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emmyrosee · 1 year

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“How come you get to ride in the cart?” He says, a pout in his voice but a smirk curling at his lips. Your hip cocks up as your arms cross over your chest, more than willing to duke this out with him in the entrance of the store.

“Uh, because I’m adorable?” Your words only make his grin spread even more, he knows he’s supposed to make an argument against that but he can’t bring himself to; it’s true, you’re perfect in every trace of the word.

But who was he to go down without a fight?

“But baaaaabe,” he whines further, folding his torso into the cart. “I’m so sore from practice and ‘Samu hit me with the ball and I’ve been walking funny since, and I just want my perfect, stunning, and oh, so smart-“

“Oh my god, fine, just get in the cart!” You snort, the giggles bubbling from your lips. He merely grins victoriously before scrambling himself up and into the cart, other shoppers watching in annoyance and amusement as you watch his knees fold up to his chest.

“Comfy?” You snort, to which he nods over enthusiastically. You roll your eyes before folding yourself over the front of the cart to plant a kiss on his head.

“What do you even need, anyways?” He hums, his head turning back and forth in the superstore, sharp eyes glazing over the shelves. You lean on the handles of the cart, looking around and making a beeline straight to the snacks, giving him a dramatic sigh as you do so.

“Well,” you hum. “I know you wanted m&m’s and popcorn, but I also wanted to grab a few bags of Doritos and since the fuckface I decided to let spoon me at night ate the last of my cookies,” your eyes glare dead at him, only to be met with a wide, toothy grin. “I need to buy more.”

“The guy who spoons you at night sounds hot.”

“The guy who spoons me at night sounds like I’m going to smother him with a pillow.” With that, you two make your way to the snack aisle, your eyes glazing over the contents of the shelves hungrily. “You want any drinks or anything?”

“Nah, I’ll just take whatever you buy.”

You glare at him, “that’s kinda the reason we’re in here in the first place, you clown.”

He snorts at the nickname before hooking his chin over the side of the cart, his sharp eyes flicking over the colored bottles and cans. “Toss me a grape soda.”

“Grape?”

“Yeah.”

“Mid,” you scoff, grabbing him a can to put in the cart. He blinks unamused at you, but ultimately keeps his mouth shut while you make your choice.

“Oh, but my choice is mid,” he teases as you plop a can of lemon lime in his lap.

“This flavor has been worshipped all over the world- you just like the taste of cough medicine or something.”

“My mom only buys the bubblegum flavored cough medicine.”

“Feral.”

The little back and forth you share passes the time as you turn the cart to the chips and Candy, and without sparing a second, you grab the Doritos and toss them carelessly into the cart, smirking as you hear them crunch against his head and body.

“You know, I may annoy you, but I am still in the cart,” he says, shielding himself from another bag of chips that you swat in the cart. When he turns his head up to glare at you, he sees the goofy smile spread over your cheeks, and he’ll happily get beat up by your snacks if it meant he could see it forever.

It’s simple. It’s comfortable, annoying each other throughout the aisles and laughing when the other makes a stupid jab, but Rintaro knows that this is all he’s worked up for. A domesticity that had to be crafted carefully, and he’s honored that you decided to map it with your love.

It’s nothing all like he’d expected love to be like- and now, it’s love he’d never change for anything.

“Get your cookies and lets get the hell out of here.”

“Why? Afraid we’ll miss another episode that we’ve seen forty-eight thousand times?” You jeer, steering the cart to the back wall, where all the cookies are tucked away. He decides to say nothing, merely letting your own joke make you chuckle.

He says you're easy to sedate like that. Really, he does it because the way you get the last word makes you happy.

He watches your lips pull back into an almost relieved smile, grabbing the box of cookies and nodding happily, all before turning back to him in the cart.

“Now be careful,” you warn, clutching the sweet to your chest protectively. “Suna, I’m trusting you with the most precious cargo in the cart. Do not blow it.”

“God, no need to bring out the government name, just give me the damned cookies,” he scoffs, making grabby hands and rolling his eyes when you hesitate. “And for the record, I’m the most precious cargo in the cart. Don’t even start with me.”

“You’re like. Fifth, on the tier list.”

“I’m going to fart on your pillow. Give me the cookies.”

