and it’s winter time so sometimes she’ll shift into a their animal form, preferably a cat, and goes seek out warmth. but reader is also besties with remus and knows he’s a werewolf, his body temperature runs a lot warmer then anyone else so she goes to room to cuddle. when that happens, regulus immediately knows they reader is with remus and, begrudgingly, goes to gryffindor to steal reader back.

when he gets there, sirius is pouring and complains to reggie that “your girlfriend is stealing my boyfriend” and regulus snaps back by saying “well your boyfriend is stealing my girlfriend” and reader and remus are amused but their bickering but don’t care.

anon. anon. i am giving you the BIGGEST kiss, you don't even know. this is perhaps the best idea i've seen in a while and so i love you. i will be thinking about this throughout all of winter, thank you.

Words: 3k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, references to previous black brothers angst, disgusting amounts of fluff, best friends can cuddle platonically regardless of gender i will fight you on this, background rosekiller and wolfstar, childhood best friend!remus, implied gryffindor!reader, sirius pretends to be jealous but is not

Note: read more about cat!animagus!reader's shenanigans with regulus, wolfstar and james in Sweet Like Honey; Karma is a Cat & Padfoot vs. Whiskers

When Regulus accepted Sirius’ attempt to mend their relationship, he had expected to get his big brother back in full and no more. The person who understands him best, the boy he needed to lean on – it was all he wanted to get out of it. Perhaps he expected to have to grown tolerant of his brother’s friends, but that was something he dreaded, if he at all thought of.

What Regulus had not expected was to be introduced to and fall head over heels in love with you.

Remus’ childhood best friend, the more reserved one of the bunch that he had always seen floating around with them, but whose voice he had never had to roll his eyes at, thus never interacted with. It bewildered him now how he once upon a time barely thought of you, regarded you.

Now he knew you were delightful, and Regulus was positively smitten.

It had been exactly what Regulus had never thought he would get – an easy love. Like your friends, you were open and honest and loyal to the bone, and it spilled over like honey into your relationships with those around you. Once you caught a glance of his clearly lovestruck eyes, you melted, and the puddle was caught delicately in his hands.

Since then, that is where he has held you. In the palms of his hands, close to his heart. He learned more than he perhaps wanted to know about himself during the process of opening up to you, and you showed him a patience he still is not entirely certain he deserves. But you gave him your time, your moments, your touches and your lips, and he received and received without complaint.

When the two most important people in Regulus’ life – one a fervent, natural devotion, another a sassy, passionate rivalry – were in the same hazardous circle of loud-mouthed Gryffindor friends, he eventually had to capitulate that he could no longer just tolerate them. They were family.

God, what love has cost him.

Regulus walked into his dorm room where you have spent more days than not for the past few months, and sighed defeatedly when all he finds there is Barty laying on top of Evan in some odd position that cannot possibly be comfortable.

“Hello to you too, Black. Thrilling to see you.” Barty’s voice was laced with sarcasm, but there was no menace there as of yet.

“Yeah, yeah,” Regulus grumbled as he threw his bookbag onto his bed and sat down. “You seen Y/N lately?”

“You mean since you were all snuggled up this morning? Nah.”

Regulus rolled his eyes painfully hard at his oldest friend, murmuring a soft sod off before tossing whatever was closest – his pyjama t-shirt – in Barty’s general direction, missing by a good metre. He is a seeker and not a chaser for a reason.

“What of it, Reg?” Evan mumbled, but it was distorted by Barty’s elbow being more or less shoved into his mouth. He could never sit still.

“Just figured she’d be here, ‘s all. She finished class before me.” Regulus falls down onto his bed, curls spilling onto the emerald sheets as he stares at the ceiling, picturing you there and then immediately kicking himself for being that down bad. Then reminding himself with the therapy-speech Sirius has been teaching him, love is a strength not a weakness, it’s good to feel your feelings. Yada yada. "It's been a long day."

“Maybe she got tired of your sorry ass.” Barty laughed at his own joke only to be smacked by Evan’s finally-freed hand.

“Or yours, you sod.”

“Nah, Treasure absolutely adores me.” Barty propped himself up to flash you both a grin. “See, unlike you, I’m fun.”

“Interesting word to substitute insufferable with.” Evan said, leaning his face up from underneath Barty, as if to intimidate him.

“You love me,” Barty drawled before kissing the blond soundly.

“Would you guys please stop flirting?” Regulus’ voice was closer to a groan than anything else. He pressed the backs of his hands to his eyes, seeing stars and thinking of you. Stupid poetic feelings.

“Just because you can’t keep track of your girl doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves.” Barty pointed an accusatory finger at Regulus. “I would classify that demand as rude.”

“Bite me.”

“Only if your girlfriend says yes.” This time it was Evan’s turn of tuning into Regulus’ torture.

“And she would.” Barty winks at him.

This time it’s a pillow Regulus throws at them, and it lands perfectly, smack in the middle of Barty’s face.

“Oi!” He calls as he throws it back. “Either you quit it, or you throw me your jumper, it’s freezing in here.”

“You’re literally in bed, Barty.” Regulus looks at him, unamused. “Just–”

He trails off, gaze falling from Barty to the wall behind him as he pieces the puzzle together and realisation dawns on his face. The other boys seem to have caught on as they both cock their heads curiously at him. 

“Of course,” Regulus whispers, first in marvel and then it morphs into something between exasperation and disgust. “Of course.” At last, he gets a determined look on his face, slapping his palms on his knees as he sits up from bed and grabs his jumper to go.

“Excuse you, what just happened?” Barty says, increasingly louder throughout his sentence as he realises Regulus is headed for the door, thick wool jumper tucked under his arm. “Hey!”

Regulus throws the boys a look over his shoulder, smirking at them and shaking his head before shutting the door and walking off. He barely catches Evan’s “shush, you baby, I’ll warm ya” before he is out of earshot.

A man with a purpose and half a plan stalks off, beginning the treacherous journey from the Slytherin dungeons to the Gryffindor dormitories.

What is the single thing Regulus knows can keep you from him when you’re otherwise attached at the hip? The cold.

What is the one person you go to for anything and everything, especially dealing with the cold? A certain ragged boy with a wolfish smile that he knows is to be found only behind the portrait of an increasingly annoying woman.

“Password?” The Fat Lady asked, quirking a brow ridiculously high as she regards Regulus with a mutual disgust.

“Catulus leonis.” Regulus does not bother holding back the eyeroll at the ridiculous passphrase.

She looks at him a moment or five longer than she needs, almost as if considering not letting him in despite his answer being perfectly correct, before she finally swings open the door wordlessly.

Regulus mutters a harsh thank you, Pureblood upbringing having knocked some politeness into him he is just not able to forego, no matter how severe his beef – as Sirius says – with the woman is.

When he finally approaches the offending dorm, the door opens fast enough to knock some wind across his face, and he is met with a set of black curls and a superfluous frown that both match his own.

“Regulus. Thank Merlin.”

“Good to see you too, Siri. How'd you know it was me?”

"Recognised your footsteps. Now, c'mon."

Regulus pushes in past his brother and his eyes immediately find Remus Lupin’s bed. To the unaware, it would just look like the scrawny boy was innocently laying on his bed, head propped against a mountain of pillows and reading another one of his paperbacks.

However, Regulus knew better and could see the perfect girlfriend-shaped lump underneath Remus’ jumper, shielded by his arms as he held his book over his stomach.

Or, at least shaped like this rather specific form of his girlfriend.

“Hello, amour, I’ve been looking for you.” Regulus’ voice is addressed to the bump on Remus’ chest, but he looks up at him with a quirked brow and a smug smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

“Didn’t know we were on a pet name-basis, Reg. Good to know.” 

“Absolutely not.” Sirius and Regulus chorus at the exact same time, and Regulus fights back the wince at how painfully similar they are in this moment.

“Reggie,” Sirius finally whines. “Your girlfriend’s been stealing my boyfriend for the past two hours. Do something!”

Despite having a very similar sentiment settled in his own chest, Regulus gives his brother a pull yourself together look as he comes up to stand beside him, near the occupied bed. “I’m fairly certain your boyfriend has stolen my girlfriend equally as much,” he tuts.

“Whatever, just do something.” Sirius waves his hand towards Remus’ still very relaxed state with something a bit too close to a pout forming on his face.

“There’s no need to be jealous, Pads, the poor girl’s just cold,” Remus chides, with a teasing glint in his eye that clearly shows he knows his boyfriend is being dramatic for the bit and not actually upset. "Gotta help 'er out."

“‘M not jealous. I’m needy.” Sirius’ deadpan stare is not affected by Remus’ laughter nor Regulus’ barely-contained snort.

“Glad you admit it,” Regulus says slyly, patting Sirius on his shoulder twice, who immediately shrugs his hand off with a scowl.

“Like you’re any better, you slithered all the way up from the snake pit to fetch her. At least I’m open about it.”

Before Regulus has the chance to retort, Remus puts his book down in his lap and reaches out a hand for Sirius, which he immediately takes. “I told you you could come lay in the bed with us, love,” Remus murmurs and swipes his thumb over the back of Sirius’ hand.

If he did not feel the same way, Regulus would have given Sirius hell for how he seemed to absolutely soften in the sunlight of his boy. “Yeah, I know, Moons, I’m just being theatrical.”

Remus laughs once more, and this time his chest rumbling results in a distinct prrrt! coming from the inside of his jumper. Up through the collar, cheek smashed against Remus’, comes the tentative head of beautiful grey-and-white fur and slow-blinking yellow eyes, still riddled with sleep. 

“Good morning, amour,” Regulus coos, ignoring Sirius’ snort as he drops down to squat beside Remus’ bed so his face is lined up with yours.

You pur, stretching beneath the fabric, a single paw escaping beside your head through the collar as you roll over onto your back. Your eyes remained trained on Regulus, and though he knows cats can’t actually smile, he swears you were smiling at him.

“Sorry to wake you, princess,” Sirius drawls as he looks down at you from where he is leaning on the bedpost beside Remus. “But have you seeped up enough warmth for me to get my boyfriend back yet?”

You make a faux hissing sound before ducking your head down, so it’s just barely hidden by the collar.

Remus laughs heartily, setting his book completely away this time so his hand can come up to rest on your cat-form, petting you through his jumper. “It’s alright kitten, take your time.”

The exposed paw lightly hits Remus’ cheek in retaliation, and this time it is Sirius and Regulus’ turn to laugh at his expense. “Ow! I share my warmth with you and this is what I get in return?”

From the movement beneath the fabric, Regulus assumes you’re nuzzling your head against his chest in apology.

“Amour, I brought your favourite jumper of mine and promise to make you so much hot cocoa if I can steal you back. We can be in your dorm room instead of mine, it’s warmer in there, right?” A smile remains consistent on Regulus’ face as he talks to you.

Sirius pats him on the back, murmuring something about you’re so whipped that he doesn’t bother to pay attention to. 

More movement beneath the fabric, and then suddenly your ears are poking out of the neckline again – because why would you make it easy for yourself and use the big exit, when you can squeeze your way through a tight opening? You’re a cat after all.

Remus seems to be thinking the same as he laughs while you attempt to climb out beside his head, soft fur brushing against his skin and making up for the occasional claw you use for traction. 

Regulus attempts to bite back the coos as he sees more and more of you, recognising your movements as sluggish with sleep, no doubt coaxed into it by finally being comfortable.

“Thanks for today, see you again tomorrow, same time?” Remus teases, head turned towards you as you headbutt him lovingly, finally fully escaped from his jumper and standing on his shoulder. He nuzzles you back and scratches your head in goodbye.

Another prrrt! escapes you in greeting as you saunter your way across Remus and plop onto the small strip of mattress on his side where Regulus’ hands are open and ready to receive you. 

“Hi, sweetie,” he whispers as you allow him to scoop you up into his arms while he’s still squatting beside the bed. He holds you like an infant, tight to his body and securely supported. You immediately begin to purr loudly, nuzzling your head even further into his neck and shoulder.

Regulus does not bother to hold back the slight giggle as your caresses tickle him. 

“Good gods, are you two sappy,” Sirius groans, but when Regulus looks up, there is a wide grin on his face. A slightly teasing one admittedly, but a grin nonetheless.

Then, Regulus recognises where Sirius is grinning at him from – properly cuddled up besides Remus on the opposite side of the bed, arms beneath his jumper, soaking up the leftover warmth from you.

