#Skate Warehouse

[unfriendlyamazon]

actually my dream for mokuba is to grow up to be an artist

[voidolive]

im so tired i wanna go home :(

[denkisauce]

ohh sonic memory lane 🏃🏻

sonic adventuresssss 🏃🏻💙⚡️

[p0orbaby]

Hello! If you’re still doing the short blurbs may I request a short one with R taking alexia ice skating? R’s really good and alexia’s really bad. So bad she needs to hold the kids penguin support thing type bad. But she’s a bit stubborn and doesn’t want help. She’s constantly holding on to the rail, falls on her bum and one kid even laughs at her. But after a few falls she finally gives in and lets R guide/help her, and even lets go of the side ☺️

No worries if it’s not your thing!

-

At first, she’s suspicious.

You’ve never seen Alexia side-eye a leisure centre before, but here we are. A converted warehouse in some unholy corner of South London with strip lighting, a vending machine from the ’90s, and the distinct smell of wet sock. She’s clinging to your sleeve like it’s diplomatic protocol.

“People do this… for fun?” she asks, brow arched, eyes darting around like she’s assessing the risk of frostbite.

“They do,” you say, handing her a pair of skates and watching her stare at them like they’ve personally wronged her. “It’s charming. Festive. Builds character.”

“You’re trying to kill me,” she decides.

You do not deny it.

She lasts twenty-three seconds on the ice before the first fall. It’s not even dramatic—more of a slow, deliberate sit-down, like her thighs have made an executive decision.

“I am not built for this,” she hisses, as a six-year-old glides past her effortlessly and then circles back to laugh. Loudly.

You try not to laugh with the child.

She glares at you from the ground. “I have two Ballon d’Ors.”

“And now you have mild bruising,” you reply, extending a hand.

She swats it away and scrambles upright via the wall like a very determined crab. “I don’t need help.”

“You just got shown up by a child in a Peppa Pig bobble hat.”

“She’s probably training for the Olympics.”

The next fall is less dignified. She tries to push off from the rail, gets maybe three inches of momentum, panics mid-glide, and immediately pancakes. A nearby steward offers her a little plastic penguin—the kind toddlers use to learn. She accepts it. With bitterness in her eyes and pride in shreds.

“This is humiliating,” she mutters, inching forward while clutching the penguin’s ears. “I play football for a living.”

“Exactly,” you say. “Footballers aren’t known for their balance.”

“I do Pilates.”

“That makes this even worse.”

She gives you a look that says I love you but I could end you right here on the ice and make it look like an accident.

You’re already pretty good. Comfortable. Confident, even. You circle around her once—purely to show off, obviously—then coast backwards in front of her like some smug, ice-dancing forest nymph.

“Stop that,” she snaps. “You look like that Disney ice queen, Elisa or whoever.”

“Is that jealousy I hear?”

“It’s rage,” she says, but her mouth twitches at the corners.

Three more falls and a minor tantrum later, she gives in.

You’re holding out a hand before she even asks. She takes it.

“I’m only doing this because I’m freezing and tired,” she says, like you’ve dragged her to a hostile terrain under false pretences.

You smile. “Of course.”

“Not because I need you.”

“Obviously not.”

And then—slowly, awkwardly, but determined—she lets go of the wall.

One of her hands is in yours. The other is still on the penguin’s plastic face, but it’s progress. Her feet slide forward, cautious but brave. You guide her gently, fingers tight around hers, keeping pace. Every now and then she wobbles, curses softly in Spanish, and shoots you a dirty look—as if the ice itself is under your command.

“You’re laughing,” she accuses.

“I’m delighted.”

“I’m never doing this again.”

“You’re doing so well.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

A pause. A sigh.

“Yes. But I hate you also.”

And you can’t help it—you beam. The rink lights are too bright, the air smells like someone’s gym bag, and your girlfriend is hanging on to a fibreglass penguin for dear life, but it might be the best date you’ve ever been on.

Even if she spends the rest of it muttering darkly about broken ankles and national embarrassment.

[applepiealopecoid]

a list of buildings and structures to use in your writing

hospital

police station

school

fire watch tower

observatory

apartment complex

gas station

city hall

coffee shop

bakery

firefighter station

car dealership

college

high school

elementary school

middle school

university

park

research center

animal shelter

camp/wilderness camp

casino

blacksmith

bank

barber

armory

aquarium

dentist

general store

gunsmith/gun store

doctor’s office/medical store/medicinal supply store

jail

library

museum

farm

food store, like a pizza shop or ice cream store

stationary food truck

vacant lot

skate park

country club(s)

tennis court(s)

basketball court(s)

pool

warehouse

fast food restaurant

[tiger-in-the-flightdeck]

What comic is the one where Len makes it snow for Barry?

It's from the short "Christmas: Cold and Fast" from the holiday anthology Tis The Season To Be Freezin'

On an unseasonably warm evening before Christmas, Len is ringing a bell dressed as Santa on a street corner calling for donations to help the less fortunate. A Banker Type makes fun of him, and Len steals his watch, but Barry zips in to take it.

The two squabble, Barry questioning whether any of the money is going to anyone who actually needs it, and Len explains that he was going to use it to hire some people to help him with something. He (after arguing back and forth over it for almost a whole page) convinces Barry to open a truck...

Which is filled with toys.

Len was originally going to sell them all, but he decided instead to give them to kids in need.

Barry then asks Len to give the people of Central City a Christmas miracle

by freezing the ice rink for the tree lighting ceremony.

Len agrees on one condition...

That Barry wears his Santa suit.

Barry races around Central delivering toys (Pretty much all Flash themed, which makes me wonder if he keeps a warehouse of his own merch...), then they meet up on top of a building to watch people skate.

(Yes, Len just jumped off the roof of five storey building. What a dramatic little shit.)

Also, there's a short in DC Rebirth Holiday called A Flash Christmas Carol that tells the story of how the Rogues and Flash started a holiday truce so Barry can make sure kids in foster care don't miss out on presents. This was Len's idea, and he gave up a big score to make sure it happened.

[maxispixels]

We were here once - The skatepark

Hobie Brown x GN!Reader

3/6(?)

Part 1 > Part 2 > Part 3

2.2k words

Ah London. You ran away from that city a long time ago, but there are things you can't escape forever. Feelings, for one. So you come back, tracing the fading footsteps of your past, hoping to see the boy you left behind.

Warnings: general teenage angst, self indulging Im14andthisisdeep

“But it’s okay that you’re going.

You need to. And I want you to have everything.”

You wanted to believe you were mistaken. After all, you had been gone for a long time, the kind of time that blurs edges and rewrites maps in your head. But no matter how many turns you took, how hard you tried to remember, you couldn’t find it.

You were sure it was there. Between the Fish & Chips place and the launderette, yes, that had to be it.

There was only a warehouse now. Ugly and blocky, the kind of building made for forklifts and fluorescent lights, not for kids with scraped knees and too much time. At most, the stairs railings could still be skated on. It stood exactly where the skatepark should’ve been, like some architectural act of erasure. 

