Latest Posts by roastyyytoastyyy - Page 2
I love hearing “I saw this and thought of you”
Monster! 141 x Human Neighbor Reader
A small snip i needed to get off my chest.
Heavily inspired by @docdudo and @qwimblenorrisstan
Warnings: Gender neutral reader, fluff
You're neighbors, task force 141, are a really nice hybrid couples. They never really disturb you or even bigoted towards you, since you are a human (one of the many few that are left).
Anyways, one day there is a knock on your door, you open it and there is Wraith! Simon.
He looks like he hasn't slept in a while, there are stains on his clothing.
"Can I help you-"
"You're human right? Not a selkie?".
You looked and him with a puzzled looked, "as far... as I know".
Simon sighed, "Come with me".
Which leads you were you are now, inside this massive home, where hell you couldn't even climb up on the sofa without help.
There are loud groaning and shushing, and a very unhappy baby cry.
You see Dragonborn! Price outside on the balcony smoking.
Harpy! Gaz rocking a very human baby back and forth, trying to calm it.
And Werewolf! Soap waving a toy in the baby's face.
Werewolf! Soap is the first one to notice your small appearance, your recognizable scent fills the room.
Harpy! Gaz sighs in relief seeing your form, "thank you so much for coming by, we've tried everything- she just won't settle down".
In his arms (?) Is a baby girl, looked about fourish months.
Wraith! Simon speaks up, "we know it's probably not your thing. But you're human and she is humam- can you please help".
You looked around awkwardly, "I can try my best".
You checked her diaper, clean. Tried feeding her, she wasn't hungry. But it was the way she was sucking the bottle that made you notice something in her mouth.
The boys watched your every move, Werewolf! Soap watching you interact with "his pup" and Dragonborn! Price keeping a close eye on your every move.
"Um i found the issue- she is teething-".
Werewolf! Soap let out a long 'oh', immediately rushing to the freezer and pulling out a small dogtoy?.
You shaked your head, "no she needs acual teething products- like, human or soft teeth based ones".
You pull out your phone showing the boys small business that cater for humans.
"You can also buy human clothing on here too, some... hybrid clothing doesn't actually cover what human clothing has- like insulation, breathable-".
Harpy! Gaz and Wraith! Simon were listening intently, thinking about your opinions as a human.
Meanwhile Werewolf! Soap and Dragonborn! Price immediately are thinning about adding you to their pack.
Cook!reader x 141 Masterlist
tags: f!reader, suggestive in some bits, excessive swearing, inaccurate scenarios in regards to base regulations and policies and kitchen policies. this is all fiction (aka I'm making it up as we go)
First Day
Summer Feast
Allowance
Coming Home
Catastrophe
Keegan
What a Rush
Overtime
Paul
Paintball
King
Sugar, yes please! 2 3
Sharp Point
Lottie
Amends (side fics)
Soap
Gaz
Price
Ghost
uwa ;-; I'd love to read someone things every night
sorry bro I didn't hear your bit I got a little distracted reflecting upon my inadequacies
Motion Sickness
jason todd x fem!reader
aka jason makes you cry after a fight
warnings: angst with comfort
“Jason—”
He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”
Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”
“Then what are you saying?” he challenges.
You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”
He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently.
A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”
“It’s not about needing it—”
“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”
You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”
“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways.
You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung.
Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen.
“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”
There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.
The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.
You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.
You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that.
Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?
You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat.
It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.
He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.
Dick stills, blinking warily.
“What’re you doing here?”
His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.
As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.
He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”
Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”
Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch.
“What’d you do?”
Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth.
“Be myself.”
Dick says nothing,
When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.
“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.
Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.
He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.
“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.
Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”
Jason exhales desperately.
“Both, I think.”
Dick nods, understanding.
“Then go home.”
Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“What did you say?”
He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”
“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”
Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”
“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”
Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to.
He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it.
The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.
He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.
“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.
He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.
So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”
There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.
“Not right now.”
Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.
He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.
He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.
He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance.
Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands.
It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now.
Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.
He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.
He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.
He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.
“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.
It takes a long few moments, but you nod.
He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.
“Will you turn over?”
An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot.
He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.
He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.
You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to.
He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.
“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”
Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated.
You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”
He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”
Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.
You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out.
Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly.
“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”
But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.
He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.
“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.
You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”
“No, it’s not.”
That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.
It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.
When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.
He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.
You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying.
“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.
He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”
You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”
“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”
His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.
Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.
“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.
He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?”
