If Only I Had Someone To Do This For Me.. Guess I'll Stick To My Girl Dinners

Amazing

September 19th ~Rosekiller ~ Word Count: 316 ~ Prompt: Cheek @rosekillermicrofic

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Evan stopped Barty in the doorway, “You're drunk. Stay somewhere else.”

Barty recoiled, “Excuse me?” 

“You need to go.”

“Don't tell me what to do.” He shot back.

“You know, maybe I’d be nicer if you weren’t drinking yourself to death.”

“Oh, fuck this. I'm leaving. I’ll be the good guy and turn the other cheek.”

“The good guy? You're always manipulating me!”

“Bullshit! I’m not the one kickin’ you out!”

“You just always need a reaction from me. Why? Does it get you off? Is that it? Is it some sick fantasy of yours?”

“Shut up!” Barty shouted.

Evan kept going, “Why me, huh? I'm the only one you do this to. Does making me angry turn you on? Did it finally click that you're just a pathetic, sadistic, closeted little-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Barty's words echoed in the silent room. He sighed, “You're right. I- I don't know how to... I'm in love with you, okay?” He blurted, "And I hurt you because it was easier than facing the truth."

It was a while before Evan managed to speak,

"You love me?" He whispered. Barty nodded,

"I always have."

Evan blew out a breath, “I love you too... Even though you’re a fucking maniac.”

Barty snorted, his eyes filled with tears, "Like you aren't just as crazy."

They jumped when a voice came from nowhere,

“Finally.” Regulus groaned, “I’ve been waiting for three years.”

“When the fuck did you get here?”

Regulus rolled his eyes, “I’ve been here all morning, nitwit. I’m still waiting for you idiots to kiss.”

Evan looked back to find Barty was already staring, he looked nervous. 

Evan didn’t hesitate, surging forward to kiss the absolute mess of a fucking man that he loved with all his heart.

Sure, they were toxic, maybe even a little insane. But somehow, they worked. And what kind of love isn’t a little crazy?

𝐀 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐆𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 𝐂𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠:

๏ 𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧

๏ 𝐒𝐙𝐀 𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧

๏ 𝐊𝐚𝐢 𝐂𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐊𝐚𝐢 𝐂𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐭

๏ 𝐉𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐧

𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚜 𝙲𝚁𝙰𝚉𝚈!!! 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚂𝙾 𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙾𝚄𝚂 & 𝙸 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴!!!🤣🤣🤣

𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝙱𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚝!!!🤣🤣🤣

𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘉𝘢𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘈𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐’𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦!

Sobbing, be right back 💔🥹

hello! Since you said you’re taking marauders fanart requests:

can you draw a fluffy dorlene one of them cuddling on a couch, or a really sad one of bartys reaction to regulus/evan’s death, or to both? If not it’s perfectly fine. have a great day/night and remember to take care of yourself!

<3

Can someone please, please pretty please recommend me fics where one of the bat siblings get into a fight with Damian and say something mean and storm off, and Damian is just a little baby and starts crying. Then he's trying so hard to get his brother to talk to him, but they're ignoring him, and it starts to affect patrol, and it's just pure chaos of every other bat member to get them to talk. It eventually progresses to Damian just breaking down in front of that sibling and begging to have a conversation, because he's a child and doesn't understand, and they finally do and all is forgiven because they're family 💝.

Or you know something similar

Damn... Maybe I am a man....

things you DO NOT need to be a man

a dick

he/him pronouns

XY chromosomes

things you DO need to be a man

the swiftness of a coursing river

the force of a great typhoon

the strength of a raging fire

the mysteriousness of the dark side of the moon

^this post was brought to you by LGBT^

Let's

Get down to

Business

To defeat the huns

I feel this so much, sometimes it's nice and strange and awkward and beautiful to finally be seen by the right people

Thinking about designationless reader...

Imagine how alone she must've been for all her life. It started since she was young, her parents pushing her to the corner of the home, away from the family, and naturally, her siblings would follow their parents' lead, pointedly ignoring her, and finding any excuse available to be out of her presence. She wouldn't understand them anyway, she can't tell the difference between noises nor could she even recognize scents. It just wouldn't work.

Reader thinks that maybe she could find someone, anyone in school, but kids are like sharks, except instead of smelling blood, they smell the lack of all scents on her. Most kids have a combination of their own and their family members' scents. Reader has nothing, so everyone continues the pattern, but now with more stares and jeers and hushed giggles. Reader knows that bullying is bad, but anything would be better than simply not existing to anyone. That's what the others say, at least, that she's nothing, nobody. Never to her face, though, just in the whispers shared between friends.

She eventually tries to find others like her through the wonders of the internet. There's maybe a handful more scattered in her country, but none are her age, and all have their own families who care about them. Was it just her who wasn't deserving of love, of connection? Reader reaches out to them, and they talk a little, but before long, through no one's fault, it falls through. She was bad at talking anyway, even if she doesn't have to worry about scents or sounds that aren't there, she never knew much about context or connotation. She never had the opportunity to learn about the intricacies in communication. Reader is back alone.

