You could hold Moonlight in your hands

✦ 20 ☪︎ Soulaani ☪︎ 16+ ✦

[theobservatory]

☾⋆⁺₊✧⭒ Welcome to the observatory ⭒✧₊⁺⋆☾

☾ Navigation ☄︎. *☾ Constellations ☄︎. *☾ From Venus ☄︎. *

☾ Observatory Rules ☄︎. *☾ In orbit ☄︎. *

☾⋆⁺₊✧⭒In the stars⭒✧₊⁺⋆☾

☾ @max-nicoxposts

☾ @max-nicoxfandom

☾ @observatory-reblogs

☾⋆⁺₊✧⭒Space crafts⭒✧₊⁺⋆☾

☾ craft 1 ☄︎. *☾ craft 2 ☄︎. *

[theobservatory]

Geeze you get a new job and disappear off the face of the earth, eh ? Well, your bitch just MIGHT be back. On the horizon I have an original, an ask, a follow up to this and a follow up to this. Thanks for your patience (⁠٥⁠↼⁠_⁠↼⁠)

[theobservatory]

I wanna just say, David did a wonderful job of himbo Clark Kent, multiple times I wanted to kiss that boys face he was so precious. Could i request Clark acting “cute” in the office (pushing his glasses up when they slip down, nearly tripping over his own feet while walking with coffee and almost spilled it on jimmy’s shirt, doing that stupid turn around when he’s trying to find where he’s going next (even tho he’s worked at daily planet for a few years already??) doing that little head duck and half wave at a coworker when they call him “smallville” as a greeting, dropping a stack of papers when he bumps into one of the new interns, basically he’s just doing his typical himbo Clark stuff) and reader is having a really hard time not dragging him down to her level by his tie to kiss him, bonus, they are good friends with both having crushes on each other but to oblivious to realize, much to Lois and jimmy’s amusement.

Youuuu got it anon. Bless that man.

Please don't hassle me if my characterizations are bad. It's literally my first time writing any of these characters, I'll get better as I learn (⁠ب⁠_⁠ب⁠)

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

Helpless as a Kitten｡⁠.ﾟ★ ˎˊ˗

｡⁠☆Synopsis: a few snapshots of you and Clark fumbling around each other

｡⁠☆Cw: himbo behavior, no pronouns, no use of y/n

"Don't you just wanna put him out of his misery?"

"Excuse me?" Lois turns from her chair.

You gesture over to Clark Kent, and she rolls her eyes. The man is hunched over a large potted plant, having caught it before it crashed to the ground, but now dirt is splayed all over the floor. He's frowning, bottom lip out and shoulders all hunched.

"He's like a sad shelter dog."

"Well he's got the eyes for it."

True, you think. They're big, and glossy, and a bright sky blue.

"I know. They're like giant pools of sky, aren't they?"

"I was going for pathetic and teary, but a lovey-dovey answer works too."

You groan, throwing your head back with your hands over your face. "Lois, I don't like him like that, stop pushing your agenda on me."

"If that's what helps you sleep at night." She shrugs.

Both of you turn back to Clark, his blue eyes are turned directly on you now. His stare is piercing, deep. Even if he is still holding a giant potted plant half sideways, causing more dirt to fall out.

You wave at him.

He drops it, and the lip of the pot shatters onto the floor, creating an even bigger mess. He turns away when you laugh, red faced and rapidly whipping his head back and forth. He's probably trying to find a broom or something before someone gets ceramic stuck in their opened-toed shoe.

"Wow." Lois says flatly.

You sigh unknowingly dreamy sounding.

"Wow." She says again, this time looking at you like you're the pathetic one. "This is really just sad for both of you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

You both turn back to your work, while Clark frantically sweeps up the dirt and chipped pottery off the floor.

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

Currently, Clark is standing next to your desk. It's next to the wall, but not close enough to be touching. In fact, it's right next to the obnoxiously loud printer, where Clark is. The thing is jammed, as usual, so it's just making this annoying BZZRT-T-T sound as it tries to spit out more paper than it can handle. Meanwhile, Clark is muttering a little frantically under his breath.

"Darn printer, c'mon work you damn mule, you were just fine yesterday."

You mask a snort under your hand, pausing your own writing to watch Clark suffer. He still hears it- the man seems to hear everything around here- and his ears redden a little. Adorable.

"Having trouble?"

"Nah, I just- y'know-" BZZRT-T-T BZZRT-T-T BZZRT-T-T. "Just a difficult day."

"I see that."

He clears his throat awkwardly. "Right. Well I-"

BZZRT-T-T BZZRT-T-T BZZ- "Out of ink, please replace ink cartridge to print." The printer says.

"You wouldn't happen to have some ink, would you?"

"I think there's some in the back."

The man is so bashful it hurts a little. He has his shoulders hunched in like it will mitigate how large he actually is, he's avoiding eye contact so heavily he's basically turned the opposite way, even his fingers are whirring between each other like a little school girl talking to her crush. It's so sweet it could make your teeth rot.

"I can go grab some if you want-"

"NO! No, that's okay I can get it myself. I was the one who disturbed your work, anyway. I'll be right back."

He rushes away before you can get another word out, slamming his toe on the leg of your desk on the way out.

"Are you okay?" You call, huffing a laugh.

"I'm fine, don't worry about it!" He calls back.

｡⁠.ﾟ✧

"You invited Clark, right?"

"Yeah, of course I did. Does it matter?" You raise an eyebrow at Jimmy.

"Yes! If you didn't invite him he'd get all sad, and mopey."

"I know." You neglect to say out loud how cute you find it. He cares so much, and just wants to be included, he's so sweet.

"I know you know, which is why I had to ask if you invited him, because if you didn't i'd have to start taking sides, and you can't put me through that."

"I really don't think it's that deep, but whatever you say."

You, Jimmy, and Lois are all crowded in your small apartment. It's not tiny or a shoebox or anything, just a little small. It's not cramped now, but it will be when Clark's massive form arrives.

Honestly, it was only supposed to be you and Lois, but then Jimmy invited himself, and if Jimmy's coming then you might as well invite Clark too. It's a little exciting, it's the first time you're seeing Clark outside of work on purpose. You've run into each other on the street a bunch of times, and went out for coffee together on your breaks a few times as well.

