#with a camera to catch the inevitable fall was insane

[possiblytracker]

on a lighter note look at this idiot

#went downstairs for a glass of water at like 1am the other day and found them like this. the speed at which i ran back up to grab anything #with a camera to catch the inevitable fall was insane #the face of a beast with regrets #giant african land snail #snailblr #bugblr #tags again. enjoy #snailposting

[marveloustimestwo]

Hello:)))

Could I request a vampire reader x spiderman? Maybe she's drawn to Peter because he has some spider dna in his blood or something?

Hello! Thank you for requesting!

Warnings: Yandere themes, vampire!reader

Becoming obsessed with you was pretty easy for Peter. It always is in any circumstance, but it only becomes so much easier (and in turn, more dangerous) when you act the way you do here.

Showing any sort of interest in Peter is a dangerous game. He'll only fall so much faster and harder (which is utterly terrifying considering how obsessed he is any other time.)

So when you start talking with him out of the blue, Peter is very flustered.

Whether you've just moved to New York/ near Peter or you're a newly turned vampire, Peter's very confused but very happy that someone like you is talking to him.

Other than Ned and MJ, Peter doesn't get much positive attention from his peers, so suddenly taking an interest in him is likely where his obsession starts.

Because of how quickly his deep obsession starts, it doesn't take long for Peter to discover what you are.

My boy's a heavy stalker. This has long since been confirmed on this blog. If Peter's not following you physically, he's using cameras, trackers, and microphones to act in his place.

So soon after he starts stalking you, either he or the cameras he placed on you catch you killing someone quite literally red-handed.

Peter's shocked, even more so when you start to feed from the poor person.

But this new information isn't about to throw Peter off his obsession with you. He will excuse your every wrongdoing, no matter how insane he might sound in doing so.

In this instance, Peter's quick to figure out you're a vampire and justifies you killing people as you just needing food. This is especially true for him if you're specifically hunting down bad people instead of just randomly targeting people.

Peter will confront you about your vampirism soon after he figures it out. He'll do it in a private location where no one can hear, and will likely spill out his own secret in return.

He kind of likes the idea of you two sharing a common thing. Both of you hide a secret part of yourself from everyone else, and he will try to use that to get closer to you.

Inevitably, the topic of his blood does come up, and you confess that you were interested in him in the first place because he smelled so different than everyone else.

Peter's definitely not mad about it. He doesn't consider the idea that you might only be interested in him because of his blood. Instead, he likes knowing that something about him makes you like him better than everyone else.

In fact, he's pretty quick to suggest the idea of you feeding from him. Only in short increments, of course. He's not exactly eager to die now that he has you, though he wouldn't be all that mad if it was at your hand.

But don't think that just because he's obsessed with you and you're a vampire he'll go down without a fight. Peter's strong as hell and has the webbing to trap you easily and effectively.

#yandere #yandere peter parker #yandere mcu #yandere marvel #yandere spiderman #yandere spooktober

[melaniekingreal]

my picks for songs that really just feel like TMA Entities, saw some other people doing it and wanted to give it a shot

Buried - Work Song by Hozier

It has that sort of old folk asethetic that the Buried really has, the Buried is one of the big ones that calls to people, drawing them in to either eat or avatar them, and a lot of it reminds me of A Gravedigger's Envy.

Corruption - I Love You Like An Alcoholic by The Taxpayers

Might seem odd to pick a song that doesn't really reference filth, but to me the Corruption is just as much about an irresistable pull, instinctual attachment, and this is a song about just that.

Dark - The Horror and the Wild by The Amazing Devil

A song all about monsters, about whispers and howls in the night, and making reference to blindness and cold, two of the Dark's big asethetics. Plus "the Wild" reminds me of the unknown that is so central to the Dark.

Desolation - Burning Pile by Mother Mother

In addition to the obvious fire stuff, this is a song about burning everything you have, setting the world ablaze with it, until you yourself burn as well.

End - For The Departed by Shayfer James

A song about a death inescapable and unpreventable, and the acceptance of it. Really not much to say here.

Eye - Electric Eye by Judas Priestess

Literally a song about surveillance states, of a thing that watches over all and knows you and your secrets, every detail of your life, cameras and eyes that watch your every move.

Flesh - Body Terror Song by AJJ

The Flesh's whole deal is hating being trapped in your flesh, of being nothing but meat, and this song goes into detail on how that body will fail you.

Hunt - The Wolf by SIAMES

It's about a hunt, something chasing you down, that you can run from, that you have to run from, but that will inevitably catch up and devour you. Nothing more Hunt than that.

Lonely - Devil Town by Cavetown (especially v2)

A sad song, about loneliness, anxiety, not a literal death but a metaphorical one, one of the ability to care, with reference being made to the cold as well.

Slaughter - Voices by Derivakat

Voices in your head. All of them screaming at you, telling you to kill and hurt and make things bleed. A constant tirade of violent noise. That's just about the most Slaughter thing possible.

Spiral - The Mind Electric by Miracle Musical

A song about insanity, madness, being gaslit and lied to at every turn, falling deeper and deeper into maddening despair. Simple enough.

Stranger - Ruler of Everything by Tally Hall

Ruler of Everything is all about things not making sense, it somehow manages to almost feel like the uncanny valley, it tells of false faces and robotic hands and dancing and dancing and dancing.

Vast - Infinitesimal by Mother Mother

Another pretty simple one, nothing matters, we're all so small, so why give a shit?

Web - Wires by The Neighbourhood

Again, fairly simple, all about someone being caught up in strings, manipulated beyond belief or recognition

Extinction - Sweet Hibiscus Tea by Penelope Scott

It's about a world made artificial, unrecognizable, hopelessness, destruction at the hands of something awful, referencing several other entities, but with one vein running through it all - A world that we have ruined for ourselves.

So uh, yeah

#tma #the entities #smirke's 14 #the buried #the corruption #the dark #the desolation #the end #the eye #the flesh #the hunt #the lonely #the slaughter #the spiral #the stranger #the vast #the web #the extinction

[sometimesrayjay]

-Rather die-

Summary:

Managing to escape, you ran through the outskirts of the home The yanderes had forced you to call your own. With them chasing you, You accidentally come across a cliff, Now cornered, your back facing certain death, you try to jump.

TW: Abuse, Violence, Attempted suicide, Yanderes having a whole mental breakdown, got kinda dark

Shoto Todoroki 

You could barely even keep up with the speed of Todoroki, let alone outrun him, But Hope still held on.

Your Heart rang in your ears, streaks of tears burning your scratched cheeks, dry throat painfully heaving for air as you were all but calm. Tripping over yourself, you continued forcing your bruised body to press on, The appeal of freedom enough to push the thoughts of giving in to the edges of your mind.

It was all happening so fast, Too fast in fact.

The forest around you was painted in red, signifying the dying light transitioning into night, You regretted even escaping at this time, from alot of perspectives the bad outweighed the good. But the important thing was that you even got out.

got out before you fell too deep.

As the trees around you started to thin out, you knew you were finally out of the bush of forest you blindly navigated, and all of a sudden you could finally see the sun staring at you, peeking on the horizon.

Assumptions were quickly made as you saw land disappearing ahead of you, Panic setting in.

If you were right, you were about to throw yourself off a cliff.

Naturally you skidded to a stop, feet digging into the soggy ground, Forcing your side to slam into the ground to keep yourself from going off the edge.

You scrambled up, hands digging into the ground ahead of you to keep your body from teetering off a literal cliff, dirt and mud caked on your face.

Through your blurry eyes, you could see Todoroki in the distance running towards you, yelling your name.

It was a split-second decision, With no time to mull over the consequences, and fear laced through your body, you could only give yourself one order.

Your not going back.

Pushing your arms back, you toppled over, skidding off the edge, your thoughts only just catching up.

If He catches you:

Frustrated, Pissed, Livid.

Not only did you run away, but you so carelessly jumped off-  you could’ve died! The first thing he does when he catches you is knock you out, Todoroki is a patient man, but when it comes to you getting hurt, It’s insanely thin ice your skating on.

After your limp in his arms, he lets out a sigh of relief, hugging you, The realization of how dangerous this situation really was burning into him.

Thank god he saved you.

Cleans you up and tends to your wounds first, He would rather you be awake for your punishment. 

And as soon as you do, He pets your head, Softly telling you he loves you as he slowly breaks your legs. 

You could only throw your head back and scream.

With chains wrapping around your arms bounding you to the floor it was quite hard to even think about escaping again, Your heart heavy with shame in the face of failure and humiliation.

Afterwards, He starts to think back.

What would he really do, if you died that day?

He then tries to make it up to you, making you your favorite dinner, getting you a pet, taking you outside on dates-

Your silence really starts to worry Todoroki after a while.

Izuku Midoryia 

Pushing yourself past your limits seemed only to tire you out faster.

Disbelief followed you through your tracks as you could’ve thrown your arms up in joy, Were you actually outrunning him?

Panicked heart slamming against your rib-cage, you struggled to catch your breath, needing more air than you could take in. Battling with Burn-out, Your body stuttered and screamed at you to slow down, to take a break.

Taunting yourself with the reward of freedom from the man who worshiped your being forced your legs to keep moving, to keep up with the speed Izuku’s presence demanded.

Sweat trickled down your face, crying out in frustration; you managed to push yourself even harder, The promise of relief in the near future spurring your efforts on. 

The dreary Moonlight lit up your path as you could only blindly run in whatever direction felt necessary, straining your eyes to see for obstacles ahead of you, The thought of one thing going wrong messing up everything Caused your cautious eyes to dart between paths and thick trees, Making sure you didn’t slam or trip on a random object

So how could you notice the cliff in front of you in pitch black?

Your heart dropped as you seemed to step on air, Hoping that you would feel ground under you, Hoping that you didn’t have to pay the price for your ignorance to go out in the middle of the night.

Fortunately your Body reacted first, shooting your hands out to grab whatever was at your disposal.

Lucking out, your hand managed to wrap around someone else’s.

wait-

Your head shot up to meet with izuku’s startled face. He reached out his other hand to continue pulling your dangling body up.

Heart in your throat, your gut clenching painfully, You wanted to cry, to scream out.

Luckily your sweaty, wet hands made it easy to slip out of his iron grip.

If He catches you:

He panics, as soon as he catches you, he pulls you into a bone crushing hug, babbling senselessly through hurried hiccups and tears.

Immediately takes you back home, cooing to you the whole time, assuring you that you were safe now, that he was here, that everything was going to be okay.

His Delusional side really shows when hes handling this.

He gives you a bath, stressing to you about how dangerous that little stunt you pulled was, That you could’ve gotten seriously hurt, even died.

But at that point, you wish you did.

If escaping wasn’t already a pain in the ass for you, Now it was near impossible, trackers, sensors, cameras, It doesn’t matter, Your privacy doesn’t matter, and your consent was already brushed off by him a very long time ago.

That night he cry’s into your chest. Telling you how scared he was, How much he loves you and how much you mean to him.

Everything seems to go downhill from there.

Your every waking moment seems like its dedicated to this stupid ‘relationship’ now.

Eijiro Kirishima

The bitter cold slapped against your face as you helplessly ran, sobbing in between pants. 

You could hear Kirishimas shouts echo throughout the throng of spruce trees, only adding to your gut clenching terror. Forcing your roughed up legs to skip through the mesh of wildlife littering the ground was hard enough, But having to constantly retaliate against your fatigue and running as fast as you could was near impossible.

Slowing down was inevitable, you confronted that as soon as you started moving; but if only you could deny your bodily needs just for a few minutes-!

While wishing for the impossible, for everything to be in your favor; The booming footsteps behind you only got closer and closer.

Everything hurt, Your mind a Hazy mess, and your legs burning.

You felt like you were drowning.

But hey, Whatever happened, if you escaped or not, At least you could tell yourself you tried?

Stumbling over your own bare feet, You pressed on, Body trembling as it was pushed to it’s limits. Coughing, You felt yourself giving in, slowing down, shutting off.

And as the Spruce trees around came to an abrupt stop, You slowed down, the Sky was a gloomy grey, and below you was a whole other forest scattered over the horizon. and as you bunched together in your mind that you were standing over a goddamn cliff, you wanted to cry out in frustration.

you stopped.

Catching your breath through hoarse groans, you looked up to the sky weakly, Choking on your own dry sobs, you mourned your failure, where could you go now?

Kirishimas hollers now becoming louder and more clearer, You opened your eyes and turned your head around, watched his figure becoming bigger and bigger in the distance.

You really didn’t wanna have to deal with this anymore.

And, looking back towards the cliffs edge, you knit your eyebrows together, eyes fluttering closed.

Maybe you didn’t have to

Your body seemed to move on its own.

If He catches you:

Immediately wraps himself around you, arms snaking around your waist as he bury’s his face into your neck and shoulder, His entire body trembling.

So shaky, You could practically feel his body trembling as he curls himself around you, feverishly petting your hair.

occasionally pulls from the abrasive hug, thumbs swiping against your cheeks, looking at you through blurry eyes.

“Are- Are you still here?”

Starts sobbing into your shoulder after awhile, Hes struggling to keep up. When he finally pieces himself together, (It takes a while, trust me) He picks you up silently, and carry’s you home, your cries and shouts falling deaf on his ears.

If your legs weren’t already broken from the fall, He’ll break them for you, He’s so- so lost- eventually just breaking down, falling to the floor and telling you how sorry he is.

Sorry he wasn’t enough. Sorry he made you think you had to do something like this. Expect him to loosen up the rules, wheeling you around the park, taking you on vacations, letting you freely roam about the overgrown mossy backyard- 

All under his supervision, of course.

But no matter how many more places you get to go to now, it still doesn’t take away the weight of the chain around your ankle.

#yandere izuku #yandere todoroki #yandere kirishima #yandere reactions #yandere bnha x reader #i write so slow DDD: #yo but what thankyou for all the support these past few days? #im just sitting here like :D #i feel like this is kinda clunky but idk man #Shout out to thesaurus for making me sound smarter then i actually am #also lets just say you have a speed quirk or smth cuz them boys fast as fuck it don matter if your quick on your feet #like the second you get out of the house you just hear SHWOOOOM #and boom ur back jus like that #oh god should i post this? i feel like its rlly rushed and crappy #shjskshfjksfkj #does this story even make sense or work

[jeonggukingdom]

longing in tokyo (m)

pairing  ⟶ namjoon x fem!Reader

synopsis  ⟶ It has been just two weeks. Two bloody weeks of nothing but text messages and phone calls and, quite frankly, Namjoon can’t simply take it anymore. He needs you. And it’s exactly that firing desire that prompts him to call you in the middle of the night in the hopes of quenching his unyielding desire for you once and for all.

genre  ⟶ smut rating  ⟶  18+ 

word count  ⟶  5.407 words

warnings  ⟶ graphic depictions of sexual intercourse, masturbation, voyeurism, skype sex, dirty talk, namjoon calling you ‘baby girl’, excessive amount of cum, namjoon being quite the loud one because I have impulse issues.

author’s note ⟶ this fic has been written for the “Bulletproof Bingo” project created by @ficswithluv​! You can find the card I received here (click!) but to make things more fun and keep the surprise I blurred out all the songs except for the five songs in the same row that I’m going to write first ;)

song title ⟶ Tokyo - RM [ lyrics that inspired the story:  “Homesick babe, I just wanna, Stay right next to you, If I could choose my dream, I just wanna, Stay right next to you” ]

tag list ⟶  @heroesfan101

The city stretches before him in stunning colourful lights shining like stars under the night sky.

Skyscrapers upon skyscrapers surround him but it’s a rather beautiful sight at this time of day when the sun is long set but everything seems to still be lit up by it.

A city that never sleeps, a city that seems to grow right under your eyes, expand a little bit more with every single one of your heartbeats, an ever-changing city full of possibilities, surprises, memories to build and everything in between.

Tokyo.

There is just one thing this city can’t offer him and that happens to be the very thing he needs the most: you.

A deep sigh escapes his lips, his eyes closing as his body relaxes onto the little couch placed right in front of the huge window.

His thoughts inevitably drift towards you every time he allows himself to stop and rest.

He can almost hear your excited voice as you enter the room, he can almost see the stars shining bright in your eyes as you stare out the window, he can almost feel your hand tightly wrapped around his as you force him to go with you around the city despite the fact that he’s beyond tired.

