#mads does writing

[toomuchracket]

if you're too shy (office nerd!matty x reader fluff)

in which the other music journalist at the magazine you work at is the cutest weird boy you've ever met. enjoy <3

in hindsight, coming back from a two-week holiday the same day the magazine goes to print was a misguided idea.

your editor-in-chief tells you as much when you enter the office, pulling you into a half hug. “don't get me wrong, it's lovely to see you,” she says, scraping her hair back into a bun and securing it with a pencil. “but you'll be doing nothing all day, i'm afraid. maybe some last minute proofing, but i think everyone in nightlife and reviews has been alright. double-check with marianne.”

you do just that, weaving your way through people running copy and coffee between departments until you reach your own. it's mercifully quiet compared to everywhere else, the ten or so people dotted at desks around the sunlit room looking at their laptops and wearing headphones; you actually have to flick marianne on the back of the head to get her to notice you. “oi.”

“who the- oh, hi!” marianne's face softens when she sees it's you, and she stands to pull you into one of her infamously bone-crushing hugs before pulling back to get a good look. “well, you look annoyingly well-rested. but i suppose a fortnight in a spanish villa will do that to you. bitch.”

“i had a great time, thanks for asking,” you grin. “how’s everything been with you? stressful, without your star reporter?”

“well, for starters, you've been succeeded for that title.”

you frown only half-jokingly, scanning the room to try and guess which of your colleagues has replaced you as marianne's unofficial favourite. “who the fuck…?”

“language,” she lightly slaps your arm, in spite of the fact she was just about to say the same thing, then smiles suspiciously. “and i’m talking about our newest recruit.”

the brewing annoyance in your stomach dissipates immediately, replaced by a flock of tiny butterflies. “oh,” you try to keep your smile to a minimum. “that's okay. i like him.”

marianne sees right through you, though. she rolls her eyes. “oh, you would.”

“what?”

she sighs, motioning for you to lower your voice and modifying her own to a whisper. “he’s a curly-haired pretty-eyed vaguely scrawny white boy. you'd like him even if he didn't think the sun shone out of your arse.”

“marianne!” you hiss. “he does not!”

“don’t act all indignant, he has literally looked over at you once every thirty seconds since you walked in - and don't look, idiot, you'll freak him out. we need him on the ball, today of all days,” she rubs her eyes. “but yes, he’s very good at his job. i like him, even if i've no idea what in the world he goes off on his tangents about. great writer.”

“yeah, he is,” you risk a glance towards him, but all you can see is the back of his laptop - covered in stickers for things you can only name half of - and dark curls peeking out from the side of his headphones. “i like the references. different perspective from me, innit? that's why we hired him, after all.”

“who's we? you were too pissed off that i was hiring another music critic to agree to be part of the interviewing panel.”

you'd love to disagree, but you really were pissed when marianne and the other editors told you they were expanding the nightlife section. it didn't matter that it was in response to an increase in funding and readership, with the magazine switching to a print format as well as the online edition you'd contributed to since its creation - your fierce independence and pride meant you didn't take the news well, made you think it was an issue with your competence and writing ability that meant you'd be getting a new colleague. but once you were reassured that you'd still get to keep the Big Gigs and restaurant reviews to yourself, you were slightly more agreeable to the idea.

and once you actually met the new guy, stumbling over both his words and his own feet as he introduced himself, you couldn't quite remember why you'd been opposed in the first place.

“well,” you say, snapping back into reality. “thank goodness i'm over it now.”

“because you want to get under him?”

“no!” you stand indignantly, and then grin. “on top, maybe.”

“good grief,” your boss shakes her head. “don't you go bringing it up to him - excuse the pun - before this edition goes to the printers,” she points at you as you move to walk away. “or talking to him at all until then, actually, you hear me? i love you, but you're a distraction to him, and he's my best journo.”

“he's not, but alright,” you pat her head as you walk back towards the door. “i'll be in the staff room if you need me. and i won't talk to anyone, mum, i promise.”

“i'm only five years older than you!”

“whatever you say!” you reply in a singsongy voice, giggling to yourself as you wander towards the sunny kitchen. the little radio on the windowsill is on, as it always is, and you nod along to the cure while you wait for the kettle to boil. once you've made a cuppa (and grabbed a slack handful of the chocolate digestives marianne always keeps the cupboard stocked with), you settle at the table with your laptop, typing out ideas for your next feature and doing your best not to think about the boy down the corridor you've been instructed not to talk to for the time being. for the most part, you succeed.

that is, until he walks into the staff room two hours later.

you frantically wipe your face of biscuit crumbs as he does, smiling as sweetly as you can for someone with no idea if she has chocolate on her teeth or not. “hi, matty. how are you?”

“oh, hi! i'm, uh, i'm alright,” matty smiles widely enough that his verbal emotional downplaying is blatant - still, he's so cute, beaming at you like that with his little sweater paws. he’s always in a jumper or cardigan or hoodie of some kind, and on more than one occasion in the three months you've known him, you've absolutely thought about literally cosying up into him instead of doing any work. “how was spain? and the wedding - it was a family wedding you were going to, yeah?”

“that's right,” it’s not a big deal, but you glow at the fact he remembered. or maybe it's the soft intent he looks at you with. “it was lovely, yeah. although - wait, have we gone to print?” you ask, suddenly recalling marianne's instructions. “i'm not keeping you from work?”

matty's curls bounce as he shakes his head, light hitting off the metal hoop in his earlobe (that you're only mildly obsessed with). “we've gone. i'm just in here to get my lunch,” he pulls a tupperware from the fridge, cheeks rosy as he waves it. “made some soup last night.”

he makes his own soup. the thought is so endearing that it takes everything in you not to sigh; you settle for a smile. “carrot and coriander?”

“you can tell from one glance?”

you shrug. “s'my favourite.”

“really?” matty's face seems to light up. “mine too,” he busies himself with putting the tupperware in the microwave, taking his time pressing buttons and turning dials before looking bashfully at you. “so, you had a nice time at the wedding, then?”

“i did, thank you. do you, um,” you start, suddenly shy. “d'you want to see some photos from it, while you're waiting for the soup to heat up?”

he nods back just as shyly, sitting quite awkwardly on the seat next to yours; while you open your photos app, matty twists a stray curl around his finger, and the movement seems to send your nerves into vibration as well as the molecules in the air. with a series of shallow breaths, you locate the folder of the wedding pictures and set your phone on the table. “feel free to flick through them, if you like.”

“thank you,” matty sits forward, carefully swiping through the album. you lean on your elbow, doing your best not to beam adoringly at the way he looks intently at each photo before moving to the next. “the venue is really beautiful.”

“yeah, it was stunning.”

the next picture is one of you in your bridesmaid dress, taken by your sister the morning of the wedding. you watch, slightly heartsick, as matty's mouth falls open as he looks at you; the feeling worsens when he tentatively does the same thing in real life, those pretty eyes of his sparkling as he smiles softly. “so are you. really. like,” he looks down at the photo again, shaking his head slightly before looking back up at you. “that colour is beautiful on you. honest. you look incredible.”

“thank you,” the words come out in a whisper, and the two of you silently smile at each other for a moment until you clear your throat. “um, there are more of the official pics on my instagram, let me… actually, do you have my private account?”

“oh, no,” matty shakes his head again - god, you love the way his hair moves. “just the one for your writing.”

“well,” you tap on the app with an almost-imperceptibly shaky finger. “that's the username there, if you'd like to follow. no pressure, of course. don’t wanna fuck up your algorithms or anything.”

your nervous chuckle at the end of the sentence turns to a giggle when you see matty's face as you share your username; it lights up so much that you'd be forgiven for thinking he'd just won the lottery. he pulls his own phone out and taps away at it. “you don't have to follow me back, by the way,” his cheeks flush a deep red, a beautiful colour. “m'not posting anything interesting.”

doubtful. he might be one of the most interesting people you've ever met, all talent and sweetness and a wealth of cultural understanding wrapped up in a sweater and a pretty face. “no, i'd like to.”

“alright. thank you,” matty's cheeks seem to get even redder as he watches you hit follow back, face twitching as though he’s trying to stop himself smiling too big. when the microwave dings, he all but skips over to it, almost tripping over the leg of his chair in a sweetly awkward way; he swears under his breath when he lifts the steaming container out, turning back sheepishly to look at you. “sorry.”

“don't worry,” you grin at him, feeling slightly bold. “i still think you're sweet when you swear.”

he giggles, and the noise makes your heart leap; in addition to being one of the most interesting people you think you've ever met, matty healy is without doubt the cutest. watching his lips pout in concentration as he stirs the soup and checks the temperature, you briefly imagine what they would feel like against your own, how he would be if the two of you were to kiss. just as giggly and endearingly awkward as he usually is, you think - eager to please, lips and tongue a little sloppy and unsure but enthusiastic enough for you not to mind, slightly unsure of where to put his hands so as to not make you uncomfortable… the scene is as clear as day in your head, and you really, really want to recreate it. you'd devour him right now if you could, the sweetheart.

and then, matty reaches up to get a bowl from the shelf, the hem of his shirt goes with him, and your want to devour him suddenly takes on a less pg-rated meaning than it did a second ago.

he has a fucking hip tattoo.

you’re pretty sure it's only a sliver of the full design you can actually see, but the hints of red and blue and black ink and the glimpse of his happy trail are enough to fuck you up completely. as you register what you're seeing - what you're discovering about the seemingly buttoned-up, shy, unassuming-to-everyone-but-you matty - your breath catches in your throat, forcing you to cough quite obviously on the mouthful of lukewarm tea you'd just taken. one cough turns into another, and you clap a hand over your mouth to make your tattoo reaction attack the least obvious it can be.

still, the ever-perceptive man across the kitchen notices, running over to crouch in front of you with concern filling those beautiful eyes of his. “you alright, darling?”

darling?! no, you most certainly aren't alright.

but you can't tell matty that, so you stick to gesturing to let him know you'll reply once you've managed to swallow your tea. “i am, yeah, thanks. tea just, y'know, went down the wrong way.”

matty tilts his head. “you sure?”