“Wait– how did you get there so fast?” Regulus’ voice is almost incredulous, stopping his greeting of you – earning him a harrumphing meow – to narrow his eyes at his brother. “I didn’t even notice you move from beside me.”

“What can I say; I am a dedicated man.” Sirius nuzzles into Remus’ cheek, not much unlike how you were mere seconds ago, albeit his involved a tad many more kisses.

“You’re weird, that’s what you are,” Regulus laughs as he stands up with you in his arms.

You turn around to look up at him with those big, slitted eyes of yours. When you extend your neck further towards his face, Regulus lifts you higher so you can give him the cat-kisses you so evidently wanted, his lips curling at your touch.

Sirius lifts a brow at the two of you. “Yeah. I’m the weird one.” 

Regulus scoffs at him, but when you continue to caress your furry cheeks against his lips and chin, it is difficult for any menace to remain serious.

“Thank you for your deviant supernatural warmth keeping my girlfriend alive, Lupin, but I’d like to steal her away from you now.” 

“By all means, Black, you’ve already stolen her from me once,” Remus harrumphs, pretending to be some scorned faux older brother but his eyes betray his facade; he is happy for you.

Regulus chooses to ignore it nonetheless.

“Brother.” He nods at Sirius. “Soon to be brother-in-law.” He nods at Remus. “We bid you goodnight.”

“Try not to undo all of Moony’s hard work by freezing her right back up with your freakishly cold feet!” Sirius calls after him as he heads towards the door. He then promptly gives out a soft yelp that indicates Remus corrected him in some physical way.

“Goodnight love, goodnight Reg,” Remus calls instead.

“Yeah, bye, doll!” Sirius adds, whispering more to himself, “he’s mine again now.”

You give out a tired meow that is so cute it makes Regulus’ heart clench with endearment. You cuddle properly up into the crook of his neck as he carries you out, softly closing the door behind him with a smile.

He shifts you in his grip so he can look down at you more carefully. “You are so unbelievably predictable. And even cuter than that again, which is saying something,” he murmurs to you and you respond with quiet meows.

He looks at you curiously. “Are you going to remain in cat form the whole night?”

Your tail twitches teasingly, your only other response is a quiet prrt as you close your eyes into the warmth of his neck again. He laughs, covering your feline body with his hands as he carries you, to keep the warmth in.

He sneaks into your dorm – thankfully often unoccupied as Marlene is with Dorcas and Mary is with Pandora – and settles you down onto your plush mattress and pillows. He undresses and gets ready for bed, while you’re resting your head on the pillow, observing him, but just before getting under the covers, he slips on his jumper.

“It’s so soft I could cry, Reggie,” you had whispered to him when you cuddled up to him when he wore it around you for the first time. “I fear I can never let you go now.”

Regulus slides under the blankets with a knowing smile, opening the hem, allowing you to creep under, chest against chest with your head poking out of the collar to rest at the bottom of his neck. 

“I'm no werewolf, but I’ll keep you warm with my love, amour,” he whispered to you in the dark, one hand combing through your fur protectively underneath his own jumper.

He swears, he could hear the little cat snort against his skin.

Regulus fell desperately deeper in love.

[catiuskaa]

head touches pillow.

sum: after a long day without you, finally able to cuddle against you, when his head touches the pillow, Hyunjin can’t help but dream.

wc: 5.1k

cw: dreams and art and philosophy coded fluff, hyunjin talks (in detail) about a sex dream, handjob, blowjob(?), aftercare.

[★★{📕}★★]

Hyunjin is a dreamer.

A dreamer is a curious creature whose head often floats several inches —or miles— above the ground, tethered to reality only by the occasional text message, meal, or heartbreak. They are powered by equal parts hope, caffeine —chocolate, in this writer’s case—, and the kind of delusion that dares to believe love letters still are a thing, that strangers on trains might be soulmates, and that rainstorms were invented for dramatic monologues, and really, really wet kisses.

Hyunjin blames his imaginative mind for all the late assignments, failed exams and dull evenings he’s had. If it weren’t for his active little mind, in a constant need for dopamine and books that can make one curl in bed, kicking their legs as they giggle and read about romance they can only hope they get to live, maybe he would’ve payed more attention —on a general sense, that is. And on a particular one, maybe then he wouldn’t have lost the bus that day.

But that would mean he wouldn’t have met you.

When a dreamer falls for another dreamer, the universe experiences a brief but noticeable glitch—somewhere, a clock forgets how to tick, a soldier writes poetry, and a star goes slightly off course just to watch what happens next.

“Oh, Larry won’t open the door for you, so I wouldn’t run,” you chuckle. “Mean bus driver, the fella.”

And Hyunjin just blinks, watching the red bus turn smaller as it drives away.

Turning to face you, he swears, changed his brain chemistry. Not that he knows much about brains nor chemistry, but somehow, when his eyes meet yours for the first time, it was as if the air paused mid-breath, unsure whether to exhale or hold onto the moment forever. There was no thunderclap, no dramatic swell of music —just a quiet, electric recognition, like two secret worlds brushing against each other at the edges. In that glance, he saw not just a face, but an entire cosmos made out of late-night musings, unfinished poems, and stardust tucked behind eyelashes, shining in the colour of your eyes. 

It wasn’t love at first sight, not exactly —it was possibility at first glance.

He doesn’t believe it happens often. When an artist such as him —or that’s how he enjoys calling himself when the blinds are down and no one’s looking— somehow falls in love, it’s like those magical moments that movies can’t help but mention. Finding a muse —to him, only you— is the one thing artists hope for in secret, hiding the fire in their hearts between layers of paint and crumbled ink-stained pieces of paper, hoping to never mix love and whorship in the same person, for one cannot hug someone that stands so far away on a pedestal.

Still, he yearns for the words a writer may reach to in order to make sense to the myriad of feelings that simmer in his paint-soaked heart, unable to express them in a way that could suffice.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Hyunjin blinks, lowering his head to face you. He can’t help but smile, his eyes wrinkling at the sides.

“You’d lose all your money, my pearl. I think too much.”

Cuddling more against him as you giggle soothes within the both of you the tension from a long week, days that have passed by without the joy of seeing each other most of the time. But alas, here’s the sweet sweet joy of a long-awaited Friday night.

“C’mon,” you snicker, your hands tracing mindless paterns on his shirtless torso. You make a note to thank the summer weather for that. “Oh, at least tell me about that dream you had a couple nights ago.”

“A… dream?” He frowns in ginger confusion.

“Yeah, remember? I called you… Tuesday morning. You said you had a dream you wanted to tell me,” you grin, resting your chin on his chest.

"Oh, that dream,” his expression turns a little more mischievous. His smile only grows as he watches your expectant eyes. “Fun dream, that was. I remember it alright," he snickers, his tone a little husky. "Every single detail."

You give him a cheeky look, fixing your position to lay down next to him, your head up to face him, resting on your palm. 

“Go on. I’m all ears.”

He can’t help but chuckle, his expression playful. "Oh, are you now?" he teases, his tone low. "You want to hear all the dirty little details?"

“You know I do,” you grin, your other hand cheekily fidgeting with his golden chain.

He takes a deep breath, and he can’t help but lick his lips as he remembers the dream in detail. "So, it was just the two of us," he starts, his voice lower than usual, his gaze flickering over your features. "And we were... well, let's say we were in a bed."

“What do you mean, let’s say?” You grin softly. “Where were we?”

He chuckles, a small, charming smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "I don’t really know. I mean… well... you were on top of me, to be specific," his gaze turning a little bit heated. "And I could feel your skin against mine, your hands resting on my chest. And your face was... so close, I could feel your breath on my skin." Pausing, his voice grows huskier. "You looked into my eyes... it was like you were hungry for me."

As your hand couldn’t help but follow a slow path down his chest, your eyes stayed locked to his. There was something dangerously poetic about them, like they’ve been dipped in paint and secrets, and looking into them feels less like making eye contact and more like falling, headfirst, —heart-first—, into a storm you don’t want to escape. He didn’t just look at you—he unravels you. With one glance, he strips away your composure, peels back every practiced word, and leaves you lying there, entirely too aware of how close his mouth is to yours. It almost isn’t fair, the way his gaze lingers—slow, deliberate, like a hand sliding over bare skin —your nails, long, leaving cheeky red streaks over his abs. You could drown in him. You want to. God help you, you want to forget your own name if it mean he’d keep looking at you like that—like you were something he’d dreamt of touching —not just this once, but for lifetimes—, and now that you are here, he has no intention of looking away.

"You leaned in even closer,” he lets out in a short breath, “your lips… against my skin,” he swallows, dry. “I could feel… the heat radiating off your body and... I felt your words as a soft whisper against my ear," he murmured, eyes dark. "You said..." his eyes lock onto yours. "You said, ‘I want you. Now.’” he mumbles, his tone intense.

You licked your lips. God, you could eat him alive. “Then what happened?”

"You started… trailing your lips down my neck, leaving soft, wet kisses. It felt... really, really good."

“Mhh, I like the sound of that,” you smile.

He chuckles softly, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Good. It gets better," he simpers, his voice a little deeper than before.

"You then… started making your way down my body, your fingers trailing slowly over my chest, my stomach... and you stopped at my waist and..." he paused, his voice growing quieter as he remembered the rest of the dream.

Your hand started cheekily playing with the waistband of his pijama pants. “And?”

He swallowed dry, his body growing heated as he continues. "And you started... touching me," he lets out, like a  whispered, breathless confession. "Your hands were roaming all over my body, and your touch was soft, but so... possessive." You watch him lick his lips as he stares at you, and it feels like pornography. "Your lips followed your hands. And... you started nibbling on a spot right... here..." he vaguely moves his hand, as if afraid that would crack the heat-tinted atmosphere, and points to a spot just below his collarbone.

Leaning against his neck feels like a meancing act againt his self-restraint, and his heart too. He wants you to do it again. With this newly-found information about himself, Hyunjin can’t wait for you to try and kill him. 

“Oh, this one?” You smirk, stroking it with your nose tantalizingly.

He lets out something quite like gasp, a shaky exhale that sounds like "yeah," he breathes out heavily, his voice tinged with a moan that he’s holding back. He’s already hard. "T-that spot."

Only a fool would miss a chance this exquisit, so you quickly start to work. 

“Keep talking,” you whisper with a smirk.

Hyunjin’s brain threatens to turn off as he closes his eyes, his breathing heavier as you press kisses on his neck. "T-then, um..." he sighs, trying to focus through the sensation of your lips against his skin. "You started... moving lower, your hands and mouth down my chest... and then my stomach..."

He lets out a sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as your hand strokes his abs and your lips leave soft kisses on his neck, dusting his skin with pretty pinky marks. "Mmm, keep doing that," he murmured, his voice a little gruff. "It feels... really, really good."

“Keep talking about the dream, or I’ll stop,” you tease, smirking.

Fuck. Either he’s dreaming again, and today is only Thursday or he’s gotta be the luckiest man on Earth, he thinks, letting out a soft, breathy chuckle —a moan, if you squint your ears—, his eyes opening slightly. "Fine, fine... but keep going," he mumbles weakly, his tone laced with a hint of huskiness. "You were moving lower... and lower... and then... you reached my waist." His throat bobs, and you kiss it. He wants to cry. The thought of you stopping almost makes him, but he keeps talking, just like you asked. "You pulled my pants off, leaving me in my boxers," the dream seems almost tangible in the dark pools of his eyes. He can almost taste it, so he licks his lips again, one of his hand fisting the sheets, the other holding you close by your waist, his fingers quickly settling beneath your shirt where you hope he’ll always stay.

"I remember how… your fingers trailed over my thigh," he murmurs softly. "Gentle, but… firm…”

And so you press wet kisses down his chest, happily following the innocent little words that leave his lips —lips you hadn’t want to kiss this bad since, at least, last Friday, but you refrain just to keep listening to him— until you can reach his thigh with your hand. 

Your eyes move to his. Soft, wide, sly. “Like this?”

Yes. No. He’s going to blow in milliseconds. Scratch all that, you have to be a dream. Reality hasn’t felt this good since someone put butter in popcorn. Since he figured out color theory to some extent. He lets out a soft gasp, his breathing quickening. 

"Yes,” he almost moans, “exactly like that."