You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement.
He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.
“I love you,” you tell him quietly.
His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered.
“I love you too, baby. So much.”
🦟 if you don't reblog things i'm actively sending bad vibes your way 🦟 and maybe also a plague
Everyone is fighting a tough battle so reblog to give previous a sword 🗡️
Do you guys remember how kidnap fantasies were popular on wattpad because young girls and queer teens were both made to feel shame at the thought of their own sexualities, so the fantasy of being kidnapped totally against their will was a way for them to engage with a romantic or sexual fantasy without feeling morally in the wrong for doing so? Added bonus that the fantasy involved being whisked away from repressive environments like home or school, right?
Finding out that Bram Stoker was in a sexless marriage and that scholars believe that he very likely was closeted gay puts the entire book into perspective as to WHY it reads EXACTLY like a self insert wattpad Dracula kidnap fic:
“I TOTALLY love my wife and would never do anything that an upstanding Good Straight Working Man wouldn’t do but oh nooo, big strong man with broad back and strong enough arms to carry me back to bed like a princess trapped me and claimed me as his, completely against my will 👉👈 But he protects me against the bad evil sexual women (who I assure you, I am TOTALLY sexually attracted to, as any straight man with a choice would be) but trust me, I do NOT want ANY of this. What’s that? The Count is not capable of feeling love? Would be a shame if I had the special ability to change tha-”
Pairing: Poly 141 x Reaper! Forensics Pathologist! Female reader
masterlist — part two
Note: Only the reader's hair colour is defined. Everything else is up to you. Also the third image is what I image you wearing in this fic.
“Confused is all. As to why you of all people are at my doorstep. Don’t you pups know what death looks like? Or do you prefer to experience it yourself?” you raised an eyebrow at their interference. Your long black onyx nails tapping the back of your clipboard.
A reaper right in front of their face. Disguised as a Forensics Pathologist, a mortician, a keeper of the dead.
John Price, the stern-faced leader of Task Force 141, took a step back, eyeing the woman with a mix of wariness and curiosity. “We've seen plenty of it,” he replied, his British accent thick and commanding. “But we're not here for a lecture on mortality, Doc.”
“Pity. You look like you need one. Several. Of. Them. Perhaps then you will promptly understand how important my work is.”
Your hair looked like molten lava, the layers of charcoal, auburn, and copper framing your sharp face, which was devoid of any make-up except for the crimson lipstick that stood out against the starkness of your teeth.
“Do you think you scare me scotsman? I know more about life than you lived in a year.”
Your eyes bore into Soap, holding his gaze as if challenging him to dare.
“Shoot me foolish man, go on, do it, see what kind of 'damage' you won't be able to do.”
Because no one can kill death. And they will all come to her eventually.
Death is the end of everything.
Divider Credit: @cafekitsune
how to grow the fuck up
Eventually Together // Vander x Reader
Request: Ooooo, Benzo tells Vander “If you don’t make a move on Reader, I will.” Vander can’t tell if he is bluffing or not lol. + I love the idea of the kids picking on Vander cuz he has a crush on reader. Maybe even does the “Why are you acting weird?” While reader is at the bar. “Oooooooo Vander likes her.” Ugh so cute.
Requested by: Anon, and Anon
Summary: One slowburn fic, mostly detailing the actions of Vander’s family upon discovering he has fallen for you.
Warnings: None, I don’t think
Words: 10.4K
Notes: This is the longest thing I have ever written. It’s somewhat a slowburn. Enjoy. My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too!
Not my gif
Like most days during the week, business at The Last Drop had been somewhat slow – steady but slow. It had been enough to bring in profit to pay the bills and clear the ledgers, but it hadn’t been enough to keep Vander’s mind occupied. His mind kept wandering away from the tasks had been provided with by his patrons, and to you. A mysterious new face that had started appearing more and more frequently amongst the faces of more regular patrons, not that he would complain about that. You were a nice sight – especially when he was having a rough evening. In some ways, you calmed him – your mere sight alone just made him… Relax. He wasn’t entirely sure how to explain the effect, or the warmth that spread through his chest when you came up to order drinks, the smile that started to occupy his face more and more as your number of interactions increased. You had been coming for something near three weeks now, almost every other day. Vander knew that your primary reason for visiting the establishment was for drinks, business or both, like everybody else, but part of him wanted to believe that it was for him, too, for his brief amount of company. Though the rational side of him tried to dismiss this – there was little point in trying to give hope to someone like him, when there was none. There was no need to disturb the status quo, or to change things from the way they were. Though, Vander supposed, in some senses, he was lonely. Of course he had his four children, and they could indeed keep him company through long and restless nights, by distracting one another by talk of imaginary chases or dreams – but as much as Vander adored spending time with his children, there were other areas of his life that had sat long neglected, almost forgotten. Parts that, he vaguely hoped, you would be able to help him tend to – if he were able to strike up any kind of conversation with you.
