tokutaiseichan

[hopeless--light]

Dp x Dc Why do I hear boss music?

Drabble or ficlet? Who knows I thought of this and would like to write a short dp x dc

The Joker was walking around gleefully he had escaped Arkham yet again but he hadn't done anything yet. Tim was on strict watching duty to see if he can catch Joker in a scheme before he did anything. Everyone else was either off-world, Jason and Dick, or in the middle of busting a trafficking ring, Bruce and Damian. So the Joker was still a high enough priority to keep an eye on but they didn't have the men to spare to take him back.

Tim knew he was being extra stealthy he did not want to become the next Robin victim he had enough clown trauma thank you very much. But he still swore the maniac had turned towards him with a creepy ass smile he always wears. But after an hour of just mindless wandering in the dark, the Joker had yet to do anything. That was until he turned down an alley toward a kid wearing headphones.

Now who wore soundproof headphones while wandering a back alley in the Gotham? Tim could only assume a tourist on top of the kid was prime adoption bait with black hair and pretty glowing blue eyes. Wait glowing? Tim couldn't tell properly from his vantage point on the roof across the street but it really did look like his eyes were glowing blue. And the Joker had noticed too, Shit the Joker was after a defenseless pretty meta. It's just a plus he had black hair and blue eyes, Joker knew Batman had an adoption type.

Time watched in slow motion as the Joker smiled at him and then reached for the teen. The Joker ripped the soundproof headphones off and Tim was hauling ass only stumbling when he heard boss music?

Danny was the final boss.

It started off as a joke between Sam, Tucker, and him, he was the ghost king after all so that means he was technically the final boss. If this were a game he would be the final showdown for heroes to protect the world. Pariah Dark was literally his final boss and he took that mantle up.

So what did the trio do they made a playlist of all their final boss music whether it was video games or movies and played it anytime Danny was visiting them, as he was now in Gotham working on his college degree. But what Danny never would admit is he genuinely enjoyed that playlist and listened to it when he was trying to amp himself up for what future project he needed to work on. Like now he was wandering the streets trying to get inspiration on his final project for class while listening to some boss music to stir up adrenaline.

Sometimes he forgot he was in the most crime-ridden town and that technically he was a meta so color him surprised when he was amping himself up this Freakshow wannabe ripped his headphones off. Not cool. But the worst part was the cord coming off his phone blasting the music. Now he can get away with listening to boss music but he will forever cringe at what started playing when those headphones were yanked away.

Meglovania

[crescenthistory]

hi angel!!!! absolutely adore your blog and especially the way you write for regulus 🥹🥹 makes my heart so happy, like that’s baby boy!!!! thank you so much for sharing with us!!! i have a prompt request but only if you feel so inclined!!! number d8 “where is she?" with regulus, pretty please, like maybe something happens to reader and he is the last to find out (busy w quidditch or prefer things) so when someone finally tracks him down being like your girl needs you, his composure is for once non existent and he is panicking!!!! ughhh hurt/comfort with reg is everything!!! anyway only if you feel my up to my love no pressure ever - love your blog regardless 💗💗💗

hi my love<33 this is hands down the sweetest request i have received, thank you so much for being so kind 🤍🤍 i genuinely appreciate your words so much! as for the request, i adore some hurt/comfort with reg, and this is an idea i've had for a while, so it was so fun to write

Prompt: D.8 "Where is she?"

Words: 6k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, severe injury (happens off screen, explained and treated on screen), lacerations, typical regulus anxiety (overworked), best friends to lovers, pomfrey being a badass, snape is a villain, animal abuse (technically), background marlene, rosekiller, etc.

It was common knowledge that Slytherin quidditch practice was never to be disturbed, especially this close to the final match of the season against Gryffindor.

This was Regulus’ first year as captain and he was determined for it to be written in the history books as a victorious one, to make himself deserving of the title. Playing opposite his brother and his best friends didn’t lessen the pressure much, either. 

He knew he had been pushing the team quite hard, but he also knew that if anyone could handle it, it was them. Evan and Barty funnelled all their chaotic energy into quidditch once they realised just how much it mattered for their mate, and Dorcas had just as much to gain from winning against Marlene as Regulus had against Sirius. Fenwick had had his skull bashed in by enough bludgers in his career to not be able to formulate any complaints, even if he had them. The rest of the team were relatively young players, a risk most others had chastised Regulus for taking, but one that was playing off beautifully – and with those rumours, they wanted to prove themselves, too. 

There really was little problem with this arrangement, he told himself, other than the fact that he was perhaps wearing himself a bit thin when balancing it all with his prefect duties and exams.

And, more importantly, missing you.

You had been the best friend he could have asked for during this hectic year of his, always standing by his side, just as much of a loyal team-player as those on his actual sports team. That unwavering dedication you had shown him over the years that taught him that maybe, just maybe, he was capable of being loved – and most definitely of loving, because Regulus would be damned if he didn’t admit that that was the only appropriate word for how he felt about you.

Not that he had told you that yet, though, and neither had you. It was never the right time, and you both knew, at least to some degree. For now, it was enough. You had each other, always, and it was enough. He told himself as much, at least.

Regulus was trying to zero his thoughts back on his team running through their plays off-broom on the ground, looking for any weakness in their formation, when the cardinal rule of not disturbing practice was broken.

“Black!” A voice shouted as it ran across the pitch from the school. 

Regulus squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the pestering fourth year away, one of those who just seemed to always be there, nameless and bothersome. It was to little avail, though, judging by the sounds of his heavy steps hitting the still somewhat moist dirt on the field.

“Black, I have to–”

“We are in the middle of a practice!” Regulus cut the kid off, letting his nerves get the better of him as he saw most of his players stop in the midst of what had been their best run-through so far. “Unless someone has died, it can wait.”

“But–”

“Has someone died?” Regulus had his hands on his hips, half aware that he looked way too much like his older brother as he regarded the student-shaped owl in front of him with derision. 

“No, but–”

“Are someone in the midst of dying? Like within the hour?”

“N– no.”

“Then you may leave.” The student looked thoroughly confused, clearly not having been properly warned by whoever sent him as a make-shift owl that this was the only response he would be getting from Regulus. He could vaguely hear you whispering poor boy in his mind, always advocating for Regulus’ softer side, but right now he pushed it away as he turned back to his teammates. “Whatever it is will still be there when we are finished up here.”

Regulus didn’t wait for him to go before he began to pretend he was air, attention fully on his team once more.

Barty snickered as he tried to lean his chin on Evan’s shoulder, only to have the taller boy fully shove him off. Regulus shook his head, ignoring the crestfallen student beside him as he tried to increase his energy levels back to where they needed to be.

“Okay, that last round was getting closer to where we want to be. Ready to take to the sky for the last few minutes?”

When he finally stepped foot inside the quidditch locker rooms, Regulus sped through his shower routine. He was eager to get out of there and back to the dorms quick enough to have sufficient time to spend with you before going to sleep. He had half a mind to ask you to sleep in his bed tonight, but he wondered if that might be pushing it since you just did that a few nights ago. Nothing ever happened, of course, you were just the best of friends – and even if you had been something more, it was hard for anything to happen with Evan and Barty in the same room.

You just brought him a sense of peace he found himself craving more day by day. He wished to squeeze out every ounce of it he possibly could.

His hair was still wet, bag thrown about as haphazardly over his shoulder as he could allow himself to without spiralling – which is to say, he still looked perfectly polished to anyone but him. He turned to give the team lingering behind an attempt at an emphatic great work today that ended up falling a bit short from his hoarse voice. Thankfully, everyone else seemed tired enough to accept it without reservation, and Regulus could exit the changing room before all but running towards the Slytherin dorms. 

On his way there, he passed through the Great Hall, attempting to slow his stride to look a bit more composed, but quite ready to throw all of it away for the night just to curl up with you.

“Re- Regulus?!”

Sirius’ incredulous voice sounded behind him, and though Regulus loved his brother dearly, he took a deep sigh at the disturbance, knowing that, with him, it would likely not be a short one.

“That would be me.” Regulus turned around with a sarcastic half-smile, only for it to waver when he saw the expression on Sirius’ face. 

There was an evident tension in his face when he looked Regulus up and down, as if trying to figure him out while a thousand thoughts ran through his mind. Sirius’ lips were pressed tight, as if holding back a severe frown and his eyes were decidedly clouded with worry.

“Reg, what are you doing here?” His voice conveyed more confusion than upset, but both were woven into his tone.

“I’m… on my way to Slytherin? We just finished practice.” 

It was as if Sirius found an answer to his confusion as his face settled into a form of defeat. “You don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” Regulus stared his brother down, heart speeding up in his chest, but he could feel it in his whole body. “What is it, Siri?”

“James sent someone to tell you,” Sirius says, speaking more to himself.

“Tell me what?” Regulus’ patience was worn thin by his pulse straining his skin.

“Uh, it’s Y/N.” Pangs shot through his body, pulling every vein taut. “She– she will be fine, don’t worry, but–”

“Where is she?”

Regulus struggled to make out where Sirius stood in front of him as the world seemed to tunnel around him and his mind was immediately elsewhere, immediately with his best girl, imagining any possible horror that might have overcome you. Had it not been for Sirius’ delivery of the news and the way he looked at Regulus, he might have felt more calm. But he had always known his big brother to be more composed than this.

“The infirmary–”

He didn’t need to hear more before he was running at full speed down the hallway.

Little to nothing registered with Regulus on the way to the infirmary, that he for the first time in his life realised was located painfully far away from the Great Hall. Illogical, given how many students go through there throughout their days. 

He felt lighter than ever as he was entirely certain he had never run this quickly in his life, simultaneously as every limb felt heavy with worry. 

She will be fine is only reassuring if he was concerned you had died – in every other scenario it is the worst thing to hear, because it confidently means you are not fine right now.

Regulus is half aware that he has run through two ghosts, into one student and past a professor – he thinks maybe Flitwick? – but he paid none of them any mind, willing to take the point deductions or even detentions, if only they don’t slow him down. He can deal with everything and anything else later. 

When he finally reached the door to the infirmary, it took everything in him to come to a halt. 

He all but crashed into the door, catching himself with one hand on the doorframe as he breathed heavy, giving himself but two seconds to collect himself, lest he be banned from the infirmary by life by Madam Pomfrey. That was not something he could afford right now.

Still heaving, he opened the door and took two steps inside – before his vision became entirely swamped by that very same woman, standing with her hands on her hips.

“Is she here?” He tried to get out before she could say anything.

“No visitors at the moment,” Madam Pomfrey said sternly.

“Please, is she here?” Regulus couldn’t even think to say your name, but the look on the matron’s face told him she knew.

“She is, and she is alright, but there will be no visitors at the moment.” Her voice was a bit softer now, but she was not relenting and she was not moving.

Regulus’ breath picked back up, and he didn’t register the tears that were forming in his eyes. A choked please was forming on his tongue when–

“Please.”

You beat him to it. Your meek voice sounded from a few curtains down behind Madam Pomfrey. Regulus didn’t hear the noise that escaped him when he heard the soft pain in your usually chipper voice, but the matron did. Still, it seemed to be on your account and not the lovestruck, fear-sickened boy in front of her, that she took a step to the side.

“Only you, and it must be brief.”

Her words were mostly caught by the air that Regulus left in his wake the moment she moved to the side, because as soon as he could he was by the curtain he had heard you speak from behind, ever so gently pulling it to the side.

“Oh, mon amour.”

The sight he was faced with both mended and broke his heart – because you were there, awake and already looking at him, but your forehead and right arms were bandaged and your face bore telltale signs of pain. He could see tear tracks down your delicate cheeks, mascara smudging just barely beneath your eyes. You looked happy to see him, he could see your chest heave a breath of relief, but that was about the only positive thing he could decipher in you at the moment.

At last, his movements were measured and careful again, but for once not for the sake of how he was perceived, but rather to not disturb the space around you, as if that could lessen your pain. He barely managed to close the curtain behind him with trembling hands, giving you a semblance of privacy, even in this infirmary that he had no idea hosted how many others.

There was enough space on the left side of the bed beside you for Regulus to take his rightful place by your side, as close as he dared. His eyes kept jumping all over your body and face, breath hitched.

Your name escaped his lips in a small breath as his eyes widely roamed your form.

He didn’t realise his hand was hovering between you before you reached up to him with your left hand and took it in yours. Your grip was weak and the tips of your fingers cold, but it was still the smooth skin he was used to feeling on his.

Upon your touch, he seemed to be brought back down to earth and the welling tears spilled down his cheeks.

“Oh, Reggie,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay, I’m alright.”

“My poor love,” he whispered back, letting his free hand move up to lightly caress your cheek, brushing some damp hair away. It must have gotten wet when Pomfrey tended to whatever wound was bandaged on your upper forehead. “What happened to you, amour?”

Regulus often referred to you with terms of endearment, you knew you were each other’s person, but the absolute softness of them now broke your heart a little.

“It was…” you trailed off, wincing as you scrunched your brows in confusion and consequently pulled on your bandage. “It was an accident.” The sound that escaped you was almost a laugh, but it was too wet and strangled to truly be classified as such.

“What happened?” Regulus’ voice urged, more desperate than before. He held your hand tighter, bringing it closer to his chest, as if to protect it.

“We were helping Kettleburn – unwillingly mind you –”

“Who are we?” Regulus cuts you off, still seeming rather feverish in his desperation to know what was wrong. You squeezed his hand and smiled at him to calm him down. 

“An unfortunate bunch of us who happened to be enjoying the fresh air by the benches. Me, Lily, Marlene, Snape, Avery and some others we don’t really know too well, mostly fourth years.”

Regulus scowled at the mention of Snape and Avery, but nodded, as if encouraging you to continue.

“Kettleburn needed some help preparing bait. He believed there was a hippogriff in the Forbidden Forest that he wanted to draw out. It worked a bit too well, a bit too well.”

His brows scrunched at that. “But hippogriffs are mainly peaceful unless you disturb them?” Unease was growing in his stomach.

“Yes, that’s what I said as well,” you feel a bout of dizziness come over you, but try and speak through it. “We were down, probably a bit too close to the forest when it came out. I tried to push the bait towards it carefully, keeping my distance. It just wanted food, you know.”

“But?”

“But Snape and Avery freaked. When it took a step closer, just to eat – they let curses fly, kneejerk self defence reaction they said.”

Regulus had to be mindful to not hurt your hand as his fists clenched on reflex. He settled for holding the sheets beside him disturbingly hard instead – he had already pieced together what happened. “You were still in the line of fire,” he concluded, eyes darkening.

“Yes,” you whispered weakly. “It would have been fine, if it had only been a stupefy or something, but Snape shouted something else, some freak hex. It was like being slashed with a knife all over.”

Regulus’ breath hitched as he let his eyes travel from gauze to gauze. His fingers came up to linger near a particularly large bandage that travelled from your shoulder in under your hospital gown. “All over?” His voice was a mere whisper before he finally looked in your eyes again. He found them teary, and his heart clenched painfully.

“Yeah, I– The biggest one is across my stomach. Pomfrey has patched me up nicely, but it was, uh, it wasn’t good.”

He can’t fight the new tears that spill as he whispers my girl before carefully shuffling closer to you to give you a hug, or at least as close to one you could get right now. His cheek is pressed into yours, his hand on the back of your head, and you can hear him cry directly into your ear, drawing tears from you as well. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into you. “So sorry, amour.”

“Reggie, there was nothing you could do,” you try to look at him, but his grip on your head remains steadfast.

“No, I should have been there. I’m so sorry.” He presses a kiss to your upper cheek, and his lips are wet. “I should’ve been there.”

“Reg, there was no way anyone could have known.”

