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My personal blog: @pinkisinthecloset

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My Stories/Original Characters

The party for Sean's return was fun. The Irishman was standing up on a crate and shouting songs from the top of his lungs. The ground swayed beneath him which made him three seconds away from falling onto his face at all times.

He clearly wasn't the only one who had had too much liquor, though.

While most people got either giddy, melancholy or easily irritable, Charles just got even quieter. He was always restricting himself but even more when he was drunk. He did not only seem emotionally distant but was usually also physically distant from the other gang members.

Tonight, you found him sitting at the edge of the camp where Strauss usually lingered. "Having a good night?" he asked, turning towards you. Apart from how hooded his eyes were, he behaved completely normal.

"Yes," you chuckled. "How about you?"

"Mhm." His intoxicated state was only made obvious when you went closer to him. Immediately, he wrapped one arm around your thighs and hugged them to his chest. He put his other hand on your waist.

You giggled, brushing your fingers through his hair. "Real gentlemanly, are you?"

He leaned his head against you stomach and took a deep breath. "You look incredible." He looked up at you, moving his hands along your midsection and down to your knees, repeating the motion multiple times.

"Thank you."

Charles smoothed his hands across your legs, lifting up the fabric covering them. Your proximity to each other soothed him. After a bit, you tried moving away to get back to the others but his grip tightened and he pulled you in further.

"Please," he murmured, "stay."

"Alright but just a little longer."

At first Ryland asking you out seemed sweet. He had invited you to his apartment after work, saying that you could watch a movie together and maybe order take-out. It was a friendly gesture after your long day at the school.

He seemed nervous, constantly rubbing at his neck and stumbling over his words. When you turned away, his gaze lingered on you and when you laughed, he smiled slightly and listened to the sound.

"Do you like Horror?" you asked when you still couldn't find a good film after ten minutes.

Ryland stopped and chuckled. "No, not really."

You smiled. "Is that codeword for "I piss my pants every time I watch one?"

"Might be," he said, leaning in, "but you're never gonna know."

You decided on a Rom-com. It was funny enough to keep you entertained but not too challenging so that Ryland could rehearse his lines in his head. You were having a good time, pointing out when you really liked something or when you really hated something.

But sometimes you'd find him sitting in front of a window, in front of a wall or in the middle of the room, blankly staring at nothing at all. His eyes always shone, glossed over with held-back tears, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. Sometimes he was breathing very deeply, chest heaving with every inhale and exhale, and sometimes he'd breath so shallowly that you'd wonder if he had died.

"Dick?" you called out to him, brushing your hand over his shoulder.

A smile immediately returned to his mouth as he tried to focus his eyes on you. "Hey," he breathed. "You're back early."

"Not really, it's like 7 PM." You furrowed your eyebrows. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course." Dick immediately went to stand up, moving effortlessly around you. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. You just seemed kind of out of it."

"Did you eat yet?" he asked, already heading to the kitchen. "I can make you something."

You watched as he walked away. Through the closed door, you heard him turn on the stove and open the fridge. When he was like this, he didn't seem like himself. His happiness seemed forced, his movements robotic and his words fake.

"Richard?" you called out to him.

He poked his head out of the doorway connecting your living room to the kitchen. "Yeah?"

"You know you don't have to always be happy, right?"

"I know," he answered, nodding. "I also know that it stresses you out when I'm not doing good."

You tilted your head. "So you just hide your emotions?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I'd rather be worried about you because you aren't feeling well," - you sighed -, "than because you won't talk to me about your problems."

"Alright." He looked down, nodding quietly. "It's just- It's dificult."

"I know." You walked over to him, taking his face in your hands and gently brushing your thumb over his cheeks. "I'm just asking you to try."

His eyelashes were long and surprisingly dark for how light his hair was. Fine lines dragged from the corner of his eyes downwards for about five centimetres. They reminded you of how happy he usually is when you're around even when he's in a bad mood.

You still loved Arthur's eyes when purple circles formed under them. Guarma had taken a toll on him, of that you were very aware, but it was more than that. His tiredness went beyond what a bad night or even a bad week could do.

He told you a week after his diagnosis. His deteriorating health was unbearably and embarrassingly noticeable by now. He was coughing and wheezing all the time and could barely get any rest at night.

"Arthur?"