“yeah,” you smile, slightly embarrassed. “really. thank you, though.”

“of course,” he smiles in return, knee brushing lightly against your leg as he steadies himself; he looks down, eyes widening as he registers how close the two of you are, and quickly stands. “i'd better, y'know, get my lunch.”

you nod, despite the strange loneliness settling into your bones at the lack of him next to you. “i can head back to the office, if you want peace?”

“no, no, please stay!” matty all but gasps, turning to look at you like a deer caught in headlights - he clears his throat, blinking a few times before speaking again. “please don't feel the need to leave on my account, i mean. or feel obliged to talk, really - i was just going to read.”

“you're sure i won't be a bother to you?”

matty smiles warmly, shaking his head. “that'll never happen.”

christ.

“okay,” you whisper, winking at him - and savouring the little giggle that bubbles out of him when you do - before turning back to your laptop. 

matty settles at the table a minute or so later, pulling a paperback from his back pocket and holding it open quite attractively with one hand. you peek over the rim of your laptop at him every so often, never for more than a couple of seconds at a time; partially to avoid the mortification of him catching you, but mostly because if you look at him any longer you know your mind will wander back to that fucking hip tattoo of his, and what it might look like completely visible to you, and what it might feel like under your lips, and what noises matty might make if you slowly dragged your tongue all over it before moving to the side to lick a wavy line up the length of his-

enough. he's literally right there.

the room feels hot, all of a sudden, your cheeks flushing and throat drying to match. on only slightly shaky legs, you pick up your waterbottle and head to the water fountain, crouching as best you can to fill it. even though he stays silent, you can feel matty’s eyes on you from across the room, but it doesn't bother you or freak you out in the way that other men ogling you at a water fountain would - it's quite obvious that matty has some sort of more-than-platonic affection for you, but his gaze has always been one of appreciation and awe when it comes to you, not the predatory one you've come to expect from men. and yet, his is the only male gaze that makes you feel slightly nervous, unused to being looked at with such reverence and tenderness by an attractive boy; in complete contrast, though, it also makes you lower your guard, pull down the bricks from the wall you've built around your heart, and allow yourself to actually feel something for matty, for once. something good, honest, promising.

matty looks up from his book as you sit down, smiling pleasantly. he opens his mouth as if to talk, and then closes it immediately, shaking his head slightly.

this intrigues you. “you okay, matty?”

“hmm? oh, yeah, i was just thinking,” his cheeks go a shade of pink you would buy in blush form if you could find it. “when you were first talking about the wedding… you said although, and then we got off-topic slightly. what, um, what were you going to say, if you don't mind me asking?”

“oh, right,” you wrack your brain, doing your best to not get distracted by how cute you find his perception. “i think i was going to say something about how, as good as it all was, there's nothing like a family wedding to remind you of how single you are.”

his jaw falls open. “you… you don't have a boyfriend? wait, sorry,” he blinks. “or a partner?”

you shake your head, biting the inside of your lip to stop yourself smiling. “no boyfriend, no. and thus, constantly advised by a never-ending flock of aunts that i should get one so i could get married.”

“christ,” matty winces. “yeah, my cousin's getting married in a couple of months - not looking forward to everyone asking me when i'm going to meet a nice girl and settle down, as if i can answer.”

no girlfriend. how interesting. “you're single? really?”

he rolls his eyes, still smiling at you. “be serious. course i am.”

“i am being serious! that surprises me,” you lean on one elbow, tilting your head to look at him. “you're lovely, matty.”

matty’s eyes widen, and he blinks adorably a few times before he smiles shyly again. “thank you. i think the same about you.”

“you do?”

he simply nods, total sincerity in those pretty eyes. 

you feel your cheeks warm, but you make no effort to hide it. “thank you.”

matty shrugs. “just telling the truth, darling,” he looks panicked when he realises what he's said. “sorry for calling you that, twice, it just-”

“i like it, matty, it's alright,” you say reassuringly. “and i like-”

“oh, thank god you're both here,” marianne bursts into the room, carrying her laptop; you frown petulantly at her for ruining your moment, but shuffle your chair round closer to matty's so she can sit at the table too. “something weird’s happening.”

matty squints. “what d'you mean by weird?”

marianne pushes her laptop towards you both. “there's overlap in your planned reviews - the band you're going to see at the end of next week, matthew, have just been announced as the opener for the next Big Gig. i need to know how we want to go about this.”

“oh,” he looks at you. “i don't mind if you want to just review them as part of yours.”

you're shaking your head vehemently before he even finishes talking. “no, that's not fair,” you tap your lips with your index finger the way you always do when you concentrate, trying to ignore the glow within your body when you see matty looking at them from the corner of your eye; inspiration strikes, and you turn to marianne. “matty could come with me, couldn't he? if he reviews their headline gig, and then he does a follow-up review of their opening set in the Big Gig feature - we could just do a joint byline, work together on it.”

both of them turn to look at you in slight shock. marianne is the first to speak, her words trickling out slowly as she processes the fact you've just agreed to let someone else work on a Big Gig for the first time. “you're… happy with that?”

“if matty is, yeah,” you turn to him, smiling. “sound alright?”

he beams. “more than. thank you.”

“of course,” you turn back to the boss. “there you go. sorted.”

she sighs, relieved. “thank goodness for that. alright,” she stands, picking up her laptop and heading back to the main office. “i'll coordinate press passes. thanks for making that simple - you're both stars.”

“anytime!” you call after her, before turning back to matty. “you're sure you're happy to do this? i realise i've just given you more work to do, but…”

he laughs, a beautiful sound. “nah, i don't mind. also,” he shuffles in his seat, bashful again. “i actually have a spare ticket for the first show, if you'd like it - bought it before i saw it was on the review roster. doesn't seem fair that i get to go to two gigs while you only get one, i think. i mean, no pressure, obviously, but the offer's there.”

god, he’s so fucking cute. how could you ever say no to him? “i'd like that a lot, matty, thank you,” you beam at him. “i think us working together is going to be a lot of fun.”

matty beams back just as enthusiastically. “i think so too.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #office nerd au #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

[hereyeswerefilledwiththestars]

me because one of my writing pieces is being PUBLISHED FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A LITERARY MAGAZINE WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

#THIS IS INSANE I CAN'T BELIEVE IT #mads muses #mads does writing

[bluerosefox]

One in the Same

Hmmmm

Hmmmmm

So we know during the time Tim lost in spleen (his Red Robin run) and wakes ups next to the pit he almost believed he had been tossed in the Lazarus Pits.

What if

Now hear me out.

What if he actually was.

But what if instead of gaining Pit Madness, he unlocked his past life memories.

His memories of being Daniel 'Danny' Fenton and Danny Phantom.

And once the memories returned so did his ghost form and powers.

And as Tim sits at the bottom of the pits, crossing his legs and letting all his memories slide back into place he questioned what to do now. He pondered for a moment and hummed tapping a finger to his chin.

Maybe he'll play the Pit Madness card? After all Ra's chucked him in here to either turn him into a mindless rage machine he could manipulate or see what the Pits would do to a mind like Tim's. Or Tim could pretend to be a silent rage, a calm before the storm.

Well, Tim grinned his eyes glowing green as he stared at the surface of the Lazarus waters above him, he was very good at lying this life time around. After all he was Tim 'I can even lie to Batman and get away with it' Drake-Wayne and he did used to be Danny 'Commit to the bit' Fenton/Phantom.

He was going to have fun playing that fruitloop named Ra's like the cheap kazoo he was.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #crossover #dp x dc #blue rambles #danny phantom dc #writing ideas #random idea #dpxdc #tim drake #Danny is reborn as Tim Drake #the Pits instead of giving him Pit Madness unlocked his memories #Danny/Tim is going to have fun playing Ra's like a fool #A lot more league bases gonna go boom now #does he play into being having Pit Madness? #or will be a calm before the storm kinda person #either way Ra's believes he can manipulate and mold Tim into his heir #when Danny/Tim stops Ra's from taking over WE he legit pieces out of Gotham for a bit #gotta go build a very strange machine and see a Time Master to get B home

[luxaofhesperides]

Final hour Ghostlights request! Soulmate AU where when your soul mate dies your soul mark expands. Duke was really heartbroken at first but now his soul mark makes it really difficult to keep his secret identity hidden because he is covered in a map of the cosmos. He has to use his shadow powers almost constantly to keep all the stars hidden! And and maybe they light up like actual stars when he uses his light powers.

He meets Danny at orientation or something at GU and they brush against each other and he just lights up like a supernova, all his stars literally blazing and he's just like "YOU!" Both excited and also OH MY GOD YOU ASSHOLE.

....I rambled a bit here I'm so sorry.

The thing about soulmates is that you don’t really know who they are until they die. And even then, most people never know who their soulmate was, only that they outlived them.

Duke became one of those people when he was thirteen. 

He didn’t even notice until he went to change and saw the watercolor swirl of nebula spill out from over his heart. 

One moment, he was tired and angry, ready to sneak out of his latest foster home to search for his parents and do all the things adults have failed to do. The next, he’s collapsed on his knees, shaking, unable to breathe as he tries to rip his soulmark off of his skin. He couldn’t think past the shock and horror of realizing that his soulmate is dead and Duke didn’t even know until that moment. 

They’ll never get to meet. 

Duke had never felt so alone before. 

He spent the next few days in shock, his mind a mess of static, unable to focus. He hid away in his room, buried under the covers, and his foster parents were understanding when he whispered my soulmate’s dead. They called him out of school and brought him food and water throughout the day, gentle encouraging him to eat something every few hours. 

