#RAID (Invention)

[2383-lines-of-code]

the best part abt growing up with a sister is the couple of years where u both wear the same size and u can steal her clothes

[thewindywielder]

A Shadow bites Ven's ankle.

"OW!" The boy yelped as he lifted his foot away from the Shadow, "What was that for?" He looked down at his ankle, "That hurt!"

[gaylor-moon]

Andrea Velez, a US citizen, was arrested in the time it took her mother to drive less than a block. She was on her way to work. She’s Latina. It appears that was enough. Tuesday morning, Andrea Velez’s mom and sister dropped her off near her workplace. She’s a production coordinator at Top Pick Global. Andrea graduated with a degree in fashion from Cal Poly Pomona. Near Andrea’s work, an ICE raid was taking place. In fact, someone had called the LAPD to say a “kidnapping” was taking place. The LAPD showed up, saw it was an immigration raid — LAPD is not permitted to assist ICE in immigration raids — and immediately switched to crowd control, making sure people weren’t in the street and so on. As Andrea walked toward her place of employment, she says she looked up and saw an ICE agent barreling toward her. In the flash of thoughts that went through her mind, she thought maybe she was being targeted for the color of her skin, that maybe he thought she was not a US citizen. She instinctively held up her bag and the agent bowled into her. Her mother — they hadn’t even made it a block away yet — looked in the rear view mirror and saw the plainclothes ICE agents standing over her daughter and putting her in cuffs. “They’re kidnapping your sister,” she said. Andrea tried to get the LAPD to help, and so did her mother and sister. According to her mother and other witnesses, no one ever asked Andrea for ID or asked about her status. The police didn’t help, even when Andrea’s mother was screaming she was a US citizen. In fact, according to some witnesses, they moved to stand around Andrea to make it more difficult to film what was happening. For the first 24 hours, her family couldn’t find Andrea. They didn’t know where she had been taken or what was happening. They hired lawyers who managed to find her, but no one would tell them what she was being charged with, only that she would likely face federal charges. DHS publicly said she would be charged with “assaulting an officer.” When they got to court yesterday, ICE lawyers downgraded that to “obstructing” an officer. An ICE officer claimed that Andrea purposely stepped in his way and raised both of her arms to stop him from going after someone he was trying to arrest. Witnesses tell the story the way Andrea does: an ICE agent approached her, knocked her down, then arrested her without asking any questions about her status or identity. Andrea, her lawyer, her mother and sister all have the same theory: during an ICE raid an ICE agent saw a Latina and scooped her up because of the color of her skin, and had to invent another reason once it was discovered she was a US citizen, born and raised in Los Angeles. Andrea was released on a 5k bond yesterday.

Immigration officers have recently taken to arresting Latino and Hispanic US citizens on raids and claiming obstruction or assault, only to release them a few days later, sometimes without charges. On June 12th, for instance, Brian Gavidia walked outside his work and saw immigration officers. He told them he was a US citizen and showed them his Real ID. They pushed him up against a fence and started asking him questions like “What hospital were you born in.” DHS later said he had “assaulted an officer” -- video evidence does not back this up -- but they didn’t charge him. Or return his ID. (A common pattern: DHS will say something like this on social media, but not in court. It appears to be a PR stunt, not any attempt at communicating something true or legally actionable.) When CNN reached out to DHS on this one they added that Brian “attempted to flee” as well, which is remarkable given that he’s a US citizen who literally just stepped outside his place of work. Adrian Martinez, 20, had a run-in with Border Patrol on his break at WalMart. It sounds like — this is unclear — he tried to obstruct a BP vehicle that held one of his friends from work. Border Patrol agents grabbed him and claim that he punched one of them. Of course, a nearby bystander was recording and there is no evidence of a punch. And Border Patrol went on to say that Adrian was a “hostile group” of men, which is weird because he’s one guy… unless they are counting Oscar Preciado, the delivery driver who stood nearby and videoed the whole thing. Neither Oscar’s video nor surveillance cameras that caught the entire event show a punch. Border Patrol says that the complete videos “are missing critical moments and don’t tell the whole story.” But after holding Adrian for THREE DAYS they also dropped the assault charge. Because, as Adrian’s lawyer said, “He didn’t assault anyone.” They’re now charging him with “conspiracy to impede or injure an officer” which his lawyer calls “trumped up” charges. ICE has claimed that upwards of 70% of those they arrest are “serious criminals” but their own statistics tell a different story. In the most recent ICE stats publicly released:

75% of people in ICE private prisons have nothing more than an immigration related issue or a traffic violation

47% of those being held by ICE have no criminal conviction at all… no criminal immigration violation, traffic violation, or criminal charge of any kind.

Would you like to guess the percentage of “serious criminals” who are being held by ICE? We’ve been told over and over that we’re after the “worst of the worst” so I suspect it must be an impressive number. And that number is: NINE PERCENT. It certainly appears that the enormous daily quota for arrests is encouraging quantity arrests rather than quality arrests. Arresting a US citizen, even if you have to release them a few days later, counts toward the arrest. Arresting a tourist at the border rather than refusing them entry counts toward the quota. Arresting people at their green card interviews, tricking immigrants without lawyers into giving up their asylum claims and immediately arresting them once they agree, these all count toward the quota. Some key takeaways:

Don’t call the police expecting help during an immigration raid. Even in states like California, where they are not legally allow to assist federal immigration forces, they also are unlikely to step in and help US citizens or others being abused. Best case scenario: they do some crowd control.

ICE and other immigration forces are not afraid to arrest US citizens (and others) on trumped up charges, hold people, and release them later. There’s literally no consequences for them as individuals or corporately.

It is ICE policy to lie. This is not an exaggeration. They call it a “ruse.” ICE agents aren’t just allowed to lie, they are encouraged to do so and trained to do so. ICE agents are trained to trick and confuse people. Andrea Velez, a US citizen, was arrested in the time it took her mother to drive less than a block. She was on her way to work. She’s Latina. It appears that was enough. (x)

[avelera]

So apparently, Fortiche shared concept art where Jayce's Hexcorization in the cave would extend all the way to his face:

And this is really interesting to me from a narrative perspective, here's why:

Much of S2 Jayce's arc is incredibly... punitive. Like, he is really being punished step by step for everything he did wrong in S1. From Renni terrorizing and almost killing him for the death of her son, to Viktor leaving him "for another woman" (the Hexcore as represented by Sky) much like Jayce left him for politics as represented by Mel, there's really a sense of the narrative not only tearing Jayce down to his bare essentials (something that's very common for TV writing to do, by the way, it's very common that you want to see characters reduced down to who they are for their "long night of the soul" moment before they learn the lessons of what they really stand for before going into the climax armed with those lessons), but Jayce's time in the cave really goes even further than that and not only does S2 take away his political career, his Hextech ambitions, his state as someone able-bodied, much of his strength, and certain other gifts, it looks like in this draft they considered taking away his beauty too.

I think it would have been interesting either way if they had, but I want to dive into the narrative structure of action and punishment in Arcane, why Hexcorizing Jayce's face might have been a step too far and not really addressed a lesson he needed to learn, and my thoughts on punitive character arcs in general in Arcane (or lack thereof), specifically with regards to Jayce and Caitlyn.

I've mentioned elsewhere that I always found it interesting that much of the hate directed towards Jayce by the fans was for his perceived incompetence in difficult moments, rather than at how naturally gifted he seems to be at everything.

When I first watched S1 on my own, I thought Jayce was a bit unbearable because everything comes so easily to him (after Viktor becomes his partner and Hextech takes off as a result, that is). He is naturally beautiful, he's built like a god but doesn't appear to do any sort of exercise routine to maintain this other than working in the forge, he becomes the Man of Progress and rockstar of Piltover pretty much without trying, girls are literally sighing dreamily as he goes by.

He's also naturally a genius, from what we see, revolutionizing multiple industries with one invention. Even his rescue as a child is a literal miracle and it spurs him to create an invention that makes him a rockstar. When he enters politics, he immediately dominates, to the point where he's able to get a unanimous vote to overthrow the founder of the city within weeks of going there. Even in battle he's naturally gifted and naturally lucky during the raid of the Shimmer factory (up until the death of Renni's son), even though he has no prior skills as far as we know. He also wins the love of arguably the most beautiful woman in the series, again, seemingly without trying.

Then, S2 doesn't just take all of this away from him, it seems to go a step further into actually punishing Jayce for how easy and miraculous his life was in S1.

I'm of two minds about the Hexcorization reaching his face, but I have a hypothesis. I think it would have looked fucking rad but, I kinda get why they didn't do it:

Because Jayce's good looks are not something he can control, unlike the other things the narrative punishes him for.

Insofar as he can control his looks, he gives up on the clean-cut, immaculate "Golden Boy" image. Even in the idealized astral plane, he keeps most of the marks of his time in the pit like his hair and beard. I think it's because Jayce likes who he became down there. The clean-cut version of him was always the mask of him trying to please others, Jayce's appearance after he emerges from the cave is him shedding the opinions of others (contrast this with how Viktor idealizes himself in the astral plane, removing all marks of his illness. This isn't a criticism, just an interesting point of contrast).

So basically, my theory is Fortiche may have pulled back on Hexcorizing Jayce's face on the one hand to soften the visuals a bit, but secondly because it keeps the focus on punishing Jayce for things he chose to do, rather than things he doesn't really have control over.

But make no mistake, the narrative comes down hard on Jayce in S2, for every little thing the fans could and often did hate him for in S1. He pays for all of them, arguably in excess of what he maybe deserved, since as he says he didn't ask for any of this. But he did go along with it, and there's where the hammer of consequence (quite literally) comes down on him, tears away all his privileges, drags him down to literally the level of Viktor when he first left the undercity and says, "You have to do it all again but now focused on what really matters, and it's going to be ten times harder than it ever was."

This, in my opinion, is why Jayce is so popular coming out of S2. It is a hell of an arc, it's a hell of a redemption! You gave the man everything any man could want, then you took it all away, and then as his crowning moment of showing he has truly learned these lessons and made up for his mistakes, he makes possibly the most loving gesture possible, puts his weapons down, and reaches out to the person he loves most and literally sacrifices himself on the altar of his mistakes to make things right and show Viktor he is loved, and to protect Viktor from the horrifically lonely fate of his future self. It doesn't get any more noble, loving, or self-sacrificing than that.

Because more than we like to see a character punished we like to see them learn from their mistakes and come back better. Jayce's S2 nobility is earned, perhaps even to excess, no one can question whether he suffered enough to make up for what he did in S1 but even the most uncharitable read of him in S1, his biggest hater, would have to agree his time spent starving to death in agony, alone in that cave for months, has got to be just about the worst punishment a human can face and live.

Which is one reason I must add that I find it a little puzzling that Arcane's creators didn't predict the hate that Caitlyn would get in S2.

Keep in mind, because this is very important, the Arcane creators did not make S2 in response to fan reactions to S1. S2 was already in production and the script was locked in and done before anyone outside their organizations saw S1. So nothing that happens in S2 is as a result of fan response.

But, the creators did understand that Jayce was going to need to suffer narrative punishment for what he did in S1 in order to be redeemed, whether they predicted how hated he would be after S1, they did predict that redemption would be necessary. And boy-howdy, did they give him a hell of a redemption arc!

But Caitlyn's S2 actions are almost in lock-step similar to Jayce's S1 actions, being manipulated (by a Medarda!) into accepting power, but maybe not having a choice in the matter, but still maybe expanding that power on their own because it is useful in its own right. Caitlyn also makes terrible mistakes. A child doesn't die but people in the undercity do get hurt during her rage-fuled raids, even if most of them are mob bosses and their goons. The narrative asks, does that make it right? Caitlyn like Jayce hurts the person closest to her who is from the undercity and uses bigoted language against the people of the undercity to Vi's face in much the same way that Jayce did to Viktor on the bridge, though in Jayce's defense, he apologized immediately after.

So, seeing how hated Jayce was coming out of S1, to the point where there's still barely any merchandise of him, I'm shaking my head rather ruefully that there was so much merch made for Caitlyn this time around. And I get it! Caitlyn and Vi were very popular after S1, they are intentionally THE main romance of the show and it was a very popular romance coming out of the innocence of their meet cute in S1.

But it's a romance that dearly needed a longer third act if you wanted Caitlyn to be as embraced after her mistakes as Jayce was after making up for his all through S2. You need to give her as long or at least as in-depth of a redemption act with as much suffering and acknowledgment of her mistakes if you want Vi and Caitlyn at the end to get celebrated the way Jayce making it up to Viktor is, because as much as I understand the choice to focus on pacing instead of exposition, and I do think Caitlyn's apology and realization of her mistakes are there on the page more than people complain, I do also agree that it is a bit "blink and you'll miss it" even if it's there. Jayce got a whole episode of being thrown into the Torment Nexus for his mistakes, real or imagined, if you didn't like him or his choices, you definitely got the sadistic glee of watching life kick the stuffing out of him for what he did in S1.

But besides her fight with Ambessa, which was a result of a confluence of many events in the story, not just Caitlyn's mistakes, Caitlyn doesn't really suffer much for the mistakes she made to those she loves. Her losing an eye to Ambessa didn't happen because she said bigoted things to Vi or became a short-term puppet dictator of Piltover. It was a result of Ambessa's actions and maneuvering more than it was a result of Caitlyn's personal mistakes to her loved ones.

In contrast, Jayce's time in the pit gave him the chance to reflect on and suffer for the the mistakes he made that led to the Anomaly that led to him being down in this pit, and what he would do to make it up to his loved ones like Viktor when he returned. Caitlyn never got a moment like that and from what I'm seeing of the vitriol directed towards her, so similar to what Jayce got after S1, it seems like she really needed it if we were going to like her to the same extent again, in a way uncomplicated by lingering questions about whether she ever truly learned the lessons her character needed to learn to grow as a person.

And it's just funny to me that a narrative that was so aware that this whole huge punishment arc was needed to rehabilitate Jayce wasn't aware that we'd need one for Caitlyn too, at least if they're going to move all that merch they made for her (please give us Jayce merch, Riot, I'm begging).

[adelliet]

Bob Reynolds x f!reader

I’VE GOT YOU

Summary: Bob was injured during the mission and you helped him to ease the pain, as every good girlfriend should.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, nicknames (sweetheart, baby,…), getting caught, crying during intimacy, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, injury, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex (piv), kinda soft & dom, creampie

A/n: Hii! I hope you'll like this story/smut! If you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

By now, the team should have been back. The mission had ended hours ago, and at this point, they should’ve been crowding into the lounge of Stark Tower — laughing too loud, celebrating another successful operation, and raiding Tony’s minibar like they always did. That was tradition. That was how every mission ended.

But tonight, the lounge was silent and your nerves were beginning to spiral.

You hadn’t joined them this time. Not because you didn’t want to, but because it was your mother’s birthday. A rare family gathering, one you couldn’t skip, not even for a world-saving mission. This time, your family came first.

But it wasn’t easy. Because no matter how much you loved your family, this job… this job was your passion.

You loved the thrill, the fight, the fire in your veins as you went toe-to-toe with villains. The satisfaction of saving lives, protecting people, being someone the world looked up to. And the praise? The applause? The adoration? Yeah… that felt good, too. Especially when you had Bob by your side.

Bob had been your boyfriend for a few years now, and from the very beginning, there was something undeniable between you.

That first moment you met — it was electric. A kind of pull. Something you couldn’t name at the time, but felt deep in your chest. You didn’t rush it. The connection grew slowly, naturally.

Conversations turned into glances. Glances turned into touches. And eventually, without either of you having to say much… it became real. You were his, and he was yours.

And when the team found out, they couldn’t have been happier — cheering, clapping, raising drinks in your honor. They loved you two together.

But tonight, that love was being smothered by a rising dread. You weren’t just anxious about the team being late. You were anxious about Bob.

Because while he might be The Sentry, godlike, powerful, nearly unstoppable, that didn’t mean he was untouchable. Something could still go wrong. There were enemies that didn’t play fair. Threats that no one saw coming.

And tonight, you weren’t there to watch his back.

You paced the hallway outside the elevator, arms wrapped around yourself as your boots echoed softly on the marble floor. Your teeth gnawed nervously at your thumbnail. Every few seconds, your eyes flicked toward the elevator doors — praying they’d open.

They didn’t.