This feels different, more intimate. Even with Lois and Jimmy 3rd wheeling. Not that you and Clark are together of course, you're just using that as a turn of phrase. They're not actually 3rd wheeling, you're happy to see all your friends an equal amount like any normal person.

Don't think too hard about it. Anyway.

"With how late it is, I kinda doubt he's coming," you say. Clark has always been pretty punctual for as long as you've known him.

Lois and Jimmy look at each other, and then look at you.

"He's coming."

"He'll be here."

They say in sync. Well, that's not creepy at all.

"Ooookay..."

As if summoned by his name, there's a knock on your door. You can tell by the hushed clack clack on your door that it's Clark. Somehow, the respective noise just sounds like him. It's quiet, not attention grabbing, considerate even- just like him.

You're quick to open the door. There's a giddiness in your bones that you've never quite experienced before, like a dog waiting for its favorite treat or something. Gosh, maybe Clark isn't the sad dog in your relation- friend, you meant friend- friendship, maybe it's you. But that is a thought for a mind vault, you are hosting right now, much more important than... Whatever your brain has going on.

"Hey, Clark!"

Clark's hair is unkempt, black strands twist every which way, a fat cowlick stands proudly at the center of his head. There's a little smear of dirt on his cheek bone, like he was trying to wash it off and ended up making it worse.

"Hi," He grins, slow and wide. "I brought peach cobbler."

"You didn't have to do that. No one else brought food."

"Well maybe they should've." He shrugs.

You laugh. "Maybe."

The cobbler in your hands has clearly been tossed around a bit. There's an air tight lid on the container, so all that's happened is the lids smeared with peach juice now. Clark is a little embarrassed about it if the way he places a sun kissed hand on top of it is any indication.

"Did you trip on your way here? There's dirt on your face."

He winces, flushing. "Yeah, you can say that."

The night progresses quickly after that. Lois and Jimmy steal the cobbler before you can even try a bite, and Clark tries to interject but only gets steamrolled by the two grabbing forks and ignoring him. He pouts, and you rub his back and try to comfort him, but the action leaves him tripping over his words. You have no clue if you succeeded in making him feel better or not.

After the peach cobbler debacle you end up pulling out your decade old boardgames. Jimmy was the one who suggested it, proclaiming that Clue was the best boardgame, which is wrong of course because the best boardgame is actually Monopoly, but Lois thinks it's Scrabble. Clark proclaims Candyland, but is swiftly shot down when everyone agrees that one sucks the most.

You end up playing Monopoly, because it's your house and you make the rules, but poor Clark has a hard time. He continuously knocks pieces off the board, and money is continuously scattered next to his feet and under your couch. He gets that bashful look again, hot in the ears and face, pulling at his collar.

"I-I guess my hands are a bit too big for the pieces," he says.

Which is so true, so very true. His hands are giant. They dwarf yours completely, consuming your fingers in his like a turtle shell. They're so gentle though. So kind. No matter how many pieces he drops, he's so delicate with it all. Honestly, watching him is filling your head with thoughts that make you squirm in your seat.

You try to think about the game instead. You try to fill your head with safer less friendship ruining thoughts. It's not your fault he's so hot huge.

The night ends with just you and Clark- and about a third left of peach cobbler. He's just thankful there was any left, really. You're standing in your kitchen with him, he's holding the tray, you have a fork in hand ready to finally taste the cobbler.

"I just wanted to thank you for inviting me tonight. It was fun."

"It was no problem, really."

"No, seriously. Thank you." He says almost sternly, with a rare forcefulness you've never seen before.

"Of course, Clark, seriously. I'm glad to have you, I don't know if you know this, but I like spending time with you, it makes me happy to spend time with you."

A few things happen in quick succession.

Clark flushes again, a deeper red than you've ever seen on him. Your fork goes down to try the cobbler. Clark trips on his own feet by shuffling nervously. He falls. The cobbler falls. It hits the floor upside down, and the lid is on the counter.

"Clark."

"Oh my gosh, I-I'll clean it up, and make another one. I'm so sorry."

He does. That man cleans your floor so good it looks brand new. He gets on his hands and knees, and scrubs until your kitchen floor shines. Then has the nerve to sit back on his knees and look up at you with sad, blue puppy eyes.

You've never had a man get on his knees for you before. You think you'd like it in any other circumstance. Maybe you like it a little in this one, too.

"I'm sorry." He repeats. "I should go."

"Clark, I'm not mad."

"I know. I'm still sorry."

"I know." You sigh. You hold out a hand to help Clark up, but he's far outside your weight class. It's more of a formality than it is helpful. "See you at work tomorrow?"

"Of course. Spend break together?"

You smile. "Of course."

Clark smiles back, and trips over his shoes.

Got a little burnt out at the end bc this was supposed to be short and it got waaay fucking longer than it was supposed to

Clark is so fucking embarrassed at the end of this. He goes outside your door and puts his face in his hands and tries to hold back screams from how cringe he's being. Love him to death fr

Headcanon that Clark gets more flustered at sweet heartfelt comments than sexual or lusty ones !!!!

If this is ass I'll take care of it later, it's 1am. I'm tired.

｡⁠☆Requests Open

[cursed-casanova]

i know everyone here has seen em or posts about them but this is a good time to remind the self ship space especially to NOT use AI chatbots in any capacity to interact with your f/os. Please do not use AI to roleplay, make fics, or make content about your f/os. These chatbots are made to keep you hooked and dependent on it for interaction and as someone who was in deep when Character AI was fresh, it will isolate you more than it will help you.

please, please report these ads and the accounts that promote them. they do not belong in this creative space!

[theobservatory]

[theobservatory]

Eat it up｡⁠.ﾟ★ ˎˊ˗

｡⁠☆Synopsis: you fall asleep before he can do aftercare, and Bruce really can't help himself

｡⁠☆Cw: fem coded but no pronouns used, cum on body, eating out, a bit of rough treatment, slight somno, cum eating, slight cnc(?), squirting

If asked, Bruce will say it's completely your fault. How is he supposed to hold himself back when you look like that? When your face scrunches up, and your eyes flutter, and you're letting out muffled little whimpers into the hot air in the bedroom.

Bruce is a weak man, incredibly so. Just that borderline pained look on your face has him needing to drag more and more noises out of you, just enough to make those whimpers turn to full on moaning and groaning. It truly can't be his fault that you drive him nuts.

