#and the parts the ground it too are so good

[thatonebirdwrites]

Okay, the above is FANTASTIC. Definitely read it all!

The following is me expanding on the above for Science Fiction settings (and I suppose fantasy too).

If creating a futuristic or alien world, think less about what might "look cool" and more on what is actually practical for people (or aliens) to use.

Is the wheelchair easy to transfer into? As in move from a bed to the chair? Having arm rests that can move up and out of the way can help, leg rests that can be moved to one side to allow wheelchair to be pushed up closer, and other moveable parts.

Is it comfortable for the person? Do they need further cushioning or additions to stabilize parts of their bodies? Seatbelts to keep them in place? Tilt or reclining if unable to stay upright for long?

How will the wheelchair be transported over longer distances? Can it fold up easily?

Wheels need to be easy to push (for self-propelling chairs). This is why self-propelling chairs have a wheel design and don't something like tract wheels.

If a powered chair is needed, what type of joystick is best for maneuvering it? Is it easy to transfer in and out of without causing injuries? What is the top speed? (Don't make it too fast as that can cause injuries). Is it easy to replace the battery?

If this is a fantasy world with magic, how can magic improve the mobility of someone with a physical and/or energy-limited disease? Does magic power the wheelchair to move? Is there a joystick or some sort of activation the user does to start up the magic and control the movement of the chair?

Here's a good chart for what to consider when designing a wheelchair for a human. This can be adapted for aliens by considering the body parts of an alien in a similar manner:

For an alien, think about how many appendages does the alien have and the shape/contours of the body:

Will it need arm rests for most of the upper body appendages?

What type of foot rests will they need for lower body appendages? (Is the feet or ends of appendages hooves? Human-like? webbed? Paws? Octopus-like? It can help to draw the appendage then draw ways to support it so it doesn't drag on the ground or get tangled up in other parts of the wheelchair.)

Does the alien have wings? If it can't fly due to wing injuries or defects, will they need a back designed with a holding spot for wings with cushioning for the back itself? (Try to avoid making "holes" for the wings since in an accident the surrounding parts of the wheelchair could collapse and slice the wings off.)

Does it have tails? Is there a holding spot for the tail that cushions it or allows movement? (Try to avoid designing a hole for the tail because in case of an accident, the back of the wheelchair could slice that tail off, which sounds painful).

How much core strength does the alien have? Such as in the torso or within its head supports (such as a neck)? Will it need braces for those parts to hold it up?

How much strength in its core (torso), appendages, etc. does the alien have? If it's missing strength in those areas, then will a powered version be needed if lacking the strength to self-propel?

This isn't comprehensive of course. Mostly questions to get people thinking.

Also, it's fine to ask me questions about this in asks. I love to worldbuild and talk shop like that. (Just don't ask me questions about how or why I am disabled. Focus on questions about worldbuilding and crafting characters. Thanks.)

Thanks for reading. And thank you to the OP for the awesome guide for present-day wheelchairs!

A guide to designing wheelchair using characters!

I hope this helps anyone who's trying to design their oc using a wheelchair, it's not a complete guide but I tried my best! deffo do more research if you're writing them as a character

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

six | chapter list

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you. 

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, implied chubby!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“Why aren’t you hitting me?” James asks. 

The safety mat under your feet does little to assuage your fears. James Potter is perhaps the last person on earth you’d expect to hurt you, and yet you can’t shake the image of him deflecting your punch and sending you reeling. 

With his lovely curls slicked away from his face, his nice mouth, the curve of it where he’s smiling encouragingly, you don’t really want to hit him. 

“I can’t,” you say. 

“Yes, you can. One day you might have to, and I need to know you can do it without breaking your own hand.” The no nonsense tone he’d tended to sport when you first met barely three weeks ago is seemingly gone, replaced by a friendly, almost cavalier tone. Like this is fun. “It won’t hurt you much, I swear. And you should get your revenge. I hit you pretty hard.” 

“You didn’t hit me,” you say. “The door did.” 

“It was my fault.” He smiles, readjusting his stance with feet planted firmly against the mat. 

“James…” 

“Just hit me,” he says. 

You tense your fist around your thumb and hit him square in the chest. It’s not a punch by any means, a weak landing of your knuckles that doesn’t move him. Still, you’re surprised with yourself, checking his face for a sign that you’d done any damage. 

“There are so many people who’d love to punch me,” he laughs, nodding to your hand, “you can do better than that, if only to do what they couldn’t.” 

“I don’t want to hit you, James.” 

“I know, you have to. Come on, it’s easier than you think. You bring your first back to your shoulder and you move into it, okay? Use your weight to do the work. You’ll never hurt anyone if you don’t.” 

“I’d rather not, though.” 

“I know that, too, but you might need to. God forbid you be in a situation where I’m not there to protect you,” —here he does something strange with his eyebrows you’ve yet to encounter, sending a straight shot of butterflies through you, their wings fluttering in the soft part of your throat— “but you don’t have to be defenceless if I’m not. Give me a good swing and I’ll make sure Marlene has that pear ice cream at dinner tonight.” 

“Marlene would make it if I asked,” you say unsurely.

“But if you hit me, I’ll ask for you.” 

“You can be very manipulative.”

“Sometimes. Alright, hit me. Or I’ll tackle you again. You didn’t like that last time.” 

Obviously you hadn’t enjoyed being tackled, because James hadn’t hurt you, he’d simply overpowered you. In one sense, it had been panicky to realise you were at someone’s mercy. James had grabbed you simply behind the back with your chests pressed together and hooked his calf behind your legs, taking them from under you, and following you to the ground. You didn’t like it because he didn’t hurt you, he’d pressed his weight into yours with an arm tight across your chest, just under your throat, and you could smell his hair. Smell almond or jojoba or– or something warm. 

It isn’t that you have feelings for James. You don’t know him well enough. But having someone like James pressing down on you was impossible to ignore, consciously and subliminally.

You really don’t want to do this, drawing your arm back, tightening your first two fingers. James’ eyes widen, his lips falling open as you hit him hard enough to bruise a half inch from his heart. He stumbles and you follow, before flinching back hard, tucking shameful arms to your chest. 

“Sorry!” you burst. “Fuck, sorry! I thought you were ready!” 

“I was ready.” James grins widely. “Awesome. Do that again, yeah? Let’s have one on the cheek this time.” 

“I am not punching you in the face.” 

“You could always aim somewhere softer. The point is to incapacitate me. Hitting me in the chest won’t do that.” He rubs a hand into his shirt, the dark compression material barely moving. “You might have bruised me, though. I’m a good teacher.” 

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” you say. 

James deliberates. He tips his head back, showing you the rather nice point of his chin and his neck. A beauty mark sits nestled atop his Adam's apple. 

“Alright. Sorry. No more hitting. Maybe we’ll give the offensive a break for a while and go back to defence again in a few days?” he suggests. 

You relax. 

You’re wearing clothes you’re not used to, a compression shirt like James’, a pair of dark trousers of a similar material with loose ends. Sirius had done some online shopping with you, not worrying as your elbows brushed. He pointed at things and you’d given weak yesses or resolute nos. The total had climbed and climbed, and Sirius had taken your choking for self-preservation. “Not to worry,” he’d said, grinning, “the royal coffers will pay for this lot.” 

It doesn’t feel real. Endless money with no limit nor reason. He’d opened Curry’s swiftly after and asked you what laptop you wanted for uni. He’d attempted to goad you into two. 

It’s alien. All of it, even James across from you where he’s sitting now to put his trainers back on. He doesn’t feel anymore real than the day you met, this handsome, tall boy tasked with keeping you safe. You’ve never been someone’s number one priority. 

“Come and put your shoes on, lovely.” 

You’re not sure how to cope with that, either. He and Sirius both seem quick to coddle when you’re distracted, and you’re distracted often. You shrug away your thoughts, relaxing your tight shoulders as you cross the empty gym to sit next to him. Your trainers are new, too, a sporty pair that cost more money than your last three pairs combined. 

“It’s nice to have new things,” you confess, “but odd.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I’ve been wearing the same pair of converse for two years. I had one pair of proper shoes, and one bag. One purse. And I didn’t mind it, just… just, it makes you feel sick sometimes when you want stuff. It’s embarrassing.”

If James is surprised at your sudden admission, he doesn’t show it. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of in wanting things,” he says, hands braced on his knees, “but I can guess why you might’ve felt like that. We try not to think about the things we want because that can make not having it worse.” 

What couldn’t you have? you think, searching his expression for a hint. 

“I’m glad it’s nice,” he furthers, tapping his heel against yours. “They look good. Are they comfortable?” 

“They feel like I’m wearing socks half the time.” 

James nods appreciatively. “Well, get them on. We’ll nip into the pharmacist before we go home, do you have your sunglasses?” 

“It’s too grey outside for sunglasses, we look ridiculous.” 

“You look like the front page of every newspaper. Ever. In the entire western world. Here, put your hoodie on.” 

You and James leave the gym with a wave to the women at the front desk and begin down the street. James hates the city obviously, wrinkling his nose at the grey cobbled streets and all of its sooty puddles. He walks from place to place rigid as a tentpole, swerving in front of you the second that someone looks at you too long. You wonder if this is what having a boyfriend is like. James is constantly making sure you’re safe, that you’re on the right side of the pavement, that you’re warm and fed and smiling. But you don’t suppose a boyfriend gets paid to spend time with you, nor do they spend nights on the lumpy sofa in the living room when they’re too tired to drive home at the end of a long shift. 

You think without wanting to of James climbing into bed with you, a split second of his warm arm over your back, and shake it away as he pulls you into the pharmacy. 

“Can you look at something else?” you ask, turning to him as you pull off your silly sunglasses. 

James raises his eyebrows. “Whatever for?” 

“I need stuff.” 

“I know you need stuff. You asked me if we could come here. Which, by the way, you don’t need to do. You’re supposed to boss me around.” 

You look over a shelf of shampoos and deodorants and begin reading their labels. James took you shopping the day after you got back, but you’d been stuck in your old ways and what you didn’t skimp on, you forgot. You eye a large bottle of shampoo that brags deep moisture for your hair type and take it from the shelf, then the matching conditioner, and then its hair mask. Your shoulders curl forward, worried James will think you greedy or sad or something in between, but he just says, “Pass them here, Princess.” 

“It’s fine, I can–”

“I’ll have them. I’ll go get a basket.”

He scoops everything into big hands and walks back to the pharmacy’s entrance. 