Your heart swelled with grief, or disbelief, or some explosive cocktail of both. You didn’t want to believe it, but what else could you believe? They’d paved over the place like it was nothing, built a coffin of corrugated metal right on top of all those memories.

It felt blasphemous. To bury a place like that under concrete and storage racks, as if the skatepark hadn’t been a church, a holy ground for the kids around. A sanctuary built of asphalt and splintered plywood and the smell of melting rubber. They covered it like a grave, face down, no headstone.

Anger prickled at the edges of your sadness. 

It only slightly eased at the sight of the graffitis splashed across the iron sheets. Layers on layers, some fresh, some sun-faded, some half-scrubbed away. Proof that not everyone had forgotten. You jumped over the pitiful attempt at a fence, easily trespassing to look at the art closer. It was colorful and lively on top of the rusting plates. Your fingers traced the outline of a large ‘S’ spelling spider or something, and you were close enough to almost smell the fumes of spray paint. Maybe it was just your memories catching up to you.

It reminded you of your own tags under the ramps, shaky lines sprayed in the shadows, hands trembling with cold or adrenaline, you were never sure which. You remembered crawling under there on rainy days, when the park was empty, the air thick with wet concrete. You had to step over the shaky metal armatures like webs, sitting in between them. You left your trace, your symbols, small claims staked in fluorescent blues and cracked black. You wanted to leave something behind. A reminder that you were here, too.

That summer, Hobie invited you to hang out at the park as well. The breeze was light with laughter and asphalt dust. It was different than when you went alone. It was the kind of evening that stretched and stretched, long past sunset, until time felt liquid and endless. The heat clung to everything; the rails, the ramps, the black-painted ground, like the whole world had been wrapped in sweat and sunshine.

You spent most of your time standing, the ground too hot to sit, pacing, watching him. Kind of ignoring his other friends, but it was okay. He wasn’t the same with you and with them anyway. You were briefly introduced to some of them, maybe Rob, and Riri, and a happy bunch you didn’t bother to get to know, not wanting to get attached to any more people.

You didn’t know how to skate, not really, and you were too proud to fall on your butt in front of Hobie. 

Hobie, of course, couldn’t stand that.

Once or twice, he shoved his board toward you. It was decorated with stickers and drawings, the edges were rugged and chewed up, taped back, held together by the power of sheer will and spite, and his voice almost made you want to try. “C’mon mate. Give it a try. Worst thing that can happen is you break something you don’t need. Like a tooth. Or your dignity.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Pass. I’d rather not bite the curb.”

“That’s quitter talk,” he grinned. “C’mon,” his syllable dragged, “I’ll even teach you how to bail properly. Y’know, roll out, land like a stuntman. Real graceful.”

“I’m not interested in dying gracefully,” you shot back. “I’d rather not die at all.”

“Coward.” He shook his head dramatically. “Next you’ll tell me you wear knee pads.”

“You’re literally wearing knee pads.”

“That’s different. I’m stylish.”

He gave the board another push toward you, the wheels rattling over the cracks, but you didn’t take the bait.

“I’ll pass,” you said. “I’d rather keep my teeth.”

He squinted at you like he was calculating something, then raised his finger dramatically, like the world’s dumbest philosopher about to unveil some universal truth.

“Okay, but what if… you got on board and I held your hands, like some cheesy romance montage?” He waggled his eyebrows. “We could fall in love or fall on our arses, fifty fifty odds.”

“You’re daft.” You chuckled.

“But you’re laughing, so you’re daft-adjacent.”

“Laughing at you.”

“That still counts!”

You tried to glare at him, but the laughter made it impossible. It was the kind of ridiculous, pointless jokes, the ones that weren’t even funny. It was just enjoying each other’s company. 

“Alright, alright,” he said, still grinning. “But seriously, you sure you don’t wanna try? Just once?”

“Nah.” You kicked a loose pebble across the pavement. “I just wanna watch you.” The words slipped out too easily, like a truth you forgot to keep locked up.

He stilled for a second, like maybe he heard the weight behind it, but if he did, he let it go.

And shit, he looked so cool out of uniform. Ripped-sleeve punk band tee, arms all awkward and too-long like a lot of teenage boys, but somehow it worked on him. You tried not to look too hard at the way the sun caught the sharp lines of his biceps, or the flash of skin peeking above his belts when his shirt rode up.

The way he moved though, that you couldn’t look away from. The way he carved smooth lines into the world like it was the easiest thing. You wanted to memorize it. To trap his motion in your brain, hold onto it like it might mean something later (it did) (it meant everything).

Your eyes followed him, the flicker of muscle under his skin, the way his arms floated almost gracefully as he balanced, the effortless way his wheels kissed the edges of ramps. He moved like gravity was more of a suggestion than a rule. Like he trusted the air to catch him if the ground didn’t.

And the worst part? It wasn’t even for show. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone. He was just in it, loving the rhythm of it, the challenge, the feeling of cutting through time and space like it belonged to him.

You swore in some other world, he found a way to fly.

And now, standing here, years later, you feel like the biggest idiot in the world. He never cared about looking stupid. Not once. You could’ve let him hold your hands, let him teach you how to wobble across the concrete. Could’ve made an excuse to fall straight into his arms and laugh about it after. He wouldn’t have judged you. He probably would’ve found it hilarious. You rested your forehead against the cold wall.

At some point, when the sun was too high for any kind of exercise, even in London, you both had crawled under the ramp for a break. He flopped down beside you, his head tilted back to look up at the underside of the ramp. Tags, shitty drawings, great drawings. Names, whispers, all the people there before you. 

He pointed a finger at one tag in particular, a messy, half-legible scrawl in dripping blue. “That one’s sick,” he said, tracing over the edges of the letters like they might spell something if you squinted hard enough. “Feels real, y’know? And I really like the style. See that curve there? The energy?”

Your heart swelled in your throat. It was yours. You knew that. But you didn’t say anything. Pride and embarrassment collided in your throat, making your words thick and heavy like tar. You wanted to claim it, to hear what he’d say if he knew, but you were scared, too. Scared he’d laugh, or think it was stupid. Scared to want his approval that badly.

“You think so?” was all you managed.

“Yeah. It’s got… I dunno. It’s just neat.” He grinned, and the glint off his lip ring caught the sun, a tiny spark you’ll never forget.

“Yeah, yeah. I think it’s… Cool. I guess.” You shrugged like you hadn’t been quietly living off that comment for the following years. Hell, you wouldn’t have kept up with the hobby if it wasn't for that one moment.

You wished you told him, now. It could’ve been one more thing you had in common, one more thing to bond over, alongside modding consoles and swapping burned CDs. 

There was this one time — maybe that same day, maybe another, memory made a mess of time — when the air caught wrong.

It wasn’t even a dramatic trick. It was merely a turn taken too sharp, a wheel clipping the edge of a crack, and suddenly Hobie was eating pavement, the sound of skin scraping concrete sharp enough to make you wince.