Normally after he finishes plowing you into the sheets, or holding you so tightly against a wall your back and hips Bruise - he cleans you up, massages you, cuddles you. He doesn't apologize for his rough treatment, and he knows you like it too much to accept the apology anyway.

Tonight though, he expects to see you like you normally look. Hair mussed up, chest heaving, eyes still slightly glazed, and yet he finds you completely gone to slumber by the time he exits the attached bathroom. You're still laying in the same position he left you in, practically spread eagle on your stomach on top of the comforter.

He could laugh if he wasn't too busy admiring you. Bruce's eyes catch on every curve on your body, every fly away in your hair... It's hard for him to help the way his eyes trail down farther and farther to where you're still leaking him onto the bedspread.

There's a trail of opaque fluid oozing out of your hole, rolling down in a warm thick glob. A matching trail running down your back. Another dancing across your ass cheeks.

He could eat it out of you right now, if you'd let him. Matter of fact, he wants too, so bad. It would be his pleasure, and you're practically presenting his meal to him on a platter. God, if Bruce was a lesser man he'd start drooling from just staring at you.

As if on a cloud, he glides towards you, warm cloth in hand but completely forgotten about. All thoughts he has around you tend to drift away if you give him the right kind of attention.

His hands begin to touch your nude back, not in a hard or bruising way, just to gently drift up and down the knots of your spine. His fingers plunge into the reservoir in the dip of your back, before bringing them up to his mouth.

You don't stir. So he gets a little bolder.

His tongue dips this time, and then his lips, until he's fully cleaning you off with his mouth. The cloth he brought from the bathroom has been abandoned somewhere. Probably on the floor, but Bruce cannot bring it in himself to look or care.

He travels farther downward, sucking and biting bruises into your ass. At this point it's already so deeply decorated in marks it'd be a wonder if you're even able to feel it.

None of this bit of treatment is for your benefit or enjoyment. Bruce is being a little selfish, it's still your fault for looking so fucked out, and having such flushed skin under his palms. He wouldn't give into himself so easily if you weren't so perfect under him.

You're still open just a bit wider than usual when he reaches your entrance. It's wet, and sticky, and twitchy, and overflowing with Bruce's semen. God, you're basically rolling out a welcome mat for his tongue.

He doesn't waste anymore time admiring what he could already be eating, plenty happy to press his mouth over your hole and sop up every bit of liquid you're serving him. This finally causes you to stir in his grip. Bruce makes sure to hold you tighter.

Sucking and quiet little schlap... Schlap... Schlap... Sounds drag from where Bruce is gulping around you. He holds you down as your hips buck upwards, arching your back, only for him to end up hauling you where he wants you. Your fight causes you to grind on his face in a way that's almost torturous.

It doesn't even occur to Bruce that you're trying to wiggle away until he tunes back into your staccato whimpers.

"Fuckfuckfuck, Bruce! Bruce, I n-need a break, 's too much, it hurts, 'm not gonna cum again. Bruce, fuck, Bruce pl-please, please."

He feels a little bad, maybe. You're clawing the sheets, weakly pulling away but never making it anymore than an inch away from his face. Pillows muffle your cries like you can't even lift your head up, and yet, Bruce doesn't even stop to breathe.

Your whimpers are slowly getting louder and squeakier, peaking at the end of each protest like a speaker. Bruce could scoff at you if he wasn't so focused. Can't cum again, his ass.

He thinks you're still resisting him, yelling one obscenity or another, but he's not paying attention to your words. All he can hear is the squelch of his lips and tongue, and how quickly your tone is ramping up. He grunts when your body starts to quiver.

Finally, he has you exactly where he wants you.

A high shriek and a "Fuck, fuck, ohmygod!" Then you're practically waterfalling into his mouth. It hits his nose, dribbles down his chin, and across his cheeks. Bruce only tries to pull you in closer, to pull out more and more fluid from your aching muscles.

He doesn't put you down until you pant out a few more "stop"s and "too sensitive". Slowly, he gentles his mouthing until you're getting occasional kitten licks. At the same time, your body begins to relax, twitching occasionally with sporadic after shocks, but relaxed.

Collapsing beside you, Bruce makes sure to capture your lips in a deep, bruising kiss. Which you break much faster than he would like. He tries to go in for another one, to let you taste your own squirt on his lips, but you turn away.

"You're a -" you gasp, eyes half open. "You're a dick."

Bruce looks smug. "Maybe."

There's a pause between you as you muster up the best glare you can give. It's pretty threatening, all things considered. You always look like a kitten in Bruce's eyes.

"What - do you expect me to apologize?"

"No." You held your glare for all of a few seconds until that sleepy little after haze started to slip back in. Adorable. "But I hope you don't expect me to return the favor."

"Well, if by return the favor you mean a second serving then -"

"Bruce." Your scold comes out more like a murmur.

He chuckles. "I'm kidding. C'mere, I'll clean you up in the morning."

Without waiting for a response, he pulls you close whether you like it or not. There's a slight damp spot on the bed, but Bruce just hefts you onto his chest, so you can fall asleep somewhat dry.

Guys would you believe me if I told you this was intended to be fluff 😭😭 guess who got carried away

Unfortunately I have never gotten to experience the beauty that is squirting, I will always tap out before that happens, but squirters should reach out to me so I can write it accurately /hj

Not proof read AT ALL, this is lowk filler content while I figure out my other posts ngl

｡⁠☆Requests Open

[toydrill]

i need people on this website to stop being scared of the n word like i seriously need white people especially on this website to stop being scared of following black people who say nigga or songs that say nigga or movies or books or essays or whatever.

like why is it that it is easier for some of you on this website to become acclimated to the queer people around you reclaiming slurs like faggot or dyke but as soon as a black blogger has the GALL to say nigga you start getting scared because for some weird reason the concept of someone around you using a word they have the right to use and you do not scares you? GROW UP

[toydrill]

to be honest i think some of you are just afraid of someone around you using a word that very bluntly makes you think about the fact that you (YES YOU, WHITE PERSON!) descend from people that benefitted off of killing and raping and exploiting black people on a mass scale (and this goes for non-american white people too i have no idea why people from european countries do not think this applies to them. my grandparents were born in an english colony... when it was still a colony!!!!! there are places that are still being colonized RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!)