It’s a big pharmacy, modern, with white walls and bright fluorescent lights behind shelves. You catch yourself in a mirror next to a stand of cosmetics and wince. You look odd in these sporty clothes. Your nose is shiny. 

You wipe your face with your sleeve and stare at the cosmetics with no clue what to get. Should’ve asked Sirius to come. Or better yet, someone who regularly wears makeup. Only thing is, you don’t really know anybody who does. 

“You don’t have to rush,” James says, joining you at the makeup section, such a long walk from the shampoos. “Did you sprint down here?” 

You’d speed-walked past the sexual health aisle actually, but James doesn’t need to be privy to that information. “You don’t want to be here all day.” 

“I want to be exactly where you are. If that’s looking at lip gloss, then so be it.” 

You smile, a little shy, a little rueful, and turn your attention back to the lip glosses in question. There’s browns and pinks, blush-rose red and moodier cherries. “I don’t…” 

“That one,” James says, poking a barrel with confidence, “would suit you. And this one, too. You’ll look lovely.”

You don’t know what to say. The colours he’s chosen get added to your basket without comment, after you’ve wrestled it out of his unwilling hands. You spend a few minutes spready tester shades of concealer against the back of your hand, where James again recommends the one that matches your skin tone best. He leans behind you, and he does his job, sweeping the aisles and giving the shop a long up and down every once in a while, but for the most part he acts like he’s there to be there. 

You get to the bit of the pharmacy you’d come for initially, the shorter but well-stocked supplement and vitamin aisle. Realistically, you aren’t going to take ten different vitamins a day, and with Marlene’s cooking it isn’t as though you need them, but there are things you’ve always craved. Biotin and collagen, for healthier hair and nails. Multi-nutrient sachets for every day, the good stuff, and so expensive your eyes initially skip over them. 

Your hand hesitates in front of a box and James makes a warm humming noise. 

“They look promising.”

“I’ve never had them before.”

“I have a killer magnesium deficiency,” James says. “I usually take the magnesium and zinc, but that throws my copper out of whack.” 

You can’t tell if he’s messing with you. You smile at him, not quite stickily but getting there, your cheeks appled with it. “Not your copper.” 

“It’s not funny, Princess. It makes me want to sleep all day.” 

“Not funny,” you agree, grabbing the box of sachets and placing them atop the new electric toothbrush you’d fancied. You feel gluttonous and weird with it, because you don’t suppose you really need one, but James had only said That’s a nice colour. 

“James,” you say, meandering with him toward the tills, “you didn’t need anything, did you?” 

He grins at you like you’ve said something different. “I have everything I need, don’t worry.” 

“You sure?” 

His eyes seem lighter, then. Amber flecks in the browned honey of his irises. “Promise.” 

He tries to get you to visit the perfume counter, but the basket is getting heavy and you’ve spent enough as it is. Not even a tenth, a hundredth, a thousandth of what you have now at your disposal, but so much more than you ever would’ve before. 

The lady at the till eyes James behind you. She beams when James opens his wallet and passes you the card you were given by Sirius for expenses, and laughs when you refuse to take it. “I have mine,” you say, “this is all for me, I can pay.” 

“Technically it’s your upkeep,” James argues. 

“James.” You pass the cashier your card as James frowns. 

“I wish my boyfriend offered so quickly,” the cashier says. 

You go hot all over, but before you can tell her James isn’t your boyfriend, he’s laughing and taking the handles of your heavy pink carrier, pulling it toward him as the cashier sorts your receipt. “I shouldn’t have tried, really.” 

“It’s the thought that counts.” She hands you your receipt. “You should to let him pay, chick, especially if he’s offering.” 

“Maybe next time,” you appease. 

You’re still flushed when you and James break outside again, the cold a blessed relief. James lets your pink bag rest in the crook of his arm, while the other hovers behind you, looking around the street unhurried. “Anywhere else you want to go, chick?” he asks. 

You laugh. “She was nice.” 

“Very motherly.” 

“I want to go home, I think. Did you need anything else?” 

“I do all my shopping when I’m not working.” 

“When aren’t you working?” you ask genuinely. “You spend more than half the day at my flat, and when you leave– if you leave, it’s night time.” You give him a sideways glance. “I have nothing else to do today.” 

James contemplates this. “I– I’ve been meaning to get Sirius a gift. It’s his birthday next week, did you know?” 

“No! When?” 

“The third.” 

“What does he like?” 

James beckons toward a neon signed music shop. “He loves music. Music and the macabre, you know, like, horror movies. And he reads, despite what he might have you believe.” 

You fall into step. “Alright. You’ll have to tell me what to buy.” 

Again, he gives you a look like you’ve said something different, like you’ve said something lovely. 

“I can do that,” James says. “I won’t steer you wrong.”

—

Later that evening, after another tentative hour in the car with James’ patient coaching, you return home to shower. It’s luxurious and strenuous simultaneously. The new hair mask is fragrant and silky between your fingers, leaving the bathroom thick with its smell, the warm air clouding the windows. You hurry between the bathroom and your bedroom in a bath sheet and pretend you don’t notice James’ head tipping in your direction. 

“Everything alright?” he calls to your bedroom door. 

You spy on him through the gap. “I’m fine. Sorry I took so long.” 

“Remus has asked if he can come early and have dinner with us.” 

“He doesn’t need to ask!” you call, closing the door soundly. 

It will be nice to have Remus for dinner. He doesn’t have to tell you what fork to use here, you only have one kind, but he explains the heritage or main flavours of each dish and doesn’t make you feel embarrassed when you don’t know the Genovian Marlene uses. Honestly, you hadn’t even realised Genovia had a language, a hodge podge, Remus says, of Italian and French. And Remus has a steady voice that feels evidence of his more humble background —he’s like you, you’ve found out, working class and humbly brought up. He attended their boarding school on a scholarship of academic prowess, and served as a prefect for all seven years. 

“How exhausting,” you’d said. 

“With those two? You wouldn’t believe it.” 

His disdain was feigned, mostly. It’s why you’re excited to have him for dinner. When the boys are together, they end up telling you stories about their hijinks at school, and you get to peek into the window of their lives, see their fondness for one another in praises and shoulder squeezes and their ridiculous nicknames. 

You haven’t managed to ask about them yet. They slip out every once in a while, and in multiple variations. Moony, Moons, Moon and Pads, Pad, Padfoot. Remus’ you’ve deduced from a story they told, how Remus could be oh so moody when he wasn’t very well, like a wolf, a werewolf. Isn’t that clever for a gang of twelve year olds? Lupin, the wolf boy. You have a feeling it didn’t start out as a particularly kind nickname, but it morphed into a loving moniker later on. Sirius’ nickname, however, you’ve no chance at working out. Padfoot? 

And Prongs? You assume James had a nasty run in with a fork. 

You dress in soft, new clothes. Prongs, you think, doesn’t suit him at all. The James you know is only ever prickly when you’re at risk. He doesn’t flinch when you panic, never hardens. He has a soft hand for your back whenever you need a pat. 

Your socks slide on the living room tiles as you make your way in. James is clicking away on his phone, a dark business phone with many, many buttons. It’s dwarfed by his hand. He swears under his breath. 

“Everything okay?” you ask softly. 

James looks up and his gaze snags on you, his head tilted to his phone and his eyes steadfast where they look you over. “Fine. Nice shower?” 

You’re rich now. Every shower is nice, the boiler turned to a high six, hot water neverending. 

“It was good. Where’s Sirius?” 

“I’m actually not sure.” 

“Isn’t that your job?” 

“No. And if it were I wouldn’t know anyways.” He turns back to his phone. “He’s a slippery one, Pads,” he murmurs, “I couldn’t really keep track of him if I tried.” 

You feel as though you’ve caught him at a bad time. Restless, you turn away from him and head for your small kitchen, unsurprised to find Marlene still cooking and the continued remodelling of your kitchen. Old countertops find themselves housing new oiled cutting boards. Your grody cooker seems small beneath a HexClad Dutch oven, where oil bubbles and spits lightly, dough cuts set on a baking sheet beside it. 

“Hi, Marlene. What are you making?” you ask curiously. 

She grins at you from over her shoulder. “Apple cider doughnuts. I’ve made cinnamon sugar, do you mind it?” 

“What’s the thermometer?” you ask. 

She laughs at you lightly. She’s used to you dodging questions. “Just making sure I don’t set your house alight. At home I can do this by eye, but it’s finicky with your oven. She’s temperamental.” 

“Sorry.” 

Marlene waves a hand. “You want to try?” 

“I’ll just be in your way.” 

“No, you won’t. Frying doughnuts is fun, here. I’ve put each of them on a bit of greaseproof paper. They slide right off.” 

Marlene doesn’t usually take no for an answer. She’s not bossy, but decisive. You’re hesitant at first of the boiling oil and the greaseproof paper doesn’t cooperate when you try it, but eventually you’ve freed a crispy bit of paper from the dough, watching patiently as Marlene turns the doughnuts. She tells you about the dark colour you’re searching for, “I’ve put apples in the dough, see, so they’ll come to a brilliant dark colour without burning. We’ll have them with ice cream or whatever you like.” 

”James told you I wanted it?” you ask shyly. 

“James didn’t mention you at all, he just begged a bit for it. He can be quite pathetic when he needs to be.”  

“I resent that!” James calls. 

Sirius and Remus arrive in their usual pair, Remus tall and light to Sirius’ tighter darkness. Remus wears glasses today, black thin frames perched atop a scar on his nose. Sirius is being himself, poking at them and reminding Remus that just because he is an insufferable swat doesn’t mean he has to look like one. 

“You’re worse than insufferable,” Remus says. When he sees you, he brightens. “Ah, Princess. James hasn’t injured you, that’s brilliant.” 

“And you clearly haven’t killed him in a motor vehicular disaster,” Sirius says cheerfully. “Praise be.” 

“We’re both fine,” you say. 

“Were you worried about us?” James asks. 

“I wasn’t worried about you, James,” Remus says with a smirk. 

You eat as you have every day for the week since you’ve been home: around the coffee table, five plates and drinks rearing to get knocked over and ruin it all. Your knees press into Remus’ on the left and Marlene’s on the right. James sits across from you now that Frank’s shown up for his night shift, digging in with vigour, beaming around his fork as Sirius gives him a good nudge. So many people in your crammed flat. It doesn’t seem real. Half the time, they’re just here to keep you company. 

