That Time With the Body Paint; just over 2600 words [AO3]
against his better judgement, Isak would let Even talk him into doing things
that Isak knew weren’t good for
Even’s health. He couldn’t deny that he
missed their lazy smoking sessions where they’d lie in bed giggling and
occasionally trading kisses, too fuzzy to remember all the bad shit out
there. But he’d never forget the
bollocking Sonja gave him that night, and for a long time that trauma was
stronger than Even’s attempts at convincing Isak.
wasn’t until Even grumbled that Isak was babysitting him like Sonja had that
didn’t want to turn into a caretaker. He
wasn’t Even’s babysitter, he was his boyfriend.
So what if the guy wanted to smoke pot with his boyfriend every now and
then? Surely it couldn’t be that
bad? It wasn’t like Isak was going to
take Even on a bender.
joint or two wasn’t going to be the end of the world.
TITLE: Anything For You (Femme Fatale, Part 1) PAIRING: Reader/AU Mobster!Castiel SUMMARY: In 1920s Seattle, Castiel runs an underground alcohol trade, soon too open his own speakeasy, and dabbles in loan sharking. He has eyes set on the reader, who enjoys a good chase and having a man wrapped around her finger. Castiel was getting himself tied in tightly and despite her best efforts, the reader was doing the same. WORDS: 2,226 AUTHOR’S NOTES: This is going to be told in fragmented parts more than likely rather than a flowing story. I’m not sure how many parts its going to be yet, but at least three.
Also, I tagged everyone from the King!Cas fic. I separated ones from that who were on the “Castiel” tags before or requested to be on there. Please let me know if you want to be added to the permanent Castiel tags or not!
The back of her head met with the side hull plating of a Leman Russ turret for the fourth time in an hour. She periodically did it to keep herself awake, a battle she wasn’t sure she was winning. Blood ran from a multitude of relatively minor wounds, but she kept turning away the medicae away. She wouldn’t have the resources wasted on her injuries when worse wounds on her men required attention. The joint function between the Vostroyan 161st Heavy Armored Regiment and the Wolfgarde 264th Regiment had been a hot mess, as it seemed like it frequently was when it came to the Guard. At least they had managed to camp with some semblance of dignity.
From her vantage point on the top of the tank, she could see the colonel from the ragtag Wolfgarde unit getting patched up.
How would the batfam react to what happened to Dick in the Tarantula arc?
Ah, Devin Grayson. I personally want to deny her run ever happened. ( See: why←Strongly suggest everyone to read) But, yeh, Dick could be a good representation if being written more earnestly.
I really doubt he would let anyone know what happened to him, I think he is rather conservative when it comes to gender/ sex issues. Of course he respect women, but he’s still chained by the stereotypes of masculinity ( already better than Bruce and Tim, though) ( a common problem to many men who do care about gender equality) . So it would be very difficult for him to talk or even think about it. I even want to question that if he understood he was raped :(
But the question is how would the family react, so we just pretend they found out. ( they’re detectives!
Warnings: Smut….Smuuuuuuuuuut. Hints of non-con without actually going there. Slightly Dom!Crowley (I didn’t really mean it to turn out that way, it just sort of did). Also, I’ve kind of played with demon powers a bit. It’s probably not canon, so if that bothers you, sorry not sorry.
A/N: It’s been a while since I worked on this project, but here it is; The Crowley Edition of Around the World in Smutty Days. As a refresher, this is a personal challenge I’m working on to improve my smut writing, so I would really appreciate constructive feedback. If you’d like to read the Kevin Edition, click the link yo!
You attempted to fight him off, but every step you took towards him, every punch flung his way, hit empty air. Only to have him whisper behind you each time, lips tickling the shell of your ear, “Not fast enough, Love.” You whirled around to find emptiness again. His haughty laugh echoed somewhere to your left. Knowing the kinds of tricks he was up to now, you turned right. Of course, he actually had been to your left this time. Arms clamped down around you, pinning your hands to your sides.
away from you, obviously terrified not only of what he had done, but your
sudden return to the land of the living. Steve took his place at your side
before you could blink; crouching down to help you sit up.
“Are you okay?”
the shock still evident in his voice. He had known that you healed at a
tremendous rate, enough to keep you from aging for decades. But immortality?
That was a new one.
grimaced, twisting the kinks out of your neck delicately. “This isn’t exactly
the first time this has happened.”
Omg WTF empathy research sounds like it's often a sham
This same idiot researcher just said the way we Study empathy in human children is to instruct a family member to act distressed and see what the child does.
TO ACT DISTRESSED.
That is not a genuine situation and does not necessarily test empathy in the way people would expect. Someone with really good empathy would not respond to feigned distress as if it was real. And someone who can’t spot feigned emotions but can spot real ones would be up a creek.
I once designed, on the spot, a way to research empathy in autistic children for real. One off the first things I told the researcher was that the tension and stress of the family member had to be genuine. It could not be acted or feigned. Autistic people are notorious among people who actually know us, for frequently seeing past the surface appearance and into the reality in ways many nonautistic people can’t do. I know an autistic woman who flunked an empathy test because she gave the actors real emotions instead of their acted ones. But the idea that anyone can see through surface appearances and essentially stage conventions is unheard of apparently.