He grunted, hissed through his teeth, and before you could think, you were already kneeling beside him, half your bag spilled across the ground, your markers, your electronics, your tickets. Your hands shook as you unscrewed your water bottle, pouring too much too fast over his palms, water running pink where it hit raw skin.

Your heart was loud, louder than the train rumbling somewhere in the distance, all adrenaline and something else you didn’t have a name for yet.

“Shit—” he tried to hide his wince, “fuck, I’m gonna sue the wind. Proper betrayal.” 

You snorted despite yourself, but you saw the way his eyebrows pulled together, his breath catching around the edges. A lot of things you’ve forgotten, but not the look of pain in his eyes.

“Shut up. Stop moving.” You scolded him, voice trembling slightly, which made it a lot less intimidating than you hoped.

“Oi oi, don’t start panickin’.” He wiggled his fingers at you, water dripping from them onto his jeans. “I’ve had much worse — see that one?” He jerked his chin toward a scar along his forearm, grinning like it was a badge of honor. “Got that from a fight with a bin, believe it or not.”

You frowned, not at the story, but at the mental image of him bleeding any more than he already was.

“Hobie.” His name came out softer than you meant, and you weren’t even sure what you were asking for. Just needed him to stop, to sit still, to let you take care of him.

He didn’t say anything, but you swore for a moment, he couldn’t look you in the eyes, his gaze fleeting and nebulous, hovering somewhere near your hands, your knees, anywhere but your face.

You remembered the sun burning down the side of your face. The scuff of your shoes against the hot pavement. The distant sound of a train, calling for you, passing behind the fence. The way his smile shrank, softened, not gone, just quieter, like maybe this meant something to him too. How even then, you couldn’t fully enjoy the moment, knowing you had already decided to leave.

You tried to play it cool, but your hand stayed where it was, wrapped around his wrist. His hand stayed too, resting easy on your knee. Neither of you moved first.

You don’t remember how it ended. That part’s gone, eaten by the wispy statics filling the gaps in your memory. Maybe one of his friends shouted his name from across the park. Maybe you cracked a joke and stood up too fast. Maybe you both just got scared. You chose to imagine that you never let go, your silhouettes still holding each other, like nuclear shadows now tucked somewhere between a shelf and a cardboard box.

But tonight, the ramp was gone. The tags were gone. The whole skatepark was gone, and you were left standing in front of a warehouse, heart too full of ghosts, wondering how a place that once held so much could vanish without a trace. 

You pulled a marker from your pocket and pressed the tip to the wall, shaking it till ink flowed. First, just a moniker. A familiar claim, something simple. Muscle memory. You had gotten better over the years, left your nickname in cities that barely knew you, carved proof of your existence into brick and metal, under bridges and on top of buildings. But as you kept going, the words came faster, sentences spilling out like threats, like prayers, like something owed. A message to the pulsing center of Camden, to the past, to your inner child.

It was time to take London back in broad daylight.

You hated this city, but worse than hating it was the thought that it might forget you.

That he might’ve forgotten you.

Tags: @hoe-bie (assuming you still want to be tagged?)

[hhoneylemon]

𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨

tim drake x hero!reader

summary: tim asks you out while you watch the city lights

genre: fluff

word count: 974

as your feet touch the roof, the man slowly turns to face you. you tilt your head, brows furrowing. he doesn’t normally call you out so late.

“tim? what’s wrong?”

his mask is off, most likely tucked somewhere into his belt. he gestures for you to come closer. you don’t hesitate to.

“just wanted to show you something.”

tim leads you to the edge of the roof, staring down at the city. cars drive by, various lights are turned on in the different buildings. you step beside him, a small surprised sound escaping you. although gotham creeps you out, not even mentioning how gross it is, it’s pretty from above.

he turns his body, his fingers grazing over yours for a moment. your eyes flit to him. he’s looking at the city, blue eyes practically twinkling with the lights, lips drawn in a small frown, cheeks painted a faint pink. you tilt your head, biting the inside of your cheek. do you dare break the silence?

“you okay?”

as he looks to you, he nods and offers a small smile. you offer one back.

“do you like it?”

it’s your turn to nod. the view is pretty. you turn your attention back to the lights of gotham, giving him a moment to admire you. how your skin and eyes are illuminated from the lights, the curve of your nose from this angle.

when he brought his idea up to conner, he had been shot down. he had originally wanted to buy you something expensive he knew you’d like, maybe that way you’d realize how much of a gem tim could be. maybe you’d agree with going out with him. conner had to remind him that you’re not like that; people rarely are. you want someone who’ll care, not someone who’ll buy your happiness.

so this was his second idea. his favorite thing to do while bored on patrols is to sit and observe. the night life is beautiful if you know where to look from. any of the alleyways, warehouses, or power plants are obviously going to be ominous and downright creepy at night. the parts where people live are somewhat enjoyable. upper end gotham is tim’s favorite.

you finally look back to him and give a questioning smile, breaking him from his thoughts.

“is there a reason you called for me so late?”

he breathes a soft sigh. now or never, he guesses.

“wanted to talk with you. sit with me?”

you both lower, plopping beside each other as your feet dangle from the building. you’re several stories above ground, though the thrill adds to the experience.

“what about?”

his eyes dart to yours. he’s not sure he’s ever been as confident as now, besides a few times he’d insulted villains to their faces. his hand moves to take yours. the latex is cold.

“i wanted to see you, too. it’s been some time.”

you nod in agreement. it’s been a few weeks since you’d seen tim, him having been sucked into case after case for so long. he must finally be on break.

he doesn’t say anything more, though you’ll let him gather his thoughts. you gently squeeze his hand, offering reassurance. he exhales softly, his eyes traveling between different buildings.

“i wanted to ask you, you know, if you’d ever go out with me.”

this has you pause, eyes widening as you look at him. he glances to you, his cheeks turning a darker shade of pink.

“on a date. i’ve been wondering for a while, i came up with a few different options. we could order chinese and watch a movie or two, we could go to an arcade, we could go skating, we could just sit through a dinner.”

you hold back a laugh. you’re sure you’ve done a few of those things with him already, some even with groups of friends. you give him a smile.

“i’d love to, tim. which option would be the first?”

he grins, squeezing your hand.

“going to the arcade would be a nice change in my schedule.”

“sounds good, tim. just tell me when.”

he turns to face you, hand coming up to cup your cheek. his glove is cold, causing goosebumps to rise along your body. he leans in, pressing a feather light kiss to your lips. you return the gesture, keeping it gentle and soft. 

as he pulls away, your own hand comes up to his face. you brush a strand of hair away from his eye. they’re such a pretty blue.

“does thursday work? there’s that one arcade in your city, i could come by.”

“on your bike? sounds good, if you’ll be careful.”

he grins and then nods again. you card your hand through his hair, pulling him in for another soft kiss. his lips are chapped, probably not caring about that while he’s on patrol, but you notice. you realize that while you would normally care, you don’t right now, not when it’s his lips you’re kissing. 