He pulls back slightly, looking you over to see if he was hurting you before settling in with his forehead against yours – making sure to avoid the wound in the top left. When his eyes look into yours, you feel a sense of calm finally wash over your body that had been riddled by the shock of being torn open. A grey safe haven.

“I’m sorry, amour.” He keeps saying it like a prayer.

You try to shake your head, but wince at the action. His hand immediately shoots up to your jaw, to still your head. Protecting you, even from yourself. “You’re not allowed to be sorry, Reg, you didn’t do anything. You can only feel sorry for me, which isn’t quite that hard. I look pathetic right now.”

Your half-hearted attempt at humour doesn’t seem to drag him from his despair as his eyes keep searching your face, flitting from the tears to the deviating makeup. His thumb, ever so carefully, drags under your eye to wipe away some of the mascara there. You lean into his touch.

“They tried to tell me, but I– I didn’t know, so I didn’t listen and–”

“You were at quidditch practice,” you cut him off. “Everyone knows you can’t be disturbed then.”

Regulus looked at you incredulously. “This is disturb-worthy, you – anything with you is always the biggest priority. I’m sorry.”

“One girl versus preparing for the match of your life? Hm, I think it’s good you weren’t distracted.” You are determined to lighten his mood, the sinch of his eyebrows and worry in his eyes were beginning to make you feel sick for him.

“But you’re my girl,” he says in a low voice, stressing the words as if to pour additional meaning. “You’re my best friend, my everything. Y/N, you are everything.”

You struggle to come up with a response to that. Any mask Regulus switches between is completely discarded in this small infirmary section with you. When he holds your face and looks at you, you know what it is.

Unable to speak over the lump in your throat, you just drag his face closer to press a sweet kiss to his cheek, as always.

Except this time, while your lips linger on his cheek, Regulus uses his hand still on your jaw to angle your face towards his. With your lips millimetres apart, he looks from them to your eyes, searching for something, and then back down. He whispers another soft everything before pressing his lips to yours.

For all the times you had thought of kissing Regulus, nothing compared. You never expected there to be salty from tears, you never imagined his scent in your nose to be swirled with the disinfectant covering everything around you – but he was right, it was everything. His lips were unbelievably soft against yours, even as he pushed himself even closer to you, as if he needed you underneath his skin, not just on top of it. The pinky underneath your jaw digs into your skin, and you can feel your pulse beat against his finger.

When Regulus pulls away, your mouths are still essentially connected, slightly parted, just breathing into each other. You open your eyes and find him looking at you with nothing short of love.

“I–”

“I love you.” You cut him off, smiling a bit as he half feigns indignance before it turns soft once more.

“I love you, belle fille.”

“I know.”

Finally, finally he gives you a genuine smile. It eases your nerves more than even his eyes could, and you feel yourself melting back into your pillow. Unfortunately, comfort makes you even more aware of the pain and soreness in your body, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, mostly to himself it seems.

“I won’t allow that.” You tug your intertwined hands closer to you, wanting to share the comfort with him. “I’m alright, Reggie.”

“You’re wounded and bandaged.”

“And I’m perfectly okay.”

He gives you an as if look, but it’s good enough for you, for now. Then his face twisted into something darker and you saw the same desperation from earlier bubbling to the surface.

“What happened to Snape? And Avery?” His hold on you is still soft and caring, but the rest of his body has grown stiff, mind racing with imagined visions of what went down and of what he would do with them in return.

“Nothing yet,” you said with a careful, measured voice. “Kettleburn wanted to ease the situation first, but since it was technically his fault for bringing us along unprompted, I’m not sure what would be done. Detention maybe?”

“Yeah, Kettleburn’s an idiot for that, but Snape was the one who used an unorthodox and probably dark hex. He has to be dealt with.”

Though you don’t condone how fast some of your friends resorted to revenge and violence, even you had to admit that the idea of Snape knowing magic like that didn’t sit right with you either. There was no situation you could imagine where a slasher spell like that would be moral in combat. 

“I’m sure they will deal with him tomorrow,” you settle on. “Tonight the main priority seemed to be making sure I don’t bleed out on the grounds.”

Regulus’ look was pained as he pressed his lips together. “How did you get in after that anyway?”

“I don’t remember too well.” You truly didn’t, and the flashes that went through your mind were not ones Regulus would be better off knowing about. “Kettleburn shushed the Hippogriff back into the forest – it thankfully didn’t get severely injured it seemed – while everyone else panicked. Lily and Marlene were the first ones by my side.”

You both smile absentmindedly at that. When you first befriended Lily through your study sessions at the library, Regulus had been unsure of how to approach your joint integration into his brother’s friend group, but the girls had turned out to be some of the best friends you could have asked for. 

“Oh!” you exclaim, almost straddling Regulus. “Almost forgot, but you’ll be happy to know that Marlene suckerpunched Snape before they brought me inside with a levitation spell. Pretty gnarly punch, too.”

Regulus’ smiled seemed to be less from gratification and more from endearment from you. “I think I’d like to see Snape get a little more than a punch for what he did to you. But that’s a great start, darling.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at him. “It’s a start. And again, we can deal with all of that tomorrow. I don’t have the energy today.”

“No, no, you are the only priority right now, amour.” Any mirth slipped from his face as he studied you concernedly once more.

“I know you’re “alright”, but you’re not alright” he started. “Could you tell me where it hurt the most?” He looks over you again, as if he can map you out and fight your pain off, spot by spot.

“My stomach and chest got it worst,” you admit. “It’s growing more sore, but Madam said I could get more pain relief in just a little while.”

“Well, she also said I could only stay here for a short while,” he whispers conspiratorially, looking towards the curtain as if he expected it to be ripped back any minute. “Pretty sure we’re way past that.”

“Maybe she heard us crying like babies over a non-fatal injury and figured it was less of a hassle to leave us to it.” You squeeze Regulus’ thigh with a grin and he bites back a yelp.

“She would be wise to do so. Especially because there’s no bloody way I’m leaving.”

You don’t say much to that because you really, really don’t want him to either. You know you are fine, and for his sake you try and seem even more assured of it, but the white panic that soared through your veins those first few minutes is hard to shake. Even though you don’t want him to hold his absence against himself, you don’t like the thought of him leaving now that he was there.

“Has she said anything about a treatment plan? How long you’ll be here? She said you’re fine, so it shouldn’t be too long right?” Though Regulus looks at you as he asks his questions, you know he is already trying to piece together probable answers in his head.

“Most of our first conversation was her narrating what she was doing while I was moaning and not listening.” Your comment was off-handed, but Regulus seemed to wince at the image it painted in his head. “Sorry,” you mumbled bashfully, but he just gave you a smile.”

“Good thing I have the memory of an elephant, then.” Madam Pomfrey’s voice sounded just seconds before she ripped the curtain back and stepped into your little bubble. 

Regulus went straight into autopilot, rightening his posture and schooling his expression. You squeezed his hand tighter, so that he couldn’t pull away, but that had not even been any option in his mind. Pomfrey went through the station beside you at the speed of light, way too familiar and comfortable with these procedures.

“Miss L/N had 5 deep lacerations and several shallow ones,” she begins to recite and Regulus hangs onto every word. “The shallow wounds are almost entirely gone from the treatment already, but the more severe ones will need time to recover. She will have to stay in the infirmary overnight today and tomorrow for observation and continue to receive some medication. Among those are pain potions and salves for the wounds. Rebandage every 10 hours and apply new salves.”

“How will that affect her?” Regulus asked, probably pushing his luck with the matron.

“The pain potions will make her a bit slow and groggy, but she will still be awake. Though she should sleep.” At that she gives you a curt look over her shoulder. “The healing process for the wounds will likely be itchy and uncomfortable and she may develop a fever. We will pay particularly close attention to the stomach wounds in case she develops any infections there.”

“What are the symptoms of infections like that?”

You try and pat Regulus’ leg to say down, boy, but he doesn’t give you the time of day, instead focusing fully on any and all information the matron is willing to share with him. You had half a mind to joke that this was private medical information, but let it be.

Madam Pomfrey turns to Regulus at his fourth question, putting her hands on her hips as she measured him closely. It seemed like she decided on something and the next second she exited through the curtains again. You and Regulus barely had time to exchange a glance before she came back and threw a white coat at Regulus who catched it bewilderedly.

“Seems like I’ve got myself an assistant for the remainder of her stay, haven’t I, Mr. Black?”

A slow smile spreads across Regulus’ face before he hurries on the coat. “Yes, Madam.”

Pomfrey talks you – and now, Regulus – through the new pain potion she is about to give you, giving brief background on the ingredients, application and effect when the door to the infirmary slams open, decidedly louder than when Regulus entered earlier. Her eyes squeeze shut, as if pained by the disrespect and incredulity of students, but finished giving you the potion.

“That is no way to enter an infirmary, Mr. Crouch,” she says through half-gritted teeth as she works. She waves at Regulus to open the curtain to your bed, revealing Barty, Evan and Dorcas, all heaving as if they have been running too. “You seem to be particularly loved, Miss L/N. Please never get injured again, it disturbs my workspace.”

Your friends’ eyes are wide as they take in your form where you lay, still rather pathetically, in your bed. 

“Merlin’s tits, what happened?” Dorcas asks.

At the same time Barty’s gaze flits between you and Regulus. “Who?” he asks, while looking at you.

“I–” you start, but that was clearly the wrong answer because he then immediately turns to Regulus instead.

“Who?”

There is no hesitation in Regulus’ voice. “Snape.”

Barty’s face morphs from shock and concern into pure determination. He stalks over to you in three wide steps, pressing a quick kiss to the safe side of your forehead, whispering a quiet take care, Treasure, before turning around and dragging Evan out of the infirmary. The other boy’s jaw was ticked shut and went more than willingly.

Even you felt a bit bad for Snape in that moment.

Madam Pomfrey, however, only breathed a sigh of relief that they left so quickly.

Dorcas comes up between you and Regulus, sitting on the very edge of your bed. Pomfrey, with Regulus’ assistance return to the work on your bedside station, though his eyes are on you almost the whole time. He has that furrow between his brows that shows up whenever he focuses intently, and you are torn between wanting to kiss it and draw it.

“We met Marls and Lily in the hallway,” Dorcas explains. “They got halfway through their story before Junior took off with us on leash behind us.”

“Sounds like him,” you laugh, trying to hide how the rumble hurts you. “But really, I’m totally fine. Or, I’m relatively good, and will soon be alright.”

“Yeah, especially when you’ve got two nurses to tend to you,” Dorcas teases, casting Regulus a knowing sideways glance.

“Pardon you, Miss Meadows; I am a Healer.” 

You can’t help the snort that escapes you. Despite never wanting to return to this infirmary, you had grown quite fond of the Madam.

“My deepest apologies, Madam,” Dorcas offered with a gleam in her eyes. You could have sworn you saw Pomfrey smile ever so slightly.

“But yeah, Dorc, I’m well taken care of. I’ll be fine.”

“Firstly, just because you’re wounded does not mean you can get away with calling me that.” You laugh once more, happy to not be treated like a dying animal even in such a grave hour. “Secondly, I’m glad. You deserve it, and it was about damn time.”

You pretend to not understand what the last part referred to, but you knew she got you all figured out. You squeeze her leg in a sign of admiration and, perhaps, defeat.

“Thirdly,” Regulus interjects. “You need to either not make her laugh or leave.”

Pomfrey nodded emphatically. 

“Not my fault your girl just finds me absolutely hilarious, Black.” Dorcas winks at you.

“Speaking of someone’s girl,” you drawl, trying to even the playing field, which worked, if Dorcas’ light blush was anything to go off of. “Please tell Marlene I say thank you. I don’t think I got to in the whirl of everything and then everyone was thrown out.”

Dorcas’ smile softens. “I will, babe, but you don’t have to thank her. She’s still a bit worried though, so I’ll tell everyone you’re doing fine.”

“Thanks,” you whisper through a smile, accepting Dorcas’ half-hug before she slips out of the infirmary, which finally returns to its prior quietude.

“That’s enough visitors for today!” Pomfrey explains, clapping her hands together as she is done. “Only staff and patients for the rest of the night.” She shoots Regulus and his white coat a knowing glance.

“Does that mean I can sleep?” You don’t mean for your voice to sound so meek, but the pain potion is starting to work, and the more your body relaxes, the more exhausted you realise you are.

Regulus makes a soft cooing sign, coming back to sit on the side of your bed, taking your hand in his and drawing comforting circles on its back. “Yes, amour. We have prepared the station for when we have to wake you in a few hours for reapplication.”

You groan a bit at the thought of being woken, and both your matron and her assistant laugh a bit at you. 

“Better that than affection, Miss L/N.”

“Yes, of course,” you relent, letting out a heavy sigh. “Thank you. For all of it.”

Pomfrey merely nods before gathering her things and exiting into the rest of the infirmary, pulling your curtain shut behind you. You expect that is the closest she usually gets to a you’re welcome and you accept it heartily.

Regulus shifts into a more comfortable position beside you, back against your headboard, ensuring you are as comfortable and pain-free as possible. He brings your intertwined fingers up to his lips to press delicate butterfly kisses to them. The softness of it all makes you almost want to cry again, but you bite it back, purely because you can’t stand seeing Regulus cry again tonight, and you knew he would.

“Congratulations on your promotion.” Your tire does not hide the coyness of your tone and he smiles fondly at you.

“Thank you. Think she figured it was easier that way – and I have always been a top student.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and your OWLs.” You turn your head more towards him, smiling. “Such a nerd.”

“I reckon you like that about me.”

“I reckon the same.”

You lean forward and he meets you halfway for a slow kiss. The casualness of it makes it feel all the more important, especially when the past few hours of your life has been anything but.

He leans his head onto yours, drawing you as close as he can with your current circumstances.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus whispers again and you shake your head beneath his. Before you can tell him no, he continues. “Not just for what happened to you or not being there. Just, I don’t know. Being slow.”

“Didn’t we just agree you were bright?” you tease, but when you turn to see the sincerity in his eyes, you soften. “It’s okay, Regulus. We were both slow.”

Neither of you feel compelled to delve into the details of it, and it makes you feel more at ease. Even with everything, this was just how it was supposed to be.

“I’m glad I have you.” It is the best way to summarise it; it was enough. He smiles warmly at you.

“And I you.” 

You ignore the strain of some of your bandages as you lean closer to kiss him again, where he meets you enthusiastically – it was worth it.

“Go to sleep now, amour. I’ll be here to ease you awake when the time comes. I’ll always be here.”

And he was.

[suga-kookiemonster]

ctrl-alt-del | jjk (teaser)

summary⇢ you graduated bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but, to your extreme disappointment, your big girl job isn't turning out to be nearly as exciting as you thought it would be. still, you're holding out hope that your talents will soon be recognized and your coworkers will stop trying to include you in their gossip sessions. enter jungkook, the quiet IT guy who's gradually making your days more bearable. (and if you find him easy on the eyes, that's nobody's business but yours.) pairing⇢ jungkook/reader teaser word count⇢ 1.4k genre⇢ smut | humor | office!au warnings⇢ nothing too bad for this teaser! just a mention of oral

a/n⇢this fic has literally been sitting in my wips for YEARS lmao. i feel like it's finally time to set it free 🕊️✨ it's looking like it's gonna lean more towards pwp, but there's definitely still enough plot in there to keep it interesting. not sure when it will be up, but wanted to share a snippet to get your thoughts and get myself excited to finish the last leg--fingers crossed for the next month or so 🤞🏾🙌🏾💜

When you graduated top of your class with a marketing degree and a job already lined up, you weren’t big-headed to assume you would be given a lot in the beginning. No, you knew that you were the new kid on the block and needed to prove yourself first, needed to work your way up from the bottom. But what you definitely didn’t anticipate was working up from thefigurative trenches, almost exclusively doing busywork—constantly making coffee runs, catering business lunches, printing out endless spreadsheets.