But disaster waits for no one, and Batman was gone, so Duke pulled himself out of his misery and hit the streets again. 

So his soulmate’s dead. So his parents are gone. So Gotham’s falling apart.

No one’s doing anything about it, so it’s up to Duke to start fixing things. It’s not like he had much to lose.

Soulmates become a bit of a taboo topic to him, after that. He speaks of them to no one, avoids all conversation about them, refuses to stay when people talk about soulmarks. He tries not to look at his soulmark at all.

And then he takes a hit to the chest and patches himself up with shaking hands. For the first time in months he looks at his soulmark again and…

Did it… grow? 

Duke prods it gently, letting out a hiss when his bruised ribs protest at the movement. He remembers the mark being right over his heart. 

But looking at it now, it branches out, swirls of galaxy and constellations reaching out along his ribcage. 

Panicked, Duke grabs for his computer and looks up soulmark growth and webmd soulmark abnormalities.

Neither give him any answers, though WebMD helpfully suggests skin cancer. 

“I’m gonna ignore this,” Duke decides, and pulls on a shirt and goes to sleep. The less he thinks about his dead soulmate, the better. 

Time passes and Duke goes from being a Robin to being the Signal, a legitimate vigilante working with Batman. It’s nice to see Gotham start to settle, things falling into place. For once, nothing is awful; Duke’s found his parents and doctors are looking for a cure for long-term exposure to Joker Gas, Batman’s taking care of Gotham with a number of other Bats, Duke is getting used to his powers and slowly making a good name for himself out on the streets. 

He keeps his focus on protecting people and getting stronger, helping solve cases with the other Bats. No one mentions soulmates, so he keeps his ever expanding soulmark a secret. 

The only problem is that it keeps growing and Duke is concerned that it’ll move to a place he can’t easily hide under his clothes. 

And he does need to hide them. The more his soulmark has grown, the more obvious it is, especially when he uses his powers and the stars on his skin light up like the Fourth of July. He knows it’s abnormal, but it’s also his soulmark and he doesn’t want anyone, least of all Bruce, poking around trying to study it. 

The grief still lingers when he looks at it, but Duke has long since grown used to it. If anything, these days he’s quietly annoyed by how far the galaxies on his skin spread out, forcing him to take tank tops and shorts out of his wardrobe. 

There’s also the tentative hope that maybe his soulmate is immortal and keeps coming back to life after they die. And they must also have terrible luck, because they just keep on dying.

Case in point: his soulmark flares and spills out onto his shoulder and wraps around his bicep. It’s not the first time he’s seen it move, but it still startles him.

“Are you serious,” Duke mutters to himself, pulling at his sleeve to adjust it and hopefully hide his soulmark. The starts are bright against his skin, and while sometimes he likes to trace them with his finger, now is not one of those times.

As pretty as it is, his soulmark is also very obvious and will cause people to realize his identity if they ever catch a glimpse of it while he’s out as Signal. 

He sighs. There’s no choice but to live out the rest of his life in hoodies and sweatshirts. 

As if to spite him, his soulmark grows once more. 

Did his soulmate just die twice in the span of five minutes? That’s concerning. 

He wishes he could meet them just so he can shake some sense into them. Maybe tell them to stop dying since it’s stressing him out so much. Maybe stick by their side to make sure they never have to die again. He’s honestly not sure what he’d do if he ever meets his soulmate, but he has to do something. This has gotten out of hand.

At least seeing his soulmark grow doesn’t hurt as much as it did a few years ago. 

Lazily, he pulls at the light around him to hide the new portions of the soulmark on his arm from sight. It takes some focus, but he can hold it up long enough for him to grab a snack from the kitchen and retreat up to his room without being questioned by anyone. He could probably even keep this shirt on for the college orientation he needs to attend later in the day if the light works well enough to keep his secrets hidden. 

He’s expecting Alfred in the kitchen when he arrives, but is greeted by Dick clapping a hand on his shoulder, right where his soulmark has claimed space. Duke falters and works to keep the light from fracturing as he returns Dick’s grin. 

“Hey man,” he says, “What are you doing here? I thought you were out until Friday.”

“And miss a chance to hang out with you? No way. Besides, I wanted to give you a ride to your orientation.”

“You don’t have to,” Duke starts, only for Dick to cut him off.

“I’m going to,” he says, as if it’s a threat. “It’s been too long since we get to spend time together without a mask on. Are you really going to deprive me of this?”

Duke shakes off Dick’s hand from his shoulder, walking towards the pantry to find a small snack. “I guess not. It’s going to be pretty boring for you, though. I’m just going to listen to people talk about what college is like for a few hours.”

“We could always just walk around campus afterwards. I haven’t seen it since it was rebuilt after the last time Freeze attacked it.”

“Sure, that sounds fun. Thanks for offering to drive me.” Duke pulls out a box of Poptarts hidden behind stacks of pasta boxes and pulls out a pack for himself. He opens it and isn’t at all surprised when Dick steals one right out of his hands. 

“Meet me out front in an hour then.” 

And with that, Dick leaves, his stolen Poptart in hand, and Duke is left to shake his head and shove the Poptart box back into its hiding place. He heads off to eat his own snack, making sure no one is in the hallway as he lets go of his hold on the light. Already he can feel a migraine building with the immense focus he had to use to make sure nothing looked out of place.

At least Dick didn’t notice anything was off. If he can fool Dick, he can fool anyone.

Still, just to be safe, Duke changes into something with longer sleeves before he leaves and hops into the car with Dick. 

The drive goes quickly to the tunes of ABBA, both of them singing along as they head for the GCU campus. Parking is a bit tricky, but they manage to find a spot a street away and walk towards the student union, where tables are laid out for incoming freshmen to sign in and grab a folder filled with papers meant to help them. 

He waves to Dick and heads in once he gets his folder, and grabs a seat in the auditorium that’s close to a fire exit. 

It takes another twenty minutes for the presentations to start. The lights dim and Duke panics for a brief moment before drawing the shadows over himself lightly to hide the soft glow of the star etched onto his skin. 

They start with introductions, bringing in advisors, professors, and student ambassadors. Most of it is basic information that Duke already knows, so he zones out and plays with some shadows at his feet, where no one can see the way he twists shadows together like some dark magic form of finger knitting.

For the next hour, Duke halfheartedly listens to people talk about preparing for classes and keeping on top of schoolwork and learning how to ask for help. He’s saved enough college students that he knows the gist of things, and the orientation really doesn’t give him anything helpful. 

He probably could have skipped, but he wanted a normal college experience. 

He should have known that normal means boring as hell.

As soon as the presentation ends, an advisor encourages everyone to follow the schedule tucked into their folder to give them a half day modeled after a typical student’s schedule. Of course, all the classes are nonsense just to fill up their time, made to help freshmen coming into the college by covering topics such as how to write an email and an introduction to majors and minors.

Duke already declared himself as a Human Services major, his first step into becoming a social worker like his mom was. 

Also he totally knows how to write an email, what are these advisors on about? Do they really think people his age can’t write emails? 

Yeah, he’s ditching. The main presentation is really the only part that matters in the orientation. He’s not walking out on anything he needs.

Duke files out after the rest of the crowd, carefully letting the shadows slip off of him once he’s outside again. Instead of finding the first ‘class’ he’s supposed to go to in the Modern Languages building, he wanders off to find a quiet place he can sit down and wait until Dick finds him. 

Tucked away towards the back half of the campus is a small nook full of trees, bushes, and benches. Judging by the amount of cigarette butts left in the single trash can there, it’s a popular smoking spot. 

No one’s there, so the air is clean and free of smoke, so Duke heads in, hoping to sit down.

Someone else apparently has the same idea. He hops down from one of the concrete planters that’s keeping a bush contained and nearly falls on Duke.

They both shout in surprise, then Duke is moving without thinking, reaching out to steady the startled looking guy who accidentally jumped down in front of him. 

Duke only has time to take note of how blue his eyes are before his hands wrap around the guy’s wrist and Duke feels his soulmark flare with warmth.

In the shade of the trees, the glow of each star on his skin is obvious. It’s visible even through the fabric of his shirt. His soulmark, at this point in his life, stretches across his chest, his ribs, his back, and now his shoulders and upper arms. All the stars in that watercolor galaxy are shining brightly as if the night sky has been draped across his body.

Soulmarks only react like that for one reason.

“You!” Duke shouts at his soulmate, both elated to see that he’s alive and annoyed that he made Duke’s soulmark so large. “Stop dying! Do you have any idea how much stress you’ve caused me?!”

“Oh my god,” the guy says faintly, eyes fixed on Duke’s chest where his soulmark originally rested, shining brighter and bigger than any other star, as if he’s tucked a sun into his heart. “Oh my god,” he says again, with more feeling.

“I’m so happy you’re alive, but please stop dying. It’s bad for my health.”

“I think I need to sit down?”

He does look very pale and faint. Duke tightens his grip on his soulmate’s arms and guides him to a bench, gently sitting him down.

“You’re not about to die, right?” Duke asks. “I don’t think my heart could take it if meeting me killed you somehow.”

“No, no,” his soulmate manages to say, “I’m not going to die. Um. Wow. I didn’t know my soulmark would do that? Sorry.”

“Well, it’s not like you had any way of knowing. It’s all good, man. Just please stop dying.”

His soulmate winces. “Yeah, that’s not gonna be possible. Sorry. Again.”

What does that mean, though? What does it all mean?

“Can I maybe get an explanation as to why you have to die again.”

“Mmmmm no. We just met and it’s kinda personal so. No.”

“Dude.”

Duke’s soulmate shrugs helplessly. “It really is personal! I know your my soulmate and all, so I’ll probably tell you one day, but right now I don’t even know your name.”

Oh shit. He’s right. Introductions completely slipped his mind, too busy reeling over the fact that his soulmate is here and alive. Which, honestly, would be enough to throw anyone off balance.