“i promise i’ll be safe.”

he murmurs as he breaks the kiss, tilting his head to press his lips against your cheek, just as gently as he had to your lips.

the silence is broken by a beeping directly in his ear, before batman is asking him to check a certain part of gotham. a groan escapes him.

“i’m needed somewhere.”

you grin, pressing a light kiss to his cheek.

“be safe, tim. i’ll see you thursday.”

he looks at you with a soft gaze as he pulls his mask from his belt. a small smile forms on his face.

“yeah, see you thursday.”

the thugs that red robin took care of that night could’ve sworn that he was smiling while he took them down. now, there’s a handful of thugs in gotham city who are terrified of red robin.

[cosmerelists]

Attending a Party Thrown by Each Radiant Order

As requested by anon. :)

You've been invited to a party! Actually, ten parties. But the twist is that each party is thrown and attended only by a single Radiant order and also we're in some kind of quasi-modern AU. What would each party be like?

[Previously: Radiant Orders play boardgames, have sleepovers, and go to musicals]

1. The Lightweaver Party

The invitation is a glossy, stylized illustration of a hand holding a wine glass--a true work of art. You later find out that every invitation is unique; no two are the same. The invitation leads you to a large ballroom-esque hall. "What is your name tonight?" asks a masked figure at the door. "Uh...Fred?" you say. You had not planned this. "Welcome...Fred," they say and let you in. It is shadowy inside, perhaps because all of the light comes from fairy lights and electric candles. Everyone is masked--including you, as per the invitation. People glide about, talking and laughing in low voices. It's not unwelcoming exactly, but certainly...surreal.

2. The Windrunner Party

The invitation is a couple of dudes saying, "Hey, there's a thing. Wanna come?" when you run into them at the bar. "The thing" appears to be some kind of picnic at a local park: you were told it was a potluck, so you did bring a macaroni salad, but the focus seems to be the large pot of stew that one of the men is making. There's a lot of eating and laughter and sunshine, and frankly a lot of hot people in uniform. You have a good time. Even if the Captain is just a little bit glowery the whole time.

3. The Edgedancer Party

A roller skating rink! You haven't been to a roller skating rink in sooo long! You're honestly psyched. As you do your best to skate around, others glide smoothly past you, looking like they were born skating. When you take a break to eat a mediocre but nostalgic corndog, a couple of them sit with you and you get to chatting. You're just at a skating rink, eating a mediocre corndog, but somehow...you've never felt so heard. When you go back to skating, you're skating with maybe a tear in your eye.

4. The Stoneward Party

It's just a party at someone's house, where everyone brings a case of beer or a bottle of wine or a snack food, and everyone drinks out of red solo cups. But you know what the vibe is? Convivial. Like, people are waving you over to join their conversations and asking about your hobbies and at one point? Someone suggests a party game? And everyone plays? Like, it WAS a pretty competitive game of charades, but everyone seemed to be having fun the whole time.

5. The Truthwatcher Party

Their party was at a local bar and on trivia night. The party was immediately pretty boisterous--someone brings up politics, like, immediately, and then everyone is happily shouting their thoughts back and forth across the table. But when trivia time hits, the mood turns serious.

6. The Dustbringer Party

It's in the basement of a warehouse that you're pretty sure is due for demolition. Certainly, it does NOT feel particularly structurally sound and there IS a lot of, like, concrete dust and debris everywhere. But once you get downstairs--well, this is not just a party. This is a rager. There is music and alcohol and drugs if you want 'em, and people are shouting and dancing and generally having a good time. "When you're like us, you GOTTA let loose every once in a while or you go INSANE!" someone says to you at one point. "It's about release?" you say and everyone in a five-foot radius groans at the pun.

7. The Willshaper party

It's drugs. Lots of drugs. Some of them are illegal, some of them aren't, but the people here would definitely scoff if you tried to make that distinction.

8. The Elsecaller Party

Well, it certainly is a very correct party. You receive an RSVP, and it's clear that you are meant to respond. In writing. Which you do. The RSVP lets you know that the party is semiformal, and that the dinner course will begin at precisely 7pm, so you do not even try to do the whole "fashionably late" thing. You are there by 6:55. Good thing, too, because everyone else is already there. "Everyone" being Jasnah and one small, inky man. Have you ever had dinner with your dissertation advisor who is also your mom somehow? Well, then you know how this party went. You were SWEATING the whole time.

9. The Skybreaker Party

When they checked your ID at the entrance to the small event hall they had rented, you laughed and asked if they wanted to make sure you were over 21. Their expression in reply told you that this was not a joke. Inside, there is a cash bar, and some hors d'oeuvre being handed around on plates. The people inside are mostly talking about their recent accomplishments in a way that makes you feel that they are all very stressed and trying to prove something. "It's a test," says a bald man who appeared very suddenly next to you. "A test of what?" you ask, suddenly very afraid. But he is gone.

10. The Bondsmith Party

You're at a party, and it's just you and two other people. The two other people? Married. You feel like you're crashing a date. They're being very nice and you are being included in every conversation but you're also literally the third at a party with only two other people who are married. You can't help but think this would be WAY less awkward if there were just ONE more Bondsmith. But who knows if THAT will ever happen!

[n6ptunova]

skater girlfriend • chris sturniolo

a/n: i’m obsessed with this idea! thank you @rac00ns-are-c00l4 hope you like it🫶

summary: you teach chris how to skate

warnings: some fluff and making out.

“who’s skateboard is this?” you asked chris as soon as he left the meeting. you were waiting for him in the warehouse, wandering around when you came across a skateboard. your boyfriend chris knew you were a skater girl but he never mentioned that he, or any of his brothers skate so you were confused.

“oh, i forgot we had this here. i bought it a while back to get back into skating but-”

“forgot? you were just busting your ass yesterday to learn a simple trick on it,” nick chuckled interrupting him. chris punched his arm mumbling for him to shut up.

“what? chris why didn’t you tell me? we could’ve skated together this whole time,” you pouted.

“that was the plan but…” he trailed off avoiding eye contact with you, he looked embarrassed for some reason. “but what?”

“i kinda wanted to teach myself the basics first bc i wanted to surprise you. also didn’t wanna look like a complete idiot in front of you.” that tugged on your heartstrings oh my god how could someone be this cute. you walked over to him wrapping your arms around his neck and gave him a quick kiss.

“that’s sweet, baby. but i don’t care about any of that i just wanna share this with you. come on, i’ll teach you, it’ll be fun!”

later that night, you found an empty street for you two to skate. chris showed you what he knows so far and it was quite literally just moving forward with the board. he didn’t even know how to stop properly he just jumps off. so you decided that’s the first thing you’ll teach him.

chris, being his prideful self, claimed he knows how to come to a stop but then proceeded to do a heel drag.

“nooo, chris, that’ll cause razor tail, dumbass!”

“razor what-”

“it’s gonna damage your skateboard. look you can try to do this instead.”

you showed him a couple easy ways for beginners to stop. “and you can do a power slide,” you said while demonstrating, “but this is when you get more pro.”