Eighty-thousand dollars in debt, and you are a glorified intern.

You’re positively itching to hit the ground running and get your hands dirty, your job isn’t too bad. The people there are all nice and welcoming, the complimentary coffee in the break room is decent enough for your dwindling bank account, and every couple of weeks, the company sponsors an employee barbecue were everyone can fraternize and enjoy free food.

“Apparently it fosters unity and teamwork,” your coworker Joy informs you as you both stand in the food line. “Seokjin—that’s our CEO—is really big on unity and teamwork.”

Joy is also a member of your marketing team. Though as sweet as can be, she has no filter, and thus always has a lot to say about everything—which has helped you when it comes to learning the ropes about the company, but has also had you clutching your imaginary pearls in some situations where you found it inappropriate. Despite only being a year older than you, her title of Marketing Associate (instead of your measly Assistant)means that she technically outranks you, though she doesn’t usually enforce that fact (unless there was something that needed to be copied or filed, of course). Still, she immediately took you under her wing when you first started, and she is the closest person to a friend you have at work (even though her daily coffee order is always so ridiculous, you are convinced that she has to be fucking with you—or at least engaging in some form of mild hazing.).

“I think it’s nice,” you reply. “I’ll never say no to free food, and they let us out early and everything.”

“I mean, pretty sure you can get the hotdogs twelve in a pack at the dollar store,” Joy quips, raising her eyebrows at you pointedly. “But sometimes the boys from Sales take their shirts off and play soccer, so there’s that.”

Your eyes dart to said Sales boys against your will, gaze drawn to Jung Hoseok as he chats animatedly with his teammates by the tables. You’ve only spoken to him once or twice, but his fiery red hair and even brighter smile caught your attention immediately, your heart rate accelerating at the sight of him in hallways mere days into starting your new position. Who better to have a mild work crush on than a sweet-talking salesman who winks at you sometimes in passing?

An appreciative noise has you turning back around, embarrassed at being caught ogling how shapely Hoseok’s butt looks in his dress pants today, but it’s just Wendy from accounting, Joy’s best friend and thus a harmless, familiar face. Wendy has cut in front of a few editors to join you and Joy, and the way that she smiles at you lets you know she’s up to no good. “He’s cute, huh?” she asks, leaning towards you conspiratorially. “I would definitely give him the good ol’ suck behind the dumpsters over there, if you catch my drift.”

“Err…yeah, I do,” you reply awkwardly. She had been explicitly clear—keyword explicit—so there definitely isn’t any room for misunderstandings. Is this truly appropriate work function conversation? From the way the editors behind you are politely clearing their throats, you think not.

“Behind the dumpster?” Joy asks curiously. “He’s standing right next to some sturdy tables that I, for one, would take great advantage of—”

“I’m gonna go get us some drinks,” you announce loudly, your neck heating up. “Can you grab me a hot dog, Joy?”

“Sure,” she says dismissively, already distracted by her sudden debate with Wendy about the most convenient place to suck off salesman Jung.

The whole conversation is making you uncomfortable. You are not a prude—far from it—but there is a time and place for everything, and your coworkers’ blasé attitude towards speaking about inappropriate topics at company functions on company time rattles you a bit. So instead of engaging in the risqué discussion further, you make your way to the cluster of brightly-colored coolers that presumably hold beverages, sidling up to the only other person lingering the area.

“Anything good?” you ask cordially, making your coworker, who had apparently been deep in thought while considering his beverage options, startle a bit.

He’s tall, his large frame covered in the appropriate business casual attire of nice jeans and a powder-blue buttonup. When he turns his head to look at you, you’re met with large, dark eyes blinking in surprise from behind wire-rimmed glasses. Said eyes dart around for a moment before determining that you were, in fact, speaking to him.

The man clears his throat. “Just the usual,” he says, voice soft. Timid.

“The usual?” you repeat. There are little hoops dangling from his earlobes, and you brush off your surprise at seeing them, returning your gaze to the coolers. Water, a clear soda, a cola. “The basics, you mean. Well, can’t really complain, right? Seeing as it’s all free. I think it’s really nice of them.”

Your companion seems surprised at your words. “It is,” he agrees softly, eyes meeting yours for a second before dropping back down to the cooler. “Um, are you...are you new?”

“Damn, I guess my cover’s blown.” You shoot him a wry smile. “Yeah, I just started a couple of weeks ago. What gave it away?”

“It’s just—no one else here really cares about these barbecues anymore,” he admits, looking at you, but not quite. More like, in your direction. “Everyone has forgotten to appreciate the little things.”

“Nothing is a given,” you shrug. “So you need to appreciate things when you can. And besides, those lots of little things can really add up without you realizing it.”

He finally seems to look at you properly, and the weight of his large, gentle brown eyes throws you off for a second. “They can,” he agrees, lips slowly drifting up. 

“What do we have over here?” a loud voice interrupts, a hand falling to your shoulder. You look up, and are met with the brightness of salesman Jung.

“Ah,” Hoseok says with a wink, reaching into the cooler. “I love Sprite.”

“Me too,” you reply automatically, and then immediately want to smack yourself. Because you don’t—carbonated beverages make you break out. But your mouth had formed the lie without your permission.

Embarrassed, you reach into the cooler, grabbing three water bottles. “See you later,” you squeak, avoiding eye contact as you make your escape.

Joy and Wendy are already watching you when you return to where they have procured a table, and when you hand them their waters, Joy raises an eyebrow. “I was wondering how long you were going to talk to that IT guy.”

“Yeah, and why did you leave when Hoseok showed up?” Wendy pouted. “_____, the universe is only going to give you so many opportunities. If you don’t want the ball, then pass it to me! Goddamn.”

“IT guy?” you ask, hoping to slide past that last remark.

“Yeah. His name is Jungkook, I think? Mostly works with the printers, started a couple months ago.” Joy shrugs, obviously disinterested by the topic. She reaches for the ketchup bottle in the center of the table and squirts some on her hot dog. “This is the first time I’ve seen him at a barbecue, though. Honestly, I’m surprised he even came out, because the IT dudes generally keep to themselves. The rarely leave their little tower,” she adds with a dismissive wave.

Wendy scoffs. “Who cares about Jeremy! Hurry up and eat, I’m sure Sales is gonna start their soccer game soon.”

“Soccer game?” you ask.

“The sales department likes to play soccer during these things,” Joy informs you. Her expression brightens. “Hey, maybe Hoseok will take his shirt off again! Let us pray.”

To your coworkers’ disappointment, Hoseok did not take his shirt off. But they certainly had a good time watching him run back and forth across the grass.

[hijinxinprogress]

I need Billy thinking he’s so great at hiding things (and he is) no one knows he’s like fucking eight but they are pretty sure he hates like half the league

Like I need Billy getting along with everyone but he’s kinda stiff around flash and Batman but it’s get worse after most of them have revealed their secret ids and the jls so confused

Billy 100% thought Batman had all these fucking gadgets bc he was like some high up government official and then he found out no Batman’s just some rich guy and he’s like god no why is that worse

Batman just doesn’t care (he does 💀 he’s so fucking offended esp bc Marvel used to call him Mr. Batman sir but also bc he thought it’d be easier to get marvels secret id and weaknesses) as long as it doesn’t affect missions but Flash is kinda concerned bc ‘I’m pretty nice to him…does he think I don’t like him?? Did I offend him?? Do speedsters like set off the magic balance or whatever??’ 

They decide to pair up flash, Batman, and Captain Marvel to make sure their issues won’t affect team cohesion so after they’re done rescuing these kids that got involved in some supervillains masterplan Batman and flash are doing the usual spiel of ‘the laws exist for a reason,’ ‘you can trust the police’ and ‘there’s no good reason to turn to crime’

These kids want nothing to do with that shit and they’re trying to edge away while making excuses ‘thank you sm!! But no this is so safe, I know this area so well! We can get home ourselves!’ as soon as Batman starts asking about their parents so captain marvel just grabs Batman and flash and starts flying in the opposite direction ‘do you see that?? No guys seriously look at this cool thing!!’ and Batman’s growling about ‘childish to a degree that’s entirely unprofessional’ and ‘needlessly endangering civilians, civilian children at that-!’ and flash is trying to mediate but batman is shoving documents in his face ‘They were runaways, they don’t have anywhere to go and now they’re on a hitlist’ the ‘you fucking imbecile’ goes unsaid but they all hear it so marvel takes them back to villains lair and grabs a henchman at random and goes ‘This guys a cop…you can check that with your fancy equipment, right??’ and batman checks solely to prove him wrong but that guy is a cop and so are about 60% of the henchmen they took out then marvel goes ‘So they wouldn’t have been safe even if you took them to a hospital or child services’

Before the id reveals there’s a mission where the police are involved and flash mentions something about police protocol and marvel is so concerned bc ‘you’re still undercover? How long have you been under cover dude??’ and flash is confused bc ‘you know I’m not undercover right?? That is my actual real life day job’ and no one believes him when he says marvel shot him the most disgusted look you can imagine and edged away from him 

Batman tries to hold a meeting to address how marvel deals with the police and it goes no where bc marvel is fucking menace and goes ‘don’t you do that too?? And technically I’m also a vigilante sooo’ and batman is scrambling to get the jls attention back like ‘marvel hits cops 62% percent harder than other criminals and is 43% less friendly when interacting with the police in any capacity’ but they don’t care bc they want to know why marvel considers himself a vigilante 

They start letting Marvel be the one to approach children and notice that he’s advising them on how to make food last longer and maintain good hygiene while taking care of themselves and a jl members like hey wtf?? and Marvel says some bullshit about how ‘he’s lived many lives and not all of them were charmed’ and it gets back to cyborg who starts a rumor that he was dracula bc he can’t believe marvel had the balls to look WW in the eyes and lie to her fucking face

[bethanydelleman]

I think people don't realize that in Jane Austen's England, they still very much had arranged marriage, especially for the nobility but for the gentry as well to a lesser extent, it just had extra steps.

The old way, my dad talks to your dad and then we get married, is replaced by the new way: we only let our kids go to parties where they can marry everyone there. Which is why for families from/in trade, like the Coles (Emma) or the Bingleys (Pride & Prejudice), getting past the gatekeepers was so important if they wanted to marry up (those mystical "connections"). It is also why girls needed to avoid younger brothers, who are technically allowed to be there but you don't want to marry poor!

Now the gentry was pretty large, so you probably had a diverse enough dating pool, but for the nobility, it seems that love matches were still not happening that often. We know this because a pause in Queen Victoria organizing Nobility MixersTM resulted increased peer-commoner intermarriage by 40 percent and reduced sorting along landed wealth by 30 percent.” And these couples had more babies after producing an heir, a rough measure of marital satisfaction.

And I feel like we still do this today to some extent. For people in the middle class, a woman getting an "Mrs." degree at university (just going to university to get married) may happen less in North America at least, but people do tend to marry their peers from post-secondary education or meet at work, a rough way to insure that your spouse is in and will end up in the same social class as yourself. Here is a survey about it:

And I'm not rich, so really I don't know much about the rich, but they aren't sending their kids to expensive private schools for nothing. Let them "fall in love", but their only options are people the parents have approved already.

[lyricailove]

Does it ever hit you that because of Frank and Monica's emotional detachment, all of the Gallagher's seek out affection from romantic partners? But like to an almost obsessive degree.

Fiona's is obvious. She's hypersexual and falls in love easily. She will downplay her issues with Frank as something she's grown used to, but it's clear that it still affects her. She also does the same when it comes to Monica but I feel like her hostility towards other women comes from how she doesn't trust Monica, doesn't really trust herself, and sees those insecurities on other women. Ex: Her treatment of Mandy and distrust of her around Lip.

Lip is a classic case of a man dealing with his mommy issues by making it every woman's problem. He's hostile towards his romantic partners when they want a real commitment from him and he talks to women with so much disrespect that it's a wonder someone hasn't stomped his ass out yet. He's especially harsh towards his own sisters even though they've been the one's who have been there for him. He may hate Frank but he's noticeably giving and extremely forgiving towards men, even those he's only known for a short while. Almost like the story about the turtle was just as much about him hoping that he could fix Frank as it was about Frank crushing his hopes of a real father figure.

Ian being groomed is in no way his fault and is the fault of the creeps who pursued him. But I can't ignore the fact that Frank's abuse and neglect opened him up the further abuse he suffered at the hands of Kash and Ned. It's no coincidence that both Kash and Ned shower Ian with gifts and compliments about how impressive, smart, and mature he is.

Debbie 1. deals with comphet in the first few seasons, and 2. Feels ignored by her family so she tries to create her own family. Debbie is visibly the one most affected by Frank's issues and even when she for all intents and purposes gives up on him, it still affects her. Frank's hurtful words about her only finding love with someone "just as fucked up as she is" pushes her to put consider a dangerous situation with Heidi. She's also someone who struggles with control issues because she needs to help other people. She's a problem solver by nature. It's just that the two problems she wishes she could solve more than anything are out of her hands (Frank and Monica). She can't fix Frank's addiction, his selfishness, or his abusive tendencies. She can't fix Monica's wanderlust, her avoidance, or her aversion to long-term commitment.

Carl is so good at masking his emotions. It's easy to miss. But then you notice things like his attachment to Fiona, his absolute devotion to the girls he likes, and his need to protect. Carl is hypersexual, even though I've seen it rarely brought up in fandom, and longs for a long-term girlfriend. When he does get girlfriends he's all in from the beginning. When Carl loves someone he is all about them. He's so casual when it comes to talking about Frank and Monica, but that doesn't mean those feelings aren't there and they aren't affecting him.

Liam is still young so we don't get to see him in a relationship. He's the one Gallagher who's consistently treated like an actual kid. Probably the one who has the best chance at healthy emotional attachments. But then again, Fiona leaving most likely did a number on him and we weren't privy to what that looks like for him because the latter seasons forgot how to do long-term storytelling and emotional payoff. All we know is that he doesn't remember Monica, Frank being gone makes him an orphan and he's worried about where he's gonna live because Lip forgot that Liam was technically under Frank's care. We didn't get to see it, but I'd say Liam's first emotional crash is probably on the horizon.

[nyerusnova]

Glad to see that Tim being a giant Dick Grayson fanboy is finally being highlighted again, and sparking more discussion especially on their early relationship! (Please gimme more!!! I love them so much, augh!)

Probably as a result of that surge, there seems to be reciprocal chatter on the topic of how young Tim actually felt towards Jason, too. It's honestly pretty interesting, because it's more nuanced than it appears at first glance.

Which means it's very fun to dissect! ✨

There's a degree of subjectivity to keep in mind, because readers are going to have different interpretations of the same scenes, or will pull from entirely different scenes than one another to form their individual view on this topic. That's just how it is in comic book fandom, for many things! Regardless, in this case... if the scale ranges from the extreme of "Jason was Tim's Robin" to the other extreme of "Tim actually hated Jason [as Robin] or thought he was a loser that got himself killed" — the actual truth is closer to the middle, as is often the case.

At least, in my opinion.

Mainly I want to focus on those relatively early days with this post, to highlight Tim's initial(-ish) feelings towards his heroes, and touch on the point at which they really begin to change. This turned into a very long post, though. Brevity is beyond my skill, so grab snacks and water lol. Transcripts for each image will be posted at the very end under the cut.

So, the two storylines I want to cover are "Rite of Passage," which is rolls into "Identity Crisis." (NOT to be confused with the major crossover event "Identity Crisis™" which came years later, and is where Jack Drake dies.... But it sure is an interesting coincidence that Tim deals with the loss of each parent in two similarly named stories!) These take place before Tim is even Robin, and I'll be considering them as one arc for this post.