Anyway the researcher I know did frustration experiments so she had software designed to stress people out. So you stress out the parent and test the galvanic skin response of the child. Which eliminates the need for any language skills on the part of the child. Add in control groups and everything else and you have a study that will probably show what the researcher had ignored parents saying until I asked her to reflect on it – their autistic children are more sensitive to tension in the air than any other family members.
The researcher had assumed the parents didn’t know what they were talking about because everyone knows autistic kids don’t show empathy. Just like her students thought the autistic kids in Autism Every Day were all nonverbal and did not interact and did not pick up body language and did not make eye contact and show joint attention… Until I took them through the video acne paused it every few seconds to show them how wrong they were. And these are supposedly experts.
Anyway she had better actually do that experiment one day because it would change the entire face off autism research if people started really testing us instead of setting us up to fail. Which is what relying on stage conventions, artificially created situations, language, and multitasking (expecting both reading body language and using language at once), does to us.
FFS I’ve taken one psych class in my life and have no science backgrounds and I can smell the bullishit in research well enough I’ve been publicly praised by actual researchers (including the then president of the Association for Psychological Science). So surely it can’t be that hard to do real science.
Harley was walking down the dark alley ways of gotham. It was around two in the morning. The sky was pitch black and the “reputable” part of the city had long since gone to sleep. Perfect play time for our little miss clown princess of crime. Harley walked along the alley towards the museum of natural gems and artifacts. She saw a pretty little diamond the last time mistah J had started a heist there, and after all, diamonds are a girls best friend. Harlequin outfit and makeup on, harley began to sprint towards her target with her gun in hand ready to end the life of anyone who got in her way. Harley loved this. The adrenaline, the power, the reward, the chaos. Rehabilitation was for psychopaths that didn’t understand the facade that sanity truly was. Society is an illusion to keep the chaos contained, but that’s the thing about chaos, no one can contain it, so you might as well ride the wave. Life was a lot… Funnier that way. Let the world burn and do it with a smile, that’s what her mistah J taught her. Gosh she missed him. It had been a week since he’d been home, but Harley tried not to worry. He’d do that sometimes, leave for a while. Cause a little chaos of his own. He didn’t like feeling like he was tied down to Harley (or maybe he just didn’t like Harley at all) they had an understanding about that. He’d be back eventually. After all if he was dead or brought back to Arkham it’d be all over the news. Either way harley shrugged the worry away. She loved him and he…. ‘Loved’ her. He’d be back and that’s all that matters.
Finally she reached her destination. It was a price of cake from there. Harley walked in like she owned the joint and turned her attention to the sleeping night guard. “Naughty naughty. Didn’t anyone ever tell ya it’s bad ta fall asleep on tha job,” Harley taunted with her thick Brooklyn accent before shooting the night before he could even get a chance to look at her. Clean kills weren’t very funny or clever, but harley didn’t have time to get here hands messy. After all, BatBrain always knew to come around when he wasn’t wanted, and she really didn’t want to deal with him right now as fun as it would be. She just wanted her diamond. As she walked over to turn off the security alarms she heard a sound. At first she thought it was the alarms and almost booked it for the door, but after some listening she realized it was something different. She couldn’t explain the sound, but her curiosity itched and so she went to find it’s source.
There was a box. A blue box. A blue police box that she knew wasn’t supposed to be there. It was not a gem, not was it an artifact. “That wasn’t there five minutes ago” she said as she walked up to it. She played some with the door before finding it was unlocked, so in she walked.
i realize you probably get a lot of requests so i hope this isn't too much! but you're my favorite souharu fanfiction writer and i appreciate all you've written for this small ship (which thanks to the ova is getting bigger) and I've always wanted to see a souharu hurt/comfort fic where haru gets bad anxiety/a panic attack over something, like the future, as he did in free! es, and then sousuke comforts him/helps him calm down :> maby e
Thank you! Written because part of me still isn’t certain Haru would be entirely happy going pro- I don’t really think he’d particularly love being a celebrity. With some angst, but nothing too bad, because it’s me.
Sousuke knows something’s wrong before he steps into their apartment. The kitchen is completely empty; no familiar scent of frying mackerel or grumpy boyfriend rolling his eyes when Sousuke subsequently complains of said fish. Instead it’s eerily silent inside, and his gut twists.
You sit back on a bench with your golden Deagle by your side. It’s painted, of course, but no one has to know that. You, meanwhile, are just smoking a joint, not paying any attention to your surroundings. And leaving your gun completely unguarded. Just sitting there. Yeah.
❝ DID— did you see– please tell me you saw that. ❞ dax said to whoever was standing next to him, bloodshot eyes following whatever had caught his attention, the joint between his fingers momentarily forgotten. ❝ was that a fucking bald eagle, or am i just too high to function ? ❞