“wait but that’s the coolest looking one i wanna do that!” he whined. so of course, you spent the next half hour teaching him how to power slide. if there’s one thing you admired about him is his determination, he fell way too many times but he finally got really close so you decided to move onto the next.

“ok i think you’re ready to learn your first trick, a simple ollie.” you said while doing the trick yourself.

his jaw dropped, he couldn’t believe how cool his girlfriend actually is. you looked so beautiful and graceful while doing the most badass things. he got lost in his thoughts for a second you had to wave and snap your fingers in front of his face to get him to focus.

“sorry babe, i just have such a cool girlfriend don’t i?,” he smugly said raising one eyebrow while pulling you in for a kiss, his hand resting on your neck and the other on the side of your face. you melted into his touch and almost got carried away until you quickly snapped back to reality and pulled away to teach him an ollie before he starts to give up.

you told him how to position his feet and gave him tips to make the trick easier for him but he interrupted you halfway, “that’s impossible.”

“no it’s really easy i promise. it just takes some trial and error.”

he took in a deep breath like he’s preparing for the worst and stood on his board, positioning his feet the way you told him to and bent his knees slightly but just before lifting his feet he stopped, “are you sure i’m not gonna fall?” “you will fall.”

he rolled his eyes, “thanks for the reassurance.” as he attempted the trick he landed straight on his ass, the board rolling away from him.

“owww, can’t you teach me something easier first.” he’s used to falling off his skateboard a lot but not in front of you. he wanted you to think he was cool too. you’d think it’s childish if he wasn’t so adorable.

“chris, this is as easy as it gets. come onnn do you want me to hold your hand princess?” you smirked, teasing him.

“shut up. i can do this.” he stood up and positioned himself on the board again. and before you know it he’s back on the ground with a loud thump.

you give him a knowing smirk and raise your eyebrows reaching your hand out to him. “you sure you don’t need help?” he snaps his head towards you and purses his lips forming a straight line.

“no i got this bro.” he’s so stubborn it made you giggle. after a few more hits to the ground he finally gave in and asked you to help. you held both of his hands and told him what he was doing wrong and before he attempts it again you looked him straight in the eyes, flashing him the sweetest smile, the street lights illuminating your face slightly, “you got this, babe.”

that was all the motivation he needed to attempt this trick again and surely enough, with you keeping him steady holding his hands, he was able to land it.

“I DID IT!!” he screamed and ran around you in a circle before engulfing you in his arms and picking you up feet off the ground spinning around. all that could be heard was both of your laughs and giggles. “yesss baby you did it!!”

“all thanks to the best and hottest teacher i could ever have,” he winked as he put you down and slapped your ass.

your face heated up but you pulled him in by his belt loop catching him off guard and placing a sweet but slow kiss on his lips he practically whined into your mouth, his knees growing weak. only you could have him like this.

he snaked his hands to your hips and gripped them tightly making you gasp, he uses this to slip his tongue into your mouth. you moan and both pull each other impossibly closer, bodies pressed against one another, your hands ruffling through his hair and tugging lightly.

after what felt like eternity (it was only 2 minutes) you pulled away catching your breath. “we should do this more often.” you nodded your head in agreement and he added, “and i guess the skating too.” you smacked his chest jokingly as he chuckled.

the rest of the night you spent just skating back and forth on the street, listening to your favourite music and talking about everything and anything.

when it was time to head home you did a nollie to pick up your board. chris thought it was the coolest thing ever and whined about how he can only pick it up the “normal” way but as he’s showing you, the board flips up and hits him in the crotch making him bend over in pain.

you tried your best to hide your laughter to spare his feelings but it slipped out and even though he shook his head disapprovingly he was smiling like an idiot because your laugh was the most beautiful sound to him.

[effkaytales]

EFFKAY FIGHTING GAME CONCEPT 2: Drille!

One day, a mining tank came to life. That mining tank would redesign her own body and rename herself DRILLE. Her life was full of hardship and strife, but she came out the other end with a smile. Drille is well-known within Effkay Tower One. She brings her brand of happiness and joy to everything she does! Little did she or anyone know, she was actually a demigod of Chaos, born by machinations of the Goddess of Light, Verli. Wild!

P1: DRILLE. Her typical everyday wear. She has dozens of this simple outfit in her closet, which is good, because she tends to ruin it in her day to day playtime in various caves she spends her time in.

P2: DIANNE. Dianne Wintergreen Roberts, Drille's civilian form, is well known throughout Scenera City. While she looks like a normal Ferran in this form, she still has all of her normal capabilities hidden just underneath her skin if she needs it, including deployable skates within her feet and the ability to morph her left hand into a drill.

P3: DATE NIGHT. It was set to be one of the best nights of her life. But in short order, EVERYTHING fell apart thanks to the plans of her younger 'brother', DR-21. He worked hard to humiliate her for "replacing" him, down to taking over a cybernetic hive mind living on one of Astana's moons, causing catastrophic damage to an entire society, all to make Drille feel like garbage on her first date ever. On that day, all of Astana learned an important lesson. Don't Piss Off The Genet.

P4: RUMBLR. "do not seek out the tumblr rumblr. it is not a good place." One day, Drille found herself in a strange place. She had no memory of the events leading up to waking up in that warehouse in a dying city, but she rolled with it, hoping she'd find her answers soon. Fight after fight led her nowhere... This is the body she obtained after uniting with her alternate-universe counterpart, Burroe. To Be Continued...?

P5: GRAVE. At this point, her brother, Grave, has made many strides in making his battle-ready armor easy to apply to himself. This is the result of Drille taking one of his transformation belts and applying his armor to herself! She's used her chaos powers to replicate his hairstyle as well. I wonder what HE thinks of this?

P6: CLASSIC. Back in the original version of my comic, this was the body that Drille originally built for herself. This design would also be reused for another alternate universe version of herself, in a world designated as "Altana".

[iced-coffeebean]

Molossia and Slowjamastan working for America in the Gangsta AU is a funny concept and one that I've thought about a lot.

I just imagine they work at the diner depicted on America's major art appearance

I'd imagine Mol being the kind of cook that is tired of everything and everyone and contemplates quitting every shift while on his smoke break (probably doesn't smoke cause he's a lil guy in canon) but makes good food. SJ is like a waiter/server. Got the skates and everything as he takes people's orders and stuff 🫡

He's the only mf that Molossia can stand, it surprises everyone.

Probably both high schoolers or smth similar to that in the AU just doing their summer job

Aerica would defo help Canada out in the hotel too. Ik that boy is trying DARN hardest to make Canada proud 😤

Anyways, just me yapping about shit cause I'm tired and been thinking about where the micronations would end up in this AU (being so honest, they probably don't exist or they those kids that gather together in abandoned warehouses or something and plot out a riot)

Considering this AU may be a human AU, I also wonder how that would change the micronations in this AU.

[stargazer-sims]

Journal Entry #1

previous // next // story index

_____

Victor

Hey, everyone! It’s me, Victor. Welcome to my online journal.