His hand grips the bedsheet like the poor thing could ever keep him tethered to how your mouth lingers on his collarbone. If this is a dream and he wakes up, he’s catching the first bus and knocking your door of its hinges with the only objective of doing very bad things to you. But when your kisses slow down in intensity, and your hands threaten to leave his blushed skin, he keeps talking. This is real, and if you stop, he’ll start begging. 

"You started kissing," he pants out, "kissing… down my thigh... and then you… started moving... higher."

He pauses, his breathing growing heavier as the next part of the dream unveils in his mind. Hyunjin needs you to keep touching him. "You were right between my legs, your lips just... barely against my skin,” his eyes flutter open, and he has the cutest blush all over his face. You’re going to eat him.

“T-then you… took me in your mouth," he gasps softly, his eyes closing again. "I remember how your tongue felt, how your lips felt-" He winces, because the memory and your touch alone are making him really hard.

He can’t do this. This feels too good. He’s not going to be able to let you go on Sunday afternoon. But then your hand travels down his chest and beneath his blue-striped pj’s, and he’s dead. 

“Keep talking, love,” you grin, kissing his chest as you start stroking him, moving your hand up and down.

He lets out a low moan, his body involuntarily bucking against your touch. "A-ah... I'm... trying..." he whines quietly, his voice growing huskier by the second. "Y-You were... um-" He trails off, now rendered unable to form a coherent thought, the sensation of your touch scrambling his brain.

"You... you were moving... up and down," Hyunjin tries to speak, but his words are cut off by a moan. His breathing is heavy and his chest rieses and falls rapidly. He can’t even look at you anymore; his eyes are shut tight, his head pressed against the pillow, blushing all over as he squirms underneath you.

"I... I don't...don't know how much...longer I can...can keep doing this," he admits in a low, ragged voice. "I... I need..." he attempts to say something, but the words just don’t come out. "Please, I… I need..." he pleads softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your hand slows down. You have the desperate need to fuck him senseless. Desperate, submissive Hyunjin is a rare sight, and you want to cover him up in pink hickeys. 

“The dream, love. Keep talking, mhh?”

He lets out a low, soft whine as your hand slows down, his eyes clenched shut. "Oh…a-ah, okay," he whispers, trying to regain his composure. The feeling of your touch is driving him crazy, but he knows he has to stay focused, because this feels too good to stop now. 

"You were... you were moving so... so slowly, and... and it was driving me insane." His eyes are like crescent moons, cheeky drops of sweat shining on his forehead, and on his pink-coloured chest. "I... I wanted more... but you were teasing me so much" he murmurs, his voice growing more desperate by the second. "I wanted to... grab you and... and just-" He groans in frustration, unable to find the words. "I wanted... I needed..." he chokes out, whimpering, struggling through the fog of pleasure. "God... it's so hard to think..."

Teasing him comes off naturally. Just looking at him makes you want to lean and bite his cheek. Instead you snicker, smirking. 

“Oh, poor baby. Feel so good, he can’t even think.”

Surely, you weren’t expecting the embarrassingly needy whine he lets out, his face flushed with pleasure. "Y-Yes," he murmurs softly, his arm moving to cover his eyes and how his blush turns deeper in colour, his voice heavy with desire. "A-and... and it's all your fault."

God. Your legs would give out if you were standing. His muscles flex as he tries to hide his face, kind of, and the fact that you know he’s far too gone to be consciously showing off only makes you hornier. Pleasure looks so good on Hyunjin, you can’t help but need more, as you start stroking him slightly faster. “That’s a pity,” you whisper with a smile. “Feels good, yeah?”

He groans, his hips instinctively bucking against your touch. "Y-Yeah," he breathes out weakly, his voice strained. "It feels... so good."

“Wonderful,” you grin, eyes so dark Hyunjin believes they might’ve just turned black. “Keep talking, then, love. What happened next?”

His body dares to tremble with pleasure as you continue, his breathing ragged and uneven. "You..." he trails off, trying to find the words to speak. "You... moved your mo.. a-ah, mouth away... but you... oh, God, y-you replaced it with..." he lets out a moan, his breath hitching as you continue your slow ministrations, “you replaced it with your hand... and..." He swallows hard, trying to find the words through the pleasure, "a-and you were... slow... and gentle..." he manages to speak, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Just like this?” you whisper too.

The feeling of your touch is driving him wild. 

"Yes," he whimpers, almost sheepishly. "Just... just like that."

He’s struggling to keep his mind clear, the pleasure almost overwhelming him. "Please..." he whines, his voice hoarse and needy. "I need... I need..."

Your eyes look into his, but you only find dark tones of brown that scream at you to keep going. “Focus, love,” you smile. “The dream, mhh?”

He struggles to speak, already feeling like it’s hard to think straight. "Y-You... you started to... speed up..." he whispers, his voice raw with desire. "And... and it felt so... so good,” he breathes heavily, “a-and then, you… ” He groans softly, his whole body trembling as he envisions the scene play out in his mind once more. "Y-You... you lowered yourself onto me..." he blinks slowly, his eyes locking onto yours, his voice heavy with lust. "And... and it felt... so good... so perfect..."

He inhales sharply, his heart feeling like it might just leap out of his chest. "You... you started... moving slowly... and... and I-" He lets out a low, guttural moan, his body arching towards your touch instinctively. "God... it feels... so good... so good... I can't think straight... I-I need you... I need you, flower... please…”

You kiss his thigh, to which he lets out a soft moan at the feel of your kiss, his body trembling with need. You’re going to cave, you know you will, but watching him like this is an addiction you don’t want to let go off just yet. “Does the dream keep going too long?”

"N-Not much longer," he sighs weakly, his voice strained with desire. "I am... I w-was so close... I-" He pants, the memory of the dream playing out in his mind. "I was so... I was so close to..." he confesses, his voice thick with lust. "But just before I could... you... you stopped."

And almost cheekily, your hand stopped, teasing. “I… edged you?”

Hyunjin is pretty sure he’s dead at this point. His body trembles, pliant and undone, eyes glassy with surrender as he floats deeper into that delicious haze —where time blurs and sensation reigns. Every word from you felt like silk and command wrapped in fire, and he clings to it like a lifeline, like prayer. His voice is barely a whisper now, rough with need, as he chokes out, "N-no… please, flower." Not out of pride, but desperation —because in this state, he isn’t thinking, only feeling, and everything he feels is you. Every nerve begs to be touched, praised, claimed—each second without your hands, your voice, your rhythm, feels like air slipping through his lungs. He’s gone, truly gone, and the only thing tethering him to reality is the gravity of your control and the aching, raw hunger to please keep going.

You coo at him, leaning against him to kissing his cheek, “You’re doing so good, love. Keep going, for me?” He nods softly, and you smile, softly pressing your lips against his. 

“And then?” You smile, resuming your slow pace with your hand.

His body responds immediately, his back arching as he let out a low moan. "Y-You..." he fails to speak, his words lost in a pool of desire. "You... you kept going... and... and it was so... s’good... but it was... frustrating... to be so... close... but not... not quite there yet..."

His body is shaking with need, his breath coming in short gasps as he struggles to speak. "Please," he begs softly, his voice a mix between a whine and a whisper. "Please... I need you… please… make me-"

Your tongue against his length weakens him in ways he never thought possible before, and when he finds your eyes glued to his, he’s sure his eyes tear up in pleasure. 

“Keep talking, love.”

He lets out a strangled moan. "Oh... oh god..." he moans again, his voice broken by pleasure. "T-too good... I… it's so... hard to... to keep… speaking..."

“C’mon, love,” you smirk. “You want me to keep going, don’t you? You just have to keep talking about the dream.”

He’s wrecked—gasping, trembling, eyes glazed as he blinks down at you like he can’t remember how to exist without your touch. "Yes... yes... please... don't stop..." he mumbles, his voice strained with need. "The dream, I'll... I'll keep talking..."

Hyunjin takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to compose himself as so to keep on talking. "So...  you k-kept going... and... and I was so close... so close... but it wasn't enough..." He sweats and blushes with need, his mind blurry as he struggles to focus on the words. "I was… I couldn't... couldn't handle it any longer...”

His toned body arches against you as he feels himself nearing the edge. "Please... please... I need you, flower... I need you so badly..." he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please... please, I can't take it anymore..."

You’re caving. You want to see him come. “How did the dream end, love?”

He lets out a strangled moan as you start kissing him, the touch of your lips sending sparks of pleasure through his body. "I... I don't...I don't remember..." he whines, his voice thick. "It all gets... it gets too hazy... I just remember feeling too... too pent up... too needy..."

“And then you woke up?”

He nods, a low, shaky laugh escaping his lips. "Yeah... I woke up... and I was so... so frustrated," he pants, his voice heavy with the echo of unfulfilled desire.

You blink. The smirk that takes over your lips makes Hyunjin shiver. “Love, did you… relieve yourself… thinking about me that morning?” 

His cheeks grow hotter, his expression turning more sheepish. "Yes... I… I did," he confesses in a hushed tone. "I couldn't help it... you were all I could think about." The memory of that morning is still vivid in his mind. "I was thinking about you... your touch... your voice... your body..." he murmurs, his voice growing huskier with every word.

“And you were touching yourself, just like this?”

He can’t help but moan at your words, his body responding instinctively to the mention of what he has done. He feels like he has been caught, and the way you’re looking at him threatens to send him over the edge. "Yes... just like this..." he nods, gulping. "I was... imagining your hands on me... just like this… and I... I couldn't stop thinking about you... thinking about what you would do to me..." he admits, his voice reeling in desire, almost rolling off his tongue. 

Mesmerized, you speed up, watching him squirm and gasp, his body arching towardsyour touch as the pleasure intensifies. "Oh... oh god... yes, yes..." he moans, his eyes closing tightly as he feels himself getting closer and closer. "Don't…” He groans softly, his hand gripping the bedsheets again. "Please... please, I can't... I can't hold back any longer..." he pleads, his voice sunken in sheer pleasure. 

“Tell me, love. Where you thinking about that when you called me that day?”

He swallows hard, his breath coming in short gasps as he remembered the memory. "Y-Yes," he managed to say, his voice ragged with desire. "I... I couldn't help it... you... your voice… it brought e-everything back... a-and I... I tried to keep my composure... but I couldn't... I couldn't keep it together..."

“What did you want to do to me, mhh?”

His body almost dares to tremble with need as he remembered the thoughts he had. Hyunjin is shaking, flushed and helpless, lost so deep in the haze he barely knows his own name —just yours. His fingers curl like he’s trying to hold onto reality, but all that comes out from his lips isa desperate, wrecked, tone, as he follows your command. "I... I wanted to touch you... to hold you... to feel you against me... to hear you moan..." he whines, his voice rough with need. "I wanted you so badly... so badly, it was driving me insane."

His breathing turns erratic. He’s going to come, but he wants to make you happy. He wants to hear you allow him. 

"I couldn't... couldn't get you out of my head... I just wanted to... to do things to you..." he gasps, his words fading into the air as he loses himself in the memories. "I wanted to... to feel you... to taste you... to hear you moan my name..."

His lips part around a soft, broken sound, eyes barely open, glazed with need and devotion. He’s trembling under your hands, breath shallow, voice cracked as he whispers, "I wanted... I wanted you so bad... I couldn't focus on anything else... I could only think about you... about your touch... about how good it felt when you-" He gasped, cutting himself off as the memory flared back up, leaving him breathless. "God... I could barely... barely concentrate on anything else... though I was… going crazy..."

He lets out a low, shaky moan, his body trembling uncontrollably as the waves of pleasure consume him. "That's... that's why it was so hard... so hard..." he whimpers, his words interrupted by soft gasps as he felt himself teetering on the edge. "It was so hard to... to talk... to talk to you... and not... not think about... a-about…!”

His whole body tenses beneath you, a helpless shudder rolling through him as the pressure builds past the point of return. His fingers twist in the sheets —desperate, frantic—, trying to hold onto something solid while the rest of him falls apart. Then he lets out a moan, deep and broken, the kind that seems to rise straight from his soul, and you take him into your mouth fully, slowly, as if savoring the moment just as much as he is unraveling in it. And when he finally comes —spilling over with a cry that sounds half like your name, half like prayer— you don’t flinch. You stay, mouth warm, accepting, steady, anchoring him as he shakes and gasps and loses himself entirely in you. You feel the way he melts, undone and wrecked and utterly yours, and you don’t let go until his body stops trembling, until he’s all quiet panting and reverent touch, eyes dazed, still somewhere between the high and the afterglow.