“Shoot,” Duke says. “Sorry. You just really caught me off guard. Hi, I’m Duke, I promise I’m more put together than that.”

“Hi Duke, I’m Danny, and I’ve apparently been traumatizing you for the past few years by making you think I keep dying.”

“Well. At least we’re thrown head first into the crazy. Best way to know if we’re be a good match.”

“You sure you can handle this? You seemed pretty frazzled a second ago.”

Duke flusters and lightly whacks Danny’s shoulder. “That’s normal! Anyone would do the same when meeting their soulmate for the first time!”

“Fair enough,” Danny laughs. “This is a totally weird request and you can absolutely say no, but… can I see?” He presses a hand against one of the glowing stars beneath this collar bone, looking up at Duke with wide, hopeful blue eyes, and Duke finds it so cute that he’s willing to do anything Danny wants. 

“Here,” he says as an answer, pulling the collar of his shirt down a bit to reveal the nebula spilling onto his shoulder. 

“Oh,” Danny breathes, tracing a light finger against it. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m guessing you like space?”

“Love it. I wanted to be an astronaut, but uh…. It’s never going to happen. Health problems, you know?”

“Well, I know it’s not the same, but I hope the stars you put on my body will be a good enough replacement.”

Danny cheeks turn red and he turns away, flustered. “Don’t smooth talk me right now, I’m not ready for it,” he mutters, bringing up a hand to try to hide his expression. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Duke laughs, “I’ll try to keep the flirting down to a minimum. It’s just really great to finally meet you. And I’ve been wondering, what’s your soulmark look like?”

“Oh, well…” Danny fiddles with the long sleeve of his shirt. “I had a pretty bad accident years ago that kinda affected how my soulmark looks. So if it looks weird, that’s why, okay?” He takes a deep breath, then pushes up his sleeve, holding his wrist out to Duke. 

The first thing Duke notices is the soft yellow glow, Signal yellow to be precise, running down his arm as if sunlight fills his veins. Then he sees Danny’s soulmark, a sun with rays that wrap around his wrist. And running through his soulmark are Lichtenberg scars, glowing yellow as if stealing the color from his soulmark. 

“Guess we both got super obvious soulmarks, huh? At least we kinda match, that way.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Danny agrees. 

“Man, what a day.” 

Danny looks more relaxed with him now. It’s much better than the startled, tense version of him that first sat down on the bench. Duke hopes he chooses to stay with him; he doesn’t admit this often, willingly, or to other people, but he’s a romantic at heart and has always wanted to live a happy life with his soulmate. It’s still far off in the future, but he hopes Danny feels the same way.

“So, are you ditching the orientation classes to?” Danny asks.

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m going. I mean, a class on how to send emails? They can’t be serious.”

“I know, right?! I saw that and thought I was being pranked. I mean, we’re going into college. We better know how to send an email by now.”

“Since we’re both free for now, wanna grab lunch with me? It can be our first date, if you want.”

“I’d love to! And you can show me around Gotham a bit. I’m coming here for college, but I haven’t really seen the city yet. It’d be nice to explore it with someone who knows where things are.”

“Are you free for the rest of the day? ‘Cause I wouldn’t mind showing you around, if you want.”

Danny smiles, radiant. “I am. I’m in your hands for the rest of the day.”

“Cool,” Duke says, trying not to think too much on that wording. It’s very suggestive, very flirtatious, and he’s looking forward to getting to know Danny more so he can start properly flirting. “Lemme just let my brother know to not wait up for me.”

He pulls out his phone and sends Dick a text that just reads: met my soulmate. going on a date now. i’ll see u back at the manor!

Then he puts his phone on silent and tucks it back into his pocket. He’ll tell Dick all about this later; for now, all his attention is on Danny. 

Soulmates get priority, even stressful ones that give him the largest soulmark he’s ever seen. 

And right now, he’s on a mission to find the best lunch spot to take his soulmate to for their first date. Everything else can come later; for now, he’s going to enjoy the time he gets to spend with Danny.

He hopes they’ve got a future together as bright as the stars in his soulmark. 

Despite it all, Duke is sure they’re going to be alright.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #dannys obv not going to be able to keep his identity as phantom hidden for long in gotham #esp since he wants to protect people and transforms to do that #and one of those times will be in front of duke to protect him from some goons trying to kidnap duke for his connections to the wayne famil #duke ends up using his powers as well leading to an identity reveal on both ends #and then the dots connect and duke yells THIS IS WHY U KEEP DYING and danny has to sheepishly apologize for how large dukes soulmark is #he does kiss all the new stars that show up on dukes skin tho so hes forgiven very quickly #(not that duke was ever mad. he's just worried) #thanks for the prompt!!

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #97

The Justice League fought hard against the anti ecto acts but unfortunately it wasn’t enough and the laws were passed anyways but not before a clause was added to them that states the JL had the right to pull a ghost out of a facility of they had potential to work for them. When they see the potential hero Phantom is caught by the GIW they of course do their best to acquire him. Unfortunately the government sees Phantom as JL property now instead of his own person. Phantom seemed content being trapped on the watchtower and explained it was better than whatever the GIW was planning. Superman thinks something weird is going on with the ghost as when he supposedly went to bed in the room he was assigned he’d temporarily gain a heartbeat again. Constantine is just glad the young prince hasn’t decided to kill anyone in the US congress yet for passing such a ridiculous law. Batman’s adoption senses are tickling.

#dp x dc prompt #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny fenton #danny phantom #poor danny #writing prompt #I hear no Batman no! In my head in the same tone as the no rootbeer no! Meme #ghost prince danny #I already have my idea for tomorrow and it’s going to be a wild one heavily cracked #I know I’m insane but you can’t stop me #Is no one going to take the internet away from me? #my asks are open #I want to draw more but I have no clue what #Does anyone else feel like they’re slowly losing their mind? Because I still feel like I’m slowly going insane #Also does anyone else feel just a little disappointed that we’re in the timeline without any superpowers or hero’s? #I feel like my body is slowly decaying and I can do nothing but watch as the world slowly spins as everyone gets mad at each other over tim

[little-pondhead]

I forgot about this.

The whole reasoning behind the Supervillain Danny AU sketches was that his villain persona was the complete opposite of his normal, sane self and hero persona. Danny plays into the Fenton name really hard, and ramps up the “mad scientist” bit, taking inspiration from both his normal civilian life and his parents, thus using just his last name as a villain.

And then I wanted to add what Sam and Tucker might look like if they joined in on his shenanigans. To keep with the “opposite of their normal life” bit, let’s throw in some ghostly artifacts that help the two keep up with Fenton’s madness.

Sam would get an angel’s halo that helps her form ghostly wings, and she’d play into the good-two shoes angelic look, and then she opens her mouth and verbally assaults you. She pins her bangs back and wears clothes that better fit a celestial aesthetic and uses all the etiquette training her parents taught her. Manson looks like some sort of regal angel and people expect her to be the nicest out of all of them. She’s not. Manson is the sneakiest and most bloodthirsty one, and heroes regularly wonder if she has actually committed murder or not.

Tucker takes inspiration from his time as a pharaoh. He has a metal postiche that enhances his physical ability. (Maybe it gives him dreadlocks too, but I like to think Tucker is just wearing a whole ass wig.) He wears a strange mix of street wear and his pharaoh outfit, and throws his tech-obsessed self out the window. Fenton is the nerdy one here, so now Foley is the muscle. Foley plays up meathead American bully stereotype hard. He delights in throwing hands, and hunts down supers just for the sake of a fun spar. (For him not for the supers.) Foley’s favorite people to fight so far is Killer Croc and Superman. Heroes are concerned about what would happen if Foley fought for real, but then they saw what he did to the Joker “as a joke” and decided not to ask any more questions.

Basically, the trio looked at their civilian lives and picked out what they considered “villainous traits” from the people around them that they then played into as villains themselves. If that makes sense. Sam hates how her parents want a perfect child, so she makes herself look like one. She speaks in backhanded comments and has a snooty attitude, which she learned from other rich people. Tucker is constantly confronted by bullies everyday, and all the rogues that come to Amity are always fighting, so that’s what he decides to mimic. Yeah, he now gets to be the big and strong protector of the group, but all his experience with fighting have been bad ones, and that reflects in his style. And finally, Danny. Why does he take after his parents and play into the family name? Because the Fentons are one of the biggest obstacles and source of anxiety in his life. Danny associates mad scientists to pain and other bad things, so even if all he’s being helpful in a really annoying way as a villain, his parents and the threat of the GIW still influence how he presents himself. Because to Danny, those two things are far more scary than a kid with a pirate ship or a man wearing a bat fursuit.

#pondhead blurbs #danny phantom #dp x dc #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #supervillain danny au #mad scientist danny #god does any of this make sense??? #it’s literally just a sketch #and now I’m coming up with intricate backstory on why they look like that as villains #it just makes the most sense to me #phantom is the ghost hero #Danny is the halfa civilian #Fenton is the human villain #Manson and Foley get powers because Sam and Tucker don’t #i know someone is writing a bit for this but I couldn’t help myself #dear author of that fic #i forget what it’s called #please don’t see this and feel pressured to add my stupid headcanon into your fic #it’s kind of an au of an au I guess #idk I’m gonna go eat breakfast #dpxdc

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part six

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: explicit descriptions of violence, blood, and death

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 3.3k

You had to get out of there.

Tremors shook the ground as another shell made impact somewhere far to your right but it was close enough that the explosion left your ears ringing. You flattened your back further against the fallen wall behind you when you heard the unmistakeable sound of gunfire, the rubble that cut into your skin barely registered in your mind from the adrenaline that rushed through you. But the cacophony of noise amalgamated into something continuous, something malevolent and cruel; something that promised death in its wake. 