You do, with another small smirk. "You want anything else, baby?" You ask, though you proceed to the checkout.

"Nah, I think I'm good, booger."

You hum and steer him to the self checkout, letting you bag the snacks while he passes them to you, citing you both as the "dream team"- which briefly collapses when you refuse to take his card to pay for everything and chuckling as he scrambles for the wallet tucked in his back pocket.

"You're annoying," he grumbles at your lack of acceptance for his chivalry.

"And you're squishing my snacks- you trying to sleep on the couch?"

Regardless, you push him out of the store and into the night air, and even if he'd rather chew on glass than admit it, the way your face relaxes at the feeling of fresh air makes him melt, and he smiles dopily until you jerk the cart.

"Okay. Get out."

"Huh?"

For a moment, just a moment, it's possible that Suna Rintaro forgot he's in the cart.

"Get out. I'm not wheeling you home, babe."

He sends you a playful glare before using massive hands to grip the side of the cart for leverage. He tries to push back, but his legs can't extend much farther out.

At this point, you're just watching, one brow cocked in amusement and tongue licking the corner of your mouth victoriously. If you didn't look so hot, Rintaro would be furious.

“Babe?”

“What's up, player?"

There’s a silence between you both. You're the absolute worst in this situation by barely even acknowledging his struggle. his lanky frame, still in the wired shopping cart, looks so cramped, and maybe, just maybe, if one of the Gods loved him, they would smite him down from the face of the earth right now.

You smirk, “problems?"

"I'm gonna cheat on you with Kita-San."

"Like he'll he's gonna want you when you're stuck in a cart you begged to be in."

He gnaws at his lip in focus, trying to will his knees to unbuckle from their position and out of the cart.

But they refuse.

He whimpers in his throat while you point and finally cackle at him, loudly, rudely, being absolutely no help in this scenario, and he finally hides his face in his bent knees in embarrassment.

“I’m stuck in the cart.”

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bananasofthorns · 2 months

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“He betrayed your trust and you aren’t more upset?" Helsknight scoffs. "Pathetic.” Wels rolls his eyes. “It’s a death game, Helsknight, that’s kind of the whole point. I should’ve seen this coming, honestly.” “You’re naive.” “Iskall’s my friend. It’s not naive to trust him.” “He broke that trust!” “Well, yes, and I plan to get him back for that someday, but also: it’s a death game. We all agreed to it. I’m not mad at him for killing me, I just wish he’d been a bit more upfront about it.” If he’d been more obvious about trying to kill Wels, then maybe Wels wouldn’t be dead, also. But Iskall’s whole goal was to kill him, so he can understand the deception. “You’re infuriating.” Wels shrugs. He generally tries not to be, but in this instance, he finds that he doesn’t mind. “Maybe so. Look, can we finish this later? I need to go get my stuff back from Iskall, and your presence would probably freak him out.”

you know when you get to that point of dealing with intrusive/self deprecating/etc thoughts that you're just like. "yeah okay. consider: you're stupid and wrong. also: go away, i'm busy"? that should be wels and hels

read on Ao3

#they should be worsties i think #welsknight #helsknight #hermitcraft season 10 #banana made a post #banana writes things #i have been getting back into hermitcraft. more specifically the -elsknights #this is part of a larger fic that asks:#what If wels had actually brought back hels for demise?#except it's more like. what if your evil doppelganger slash sentient intrusive thoughts was so annoying that you went #will you shut up and leave me alone if i let you kill some people for fun and games

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raggedy-dxctor · 2 months

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"so which postcard did you get??"

#the arcana #heart hunter #lucio the arcana #julian the arcana #asra the arcana #nadia the arcana #portia the arcana #muriel the arcana #heart hunter fills me with a truly unmatched rage #'you missed an opportunity to earna heart! remember this game is about-“ SHUT UP. IVE PLAYED THIS GAME FOR FIVE YEARS. LEAVE ME ALONE #IM JUST BAD AT IT

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shepscapades · 3 months

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Hey! i’m really into the dbch story and i was wondering if doc and xisuma ever tell bdubs the specifics of why etho lost his memories, cause if they do that is prime self blaming angst for bdubs

I’m inclined to believe they don’t. Actually (and maybe I should do a small comic for this so more people see it) I imagine, once a month or a few pass and they finally return etho to bdubs as reset, I imagine they are VERY serious about warning bdubs not to try to force Etho to re-deviate— they don’t go into specifics, but they probably tell bdubs that whatever happened had to do with something that was emotionally overwhelming, and that forcing him to redeviate/not letting it happen naturally could trigger the same error. They have no idea what could happen so bdubs needs to be very careful and let Etho find himself again on his own.