His mind goes blank for a moment as the intensity of the sensation overwhelms him. As he slowly comes back down to Earth, he looks down at you with a dazed expression on his face, his breathing ragged and labored. "Y-You..." he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Y-You're... God, flower, I missed you.."

You merely swallow, licking your lips and smile. “I missed you too, love.”

His body still trembles with the aftermath of his climax. You cuddle against him, fixing his hair, kissing his temple with a smile. 

“Want me to fetch a damp towel, love?” you whisper. “I know you don’t like sleeping all sweaty.”

Watching him nod, soft and dazed, like his whole body has finally let go, you smile and brush a hand over his cheek. He lets out a big, shuddering sigh —the kind that seemed to empty every last bit of tension from his chest— and his eyes flutter shut, peaceful in that quiet, golden moment. You move and lean down to kiss him —slow, lingering. He kisses you back with a hum, too blissed-out to speak, but full of everything he wants to say. With one last stroke of your thumb across his jaw, you slip away for a moment, careful not to wake him from the soft place he’s landed in.

When you come back with the damp towel, he’s still lying there, loose-limbed and beautiful, the rise and fall of his chest steady, calm. You lean beside him, murmuring something gentle as you began to clean him up, slow and careful, like a ritual. He barely moves—just lets you care for him, eyes fluttering open now and then to meet mine with that same look he always gives you in these moments: trust, tenderness, and something so deep you’re not quite sure it has a name. not in any language you know, at least. 

We speak of the experience of an encounter as that which can appear before us without our expecting it. It can change our course, it can transform us. It is the novelty that happens to us and then inhabits us. Two paths that cross. Two people that miss the bus at the same time.

What happens when we fall in love? Is it simply a matter of wanting what we don't have, or of wanting it because it seems forbidden? We consider it more interesting to think of it as a set of forces united in a singularity that challenges us, that summons us. One of those things that make us fall in love with someone. In Hyunjin’s case, the colour of your eyes could haunt him in his sleep, and he would forever be grateful for it. Or your smile, and how it lights up the room.

A smile is something that happens between two people. It is a gesture that begins and ends in the gaze of the other, of the person who may feel trapped, invoked, questioned, stolen by that smile. It does not belong to someone. It does not belong to its owner, but is a ‘between’ the two. It takes place in a relationship of one with the other. There is something in that smile that unites, in the same group, everything that has to do with us. Like in that moment when one is frightened and sees one's life flash before one's eyes, only in this case, one sees the life we would have with the person in front of us, reflected in the brightness of their irises.

Who are we afterwards? Are we the same? What happens inside us when we encounter forces, affinities, nuances, tones, and colours that we never expected, but which become everything we desire? It is a question of thinking about the displacement that occurs. When love crosses us, there is a swaying from side to side, a foreshadowing of the transformation to come when these two people collide. This love is only possible because of the tension that makes it unsolvable: a tension between who we are and who we are not, between presence and absence. An encounter from which we emerge changed.

Or not. Maybe the world still spins as usual —but for Hyunjin, with you by his side, it hums in a different key. One composed entirely of music, comfort, and dreams he no longer has to imagine alone.

And as his head touches the pillow —the cold side, after flipping it around—, he passes his arm over your waist and pulls you closer.  

Tomorrow, Saturday morning, he will make sure to pay you back, but right now, Hyunjin is sure.

He loves Friday nights.

[★★{📕}★★]

~kats, who’s new vocal stim is from sade’s kiss of life, “there must’ve been an angel by my side.” (and yes, I am aware that today isn't Friday. sue me)

catiuskaa, june 2025 ©

permanent taglist! @svckrpvnch @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @lyramundana @cheeksung

[pedropascallme]

☆Kinktober 2024☆

Day 3: Breeding

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) p in v sex, breeding kink/creampie, dirty talk, Joel cannot shut the fuck up, spanking, if I missed anything please let me know!

“Keep your legs up, ‘round my waist—there y’go,” Joel mumbled his words into your ear, the scruff of his beard scratching the side of your face as he spoke.

He hadn’t said a word to you when he’d gotten home, riled up and pissed off at yet another ill-prepared patrolman who had nearly let it all go to hell. He’d opted instead to shuck off his jacket, leaving a trail of shoes and socks in the front hall before using his whole body to pull you into a bruising, much needed kiss.

You didn’t mind. You liked when he used you to blow off some steam, especially after being gone for so long.

So there you lay, spread out on the kitchen table for him, your hands in his hair. You planted your lips on him wherever they could reach when he leaned over you to admire the way your expression changed when he moved.

“Joel, Jesus Christ—so deep,” your moans were chesty, thick with the desire you’d been waiting all week to share with him.

And by god, was he delivering.

“Just gotta whip this pussy back into proper shape,” his hands caressed your sides, and when he reached your hips he dug his fingers into your skin so harshly that they’d be sure to leave bruises. He used his grip as leverage to drag you over his cock. “Only been a week and she almost forgot me.”

“Never—oh,” you whimpered when he moved one hand off of you before using it to deliver a sharp smack against your thigh, “Never forget about you, Joel—oh, fuck—feel so good, I nev—never forget about it.”

“Gonna have to make sure,” he moaned at your praise. Pressing his hips firm against you, he deepened his strokes and increased his pace ever so slightly.

You whined, head falling back against the table as your eyes closed, heightening the pleasure of the position he had you in and the way he spoke.

“Sound good?” He continued, landing another spank on your thigh, “Look at me—is that what you want?” He grabbed you by the calves, pushing your legs to your chest and bending forward to capture you in a kiss. “You want me to make sure you remember? Make sure you know who you belong to? Who this perfect fuckin’ body belongs to?”

You had to battle with yourself to keep your eyes open, lost in the joy of being full of him. The nudge of his cock on your cervix and the way he pressed against your clit with every thrust kept you dangling over the edge, almost ready to fall completely into ecstasy.

“Y—es,” you hiccupped through the haze of arousal, “Keep me full like this—keep me open all the time, Joel, please.”

“Do you one better,” he looked smug, the smirk he wore nearly morphing into a sneer as he situated himself on his forearms above you. “Gonna fill you up nice and deep, put a fuckin’ brat in there—‘nd every time you look in the mirror, every time you look down, you get to remind yourself what you’re carryin’.”

“Joel—!” You were so close, and the promise of being pumped full of him, the way he delivered the promise, and the notion of him actually and purposefully attempting to get you pregnant all worked in tandem to make your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

“Yeah, s’a good idea, right?” He was smiling, babbling on as he watched you approach your high, racing towards his own. “Breed this greedy fuckin’ hole, that’ll show everybody whose you are—show you.”

“Yes—yes, fuck, please,” you were close to tears, desperately trying to move your hips to match his pace and speed up the process of what he was vowing to do. “Joel, please, cum in me.”

“Oh, I’ll cum in you,” he took a moment to really admire you, nose pressing against your own, gaze piercing into you, “Cum in you as many times as it takes to make it stick.”

And with one final shove of his hips, you were floating. You let out a strangled moan, something that came from low in your abdomen and exited your lips in a whiny, breathless cry. He relished it, pressing his face into your neck as he continued his ministrations, letting the sounds and signs of your pleasure coat him, body and mind.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he sucked marks into your skin, feeling your pulse, quick and jumpy, against his mouth. “Good girl—you want it?”

“Yes…” You were spent, body trembling and eyelids heavy, but you needed to see this through, aching for the warmth of him deep in your stomach. “Please—as many times as it takes…cum in me.”

“Fuck, that’s right,” Joel’s eyes were screwed shut, his mouth falling open when his hips began to stutter against you. He pushed himself deep, grinding himself against your cunt. “Shit—goddammit, I’m—yeah, yeah, sweetheart—fuck!” He came with a groan, and you moaned at the way his cock twitched inside of you.

You were both panting, sticky with sweat and exhausted. He stayed on top of you, nosing your neck and pressing dainty kisses into your skin.

Joel found it in himself to pull out after a few moments, still trying to savor the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him. But when you tried to lift yourself up, a calloused palm pressed into your chest.

“Stay like that, darlin’. Legs up.” He walked around the table, coming to stand where your head nearly dangled off the edge. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll be ready again in ‘bout an hour.” He grinned, leaning over you to catch your lips with his.

With the way his tongue dove into your mouth, hungry to explore, capturing your whines, you could tell you wouldn’t have to wait a full hour if you played your cards right.

“How about you—mm—how about you carry me up to bed?” You purred, sliding a hand up to toy with the curls on the nape of his neck.

“Can’t risk lettin’ all’at leak out of you,” he muttered against your lips, “As pretty a sight it may be…”

“So slide back in and carry me like that,” you batted your lashes, and he let out a groan. “And if any of it drips, you can just do it all over again.”

“You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart,” he shook his head, but he took your advice.

[bodybaggage]

Ghostly Heir or Batty Custody?

DP X DC

———

The Justice League Watchtower was an advanced piece of technology, housing the world’s greatest heroes. But even in a place dedicated to protecting the Earth, some things were simply unavoidable—like gossip.

It had started innocently enough, as these things often do. Superman, having just returned from Gotham, was discussing the latest developments in the Batcave with Wonder Woman over a cup of coffee. The conversation was meant to be private, but when you have people like the Flash who can be in and out of a room before anyone notices, privacy is a relative term.

“So, Batman has another kid?” Superman had said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Wonder Woman raised an eyebrow. “Another one? Are we running a daycare now?”

Superman shrugged. “Not sure. But he’s different from the others. White hair, glows a little. Bruce is being… secretive.”

“Bruce is always secretive,” Wonder Woman pointed out.

“Yeah, but this one seems—” Superman’s words were cut off as the Flash zoomed by, pretending to be busy with something else. The two superhumans exchanged a glance but said nothing more, knowing that once the speedster got wind of something, the whole League would know within the hour.

And they did.

Back in Gotham, Bruce Wayne—better known as Batman—was oblivious to the brewing storm. He sat in the Batcave, going over the latest reports on Gotham’s criminal activity with his usual intensity. Beside him, a ghostly figure floated lazily, occasionally glancing at the screens with mild interest.

Danny Fenton—known to most as Danny Phantom—had been in Gotham for a few weeks now, lying low while he figured out how to deal with some supernatural issues back in Amity Park. Clockwork had suggested Gotham as a good place to lay low, citing the city’s reputation for attracting all sorts of weirdos. Besides, Clockwork had argued, Batman wouldn’t care as long as Danny didn’t cause trouble.

And for the most part, Danny hadn’t. He’d stayed out of Gotham’s wayward criminal elements, kept his ghostly powers under wraps, and only occasionally wandered the streets at night to stretch his legs (or float, as it were).

Of course, he hadn’t counted on the Bat Family.

Damian had challenged him to a duel within minutes of their first meeting, insisting that he prove himself worthy of staying in the Batcave. Danny had countered by turning intangible and letting Damian tire himself out, which only seemed to frustrate the young Robin more.

Tim had interrogated him about the nature of ectoplasm and ghost powers, scribbling notes furiously as Danny tried his best to explain without giving too much away.

Jason had simply grunted, muttering something about “another brat” before disappearing on his motorcycle, while Dick had been the only one to offer a somewhat normal welcome.

“You’re like, what, the seventh kid Bruce has taken in?” Dick had said, clapping Danny on the back. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

“I’m not staying here permanently,” Danny had replied, but Dick had just laughed, as if Danny’s words were the punchline to a joke only he understood.

Things had been relatively quiet since then—until now.

It started as a low hum, a barely noticeable vibration in the air. Alfred, the ever-watchful butler, was the first to notice something amiss.

“Master Wayne,” Alfred said calmly, setting down the tray of tea he’d just brought in. “We appear to have… company.”

Bruce looked up from the Batcomputer, his eyes narrowing as the hum grew louder, evolving into a low rumble that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Batcave. Danny, who had been floating upside down, lazily spinning in midair, suddenly snapped to attention.

“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” Danny muttered, his expression turning from bored to annoyed in seconds.

“I’m afraid I cannot,” Alfred replied, his tone as even as ever, despite the growing disturbance.