[toydrill]

[blackcharacterpolls]

DO NOT GO IN THE NOTES LORDDDD

[theobservatory]

How it feels working on my drafts and finishing my WIPs instead of starting something new

[theobservatory]

All the links are working for me

Thank you shawty, I appreciate the verification 👍🏾

[theobservatory]

Heyyy, this might just be me but I think your masterlist is broken?

Loooove Ur stuff btw and your blog theme is just beautiful! 😍

Okay bye 💗💕

I just went through it and all my links seemed to work for me.

Can anyone give me some confirmation on whether it's broken or not ?

[theobservatory]

Hiii can you write Jason Todd x reader where the reader doesn’t answer her phone all day and Jason has a panic attack and enlists the whole batfam to find her

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

So Far Away｡⁠.ﾟ★ ˎˊ˗

｡⁠☆Synopsis: he finds your phone, and nothing else. Leaving him a pile of anxiety and pitrage

｡⁠☆Cw: yelling, cursing, anxiety, Jason's pitrage, he's a bit childish maybe, mention of car accident, Tim and Steph are there for a moment

Jason calls you often. He calls you right before you go to sleep, just to hear you breathe. He calls you when you wake up, to listen to your morning voice. He calls you on your work break, and he calls you on his.

And if you're not on the phone together, he's by your side.

It's not that either of you have a lot to talk about. He doesn't like to involve you in anything about his night job, and you don't think you have many regaling stories to tell. A lot of your time is spent with background noises of soft huffs, coffee shops, television, weapons sharpening, or silence.

It's good that way. No obligation to talk, just companionship with the one you love. Jason is especially fond of it. Being on the phone, or video chatting, is second best to being there in person.

When you don't answer your phone Saturday morning, he assumes you slept in. The thought makes him more happy than sad, you deserve to rest.

So he calls again on his lunch break. Well, lunch break sounds more normal than "taking a break from virtually tailling various drug dealers, and there just happens to be food", so that's what he's elected to call it. He feels like saying lunch break is too mundane for his life as a crime lord.

Jason starts to get worried when you don't answer, and he can't escape from work yet, so he shoots a text.

Gimme a call when you can ♡

You don't respond. You don't read it within the hour, so he calls Dick. He asks him to see if you answer. Maybe you're mad at him? Silent treatment has never been your style, but you could be trying something new.

It's working, if you are. Not talking to you, not knowing if you're safe, feels as bad as dying does. Jason would know.

Dick offers to stop by your apartment when you don't respond. Jason has to take a moment to think about it.

Is this a breach of privacy if he lets Dick break in? Yes. If you're not mad at him, will this probably make you mad at him? Also yes. Would it be worth it? Another yes.

Does he want another man in your apartment, even if it's just his brother?... No.

Call him selfish if you want. Insecure if you must. But the thought makes him shrivel up inside like a dead spider.

"No." His voice comes out firmer than he means it to. "No, I'll go look myself."

"Let me know if I can help, little Wing."

"Fuck off."

He hangs up the phone.

Jason leaves his warehouse within ten minutes. Just enough time to delegate tasks, and a few threats, to his closest lackeys. He's arriving at your apartment in the same amount of time.

He doesn't have keys to your place, but that's fine. You never took him up on his request to replace your locks, which he was probably just going to end up doing without your permission anyway, but after taking barely a few seconds to pick it? Oh yeah, these are getting replaced ASAP.

If your landlord has something to say about it, they can take it up with Red Hood.

Your apartment is small and clean. A bedroom, a bathroom, and a living room with a half kitchen. He can see half of it just from where he is standing in the entryway.

Your shoes are still lined up next to the wall, slightly askew, but not out of the ordinary. There are a few dishes in the sink, dry, so probably from last night. A chair is pushed out from the table, a wet rag on the floor next to it. Dropped and never picked up? Why.

He calls your name. You should've heard your front door open if you're here, since your bedroom door is open, but maybe you have headphones on.

That's also strange, you almost never have your bedroom door open.

Jason doesn't hesitate to walk into your space.

Part of him is still expecting to see you lounging on your bed. He can see the image of you in his mind's eye. Dressed in sweats and a tank top, your eyes glued to your phone, a mess of blankets you've repeatedly covered up with and shucked away.

But you're not there when he blinks. Your bed is partially made, and your phone is laying face down on the floor. The screen is cracked when he picks it up.

His heart skips a beat when he sees it.

Not in the good way. Not in the way you make his heart skip.

Because everything is always different when it's you. This is not different. Instead of that weird light and fluttery feeling that accompanies the thump of his heart, it's dread. Both hot and cold as it slides down his back.

For a moment he feels nothing but dense fear, so thick it freezes him into doing nothing but stare at the small shards of loose glass in your screen. He thinks he's going to be sick.

Then the fear turns into overwhelming anger. His vision tints red, tints green. He always loses himself when this happens, spots of time completely gone from his memory. He doesn't know how he got from your apartment to his, but the next time he remembers blinking he's throwing his door open.

"Oracle." He bites into his com.

"Hood, you sound stre-"

"She's gone."

"Who's-"

"She's. Gone." He repeats, the communicator squeaks from how hard he's gripping it."

"Oh Hood, we'll find her, I swear. When was the last time you seen her?"

It's a flurry of movement from there.

Signal was getting ready to head home, but diverted his course as soon as he got the news. He doesn't know you personally, not more than passing hi's and hello's, but he knows his older brother. He knows his brother will do anything for you, and by proxy, so will Duke.

Tim ends up being sent to your place to wait. Instead of suiting up he helps Oracle on coms from the safety of your living room. Just in case you come back. Stephanie ends up joining him, and takes her time to see if there's clues to where you've gone. She snoops while she's looking too, don't tell Jason.

Cass and Dick partner up to patrol together. They search the places you frequent, and the streets you take to work. Any bar or club you've spent time in, your job, your favorite grocery store. Nothing turns up.

Damian ends up with Bruce, as usual. He's still a little too young to be patrolling on his own, and still a little too likely to kill, so he trails his father all night. They spend time trailing any leads of trafficking rings that could even have the possibility of setting up base by your apartment. They find nothing.

Oracle can't even look at your recent phone activity. Whatever happened to it has left it shattered and wiped.

Jason... Jason feels a little bit like he's dying all over again. He's practically catatonic, banned from helping patrol out of his family's fear of his instability. Instead he's in the closest safe house he has to your apartment. Roy and Kori are trying to comfort him, but they're having varied results.

