rayᝰ.ᐟ

𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢/𝚑𝚎 ٠࣪⭑ 20 /ᐠ > ˕ <マ

[s3ev3enty]

not all cages have bars.

[merletka]

[rayforthewin]

idk call me crazy, but i feel like if you’re not posting fanfic or posting about what fic you should write/what fic you will be posting… then you should not be using any fic tags like x reader… like looking for fic on tumblr is already an annoying process, so i really don’t want to see three million think pieces and opinions on the x reader tags about what tropes annoy people, your trope preferences, or some bullshit like that. like the lack of self awareness to post in the x reader and x oc tags to complain about minor annoyances… like the only thing that’s annoying me rn is you dude. like gtfo please.

[midwestpr1ncess]

this may be my favorite fanart ever... (@ keidehoi on X)

[rayforthewin]

okay so like… the semester is ending soon for me and therefore summer break will begin and all i’ll have to mainly worry about is work… so maybe i could write some fanfic… would anyone be interested in jill valentine x gn!reader or ada wong x gn!reader with mentions of queerness??? it’d probably be in a “no raccoon city incident/bioterrorism” au, mainly for jill… maybe some light angst and romcom vibes??? idk.

pick your yuri

jill valentine x gn!reader

ada wong x gn!reader

Voting ended onMay 13

[bethsvrse]

“Their eyes locked from across the room”

[rayforthewin]

When You Need Me

pairing: dick grayson x reader

contents: self harm, scars, mental health and illness, light angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, minor injuries, kind of strip tease lmfao, friends/roommates to lovers, needy/touch starved dick, YEARNINGGGGG, reader is scared of being a burden but dick just wants to CARE FOR THEM.

an: ignore that it took me almost three months to post this... it's been done for a while but i lowkey forgot about it and i'm full time art major who works, so like... i've been all over the place smh.

The living room window gently screeched open, Dick's toned, suited body sliding through with ease before it was then shut with his gloved hand. Lord only knows that you would start another argument with him about the electric bill, even though he told you he would cover it if the costs ever increased. In all honesty, he thinks it's your way of telling him it's too cold for you without having to actually admit it. You were odd like that, but it's not like he was any better. He let out a sigh, rolling his achy shoulders as he navigated the dim space, the only light coming from a small lamp next to the couch. The couch where he found you fast asleep, Haley snoring, her tail and back leg twitching, near your feet. A tender smile pulls at his lips as he removes his domino mask and drops it on the coffee table. The edge of the couch cushion dips under his weight, where he pulls the blanket on top of you further up, near your shoulders. His hand lingers on your upper arm, thumb soothingly rubbing the area. Deep, blue eyes study your features, admiring you in a state he rarely gets to catch you in due to his patrols. He suddenly regrets not taking his gloves off, but it's too late. If he lingers too long, he risks waking you up, and that's a risk he's not willing to take. He can patch himself up for once, right? He slowly stands up, the second movement of the cushion causing you to stir. Goddamn it. He almost huffs in frustration at himself as your eyes slowly open.

"Hey, Dickie," you murmur sleepily, shifting under the blanket as you begin to wake up. Haley, who had woken up from your movement, got up and plopped into your lap, closing her eyes once more as Dick sat back down next to you.

"Hey," he whispered, "Sorry I woke you up."

With an immediate shake of your head, you spoke again, "It's fine, I wasn't asleep that long, anyway. Plus, I'd rather know you're home instead of you sneaking in and not telling me." A smirk pulled at your lips as a laugh fell from his.

"You know me so well."

You laughed at that, "After how many years we've been friends? I better." After a moment, you continued, "How was patrol? Anything major happen?" It was evident by the way your eyes moved over his face and body that you were checking for injuries, both big and small.

He sighed, "The usual stuff. Muggings, burglaries, the works. Everything's fine." I'm fine, he had wanted to add, to which he held his tongue.

You hummed, "Okay… That's good." With that, you picked Haley up and set her on the floor. The puppy took a big stretch and trotted over to her bed to lie down as you placed the blanket beside you and stood up. "C'mon," You gestured for him to follow you.