Paid to keep me company, you think, biting your tongue as you do. This isn’t… real. 

Something taps you under the table. James’ hand, you find, long fingers pressing soft into your kneecap. You quickly lift your head again to find him frowning at you mildly. Okay? he mouths. 

“Bit my tongue,” you say. 

“Ouch,” Remus says. 

James pokes his lip with his tongue. “Be careful,” he says eventually. 

You ignore whatever it is he’s not saying and pick at your food instead. For dinner, Marlene has made a traditional Genovian pasta dish heavy with red pesto and steak. It isn’t what you’re expecting, used to the paler whites and greens of the last week's worth of dinner. James couldn’t be enjoying it more, and Sirius has pledged his undying love to Marlene three or four times since you sat down. 

“Jesus, I barely miss Genovia when you cook like this,” he says. “I will happily serve my country.” 

“Unlike before, when you were here unhappily,” Remus teased. 

Sirius looks you dead in the eye. “Princess, I would follow you anywhere. Marlene is an added bonus.” 

“I– I really wish you guys wouldn’t call me that.” 

Sirius looks gently chastened. “Sorry, sorry. It’s muscle memory at this point. If I called Princess Julianna by anything but her title, she would’ve had me drawn and quartered in the royal courtyards, is all.” 

“And the rest,” James snorts. 

“I try not to address her at all,” Remus says to himself. 

Everyone laughs. You join in a second later, wondering about your unknown cousin. “She was rather spoiled, wasn’t she?” you ask. 

“You’d think she’d tone it down some. Her royal status is rather tenuous, you know.” 

James gives Sirius a look. Careful, it says. 

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

“Well, she’s a royal by marriage, not blood. We explained that, didn’t we?” 

James had said it was complicated. You’d been too startled about your own royal status to inspect it any further. “She’s not a Renaldi?” you ask. 

As it’s explained, your uncle (uncle! who is indeed royal by blood, and the eldest son) forwent the throne when it became clear he wouldn’t be allowed to marry a divorced lover otherwise (reminiscent of certain British scandals). Said divorced lover already had a daughter, a young Julianna. And so your uncle remained a prince but not a king, and Julianna became a princess, to the ire of half the country. 

Traditions have changed in time, but Julianna still lacks Renaldi blood. 

“It drives her mad,” James says. He’s leaning back against the armchair now, dinner finished, a big glass of apple cider in his hands. 

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you say. “Sorry, I sound horrible, just. She wasn’t super friendly.” 

“It would’ve been better for everyone if she was,” Sirius says. 

You wait for him to continue. Marlene prompts him, “You think so?” 

“Well, yes, I suppose. Anything is better than a country ruled by Baron Riddle. Evil, loathsome man. He thinks that nobody knows he’s had a nose job, you know.” 

“Who’s Baron Riddle?” you ask. 

A hush falls around the table. You look down at your plate, eyes on the red shine of pesto and olive oil where it’s grown cold on your plate. A hunk of soft bread is discarded beside it. You poke at it with your nail until crumbs flake away, lips parted, not sure what to say. “Is he–?”

“He’s a bad man, Y/N,” Sirius says. His voice has turned soft but not thin. “He’s prejudiced and cruel. If nobody of Renaldi blood takes the throne when your grandmother steps down, he’ll rule Genovia. And he’ll run it into the ground.” 

James isn’t looking at you when you drag your head up. He downs the last of his cider and stands up, murmuring about clearing the table as he carries his and Sirius’ plate to the kitchen. 

“I didn’t know,” you say. Well, you’d known someone would ascend to the throne if you didn’t. But you didn’t know about Riddle. A guilty heat builds in your throat. “I had no idea.” 

“James asked us not to tell you,” Remus says pointedly. 

“She has a right to know,” Sirius says. They glare at each other, but the heat in Sirius’ voice doesn’t rescind. “What? She does. She’s a grown up.” 

You shake your head. “Thank you, um, for telling me. I’ll just take these out, should I?” You gesture to the plates and stand up quickly. You can’t escape the feeling that Sirius is very angry with you, and you don’t want to face it, so you escape the room instead. 

James’ shoulders are tense in the kitchen. He scrapes his plate clean into the food recycling bin, offering his hand without looking for your own. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

“Of course.” 

Silence blossoms like an achy bruise. 

“James–”

“Thank you for having me for dinner, but I really should be going now. I promised my mum an overdue call.” 

He’s angry. 

You cringe away from him. “Okay. Yeah, no problem.” 

“Okay. Stay safe while I’m gone, yes? Remember your panic button.” 

Your hand inches up to the opposite wrist, where your tennis bracelet of sapphires sits tightly. You’d forgotten all about the panic button embedded in disguise under one of the gemstones. 

He smiles at you briefly, and in a minute or two he’s gone. Sirius goes out after him, leaving you and Remus and Marlene to the heap of dishes, a bad taste lingering on your tongue that has nothing to do with dinner. 

[dadbodbuck]

could it shine down here with you?

Rating: G | WC: 1.7k | Pairing: BuckTommy

Loosely based on this post by @loulovingho!

Summary:

Tommy doesn't realize until later that he already asked for Thanksgiving off.

Read it here on Ao3 or continue below!

Tommy is five, or maybe six, and he doesn’t like Thanksgiving. His dad is screaming at his mom because the turkey isn’t thawed. He’s calling her a lot of words that Tommy thinks are really mean. Tommy’s dad yells a lot, but it’s rarely this bad. Tommy’s mom usually waits for it to blow over, but this time, Tommy watches from the living room entry as her face crumbles and she shoulders past Tommy’s dad, breezes by Tommy, and flees into their bedroom.

Tommy wants to follow her, but his dad grabs his arm, too-tight, and tugs Tommy away towards where the half-thawed turkey is laying on the ground, cold and slimy. When they get there, Tommy’s dad hands him a garbage bag and a roll of paper towels and says “Your mom needs some time alone to think about what she’s done. Clean up this mess.”

It’s okay, because later his mom comes out of the bedroom and kneels down, her eyes red and puffy, and she tells him, “I’m so sorry you had to see that, honey. You did a good job cleaning the kitchen. It’s okay, we can still have dinner, even if I messed up the turkey,” and she makes Stovetop stuffing, and takes cranberry sauce out of a can, dishing them up on a plastic plate for Tommy, and a glass plate for her.

Tommy’s not sure where his dad went, but he’s glad it’s just him and his mom for a little while.

Tommy is twelve, and he hates Thanksgiving. He hates most holidays centered around football, actually. It’s a double-edged sword—his dad gets drunk, and his dad gets riled up, and he’s either too loud and happy, or too loud and mad. The Superbowl is Tommy’s least favorite time of the year. Especially when the Rams are playing.

The Rams aren’t playing this year, but that doesn’t mean Tommy’s off the hook. Tommy brings his dad beers when his dad calls for them, doesn’t say a word to his old man, carefully doesn’t flinch when his dad yells angrily at the screen.

For the most part, Tommy sits alone in his room and looks at the picture of his mom. It’s her high school graduation, she’s gleaming in her cap and gown. Tommy misses her.

Tommy knows that his family isn’t normal. That it’s fucked up. But he also knows how to deal with his dad, especially now that his mom isn’t around to instigate anymore. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen if he gets sent to foster care. He doesn’t want to know.

Tommy also knows, somewhere, that it’s partially his own fault. Maybe if he was a better kid—someone his dad could be proud of, this wouldn’t happen. He was always doing something to incur his father’s wrath. Plus, it’s not like his dad doesn’t love him, in his own way. Tommy loves his dad, too.

Tommy makes his own Stovetop stuffing and cranberry sauce from a can. His dad doesn’t eat it, but Tommy doesn’t care, because at least he survived Thanksgiving without any more bruises.

Tommy is eighteen, and twenty-three, and thirty-one. Thanksgiving is in a shitty barracks at the base, a tiny studio in downtown LA, and the 118 firehouse. It’s spent wolfing down an MRE, trying to figure out how to get his horrible stove to work, and eating Stovetop stuffing and cranberry sauce and praying that the alarm doesn’t go off. There are the other soldiers, and Tommy’s rescue cat Teddy, and Howie.

The MRE is as it always is. You get used to the weird textures and instant coffee and chemical heat smell of the food warmer. The funny thing about Iraq, the thing that will keep Tommy awake for years and years, is that it gets cold during the winter. Tommy knew before he shipped out that he didn’t know what much about the country, but now that he’s here, he’s stuck with sick realization after sick realization. The people here are scared, and the Army isn’t helping. Tommy looks at the other soldiers in a way he shouldn’t. Civilians are dying. War is messy in a way that allows people to excuse inexcusable violence. Tommy cannot speak the language, of either the Iraqi citizens or the people he was told would be his brothers. Iraq gets cold during the winter.

Teddy is an orange beauty, with long fluffy fur and a penchant for mischief. Tommy didn’t ask for Thanksgiving off, but it’s a holiday at the Academy, apparently. So, he’s here, listening to the click of the gas range as it tries to light. Teddy watches from the tiny countertop with uncharacteristic judgment in his eyes. When the flame finally catches, Tommy laughs victoriously, and gets to work making stuffing and cranberry sauce for the first time in years. It’s not gourmet by any means, just the Stovetop and the canned stuff, but it feels like his mom. It feels like he’s talking to her again. Tommy wonders if there’s a universe out there where his mom got help before it was too late. He eats his food in the camp chair that furnishes his pathetic living room, with Teddy invading his personal space and trying to sneak a bite for himself.

Tommy keeps the tradition of making himself Stovetop and canned cranberry sauce. He keeps it the year Howie shows up at the 118 and immediately proves himself braver and stronger than Tommy ever could be. While everyone else is busy whining about missing their grandma’s mashed potatoes, Tommy scrapes together his sacred traditional Thanksgiving feast. While Tommy’s not looking, Howie steals half of it.

“Mm!” Howie sighs, “That childhood nostalgia fakeness.”

“Hey! That was mine,” Tommy says, without any real heat. He hasn’t been able to muster anything beyond mild irritation for Howie since he saved his life.

“Oh, because you were going to eat all of that in one sitting,” Howie scoffs, “I’ll pay you back your dollar for my half if you really want.”

“No, it’s fine,” Tommy huffs, scraping out the other half for his own portion. They sit at the table and eat together, and it’s the closest Tommy’s ever had to spending Thanksgiving with someone.

It’s not until they finish eating and the bell rings that Tommy realizes Howie’s the only one who hasn’t asked Tommy if he’s sad he’s missing out on the holidays.