An entire day goes by with no sign of you. For Jason it goes way too fast and way too slow at the same time. Dick ended up bringing him to your apartment while Oracle takes time to search.

It's miserable, for all of them. Jason is a nuisance on a good day, let alone when you disappear for more than 24 hours.

There are more than a couple times when Tim and Steph fight to restrain Jason. Pit episodes have been few and far between lately - with you there he has an anchor. A reason to stay calm and level headed that has nothing to do with his snot nosed family. You're not here now, though. It's just Jason and the green.

Hours later, Oracle is finally getting back to him. Tim has a busted lip, Steph has bruised wrists, and one of your decorative couch pillows is little more than shredded fabric and stuffing; but Oracle is saying that you just got out of a stranger's car in front of your apartment, and nothing matters outside of you being home.

The elevator opens right as Jason rips your apartment door half off its hinges, a frighteningly loud crrrkkk sound makes you jump, startled. You look like shit. Clad in a stained hoody two sizes too big for you, messy hair mopped on your head...

But after what Jason just got put through you could be wearing a piss-filled sack and he wouldn't care. He would still kiss you just as breathless as he's doing now.

When he finally pulls away there's tears rolling down his face, green just barely overtaking his usual bright teal colored eyes. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"Oh Jay, I'm so sorry. There was an emergency m-my mom got into a car accident and -"

"And you couldn't take your fucking phone?!"

At that, you let out a loud groan. Your hands come up to your exhausted eyes, massaging the space between your nose, like you've only just remembered you even have one right in this moment.

"My phone." You sigh. "I dropped it right before I left and I was in a rush - I just I... I really didn't have time to deal with it. It was already having trouble before I dropped it, I'm sure it's gotta be trashed now."

"And you couldn't use anyone else's shit to call?"

"I-I honestly just wasn't thinking about it, Jason."

"Didn't think?!"

"I thought my fucking mom was dead, excuse the fuck out of me!"

Silence, thick and heavy. You're both swallowing down anger. Yours, exhausted, and heavy; Jason's wet and worried.

"Okay." He swallows heavily, pulling you into his chest. Holding you makes his heart settle a fraction. "I'm sorry for yelling. I was worried, lovie, I thought something happened to you."

It's easy to give into his words, along with the heat of his touch. Fight drains out of you like a faucet, leaving you nothing but exhausted, and a little teary eyed yourself. Everything from the past day or so is rapidly catching up to you.

"I'm sorry too. I'm just... Tired."

Another pause, lighter this time.

"Your mom okay?"

You breathe out in a huff. "Yes. She made it sound way worse than it actually was. She'll need knee surgery, but she'll be fine."

Tim comes out of your apartment then, looking slightly perturbed at his normally murderous older brother acting so sappy. The poor door creaks while precariously attached to your crumbling door frame. Yeesh, your landlord is going to be pissed.

Tim's lip is still busted, now swollen nursing a slightly bloodied icepack. Sheepish and strained, he lets out an apologetic wince - even though he didn't have anything to do with your sad looking door.

"We can replace that." He blurts. "I'm glad you're okay."

You're still holding onto Jason, mostly because he clearly isn't ready to let go of you yet. "Yeah, wish I could say the same for you. The hell happened to your lip?" Jason stiffens in your grip.

"Uhm -"

His eyes flick off to the side, like he's trying to think of what to say. Before he can get anything out of his mouth Steph peaks her face through the doorway.

"Jason punched him."

"Jason!"

The man in question groans. "What? He pissed me off!"

You are unfazed. This would not be the first time Jason punched someone and you got on in his ass for it, and it definitely won't be the last. As much as he tries to stay soft and gentle around you, he is still a hothead, a problem he had before the pit that has only been exacerbated since then. Sweet is only a word you would describe Jason with, and you're not blind to that fact.

"Jason." You say more stern this time.

After more childish groaning he finally pulls away to face Tim with an even more childish glare. Tears are still sticky on his cheeks, but he's not crying anymore. If anything, he looks angry all over again.

"I didn't mean to hit you. Sorry or whatever."

Tim's jaw drops.

Steph blinks like Jason's grown a second head.

Then they both burst out laughing, which only makes Jason more angry. Your hand wraps around his bicep he can attempt to swing on Tim again - because it's always Tim for some reason you don't have the backstory for - stopping him in his tracks.

"God you're whipped!" They guffaw together.

A breath in. A breath out. In and out. Until he's calm enough to squeeze words from his gullet. You rub a hand on his chest, trying to hide your own little bit of humor in the situation. Laughing would probably erase the little bit of calm he's drug up.

"We're leaving."

"What, but I just got home!"

He clutches your hand between his arm and side so you can't pull away. "Too bad. You need a new phone, right? Let's go get one."

"But I'm tired...!"

"Nap on the way."

Then he's pulling you back into the elevator, finding it easier to remove himself from the situation than fight Tim and Stephanie one on two. If he's lucky, Tim will already have the door fixed by the time you two get back. If he's even luckier both Tim and Steph will have gone home.

But honestly, with how nosey they are? He's not counting on it.

This is another one that's been sitting in my drafts for ten thousand years, so I wrote the first half forever ago. Kinda rushed the ending bc I'm just trying to clean out my drafts lowk, and I'm tired of thinking about this one.

Didn't feel like checking for uses of fem pronouns it might gn idk 😭

Dick: I hear the pits are all the rage lately am I right

Jason, turning towards Tim, who was very clearly minding his business: that shit was so stupid I'm gonna kill you

｡⁠☆Requests Open

[theobservatory]

I have an ask in my inbox for fujoshi!reader x Jason Todd. I've tried to write it a few times but every time it ends up with reader being like "I wish I was a man...." And so it's taking me a long time. Bc. I really just can't go that indepth with myself rn. I have work, I have school, I am so busy, I just cannot think about that right now I'm sorry guys

[theobservatory]

I think that Damian is the man to go to if you're looking for a movie type of romance.

He is a yearner through and through. He is out in the rain, on his knees, a boombox by his side, and blasting your favorite song.

Constantly confessing his love in the most roundabout ways possible. Never have you heard Damian say "I love you", but you have heard him mumble into your hair, when dawn is barely whisping into morning, "Your smile is like the sunrise. Bright, and beautiful. My day is always well when I see it, and I hope I can bring you enough happiness that I can see it for the rest of my life."