He raised his eyebrow, hesitantly standing up, "Huh?"

You rolled your eyes and immediately grabbed his wrist, dragging him down the hall to the bathroom. It's the same routine, where he'd sit on the toilet seat as you rummaged through the first aid kit that is stored under the sink. The skin-tight suit reluctantly slid off his top half, exposing his bare torso, which was surprisingly spotless after patrol. During moments like these, eye contact was often avoided by both of you. Dick couldn't stand to look up at you in front of him, to watch you care for him so tenderly—at least, most of the time—and act like it didn't make him want things he shouldn't want. To feel so exposed, half naked, letting you see the humanity of him. The sacrifice and bloodshed that came with being a vigilante. For you, you couldn't look at his toned upper half and pretend like it didn't affect you. As if the weirdly soft, yet firm, way his abdominal muscles shifted with each breath and subtle movement did not make you feel warm in the face. Not to mention, his eyes—oh, his eyes—in these moments made you feel as if he was reading your soul front to back. It felt intimate in a way that neither of you could handle. In a way that could ruin the years of friendship that you both held so near and dear.

You focused on the small cut on his jaw, cleaning it before putting some ointment on it. He had to pretend that he didn't cherish the gentle contact of your finger spreading the substance on his skin and securing the band-aid over it. He subconsciously held his breath for a moment, only letting the air out from his lungs once your fingers stopped touching him. After that, you moved on to a deeper cut on his arm, your hand gently moving along his skin to hold his bicep and keep the limb in place. A shiver rolled down his spine before he swallowed thickly, trying to keep his heartbeat under control. You then repeated the process, cleaning, applying ointment, and bandaging. This time, you opted to use gauze and wrapping to secure it. As soon as your hand began to release his arm, he instinctively reached for your wrist, as if to keep contact between you. His blue irises met your own for the first time since you brought him into the bathroom.

"Dick…?" You murmured in confusion, your hands beginning to clam up from nerves.

After a pause, he blinked a few times as if falling out of a trance, "I…" His voice died on his lips, head falling forward to rest on your abdomen. Breathe in, breathe out. A sigh fell from his lips before his hands moved to your waist. His fingers twitched. Oh, how he ached to touch you, to have you all to himself.

"Sorry, I just. I needed this," he whispered against your shirt, his pinky lightly playing with the hem of the material.

You hummed in acknowledgement, "I get it. I was just confused for a second," you replied softly.

Fingers moved to thread themselves into his thick, dark hair. He shuddered, pressing himself further into you as his hands slowly shifted under your shirt to your bare waist. It was all he ever wanted and yet, it still wasn't enough. His palms tenderly felt along your skin, careful not to go too far and make things weird. Your skin tingled, your face warming with each new piece of skin charted by his touch. He pressed his lips against your abdomen in a barely-there kiss, one that you unfortunately did not feel. Every atom in him ached to get on his knees and worship your very being. He was not beyond the idea of groveling and begging for just a scrap of your affection. His heart screamed at him to confess the love and adoration he's felt for you for years—perhaps ever since you first met.

That is, until his hands continued along your waist, toward the front of your abdomen, and he felt parallel raised lines on your skin near your upper hips. He paused, his heart dropping. His halted movements result in your fingers stopping in his hair. He knew that you realized what he had discovered. How come you never told him? All these years of friendship, and you had never opened up to him about something like this. How didn't he notice before? His hold tightened a little around your lower waist near the scars. He felt stupid, like he failed you, not only as a friend but as a public protector. He should've looked more closely and noticed the signs, and yet he didn't.

He swallowed thickly, eyes squeezed shut. "Why didn't you…?" He trailed off in a pained, whispered tone.

With a soft sigh, you murmured, "I don't know, I guess I didn't want to be a burden or something."

"You're not a burden," he huffed immediately, lifting his head a little to look at you pointedly before returning to rest his head against you.

"Well, I—You do so much, y'know? You're always giving something, whether it's time or resources or whatever. You do so much, and I know it's a heavy weight to bear. I just didn't want to add to that," you rambled in an awkward, meek tone.