Your mind raced, inventing scenario after scenario. Maybe the car had mechanical issues. Maybe there was an ambush on the way back. Maybe one of them got hurt, maybe he got hurt —

You couldn’t finish that thought. At one point, your hand instinctively reached toward your gear, your suit, your weapon.

Your instinct was screaming at you to go. To find them, find him. You were seconds away from sprinting to the armory, from throwing caution aside and flying out there into the night — When you heard it.

Ding.

The elevator chimed and your heart jumped. Your head snapped toward the sound, breath caught in your throat. And in that single moment, everything else faded — fear, anxiety, adrenaline — all waiting for one thing.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft whoosh. Your breath caught, your eyes widened. And for a second, just one suspended, terrifying second, the world around you froze.

Yelena stood there, holding Bob upright, supporting most of his weight as he limped beside her. He looked exhausted, disheveled.

His uniform was torn, one sleeve hanging loose, and his entire body sagged as if every step was a fight. He winced with each movement, clearly favoring one leg. You didn’t wait. You ran straight to him.

“Bob— Bob, are you okay? What happened?” you asked breathlessly, eyes scanning him up and down like you could somehow make sense of the damage with sheer panic.

“I’m fine,” he said, trying to smile. “Just hurt my leg a little.”

But he wasn’t fine. You could see it, the way he winced. The way he tried to hide how much he was leaning on Yelena. His voice was too tight. Too forced.

Your eyes flicked to Yelena, and she gave you a look, equal parts tired and guilty.

“He got the worst of it,” she admitted, her voice low. “Took the hit for the rest of us. Thanks to him, we made it out.”

Something twisted in your chest. You looked at the others trailing into the hallway — laughing, bantering, more or less intact — and then at Bob, still barely standing. He was the strongest among them, and they should have protected him, too. Why was he the only one hurt?

But you didn’t say it. You swallowed your frustration, forced a small nod, and turned back to Yelena.

“Here, switch with me,” you said. She nodded wordlessly, handing Bob over into your arms. You wrapped your arm gently around his waist, guiding him through the hall and into your room. Each step he took made you wince inwardly. He was trying to stay upright, to stay strong, but you could feel how much he was hurting.

Once inside, you helped him to the bed.

“Easy,” you whispered.

Bob groaned softly as he sat down, back resting against the wall, his leg extended in front of him. His breathing was shallow.

“Okay, let me have a better look,” you murmured, crouching in front of him.

You carefully reached for the hem of his pants and began to pull them up, slowly, gently, just enough to uncover the injury.

Bob hissed between his teeth. “Shit…”

The wound was worse than you expected. Not fatal, nor hospital-level urgent. But deep, ragged, swollen, and already bruising around the edges. Blood had dried in streaks down his leg, sticking to the fabric.

“Stay still,” you said quietly. “I’ll get my med kit.”

You moved fast, crossing the room to retrieve the supplies you always kept on hand. You weren’t just another superhero with fists and reflexes. You were trained, a certified medic. In a team like yours, that made all the difference. You’d patched up more people than you could count. But this wasn’t just anyone.

This was Bob. And the sight of him, hurting like this, made your chest tighten painfully.

You returned quickly, climbing onto the bed beside him, hands steady as you laid out antiseptic, gauze, and thread. He watched you silently, eyes soft.

“You’re amazing you know that?,” he said suddenly, voice low and hoarse. “You fight like hell, patch us all up like it’s nothing… And then still find time to take care of me.”

You paused for a second, looking up at him, your hands still hovering over his leg.

“I always find time for you,” you said, voice just as quiet. He smiled — small, tired, but real.

You reached into your med kit with practiced hands, your fingers quickly finding the familiar shape of the disinfectant bottle.

But as you gripped it, your heart sank a little. You knew this part was going to hurt. A lot. Your eyes drifted to Bob, guilt flashing through you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured softly, already reaching for a nearby piece of clothing, an old shirt that had been tossed carelessly onto the bed earlier. You held it up toward him. “Here. Bite down on this.” He didn’t hesitate.

With a shaky hand, he took the fabric and pressed it between his teeth, jaw clenching as he braced himself. His eyes met yours, full of silent hope and trust, his heartbeat pounding visibly in his throat.

And just before you started, he reached out and grabbed your free hand. His fingers wrapped around yours tightly — not rough, but desperate. Like he needed something to anchor him, something solid, something safe.

You smiled at him gently and gave his hand a small squeeze in return.

“Alright,” you said softly. “Here we go.”

You uncapped the bottle and began to slowly pour the disinfectant over the wound. The effect was immediate.

Bob jerked, his entire body tensing as pain exploded in his leg. A muffled scream escaped into the shirt in his mouth. His eyes clamped shut. He squeezed your hand so tightly your knuckles turned white, but you didn’t flinch. You stayed there with him, steady as stone.

“I know, I know— I’m so sorry,” you whispered quickly, your voice calm and full of warmth as you worked. “You’re doing so good. Just a little more. I’ve got you.”

You continued pouring the liquid around and over the injury with careful precision. His breath came in short, harsh gasps. His muscles trembled from the pain. But you never stopped speaking to him. Words of comfort. Praise.

Only when the wound was fully cleaned and flushed did you finally close the bottle and place it back in the kit. You exhaled slowly, but you didn’t want him in pain for a second longer than necessary, so you gently let go of his hand, reached for the bandages, and immediately began wrapping the injury.

Each motion was efficient, but soft. You worked with purpose, but care, every loop of gauze a silent reassurance: I've got you.

Bob watched you the entire time. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. The way your brow furrowed in focus. The tenderness of your touch. The quiet intensity of your love, visible in every motion. He slowly pulled the T-shirt from his mouth and let it drop beside him, exhaling a little easier.

“Thank you,” he breathed, voice raw but sincere.

You looked up at him, raised an eyebrow, and gave a dry, ironic laugh.

“Oh sure,” you said. “I basically tortured you, and you thank me?”

He smiled, that tired, crooked grin that always melted your heart. “You made it bearable. That’s what counts.”

Once the bandage was secure, you smoothed it gently with your hand, your fingertips tracing the edge. Then, without thinking, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss right to the gauze.

Bob let out a low murmur as your lips pressed gently against the freshly bandaged wound. But it wasn’t from pain. It was a different kind of sound, something soft, something warm. Something that came from the depths of his chest.

You looked up at him with a small smile and tucked a stray lock of his hair out of his face, letting your fingers trail across his skin just a little longer than necessary.

He was watching you. But not just watching, drinking you in. As if you were salvation itself. As if you were the very last thing he’d ever want to see in this world, and if so, he’d die a happy man. Because that’s exactly what you were to him. The center of his universe.

You tilted your head slightly. “Do you want something for the pain?” you asked softly.

He shook his head, still holding your gaze. “No… well—”

You paused, mid-motion, raising your eyebrows in curiosity as you began putting away the medical supplies.

“There is one thing,” he added, his voice suddenly taking on that teasing lilt you knew all too well.

You turned toward him, the first signs of a smirk tugging at your lips. “Yeah? And what would that be?” Bob gave you a playful look.

“Can I get a kiss for the pain?”

Your face immediately flushed. You ducked your head with a soft, breathy laugh, shaking it in amusement. God, he could be so charming when he wanted to be, a total menace, really. And yet somehow, you never stood a chance.

“Sure,” you muttered under your breath, still smiling.

Then, slowly, you lifted your gaze back to his. You leaned in, closing the distance, and gently brushed your lips over his, just barely. A featherlight touch. A whisper of warmth.

But as you began to pull away, Bob’s brows drew together. That wasn't enough for him.

His hand slid up to the back of your neck with firm, but tender insistence. In one smooth motion, he pulled you in and captured your mouth in a real kiss, one that was hot, deep, and absolutely unmissable.

All the gentleness from before evaporated in an instant. Your body tensed, then melted. Your breath hitched. And for a heartbeat, or maybe more, you forgot where you were.

There was nothing but him. Nothing but his lips on yours, his fingers tangled in your hair, the heat rolling off his skin, the electricity sparking down your spine.

Your lips moved against his in a gentle rhythm —exploring, savoring. A tender dance filled with unspoken emotions, every brush of your mouth against his saying I’m here. I’ve got you.

Bob’s hand stayed at the back of your neck, grounding you to him, his fingers gently stroking through your hair. You could feel the tension slowly melt from his body — replaced by something warmer.

You pressed in just a little more. He responded immediately. The kiss deepened.

No longer hesitant or soft — now it was needy. His other hand found your waist, gripping you with just enough pressure to make your breath catch. You could feel the way he exhaled sharply through his nose, the way his lips began moving faster, his mouth opening more, inviting yours to follow.

And god, you did.

Your hands slid up over his shoulders, into his hair, pulling him closer. Your lips parted. Your tongues met.

The heat between you spiked like a lit match dropped on dry leaves. The way he kissed you… it was wild. Messy. Desperate.

Like he’d been holding it back for days, and now that he had you like this, he couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t breathe without you.

You only broke the kiss when your lungs begged for air. You pulled back slightly, your lips tingling, your cheeks flushed, your heart absolutely pounding in your chest. You were both breathless.

“Wait—” you said softly, brushing your fingers across his face. “Aren't you in pain?”

Bob blinked up at you with that dazed, blissed-out expression that made your stomach twist in the best way. And then he smiled.

“Not when I’m with you.”

That answer hit you right in the chest. You couldn’t help it. You let out a soft, breathy laugh. And then you kissed him again.

This time there was no holding back.

He pulled you against him and you leaned into the kiss with everything you had. You could feel the way your bodies fit together, how he reacted to every touch, every sound you made.

With Bob’s hands guiding your hips, you found yourself straddling his lap, your legs on either side of him, your body pressed flush against his. The kiss didn’t stop. It couldn’t stop.

His hands roamed your waist, your back, anchoring you to him as your fingers slid into his golden hair. Your mouths moved in sync, messy and greedy and breathless. The world faded around you. All that existed was this, his mouth, his touch, his heat, him.

Bob wasn’t always like this. He didn’t always kiss you with such bold hunger. He didn’t always touch you with that certain quiet confidence that now made your breath hitch in the best possible way.

In the beginning, Bob had been, without a doubt, the shyest and most adorably awkward man you had ever met. He was gentle, soft-spoken, always watching his words, always second-guessing his actions.

He was sweet, achingly so. That part of him never changed. But back then, he was hesitant. Unsure of how to move, how to approach you, how to let himself have you.

His touches had been featherlight. Fleeting. Sometimes almost nervous. He rarely initiated physical affection — not because he didn’t want to, but because he was scared he’d mess it up somehow. Like if he reached out too fast, he’d break the perfect thing blooming between you.

It was you who tore down the invisible wall between you. You were the one who leaned in first and kissed him.

The one who showed him it was okay to want, to take, to be close. Even when it came to your first sex together, it was you who led the way, guiding him, showing him it was safe, it was good, it was okay to let go.

And Bob let you. He trusted you so deeply, so purely, it made your heart ache. He admired you. Looked up to you like you were something just out of reach, even as you held him in your arms. You gave him space to breathe, to grow — and now, months later, you could see it happening right before your eyes.

His confidence was growing. Bit by bit, day by day, it bloomed. And you loved it.

That’s why now, sometimes, in the middle of kissing, you’d feel his hands tighten around your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath stutter.

Or maybe he’d trail those hands slowly over your waist, your back, your thighs — exploring without hesitation.

Every now and then, he’d even nip at your lips with a playful growl, pulling you closer like he couldn’t help himself.

Not rough. Not demanding. Just free, free with his love, his desire, his joy. And you adored every second of it.

You didn’t even realize when your hips started moving. At first, it was subtle, a slow, natural roll forward as you adjusted your weight in Bob’s lap. But when his hands instinctively tightened on your waist in response, something in you clicked.

That small shift, that tiniest reaction, made the warmth between your thighs flare up into something much hotter.

You moved again. This time slower. More deliberate. You rolled your hips forward once more, then gently back, creating just the faintest friction between your core and the growing bulge in his pants.

Bob groaned into your mouth. It was deep, low, and impossibly sexy. His lips broke away from yours just long enough to breathe, his chest rising sharply under you.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, voice rough and full of heat.

You smirked and tilted your head, letting your lips graze along his jawline as you whispered teasingly,

“Oh? Am I distracting you, Bob?”

His hands slid up your back before settling just beneath your shoulder blades.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

“Oh, I think I do,” you said with a quiet laugh, rocking your hips forward again — slower, firmer this time. The friction made you gasp softly against his lips. “You’re not the only one who’s losing their mind here…” And it was true.

Every time your hips moved, you could feel the heat building between your legs. The ache. The need.

Your body was growing desperate for more, even if your brain kept you teasing for now — just enjoying how it made both of you unravel. The way your core pulsed with every motion, every sound he made… it was driving you wild.

Bob’s breath hitched as you gave another grind, just a little harder now.

His lips caught yours in another kiss — deeper, hungrier, messier. And through every moan, every shiver, every little movement, that fire between you kept growing.

He pulled you closer, impossibly closer, his hands now back on your hips, fingers digging into your skin like he needed to feel every part of you.

“Keep doing that,” he growled against your mouth, “and I swear—”

“What?” you breathed, your lips brushing his. “What’ll you do, Bob?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but all that came out was a breathless, broken moan as your hips rolled again, slow and firm. You were torturing him. And it felt so good.

Bob was wrecked. You could feel it, his hard cock beneath you, straining against the soft fabric of his pants. You weren’t much better. The damp warmth pooling between your thighs was impossible to ignore now. Every shift of your hips sent another delicious jolt through your body.

His breath was heavy against your cheek, shaky, restrained. His forehead pressed softly to yours, and for a second… there was silence. Thick, loaded silence. Then his voice broke through it.

“Did you lock the door?” he asked suddenly, his hands still firm on your hips.

You blinked, dazed. “I… I don’t know.”

Bob paused for half a second. Maybe he thought about getting up. Maybe he meant to. But then you shifted again and the friction made both of you gasp softly. He exhaled through his nose. A defeated little groan.

“Screw it,” he whispered.

Before you could ask what he meant, his hands moved. They weren’t rough, but they were sure. Steady. He trailed one hand from your waist down, slowly, like he’d been waiting for this moment all night. The other stayed on your back, holding you close, anchoring you to him.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart pounded against your ribs like a drum.

And when his fingers found the edge of your waistband — gentle, teasing, with purpose — your whole body tensed in anticipation. The heat inside you was unbearable. Almost dizzying.

He leaned up, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered with that signature Bob softness, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t even think of stopping. All you could do was nod and melt into his touch.

You buried your face in his neck, as his fingers brushed against your wet folds. His movement was slow, rhytmically moving up and down, teasing with a smirk on his face. Every movement sent sparks rushing through your veins. Your whole body responded, arching into him, trembling against him, lips parted in barely audible sighs.

“You like that?” he asked innocently, as if he had no idea what he was doing to you, though he knew exactly what effect he had.

You were grinding your hips against the rhythm of his fingers, warm breaths falling from your lips in shaky moans as you tried to chase more friction, more contact, more him.

You nodded harshly, biting down on your bottom lip, your eyes fluttering shut.

Bob kept the same unhurried pace for a moment, watching you fall apart with a hunger in his eyes that made your whole body buzz. Then, without warning, he slipped two fingers between your folds, slow, deep, and deliberate.

You gasped sharply, your head falling back as your spine arched off the surface beneath you. Your body trembled, melting into his touch, your thighs twitching as he hit just the right spot.

The soft, broken moan that escaped you made his cock twitch inside his pants—his jaw clenched, but he didn’t rush. He wanted to take his time with you. He wanted to remember every sound, every breath, every little reaction you gave him like it was sacred.

And god, the way you looked right now—eyes half-lidded, lips swollen, body squirming under his control—it took everything in him not to lose himself right then and there.

His fingers moved with slow, deliberate intent, curling just right inside you, like he already knew what made your body tremble. You could feel the heat pooling in your belly, the pressure building faster than you expected, and still, he didn’t let up.

You moaned his name softly, a breathless whimper that made him look up at you through half-lidded eyes. He was watching you like you were the only thing that mattered, his lips parted, pupils blown wide with lust.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, at first just resting there—but the deeper his fingers went, the more precise his movements got, the harder you gripped. You tugged, desperate, pulling his head back just a little. He hissed at the sensation, his breath catching as he let out a quiet groan in response.