I’ve never kept a journal of any kind before, so I actually have no clue what I’m doing. Other than messing around with my friends, recording ourselves doing skateboard tricks or stupid dance moves, I’ve never made a serious video before either, so this is gonna be an experience. I decided to go with a video journal because... I don’t know. I’m not that great at writing. Plus, talking on a video feels more authentic to me somehow.

I’m gonna post this online, not that I expect to get internet famous or really even to have a huge audience. The idea of uploading it is mostly so I don’t fill up all the storage space on my phone with a zillion videos of me rambling about my life. I mean, if anybody wants to watch it, here it is. Don’t expect movie quality. I’m not a professional videographer or anything like that. I'm just an average guy with a smartphone and a lot of thoughts about stuff.

So, since this is the first entry, I guess I should tell you something about myself, right? Do kind of an introduction like, “Who is this Victor guy anyway?”

My full name is Victor Thomas Edward Nelson, I’m 25 years old and my birthday is the second of December. I’m from a medium-sized Canadian town called Maple Grove, which is kind of a boring place, if I’m being honest. I love it, but it’s not particularly known for major events or exciting times. My hometown is big enough to have an industrial park, a mall, a community college and a world-class athletic centre, though. Believe it or not, we even have an airport. It’s tiny and it’s mostly for shipping freight from the warehouses and manufacturing places at the outskirts of town, but passenger flights do go in and out of there too. You have to literally walk across the tarmac and climb a gigantic set of movable stairs to board the plane, but still.

Okay, let’s see. What other random facts about me can I share?

My favourite colour is red. I like food, hanging out with my friends, playing video games, and taking way too many selfies which I shamelessly post on Instagram. Some people say I’m hyper and that I’m over the top, but I like to think of myself as energetic, enthusiastic and adventurous.

I love sports, particularly winter sports like snowboarding and skating. Especially snowboarding! Fortunately for me, I currently live in a mountain town in Japan, about half an hour outside Kyoto, where I can snowboard all year long. I’m really good at snowboarding, even if I say so myself. In fact, I do it competitively, and I’ve won medals. My friends say I’m a showoff, but I say if you’ve got a talent, why hide it?

Another thing I enjoy is travelling. I’ve always loved adventures, and I’ve been all over the world for snowboarding competitions, but I don’t think I realized before how much fun it is to travel for pleasure and for discovery rather than for a specific purpose like an international sporting event. Moving from my hometown in Canada all the way to Japan was so exciting that now I’ve decided I want to travel the world for fun. I think I was bitten by that particular bug the minute I stepped off the plane in Kyoto and into a brand new environment that I’d never seen before, with the knowledge that I had plenty of time ahead of me to relax and explore.

Oh, I guess you’ll want to know why I came to Japan in the first place, right? It wasn’t only for the snowboarding, and I’m more than happy to tell you all about it.

The real reason I’m here is to be with the love of my life, my soulmate and best friend, Yuri Okamoto. He’s beautiful, smart and brave, and he gets me like nobody else ever has.

Yuri and I met online, on a forum for snowboarding enthusiasts. I’d like to say there was an instant connection between us, but I think Yuri would deny that. It’s probably more appropriate to say I was instantly smitten when I was scrolling through a sub-forum where people posted about new equipment and saw a photo of him posing with his new board. He looked so cute, and I couldn’t resist posting a comment to express just that.

It took me a few minutes to figure out that straight-up commenting “You’re cute!” on a photo of a complete stranger might not have been the smartest or most appropriate move. So, in hopes of redeeming myself, I sent him a private message with a proper introduction. It took him a couple days to reply – he probably thought I was some weird stalker or something – but eventually he got back to me with an introduction of his own. We started chatting after that, and things evolved from there.

We met in November, a few weeks before my twenty-first birthday. Yuri had turned twenty a couple months earlier, in September. It’s hard to believe we’ve known each other for four and a half years already.

It wasn’t long until Yuri and I stopped chatting exclusively through private messages on the forum and moved our conversations to phone calls, texts and video chats instead. By February, we both knew that we were going to be more than friends.

Let me tell you, long-distance relationships are hard. Yuri and I wanted to be together in person, and as time went on, we felt the strain of being apart more and more. In the three and a half years between first meeting him and actually coming here to be with him, I finished college and got a job. I hoarded as much money as possible from my pay cheques and also from competition prize money, and I threw myself into learning Japanese so I’d be ready when the day eventually came.

Finally, when it felt as if neither of us could hold out any longer, I made up my mind to leave home. I gave up the lease on my flat, sold my car, my desktop computer, and my sad college student furniture, and packed the rest of my worldly possessions so I could make the voyage to be with my love. It was terrifying to leave everyone and everything I’d ever known, but it was absolutely the right choice. Being with Yuri makes it all worth it. Also, Matsumori Town is stunning, and have I mentioned the year-round snowboarding? Year-round snowboarding! But, anyway…

Yuri’s glad I’m here too, although I think he thinks I could’ve put more thought into planning my move. Yuri is more circumspect than me, which is a good thing because we balance each other. I can be a little impulsive sometimes, so having a partner who’s more cautious helps keep me from getting into too much trouble.

I’ve been here for about sixteen months now, and it’s amazing. I never want to leave. Not unless Yuri comes with me.

Our friends here tease us a lot about how close we are. We’re always together, not that either of us is complaining about that. Yuri works remotely about ninety percent of the time, and I don’t currently have a job other than teaching swimming lessons at the local pool, so unless I’m training up on the mountain or he’s in the city for some work thing, there’s no reason for us not to be together.

Another thing our friends seem to love teasing us about is our names. Apparently, we have the same names as the main characters from an anime series that’s very popular here in Japan. I've never seen it. Full disclosure, I usually can’t sit still long enough for television unless its a show or movie I'm really into. I'm not all that into anime.

Yuri says we kind of resemble those two anime characters as well, especially because the Yuri character has classic Japanese looks and the Victor character has white hair and blue eyes. My hair in real life is prematurely silver and I have blue eyes too.

I’m fine with taking Yuri’s word for the fact that we have some kind of resemblance to these anime guys, but I can assure you that we are our own unique, individual selves and any resemblance to animated fictional characters is purely coincidental.

All right! Now, on to the reason why I’m making this journal. Even though I’d be perfectly happy to go on for ages about my adorable Yuri, the real reason I’m doing this is to chronicle my travels, not just here in Japan, but in other parts of the world too.

My next voyage is going to be to the island of Kainani. I’ve been putting a bit of money aside ever since I got here, and now I have enough for a two-week trip, without seriously depleting the rest of my savings. As much as I love winter and the cool, fresh air of Matsumori, the idea of visiting a tropical paradise where it never snows truly fascinates me. I won’t get to do any snowboarding while I’m there, but I’ll bet there’ll be lots of water sports I can try. I’ve been looking at travel books about the island, and I’ve heard all the legends about the merfolk of Kainani. Not sure those are true, but maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll find out.