A small smile stretches on his lips at that last thought. He would grumble, for sure, he would try to convince you to stay in, watch a movie or just chill together in your bed but in the end, he’d be walking right beside you in the busy streets, he’d be taking silly pictures with you in front of beautiful sceneries, he’d be tasting delicious food with you from random restaurants or street vendors.

He opens his eyes, pulls himself out of his waking dream and chooses to drown his bitterness in the glass of scotch in his right hand. Alas, dreams and fantasies, that’s all they are and he really should not be indulging in them, especially not at this hour of the night.

His body feels sore after the long day at work spent either stuck in a car or sitting down in an office and he can feel a dull ache starting to spread from the base of his sculpt up to his forehead and he should really stop drinking now and just go to sleep but he simply cannot.

No matter how hard he tries, tonight it just doesn’t work.

He misses you. Misses the sound of your voice, misses the tender smile on your beautiful lips, misses your shining eyes, misses the sensation of your body under his fingertips, misses the way you arch your back beneath him when he is making love to you, misses all the pretty whimpers that leave your lips in ecstasy whenever he hits that perfect spot, misses the way you quiver and call his name when you reach your high.

Damn.

It has been just two weeks.

Two bloody weeks of nothing but text messages and phone calls and, quite frankly, Namjoon can’t simply take it anymore.

Maybe it’s that insane desire and endless need that prompts his hands to grasp his laptop, turn it on and place it on the table in front of him or maybe it’s just the alcohol driving him his every movement.

The clock on the screen informs him that it’s past two in the morning and that should suffice to deter him, to pull him back from this love-drunk—or maybe actually drunk—state he is in but it doesn’t.

His fingers move before he can even consider stopping them—not that he really would, honestly—and then, he is calling you.

He is sitting there in front of the screen, sipping on the remnant of his scotch with his heart beating hard against his ribcage as if he were an adolescent about to ask the girl he likes out for a date and not your fiancée calling you because he misses every single thing about you.

The empty glass hits the table and he closes his eyes once more, tilts his head back against the edge of the couch and just waits.

You rest your chin on your knees, your lips slightly protruding forward in a little pout as you stare out your window, your gaze focused on the few people walking down the streets at this ungodly hour.

You can almost hear the loud talks, the waves of laughter, the drunken slurs of those coming out of clubs or dinner with colleagues and on any other night you’d be smiling at them, shaking your head as you catch some of their words in the silence of your apartment.

People-gazing, as you call it, is one of your favourite activities to indulge in during nights when sleep escapes you and other people’s lives seem just all that much more interesting than your own.

A little sigh escapes your lips as you shake your head. Tonight, not even making up lives and stories for those strangers down the streets seems to be working on the melancholy trapping your heart in a tight grasp.

Your eyes drift away from the world outside, fix on the laptop on the couch and the picture in the background: a photo of you and Namjoon, smiling happily towards the camera with ice-cream melting in your hands and on your lips.

A small smile graces your lips then but inside your heart, you ache a little more.

The yearning for him is almost unbearable tonight and you do feel guilty about this need to have him next to you, to feel his hands and arms tightly wrapped around you at all times.

Namjoon is a businessman and you should be accustomed to his absence by now but, alas, you aren’t and a part of you suspects you never will.

You are good at pretending, at putting a happy smile on your lips to reassure him that you are fine, that you can do well even when he’s not right there next to you but it’s not always the truth.

On most nights, you can’t even fall asleep properly without him by your side, without his scent enveloping you whole, without his warmth surrounding you.

You hug yourself tighter as a deep shiver runs down your spine, goosebumps gathering on your flesh as a cold breath of wind caresses your naked legs.

Your eyes drift away from the happy picture and fix on the open window instead. You can almost hear him, if you concentrate hard enough, yelling at you to close the damn window before you catch something and join him under the warmth of the covers.

The thought makes you smile but it is a bitter one.

God.

It’s been two weeks, just two weeks and yet you’ve never missed him quite this hard, you have never yearned for him quite this much.

You count down the seconds, the minutes, the hours that pass between each text, each phone call.

It feels like you are living your life on hold, just waiting for the crumbs he can throw your way to keep you going through the days until his return.

You lift yourself up, at last, close the window and then let yourself fall back on the ground once more with the pout getting deeper on your lips.

Tonight feels like one of those endless nights where sleep just refuses to come your way and claim you and every second seems to last an entire hour.

It’s when yet another sigh of frustration leaves your mouth that your laptop chimes, the familiar tune from Skype’s videocall snapping you out of your thoughts.

Your brows furrow as you slowly lift yourself up to fix your eyes on the screen. Who in the world would be calling you at two in the morning?

Namjoon.

Your heart throbs against your ribcage in an instant, your lips parting in surprise as you eagerly accept the call, your eyes fixed on the screen to catch even the smallest glimpse of him inside his hotel room.

Namjoon is right there, sitting on what looks to be a little couch with his head tilted back, his lips parted and his eyes closed.

His body looks relaxed, his legs open in what you would consider an invitation if he were standing right in front of you in the flesh and not inside a screen.

“Joon?” Your voice sounds small to your own ears, certainly full of all the uncertainty you feel but, judging by the way his body immediately tenses, you know he’s heard you loud and clear.

His eyes are on you in an instant, embarrassment written all over his features as he takes in the sight of you completely.

“Baby girl.” His voice is hoarse and deep and, mixed with the endearing nickname, it easily turns your blood into liquid fire, makes your insides boil and turns your cheeks aflame—all of which he must be aware of judging by the little smirk that graces his plump lips.

“I didn’t think you’d actually be awake. Can’t sleep?”

You nod your head a couple of times as your eyes linger on him, on every little detail of his features, on his body still trapped inside his elegant work clothes.

“What about you? Just got back from work?”

Namjoon heaves out a sigh, closes his eyes for a second before moving forward to rest his elbows on his thighs and take an even better look at you.

“Yeah, we closed our contract today and the guys felt like having some fun so we went out for dinner.”

You hum in understanding as you hug your knees to your chest once more, slightly rocking forward as you keep staring at his face. He is as handsome as ever but you can’t ignore the dark lines under his eyes or the bitter twist of his lips. Something is bothering him.

Before you can voice out any of your concerns, though, he speaks again.

“What’s keeping you up? People-gazing?”

You chuckle at the way the word sounds on his lips and your heart flutters as you watch him smile inside the screen, his eyes warm with love and… longing. The same type of longing that has you still awake, staring outside your window.

“Sort of,” you settle on replying as you force your eyes to drift away from his face and rather focus on the night sky out of your window, on its soothing effects on your melancholic heart.

“You look tired, Joon,” you say after a while and your lips turn downward as you hear him sigh, shuffle on his seat and you can almost picture the way he is massaging his temples, his eyes fixed on the ground and his bottom lip trapped under his teeth.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No,” his voice trails off, another long sigh moves past your lips and your eyes fix back on the screen to take in the pained expression on his features, “I keep thinking about you… the view from my window is stunning, you’d love it.”

He sounds sad, so impossibly sad it almost brings tears to your eyes. You miss him and by the look of things, he misses you quite as much, if not even more.

“Let me show you,” he says, lifting himself up and bringing his laptop with him to the window. In an instant the scenery before you switches from his lovely face to the stunning colourful lights outside, dancing in the night like neon fireflies.

It’s breathtaking.

“I knew you’d love it,” he whispers into the speaker and the heat on your cheeks intensifies, a little chuckle moving past your mouth as you nod towards the camera.

“I do. It’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah… but it can’t compete with you.”

Lame and corny as a line but damn, does it tug on your heartstrings the right way, damn does it make that stupid heart of yours beat faster in your chest, damn does it make your longing for him even deeper.

“Joon!”

He laughs at himself, at your expression reflected on his screen, at the absurdity of all of this—whatever it may be.

“I think I’m a little drunk,” he admits with another laugh and you can’t help but join him while shaking your head as he occupies the screen again, back on his couch.

You shift in your seat, hug your legs to your chest tighter and rest your chin on your knees as you stare at him, your fingers grasping each other to prevent you from reaching out and caress the screen like you would to touch his skin if he wasn’t seven hundred miles away from you tonight.

“Baby girl…is that my shirt?” He asks all of a sudden and you hide your face between your legs in embarrassment. Damn, you really hoped he wouldn’t notice.

This is one of your little secrets, one of those that don’t hurt anybody but that makes you feel shameful enough to still keep it hidden and close to your heart for extra protection.

“It is… I always sleep in your shirts when you’re not here. It helps me fall asleep.”

You do not tell him that it feels like he is embracing you if you concentrate hard enough, you do not tell him that sometimes you even wear his shirts outside to work just because it makes you feel like he’s still with you during the day. You do not tell him that sometimes you just walk inside your bedroom and spray some of his perfume around the house or on your pillow just to feel him closer.

You do not tell him any of that but somehow, it feels like in the silence that lingers between the two of you, you just did.

“Baby girl.”

“Mh?”

“I miss you so damn much. All of you.” His voice is low again, barely above a whisper, and it sends shivers up and down your spine, makes your insides twitch and the yearning for him grow stronger and stronger, so much so it is almost painful, “Damn, I really wish I could kiss you right now.”

You close your eyes, slightly part your lips as you imagine the sensation of his mouth on yours, the way his hands would embrace you, pull you towards him so that your bodies can touch, relish in each other’s warmth.

“I miss hugging you, touching you…” His voice trails off as you visibly shiver in front of the camera, your tongue wetting your lips as you slowly open your eyes once more.

You can’t take this anymore.

“I miss the way your hands feel on me,” you confess, your voice thick with love, yearning, desire and everything in between.

You wish you could run your fingers through his blonde hair, tug on the loose locks until he groans and tilts his head back to offer you his neck. You wish you could kiss and bite that soft expanse of flesh, mark it for everyone to see and then slowly inch down to his chest, the fine line of his abs, the happy trail of hair right under his navel that leads to the treasure right between his legs.

“What are you thinking about?” He rasps out and your eyes snap open, fix on the screen and on his dark gaze, his parted lips as he stares at you in that way that has you always squirming before him in anticipation for what he is going to do to you.

“You.”

You bite your bottom lip, tilt your head a little to the side to watch him better under your lashes as you let go of your legs, arch your back a little just so he can properly take in your figure inside his buttoned-up white shirt.

You wonder if he can see your turgid nipples peeking through the soft fabric even in the dim light surrounding you, you wonder if he can tell exactly how much riled up you are just at the thought of him touching you, kissing you, ruining you.

You let out a soft grunt of frustration as you tug on the shirt, let a few buttons fly open for him to take a peek at your chest.

“Kissing me everywhere,” you continue, your fingers trembling a little as you undo a few more buttons in front of his rapt eyes, “Touching me everywhere.”

“Fuck, you’re so sexy baby girl,” he hisses under his breath, his face inching closer to the screen so that he can see you even better as your fingers keep trailing down your shirt to open it up slowly, inch after inch before his eyes.

You can see the lust in his gaze even through the screen and in an instant you know, this is why he called. That deep unquenchable desire you felt in the pit of your own stomach all day, that yearning that has kept you awake to this hour, he feels it too.

You watch him get rid of his black jacket, toss it far away behind his back, in a portion of the room you cannot see through the screen.

You wet your lips, drink up the sight of his slack jaw as he stares at the way your chest rises with your heavy breaths, the way your hands caress your exposed skin, envelope your breasts to pull them together, the way your fingers tease the little turgid buds.

You hear his soft sighs laced with arousal as one of his hands flies between his legs to palm his growing erection in the confinement of his pants.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down with every new bold movement of your hands, with every new inch of skin you expose to the camera and you keep imagining kissing that beautiful neck, lick and bite the golden skin and make him whimper your name in the silence of his hotel room.

“If only I was there with you,” you mutter under your breath and he grunts in frustration, his fingers wrapping tighter around his shaft in a way that looks almost painful but that, nevertheless, makes the blood rush to the pit of your stomach in excitement.

“What would you do if you were?” He asks, his voice low and hoarse as he inches backwards to rest his back against the couch, spread his legs wider for you to be able to see the outline of his turgid cock underneath the black fabric of his pants.

You take in a sharp breath, your fingers inching away from your breasts to favour the supple curves of your legs, the barely concealed sex between them and the arousal growing right there soiling your pretty underwear.

Heat gathers on your cheeks as you part your lips, the words dancing on your tongue before you can stop them.

“I’d slowly kiss your neck, inch down towards your chest…” you trail off as your eyes close for a second to imagine how it would look like under your attentive gaze, how it would feel like, “I would undo your tie just enough to allow my fingers to unbutton your shirt, reveal your chest.”

You open your eyes then and watch him follow your fantasies to perfection, his eager fingers caressing his skin like you wish you could do.

He yanks his tie completely loose, leaves it around his neck as he keeps unbuttoning his shirt just like you did with yours and you can’t take your eyes off of the sight of him like this, stripping before you with not a single hint of hesitation.

“I’d go down on my knees next,” you whisper, breaking the silence as he unfastens the last button of his shirt.

His muscles tense underneath your gaze and you wickedly smile at that, at the way he seems to shiver a little just at the sound of your words.

He licks his plump lips, relaxes his neck against the couch even more as if abandoning himself to your desires completely.

“I’d pull down the zipper next,” you bite your bottom lip as you watch his trembling fingers reach his pants and follow your instructions.

A trembling breath leaves his parted lips then, relief morphs his features for an instant and then his brows are furrowing once more as he palms himself through the fabric of his underwear, the gesture sounding like a plea towards you.

“Show me how hard you are, please.”

He whines at your words, rolls his hips into his hand once, twice and then, he is manoeuvring his erection out of his boxer briefs.

The sigh of contentment that leaves his parted lips drives one of your hands right between your legs to palm your womanhood and tease the covered flesh until a soft whine erupts from your mouth.

His cock stands tall before you, head tinted an angry red and slightly wet with pre-cum. You lick your lips as you imagine its bitter taste filling your mouth and Namjoon grunts at the sight of you like this, at the way you arch your back a little more, at the way you rock against your hand as if it were his teasing you like this, discovering you like this.

“Now what, baby girl?” He asks in a breath and you gulp down heavily, fix your eyes right between his legs and damn, all you can think about is riding him until he has no choice but to scream your name for everyone in Tokyo to hear.

“Ugh, Joon!” You whine, your eyes almost filling with tears in frustration. Your deep desires don’t seem quenchable with just a stroke of your hands accompanied by the sound of his voice and breathy whines. You want him.

“Tell me, baby girl, tell me what you would do to me,” his voice is thick, his hand still around his cock as he stares at you, his eyes boring into you with curiosity and desire and how could you deny him when he is looking at you like this, eagerly waiting for every single one of your words?

“I would ride your big cock right on that little couch in front of the windows,” your words are strangled, followed by a whine of frustration as your fingers press against your clitoris, circle around the little bud atop your panties.

“Show me,” he breathes out, his fingers slowly pumping his length as he shudders at the pleasure and the fine picture you’ve planted in his mind, “Show me how you would ride me.”

You lick your lips, pull your gaze away from him just enough to fix it on your couch and the cushions sprawled on its surface.

Biting your bottom lip you reach for the sturdiest one and pull it right between your legs. Your thighs brush against the fabric as you sit right on top of the cushion and tentatively rock your hips forward once.

A little whimper immediately moves past your lips and you fix your eyes on the screen to catch him staring at you, his jaw slacked and his hand slowly moving around his shaft.

You lift yourself up just enough to help yourself out of the soiled panties and then, you come crashing back down, grunt a little as if it were his length welcoming you back where you belong and not the softness of the little cushion.

With your eyes fixed on the screen, you start rolling your hips forward, one of your hands teasing your breasts while the other keeps you perfectly balanced on the cushion as you become more confident, more eager to feel the pleasure engulfing you whole.

“You’d look so good on my cock, baby girl.”

You lick your lips, roll your hips faster against your cushion while imagining him deeply sheathed inside of you, battering your walls, stroking your cervix, making you see the stars.

You whimper his name as you watch the thick trail of saliva fall from his lovely mouth to the tip of his cock, you watch him with rapt eyes as he spreads it around his shaft and palms himself harder, strokes himself faster to match up the rhythm of your hips.

If you imagine it hard enough, you can almost feel him underneath you and just the thought makes your heart beat faster, turns your breath laboured and your limbs more eager to reach that peak with him.