“God…” he muttered under his breath, his hips jerking subtly against the mattress as your moans grew louder. The way you were reacting to his touch, it was undoing him piece by piece.

His free hand slid up your waist, holding you steady as your thighs began to tremble around his wrist. Your back arched, and another sharp tug of his hair made him grunt, his cock straining almost painfully inside his pants now, but he still didn’t rush.

He curled his fingers deeper, pressed his thumb to just the right spot, and your whole body jumped.

You gasped, eyes flying open for a second before they fluttered shut again. “Bob—please, I—”

“I know,” he said, and kissed the corner of your mouth, voice hot and shaky. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Let go for me.”

And just like that, the pressure snapped.

Your climax hit like a crashing wave, rippling through every inch of you. Your fingers tightened in his hair, your legs trembled violently around him, and a long, broken cry escaped your throat. Your body arched, locked, then slowly melted back into the sheets, trembling in the aftershocks.

Bob didn’t stop right away. He eased you through every pulse, whispering soft praises against your skin—his own breath ragged, his jaw clenched from the restraint. His forehead rested against your shoulder as he slowly pulled his fingers out, his hand wet, his eyes absolutely wrecked from watching you unravel.

“You okay?” he whispered, and you nodded weakly, your lips trembling with a dazed smile.

Your body was still trembling slightly, your skin flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat. You were breathless, completely undone, and yet your gaze locked on his.

He was staring at you like you’d just knocked the air out of his lungs, chest rising and falling as if he was the one who’d just come. His cheeks were slightly pink, lips parted, eyes dark and wanting.

But then you pushed your hands against his chest, steadying yourself on him, and leaned in a little.

“That was amazing,” you whispered, your voice hoarse, a little shaky… but firm enough to make his brows twitch. “But aren’t you supposed to be the one getting pleasure right now?”

His breath hitched. Then, a soft chuckle rumbled from deep in his throat. “Maybe,” he murmured, his voice still rough. “But I love seeing you like this.”

He leaned forward, grinning like a man who was about to break all his own rules, and kissed you—hard. There was nothing gentle about it this time. His lips crashed against yours with hunger, like he needed to taste the sounds you’d made a moment ago.

You kissed him back with equal fire, fingers sliding up into his hair again, tugging lightly as you deepened the kiss. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips.

Then, without breaking eye contact, you slowly lifted yourself up on your knees, positioning yourself between his legs. You reached down, fingers ghosting along his waistband, eyes locked on his as you whispered: “Now it’s my turn.”

His pupils dilated instantly. You tugged gently at his waistband, and he sucked in a sharp breath, lifting his hips with a grunt to help you. Despite the injury, he was more than willing to let you take control.

You pulled his pants down together with his boxers, just enough to reveal the aching bulge straining against his briefs. He was hard. So hard.

Bob hissed quietly as the cool air hit him, his muscles tensing under your touch. You wrapped your fingers around him—slowly, teasingly. His head fell back with a groan, hips twitching slightly.

“Oh…” he whispered, voice tight and ragged. “Your hands are—god, baby…”

You started stroking him with a slow, steady rhythm. Your eyes didn’t leave his face—not even for a second. You wanted to see every twitch of his lips, every furrow of his brows, every stutter of his breath. You wanted to see him fall apart the way he’d just watched you.

And he was. His abs clenched, lips parting around little gasps, the muscles in his thighs twitching as he tried not to buck into your touch. His hand gripped the sheets tightly beside him, knuckles white.

“You feel so good,” you murmured, your voice a breathy purr as you leaned in to kiss just below his ear. “I want to see you lose control for me.”

He growled softly, his free hand sliding up your thigh in pure reflex. “Don’t stop,” he muttered, voice rough and needy. “Please don’t stop.”

You didn’t stop. Not even when his voice began to crack, or when his hips started bucking into your hand involuntarily, chasing every stroke like it was the last bit of sanity he had left.

Bob was panting, his jaw slack, eyes fluttering shut, brow furrowed in that beautiful, desperate way. You leaned in again, letting your breath brush against his ear, and that was it. His body jerked beneath you, and he let out a broken sound, half moan, half sob.

“I—ah—please, I can’t—” His voice shook, cracking at the edges. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes from the intensity, and he clutched at your thigh like he needed something—anything—to ground him.

You kept going. Just enough pressure. Just the right rhythm.

“You can, baby,” you whispered sweetly, lips grazing his cheek. “You’re doing so good for me. Let go.” And he did.

With a soft cry, his whole body tensed. His back arched off the bed, fingers digging into your skin as hot ropes of release spilled over your hand. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one more broken than the last. A few tears slipped free, and you kissed them away softly, smiling like he was the most precious thing in the world.

He collapsed back against the bed, chest heaving, lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes blinked open slowly, dazed, overwhelmed—wrecked.

“I… I think I saw God,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

You laughed softly and leaned in to kiss his jaw. “Told you it was your turn.”

You let him rest, wiping him down gently with a nearby cloth, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead, tracing your fingers softly along his chest. The room was quiet now, save for the sound of your breaths syncing together. You stayed close, your body pressed together.

Bob’s hand found yours, fingers intertwining lazily, his thumb stroking your knuckles.

But after a while, that hunger returned to your eyes, subtle, controlled, but unmistakable. You shifted slightly, signing that you're ready for more. He blinked up at you, still slightly breathless.

“You sure?” he asked, voice soft but already laced with anticipation. “I… I don’t know if I’ve got much left in me.” You leaned down, brushing your lips over his, your voice a gentle whisper.

“Then just lie back and let me take care of you.”

His breath hitched again as he nodded, completely at your mercy. You reached for your pants to unzip them and somehow manage to get them off together with your soaked panties.

You reached between your bodies, guided him to your entrance, and slowly you sank down onto him. A soft gasp escaped your lips as he filled you, the stretch delicious, his warmth spreading through you like fire.

Bob moaned beneath you, his hands finding your hips as his head fell back against the pillow.

“Mhm… you feel—God, you feel amazing,” he whispered.

You began to move, rolling your hips with careful, steady rhythm. Letting the sensation build between you like waves lapping against a shoreline—slow, sensual, deep. You were savoring every inch of him inside you. Bob’s hands trembled slightly on your waist, half from overstimulation, half from awe.

His head tipped back into the wall behind the bed, lips parted, soft gasps escaping as you rocked against him. His lashes fluttered, brows drawn in that way that made your heart ache.

“You’re so… warm,” he whispered, breath catching. You leaned down, your chest brushing his, and kissed him, deeply. Your tongue moved against his with lazy hunger, and he whimpered softly into your mouth. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer despite his exhausted muscles.

He kissed you like he needed it to stay alive. Like you were oxygen after drowning.

Your hips kept a steady rhythm, dragging every motion out, making him feel all of you. You whispered little praises against his lips, like spells. But the deeper you sank into each other, the more the intensity began to rise.

You started moving faster, your body hungry for him, chasing that rhythm together. Bob’s fingers dug into your hips, his breath growing louder. His body was exhausted but his need for you overrode everything.

You sat up slightly, your hands pressing into his chest again as you began to ride him properly now. Harder. Deeper.

“B-baby, please—” he gasped, tears welling in his eyes again as the overstimulation hit him full force. But he didn’t beg you to stop. He held on.

“I’ve got you,” you breathed, voice firm and loving. “You can take it, I know you can.”

And he could. He did.

Even in his spent state, he tried to meet your thrusts, hips twitching upward with what little strength he had left. His hands ran over your body like he couldn’t get enough, fingers trembling against your waist.

“I—I love you so much, I can’t—” he groaned, voice breaking. Your movements faltered for a second as those words hit, and your eyes met his, wide, open, vulnerable. And he meant it. Every word. Your chest tightened with something far deeper than arousal.

“I love you too,” you whispered, and then your lips were on his again, devouring the moment.

You rode him harder now, moaning into his mouth as your body coiled tighter and tighter. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, again and again, and his gasps turned to cries.

He was losing it, hands gripping you, moaning brokenly, muttering your name like he was afraid he’d forget it if he stopped.

And when you clenched around him just right, you felt him shudder.

“I’m gonna— I can’t—”

“You can,” you whispered against his lips, grinding down hard. “Let me feel it. Give it to me.”

And he did.

His second climax ripped through him like a thunderstorm, violent, overwhelming. He let out a desperate, shattered sob, clutching you tight as he came inside you, hips jerking uncontrollably. His whole body arched, muscles seizing, breath stolen right out of his lungs.

You followed just seconds after, crying out his name as you collapsed against him, your body trembling from the force of your orgasm. It was perfect.

You stayed there, forehead to forehead, chests pressed together, your bodies still joined. Bob was shaking beneath you, completely spent, tears still glistening on his lashes. But he was smiling. That dazed, euphoric, in love kind of smile.

“God,” he whispered, brushing his fingers weakly along your back. You kissed his cheek, tasting the salt of his tears.

“Did I ease the pain,” you whispered back, “at least a little bit?”

He laughed a soft, breathless sound. “More than a little bit darling.” He held you tighter, like he never wanted you to leave and both of you were happy, warm, still inside of each other, still connected.

Then suddenly a click. The door creaked open.

“Hey, I just wanted to check if Bob’s—”

Bucky froze mid-step. Your eyes flew open in horrified realization. Bob turned his head, blinking in confused panic.

“Oh my god—”

“SHIT!” Bucky’s eyes went wide. Like regret-wide. He immediately spun on his heel and slammed the door shut.

“NOPE—NOPE—I DIDN’T SEE SHIT!” His voice echoed faintly from the hallway, clearly scarred for life. There was a beat of absolute silence.

Then you and Bob slowly turned to look at each other with wide eyes. You were still inside him. His hair was a mess. The sheets were chaos. He swallowed loudly and then you burst out laughing. Bob followed a second later, throwing his head back with a groan.

“I swear to God,” he wheezed, voice still breathless, “I’m never going to be able to look him in the eyes again.”

You giggled uncontrollably, burying your face in his neck. “Well,” you snorted, “looks like I forgot to lock the door.”

Bob let out a helpless, high-pitched laugh, wrapping his arms around you tighter even as his cheeks burned red.

“Babe, I love you… but we’re never speaking of this again.”

“Too late,” you grinned against his skin, still laughing. “I’m gonna tease you forever.” And even though embarrassment still buzzed under your skin, neither of you moved.

You stayed like that as long as you could and even though the two of you were thoroughly satisfied and wrapped in each other’s arms, Bucky was probably out there somewhere, scrubbing his eyes with bleach.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

Have a lovely day!

BYEEE🪻🌂

[arvlelt]

pretty mechanic.

pairing - vi x fem!reader

cw - reader's attractiveness makes vi nervy, reader is a smarty pants duh, for the sake of the plot vi doesn’t like cait, fluff, teasing, etc. lmk if i missed anything.

request - For Vi, something with a fem reader, who she meets through Ekko. Reader is apart of the Firelights, a mechanic or a healer, and she's getting parts and Vi just spots her rummaging through old stuff that she's intent on using to fix a hover board, and gets all tongue tied because she was expecting some scrawny pack rat kid, not a pretty woman

w.count - 1.1k+

a/n - kinda short did w what i could, also it's not letting me tag the person that requested this so if you see this, this ones for you gang<3 not proofread

"this better not be a waste of our time," grumbled a pretty grumpy violet who was following ekko with caitlyn not too far behind.

they were on their way to maybe find some clues about powder before ekko insisted that they make a pit stop to fix his board.

ekko scoffed, "if you want my help, i'm going to need my board. which needs fixing. so i need to go to our mechanic, genius."

vi smirked, "what, you can't fix it yourself, big guy? need a lil 'ol mechanic to fix it?" her tone was teasing as ekko didn't reply.

vi thought that was the end of that and that her point was proven right at his silence.

so you could imagine her shock when she see's not a scrawny little nerd, but in fact a very pretty and fit woman.

vi felt her cheeks warming up as she eyed the woman bent over, rummaging through boxes of whatever you were looking for, vi wasn’t as fixated on that — and more on the woman in her eye frame.

she couldn’t help her wandering eyes as they examined your curves, taking in all of your body that she didn’t even seem to notice ekko and caitlyn watching her watch you.

she took in your complete outfit, short shorts that showed just enough but not a lot of your ass, fishnets underneath with a few layered t-shirts you had laying around that made you look so good.

vi seemed to sense a presence behind her she turned around with a slightly flustered expression, “who, uhm— who’s that?” she whispered. ekko couldn’t stop the shit eating grin from forming on his face.

you seemed to hear the commotion as you looked over your shoulder for a quick sec, not giving much attention to the newcomers, before going back to your little invention you were working on.

“what happened now, ekko?” he could hear the desperation in your voice as ekko had quite a habit of damaging his board after coming back from raids, which would make you pause whatever you were working on.

ekko moved past vi, caitlyn straying behind him, and walked into your work space, taking a comfortable seat on your desk next to you, "this is our mechanic, y/n! she can typically fix anything aaanddd, she's a huge help around here."

you scoffed at his praise, wiping the sweat off your brow as you turned around and vi fully saw your face.

she swore she could've fallen on her knees right then and there. you were down right gorgeous. and not just that, you for sure had to have brains. it certainly doesn't take the average person to know what they're doing with being a mechanic and fixing equipment.

vi couldn't help the words spilling out her mouth, as she suddenly felt flustered, "she's your mechanic?" sounding a little more loud than she intended to.

caitlyn was quite amused, not quite used to seeing big bad vi so tongue-tied over someone. and it's not like she could blame her.

you tried not to take offense to her little comment but your face betrayed you as you responded, "and what's that supposed to mean?" you had a bit of an attitude as you reached over and grabbed a rag, cleaning your hands of the grease.

vi could understand why, it's not like everyone in the undercity was as accepting of women doing 'man jobs'.

she winced at how she might've sounded, hands coming up in defense and immediately was fumbling over her words, "that's- that's not what i was implying-! you're.. you're just so.." she trailed off, suddenly feeling awkward under your gaze. you were looking at her with a raised brow, waiting for her to finish.

well it's not like she was implying a bad thing, you were just so pretty. and she could never imagine a pretty dainty thing like you getting your hands dirty, and honestly, she found it so hot.

"i'm soo..?"

oh vi was gonna piss herself at the tone of your voice.

ekko cleared his throat in attempt to save vi, "anways! we're here because i once again busted my board. you guessed it. so if you would be so kind," you scoffed and let go of whatever vi was trying to say and looked over at ekko, who was handing you his board.

vi swallowed hard and she could feel sweat forming on her forehead as she watched you two chatting, caitlyn grabbing her attention as she came next to her, "what's got you so.. not.. you...?" she questioned her but she knew very well what the reason was.

she was trying to tease her, honestly.

vi scoffed, rolling her eyes a bit at her question, "oh, please, you know exactly why," she walked out your workspace with caitlyn trailing behind her.

as they walked out you gave a slight glance at where they walked out before looking back at ekko, "who's that pink-haired chick? she got a problem?" you tilted your head as ekko let out a slight chuckle.

"oh, her only issue would be that you weren't trying to get at her," ekko let out a little laugh as your face dropped in shock.

well that's not what you were expecting. it's not everyday that a woman finds interest in you.

and honestly, it kind of intrigued you.

vi and caitlyn came back in, and once again vi couldn't find the will to speak in your presence. you looked at violet, this time taking a good look at her which seemed to make her blush as she felt her cheeks warming up under your gaze as you eyed her up and down.

"can i help you with something else?" your tone was kinder and more inviting as you could feel the nerves basically rolling off of vi.

vi looking to the side at caitlyn before looking back at you, "uh, just wanna know if you guys are done. we need to, uh, head out soon."

you hummed, looking at ekko and signaling for him to borrow your board, "well if it's urgent, ekko can use mine while i fix his," ekko took the courtesy of walking out, caitlyn as well.

which finally left you two alone for a split sec before the nerves got to vi again and she turned on her heel, ready to run for it.

"i didn't catch your name?" vi was going to faint, good lord.

there was no way such a pretty girl was asking for her name.

she turned over her shoulder, giving a shy smile, "violet, vi for short."

you hummed slightly in response and she watched as you moved along your workspace, grabbing ekko's board and placing it on your work desk, "well, vi, you should come by some time. let me get to know you," your back was turned to her as you started working on the disaster in front of you.

vi was going to explode. she couldn't help the little hops of victory she did quietly behind you before replying calmly.