He had zoned out again. He did that a lot recently. "Hm?"

You took his hand in yours and whispered: "I love you."

"I love you too," he coughed, covering his mouth and leaning as far away from you as he could.

You put a hand on his back and rubbed comfortingly. Finally, after about a minute, he swallowed dryly and turned to the sunset. You wrapped your arm around him and pretended not to notice the blood in the grass.

"I will always love, Arthur," you said, "even when you're dead."

"So she got 87% on a test, right? And I think that's a perfectly fine grade. It was a difficult test. But her parents thought she was failing, apparently, because they stormed into my classroom after school and just yelled at me!"

You shook your head. "That sounds awful," you replied. "87% is still good."

"Yeah, exactly," he chuckled and took a sip of water.

He looked up at you - You were already in your pajama pants and a dirty, old T-shirt you thought you had thrown away - and couldn't help but be mesmerized. Everything about you was so beautiful. How comfortable you looked, your eyes and the little crinkles at the end of them from smiling, your cheeks, slightly pink from the stove's warmth, the domesticity of the situation.

It slipped out of him easily. After all, it was one of the things he thought about most. "Marry me."

"What?"

His face flushed immediately, down to his neck and over his ears. He cleared his throat and scratched his neck, looking away from you and towards the empty wall. "Nothing."

"Ryland," you said sternly, staring at the back of his head. "Turn around."

Carefully, he turned around.

You took a pause and kissed him gently. "I want to marry you too," you whispered against his lips. "I love you."

What’s your favorite trope/sort of thing to write about and why?

Oh god, this is a hard question, especially since I haven't written much.

If we're talking specifically x reader then definitely like awkwardness, losers, nerds. I'll make any character pathetic and needy. I love making myself cringe when I read/write something. I'm a very awkward person so this also helps me feel less embarrassed.

I also liking writing about gentle love. I grew up with parents in a not stable relationship so I just really cling to this certainty that the other person loves you.

For original fiction I love taboo topics (anything from murder to prostitution and more) and sorta religious/spiritual themes (even though I'm an atheist). I just think it's fun to explore these topics in a safe way.

All pictures are from @gothamorphosis's series called Picture Perfect. Check it out, it is super cool!

Masterlist (Slice of Life)

Blurb #1: Mother's Day

The morning started like any other. Gentle sunlight caressing your face, your limbs tangled with the thick blanket you insisted on getting and Bruce's arms around you. The only thing that was different this morning was the smell of pancake dough and melted butter coming from the kitchen.

With a groan and a stretch, you sat up. Before you could even move your legs over the edge of your bed, Bruce wrapped his arms tighter around you and pulled you back into the sheets.

"Bruce, the sun is already up."

A.k.a.: Your life if you were dating the DC characters.

All of the pictures are directly taken from @gothamorphosis's series Picture Perfect and all of the blurbs are inspired by the pictures. Check it out, it is truly amazing!

Bruce Wayne as your husband

Dick Grayson as your boyfriend

Jason Todd as your boyfriend

Wally West as your boyfriend

Talking was hard for him. He was always shooting out orders on the battlefield and couldn't really turn that off. Being loud was always one of his most prevalent instincts. It would scare anyone away that was trying to harm him when he couldn't defend himself. The only side effect was that it also scared away anyone who wasn't trying to hurt him.

Since he couldn't completely isolate himself from the outside world, he decided to just stop talking. He answered most questions with a simple nod or shake of his head and would write down more complicated answers or just ignore the person that was asking.

Along with silence came distance. Distance from human speech and social norms, distance from his hobbies, normal activities, anything and anyone outside of his job and, most importantly, touch.

He couldn't decide if physical contact with people he knew or complete strangers was worse. Strangers brought uncertainty, both for themselves and for Simon. He didn't know them, of course, and so they could be anything from friend to foe. With his teammates it was more complicated. They knew he didn't like physical contact and were disrespecting his boundaries, which Simon obviously wasn't a fan of. But he also knew that they probably meant well. An encouraging pat on the shoulder or a playful kick against his shin.

Still, one thing stood clear: Touch would resort in violence.

Some guy tapping his shoulder and sighing: "Excuse me, but that's my seat." Simon, already being overwhelmed by the loud music and heat in the bar, whipped around and punched him in the face. He hadn't meant to but he was on edge and being touched was the last thing he wanted.