For the most part, his Thanksgivings after the 118 are spent much the same way, but at Harbor, and alone. He gets to put his leftovers in the fridge and eat off them for a few days. Thanksgiving (save for deep fried turkey incidents) is a relatively tame holiday. No fireworks, at least.

Then, Evan.

A lot of things change for Tommy when Evan crashes into his life, all legs and a blinding smile. Evan is a whirlwind and the most beautiful man Tommy has ever seen. Evan is kind of everything.

When Tommy realizes he’s falling in love, it makes him sick to his stomach. He remembers loving his dad enough to excuse his anger, loving his mom enough to let her slip away, loving a country enough to enact its violence, loving the sense of belonging at the 118 enough to allow the kindest people he’s ever met to suffer. Tommy doesn’t love right. He can’t let Evan get tired of him and leave. He can’t poison Evan until he turns into something cruel. So Tommy breaks up with him. Evan asks him to move in, and he can feel the iron jaws of a bear trap closing around his throat, so he breaks up with him.

Tommy doesn’t realize until later that he already asked for Thanksgiving off.

(Thanksgiving came up between them for the first time when Evan asked if he wanted to do their own thing or go over to the grand 118 Thanksgiving Feast.

“I don’t know,” Evan has shrugged, “I mean, I want to spend it with you. I don’t want to pressure you into a big thing if you don’t want to, or if—if you’re used to smaller Thanksgivings. What does your family do for Thanksgiving?”

“Um,” Tommy had said, a little caught off-guard like he was every time they brushed up against the topic of family, “We didn’t really celebrate Thanksgiving. I usually just get a box of Stovetop stuffing and a can of cranberry sauce and call it a day.”

Evan had scoffed, mock-offended. “Well! In that case, we’re going. Mark your calendar. You’re going to cream your pants when you try Bobby’s turkey.”

Tommy had smiled and thought maybe. Maybe this will be the year.)

Tommy sighs and opens the box of Stovetop stuffing. His water and butter are already boiling, so he pours the mix in and watches it saturate. He stirs it and takes it off the heat to sit. A strange, painful sadness claws at the inside of his throat. It hurts. It hurts worse than it usually does.

He doesn’t think about Evan and Bobby’s allegedly orgasm-worthy turkey and Howie introducing Tommy to Jee-yun and how close they had all seemed at the hospital for Denny. He walks over to the mantle above his fireplace, with a small, framed pawprint inside, and Teddy 2021 written underneath.

Five minutes passes slowly without anyone to distract him. Tommy tries and fails not to think about every holiday he’s spent alone, or wishing he was alone. This is the first holiday he’s wished for someone in particular who wasn’t his mom or Teddy.

Tommy eats stuffing and canned cranberry sauce at his kitchen table. Somewhere, Evan is in a house warm with love. Somewhere, Evan is loved, wholly and unconditionally. Tommy’s glad people love him. He deserves to be loved.

Tommy doesn’t like watching football on Thanksgiving, so instead he puts on Mean Girls. After his stomach settles, he’s too tired to do anything but crawl into bed and sleep until his shift in the morning.

When Tommy gets to work, he’s surprised when Lucy says, “Delivery for you in the fridge, Kinard, you better eat it before I can get my hands on it.”

Inside the fridge is a glass Tupperware container wrapped in a plastic Chinese takeout bag. There’s a sticky note attached to it that says Bobby’s turkey is even better the next day.

Tommy texts Evan and asks about it. Evan doesn’t say anything back.

But he does get a text from Howie, and the timing is too quick to be coincidence. When you’re reheating it, remember to put half a teaspoon of water in the dish so it doesn’t dry everything out in the microwave.

[sheep-from-rad]

How would the batfamily react if they found out that the singer/influencer reader was dating one of the villains?, imagine the reader has friends with benefits from the villains

(What kind of jokes do you like?)

Batman is so scary, even bullets are afraid to hit him. That's why they aimed for his parents. (sorry)

anon 🦌

Note: 🦌anon please send more jokes. After the Solmare announcement regarding the Obey me series, I am one push away from drinking every wine in my fridge.I’m gonna need more jokes (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) I don't give permission to have my fics posted to other sites, copied, or fed to AI. Thank you.

Masterlist 

divider by: @strangergraphics-archive and @strangergraphics. Please do support them ♡

You heard that? That’s the collective sign of every Batfamily member sighing in disappointment and collective glare towards Bruce. Like father like child, of all genes to be inherit you inherited his taste (ಠ_ಠ). Getting entangled with a villain is not something new in the Batfamily because they are either related to one (Cassandra, Stephanie, Damian) or romantically involved with one (Bruce with Talia, Poison Ivy, Catwoman and sometimes Harley. Dick with Catwoman II. And Jason with… you know what let’s not talk about Talia and Jason. That one is weird on all levels). 

If you’re romantically involved with someone who does not know Batman’s real identity then it’s not much of a problem. The family is just going to visit said enemy and scar them for the rest of their mortal life. It will be so bad they will just quit being a villain and leave Gotham all together. If you’re romantically involved with someone who knows Batman’s real identity, then it will be a chaotic event. Bruce is already fighting villains and now he’s fighting his blood pressure too. 

Riddler would be so smug about it. He would rub it in every Batfamily member’s face and would constantly drop your name in fights like ‘How would they react if you hurt me?’ or ‘Oh they will be mad if I come back bruised!’. Riddler would be so insufferable like the madman he is. If you’re dating Harvey Dent, you’re technically dating two persons (in most media depictions, Harvey is the same age as Bruce so let’s go with that one). His incorruptible part is basically filling every space that Bruce neglected to fill. He’ll teach you about legals and laws, tell you stories about their days and he protects you from those who dare to come close. His corrupted part, Two face, is kind of mean. He will never miss the chance to remind you of the potential parental issues you have. 

Headcanon that Harley will make it her mini mission to keep you away from Joker because let’s face it, Joker will not love you. He will only use you and break you like how he did to Harley. 

Honestly, it doesn’t matter if the relationship you have is good or bad. To the family it’s a parasite that needs to be terminated immediately before it grows. You’re grounded. You’re not allowed to go out alone. If you don’t live in the estate anymore, you will just randomly find your apartment sold to someone else and you’ll be taken back to the estate. No metahumans in Gotham rule but Damian already has the permission from Bruce to have the Titans stay for a while as reinforcements. Even Jason is patrolling more and everyday now he will make a report to the estate. 

During those days they were full on babying you to the point of infantilization. They’ll give you ‘the talk’ especially if you’re in a friends with benefits relationship with a villain and sometimes they’ll go so far into showing you every other person they had been with. They are not above poisoning the relationship too. They’ll show you expertly doctored photos showing their ‘infidelity’. Guilt trip you into reading old cases and gaslight you. You’re not in love with them, you were just manipulated into thinking that you are. 

But of course, what is a Wayne if not stubborn? Month of being grounded and being in heavy watch and you’re done. You already have their shifts memorized down to who checks on you at night. After hours once you’re certain that everyone is now asleep or busy on their patrols (or finished checking your room), you start acting out the plan of running away. You passed each security detail without triggering them, passed every room without alerting anyone, and passed Titus without waking him up. However before you can even reached the doorknob, you heard Dick and Jason behind you:

“Looks like someone took lessons from Catwoman” 

“You know we saw your lover today. We were going to let them go but I guess no one’s picking you up anymore” 

The next time you wake up, you are greeted by the fresh warm breeze and the sound of water hitting the shore. As you descended down the stairs, news about a villain going missing was on the headlines along with the date on the screen saying ‘Thursday’. It has been three days since you got caught by Jason and Dick and Tim just entered the door carrying take outs from Mad Yak cafe. You’re in Happy Harbor, far away from Gotham and your lover is missing. Was the no kill rule violated? You can only pray it’s not.

[currentfandomkick]

Everyone thank @harvestandhearth for this ^^

Heads up, i’m going with intersex danny as ectoplasm exposure and presumed afab until he was able to clarify which gender he was (toddler) and chose his own name as Danny for this. Tim is still a nicu baby, and the two were presumed fraternal twins until a lot later.

And possible trigger warning, while not in Danny’s POV talking about what vlad did with the clones does trigger an episode to a degree, but this is all third POV with it being others’ observing Danny trying to ground himself after a stressor triggered something.

And as a personal headcannon, since Danny can turn parts of himself intangible, a nervous stim for him when he cant remove himself and go where he feels safe is to pull at his arteries or nerves—never managing it but passing through them as a target is soothing as its a tiny challenge, repetitive, and doesn’t hurt him but he can feel it happening so it helps ground himself after a trigger.

Timothy Jackson Drake nee Fenton pt2

Cyborg had two options with the news Red Robin and Phantom were twins: update the League files and let the paranoid bastards monitoring them find out that way, or telling them.

He did have a front row seat to the Dick and Kori’s disaster era many of them blame Dick for.

He updates Phantom and Red Robin’s files, links them as “twins raised apart geographically, and very attached emotionally” and let the cards fall where they may.

If Dick wanted to bring drama to the titans way back when, he can discover batfam drama on bis own time and away from Cyborg this time.

—

Tim was getting ready for patrol after his Call with Jazz and Dani. Danny crashed his pre-patrol routine to looking over possible redesigns from ghost fashionistas on a call.

The hooded cloak concept is popular and growing on Tim.

Apparently giving him a dragon as his callsign was also popular.

He was liking some of redesigns as different birds. Rook’s and Cardinal having a functional glider built in. Someone with the call mabychan didnt go too far off his current look, and it was possible to add the flight functions. The aesthetic addition of gold or yellow onto the suit proper rather than just his gear was interesting enough to explore later.

Danny continued to advocate for Tim playing with ecto-infused tech to be less trackable and was ignoring the very fact ecto signatures are very trackable and are transferable to people.

He was debating the winged cape-hood combo when his work phone kept going off.

“So, cutting this early again?”

“They can wait. Now, do you think maby could mix the hood and wing cape into her design? Like, my hair is wrong but it’s not far off from what i was going for, i think these two,” Tim grabbed his favorite Rook and Cardinal designs and lifted them to show Danny, “are a good reference for how i want the glider part to work.”

“I’ll contact her and see what she says,” Danny raised an eyebrow as his work phone began to flash red as it kept going off. “You gonna answer that or…”

“They’ll live, i’m not on the clock yet, and they interrupted my cases so many times this week with these stupid team building exercises. Like, hoe, i have a life outside of my two jobs, shut the fuck up and let me live!”