"yeah for sure, that sounds nice."

[bring-forth-his-sac]

World of Trouble

Summary: Your Halloween costume leads to a punishment from the man himself...

Pairing: Saviors! Negan x f!reader

Tags: !NSFW! spanking, fingering, p in v penetration, (consensual) punishment sex, Negan being a cocky asshole, orgasm denial, praise kink, teasing, dirty talk, pet names, little bit of cum play ?

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: ok this fic is choppy, janky and just all over the place. I wrote it in a day and a half so it was a complete rush cause I want to get it out for Halloween so yeah, pls be kind

You thought it was funny.

After all, don’t people need a joke in times like this? Isn’t everything bleak enough? That was your reasoning when the idea initially popped into your head for the perfect apocalyptic Halloween costume.

Despite Negan being a man who loves to tell a joke, no matter how risqué or inappropriate the timing, you weren’t sure how Negan would react if he's the butt of one. 

Ever since late August, you had been wavering on the idea. Some nights you were adamant that your choice in Halloween costume would end in you being bound to the fence alongside the dead. 

In the midst of your internal debate, while out on a run, you came across the ultimate sign that set aside your indecision. 

A leather jacket.

It wasn’t an exact replica of Negan’s and it hung loosely on your frame but it was the push you needed. You already had a white t-shirt in your limited closet and you’d pay the few points needed for some black jeans. 

A red scarf was harder to come across but most definitely a necessary piece. Ever since the leaves began to fall off the trees surrounding the Sanctuary, Negan’s red scarf has been making an appearance, tucked neatly in by the collar of his leather jacket.

You had to be inventive, scavenging an old sweater and cutting it up to create a makeshift scarf that at least remotely resembled the original.

And finally, the pièce de résistance. Your trusty companion. Your very own, bootleg Lucille. 

Thankfully barbed wire wasn’t the problem. In the Sanctuary, something like that can be found stored in at least half of the supply closets, hoarded away for the fence or in case the real Lucille needs a quick spruce up.

The real issue was a baseball bat. It wasn’t as if the Saviors were regularly raiding school gyms or stadiums, and so there was hardly any sports equipment for you to choose from.

It was a struggle and eventually, you ended up with a hockey stick that some Savior decided to put into the armoury.

It wasn’t Lucille but hell, it’d have to do.

Everything was ready. You even found some long expired brown eyeshadow and decided to dab some on the bottom of your face so it looks like you have a beard. And so your look was complete, possibly the very first costume to ever exist of your fearsome leader.

And how long did it last?

40 minutes. It didn’t even take a full hour of you strutting around before word got back to Negan. 

When you imagined the impending confrontation, you assumed it would be a lieutenant telling you off as Negan spewed insults over a walkie talkie.

It’s only now, when you hear the low grating noise of Lucille dragging along the ground, growing nearer and nearer, do you realise you won’t be getting off so easily. 

Slowly turning, you bring your hockey stick decorated in barbed wire up to your shoulder, mirroring a pose you’ve seen him do plenty of times.

“Well, ho-ly shit! I don’t know whether I should be smug or freaked the fuck out!” he declares, his gaze wandering down your outfit “you’ve really out done yourself this time, doll”.

You shrug, hoping that if you seem casual about this then he’ll let it slide. “It’s Halloween” you say bluntly, hoping that’s the only excuse you need. 

Some Saviors linger around you both, a mixture of excitement and anticipation radiating from them at your Negan costume and Negan's ambiguous reaction.

“And you thought the creepiest thing you could dress up as is me?” he narrows his eyes at you, subconsciously mimicking your own pose as he lifts Lucille up onto his shoulder. 

You open your mouth to respond but no words come out, a slight sense of dread setting in. A beat of tense silence hangs in the air, thick and charged, as if the whole Sanctuary is holding its breath. 

A deep chuckle cuts through the silence as Negan clasps a hand on your free shoulder. 

“Well, fuck me, I am honored!” he beams “you even smeared some shit on your face so ya look like you got a beard! Now that’s the kind of dedication I like to see from you sorry fucks!”.

He steps away from you, letting his hand drop off of your shoulder as he raises his voice, making sure the others hear.

Relief washes over you. You could feel the tension draining from your muscles at his approval. 

“I love it,” Negan says, his voice growing serious again “but Lucille? Now Lucille here isn’t a big fan of copy cats and that limp dick excuse of a Lucille you got hanging over your shoulder? That shit just makes her see red”.

Any warmth in Negan’s eyes fade. His brows knit together as his mouth becomes a hard line, replacing any sense of humor. “And she thinks this is worthy of a punishment” he adds.

Fuck. 

Negan doesn’t wait around for your reaction, turning on his heels as he barks for you to follow. You do so hesitantly, knowing there’s nowhere to run and that this is something you’ll unfortunately have to face head on.

This isn’t the first time you’ve done something daring while living in the Sanctuary. Although, this is the first time you’ve seen him genuinely annoyed. 

Usually Negan has always appreciated your boldness, especially when most of the Sanctuary’s residents are too scared to even look him in the eye. In the past, you’ve tried to poke and prod at Negan’s authority by complaining about sanitary products costing points or the lack of blankets available to the workers during Winter. 

Grimacing to yourself as you follow behind him, you wonder if you’ve finally taken it too far.

Marching up the flights of stairs to his private quarters, you try to ignore the confused looks of others as two Negan's pass them by. 

Despite knowing you’re in for a world of trouble, a small smirk tugs at your lips, glad to have brought some sense of silly excitement to the Sanctuary.

You try not to show your shock as he brings you to his bedroom, making sure the door is locked behind you. You only take a few steps into the room before you stop and simply loiter there, watching as Negan sets Lucille down by the doorway to the ensuite before going inside. 

“Y’know there are no actual rules about impersonating so I don’t think you have the grounds to punish me” you attempt to defend yourself, setting your fake Lucille against the wall.

“Talking back won’t help your case,” Negan calls out.

You scoff out a laugh as you get distracted by his room. A part of you can’t help but wonder why a man like Negan would want half the things that litter the area: trophies from other people’s past glory, a vase, a houseplant.

“Yeah well, it’s just some fun, it’s—“ suddenly Negan’s there, right next to you with his gloved hand too close for comfort.

He cups your face, squishing your cheeks together as his other hand brings a wet cloth to your face.

“And get that shit off your face,” he does the job for you “my beard ain’t that fuckin’ bad”.

You stay quiet, not wanting the embarrassment of trying to speak with your cheeks squished and a cloth rubbing at your face.

Once he’s satisfied your face is clean, he simply drops the cloth to the floor. Negan looks down at your attire “Well hot damn, good news is my style is incredibly sexy… but no matter how hot you look, thanks to me, you know I can’t let your shit slide anymore, sweetheart”.

You frown, a challenging look in your eyes.

“I’m serious, you’re pissing off too many Saviors with the shit you pull,” he yanks off his scarf, letting it land on the couch “and now, with this, you’ve forced my hand”. 

Next, Negan takes off his leather jacket, inadvertently showing off some tattoos as he delicately places it on the back of his armchair. 

“You know I gotta give you some kinda punishment… but that don’t mean it can’t be enjoyable for the both of us” he continues.

The smirk on his face says it all. 

And just like that, it all makes sense. Of course he would bring you up to his bedroom and not to the cells when this is what he has in mind.

You shrug, some of your spirit returning in the form of a playful smirk “What? You gonna spank me?”.

“You want me to?” He unbuckles his belt and slowly pulls it through the loops of his jeans, the material hissing as it moves. 

Negan has never been a man to bluff.

You try to act nonchalant but you can feel your cheeks heating up. “Maybe,” you play it coy “will you iron off half my face even if I say yes?”.

Now it’s Negan’s turn to shrug. “That depends, this a trick or a treat?” he asks.

Normally you’re not this bold. Maybe leather jackets give people unlimited confidence? That seems to be the only solution as you walk over to his couch and place both hands on the armrest. You bend forward just enough for Negan to see your intent.

You glance back over your shoulder, your eyelids at half mast as you throw him a sultry look. Negan keeps his eyes locked on to yours, his boots heavy on the floorboards as he walks up behind you.

The leather of his glove growls as he places his hand on the centre of your back and pushes you down further. 

There’s no point in ignoring how your pussy throbs as he makes sure your head is against the couch cushions and your ass is up in the air, the armrest providing the perfect support.

“That's what I thought“ Negan praises, his hand slowly making its way down to your ass. 

“And I thought I was getting punished, not a yoga class” you goad.

Negan doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t even wait or let the anticipation of his response build. He goes straight for it, smacking your backside hard enough to leave a handprint. 

A gasp leaves your lips, the sensation more stingy than it is painful. You have little time to prepare yourself as Negan wraps his belt around his hand.

“Just relax, baby,” he instructs softly, his tone in complete contradiction to his actions “and be grateful I’m letting ya keep your jeans on… for now”. 

Despite your thin layer of clothes acting as a barrier, the belt bites into your flesh. The sound of the belt whistles through the air before meeting your ass with a sharp crack. He does it over and over again, alternating between cheeks. 

You hiss at the sudden heat, your body clenching as the pain morphs into a dark, intoxicating pleasure.

“Well, damn!” Negan exclaims approvingly, momentarily stopping “you’re taking this like a trooper, ain’t ya?”. 

He pauses and you wonder if he’s waiting for a response. You swallow, your throat dry from the amount of gasps you’ve let out in such a short span of time. 

But before you can answer, you feel it. Not the belt. Not his hand delivering another slap. This time, it’s him; proud and unabashed as he brings his clothed crotch right against your ass. 

Suddenly, the belt didn’t seem too hard.

“I think it’s about time I see my work of art” he declares, pressing his hips forward to make sure you feel his entrapped boner.

For a man so brutal, Negan’s touch is gentle as his fingers glide around the waistband of your jeans. He lets his touch linger there for a few moments, waiting for your sign of approval. 

You’re well aware of Negan’s ego and how he wants to know just how badly you need him. He yearns to see that raw desire. As much as you want to banter back at him again, your brain fogs with need and you push back against him, your sore ass rubbing against his bulge.

He responses with a grunt as his hands slowly leave your waistband, too distracted to continue. Negan has something else in mind as he gives a slight tug of your hair, gesturing for you to stand upright.

You don’t even have time to turn to face him, your ass still snug against the tent in his pants as he roughly pulls you in for a bruising kiss.

His hand fists your hair, holding you in place as he devours you. Desperately trying to keep up, your breaths come out in short, sharp pants between desperate kisses.

Negan keeps his hand in your hair, using it to manoeuvre you away from his couch and over to the bed. The only time he takes his hands off of you is when the back of your legs hit against the soft bedsheets. 

The second you’re able, you take off your leather jacket, watching Negan follow suit as he begins shedding his clothes.

Your jeans are the worst to take off, the rough denim scratching it’s way across your sensitive backside as you quickly discard it. Once you get to your bra and panties, you stop, wanting Negan to take off the rest.

Negan doesn’t have the same sense of modesty as you, not stopping until he’s completely bare. Sitting back on the bed, you bite your lower lip and shamelessly dart your eyes across his body. 

The dark curls that cover his chest, the tattoos that scatter across his body, the happy trail of body hair that lead you lower, to where he stands erect and proud.

You gulp.

Negan joins you, kneeling on the bed in front of your body as he studies you. With a hum, he shakes his head. “No, this won’t do,” he tuts.

As the words hit you, a wave of self-consciousness washes over you. Whatever excitement that was evident in your face slowly drops away and you do nothing but blink up at him, waiting for Negan to continue.

“Yeah, I’m gonna want to fuck you in the leather jacket,” he elaborates “now that would be hot as all hell and I ain’t letting that jacket go to waste on my bedroom floor”.

You rolls your eyes as you let out a breath. “You fucking asshole” you huff, well aware that Negan was being vague on purpose just to toy with you. 

He chuckles, unable to deny your accusation. “Careful baby, you start insulting me like that and you’ll be getting another spankin” he threatens playfully, though you know he’s being serious. 

Negan leans down, almost hovering over you as his hands gently touch your bra straps. 

“But first, you got more layers to shed” Negan lets each strap fall to your arms before his fingers deftly work the clasp of your bra, the metal giving way easily. 

Without looking where it lands, Negan lets your bra drop to the side. You feel utterly exposed to his hungry gaze, watching as he drinks in the sight of you. 

A groan leaves him as he reaches out, his calloused hands gently cupping the weight of your tits. His thumbs brush over your pert nipples, making your squirm at the contact. 

“You going to play with my titties all day?” You question, hoping to spur him into action.

“It’s a punishment, doll,” he reminds you, bending to the side to pick up your leather jacket “if I decide all I want to do is stare and watch you finger that sweet little pussy till it’s raw, then that’s what’ll happen”.

“And is that what you want?” You ask, trying to maintain any self control you have. Part of you would actually apologize for your costume if it means getting his dick closer to your pussy.

“Nah, I want you to sit back and really think about what you did,” giving the jacket a quick shake, he spreads it out over your shoulder “think you can do that for me, darlin?”.

Making sure the jacket is secure over your shoulders, you adjust it to make sure your tits are still in view. “I guess I could try” you reply in a flirtatious tone, scooting back against the pillows.

“On the bright side, even though this is a punishment, I’m still a fuckin’ gentleman,” he says with a proud grin. 

You're quick to notice how his hands inch up past your thighs and towards your panties. Hooking a finger underneath them, Negan gives a slight tug “So I’m gonna need to loosen you up before I fuck you senseless”.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you gently lift your hips. That cocky smile never leaves his face as Negan slowly drags your panties down your legs. In an instant, they’re gone from view and end up on the floor alongside the rest of your clothes.

Negan’s eyes lock onto your core, unable to help himself as he reaches out and parts your folds.

“Fuck, you’re that wet already?” he says it like a question despite the answer being on his fingertips. You bite your lip as his fingers brush against your wet, swollen flesh. 

With a groan, Negan plunges two fingers into your warmth, scissoring them apart to stretch you out. You moan out, your back arching as he sets a steady pace. 

“Y-yes,” you gasp out when the pad of his thumb finds your clit “keep doing that!”.

Negan curls his fingers upward, targeting your g-spot. The look on his face is like a kid at Christmas, completely elated to have his fingers deep in your pussy.

He adds a third finger, pumping them in and out of you, listening to your moans and gasps to gauge how close you are. Leaning down, Negan meets your arched body and nips at your breasts.

His mouth brushes against your skin as he tuts “C’mon now, don’t tell me you’re about to cum already!”.

You nod frantically, hands clutching at the bedsheets “Yeah, yeah I’m ready, I’m gonna—“.

Negan chuckles darkly and before you can reach your high, his fingers slow their pace.

“Oh, I don't know about that," he pulls his fingers out abruptly and gives your clit a light tap with them "you haven't earned that privilege yet, baby". 

Your mind is in a haze as he licks his fingers clean, tasting you. It takes a few moments for your brain to compute what he’s denying you. 

“I…” you begin but you trail off, your throbbing pussy begging for release “Negan, please, I— I get it, ok?”.

His smile softens slightly and if anything, it only makes you more wet. “I know you get it now,” he agrees, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek “maybe, sweetheart, just maybe… if you beg nice enough, I'll let you cum on my cock instead”.

You take his words as a challenge. Throwing out all sense of pride, you babble on “Please! Y-yeah I just, I need you inside of me, please Negan, I’ll be good”.

Every word goes straight to his dick. 

Negan takes a moment to truly savour the sight of you begging and writhing under him, knowing this is some top notch jerking material he can use at a later date. 

"Now that’s what I like to hear" he praises, positioning himself between your thighs. He grips your hips and thrusts into you in one smooth motion, filling you completely.  

Even though the sudden stretch and fullness makes you feel breathless, you practically shout out “Negan!". 

He pauses but only for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size. “Shhhhhhh,” he coos, his tone bordering on patronising “best be quiet before you wake up the wives, I’d hate to make those gals jealous”.

With a low groan, Negan begins to move, pulling back almost to the point of withdrawal before slamming into you once more. The leather jacket beneath you squeaks, each thrust pushing you further up the bed.

You can feel every inch of him, the primal yearning to cum on his cock sounding more and more appealing. Negan’s chest heaves as he labors over you, his body glistening as he works up a fine sheen of sweat. 