Keep reading
genuinely fucked up that if i want to interact with someone online i have to say words and have a conversation instead of just mashing my face against them like a cat
Children eh welcome the new guy!
Don’t get me wrong, I’m a childhood friend Johnny truther. Like, the man is made to be your best friend growing up who’s in love (obsessed) with you.
But childhood friend Simon? Ohhhhhh bitch.
Childhood friend Simon who looked forward to seeing what colors your braids or pigtails were tied in. Little Simon Riley who played rock paper scissors with you across church. Pre-teen Simon Riley whose mum sent him to yours sometimes, and he always looked so drawn and anxious at first, but you’d do everything to coax a smile from him. Teen Simon Riley who punched a boy in the hall for grabbing your ass even though he’d catch hell from his dad for it.
Your best friend Simon Riley who is quiet and pensive, but has a heart of gold. Who breaks your heart when he admits with guilty eyes that he’s enlisting as soon as he’s of age. And you hug him tight, promising that you understand, that you’re proud of him.
Your favorite person Simon Riley, who you kiss that day he’s set to ship out. He gives you his last boyish smile and breathes against your hair when you hug one last time, memorizing the scent of you.
Simon Riley, who writes and writes and writes to you until one day he stops. Simon Riley, who you take a bullet for when they come for his family because they knew to come for you too.
Simon riley who isn’t there when you wake up in hospital, having missed the funeral. But there are daisies on the nightstand - you used to pick them together in your backyard.
They tell you Simon Riley is dead, but you see him watching mournfully across the street one day and storm up to him, his pretty brown eyes going wide.
“You think I wouldn’t recognize you with your face covered, Simon Riley?”
You drag him into a sobbing hug and he grips you tight. Lets you cry all the tears he can’t anymore. You still smell the same in the ways that matter - like his.
Careless Accidents
jason todd x fem!reader
aka you get hurt and jason’s pissed
warnings: reader’s wrist is accidentally sprained from being grabbed to hard
You could hear scuttling from somewhere else in the garden, an estate more than sizable enough than the game afoot.
You were under the distinct impression though that the bats and birds are playing with you similar to how they would a child. Slower, weaker, and less experienced than the big kids. You weren't complaining though. Because, frankly, it was stressful. They tend to operate more like they’re in a warzone than a game, you felt like you were about to be sniped out at any second.
Rightfully so, apparently, seeing how silently Stephanie had crept up on you.
“Hey,” Stephanie hissed, ignoring the way you jumped. “We’re doing alright for ourselves,” she said smugly.
“Yeah,” you’d nodded, like you agreed with her more than you probably did.
“Okay listen, I think the flag—” what flag? “—is by the fountain so, I think because there’s three of us and two of them, we should bait-and-switch.”
“We’re on teams?” you asked, no longer completely sure you know what you’re playing.
“We are now!” she smiled, starting to run. “I’ll bait!”
She stopped briefly in her tracks and turned back to you hissing, “Don’t trust Cass,” before scurrying away.
Rather than sit around and wait there for…something?...to happen, you jumped up darting in the opposite direction with little to no indication whether this is a good move.
What you didn’t see is Cass rapidly approaching from your rear.
What you also didn’t see was Dick crouched down in a row of shrubbery, which gave him the perfect opportunity to snatch your arm up and yank you down with him. You’d mewled a bit as your wrist made contact harshly with the grass, immediately buckling under you.
Cass was keen to your pain immediately, slowing her sprint to a stroll as she observed you.
“Are you okay?” she signs.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”
The response was instinctual and you didn’t actually have time to register whether or not you were okay by the time you gave it.
You pushed up on your elbows, trying to figure out whether Dick is even on your team, but the way the others approached had you halting consideration. They’re savvy to the situation at a speed in which you can only attribute to their vigilantism, looking at you with concern.
“You good?” Tim asked, approaching languidly.
“That looked like it hurt,” Cass commented, crouching down next to you to see your wrist better.
Dick shook his head, “No, she’s okay.” He turned to you, prodding, “You’re okay.”