“You sure they aren’t a johnny-skulker hybrid?”

“Positive. They don’t hunt me for my pelt. Most of the time—Hood and mini Robin might if they have a mental break again.”

“Why have i not kidnapped you home sooner?”

“You respect my boundaries and are eviler for doing so.”

“Clearly, my evil-self solo-ed the Justice League and affiliates.”

“I’m still certain if i was alive, i would have beat evil you’s ass.”

“Dipshit, i would not have gone evil i would be a shaky chihuahua following your ass everywhere if any of my idiots didnt die in that accident.”

“Fair. So, i get Val, Anita, bart, Kon will try but he may run late with chores at the Kent’s, Cassie is coming, and against the odds you get to face an olympic archer too!”

“Oh my god, you guys could stand a chance if Dad’s aim doesn’t obliterate your points. How did you get Cissie to agree?”

“I told her Greta’s on your team and reminded her they were still tied for who was winning a bet way back when. Then called her a dick for deserting us in our time of need.”

“At least i don’t have to worry Slobo.”

“He’s on kiddo duty while we play.”

“So strategic sabotage.”

“You know me so well.”

“Evil, evil bastard brother!”

“Don’t talk about our mom like that.”

“I was talking about Aunt Janet.”

“Never mind, carry on.”

“Nah, but your phone is annoying me so—“ Danny shifted and Phantom burst out of his screen. “Ancients that sucked!”

Tim rolled his eyes as Danny bemoaned his latest fire walls.

“Use real fire ants next time, Ancients Damnit!”

“No.”

Danny snagged his phone as he reloaded his smoke pellets. “Now what does—holy shit. Did you not tell them you’re co-workers?”

“It was obvious—why do they think I turned down the family dinner invites unless Steph was there? I need bestie backup to handle their shit off hours.”

“Oh my god, you didn’t. They think you’re a Bat when you’re a fucking Fenton. Holy shit!”

“I never hid it,” Tim defended, “They’re detectives, they dan detect.”

Danny began wheezing, curled around the phone and cackling.

“…did B send anything yet?”

Danny shakily passed the phone. Tim ignored the group chat and looked to his private one with Bruce and Alfred.

“Cave. Now.”

“I was unaware of your living relatives Master Timothy. Do invite them over, we have much to discuss. From, Alfred Pennyworth”

Tim groaned, moving to put the last of gear in place.

“I was invited by your co-parent, I’m coming.”

“Chaos gremlin.” He waved Danny to follow him into the elevator, away from his (relatively) civilian quarters.

“You say that like you aren’t one too.”

“I hide it better, when it matters,” Tim shrugged. “Blame Aunt Janet’s social chameleon lessons.”

“Deceiver of all,” Danny narrated with the utmost dramatics as they exited the elevator. “be evil with your whole chest or be the Good Twin!”

“Fuck that. Now get your ass in gear, you’re riding Bitch.”

“Hey, if guys at school are going to keep calling me Fentonia, I believe I can say you gotta stop calling it that. Clearly I’m the tagalong and a snack.”

“Nope,” Tim readied Red Bird. “You smell like a bitch and look like shit. Why Val likes you, the world may never know.”

“Fuck you. And we share a face!” Danny got on behind him, ignoring the offered helmet.

“I wear it better and dont have baby fat. Safety first lab accident.”

“You look like that brainless dipshit from Oz, but boned,” Danny snapped as he put on the helmet and waiting for Tim to go.

“At least when I crossdress, it’s not a question of which gender I’m presenting as,” Tim grumbled as they sped out.

“Eat a cock, you know they thought i was a girl for a year.”

“I mean—“ Tim took a sharp turn out of the garage and merged into Gotham’s traffic .

“Abort, no sex stories from my twin this early—.”

“It’s 9 at night mostly ghostly.”

“—And did you forget i ate your fraternal twin in the womb and we became identical in a case of severe Gray’s Anatomy BS?”

“Look, the Nicu was A Lot, and with how much medical mystery shit our family has going on, can you blame me?”

“Yep. Medical mystery, magical mystery, family curse and Fenton Luck must be kept

Separate big brother, or are you getting sennial in your old age?”

“Fuck off.”

“And once again, your 9 pm is my 4 am. I’m a witching hour girlie, Reddicus Robininous.” Danny snarked as they sped outside of Gotham City proper into the Rich Bitch greenery and woods.

“I blame Pix,” Tim groaned.

“Beanie taught me that!”

“But Pix taught you to say it.”

“She did, she did.”

The ride to the Cave was quiet, Danny frowning at the lack of stars.

“Leave it.”

“But i can probably pull it out of the atmosphere.”

“And put it where?”

“… my chest?”

“Nope, no self experimentation without scientist supervision.”

“Don’t you count?”

“I am a detective, combatant, chemist and hacker. I am not a scientist.”

“Sounds fake.”

“You’re fake.”

“I’m ghostly, and a member of the cloned kids club.”

“You ate my twin in the womb.”

“So i get to be evil!”

“No. I’m evil; I’m a ceo and help a lot of coverups as a vigilante for other vigilantes and a handful of anti-heroes.”

“Evil me took out your not-son and his friends!” Danny argued.

“Please, three separate evil me’s managed that, and came back to gloat.”

“Well, those three ceased to exist or evil last i checked. My evil me’s in therapy and still murdery.”

“I know—how’s Dan doing and are we going with older brother cover or cousin like Dani?”

“His call, and he’s… unpacking still.”

“Eh-hem,” Alfred interrupted as Tim parked Red Bird. “I believe we need to have a family meeting are your other family members joining, excusing this Dan?”

“No, they don’t know this is happening,” Tim answered.

“That,” Danny looked around at the… trophy wing(?) of the cave. “Aannnd Jazz would enjoy psychoanalyzing you all too much. So, is this a ‘check all the info for verification cautionary tale’ or something else?” He asked as he turned his attention back to the bat-butler. Batler(?)

“Something else, Master Daniel.”

“Just Danny. I chose it, I get to keep it in all contexts.”

Alfred moved to open his mouth.

“Only one to not call him that made him an unwilling teen parent,” Tim interjected before Alfred could start up on formalities.

Alfred narrowed his eyes. “Has this individual been taken care of?”

Tim and Danny shared a look. “Working on it,” Tim answered, rubbing the inside of Danny wrist before he could start tugging his arteries or nerves as a stress stim.

Alfred looked between them. “Anything else i should be aware of Master Danny?”

“Just keep toast away from me, and I’m not a solid foods person—can do solid food in shake form just uh, jaw tends to freeze and lock at random since my powers came in.”

Alfred hummed in response to that. “Soft solids are acceptable, yes?”

Danny slowly nodded his head, and moved his hand to the thermos on his hip.

Tim squarely kept Danny on the side he could better block the cameras from as they followed Alfred up.

“I made a batch of chocolate salted caramel chip oatmeal cookies. I will bring you a more drinkable version of the batter with a strawberry smoothie on the side. Master Tim, your usual will be beside your serving.”

Tim grunted in response, checking his phone and keeping a steady hand on his twin’s pulse. Which was far too fast for Danny’s normal… trying to appease Tim’s co-workers by masking the liminality, or stress response to casually outing himself or to Tim dropping the Vlad forced cloning thing (Tim’s helped him with so, so many nightmares of watching his clones die. The fact one was identical to Rim didn’t help. Tim being present and alive did).

Danny smiled at him. Mask smile—so hiding Phantom’s impact or ignoring the trauma trigger he pulled. Yep, Tim is winning the evil twin contest for the wrong reasons again.

Alfred turned to see Tim analyzing his twin, who was more flushed in his face than before… he’d have to inform the Wayne clan to gentle their interrogation regarding Master Danny’s existence. Master Tim’s explanation helped explain the name situation, however it could have been done without triggering the poor boy. Had Master Tim given him a moment, he would have found the explanation unnecessary.

The twins stalled at the threshold of the meeting room.

Tim waved at Stephanie, Cass and Barbra sitting in the same general area together as he moved further in front of Danny and switched which hand was grounding him and monitoring his pulse. Stephanie was gleeful to say the least, Cass unfazed and Barbra giving him a too knowing wave back.

Dick was sitting between Damian and Bruce, the three dissecting every move Tim and Danny made. Tim made sure to shield him as much as he could from the imminent psychological warfare Bruce was planning. Damian would likely aim for any potential insecurity once he got too aggravated with everything, and was likely to say something that could set off Danny. He only really went through his firewalls instead of waiting for Tim to let him in when he was having a particularly nasty day and needed some twin time.

Tim couldn’t fathom what Dick’s plan was. The one he saw as his found older brother would laugh at him managing to fool everyone one on a loophole and tell him how to further the ruse. But the one who took up the cowl was different from the brother that mentored him and helped with everything from girls, leading a team and homework.

Duke and Jason were to the side. Jason looked morbidly amused while Duke seemed curious, so no worries on that end for Danny. Operation: ‘air out Batcorp’s laundry if they start shit’ was a go.

—

Okay next round i will want an idea of how you want batfam members to respond to the fact Tim ‘hid’ his family from them—as that’s how these chuckleheads are entering this meeting.

Tim’s got receipts and Danny is there mostly to divide Tim’s attention and watch the show.

Tim Drake’s Coworkers (ft. The Fenton Family)

It’s not that Tim doesn’t like the Batfamily. He tolerates them just fine. Damian is great for sparring (if you like sparring with a tiny murder machine), and Jason’s brand of dark humor isn’t too bad once you get used to it. Dick’s a bit too much sometimes, but overall? Fine. Totally fine.

But the thing is… they’re just his coworkers.

And it never really clicks for the Bats until Danny Phantom joins the Justice League and everything starts unraveling.

———

The revelation comes during a League meeting. They’re strategizing about some ghost-related chaos, and Danny floats into the Watchtower, bright and glowing.

“Oh, hey, Tim,” Danny greets casually, giving him a little wave.

Tim doesn’t even look up from his tablet. “Sup.”

Superman looks between them, confused. “…you two know each other?”

Danny grins. “yeah, he’s my brother.”

Dead silence.

“WHAT?!” Bruce’s bellow shakes the entire room.

Tim finally looks up, unfazed. “What? Did you think I just spawned into existence?”

“You have a brother?!” Clark sputters.

“Two siblings, actually,” Tim corrects, utterly nonchalant. “Danny’s the younger one. Jazz is the older one. She’s great. Super organized. Kept me alive in middle school.”