But no matter what, the cushion is not quite enough to have you scream his name, to have your body quiver and your toes curling.

You leave your breasts in favour of the little bundle of nerves right above your slit, you start drawing little circles on top of it, pressing down with your digits enough to elicit small whines out of yourself.

You hear him hiss at the sight of you like this, touching yourself so shamelessly in front of the camera just for him to see. A little smirk draws on your lips at the lust reflected in his gaze, at the way he pumps himself harder, faster.

His little breaths and sighs, his little ‘yeahs’ of satisfaction, his deep grunts and huffs, they all rile you further, prompt you to roll your hips faster and faster until the burning sensation between your legs becomes almost unbearable.

You tilt your head to the side, fix your eyes on your fingers as they furiously draw circles on your clitoris and you moan loudly for him, the sound awfully similar to his name and, just as loud, he responds and twists before the camera, angling himself as if he were trying to plunge himself deep inside your pussy.

“Fuck, I’m so close baby girl,” he whines as his muscles start tensing, his hips jerking towards his hand in search of that bit more of friction that will throw him off the edge and give him what he so desperately craved for.

“Me-me too, ugh,” you gulp down, thrust harder against the soft cushion and then you feel the wave of pleasure run through your limbs like liquid fire. Your vision turns white, your body quivers helplessly on the floor, your toes curl and a lewd moan moves past your parted lips.

Your heart is beating frantically against your ribs, your breath stuck inside your lungs as you completely let go before his eager eyes.

The orgasm seems endless, it coils between your legs, soils not only the cushion but the carpet underneath your knees as well and when it subdues it leaves you breathless, dizzy with lingering ecstasy.

It’s his deep groan that makes you snap your eyes open, fix them on the screen once more as he jerks harder in front of the screen, as he palms his balls through the fabric of his pants for extra stimulation.

He calls your name over and over again, so loud there is no doubt someone is going to hear him and that brings heat to your cheeks and down between your legs once more.

You watch him come undone on his hand in long stripes of white that much like your own juices seem to keep on coming and coming until his fingers are covered and sticky and his pants are ruined beyond recognition.

His chest is heaving, his eyes tightly closed as he tries to keep that blissful sensation close just a little bit longer.

You softly call his name then, smile towards the camera as his eyes pry open to fix on your lovely face.

“That was amazing, baby girl,” he whispers before his eyes move to the mess he has made of himself. A chuckle leaves his lips then, his head shaking left and right as he tries to clean his hand against his pants.

“I wish I could lick it off of your fingers,” you let the words slip out of your mouth and chuckle at the way his eyes turn as big as saucers, at the way his mouth opens but no sound comes out, at the way he gulps down heavily and then, finally, groans.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath before wetting his lips with that tongue you wish you could have felt lapping your folds tonight.

“Clear your schedule for Saturday, baby girl.” He suddenly says prompting your brows to furrow in confusion.

“I have every intention of fucking you until neither of us can walk out of that damn bed as soon as I’m out of the plane.”

His words make you groan, prompt your hands to move between your legs once more and if you weren’t still sensitive you’d be touching yourself again right now, make yourself crumble before him once more and watch him get worked up all over again.

“Is that a promise?” You retort, a little teasing smile on your lips as you tilt your head to the side while spreading your legs wide for him just to taunt him a little bit further.

Every bit of shame you might have felt has long gone now and every single one of your desires is out, hanging right between the two of you.

“You can bet on it, baby girl.”

His hoarse voice makes you shiver, it gathers goosebumps on your feverish skin and it makes that deep yearning for him grow as intense as it was before his call. Will you be able to resist four more days without him, hanging on just the thought of him and his return and what he will do to you the moment his fingers can finally wrap nicely around your frame?

“Now, be a good girl until my return, mh?”

You bite your bottom lip, close your legs and draw your hands away from your core like the obedient little sub you usually are.

“I can’t wait to see you,” you murmur after a while. The lust has slowly subdued, suppressed by that melancholy that has kept you awake on most nights these past two weeks. It is not just the sex that you miss, no, you miss every little thing about him and by the way he looks at you, you know he yearns for you just as much.

“Just a few more days, my love.” His words are barely above a whisper, laced with the same emotions you feel deep inside your heart.

You hum in response as you slowly remove the cushion from between your legs. You ignore how sticky it feels, you ignore the lewd sound of the fabric as you shove it aside and then, you hug your legs back to your chest, rest your chin above your knees.

“You know I love you, right?” You say then, your head resting on your arms as you close your eyes for a second, fatigue finally taking over your body and mind.

Namjoon hums softly in response, his eyes tender as he takes in the peaceful expression on your features. His body finally relaxes as he watches you slowly drift away from him and enter the dreamland.

He watches you for minutes, slowly undressing himself and tossing everything on the ground for him to take care of in the morning.

“Baby, go to sleep,” he mutters under his breath after a while and you stir at the soft sound, a sheepish smile on your lips as you lift yourself from the ground and reach your bedroom with the laptop still open between your hands.

You put another one of shirts on making him chuckle and then, with his face close to the screen, you let yourself fall on the bed, right under the covers and hell, if you concentrate hard enough it almost seems like he’s right there with you, watching over you with his arms wrapped tightly around your frame.

Your eyes slowly close as he keeps whispering sweet nothings to you, so close to the microphone it almost feels like the sound is right inside your ears and just like magic, you fall into a deep slumber right before his eyes.

He watches you sleep for minutes on end as he crawls inside his cold bed as well and it is only when his eyes become heavy with sleep that he ends the call.

He falls asleep with a deep smile on his face and a contented heart in his chest and for the first time ever since he arrived in Tokyo, somehow, he feels utterly happy.

Copyright © 2020 by jeonggukingdom. All rights reserved. Do not repost, do not steal, do not translate without consent.

#fwlbingo #ficswithluv #thekimlinenet #hyunglinenetwork #namjoon smut #rm smut #bts smut #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #rm x reader #bts ff #bts react #bts imagine #bts scenario

[kbstories]

impression//expression

“It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.”

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, First Impressions, Slice of Life, Character Study

No additional content warnings apply. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

Kirishima Eijirou had stared at the grin on Bakugou’s face when he pulled the pin in his gauntlet and thought: Holy shit, this guy is insane.

Over multiple screens, a good chunk of Ground β went up in a blast so strong the floor trembled with its aftershocks even here, miles away. Concrete and steel and glass were incinerated in a gust of fire and debris until all that was left was Midoriya’s crumpled form amidst plumes of smoke and Bakugou standing tall in the ruins.

The cameras shorted out once, twice before the image stabilized; the transmission remained silent. There was no sound needed to see how Bakugou’s grin got an edge sharper in the wake of the explosion.

Insane and absolutely deadly.

It wasn’t Kirishima’s first impression of him, per se. Certainly he’d had some sort of reaction to the only name ranked above his own after the Entrance Exams and the total sum of zero rescue points listed beside it. He can even remember the twinge of something in his chest after seeing that infamous quirk in action on day one – be it awe or envy or plain curiosity, that innocent question of How does it work, though? that accompanies most encounters with a new power.

Still: In those first few days, when Kirishima thinks of Bakugou Katsuki, he thinks of the mad glint in his eyes as he went above and beyond in his attempt to murder their classmate (or seriously maim him, at the very least).

In hindsight, having him play the villain was perhaps less coincidence and more fate, given the optics of what could reasonably be described as a shitshow. And, okay, Kirishima knows it’s not exactly fair to judge someone based solely on fleeting observations. His parents taught him better than that. Crimson Riot showed him better than that. It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.

Endure and overcome, just like any other obstacle looming over the difficult path ahead. Kirishima smiles around the pencil he’s chewing on as Aizawa drones on, eyes trained on the uniquely tense set of shoulders across the room.

Yeah. Bakugou won’t even stand a chance.

*

It takes many cold shoulders, rebuffed lunch invitations and countless glares – and a villainous intervention Kirishima could’ve honestly lived without – for a rough voice to say:

“You there. Shark Teeth.”

The sun is starting to peek into the room as it hangs low and lazy in the sky. Class 1-A has just been released into a well-deserved weekend: Kirishima is very much aware his mothers want him home as fast as possible after what happened at U.S.J., and he’s throwing his things into his bag at peak velocity. Only after a tap on his shoulder and a subtle nod from Sero does he register it’s him Bakugou is talking to.

Perhaps ‘growling at’ would be a better description, but… semantics. Kirishima throws the guy a look and a smile over his shoulder either way, “Hey! What’s up, man?”, and given Bakugou’s eyes only narrow a little, he’s about 70% sure he’s not done something to land on his shit list.

Yet.

All Bakugou does is direct a decidedly less neutral look towards Sero, who jolts and stumbles over a quick “Um. Gotta– Yup, okay, bye!” before he books it out the classroom. Kirishima watches him go with some bemusement and a muttered “Dude”, not that Bakugou reacts to it in any way.

“Spar with me”, Bakugou says instead – demands, really – and Kirishima feels his brows tick upwards before he can stop himself, hands pausing in his quest to cram his notepad next to his books without wrinkling its cover page too badly.

“Uh. Like, right now? ‘Cause I can’t. Well, I could but I’m about to miss my train as is and I’d have to tell my–”

A slow blink, and even that is threatening when it’s coming from Bakugou. “No, asshole. This weekend, or something. I don’t care.”

Oh. Kirishima blinks. Something about Bakugou approaching him out of his own free will must be causing a substantial lag between different areas of his brain because– Oh.

“Wait. You wanna hang out?”

Maybe he could’ve hidden the clear surprise in his voice a bit better, that emphasis on you that sort of slipped in there without him really wanting it to. Kirishima’s heart sinks at the twitch to Bakugou’s brow that pretty much guarantees whatever he actually meant to say is forever lost to the ire perpetually simmering in that red gaze.

Well, it was nice knowing what going to U.A. is like. At least none of his classmates are present to see Kirishima’s inevitable – if incredibly untimely – demise.

Then Bakugou… rolls his eyes, exhales a harsh tch for good measure. “Whatever.” He shoves his bag further up his shoulder and, without a glance back, walks out the room–

Oh no, you don’t.

Out of all foolish thoughts it’s that one that shoots through Kirishima’s head before he grabs his stuff and goes after him. Bakugou somehow manages to maintain that no-fucks-given air to his gait despite how fast he walks, and Kirishima falls into a light jog to close the gap.

“It’s a great idea, man. Can’t have us going soft over the weekend! Plus Ultra, just like All Might said, right?”

Bakugou gives him a withering glance of a side-eye for his trouble. Kirishima notes the distinct lack of explode-y manslaughter, though, and allows himself to settle right into Bakugou’s pace.

“Besides, it’s been like a week and we’re already having villains crashing our lessons. I mean, we showed ‘em what’s what and all, but still! Some extra training can’t hurt.”

It’s not like Kirishima minds being the one to carry a conversation yet the fact that he hasn’t been told to shut up is… something? Not enough for Kirishima to point out, it’s just a thing he notices, just something, so he keeps talking. Past U.A.’s gates, down the stairs and onto the busy sidewalk they go, and Bakugou’s hands never leave the pockets of his pants as he marches past clusters of people in an unflinching line.

Head held high, eyes dead ahead. Cutting through the crowd with his presence alone, and in his wake Kirishima follows.

The afternoon light is hitting that glow-y hue that paints even the most mundane of things in shades of gold when Kirishima realizes they’re headed to the train station. He draws up short, slows his step in the split-second it takes to ask himself if the other even takes the train home or–

Bakugou’s eyes are on him, “What?”, that one word barked so impatiently Kirishima throws the thought right out the metaphorical window and keeps walking.

“Nothing!” A flash of his home screen proves: Five minutes left. They’re making good time. Which, actually– “So what time were you thinking for our sparring sesh? I’m good whenever, unless it’s super late at night. Overprotective parents, you know how it is.”

That gets a huff out of Bakugou. That, and a gesture that’s sort of a grab, sort of a wave that has Kirishima a little stumped until Bakugou sighs gruffly. “Your phone, dumbass.”

“Oh, sure! Here.”

The device changes hands. Kirishima contemplates feeling embarrassed about the obvious crack that takes up half the screen; he’d designed his hero costume without his delicate tech in mind, and with the whirlwind of starting and then surviving week one of the new school year, he hasn’t been able to spare a minute to get neither the phone fixed nor the costume amended.

Bakugou doesn’t comment on it – in fact, he pulls his sleeve down to hold the thing as if to cushion it, and when he taps the screen it’s with his knuckles. Before Kirishima can ask, the pre-installed voice control AI chirps its distinct jingle and Bakugou tells it to make a new contact, rattling off a long string of numbers.

Even before the AI has confirmed the input, Kirishima is catching the phone chucked rather carelessly at his head. “There”, Bakugou says, starting to climb the stairs to the tracks two steps at a time.

Kirishima doesn’t have much time to process any of that before the telltale rattling of an incoming train sounds above them. “Oh shit”, he breathes, hurrying onto the platform and to the closest door just in time to see the last passenger get out. Once inside, he pumps his fist.

“Hell yeah! Dude, we–”

The person next to him, who is not Bakugou, looks rather startled. What the…? Kirishima turns a full 360 degrees before a knock just inches from his face startles him and he meets Bakugou’s smirk, firmly on the other side of the window.

Not a moment later, the train starts pulling away. Kirishima presses close to the thick, faintly scratched glass to watch Bakugou turn and walk right back where they came from. His hand is raised, the light catching white and glinting on something in his hand.

A phone. Oh, right!

Kirishima swipes across an image of Crimson Riot’s iconic pose to unlock and reads Bakugou Katsuki, having left the tab open in his haste. First things first: With a soft snort and a few swift taps, the name is changed before Kirishima hits the speech bubble icon next to it.

Baku💣💥

bro what the hell (sent 17:14)

but thanks (sent 17:14)

it’s kirishima btw (sent 17:15)

just text me the details whenever 💪🏻 (sent 17:15)

He watches the tick next to his messages turn blue almost immediately and waits. One station passes, then two. By the third Kirishima is sure he’s been left on read and laughs, shaking his head. Of course.

The rest of his way home is spent assuring Sero he has not, in fact, exited life in a flurry of explosions as well as letting his moms know he’ll be home in a few. The next time Kirishima checks his phone is between brushing his teeth and climbing into bed, two unread messages waiting for him.

Baku💣💥

[link] (received 19:35)

6AM tomorrow, don’t be fucking late (received 19:35)

The link leads to a location which his phone matches to a quirk-friendly gym pretty close to the U.A. grounds. Kirishima scrolls through a few images of the facilities with some interest before his brain registers–

6AM. On a Saturday.

Baku💣💥

/dude/ (sent 22:08)

srsly?? (sent 22:09)

😩😩 (sent 22:19)

f @ my sleep schedule but ok (sent 22:25)

Minutes later, Kirishima stares at the near-painful sight of an alarm set to 5AM before he sighs and flops face-down into his pillow. The things he does in the name of friendship.

>>Chapter 2

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #kiribaku #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #bnha fanfiction #this is just kiri and baku existing inbetween canon events tbh #this fic is also on AO3!! #my stuff

[imasimpforstevengrant]

Why do we like this clown so much?

Change the "we" for "I" and you get an usual tag I use whenever I post my content in Tumblr. And it sounds funny at first but whenever you start diving into that phrase, the deeper it becomes. So, I finally have decided to share my thoughts about this strange but wholesome attraction to this deeply flawed character. It's not something I usually do since I don't know how to write down my feelings properly and also in english so please forgive any typos (I'm from Chile so don't be surprised lol).

So...Why do we like this clown so much?

Why was it that a character precisely designed to scare and to disgust the fuck out of us ended up unchaining a series of feelings that shouldn't have taken place in a beginning?

Let's take a look at the background: Joaquin Phoenix was cast as Arthur Fleck/Joker in 2018. The first image of him as the aforementioned character revealed a deeply disturbed man. We knew the plot. A man driven to insanity after a brutal history of abuse, creating concern in people if the upcoming film would inspire real life violence. Incel violence and mass shootings, more specifically.