During a medical exam when the doctor, instead of asking Simon to lift his arm, grabbed it and twisted it upwards. Simon pulled his arm back and pushed him away and aginst a drawer. In seconds he was out the door.

When Simon met you, he barely registered you. You were walking on the same trail he was running on.

It had been a hard, exhausting day and he could barely keep his eyes open. As he ran past you, you called out to him: "Careful!"

Just as he heard the word, he started slipping and face-planted on the ground. A root was still slightly coming out of the ground, a perfect trip hazard.

"Oh my god!" you yelled and went over to him. Gently you wrapped your hand around his arm, helping him pull himself up. "Are you okay?"

Simon slapped your hand and quickly scrambled up, breathing quicker. Not only was his cheek hurting now but he was embarrassed, felt violated and unreasonable for feeling violated.

You couldn't have known that he didn't want to be touched. You were trying to help. You were a good person. He could just go home and shower.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." He brushed some dirt off his shirt.

"No, I'm sorry for touching you."

Simon blinked, looked at the root that made him trip, at his arm and back at your face. Your eyebrows were furrowed and you swallowed. There was a slight flush to your cheeks as you bowed down slightly.

"Have a nice rest of your day."

You smiled at him before continuing down the road and Simon was left wondering how a stranger could make him feel more human than any therapist, coworker, friend or family member had ever.

When he's worried, he starts talking louder and faster and gets more aggressive/rougher. He also gets more "touchy". Not because he craves physical connection or something but because he wants to help and moves people around how he thinks it should be.

Arthur obviously cares a lot about people and wants to help them (as seen by all of the stranger missions and the entire game) but he also really loves animals. He cares for them deeply and respects them (as in he doesn't only think they're cute and helpless but thinks they can be smart, strong, etc).

(More obvious) He is deeeeeplyyyy insecure and about everything too. About his background, about hos looks, about his lifestyle/the gang, about his personality, about his moral compass, about his decisions and past. Like naming one thing this man isn't insecure about is an impossible mission.

Continuation of this ↑: But he also doesn't like it and gets aggressive/mean/whatever you wanna call it when someone says that something he did was bad. (I think) He berates Mary for breaking up with him just because he's an outlaw but then when he's alone also says that he's a bad man for being an outlaw and that he doesn't deserve to be loved.

Low self-esteem, difficulty accepting compliments, general bad opinion of himself

He believes in the good in people and that they can change and tries to reason with their morality more often than just imidating them. Like he always first is like "think about what you're doing" and then threatens them if they don't do want he wants them to do. (He clearly doesn't have as much of a hate of violence as Charles but I do think that he doesn't like to hurt people)

Arthur would probably be a mix of flattered, curious and overwhelmed. I feel like he also would want to read what you've written but then not really understand everything and just go like: "Yeah, this is... Good. Really, uh, brings out the... good? In me?"

Also: Wanting Arthur to tell you western stories so you can write about them and he absolutely delivers. Because he's seen so much and, even if he maybe doesn't have all the words to describe it, he knows what stuff feels like.

A.k.a.: You use the triangle of friends, enemies and lovers like a track field. Ryland wants an answer to what you are.

Pairing: Ryland Grace x "mean"!reader

A/N: Send requests....... please............. thank you...........

Leading a space odyssey into another solar system was far out of Ryland's comfort zone, interacting with alien life-forms was even farther out of his comfort zone and understanding of the universe and trying to save earth was so far out of his comfort zone that he couldn't see it from where he was standing.

But all of those cases where he felt scared and dreadful were nothing compared to what he was experiencing now. He had a crush on the only other person on said space odyssey.

24th place: Dutch Van Der Linde 🤢

Good golly, I hate this guy with all my heart. I have tried to shoot him multiple times during missions just to see him die. Absolute lunatic. If you like Dutch, I don't like you.

23rd place: Micah Bell

He is yucky yuck yuck. Evil, disgusting, vile. He doesn't deserve to see the light of day. I think he also has a line about sexually assaulting women. So. Yeah.

22nd place: Bill Williamson

I mainly don't like Bill because he is loyal to Dutch and tells everyone else to be loyal to Dutch but, besides that, I also just don't like his personality.

21th place: Leopold Strauss

Bad Austrian representation.

Check out the Masterlist