The rumble turned into a roar, and suddenly, with a burst of green light, a swirling portal opened up in the middle of the Batcave. The vortex crackled with energy, and from it stepped a towering figure clad in ghostly armor, a crown of ectoplasmic fire atop his head.

Pariah Dark, the Ghost King, had arrived.

“BATMAN!” Pariah’s voice boomed through the cave, rattling the glass cases that held the old Robin suits. “I, Pariah Dark, King of the Infinite Realms, have come to challenge you for the custody of my heir!”

There was a moment of silence as the words hung in the air. Danny facepalmed, groaning audibly. “This is not happening.”

Bruce, for his part, remained as stoic as ever, though his eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. “Your heir?”

“Yes, my heir!” Pariah bellowed, his eyes glowing with ectoplasmic energy. “The boy you have taken into your care! I will not allow this—this mortal to usurp my claim!”

Bruce’s gaze flicked to Danny, who looked thoroughly unamused. “Is there something you forgot to mention?”

“Oh, come on!” Danny threw his hands up in frustration. “This isn’t what it looks like! I’m not his heir, and I’m definitely not up for custody!”

Pariah seemed undeterred by Danny’s protests. “You defeated me in battle, boy. By the laws of the Infinite Realms, that makes you my heir! And now this Bat-creature seeks to claim you as his own! I will not stand for it!”

Bruce’s expression remained impassive. “I’m not trying to claim him.”

“See?” Danny gestured to Bruce. “Totally not trying to claim me. So you can just go back to the Ghost Zone, Pariah. No custody battle needed.”

Pariah’s eyes narrowed, his fiery crown flaring. “The only way to resolve this is through combat! Batman, I challenge you to a duel for the boy!”

Bruce glanced at the portal, calculating the odds. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I will take the boy by force!” Pariah declared, raising his massive sword, which seemed to materialize out of thin air, crackling with ectoplasmic energy.

Danny floated down between the two, trying to keep the peace. “Guys, let’s just calm down. No need for a duel. I’m fine. No one’s taking anyone by force.”

Pariah looked down at Danny, his expression a mix of paternal concern and royal indignation. “Do not worry, my heir. I will defend your honor.”

Danny groaned again. “I don’t need my honor defended. I need you to stop making this weird.”

Before Danny could protest further, Bruce stepped forward, his voice as calm as ever. “Very well. A duel, then.”

“Seriously?” Danny looked at Bruce, incredulous. “You’re just going to agree to this?”

“If it ends the situation quickly, yes,” Bruce replied, his tone as dry as ever. “This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with an overprotective guardian.”

Pariah raised his sword, clearly satisfied with the outcome. “Prepare yourself, mortal! I will not hold back!”

“Hold on, hold on!” Danny zipped between them again, clearly exasperated. “We don’t need to do this! Pariah, go back to the Ghost Zone. Batman, you don’t have to fight him.”

Pariah looked genuinely perplexed. “But… the honor of the Infinite Realms demands it.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Danny insisted. “The Infinite Realms don’t care about some weird custody battle! Besides, I’m not a kid, and I’m not staying here permanently! I’m just crashing for a bit!”

Pariah frowned, lowering his sword slightly. “You… are not staying?”

“No!” Danny said, exasperated. “I’m not staying! I’m not your heir! I’m just Danny, okay?”

The Ghost King looked around, as if trying to process this information. “But… you are under his care. It was reported by reliable sources.”

“Reliable sources?” Danny echoed. “Who told you that?”

Pariah seemed to hesitate for the first time. “A rather talkative sorcerer in a trench coat. He mentioned it while muttering about ‘bloody bats’ and ‘undead nuisances.’”

Danny blinked, realization dawning. “Constantine. Of course.”

Bruce’s expression remained unchanged, though there was a faint glimmer of irritation in his eyes. “This… Constantine has been spreading rumors?”

Danny sighed heavily, feeling more tired by the minute. “Look, can we just forget this whole thing happened? Pariah, you go back to ruling the Ghost Zone. I’ll handle Constantine. And Batman, you can go back to doing… whatever it is you do.”

Pariah Dark seemed to mull this over for a moment before finally lowering his sword completely. “Very well. But know this, boy—if ever you require my assistance, you have but to call.”

“Sure, sure,” Danny muttered. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With one last, dramatic sweep of his cape, Pariah Dark stepped back into the swirling green portal, which closed behind him with a final, ominous crackle.

For a moment, the Batcave was silent. Then Danny turned to Bruce, looking both sheepish and annoyed. “So… I guess I should have warned you about that.”

Bruce simply nodded, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Next time, try to keep your interdimensional family disputes to a minimum.”

“I’ll do my best,” Danny promised, floating back toward the Batcomputer. “But with my luck, that’s not gonna be easy.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Bruce replied dryly, already turning back to his work. “And tell Constantine to keep his mouth shut.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Danny muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he floated back to his usual spot, thinking about the supernatural messes that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

As the Batcave returned to its usual state of brooding silence, Danny couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Gotham wasn’t the best place to lay low after all. But with the alternative being another encounter with Pariah, he figured the Batcave wasn’t so bad—at least, not until the next interdimensional incident.

[charmedsquirell]

How I got into the void

Hey guys,

My name is Sylvie. i want to share that two years ago, I started to look into the void state because I was in bad place in my life. I wanted to be useful for my family and give them everything in an instant. I downloaded tumblr and started to follow all the blogs I could find. I found a lot of information. Most of it contradicted one another and that confused me a lot. The people that helped me the most were b4ddprincess, lucky kiwii, adambja and wizlizbelle. When Wizliz left, i also deleted my tumblr since she was the only one who i used to rant to and i was really suicidal.

i found her again and started to ranting to her about my life which was irritating and I'm sure like most bloggers do not want to be trauma dumped on but i just did not have anyone on my side. But I wanted to make this post bc i know her blog doesn't exist anymore but there were people who wanted to know more about this stuff. I basically asked for tarot readings from her so i could see why it was not working for me and i would like ask every single day. one day she told me that my only problem is resistance. I will try my best to explain it like she did.

so basically the ego feeds on resistance because it knows you do not believe in the positive things you tell it fully and some people have their ego under control, some people do not. I used to do like 4 hour non stop affirming every day and it did not work for me. so she said stop affirming, stop asking tarot, and give in to the voice. I was like is she guiding me to do the wrong thing but then she said it helped her a lot. So i was not believing in this but i did it (she sent a script of what to say) and the voice came

"you will never date Alek and he will never love you" and i said "yeah i know. and?"

"you will never lose weight and be fat forever" and i said " yeah i won't. and?"

"you will never enter the void state" and i said "yeah i know i won't, and?" and then the voice like just stopped. there was nothing. literally nothing and my mind had never ever been clear. so i teold her like this happened and she says "you basically tamed your ego and put it to sleep by giving it what it wanted to hear but because you've been affirming and trying all these methods in your past, your subconscious will not buy into negtivity. Your subconscious is the part of your brain that cannot function on its own and blindly believes you. It cannot even see what u see."

i was literally so shocked because i would always affirm "no! he will love me and i'll enter the void" like trying to convince the go but wiz said that you can tame the ego and make it work for you instead of trying to convince it. when you agree with it, it becomes silent. like oh she gave me what i wanted to hear, now what? so now when i would think "the void is hard" automatically i would hear "no it's not". like not even me saying it but just a same voice that would be negative before.

look, i do not really care for like what is and what is not or whatever drama that happened. and it was bad to see her go but the truth is that we do not need to hear from others. Of course if she had not told me, i would not know but sometimes putting in the work does more damage than good sometimes and i used to see many like me here.

So then finally i tried this at night, when lying down i let the negativity came in and i did not resist it. when my mind became completely silent (it took maybe one to two minutes) i said "i am in the void" and i felt no resistance. then i did not expect anything but just to affirm over and over. finally i was there. it was the void and i knew because i did not even feel my whole body just like a floating thing like ball of light. I affirmed that my dad would get his job back and my bf would love me. i affirmed for losing weight. all that came true so fast but i spent time in the void. when i woke up, i had it. my dad was happy he brought sweets to celebrate. everything else came true as well. so now i come back to tumblr to say goodbye again that maybe we have to work with us and not against.

just to be safe, this is just my experience and i'm not gonna like respond or anything bc i do not want to be a blogger especially after seeing the drama. you may not feel this way but this worked for me. maybe it will work for you and maybe not.

[zhelin-thames]

Constantine, Chaos, and the Support Group from Hell

pev Masterpost

Location: Zatanna’s Living Room, Because the Watchtower is Now “Danny-Proofed” Zatanna: So glad everyone could make it! John Constantine: I was tricked. You told me this was an emergency exorcism. Zatanna: It is. For your sanity.

Danny and Tim (enter simultaneously) Tim: Yo. Danny: Hey, Dad. Constantine: CHOKES ON CIGARETTE Tim: He’s not your dad. Danny: Yet. Constantine: WHEEZING Danny: (to Zatanna) Did you know he dated my adopted grandpa Clockwork in the '80s? Zatanna: …Wait what. Danny: Yeah. I’m your metaphorical step-grandson. Constantine: genuinely begins performing an exorcism with holy water and sarcasm

Bernard and Tucker enter with Starbucks and dead eyes Tucker: We brought lattes and emotional damage. Bernard: Is he banishing Danny again? Tucker: He tried last week. Danny absorbed the circle and said “yum.” Danny (cheerfully): It tasted like salt and bad decisions. Constantine: I AM TOO OLD FOR THIS.

Support Circle™ Time Zatanna: Okay, let’s start the meeting. Everyone, name one thing stressing you out.

Tucker: Hi, I’m Tucker. I’m here because I love my boyfriend, but I can’t keep track of who’s who. Bernard: I’m Bernard. I’m here for moral support. Also, because Danny once pulled me through a wall thinking I was Tim. Danny: I stand by that. Bernard: My boyfriend can’t go two days without getting mistaken for his chaos twin. Tucker: Mine phased through the kitchen floor to avoid paying for lunch. Tim: Hi, I’m Tim. I cause 50% of the chaos. Danny: And I cause the better 50%. Constantine: Hi. I’m John. I’m leaving. Danny: You can’t. You live inside me now. John: I’m calling an exorcist. Zatanna: You are the exorcist. John: Then we’re all doomed.

Constantine: eye twitching He has all my soul. Everyone Else: …WHAT?! Danny: Just a little piece! Like, 78% tops. Tim: We were playing poker and he bet John’s soul as a bluff. Danny: I wasn’t bluffing. I won. Constantine: YOU CANNOT OWN A MAN’S SOUL VIA UNO. Danny: You can if it was a Draw Four. Zatanna: …Technically he’s right. Constantine: I. HATE. TIME. GHOSTS.

Later: Constantine tries to escape Constantine: If I leave now, I can still fake my death and move to another plane— Danny (floating outside window): You forgot your coat, Granddad’s Boyfriend~ Constantine: screams into the void Danny: Also, I RSVP’d you to brunch with Clockwork. It’s eternal. Constantine: I’m exorcising myself. Bernard: You’ll still owe Danny rent for the soul-space. Tucker: I’m charging him ghost tax.

Group Activity: Sharing Feelings Danny: I feel like having a soul dad has made me a better person. Constantine: You’ve used me to summon ghosts during gym class. Danny: That was ONE TIME. Tim: It was four times. Tucker: Once for dodgeball. That one was kinda awesome. Bernard: I still see Slimer when I blink. Constantine: I’ve fought demons with more emotional regulation. Danny: You’re just mad I beat your high score in haunting.

Group Chat – “The Hell Support Club” Danny: Guys. I convinced Constantine to attend therapy. Tim: Did you possess him again? Danny: No. I just reminded him Clockwork still has his mixtapes from 1983. Bernard: Emotional blackmail is self-care. Tucker: Group hug? Danny & Tim: phase through each other trying to do one Constantine (texting): I hate you all. Group Therapy Turns to Chaos (Inevitable) Danny: Hey Dad, wanna see me go full ghost mode? Constantine: If you even flicker, I swear by the River Styx— Danny: goes full glowing-eyed, floating, cape-of-shadows Ghost King mode Room temperature drops by 30 degrees Bernard: sipping cocoa, unfazed Yeah this happens. Tim: You get used to it. Tucker: I am so turned on right now. Constantine: I need bleach. For my soul. Danny: grinning with eldritch teeth Joke’s on you. I already have it.