Detective Comics vol. 1 #618 (July, 1990) -- Pages 1 & 2

"When Gotham needed him, he was there. When the Batman needed him, he was there. He was a hero."

"One day, I'll be as good as Jason. One day I'll wear the suit."

To start off, we have this opening from "Rite of Passage." Tim is still in training here, mainly helping Bruce with minor stuff from the cave. His parents are off traveling, alive and well as of these next few pages. He's still bright-eyed and full of wonder. An extraordinarily weird but ultimately innocent kid.

So his view on Jason is positive and fairly simple: a hero, and someone to look up to as Robin. Clearly, Tim here doesn't think Jason was deficient in his role, either as a protector of Gotham or as Batman's trusted partner.

Moreover, Tim already held Dick in very high regard because he was amazingly skilled before he became Robin. To Tim, that's not something he'll ever be able to achieve. Meanwhile, Jason wasn't like that. He was a regular kid without crazy acrobatic training since practically birth. Yet he still went on to be a hero—which is obviously motivational for Tim who finds himself in similar shoes.

It's true that Tim only ever knew or thought of Jason as Robin, and idolized him in that regard. But that's kind of all that mattered to him at that point, because he was this kid who was utterly star-struck by his heroes. Even if he's technically aware of their shortcomings as people, it's overshadowed by the hero-worship.

It was kind of the same with Bruce as Batman at first. (Which was still enough for Tim to risk life and limb to help his beloved hero, before Bruce even knew his name.) Dick was the only one Tim had any sort of "personal" relationship with beforehand, so there is an extra level of attachment—and hence why it was the nidus for his obsession with Batman. Yet even then, it wasn't like he actually knew anything about Dick as a person until later. Until then, Tim's ideas of him were all he had, too. With Jason, Tim just didn't get to know him at any point before his return (oof), apart from what he heard over the years secondhand (also oof).

Ultimately, it's the loss of innocence—along with the ricocheting bullet that is the unresolved guilt of those around him—that begins to change Tim's perception. Not just of Jason, but of things in general.

Batman vol. 1 #455 (Oct., 1990) -- Page 13

"I know why they do it now. Why they put on the suits, and the masks, and go out into the night. They're angry, they're full of rage. They want to hit back."

Losing his mother was a major shift for Tim, obviously. This is right after the previous storyline, and Tim's had the worst week or two of his life (so far). His monologue here is a reference to what happened to both Dick and Jason. The unbearable pain of loss, the rage masking the grief underneath. And importantly, that he feels both of them were justified in their anger. (And Bruce too, indirectly.)

The major theme of the aptly named "Identity Crisis" is to mirror aspects of Dick and Jason and Tim's lives—to show how they converged onto the same tragic road. It's something that Tim notices early in the story, and was frightened by. Now, horrifically, it's become a part of him as well. His parents are gone, and he was entirely helpless to do anything about it. Dick was the same way, Jason was the same way. The cycle is repeated.

In particular, the part about him wanting to go to Haiti for revenge—for his mother—sort of struck me as being an intentional parallel to Jason and Ethiopia. It's a bit of a stretch, especially in isolation, so others may see it differently (e.g. the angry ramblings of a grieving child that does sound like something anyone might say). But it always stuck out to me because of how much Tim is compared directly to Jason in this arc. More on that below.

It's not something I can really give an accurate feel of because it's a lot of subtle things that begin to add up, so I'd encourage folks to read this arc themselves to see what I mean. (Or maybe you'll still disagree which is fine too lol.) Again, many things are in reference to both Dick and Jason in relation to Tim, but it's weighted more on Jason's side.

Batman vol. 1 #455 (Oct., 1990) -- Page 18

"You think my anger will boil over, the way Jason's did. I can assure you, it won't!"

Tim's grief has begun to pull away the veil of idealism that enshrouded his heroes in his mind. It doesn't apply only to Jason, but to the rest of them. Plus add the fact that Tim's keenly aware that he's being managed, even if the adults around him are careful to not outright say certain things. He still knows.

Bruce, Dick, and Alfred are all worried about Tim potentially turning into "another Jason." They (and mainly Bruce) caution Tim to not ignore his emotions, but they're still concerned that he may be overly eager to prove himself in order to cope, and could get hurt or killed as a result. While they aren't wrong for their caution—especially at how unsettlingly similar all the circumstances are—they aren't very subtle about the elephant in the room.

Imagine how that would affect Tim's perception of his predecessor, especially when he's in the midst of a traumatic event he hasn't had time to fully process. The negative association is pretty much inevitable.

Tim's known from day one that he's walking in Jason's shadow, and now it's become inescapable. Tim went from seeing Jason as a goal to reach, to feeling that unless he surpasses him, he wasn't going to be taken seriously by anyone. However, as of this arc, Tim doesn't even fully come to that point yet.

Batman vol. 1 #456 (Nov., 1990) -- Pages 14 & 15

"Drop-outs don't make it. And dead heroes are no use to anyone!"

It's really easy to take away "Tim totally thought Jason got himself killed" as the main thing here, but I think that's missing the forest for the trees.

First some context: Bruce has gone out on a mission to get Scarecrow, and expressly forbade Tim from doing any shenanigans. Meanwhile, Tim is grappling with wanting to prove himself and trying to help Bruce from the cave, all while trying to deal with his emotions. At some point, he falls asleep and ends up having like... exhaustion-grief hallucinations of Dick!Robin and Jason!Robin who confusingly caution yet encourage him. The main theme of this part is facing your fears.

Depending on how you want to interpret the intent of Jason's dialogue here, you could go several ways with it. Ranging from "writer's feelings towards Jason" to "a peek into Tim's mind as his fears manifest as visions of his heroes" or some mixture thereof.

Though Tim argues with Bruce that Batman needs a Robin, we're shown that Tim is understandably scared of joining Batman's "war." He's still not willing to let Bruce go it alone, though, and that's something he feels more strongly than his fear.

Meanwhile, hallucination!Jason's warnings are a lamentation of what happened to him in a way, but it actually exactly describes Tim's current situation even more so. Unlike Jason, Tim is under-trained, under-experienced, doesn't even have a suit of his own yet. But like Jason, he can't sit by and do nothing while someone he cares about is in danger. Tim knows that if he goes out there, he will probably get himself killed, and it will be his own fault. So he's about to disobey Batman's orders, and fly right into danger. If that got Jason killed, then Tim—who is in a way worse position experience-wise—has every chance of ending up the same.

Like... it's about Jason, but it's also about Tim. It's Tim's worst fears made manifest, via the representation of why he is even here in the first place (Jason's death).

That's my theory anyway, but perhaps this is an overly charitable reading of this scene on my end. (Not that I think that makes me wrong lol.) However given that Grant wrote both parts of this arc, and the beginning of which is especially favorable towards Jason, it certainly is something to ponder. I have a lot of thoughts on it I can't expand on here tbh but perhaps that'll be another post.

Anyway, returning to the point of the similarities vs differences between Tim and Jason: since this is the arc that solidified Tim as the next Robin in comic continuity, it makes sense that the writers really pushed the comparisons between the two of them, specifically. (Even though Dick was pretty similar, as going against Batman's orders is the Robin thing to do, it's not his shoes Tim is directly filling.) So making Tim's "debut" story arc mirror Jason's "swansong" is an obvious narrative choice.

To drive home the parallels, I wanted to include this panel from just a few pages prior to the "daydream":

Batman vol. 1 #456 (Nov., 1990) -- Page 9

"The suit is magic."

That so distressingly close to Jason's famous "being Robin gives me magic" line (Batman #385, page 6). Given all the previous context, it's hard for me to just dismiss it as pure coincidence. Even if it is, the point still stands. Tim is shown having the some of the same heartbreakingly naive views as Jason once did, right in front of Jason's memorial, just as he's about to go and run off into the night against orders.

I think that speaks for itself. There's a lot to take away from it, if you so choose. Especially given the context of that specific Jason arc.

Alright, back to the main course:

So in the end, Tim actually goes out in civvies and a ski mask because if he fails, then at least he wouldn't bring shame to Robin's legacy™. When he gets fear gassed saving Batman, it's once again both Dick and Jason that he hallucinates encouraging him to push past his fear. (Shout out to the fact that he's literally more afraid of tarnishing the legacy of Batman & Robin than he is of dying.... I'm sure this will not be a recurring thing for him in the future.)

Tim's ideology is shown to be similar to Jason's, and the actions Tim ultimately takes are similar to Jason's... but the outcome is different. And it really isn't just "Tim succeeded where Jason failed." At least, that's not what I took away from this. Rather, Tim had no reason to succeed any more than he had to fail, just that he did. Luck combined with caution because he knew what happened to his predecessor, and the fact that Batman was there to finish the job all made the difference.

You could say (and I know some will) that it's just classic Jason character assassination and the writers trying to implore readers that this new kid is different we promise pls don't hate us look how much better he is! But in this case, that feels like it undermines the whole point of this story. It doesn't fit with what the characters actually say.

Thus, we return to the question of how Tim felt towards his predecessor. And the answer is different from where we started, because Tim is different. Not that different though. Because even though at this point Tim—like all the adults around him—has probably attributed Jason "going off on his own" being what led to his death, Tim still thought of him as a hero to look up to. It's about Robin, first and foremost, yes. But Tim is fully aware of the people who made that suit mean what it does, because it's all intertwined.

Batman vol. 1 #457 (Dec., 1990) -- Page 20

"I mean--Dick made it into a symbol the whole world knows. Jason gave his life for it."

Even further, Tim thinks of it in terms of Jason having given his life for what he believed in, for the legacy that now falls to Tim. There's a sense of gravitas there. He's afraid of failing both the Robins who came before him.

Ultimately do I think Tim adored and loved Jason on the same level as Dick or something? No. It's not comparable. (Dick was like part of some of Tim's earliest memories and everything! They have a really unique bond ok.) Yet Tim was also far from thinking poorly of Jason so early on. Frankly, it seems that Tim thought of Jason as a noble hero and a cautionary tale. Yes he took risks and sometimes went too far, generally stuff that Tim doesn't want to repeat and all that. At the same time, Tim still saw him as someone whose legacy and memory was worth honoring.

It's complicated, which is why I like it so much—because it feels real. Having conflicting feelings towards someone is... so human. Especially someone you never got to know, yet who plays such an integral role in your life via the shadow of their death. How can you feel anything but complicated towards them?

It has to be said that, yes, Tim's views—even before Jason's return—change over the years. He becomes more jaded as a person and is surrounded by people who are even more jaded than him... and who often mention Jason as the "failed Robin." It's something that's hung over Tim's head all the damn time. The curse of the Robin mantle.

So it shouldn't come as a surprise that Tim's idea of him becomes more akin to "sounds like a skill issue" as the years go by. All bets are off after Jason's return, and the Titans Tower Incident™. At that point it's firmly "I am better than you, loser" lmao.

And... that's all without getting too into things like authorial intent and general "moods" of different DC writers towards Jason at a given point. Or retcons that played a role in his characterization and how other characters talk about him, depending on what "era" you're reading. That's way beyond the scope of this post though!

TLDR; even though young Tim Drake was obsessed with Dick Grayson as Robin, he still looked up to Jason Todd as well. He didn't think of Jason as a cringefail loser until later. :)

(image dialogue transcripts under cut ↓)

Dialogue Transcript for Image 1 (Detective Comics vol. 1 #618 -- Page 1):

Narration box (Tim): When Gotham needed him, he was there. When the Batman needed him, he was there. He was a hero.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 2 (Detective Comics vol. 1 #618 -- Page 2):

(Scene continued from previous page)

Narration box: But he was nothing special, really. Just a boy, who was taught--trained--brought to his full potential by someone who knew how. Just a boy... like me. I know I can do it. I know I can. One day I'll be as good as Jason. One day I'll wear the suit. One day I'll be a hero.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 3 (Batman vol. 1 #455 -- Page 13):

Tim: I hate him! I hate him! I know why they do it now. Why they put on the suits, and the masks, and go out into the night. They're angry. Full of rage. They want to hit back. They want to fill the hole that's burning inside them.

Bruce: There's more to it than that, son. Much more.

Tim: I know. It's just--I feel--like going to Haiti myself and strangling that creep with my bare hands!

Bruce: The Obeah Man will spend the rest of his life in a prison hospital. He's history. Forget him! But don't fight against your anger. It's natural. Accept it. Live with it. One day it'll be your friend.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 4 (Batman vol. 1 #455 -- Panels from page 18):

Tim: Because you think my mother's death has upset me too much. Well, it did. But I've taken your words to heart. I can cope. You think my anger will boil over, the way Jason's did. I can assure you, it won't. But that doesn't make any difference, does it? Why can't you have a little faith in me?

Dialogue Transcript for Image 5 (Batman vol. 1 #456 -- Page 14):

Narration box (Tim): Blast it! My head's starting to swim. I'm about ready to give up. I almost wish I'd never heard of Batman and Robin!

Vision Dick: Heroes never give up, Tim.

Vision Jason: You know that.

Tim: Dick--! Jason Todd!

Vision Dick: You're training to fight in a war, Tim. It'll last all your life. No matter what, you have to go on fighting.

Vision Jason: Drop-outs don't make it. And dead heroes are no use to anyone! I thought I knew better than Batman. I thought I could run before I could walk. I killed myself, Tim. Because I couldn't wait. Because I couldn't think it through.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 6 (Batman vol. 1 #456 -- Page 15):

(Scene continued from previous page)

Vision Dick: Think, Tim. Concentrate!

Vision Jason: You can do it.

Both: You can do it!

Tim, waking up: What--? Robin...?

Narration box (Tim): I must have been daydreaming. They're right, though. There's a solution to everything. I can find it! So here I go again... Whim. Caprice. Doing something without forethought.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 7 (Batman vol. 1 #456 -- Panel from page 9):

Narration box (Tim): The suit is magic. It gives you power. It hides your weakness. It makes you give it everything you've got. It makes you a hero. If only I could!

Dialogue Transcript for Image 8 (Batman vol. 1 #457 -- Page 20):

Bruce: Are you afraid of it?

Tim: No. It isn't fear. It's more... the suit carries so much history. I mean--Dick made it into a symbol the whole world knows. Jason gave his life for it. Failing them--what they fought so hard to build--that's what worries me!

Bruce: I appreciate that, Tim. That costume weighs a whole lot more than any symbol should... and I'd be failing you if I expected you to bear that weight. So... let me know what you think.

Narration box: A mask has a double edged, he said. It hides your own anxiety as it strikes fear into your enemy.