(the image in question)

As 2019 arrives, the two trailers generated so much hype that media needed to fuel its concern about it. Since it wasn't your typical comic book film, media basically bombed our minds making us believe this film was going to be a total disaster, an excuse to cause harm to others among other nonsense, as if the film would justify everything Arthur would do in the film, eventually. As the release date is closer, the film receives thunderous applause and unanimous praise from critics. At this, fans rejoiced and expressed impatience to watch the film.

October 5th.

People left the theaters amazed, shocked and genuinely moved by the inhuman treatment Arthur received in the film. The fear media tried so desperately to infuse in us with all the incel bullshit and such turned out to awake one of the most positive, best feelings in humans:

E M P A T H Y

The word that so gloriously cleared away any dark thoughts or actions not only proves media was wrong but it turned out to ridicule it in way nobody will forget: Hundreds of people advocating for mental illness, calling out to the kindness that could change a person's bad day and questioning how politicians and rich people are indifferent to social problems proved how much as a society we have changed in comparison with the one shown in the film.

However, since we are on Tumblr, I'll get straight to the point and try to explain why the fuck does this clown has us dying out of love and compassion (and lust).

I. Background.

As nurturing as we women are for a biological matter, we see a man deprived of a good job, is on seven different medications, working like a slave to sustain his ill mother, putting aside his own health and well-being to look for her, struggling to make his dream of being a comedian despite everyone stepping on him, underpaid and treated like a freak for a disorder he did not ask to suffer, which makes it impossible to be indifferent to all the horrible ordeal that eventually will reach the limit of what he can tolerate without going insane. It is impossible to not say or think, at least, that someone (even if it's just one person) should stand for him just as it is impossible not to feel the need to throw ourselves at him to shield him from people who hurt him or simply offer him our shoulder whenever he has had a bad day, specially when he learns he was sexually assaulted by his step father.

This horrid behaviour terrifies newer generations because they get a taste of what being a social outcast was like more than thirty years ago in comparison with today, where there's more acceptance and treatment for mentally ill people like Arthur. We see in him someone who could have been saved with a proper education and emotional support instead of descending into madness as a criminal. Others simply saw themselves being treated like him at some point in their lives and couldn't help but put themselves in his shoes.

II. Personality.

TRUTH BE TOLD:

There's something called "attraction by proximity". It is the explanation to the eventual love you feel whenever someone doesn't catch your eye at first terms of physical attraction but his/her personality does attract you. This happens to be the base of this situation. His shyness, introverted nature, tenderness and innocent desire to make people laugh and put on a happy face awake some kind of tenderness we cannot resist. This combined with the gloomy background increases our understanding (but not justifying) of the bad decisions he'll eventually take during the course of the film. This traces a line of harsh, almost hurtful contrast of the violence he shows later on the film. Once again, it is not justified in any way but it is certainly understandable.

III. Appearance.

Arthur Fleck is unconventionally attractive.

This happens to be a plus for most women. He is out of the male beauty standards (no abs, not too muscly or particularly tall), which makes him even more unique. It is precisely the fact that he's not a model one of the reasons women love him. He could easily be your man next door or your colleague or the guy you always see but never dare to talk for fear to bother him Because it's about proximity. Arthur looks like your common neighbour. He's not meant to be your typical desirable male protagonist at all.

... And yet.

Jesus Christ, he's so fucking hot I can't even---

It's not about how beautiful his green eyes are, his long slender fingers, his hair or his smile only. It's the charm behind it.

Another "magnet point" is the way he dresses. I know he's impoverished and his wardrobe tend to be repetitive but it is so unpretentious, so simple that is hard to not fall for. The modesty of the shirts, ironed trousers reminds us of a mature man deeply withdrawn into himself, love starved and longing to be seen and loved by others, like a war veteran who still fights the most important war: with himself. Is someone who needs to be listened and understood.

AND OF COURSE WHAT'S NOT TO LIKE ABOUT IT?

He's also brought back the old gentleman outfit, white shirts, red/yellow vest, red suit and elegant dancing moves and the retro style of the film boosts this attractiveness.

People keep comparing him with the previous interpretation of Joker (Leto's) whose costume appealed to young women with a tattooed, gangster, mumble rapper crazy-guy wannabe which didn't connect with the audiences (young people in general). This supposedly was to match or even have a sexy, tormented and desirable villain like Marvel's Loki. We all know how that story ended but it's the link for the next point below.

IV. Transformation

This is a particularly strong point considering how much we loved to watch the process of this weak, powerless, forgotten caterpillar into a beautiful and visible butterfly that will gracefully stir its wings for everyone to see its colours.

When Arthur transitions to the Joker, it's so cathartic to see taking revenge on those who wronged him (even when we're not supposed to root for him) like seeing his shyness fading away into a vivid confidence when dancing half naked in the bathroom, or witnessing him making way to make his name known to people in Murray Franklin's Show:

Adding to this newly gained confidence, there's another turn on: the way he walks.

At the beginning, his pace is hunched and limping, displaying his submission to violence, which makes the viewer more satisfied to see his broken yet beautiful soul turning the past pain of his existence into art: he lets music guide his moves as a way to tell the world he's a new man by cutting most of the sick, evil roots that harmed him, that he's invincible, that no one can stop him. Watching this cathartic display of euphoria was the most iconic scene in the film, following his speech at the TV and the inevitable meltdown that caused Murray's death.

Going to further appreciation, even his clown make up is beautiful. Why? Simple. The combination of colours, shapes and the intimidating glare just embellishes even more the character.

The dark blue triangles in his expressive eyes makes the light green colour to highlight, specially in dark backgrounds, giving the impression he's piercing your soul whenever he stares directly at the camera. Same can be said about the red smile and emerald green hair. They boost an already intimidating look.

The cold and warm colours paint a picture of a man full of intense emotions, mirroring it in a simple yet masterful artistic way.

Another interesting point is the way Joker dresses. Usually we had almost every single live adaption of this character in purple coat, hat, etc. But this particular version is not following any comic, which gives more freedom to creativity and once again, out of the standards of what we could have expected.

Red is a colour related to passion, action, love, strength, motivation and excitement. As for yellow, it indicates freshness, happiness and enlightenment and finally, green. Green is renewal, growth and regeneration. Colours that represent a new stage in his life, a mirthful chapter at last. We finally get to see our battered, always humiliated protagonist (or hero) descending into madness, but finally free from his repressed man who held his soul captive like a bird to fly away, to never come back. An insanity that despite being his downfall, turned out to be his ticket to freedom as he walks to the light in Arkham Asylum dancing at the end.

Ladies and gentlemen: behold the film nobody asked... But the film we fucking deserved.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk

❤️💚💛

#joker movie #the joker #joker film #joker 2019 #2019 joker #joker joaquin phoenix #joaquin phoenix #joaquin is so hot omg #dcedit #dc comics #he's so beautiful #arthur fleck imagine #arthur fleck #Arthur Fleck is I C O N I C #clown daddy #why do i like this clown so much? #i love this clown so much #hes baby #hes so pretty #omg hes so cute #protecc him plz #plz protecc #plz hug him #lol sorry #i had to #this movie gives me life #this man will be the death of me #i can't get enough of this dude #i can't get enough of this babe #arthur fleck x reader

[slippinmickeys]

Voyeur

This is just a one-shot writing exercise, but I had fun. 

The person who was assigned to run surveillance on the basement office of the Hoover Building was a man with the unlikely name of Ichabod Weaver.

Ichabod had been previously employed in wetwork but had been demoted after a collosal fuck-up, which had been Percy-Fucknut-Ryan’s fault, but Ichabod was in charge of his own operations and ultimately took responsibility. Running surveillance on the X-Files project was a punishment, pure and simple.

“If you happen to kill the wrong person down there,” his employer had said to him initially, blowing a plume of smoke into Ichabod’s face, “it would take care of several of my problems.”

Anything would have been preferable to the drudgery of listening, day after day, to the insane theories of Fox William Mulder (Subject 240629) and his skeptical lady partner (one Dana Katherine Scully, Subject 241204). They were intelligent (pretentious), talented (annoying), and honorable to a fault; the kind of people who would point out to a waitress if she hadn’t charged them enough for dinner. It was enough to make a guy puke. Ichabod would have happily put his old skills to work on himself to escape the tedium of his assignment, but he had two years left on his contract and enough savings in the bank to live out the rest of his days on an island somewhere near the equator. If he didn’t die from boredom down here, that meant he also wouldn’t die of it while lounging in a hammock slung between two palm trees.

Ichabod mostly ran audio surveillance, but there was video too, if anything got interesting. He mostly used that when Mulder or Scully was out of the office leaving the other alone. Mulder would inevitably watch porn, which Ichabod could see if he adjusted the camera just-so, and Scully would take the opportunity when Mulder stepped out, to reach into her bra for one reason or another, or adjust her pantyhose or stretch her long, elegant neck. It was the best he would ever get from an uptight, conservative broad like Scully, and Ichabod was a guy who would always take what he could get.

When he first started the gig, he thought it was fairly obvious that the two agents were fucking. With Mulder’s constant proximity to Scully’s tight little ass and round plump mouth, Ichabod could hardly blame the guy--but they never did anything untoward in the office aside from light flirting and the occassional glancing sexual innuendo, and after nine months Ichabod decided that in actuality, they weren’t fucking each other, but that they obviously wanted to. God, what idiots. If Ichabod had learned anything in life, it was that life itself was too damn short.

They had been out of the office for a week and a half out in the field -- some other poor shmuck’s problem -- and Ichabod hadn’t even bothered coming in the last three days. They were back in their office today and had beaten him to work, which he discovered when he set down his coffee and flipped on the speakers to find the two agents and their boss, the stick-up-his-ass AD, in the middle of a conversation.

“--surprised you were able to get a confession, Agent Scully, the local PD had interrogated the suspect on four separate occasions and never got enough to justify a warrant.”

“Agent Mulder should get the credit for this one, sir,” Scully said, standing -- judging from the sound of her voice -- on the other side of the room, “it was his idea to use the interrogation technique that garnered the confession.”

“Well,” Mulder said, his voice casually modest, “we were all ears and he was all mouth.”

“Nevertheless, it was a job well done,” Skinner said. “Can I expect your report on my desk by Friday?”

He must have gotten a nonverbal confirmation, because the next thing Ichabod heard was the office door closing and the sound of the assistant director’s footsteps fading away to nothing.

“You didn’t have to do that, Scully,” Mulder said, after a brief minute of quiet.

“Do what?” she asked on a shuffle of papers.

“Give me all the credit,” Mulder said, “you know I wouldn’t have gotten a confession from the guy if he hadn’t been so hot for you that he didn’t even notice when he confessed to the crime.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mulder,” Scully said, in a tone that it made it obvious to both Mulder and Ichabod that she most assuredly did.

“The guy had a pretty severe priapic condition when you stood him up and slapped on the cuffs, or don’t you remember the thing practically brushing your arm when I was Mirandizing him?” Mulder said, his tone playful.

After a moment, Scully rose to the bait, answering in just as playful a way -- something that grabbed Ichabod’s attention, because it was something she’d never, ever done before.

“The genitalia of the male of our species is a complicated system of hydraulics, Mulder. His priapic condition as you call it, could have been caused by any number of stimuli, be it sexual or otherwise.”

Ichabod was certain that if he turned on the video right now, he and Mulder would be wearing the same impressed/amused reaction.

“Otherwise?” Mulder’s voice was low.

“You pumped him full of cola, Mulder,” she said, and Ichabod could hear the smile in her voice, “maybe he just really had to pee.”

“As the owner of ‘a complicated system of hydraulics,’ and a person who spends hours a week in confined spaces with you, I can assure you, Agent Scully... he didn’t have to pee.”

Ichabod leaned back in his chair and began clicking a ballpoint pen. The tension in that office was so high it was leaking into his cramped surveillance room through the wires that fed its sound.

“And trust me,” Mulder’s voice came so quietly that Ichabod had to turn up the volume on his speaker, “when the hydraulics kick in, it doesn’t feel all that complicated.”

There was a muffled sound of footsteps, a mumble he couldn’t make out and then the quiet wisps of a sound it took Ichabod a minute to identify as the rustle of clothing, and he went flying in his office chair across the room and to the video monitor that he hadn’t turned on in weeks.

It took several long seconds for the screen to flash to life and another few for Ichabod to jostle the joystick that controlled the camera until he brought the two agents into the center of his screen, as close together as he had ever seen them, inches apart but not touching. Mulder was leaning down into Scully’s space and she was looking up at him intensely, her hands at her side, fingers clenching open and closed as if she were trying to make a decision.

Mulder brought his hands up slowly to her face, holding it gently, his thumbs rubbing along the seam of her plump, ruby lower lip.

“Awww, he’s gonna do it,” Ichabod said to the empty room, then, as if the people on the screen could hear him, said, “Do it, Mulder. Do it.”

As if in answer, Mulder leaned slowly down and brushed his lips lightly across Scully’s, and both Ichabod and Mulder seemed prepared for the inevitable slap. Instead, Scully stepped in even closer, the tips of her shoes stepping on the tops of Mulder’s own and pulled him down into a kiss that started sweetly, but turned passionate in matter of moments.

One of Mulder’s hands stayed on her face, but the other arm snaked around her waist, his hand grabbing hot handfuls of her tight ass, and Ichabod had to bite a knuckle in jealousy.

He could hear a tight female moan and then the sound of desperate pants and huffed breaths, followed by a cacophonous waterfalling thud as a stack of files fell off the desk as Mulder pushed Scully into it -- the sounds all a half second out of sync from the video screen before him.

Ichabod saw Mulder pump his hips against Scully once and fumble his hands at her shirt, pulling it out of the waist of her skirt. Scully took the moment to run her hands up over his shoulders, cleaving the suit coat from his back so that it pooled to the floor at their feet. Mulder’s hand was up and under her shirt in a flash, and Scully threw her head back from where she sat on the desk, the column of her throat almost white in the dim light of the basement.

Mulder’s mouth was at her neck an instant later, and Ichabod was impressed with his dexterity, his mouth working at his partner’s throat even as one hand was filled to bursting with her ass and the other was working her breasts, and all Ichabod could hear were her moans and a roaring of blood in his own ears.

When Scully reached for Mulder’s fly, he almost reached for his own, but then stopped as Scully did, who put a hand up to Mulder’s chest, where she wrapped his tie around her hand once and leaned her forehead against his heaving chest.

“Not…” she struggled to catch her breath, “Not here.”

“Yes here,” Ichabod said to the screen, willing the agents to keep going, his thumb continuing to click the pen, in and out, in and out, faster and faster.

“Scuh-” Mulder started to say, one hand reaching down to lift her chin until she was looking him in the eye.

“Not like this,” she said to him, her eyes searching his, “I want it to be right, I want you to-”

“To what?” Mulder whispered, then touched the tip of her nose with the gentlest of kisses.

Her head fell downward again, her hair falling like curtains to block what Ichabod could see of her face.

Mulder then whispered something Ichabod couldn’t make out. She looked back up at Mulder, her face as yearning and bright as any classic Hollywood starlet. She pushed herself off the desk and pulled herself up to her full height, then pulled on Mulder’s tie, bringing his face slowly down to her own. She gave him a firm, full kiss, her tongue invading his mouth once, quickly.

“I love you too,” she said earnestly, and Ichabod felt something in his chest loosen and fly free.

“Come to me,” she said quietly, and Mulder’s eyes never once left hers, his hands holding her tightly to him, “tonight.”

Mulder nodded once firmly, and then reluctantly released her. He took one step back.

“Tonight,” he said, his voice raw and needy.

Scully reached up with a hand and ran it gently through his hair once, then let her hand fall. She stepped away from her partner.

Ichabod stared at the screen before him as both agents stepped out of frame, the basement office quiet but for the dull background hum of desktop towers, the quiet buzz of monitors and various investigative equipment. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

After a few moments of introspection, Ichabod looked at the video recording device in front of him for a full minute and then on an impulse, rewound it quickly and pressed the “erase” button. Then he pushed back from the desk, loosened his tie and made for the door. Ichabod needed some air.

#the x-files #fanfic #MSR #one-shot #voyerurism #my fic #a little #'breath he didn't realize he was holding' #for those of you playing fanfic bingo

[elle9095]

So yesterday The Boyz’ Checkmate performance on Road to Kingdom completely blew my mind and it's been all I can think about for like 15 hours so I figured writing basically a dissertation explaining what I saw in their performances is going to help me make sense of life again.