Ten Minutes Later Constantine: So this is hell. This is my hell. Zatanna: Welcome to the Support Group from Hell™ Tucker: Next meeting’s on Wednesday. We’re doing soul-care crafts. Bernard: We make little felt ghosts. Danny eats the glitter. Danny: I regret nothing. Tim: They’re edible glitter. It’s fine. Constantine: I will never emotionally recover from this. Danny: But you will spiritually recover. Inside me. Forever. Constantine: screaming into his trench coat

Group Chat: ChaosSupportNetwork Tucker: That went well. Bernard: Better than last time. Tim: At least the carpet didn’t catch fire this time. Danny: New personal best. Constantine: I AM TRAPPED IN A TWINK WITH A GHOST COMPLEX. Danny: 💖 Love you too, Dad! 💖 Zatanna: See you all next week. Don’t forget to bring snacks. Constantine: sobbing emoji

[mediumgayitalian]

"It reminded me of you."

Will looks into his cupped hands. He purses his lips. He opens his mouth. He closes it. He opens it again.

"This is, uh." He clears his throat. "It, being this fish skeleton?"

Nico nods. "Yes."

Will waits for an explanation. With none forthcoming, he looks up, intent on asking for it directly, but his tongue does completely numb in his mouth, jaw softly unlocking. From the late afternoon sun behind him golden rays shine directly into pools of what has become spun copper and amber brown; spools of shining wire surrounded by shining white. It takes him time uncountable to register the wide, round soporifics in front of him are in fact Nico's eyes, cradled in the light, watching him.

"What," Will tries, mouth dry, "uh, what? Why. I mean." He holds up his hands. They're shaking. "Fish?"

"That's you," says Nico, crowding into Will's space. Will makes a noise that can be registered only by bats, dolphins, and bush crickets.

Nico's callused hands encircle Will's wrist and his soul ascends, exiting from his body, floating away gayly away until Will snags it by the ankle and yanks it back to his mortal body. Dad, if you can hear me, I cannot stress how much you owe me and how badly I am calling in that favor. SOS. SOS. SOS. SO --

"It's small, see. Delicate."

"I'm -- six two?"

"Yeah, physically." Nico pokes at the tiny little spine. "But you're, like." He makes a squishing motion with his hand. "Crushable, you know? You just go around feeling your feelings at full force. All over the place. Delicate."

Will is pretty sure he's ghasting. Is that what it's called? Flabbering one's ghast? When you just -- kind of stand there, slack jawed, wheezing like a doofus? Maybe he is a fish. "Nico, I've got --" He makes a swooping gesture in front of his nose, trying and visibly failing at indicating a plague mask. "You know? I could poison you."

"Yeah, that's why I picked one that died from whirling disease."

"How...thoughtful?"

"Thanks."

Nico returns to the fish skeleton. He points out the eye sockets. "See here? The fish had shallow orbits so it probably had big eyes like you."

"I have big eyes?"

"Duh. You are ninety percent eye. Everyone looks at you and it's like bam. Blue. All you can see."

Will begs the red to recede from his cheeks. He can hear the echo of his father's cackling, all the way from his stupid dork ass nerd ass lame tryhard chariot, and the red continues to rise.

"You -- like my eyes?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Hey, look here. You can see its -- are you looking? -- you can see its heart cavity. Cool, right? Your heart is going really fast."

A high-pitched noise comes out of Will's throat, sourced from somewhere in his kneecaps, probably. They're wobbling enough.

"Yeah, I -- uh, best believe I noticed."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm vibing. Chilling, even. One could even say I'm maxing, relaxing, acting all cool. If there was a basketball net outside of a school I would be totally shooting right now."

"You're acting weird," Nico accuses.

Will laughs out loud. No, like, really laughs, it comes out of his stomach and then his knees give out and he barely manages to catch himself, hunching over, veins hot rod boiling and stomach writhing and face the color of a gently polished tomato. He may have passed.

"Oh, my gods, something kill me."

"Whatever, weirdo. Come back over, I want to show you why the rib cage is representative of your repression issues."

"Okay."

[lazy-ahh]

You said I could send u a request! so I am taking u up on ur offer 🤓👆🏽if u write for them…Mohawk mark varient x male reader? I’ve been craving something hurt/comforty?as comforty u can get with those dorks ANYWAY thank yewwww i really do love your writing it’s SO GOOOODD AISBWOSBSUDBDUVE

ME? CARE? LOL. LMAO.

pairing mohawk! mark grayson x male reader

imagine the most unhinged version of mark grayson—now give him a mohawk, piercings, and exactly zero self-preservation instincts. this is that fic. (also maybe some feelings. but we don’t talk about those.)

the warehouse is dark, smells like motor oil and regret, and you’re really wishing you hadn’t gotten captured today. like, seriously? it was your day off. you could be bed-rotting right now. scrolling through dumb videos. eating cereal straight from the box like a feral raccoon. anything but this.

but no. instead, you’re tied to a chair in some crusty villain lair, your favorite hoodie probably getting dust stains, and your only entertainment is the fact that this dumbass in front of you actually thinks he can use you as leverage.

"you really think this’ll work?" you mutter, testing the ropes around your wrists. they don’t budge—not that you’re trying too hard. you could get out if you wanted. but where’s the fun in that?

the villain—some guy with a fancy energy glove that probably cost way too much for how ugly it is—grins at you like he’s just won the lottery. "oh, it’ll work. invincible cares about you. he’ll negotiate."

you blink. then you laugh—a sharp, disbelieving sound that echoes off the warehouse walls. "invincible? negotiate? dude, he’s gonna rip your spine out through your nose."

glove-guy’s smile flickers. "shut up."

"no, no, i gotta know," you continue, leaning forward as much as the ropes allow. "who even told you this was a good idea? like, did you see him at all before you decided ‘yeah, kidnapping his whatever-i-am is a solid plan’? because—and i cannot stress this enough—that guy is fucking feral."

glove-guy’s eye twitches. "he won’t risk your life."

"oh my god," you groan, tipping your head back. you don't deny it, though. "you actually don’t get it. he’s not gonna risk my life because he’s gonna erase yours before you even blink."

"enough!" he snaps, raising his stupid glove like it’s intimidating.

you roll your eyes. "bro, i’ve literally seen that guy bite someone’s ear off for looking at him wrong. you’re toast."

before you could get another taunt in, he decides to punch you on your side. hard. you cough, eyes wide, before you glare at the motherfucker. you ignore the way your side actually stung. oh, he's about to get put on a t-shirt once you're out of this chair. glove-guy opens his mouth to retort—

—and then the wall explodes.

concrete shrapnel flies, dust clouds billowing up in slow-motion like the universe itself is screaming oh shit. and then—there he is.

mark.

silhouetted against the moonlight like some kind of feral, bloodthirsty angel, floating in the wreckage of the wall he just obliterated because subtlety was never in his vocabulary.

not that you’re looking or anything.

okay, fine, you’re looking. who wouldn’t? mark’s all lean muscle and barely-contained violence, his stupid skintight suit doing nothing to hide the way his body moves—like every inch of him is built for destruction and looks good doing it. his shoulders are broad enough to throw a car (and have, multiple times), tapering down to a waist that’s stupidly narrow for someone who eats entire pizzas in one sitting. his arms are corded with muscle, veins standing out along his forearms as he cracks his knuckles, and his thighs—god, his thighs—could probably crush a watermelon. or a skull. whichever’s more convenient.

his mohawk’s sticking up in every direction like he just stuck his finger in an outlet (again), the shaved sides of his head only emphasizing the sharp cut of his jaw. his grin’s all teeth—sharp and way too pleased with himself, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you and is loving every second of it.

and god, his eyes—locked onto glove-guy with the kind of unholy glee usually reserved for kids in a candy store. or maybe a cat who just knocked a glass off the table. same energy, really.

oh, and the piercings.

because of course mark’s the type to have them—two little silver studs on each side of his eyebrows, catching the light when he tilts his head like he’s considering the best way to ruin someone’s day. two more at the corners of his mouth, glinting when he smirks (which is always), drawing attention to the way his lips curl when he’s about to say something especially shitty. and if you happen to notice the flash of metal on his tongue when he licks his lips—well. that’s your business.

not that you care.

"ohhh," mark croons, voice dripping with the kind of mock sympathy that absolutely means someone’s about to lose several internal organs—messily. he tilts his head, the movement sharp enough to make the silver studs in his eyebrows glint under the flickering warehouse lights.

"you thought taking him would work?" he asks, sweet as poisoned honey. he takes a single step forward, the crunch of broken glass under his boot sounding suspiciously like bones snapping. his shoulders roll, the fabric of his suit straining over the muscle as he cracks his knuckles—one by one, slow, like he’s counting down to disaster.

"that’s adorable," he taunts.

you snort. "told you."

glove-guy’s face does this fantastic little journey from confident to oh no to full-blown panic in about half a second flat. "i—i have your partner!" he yelps, shoving the glowing end of his stupid glove against your temple like it’ll help. "i’ll kill him!"

you sigh, long-suffering. you don't even bother to try and deny that you aren't his partner (yet). "mark, please don’t monologue."

"you don’t monologue," mark shoots back, pointing an accusing finger at you like you’re the problem here.

"my bad," you deadpan, "you just looked like you were about to start your boring ted talk again. this is a very uncomfortable chair, you know. if this was any other time, i wouldn’t have minded falling asleep."

mark’s eye twitches. "falling asl— you’re literally at gunpoint."

"eh." you shrug. "technically it’s a glove-point. and honestly? after the week i’ve had? this is almost relaxing."

"relaxing," mark repeats, flat.

"y’know, aside from the whole potential death thing. but hey, at least the company’s entertaining." you grin up at him. "speaking of—you gonna do something, or are you just here to hover dramatically?"

mark’s grin goes sharp. "oh, i’m doing something."

then he moves.

one second, he’s floating there like an overgrown, pissed-off bumblebee. the next—

crunch.

glove-guy doesn't even get a scream out before mark's got him by the wrist, squeezing until the metal creaks like a soda can under a hydraulic press. the guy makes this hilarious squeaking noise, halfway between a deflating balloon and a stepped-on mouse, and you would feel bad for him—

—if mark wasn't currently laughing, wild and unhinged, the sound bouncing off warehouse walls as he yanks the guy forward by his own stupid glove hard enough to hear something pop. "hey. hey." his voice drops to a purr, all rough edges and promised violence, while his free hand comes up to pat the guy's cheek—harder than necessary, his eyebrow piercings catching the dim light as he tilts his head. "you took my favorite nuisance. you really thought that'd end well?"

you gasp, jerking forward so dramatically the chair legs screech against concrete. "favorite? mark, i'm blushing." you try to press a hand to your chest before remembering your arms are still tied behind you, so you just flop your whole upper body forward instead, nearly toppling the chair. "wait till i tell everyone you finally admitted it—"

"shut up," mark hisses, but his ears are pink under the shaved sides of his mohawk, the flush creeping down his neck. he definitely squeezes glove-guy's wrist harder just to distract from it. "you're barely above tolerable on your best day."

"aw, you do pay attention to my good days!" you beam, kicking your feet again for emphasis. "that's practically a love confession in mark-speak. should we get matching bracelets? couple's tattoos? maybe—"

"i will throw you into the sun," mark growls, but there's no heat behind it—not when he's still got that stupid pink tinge to his ears, not when his grip on glove-guy has loosened just enough to show he's distracted.

glove-guy whimpers. "can i—"

"no," you and mark say in unison. you grin; mark scowls. it's beautiful.

glove-guy whimpers. "p-please—"

mark pats his cheek once more. "aw. no."

then he punches him so hard the guy spins mid-air before hitting the ground like a sack of wet flour.

silence.

you blink. "…that was almost cool."

mark immediately flips you off. "you’re welcome."

"i could've handled it myself," you say, just to watch him scowl, your voice dripping with that special mix of smugness only someone who regularly bench-presses sedans can pull off.

"oh, really," mark deadpans, crossing his arms so hard his biceps strain against his sleeves. "really. you, tied to a chair by fucking dollar store rope, were totally about to—"

you wiggle your fingers just enough - a quick twist of your wrists, that specific angle you've practiced a thousand times - and snap, the ropes explode into fibers like someone set off a party popper full of disappointment. the frayed ends flutter to the ground in slow motion, one sad strand landing directly on mark's boot.