Bullets embedded themselves in a column, a wall, a body–everywhere–and fine pieces of debris flew and pelted against the exposed skin of your cheeks and against your helmet. Your eyes watered from the fine powder of pulverised cement and the oppressive heat, while your lungs were smothered by smoke and a choking stench–something like freshly-laid asphalt mixed with the distinct, rancid smell of burnt human flesh, sulphuric and sharp. 

Through lidded eyes you witnessed the depravity; the extent of humanity’s appetite for senseless destruction and anarchy. It was total chaos–no, it was worse than that: it was butchery and brutality at its finest; a type of hell on earth.

All around you were bodies upon bodies, men and women alike–children. Their faces, frozen and pallid, permanently bore imprints of terror and agony; their crooked fingers and still eyes fixated to the sky imploring in violent judgment–resentful and anguished in their silence–the unspoken question: 

Why?

Why? 

Why?

Everything overwhelmed you all at once: the sight and the smell made your stomach churn to no end. Even when you heaved the remnants of your stomach to the ground, the nausea remained, pulsing and gnawing.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you brought your camera to your eye and you willed the shaking in your bones to still. 

You took a shot. 

Another round of bullets splattered to a nearby wall and this time, you threw yourself front-first to the ground and you felt the rhythm of your heart reverberating against the mud. And a sinking feeling hit you. You’d bore witness to many conflicts, faced mortal peril, and was familiar to death like it was an old friend. Each time you were in such a situation, hopelessness never got the better of you–it was like you’d always known you were going to make it out each time. 

This time it was different, you could feel it in your bones. You were going to die here and it wasn’t a matter of if, just when and how. 

But you had a job. If you were going to die, you would die being the mouthpiece for the ones who’d already been silenced–from their premature deaths or from the hand of the power meant to protect them or both–to show the world what they’d suffered, what they’d sacrificed.

With that in mind, you steeled yourself. You loaded your camera with another ring of film, fingers stiff from the cold and marred by blood and mud, and you captured the scene.

Repeat.

There were people screaming, running, clamouring for survival. As you moved with them, you kept an eye out for other survivors who needed help to get out of there. You scanned the faces for the familiar ones of Jones and Gilda but they were nowhere to be seen. You’d lost track of them after the initial explosion and the chaos that followed so the only thing you could do now was to look for them as you went and hope for their safety. 

Meter by meter, inch by inch, you moved slowly away from the direction of gunfire. You were farther ahead now but the gunners were still dangerously close, still close enough to be able to catch up to where you were if they continued their pursuit, so you remained crouched and cautious for any sound that could indicate danger. 

When you came across the rubble of a fallen building–freshly destroyed by artillery from the smoke that came from it–you heard a whimper. It startled you; the softness of the sound barely pierced through the ringing in your ear but when you peered under a slab of concrete braced by a rugged beam, you caught sight of a scene that shattered what was left of your heart.

In the shadows, big eyes that you could not mistaken belonged to a child shone with terror, a little girl that looked no more than ten years of age, her mouth partly open in fear. You could discern another person next to the child but they weren’t moving at all and from the blood smeared on the girl’s cheek, you had a sinking feeling that the other person was dead. 

Gunfire echoed somewhere behind you and you flinched at its closeness. How did they get so close so fast? You needed to get the both of you out of there. If you could save this child’s life then maybe, just maybe, your life was worth something after all. 

You raised both of your hands up and spoke gently, hoping the little girl would be able to understand that you were there to help as you stooped to fit through the gap. The child hesitated and receded further back into the rubble so you tried again as you inched closer to where the other person laid unresponsive, patient despite the ever-closing sound of shots being fired. 

You reached the other person–a woman–and when you placed two fingers against her pulsepoint and found no rhythm, you bit your quivering lip and looked at the child, chest heavy. And as if the little girl finally understood that you meant no harm, she inched towards you and placed her small hand in your open one. With a firm yet gentle grip on the girl, you guided the both of you out of the rubble.

Once outside, you carried the little girl behind a wall, heart breaking when you felt her shiver and at the fact that it took little effort carry to her for she weighed so little. And now with light and cover, you inspected the little girl.

To your relief, other than the trail of flaking blood that originated from the crown of her head and on her cheeks, the little girl looked like she didn’t sustain any other physical injuries. Satisfied for the time being you began to tend to her, gave her water and what little food you had on you, and then wiped away the blood.

After she finished, you detached the velcro of your bulletproof vest and unbuckled your helmet before you put them on the little girl. Then you hoisted the girl up on your back, leaving your camera dangling heavily on your chest.

You managed to sneak across the district without being noticed but you knew the danger was never far away. A little farther on, you began to recognise key landmarks that let you know you were close to the base you came from. So even when the muscles in your legs protested for you to rest, you pushed on.  

Not a moment later though did loud shots fill the air and immediately, you fell to the ground, feeling fine rubble and shrapnels cut into the side you landed on as you manoeuvred your body so that the child wouldn’t get hurt. The little girl cried out and adrenaline coursed through your veins, instinct driving you to keep the child safe so you pushed the two of you against a nearby wall, your back to the open space while you shielded the child with your body, her head safely caged between your arms and chest.

You craned your head over your shoulders to figure out where the shots were fired but then a feeling of lightness passed through you followed by a growing thickness at the back of your throat. You coughed, the force of it made you keel forward, and as you looked down you saw fresh blood splattered on the face of the girl, her eyes wide with horror as she looked up at you.

Then you felt it, a burning sensation that enveloped the entirety of your right side which left you cold. When you looked to your side your shirt clung to your skin, soaked with blood.

No. 

You sputtered again and you tried to breathe but the pain only intensified and instead of feeling relief, the act smothered you–it felt like you were drowning. Then everything began to blend together: the shapes lost their edges and some images doubled, but the light seemed to intensify on its own, swallowing all in its wake. Then you sagged forward and the ringing in you ears, too, blared unceasingly.

No.

You must… 

The child… 

Wait. 

Alexia–

“–are you okay?”

You started as Derek’s voice brought you from your reverie, your mind someplace else that you’d already forgotten but the feeling that you were missing something important lingered behind in the back of your mind.

“Huh?” 

“Honey, your brother’s been trying to get your attention for the past minute. Are you alright?” The familiar voice of your mom brought your focus to her. She sat at the head of the long table while Derek opposite you, and you found twin pairs of blue eyes looking at you with concern. Your mom stood, chair scraping against the tiled floor as she did and she made her way towards you. She put a palm over your forehead once she was close enough before she asked, “do you have a fever?”

“Mom, I’m fine. I’m just–” You began but suddenly, a wave of exhaustion came over you which left you cold. It was as if a sheet of ice was put over you and you felt the coldness cling to your bones, weighing you down as your body slowly began to freeze over. “I’m–I’m just tired. I think I’ll rest up now.” 

When you moved to stand, staggering slightly due to the weakness in your knees, Derek snatched your hands and clung to them, and you looked at him in alarm, eyes wide.

“Please, don’t. Don’t.” He said through gritted teeth, the corners of his mouth drooped low in a pained grimace, blue eyes glazed over and brows furrowed in a silent plea. 

His obsecration confused you and you were about to ask him why you shouldn’t rest if you felt tired when your mother placed a hand on your shoulder, her grip gentle yet firm. You turned to her and when you found her gaze, she wore the same expression as your brother. 

“You’re brother’s right, honey. Just–please, just stay with us for a bit more.” 

What was going on? Why weren’t they letting you go?

Another wave of fatigue doused over you but this time, pain erupted from your chest. So intense was it that it nearly made you keel over the table, nails digging into its hard surface as you tried to catch your breath but with each inhale the more it felt like you were running out of air.

“I’ll–I’ll join you in a bit. I just… I just need a nap.” You staggered to your feet, pulling your hands away from Derek’s grip with the remaining strength you had and brushed off your mom’s protest.

As you passed the full-body mirror just beside your bedroom door, you saw your reflection, haggard and pale, and with her were the familiar silhouettes of the people that haunted you… your mother and father. They stood there behind you–your mother to your right and your father to the left–but you only found an empty space where they stood when you whipped your head back to look for them.

So there you stood, rooted in front of the mirror as you soaked their images in but for some reason, your couldn’t quite discern their faces. They were blurred; it was as if someone had swiped their thumb over the freshly laid ink of their image and made their features indecipherable. 

Longing prompted you to reach out a hand to try and trace the lost edges of their faces but instead of meeting the mirror’s smooth surface like you expected, your fingers sank into the mirror like it was made of water. Quickly, in fear that it would hurt you, you retracted your hand and you watched in awe as the mirror image went still again, back to the reflection of yourself and your parents.

Then out of curiosity you plunged your hand again into the mirror and instead of feeling pain, you felt… nothing. The sensations in your hand in the mirror stopped as if it had ceased to exist completely. 

Would it soothe then the pain in your body if you stepped into it?

The thought tempted you and you stepped forward, ready to sink into this silver miracle, but something stopped you–a weight on your shoulder pulled you back from the mirror. You staggered backwards, caught off guard from the force of it, but when you looked back you found nobody however this time, when you returned your attention to the mirror, the reflection of your parents was gone. 

Emotions bubbled in your throat, bitter grief and burning confusion a familiar taste on your tongue. Where did they go? Why did they leave you? And as these questions filtered through your mind, another wave of exhaustion doused over you, its weight was unbearable. You needed relief, and soon.

You were ready to step into the mirror–into oblivion–but it wasn’t there anymore. In fact, everywhere you looked there was nothing, just negative space as if the light had dissolved all existence but you. You looked down and you saw your reflection on the still water you were apparently standing on. 

It was so still, so peaceful, and you feel so heavy. It would be easy to just sink into this blissful nothingness–this silence–after… that’s right, after having witnessed the revolting boil of humanity’s thirst for blood. Yes, that was it, the reason you were here: you were here to forget. 

The longer you stared into the water, the more your will to remain standing frayed. 