Bruce’s eye twitches. “Why—why am I only learning this now?”

Tim shrugs. “It didn’t seem relevant.”

“Relevant?” Diana repeats, incredulous. “You’re the brother of Danny Phantom and it’s not relevant?”

Danny, who’s been munching on some ectoplasm candy, jumps in: “Honestly, Tim’s always been kind of private about his personal life. We just figured it was his way of coping with the whole ‘raised-by-rich-neglectful-aunt’ thing.”

“Yeah, about that,” Tim interjects, glaring at Danny. “Thanks so much for dumping me with Aunt Janet, by the way.”

Danny shrugs sheepishly. “Mom and Dad panicked! They thought you’d get ghost-napped next!”

“Uh, correction: Aunt Janet left me to raise myself, so that plan was awesome.”

Bruce, trying to keep up, interrupts: “Hold on. Your parents left you with Janet Drake?”

“They didn’t know she sucked at raising kids,” Tim deadpans. “And to be fair, they did call. A lot. I just didn’t pick up.”

Jason, who has been cackling this entire time, leans forward. “Wait, wait, wait—so you’re telling me that the Replacement’s entire family is a bunch of ghost hunters?”

“Yup.” Danny pops the “p” with a grin.

“You’re kidding me,” Steph says, borderline hysterical.

Tim sighs, clearly over it. “Look, it’s not a big deal. Jazz keeps the parents in check, Danny handles the ghost stuff, and I… stay out of the way. It’s fine.”

“FINE?” Damian glares. “Drake, you’ve been fraternizing with ghost hunters while working with a vigilante group, and you think that’s fine?”

Tim raises an eyebrow. “Dami, chill. It’s not like it affects work. You’re my coworkers. They’re my family. Separate categories.”

Cue collective Batfamily malfunction.

———

Later, Danny is chilling in the Batcave, feet kicked up on the Batcomputer, chatting with Alfred. The rest of the Bats are still spiraling.

“Tim, we’ve lived together for years!” Dick exclaims, sounding genuinely hurt. “How are we only your coworkers?”

“You’re not my family,” Tim explains, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Danny and Jazz are my family. You guys are my teammates. It’s different.”

Jason throws his head back, laughing. “Oh my god, Replacement, you’re stone cold.”

“I’m not cold,” Tim argues. “I just don’t think we need to make it more complicated than it is. We work together. That’s enough.”

Meanwhile, Danny is wiping tears of laughter off his face. “Oh man. Jazz is gonna love this.”

[satorusvoid]

“tomura…” you whined, your cheeks squished together in his hand, laying with your back to his chest as he pumped his fingers into you at an agonizingly slow pace.

“shhh just let me make you feel good, sweet girl.” he cooed in your ear, turning his head to not-so-subtly sniff your hair, groaning at the sweet smell that infiltrates his nose. “want it deeper, tomu…” you ground yourself on his fingers in a desperate attempt to reach the achy spot inside you.

shigaraki angled his hand in a way that made his two fingers move further into your eager warmth. “mmh… like this?” he murmured, perking up at the sound of your whimpers. “uh huh…”

“talk to me,” he urged, his fingers moving in sloppy patterns as he gave your face a gentle squeeze, smooshing it together further. “what do you feel, hmm?”

you were egged on more when you felt him start humping you from behind, his clothed cock hard as it rubbed back and forth against your ass. “i… hnghh— i…” your brain worked harder in an attempt to force words out of your mouth.

you could feel his smirk at your inability to respond to him, but he didn’t stop trying to get you to talk. “it’s okay… oh fuck— you can do it.” he groaned at the feeling of your hips stuttering between moving in time with his fingers and trying to push yourself further against his dick.

“i love your fingers so much…” you sobbed, tears dripping onto his hand. you were suddenly aware of how pathetic you probably looked in this moment, but tomura didn’t care one bit when you were making all these pretty noises. you were his girl, and he found pleasure in being the one who could make you feel like this.

“yeah? they make you feel good?” he gave a particularly hard pump of his fingers that hit the mushiest part inside you, causing you to moan even louder. “yes, yes! right there, please! you make me feel so good, tomu!”

tomura continued to press against that spot again and again until you were so close to the edge. the noises you made were higher in pitch now, your body desperate to find the release only he can give you because that’s how well he knows you.

“c’mon, let go. show me how much of a good girl you are, and cum for me. wanna feel you squeezing down on my fingers.” he encouraged you in that sweet voice of his, and you found yourself complying with his command almost instantly, your vision turning white as you fell apart on his fingers, your body shaking from the intensity of your orgasm.

tomura continued to fuck you with his fingers, slowly pushing you into overstimulation. he only slowed down his movements when he felt your hand shakily push at his own, urging him to stop with small whines and whimpers. “too much, tomu…”

he eventually pulls out of you, making a filthy display of sucking his fingers clean of your cum, and your face flushed at the sight, still not used to how crude he can get when he pleasures you.

he fully turned your body to him now, holding you in his arms as he kissed you with so much love. you pulled away when you were completely out of breath, your spent body falling against him while you tried to regulate your breathing.

“i love you so much.” he whispered in the silence of the room, looking down at you after a few minutes when you didn’t respond, and finding you asleep with your fingers clutching his hoodie in that cute way you always did when you felt safe with him.

[aliendes]

SVT Reaction to you flinching during an argument

warnings: mentions of arguments and flinching during an argument, not descriptive, mentions of past trauma (?) maybe during one part, very tame and kinda fluffy, attempt at humour? man idk... let me know if I missed anything

remember my requests are OPEN for seventeen!

Seungcheol (S.Coups)

The softest man alive, fight me, I will die on this hill. Have you seen the video of Minghao cupping Cheol’s cheek and he instantly crumbles? Yeah, Cheol would immediately see you flinch or even step back away from him and he’d fold. He would never hurt you, you know that, he knows that, everyone who knows you both knows that. He literally worships the ground you walk on. But he can get heated in an argument with loud words and huge hand gestures, which might scare you. He would immediately lose the ability to be angry, or annoyed, or whatever at you and instantly start apologizing, cooing at you, and would spend the night babying you within an inch of your life. “You know I would never, ever do anything to hurt you, right princess?”

Jeonghan

Now this man can be mean, I can feel it in my bones. But he would never, ever, ever, hurt you. He is so gentle and kind, and while he can definitely have some sassy moments and might even say some things that can come off as rude, he would never in a million years raise a hand to you. If you are flinching because of him it’s probably because he’s making large hand gestures trying to get his point across, but as soon as he noticed he’d go all wide-eyed, drop his hands immediately, and completely forget what you were even arguing about. He’d make sure you allowed it before holding you and cuddling you the rest of the night, whispering sweet things into your ear as he rocked you. 

Joshua

Another gentle giant. I can’t see him even getting animated enough to make you flinch, but if you did for whatever reason he is instantly caving and probably trying to make himself seem smaller to calm you down. Whether that means getting on his knees, sitting on the couch, or even laying down to continue the conversation, he’ll do it. But he will want to continue the conversation, though in a less heated way. Would run his hands through your hair, hold your hands and kiss your knuckles, and stare into your eyes as you spoke, telling him how you’re feeling as you both try to resolve whatever the fight was about in the first place. 

Jun

Another one I can’t see actually making someone flinch, he is just too soft for his own good. But if you did flinch away from him during an argument he would be so confused by what just happened, maybe to the point where he’s looking behind him to make sure something else didn’t frighten you. Would end up losing his train of thought and reach out for you to comfort you. “Baby, you know I’d never hurt you!” Would probably pout at you after he made sure you were ok. 

Soonyoung (Hoshi)

Another gentle man with loud words and big gestures. He is part of BSS and all of BSS can get chaotic and hyper. That said, he seems the type to be pretty quiet/docile during an actual argument. The only time I can see him accidentally scaring you is if he gets really heated and shouts/yells. If this ever happened he would see you flinch and immediately cool his anger. It would be like a switch is flipped. Would lower his voice, whispering to you to make sure you’re ok, and if you cried he would probably end up crying with you in hushed tones. 

Wonwoo

He’s tall, and he’s broad, and he understands that he is much larger than you. He usually takes this into account during arguments specifically to avoid this from happening. Will usually sit down when arguing with you for this reason. The moment you flinch or try to move away from him he would probably get very steel-faced, berating himself for not being more mindful. You might take this as him being angry at you, which he would immediately crumble at. He’s not angry anymore, in fact, he just wants to make you feel loved. Will kick himself for the rest of the night and you might end up being the one to comfort him. “I feel like the worst boyfriend on the planet.”

Jihoon (Woozi)

The only member that I cannot see ever making you flinch, in any situation. Mans so calm and collected, if you are arguing with him he's probably sitting there with his arms crossed completely chill. 

Seokmin (DK)

Another member of BSS and loud boy squad. He’s also pretty tall and muscular so if you ever flinched away from him during an argument I can see it resulting in immediate tears on his end. He would feel so incredibly awful for making you think he would ever hurt you that it absolutely breaks his heart. He would try to make himself smaller, tears in his eyes as he apologizes and makes you understand that he was just trying to get his point across. Might even act more subdued in his actions for the next few days until you promise him that you weren’t really scared of him. Sulky baby. 

Mingyu

Another huge baby with a heart of gold. Because of his size alone I can see this happening with him if he is super heated or if the argument isn’t going his way and he’s trying to defend himself. Lot’s of arm movements. The moment you flinch his eyes are watering with unshed tears and he’s holding onto you for dear life. Hugging, kissing, cuddling you, completely forgets what the argument was about. You would end up reassuring him in bed later that you admire his size and strength so he doesn’t feel bad about himself for the next few days. Sulky baby #2.

Minghao (The8)

Can come off as cold and calculated, but I think this man is one of the most loving and romantic in the entire group (fight me on this). He’s also very level headed, but on the off chance that you do end up flinching during an argument, he would be super analytic about it. “Hey, come here. Sit down with me and tell me what’s going through your head.” Would make you sit with him, would rub his knuckles over your arm or shoulders as you spoke with tears in your eyes. Would make you talk it out with him before comforting you if that is what you need. Makes sure that you understand he would never hurt you and only wants to make sure whatever issues you had were resolved before you went to bed. 

