My neighbor is one of those annoying wannabe YouTube personalities.
Over the years, I’ve seen him cough out cinnamon, lay flat on the hood
of his car as it slowly creeps down the driveway, and douse himself in
lukewarm water, all the while screaming epic win, epic fail, or, fuck, epic maintenance of the status quo,
for all I know. It can get tiring to watch him go about his shenanigans
in the pursuit of viral fame. So, when he knocked on my door the other
day, told me he was going away for a few weeks, and asked that I get his
mail, honestly, it was a relief. I can’t explain the peace of mind I
had knowing I didn’t have to brace myself for any of his stupidity for a
while. I was always afraid his stunts would wind up bleeding over into
Warnings: breath play, dom!Jimin, lots and lots of filth.
A/N: This is chapter one of… well, I don’t know. @ellieljade and I just keep brainstorming more and more for this sucker. To the point of us joking about finishing this when we’re in our 90′s….. Anyway. I hope you enjoy. I’ll be working on part two for Room for Dessert and The Guest House soon.
rompts: Combination of this one-shot where you’re batmom and just came back from a long business trip and all the kids missed you & when you get home you get shot by an unknown outside the manor in front of Damian who felt something was off? If we survive it’s up2u AND THIS one where Batmom has a stalker? And maybe she doesn’t want to tell Batman right away because she thinks she can handle it?
AN: Warning there will probably be tears, but not for the reason you think …
“My boys!!!!!” You open your arms as the boys run forward. You’re nearly driven to the ground by the force of four hugs. You make sure to hug each of your sons individually, before they begin fighting for your attention.
You listen to the bickering as it turns from who your favorite is, to who’s the best baker of all things. Each boy takes a bag, and starts heading towards the house. Taking a deep breath, you smile at the man leaning against the door frame.
Bruce is dressed in jeans and a sweater, a look you prefer to his usual suit. He looks relaxed and happy, something that never fails to fill you with joy. You open your arms again, as he begins walking towards you with his usual smirk.
When he finally pulls you in for a hug, you take a deep breath, breathing in his scent. He’s big, and warm, and contrary to popular belief, quite cuddly. “I missed you.”
He just laughs, “I missed you more. The bed is incredibly cold without you in it.”
You just smile, as you begin walking towards the house. You can hear the boys arguing inside, when all of a sudden your steps falter. Not understanding what’s going on, you start to fall, and as Bruce catches you, the first tingles of pain hit you. And then it’s a searing pain. Sound disappears, and your eyesight starts to go fuzzy. The last thing you see is Bruce’s face, before everything goes black.
You wake up to something squeezing your arm. Your mouth is dry, and your head is fuzzy. Opening your eyes, you’re grateful that the lights are dimmed low. Turning your head to the side, you smile at the sight of Bruce. His eyes go a little wide, before he moves forward. He crouches down next to you. “Hey,” he whispers before pushing hair back from your face.
You voice cracks a bit when you speak, “What happened?”
“You were shot, by a man who appears to have been stalking you for quite some time. He escaped, but Jim is on the case.” You let out a small groan. Bruce runs a hand over his face, having gathered the meaning, “You knew about him?”
You nod, “He kept showing up wherever I was. He sent flowers and food. I had my assistant throw everything away. Security went through everything too, there was nothing harmful in any of it, but I didn’t want to take a chance.”
Bruce just nods, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It all started after the Joker had escaped a few months ago. You and the boys were so stressed; I didn’t want to add to that.”
Bruce’s hand covers yours, “You come first.”
You give a small smile, “I honestly didn’t think he was a threat.”
Bruce finally leans in and kisses you, “Next time, please just tell me when you have a stalker.”
It takes a week before the doctors let you out of the hospital. The bullet had just barely missed your spine, and had hit a major artery on its way out. It was only Bruce’s knowledge of how to slow the bleeding that had kept you alive.
The boys baby you over the next few days, they won’t even let you carry a bowl of soup. About a week after you get home, Jim alerts you that your stalker, and would be killer, had been caught. Caught in a room with pictures of you pasted everywhere. After several psychiatric tests it became clear that he had created a delusional relationship with you after you had complimented him for some computer work he had done in your office.
Apparently, you having left the country on the business trip was what set him off. Not being able to see you or observe you had driven him into a more violent psychosis. In the end, he’s sentenced to a stint in Arkham. That doesn’t reassure you, or your boys.