He doesn’t know where to look. His eyes dart everywhere, trying to take in each part of your body. Negan watches your face, the desperation to cum etched into each expression. Of course he watches your tits too, seeing them jiggle with each thrust he gives you. 

But his favourite part to watch is how well you‘re taking him. To see how your pussy welcomes each inch, letting him go flush against you every single time.

Bringing his gaze back up to your eyes, he pistons into you. “You’re close, I can feel it” he says with a clenched jaw, trying to hold off. 

“Please!” is the first word out your mouth followed quickly by a gasp as Negan goes for your clit again. His thumb rubs firm circles around the sensitive nub, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

You inner walls clench desperately around his cock and before you know it, everything crashes around you as you finally cum.

It’s as if your whole world blurs together and all you can focus on is his cock deep inside of you. 

Your pussy spasms violently around him, your vision whiting out as you moan loudly. Negan wants nothing more than to feel your sweet pussy throb around him but he knows he can’t hold off any longer. 

He quickly pulls out and thrusts into his hand to finish. His cock glistens with your juices before Negan unloads a thick load right onto your tits. 

You both pant, taking a brief moment to come down from your respective highs.

“Look at those beautiful titties,” Negan breaks the silence, admiring his handiwork “just when I thought they couldn’t look any better”.

Gently bringing a hand up, you run your finger along one of the lines he’s painted. “If I knew this is what the punishment would be, I would’ve pissed you off a lot sooner” you say breathlessly.

Negan hums as he flops down beside you, his eyes glued to how your fingertips play with his load. 

“Maybe you should’ve,” he replies “or maybe this is a sign that we should have some fun like this more often”.

You bite back your smile “Maybe it’s both?”.

“But y’know I can’t really just be going around screwing anybody and everybody,” he continues, making you pause, unsure where this is going “it’s bad for the image, y’know?”.

Your expression doesn’t change.

Negan takes in your confused look, trying to put the pieces together for you. “I mean, I don’t think the wives would appreciate me screwing around… unless, of course, I was screwing around with another wife…”.

“Oh”.

That’s all you feel as though you can say. A part of you immediately tries to rationalise this, trying to convince yourself that you’ve got the wrong end of the stick here. 

“Goddamn, did I really fuck you that hard?” Negan laughs “I’m asking you to marry me, baby, you should be jumping for joy right now!”.

You sigh, bringing your non-sticky hand up to your face “Negan…”.

“Negan, yes?”.

“Negan, I’m covered in your jizz and you’re seriously asking me this?! Now?!?” You exclaim. 

He stops for a moment, taking in your words. “Huh, ok, good point,” Negan grunts as he gets up, giving you a great view of his ass “I’ll go get some towels and you think about it, yeah?”.

Before you have time to reply, he’s walking into his ensuite “And I want an answer when I come back!”. He disappears into the adjoined room, turning on the light.

You lay back, allowing the pillows to practically consume you. The thought passes through your mind if only for a split second.

It wouldn’t be that bad to be yet another wife, would it? All you’d have to do is look pretty and have good sex… and never socialise with anyone else… and only be seen as one of his wives and nothing more.

You close your eyes, hoping that would prolong the impending decision.

Letting out a long sigh, you curse “Fuck”.

[dontmean2bepoliticalbut]

On 7/31/2019 Trump has a private meeting with Putin. On 8/3/2019, just 3 days after his private meeting with Putin, Trump issues a request for a list of top US spies. By 2021 the CIA reports an unusually high number of their agents are being captured and/or being murdered. During the search executed at Mar A Lago the FBI find more documents with lists of U.S. informants on them.

A Timeline

• FBI wiretapped Russian gambling ring headquartered at Trump Tower for two years - March 21, 2017

• Trump revealed highly classified information to Russian foreign minister and ambassador - May 15, 2017

• Trump, Putin Meet For 2 Hours In Helsinki - July 16, 2018

• Rand Paul Goes To Russia And Delivers Letter For Trump, Marking Our Era Of Irony - August 9, 2018

• Following the Money: Trump and Russia-Linked Transactions From the Campaign to the Presidential Inauguration - December 17, 2018

• The US extracted a top spy from Russia after Trump revealed classified information to the Russians in an Oval Office meeting - September 10, 2019

• Trump’s Loose Lips Force US to Extract Spy From Kremlin - September 10, 2019

• Was Mar-a-Lago Trespasser a Tourist or a Spy? A Judge Said Her Story Didn’t Hold Up. - November 25, 2019

• Trump downplays massive cyber hack on government after Pompeo links attack to Russia - December 19, 2020

• Russia has been cultivating Trump as an asset for 40 years, former KGB spy says - January 29, 2021

• There was Trump-Russia collusion — and Trump pardoned the colluder - April 17, 2021

• Longtime GOP operatives charged with funneling Russian national’s money to Trump, RNC - September 20, 2021

• Captured, Killed or Compromised: C.I.A. Admits to Losing Dozens of Informants - October 5, 2021

• Files Seized From Trump Are Part of Espionage Act Inquiry - August 12, 2022

• Ex-Clinton aide implies 'President of France' file found at Trump's home during Mar-a-Lago raid could be valuable to Putin as 'kompromat' - August 13, 2022

• Inventing Anna: The tale of a fake heiress, Mar-a-Lago, and an FBI investigation - August 22, 2022

• Russians used a US firm to funnel funds to GOP in 2018. Dems say the FEC let them get away with it - October 30, 2022

• Trump makes shocking comments about trusting Putin over US 'intelligence lowlifes' - January 31, 2023

• Russia's Prigozhin admits links to what US says was election meddling troll farm - February 14, 2023

• GOP operative sentenced to 18 months for funneling Russian money to Trump- February 17, 2023

• Trump allegedly discussed US nuclear subs with foreign national after leaving White House: Sources - October 5, 2023

• 'So appalled': What witnesses told special counsel about Trump's handling of classified info while still president - April 24, 2024

🤔🤔🤔

[stargrillzz]

Sun or Moon

summary:

note: this is specifically dedicated to @samwinchesterisawhore, @softpia, @rev-glut, @eywas-heir bc they were the emotional support I needed to make this a love triangle😭💕. This is gonna be really light, bc Ive never wrote anything with three people on it, but if u like let me know if you want something more...spiceiiiiii.xoxo

The lab hummed softly with its usual low-tech symphony — gentle pulses of light, the occasional whir of the stabilizer core, and your steady voice murmuring to yourself as your hands danced over the holographic interface. Blueprints hovered in mid-air, layers of your custom tech unfolding and reforming as you ran simulation after simulation. The machine wasn’t finished yet — it wasn’t even close — but it was getting there, and something about working in your dad’s old lab made everything feel more real. More personal. Like he was still here in the walls.

You didn’t hear Bob walk in — his footsteps were too soft. But you felt him, warm and familiar as he slipped behind you and gently slid his arms around your waist, the solid weight of his chest pressing against your back. His chin rested on your shoulder, and his breath tickled your neck.

“You know,” he murmured, low and fond, “if this is what genius looks like, I’m in trouble. I’m falling for it. Hard.”

You laughed, instinctively leaning into him with a grin tugging at your lips. “Bob... you keep saying that. I’m starting to think you like me.”

“Oh, I’m way past like,” he whispered, brushing his nose just under your jaw. “You’re gonna have to invent a word for what I feel.”

Behind the glass wall of the lab, just outside the threshold, Bucky had stopped in his tracks.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He’d come to ask you about access codes for a training module — something practical, normal — but when he saw the way Bob was holding you, the easy way you leaned into him, the sound of your soft laugh echoing against the walls… something deep in his chest seized up.

His eyes narrowed. His lips pressed into a hard line, and the exhale that escaped his nose was sharp, annoyed — almost like a growl.

Yelena, who had been walking beside him and chewing lazily on the last bite of her protein bar, caught the entire shift in his body language. She tilted her head and followed his line of sight.

“They’ve gotten really close,” she said, sounding casual, but there was a knowing edge to her voice.

Still staring at you, Bucky muttered, “They did.”

Yelena watched him for a second longer, then smirked. “It’s kinda cute.”

He didn’t answer. He just clenched his jaw and turned on his heel, walking away with a muttered, “Yeah, adorable,” leaving Yelena shaking her head behind him with a sly little grin.

Later, the lights in the lounge had been dimmed to cozy, and the scent of popcorn and takeout drifted lazily through the air. Someone had picked a classic — Back to the Future maybe, or something equally nostalgic — and the massive screen in Stark Tower’s entertainment room flickered with warm, vintage color as the team settled in.

Bob walked in beside you, your arms brushing with every step. You were still giggling about something ridiculous he’d said on the way there — something about how Tony probably had a secret hoverboard in the basement. As the two of you dropped down on the couch, he casually slung his arm across the backrest behind you, not quite touching, but close enough to count.

“Remind me to raid your dad’s storage,” Bob whispered. “Bet he’s got a real DeLorean somewhere under a cloaking field.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “Only if you’re prepared for it to be booby-trapped.”

At that moment, Bucky stepped into the room, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, looking around like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay.

You turned your head and spotted him instantly. “Hey, Bucky!” you called, smiling and patting the cushion on your other side. “Come sit with us!”

He hesitated — just for a second — then moved toward you, settling down stiffly. He didn’t look at Bob. He didn’t need to.

You leaned into him just slightly, happy to have him there, but the tension in his shoulders was impossible to miss.

As the movie played, Bob leaned over now and then to whisper something that made you laugh — sometimes a dumb comment about the actors, sometimes a subtle brush of his fingers on your arm. You were relaxed, comfortable, unaware that every one of those moments made Bucky’s jaw a little tighter.

He leaned over suddenly, voice low and close to your ear. “You cold?”

You blinked. “No... why?”

“You’ve got goosebumps.” His fingers lightly skimmed your arm. “Must be me, huh?”

You gave him a curious smile, a little surprised. He didn’t usually flirt like this — not with you. Not openly.

Bob glanced over, his eyes narrowing slightly before looking back to the screen. Bucky leaned back with the barest smirk on his lips, clearly satisfied that he’d been noticed.

And you, caught in the middle, started to feel the air crackle — something unspoken tightening between the two men at your sides.

The clang of gloves on punching pads echoed through the training room. Sweat slicked your back as you spun into a kick, blocked easily by Bob. You grinned, catching your breath.

“Getting better,” you teased, circling him. “Still a little slow on the left, though.”

“Yeah?” he said, wiping a bit of sweat from his temple. “You gonna correct me again?”

You feinted right, ducked left, and swept his legs — but he caught you, laughing as you both tumbled. When the dust settled, you were both on the mat, tangled, breathless — and for just a second, you were chest-to-chest, his face hovering inches from yours.

That was the exact second Bucky walked in.

His boots thudded hard against the floor as he crossed the room in long, fast strides. “What the hell is going on?”

You and Bob scrambled up, surprised. “Sparring?” you offered, a little confused.

Bucky didn’t look at you. His eyes were locked on Bob. “You think I’m an idiot?”

Bob stood, his hands raised slightly. “It’s training, man. Chill.”

“Training?” Bucky repeated, voice rising. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? The little touches, the whispering, always crawling around her like a shadow?”

Bob’s expression hardened. “It’s not like that.”

“The hell it isn’t.”

Bucky shoved Bob, hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “I brought you here to protect you, to give you a place, and this is how you thank me? Trying to steal her from me?”

“Steal her?” Bob’s jaw flexed. “She’s not yours, Bucky.”

“No,” Bucky snapped, his voice cracking, “but she’s not yours either. So stay the fuck away from her. I’m not saying it again.”

Silence fell across the room like a dropped weight.

Bob looked like he was about to snap. His hands clenched at his sides. His body tensed, ready to strike — until he looked past Bucky and saw you.

You weren’t angry. You weren’t yelling.

You were just... hurt. Standing there quietly, watching with wide eyes and a deep sadness etched across your face. Like this was something you didn’t want — something you’d hoped would never happen.

Bob exhaled hard through his nose. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his boots heavy on the floor as he disappeared through the doors.

Bucky stayed where he was, his chest heaving, fists still tight. You didn’t move. And when your eyes met his, something inside him cracked, guilt creeping in behind the storm.

The room felt colder after that.

The air was crisp on the rooftop, and the night was quiet — too quiet for how loud your heart felt in your chest. You pushed open the door, stepping out with hesitant steps. The familiar creak of the hinges made Bucky glance over his shoulder, but he didn’t say anything. He just went back to staring at the skyline like it was holding him together.

He knew why you were here. And honestly, so did you. But that didn’t make this any easier.

You crossed the rooftop slowly, stopping beside him at the railing. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You didn’t know how to start. He looked like he was bracing for a storm.

“…You okay?” you asked finally, voice quiet.

“No,” he muttered. “Not really.”

The silence that followed was thick. Uncomfortable. You looked down at your hands, fingers nervously twisting together. He still wouldn’t look at you.

“What happened earlier… with Bob… and you…” he began, then stopped. “I didn’t handle it right.”

“No, you didn’t,” you said softly. “You blew up in front of everyone.”

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “I couldn’t take it. Seeing him with you. Touching you. Making you laugh like that. It just—something in me snapped.”

You nodded slowly. “I noticed.”

He turned to face you now, eyes stormy and filled with something deeper than jealousy. Something that had been buried for too long.

“I need you to know that I didn’t say those things to him because I think I own you,” he said. “I said them because… because I’ve been in love with you for a long time. And I didn’t say it. And now someone else has your attention and I just—”

“Bucky,” you interrupted, your voice trembling. “Please don’t.”

He blinked, startled. “What?”

“I can’t… I can’t do this right now.”

His brows furrowed. “Why?”

You stepped back from the railing, giving yourself space. Breathing room.

“Because I don’t know what I feel anymore,” you said, eyes shimmering. “For so long it was just you. Ever since we got you out of HYDRA, I… I fell for you. Hard. And I waited. I gave you space. I figured you needed time, and I was okay with that. But then you were just gone. You barely texted. You left and didn’t say goodbye.”

Bucky looked pained, eyes searching yours. “I know. I was scared.”

“I know you were,” you said, gently. “I didn’t blame you. But then Bob came along. And he was just… warm. Kind. He talks to me. He listens. He notices the small things. And I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I started liking him too. And now I feel stuck.”

Your voice cracked, and you let out a small, helpless laugh.

“I feel like the most confused idiot in the world. Because I still love you, Bucky. I always have. But I’m starting to fall for him too. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

Bucky stared at you, stunned into silence.

“You can’t just drop this confession on me and expect me to be ready to choose,” you whispered. “Because I’m not.”

There was a long pause. His shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath.

“…I’m not asking you to choose right now,” he said eventually. “I just needed you to know how I feel. I needed to stop pretending I didn’t.”

You nodded slowly, biting your lip.

“And Bob?” he asked, quieter this time. “Does he know how you feel?”

You hesitated. “…No. Not really. I don’t even know how to tell him.”

Bucky looked away again, jaw tight. “Then maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“No,” you said, stepping forward again, reaching for his hand. “You needed to say it. I needed to hear it. I’m glad you did.”

His hand curled around yours gently, fingers rough but familiar. Safe.

“Just… give me time,” you said. “Please.”

He nodded, squeezing your hand. “Take all the time you need.”

You leaned your forehead against his chest for just a moment — a soft, stolen second of comfort — before pulling away.

And as you walked back inside, heart still torn, you couldn’t help but wonder… which ache would hurt worse: losing the one who’s always been there in the shadows, or the one who made you feel seen in the light?

You froze.

It was his voice again — louder this time, strained and laced with something desperate. You turned, startled, and saw him sprinting across the rooftop toward you.

“Bucky, what are you—?”

Before the words could leave your mouth, he reached you.

His hands cupped your face, his breath hitched, and then—

He kissed you.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It was raw, aching, years in the making. It hit you like a wave, like all the pain and longing and love he had buried under silence and time had finally found air. Your body stiffened for a second before your hands instinctively reached for him — not to pull him closer, but to hold him in place, suspended in this second you never thought you’d get.

His lips trembled against yours when he finally pulled back, breathless and wide-eyed.

“I couldn’t let you go,” he said, voice hoarse, forehead resting against yours. “Not without knowing. Not without showing you.”

You were speechless, blinking at him with a thousand things you could say but none that felt like enough.