Seungkwan

Final member of BSS and definitely a loud, sassy boy. You’ve all seen him argue on national television before, so this is definitely something that could happen in your relationship. However, the moment you are flinching away from him he is pouting at you (you know the face) and looking at you with those pretty wide eyes like he doesn’t understand what just happened (he doesn’t). Wants to immediately figure out why exactly you flinched, will do whatever he can to make you feel loved and appreciated in that moment, but will definitely need reassurance later that you know he would never hurt you. Sulky baby #3. 

Vernon

Might not even realize you flinched at first. Would be too in his head talking through whatever it was that you are arguing about that he doesn’t realize what has happened until you have tears in your eyes. “Baby? Was it something I said?” Poor baby will feel awful when you explain it to him. Maybe you have had bad experiences in your past that make you more scared when in arguments. Would listen and talk through it with you and promise to not make the same mistakes next time you argue, if you do. Would feel so bad after you resolved it until you reassured him that it’s ok. 

Chan (Dino)

Precious baby doesn’t always realize when he’s getting loud or gesturing widely. When you flinched he would stop dead in his tracks, rethinking all his life decisions. You could literally see the calculations taking place behind those pretty boba eyes as he figures out exactly what movement he made to make you flinch. Would promise you and himself he would never do it again and would want to cuddle with you so closely the rest of the evening that he wouldn’t even want to let you go to get ready for bed. Literally clinging to your back like a koala.

[jinxedbychaos]

vi x reader, where in childhood they were somewhat involved with each other . Like you can tell the love is there but they have yet to realize it themselves. And when they went to save vander, reader got hit in the head and loses their memory. And Vi is put in prison.

then Vi gets out, and they find each other. And Vi hugs reader and goes on a good “i missed you, there wasn’t a day i haven’t though about you” spiel, and reader just doesn’t know how to feel about it. Because in their mind this is just some stranger. But at the same time they feel like they know and care deeply about this stranger.

Forgotten

Vi x reader

Word count: 1,275

Warnings: some mentioned deaths (that's all I think.)

This is the first ever request I've ever done so I hope I meet the expectations of the person who send this request.

You and Vi grew up together in the the lanes. life wasn't easy, but you had each other, and that made it bearable. she'd always mess with you, messing with your hair, ruffling it playfully whenever she got the chance. You'd pretend to be annoyed, swatting her hand away with a huff, but secretly, you liked it. It made you feel warm inside.

After her fights, you'd sit her down and patch up her scraped knuckles, muttering about how reckless she was, She'd grin at you, acting like it didn't hurt, but you always knew better. You could see through her tough exterior, and she could see right through yours. Neither of you ever said what you felt, but it was there, in lingering glances, unspoken gestures, and the way your hearts seemed to beat in sync.

Then everything changed.

It happened when Silco made his move. Watching Benzo-your father figure, the man who had taken you in when you had no one else, fall dead right in front of you helpless to stop it, shattered you. The thought of Vander meeting the same fate was unbearable. And the idea of Vi having to endure the pain of losing him, too, was more than you can handle. You couldn't let that happen.

So when vi decided to go after him, you went too. You stayed by her side as the others followed, determined to save Vander.

You were right beside her when the explosion went off. The force of it knocked you off your feet, and pain seared through your entire body like fire. The last thing you saw before the world went dark was her pink hair splayed on the ground unmoving.

When you woke up, everything was gone. Vander. Claggor. Mylo. Vi. Even your memories.

All that remained were fragments, hazy feelings of warmth and safety tied to a face you couldn't quite place.

Years later-

Life without your memories felt hollow. The Lanes still felt familiar in a way you couldn't explain, like a melody you couldn't recall but keep humming anyway. you did whatever you had to do to survive, jobs you weren't proud of, choices you tried not to think about. You pieced together a new life, but no matter how hard you tried, it always felt incomplete.

And then she appeared.

You were carrying a crate of scavenged parts through the bustling streets, just trying to make it another day, when someone stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

"Hey" You began, irritation flaring. But when your gaze meet hers, the words died in your throat, she looked familiar.

The girl, no, woman stood frozen, her pink hair catching the dim light. Her wide eyes, a mix of disbelief and something far deeper, softened as they locked onto you.

"Y/N…" She breathed, her voice cracking.

The name sounded foreign to you, yet it struck something deep inside, a string you hadn't realized was there. Before you could react, she rushed towards you and wrapped her arms around you. The crate in your hands fell to the ground with a loud clatter, its contents scattering everywhere.

Her hold was tight, desperate, as if she were afraid you might disappear. "Gods" She whispered, her voice trembling "I missed you so much. There wasn't a day I didn't think about you. I-I thought you were dead after the explosion."

Her words pierced the fog in your mind, stirring emotions you couldn't explain. Images flickered in your head. flashes of pink hair, laughter, a hand reaching for yours in the dark. You didn't know her, not really. And yet…

The way her voice trembled, the way she held you like you were her lifeline. It felt familiar. Like home.

"I…" your voice wavered as you pulled back, stepping out of her embrace. The confusion and overwhelming emotions made it hard to think. "Y-you know me?" You swallowed hard, shaking your head, "I don't… I don't remember. I don't remember you"

Her expression faltered, the pain flickering across her face like a fleeting shadow. She took a shaky breath, forcing a small, fragile smile. "That's alright" she murmured, her voice trembling but steady enough to hide the heartbreak beneath it "We'll figure it out together. I'm not letting you go this time."

The days that followed were a whirlwind of emotions. Vi tried to reconnect with you, sharing stories of your childhood together, each one laced with hope that might ignite a spark of recognition. sometimes, fragments of those memories felt familiar, like shadows of something long lost. But just as quickly, they slipped away, leaving you more confused than before. How could someone care so deeply for you when you couldn't even remember who they were?

And yet, there were moments. Her laugh carried warmth that tugged at something buried deep within you. the way she said your name felt like home, even if you didn't understand why. The fire in her eyes when she talked about protecting you stirred something unspoken, something that felt like it had always been a part of you.

Despite the confusion, you couldn't help but feel drawn to her. Maybe it was the tenderness in her gaze, or the way your heart raced whenever she smiled. or perhaps it was something deeper. Something you couldn't name but felt in every fiber of your being, like a truth just out of reach.

one night, sitting on the rooftop, the hum of the lanes below was a distant murmur in the silence between you. You sat side by side with Vi, the weight of unspoken thoughts in the cool night air.

"Vi…" you began, your voice quiet as you stared out at the city "I-I don't know if I'll ever remember everything. I don't know if I can be the person you remember" You hesitated, your fingers twisting together nervously "But I want to try. I want to be that person for you"

Vi turned to you, her gaze soft but unwavering, her expression a mixture of hope and understanding. "you don't have to be anyone but who you are now" she said gently, her voice steady "I just… I just want to be here with you"

Her words stuck something deep within you, cutting through your uncertainty. for a moment, you were overwhelmed by how much this woman. this stranger who somehow felt like home. Had given herself to find you again.

"Vi…" you murmured, your voice trailing off as her eyes locked with yours. The space between you seemed to shrink, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy in the air.

slowly, tentatively, you leaned toward her, your heart pounding in your chest. She met you halfway, her lips warm and soft against yours. Her kiss was gentle yet filled with a quiet desperation, as though she had been holding back for years, waiting for this moment.

It wasn't just a kiss. It was a connection. A fragile bridge between the fractured pieces of your past and the uncertain promise of your future.

When you pulled back, your foreheads rested together, your breaths mingling as you both tried to steady yourselves. Vi smiled, her voice soft and teasing, though her eyes glistened with emotion "I've waited a long time for that, you know"

you couldn't help but smile back, a warmth blooming in your chest that chased away the lingering doubts "I think… maybe I've been waiting too. I just don't realize it"

in that moment, the weight of the past seemed lighter. What mattered wasn't what had been lost but the connection you were building now. one step, one moment at a time, together.

✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

Hope you enjoyed reading :] don't forget to like.

I'm still working on some requests that should be out soon enough, if you want you can leave a request.

[pigeonstab]

Cross and Dream would be unstoppable. In a bad way. Those two are both overworking machines and Blue is so so tired of having to wrangle them into resting.

[bandsofmarv]

Future, past and present.

Struggling with adjusting to the new timeline. He meets someone new. Logan slowly begins to trust you, he realises that maybe—just maybe—this new timeline offers him something he thought he could never have: a second chance, and someone to share it with.

TW - not really any, fluff and angst, smut.

The cabin smelled of pinewood and faint traces of whiskey, the air heavy with a history Logan could never escape. It was quiet—too quiet for his liking. For someone used to chaos, peace was like a loaded gun: unpredictable and waiting to go off.

You, however, had brought that damned sunshine into his life. From the moment you had breezed into his space—too bright, too warm, too alive—Logan had been trying not to crack under the weight of your presence.

But you weren’t easy to ignore.

“Logan,” you called softly, your voice lilting as you stepped into the room. You carried a mug of steaming coffee, its rich aroma cutting through his brooding haze. “You’ve been staring out that window for hours.”

He grunted. “Maybe I like the view.”

You smiled, leaning against the counter, watching him with that unshakable optimism that made his chest ache. He didn’t deserve you—hell, he didn’t deserve much of anything. Not after all the bloodshed, all the lives lost on his watch.

“I’d believe that,” you teased, “if you weren’t scowling at it like it owes you money.”

He glanced over at you, the corner of his mouth twitching in something that could almost be called a smirk. “What do you want, darlin’?”

“Breakfast? Company?” You stepped closer, unfazed by the storm brewing in his eyes. “You can’t keep shutting me out, Logan.”

“I ain’t shutting you out,” he said gruffly, though the words felt like a lie. The truth was, you had wormed your way past his defenses before he’d even realized it. Your kindness grated against his jagged edges, smoothing them in ways that scared the hell out of him.

You placed the mug on the table in front of him and sat down, propping your chin on your hands as you stared up at him. “If you say so.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence stretching between you like an old wound. Finally, he sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of years. “I’m just… not used to this.”

“This?” you prompted.

Logan ran a hand through his thick, graying hair, his jaw clenching as he searched for the right words. You didn’t press him, though the concern in your eyes was enough to chip away at his defenses. He wasn’t good at talking about this—about anything, really—but if anyone deserved an explanation, it was you.

“This… timeline,” he started, his voice rough, “it’s not where I came from. Where I was…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the mug of coffee in front of him, fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “It was hell. And I ain’t using that word lightly.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t interrupt. You just waited, patient as always, letting him find his way through the storm.