He let out another huff, "It doesn't matter. If something's going on or bothering you and you need help, you should come to me. It doesn't matter what my other responsibilities are, because I care so much, and I want to know what's going on so I can help," his voice became softer as he spoke. He nuzzled his face into your abdomen, your name falling from his lips weakly, "God, you should've come to me."

"I know. I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt clawing at your chest.

He shook his head, "No, don't do that. Don't apologize. Just… talk to me…Please? Moving forward?"

You began to nod before realizing he couldn't see your face from his position. "Okay, I promise," you murmured.

He swallowed thickly, "Okay. I trust you."

With that, his hands continued to caress your skin ever so gently. He exposed a bit of your skin by moving his hands up, which shifted the hem of your shirt up with it. Those damned raised lines of scar tissue came into his view, and he couldn't help but feel sick. Not because he found them disgusting, but rather, he felt disgusted with himself and his lack of action. He let out a shaky breath that caused goosebumps to form on your skin. He leaned forward, pressing the softest kiss to the scars. It felt like your heart stopped beating, your breath held in your lungs.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against your skin.

"Don't be, Dickie."

Fuck, that stupid nickname. That stupid nickname that he always acted like he despised, even though it actually turned his brain to mush and his legs to jelly when it fell from your lips.

"I'm sorry," he repeated in that same weak tone.

You knew that no amount of reassuring words would make him feel better right now. You knew Dick; once he got in that kind of mindset, it was hard to get him out. All you could do was stand there and gently offer reassurance by running your fingers through his hair and massaging his scalp just the way you knew he liked it. He continued, lips trailing along the textured skin, as if his kisses and love would make everything better—and realistically, you both knew it didn't work like that. But, maybe, with him by your side to share the burden, the days would begin to lighten and you'd be able to thrive once again.

[skelesass]

something i did ages ago

[shoot1ngst4r]

going out of your way to search up [insert character] ANGST and all you get is smut

[phospadparadscha]

u can literally tell everyone in your life the harm of ai and chatgpt and they will nod along and may even admit that you’re correct and know what you’re talking about. and then every assignment they turn in is still ai and every link your parents sends you will be to a perplexity search engine and every teacher you ever have will betray your trust and their dignity by generating ai in front of you and treating you like you’re unenlightened for not using it. you can tell your own mother that this machine steals her daughter’s art and she will for the next several months send you generative visceral horrific videos of fake dog and cat videos with wrong limbs and too many eyes and teeth where there should be none and she’ll say look how cute. look don’t you like this. do you like this. like it. like it now. you have to like it. see how you’re different because you don’t use it. you’re just resistant to change, you’re just acting superior or being rude. you like art right? do you want something new to break your illusion that we listen when you talk? do you want to scream but find there’s no mouth under your nose?

[rayforthewin]

𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝙸𝚗 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚜

pairing: jason todd x reader

contents: angst, hurt/comfort, self harm, scars, death, grief, mental illness/depression, reunions, ambiguous ending.

taglist: @freythecrazyfae, @pizzaisyummy, @tonk1ca, and @heavilykaffeinated

It had been years since Jason died—about five, if you wanted to get technical. Almost six, come April. “Stolen from the world too soon,” people had said. “Just a boy.” It was supposed to help. Wasn’t it? Those words were supposed to validate your feelings as you stood in the cemetery behind Wayne Manor. The feelings that would linger long after. Only fifteen years old and yet he would forever remain that way.

Time had a different plan for you, allowing you to live on and grow up. It continued to draw on, severing you from the time you had spent together. Soon enough, you could barely remember his voice anymore, not beyond the distortion of the audio recordings you held near and dear. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t him. Your Jason. All you had was just a memory. A memory of the boy you loved and lost. The boy that life had forced you to move on from, but nobody ever truly moves on, do they? Not from someone like Jason. It’s why you still visit his grave every year. Every month, actually, leaving him flowers and telling him stories. Although you would never admit that to another soul. It’s why you can’t go into that one bookstore you two used to practically live in. Too many memories. It’s why you would still cling to a hoodie he had lent you, every night, treating it like a baby blanket. It’s why your heart shattered all over again at the sight in front of you, in the darkness of your apartment. 