Whether or not bdubs gets impatient or can only go so long before he doubts it would be that bad if he tried pushing Etho in the right direction is another story.

But yeah. I don’t think Xisuma or Doc really… tell anyone that this happened. Etho’s error seemed like a very specific one-off scenario, so it’s not something the other hermits should be trying to avoid or be careful about happening to their own android friends, and the only thing telling people would do is make them worried about the situation. All they need to know is that etho was broken and that they need to be careful with him. I don’t agree with their decision to keep what happened to themselves but I understand it I think. Xisuma “i don’t want to worry the hermits” Void and Docm “eh this isn’t the first time I’ve replaced this arm, people won’t question it” 77

#that’s a lie actually I think xisuma ends up telling Cleo :>#but only because Cleo is very smart and I think they should be close in this au :]#but no she would clock Tired Overworked Existential Crisis Xisuma in an instant #Cleo calls them both idiots and gives them big hugs and tells them they need therapy. also that they’re welcome by her place anytime to talk #it’s very sweet and healing to me #this is where “all things end’’ on Xisuma’s playlist comes in actually #oh my god I got so off topic #BDUBS IS GOING TO FEEL GUILTY NO MATTER WHAT THOUGH #like okay. technically #the reason etho shut down is because he was freaking out that everything was his fault #(last life—not giving bdubs a heart— trying to win for bdubs and then losing— coming back to s8 feeling like he can’t face bdubs—>#ending up leaving him alone when the moon hit #and bdubs was hurt by these things. no doubt #but bdubs just wants his friend back and maybe he’s a little reckless about it #bdubs hides his emotions behind cartoonish frustration and complaining but he feels bad #he feels like he should be doing more to ‘save’ etho and bring him back even though he was to #told* he shouldn’t #dbhc ask #dbhc #dbhc bdubs #dbhc etho #dbhc doc #dbhc xisuma #ask #anon

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bpdohwhatajoy · 9 months

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Seeing people hate on your special interest

#autism #actually autistic #special interest #genuinely hate all of you people #leave me alone #no one cares that you dislike it shut the fuck up

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voltstone · 9 days

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clementine.

what the fuck.

doNT MAKE THAT FACE AFTER YOU SAY THAT. GIRL.

#volt's shit #twdg #twdg 4 #twdg clementine #twdg aj #no but this is one of my favorite lines of hers #not the line itself but girl wtf do you mean youd be a cannibal #or like an off-brand cannibal #oml #i know im being a hypocrite the other fic im working on i turn wednesday into a cannibal leave me alone lol #and also no i totally didnt think about a one-shot to do related to this #shut up #ALSO HER LINE DELIVERY ON THE “whatever you say ☺️” IS WILD

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visceravalentines · 1 year

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What did you do for Easter, Meg? Oh you know, colored eggs and wrote sacrilegious porn, hbu? Couldn't stop thinking about the comments on this post so surprise whores here you go

Worship

Dilf!Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

Bo has a few sins to confess and in the process he commits a whole bunch of new ones.

2.5k words. Smut. Super blasphemy, like so bad, and lots of religious ideas and phrasing. Oral (fem!receiving) and PnV sex in a semi-public extremely inappropriate place w/ creampie at the end bc that's what we deserve. Soft Bo, almost sub Bo if you squint. Reader wears a dress & heels and uses she/her pronouns. Extensive liberties taken with confessional booth architecture and suit pants physics.

A note: this can be read as a non-chronological part of my ongoing dilf Bo series or as a standalone.

You haven't been in this church since you were a teenager. Your eyes wander up and over the stained glass, the soaring rafters. It's a beautiful building, stately, tranquil.

"Got somethin' I need to confess," Bo whispers with his lips against your ear. Goosebumps roll down your skin.

You shoot a sidelong glance down the pew at your parents, less than two feet away. They're holiday Catholics and the sermon has them rapt, like tourists watching a wild animal from the safety of their vehicle.