When he turns up dead in his cell one morning, there’s a lot of shuffling in the house. Eyes cut to Jason more often than they should, the curiosity is there but no one is brave enough to actually ask if he had done it.
You do your best to block it from your mind. You know Jason’s code is different than the others. You know he kills, but no one has ever killed for you before and that makes you a little nauseous.
About a week after the murder, you come home to what should be an empty manor. Bruce is at work, Tim and Damian are at school, and Jason and Dick were on a mission. So when you enter the Manor and hear frustrated screaming, you’re more than a little confused.
You follow the sound to the back yard to find Damian attacking a tree with a blade. He’s going at the tree as though it had demanded he go back to the league. As you get closer, you stop at sword’s length away and say, “Damian.”
He freezes mid swing. Slowly he turns to face you. And that’s when you notice. He’s thinner than he should be, there are dark circles under his eyes, and he won’t meet your gaze.
You move forward slowly. Stopping in front of him, you take the sword from his hand, and when you place a hand on his shoulder, he shrugs it off. “Damian,” you whisper. You do it again, and this time he gives into the touch, before the tears start rolling down his cheeks. He collapses into your arms, and you gently sink to the ground with him, tossing the sword to the side.
“It was me.”
You run your fingers through his hair, “What was you?”
“It was me who killed him.”
You freeze, “What?”
He straightens a bit, “I killed the stalker. Todd was going to do it, but I beat him to it. He found me in the cell, he’s the one who got me out, and cleaned up.”
You take a deep breath, “Oh, Damian.”
You pull him closer and you let him cry, “It shouldn’t bother me. I’ve killed before. I killed the entire time growing up, so why does it bother me now? Why?”
You’re not quite sure what to say, “Oh, my baby.”
“I couldn’t let him hurt you again. I can’t lose you. You’re my mom.”
You don’t say anything else, you just pull him in closer, and let him cry.
there’s a rule about taking Doctor Who seriously and it’s that to take it seriously you need to not take it too seriously
this show doesn’t take itself seriously, no matter how dark it might get at times
this isn’t some fucking gritty Edgelord show, this is a show watched by millions of children about hope and belief and trying to help people even when it seems hopeless and even when it doesn’t work, we should never hope that anyone in it stays dead, especially not anyone that represents so much for so many
above all we should never as older fans want anything for it that would take away from the enjoyment of the younger fans
you can’t treat it the same way you would a lot of other shows. its demographic is anyone who is willing to believe in it, anyone of any age.
this is a show about an idiot in a magical box who fixes things with a screwdriver and a belief in the goodness of people
an idiot who gets into ridiculous situations that are often also dire, who saves the day always but only uses violence as a last resort, who tries to win with words and cleverness first
over the last few years it’s been one of the only shows on television still trying to tell a hopeful story in a world obsessed with Edgy Cynical Realism, while never shying away from how harsh the universe can be
it is a show about possibility where almost any thing or person or story that can be imagined could be plausible (hello, people being killed by plastic inflatable chairs, a small box being infinitely huge on the inside, a lesbian being saved by her magical star girlfriend)
it is a show created by lifelong fans, it is a constant love letter to itself with stupid little in jokes and nostalgic trips, and above all it is a message and lesson of hope and kindness
take it or leave it but that is what it will or at least should always be
18 year old yuri, one time senior grand prix final chamption, two-time consecutive senior worlds champion, and the guy otabek has been pining for for a year now, decides he wants to try skating to Welcome To The Madness again for old times sake
its a spontaneous decision, and its just something he wants to do for fun for the off season, so he decides to buy clothes that are similar to his old costume but not an exact replica
he sends otabek a pic of his costume remake a few days later and otabek is floored.
because fuck, that is a loose mesh v neck shirt he has on, only covered by a purple glittery jacket. those are the tightest pair of leather pants he’s ever seen in his life and it they might as well have been painted on. the golden cross around his neck only brings his attention to his exposed chest and milky white collarbones and oh my god, oh my god.
(alsohes still using the glasses he lent him all those years ago and it shouldnt be making his heart beat this fast, god)
he only sends a “looks good” along with two thumbs up emojis, but god. “looks good.” thats the understatement of the goddamn year.
it only gets worse when yuri finally sends him the recreation of his old exhibition skate. fuck. fuck.
the way he lets the jacket fall off his shoulders, exposing his back because of the cut mesh shirt underneath. the way he throws away the jacket with such an overdramatic flourish
the absolutely lethal way he performs his jumps and how his skates glint in the light. the way his loose shirt rides up every single goddamn time he jumps, letting him see the lean but defined muscles underneath.
the fucking backbend he does that rides his shirt all the way up, exposing every single god damn inch of his torso. the way yuris eyes close and his face relax as he slides across the ice like this.
otabek feels like hes going to faint.