The military eventually scouts her, and it's the first time anyone has ever really looked at her. Sure, they look at her like a valuable tool, but a tool is better than nothing. Reader obviously joins, desperate for crumbs. She climbs the ranks, gets the job done. She is good at her job, so people respect her. She learns how to talk professionally, emails, texts, and so one, but no one talks to her on leave. No one invites her to the pub after a good mission. No one even talks to her in the mess. But people do talk to her when they have to, and that's enough. Maybe she even gets a callsign. Doe. After Jane Doe, the placeholder name for unknown individuals, and insult if anything.

Now there's the 141. They invite her to things. They talk to her. They touch her. Reader exists for them. She isn't just an unknown person stuck in the background and invisible to everyone else, and Reader doesn't know what to do. Her speech is awkward and overly professional, even in personal settings. How is she supposed to be friends with someone, multiple someones? How is she supposed to move? To act? To express? She doesn't know, but she really wants to learn. At least now she has good teachers.

ANON YOU GENIUSSSS okay but this? Perfect. AHHHH I ADORE THIS IDEA!! Esp the jane doe callsign omg yes

You weren’t used to being seen.

Growing up, you learned quickly how to make yourself small- how to exist quietly, without taking up space, without asking for too much. Because the few times you had asked- asked for a hug, asked to be let into the nest, asked why you felt so different- the answers had all been the same.

No.

Not now.

Not you.

It wasn’t that your parents didn’t love you. You were sure they did, in their own way. But love was hard to feel when your mother flinched at your touch like you were something disgusting, when your father sighed like he was tired every time you entered the room as if you were taking up space he was saving for his other children. When your siblings built their nests without you, curling into piles of warmth and safety while you sat outside the door, knees pulled to your chest and hands balled into fists to keep them from knocking, a cold ache burrowing itself in your chest.

You stopped knocking eventually.

You stopped trying.

You used to wonder if you’d done something wrong- if maybe you could fix yourself and everything would go back to normal. But it wasn’t something you could fix. It was just… you.

Scentless.

Designationless.

Invisible.

School had been worse, perhaps the worst. At least your family had pretended not to notice how different you were. The other kids didn’t bother pretending. They stared openly, whispered behind your back, laughed when you walked by. You’d caught bits and pieces of what they said- weird, wrong, broken, as if they hoped by having you hear their words, they’d convince you to leave at last.

You’d started keeping your head down after that, slipping through the halls like a shadow. No one talked to you unless they had to, and even then they either did it with a mocking, jeering tone that echoes in your nightmares or with a meek tone; as if your lack of everything is contagious. No one sat next to you at lunch, either. When partners were assigned, you always ended up working alone per your teachers’ instructions.

It was easier that way.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

By the time you joined the military, you’d gotten good at being alone. You didn’t need friends. Didn’t need packmates. You had work, and work didn’t care if you were quiet or awkward or too stiff to laugh at the right jokes. Work didn’t care if you flinched when people got too close or froze when someone raised their voice. Work demanded to be done, and you had nothing and no one to stop you from that.

But the military also has the same teens who used to bully you so consistently. Rookies all to ready and happy to lord over you. It’s how you get your despised callsign, Doe. Jane Doe. A cruel mockery, comedy wherein you are the joke that has the world laughing.

Still, you wear it. It’s still an acknowledgment and that will always be better than never being seen. You flit from team to team, unit to unit, always an observer from afar, watching everyone around you speak a language you can’t.

But the 141 was different, when you eventually end up working for them.

They cared.

They cared in ways you weren’t ready for.

Soap was relentless, dragging you into conversations even when you barely knew what to say. He filled the silences like it didn’t bother him, kept talking for the both of you, lounging against you unbothered, until you started talking back. Gaz was gentlest, steadier. He never pushed, just lingered close enough to remind you he was there, waiting, whenever you were ready. Quiet, silent acceptance you’d never been given before, and you were yet far too afraid to so easily cling to it.

And the Alphas- Price and Ghost- were worse.

Price had a way of looking at you that made your chest ache, like he saw you, really saw you, and didn’t mind what he found. Scentless, with no designation and all. Ghost was quieter, sharper, but his eyes tracked you everywhere, presence wrapping around you like he was staking a claim you didn’t understand, like he was teying to etch every part of you behind his eyelids.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

They didn’t give you space. They sat next to you at meals, tugged you along when they went out for drinks, called you over during breaks like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it felt natural- until it didn’t, because sometimes you still felt like an outsider.

Like you didn’t belong.

You tried to hide it, but they saw through you. They always did, and they never shied away.

When you started avoiding the mess hall, it was Gaz who caught you, shoving a plate of food into your hands and dragging you to sit with him like it wasn’t a big deal. When you hung back during missions, letting the others fall into their pack dynamics without you, Soap was the one who looped an arm around your shoulders and pulled.

And when you flinched, once, at the sharp sound of someone’s voice echoing down the hall- when you tensed so hard it made your fingers tremble- it was Price who closed the distance, standing in front of you like a wall and letting Ghost linger at your back. Neither of them said a word.

They didn’t have to.

You weren’t used to being protected. You weren’t used to belonging.

But they made it hard not to.

Petition to call Bartylus “Crack” (Crouch + Black)

I want to be James' level of dramatic

James: my darling husband has gone off to war

Regulus: I have to go to work

James: I fear he may not return

Regulus: I'll only be gone like five hours-

James: I feel like I can still hear his voice

Regulus: I'm divorcing you

James: nooooooo

percy hazel and leo looking at each other after the rest of the crew agreed to spend over $500 on fuel for the argo ll