You incline your head subtly in Bo's direction and hold your breath so you don't miss his next words.

"I can't get you outta my head."

You exhale slowly and shift on the bench, careful not to set the ancient wood creaking. When you sneak a look at him, he's the picture of innocence, taking in the gospel like a man who doesn't need it. You clasp your hands on your lap.

Casually, like he's commenting on the father's delivery, Bo leans in again and murmurs, "Bet you'd let me touch you here, huh? Get my hands under that little skirt...."

You shiver and shift. The bench tattles on you and your mother sends a reprimand your way with her eyes. You tug the hem of your skirt towards your knees and try to channel a modicum of the faux virtue sitting to your left.

He quiets down and behaves himself for just long enough that the flame flickering in your center dies down to an almost-appropriate level, but the heat of his leg against your bare thigh keeps you from turning all your thoughts to God. The weight of his hand on the small of your back as he guides you out of the pew for Communion is a stitch past purity. The look he manages to slip you as the father places the wafer in his open mouth makes you feel like you need to get back in line for a second pass at contrition, and maybe this time you'll mean it.

His hand brushes across your ass as you scoot back into the pew and you think about obedience, how you hate to be told what to do but you'd drop to your knees for him right now, right here, if he'd promise to quell the simmer he's started between your legs.

The father is thanking those who helped prepare the picnic on the lawn outside and Bo props his arm on the back of the bench, leans close and lets his lips graze your skin, and whispers, "Meet me up there once everybody's outside." He gestures with a nod.

You look at him with wide eyes. "The confessional?" you hiss.

He winks at you.

You follow your parents out onto the green, but Bo doesn't follow you. In fact you lose him immediately in the crowd, can't help but search for him among the abundance of pastel dresses and khaki suits. You agree vapidly with everything your mother says about the mass, nod politely at all your dad's closest acquaintances.

You excuse yourself at the second or third possible opportunity, afraid of running into the father if you sneak back too soon. Your footsteps are deafening in the now silent sanctuary, your eager uncertainty echoing back at you like an accusation.

Bo is nowhere to be seen, but neither is the clergy, so you step lightly across the stone floor and approach the confessional booth. The penitent's bench is hardly private, hung with a red curtain that only conceals from the waist up. You duck instead into the priest's chamber and inch the door closed behind you, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding once you're safely out of sight.

The small space is dimly lit by a single bulb recessed in the ceiling and the fractured light coming in through the screen on the one side. There's a bench built into the back wall and furnished with a velvet cushion. You sit, adjusting your skirt, and think about guilt.

Abruptly the door flies open and Bo slips inside, closing it all the way behind him. He's appropriately debonair in a blue suit, white shirt, no tie. For a moment, he looks a touch harried, glancing over his shoulder to be sure the door is closed. But then he looks down at you, meets your gaze, and flashes you a grin.

"Well what do we have here?"

You move to stand and he shakes his head, fighting to shrug off his suit coat in the confined space. "Don't get up, darlin', you're perfect right there. Betcha this is the first time anyone with tits has sat in that seat."

You giggle, a touch nervous. He reaches his hand out for yours and brings your knuckles to his lips. His mustache prickles your skin.

"You enjoy the mass?"

You're not sure if he's serious. "...parts of it, yeah."

He smiles. "Which parts?"

You open your mouth for a sharp reply but your gaze is hung up on his lips and when he shifts his weight you become unbearably aware of how close his bulge is to your face.

Bo laughs low and squeezes your hand. "I myself had a hard time focusin' on the good word. Had my mind on...other things." He eyes you with something like mischief. "I was hopin' maybe you could help me...unburden myself."

The smell of him is slowly permeating the tiny space, overwriting the stuffy scent of incense and oiled wood with tobacco and aftershave. He barely fits, too tall, shoulders too broad. He could swallow you whole and you wish he would.

"Anything you want," you say softly.

Bracing himself against the walls, he sinks to his knees in front of you. The pattern of the screen is emblazoned on his face in light. The wood pops and creaks. You remember to breathe.

"I'm a sinner, darlin'." He gazes up at you through those lashes, smiling sheepishly, big hands curving around your calves. "Done too much wrong to confess. Can't even remember it all."