The narrative that I got from the performances tells a story about the power struggles of monarchy, both literally and metaphorically, when you consider the industry. It’s also the concept of the show, giving these bands a chance to play in the same league as the so called kpop royalty.

It like the Boyz were on a show called Road to Kingdom and decided to make it literal.

First performance: Hwarang/ Sword of Victory

I think no one could've imagined what was to come when they made this performance. It was meant as an intro to the group so it was short and impressive and I’d say that it sort of set the style of their performance but not yet the general concept that has developed over the show.

Also I just learned that hwarangs were entertainers before they became a legion of warriors and later an institution, so they're basically old-timey boy groups turned soldiers.

How quaint when you consider the later performances.

Second performance: Danger

This is where it all started I guess. They went with the thieving concept of the song, decided to take inspiration from their first performance and bam now they’re stealing crowns and climbing walls.

Third performance: Reveal (Catching Fire)

So obviously referencing the Hunger Games which is a survival game but essentially a story of revolution.

Fourth performance: Heroine

This one's a bit different since it's a collab but yeah the whole performance is basically a person's journey to center stage, which is usually occupied by the winners/royalties.

Fifth performance: Quasi una fantasia

This one didn't look like it was going to fit the narrative with it being so ethereal and so hopeful, what with the branch slowly blooming, like a good thing coming to fruition, but this is the euphoria after you've made it and they sort of tell you in the title that yes this is basically a fantasy.

Final performance: Checkmate

This one is fucking insane okay? They start off with a deja vu: Yonghoon's with the hypnotizing watch again and you notice the blooming tree in the background but there's something uncanny and the watch stops, you get flashbacks of Juyeon taking down the king, wearing his crown, Q stealing the crown, stealthily sliding and passing it on to Sunwoo who seems like he's finally going to ascend to the throne and next thing you know he's falling and waking from a bad dream…

At this point I was already cursing and gasping and having a heart attack and they haven't even started singing. And it's like everything they've done so far was just a dream, the game is on let's start all over again.

And isn't it exactly like that? Because a game of thrones (though not explicitly referenced) is exactly just that: a game. You come to power but how long is that going to last? Sunwoo’s (literal) fall from power lasted a breath. You win first place on a music chart this week, you start all over again next week. And The Boyz would know that, having spent the the first weeks on top, but it only took a single performance in one episode for them to drop to third place.

And the chess concept is PERFECT. Chess is a game of war and strategy and the big picture and that's all they've been doing on this show: they've stolen, tricked, rebelled, and dreamed before they finally checkmate. All these performances make up one big picture and I don't know if they've planned this from the start but it’s fucking genius.

The Boyz are so good at coming with a concept and sticking with it, they make a song called checkmate and whoa they have a chess concept now, they have black and white costumes, dancers dressed as pawns, chess board effect and choreo, chess piece props… Which all seemed like obvious artistic choices but there's always MORE.

Like can we talk about that fucking table? I was like 'where did they find a three-way chess table omg it's gorgeous' and then someone's dancing on it and you see the glass tube thingy under the table and MOTHERFUCKER ITS A FUCKING CHESS HOURGLASS

Also for someone to be able to dance on it they flipped the table upside down and it's either like turning back time (rewind sound effect at the beginning) or starting all over again, but also I was like 'huh the tables have turned' and then 'OH FUCK OFF'

And it's all in the details in the performances, the small things that they reference, the same imagery that comes back again and again, every time I rewatch a performance I notice something I didn't before.

There’s the flower, something that's fragile and fleetingly beautiful, also the 'hwa' in hwarang. The moon, which is always changing, like an illusion, the full moon referenced in Reveal, which originally had a werewolf-y concept.

The fire, the sword, all associated with war and power. Even the tricks and optical illusions. The chess, the crown, the king. Everything came together so perfectly in that final performance and wrap up so nicely like HOW IS THAT SHIT EVEN REAL

I love how they have all the names of the song in the title cards (Thieves, Reveal, Paradise, Checkmate) and I’ve been thinking about the lyrics 'the show must go on' and 'the game starts again' and how Sisyphean it all is.

And it's almost like in the end they understand how futile the pursuit of power is but is still pushed by their drive to thrive for better, and in the end they realize being king isn't winning the game. Chess isn't about being king, you don't have to be king to win the game.

Their final card says 'As long as the moon shines, the king of all games is the Boyz'. They don't say 'we're the king' they say 'we're the king of all games'. It’s like 'yeah we're good at this and we're ready to go at it again' be it the hunger games, a game of thrones, or a game of chess.

DAMN THESE PHILOSOPHICAL REBELLIOUS BOYZ

These performances are inspiring and stimulating on so many levels, I mean yeah, the concept is mind-blowing, and of course the performances are just (literally) breathtaking but we haven't even talked about the technicalities.

Yes, I know these performances are great but more importantly I love how self-aware they are. They really seized the opportunity to do the kind of performance that they couldn't be possibly allowed to do anywhere else.

You can hardly do these things for a live audience, since so much rely on the camera work. You can't do this on music shows or music awards where people only care about the more famous groups.

And while these performances were created with the camera in mind, they still make the watching experience so incredibly live by making the performances so risky, upping the stakes to insane levels, and I don't just mean having to catch flying weapons or falling members, but like having a crazy domino choreography where one member's misplaced limb could ruin the whole shot, or using cool props and tricks that could so easily go wrong.

Like the branch that Juyeon was so upset about? The whole trick relied on everyone doing the right thing with the right prop at the right time right place TWICE all the while making it look effortless and seamless.

Can you imagine what kind of crazy you have to be to come up with that?

I personally think that mistake was a perfect imperfection when you look at the whole picture: something not quite right in this otherwise perfect dream that proved to be a mere fantasy, too good to be true.  

Watching the Boyz on Road to Kingdom was pure delight, and for people like me who get off on the thrill of live experience, performances like these are SUCH A TURN ON. And as a writer I'm just a sucker for conceptual plots, unexpected twists and experimenting with structures.

I’m currently torn by a mix of feelings: excitement for Kingdom, anxiety about the safety of the performers, dread of the inevitable end of the show. It kills me a little to think that we'll probably not see this kind of performances as much. That they don't get to perform like this again: go all out and not just tell a story but a fucking epic that will make Bertolt Brecht cry.

I hope they get their own comeback specials or that the company does like OK Go and makes all these crazy fun performance music videos. At this point I don't even know how to organize my thoughts to express my love for the creative team behind the productions, like someone there's got imagination to spare and I want to pick their brains so bad.

I didn’t know anything about this group before my sister showed me their Danger performance clip, and I’m 98% sure I’d never have discovered this group have they not gone on RTK but holy fuck am I glad that this happened because this is probably one of the best things that came out in 2020, making this disaster of a year almost bearable.  

So yeah, that's what I thought about the Boyz performances. Thank you for coming to my ted talk or whatevs

Also I have a second theory that the whole season is just Sunwoo getting over his fear of heights through exposure therapy.

#road to kingdom #the boyz rtk #the boyz #rtk spoilers #kpop boy group #rtk checkmate #juyeon #sunwoo #q #yonghoon

[novaviis]

I know it’s been forever since you wrote the sick!Dick fic but I just listened to Better Now by Oh Wonder and started thinking about it and I once again want to reiterate HOW DARE YOU

oh no…. it would be a shame if something were to… happen

sick!dick au, part who knows

It’s a month or soafter Dick is put on sick leave. They’re under no illusions anymore. Dick isgetting worse, and as scary as that is, they do honestly try not to let thatterrifying unknown hang over their heads. Dick and Wally have adopted a sort of“day by day” attitude. They just take things one step at a time, deal withproblems as they come up, try not to get caught in the overwhelming anxietythat comes with thinking about the future. They have today, and just for today,that’s enough.

And today, Dick isrestless.

He hasn’t exactly beenisolated in all of this, mind you. He doesn’t spend his days sitting on thesofa in their shitty little apartment, staring at the ceiling. Sick leavesucks, especially for a guy that’s so used to some sort of action every day,but he’s not locked up in an ivory tower. He goes out with Wally, visits hisfamily and friends in Gotham, takes walks to clear his head – but travellinganywhere alone is risky. Stubborn as he is, even he can recognize that. Hecan’t drive, so usually he either has to take a cab or ask someone to come pickhim up (which he fucking hates). He does a lot with Barbara, helping withsurveillance and manning the comms when the others are on patrol. Goes overcase files and helps pull loose ends together. Just enough to keep him fromgoing insane.

Wally, for his part,tries his best to hold off that stagnant depression. Better than anyone, heknows just how much it’s been affecting Dick to have to step away from the twomost important roles in his life. So, whenever Dick is feeling up to it, hetakes him out on dates, brings him to the gym so he can work off energy withsomeone watching, all that. Wally is just constantly on and he never complains once. Never really crosses his mind. Thisisn’t a burden, this is his best friend and the love of his life, it’s the mostnatural thing in the world to want to make him happy.

Still, inevitably itdoes get to Dick sometimes, and Wally can see that. Try as they might to keepthings normal, their lives just /aren’t/ normal anymore – not even their ownvigilante-superhero-normal. Things are different, and it sucks. Because travelis difficult and risky, they hadn’t really left Gotham much in months. As aresult, they hadn’t seen their friends in quite a while.

Dick suggests thatmorning that they have the Titans over, just to hang out and watch movies,maybe break out a few board games. A sort of normal they haven’t had in awhile. Wally agrees that it sounds like a great idea – on the premise that Dickis feeling well enough the night of, to which Dick rolls his eyes with an“okay, mom” and kisses the sideWally’s head as he takes his plate to the sink.

They pick a nightabout a week later and Donna, Roy, Garth come over for some good old fashionedTitans bonding time. They haven’t had a night like this in ages, all thingsconsidered. Dick’s feeling good, excited, spends the afternoon cleaning up andgetting snacks. By the time Wally gets home, everything’s pretty much done, andDick’s just waiting anxiously for their friends to arrive.

They do, gradually.Roy is the last one because his sitter was late to watch Lian. The rest of themstart throwing popcorn at him, not buying him blaming the babysitter for asecond.

It’s a good night.Honestly, it is, and over the course of it, Wally can’t help but feel a bitlike they’ve managed to capture a moment from a time past. It was with a bit ofan aching longing, a bittersweet knowledge that they could pretend everythingwas okay for a night, but they never knew what the future would hold. He almostfeels guilty for allowing the thought to settle.  

Garth and Donna get intoa shouting match over The Hobbit. Dick only intervenes here and there with asmug grin, posing a new question just to watch them both get worked up again.It eventually leads them to stopping Jurassic World halfway through to put iton. Roy comments that if they’d going to start one Hobbit movie, they’re goingto have to watch them all, and there’s no way they can fit all that in onenight with it already getting late. Garth just shrugs, as he’s putting the DVDin, that they’ll just have to do this again soon. It almost breaks Wally’sheart to see just how quietly happy that makes Dick.

Keep in mind, ofcourse, that they’d been keeping things at a reasonable volume. They’d kept thebrightness of the TV to a decent level, and kept the lights off, and apart fromthe five of them just being rambunctious, fairly low key. Halfway into themovie, Dick leans against Wally’s shoulder on the couch. Okay, nothing oddabout that. But then he turns his face in against his neck. He groans andtenses, and Wally can see where this is going. He wraps his arm around Dick’sback, asking him in a low whisper if he thinks he’s about to have a fit. Aftera moment, Dick grunts out a no, claims that it’s just his head. Not a seizure,a migraine, but still nothing good.

At that point, theothers catch on, and Donna pauses the movie. She asks Dick if he’s not feelingwell, tells him they can go if needed – and, emphatically, Dick says no. He’sfine, just needs to take his migraine pills and he’ll be fine. Turn the movieback on.

Sure enough, Wally isalready on his feet getting Dick his meds, a glass of water, and a slice ofpizza because it’s not good to take on an empty stomach. Which, in hindsight,is a stupid instruction for a medication for migraines, when you feel secondsaway from vomiting. Dick’s a champ, manages a few bites before taking the pill,pretending his palm isn’t shaking as he pops it into his mouth. And, since noone’s moved for the remote, he turns the movie back on himself.

They only get anotherten minutes in before Wally suggests that he’s bored and they should break out a game instead – conveniently beforeone of the big action scenes, when even with the volume down, the chaotic soundand camera flashes can be a lot to handle. All too quickly, the others agree.Wally knows that Dick is pretending he doesn’t know exactly what they’re doingand complies. So, they move to the table, clear away some of the food, andbreak out a party game, one of those card games that you can describe as just like Cards Against Humanity, but y’know,totally its own thing except that it’s basically the same thing just withits own gimmick. It’s fun, nonetheless.

And, for a while, Dickseems to be okay. He’s a little quieter than before, but there’s still somecolour to his face, and he’s laughing and joking with everyone else. Wally, forthat short while, believes that they dodged a bullet. But as the game goes one,Dick’s head sinks into his hand, and eventually he has to put his cards down,bowing his head. Wally rubs his hand up and down Dick’s back, leans in,whispers that he should go lay down if he’s still feeling so bad, that it’s notworth causing him pain.

Dick is frustrated. Hejust wanted one night with hisfriends where he could escape this reality for a while. However reluctantlythough, he gives in. When the others claim that they can leave if needed again,Dick tells them they can stay and finish their game and movie, that he’s justgoing to lay down for a bit until it passes.

But it doesn’t. Notthat quickly, anyway. The migraine worsens, and worsens, until Dick is throwingup into the bin beside the bed, in total agony. He’s close to tears with it,breaking into a cold sweat and gritting his teeth so hard his veins pop. Halfdelerious. Wally spends the rest of the night going between taking care ofDick, trying to make him comfortable, doing anything he can to help, and checkingon their friends, who are all sitting awkwardly in the living room. The movieis playing again, but it’s muted. No one really had the heart to deny Dick whenhe asked them to stay. Eventually, though, Roy does have relieve his babysitter,and Garth follows after him, both leaving their well wishes with Wally to relayto Dick as they shuffle out the door.

Donna stays behind onthe pretense of helping to clean up. All the while, Wally is pulled between thecleanup and the bedroom to check on Dick. He spends a good twenty minutes inthere just trying to soothe him until he eventually falls asleep – or not somuch falls asleep as passes out. When he goes back out into the living room,the place is spotless. Before he can even thank Donna, she’s guiding him outonto the balcony. They leave the door open, still within earshot should Dickneed anything.

Out in the fresh air,Wally leans against the rail and tells Donna that Dick’s alright, that he’sfinally asleep but sometimes these migraines last for days, that he’ll have toget a refill on the pain meds soon, even as careful as they are with them, and Dick’snext appointment isn’t for another month, that he might take the day off work tomorrowif it’s really bad so he can stay with Dick. Donna leans against the rail nextto him and listens, and after a short silence, turns to Wally and asks if he’sokay.

And Wally doesn’treally hear it right at first. He starts to say that Dick will be fine now thathe’s asleep, but Donna cuts him off.

“Wally,” she says, “areyou okay?”

It honestly catcheshim off guard a bit. He just sort of stares back at Donna for a while beforestammering out that of course he’s okay, he’s not the one suffering here, andDonna shakes her head.

Just because Wally isn’tthe one who is ill doesn’t mean this hasn’t been hard on him. Not that it’s aburden or irritating to have to take care of Dick so often, absolutely not. ButWally has been taking on so muchlately, and the stress of watching Dick’s health deteriorate cannot be easy.This is scary. And while everyone’s been so focused on Dick, with good reason,Donna’s afraid that no one’s really though to check in on Wally.

And he just kind of…breaks down. He doesn’t really sob, doesn’t full on cry, but his composurecracks. Donna is there, holding him tight, letting him bury his face in hershoulder as he shudders and bites back stinging tears. Because he doesn’t allowhimself to be scared, and he is. He’sburning out between the constant worry and the stress and just trying to keepup with everything being thrown at them.

Just because Wallywould shoulder this all without hesitation, doesn’t mean it’s not hard, and Donna tells him as much.

She leaves that nightwith kiss on the cheek and a promise that he can talk to her whenever he’sfeeling overwhelmed. Wally shuts the door, turns off the TV, and heads into thebedroom. Dick is still asleep, thought restless. He’s nestled against Wally’spillow. Wally exhales as he closes the door behind him. When he slips into bed,careful not to disturb Dick’s already fitful sleep, Dick rolls over almostimmediately and shifts closer. Wally can feel it when he muscles relax just slightly.