Nicknames galore: "Habibti", "My love", "darling", "Hayati" "Azizati", ect ect. And you're the only one he refers to by a nickname, especially a term of endearment. Most are lucky if he even uses their first name.

Also gifts galore, but he's way too prideful to spend his father's money on you. Everything he buys you is with money he earned.

On the same wavelength, gets pissed at you when you ask for something too cheap. Sure, he believes in mindful spending, but "these are gifts, Hayati, you deserve to have billions spent on you". Do not pull up any sort of fast fashion around this man, he will look at it in disgust.

Because "polyester Darling, honestly? It could damage your skin. We can get something custom made."

Damian isn't much for PDA, in his opinion anything passed a peck on the lips or cheek is meant for private, but he loves when you cling. He perks up like a touch starved dog when you wrap your arm around his, or when you smush your face into his back. There is little better than people being able to see that you're in love.

This is, of course, excluding the fact that he is a little mean, but that is okay lol. Maybe that is a topic for another post.

Here is my dabble into adult Damian. You'll find that my preferred age to write for him is about 15-18ish.

Maybe more on him later, writing this drabble has lowk endeared me to him. Feel free to send an ask ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

✧Requests Open

[theobservatory]

Just updated my batfam masterlist ! Everything should be up to date now

[i6milfs]

WOMAN’S HISTORY MONTH DAY 5

Hello again everyone! My name is Arriah, and for Women’s History Month I’ve been highlighting and appreciating some of my favorite Black women writers across the fandoms I’m part of.

For Day 5, I wanted to spotlight writers in the comic fandom community, specifically Marvel and DC.

Comic fandoms are some of the most creative spaces in fanfiction. From Batfamily chaos to Avengers found-family dynamics, from angsty character studies to soft fluff and dramatic slow burns, Marvel and DC writers constantly find new ways to explore these characters and worlds.

Black women writers in these fandoms bring so much creativity, passion, and personality to their stories. Their work adds depth to these communities and helps make fandom spaces feel more welcoming and diverse for readers who want to see themselves reflected in the stories they enjoy.

Fanfiction has always been about creativity and community, and these writers put so much time and effort into sharing their ideas and love for these characters with the rest of the fandom.

So for Day 5 of Women’s History Month, I wanted to highlight some amazing Black women writers in the Marvel and DC fandoms whose work I’ve enjoyed and appreciated. If you’re looking for new writers to follow or new fics to read, I definitely recommend checking them out and showing them some love.

Remember if I forgot anybody they might be in the next part or I genuinely could not find them but if you know any black writers tag them in the comments.

Small PSA 💕

While putting this post together, I noticed something that honestly surprised me there aren’t as many Black writers in the Marvel and DC fandom spaces as I expected, especially compared to some other fandoms.

Because of that, I really want to encourage people to actively support the Black writers who are creating in these communities. Writing takes time, effort, and a lot of creativity, and engagement makes a huge difference.

If you enjoy someone’s work, please consider showing that support by liking their posts, leaving comments, reblogging, sharing their fics, or recommending their stories to others. Even small interactions can mean a lot to writers and help their work reach more readers.

Black writers contribute so much creativity and passion to fandom spaces, and their work deserves to be seen, appreciated, and supported.

@loonatears , @unicvnthalle , @kerokeri @hoodzgyal , @truestaim @cindol, @celestemere, @nymphodiety, @apocalypse-shuffle, @tvgals, @horrorn1ght, @sozzoe @j0kers-light, @kerokeri, @burniingblue

@wiinterz, @liyawritesss, @ironinc, @saturnville, @gardenof-venus, @side-shawty, @internetb3by @chrrybl0ssom, @mrsmanofthemonth

@fairydustttx, @wierdblavk-girl, @wannabeluvr, @dontfightiit @decayingearf, @theobservatory, @pinkhoodi, @nieceeee, @ppixienous, @angelic1angel, @ririglow

[theobservatory]

I'd like to dedicate this shout-out to my moms, my father, and everybody black, tf !?

[theobservatory]

Clark Kent request!!! You’re insecure with your postpartum body, but he’s there to reassure you. Super angsty but very fluff! He’s there every step of the way with your struggles on being a mom

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

Blaming a dollar on a dime ｡⁠.ﾟ★ ˎˊ˗

｡⁠☆Synopsis: Clark comforts you through a much needed, long time coming breakdown

｡⁠☆Cw: yelling, cursing, fem reader, pregnancy, jealousy

It starts with a "not tonight Clark".

Clark would never make you do anything you don't want to, of course. Whether sexually or not. Especially now that you're a new mom, the mother of his child, at that.

So he backs off a little. He knows you're tired, moody, and paranoid more often than not these days. He tries to take the stress off of you when he can, taking care of the baby, massages, and offering you space are all things well within his wheelhouse of skills. It's even more helpful that he's practically solar powered, so he comes equipped with more energy than you by nature.

"Is everything okay?"

You nod, allowing his hands to roam your blanket covered arms. He's all loving eyes and gentle touches as usual-but something in him tells him to push, to pry. Clark isn't completely sure why he doesn't believe you, but over his time of being a hero he's learned to trust his gut.

"Are you sure?"

With a sigh you turn into his chest, he wraps his arms around you without a thought.

"I'm... I'm just exhausted Clark. Can we talk about it in the morning?"

You both know you'll be up in two hours. The scream of the baby monitor is much too loud for Clark to ignore, and you're often too paranoid thinking about the baby to have anything but restless sleep. You're sure you'd be up checking on the baby every two hours even without the monitor.

Clark stops his prying there. He can feel your exhaustion seeping into his bones like osmosis. Keeping you awake for any longer feels like a crime of the highest degree.

Besides, if it's important you'd tell him, right?

The night passes in a haze of dozing, checking on the baby, and dozing again. You technically get 8 hours of sleep, but it's on and off, not enough for you to feel anywhere close to energized. Clark gets up when you do, and sleeps when you do, even though you've told him that he doesn't need to. It's not like there's much Clark can do except stand and hover over you while you feed the baby anyway.

Days pass mostly the same way. You're still mostly yourself - sleepier - but still mostly happy. It's hard to be in a good mood all the time when you're dealing with a newborn. Especially with a superhero for a husband, if crime can't sleep, neither can he.