[sunsetkerr]

MRS ARNOLD | m. arnold

summary: headcanons of what is was like to being mrs arnold.

pairing: fem!reader x mackenzie arnold

notes: my very first piece that isn't sam???????? what???? this was a request, and I've decided that on occasion I will accept requests for other players, see my masterlist so you know who to request for!! If they aren't there, I most likely won't write for them, but there is never ever any harm in asking. if you have anymore questions/thoughts about mrs arnold, send them in so we can chat about her!! lots of love!!

you had been around football your entire life

your dad was a trainer for west ham’s womens team

you grew up a die-hard west ham fan

you played as a kid and a teenager

but as you got older you decided to head onto a different path

you studied audiology once you graduated high school 

focused on your studies and graduated as one of the top students in your degree

your family was so proud of you

of course you still watched football once you stopped playing

you never missed a match (and your dad would never let you)

 in 2023, you were at the height of your career, heading into owning your own clinic

you were loving your job

so when your dad asked you to come in and take a look at one of his players, you were surprised

but of course, you weren’t one to ever say no to him

you arrived at chadwell heath and received a great reception

everyone there knew you as your dad’s daughter

they loved having you around

you walked into your dads office not thinking about it

when you were met with mackenzie

you hadn’t officially met her before

but up close, wow, she was even more breathtaking than in goal

as you went to apologise for barging in on her, your dad came in

he introduced mackenzie to you and explained why he had brought you in

she had suspected that she was suffering from hearing loss

you tried your best to tread lightly on the topic as it was a relatively new concept to her

she was familiar with hearing loss

her brother had worn hearing aids since he was young

but she had never considered needing them herself

you said that you could book her in for an audiology test and have a look

you ended up diagnosing her later that week

mackenzie was so grateful for you

for such a hard experience, you sure made it easy

she was in awe of you and how smart you were

she marvelled at your mind

you were just so intelligent

she couldn’t help herself

you stayed close after fitting her for her hearing aids

you would be in the change room at half-time at west ham home games

you were technically working as a ‘personal player consultant’ on the medical team

(thanks dad)

but really, you just wanted to be near mackenzie

she was starting to excel even more in her game (if that was possible)

and she always chalked it up to you

‘well since y/n fitted my hearing aids’

‘y/n did the most really’

‘she’s just so smart, without her i’d be struggling still’

mackenzie gloated about you 24/7 to anyone who would listen

she ended up asking you on a date after four months of officially knowing each other

she found herself at your clinic way too often 

there was only so many times mackenzie could lie about a faulty battery

so when you mentioned how many times she had come in

she was a blushing mess, but managed to murmur out

‘would you want to get dinner tonight?’

you said yes right away

you had only been waiting four months for her to ask

she asked you to be her girlfriend on your fourth time out together

(after getting a very big hint from your dad that you were waiting)

‘already made her wait for that date, macca. wouldn’t want to keep her waiting much longer’

she called you after that conversation and said she was taking you out that night

you couldn’t really ask for more with mackenzie

she was everything you wanted in a person

and now you get to watch west ham matches from the player suites

not just the friends and family section 

[akai-akai]

okay so I've ranted about my "Simon Riley is a Dork" philosophy, now I bring you...

John MacTavish is a NERD.

I see how he's often pinned as the rambunctious "airhead" of the team, and that may be true to some to degree but he's not STUPID.

Listen, this man is a demolition expert. That involves all kinds of maths, measurements, electrical work, mechanics, technical shit I'm not well-versed in, etc. Demolitions experts have to be pretty damn smart to be considered experts.

I think Johnny was 100% a robotics kid growing up. Maybe even dabbled in coding and mathematics club. I seriously think he was one of the nerdy kids in highschool/secondary school.

And though that part of him is still very much there, it's quieter now. Shrouded by professionalism and experience and maturity. But then, sometimes when he's had a few too many drinks, or if Simon plucks just the right strings, he'll go on these long tangents about the different mathematics, or about this robot he built by hand in highschool by himself in his parents' garage-turned-robotics-lab— the garage lab that he accidentally set on fire and blew up a can of old hairspray his sister had left on his desk. (He totally wasn't using it as a blowtorch to kill some poor unsuspecting bug, his sister just left the spray there and he didn't notice it. That small burn scar on his left hand is completely unrelated.)

And of course, Simon will sit quietly and patiently, watching the way Johnny's eyes light up and his face gets more and more expressive, arms and hands moving wildly, animatedly. He's so passionate, it makes Simon's eyes soften with affection.

And when Johnny's especially focused on the blueprints in front of him during a mission, clock ticking and pressure weighing down on him, he's a sight to behold. Somehow, that's when he works best. Brows pinched, lips pressed in a tight line as his brain works over the details, pieces a plan together as he mutters under his breath, pen scratching on the paper, recites numbers for the other team members to remember. And then his brows smooth out and he gets this giddy look as things click together in his mind and his head snaps up and he gets to work— John knows to let him take the lead here, and quietly notes to himself that John MacTavish would make for a great Captain down the line.

Sometimes when he can't sleep or his mind's a little too loud, he'll sit up at the little desk in his barracks with the dim lamp illuminating a worn-out blue sketchbook, pencil eraser trapped between his teeth as he scans his old notes and sketches and unresolved equations. Mundane math and physics that doesn't take a lot of mental power, but still relaxes him nonetheless.

In addition, he'd be good at sketching. Specifically blueprints and modeling. Dimensional stuff and perspective. Finds a quiet corner somewhere on base— usually that old tree out by the dirt track— and sketches away models, some of which are totally unrealistic but he doesn't care. He'll sketch a giant sci-fi atomic canon model with realistic mathematics and semi-viable science behind it if he wants to.

When he needs to memorize a new model, he'll draw each individual piece, each little working part as if he's dissecting it and mapping it out in his brain. Sometimes when Simon flips through Johnny's sketchbooks, he'll find 10+ pages filled with the same model, over and over, and it's like he can see every thought process, every reasoning, every time Johnny clicks something together in his mind.

Johnny is brilliant. He's a scientist, an expert in his field. He's a total nerd and I love him for it.

(His average shower thoughts are either complex science that would give the average person a migraine, or Simon's eyes. No in between.)

NSFW:

This time, the tables are turned. Johnny will be mid-ride on top of Simon in bed, purposely distracting himself in his mind to hold off his own release (bc it's a competition and he'll be damned if he finishes first) and then suddenly he'll remember a bomb blueprint he was deconstructing the previous day and he'll plop down, sitting up stock straight as he curses and something makes a PING! sound in his brain and suddenly he's leaning over while Simon raises a questioning brow, hands still firmly gripping Johnny's hips as he snatches his notebook and pen from his table side drawer, flops the book unceremoniously on top of Simon's chest, hunches over, and begins writing and muttering to himself.

And Simon just waits, halfway between disgruntled and amused. Just sorta resorts to grinding his hips upward— to which Johnny firmly plants his hips downward, keeping them still, and Simon just sighs and waits some more.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Simon's in love with this idiot, don't let him fool you. I love them a healthy amount.

[suzukiblu]

Five headcanons from the obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU for Plot Bunny, which may or may not all make it into the actual fic itself. Headcanons are slightly leaned towards Kon’s powers because Plot Bunny was specifically interested in my headcanons for those in this AU, but also including Tim being a useless bisexual.

Kon brags constantly about the things his TTK does that are either Superman-esque abilities or that he thinks are either impressive or flashy enough to pass for impressive. He does not think to brag about things like “technically I have a 360-degree field of perception”, because he’s like “well it only works if nothing’s flying or hovering and it’s not like vision, so it’s just whatever” as opposed to being like “most things/people cannot fly or hover and it also accounts for things like people hiding behind cover, so actually it’s real fucking useful, isn’t it”. Frequently he just doesn’t think to mention little utility-specific uses of his powers at all, in fact. No, this acid isn’t touching him, he can be acidproof if he wants. No, he can’t actually choke on anything. Yeah, he can set bones and relocate dislocations on himself and others without needing an X-ray or an MRI involved. Sure, he could just stop somebody’s heart, but why would he?? 

Tim has gotten out of the habit of a lot of his hobbies in favor of Robin-ing. Robbies. He has Robbies now, not hobbies. It’s not like he never picks up a camera or a skateboard or a video game anymore, just . . . well . . . like, not never, that’s all. He’s pretty sure he touched his skateboard last week? When he . . . moved it to the other corner while he was cleaning his room . . . uh. Well. Still counts, right?? 

Kon has much better fine motor control over his TTK than he usually bothers to demonstrate in the field because he actually spends a lot of his time bored and understimulated in a lab environment, so he just fucks around with it to entertain himself. For him, it’s an extension of his sense of touch, which makes him incredibly tactile as a person. But he also thinks it might be a little weird how tactile he is compared to other people, so he is much likelier to be petting the soft silky thing with his TTK than his actual, oh, I don’t know, hands? Because people don’t even notice when it’s his TTK, obviously, but they definitely notice when he's doing it with his hands. He actually does a lot of little things with his TTK that people don’t usually pick up on, because it’s just things like adjusting crooked frames and plucking lint off people’s clothes and fixing their hair or tucking their shirt tags into their collars and picking inconvenient locks, and if Tim knew Kon could do that kind of thing so subtly and easily, he would immediately lose his ever-loving mind about it. And also teach him how to pick pockets and crack safes, probably. Kon, obliviously, does not realize just how fucking useful those little things could actually be in hero-ing, because to him they're just normal little tricks he can just do whenever, not anything special or impressive. And like, why would he pick the lock when he could just punch the door down? Superman would punch the door down, right? And punching the door down looks cooler! So obviously he's gonna do that! 

Tim accidentally developed his initial crush on Kon via constant exposure through stupid teen magazine posters. He will swear on his life it started when they first met and fought supervillains together, but no, it was definitely that Kon was hot in those stupid cheesy posters that Tim kept running into while he did research on the new kid in the superhero community. Also he read so many of those lame tabloid interviews. Just . . . so, so many. Ugh. And he actually does keep up on Kon's Twitter and probably his Insta too. 

Kon absolutely accidentally holds himself back from his full potential as a superhero without really realizing it because he thinks “what would Superman do?” while mostly knowing Superman through hearsay, information uploads from biased sources, and what few facets of his personality Clark is actually willing to show him. So he has a very skewed image of him, obviously, and is trying to grow up and be a person Clark isn't and no one really could be. But Kon identifies himself as Superboy because he doesn’t have anything else he knows how to be, and Superboy came from Superman, so he concentrates less on certain aspects of his powers and more on the Kryptonian-imitating ones. Again: he could just unlock the door, but Superman would punch it, right? Right??

[zepskies]

Never Say Goodbye - Part 3

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,500 Warnings: Language, fluff.

Part 3: Contact

As it turned out, your life started to get better after you missed that shift at the coffee shop.

Oh, you still got fired. But the experience of nearly getting splattered on the pavement by an oncoming truck gave you some unexpected clarity about your life.

Mainly, you needed to stop wasting it. You were tired of jobs that would pay your bills but not bring you closer to your career. And frivolous thoughts of coffee shop boys and…the hope of running into your soulmate.

Maybe one day, you could dare to hope, but from now on, you wouldn’t let it rule your thoughts. You wouldn’t hope too hard either.

It could save you from the disappointment of never hearing anyone’s thoughts but your own.

So you decided to check the University of South Dakota’s career board for jobs, and you discovered an opening in the history department! A research assistant for one of your favorite professors, who was writing their dissertation on the strange, superstitious, and sometimes down-right disgusting social practices of the Ancient Greeks (including bottling up the sweat of their best athletes, because they thought their musky body oils contained magical properties).

Since you were already majoring in history, you were a shoe-in for the job. And working directly with your professor gave you a great resource for future classes.

Four years later, you had earned your bachelor’s degree in History. You even decided to further your education when you were able to get a scholarship for graduate school.

Now you were just one semester away from finishing your master’s. You still worked in the history department, but you had been able to upgrade—to Executive Secretary to the Dean of Ancient Studies.

It sounded fancy, but really, you were a glorified slave. Or at least, your boss seemed to think so.

“I need you to cancel my meeting at two,” said Dr. Birch. She breezed into your tiny office without knocking, startling you from where you were hunched over your laptop.

“Good morning!” came your reflexive greeting, though it was a bit too loud and sharp. You internally winced at yourself and relaxed your posture, like a bird unruffling its feathers. “Cancel your meeting with Dr. Wells?”

Dr. Wells was a nice man, and an important one. He was the Head Dean of the entire History department. Technically, he was above Dr. Birch. It wasn’t a good look to blow him off, but you weren’t about to say so.

“Yes, I have an important lunch, and I already know it’s going to go overtime. Gary will understand,” she replied. She was looking at her phone rather than at you. For all she cared, you were just a calendar with hands.

Dr. Helen Birch was a brilliant woman. She’d published no less than five books, had won awards for her peer-reviewed articles, and she had been your academic advisor all through graduate school.

She could also rival Meryl Streep for “bitchy-ass boss” in The Devil Wears Prada.

“I also need you to grade the final exams for one of my classes,” she said. “Greek Studies this time.”

You held back a sigh. Again? I’ll never finish my own finals at this rate.

But what you said was, “Sure, I can do that. And I’ll email Dr. Wells to reschedule.”

“Yes, make sure it’s not on Thursday,” she said, brushing a finger through her thin blonde hair. “I have to leave early to get my roots touched up before I go away this weekend.”

“That’s fun,” you chatted while you revised Dr. Birch’s calendar on your computer (and sent an apology email to Dr. Wells). “Where to?”

“Oh, I have this tedious conference in Chicago. But then my boyfriend is taking me skiing in Breckenridge.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I simply can’t wait. This semester has been a drain on my psyche, and just terrible for my migraines.”

With the email sent, you took a little breath and gathered some courage as you got up from your desk and gathered a handful of papers you had stapled together. It was a rough draft of your thesis, which was only a bit worse for wear (including a suspect coffee stain that you didn’t remember accidentally putting there).

“Actually, I was going to ask you if you got my email about my thesis. I just wanted to go over some of the feedback you gave me on the draft,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Dr. Birch raised a brow. “What of it?”

“Well.” You showed her the front page, which was covered in red ink. “Mainly the part where you crossed out the first three pages and commented, ‘Missing the point.’”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid I have nothing to add about that.”

Well, that didn’t exactly help you. The first three pages was your entire introduction to your thesis, “TV & Film: The Modern-Day Mythology of the Masses.”

You must’ve had a pitiful, lost look on your face, because Dr. Birch finally took pity on you. She sighed.

“You are a creative girl. I’ll give you that, but your degree is not in cinematography. You are a historian,” she said. “And while the ‘Well of Souls’ in Raiders of the Lost Ark may be based on a real historical place in Jerusalem, that does not mean Indiana Jones can, or should be described as a ‘religious experience.’”

My ten-year-old self would bed to differ, you wanted to retort, but you kept your mouth shut and lowered your eyes. Dr. Birch nodded to herself and was about to leave your office, until she stopped short and gave you her Amex card.

“Oh. And get me a coffee, would you, dear?”      

The moment your day ended and you were able to get into your car, you let out a long sigh of relief. While you waited for your car to warm up, you massaged your hand, aching from grading papers for Dr. Birch’s class.

You rubbed your hands together, this time to warm them as the frigid air draining from the car still bit into your skin. A shudder tingled through your body, and not in a pleasant way. Honest to God, I hate the winter.

On reflex, you toyed with the silver ring on your right hand—your mom’s ring. It usually comforted you, but today, remembering her made your heart heavy. Because today was the anniversary. 

You still remembered that snowy day when you were fourteen, could picture it so clearly, like a scene painted on glass.

With one last sigh, you fished out your phone to call your dad. It rang for a few seconds (it always took him an eternity to answer his phone, and it drove you crazy).

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dad,” you said.

“Hey. Just got off work?”

“Yeah, I’m headed back to Sioux Falls. Want to meet at home and go together, or do you just want to meet me at the cemetery?”

The other line was silent for a moment. Longer than you would’ve liked.

“You’re coming, right?” you pressed.

“Look, I’m gonna have to work late tonight,” Jack said. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Really?” Your voice was terse. “It’s one day a year, Dad. You can’t even manage that?”

“I told you I’m working a case.” He sounded annoyed. You didn’t care.

You were pissed.

“Whatever,” you dismissed. But then, you realized you weren’t willing to let it go just yet. “You know, I just find it interesting. On her birthday, Christmas, today, somehow you just can’t be bothered to visit your wife.”

“Hey, drop it, all right?” your dad snapped back.

“Sure. It’s none of my business, I guess.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm either.”

You silently fumed, but you weren’t willing to hang up the phone first. You didn’t want to look petty, and apparently, neither did he. You both could be stubborn like that, sitting in a tense stretch of silence instead of just…

Instead of just, I don’t know what, you could admit, if only to yourself. Eventually, his voice reached your ears.

“I’ll go when I can,” he said.

“Fine.”

And you really did hang up this time.

What should’ve been an hour drive back into your hometown took almost two with the traffic.