He stood in front of your window, having just broken in and removed his red helmet after you threatened him with an aluminum bat. You immediately dropped the object at the reveal of his face. “Jason…?” You whispered, voice strained and eyes drowning in aching pain and disbelief. He looked different, like his appearance would fall in a weird spot, in between uncanny valley and human. Older, of course, but aged in a way he shouldn’t have. Scarred. Traumatized. Logically, it makes sense. Dick had told you what actually happened to Jason. What the media hadn't reported and what Bruce had refused to tell you. It had sickened you to your stomach, bile clawed its way up your esophagus until you could do nothing but empty it into the nearest toilet bowl. Brutally tortured by the hands of the Joker, blown up, and left to die, all alone in the burning rubble. You wished you had been there, not that you could have done anything. Nonetheless, the regret and guilt followed you every day, without relent.

However, the question of why he’d be here now still hadn't been answered. Maybe it was revenge for everything you had failed to do to save him. A sort of fucked up karma specially crafted as retribution, your own personal hell. A small taste before you were finally sent there. He was built like an ox, so different from the scrawny street urchin you once knew. He would make the end quick. Sickly green irises meet yours. You notice that the original blue is gone, washed away by the ocean you used to love to compare them to. He murmured your name under his breath, almost restrained, like it pains him to let it fall from his lips. “How— How are you…? Jay—” You continued in a quiet tone, your voice beginning to crack and splinter. You couldn’t cry; you had shed enough tears. Perhaps it had been a deception of the mind, similar to traveling through a desert to find an oasis hidden away among the dunes, a mirage. His pained expression deepened, seemingly triggered by the utterance of his old nickname. One of many nicknames he had been given, most of which he only ever tolerated from you. He replied, almost simply, “Lazarus Pit.” Your eyebrows furrowed before relaxing with understanding. You remembered that he had mentioned it once or twice while rambling about different missions and patrols. Ra’s Al Ghul and the infamous Lazarus Pit. It explained the change in eye color.

You swallowed thickly, “Why are you here, Jason?”

He grimaced, a hint of mockery in his tone, “What, a man can’t see his dear, old friend after coming back from the dead?”

Shaking your head, you had let out a shaky sigh, “That’s not what I meant, Jay… you were dead—"

He immediately cut you off, “—Yeah, I was,” He huffed, "Do I need an invitation to see you now? Left me behind that quickly, huh?"

You blinked, your face crumpling some, “What— No! I… I would never…” It came out in a pathetic whisper. Your eyes darted to the floor, a habit to help gather yourself. You could feel pressure in your sinuses, the kind of pressure that told you that the next few moments would determine the fate of the dam behind your eyes.

His eyes quickly softened, and the aching pain of yearning returned to his chest. Shit. He knew he needed to calm down. This was a sensitive moment for both of you. He knew it was a lot for you, as it would be for any rational being, but he couldn't help the bitterness that consumed him. He swallowed thickly, a weird feeling of desperation clawing at his gut. He couldn’t risk losing you; he just got you back. Or, at the very least, the opportunity to get you back. He slowly stepped forward, as if approaching a skittish animal, before awkwardly placing his hands on your arms. He didn't know how to be soft and gentle anymore. All he had known since his rebirth was pure brutality and survival instincts. At the feeling of his touch, you looked up, gazes locking. Now it was your turn to treat him like he was on the verge of fleeing. Slowly, you wrap your arms around his shoulders before nudging your face into the crook of his neck. His breathing hitched, body stiffening for a moment. It hadn't experienced such tenderness from another in so long. Now, he realized how much he had ached for it, deep down. Arms settle around your waist, a welcome presence that brings a sense of safety and warmth. With a soft inhale, you consumed his scent as he did the same. It was so familiar, yet so different. As you reacquainted yourselves with each other, he gently rested his chin on your head.