Not a moment later, you let yourself be plunged downwards into the cold water. Into nothingness. 

You woke with a start, breathing sharply as you did, the sensation of falling still with you and the memory of the dream you just had lingered. It was about… what was it?

When you opened your eyes, you found golden light and you squinted at the stream of the early sun that found its way through the gap between the heavy curtains. Your cheek was warm against Alexia’s bare back and you relished the way her muscles shifted beneath her skin as she breathed, still deep asleep. 

With her so close like this a sense of peace and calm washed over you, the kind that only Alexia’s presence could provide. You turned your head slightly and shifted closer to her, pressing a soft kiss on one of her shoulder blades before you nuzzled the nape of her neck where her scent was most prominent.

You sighed as you breathed her in.

“What are you up to back there?” Alexia’s voice, rough and heavy from slumber, met your ears and the question elicited a small laugh from you.

“Nothing. Just getting comfortable.”

Alexia hummed then she murmured, “come here.”

You moved as she began to turn and disappointment filled you from the separation but when she pulled you into her embrace after she settled on her back, the disappointment quickly faded away. And when she kissed you, soft and languid, everything melted away except for the tender warmth of Alexia’s lips.

You were content.

Suddenly, a gnawing feeling seeped into the edges of your mind and, little by little by little, apprehension filled you. There was something you’d forgotten, somewhere you needed to be.

You pulled away from Alexia’s lips. “What time is it?”

“Don’t go.”

Her answer jarred you. You lifted yourself up on your elbow and considered Alexia, confused as to why she would say such a thing. She knew you had to go. How could you not go? Where else could you possibly be? So you asked her as much.

“No, you don’t have to. Please.” Alexia placed a hand on your cheek, her eyes glassy. You sighed, turned your cheek away from her touch, and extricated yourself from her warm embrace. You stood at the foot of the bed and regarded Alexia again who was now sitting up, the sheets pooled around her waist, her chest bare, shoulders hunched forward as she looked at you. You only shook your head before you went into the en suite bathroom to get ready.

Once you got in the shower you, unsurprisingly, thought of Alexia and your confusion returned twofold. Why was she making this difficult? She knew you had to go. You already told her… 

At that thought, you frowned as you tried to remember. When did you tell her? Why did you need to leave? The questions were beginning to make your head hurt so you left the shower, wrapped yourself in a towel and headed to the closet. In there, you found your stack of simple white clothes. You picked a white shirt and a matching pair of jeans and you made your way to the bedroom door. 

As you passed by the bed, you saw Alexia just as you left her and from where you stood, you saw how small she looked. And those eyes… they shone with something you could only name as plea, the tears in them now in danger of falling. 

Your chest ached and so did your head. 

You shook your head and made your way to Alexia, pressed an apologetic kiss against her temples, then you moved to the door.

You opened it and an abyss greeted you, a world of no outlines, shape nor colour, just a brilliant white that called to you. Its pull was magnetic, like a tide that wanted to sweep you away, but there was something keeping you in place, an invisible tether and it was anchored to the woman sitting in your bed.

“Please, don’t go.”

You had one foot out of the door when Alexia spoke with such gentleness you couldn’t do anything but look over your shoulder. The sight of her crying made the pounding in your temples unbearable and the pain in your chest blazed anew, excruciating and cruel. The world blurred and warmth slipped down your cheeks. 

Why were you crying? Why was this difficult? You had to leave, you were about to miss something important.

“Alexia, why?” You sobbed, clutching your chest. It hurt.

She was out of the bed now, right beside you, and she reached out and cupped your face with one hand, the other went to your hand on the door handle. Her touch that used to soothe you, that used to bring you peace and clam, sent pain to every nerve in your body. You gasped, your chest was in danger of bursting and your knees lost their strength. And then you remembered why you needed to leave: you needed this pain to disappear; you had to get better.

Finally, your knees buckled under your weight but Alexia was there to catch you, her body strong and firm, and oh, so warm.

“Alexia, please let me go,” you sobbed into her arms. 

Everything hurt. But she held you, unyielding.

“Stay. Please, stay with me,” she whispered in your ear and the words were followed by another wave of pain. This time, you screamed in agony and clawed at Alexia’s shoulders to get yourself away but still, she didn’t budge.

“I got you. I got you. I got you,” she repeated as every nerve in your body screamed at you. Everything coalesced into a singular, never-ending noise but Alexia’s voice pierced through the veil like a silver lining, a life line that you held onto as you were washed away into an ocean of light.

#ap11 #not proofread #mine #my writing #a/n: sometimes it just hits you: the magnitude of man's madness. where does it stop? when? who will pay? why? #cant think anymore right now but let me know what you think about the story so far #apologies for the mistakes i wrote this in sleep deprived mode ill fix them later #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

[bewilderedbuck]

hm. something about how mike had proven time and time again that he is observant and intelligent and competent. that he's the party's unofficial leader. that he's come up with so many of the plans and schemes to fight the upside down and to save everyone etc etc. but y'all will still act like he's totally completely helpless, can't tie his own shoes let alone save the fucking world, just. totally and completely mischaracterize him for what? is it just because of s4? bc he wasn't useful to the supernatural plot for the majority of the season? bc you're stuck on "what finn wolfhard does with his eyes" and nothing else? bc finn said mike was clueless during s4? please enlighten me why do you take this intelligent boy and turn him into a helpless idiot i am begging for some explanation

#just regurgitating things everyone else has already said but. damn does it make me mad lol #just saying if mike had been in hawkins during s4....not saying they would have killed vecna bc i dont think they would have #but they would have had a hell of a lot more solid of a plan than the one they did have lol #mike is smart!! hes intelligent hes resourceful hes the planner!!! HES A DM THAT IS ALL PLANNING AND WRITING #mike wheeler #s.txt

[gods-favorite-autistic]

I’m making a giant rant post about the parallels between the Bad Kids and the Ratgrinders but I’m gonna wait to finish and post it until the end of Junior Year comes out and yes it is because I want to know more about Mary Ann Skuttle BLeeM PLEASE

#give me more of my girl tell me all about her mango soda #it’s gonna be so long. like 20 paragraphs long #this is what autism does to me okay I can’t write a paragraph about literal light rays and prisms but I can yap about fhjy for a 1000 words #autism (mads) speaks #fantasy high #fhjy #fantasy high junior year #dimension 20 #dimension 20 fhjy

[fabdante]

The Party Animal and the Goth

Duncan tried to tell her before they showed up that this would be different. She should give it a try. It’d been years since the last party she went to with him (she’d been dating Trent at the time to, something Duncan further blamed for her bad time). Maybe she’d like it now. And Duncan wouldn’t leave her alone, he swore. No awkward hanging out by herself and the dog should they have one. And if Trent was there, Duncan would punch him just for her. Blah blah. All sorts of promises. Well. She wasn’t into it. Like she said she wouldn’t be. Duncan fucked off somewhere else. Like she thought he would. And she saw her ex Trent floating around and she was doing everything in her power to avoid any awkward small talk that would ensue the second he saw her again. Like she feared.  Of course the party was going to be that predictable. She should have put money on it. And there wasn't even a dog. Around midnight she’d gotten sick of the whole thing. But Duncan was off doing something (hopefully not someone) and Geoff found her. They talked. She mentioned maybe looking for DJ and leaving. But Geoff lit up like she’d just told him he won a prize and her night got a little weird. Instead of just saying bye or helping her find DJ or literally anything else, Geoff was instantly offering to talk her back to her dorm. So that got her where she was now, walking with Geoff away from his party.  What the fuck.

Summery: A classic 'Geoff walks Gwen home' story set in the year of 2013/2014, in which Gwen has decided to leave a party early and Geoff has decided he'll walk her home. (College AU, no camp.)

Words: 4,274

Rating: Teen (swearing)

Read Here!

#i needed to get this one out of the scrivener document and elsewhere so i don't rewrite it in another 5 years #total drama #total drama island #tdi gwen #tdi geoff #gwen/geoff #geoff/gwen #does anyone even look for stuff about them as a ship despite them almost being canon liiike #my fic #anyway i will not be writing more total drama fic unless i am taken by the madness again in another 5 years #i didn't realize until i started considering posting this and checked their ao3 tag that this is just the classic geoff/gwen #one shot formula but in my defense i wrote it the first time like 10 years ago so i didn't know that then #anyway woo hoo i'm free!!

[ffcrazy15]

I need a whole fic where the Cerritos is mistaken for the Enterprise by some type of alien with very high intelligence but very poor visual recognition, for whatever reason.

And Freeman either can't or is too scared to convince them that they're not the Enterprise, so she starts desperately assigning everyone to various roles. Boimler gets assigned as Data, and since he and Mariner are the only people on the ship who play string instruments, the captain orders them to put together some sort of "symphony" because the aliens have heard that that's a thing on the Enterprise.

And it's just Mariner and Boimler frustratedly trying to figure out how to combine her electric guitar skills and his traditional violin skills into something suitably "symphonic" (i.e. thematically trying to combine her more lax/modern way of doing things with his more strict/traditional way).