You touch his cheek, brush your thumb over the crow's feet at the corner of his eye. "Start small."

His hands slide down to your ankles and he works at the strap of your heels with ungainly fingers. "I been tellin' lies, baby." He slips off one shoe and starts on the other. "Your mama asked me if I've been seein' anyone and I said no." His thumb runs along the arch of your foot. "Your daddy asked me if I knew where you was the other night and I told him I didn't have a clue."

He wraps his fingers around your ankles and squeezes gently, and then pulls your legs open. You stifle a gasp, try to press your thighs together to maintain a smidgen of modesty.

Bo kisses your knees. His hands creep up the outside of your legs. "Been gamblin'. Riskin' my reputation, my livelihood."

"Why would you do that?" you whisper.

He grins against your skin. His fingers are sneaking beneath your skirt. "Well y'see, there's this girl...."

You bite your lip as he curls one finger around the waistband of your panties on either side and tugs them down your thighs.

"She ain't for me...but she's all I want. And that's another thing." He tucks your panties in his pocket and you pretend you don't notice. "I been plagued by lustful thoughts. Day and night I'm thinkin' about this girl, thinkin' about the sounds she makes...picturin' her underneath me...." He guides your knees apart, drags his mouth over your skin, lighting you up from the outside in. His shoulders are solid under your hands, a foundation to cling to.

"See, I know it's wrong, but whenever she's around me I just...forget myself. Start wonderin' what she's got on under her clothes, what I gotta do to get 'em off of her...." He nips at your flesh, one, two, three up your thigh, and you gasp each time. "Keeps me up at night wishin' she was in my bed." He pauses, looks at you with cocked eyebrows. "I think about her damn near every time I defile myself, which is...often."

You exhale slowly, release the death grip you have on his shirt and run your fingers through his hair. "Sounds like you've got a lot of penance to do."

Bo lets out a helpless chuckle. "I know it, baby. I'm desperate." He blinks up at you, looking earnest. "I'm hopin' you got some salvation to offer me."

"I might." You tug your skirt up, baring yourself to him, and he groans, fingers digging into your flesh. "But you've got to earn it."

He inches forward and pins your legs open on either side of his shoulders. "Never been much of a god-fearin' man," he says, "but I know how to worship." He bows his head and you close your eyes when you feel his breath on your skin. "What d'you know about devotion, angel?"

"Nothing," you say, breathless. "Teach me."

The first pass of his tongue is feather-light and devastating and you sigh as that flickering flame roils brightly back to life. He teases the edge of your entrance, warming you up with the heat of his attention. You make a small sound and he responds with a slow, insistent lick up the length of your slit that makes you whine and clutch at his hair.

He cradles your clit in the cup of his lips and venerates you with his tongue in lazy spirals, up and over, and your blood throbs in the same rhythm. He sucks gently, and then harder, and you moan in the bliss of transubstantiation as his mouth makes the mundane into the divine.

With a growl in the back of his throat he hoists your legs onto his shoulders and penetrates you with his tongue, lapping at your pussy in search of absolution. Your eyes bounce around the blank ceiling of the booth as your hips buck mindlessly against his chin. His mustache tickles your lips, beard coarse against your inner thighs.

"Bo," you gasp as he sucks hard at your clit, "oh, god."

"I'm a bad person, baby," he mumbles. "Promise."

"No." You try and fail to stifle a cry, back arching, toes curled. "You're so good...you're so good."

Between your gasps you hear the sound of footsteps on the stone. Your steady-building climax skids to a halt and you stare wide-eyed at the confessional door.

Bo doesn't stop. In fact, he redoubles his efforts.

You clamp your hand over your mouth, trying desperately to keep still even as your body flexes and writhes against your will. You can hear two voices--you recognize one as the father but the other could be anybody, some stranger, some sinner seeking Easter confession.

Bo seals his mouth over your cunt and grinds his tongue against your clit again and again, gripping your ass, holding you to him as you squirm and seek purchase on the featureless walls.

The voices are getting closer and against all odds, so is your release. You're past the point of redemption, couldn't stave it off if you wanted to.