#theo-ography #sick!dick au #birdflash #dickwally #that song though teddy FUCK #OUCHIE

[likeamourningglory]

Chapter Seven

Pairings: BTS×Reader, Secret Yandere!×Reader

Warnings: Contains mentions of blood, death, gore, stalking, obsessive behaviour, yandere character and mature content. Please read at your own risk.

Words: 1.5k

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“Ah, back again so soon? I wish we didn’t have to keep meeting like this,” Officer Jeon sighed, standing, slim fingers fiddling with the wrist cuffs of his white button-up— crisp and impeccable, not a single wrinkle in sight, you thought. It was almost scary how put-together he looked; clean-cut to the point of intimidating.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

He didn’t sit down, hands firmly placed on either side of the table. A hulking figure looming over you, and despite the barrier, you felt small— so small under his heavy scrutiny, those judging eyes glinting with the cruel edge of justice.

You prided yourself in your strength, in matters of the mind and the heart; there were only a handful of moments in your life when you felt helpless— but this… this meticulously, painstakingly picked apart your carefully crafted illusion of control.

Your rabbit heart raced within your chest, blood rushing, roaring loud in your ears. It beat hummingbird fast, a hard thump thump thump that carved its presence into your very being, knife sharp. The hot blood in your veins were frozen with winter, the creeping frost numbing every corner in the Arctic tundra of this crushing fear.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe. Not in this agonizing cold— lips blue, bones snapping like flimsy twigs. Powerless, ripped of control.

Swallowing, mouth dry, you took in a shuddering breath, shoulders trembling with the motion. You played with a loose thread at the hem of your skirt, pulling and pulling; it unraveled at the seams, falling apart at the mercy of your fingertips— a idleness borne from a restless anxiety.

“I don’t— I’m not really sure,” you muttered, syllables escaping in a shaky breath, a soft and near inaudible hush.

Officer Jeon slammed his hand down, a loud smack of an open palm against the wooden surface. The desk trembled, protesting under the abuse. You flinched back.

“You see this?” He tapped his finger solidly on an unassuming paper file, the gruesome contents splayed out like the massacred body, limbs askew, blood pooling in an ocean of red. Your gaze flickered down involuntarily, catching sight of the continuous, awful nightmare plaguing your every waking moment.

Bile rose in your throat, acid burning you from the inside out, but you only swallowed down the poison, the sour bitterness. Little tremors wracked your body, running in a cascade of spider legs down your spine. It’s like you were constantly on the vibration setting of a cellphone.

You were a fucking cellphone, you thought, hysteria bubbling inside your stomach in an overflowing cauldron— a churning, nauseating mess of bright, psychedelic colors, questionable to the eye and even more so to the mind. A mere device to be used and tossed away once defective.

“Someone was murdered at this time and place—,” Officer Jeon said, sliding a sheet of paper in front of you. Your eyes stared blankly at the swimming words, not quite processing them.

“We have CCTV cameras on this street,” he continued, flipping through the folder casually, pulling out a few printed photos. Grainy pictures of the cafe, two figures huddled close, their faces not quite discernible due to the distance and lighting.

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach— dread piling in thick, black ooze, clumping in ugly masses and clogging your arteries with disgusting dregs.

“Is this you,” he asked, already aware of the answer, cocking an expectant eyebrow. You gave a small, meek nod. “Can I get a verbal confirmation? Murder is a serious business, after all. Wouldn’t want any mix-up.”

Officer Jeon gave a grim smile that you couldn’t return, only mustering up a halfhearted smile, weak and quivering. Your breath left you in a whoosh, gaze staring down at your fisted hands.

“Yes, that’s me.”

He only hummed, unsurprised, tapping the top of his pen against the wooden surface of the table, a steady tapping that rang like a gavel in the silence— the hammering of nails sealing your coffin shut.

“And what were you doing so late at night?”

“I was meeting up with a friend.”

“At a cafe when it was well past closing time?” His voice was dubious, not only ready to poke holes through your reasonings, but to completely tear them to shreds.

“He works at the cafe, and we were planning to just hang out for a bit,” you tried to explain.

Officer Jeon released an explosive sigh, leaning back in his seat. Carding his fingers through dark curls, he stared at you, a hardness in his gaze. “Listen, three people entered this alley, but only two came out. It’s my job to catch the culprit, to catch whoever did this,” he said, gesturing at the papers. “And I’ll be honest with you— as someone who is connected to not just one murder, but two? You’re not looking so great.”

“Please, Officer— I didn’t do any of this! You have to believe me, I would never kill someone. I was only meeting up with a friend,” you insisted, tears stinging your eyes at the unfairness of it all.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t meet up with your friends anymore,” he offered with a sardonic smile, a cruel expression on his otherwise handsome face. You forced back the tears, unwilling to cry— not here, not until you were alone.

“You know what they say? What the other officers tell me?” He didn’t wait, leaning forward with a gleam in his eyes. “That you’re the one who killed them.”

Your breath hitched, and you immediately denied it.

“That a murderer hides behind that sweet face,” Officer Jeon continued, words a delighted croon in the face of your turmoil.

You shook your head furiously, nails digging into your skin through the material of your skirt.

“Maybe you lured that poor man into the alley.”

“No, I didn’t, I swear—.”

“What were you hoping to gain, hmm? Money? Or do you just get a sick thrill over killing someone? Of having them on your knees, begging for their lives?”

“Please—.”

“Did you like hearing him scream, Y/N? Did you like the feeling of his blood on your hands as the life slowly drained from his—.”

“I didn’t do it!” You screamed, chest heaving, hands over your ears as if they could block away those accusing words.

“He grabbed me, pulled me into the alley— I don’t know what he wanted, and I don’t want to know what he would have done. But I never even thought about killing him.” And despite your breathy voice, syllables strained under distress, there was steel in your words. “I was scared, so scared. But Yoongi saved me, and—.”

“Yoongi? Min Yoongi?”

You shut your mouth with an audible click, but nodded slowly, hesitantly. Guilt hung over you in a thundering storm cloud, and you crossed your arms over your chest, protecting yourself— from the outside world, from everything.

Officer Jeon tilted his head, an unreadable expression on his face, eyes dark and dangerous. You wanted nothing more than to leave, cold and clammy in your seat. And like some divine deity was finally listening, he dismissed you.

“I think we’re done here for the day,” he said absently, a faraway tone to his voice.

You stood on shaky legs, nearly crying in relief. Muttering a farewell, you strode to the door, ready to leave and erase the proceedings from your memory when—

“Oh, and Y/N? We’ll keep in touch.”

You shuddered at those words, a warning, a threat— you bit down hard on your bottom lip at the implications. Yanking the door open, you left without a backwards glance. Head held high, you strutted out of the police station; a confidence painted on your features that didn’t mirror the broken person inside the interrogation room.

You were a strong person, you reminded yourself, hiding the quiver in your lips. You made it just around the corner before you collapsed on the ground, knees hitting the cement with a painful thud. You sat with your back against the brick of a wall, lungs struggling to take in each painful breath, panic clawing at your chest. Closing your eyes, you tried to force your breathing to slow, counting. Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

It could have been hours, it could have been a few minutes; you didn’t know how long you were sitting on the sidewalk. But it was pathetic, /you/ were pathetic. You chuckled bitterly, shaking your head. Everything was a fucking shitstorm. And just when you thought you could catch a break— that something good happened for once, meeting Yoongi, spending the day with Taehyung… inevitably, it spiraled down to this.

Everything always went wrong.

And now, you shifted the blame to poor, unsuspecting Yoongi— what kind of monster, were you. How could you do that to him?

You were going to succumb to madness, this chaos mere seconds away from driving you insane. And you didn’t know if you were strong enough to stop it.

———————————————————

Taglist:  @vannilacake @blackpanther4550 @xsunnyhoseokx @amiraclerenee @nooooooooona

This is a collab with @girlmeetsliv3 @sevenincubistolemyheart @jooniescupcakes @junglekookbook @smileyoongle @seven-souls

I’ll be adding the previous chapters to my (soon to be made) masterlist soon. 

#bts #bts angst #yandere bts imagine #yandere bts #yanderexreader #bts imagines #btsxreader #yandere au

[orbitariums]

press | sebastian stan

      Your debut Hollywood film had made its way to theaters and nothing could be more eye-opening. Your first taste of fame and it was everything you could've imagined it to be. You weren't very preoccupied with fame though. In the beginning, although the idea of fame was like the runner-up of a marathon, just barely catching up to the finish line, the real winner of the race was your appreciation for art and your desire to have a successful career. To you, success didn't mean making an eight figure salary, winning awards or being recognized in the world of fame. 

     To you, success was playing roles in and being a part of a work you were truly invested in, something that wasn't just entertainment but truth, and meant something. That was why when your agent presented to you a script for a rom com/ drama movie about a distancing couple dealing with the reality of their love, their children and their own personal turmoils only to work together and grow as best as they could, you went for it. Not because it was Hollywood, but because it was a raw, real, and passionate story that wasn't even just about two lovers, but went far beyond that. 

     You were working with famous actors who had already established their dominance in the Hollywood world, and had already "made it." This didn't really hit you until you got onset and started to really make connections with them, and when the movie got so much buzz was when the marathon thought in your mind became more apparent— you were going to be famous.

     You were famous, what the tabloids were flagging as "the hottest new thing." You hated that phrase, it made you feel more like hot garbage, but it was inevitable in the media. You made your mark and there was no escaping it, only tolerating it, for now at least. You didn't hate all of the buzz, you just didn't really care for it much. All you wanted to do was remain being yourself, and you knew you'd be fine, or so you hoped. 

     All this fame seemed to really hit you one day at a press interview for the movie, called "Before I Fall Again." You hadn't really been to many of these, or any at all. All of your interviews before this had been quite intimate, just an interviewer and a few camera people in a room while you answered questions or your costar, Sebastian Stan answered questions with you. Sebastian had noticed your antsiness backstage though, and made it his point to assure you that these weren’t as intimidating as they seemed and that you would kill it. And from then on, your slightly frazzled nerves were soothed.

     With each interview though, the media couldn't help but take note of your chemistry with Sebastian Stan. It was inevitable- you'd known each other for months now and were in a movie together where you had to pretend to be in love, so of course you had an amazing friendship with him. But you had never taken the next step, for unspecified reasons- you wouldn't be bad as a couple, in fact if there was one thing the media got right, it was that you two looked great together.

     You weren't together of course, but it seemed that way, and the two of you definitely slathered on the charm like sunscreen at the beach whenever you were together, to increase movie ratings and amp up promotion for the movie. Sebastian was really just a great person altogether though, and he thought the same of you. 

     For the press interview, you, Sebastian and some other co-stars for the film, as well as well-known director Ava Duvernay were seated in chairs on a stage, out in the open, answering questions from raucous press who had just seen a screening of the film and were buzzing with questions and praise.

      After introducing everyone, and Ava getting her chance to speak on the movie and her intentions with it, you were asked a question, and since you were asked a question, automatically Sebastian had to answer it too.

     "So, YN, you are an up and coming actress and all this fame is relatively new for you, right?" asked a woman in the front row. 

     You smiled and nodded, polite as always, and the journalist continued,

    "And so, I wanted to know, what is it like as a new star working with a star who's already made his mark in this industry, and in such an intimate role? I mean, you two are practically on top of each other one half of the movie and yelling and screaming at each other the next. Were you at all intimidated by any of it, did you think at all about how the media would react?"

Before you could answer, Sebastian opened his mouth to say,

     "I just wanted to say, before YN answers. Even though she's young and up-and-coming and new to this whole Hollywood scene you would never be able to tell, and I mean that in the best way possible of course. She's very talented, very mature, very able and willing to do whatever it takes. I mean she creates notes more than taking them, and if she feels like getting in my face she'll do it, no problem. I mean, I was scared to do the things she was doing without anyone telling her or without being given notes. So yeah, I would say she has already really honed her craft and her newness in this industry has nothing on her talent at all whatsoever." Sebastian paused, glanced at you and smiled, and out of instinct you smiled back. Then he cleared his throat and looked out into the audience, and jokingly muttered, "And she's beautiful."

     You snickered. Besides the last part, every time Sebastian opened his mouth to compliment you he was being genuine, and you could say the same thing. While you two definitely tried to appear very loving and affectionate for the sake of the press and ratings, the love was most definitely there and it didn't take acting or notes to be provided.

     In the midst of "awws" and cherishing applause from audience members, you smiled at Sebastian and the two of you made eye contact, and he mouthed "love you" (which, unbeknownst to the two of you, would be the biggest thing in the tabloids and both your social medias that week.) You rolled your eyes playfully at him but bit your lip, and forced yourself to face the journalist so you could give an answer before you blushed. 

     "Um, I definitely think..." you gripped your mic, trying to remember what it was that the question was asking.

     Though you knew why Sebastian said what he said, he still made your heart flutter, even this far along into your new yet intricate and loving friendship. He was devastatingly handsome and as professional and non-materialistic as you were, this was something you couldn't ignore, especially when he was so highly-regarding of you in interviews and in general. 

You continued, getting a grip,

     "Well, it's easy to say I wasn't intimidated, which for the most part, I honestly wasn't. I've always loved to act and so I've done so many fucked up things - am I allowed to say that?" 

     You didn't even realize you said it at first, and you thought it was stupid that you had to monitor your language with all this newfound fame or during interviews even though there was literally a naked scene in the movie of both you and Sebastian, and countless language in the movie. Everyone laughed and you assumed you were okay, and continued on. 

     "I've just done so many fucked up things with people and even though what Sebastian's character and my character do in this film isn't necessarily fucked up but is very deep and just grim, it's still not so bad. I just think overall nothing really scared me. I didn't really think about how famous everyone was until I was getting to know everyone and I realized I was seeing Sebastian outside of like, Gossip Girl and the Marvel movies so it was more strange than scary. But no, there were some things that scared me a little. But like Seb said, I definitely wasn't scared to do a lot of stuff."

     "That means she was very willing to scream in my face and slap me," Sebastian nodded into the microphone, faking dread.

Everyone laughed and you nudged him playfully, and the interviewer carried on with another question,

     "What were some things that did put you out of your comfort zone?"

     "Well, just like, the very intimate scenes, just because I'd never done much of that since beforehand I was always in short films and indie movies and plays. But clearly it wasn't that bad."

     "My favorite part," Sebastian added, joking yet again and eliciting more laughter, and you just pointed your thumb at him, smiling wide.

     "I'd just like to know, how much of that intimacy has been carried out into your real life relationships with each other? Please, both of you are open to answer,” another asked.

     "Well I- you wanna go?" Sebastian faced you, and without meaning to, a smile crept onto your lips as you gazed at him and shook your head contently,

     "You can go."

Sebastian just smiled at you and took his bottom lip into his mouth, holding his gaze at you for longer than he should've before he answered the question,

     "Well YN and I have hate sex every night, just like in the film.”

The audience roared with laughter and your face heated up. If you were alone you’d push him off his chair only to hold out a hand for him to grab onto and get back onto his feet again. You side eyed him with a mischievous smirk and he just smiled and laughed your way, then shook his head.

     “No, I’m kidding. But really though, sometimes it feels like we are a couple. Like without all the insane problems we went through during the movie but our intimacy is not too far off from what you see onscreen. She’s definitely very close to me now and I really only want to see good things for YN, she has a special place in my heart and I feel very proud to be watching her blossom like this, like I thought she would. She keeps me on my feet which is amazing considering how much longer I’ve been doing this than her. She’s really just... amazing.”

     Again you couldn’t help but feel flattered at his words, and knowing that he meant it and would say those things to you in private was so important to you. Even though you were now too busy cooing to give an cohesive answer, you answered as well,

    “Sebastian is actually the perfect coworker, especially for the first time working on such a project because he’s so lovely and so attractive.” Everyone laughed and Sebastian made the “call me” signal with his hand and mouthed it at you, making you giggle before you continued on. “Really though, everything he said I could say about him. He’s incredibly humble and never once doubted me, and is always giving me amazing advice and he feels like my mentor. And I think that’s the greatest form of intimacy anyone can really ever receive.”