The only thing that worries me about going to a place where it never snows is what the weather might get up to in lieu of snowing. Like, maybe thunderstorms? I can’t stand thunderstorms. Camping on the beach is going to be awesome, but I’m not sure what I’ll do if there are any thunderstorms, especially if Yuri isn’t around to console me. He’s really good at that.

Maybe I can convince him to come along.

In any event, I guess I’ll figure everything out as I go. I know I have to do some planning, but I don’t like to organize my life too much. I like spontaneity. Yuri says I’m impetuous, but I prefer carefree.

Whatever happens, I’ll be sure to keep this journal updated so you can follow along with me on my adventures. See you soon!

[drivinmeinsane]

Snowstorm ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Ten ※ Colt Seavers / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: You and Colt discover that some gambles don't pay off.

※ Rating: No mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Cuddling for Warmth, Ill-advised Winter Safety Practices, Fluff/Humor

※ Word count: 1998

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

Despite your layers, you’re shivering enough that your teeth feel like they’re going to rattle right out of your skull. It’s hard to imagine that the weather is going to take a turn for the worse when it’s already cold enough in the warehouse that everyone’s breath is visible in front of their faces. This far north by the Great Lakes is always a gamble this time of year. This movie production is certainly not winning the lottery. 

“Alright crew, let's wrap this up,” calls the team lead. 

Everyone picks up speed, finishing their tasks so they can separate into pairs and small groups to carpool back to their temporary housing. Automatically, you gravitate towards Colt. The two of you have been working off and on together for years on various movie sets. Being around him comes as easily and naturally as breathing. It was a massive relief when you were assigned to share an airbnb for the couple months you’re going to be spending here. 

“This sucks, huh?” You comment, helping him to roll up an impact mat. 

He laughs, breath clouding the air. “Yeah, it super sucks.”

The rest of the crew files out while the two of you work, alternating between sweating and freezing. Securing all the impact mats for storage is a miserable task, but it gets done. The building is empty aside from Colt and you. 

The stunt guy straightens up, groaning as his back loudly pops. “Ready to bounce on outta here?”

“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

At the door, the two of you take the time to adjust your layers. Colt wraps your scarf around your head teasingly after offering to help you put it on. You give him a scathing look between the layers of material before you break and the two of you start laughing. Colt is wiping at his eyes, still chuckling a little, when you shove the door open. 

The cold air immediately tears right through your clothes. The hollow thud and click of the door closing and locking behind you both sounds ominous. Colt offers his arm to you and you take it, resigning yourself to the weather conditions. The snow is coming down heavily, making it difficult to see across the sprawling parking. 

Your Lord of the Rings worthy journey to Colt’s truck starts out easily enough, until you wipe out on a snow-covered patch of ice. If it wasn’t for the death grip you have on each other's arms, you would bust your ass right then and there. Instead, you and Colt end up doing a weird dance to try to stay upright. 

“Maybe we should consider a career in couples ice skating. Maybe retire from the stunts biz.” Colt suggests, breathing heavily from the unexpected exertion.

“Toddler level, maybe,” you grumble back, foot skidding again. You hate the fact that the stunt crew has to park clear out of the way on the very fringes of the parking lot. 

You risk a glance at your coworker. His gaze is focused intently on the ground. Snowflakes are collecting in his beard and in his shaggy hair, making his blue eyes appear even bluer. After what feels like an age of taking minuscule steps across a frozen wasteland, you finally spot his garishly colored truck through the snow. You’ve never been happier to see the yellow and brown eyesore. 

Colt helps you up into the passenger seat. Once you're settled, he pushes his tuck keys into your hand. You pass him the windshield scraper in return. It was a new purchase after having to use the airbnb’s dustpan the first morning the two of you had walked out to the vehicle to find it under a thick layer of snow. 

“Start her for me?”

Mumbling an affirmative, you lean over and slot the key into the ignition switch and twist. The truck sparks to life with a smooth rumble. Meanwhile, Colt skirts around the edge of the vehicle. He’s scraping at the windshield, chiseling the packed snow in sheets. He suddenly slips, hitting his sternum on the truck’s grille guard. Upon seeing your horrified expression through the cleared glass, he flashes you a thumbs up and a grimace. You give him the same in return.

Working faster now, he finishes the windshield and makes sure that the side windows and mirrors are clear. He knocks the scraper clean before opening the door and heaving himself into the truck. The stunt man tosses it at your feet onto the already cluttered floorboard. The cold air that followed him into the cab does neither of you any favors.

“You think we’re good, Colt?” You ask, watching him pull off his gloves and tuck them into his sun visor for safekeeping.

“Hope so. If it doesn't get worse we should be fine,” he says with a shrug only to yelp when his bare hands come in contact with the steering wheel. “Shit, that’s cold!”

With the heat on full blast, Colt backs out of the parking lot and then you’re off to the airbnb. He handles the truck expertly. While not used to driving in what is essentially a blizzard, the man has done enough crazy stunts to keep from skidding all over the road. That and his monstrosity of a vehicle with its sizable off-roading tires makes the trip go a little easier. 

“Colt…” You say, worried. The weather is getting worse, much worse. The truck is struggling to maintain traction.

“Yeah, I know, sweetheart.” Both of you are so glued to the increasingly limited visibility and heavier snowfall that neither of you acknowledge the unintentional endearment Colt lets slip.

Spotting a ihop coming up, he makes the choice to pull into the empty lot. There’s no way he’s going to be able to push through. The weather is just too bad for his vehicle. The restaurant is clearly closed. This isn’t the southern part of the United States where there’s a Waffle House around to keep its doors open no matter the situation.

“There’s no way a tow truck is going to be able to get out here, is there?” You comment rhetorically. 

Beside you, Colt groans when he can’t get reception on his cell phone. “Looks like we’re going to be here until the plows come through. Might be in the morning.”

You sigh and settle into your seat. Both of your phone batteries are too low to risk running them down by idly scrolling through old saved pictures. It’s going to be a long night. 

To pass the time, you decide to lean over and rummage through the pile of trash and receipts on the floorboard. Like his apartment, he does not keep his truck clean or organized. You spend the next couple hours going through his receipts and judging him for his purchases. It’s mostly “Another Bonsai tree?” and “Just how much do you love this fast food place?” while your best friend does his damndest to defend himself as though he’s in front of an imaginary jury. 

Eventually, the light fades too much to see the small text. Colt has long since turned off the truck. As the sun dips below the horizon, it gets colder in the cab. 

You shiver and Colt notices. “C’mere.”

You slide across the bench seat and underneath his offered arm. He’s warm but the meager contact is too scant to do much. You seem to take turns shivering against one another. 

“It’s a shame we don’t have a tauntaun,” he says suddenly. 

You turn your face into the side of his chest to smother a groan at the reference. “I’d give anything for a hot drink right now.”

Colt makes a sound in agreement and slides down in his seat, struggling to get comfortable. His knee hits the steering wheel and you feel his pained exhale. “Yeah, I would too.”