Eventually, you guided him to your bedroom, opting for an environment that was more comfortable to you. You approached the side of the bed and sat down, lightly patting the space beside you. The mattress dips as he settles upon it. You grabbed his hand.

“Stay,” you whispered.

Before he knew it, you had brought the palm of his hand to your cheek, savoring the contact you had been deprived of for so long. He shuddered, his heart skipping a beat. It was so overwhelming, but he didn't care as long as it was you. He felt like a pathetic teenager with a crush. Although he knew for a fact that fifteen-year-old him would’ve turned bright red and melted into a puddle at your feet. It was all he had ever wanted, your affection. He’s not fifteen anymore… and yet, he still wants all of it.

“I’m here,” he replied softly, his thumb brushing the soft skin of your cheek. Sitting in the dark silence of your bedroom, he took a moment to slowly look around your room. He wanted to see how you were reflected in the walls and decor. To see what had changed, and what had stayed the same. He could recognize a couple of the posters from when you two were younger; the years hadn't been so kind to them. Some books remained on your shelves that you had lent him, once upon a time. Your copies always held something special that his didn't. Maybe it's because he knew he had a piece of you with him everywhere he went. Your annotations in the margins made the story more memorable than it would've been if he had read from his own copy. As his eyes continued to scan the room, they landed upon something. An old hoodie crumpled up near your pillow. His heart cracked, making him feel a little sick. He knew it had to have been hard for you, his death. You two had been inseparable. However, assuming the worst and seeing the worst with your own eyes are two different things. Yet he had made the horrible assumption that you had left him and his memory behind. He had thrown that assumption in your face. How wrong he had been, the proof in front of him making the sickness in his stomach worse.

He had to look away, like the lump of fabric on your bed was the plague and he would catch it just by making eye contact for too long. His eyes continued around the room. Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, he saw the razor blades on your nightstand. His heart dropped, breath hitching as bile tried to climb up his throat. He knew you had always struggled with cutting yourself. He thought you had quit, but that was before. Before he died, before everything went to shit for the both of you. He wasn’t there, and you relapsed to cope with his absence. He wasn’t there when you were hurting. Regret and self-loathing clawed up his throat. If only he had been there—if only he hadn’t fallen for the Joker’s trap. You wouldn't have relapsed. Could've had a regular life, even. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have tried to make you feel guilty for his death when it was so obvious that you already did? “Doll…” he lets the old nickname for you fall from his lips. His free hand slowly moved from his side to your arm, slowly, shifting your sleeve up. There they were, raised lines of white and pink scar tissue with a few scabbed-over cuts. It reminds him of every time he looked in the mirror after patrols. The haunting reminders of all the pain and sorrow that marked his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers tenderly exploring the scarred skin. Self-loathing fills his chest; he doesn't deserve to touch you, let alone your scars. After what his death did to you, what he did to you. “It’s nothing, Jay… I’m fine,” You murmur, pulling your sleeve down to obscure the scars from his gaze. He lets out another sigh. It’s just like you to brush off the problem and reassure him that you’re fine, even when you’re not. He remembers the same behavior from when you were younger, before you had gotten clean the first time.

“Doll—" he tried to continue, but you cut him off in a firmer tone, “Jay, drop it.”

Both of you just stared at each other, waiting for the other to break. He knew pressing you for answers and lecturing you would just end up with you closing yourself off from him, but he couldn’t help it. He had always been protective, especially of you, and old habits die hard. He wanted so badly to discuss what had happened and what would help you get clean again. However, that conversation was for another day. Another, less fragile, moment. He let out a soft sigh, reluctantly dropped the subject.

“Let’s just… lay down, yeah?” You murmur, effectively changing the subject.

After a moment, he slowly nods, and you immediately shift back onto the bed and under the covers. He then joins you, taking off his boots and leather jacket. He tentatively pulls you into his side, where you move to rest your head and arm on his chest. The weird warm feeling comes back. Slowly, in a moment of bravery, he pulls your wrist up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the sleeve covering your skin. A shiver rolled down your spine, your cheeks no doubt flushed. Thankfully, they were concealed in the darkness.