“Yeah, I’m, um…” you winced, looking at your wrist. “It hurts a little.”
Cass examined it closely, tilting it gently to the side. “It might be sprained.”
Dick paled.
“No.”
Tim pointed a thumb back towards the manor, “We can get it wrapped upstairs.”
“No.”
You were only then able to clock the barely contained grin on Stephanie’s face, begging to break.
“Ooooh. He’s gonna kill you.”
Cass had then kindly offered to take you inside and wrap it up for you, which you accepted, unexpecting of the plus-one of Dick trailing behind you like a guilty puppy all the while.
“You know I didn’t mean to grab you that hard right? I—”
Cass laughs quietly as she wraps the bandage around your wrist, amused by Dick’s now-third explanation/apology for the incident.
“I know, Dick,” you say, trying to appease him.
“I’m sorry,” he tells you genuinely, but you can tell there’s more there that he isn’t verbalizing.
You nod, “I know, Dick. It’s okay. It was just an accident.”
Cass pins the wrapping in place securely and with a smile, signs to you that she’s all done.
You rotate your arm a bit, testing your movement under the wrap. As Cass leaves with the first aid kit, Dick remains sat at your side, leg thumping up and down.
He takes a deep breath, “What if…what if you avoid him until it heals?”
“Dick.”
He takes your uninjured hand in his with urgency in his eyes,
He looks down at your jointed hands before loosening his already mild grip significantly.
“Are you going to tell him?” he asks, looking like he’s bracing for bad news.
You shake your head sympathetically, “No. I can’t guarantee you that he won’t find out, but I won’t tell him.”
Dick takes a deep breath, looking at the ground with intense focus. “Okay. Okay.” He stands, “I need to go.”
You watch in amused bewilderment as he staggers out the door, looking around frantically.
Within the next few minutes, he creates and enacts his plan A. He walks into the living room, sitting down next to a very disinterested Tim, eyes forward and serious.
“I’ll give you two grand right now if you tell him it was you.”
Tim barks out, “Absolutely not.” He looks at his brother, still laughing. “No fucking way.”
Dick breaks the serious facade immediately, looking at him. “Five.”
A deadpan from Tim.
“You don’t have five thousand dollars.”
Dick throws his head back, back thudding against the couch. “Dude, please! He’ll kill me!”
Tim scoffs, “He’d kill me!”
Dick huffs, “No, it’s different for me! Do you have any idea how many times he told me not to do that?”
“Well then it sounds like you fucked up,” Tim sneers.
“Oh my God.”
He takes off again, combing through different rooms in the house with hope of finding a quick but effective hiding place for, say, the next twenty years?
He bursts through the study, unwittingly interrupting Bruce and Alfred having a discussion over tea.
The latter sits up with a tense brow, “Master Dick?”
The former turns around in his seat, “What’s the matter?”
Dick struggles for a second before confessing, “I accidentally sprained someone's wrist.”
Bruce scans his face slowly, nodding. “Alright…you’ll have to take responsibility for their patrol duties—”
Dick cuts him off with a sharp breath, “Said person doesn’t have any patrol duties to be affected...”
Bruce processes for a moment before shaking his head.
“I can’t help you.”
Dick’s panic takes over again, prompting him to continue his scurry through the room, towards the other door.
Alfred interrupts his process with a very logical argument, “You don’t think running away will make this worse, Master Dick?”
“I—I don’t know!” Dick whines, stopping in his tracks. “I don’t know what to do!”
Bruce purses his lips, gesturing, “Dick, when you make a mistake…you have to submit to the consequences, you know that.”
Dick gapes, “This is not a normal consequence!”
Meanwhile, you’ve busied yourself with fiddling with the knick knacks and mementos lining the shelves of Jason’s childhood bedroom.
You’re admiring a picture of him and Alfred from when he was young as the door creaks open behind you.
“Sweetheart?” Your boyfriend calls out, head barely poked in through the crack.
“Hey, Jay,” you smile, setting the picture frame back on the shelf.
He enters fully, covered in motor oil and grease, and smiles his sweet, easy smile when he sees you.
Moving onto the next trinket on the shelf, you pick up a stuffed animal placed intentionally at the front. Your gaze finds the mirror, watching his reflection as he pulls the stained shirt off his back.
You smile to yourself, noticing the way his back muscles flex as he adjusts. “How’s the bike?”
“Better than it was this morning,” he sighs. “Where’ve you been?”