A particularly vicious wind tears over the truck. It feels like it bypasses the layers of barely insulated metal entirely. The two of you clutch at each other in response. The lack of light isn’t helping it feel any warmer or cozier. Snow has entirely covered the windshield and the windows are fogged up from your breath and body heat. 

“I’ll turn on the truck for a sec to run the heater, but then I guess we oughta try to get some sleep.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You don’t separate when Colt turns the key. The warm air is luxurious against your cold face. You nearly shove your fingers into the vent. He turns the truck off once you’re both sufficiently warmed. Now comes the difficult part, navigating where to put your bodies for sleep. The temperature has ruined any semblance of personal space. 

“Wanna be on top?” 

“If you insist on bottoming, stunt guy.”

“Oh, I always insist.”

Nearly hitting your head on the cab’s roof, you manage to shove yourself off of the bench seat enough for Colt to wedge himself into the short space. You can barely make out his shape. His hands find you and he guides you on top of himself. He hisses sharply and puts a hand over your kneecap when you graze it dangerously close to his crotch. 

“I don't have plans for kids any time soon, but I’d like to keep my options open,” he jokes.

Finally, you are settled on top of him. It’s incredibly uncomfortable for both of you. He’s got his knees drawn up, shins against the door. Your left knee is wedged between his hip and the seat as you lay with your cheek on his shoulder. His arms are up and around you. Yours are tucked alongside his torso with your hands under his shoulders. You feel like a pair of pretzels.

You lay in silence, listening to the winter storm outside. Both of you start to shiver again.

“I know it’s silly but-”

“This sucks so-” you accidentally start at the same time. “Go ahead,” you encourage. 

You hear him swallow. He seems stiff, nervous all of a sudden. “I know it’s silly, but uh… skin to skin contact works. With us both wearing jackets we can’t share body heat as well. So maybe if we… Wow, I promise I’m not trying to come onto you.”

“Okay.” You say gently.  

Sitting up in his lap, his hands fall from your back to the sides of your hips. You unzip your jacket. You’re instantly colder. Underneath you, you feel Colt’s breath hitch and pick up the pace. You put your hands on his amble chest and find his coat zipper and tug it down. His fingers twitch, but they don’t make any move to stop you. You push his shirt up over his pectorals, all the way to his neck. You don’t touch his bare skin with your fingers. His hands find the hem of your shirt and together you draw it up to your collarbone. Both of you are bared in the truck cabin. 

The man leaves you holding your shirt in place while his hands move to your back. He guides you into laying down on top of him. Your friend sucks in a breath and exhales slowly as inch by inch you make contact. Your bare skin colliding is sinfully warm. 

You sigh into his neck, resisting the urge to press a kiss against it even as the stubble of his jaw grazes your face. He pulls his jacket up and over you as much as he can. His hold on you is tight, comforting. The direct contact of his body provides much more heat than between the layers. You’re not as cold as you were before. 

“Heck of a holiday season, huh?” You mumble, already beginning to drift off.

Colt hums in agreement. Before you slip entirely under into the oblivion of sleep, you swear you feel a kiss pressed to your forehead and a low “Sweet dreams.” that rumbles against your chest.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

im getting the feeling selena has left bruce in arguments and come back many times before

There is a feeling in the air. One that Bruce knows well. It feels like violence.

It's a cold sensation. Cold and still. One that sends the small and vulnerable into flight or freeze.

The question being, why was it here? Gotham WAS violent. Little pockets of violence roiled over all the time. But not like this. And a more important question was, why were you here?

You'd been avoiding Gotham. Avoiding him. Trying to give him space. Give him what you thought he wanted. But something or someone had lured you back here. And they would have had to have a damn good argument to get you over the city limits.

You weren't MADE in Gotham. You were adopted by it. Loved here, sure. An adopted daughter. You did charity work. Summer camps for girls for skating and science. Volunteered for green energy campaigns sponsored by Wayne Enterprises... Liked. In some tellings adored. Jackie's memory was held dear here. No real enemies.

But.

You'd been here. He could still smell you, your perfume. Body wash. Metal. It coalesces into a very unique scent. Why? You hadn't left a cell signal or a paper trail. And he couldn't imagine you'd be in Gotham and Alfred NOT know. As much as Bruce missed you, Alfred missed you probably as much.

He frowned and walked deeper into the warehouse. Did Clark know? did he have something to do with it? His mind raced with questions and none of them had satisfactory answers.

"Stay close, Robin," he said, to the masked child next to him. "there might be traps."

"Batman!" Robin hissed, pointing to a spot on the floor, not far from his feet. Just outside the pool of light from the window.

"What?"

"Is that- is that Blood?" Robin pointed to the spot and Bruce whirled. around. Kneeling quickly. It wasn't very old. Not quite dry. It would make sense if your scent still lingered. And it wasn't much to go on. Non fatal injury or post mortem. And both made his stomach clench. Whatever had happened, he had a sneaking suspicion it was his fault. And that he was going to have to call Clark.

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - September 15th - Week 37

Hi, friends! Here’s this week’s fic reading. Enjoy! 

~

absence makes the heart by fantalaimon

“One night,” Tony says, and just flies himself bodily into one of the canary yellow beekeepers like a red and gold battering ram. “I ask for one measly night. One single goddamn night with my boyfriend—”

“Oh, is the boyfriend label on now?” Clint asks over the comms.

immutable as gravity by Areiton 

There’s something about flying that he can’t explain.

There’s a freedom to it that he’s never felt, anywhere else, doing anything else.

It’s like inventing and the best first kiss of his life, like anything is possible, as he hovers between earth and space, and only the strength of his bird around him.

There’s other things in his life that have been better--but he can count them on one hand and still have fingers leftover.

99 problems (and the dice ain't one) by kellifer_fic

Tony's life is almost perfect. He lives in a converted warehouse full of friends (and one frenemy), has a job that leaves him plenty of time to think about other things and a regular Friday night campaign. If his best friend, Steve Rogers, hadn't moved away to New York and left him behind, then perfection would've been achieved.

Tony can roll with the punches though and he's almost all the way over that little bump in the road (shut up Bruce, he totally is) when Steve moves back, looking taller and broader and more confident than ever and Tony's left with a converted warehouse full of friends (and one frenemy), a job that leaves him plenty of time to think about other things, a regular Friday night campaign and the uncomfortable realization that maybe he's in love with his best friend and has been since he was sixteen.

even the cake was in tiers by kellifer_fic

I'm pretty sure I'm married to Steve Rogers.

Octopus on Roller Skates by ohmyloki

It’s not like he lives his entire life with his bottom half a writhing mass of tentacles instead of legs, but about every ten days he has to spend at least eight hours soaking in a tub of water.

Living In The Future by Closer

Eighteen-year-old Tony Stark is the boy genius who woke Captain America, and now he's stuck with him. That's not a bad thing, but between Steve's wide-eyed wonder at the new world and Tony's little fanboy crush, the awkwardness just keeps happening.