"Bo," you squeak under your breath, clawing at the back of his neck, grasping the edge of the seat, "please--"

He grunts softly. He's devouring you, hellbent on a miracle, bound and determined to introduce you to God. And seconds later, when your cup runneth over and your spine arches against the velvet and you have to sink your teeth into the meat of your palm to keep from howling his name, you see starbursts of pastel pink and sky blue behind your eyes and figure this is probably the closest you'll get to the pearly gates.

Your breath is hitching in your chest and you feel him slip out of your hands and you whimper, floating back into your body, unsteady as you try to sit up straight on the bench. The voices and footsteps are fading and you breathe a sigh of relief and release.

His hands are on your arms and he's coaxing you to your feet, supporting your weight on behalf of your shaking legs, turning you around in the tight space and murmuring in your ear.

"Need you, baby, right now, c'mere. Need to be inside you. Let me--"

He takes your place on the bench. He's undone his belt, freed his cock from his pants, and you clamber eagerly into his lap and let him guide you down onto him. Your head lolls back as he pushes into you, fills your empty space. The image of him looking desperately up at you is burned into the back of your eyelids.

"Angel," he breathes as he takes your face in his hands and brings your mouth to his. His kisses are hot with lust, with greed, with envy of everyone who's ever touched your lips before him. You can smell yourself in his beard, sweet and heady like original sin.

You move, rocking back and forth on his cock, and he moves you, hands on your hips, your skirt in disarray, his shirt falling open as you wrestle with the buttons. He pulls you closer, pulls himself deeper, and you can feel his heart pounding when you brace yourself on his chest.

"Ain't gonna last long," he pants. "So fuckin' tight, baby, so perfect...."

"That's okay, that's okay," you say, stumbling over your words. The frame of the booth is groaning in legitimate complaint, the entire structure trembling slightly, and you're going to get caught, surely you are, and you'll be cast out together beyond the reach of forgiveness but that might be alright as long as you've got him with you.

You press yourself against him, as close as you can get and not close enough. He cums with his face buried in your chest and your name in his mouth like a prayer. The kick of his cock inside you grants you another little climax, a little death, little moans jarred from your lips with each waning thrust of his hips.

"Kiss me," you whisper, and he obeys, his eyes glazed, his gaze soft and adoring. His needy grip on your waist melts into caresses and you finger the buttons of his shirt like rosary beads. One is missing; you're both hopelessly disheveled, undeniably sin-touched. You push his hair off his forehead and back into place. "Did this help?"

He shakes his head and laughs quietly. "No."

"Made it worse."

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

"'S okay." He kisses you again. "You're forgiven."

#i know i know i write so much of bo eating pussy but you know what? you know what?? you're welcome okay?? leave me alone #this was supposed to be like a blurb but i just don't know how to shut up about this old man #bo sinclair #bo sinclair fanfiction #dilf bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #slasher x reader #house of wax fanfiction #agaas #a gentleman and a scoundrel

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togansweep · 6 months

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I hope this isn't another misogynistic shiv hating video in my recommendations made by a man who needs to shut the fuck up!

...

#SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP #stop recommending me this bullshit #leave my wife alone!!

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liquidjapanesetit · 10 months

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#tmnt #Leonardo #donatello #HE REALLY TRIED TO READ IT FOR DONNIE THIS IS SO CUTE SHUT UP LEAVE ME ALON #this is so me and my sister core #also yeah i started the idw comics before finishing tmnt 2012 who gives a shit #tmnt idw

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matchbet-allofthetime · 6 days

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Everytime I replay FNV and hear what happened to Boone's wife and go through all of Boone's lines, all I can think about is when he just says "you'd better keep your distance too"

Because all I can think is that a) he doesn't want to get attached to ANYBODY at all for fear of losing them

Or (the one more heart-wrenching for me) he b) is telling the courier that he KNOWS he could fall in love with them.