Oh yeah, you still lived at home with your dad. It wasn’t ideal, especially with a long-ass commute every day. But unfortunately, being a full-time student with a part-time job didn’t give you the budget to have your own life.   

At least you had your car—a dark blue Camaro your uncle had restored and gifted you for your twenty-first birthday. You didn’t talk to your Uncle Bobby as much as you would like. Between work and school and taking care of the house for you and your dad, you didn’t have much free time on your hands. You did see Bobby around town sometimes, and occasionally shared a beer with him when your demanding schedule allowed.

Your dad had never liked it, you hanging around your uncle. So you didn’t tell him.

That seemed to work out better for both of you.

In fact…

You reached for your phone again and found your uncle’s number.

“Stop badgering me, Rufus. I’m busy.”

Your lips curved into a grin. “Uncle Bobby?”

“Oh. Hi, darlin’. Sorry, thought you were some riff raff that keeps spammin’ me.”

“What did Rufus do now?” you asked.

“He knows,” Bobby said. The surly edge to his voice made you smile in amusement.

“What’re you doing later? Up for a beer?”

“Usually I’d take you up on that, but I’ve got some people coming in pretty soon.”

You scoffed. “You have people? What people?”

“You’re not the only number in my cell, you know,” he said dryly.

“What, you mean Rufus?” you teased.

“All right, now you’re just runnin’ up my minutes,” he said. “If you really want that beer, you’re welcome to swing by, if you want. I’ve got a stocked fridge full of cold ones.”

You laughed, then you considered his offer. Did you really want to go home and deal with your dad (whenever he bothered to come home)?

“Well, I’m going to the cemetery first, but I could maybe swing by after,” you replied.

“Right, that’s today, ain’t it?” Bobby said. “Give your mom my respects.”

A more genuine smile grew on your lips. “Thanks. Will do.”

You hung up with him just as you got to the cemetery. It was hard not to feel melancholy here, especially in the winter. All the graves were lightly dusted with snow, and it felt like the world came to a quiet stillness here.

You bundled up with your scarf and gloves as you braced yourself for the cold, stepping out of the car. On your way in, you heard the rumble of a car going by. It was loud enough to make you turn your head and see a flash of black speeding away.

You shook your head. People drive like maniacs nowadays.

You were about to continue on your way towards your mom’s grave, when you finally heard it.

Say goodbyeee…never say goodbye-y-aaayy. Holdin’ on we gotta try, holdin’ on to never sayyy goodbyeee.~

Someone was warbling a Bon Jovi song in your mind, and it certainly wasn’t you.

But you did come to a dead stop in your path. Your eyes widened as shock claimed your heart and your brain. Soon enough though, your heart warmed as you became aware of something new. It was like a low hum at first, reverberating inside your chest.

You and me and my old friends, hopin’ it would neeever end. Say goodbye—

The singing continued, but all you could focus on was the thrumming in your skull, the thread of connection you could sense and feel inexplicably. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt warmth trickling down your cold cheeks. Sniffling, you wiped your tears with the back of your hand and smiled tremulously.

You were finally feeling your soulmate.

Which meant, he was close by…and with that realization came an important question:

What the hell do I do now?

They were in South Dakota again.

Dean knew coming back here was…potentially dangerous. He hadn’t heard his soulmate’s thoughts in four years, since the last time he was in this state.

Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to come here. After the last hunt though, he could use some R&R at Bobby’s for a couple of days.

This time Dean had his brother with him, albeit the circumstances weren’t…great. Their dad was missing, and Sam had lost his girlfriend in the process of trying to find him.

Sometimes, Dean really regretted going to find his brother at Stanford. Part of him thought, if he hadn’t hooked Sam into coming with him to try and find John, maybe Jessica Moore would still be alive.

A more selfish part of him (one he wouldn’t name) was glad to have Sam with him. Dean was actually having fun hunting with him. And maybe, Dean was having to get to know him again too.

“You think Bobby will have any intel on Dad?” Sam asked from the passenger seat of the Impala. They were about five minutes away from Singer Salvage, the old man’s tow business (and his house).

“Doubt it,” Dean replied, changing the radio station once Bon Jovi turned to REO Speedwagon. He could get down with some pop rock from Jovi, but REO was pushing it.

“Then why are we here?” Sam turned to him with a frown. “We just ganked a poltergeist in our old house and…we saw Mom. You think we should be wasting time right now?”

Dean’s lips pursed. Leaving their old house behind in Lawrence, Kansas was exactly why he needed a minute before jumping into the next case. As much as he wanted to find John, Dean just…he needed a minute to breathe.

Revisiting those old (painful) memories wasn’t easy for him. He wasn’t sure that Sam completely got that.

“Bobby’s got a stack of lore books to Kingdom Come. Who knows, he might have a way to help us find Dad,” he said.

Sam shot him an unimpressed look. “And if he doesn’t?”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He got why Sam was so fired up. Really. The fact that the kid was having weird…premonition dreams about the near future was concerning. And he wanted to find the thing that killed Jess, that killed their mom, but this was clearly going to be a marathon. Not a sprint.

“In the meantime, we crack open a couple beers,” Dean said, “get one or two of free nights on actual beds, and then we’re on our way to the next gig. How’s that sound?”

Sam let out a sigh through his nose and faced the road ahead. They both knew he wasn’t happy. Dean couldn’t exactly blame him.

When they finally got to Bobby’s, the old man greeted them with a casual wave, beckoning them inside. He offered them the contents of his fridge—a few beers and a frozen lasagna defrosting in the fridge. Dean scoped it out while Sam dropped off his bag in the upstairs guest room.

“That for us?” Dean pointed to the lasagna with a grin. “Didn’t know we merited the red-carpet treatment.”

“’Cause it’s not just for you,” Bobby said dryly, then he hesitated. “...My niece might be swingin’ by later.”

Dean raised his brows in curiosity. “Didn’t know you had a niece.”

Or any family, for that matter. He knew the old man had a wife, once upon a time, but he assumed she’d passed away. No kids. Bobby had never talked about having an extended family. He didn’t have pictures on the walls, and the shelves only had books and locked boxes.

Bobby took a long sip of his beer after opening a bottle each for himself and Dean. He had one ready on the counter for Sam, who came into the kitchen looking tired. The kid hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few weeks, to say the least. Dean handed him the beer.

“I don’t see her much,” Bobby conceded.

“Why’s that?” Dean asked.

It took a moment for the other man to answer. Eventually, he was honest. “Well, she's grown. Going to school, got a job. But you could say I had a fallin’ out with her dad, a while back.”

“You have a brother?” Sam said.

“Brother-in-law,” Bobby corrected. He didn’t say anything more about it though. Sam and Dean shared a look that said they agreed: There’s something off there, but I’m not gonna pry.

“You still see her though?” Dean asked.

“Every now and then,” Bobby said, sipping at his beer again. “It’s a small town.”

That kind of pissed Dean off. Bobby was a good guy. He’d watched Sam and Dean a lot when they were kids, their dad on a hunt. He’d made sure they had decent food to eat, good movies to watch, and even played catch with Dean a time or two.

So what kind of assholes did Bobby have for family, that they couldn’t be bothered to check in on the old man every now and then? They must’ve been off living their lives, in their own little world. Must be nice.

Dean brought the bottle of Heineken to his lips, only to realize it was empty. Couldn’t have that, could we?

He went to the fridge and opened the cap, only to jump as the beer fizzed and leaked over his hands.

Damn it!

Bobby sighed. “And I just mopped the damn floor.”

“All right, Martha Stewart. Keep your slippers on,” Dean teased. “Sam, get me a paper towel.”

Bobby tried to get by him to get the mop, but beer was still dripping down Dean’s arm.

“Would you move to the sink, already?”

Sam finally cracked a small grin as Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. Jesus. You’d think Miss America was comin’ into town.”

Damn it.

You heard him again. And this time, you could hear his voice, so you knew the thought belonged to a him. The voice was pleasantly deep, and annoyed. You actually felt his irritation and were able to recognize that the emotion didn’t belong to you.

Excitement bubbled in your throat, almost making it hard to breathe as you drove your car down the road. You had been too worked up to go see your mom, and technically you were supposed to head to your Uncle Bobby’s house, but this was too important.

You needed to figure out how to talk to him—your soulmate.

So you pulled over on the side of the road, and even turned the radio off. Okay, now what?

You didn’t know what you were supposed to do. They taught about this subject in school, sure, but that had been years ago! You’d spent the past six years filling your head with college and work and learning how to be an adult.

Okay, just breathe. You calmed down a bit with some deep breaths, and you closed your eyes. When you first heard your soulmate’s singing in your head, you remembered feeling warmth spread through your body, emanating from your chest. Then in your mind, you’d noticed a…a thread, of what could only be described as energy.

You felt it now. You could almost visualize it with your eyes closed. In your imagination, it was bright and beckoning. You focused on it, and it grew brighter, thrumming and soft.

You thought of what you wanted to say, and you tried it—sending your thoughts and your will through the connection.

Having a rough day?

Dean was still wiping beer off the floor in Bobby’s kitchen when he heard your voice ring through his mind.

Having a rough day?

His entire body tensed, and he paused with a ball of wet paper towel in his hand. Sam had taken the mop from Bobby and was about to finish off the floor, until he noticed Dean blanking.

“Dean?” he asked.

It shook Dean out of his shock, enough for him to look up at his brother. “Hmm?”

“What’s up? You were staring off into space.”

Dean feigned innocence. “Nothing.”

Sam’s brow rose, but he didn’t press the issue and went back to mopping. Dean took the opportunity to toss the wet paper towel in the garbage.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” he said, and made his swift exit to the bathroom upstairs, so quickly that he didn’t see Bobby watching Dean curiously from the living room.

“Don’t use up all the hot water!” Sam called after him.

Once again, Dean found himself locking the bathroom door and staring at himself in the mirror. His green eyes were conflicted as he tried to calm down. Maybe his heart was starting to beat a tick faster. Maybe a trickle of nervous sweat was making its way down his spine. Maybe he didn’t know what the hell to do.

His dad’s warning was still clear as a bell in his mind.

“Unless you’re prepared to hang up your gun, and stop hunting, don’t open that door.”

Dean knew why John had said it, and even agreed with him…at least, logically he did. His life was complicated, and insane, and bloody. How could he put someone else through what he went through? What he still went through every day? It wasn’t right.

But his chest was aching. He rubbed at it absently.

He could feel your worry again, he realized. You were anxious, probably waiting for him to respond. Dean could feel you. Having a rough day? you’d asked him.

So as usual, he made an impulsive choice.

You could say that, he carefully replied. He remembered the way your voice sounded, smooth and pleasant in his mind, and he couldn’t help smiling a little. But not for long, I’m thinkin’.

Your relief hit him in a slow, but powerful wave. It almost made him feel guilty for taking so long to answer.

Well, it’s not every day you hear someone else in your head. Maybe you’re going crazy.

She was teasing him. You were teasing him.

It brought an incredulous smile to Dean’s face. You’re one to talk. Maybe you’re just talkin’ to yourself right now.

Hmm. I don’t usually warble to Bon Jovi, but maybe you’re right.  

A beat of surprise, another to remember what he and Sam had been listening to in the car earlier, and then embarrassment prickled at the back of his neck.

You heard that, huh? he asked wryly.

Maybe, you giggled. It was a cute sound, and it cut through some of his embarrassment. He wasn’t used to being put back a step by women. He was good at reading people’s body language, and usually it didn’t take him more than one look to figure out what a woman thought about him, and what they wanted to do with him.

So the fact that he couldn’t see you was a challenge. With that realization, a slow smile spread across his face. He was game for a challenge.

Well, I’m likin’ your voice so far, he said. Think I could get you to sing for me?

He felt you pause, a flutter of warmth through a tendril of shyness. I’ll leave the performing to you, Romeo.   

Come on, it’s only fair.

Who said life is fair?

Dean sobered a bit at that. Ain’t that the truth.

Hmm, so you were having a rough day.

Make it a week, he said.

Yeah, I know the feeling…I wasn’t having a good day today either.

Dean sensed your melancholy and didn’t like the feeling. Well, now you’re talkin’ to me. So it should be smooth sailin’ from now on.

He could feel you brighten at that. It made warmth bloom once again inside his chest, especially because he sensed you were smiling—a bit shy, but genuine.  

…What’s your name? he asked.

It took you a beat, but eventually you gave him your name. It wasn’t what he expected, but he liked it. Your name rolled through his thoughts, and he tested on his tongue.

What’s yours? you asked predictably. Somehow, Dean didn’t anticipate the follow-up.

Suddenly he realized exactly what he was doing: he was talking to you. (Something he’d told himself he wasn’t going to do.) Not to mention, he’d been locked in the bathroom for about ten minutes and hadn’t even showered yet. Pretty soon either Sam or Bobby was going to come knocking to see what the hell he was doing, so he might as well shower for real.

He answered you as he turned on the showerhead and started undressing. I’ll make a deal with you…if you can guess what I do for a living, I’ll come by and introduce myself in person.

Dean felt your shock, so he let you think as he stepped into the shower. Eventually you came back, annoyance coloring your emotions and your voice.

That’s stupid.

Dean smiled. Aw, come on. It’ll be fun.

For you!

Don’t you know, sometimes the best things in life come after some delayed gratification.

You paused for a moment, in which Dean didn’t know if you were in shock again, or just pissed. Maybe a combination of both.

Great, I got a comedian, you deadpanned. …You’re not a comedian, are you?

Sweetheart, I’m hilarious, Dean replied. But no. Good guess, though.

He sensed the equivalent of you rolling your eyes.

Just then, Sam knocked on the bathroom door.

“Hey, you better not use up all the hot water!”

“Twenty minutes of peace, Sammy. That’s all I ask,” Dean shot back. Sam made a sound of annoyance, but he went away, leaving Dean almost alone with his thoughts.

Look, I gotta go, he said regretfully. But I expect you to have some guesses cooked up by the time I get back from work.

You were still annoyed, but you begrudgingly agreed to his terms.

Fine. Just…don’t wander too far off. I can’t win the game if I can’t hear you.

Dean sensed your underlying worry, and your fear. You were afraid he was going to leave.

His heart softened. As a result, he ended up promising things he didn’t know if he meant.

Don’t worry. I’m not leaving town until you win, he said.

He felt your warm smile, along with your excitement.

Goodnight, sweetheart. We’ll talk soon.

Okay…goodnight.

He hung onto the feeling of your presence for a few seconds longer, before he let go of the connection. For now.

Dean caught himself smiling, but it quickly turned to a frown.

“Nobody should be waiting on men like us to come home bloody.”

When he once again remembered his dad’s warnings, that new warmth in his heart chilled, and it sunk like a stone. He leaned against the cool bathroom wall and pressed his forehead against the tile, while lukewarm water beat the side of his face and body.

Shit.

AN: Oh, Dean. What're we gonna do with you? lol

I hope you enjoyed Part 3! I promise they'll finally meet soon lol. What did you think of their first conversation?

To keep reading: Part 4

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[darqx]

Some BP/HH/General asks

That mood when you want to share all the things but also want to keep it under wraps for the actual thing haha! Thanks very much anon!

As for your questions, I can't actually be specific cos there's no definitive number I have in mind for either. Basically there are a number of sectors (you can consider them their equivalent of countries - they have less than what we do though), and a number of species of demon of which I've designed about seven of. The ones I've shown before are these guys (and do you think I could find this pic again? No, I had to recreate it cos for the life of me I couldn't remember what ask I'd previously stuck it in lol):

One day when i have enough species and stuff out there I want to make a proper field guide \o/

Thank you very much for the interest! ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ I would actually love to for BP, but before I jump the gun there I have to get the comic out first lol. That being said I have made mini-games before featuring the HH versions and some other characs alas they are all lost at the moment to the sands of Flash becoming obsolete 😩

Me and Gato do still collab sometimes (and send each other Xmas presents)! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

I have been working on one off and on for a while actually! Hopefully I'll have some pages to post next year or so*, I've been doing a bit of thumbnailing recently :D

*that is the plan but i also don't know where people find the time to do anything with a full time job lol.