“I’ve wanted to do that since forever,” he whispered. “Since the day you walked into that damn Hydra facility and looked at me like I was worth saving. You’ve haunted me ever since.”

Your throat tightened. You couldn’t breathe.

“Bucky…”

“I’m not asking you to fix anything. I’m not asking for answers. I just… I had to know what it felt like. Just once.”

You looked up at him — at those impossibly blue eyes, that trembling mouth, that aching hope on his face.

And still… your feet moved.

You stepped back.

His hands dropped from your face slowly, like letting go of something sacred.

“I… I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I just— I need to think. I can’t— I don’t know what to do with any of this right now.”

He didn’t stop you. Not this time.

He only nodded once, jaw tight, eyes flickering with something you couldn’t name.

And then you turned and walked away again, your lips still burning from his kiss… and your heart in absolute chaos.

---

The tower was quiet.

It was late—past midnight—and you were curled up in bed, the soft lamp casting a warm pool of light over your sheets. A book lay open in your lap, one you’d read a dozen times before, your fingers gently skimming the page but your eyes unfocused. Your mind wasn’t on the words. Not really. It had been a long few weeks. The team settling in. The chaos of having both Bucky and Bob in the same space. The tension.

Especially the tension.

You sighed and turned the page, even though you hadn’t really absorbed the last one. The silence was calming, a rare moment of peace in the chaos of your days—

Knock knock.

The sound was soft. Hesitant.

You blinked and sat up straighter. “Come in?”

The door creaked open slowly, and there he was.

Bucky.

Hair messy, shirt wrinkled, shadows deep beneath his eyes. His hand lingered on the doorframe like he might change his mind.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice rough.

“Hey,” you echoed, warmth already spreading in your chest. “Everything okay?”

He hesitated. Then stepped inside, closing the door behind him gently.

“I, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “Had a nightmare.”

Your heart ached at how small his voice had gotten.

“Oh, Buck…” You shifted to the side instinctively, patting the empty space beside you on the bed. “Come here.”

He didn’t argue. Just exhaled like he’d been holding his breath all day and made his way over, climbing under the covers beside you. His body was warm. Solid. His metal arm stayed above the sheets, tense, like it didn’t know where it belonged.

You turned slightly, your head propped on your hand. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head. “Not really. Just… wanted to be near you.”

The words sat heavy between you, sweet and sad and full of something unsaid.

You nodded softly. “You know you can always come to me, right?”

His eyes flicked to yours. Blue and stormy. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

Silence fell again. Not uncomfortable, just charged. You reached over without thinking and brushed your fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes at the touch, exhaling slowly like your fingers were rewiring him in real time.

“I missed this,” he whispered.

“This?” you asked softly.

“You,” he clarified. “Your voice. Your laugh. The way you always hum when you’re reading. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I had it again.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Bucky…”

He opened his eyes and turned slightly to face you. “I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

You were barely breathing.

“I liked you,” he said, voice low, vulnerable. “Since the tower. Since the quiet mornings in the kitchen when it was just us and coffee and the sound of the city. I just… didn’t think I deserved to say it out loud.”

Your lips parted, your heart racing.

“I liked you too,” you admitted, voice barely a whisper. “Since the moment we brought you back from Hydra. You were so quiet. But when you looked at me, it was like you saw everything. And I always felt safe with you.”

Bucky swallowed hard. “Then why didn’t we ever—?”

“I don’t know,” you said, shaking your head gently. “Fear? Timing? You disappearing on missions for months?”

He chuckled. “You ghosting my messages when I finally texted?”

You gasped, mock-offended. “I didn’t ghost you! I was—processing.”

He smiled. Really smiled. And it made your heart twist in your chest.

You stared at each other, the space between you warm and trembling. His fingers brushed your cheek. You didn’t pull away.

“I still feel like I’m dreaming,” he said softly.

“You’re not.”

“I wish I was brave enough to kiss you.”

Your breath hitched. Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“What if I wanted you to?”

His eyes darkened, lips parted—but he didn’t move. His thumb stroked your jaw.

“I’d probably never stop,” he murmured.

You smiled gently, heart fluttering. “Maybe we shouldn’t start just yet.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay. Just this for now.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead gently to yours. Your eyes fluttered closed, hands tangled loosely in the sheets between you.

You stayed like that for a while—together, finally, after all the time lost.

And when you both eventually drifted off to sleep, you were wrapped in Bucky’s arms, the world quiet again… at least for tonight.

---

The sun was just beginning to filter through the tower’s wide windows, golden light spilling across the marble floors like spilled honey.

You stood in the kitchen, barefoot, wrapped in one of your oversized sweatshirts, nursing a cup of coffee you didn’t really want. The night had been… intense. You’d barely slept, not from discomfort, but because Bucky’s arms had held you so securely, so tenderly, like you were something he’d lost and finally found again.

You’d woken up with your face pressed into his chest, his breathing slow and warm, the metal arm protectively looped around your waist. It had felt safe. Familiar. But also terrifyingly real.

Now, your chest felt heavy.

And then you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind you.

Bob.

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice still thick with sleep, hair slightly mussed. His blue hoodie was slung over his shoulder, his eyes already scanning you like he could read your every emotion.

You forced a smile, warm but faint. “Hey.”

He came to stand beside you, grabbing a mug and pouring himself some coffee in silence. The tension wasn’t hostile—it was soft. Tired. Real.

Bob took a sip, leaning against the counter. “You didn’t sleep alone”

Your eyes flicked up to him. “No.”

He nodded once, he saw bucky going to your dorm in the middle of the night. His jaw tightening for just a moment before he looked down at his cup.

“I’m not mad,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

There was a beat of silence before you exhaled slowly, setting your cup down. “Bob… I need to be honest with you.”

His eyes met yours. Soft. Open.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, voice trembling slightly. “I feel like I’m being pulled in two different directions, and I don’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to. But last night, Bucky… I’ve had feelings for him for years. Since Hydra. But you… you’ve been here lately. You’ve made me feel seen. Like I’m more than just Tony Stark’s daughter or the girl left behind. You made me feel like me.”

Bob nodded, his throat visibly tightening.

“I don’t want to lead you on,” you continued, blinking fast. “But I don’t want to lose you either. And I’m confused. I feel like my heart is trying to split itself down the middle and it’s not fair to either of you.”

Bob was silent for a moment. Then, with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he said, “You’re not leading me on. You're being honest, which is more than most people ever are.”

He looked down, then back at you. “I’m not going to compete with Bucky. That’s not what this is. I don’t want to be ‘better’ than him. I just want to be someone you want.”

“I do,” you whispered, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. “That’s the problem.”

Bob smiled, then gently took your hand in his. His warmth grounded you instantly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Even if you end up choosing him. I’d rather have you in my life as a friend than not at all.”

You stepped closer without thinking, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms came around you slowly, carefully, like he was holding something precious.

“I’m a mess,” you murmured against him.

“You’re my mess,” he said with a soft chuckle. “And I’m still hoping. Just... not pushing.”

You stayed like that for a while. Wrapped in something quiet. Uncertain. But safe.

And outside the kitchen, down the hall, Bucky leaned against the wall — hearing just enough to understand, and feeling that familiar ache rise in his chest like it always did when something he wanted was just a little out of reach.

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT SOMETHING MORE HOTT, and even if you want to give me ideas of what kind of interactions you want between them, I want to make you wishes come true...and I also need help cause Ive never wrote something with more than 2 people on it.

[synchodai]

The alternate timeline episode of Arcane S2 implies that Zaun wouldn't have been a hellhole if Hextech wasn't invented, and that's just not true??? Enforcers were conducting raids on The Lanes and fissure mining was polluting it before Hextech. Why is Vi and Jayce dying the thing that leads to the rehabilitation of The Lanes and not Piltovians acknowledging that they've been systematically poisoning and oppressing its people to achieve "progress?"

[onlytibki]

At the bar in Shells Town

Luffy, using shot glasses and plates to match the layout of the base: Okay so the best way into a Marine base is usually by knocking down walls just to the left of the doors-- Coby: wh-what? Luffy: Yeah? Because Marines replace doors every time a stronger lock's invented but all the construction means the walls get weak. Coby: Wh... how do you know that?? Luffy: Wow, Coby, you're really dumb. I thought everyone knew that!

*meanwhile, somewhere in the New World* Thatch: I thought you left to raid a Marine base? Ace: I... did? And now I'm back Thatch: within the hour??? Ace: what, like it's hard?

*meanwhile, at some other Marine base* Marine 1: Commander, the Revolutionaries have breached the exterior walls! Marine 2: Damnit! We must have a mole in the ranks. How did they know exactly where to attack??? *10 years earlier on Dawn* Monkey D. 'Wrecking Ball' Garp, zero excuse, completely sober and spilling military secrets around like loose change: Brats! When you join the Marines, you'll have to make sure they fix those damn fortress walls! They can never stand up to more than a single knock from my Fist of Justice! Ace, Sabo, and Luffy:

[jadeazora]

Just a rundown of Spinel's tactical moments/crimes so far:

Spied on the group for a while, then launched an attack on the Brave Olivine and disrupted all of the electronics on the ship and their phones

Had his own Pokemon attack Friede while he ordered them remotely so the heroes would never see his face, and forced Friede to reveal his Trump card of Terastallization.

Lured a preteen girl into a dark alley and mindwiped her, stealing her pendant (creepiest scene from this anime, honestly)

Had the heroes going thru a wild goose chase by disseminating false intel online, and also had a decoy deployed to distract Friede, their strongest battler at the time

Tried to harm/kill a defenseless Dot (who had just become a Trainer that night!) by having his Magneton use Electro Ball on her (thank goodness that was precisely when Liko and Roy found her)

Had his Umbreon attack the kids directly when they get the upper hand against Beheeyem and Magneton.(and was about to attack Liko again right before a pissed-off Arboliva appeared to make him reconsider)

Kept some info over what he observed on the pendant and how it interacted with Liko/one of the Heroes out of his report to the other Explorers and Gibeon.

Had a disinformation campaign running again keeping the RVT from pursuing other hero Pokemon effectively

Was the one who cooked up the "Let's let the Rising Volt Tacklers do the work for us" plot

The plot to catch Rayquaza in Ep44-45 is mostly his, and he lures Friede off into a trap again. He also learned from last time, boxing Friede and Pikachu in a small location so they couldn't go all-out with Charizard.

Apparently noticed Friede was in Exceed, stealth-blocked Friede's friend from accessing the files on Laquium, and then stole it right out from under Friede's nose.

Drove his own Umbreon, a friendship evolution, into a painful, berserk state.

Trapped Amethio and Liko in an icy cave, they definitely could have starved or froze to death in there.

While it's later revealed that he left his Beheeyem behind to monitor things in case Liko and Amethio escaped, and later used that footage to claim Amethio had betrayed them and get him banished, I think his hope was that they died down there, going by the way he talks about things here:

Just the fact he manipulated the apparent main villain into kicking out his own grandson who was genuinely loyal to him, to make it easier to stab him in the back later??? He had Gibeon wrapped around his little finger!

Left his own underlings/security behind just in case Amethio/his grunts tried to raid his office looking for evidence that he planned to betray Gibeon, and had them lock him somewhere away from Exceed where I don't think he was expecting anyone to find them (he even had them take their PokeBalls, just so they couldn't escape again. Another possible murder attempt?)

This way he smiles here is a pretty clear "God, I can't wait to see the look on your face when I inevitably betray you." (That turned out to be unnecessary, but he does essentially betray Gibeon and his wishes after his death.)

Jumped Friede again and severely weakened his Pokemon just before the final battle, which lead to them going berserk under the effects of Laquium later. (Plus teaching Beheeyem Skill Swap to render Pikachu and his Electric attacks useless was such a smart move.)

High probability that those inventions thumping the ground to activate the Laquium were his, just as the Laquium Spheres were.

Waited until Terapagos was powered down/in a weakened state to reveal that it didn't purify all the Laquium, using the Laquium Spheres to gas the Heroes and drive them all berserk.

Flipped the narrative and manipulated the media against our heroes by claiming the Rising Volt Tacklers were responsible for the damage done to Laqua and Kumuri.

Captured 5/6 of the Six Heroes. (And since we still don't know what happened to Friede, given Spinel's interest in him and their rivalry, I'm looking at him as a possible culprit.)

Is still fucking around with Laquium and sending various Pokemon into frenzies.

Honestly, he's definitely one of the smartest Pokemon villains we've had, and I expect this already long-ass list to get even longer in the future 🤣

[p-artsypants]

I had a craving for an arranged marriage AU, with a little twist. I have like three other scenes in mind, but no plot. So here's a blurb for now, maybe more someday IDK

This is specifically for @thereweredragonshere as I was looking at her art while writing this.

Okay thanks I love you bye

---

Quietly, so quietly, Hiccup shut his front door behind him. Then he began to tiptoe to his loft. He had been out with the Nightfury, Toothless as he named him, all day. Longer than intended. A lecture was bound to happen because of it. 

“Hiccup,” Stoick stopped him, his voice cutting through the silence and crackling fire. 

“Oh! Dad! I uh…I didn’t see you there…” That was a lie. Such a lie.

“Come, sit. I need a word with you.” 

Hiccup closed his eyes in defeat and slinked over, sheepishly standing across the fire pit. 

“Sit,” Stoick said again, his voice stern in a way that left little room for arguing.

So he obeyed, and sat on the bench, with just enough butt on the chair to be considered sitting, but he was ready to dart away at a moment's notice. 

Stoick wasn’t often physically violent with him, just yelling. In the times he was physical, it was just being lifted and rag dolled out of the way like a bad cat. 

“So…” Hiccup prompted, at an attempt to be casual. 

“I’ve been in communication with the Shivering Shores,” Stoick went on. 

Hiccup relaxed a little. This didn’t seem to concern him all that much. Perhaps his dad just wanted to talk about chief stuff.

“Oh, yeah. I saw the courier boat today.” 

“We finally reached an agreement.” 

“Th-that’s good! Great! An alliance? A treaty?” 

“Trade agreement. Fish for supplies. The dragon raids have been harsh this year and we need all the extra supplies we can get.” 

“I-I agree! I mean…I know the other night wasn’t helpful…” he gulped. 

“Which brings me to the second part of the agreement.” Stoick flicked his eyes over and gazed at his son. “The part that concerns you.” 

“Oh…” Hiccup squeaked. 

“We’re joining our tribes in marriage. I made an offer for the Chief’s youngest daughter to be your bride. He accepted.” 

“Did she?” Hiccup croaked. 

“Doesn’t need to.” 

Hiccup felt very cold and sank into his chair. 

“But,” Stoick continued. “There’s a very specific reason for this arrangement. Chief Hofferson’s daughter, Astrid, has become somewhat famous in the archipelago for her prowess in battle. She is the best warrior on their island, bar none. And she’s your age.” 

His eyes went wide. 

“I told Chief Axel that I was concerned for your safety, and thought his daughter would not only be a worthy bride, but a protector for you.” 

“Oh gods…” 

“She said she would be honored to be your protector.” 

He swallowed. “And…my wife?” 

“She agreed to it.” 

That would have to be enough, he supposed. “On paper?”

“All of this was through courier, yes.” 

Hiccup nodded, his throat feeling too numb to swallow. It was likely that over in the Shivering Shores, Chief Hofferson was having this very same conversation with his daughter, telling her that he agreed to the marriage and wrote that she was honored to accept. 

Hiccup didn’t know what she looked like, but imagined a pretty girl throwing a tantrum and destroying furniture.

Perhaps with a weapon, if the ‘prowess in battle’ was true. 

“This is a good thing, son,” Stoick urged. “You’re too weak to swing a sword, you’ve been completely unprotected during dragon raids—”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” Stoick became stern. “You are my only son. My heir. The next chief of Berk. And it seems like you’re determined to perish before you get there!” 

Hiccup winced, thinking back on that roar that Toothless had unleashed in his face. That might have been his closest and most intimate brush with death. And that was just yesterday. 

“Besides the dragons, we have the Outcasts and Berserkers circling us and waiting to pounce. You risking your safety with those Thor’s-damned inventions during a dragon raid is one thing, but a viking raid? They’ll be coming for you, looking for you. And Astrid will be there to protect you. Do you hear what I’m saying?” 

“Yes,” he whispered, ashamed. “I’m hearing ‘bride’ but I think you mean ‘babysitter’.” 