     The interview continued on and the two of you had plenty of eye catching moments such as those, and at some points you just got caught up in each other’s conversations and drifted away from actually answering the question. You were acting like you were alone and having a one on one conversation, not in front of a hundred people.

     Even with all the flirty moments and the sincere gestures of appreciation towards each other, you couldn’t help but think you didn’t even need to date him to have a relationship connection. It came naturally for you two, a kind of friendship for soulmates.

Of course when you did start dating not long after, no one was really surprised.

#sebastian stan #imagine #sebastianstanxreader #oneshot #bucky #marvel #yn #flirting #famous

[scrapsofsky]

I have once more (and a very long time ago) been challenged by Ian Sales to join him in our un-named war to come up with the best arbitrary list of films within an equally arbitrarily selected category. You can find previous iterations of this absurdity here, here, here, here, and here. We have, alas, not done this in a long while, which we can both blame on being busy with many other things.

But in the interest of rekindling silliness, I have been loosely challenged by Ian to come up with a list of 10 underrated SF/F films from the last 20 years, which is a direct response to this ScreenRant list. Since this list is in response to a link with a remarkably open prompt, I’ve opted to stick to the 10 item list format. Future challenges will go back to our favorite number:  5.

Ian, of course, has already dropped his list. Go check it out!

With that in mind, the following list of 10 films represent my attempt to put together films that I consider to be overrated. My criteria is fairly simple:

It must be a SF/F film released since 1999.

It must be underrated in the sense that it is underappreciated by the SF/F community or has largely been forgotten. Box office numbers may be part of the equation, but mostly I will go on my own interactions with the SF/F community and sadly arbitrary interpretations of what has been “lost” to everyday discourse.

I literally don’t care if the movies I pick are considered “good” by other people, and so I’ve picked films that I think are interesting for some reason or another. This inevitably means that you will hate my list and wish me to fall into a pit of endless fire.

So, without further adieu, here’s my list:

The Place Promised in Our Early Days (2004)(dir. Makoto Shinkai)

One of my first academic essay publications focused on this film, which should tell you how much I enjoy it. Kumo no Mukō, Yakusoku no Basho is, in my opinion, Makoto Shinkai’s magnum opus. A story of friendship, betrayal, and love. A story of the Cold War, imperial control, and out of control technology. Shinkai’s method of storytelling is remarkable:  low key and vibrant, emotionally tense and freeing. In a world where Hayao Miyazaki is considered the King of Japanese Animation, Shinkai’s work has sadly not received the appreciation it deserves — Kumo no Mukō, Yakusoku no Basho especially.

The Chronicles of Riddick (2004)(dir. David Twohy)

I strongly considered putting 2000’s Pitch Black here instead, but I think that film, while perhaps a bit underrated today, has received considerable praise. Its sequel, The Chronicles of Riddick, however, has often been derided for one reason or another. Unfairly, in my opinion. From its Gothic (with a side of emo) aesthetic to its expansion of the Riddick universe into a sprawling space opera to its total commitment to the gritty, morally ambiguous treasure trove of dirty, grungy themes, places, and characters, The Chronicles of Riddick is easily one of my favorite science fiction films of the last 20-ish years. Plus, the cast is fantastic. This is a hill I’m willing to die on. (Also:  I look forward to checking out Furya and Merc City in the near future!)

Night Watch and Day Watch (2004 and 2006)(dir. Timur Bekmambetov)

I’m counting these as one because it’s my list and I can do what I want. This Russian duology is based on Sergey Lukyanenko urban fantasy novels about the conflict between two supernatural factions who monitor the actions of one another as part of an uneasy truce. Part detective thriller and part dark fantasy, the films pack quite a punch. However, outside of the circuit of foreign film lovers within SF/F, they’ve largely flown under the radar, this despite starring well known Russian actor Konstantin Khabensky. If you’ve never seen these films, you owe it to yourself to watch them, even if for no other reason than to watch someone drive a sports car across the face of an apartment complex!

Sunshine (2007)(dir. Danny Boyle)

I considered putting Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later here instead, but I don’t think that film is actually all that underrated even if it doesn’t get as much play today as it did a decade ago. Sunshine, however, has spent most of its existence floating between general praise for its visuals and premise and general dislike for its second act. And, yes, it is a spectacularly gorgeous film, but that second act is, in my opinion, far more interesting than most people are willing to admit. Turning a space thriller into a horror film as a commentary on the paradoxical frailty and strength of the human spirit is, in my opinion, a gutsy move. For me, that move pays off, and it’s one of the reasons I think this film has remained underrated. It doesn’t follow the pattern these stories usually follow. It’s basically Armageddon if that film took itself seriously and Rockhound actually went insane. And that makes it an infinitely more interesting film.

Upgrade (2018)(dir. Leigh Whannell)

If you didn’t get a chance to see Upgrade, you’re missing out. This sleeper scifi action thriller had some of the most compelling fight choreography and shot compositions of 2018, and yet it flew under the radar. I had the good fortune to see the film in theaters; the experience did not disappoint. Much of the fight choreography relied on some impressive camera trickery to follow the lead actor’s movements, giving the entire film a robotic and wonky feel. It’s truly exciting to watch, and I wish more people had had the opportunity to do so in an actual theater. Because it’s gorgeous on the big screen!

Push (2009)(dir. Paul McGuigan)

I will watch almost anything with Djimon Hounsou in it. Push is one of those forgotten little films that takes a less in-your-face approach to the whole super powers concept. In this world, people with powers are test subjects or hidden in plain sight, monitored by a nefarious organization with equally nefarious intents. By comparison to the typical superhero film we have today, Push is quite restrained, relishing in the quirks and trickery of its list of powers and giving actors like Dakota Fanning the space to place (watching her drunkenly stumble around is kinda fun). It’s an imperfect film to be sure, but one that I still love.

Hulk (2003)(dir. Ang Lee)

I’m going to catch hell for this, but Ang Lee’s Hulk is one of my favorite superhero movies to date. I even prefer it to that other Hulk film by a long mile. Lee does give us some of the stuff you expect from a superhero film (big fight scenes and visual spectacle), but I particularly love the softer focus on Banner and his mental state. It feels more like a film that is trying to say something about human nature than a film stuck in an endless action sequence or caught up in villainy for the sake of villainy. For me, that means the film takes more chances with its performance and themes. And I’m always more compelled by the film that tries to do something interesting and failed than I am by the alternative.

Another Earth (2011)(dir. Mike Cahill)

Independent cinema has a tendency to produce some truly introspective and powerful films. Another Earth is no exception. A film about loss, guilty, love, and second chances, Another Earth‘s science fiction premise (a mirror Earth) is really just background, offering an opportunity in the conclusion and lending weight to the central thematic of loss and guilt as the romance between the protagonists comes head-to-head with a secret that threatens to tear them apart. The narrative is at times quite haunting, but it also commands us to think more deeply about what it means to seek forgiveness, to seek second chances, to live with loss, and so on. And if you like this one, Sound of My Voice (2011) is a far creepier film about cults that also stars Brit Marling!

Dredd (2012)(dir. Pete Travis)

We will never get an adaptation of Judge Dredd that is as good as 2012’s Dredd. A vicious, unrelenting and dark film, Dredd is one of those films that desperately deserves more credit than it has thus far received. Karl Urban’s performance is textbook perfection, and Travis’ direction gives this a brutally honest tone. And unlike its predecessor adaptation, Dredd isn’t endlessly mockable; instead, it is a visually arresting satire that makes most action thrillers look tame. There are few films on this list that I would say are perfect. Dredd is one of them.

The Cat Returns (2002)(dir. Hiroyuki Morita)

Studio Ghibli gets a lot of well-deserved love for its many Hayao Miyazaki films (my favorite Miyazaki is actually Mononoke Hime / Princess Mononoke). But one film the studio doesn’t get enough credit for is the utterly delightful Neko no Ongaeshi / The Cat Returns (or The Cat’s Repayment). It’s an Alice in Wonderland type tale (or tail, heh) about a young girl who gets sucked into the secret world of cats. Calling this film delightful is an understatement. It is downright adorable, and it has been sadly overshadowed by Ghibli’s many other exceptional productions. But if you’re looking for a cute (and sometimes hilarious) fantasy adventure involving talking cats, The Cat Returns is the film for you.

And that’s it. That’s my list. I could add many other films here, but I’ve limited myself to ten.

Now for a challenge to Ian and anyone else who wants to take it:  pick your five favorite films featuring talking animals! Go!

It's time for another #FilmChallenge. @ian_sales challenged me to come up with 10 underrated SF/F films released between 1999 and 2019. So here's my list! :D I have once more (and a very long time ago) been challenged by Ian Sales to join him in our un-named war to come up with the best arbitrary list of films within an equally arbitrarily selected category.

[jeonggukingdom]

splinters of love • day III (m) [myg]

pairing  ⟶ min yoongi x fem!Reader

summary  ⟶ a collection of drabbles (one for each day of April) based on prompts by an online prompts’ generator site. Specifically  ⟶  • day III  ↳ in which you decide to have a little fun inside the library but Yoongi is having a really hard time keeping quiet.

genre  ⟶ smut rating  ⟶ 18+ word count ⟶  2.072 words

warnings  ⟶ graphic depictions of sexual intercourse, public sex, blowjob, filming, dirty talk, a tad bit of exhibitionism. 

series masterlist  ⟶ here  (links on mobile may not work, if you’re looking for all the works in this series, you can click on the “!splintersoflove” tag and you’ll find them all there!)

Amongst dusty shelves and old books, that’s where your love burns the greatest, hot like a hundred blazing suns.

It is not a rare occurrence for the library’s floor to rouge your knees, merge with the soft and delicate skin as your mouth deliciously wraps around him in a very lewd and improper fashion that juxtaposes so much with the way you portray yourself, or even the place where you have these encounters, it is almost laughable.

And you would laugh about it, maybe to the point of tears, if it weren’t for the fact that your lips are currently very busy giving Yoongi the suck of his life.

Black jeans pooled down his ankles, boxer briefs hanging right above his knees—still delectably hugging his slim thighs—and white t-shirt pulled upwards just enough to show his belly button and the trail of little hair that leads to the price between his legs: Yoongi looks absolutely exquisite like this, an image you’d like to bore inside your mind forever or even snap a picture of for you to remember him by, enclose this memory in a timeless photo you’d keep close to your heart until the day you die.

But alas, there is no time for such trivialities when time in itself is the essence of this brief and satisfactory encounter.

There is a very fine line between the risk of being caught like this and actually getting caught. That fine line is exciting because dangerous and easy to cross but neither of you would actually willingly cross it and face the consequences of it all.

It is merely a game, this thing you have going on between the two of you, a silent agreement that if you happen to find each other at the same time within these four walls, this remote niche of the library will be your play-field.

Today you truly had meant to be a good girl, to go to the library to study and fully prepare for your pending exam and no, your mind, for once, hadn’t drifted to the thought of the blonde boy with pouty lips and peach cheeks and the mere chance of finding him there.

But then, your eyes swept over the tables filled with students and inevitably, they had zoned in on him, on his concentrated and slightly sleepy expression and your heart had practically jumped against your ribcage, excitement immediately coiling down your stomach at the prospect of a good time.

You had licked your lips as if foretasting his nectar on your tongue and then you had made it a point to walk right in front of him and nonchalantly sit at the table right in front of him where there was no doubt his eyes will eventually land on.

A wicked smile twisted your lips as you opened your book and even though your eyes were fixed on the pages filled with big and hard words, your thoughts were somewhere far, far away from the subject.

It didn’t come as much of a surprise that, after a few minutes, his familiar frame caught your attention as he strolled through the library, making sure to pass right in front of your table, and quickly disappeared along the usual corridor leading to your secret spot.

You mentally counted a full minute before following him, your pace relaxed and eyes fixed on the shelves as if you were honestly looking for a tome you needed for an essay or something. And then, you reached him and his smile melted all your inhibitions away.

You look up at Yoongi now as you hollow your cheeks around his shaft, your heart missing a beat as he struggles to keep the soft sigh contained within his lips.

His eyes are fixed on you, one of his hands almost lovingly wrapped around your hair to keep your head right there, between his legs.

Yoongi is a mere friend, you always tell yourself that the next day, when the memories of your encounter start fading away and rationality seeps back in but when you are like this, it feels like anything but.

In these moments, he is yours and you are his and you can fully bask in the emotions ruling over your every little touch, your every little look of utter desire.

Yoongi's head falls back as you take more of him inside your mouth, his hair parting to reveal his forehead and the deep furrow of his brows as his mouth opens in a silent moan that has you turning bolder.

There is something about having him like this, breaking him deliciously like this to the point he's erupting inside of you, grunting almost too loudly considering where you are hiding and the thousands of ears and eyes that could catch you at any given moment.

Yet, it is thrilling to know that you satisfy him so well he always has a hard time fighting it all, especially the cuss words that would leave his mouth in the form of deep growls instead of broken whispers if this were to happen behind closed doors.

"Damn," his voice graces your ears and the blood rushes all to your abdomen, the arousal undoubtedly staining your panties by now with the way he is panting for you, his chest heaving as you run your fingers up his thighs, tease his flesh and then wrap them around the little curve of his ass.

You tug on his bottom cheeks until he is thrusting a little into you, his breath getting stuck inside his lungs as he loses completely inside of you and the pleasure of having you like this, at his feet and ready to make him touch the stars within minutes.

His fingers wrap tighter around your hair and you hum slightly for him, your eyes closing for the briefest of moments as you suck hard around him, giving it your all.

You can feel his muscles tensing underneath your digits and you grasp him harder, lock him into place as you start bobbing your head up and down vigorously.

Your saliva starts trailing down your open mouth, falling on your chin under his intense gaze as he focuses back on you, on how immensely pretty you look when you have his cock deep within your mouth.

Another soft groan leaves his mouth and you look up at him with mirth shining in your eyes.

"Damn, I want to take a picture of you," he whines under his breath. His sudden words surprise you, they make you squirm and shiver under his gaze with unadulterated hunger.

You tilt your head a little to the side, allow his cock to bounce away from your lovely mouth just long enough for you to utter your next words.

"Why don't you, then?" Your lips brush against his turgid cock, your teeth graze his skin and he’s shuddering, cursing under his breath as he fishes his phone out, hands trembling as he opens the camera to fulfil one of his deepest desires.

You offer him a coy smile that makes him bite down his bottom lip and then, you are engulfing him whole anew, sliding up and down his cock so hard he fears he might drop his phone at the peak of his orgasm before he even gets the chance to take the damned photo.

But he does take it, he takes dozens and then, testing his luck, he breathes out his next deep, secret, fantasy.

"Can I film you?"

It is almost a whine, a plea even, and if you ever had a doubt before this moment, it is quickly swept away now when you truly realize you simply cannot say no to this boy.

So you hum around his member, the vibrations making him grunt alongside the silent permission laced within the simple gesture.

He cannot believe he is actually living this, that you are allowing him to do this and yet, here you are, compliant to his very deep desires and it is in this moment that Yoongi realizes how deeply he has fallen for you.

Of course, he does not voice any of this, not right now anyway, but the realization hits him like a truck and leaves him breathless for a couple of seconds.

But then, you are looking up at him expectantly and he gulps down heavily, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down for a second before he wets his lips and turns the camera on.

Your cheeks feel hot under his digits as his free hand moves from the top of your head to the soft and delicate skin to cup it, caress it lovingly with his thumb.

You give him the warmest of looks and he feels his heart burst in his chest, his breath leaving his lungs in heavy pants that seem to entice you even further.

You are hollowing your cheeks around him, batting your eyelashes for the camera and he is teetering on the verge of the biggest orgasm of his life and he cannot, for the life of him, keep his damn mouth shut.

The more you pleasure him like this, the more you look up at him like this, the more he fills himself losing control.

He wants to grunt out your name, make everyone in the library know what you are doing to him, how hard you are bringing him down and how deeply yours he is but he cannot do any of that.

The frustration makes his fingers wrap roughly around your hair once more and you gladly welcome the touch, even lean into it as one of your hands leaves his bottom cheeks to cup his balls, making him hiss.

"Are you trying to make me moan, kitten?" He asks in a breath, his eyes leaving your frame for a second as he scans your surroundings, just to make sure nobody has caught you yet.

You smirk around his cock, the innocent look on your face driving him absolutely insane.

He wants to fill that pretty mouth of yours, he wants to see you gulp down every little drop of him and he wants it now.