#star trek lower decks #marinler #lower decks #I NEED these two playing music together #also Stevens gets assigned to play Picard and is way too into it #goes a little mad with power and ends up being the episode's main antagonist #they forgive him in the end though #Ransom is Riker obviously #Mariner gets assigned to play Troi and has a fun time pretending to read people's thoughts and they just have to go along with it #Rutherford is obviously Geordi due to his implant #T'Ana plays Crusher on the basis that she is *technically* a redhead and refuses to elaborate further when questioned #Shaxs is Worf and insists that his nose ridges are forehead ridges #Freeman is Displeased (TM) about having to pretend to be a lower-decker since there isn't a part for her #Tendi works the duty-shift with her and ends up helping her work through her issues about not feeling respected as a Cali-class captain #basically pointing out that success is relative and that she didn't succeed according to her family's standards either #but it doesn't matter because she loves what she does #who knows maybe I'll write it one of these days

[toomuchracket]

and this is how it starts (flatmate!matty x reader smut)

this is quite literally day 1 of the relationship. like, condom-gate was mere hours ago lmao. also, someone said just thinking about flatmate matty and girlie literally just after condom gate and they're sitting on the couch and she's just kissing his neck and making out and he gets all flustered n floaty cos he's waited for this for so long 😕 maybe she teases him for getting hard so quickly and it's just sweet, i love them <3 so it's a bit of that too. enjoy <3

matty's not totally sold on the idea of there being a heaven, but his reasoning against it is weakening with every passing second. after all, what else could the situation he's in right now be, sprawled on the living room sofa with you on his lap and your lips connected? there's no other way of describing it.

he doesn't give a shit about description right now, though. or responsibility, or even time itself. all matty cares about is kissing you, softly moving his hands to rest in previously uncharted places on your body, and getting you to make those little whimpers that draw all the blood from his brain and redirect it to his dick. your hands weave into each other's hair, and an instinctive tug from matty has you pulling back and whining his name. he goes to pout at the removal of your lips from his own, but then you grind down harder onto him and drop your head into the crook of his neck; your lips meet the soft skin of matty's neck, and he can't stop the gasp that rips from his throat (or the hardening in his sweatpants).

holy fuck. in the many (many) dreams matty’s had about your lips, not once has he ever dreamt about them in this location. 

what a twat he is.

another choked noise leaves his mouth as your tongue joins the party, and yet another follows when you moan into his skin at the way he clutches desperately at your hips. before he knows it, you're kissing him again, licking into his mouth with such intensity he's half-convinced you're trying to eat him. and he'd let you - his brain and heart have already been consumed by you, after all. why not let you devour him completely?

your teeth sink into matty's lower lip as if you might, and he whines; you giggle against him, and switch your lips back to his neck before repeating the bite, albeit softer on the delicate skin, pulling another wanton moan from him. the pain turns to pleasure in his nerves and ricochets throughout his body so hard that he feels his dick jump, despite the haze of pleasure clouding his senses and brain capacity.

judging by the way you gasp and grind down impossibly further onto your boyfriend, you feel it too. he's aware of your lips peeling from him, and then suddenly your beautiful face appears in his eyeline - your eyes and hair are wild, your lips are swollen from, well, use, and you've never looked more enticing than now. then you smile, and matty has to retract his previous statement. “i didn't know you were so into neck kissing, matthew.”

he's not sure if it's the use of his full name (chiding, teasing, patronising) or the glint in your eye (seldom seen, slightly manic, so fucking flirty) that does it, but matty feels his cheeks flood with colour and heat. you lightly run your thumb across one with a satisfied hum, and matty momentarily forgets how to breathe; when the palm of your hand brushes his throat on its way down to rest on his chest, he almost shuts down completely. but he quickly recovers enough to speak shyly. “isn’t everyone?”

“yeah, but, baby,” you roll your hips slowly against his, groaning quietly as you do, and whisper directly in his ear. “it just got you so fucking hard.”

christ.

matty says as much as he throws his head back against the sofa, and you giggle. he cracks one eye open to look at you, all happiness-glowy and dishevelled in his t-shirt, and he can't help but smile bashfully. “don’t take the piss, sweetheart.”

“i'm not!” you laugh, then smirk. “well, maybe a little bit.”

“fucking knew it,” matty lightly smacks your ass, grabbing the soft flesh and using it as leverage to rock your hips against his. “mocking me for a normal reaction to a kiss in an erogenous zone, you minx.”

“ooh, big word.”

“i’ll smack you again, i mean it.”

“do your worst,” you grin, circling your hips. “although i'll be surprised if you can focus with that - oh, fuck,” your voice trails off into a moan as matty grins and latches his lips onto your neck, sucking a bruise into the lightly-perfumed skin and soothing it with his tongue.

he smirks as he pulls back to admire his work; for all he's dreamed about marking you up as his like this, nothing comes even remotely close to the real thing. “seems to me like someone can't take it as well as she can give it,” matty coos, cupping your jaw and running his thumb over your pouty lips. “that right, baby?”

without breaking eye contact, you flick your tongue against the pad of his thumb - when you hear matty's breath hitch, you slowly slide your lips onto the digit, down to the knuckle, tongue still flicking around it. he swears under his breath, dick harder than he thinks it's ever been, other hand clutching so hard at your ass that he wouldn't be surprised if it bruised. somewhere deep in matty’s mind, there's a little part of him wracked with guilt at the thought of hurting you, sweet, beautiful you, but that part is far overshadowed by just how badly he wants to be inside you right now.

thankfully, you seem to want that too; you release his thumb with a pop and a connecting string of spit, and look doe-eyed at him. he’s not sure if he's ever seen anything so erotic on his life.“no. i can take it, matty.”

something shifts in the air when you say that - it's as if the molecules have gotten heavier, dropping a delicious tension into the atmosphere and knocking all flirty banter to the ground. you're so close he can see himself reflected amidst the desire in your eyes. so close that your breath mingles with his own, hot in the crisp autumn air. so close, and, for the first time, so available for him to touch.

and, god, does he want to touch you.

“you can take it?” matty asks, caressing your cheek and smiling when you nod. “now?”

“please.”

matty groans. “you'll kill me, sweetheart,” he quickly kisses you, smiling into your lips when you moan. “let me take you to bed and you can show me how well you take it, yeah?”

you pout. “wanna stay here.”

“so do i. but we need to go and get a condom, darlin.”

“don't worry,” you lean back slightly and pull the t-shirt over your head in a way matty can only liken to unwrapping a present; he swears when he sees the lacy black bra you're wearing, your tits threatening to spill over its scalloped trim. when you see him looking at your chest, you grin. “like my bra?”

“very much.”

“good. been saving it for you - you know, in case we ever… got to this stage in our relationship.”

matty blinks as the realisation settles in his mind and body. he's so turned on it's almost painful. “really? fuck, baby, that's so hot.”

you shrug bashfully. “got a whole drawer full of pretty underwear i only want you to see. been thinking about this for a while. which reminds me,” you reach into your bra and pull out a small foil square, and hold it up triumphantly. “no need to go to bed!”

matty laughs slightly deliriously. “you had a condom down your bra the whole time? fuck, you really want me, don't you?”

“on this couch, specifically,” you lean in to softly kiss his neck again, then drag your tongue up to whisper in his ear. “dreamt about riding you on it since the day i moved in.”

shit.

his hips buck up at the mere thought, eliciting whines from both of you. “wanna make your dream come true - need it, darlin, need you.”

“fuck,” your hands scramble to pull matty's t-shirt over his head, then pull his face to your own for a searing kiss. it doesn't last long, though, with you soon pulling back to guide matty's hands to the clasp of your bra; he catches on to your ideas quickly, undoing the thing with ease and sliding the bra from your body, while you clumsily balance on one knee at a time to get your panties off. matty huffs out a laugh when you roll your eyes and leave the underwear to dangle on your left calf, and you smile and wrap your arms around his neck. “what?”

“nothing, you're just cute - sit up for me, darlin, so i can lift my hips, thanks,” he replies, shimmying his sweatpants down with a shit-eating grin. “so impatient to fuck me that you can't even properly take your underwear off.”

you raise your eyebrows and tear the condom packet open with your teeth. matty feels his eyes roll back into his head when you finally touch him, pumping his dick three times before rolling the condom onto him - you hum happily at the weight of him in your soft hand. “i don't think i'm the impatient one here, babe.”

you're not wrong. still, disagreeing gives him a perfect excuse to rile you up with a touch, too. “no?” matty tilts his head, sliding a hand across your thigh and between your legs; before you can react, he slides a finger along your slit, catching the sticky arousal and dipping into your dripping cunt. your reaction - a shaky whimper - is incredible, almost as incredible as matty's realisation that it’s him who got you into this state. “oh, baby.”

he smiles when you whine his name, but it drops in favour of a gasp when you replace his finger in your folds with the head of his dick. without breaking eye contact, you gasp too. “matty, can i…?”

“please, angel,” matty moans, hands trailing up to squeeze your tits before returning home to your hips. “put me inside.”

“okay,” you all but whisper. a beautiful smile crosses your face, the sun breaking through clouds. “i love you.”

the way you say that, so giddy… matty thinks his heart could honestly burst. he gently cups your jaw with both hands. “i love you too.”

you giggle, and matty feels your cheeks heat up. “i'm glad i get to love you openly now.”

“me too, darlin,” matty kisses you slowly, passionately, but so sweetly; he wants you to be able to feel how much he loves you through his lips. he pulls back just enough to speak clearly, foreheads still touching. “wanna be even closer to you.”

“hold my hips, then, please,” you murmur against him, smiling and kissing him again when he obliges. shuffling around on your knees for a second, you line matty up with yourself, and slowly begin to sink down onto him. the feeling is mind-blowing for both of you, it seems - matty makes a choked groan at how tight you are, and you whimper as he stretches you further with every bit of him you slowly take. “matty.”

he responds with a moan of your name, rubbing soothing circles into your hips while you take him to the hilt with a series of dazed blinks. despite the pleasure already clouding his brain, matty touches your face in concern. “you feeling alright, darlin?”

“yeah. just full.”

“need a second?”

you nod. “sorry, baby.”

“no, not at all. feels amazing like this, anyway,” he strokes your cheek, relishing the way you melt into his touch. “knew you'd look fucking gorgeous on top.”

at that, you clench around him - he's not even sure you're aware of it, but he has to focus very hard on keeping himself from moving inside you - and speak again. “have you thought about this a lot?”

matty nods, trailing his hand down to your chest. “oh yeah.”

“so have i,” you smile, humming contentedly when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger - when he leans forward to take the bud into his mouth, you whine. “fuck, can i move now?”