Stoick didn’t argue with that. Just tightened his mouth into a grim line. 

Hiccup just further slouched, crumbling in on himself. How embarrassing! He thought there was a chance he’d have an arranged marriage, given his status, but arranged so that he had a bodyguard? 

“When do I meet the lucky lady?” He attempted a quip, but his voice sounded so hollow. 

“Tomorrow. And you’re wed at the end of the week.” 

He made a loud noise of disgust as he keeled over, nearly falling off the bench. “Geez dad…” 

“It's for the best.” 

“That’s so fast!” He argued. “Can’t I like…get to know her first? Go on a hike? Have a nice candle lit dinner with mead?” 

“You can do that in the week leading up to the wedding. She’ll be practically glued to your side.” 

“Oh gods…” 

“She won’t know anyone else here, won’t know the village layout, or the way we do things. You will teach her.” Stoick stood and lumbered over. He poked Hiccup in the chest. “And you’ll be pleasant about it.” 

Hiccup huffed. “I mean I’ll try my best, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be pleasant if she treats me like the others.” 

“You’ll be pleasant. Nothing else.” 

Hiccup swallowed at the tone, shrinking in his seat. “Okay fine.” 

“Good.” Stoick nodded. “Then off to bed with you. They’ll arrive before dinner. I’ll be off in the morning making preparations for their accommodations. I expect you to be there when the ship arrives, looking your sharpest.” 

“Yes sir,” he grumbled, getting to his feet. He shuffled across the room and back to the stairs. 

As he got ready for bed, and laid down to sleep, he thought about this ‘Astrid’ girl. 

His bride. 

A girl had never shown interest in him before, and this was likely to be the same. But he had heard that arranged marriages often worked out well, with the couple learning to love each other. Wouldn’t that be something? A girl that loved him. A girl to come home to. A girl to share his thoughts and ideas with. 

A girl to share Toothless with. 

No. No, that was crazy. No one, not even his wife could know about what he was planning on doing with that dragon. 

But everything else?

Having a companion might be kind of nice, if he could get used to it. 

And if she was the best warrior in the Shivering Shores, then she ought to be able to keep Snotlout and the Twins off his back. 

Eventually, Hiccup fell asleep, feeling some form of optimism. 

—

That feeling didn’t last. 

He had woken up early and spent the morning with Toothless in the cove. He poured his guts out to the dragon, lamenting about how his life was completely out of his control. 

Toothless had simply listened and gnawed on a stick. 

Eventually, he returned to the village sometime after lunch. He couldn’t push it, knowing he was on thin ice as it was. He combed his hair and put on a clean tunic. 

Then he spent an hour pacing in the square, listening for the horn that would sound their arrival. 

People passed and gave him smiles and knowing looks, but didn’t say anything. That was fine. He didn’t want to talk to anyone anyway. He was too nervous. 

All they cared about was the party anyway. 

When the horn sounded, he felt his knees buckle. All the anxiety that had been building hit him like a hammer and he tilted sideways. 

“You okay, lad? You look pale!” Gobber called. “I’ve been watching you for the last half hour. You’re makin’ me dizzy!” 

“She’s here,” Hiccup breathed. “She’s here.” 

“Ah, your blushing bride! Better go greet her then, ah?” 

Hiccup thought he nodded, but he might have just bobbed his head like a chicken, then wobbled off to go down to the docks. 

Stoick smiled when he arrived. “There you are! Right on time!” 

“I’m going to be sick.” 

Stoick clapped him on the back, making him swallow the bile that was rising. “It’s pretty nerve-wracking, I know, but it’ll be fine. She’s probably just as nervous.” 

In a way, that helped. If Astrid was stuttering and blushing through introductions, he could handle it. 

The ships came into dock, and Hiccup stood on his tiptoes to try to see over the high sides. There were several people, but he couldn’t quite pick out who Astrid could be.

The ramp fell over the side, and the party disembarked. There were a pair of soldiers out first, followed by a man who could only be Chief Axel the Arduous. He was large; not as large as his father, of course. But he wore the chief’s fur cloak and pendants, just as his father did. 

Axel grinned widely. “Greetings my friends!” 

“Good tidings!” Stoick grasped his hand in a strong clasp. “You had a pleasant journey?” 

“Yes, very good! Good weather! Good head wind! A good omen from the gods, to be sure!” 

As the chiefs talked, three women disembarked the ship. One was older, likely the chief’s wife, while the other two were teenagers. They were all blonde and blue-eyed and pretty. 

And rather delicate, in Hiccup’s opinion. Not that they weren’t still bigger than him, but he didn’t get the vibe of ‘best warrior’ from any of them. They were all wearing fine dresses and giggling to each other. 

“Stoick, this is my wife, Phlegma,” Axel gestured. “And my two eldest daughters, Ingrid and Sigurd.” 

The two girls tittered as they looked at Hiccup. He saw one mouth to the other, “look at how tiny he is.” 

Not a real ego booster, to be sure. 

“I thought your youngest was to be married?” Stoick calmly questioned. 

“Astrid will be out in a moment, I’m sure,” Axel sighed, a bit exasperated. 

“Poor thing’s a nervous wreck,” Phlegma added. “She’s putting her armor on. She wanted to make a good impression, afterall.” 

Hiccup sighed slightly, reassured that he wasn’t the only one completely psyched out of his mind. 

However, his world turned upside down as a huge figure leapt from the side of the boat and landed on the dock in front of him. It was a valkyrie if there ever was one. She raised to her full height, towering over him by a foot or more. She was almost the same height as his father! 

She was toned, with thick corded muscles in her arms and what was visible of her legs between her spiked skirt and studded boots. She wore studden pauldrons and gauntlets as well. Her body was thick and solid, curvy in all the right places, and no doubt trained to apex danger. 

But her face was soft. Delicate cheeks and a softly rounded chin. A cute button nose with a gentle sweeping brow. Beautiful, explosive blue eyes surrounded by thick gold lashes. All of it was haloed by a swath of sunshine gold hair braided over her shoulder. 

How a creature could be so scarily tough and the epitome of feminine beauty at the same time, he had no idea. 

“What an entrance!” Stoick laughed. 

This new warrior had a calm and cool facade as she answered, “I panicked.” Then she bowed slightly, dipping her head with respect. “Chief Stoick, it’s an honor. I’m Astrid Hofferson.” 

“A pleasure, my dear!” He held out a hand. 

She shook it, and Hiccup could see that her hands were rough, but not big and meaty like his father’s.

“And this is my son, Hiccup.” He placed a hand on his back. 

Hiccup could only grin awkwardly, getting lost in those blue eyes. How was this girl the same age as him? 

“Hello,” she said softly. Then she glanced back at Stoick, seemingly waiting for something. 

Stoick nodded slowly and tried again. “This is my only son, Hiccup…your husband to be.” 

She inhaled briefly at that, and let out a soft, “Oh.” Her exhale was slow and she whispered, “I see.”  

Hiccup cast his gaze to the ground as he held his arm. This girl was just as disappointed as everyone else was, and he hadn’t even done anything yet. 

“Is that how you would greet your betrothed?” Axel asked. 

“Oh come on dear, she’s nervous,” Phlegma argued back. 

But apparently Axel’s words stirred something in Astrid as she took a quick stride forward and reached out and took Hiccup’s hand. Then she leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. 

“D-Duh?” Hiccup blurted, smartly. 

She smiled at him, a dusting of pink on her perfect cheeks. “Hello darling.” 

“H-h-hi,” he stuttered out. “I’m Hiccup.” 

She gave a nod. “Astrid.” 

His feet felt like they were made of stone as he stood there, stock still and staring. And Astrid continued to hold her smile, but her eyebrow started to raise. 

“Son,” Stoick patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you show Astrid around the village?” 

“What? Oh! Yes! Of course! The village! My village! Where I–where we live, where you will live also…ha!” He spoke a bit too loudly, and he could feel his face burning. 

Astrid just tilted her head slightly to the side as her eyes widened, but her grin got bigger. Was she annoyed and trying to hide it? She hadn’t let go of his hand yet though. “Okay, lead the way.” 

He gulped, and looked over to his father. 

“Go on,” Stoick whispered, making a shooing motion.

“Uh…th-this way…” he said, pulling her along by the hand. 

Once they were a little ways away, Stoick and Axel resumed their conversation, but they were so loud, Hiccup could hear. 

“You weren’t kidding, Stoick! He’s a fishbone of a boy! Astrid’ll take good care of him!” 

Hiccup’s shoulders drooped and he turned his face away from his betrothed, ashamed, embarrassed. 

Astrid didn’t seem to notice though. “What’s that?” 

He glanced up where she was pointing. “Oh, that’s the Kill Ring, where we uh…kill things. Mainly dragons.” 

“You’ve killed a dragon?” Her voice was curious, not skeptical, which was refreshing. 

“No no, not me personally. I…I couldn’t kill a dragon.” 

“Hmm,” she nodded, accepting this answer. 

She was calm, cool, and collected. Apparently that’s what nervousness looked like to this hulking goddess. 

Still holding her hand, he led her over to the arena, trying to think of something to say, but being too nervous to do so. Thankfully, Astrid just patiently held his hand and looked around, taking everything in. They crossed the bridge and came to stand at the edge of the arena. 

Two people were sparring inside. Astrid let go of his hand to grasp at the chains of the dome. “Who are they?” 

“That’s Snotlout and Tuffnut. Snotlout’s my cousin, and Tuffnut has a twin sister, Ruffnut.” 

“Friends of yours then?” 

“...not really, no.” 

She smirked. “Good, because their technique is dog shit.” 

Hiccup sputtered a laugh, unable to help himself. This drew the attention of the boys in the ring. 

“Hey Useless!” Called Snotlout. “Who’s the babe?” 

Hiccup flushed in indignation, but Astrid answered instead, cooly. “Astrid Hofferson, though I’ll be Astrid Haddock at the end of the week.” 

“No way!” Snotlout laughed. “That’s your bride to be!? I would have thought Stoick would have found someone in your weight class at least!” 

Hiccup hunched his shoulders. 

Astrid just scoffed at the ring, took his hand, and led him away. “I can see why you aren’t friends with them. He’s kind of an asshole.” 

“No ‘kind of’ about it, he is an asshole. Sorry you had to meet him first. The rest of Berk isn’t as terrible as that.” 

“It’s fine, Hiccup. There were boys like that on the Shivering Shores too.” 

Things were going okay, he thought. Could be better, but Astrid was taking a lot really well. She seemed so mature and cool, it made him extremely guilty. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. 

She merely raised an eyebrow. “For what? You didn’t do anything.” 

“Sometimes that’s enough…but uh, f-for getting you into this arranged marriage. It’s probably not what you wanted to do with your life. You could be a great warrior, but…now you have to babysit me because my dad thinks I’m so useless I can’t even breathe on my own. So…sorry.” 

To his surprise, she smiled at him and ruffled his hair. “First of all, did you request me as your bride? Did you ask your dad to make the contract?” 

“No.” 

“Thought so. So nothing to apologize there for. Second, I’m the youngest of my father’s daughters. As a daughter of a chief, it’s almost guaranteed I’ll be in an arranged marriage, so that wasn’t a surprise. But as the youngest, I probably would have been married to a much older man, maybe even a widower. He would have expected me to be barefoot in the kitchen and popping out babies the rest of my life.” 

Hiccup stared at her, nodding slowly as her logic made sense. He’d heard of stuff like that happening. 

“Because I’m so tall, I decided to pour all my free time into training, with the hope that my future husband would see I was a worthy warrior and I wouldn’t be trapped in the kitchen. It was a long shot, but worth it to me.” 

His eyes widened. “So, you kind of got what you wanted. My dad picked you for me because of your skill, and not your status.” 

“Exactly! Plus, you’re the same age as me, and you’re the heir! I’ll be chieftess someday! That’s not something I thought would happen to me.” 

“Well,” he sheepishly shrugged his shoulders. “I can hope I’ll be chief. Some people in town might think differently.” 

“Regardless, I’m happy.”

“Even though I’m so small? I can’t pick you up, Astrid. You’ll have to lean down to kiss me during our wedding. Isn’t that…embarrassing?” 

She shrugged. “I’ve been teased about my height my whole life. Boys called me ‘Treetop’ back at home, and said I’d never get a date because men didn’t want a woman taller than them. I always assumed my husband would be shorter than me.” 

“...and I kind of figured my wife would be taller.” 

She grinned. “So see! We’re on the same page!” 

He chuckled. “I guess so.” 

“Come on! Show me around! Introduce me to your friends!” 

He blanched. “Ah…yeah, my friends…”

[1296-very-good-year]

The thing that bugs me most about Caitlyn's arc is how obviously she was forced into the position Jayce had been set up to fill.

Jayce was the de facto head of the council that Sheriff Marcus (keep that in mind) reported directly to for city security.

He was the Golden Boy, Man of Progress, beloved by everyone in Piltover for the invention of Hextech! Charismatic! Handsome!

They didn't NEED martial law. After Jayce emerged unscathed from the terrorist attack, most of the council dead, Piltover would have been falling over itself to give him sole authority regardless of him wanting to quit the council right before the attack.

And Jayce should have been beside himself with rage! Jinx turned his invention, his dream, into a weapon that nearly killed him and the two people he loves most! Mel and Viktor, at the same time! She ruined his peace deal! (And killed Silco, but for some reason Cait and Vi never tell anyone about that)

But nope. He's just sad, and tries to talk Caitlyn down from wanting to kill Jinx.... Like wtf!! Where did his passion go?? His recklessness? Caitlyn got it all.

Let's say he's still reeling after killing the kid in his shimmer raid and fearing the consequences of violent intervention. Fine. But then there is the attack at the memorial. Now it's bigger than Jinx, and his entire city is threatened.

Picture the end of episode 1, with the council gathering in the basement after the memorial attack and it is JAYCE marching in to announce the strike team, with Caitlyn and Vi beside him, with their shiny Hextech weapons.

They didn't need to give Caitlyn political power. She could have become Sheriff under Jayce! She would have had nearly the EXACT same scenes. She doesn't get a single moment where she acts like a political leader in Act 2 anyway!

We never see her do anything the sheriff wouldn't do, which tells me this was a late change to cram all the remaining story into one season, to every character's detriment. If Caitlyn had just been following Jayce's orders until running into Vi, her flip would not have felt so jarring.

She loves Jayce as an older brother, she's grieving her mother, she and Jayce could have BOTH been manipulated by Ambessa. Let Caitlyn be at the forefront of all the awful shit she's ORDERED to do, instead of ordering it HERSELF.

By giving her ultimate authority instead, the few clipped scenes of her redemption, her "I know" and letting Jinx go free are nowhere near enough to get the audience back on her side. As evidenced by how many people hated her arc this season.

[luxaofhesperides]

Can I please have meet cute/weird with mistaken villain! Danny (but really just a engineer and or chem student) and the one being put on investigation cause Danny is a day villain(not really)! Duke

Technically, Danny Fenton is innocent. Technically. 

Duke wants to give him the benefit of the doubt, especially since he’s having so much trouble finding solid evidence that Danny is stealing from a wide variety of people, but he’s been burned before by trying to see people as better than they were. It doesn’t change the fact that Oracle’s cameras keep spotting Danny right before a building on the street is broken into and something stolen. He’s always just walking down the sidewalk; no one has spotted him entering or exiting a building, but he’s around far too often to be unconnected to these burglaries. 

It doesn’t help that strange, petty crimes have been on the rise since Danny first arrived in Gotham. 

So.

Danny Fenton is technically innocent.

Duke is trying to prove that he’s not. 

Maybe I’m looking too closely, he thinks, going over Danny’s sparse file in the Hatch. Maybe Danny’s only one person in a bigger operation.

He could just be the lookout, the runner, the information gatherer who marks which buildings to hit. He may even be the scapegoat, the sacrificial lamb; Danny has no support in Gotham, no family, no job. There would be no one to help him if he got arrested or injured in a fight. He’s a freshman college student from Illinois who should be unprepared for life in Gotham but is somehow managing to survive like a native. 

There’s a lot about Danny that doesn’t add up. 

Duke has seen plenty of different people since he first went out as the Signal. He’s tried to be kind and give people the benefit of the doubt, but it leads to his loved ones being put in danger. Some people are truly evil, some working on a malicious agenda, some are misguided in their beliefs, and some are desperate people who see no other way to move forward.