So he buckles his hips forward, he thrusts deep inside your throat and you allow him to, you slack your jaw and close your eyes and he records every single instant of it, including the moment his hips jerks forward one last time, a strained moan leaves his lips and his load fills your mouth to the brim.

He watches with rapt eyes as you gulp down happily for him, your eyes never leaving his face as you don't let a single drop out of your pretty cherry lips.

You lick those lips, bite them down to keep the bittersweet taste of him firm in your memory and then Yoongi is disregarding his phone on the ground and he is grasping your face to pull you upwards so that he can crash his lips on top of yours, feel his taste mingling with your own, turning him into a mad man.

He is still panting by the time you retreat from the kiss, a teasing smile on your adorable lips as you push yourself back up on your feet.

You peck his lips once, twice, your fingers wrapped around his chin and Yoongi wonders if this is your way of finally claiming him as yours but he has no time to fully ponder over the possibility or to even ask you that because there is the faint sound of voices coming your way and he has to hastily get dressed, pick up his phone from the ground and disappear from your sight before it is too late and your secret is out for everyone in the school to know.

He offers you a quick and gentle smile before he turns the corner, traces his steps back to his table knowing perfectly well he won't be able to focus on anything else for the rest of the day, or night for that matter.

Thoughts of you fill every corner of his mind and as he watches your frame reach your table anew he finds himself desiring he could seat there with you, grasp your hand in his and let everybody know who he belongs to and you belong to him.

Tomorrow, he silently promises to himself and for once, he has every intention to keep it.

Copyright © 2020 by jeonggukingdom. All rights reserved. Do not repost, do not steal, do not translate without consent.

#ksmutclub #ficswithluv #btsghostie #hyunglinenetwork #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts scenario #bts react #bts ff #bts drabble #!splintersoflove

[bvllami-blog]

『 Make a M O V E 』   ⇢ MI Mini Event (+2 P) ⇢ the sparkle of the jewels resembled the sparkle of joy in her eyes

“ The thrill, the danger, the feeling of superiority when getting away safely; she loved it all . ”

The opportunity was too good to pass up. Even if she had been given little time to prepare for this mission, Bella was a master at improvising and thus found herself walking that fine line between danger and plain insanity as she sipped away on her glass of champagne. 

The piece of evidence sat heavy in her pocket, a priced gift she had been eternally grateful for. It had been Janitor’s idea to take a tape and document the fingerprints of not only a registered Hydrus member who had been in prison before but a registered member of Phoenix too. 

Her mission from there on was simple: take the jewels, place down fingerprints of both the members and let the MPD fuel up the rest. Both gangs would fall under suspicion, blaming one another to be framed. In such a web of lies and treason one would not believe the other. With the previous execution and the on-going tension it would only be another drop added to the barrel filled to the brim.

Another step closer to the war that was inevitable to come.

Her pupils dilated at the excitement the thought alone made her feel. Teeth biting down slightly on the glass she was almost too eager to go about her mission right then and there but the female had to play her cards right. Wait for the right moment till the whole place would be buzzing with life, people left and right disappearing and reappearing without much notice. 

It was in a moment like that when she made her move. 

Slithering into the shadows the female made her way towards one of the many rooms filled to the brims with treasure. Picking out the one with the least security was just another thing Janitor was great at.

“Open Sesame, dear Janitor~,” she sang sung into the nothingness and heard a faint chuckle from the small button in her ear.

“Don’t you feel somewhat bad doing this under the nose of your old co-workers? They did invite you to set a statement that they believed in your innocence...”

Bella merely scuffed as the security lock clicked opened and the sound of her heels clicking across the ground sounded through the room. Security camera buzzing away with a loop of nothingness hacked into the system she walked comfortably up towards her treasure, smirk widened across her face when the red of the ruby staring back at her almost coloured her own dark orbs a shade of crimson.

“Please. I have no room for such sentiments any longer,” she muttered in a sinister voice, tone cold and void of emotions. A sigh met her but no other word was said aside from the information that she had 60 seconds. Doing quick work of sliding her gloves on, taking the priced necklace and adding the fine touch of the fingerprints to the crime-scene she hummed beneath her breath, letting the door fall shut just in time for the security lock to click back into place.

“Keep the loop running Janitor. Gimme ten minutes to engage some folks into conversation and secure an alibi. Think y’can do that for me, darlin’?” Already sliding back into her speech pattern as good ol’ Bella, the bar lady who could harm no fly unless threatened, she sent the necklace along with her gloves and the used tape for the fingerprints soaring out a window where one of her bar workers was waiting to catch the fine bounty and make off into the night with it. Everything went perfectly according to plan and she loved it. 

The smug grin on her lips disappeared as soon as she stepped back into the light of the party, grabbing a glass of champagne to down half of it and make it look even more like she had been here the whole time. After all- who would leave their half finished glass unattended? 

And just as predicted, not even ten minutes after she had been laughing and joking with old co-workers did a sudden alarm ring. Channeling her inner actress the bar-owner looked to her old co-workers with wide, confused eyes while internally her heart did a tiny leap of joy.

Check!

#solo; #mi:minievent #she came back ready to wreck havoc asdfgh

[iphoenixrising]

I said I was kind of going on a hiatus. Too many things in my brain pan, but I connected with such a wonderful person, @careamorran, and had to write a thing based on a spectacular piece of art :D The post is here, and I really just wanted a little fun and maybe a little angst ;)

**

The blast of sunlight in his eyes is the conscious train rolling down the track. You know, right at his face.

After his syrupy thoughts evaluated the stabbing to his eyes as something non-lethal, the need to throw something sharp and vaguely bat-shaped at the defenseless windows fades enough that he can squint at the alarm clock on the bedside table.

Dammit.

He and Jay have plans for the day. Partially because it’s been two years today, and since Jason Todd is actually a sentimental cinnamon roll underneath the intense murder you vibe, Tim had managed to wrangle his reluctant significant other into finally getting the new ident set-up. It’s been a long time coming, and they’ve been arguing on and off about seeing to the details for weeks.

(“Things like a driver’s license, Jay.”)

(A careless shrug with a mouth full of meatball sub, “I drive, Timmers. I drive all the time.”)

(“Legally. The key here is legally.”)

His boyfriend had finally caved for their anniversary, and Tim would be damned if they missed the opportunity because of a long night in Gotham’s seedy underworld.

(Black Mask? Totally an ass hat, and no, he gives no shits about ruining the guy’s night. Seriously, fuck him. Mask literally hit on the Red Hood, right in front of him.)

With a soft groan of the newly conscious, Tim sits up, still wavery, and in desperate need of caffeine.

Desperate. Need.

The yawn is jaw-cracking, and he’s already reaching over for the lump of still-snoozing, just a tuft of dark hair peeking out from under their fluffy comforter in Jay’s room at the Manor.

If he grins a little, thinking someone as bad ass as the Red Hood is incredibly cute, well, no one else would ever have to know.

“Jay,” his voice still husky is bordering on fond, “we should get up, it’s late.”

He’s expected the inevitable, “where’s m’ good morning kiss, Timmy?” and to be pulled back down because Jay is really just as bad as Dick when it comes to pre-consciousness cuddling.

The hand moving fast to grab his wrist, to stop him from making contact isn’t necessarily unexpected because of reasons like ingrained instincts and Robin training. The occasional accidental injuries aren’t anything new. At times, it might be things like terrible nightmares or remnants of the Lazarus Pit. On the flip side, it might be residual panic because instead of Kon or Bart or Steph or Bruce, it’s Jason spitting out a mouth full of blood and gripping his harness with wide eyes and stuttering heart.

“Hey, calm down, it’s just--”

And whatever he’d been about to say in the usual soothing way dies in his throat when Jay turns, still in the t-shirt he’d thrown in before they’d fallen into bed last night, and--

Tim’s eyes go wide in shock and surprise.

Who the fuck is in bed with me!?

The set of jawline and ensuing frown is so painfully familiar--

From that time when Tim was a kid with a camera and Robin dove in out of the night to save him from a thug.

A Robin in his prime.

A Robin that’s fifteen instead of twenty-five.

Holy shit, Batman.

“Oh…” is about all his half-wired brain can muster.

Those eyes, the same ones from the painting in the main hall that used to be one of his safe places, the eyes without the green flecks, take stock, roving over Tim’s sleep-mussed hair, his face, his bare throat and chest, his too-big boxers.

And something seems to click.

“WHAAT THE FUUUCK?!!”

Is about as horrified as you can imagine.

The ensuing fight is really anticlimactic. Jason has aged-down equivalently, so while he can still duck, dodge, and fight better than any average person, he doesn’t have memories further than now meanwhile Tim hasn’t lost an ounce of his edge.

“You need to calm it down, Robin,” he tries while blocking a punch that is decidedly lower than what he’s used to. Yeah, throwing out that little bombshell is really a 50/50, but nothing else he can possibly say would help either:

*I’m your boyfriend, and you will be seriously pissed at yourself if you hurt me.

*I was the Robin after you, promise.  I only got pants because those green panties were a hard ‘no.’

*You haven’t tried killing me in a whole year. Can we stop trying to break the record?

As it turns out, maybe he should have because those eyes go wide and the fight takes on a more desperate turn.

Well, fuck.

He catches the knee before it takes out his jaw, his suddenly longer reach catching the much smaller fist in the palm of his hand. “That’s enough, Jay. You’re going to--” get yourself hurt.

But the younger is panting and red-face, gritting his teeth with narrowed eyes, and an obvious plan in the works when he realizes he’s not going to beat Tim.

“Who,” and the tone isn’t as low and growling as the Red Hood, but it still jars Tim right in all the places where he’s still mesmerized by the second Robin, “the fuck are you and how didja find out?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, so I’m going to let Bruce and Dick fill you in,” he replies, easing back slowly.

The teenager’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

“How about this then: you hide books all over the Manor. Alfred found A Separate Peace, The Outsiders, 1984, To Kill a Mockingbird, and The Once and Future King just to name a few.” He leaves the ones he’s found off the list just because the memories of his post-Robin life are apparently gone, and Tim is in no hurry to fill him in on the horrific events starting with the trip to Ethiopia.

Jason’s mouth falls open in a little ‘o’ of shock.

“One more just so you feel better about this: the first time B got hurt, seriously hurt, defending you, you called Dick at Titan’s Tower in New York.” His hands up in that not dangerous pose, he eases just slightly closer, tilting his head to actually look down. “It was that time with Killer Croc and you were freaked out.”

“How--” the teenager struggles, blinking at him with those blue, blue eyes, all of it without the Pit’s influence riding him.

With that realization, a horrible kind of plan hits Tim right in the brain pan.

“I know you’re Robin, so there’s some evidence, Mister Junior Detective.”

Jay gives him a huffing sneer, “real wise ass, ain’t cha?”

“Learned from the best,” he deadpans with a sad half-smile and fond eyes, “So, I vote we go downstairs, find Alfred so I can have some coffee, and then Bruce so he can have a holy shit moment of his own.”

Still staring at him, still calculating the risks and possible nefarious plots afoot, Jason only follows because he’s planning the best way to take this guy he’d woken up with down (and maybe staring down at his ass) while they went down the grand staircase.

Luckily, as it happens to go in Wayne Manor, at least someone has the patience to deal with things like utter fuckery.

That person will always be Alfred Pennyworth.

“Good morning Master--”

If Tim wasn’t as light and fast on his feet, there would be a whole lot of smashed ceramic all over the floor.

“My-my word, Master...Master Jason?”

“Mornin’ Alf,” the teenager waves a little, grinning sheepishly. “Found Slick here runnin’ the halls, so’s I thought maybe ya know who he is.”

(Slick? Tim arches a brow at that because really)

Alfred blatantly looks over, immediately getting back his usual calm, cool, and collected. “I do hope the scuffle I heard upstairs did not result in any bloodshed on the Turkish carpets, Master Tim.”

“I’m hurt at your complete lack of faith in my kick-ass skills, Alfred,” he waves a hand on his way to the sideboard where wonderful things (like coffee, please, please, please give him coffee to be able to deal with this and what he should very much not tell Jason) waited. He pauses to get his thoughts together, makes a mental Venn Diagram of the potential backlash of both scenarios, and adds cream with a little sugar so he doesn’t down the first mug liked boiling lava.

“I’m Tim Drake. Nice to meet you, by the way. It’s much nicer when we’re not trying to kill each other,” and yeah, that’s Alfred clearing his throat just a little. “I’m also a vigilante, so of course I’ve heard of Robin,” luckily, the way to trip up Jason’s radar is to tell the lie with just enough truth mixed in, “and I do work with Batman sometimes on out-of-town cases. I also do data collection and reconnaissance for the Titans, who I’m sure you’ve at least met at this juncture.” First few desperate sips accomplished, he moves to take a spot at the table and wait until Jason warily joins him, scrappy and scrawny, eyes that take in everything.

And he moves lighter on his feet, without a hell of a lot of burdens and probably a mass of missing scars from things like crowbars and insane psychopaths that deal in megalomaniacal delusions of grandeur. It’s a Jason Tim’s only known with a mask, and it’s a rough moment to stop himself from reaching out across the table to grip those twitchy fingers, but all he can do is swallow his heart back down in the vicinity of his chest, glance at Alfred with a little Batanese using just his eyebrows.

Without giving the his younger boyfriend an opportunity to ask, he cuts in with, “occasionally, B lets me stay over when a case gets...rough. It was last night anyway. I’m sorry I surprised you, but I’d been awake for about seventy-odd hours by then, so I was pretty compromised.”

Pretty much all true.

During the distraction, Alfred turns to busy himself at the sideboard. A glow in Tim’s peripheral is probably the butler texting the fam. B, Come downstairs immediately; Damian, please do not yet come downstairs. I shall bring breakfast up straight away. Dick, your presence would be appreciated at the Manor. It seems we have a situation. To make it a little more obvious he’s being serious, Alfred completely takes advantage of a displaced Jason, too busy staring Tim down from across the table, to snap a discreet picture to follow-up all those texts.

A fresh glass of juice and a side cup of coffee makes some of the tension ease from Jay’s shoulders, “sounds pretty stupid, you feel me? First rule of being a cape: take care a’ yerself. What we got against these crazy assholes? At the end of the day, it’s yer fists and yer brains, so ya gotta make sure ya got enough in ya ta take the beating.”

And it’s a fifteen-year-old Jason pointing a finger at him around his juice and all mock-serious, which it totally why he starts laughing without snorting coffee up his nose. Points for him.

“You are terrible at mocking B in lecture-mode. Terrible,” he shakes his head a little once he’s sure he isn’t going to choke, “more practice, okay? You’ll totally get there, but don’t think you’re ever beating out Dick. He is the official runner-up in the Best Dad Lecture category.”

A heartbeat and Jason starts to crack a grin, laughing out loud in that younger voice, the blue of his eyes without the Pit lingering, without the grim realizations of the day he’s going to die (again). He’s so heartbreakingly innocent of it all (and Tim just wonders how Bruce is going to take this because things like tears and BatDad are going to go down soon--he can feel it).

So by the time Alfred emerges from the kitchen with warm eggs and fluffy waffles, the tension has eased down between the former Robins by the way they throw stories back and forth.

“Yer kiddin’ me,” Jason deadpans back.

“All true, I swear. Freeze and Ivy watched him bust his bat ass--”

“Y’know, there was one time he fell through a crappy roof right inta a ladies’ shower, right?”

“I’m sorry what now?”

“That ain’t what she was thinking, Timmy. Just takin’ a shower and boom, there’s the Bat admiring the decor an’ shit.”

The mental image is enough to get him started all over again, laughing while huddled over his precious, beautiful coffee and lost staring at the fucking beautiful sight of his younger, unburdened significant other. Even better, more evidence in favor of the formulating plan clicks into place with Jason’s easy laugh and wild gestures. But it all comes down to basic facts: fifteen or twenty-five, this is the crazy idiot he loves. And if this is a golden opportunity to give the guy a second chance, one without the Joker and ticking bombs, without being buried alive, and thrown in the Lazarus Pit, it might well be worth the effort.

#based on fanart #love this panel #thank-you for letting me write something! #tim drake #jason todd #de-aged Jason! #someday I'll write more about Jason patrolling as Robin #you know B has BatDad feels #my fic #my writing