#this is such a stretch and i dont fucking care.#craig boone #fnv #f:nv #fallout new vegas #he breaks me okay???#leave me alone I'll never shut up about him

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isupposethisisagoodusername · 22 days

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Hc that when someone gets dunked in the Lazarus pit their eyes become greenish or greener than before, or a radioactive ass green if they're dunked in it too many times

Like when you go to the beach and your annoying cousin/sibling pulls you underwater, there's a point where you gotta leave or your nose feels too full of water, but instead of your nose it's the eyes and instead of water it becomes radioactive green, and if they get dunked too many times/for too long their vision becomes distorted and their thoughts too

So Jason had blue eyes but he came back with greenish/green eyes

And Damian was probably born with green eyes or blueish because Bruce's eyes are blue but his eyes now are nuclear waste green and when he's really angry his vision becomes greener and greener and he starts distorting things

And if like, Tim gets dunked in it his eyes start getting a bit greener too

And when someone's being influenced by the pit at least a bit of their eyes glows comic nuclear waste green

Could be Joker green too but I find it funny if Ra's Al Ghul is nuclear waste because he's lasting longer than radiation at this point and he's waste because he's not useful and only harms shit around him

#Jason Todd #Red Hood #Damian Wayne #Robin #Tim Drake #Red Robin #Bruce Wayne #Batman #Old man #I like to think that seeing his sons' eyes getting green/being greener worries and upsets him and reminds him how he failed them #shut up let me hc that he's a good parent #fuck Ra's Al Ghul leave my boys alone #tumblr-ing on the bus is the thing that my friends would probably insult me the most about

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emmyrosee · 7 months

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There’s soft little grunts coming from the play table just a few feet away, and it doesn’t take long for your confused eyes to meet Atsumu’s.

It’s not too long before Hisako has to get taken for a bath and up to bed, and while the night had seemed to go smooth, smooth as any other night, the way she slowly rose from her seat and practically limped over to her crayons was more than… odd, to say the least.

“Should… we interviene?” Atsumu asks, golden eyes flicking to you.

You shrug, “I… don’t know? Has she been limping all day?”

“Not that I’ve seen. Have you seen her limping?”

“No; and I know Osamu would’ve said something if he saw her limping at breakfast.”

Instantly, a tiny head whips towards you both at the mention of Osamu, eyes wide and glimmering with excitement.

Atsumu snorts, “ya said the magic word.”

“Uncle ‘Samu?” She chirps, looking between you both.

“Later,” You chuckle. Then, you put your phone to the side and shift slightly to lean towards Hisako. “But are you okay, baby?”

Hisako beams up at you both, “‘m okay, mumma!”

Atsumu leans forwards on his knees to join the conversation, “well, baby, why are you walking like you’ve got a boo-boo?”

“Im you, daddy!”

Silence. Silence fills the miya household for longer than enough time. Slowly, trying to stifle back the laughter that desperately needs to pour from your lips, Atsumu tucks his own into his mouth to keep his amused annoyance at bay.

“You’re who?”

“I’m you!” She repeats happily. “Cause when you get up, you make funny noises n’ grab your back and leg!”

This, finally, has you releasing all the laughter you’d been trying to keep in, your arms clutching your sides as you cackle. Between your screwed shut eyes, you see Atsumu tuck his tongue in his cheek. Hisako, not knowing better, joins in with your laughter, leaving just Atsumu to wallow in betrayal.

Once you both quiet down, Atsumu takes a deep breath in his nose, then releases it slowly. “Honey,” he begins. “I don’t do those for pretend.”

“I know,” she says happily. “It ‘cause you’re old, dadda!”

Once again, your cackles fill the room.

“YOU DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS, OKAY?!”

“Yuh-huh!” She assures. “Uncle ‘Samu said you got grey hairs too, ‘cause you’re old!”

You wipe a tear from your eye and gently take one of Atsumu’s clenched fists in your hands, “hey; if you’re old, he is too, baby,” you promise him, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek.

Hisako shrugs, “uncle ‘yoomi says it’s cause you don’t listen to him.”

“Yeah, and I’m done listening to you,” he snarls only slightly serious. He pops on his feet, and you do your hardest to hide the snort that slips past your mouth when the sound of his cracking bones ring in the air. He glares, and you tuck your lips in to try and stifle the rest. “Come on you,” he grumbles, grabbing Hisako by the sides and lifting her up and over his shoulder while she giggles and fights his grip. “You need a bath. Wash your mouth out with soap.”

“Daddy!” She squeals; you offer her a small wave as she’s carried up the stairs with Atsumu, and you pull out your phone to text Osamu.

SENT you call your brother old in front of your niece?

Osamu 🍱 duh

we are old

he just ages like milk

im a fine wine

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