"ta-da," you deadpan, shaking out your hands like you've just performed some grand illusion instead of literally just flexing. "any requests? maybe saw a lady in half? make your boring personality disappear?"

mark blinks. once. twice. his nose scrunches up like he's smelled something rotten. "...you sat there the whole time."

"magic tricks," you sing-song, shaking out your wrists with exaggerated flair. "who knew?"

"i hate you," mark announces, so vehemently it makes the unconscious bad guys twitch.

"you love me," you correct, standing up and brushing nonexistent dust off your pants just to annoy him further. "admit it. you think my 'sit still and look pretty' strategy is inspired."

mark growls, grabs you by the back of your hoodie, and takes off into the night before you can even yelp.

"rude!" you shout over the wind, flailing dramatically as the city blurs into streaks of neon and shadow beneath you. your hoodie flaps like a demented cape, nearly smacking you in the face.

"you’re welcome!" mark shouts back, grinning like the little shit he is—all sharp teeth and way too pleased with himself.

you groan, twisting just enough to yank his hand off your hoodie (gently, because you like this hoodie, and mark has the grip strength of a hydraulic press). with a quick burst of energy, you steady yourself mid-air, falling into pace beside him.

the city sprawls below, a mess of glittering lights and jagged rooftops. for once, it’s quiet—or as quiet as it gets when you’re floating a few thousand feet up with wind screaming past your ears. when the two of you are in a room together, silence is rare. usually, it’s all snark and shoving and mark actively trying to set things on fire. but this? this is… nice.

you glance over at him.

moonlight cuts across his face like liquid silver, softening the usual manic edge in his expression - the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the permanent crease between his brows when he's plotting murder. he looks calm. almost peaceful, if you could ever associate that word with a guy who once bit a drone out of the sky for fun and then spat out the shrapnel like sunflower seeds.

his mohawk’s a disaster in the best way, strands defying gravity like they’ve personally rejected the concept of physics, each one a tiny rebellion against order. it shouldn’t suit him—but it does, the same way a lit fuse suits a stick of dynamite. beautiful in that dangerous, unpredictable way that makes your throat tight.

and his mouth - god, his mouth. chapped from the wind, always twisted into some variation of a smirk or a snarl, but right now just... still. the moonlight catches on his teeth when he exhales, turning them into tiny blades of ivory. not that you're thinking about how they'd feel against your skin. definitely not.

(you're absolutely thinking about that.)

you look away, throat weirdly tight. "...thanks."

mark immediately side-eyes you like you just confessed to secretly being a llama. "what."

"you heard me," you mutter, suddenly very interested in a random skyscraper.

"no, no, hang on—" he flips mid-air to face you, hovering like an overexcited hornet. "did you just—thank me?"

"oh my god, forget it—"

"no, no, this is historic," mark cackles, zooming in closer like this is the best thing he’s heard all week. "was that gratitude? from you? do i need to check for a concussion? did glove-guy poison you?"

you shove at his face. "shut up. i take it back. i regret everything."

mark dodges, still grinning. "too late. i’m framing this moment. putting it in a museum."

"i hate you," you announce, flipping him off for good measure.

"you love me," he shoots back, smug as hell.

"i tolerate you."

"bullshit," mark says, but his voice is weirdly soft. then, like he can’t help himself, he adds, "...you’re welcome, though."

there’s a beat.

then—

"awww, was that sentiment? from you?" you gasp, clutching your chest. you try to ignore the way your cheeks feel warmer. you blame it on the cold wind. "do you have a concussion? should i check for—"

"i’m going to punch you."

"liar."

mark growls, but he doesn’t deny it.

(and if he flies a little closer the rest of the way home, well. that’s nobody’s business.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the two of you touch down on a rooftop, still bickering, when your foot catches on the ledge. you stumble—hard—and suddenly, your vision whites out in a burst of pain.

"ow, what the—?" you glance down.

oh.

oh.

there’s a gash in your side, deep enough that your hoodie’s soaked through with blood. huh. that… probably should’ve hurt more earlier. maybe the adrenaline wore off. maybe you’re just that good at ignoring pain. or maybe—

"what the fuck."

mark’s voice is wrong. too quiet. too flat.

you look up, grinning weakly. "hey, so, fun story—turns out glove-guy’s stupid glove was kinda sharp—"

mark moves faster than you can blink. one second, he’s across the roof. the next, his hands are on your shoulders, shoving you down onto a ventilation unit. his fingers are trembling.

"why didn’t you say anything?!" he snarls, but it’s not anger in his eyes—it’s panic, raw and unfiltered.

you blink. "uh. forgot?"

mark chokes on a sound that’s half-laugh, half-sob. "forgot. you forgot you were stabbed."

"to be fair," you wheeze, "you were really distracting. all the—hnng—exploding walls and… and the smug face—"

"shut up. shut up." mark’s hands hover over your wound like he’s scared to touch it. his usual swagger’s gone, replaced by something terrifyingly fragile. "you’re bleeding out and you’re joking?"

you open your mouth. close it.

…oh.

oh.

he’s actually scared.

the realization hits you like a punch to the gut. mark—your mark, the guy who laughs while flipping cars, who grins when he’s covered in someone else’s blood—is terrified.

your throat tightens. "hey. hey. look at me." you grab his wrist, squeezing. "i’m not dying over some glove-related incident, okay? that’s embarrassing."

mark shudders, his free hand clenching into a fist so tight you hear his knuckles pop. the veins in his forearm stand out like live wires, that stupid black sleeve of his straining over muscle. "not funny."

"kinda funny," you wheeze, even though your vision's going spotty at the edges. the blood soaking your side is definitely not ideal, but hey—if you pass out now, you'll miss mark's mental breakdown. worth it.

"not. funny." his voice cracks on the last word, raw in a way you've never heard before. not after fights, not after nightmares—never. his other hand's still pressed to your wound, warm and sticky with your blood, trembling like he's the one going into shock.

silence.

then, so quiet you almost miss it: "i can’t lose you too."

your chest aches worse than the gash in your side.

you reach up—ignoring how your arm shakes—and poke the spot between his furrowed brows. "too? wow. you do have friends." you swipe your thumb over the silver eyebrow piercing he definitely doesn't let anyone else touch. "should i be jealous?"

mark huffs, but he doesn’t pull away or swat your hand off like usual. his breath hitches when your fingers trail down to brush his cheek. "asshole."

"yeah," you agree softly, your palm lingering against his jaw. "your asshole."

mark freezes. for one terrifying second, you think you've broken him. then, with a groan that sounds suspiciously wet, he drops his forehead against your shoulder, his mohawk tickling your neck. "i hate you so much." his arms slide around your waist, careful but desperate, like he's trying to put you back together through sheer willpower.

(he holds you the whole way to the medbay.

and when the medics try to pry him off you, he growls like a feral dog.

you don't let go either.)

2.9k words of mohawk mark chaos for you! thanks for the request—i had way too much fun writing this unhinged gremlin. not entirely sure if i did him justice or did this right, but hey, at least he’s here and causing problems. hope you enjoyed the mess!

[dog-park-dissidents]

Went to my first pride parade. I swear, only 10% of the people in the parade were from local groups and the rest were either corporations or people running for office with nothing about queer people on their platform

Oh yeah, Pride parades especially in North America have gotten so far from our roots with how much it costs to get permitting and logistics that most actual queer orgs get priced out of participating. Corporations can afford it but of course, instead of decentering themselves and just being okay with like, Dykes On Bikes (Sponsored By Chipotle), they cannot help but make it all about their fucking marketing. We are literally dogs and we couldn't even dream of pissing on parts of public space to claim them as our own on the sheer scale of a corporate logo.

Local Pride organizers are generally part of the problem and lean all the way into this, cause they're usually shitlibs who feel super fuckin validated because Shell Oil turned their logo rainbow, and don't you know how great it is that their HR department has a nondiscrimination policy. Zac was dating the person put in charge of organizing New Orleans's Pride parade and he was like, what if we save money by not allowing floats, just make it a walking parade so more people can participate? And the rest of the goddamn board of directors was like, no, absolutely not, what would our corporate sponsors think.

So anyway that was the year he used his clout to at least let our local pup group lead the parade, which we did looking like this

Needless to say Shell did not return as a sponsor the year after that

[minalover]

alright friends and enemies, gather round, it's time to talk.

first of all, looks like we're a little fuzzy on the term gaslighting. so, to refresh your memory:

Gaslighting is a form of manipulation that often occurs in abusive relationships. It is a covert type of emotional abuse where the bully or abuser misleads the target, creating a false narrative and making them question their judgments and reality.

good. now that that's out of the way.

i got triggered by a post today, floating around the side of the fandom that doesn't cross my dash that often, that i didn't expect to hit that hard. see, that's the thing about triggers. most of the time, they're not big, scary, overall concepts. most of the time, they're very small. very specific. words, actions, tones. and i didn't expect this one to hit me. but it did. so hard that i've been trying not to cry for the past hour or so and inspired me to write this down. because it's unbelievably clear, due to the behavior over the last few days, that we need to talk.

eddie's behavior in the kitchen fight in 8x17 was not abusive. point blank. and calling it so is disingenuous. this was a painful and very realistic fight between two people who love and support each other and, due to outrageous circumstances, cannot fight clean. eddie cuts buck to the quick. buck does the same to eddie. the hand on the shoulder and pointer finger is the same behavior we've seen from eddie multiple times, ranging from goofy (bachelor party) to vulnerable (post-tsunami) to supportive (when buck comes out to eddie). this one was done in rage and grief. of course it doesn't look the same. of course it feels different. (from a cinematographical perspective, if they had wanted it to read as abusive, they would have shown it to us. but they didn't. so make your own conclusions if you're able.)

eddie does not have a history of violent or abusive behavior. if you're about to lean on the he almost killed a guy in fight club, yeah. he did. are you also talking about lena bosko, who got him into the first club, in the same way? do you want to talk about how eddie was using it as the world's worst coping mechanism to avoid grief? or how he immediately worked to save the man's life, call for help, and quit? no? okay. you know how else i know he doesn't have a history of violent behavior? because no one is afraid of him. not his son, not his aunt, not his parents, not his coworkers, not his girlfriends, not his wife. so go ahead and wrap that up.

eddie bringing chris and pepa home wasn't love bombing. again, let's go through definitions - [l]ove bombing is an attempt to influence another person with over-the-top displays of attention and affection. so just right off the bat, not the same. what eddie did was apologize to buck in the way he can hear it. we've been talking about love languages and, even though they come from a heteronormative and religious place, they're still helpful in this conversation here. eddie is always supporting buck with words and buck is always supporting eddie with actions. in this moment? eddie realizes that what buck's been struggling with is that lack of family (shown to the audience as the lack of family meals compared with pre-bobby's death). so to apologize and show his love, he brings family together to share a meal. just because it didn't sound like an apology to you doesn't mean it didn't sound like one to buck.

just because it isn't racist to you doesn't mean it doesn't come from racism. as we walk through white fragility 101 together, there is a difference between hey you're racist and hey that thing you said comes from a racist and problematic place can we break it down. holding a character of color (chimney and, in this case, eddie) to different standards than white characters (bobby and buck) is derived from racist ideology whether you intend for it to be or not. so take a step back and look at why you seem to be reacting in this specific way to this specific behavior by this specific character. i can't ask you to unravel every implicit bias you've ever been taught, but i can ask you to take a look at your actions if a bunch of people are pointing it out.

there is gaslighting happening here, but not how you think. the way some folks in this fandom have been posting and reacting to the buddie 8x17 kitchen scene have truly made me second guess everything i'd been seeing. the constant, vitriolic reaction to something i didn't find that upsetting made me go back and watch again and again. did i miss something, am i not able to see it, what's going on? and, here we go kids--what's happening here is gaslighting.

it is a covert type

of emotional abuse

where the bully or abuser misleads the target

creating a false narrative

making them question their judgments and reality.

finally, let's look at what you're specifically not saying. by saying that eddie is abusive, that it looked like he was going to come after buck with a knife, that buddies are sick for romanticizing the behavior (which i haven't seen but okay we'll go with it for now), you're implying that the people who support (or don't actively stand against) eddie's behavior in this episode are no better than abusers themselves. that's your underlying message. by spinning his non-abusive behavior as abuse, taking that narrative for truth, and putting everyone who doesn't agree with you on the opposite side of that argument, you're calling us abusers. and i, frankly, take issue with that.

i need you to understand the difference between uncomfortable and unsafe. i need you to understand that this was not inherently romantic, but emotionally vulnerable. and i need you to understand that clinging to your morally superior high horse will not save you in the real world.

if you want to come yell at me, by all means. anon is off, so you gotta do it with your whole chest. i'd much rather talk about it. i'm here to do white fragility 101 if you need it.