Hullo! Glad you are enjoying the snippets of BP I've got here and there :D Here is an older ref on Izm back when i first got the idea (at that time i didn't really plan to do anything with it, it was just an AU. Now it's my main project haha. Anyway the ref is a little bit out of date in that regard.)

I used to have a "field guide" which was also made quite a while ago, unfortunately the death of Flash kinda killed it. Here's a screenshot of some relevant info from it though.

That's an interesting one as it's questionable how sentient souls are after removal 🤔 In my mind its only form is the smoke light, it can "see" to some degree and MIGHT be able to talk (but in a very no one can hear them sort of way, a la i have no mouth and i must scream. So i guess it can think "aloud"). The more time passes the less sentience it has.

It could try, though it wouldn't really get anywhere if it's in Rire's collection. He might just eat it lol.

.D: Good with kids, will be fine in all aspects.

Izm: The fun dad however needs a partner that knows what they're doing to ensure the child safety during shenanigans.

Marcus and Zeke: Also would be good parents though might be more helicopter out of protectiveness/worry when first starting out.

Ren: Geek parent very good for homework help. Some Asian parent tendencies eg "ah see, i told you not to do that right? Now you see what happened."

They are similar to our known society for this! So basically, there are some good families out there (eg Zeke - who is a demon - is from a pretty average loving family), and there are some bad families out there who only care about power or having an heir or whatever.

HH Rire is a human. I differentiate between him and Demon Rire because they are two different characters...even though they are also technically the same character lol. You can consider them as alternate universe iterations of a base "Rire" concept.

I actually half jested this in an old comic lol

I am sorry to inform you that a HH webcomic doesn't actually exist 😅 I did a lot of art, animations and one shots (such as the HHJ comics) with them, but nothing actually planned or serialised or anything. Whatever's currently on my DA or here is basically what exists.

Bringing this image back cos it's relevant lol.

You spelled it correct there though! XD

[casuallyawkardd]

Hi! Can you do a Miguel x f!reader fic where they're dating? It's expensive to live in Nueva York and the reader overworks herself at a thankless job with a pervy boss but she can't find work anywhere else. She doesn't tell Miguel about her bosses advances because she doesn't want him to worry about her but the signs are getting harder to hide.

This request sparks joy, I enjoy all the fluff I've been writing lately, but deep down I'm just an angsty little bean who likes sprinkling trauma into my writing 😇

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader

Warnings: MATURE THEMES MINORS DNI! Not explicit but noncon so deaddove?, sexual themes, Miguel does a no-no but it's an accident, angst, hurt/comfort

Everything had started out so promising. It was your first 'big girl' job. Well, technically not, but it was your first job in which your degree actually came in handy. It seemed like a dream come true when looking through rose colored glasses. A salary paying job at a respectable company, the annual income promising that you wouldn't have to be living paycheck to paycheck, the days of barely paying rent on time a distant memory.

The first month was the honeymoon phase, your new team being extremely helpful in showing you the ropes and helping you to establish a new routine. After being in a year-long rut, things finally seemed to be going your way. With the new job and a loving boyfriend, what could go wrong?

You didn't notice the red flags right away when you met your boss. In all honesty, he reminded you of Miguel, making you feel at ease around him. Like Miguel, he was tall and well built, tanned skin and dark hair. However, at the same time, the two had their differences. Your boss, though he had his own charms, wasn't as handsome as Miguel; he was also much more jovial than him. Everyone in the office seemed to like him, the young interns and some of the older office ladies gushing over him in secret. At the time, you had even joked that you'd shoot your shot with him if you weren't already in a happy relationship.

It was a gradual change. He had always been friendly with you, hell he was friendly with everyone, going out of his way to make conversation with you and bring you a cup of coffee when he came in in the morning. Then came the touching, his hand lingering longer than they should on your shoulders or resting on the small of your back to guide you closer to him. You thought it was weird, that feeling in your gut telling you something was wrong, but his casual nature and pearly whites would have you second guessing yourself. Maybe you were overthinking things?

Your answer came after a company dinner. It was late and he had offered to walk you home. Miguel was busy with work and the coworkers that were still there were people you didn't know very well, so you took him up on the offer. Everything seemed fine, the two of you walking side by side, keeping up friendly conversation and even sharing a few laughs. When you arrived at your apartment building, turning to say thank you and goodnight, that hand was at your waist once again. Pulling you to him, his head lowering to meet yours and your eyes widened in horror at what was clearly about to happen.

Quickly, you stiff armed him, creating much needed distance, the hand on your back seeming to hold on a little tighter. "I have a boyfriend," you reminded him, a fact you knew he was aware of.

He had just shrugged, "Who says he has to know?" your boss replies in that same, casual tone. When he doesn't see an inkling of humor cross your face, he backpedals, releasing you and holding his hands up in surrender. "Kidding, kidding, have a good night," the asshole tries to laugh it off, retreating back the way he had come. You return to the safety of your building, which doesn't feel as safe as it used to, now that he knew where you lived.

That was around the time your life at work started to go downhill as well. Your coworkers weren't as friendly, whispering behind their hands and throwing dirty looks in your direction. Your boss seemed to become more and more aggressive with his advances. Quite literally backing you into a corner when you're sitting at your desk or in the breakroom. He continuously asked you out, which you resorted to flat out telling him 'no' after multiple attempts of being polite about it. Everytime you reject him, it felt like he expected you to work later or show up earlier, scolding you when you don't comply.

It felt like it's you against the company. The work losing its enjoyment and the people who you thought were your friends now the bane of your existence. Why was this happening? What had you done wrong?

"Why don't you talk to HR?" your best friend suggests one night while you're venting.

"I did about some people, the ones who were real nasty at least," you reply with a heavy sigh, "but it feels like it's everyone. And my boss?" you groan woefully, "I get the feeling he'd just fire HR if they said someone reported him."

The frown on your friend's face deepens, a look of pity in their eye. "Well, what about your boyfriend? Does he know?"

You don't respond right away, pursing your lips a moment, "No, he doesn't."

"You should tell him!" your friend snaps at you, lightly slapping your shoulder, "He's scary right? I bet your boss would think twice about looking your way if he got his ass kicked."

"Yeah, maybe..." you don't doubt it. There had been times when you had thought about it, maybe even fantasized about Miguel showing up at your work and pummeling your boss in his stupid, charming face; and yet you haven't breathed a word about it to your other half. But, you already know why you haven't.

When Miguel and you had first started dating, he had been closed off. Understandably so, given the brief background he had told you about himself, it didn't surprise you that he had a hard time trusting people. Then one day, there was a shift, as if a switch had been flipped. He was happier around you, more affectionate. A soft smile on his face whenever you caught him staring at you, a gentle chuckle even if you weren't trying to be funny.

"Is everything...okay?" you ask him one night, the two of you lying in bed. Miguel has his head on your chest, a large arm lazily slung over your middle while you absentmindedly played with his hair.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he responds, lifting his head enough to glance up at you.

"You're just...different."

"Is it a good different?"

You smile at his change in expression. How he reminds you of a child worried they had done something wrong. "Yeah, it is good," you agree, bringing his face closer to kiss the spot between his brows. When you pull back, he moves closer. Shifting so he's above you, lips searching for yours. When they connect, it's electric. A buzz promising what's to come.

He pulls away enough to speak, "Works been a pain," he confesses, "between my duties as Spider-Man and maintaining the peace with the other universes, I can't seem to catch a break," there's a hint of annoyance in how he speaks that seems to grow the longer he thinks about it, but he catches himself. Taking a deep breath through his nose and letting out the same way, "But it's different with you. I feel like I can finally be at ease with you."

And there it is. The reason you've kept your mouth shut for months. The preservation of the little bubble Miguel and you have created. You were finally his safe space, someone he could relax around. Someone to provide a much needed calm to his already hectic life. It was something you had found in him months ago, but now the feeling was mutual, and you didn't want to ruin it.

It's not that bad, you told yourself, I can handle myself. That's what you tell yourself, after every lingering look from your boss and every snide comment your other coworkers give you. Miguel always said you were tough, joking that you'd have to be to date someone like him.

You didn't feel so tough tonight.

Work had been hard, with deadlines just around the corner, everyone was on edge. A little more venom behind their biting words, but that's not what led you to where you were now. Standing outside your apartment door, trembling as you fiddle with your keys and trying to hold back the tears until you were safely inside.

It was that asshole boss of yours again, only this time he had gone too far. Well, tried to at least. You had already come to terms with the fact he'd make you stay later than everyone else, working until the streetlights flicked on and even a little after. He had come over to your desk as you were putting your things in your bag, half paying attention to what he was saying. You were tired, ready to call it for the day, ready to go home and rest and-

Strong arms wrapped around you, making you stiffen in fear as what occurred a little over an hour ago replays in your head. The smell of takeout from your favorite Thai place brings you back and you're able to breathe a sigh of relief when you hear a familiar chuckle fill the air.

"Did I scare you, amor?" Miguel teases, releasing you and coming to stand at your side.

You crane your neck to look up at him, the look of fear now dissipated to one of surprise, "I thought we agreed to reschedule?" You had. While taking the train, clearly still shaken as you struggled to text him that your date would have to be another night. 'Had a rough day at work,' was your excuse. It wasn't a lie, just the truth with a few crucial details plucked out.

Miguel shrugged, taking your keys from your hand so he could pick out the right one for the front door. "I know," he explained, twisting the lock, "but I figured we could have a night in. Some takeout, maybe some episodes of that show you like-oh, baby you ripped your skirt," the small smile on his face drops as he spots the said rip, calloused fingers pinching the fabric before letting it go and heading inside the apartment.

It's your turn to look down at it, the urge to cry only growing at the sight, thinking it must have been torn by the metal desk in your struggles. This was your favorite skirt, Miguel's too from how he couldn't keep his hands off you when you wore it. You had planned on meeting up for your date right after work, so you had decided to wear your date night outfit to the office to save yourself a trip. It seemed like a harmless idea at first, but it turns out Miguel wasn't the only one who noticed you wearing it.

You followed at a slower pace, shutting and locking the door behind you. Including the deadbolt, something you did on occasion when you felt like you needed it. With a heavy sigh, you perked up as best you could and went to the living room; Miguel was already there on the couch waiting.

The evening went just as Miguel had suggested, your new show had a couple new episodes for you to catch up on, all while nibbling on the greasy food your partner had brought over. Under different circumstances, you would have considered tonight to be a perfect night in. A part of you felt bad, curled up on the opposite end of the couch from Miguel. Your appetite wasn't all there, only eating some of the steamed vegetables at the top of the box before setting it on the coffee table. Miguel had taken notice, of course he did, but as to why you were acting so strange he had no clue.

"Just been a long day," was all you said, forcing a smile to which he returned. When you had run out of episodes, you stood to take the leftovers to the fridge. Falling into routine gave you a sense of security, moving to start your evening chores next. Miguel called out, asking if you wanted help, but you turned him down. Wanting some time alone.

It turned out to be both a good thing and a bad one as well. The good being you were finally able to decompress, have some time to yourself where you didn't have to pretend to be okay. However, that meant you were left alone with your thoughts. The only ones in your head being about your boss. What he did...or rather tried to do.

You felt stuck, not sure if speaking up would make things worse. Your coworkers already hated you, talking bad about your 'perfect' boss would probably only make things worse. How could he even do that? To think you used to compare him to Miguel of all people. Miguel would never make you feel the way he did. Embarrass you, degrade you, hurt you-

The clinking of dishes brought you back to yourself, looking down at your shaking hands. You picked up the glass you had dropped in the sink, finishing up the last of the dishes and putting them aside to dry. Once done, you leaned against the counter, hands pressed into the hard edge of it. You blinked back the tears, trying to shake the dark thoughts from your mind. You weren't gonna cry, not again, not because of him.

"It feels like you've been in here forever, cariño," Miguel's baritone purrs in your ear out of the blue, a sort of warning as his arms wrap themselves around you again. And yet you still jumped, Miguel chuckling against your ear. "You're so jumpy tonight," he hummed, "I think you're letting work stress you out too much." Well that was an understatement.

"You're not one to talk," you reply, a bit more bite to your tone than intended, but Miguel seems too distracted to notice.

"Hmm, I think we both are due for some destressing," he murmured, fingers gliding your hair aside to plant some gentle kisses along your neck. It was a familiar dance with him, his lips trailing across your skin while his hands roamed elsewhere, alluding to what was to come. Normally, it was something you'd eagerly lean into, but today had been far from normal.

"Honey..." you tell him softly, trying to nudge him back with your shoulders, but it only seemed to make him want to be closer.

"Shh, I'll take care of you, mi amor," he soothed, planting a kiss on your cheek before coming down to resume nipping at your jawline.

"Miguel, come on," you tried to laugh it off, tried to keep your cool, but the tremor in your hands seemed to only worsen. It wasn't him, your feelings right now weren't because of him, but every touch brought you back to the office. Just tell him, the thought crosses your mind, but the stubborn part of you holds your tongue. Miguel hadn't done anything out of your usual comfort zone, even now he probably assumed you were playing coy like usual, not understanding the gravity of the situation. Why did he have to feel just like him? Firm body on your back pressing you into a hard surface, lips ghosting over your neck, teeth teasingly biting at the flesh, one hand untucking your shirt and sliding underneath the fabric to grope at your breast, the other hand gliding up your thigh, palming you from behind before migrating to the front, fingers inches closer to your center...

"Miguel, stop!" your mouth moves of its own accord. Adrenaline gives you the strength to push him back, the kitchen becoming almost deadly quiet. Your eyes are locked on the tile floor, not looking him in the eye. You couldn't look him in the eye, the thought alone of what face he was making causing your chest to tighten. The confusion, surprise, maybe even heartbreak.

The silence is broken as a sob rips from your throat, your hands covering your mouth to quiet the ones that follow. The tears are flowing freely now, wetting your cheeks and softly landing on the ground. "I...I'm sorry," Miguel's voice sounds so far away. "I didn't..I thought-"

"You didn't do anything," you speak and he goes quiet immediately. He's patient, waiting for you to continue. It's almost like an out of body experience, you lashing out seeming to open the flood gates. You tell him everything, how things at work had been going downhill for months after your boss tried to kiss you, your asshole coworkers turning on you and your even bigger asshole of a boss not taking no for an answer. The expectations of working longer hours than you were paid for. The stress, the frustration, the feeling of preservation so as not to ruin the dynamic you two had created. Your gibberish eventually leading into what had happened earlier that night.

"...I had to stay late, a-and my boss said he needed to talk and-and-"

"What did he do?" Miguel interjects and your mouth clamps shut. Tongue feeling too big to even get the words out, "Mi amor, look at me," he doesn't demand it, he pleads, the unexpectedness of it making you look up. When your eyes meet, something seems to click for him, realization flickering in his eyes. There's anger, the kind you never would want directed at you, but then they soften. As if realizing the fury he wanted to unleash wasn't meant for you. Never for you. "Y/N..."

"Don't touch me," you snap at him, regretting it immediately after. Miguel had only taken half a step, but stopped immediately at your command. It hurt him and you could tell, wanting to hold you and comfort you, but unable to. Not when his touch made the memories all the more fresh.

"Ay dios mío..." he mutters, hands going to his hips as he doesn't know what to do with them now. The kitchen goes quiet again, aside from your small sobs. Miguel sets his jaw, something he does when he has something to say, but doesn't know how to. "Did he..?"