There was silence until you broke it in a quiet tone, “You’ll still be here in the morning… right?”

His heart ached a little, “Of course, I will,” he replied softly.

He knew you were likely on the verge of sleep, lulled to the cusp of consciousness and unconsciousness by the sound of his heartbeat. Steady and familiar. A comforting presence. With that, he pulled you closer. His body curled around yours, almost protectively, as if his presence would chase away the demons haunting you. Deep down, he knew the real demon haunting you was him. For that, he might never forgive himself. “I’ll always be here,” He whispered under his breath to your sleeping form before slowly drifting off to sleep.

You couldn’t erase each other’s scars or the memories that came with them, but perhaps you could ease the aching pain that resides within your soul. Everyone knows that time heals all wounds… and hopefully it could heal the ones that hurt the most.

[rayforthewin]

speaking of fanfic ideas, i was kind of thinking of a self indulgent self harm fic… like nothing graphic, more just maybe angst and comfort… I was thinking maybe either jason todd and reader meeting after jason comes back, right when he’s most angry and vengeful… or like… maybe dick grayson and reader where they’ve been best friends for almost their whole lives and dick discovers readers sh when they start living together or something. like friends to potentially lovers in the future. idk… let me know if that’s something people would wanna read lol.

[soulsforsales]

as someone who struggles with sh i would love to read it so much especially the jason one

[whyispetrichortaken]

Imagine if they compared scars

[rayforthewin]

WAIT, YOU’RE COOKING HERE. i already have the fic written out and i’m just waiting for it to be beta read tomorrow, but this is such a beautiful idea for another fic… maybe like a part 2 or something???idk it’s not even out yet, i’m totally getting ahead of myself lol. you are a certified genius, though.

[rayforthewin]

speaking of fanfic ideas, i was kind of thinking of a self indulgent self harm fic… like nothing graphic, more just maybe angst and comfort… I was thinking maybe either jason todd and reader meeting after jason comes back, right when he’s most angry and vengeful… or like… maybe dick grayson and reader where they’ve been best friends for almost their whole lives and dick discovers readers sh when they start living together or something. like friends to potentially lovers in the future. idk… let me know if that’s something people would wanna read lol.

(EDIT!!! jason fic is finished and will be beta read within the next day or two. hopefully i’ll have it up not long after. dick fic is in the process of being written, but i’m still kind of figuring out how i want it to play out, so it might be a little bit considering i have other responsibilities like school and work. bear with me, y’all, it’s my first time writing fanfic lmao)

(EDIT2!!! jason fic is up here! dick fic should be up tomorrow or the day after)

[rayforthewin]

guys i have this idea for a wesker fanfic but idk if i should go through with it… i’ve literally never written a fanfic but i got this concept and it hasn’t left my head lol

soooo stars!wesker x assistant!reader who is an artist on the side and likes to doodle and draw during their free time and breaks. they’re friendlier with the alpha and bravo teams so they give some of them drawings of themselves, wesker notices and is a little peeved/jealous/left out. more after that but i don’t wanna give too much of the concept away smh.

should i write it?

(EDIT!!! i’m writing it, I just have to figure out how to write the rest and end it, then I have to edit it and have someone beta read. i’m new to writing fanfic [not even remotely new to consuming it, however] so it might end up sucking i’m ngl)

[jiimeniita]

[ocean-breeze-pier]

Any time cis people start stupid as fuck trans label discourse, I think of this image

[rayforthewin]

i’m seriously tired of the growing notion in fandoms that sex and sexual content is inherently gross and bad. and before y’all say anything— fuck you proshippers, i am NOT talking about you and your weird ass content. i’m literally talking about the most tame spicy and adult content that involves adults and consent. like fanart, fanfic, animation, and so on. like no, mere expression of the tamest human sexuality does not automatically make someone a degenerate or gooner. you guys are literally perpetuating the rise in conservatism and purity culture in our society and i’m so tired of it. sexual content has existed since the dawn of time, nudity is not inherently sexual. GROW UP.