[panthrology]

waking up horny in the dead of night with SUGURU GETO as your boyfriend is actual hell sometimes

i just know that this man has the worst attitude when really tired. who can blame him? being a guy as hot as he is cannot be easy.

“girl—” suguru would grunt and turn back over after shaking him awake for dick. for dick. yeah self-inflicted really. other times he wouldn't say anything at all, just shoot you a nasty look.

but a girl has her needs.

“baby please?” you try again, perching your chin onto his buff arm. “the dream was a little too detailed.” a small pout forms on your puckered lips.

“that isn't my fault,” suguru counters, the soft bass in his voice resounding in your shared bedroom. “you couldn't have waited until there was light outside?”

you shake your head.

“must be tough. good night, sweetheart.”

this man. you groan out an exasperated ‘suguru!’ and curve over his form, staring at him as if he can see you through his closed eyelids.

“no, y/n.”

“i’ll top?”

you lied.

you knew damn well you couldn't be bothered to ride him to an orgasm at two in the morning and so did suguru. so when he scoffed and muttered “roll over.” you were grinning victoriously.

“I don't belive you.” suguru hissed, lifting up your hoodie over your hips and feeling up the skin of your ass.

“sorry, sugu’.” you're breathless already when he starts spreading the globes of your ass apart to take a good look at your cunt through low lidded eyes with the sleep and arousal still weighing them down. suguru merely tutted, wrapping a hand around his bobbing cock to push his tip in for the second time tonight.

you tensed as you sunk your head into the pillow in front of you. suguru had a big dick. you knew that much from the time you caught wind of what his attitude was like. nonchalant, quiet confidence, tall, pretty large hands. You'd be surprised if he didn't.

“y/n..if you don't relax. I can't move if you're trying to crush me.” you roll your eyes—so dramatic.

you ease up, but quickly choke on your breath when he slides all the way in, filling you with his thick inches. your pussy flutters at the intrusion, squeezing suguru again. “shiittt baby..” yeah—he undoubtedly missed that.

and when suguru sees your ass ripple and hips jump forward with every deep thrust, he suddenly thinks that he made a good decision.

but he was still fucking tired.

“mm-mm, don't run from me, sweetheart. you wanted me to give it to you, so take it—take this dick ‘fore I take it away.”

“you're so needy, can't even let a man sleep.”

“pretty girl just can't stop creamin’ all over me, so cute.”

“listen t'thaat, it's like your pussy's doin’ all the talking. have i made you dumb already, sweetheart?

for someone who’s so fatigued, he can't seem to shut up at all. mumbling and groaning nastiness all up in your ear like he's drunk on your pussy. suguru thinks he just might be.

he's got a firm grip on your hair and one digging into the fat of your hip, balls thwacking against your sticky cunt. suguru's strokes are mean, every ridge of his cock rubbing against your cushy walls. you're actually drooling, the dizzying mixture of exhaustion and pleasure making you float higher than the pearly gates. Yet with the way your hole squelches when he goes real deep..and his fat tip grinds on that one spot, you're going anywhere but heaven.

You don't even have to say it, suguru knows. suguru knows you're about to cum when he can feel you sporadically squeeze him and when your moans get longer and higher against the pillow you bury yourself into.

“gonna cum already?” he's giggling, the trembles of your ankles and the way your fist tightens not going unnoticed by him. “fuck me back, then. show me how bad you wanna cum on me.” he stops all motion before yawning out loud, a lazy hand reaching his face to cover his mouth. how sexy.

pressing your lips together, you brace your hands out in front of you and swing your ass back on suguru. you were on thin ice right now, and with his snarky attitude, he literally might just leave you high and dry.

your knees are unsteady and shaky but you persevere, looking over your shoulder to see jet black strands hang over his face and shoulders, and amber eyes steeled on where you two connect. his lips are parted slightly as he huffs out a gravelly groan.

“yeah, jus’ like that. fuck me.” suguru praises, words sliding over each other slightly. he picks up the pace again, balls tightening as his head hangs low. he listens to your drawn out moans, sounding more like broken sobs with each stroke he gives you and it makes him dizzy. “‘m gonna cum, i'm gonna cum.” he's whining now.

“inside, sugu’—don't stop!” you beg as you spasm around him, milking your boyfriend.

suguru huffs out a laugh, a lazy grin stretches on his lips. he loves seeing you needy and mind-fucked like this—it scratches an itch deep in his soul. “alright. stay still f'me sweetheart—gonna give it to ya how you like.”

a shattered whimper rips from your throat as he pushes his hips all the way forward, and rams himself all the way in so his cock bullies that spot, the one that makes your cunt gush.

“o-ohh, my god! right there..’s right there, ‘m gonna cuumm..” you wail but he shushes you, the volume of your moans making him wince.

“make a mess pretty girl,” he grunts before his jaw goes slack and ropes of his sticky load flood your cunt. “fuuuckk..” but he doesn't stop—he powers through his orgasm and into overstimulation. suguru smiles when your eyes roll back and your limbs go limp, wailling into the satin pillowcase as you cum and cream onto him.

you think you black out for a second with your ears ringing and heart hammering in your chest. knees falling flat, your entire body slumps forward into the mattress as the aftershocks of your orgasm shoot through you like lightning. you could practically feel the beads of sweat sliding down your body underneath your hoodie.

when a warm and wet rag slides against your slit and inner thighs, you glance behind you and see an entirely spent suguru. he's continuously yawning while he pulls your flimsy underwear back up, before tossing the damp towel into the dirty laundry basket.

“thank you sugu’,” a satisfied sigh escapes your lips as he tucks you into his embrace, yet all suguru can do is scoff. you couldn't help but giggle at his annoyance, smiling like a cat who got the cream.

literally.

“next time, I'll just ignore you and get my well deserved sleep,” he spits, resting his chin atop your head.

totally worth it.

© NEPTNSZN 2024 ★ please do NOT copy, repost or modify my pieces, apply credit when necessary.

[msbug15]

UP TOP

SATAN X READER

TW: None

Inspiration: Hadestown

Reader is gender neutral

@xthechechix Here ya go!

Nobody's righteous. And obviously a hellborn isn't. But to have this punishment, cursed to live half a year in the mortal realm and not your own. It was torture.

Stripped of staying in your own realm. Stripped of your devilish form. Stripped of your powers. Stripped of everything.

Even if you have long since made up with your imprisonment, albeit begrudgingly. You cannot help but feel annoyed whenever the little mortal's mention their lovers, when you can't see yours for months on end.

Why must the Mortals get that happiness but you can't.

You couldn't help but bitterly laugh to yourself as you walked down the streets of the town you lived in.

Fate was cruel, that's why.

You still remember the day you were given this punishment. Being in chains. The eyes of the people. The sins. Your screams of worry. His reaction to your fate. It was like one of those human's worryingly sad works of fiction.

Just as you reached an alley leading you to your apartment. A red glowing portal opened before you. You recognised it, of course. "Satan..." You breathed. Finally, you get to go home.

You placed one foot in the darkness before it devoured you whole.

You stood tall in the never ending dark before closing your eyes and holding out your arms, humming a tune.

"Singing," you sang softly. "La, la, la, la."

Smoke came flowing down from Satan's nostrils as he sat impatiently on his throne. He let out a frustrated groan as he changed his position once again. "How fucking long can one portal take!" He yelled out of frustration, Yogirt slowly floated into his line of view.

"Satan, how about we take a few deep breaths, yeah?" The little demon slowly let out a few breaths in demonstration, "I'm sure there's a reason the portals are taking a little longer today, okay?"

Following his instructions Satan let out a few breaths as he deflated in his seat. "Right.." He murmured, clasping his hands together.

"La, la, la, la, la."

As soon as the sin of Wrath heard those lyrics a portal appeared. He immediately stood up and began to walk to the centre of the empty courtroom.

"Well, that was great timing!" Yogirt mumbled to himself. The rocky surface that is the floor, began to appear under Satan's feet as he walked over the lava.

He outstretched his hands wide as he closed his glowing eyes, before singing along. "La, la, la, la, la." He sung, standing in front of the portal and holding his hand out. Waiting, longing for you touch.

Lyric after lyric, your hand hand finally came out of the portal. His eyes opened and he quickly grabbed your hand. And little by little you finally came out of the portal.

The sin held you in his hands, a soft look in his eyes as he looked down at you. You gently placed your hands on his snout.

"You're early." You said softly, he leaned his head down and placed his forehead on yours.

"I missed ya."

Note: I hope you lot enjoyed this! I do apologise for it being short and if it's a bad. I'm still getting back into the flow of writing and I've never been that great at grammar, so once again I do apologise.

[teaweltzer]

Sending Stone Messages

A list for me that I want to update as new ones come in! Which w/ Dorian back, hopefully not so much (But i think I found all of them so far)

Bonus Ep 6 - Orym gripping the sending stone while Dorian was away

Ep 16 Fearne - right after Dorian leaves 

Ep 22 Orym — “We’re leaving Jrusar, heading southeast. Following the Treshi thread further. You’ve been missed. Hope you’re well.

Dorian — “Hey, sorry. Was sleeping. Thanks. Miss you guys too. Shit got crazy here too. Floating bar, I’ll tell you later. 

Ep 31  Orym — “Hey friend. Missing you here. Could really use your special brand of optimism right now. Don’t know where you are. Hope you’re happy. Bye now.”

Dorian — “Hey! Floating bar got a little weird. Took awhile to land it. This side of the fam is keeping me busy. Miss you all too- Don’t die!”

Bonus Ep 33 - Sending stone falling from Orym's hand as he dies from Otohan

Ep 40  Orym — “Hey. Yios bound. Found them- their killers. Bigger than we thought. Read rough, Dorian. Eshteross is dead. Glad you’re not here, wish you were anyway.”

Ep 41  Dorian (via Robbie)— “Oh Orym~ My heart aches I cannot be there to help you. Find strength, stay steadfast. Sending you fairer winds. …. Is this thing on or-“

Ep 49 Orym — “Dorian. Update. People we’re chasing unleashing hell in a week. We’re headed there now. Odds not good. More tomorrow. Where are you?

Dorian — “Orym! With the rest of the Crown Keepers in Tal’Dorei. Opal’s getting a little dark. Little busy at the moment.. I don’t even know how to get to you.”

Ep 49 Orym -- "Hey buddy. I have a weird request from the other side of the ocean. Can you see the leylines? Is your night sky lit up? Ash says, "Hi." You'll know if you see it. Dorian -- "Yeah, it's, It's real colorful up here, too. I'd take it in and enjoy the display if things weren't so tense at the moment.. Tell Ashton I say hi."

Ep 49 Orym — “Listen, what’s going on over here is really bad. Get the group, get underground. Stay there until you hear from me again… Miss you”

Dorian — “I'll see what I can do. There’s plenty of places underground, I’m sure. It's a little hairy on this end too. You take care of yourself. Be careful”

Ep 59  Orym — “Dorian?? Can you hear me? what’s the sky look like where you are? Tell me you’re okay-“

Ep. 63 Orym — “Dorian. still alive, by the skin of our teeth. want to talk more. you know where Dariax is?’

Bonus I miss you - Ep. 79  "I really miss Dorian and sometimes I think that's okay and sometimes it isn't."

Ep 86 Orym — “Dorian, we’re alive. Been to the moon, going back. Find the tempest. If I don’t get the chance again, I’ve really missed you.”

Ep 92 Orym — "We're home. Can you hear me? I'm northeast of Bassuras. Can you get there? I'm... struggling. Sorry. Can you get here? Fuck, I miss you."

Ep 93 Dorian (Robbie back) - "I'll be there" Bonus 93 Fearne - "Wait, what are you doing here? How did you get here?" Dorian - "Well, I got your message." Ep 94 Orym — "Dorian. Dorian. Dorian, wake up. Dorian. Fearne and I outside the city, about 10 minutes. Need you all."