He turns around to look at you, taking easy steps towards you.
You return the toy elephant to its place, moving to face him. “Uh, we were outside, playing…at least three separate games at once.”
The second you’re in proximity, your hands join like it’s second nature.
He nods, all too familiar with the family’s unique methods of gamefair.
“Did th—” He looks down at your intertwined hands, brow furrowing as soon as he spots the bandage wrapped around your wrist. “What happened?”
You glance down, shrugging. “Overexerted myself playing tag.”
He looks at you skeptically, but says nothing about it.
He turns your hand over gently, asking, “Is it sprained?”
You nod, relaxed. “Yeah. Cass said it’s mild.”
“Does it still hurt?”
“No,” you say, sweeping his hair back with your other hand. “Barely hurt then.”
He nods, but he doesn’t look satisfied with the conversation.
Regardless, he turns away again, shuffling through a drawer for a clean shirt.
“You, uh, you wanna stay for dinner tonight?” he asks, pulling his arms through, his head following.
“Yeah,” you say gaily. “Alfred said he’s making his ‘special spaghetti’, apparently it’s a household favorite?”
He wavers, halfway to between decisions. “Yeah…”
He huffs quietly, turning back to face you fully. “Can I see it?”
You nod, happy to ease his mind.
You start to unwrap the bandaging, him doing half the work for you. The work is done silently until your wrist is exposed, revealing your bruised skin.
You both see it at the same time—the hand-shaped bruise wrapped around your wrist.
You’re both quiet for a second—him putting pieces together and you waiting for the shoe to drop.
He takes off suddenly, clearly having come to a likely very accurate conclusion about what had happened.
“Fucking idiot—”
You try for his hand but he’s out of reach before you can grab it.
“I’ll be right back,” he grumbles behind him.
“Jason—” you sigh, “At least help me wrap it back up first.”
He hesitates, halfway to the door, ultimately returning to you in defeat. He takes your forearm gently, scanning it over again before beginning to wrap it.
You watch his face closely, noting the clear vexation. “It was just an accident,” you tell him.
He scoffs, “It better have been.”
You drop your shoulders and lull your head to the side. “Jason. I’m not made of glass, you can’t expect other people to act like it.”
“I don’t. I expect him to mind his own strength, and if he can’t do that, he needs to keep his fucking hands to himself.”
You sigh, “Just don’t do anything harsh. Please. I think he’s worried you’re gonna punch him.”
“He should be,” he says shortly. He finishes off the wrapping, pinning it in place firmly.
You grab onto his forearm before he can pull away, “You’re not going to. Right?”
He doesn’t answer so you try to make his gaze meet yours, “Right?”
His eyes roll, “Yeah, fine.”
You smile, holding his face. “I love you.”
He huffs as though he’s inconvenienced, but confesses the obvious truth nonetheless. “I love you.”
He looks you in the eye, face serious. “You promise me it doesn’t hurt?”
“I promise,” you nod, brushing your fingers against his palm.
“Dick!”
The angry voice bellows through the tall halls of the manor, heavy footsteps thudding.
He stomps into the living room, Tim, Cass, and Stephanie watching the entryway with wide eyes.
“Where is he?”
Unwitting shoulders shrug and heads shake. Truthfully, at that. Dick, smartly, did not tell anyone where he was hiding.
Jason scans the trios faces, looking for any sign of apprehension.
He clocks the grin shamelessly plastered across his sister's face quickly. “Stephanie?”
“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “But let me know when you find him, I wanna see—”
But Jason’s moving onto the next room before she can get the last words out.
He enters the dining room, looking right to left before finding his target, halfway to stuffing himself behind the fine china cabinet in the corner.
There’s a brief, tense moment in between where the pair realize what they’re seeing and when Dick sets off in a sprint towards the kitchen, Jason quick on his tail.
“Really? Really?” Jason shouts.
“It was an accident! It was a fucking—”
He narrowly dodges a swipe from Jason, then ducking before a ladle could make contact with his head.
“Are you stupid? Are you the dumbest motherf—”
Dick rounds the kitchen island as fast as possible, Jason testing him on the other side.
Dick takes a breath, “Dude, it’s fine now, it’s not that big of a—”
Jason recoils, “‘It’s not a big deal’? Come here. Let me sprain your wrist, asshole!”
He circles the counter quicker than the elder boy can think to move away and lunges at him.
Dick throws his hands up in front of him, “Wait, wait, wait! Truce! Truce! Truce?”