“ill skate it for you when you visit st petersburg” yuri promises, and otabek nearly books a ticket right then and there
when he does visit, yuri is initially very confused when otabek acts fidgety, a little red every time yuri look at him and making sure he doesnt touch yuri accidentally
he figures it out when he finally performs wttm for otabek and when he strikes his final pose, otabek is staring at him with a flush on his cheeks, his eyes looking absolutely mesmerized
and yes when he finally figures it out maybe he does drag otabek into the locker room to make out with him. maybe
Genre: Angst/fluff/(future)smut || dance captain!hoseok, bad boy!au, uni!au
Pairing: Reader x Hoseok
Summary: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the risen sun has gone into hiding—because perhaps its shadows have out-shined its own radiance.
It’d been a while since he really
saw her last. After they’d gone off to university, he’d had a hectic schedule
that didn’t allow him much time to socialize with his friends from middle
school or high school. Plus, with Nino away in Spain, and Alya’s web journalism
internship they hardly had a chance to all get together.
Seeing her now, sitting on her
balcony quietly consumed in sketching, Chat Noir was hit with an overwhelming
wave of nostalgia.
i think that the media portrays a very mocking and sort of fanciful conception from astrology that is really really far off what’s really going on there is still a place for horoscopes in the daily newspaper but it’s wasteful reading. you could literally sit a pack of monkeys in front of a computer and get them to type up daily horoscopes for you. i don’t know if they are there because its legitimately still seen as vague and light form of entertainment, or i dont know if the way mass media conveys astrology as foolish and illegitimate on purpose. morning tv shows ‘astrologers’ or maybe ‘astrologists :p’ who emulate the stereotypical old ‘clairvoyant’ who speaks with that soft weird voice and really reinforces the notion that astrology is very vague practice, involving angel cards and amethyst stones. in truth the astrologer would be there with her books and chart notes in hand. i wonder if and why they try to conceptualise an image. it still fascinates me that after hundreds of years the daily newspaper still has a section reserved for the zodiac. even after the church tried to burn and banish astrological teachers and teachings it lived on through secretly handed down through astrological families so it could be reserved. and then uranus was found and it blew the whole thing apart for a while, and then scientists debunked astrology but they debunked the theory that astrology involved constellations and the sun passing through stars and that they had since moved but tropical astrologers never claimed that either. our ancestors taught us the way.
our consciousness is in harmony with the heavens and our children and future generations inherit these cosmic memories. it can never be truly banished because it’s a part of who we have always been, ever since the beginning we have looked at the stars above and seen our reflection. even people who dont contemplate astrology know their sun sign or express interest or dismay. for some reason we have made it of cultural importance. by carl jung; ““We can also find in the unconscious qualities that are not individually acquired but are inherited, . In this deeper stratum we…find…archetypes… “ is it an agenda to maintain the fanciful image of astrology where it’s conveyed that followers believe constellations and planetary bodies have hook line sinkers down to earth and control the earth like puppet masters and it’s basic fortune telling? i dont know where im going with this ive been awake a few days, but the elite has always utilised astrology. for many years only the king had access to an astrologer and natal chart, the common people were unworthy. in their eyes we are still unworthy and getting relegated to fortune cookie extracts unless willing to go against the grain and not feel senseless for taking it up as a course of study. maybe i wish that more people understood that astrology involves a lot of books, a lot of reading, writing, learning, and memorising. it’s why it’s such a delight, i feel its the closest thing we have to god’s handwriting
Summary: Y/N and Jughead take a long drive out of Riverdale for a road trip and discover their hidden feelings for each other
Warnings: swearing, slight smut, drinking
‘Swerving on the 405, I can never keep my eyes off this’
We’d been driving for hours, we didn’t even know where we were going anymore, or what were running from. The sudden impulsive decision to get out of town and take a road trip was decided by Jughead. He had been distressed at school lately and said he had a lot of stuff going on in his head, and he needed to get away.
Me being the good friend I am, and caring a great deal for him, didn’t want him to be alone so I decided to make the offer on taking him away for a while.