"Miguel, please-"

"I know, amor, I know. I don't want to make you talk about it if you're not ready to, but-" he pauses, lips pressed in a fine line, pain etched into his expression. "I just-I have to know. The thought of you getting hurt and I wasn't there to stop it..baby please, for me. I feel like I'm being eaten up from the inside."

You believe him, every word. He was used to being the one to save the day, you couldn't imagine how he felt knowing he wasn't there for who he cared for most. You let out a deep breath to calm down, "No, he didn't," you answer and you can almost see the tension leave his body. At least some of it.

"What do you need? Anything. Let me help you, don't shut me out, please...You've been there for me when I needed you, please let me be there for you, please?" he almost tries to step closer to you, stopping himself like it's the hardest thing he's ever done.

You bite your lip in thought, contemplating what to suggest. Not just for you, but him as well. Miguel was always the one who knew what to do, so the feeling of being unsure was clearly foreign to him. "Honestly, I just want to take a bath."

"A bath? I can do that. Just..give me a minute," he's scrambling, it's a side of him you'd never seen. Miguel shuffling as he remembers how to move, practically running to the bathroom with unnecessary vigor, hissing out some Spanish curses when he clips himself in the side with the island counter. His eagerness has you laughing softly, momentary joy fluttering through you before the weight of your evening sets back in.

The sound of the tub filling, along with the sound of Miguel moving about the bathroom is endearing, the man himself returning to you quickly to let you know it was ready. The set up alone is a comforting sight, the scent of lavender coming from the water, one of your incense candles gently burning. The mirror was fogged up, letting you know that the water was just the right temperature. It was all so simple and yet just what you needed.

Miguel waits beside you with bated breath, the small smile you give him a sign of reassurance. He offers to wait in the living room, hoping you don't send him away to be alone like you had originally intended when you got home, but you stop him.

"I don't want to be alone."

It's contradictory, but he doesn't question it. Doesn't even furrow his brow in confusion like he usually would. The two of you don't speak, Miguel sitting on the floor, back resting against the side of the tub, all while you undress and slip into the welcoming water. You let out an audible sigh of relief, letting the suds surround you as you lie back. After a moment, you glance Miguel's way, seeing that his eyes are glued to the far wall. He's trying to be respectful, you acknowledge, trying to be there for you while also not making you feel even more uncomfortable.

His presence alone is a comfort, the image of an overprotective guard dog making you smile once more. It's a moment filled with comfortable silence, the kind you only ever seemed to find with him. You almost don't want it to end, but the cooling of the water and the pruning on your fingertips lets you know it's time to get out.

"Hey," you say, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and making him jerk slightly in surprise. He looks over at you expectantly, eyes averting to the side so he doesn't seem like he's staring. "I think calling it early for the night would be good. Put this shitty day behind me."

"Yeah, I agree," he nods slowly, getting to his feet and heading to the door. "I put some clothes on the counter for you, I'll give you some privacy," he points to the said folded clothes, your gaze following his finger.

"Thanks," you smiled at him and he hummed in response. Miguel was being distant, but you knew the intent was to be for your benefit. Give you the space you had asked for earlier and being there when requested. "I'll meet you in the bedroom." It's more of a way to clarify than anything, you were sure Miguel had already resolved to sleeping on the couch tonight. His wariness seems to lessen, stepping a little lighter as he leaves the bathroom.

You take your time with draining the tub, drying off with a towel and slipping into your pajamas. They're comfortable, baggy and soft on your skin. You fall back into your nightly routine of brushing your teeth, washing your face and even popping a melatonin gummy in your mouth just in case.

Miguel is sitting stiffly in your bed, propped up, under the covers and hands folded together in his lap. It's almost comical, how he looks like a teenage boy awaiting the moment he finally loses his V card, but you don't dare tease him about it. Not when he's been so understanding all evening.

Sliding in beside him, you scoot until your thigh touches his, "I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier," you tell him, not sure what else to say.

He doesn't miss a beat, "You have nothing to be sorry for, cariño," he reassures you with ease, hesitantly placing a hand on your thigh over the sheets. When you don't flinch away, he gives it a comforting squeeze. "What're you thinking right now? I can practically hear the gears turning in that pretty head of yours," he attempts to lighten the mood, something you also appreciate.

You scoff, rolling your eyes tiredly, "I don't even know anymore. Everything feels so unreal," you run a hand through your hair, sighing. "I don't know what I'm going to do now. What I'm going to do now, how I'm going to even face him, what's gonna happen at work..."

"Don't worry about that right now," he interjects, "let's just go to bed, like you wanted to. Do you...want me to hold you?"

You nod, Miguel kissing your hairline as the two of you silently adjust until you're in your usual sleeping positions. Miguel on his back, while you slept on your side with one arm and one leg draped over him. One of his arms wrapped under you, a hand resting on your lower back so his thumb could trace small circles into the muscles there. As your body relaxed into his, fitting against his side like it was meant to be there, you felt at peace. At home even.

The firmness of him against your side didn't seem to trigger your traumas anymore, the idea that Miguel and your boss were similar now a distant memory. The fact you had thought of them as so alike seemed silly now. Your boss may be tall, tanned and well built like Miguel, but he wasn't warm like him. His hands had been cold when they violated you, something Miguel's never were. The kind of warmth that seemed to make everything else go away, even if for a moment. The kind that made you feel safe and loved, everything you needed and more. When you needed it most.

Tags: @prettylittlebrowngirl @khaleesihavilliard @leahnicole1219 @edgycatx @qiaipia @melovetitties @thedevax @erissco @leo-lvr@stqrlightrs

[renova-writes]

lost in the pages. part 1

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 1,350

warnings: none

a/n: I haven't written in forever so please forgive me. I'm trying to get back into it and I started this fit a while ago so I figured I'd finally post the first few chapters of it! I hope you like it!

masterlist

You had your nose fully engrossed in your book, ignoring the lunch you had set out to eat on the table next to you. You had been itching to read your latest story- a crime thriller- all morning, making the minutes agonizing, and once you finally took your lunch break the book was the first thing you thought about. 

Just as the story started to pick up, your coworker David ran into the break room. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, Betty needs you up at the front. Some guy showed up all serious and she had to take a meeting with him.” 

“What about you? I’m on lunch right now. Why can’t you get the front desk?”

“I got story time in five minutes. Unless you want to read ‘Cat In The Hat’?”

“No, thanks. I’ll take the front.” Children stressed you out, the way they could never sit still and pay attention. You were grateful for David and his endless patience.

The library you worked at in downtown Manhattan saw a fair amount of traffic. Unfortunately, everyone always seemed to come in right after you took your lunch break. There was a decent amount of books for one of New York’s oldest private libraries and only three full time employees. Betty, the head librarian, was about sixty years old and a kind old soul. She had been a librarian at this branch her entire life and defended her books with such ferocity that she had been given the nickname ‘the book witch’ by the snot-nosed little kids that mixed up the shelving in the children’s section and ‘old hag’ by the meaner ones . You swore that you saw her hit a teenager over the head with a book when he and his friends were eating in the library. David was an oddball. He was technically in charge of the technology, but the branch had only a handful of computers and, for the most part, relied on paper records to keep track of its books. In the two years you had been working with David, you never once saw him read a book unless he had to. He was a character, to say the least. 

You had been working at the library for the past two and a half years. Growing up you loved to read and went to college at NYU, studying Classic Literature before graduating a year early and deciding to get your degree in Master’s in Library and Information Science and become a librarian. You found your job to be incredibly rewarding but also very stressful. You liked helping people find new books and seeing them get excited about books. However, you were constantly hounded by mounds of paperwork and phone calls and constant organization. During your first week, you had made the mistake of re-organizing the disheveled back room and had apparently done such a good job that Betty decided to put you in charge of all things ‘organized’ and gave you control of the library’s extensive records. You assumed that you had managed it fairly well. Housing thousands of books and newspaper records whilst still using the Dewey Decimal system, it had been a nightmare to digitize everything. The project had occupied a few months of your time but at the end of it, nobody complained and all files were straightforward and easy to find. It was all smooth sailing. 

While sitting at the front desk that afternoon you longed for the book that you were forced to abandon in the break room. Your felt stomach start to complain about the ignored lunch and you were about to go back to grab your sandwich during a rare dead-period when Betty walked over with someone.

 The man next to Betty had messy dark brown hair and a neatly shaped goatee. He wore an old Black Sabbath t-shirt and shaded sunglasses and walked with such confidence and swagger that he was easily recognizable. Tony freaking Stark. 

‘What the hell is he doing here?’ you wondered to yourself. 

“Ah, Mr. Stark, this is who I was talking about. She’s the best librarian and archivist I have ever worked with.” Betty smiled through her rectangle glasses. 

“Thank you,” you beamed, slightly flustered by the compliment, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

“The pleasure’s all mine. All my prayers have been answered. You are really going to save my ass.” 

Though you had heard that Stark had a unique and slightly confusing way of talking, you were not expecting this. How could you help him? He was a genius. “How exactly am I going to do that, Mr. Stark.”

“Call me Tony. I have a slight problem that I could use your help with.” He began, “Back when we were just starting out a few years ago, after the New York alien invasion disaster, we were supposed to log everything and do debriefs and paperwork and all that stuff but we didn’t exactly know what to do with all of it so it kind of all just got piled up in filing cabinets and boxes. That wasn’t that big of a problem but now we’re supposed to share our records with the UN and they’re a disaster. None of us have any idea how to do it- not that we have time to- so that’s where you come in.” 

“So you want me to organize it all for you?” 

“All of it, by March 26th.” Your eyes widened. That was only three weeks away. Who knows how bad it was? Still, it was Tony Stark and he would probably be willing to pay pretty well. 

“Just as long as Betty and David will be able to manage without me-” you began, but Betty interrupted your only excuse. 

“We’ll be fine, dear.” She smiled, and you could tell that she was trying to encourage you to take the job. The library would survive despite the massive increase in work that she and David would have to endure. 

You looked from her to Stark, who was leaning against the desk and smiling also, then back to Betty. You felt bad about leaving Betty and the library but the opportunity to work with Stark was too alluring. “Okay, okay. I’m in.”

“Okay great! That was easier than I thought it would be.” Tony said, clapping his hands and standing up straight. “I’ll see you at 9 tomorrow, Happy will give you more info, here’s my card,” his mouth was moving faster than you expected and words were being thrown out that you didn’t understand. Who was Happy? Did he want to meet you at the Avenger’s Tower? Before you had even realized what you just got yourself into, Tony Stark was out the door.

You breathed out, muttering a curse word that you hoped Betty didn’t hear. You stood up from the desk and she walked over to you. Clasping her hands around yours she smiled again, “Congratulations, I am so proud of you, dear.” 

“No fucking way, Tony Stark wants you to come organize the Avenger’s records!?” David asked for the millionth time while the two of you were sorting the book returns. 

“I swear to god, David, it was him.” You were starting to get annoyed. David seemed more excited about your job than you were. “I have no idea how bad it is. I only have three weeks to get everything in order.”

“Oh, shit, you might be screwed then. How long did it take for you to get this branch in order?”

“Two, three months. But I also had other stuff to do, it wasn’t like my main job.” 

“You’re gonna be fine. You’re smart and capable and it can’t be that bad. Plus just remember how much he’s probably gonna pay you.” 

“Yeah,” you began but a buzz in your pocket distracted you. You pulled it out to find a text from an unknown number “Hey, I bet this is him with the info, I’ll be right back.” 

This is Happy. 

Avengers tower, 9 o’clock, front entrance. 

Don’t be late. I will meet you in the lobby. 

[porkcracker]

Hello!!

I just wanna say I really liked your Optimus father figure headcannons and Ratchet grandpa figure headcannons! It was really nice!

I was wondering if you can do a oneshot of those headcannons with a Non-binary reader? I think it'd be really wholesome and nice to see ^^

I was staring at this ask for a very long time and man I wish I had time to answer it quicker, because it hits some buttons. I'm happy you liked my headcanons btw. Still being probably months late, I still hope you enjoy this.

Dad!Optimus & Grandpa!Ratchet & NB!Reader It had been in no way your fault, but nonetheless you still found yourself shrinking into yourself as Optimus looked at you with a disappointed look in his bright blue optics. As the oldest of the humans on base, you had taken to watching over the three younger ones. Which as a result lead to you being equally in trouble, when they got in trouble and like in moments like this had broken something. You had been busy with yourself for a few minutes, so there was no clear way to say who had started it, but by the time yells and screams had drawn your attention they were running around the base, chasing each other with water guns.

To a degree you could understand them, the summer was hot, and even the base could grow uncomfortably warm at the height of the day, but to use water guns? Around a lot of technology? An exasperated sigh had left you, and you had to move to stop them, yelling after them. Alas, too late, an over enthusiastic shot from Miko had missed its intended target of Raf and instead hit Ratchets workstation. You watched with bated breath hoping it would do no damage, relaxing as it seemed to be fine and turning to the equally frozen kids, when there was a crackling noise and just as you turned back around the previously lit display darkened.

As the Bots returned, the children and their guardians were quickly sent on their way to bring said children home, which left you alone with Optimus and Ratchet. Ratchet had not left his damaged station since returning, attempting to fix the damage. Optimus on the other hand had turned to you. Which was what had led to this moment. The big bot wasn't angry, but the disappointment in his optics was far more disheartening in your opinion. Disappointing Optimus never sat right with you at all, not that you had been at this point very often before. No, rather, you were far more commonly sitting on his shoulder and conversing with him.

"(Y/N), I'm very glad that you watch the younger ones when you're alone at base, but if you need help than please do tell me. I would not want you to be overwhelmed by watching three other humans by yourself. I am quite sure, leaving one of the others at base to help you, would be manageable.", his voice was as gentle as always and perhaps the fact that he was seemingly more concerned for you than the damaged equipment and even considered leaving someone at base was worse. With the Deceptions being more experienced fighters and having no qualms, leaving someone to watch would be impractical. While usual Ratchet was at base, he was ready to leave base when necessary, so to stop that would be impractical.

Still you nodded and watched, still hunched into yourself, as Optimus joined Ratchet to look at the damage from the equipment. Coming to a decision, the next day, when the Bots and the kids left base, you made your way towards the workstation and had a closer look at the damage. It was quickly clear why such technically minimal water damage made this much trouble. The cables were sized for humans and while it must have been hard to connect when building the station it had no casing then and no it did, making it even harder for big cybertronian hands to work half hidden small human cables.

It didn't take long to get a torch and a few tools from your back, something you carried with you just in case, since you had started to get along better with Ratchet, often listening to his stories and grumbled life advice. Once back at the workstation, you turned the torch on and climbed into the casing of the workstation and working along the few small cables that needed to be fixed. Fixated on your work, it only registered that Optimus and Ratchet had come over, both not out with the others, when they began to talk, or well you assumed began to talk as you hadn't registered it before.

"It's almost amusing to watch you, how do the humans say it, mother hen them.", the sentence made you slow in your work with curiosity, wondering if they were talking about the other kids, your curiosity mirrored by the confused tone of Optimus. "What do you mean, old friend?" "Hah, it's obvious. (Y/N), you talk like you're their creator.", the way Ratchet said it was not judgemental, rather it seemed genuinely amusing. "I-", Optimus began, but was cut almost off immediately by a yelp. Both bots snapped their helms around, looking around, pinpointing the origin just as you crawled out of the casing of the workstation, your finger bleeding where you had slipped at the answer of the medic.

Before you could even fully get over the hem of the workstation, Ratchet scooped you up and walked off with words of chiding for injuring yourself. As much as Optimus had been caught off-guard by the words of his old friend, reflecting on them proofed them true. But alas, at least he was not the only one, he mused quietly as he watched said old friend fret over your cut with a rare care in his optics.