Jason drops his shoulders, leveling his older brother with a look. “You can’t call a truce if you’re the only one who did anything wrong.”
“I…” It doesn’t take him long to piece together that his defense makes no sense, so he resorts to his last option.
“Please?” Dick asks, nothing short of imploring.
Jason relents—slightly—upon hearing his brother's tone, but still finds it in him to shove him, though not nearly as hard as he’d been planning to.
“I told you a hundred fucking times not to grab her so hard—”
Dick nods heavily, waving a hand. “I know, I know—”
“Clearly you fucking don’t!” Jason shouts. He huffs, running a hand over his face. “You sprained her wrist. You’ve been doing this vigilante shit for fifteen years, how do you still not fucking know how to control your own strength?”
Dick grimaces, “I do! I do, I just screwed up, I’m sorry!”
“Don’t—” Jason narrowly holds back a scowl, “Did you apologize to her?”
“Yeah, of course I did!”
For a split second, Jason looks ready to keep arguing before purposefully dropping the anger from his body.
The resulting relief almost drowns Dick.
It only lasts a moment though, before Jason looks at him again, sneering, “Idiot,” before pushing him once more.
“Jason.”
Your voice has Jason dropping all turbulence in an instant. He and Dick both whip their heads towards the door, equally unexpecting of the interruption.
You tilt your head at your boyfriend with a knowing but disappointed stare.
He looks back at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, lips parted.
“I didn’t hit him.”
⭐️ your options are: (1) reblog fics or (2) be a little bitch ⭐️
do y’all have any idea how huge it is that they’re playing Madison Square Garden? one of, if not the, most famous American venue/arena in the world, which has held decades and decades worth of iconic performances by the world’s most massive artists. it’s rich with entertainment history and almost always a bucket-list venue for so many musicians.
this is such a huge accomplishment 🥹
Final thoughts on the tour...
I'm fine with the phone ban personally, I think it probably will help the live concert experience and makes it much more fun for the performers. BUT I do hope Ghost themselves will be more proactive about filming and releasing concert footage themselves to make up for it...
However you feel about the people who film concerts (especially the ones who film from the barricades) a lot of the fandom ecosystem and wider lore has built up around the bootleg concert clips... And I think losing that extra "content" could be a bit detrimental to attracting new fans or keeping older fans engaged...
I'm sure the band/Tobias is aware of this and have stuff in place to replace it. Whether it be more regular chapter releases or just recording important moments in the concerts and posting them themselves.
Just my two cents anyway.
everyone’s grandparents seem to have really cute stories of how they met, and like my grandparents met when my grandma was running away from police during a protest and she jumped on the back of my grandads motorcycle and just screamed “DRIVE FUCKING DRIVE”
This is Money Snake. She only appears every 312 years.
If you reblog her picture within the next twenty-five seconds you will have good luck and fortune for the rest of your life.
remember when u were like 11 and the only thing u wanted was a lava lamp
Since you guys liked the other one so much, I present more crypid trail cam Vessel (+ iii this time) photos!
(@fields-of-elation thought these could be of use to you <3)
To all new Ghost fans
Because I feel like a dad.
It's perfectly fine if you got into Ghost because of TikTok.
It's perfectly fine if your favorite song is Mary on a Cross.
It's perfectly fine if you can't tell Ghouls apart.
It's perfectly fine if you can't tell Papas apart.
It's perfectly fine if you're a bit lost and confused about the lore. We all are.
It's perfectly fine not to know everyone's identities.
It's perfectly fine if you don't want to know everyone's identities.
It's perfectly fine if you can't get/afford any merch.
It's perfectly fine if you can't afford to go to a ritual.
It's perfectly fine if you don't want to go to a ritual.
It's perfectly fine to interact with other Ghesties. Don't be scared of us. The majority of us are chill.
It's perfectly fine to ask for song recommendations.
It's perfectly fine to have your own theories and headcanons, as weird and unhinged as they might be. It's Ghost. They do weird shit, too.
It's perfectly fine to discover new artists through Ghost.
It's perfectly fine to be confused about things. Everyone is.
Ghost is supposed to be fun. So have fun, damn it.
- Jez
Rain mocking his run 😭
Reblog if you support squishy bellies, have a squishy belly, or have the desire to summon satan
he's just a little guy
The Boy Wonder (2024) #2 by Juni Ba
I bet if a mushroom could lap water out of your hand with a tongue that a gently drinking mushroom tongue on your hand would be the softest and gentlest thing.