He’s not sure yet which on Danny is, but he’s hoping Danny is just desperate and needs a little help to get out of a life of crime.

Which leads to the next problem: Duke has no idea what Danny is steal, or why. He hits both rich and poor folks, civilians and members of the mob, and once, notably, stole something right out of Cobblepot’s office. Allegedly, at least, since no one saw him enter or exit the office, not even the security cameras. 

But added to the whispers going around about a new group in Gotham snatching people up from the streets, and some strange green substances found in warehouses often raided by police for the frequent drug labs that pop up in them… 

It doesn’t look good for Danny. Especially when a few of the items he stole were found where people either vanished or where that green substance has been found.

A week of analysis in the Batcave and they still don’t know what it is. 

Both Damian and Jason suspected Lazarus water, but the composition was completely different. By the look of the molecular structure, it shouldn’t have been in a liquid form at all. 

All these findings lead back to one person who may have answers: Danny Fenton.

According to Tim, who’s already broken into Danny’s dorm room and checked over all the labs he has classes in, Danny has some concerning items in his possession. Various inventions and little metal knick-knacks put together by a practiced hand. He was also the one to find all the information that went into Danny’s file when it was first being made: social media posts, school report cards, news articles about his parents… everything. 

And then he had an emergency mission to take with the Titans that swept him out of Gotham leaving Duke to tackle this investigation on his own. 

He doesn’t have Tim’s natural skill in stalking and invading privacy. He hates breaking into people’s spaces and following them around, but needs must and he has to force himself to work through the discomfort. 

It’s a good thing he did, too. Danny’s leaving his dorm after his last afternoon class, hood up to hide his face and something held in the front pocket of his hoodie. He ducks around people on the sidewalk easily, almost as if he’s gliding through the crowd instead of walking. 

Duke follows from above, bending the light around him to hide him from sight. 

He walks for some time, weaving through alleys and streets as if he’s been in Gotham his whole life, leaving behind the university campus to head towards Otisberg. There’s something strange about the way Danny walks, as if he’s moving around people who aren’t there, guided by something Duke can’t hear. Even using his meta abilities doesn’t do much beyond show him where Danny’s going to be in the next few seconds. 

He continues to follow Danny on the rooftops, walking along the edge to keep him in sight. 

Then Danny stops behind an apartment building and tilts his head back to look up at it. He tilts his head to the side, then nods and looks around the empty alley. Duke crouches down, keeping his eyes on Danny in the hopes of catching him in the act—

Danny disappears.

Duke curses under his breath and jumps down from the roof, putting more strength into his abilities as soon as his feet touch the ground. 

The space where Danny was has a faint outline, oddly enough. He’s never seen that before. From it is a semi-transparent trail, smoke-like and a pale green leading into the building. It goes straight into a wall, as if Danny walked through it.

He can’t go in and search the entire apartment, but he can grapple up and take a look into the hallways to see where Danny’s heading. If he was looking up, then that’s where he should be heading. 

It doesn’t take any effort to scale the building. There are ledges and windowsills and plenty of handholds for him to propel himself off of, and paired with his powers, Duke is able to find the correct floor in just under two minutes. 

The green smoke slowly dances through the air of the ninth floor, on the east side of the building. If he’s been counting the rooms correctly, then the target of tonight’s burglary has to be apartment 924. 

The curtains are drawn on the window he makes his way over to, and his abilities don’t show him anything helpful for the immediate future. He hates going in blind, especially to a civilian’s home, but capturing Danny takes priority. Duke picks the lock and slides the window up slowly, making sure it stays quiet, then slips into an empty bedroom. 

He makes his way out into the hallway on silent feet, keeping a wary eye on the thin smoke strands of green, curling along the walls. The rest of the apartment is empty as well, pale sunlight slanting across the floor through the blinds. 

Everything is still and silent. Danny’s nowhere to be found. 

Did he miss Danny leaving, somehow? Was this a misdirect to get him out of the way while Danny stole from another location? Did he know Duke was following him?

But no, his ears pick up on the faint sound of clothes rustling. 

Cautiously, Duke turns towards the front door, where the door to the coat closet is open. He focuses on what’s going to happen in the next twenty seconds and sees Danny panic, then disappear from sight again, but a transparent outline of his body is visible just enough to show him where he runs to. Best not to spook him; Duke pulls at the light around him and bends it to hide him from sight.

Then he moves along the wall, getting around the open door without bumping into anyone or anything. 

A figure in front of the coats, shoving them to the side roughly, flickers in and out of view, almost like a reflection in water, distorted by ripples on the surface. 

Danny pops back into visibility suddenly, scowling at the coats. “Are you sure it’s in here?” he asks the empty air. 

There is no answer, but Danny acts like there is. He rolls his eyes and says, “It’s a favor. That I’m doing for you. I can literally stop right now and you wouldn’t be able to stop me.” He shoves aside another heavy winter coat, then sighs. “Why don’t you look for it, and then tell me where it is.”

He steps back and bumps into Duke.

Danny whirls around, eyes wide, and blast of green light has Duke crashing back into the wall, trying to blink spots out of his eyes. 

“Wait!” he yells, grabbing for Danny before he can run off. “I just wanna talk!”

“Standing right behind me like a serial killer does not make you look like someone who wants to talk!” Danny yells back, slipping through his hands like mist. 

“I just have a few questions!”

“Well, I have a question: why?!”

“Will you hold still, we’re being too loud!”

Danny escapes to the other side of the apartment, next to a window looking fully prepared to fling himself out of it. But he does stop yelling, so Duke is counting it as a success.

“Why is the Signal coming after me?” Danny asks, glaring at him suspiciously.

“Dude,” Duke says, “You’ve been seen outside of every single building that’s had a burglary since you first arrived in Gotham. All the Bats are after you, they just sent me because I’m the only one active during the day.”

“All the Bats?” Danny repeats, losing what little color he had in his face.

He looks legitimately scared, pale enough to be concerning, and Duke drops his guard and tries to relax the tension in the apartment. “I’m not gonna turn you into the cops or anything. I just had questions and you seem like the most likely person to have answers. That’s it.”

Danny still looks wary, ready to run at a moment’s notice, but he doesn’t leave when Duke approached casually, leaning his weight against the couch. 

“So,” he begins, “What’s the deal with all the thievery? It’s rarely something super rare or expensive.”

There’s a long few minutes where Danny doesn’t answer, looking anywhere but at Duke. Then he twitches a bit and glares off to the side, and says, “I taking items that are contaminated with ectoplasm to help ghosts move through the veil and leave Gotham.”

That tells him nothing! That just gives Duke more questions! But at least it’s an answer, the first one any of them have got.

“I think you’re gonna have to explain a little more.”

“Ghosts are real, alright?”

“Yes.”

Danny stops. Squints at him. “What do you mean, ‘yes’?”

“Ghosts are real,” Duke repeats, “There are a few who help heroes or are heroes themselves, but that’s more on the magic side of things so I’m not super familiar with it.”

“Magic,” Danny says slowly. “Sure, alright. Um. Yes, ghosts are real. And there are a ton in Gotham who need help moving on, but they’re too weak to get past the veil. Something about Gotham has made the veil super strong, so they need a little boost to get through. Additional ectoplasm bonded helps with that.”

“And that’s why you’re stealing random things?”

“The ghosts I help can kind of sense ectoplasm-infused things, but they need me to grab them since they can’t hold anything without a physical body.”

Duke nods slowly. “Okay, that’s starting to answer some things. We have found those objects in the last places missing people were seen. Any idea what’s going on with that?”

“Yeah, those people were already dead.”

The way Danny says the most concerning answers as if they’re nothing is really throwing Duke off his game. He was expecting to be calm and serious to keep Danny from freaking out too much and look like a legitimate hero. But as soon as Danny started talking, all his nerves fell away and Duke is left grasping for composure. 

“They were…”

“They were ghosts, yeah. And they needed to get through the veil. But they were also able to possess their own bodies and didn’t realize they were dead until I had to break the news to them, which is why it looks like living people just up and disappeared.”

“Okay… What about the green stuff we’ve been finding?”

“Ectoplasm.” Danny holds up a hand and a neon green light surrounds it. Except it looks more solid than light, as if it can be touched, and it moves on its own like fire around Danny’s fingers. “It’s what ghosts are made of.”

Oh. If Danny has ectoplasm, does that mean…

“Are you dead?” Duke asks, heart dropping. 

Instead of looking upset about the question, or even disturbed by it, Danny just shrugs and waves his hand back and forth. “A little.”

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Duke says, trying to resist the urge to rub his temples. It’s a habit he didn’t mean to pick up from Batman, and it would just look silly with his helmet in the way. “You’re just doing all this to help ghosts?”

“Yeah. Basically. They asked for help man, of course I was going to help them.”

Danny’s a good person. He’s just a good person to ghosts. But this is good news either way, and he can let the others know that Danny isn’t the next Catwoman and is entirely unconnected from any drug production. Everything that made him look like a criminal is just the fault of ghosts. 

“Speaking of,” Danny continues, “Looks like they found what they need, so I’m going to grab that real quick.” He pushes off of the wall and heads for the closet again, moving past Duke without any fear. Duke follows, keeping a few feet of distance between them so Danny doesn’t feel trapped, and watches as he shoves aside the coats again and pulls a shoebox out of the depths of the closet. From it, he takes a single intricate lace headband and holds it up.

It looks normal, if a little old, but when Danny sends ectoplasm through it, the lace lights up and holds the glow. 

He pulls some strange contraption out of his pocket and holds it up to the headband. It makes a few beeps, then Danny mutters, “7.4 millisieverts. That’s enough to get you through the veil.”

Another concern Duke can let go of: Danny’s not creating weapons like his parents have, he’s just measuring ectoplasm through his own inventions. 

Maybe he could talk to Bruce or Tim about getting Danny an internship at the R&D lab in Wayne Enterprises? That way they could keep a closer eye on him while seeing what he can create in some of the best laboratories in the country.

Well, it might take having them meet Danny before they trust him enough for that, but Duke is sure he can make it happen. 

“I better go see this through, then,” Danny says, shoving the contraption back into his hoodie pocket. He gives Duke a small awkward wave, then pops out of visibility. “I’ll see you around, I guess?” he disembodied voice hedges, and Duke smiles.

“I’m sure I’ll be able to find you again.”

“Cool. I gonna go now!” 

He doesn’t see any sign that Danny’s left, but he gets a feeling that he’s alone now, the apartment suddenly emptier than it was before. 

As strange and concerning as Danny and all his bizarre actions were, Duke is glad he was able to finally talk to him and get some answers. Knowing how Gotham pulls people him in, it’s only a matter of time before the other Bats are exposed to Danny’s kind of strange. He’s already looking forward to it. 

For now, though, he has a file to update in the Hatch; POTENTIAL THREAT will be removed and replaced with GHOST HELPER. 

If anyone goes snooping into his files and gets confused, then that’s their problem. Duke’s explained enough. And Danny can take care of the rest, once they go through the effort of tracking him down. Duke's done his part, he's ready for the rest of them to step up to his level.

He can’t wait to see what other kind of trouble Danny can get it into.

[little-pondhead]

Day 20: Pitch Bible AU

I had a lot of fun with this :)

[Quotes from the pitch bible and personal headcanons are below the cut.]

Link to pitch bible

-

Pitch!Danny

"The kid with the nerdy, freaky parents. The kid who's afraid of his own shadow."

"Shy, quiet, stumbling and nervous - but always with a smile and a wink to his friends and the camera."

(Page 7)

Danny's death mark looks more like a burn scar rather than Lichtenberg figures. Everyone assumes he was in a fire whenever the trio talks about the Accident. The Fentons back this up since the true events cause an electrical fire in the lab.

He was only bullied about his scars once. Danny burst out crying on the spot, and no one has said anything since. He carries around a homemade balm to soothe the scars when he gets phantom pains.

His death mark extends into his hair and one of his eyes. He now has heterochromia as both Danny and Phantom, as the affected eye's iris was darkened, and a starburst pattern appeared. (inspired by this)

His overall eyesight was also affected, and he now wears reading glasses as a human. Danny frequently loses them, so his friends bought him a used eyeglass chain from a yard sale. The eyeglass chain is made of rainbow beads, and the spirit of the previous owner is attached to it.

Danny took up knitting soon after the Accident to help retrain his fine motor skills and concentration. He's quite good at it, and he made a sweater based on Van Gogh's Starry Night.

Frequently has ectoplasm stains on his clothes from either ghost fights or helping his parents in their lab. Most people think it's paint.

Phantom is invisible to most people (including himself when he looks in mortal mirrors.) He keeps it that way as much as possible, as his appearance is quite inhuman. Danny hates the uncanny valley feeling he causes wherever he goes. Even his friends had to work to get past the instinct to run when he showed himself. He has no pupils, but his death mark remains.

-

Pitch!Tucker

"Tucker uses the gadgets that Danny has gotten for him by raiding Mom and Dad's lab: The goggles that let him see ghosts, the backpack that lets him capture them, and the occasional random jet back that Dad was saving for a rainy day."

(Page 17)

Tallest of the trio, even with Sam's boots giving her an inch. Took track and field in middle school, so he's also the most physically fit, even if it's just by a little. Tucker is also the most reckless of the three and carries a first aid kit around for both him and Danny.

Bit of an adrenaline junkie, even if he won't admit it. Red Bull is his go-to over coffee and tea, which both Sam and Danny insist is bad for him. He's always hungry from sharing his meals with Danny, who cannot cook at home.

Tucker was forced to stop wearing his hats in middle school, but he hated his hair at the time, so he dyed it blonde and fried it straight to 'fit in better.' Sam and Danny have yelled at him for it, and he's slowly learning to appreciate his natural hair. (He still wants to keep dying it for a few more years, however. Red is the next color on his list!)

Takes dual courses at the Amity Park Community College in computer science. Became a top student quickly. He uses this knowledge to help Danny tinker with his parents' inventions and computers. (Which is difficult, given their backgrounds.)

Has a form of synesthesia called 'chromesthesia,' which means he sees colors and patterns when he hears sounds. His favorite color pattern is the sound of leaves rustling in autumn since it makes pretty yellow, orange, and red swirls. He turns the most memorable sounds into tie-dye t-shirts.

Tucker uses his 'liberated' Fenton tech all the time. Aside from ghost fights, he will 100% use the jetpack to get to school when he's late or use an extendable arm to hold a drink when he's busy. It drives Danny nuts because he has to recharge the backpack more, but when it comes down to it, he doesn't really mind. After all, Tucker is the one jailbreaking all their equipment.

-

Pitch!Sam

"A Goth Janeane Garofalo-type that hides her good looks behind baggy clothes, she is an encyclopedia of conspiracy theories and paranormal activity…a cute girl who loves all things geek!"

(Page 17)

Sam is the most serious of the three and is suspicious of everything. Her parents raised her as a rich elite; nothing comes for free in that type of life. She practically lives in the secondary suite that belonged to her grandmother Ida, tending to the greenhouse and library there.

Her favorite color is purple, and she raises Purple Emperor butterflies in the greenhouse in an attempt to increase their population, despite her location. She raises other butterflies and insects as well, but the Purple Emperors are her pride and joy. She wears purple butterfly charms in honor of them.

She has a bigger library than the high school, with books on topics Danny and Tucker have never heard of. During a ghost-induced power outage, they went to Sam and her library to perform an "ancient form of Googling." She did not appreciate that joke.

Cuts and dyes her hair herself, and bothers the boys about proper self care. She even has a little notebook in her pocket that lists reminders, dates, and observations she wants to look back on later. (For example, it reminds her when Danny is supposed to take his medicine, since his memory sucks now.)

Sam researches the paranormal almost obsessively, especially since she gains that psychic link with Danny. She wants to understand it, how it works, and why it happened. (She isn’t aware the ‘get better’ kiss was the cause.)

The random feelings and visions have increased her anxiety tenfold. Tucker jokes that she’s Batman now, since Sam has used her money to create a hundred different backup plans for everything she could think of, including hidden emergency packs all over town.

Once curb-stomped a grown man, as a child, on the day of Grandma Ida’s funeral because he was bragging about influencing the final will in his favor. She brings this energy to any fight she’s capable of participating in, and ghosts have learned to give her a wide berth. Locals just think she’s nuts.