Clark's with you most days, or at least tries to be. The Daily Planet giving him paternity leave makes it easier than it would be otherwise, but it's in his blood to rush away when there's a cry for help.

This has left you alone with the baby most afternoons, not necessarily a bad thing, but not a good thing either. Newborns don't do much except sleep, eat, and shit; so you tend to nap when he does, and if you can't sleep you have some time for yourself. Maybe too much time.

Before time to yourself was spent getting work done, but with maternity leave you don't have any work. You would do one of your hobbies, read a book, catch up on TV, but with the baby's sporadic sleep schedule it's not even worth it. Any time you start to make good headway the baby wakes up.

It's left you listless. No time to time yourself, yet only time to yourself has left you in an awkward limbo. Your brain craves more stimulation than dooms scrolling on your phone, but you have no energy or time to do anything except that or think.

And it's much preferable to doom scroll.

Thinking leads you down a rabbit hole of self-deprecation that always seems to feel neverending. You've lost most of the weight of the pregnancy, but your clothes still don't fit right, your skin sags in places it didn't before, your hair is duller than it used to be, there's always dark bags under your eyes. The youthful glow you took for granted seems to have disappeared over night.

None of the thoughts stop until Clark comes home tired, but warm. Warm in the temperature of his sun-kissed skin, and warm in his affectionate gaze. All of those hurtful thoughts leave for that moment. You're reminded you are loved, no matter how you look or how your clothes fit and then Clark excuses himself to shower.

In a matter of moments, you've forgotten that feeling all over again.

You try to hide it. Upsetting Clark is the last thing you want to do, and you know he'd be upset if you told him how you're feeling. Everything around the baby has you both too busy to have deep, personal talks, anyway. So you bottle it up, and hope he doesn't notice.

But you know he does anyway. You can feel it. He just hasn't brought it up yet, and you're terrified for the day he does.

A month passes similarly. The baby gets bigger faster than you realize, Clark stays busy during the afternoon, friends and family visit when they can. Your thoughts and his worry catch up to you at the same time.

Lois and Jimmy had come over to meet the baby and stayed for dinner, nothing groundbreaking. But all you could think about was Lois; how beautiful she is, how her skin still glows, the bounce of her hair, lightness she steps with in heels. You haven't worn heels in over a year now.

Never more than right now have you felt so ugly. Clark hasn't looked at you since everyone sat down, too enthralled with Jimmy's dishonest romance stories, and Lois's annoyingly beautiful smile.

Lois and Clark are both gorgeous. They'd look so good together. You have the decency to wait until after everyone has left to bring down over that thought.

And break down you do. Loudly.

You shrink into yourself as soon as the door shuts behind Jimmy. Tears are pooling faster than you can will them away, your throat is tight, hands clenched into jealousy shaped fists. Clark is on you before you finish your first little sniffle.

But you pull away fast enough to stumble. You don't want him to touch you. You feel like some sort of bacteria that's going to infect Clark with the same ugly disease you have.

"Oh honey," he coos, "what's the matter?" But he doesn't reach out to touch you again. It's so weird in such an awful way that he doesn't reach out, even though you didn't want him to touch you in the first place.

You're stuttering and whimpering like a little kid, and the words you're trying to say are all jammed in the middle of your throat. "I - I miss wearing my heels."

"Okay, we can get them out of the closet. We don't have to go anywhere, you can just -"

"No! It's not about the fucking shoes!" You sob.

And you know you must sound like a lunatic. You must, blabbering on almost unintelligibly about heels and the size of your always swollen feet.

Clark switches gears, you're obviously too upset to communicate your wants properly which is fine. Clark has been the same way many times and you've always been patient with him.

"Can I hold you, darlin'? How can I help you?" Because maybe he can't fix the problem at the root, but he can at least comfort you, he hopes.

You steam roll him. "Isn't Lois so pretty, Clark?"

"I mean I guess? I -"

"Don't say you've never noticed! I know you have, it's okay!" Do you sound insane? You feel insane. "She's so thin, and her skin is soft, and she can still fit her feet into her goddamn shoes! How can anyone not notice?"

Clark's eyes are big, and glossy, and concerned. God, it makes you sick.

"I... I suppose..." He says uncertainly. "But you shouldn't concern yourself with all that, honey."

"Well I do!"

Clark chokes out a mirthless laugh. "I'm seeing that now, but you're beautiful, hon, I swear. At least I think you are."

It sounds like a lie, even though you know Clark can't lie for shit it still feels like one. There's a part of you that says Clark has never lied to you before, that he's always found you attractive, always been genuine with you.

You're having a hard time listening to it.

"No you don't! You don't, you can't!" You're sobbing so hard you begin to dry heave, too caught up in your feelings to be rational. You don't even see when Clark got close enough to bundle you into a hug.

"But I do." He holds you close to himself, even as you weakly fight against his arms. "I still think you're the prettiest thing I laid eyes on. Especially after carrying our baby.

"Everyday I have to hold myself back from touching you how I want, because you deserve better than that from me. Not just because of how gorgeous I find you, or because you're my wife, or the mother of my child. I just think you deserve the best of anything that I give you. Including my time, and my touch..."

Clark's voice is low, barely heard over the sound of you crying into his chest. Slow, little circles of his hands rub relaxation into your spine as he talks. Calm oozes out of his every pore.

"I love everything about you, including your body, darlin'."

A pause floats between you too as you take a bit of time to choke back more tears. "Really?"

"Really."

Reassurance doesn't fix everything, of course - not by a longshot - but it helps. Something about the soothing rubs on your back combined with the rumbling of his low tone in his chest, brings you back down to earth. Your feet are firmly planted when the baby monitor shrieks with your son's cries.

The sound is a nuisance, loud and grating on your ears, but you can't find yourself minding. A distraction sounds good right now, a little something to keep you from floating back off again.

"We're gonna go get the baby, feed him, change him; then I'm gonna take you to the bedroom, and show you exactly how beautiful I find you, okay?" He doesn't say it seductively or provocatively - if anything he sounds consolatory - but his words are enticing either way.

"...Okay."

He kisses you on the forehead. "Good." And he pulls you towards the nursery.

Jimmy, who was lowk still on your porch when you started crying: 😬😬

This took me forever to write. I wrote it on the wrong ask at first, then my laptop broke, then I realized I had no clue where I even wanted the story to go but ! I did it ! Congrats to me ! But I'm kinda not happy with it ! This is okay, it cannot be a banger every time !