“yeah,” matty moans around your tit, before pulling away and leaning back against the sofa. “ride me, angel.”

the sentence hasn't even fully left his mouth before you're obliging; the words trail into a raspy groan as you slowly pull yourself up and sink back down. his eyes want to close from the overwhelming pleasure of you fucking him, but he keeps them open because the sight of you like this is too incredible to miss even a second of. matty has no idea how many times he's dreamt of you doing exactly this to him, alone in his bedroom or hotel or tour bus bathroom, but every single fantasy pales in comparison to the real thing. after all, he couldn't have imagined the way your jaw trembles and your eyelids flutter every time he bottoms out inside you, sending an accomplishment high through his body that makes him feel better than any substance he's ever tried.

he has imagined the way your tits would bounce as you speed up your own bouncing on him. again, though, reality is so much better - not once in his dreams did you whine a plea while he tentatively touched them, or cry his name and clench around him in response to him pinching your nipples. the slight pain spurs you on, makes your hips move faster and wilder and matty's contract in pleasure, and he makes a mental note to remember the effect it has on you for future reference. 

like he'd ever forget any of this. matty’s never felt so good in his fucking life.

when he tells you as much, you beam, and speed up yet again. oh. matty smirks as best he can through the intense pleasure. “you like it when i tell you how good you are, darlin?”

“mhmm,” you nod shyly, adorably incongruous with the way you're slamming your hips down to meet matty's. “wanna be perfect for you.”

fuck. “you are, sweetheart. my perfect girl,” matty sits up to kiss you, and you whimper into his mouth at the slight change in angle of him inside you. he smiles, switching his lips to your neck. “what else do you want, gorgeous?”

“want - oh, fuck - want you to touch me,” before matty even has the chance to respond, you suck his right thumb into your mouth again and lead it to your clit. “wanna cum.”

and who the fuck is he to deny you what you want, especially after seven years of also wanting to make you do just that?

“alright, darlin,” matty smiles, jaw dropping at the way you tighten impossibly further around him as he starts working little circles into your clit. “shit, that feels good.”

“yeah?”

he nods. “keep going, angel. actually, just use me to get yourself off. whatever you need to do.”

your eyes widen. “really?”

“really. wanna see you cum for me,” matty lightly bites the inside of your tit. “used to make myself cum thinking about you falling apart on top of me like this.”

a glint of something flickers in your eyes, something matty can't quite name. “so, if i cum,” you breathily begin, still rocking your hips. “you'll cum too?”

“pretty much, yeah.”

you smirk. “alright.”

with that, you brace your arms behind you on matty's thighs, using them as leverage to fuck him as hard as you possibly can. he gasps, nerves beginning to tingle with the orgasm he's been both holding off and craving for a while now, climax creeping closer with every bounce of your hips and tits; he's mesmerised by you, your beautiful body practically shaking above him as you ride your way to ecstasy, and whines of his name and various swear words and “don't stop touching me, please” pouring from your perfect lips.

matty does as he's told, thumb staying put on the bundle of nerves between your thighs. remembering his mental note from earlier, he brings his free hand down on your ass and kisses away the cry you let out on impact. “come on, sweetheart,” he coos against your mouth. “give in. cum for me, my love, let go for me. make me feel good.”

he leans back to look at you - you look utterly fucked, eyes heavy and teary, jaw slack and lips swollen, but you're so beautiful. when you look at him (probably just as fucked-looking, to be honest), you smile sweetly, but it soon drops off your face as you rush ever closer to the precipice of orgasm. “matty,” you whimper, voice cracking from overuse. “i'm gonna cum.”

no four words have ever sounded better to him. matty holds your face with his free hand; you nuzzle into it, and a wave of love washes over him. “do it, angel.”

your head drops onto his shoulder as your hips fall out of rhythm, and you cry into his neck as your body jerks in ecstasy. matty cries, grabbing your ass and leaning back so he can fuck up into your pulsing cunt as his own orgasm hits. he holds you flush against him as he cums into the condom, then lets you gently flop down as you both recover with panting breaths.

matty's so hazy from pleasure that it takes him a minute to register the chaste kisses you're planting on his neck - you lift your head when he giggles breathily, smiling so widely he's sure your face must hurt. “hi matty.”

“hi, baby,” he kisses your nose. “i love you.”

“love you too,” you give him a little smooch. “loved that.”

“fuck, so did i,” matty sighs, grinning at you. “you're really fucking good at that.”

“only cos it's you i was fucking,” you giggle. “my need to make you feel good outweighed the burning in my thighs. would've tapped out, otherwise.”

matty rubs the offending body part. “will you let me take care of you in return, then? after you've endured the pain and climbed off me so i can get rid of the condom, that is.”

you nod, hissing as you pull yourself off matty's dick and flop onto the couch beside him. he kisses you quickly before he stands, slightly shakily, and removes and ties off the condom; you protest when he places it on the coffee table. “matthew!”

“what? i put it on a coaster. and i'm not leaving it there!”

“still! i don't want used condoms on my good coffee table, even if it's us that's used them,” you stare at him for a second, and then collapse into giggles. “new flat rule?”

matty cackles. “all condoms put in the bin immediately after use. right, hold it for a second, then - and don't give me that face, it was inside you!” he sighs as he bends down and scoops you - holding the condom between your thumb and index finger, mildly disgusted - up bridal-style into his arms. your face softens when he kisses your head as he carries you down the hall. “fancy a bath? it'll help your legs.”

“only if you come in with me.”

he hums, nudging the bathroom door open and setting you down on your shaky legs; you chuck the condom in the bin. “i like the sound of that.”

“good,” you lean up to kiss him. “now please leave the room.”

“what? why?”

“because,” you say, turning the bath's hot tap on. “i need to piss. in peace.”

matty pouts overdramatically. “but i don't want to leave you.”

“out, healy,” you point at the door as matty giggles; you kiss his cheek as he leaves, though. “bring a bottle of wine in when you come back?”

“glasses, too? or just share the bottle?”

you scoff. “you were just inside me, and now you're worried i have germs?”

he laughs. “i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #flatmate!matty #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

[hereyeswerefilledwiththestars]

psst... might've posted something on @toomuchracket for u guys to read xx

#mads muses #mads does writing

[dootznbootz]

Why is one of Odysseus' epithets "Godlike"? Epithets usually say something about the person. But Godlike is so... vague??? I mean most other epithets lets you know about the person.

"Swift-footed"? Fast as fuck. Eat their dust, slowpoke.

"Loud of Warcry"? Can speak at max volume. Who needs a fire alarm when you have this guy?

"Breaker of Horses"? Horse girl™

But what about Odysseus specifically makes him godlike??? While he is a descendant of Hermes, he is not a demigod like, for example, Achilles. He's a favorite of Athena but he's not the only person favored by a god.

Is it because he's "as wise as Zeus"? Is it because he's a pretty boy with hair like hyacinths in full bloom and fine thighs? Is it because he's unpredictable af in everything other than his family?

Idk I just think it's neat to think about.

#I think others had the epithet too but ya know #I tried to write this as insanely as possible. How'd I do? >:) #if someone does know what specifically godlike means (beauty/intelligence/chaos/etc.) Feel free to share! :D #this was pretty silly but I'm always happy to learn! #odysseus #epithets #greek mythology #tagamemnon #iliad #odyssey #the odyssey #the iliad #Mad rambles #shot by odysseus

[lomltrentarnold]

If you have time I remember seeing Trent do an interview I can’t remember with who and he said “absolutely pineapple belongs on pizza” but like imagine he had an Italian girlfriend and he makes her go on a rant about how terrible it is and he betrayed her for even thinking that and mid rant she might even switch to speaking in Italian and this also happening in front of the boys as well and they are cracking up (hope this isn’t to much apologies 😬😂)

pineapples — trent alexander-arnold ₊˚ෆ

love this idea AHHH 💗 this is just a small drabble i apologies but thank you for requesting baby <3 | main masterlist

“You might as well put a knife through my heart!”

“Baby-“

“No! I don’t even want to talk to you anymore!”

“What the hell is going on?” Curtis had just came out of the bathroom when he heard yours and Trent’s voice arguing with each other.

He was getting worried, but he could also hear the boys laughing loudly in the living room. So he wasn’t really sure what to think.

Mo shrugged his shoulders, a confusing smile on his lips, “I think they are fighting about, pizza?”

Curtis titled his head to the side, “Huh?”

“You betrayed me. Pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza!”

Curtis nodded his head finally understanding the situation, “Ohhh, I see.” he chuckled.

The boys’ eyes all widen when they heard you switch to speak in your native language. Robbo already pulling out his phone and searching for his google translator. They were all very invested in this.

Trent was looking at you with a smirk, eyes all hodded and you hated how hot looked. “Don’t look at me like that, I know what you’re doing!”

He shrugged his shoulders, a deep laugh vibrating through his chest, “Don’t know what you’re talking about sweetheart.” he did a once over of you, taking you in from head to toe.

Your whole body became warm, “I’m not going to forget about this Trent.”

“But-“

“Nope.”

#sometimes he just does it to piss u off #cause he think u look hot #but he apologies after <3 #not for loving pineapples on pizza #but for making you mad #😭😭😭 #he will stick by the pineapples #hana writes! #★ taa love letters #trent alexander arnold fic #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander imagines #trent alexander arnold fluff #trent alexander arnold blurbs #trent alexander arnold #trent alexander x you #football x y/n #football x you #football imagine #football x reader

[steveharrington]

if you use the word puriteen you should be put to death. publicly.

#so FUCKING weird to get mad about someone’s relationship with sex ESP IF THAT PERSON IS A MINOR #why are you a 32 year old on twitter writing thinkpieces about why a teenager may feel weird watching sex scenes #does it matter? do you have insight into that persons life that qualifies you to judge them? #no??? no????? then die