I've never been pregnant and never want to be, but I have around 10 siblings so I was kinda using what I've observed from my moms to write this. I hope this is what you wanted !

｡⁠☆Requests Open

[theobservatory]

Rub his nose in it｡⁠.ﾟ★ ˎˊ˗

｡⁠☆Synopsis: all your underwear has been disappearing lately, strange, give you three guesses on who the culprit could be...

｡⁠☆Cw: Vague hints of petplay, scent kink, coming in pants, pwp, getting walked in on (but you're both into it so it's okay), name calling, masturbation, lots of different terms for underwear, no use of y/n, maybe implied fem reader(?), reader is mean, slight breathplay, slight orgasm control

"Are you fucking serious, Tim?"

Tim jumps.

He's been caught red handed. A pair of your missing panties is being held up to his nose, a hand under his black slacks. His face is hot and flushed, and his pupils are blown wide.

"F-Fuck, babe, it's not-"

"it's exactly what it looks like, do not try to lie to me, Timothy."

He whimpers a little, one part shame two parts still really fucking horny. He was already so close before you came in, and now you're standing in here yelling at him. You can't blame him when his hand starts moving again can you?

He can't help it, he swears! You're just so gorgeous, and you always look hot when you're angry, even when it's at him! And you're still in that big shirt that makes it hard to tell if you're wearing shorts under it and... Fuck... Fuck...

"Is this where my underwear's been going, Tim? I've been blaming our new washer!"

"Sorry." Tim chokes out. He only half means it.

"You should be sorry, that's such a breach of privacy!"

He tries to hide the way his hips jerk into his fist. You're right, he should be sorry. He should be begging for your forgiveness right now, but he just can't force any words out of his mouth.

Your voice is slowly becoming nothing but background noise to him. If he lets his brain keep fuzzing out like this it's like his own personal porn. Sure, he doesn't know what you're saying, but it doesn't matter. It's about the fact that you're the one talking. It's you.

He can't help but imagine that it's your hand instead of his. Imagine that it's your fingers thumbing over his slit, your palm running over his shaft, pinching at his-

"Is the pervert in the room still listening to me?"

"Uh-huh."

"You fucking liar."

Tim hadn't even noticed when his head tipped back. When the cotton drawls he's holding slipped from his fingers, onto the space next to him. He can't remember when his eyes fully closed and glazed over. Shit, how long have you been yelling at him?

He whimpers again when your hand yanks at his jaw, forcing him back up right. His dick jumps in his hand like it's being reawakened - not that ever went back to sleep, really - at your touch.

His whole face is hot and blustering red. The way it blotchily crawls to his throat makes him look sunburnt. His flush only gets worse when he finally forces himself to meet your glare head on.

He cuts off a moan, squeezing himself so he doesn't cum right then and there. He feels like putty. Weak, pliable, pathetic.

"What's that look for?" Your panties are shoved back in his face all of a sudden. There's no way to hide how hard his hips stutter. "If you're gonna steal my shit the least you can do is use it."

For a moment, your hand is slowly and softly trailing to his throat. He doesn't know if he wants you to stop being mean or not. If you do he knows you'll take his length in your mouth with no hesitation, but he also likes this. He likes your anger. He likes his loss of control, and that's a first. Tim has always been a control freak.

Your grip tightens again out of, what feels like nowhere, at least to Tim. But he's still having a hard time comprehending anything you're saying.

It feels just as sudden when your hand holding your panties under his nose presses so hard up against his face he can't do anything but breathe in the smell. You have his head forced back so hard there's nowhere to run, no matter which way he turns his head he can't escape.

"If you want to get off on my shit so bad, then do it, asshole." Your nails are clawing into his cheeks. "C'mon. I'm waiting."

Slowly his hand begins to move up and down again, like he's afraid you're going to tell him no.

His boxers have already been soiled with more precum than Tim thought he was capable of, frankly. His hands and thighs are both sticky and gross and his skin makes a squelching sound whenever he twists his wrist just right. The worn underwear he's huffing makes him dizzy, or maybe it's your hand periodically squeezing his throat, he can't tell.

He can tell that he's about two seconds away from cumming in his pants. That heat coiling in his stomach is only getting tighter and tighter.

"Oh my- oh f-fuck. I'm so- I'm gonna-"

"Don't."

"What?" The word comes out high pitched and desperate. For a moment he didn't even think it was his own voice.

"Are you sorry?"

Tim keens, high and loud. He sounds like a kicked puppy.

"Yes! I'm sorry! I p-promise, I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry!" He spits out through the cloth presses to his face.

"Lick it up."

He sticks his tongue out with no hesitation. The muscles in his body are so tense, his thighs are trembling, he's covered in sweat.

Then your panties are placed on his tongue, and he licks and sucks and moans like a bitch in heat.

Between one moment and the next he loses himself. He's unsure if he was loud or completely silent; if his eyes closed or if he had a blank look on his face. Either way, he's trembling. His balls are still emptying little by little into his boxers as he comes to.

He's gasping for air like he's never breathed it. Your hands now help to hold him up, one still on his face as you turn his cheek as if checking for damage.

"Did you learn your lesson?"

He nods. Still too hot and overstimulated by the little touches you're leaving on his body.

"Good."

Tim relaxes as you lay him down. At first he thinks you're prepping him for another round. Unable to efficiently communicate that he really doesn't think he can. He just had one of the hardest orgasms of his life, and you're what, trying to test his stamina or something?

He cannot help the shuttering sigh as he realizes you're just cleaning him up. You already know waking up in cum filled boxers will be unpleasant.

Maybe.

Unless he's into that.

Who knows with Tim at this point.

Everyone STFU !!! I AM EMBARRASSED !!! Listen, I have too many drafts okay (⁠ب⁠_⁠ب⁠) I've been cleaning them out and this has been finished for everrrr so I just decided to post it. This is technically the first piece of smut I've ever written, and the second one I've posted so be nice to me okay (⁠٥⁠↼⁠_⁠↼⁠) like geez

Anywayysss, I have another draft that's been half finished for ever coming out tomorrow. It's fluff. I have to redeem myself

Do you actually have a conversation about him stealing your underwear ?... No bc if you did it now you'd be hypocrite. He just starts replaces them if he tears them from being too rough

｡⁠☆Requests Open