“Everyone was gone,” he said finally, the words quieter now, like they were being dragged from the deepest part of him. “Most of ‘em dead. Mutants… wiped out. Charles…” He paused, swallowing hard. “He didn’t deserve what happened to him. None of ‘em did.”

You watched him carefully, your heart aching at the cracks in his usually impenetrable exterior. You’d heard whispers about his past, about what he’d been through, but he’d never opened up like this before.

“They relied on me,” Logan continued, his voice gaining an edge of bitterness. “And I failed them. Over and over again. I survived, sure, but what the hell was the point? Just to watch it all burn?”

“That wasn’t your fault,” you said gently, your voice soft but steady. “You did the best you could.”

Logan’s laugh was short and humorless. “Yeah, well, my ‘best’ didn’t stop the world from falling apart.”

You reached across the table, placing your hand over his. His skin was rough and scarred, but you squeezed gently, grounding him. “You’re here now, Logan. In a world where they’re alive, where you can make things right. That has to count for something.”

He looked at your hand over his, then up at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might pull away, retreat back into the shell he kept so tightly around himself. But instead, he turned his hand over, lacing his fingers with yours.

“It’s not easy,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Being here, pretending like I don’t see the ghosts of what I lost every damn day.”

“I know it’s not,” you said, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “But you don’t have to do it alone. Not anymore.”

Logan stared at you, something flickering in his eyes—something raw, vulnerable, and so deeply buried you almost didn’t catch it. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let the smallest sliver of that sunshine you carried seep into the cracks of his broken world.

“Guess I don’t,” he said, his voice softer now, as though the weight of his confession had lightened just a little.

You smiled, warmth radiating from you like a beacon in the dark. “Not as long as I’m around, old man.”

Logan huffed out a breath that could have been a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re too good for this world, darlin’.”

“And you’re too stubborn to admit you deserve it.” His hand tightened around yours. For once, he didn’t argue.

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened as his gaze lingered on your face, his usual stormy eyes softening, just for a moment. Something in the air shifted, the weight of his grief replaced by something electric, something that hummed between the two of you. You felt his thumb stroke the back of your hand—tentative, almost unsure—and when your lips parted to speak, he surprised you.

Logan leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was fierce, desperate, and utterly consuming. It wasn’t graceful—nothing with Logan ever was—but it was real, raw, and filled with the kind of hunger that made your heart race.

You gasped against his lips as he pulled you into his lap, his hands finding your hips and grounding himself in the warmth of your body. “You sure about this, darlin’?” he growled, his voice rough and gravelly as he searched your eyes.

Your answer was a soft moan as you kissed him back, threading your fingers into his hair and tugging, eliciting a low rumble from his chest. “I’ve never been more sure,” you whispered, breathless, your lips brushing against his.

Logan didn’t need more convincing. His hands slipped under your shirt, calloused palms exploring the soft curves of your waist. He groaned as his lips trailed down your neck, teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you arch against him. Every touch, every kiss, was a testament to how much he’d been holding back, how deeply he craved you.

By the time he carried you to his bed, the quiet cabin was filled with the sounds of your shared desire. His kisses grew slower, more deliberate, as he explored every inch of you like a man trying to memorize something precious. His scars brushed against your skin, but you didn’t shy away. Instead, you welcomed him, showing him with every touch that he was safe here, with you.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice husky as he took in the sight of you beneath him, your body bathed in the dim light of the room. His hands roamed your curves, his lips following, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

You pulled him closer, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, marveling at his strength and vulnerability. “Logan,” you gasped, the sound of his name on your lips driving him wild. He groaned as he finally gave in, his movements slow but intense, savoring the way your body responded to his.

It wasn’t just about lust—it was more. In every kiss, every touch, there was a depth of emotion that neither of you had dared to voice before. He wasn’t just claiming your body; he was baring his soul, trusting you with the broken pieces of himself.

And as the night stretched on, Logan finally allowed himself to let go, to let you in, and to believe—if only for a moment—that he might deserve this happiness after all.

[wingedshadowfan]

⚠️arcane s2 act iii spoilers⚠️

i've seen the edits but i've not heard a single soul talk abt caitlyn fighting ambessa in the last battle. so i will: first abt how she was able to do what she did, and then the fight itself and what i think it symbolizes for her.

ppl complained abt caitlyn getting too close to ambessa on the noxian ship to zaun, all friendly like this was a mother-daughter sparring lesson, but let's not forget caitlyn is an amazing strategist. she saw an opportunity to not only improve her own hand-to-hand combat skills by learning from ambessa, a formidable warrior (bcuz caitlyn is a long range sharpshooter and even tho she's an excellent shot, she isn't a strong opponent in melee and she knows it), but also because to make herself familiar with ambessa's fighting style would mean to know what to expect.

when ambessa fights dirty as part of her lesson, caitlyn takes her anger out on her immediately and attacks her from the back to show two can play that game. this is a great moment of foreshadowing - caitlyn's patience is wearing thin, she's frustrated with ambessa. she might turn on her, betray her and use her own tricks to do it (of course, her and vi's unconditional trust in each other, something foreign to ambessa, is what sells it). this is just my interpretation and i don't know when but i think at one point caitlyn realized she might eventually have to fight ambessa for real - their disagreements were becoming more frequent, the tension between them more palpable and if she really knew ambessa was manipulating her the entire time like she said...

fast forward and caitlyn's got the element of surprise, sure, but all vi's been doing since the last time they saw each other is bashing people's skulls in at an underground boxing ring (and getting drunk, i guess). vi has always been a much stronger opponent in hand-to-hand combat, she "blocks with her face" and isn't scared to take a punch bcuz she's extremely good at it. she's tough and willing to take a lot of damage as a trade off if she can deal a lot back. caitlyn is a more careful and less robust type. but if you look more closely, she tackles vi to the ground brutally using the same exact combo she learnt from ambessa during their earlier spar. fast learner.

in the last fight, caitlyn gets roughed up, gassed up (here's how she fights in melee in low vision just before that by the way, already so much improvement from season 1), she gets stabbed in the side and leaves the dagger in there (rightfully so - smart choice for a smart character). she's brought to her knees with a gun to her head, and as soon as maddie falls dead on her, she's up again and fighting. but it's not like that doesn't affect her, she becomes slower, shakier, and proceeds to take the most hits she's ever taken on screen, potentially the hardest ones too, even with mel's help and shields. she falls and falls and keeps getting up, showing insane resilience. ambessa can't put her down for good. she's fighting like a woman gone mad, female rage and all that, having forgotten all self-preservation.

like she's got a death wish, she punches ambessa mid-sentence and tells her to shut up and fight. caitlyn kiramman interrupted a warmonger's villain speech bcuz she's bleeding out and has no time for this shit. all she can do before she goes down is try to buy mel time, give her a good opportunity to use the black rose necklace. she's centimeters away from getting stabbed in the eye and she can't overpower ambessa whose dagger is sticking through mel's shield when she realizes the talismans on ambessa's arm are protecting her. so she pushes forward, literally trading her eye off to find herself within range, and she takes the dagger out of her own side to slice the talisman free. she's literally bleeding out at this point but one smart decision, a few tremendous sacrificies and it's over.

in my interpretation, caitlyn regrets going too far in her pursuit of jinx, making vi a cop, gassing up the undercity, shooting with isha on top of jinx, hurting vi, joining ambessa and all the atrocities that came out of their partnership when caitlyn became commander. she wishes she'd never made those mistakes but she knows she can't undo them now. the way caitlyn fights against ambessa here - reckless, desparate, like she's got nothing to lose - shows how much she wishes to fix things because that's all she can do now. that's her purpose, her salvation from her guilt, but also the right thing to do.

it reminds me of her talk with imprisoned jinx and then her talk with vi after that. caitlyn seems to be projecting onto jinx bcuz of her own guilt for what she's done when she tells her she can't turn back time, undo her mistakes or make up for what's already done. no one can. but vi asks her, "who are you to decide who gets a second chance and who doesn't?" and it makes caitlyn realize she still has agency. she can always attempt to fix things, right her wrongs to the best of her abilities. and what does she do immediately after that conversation? she sends all the guards to the hex gates so vi can free jinx.

UPDATE: here's another post talking about what cait sending those guards away meant, how much she sacrificed in her attempts to do right by vi, including a comment about what it means for a sniper to lose her eye that i found brilliant.

[justkending]

Pink or Violet? (Part two of "It's just a papercut..." Drabble)

(All gifs are from Pinterest)

(Part two of "It's just a papercut..." Drabble)

Pairing: Grumpy Bucky x Avenger Reader (Enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 2600+

A/N: Well, wow-ie wow, wow... Y'all blew up the last little drabble connected to this one, so I had to grant myself some writing time today to come up with a follow-up drabble. This one is a lot more lighthearted and a good 5-8 months in the future (your choice, really). Thank you, guys, for all the love on the last one, and I hope this one is a nice extension of it ;)

________________

“Have you ever considered going brunette? Whoa!” I sense the knife before I see it and manage to expertly dodge it with a laugh. “Hey, my teammate said I’m not allowed to get stabbed anymore, big guy,” I note, turning in my spot, kicking the man in the nuts, and as he folds over in pain, I hold his head perfectly to knee him in the face, hearing a satisfying crunch, causing him to land with a thump by my side. “Rude to interrupt conversations, too, dude.” 

Currently, we were in the middle of a stakeout… Or what started as a stakeout and now is a full-on brawl. 

Nat and I were rudely interrupted in our conversation about disguises we wanted to try, when an explosion in the facility we were monitoring took over the west wing. 

“I’ve done a wig,” Nat answers as she jumps, doing one of her classic moves where she’s sat on the shoulders of her assaulter, choking him out with her thighs before flinging her body to where she’s standing again casually and the man is incapacitated passed out on the floor. “Not that I didn’t find it flattering, but it’s harder to dye back with such a dark color.” She shrugs as she moves on to her next victim. 

I bend grabbing the knife from the man I just took down and flip it a few times in my hand. “Makes sense.” I nod with a convinced look. “On your right,” I hum, and she ducks while I throw the knife perfectly to where it lodges itself in the thigh of her attacker. 

A blood-curdling scream sounds at his pain, and I pout at him in fake sympathy as Nat shoots her widow bite as he falls, making him shake in shock before passing out. 

“What about you?” she asks with a breath, brushing her hair out of her face. “Ever considered a neon green?” 

“What? No. Am I trying to get caught in this undercover scenario?” I reload my gun before holstering it, and we start jogging to our next spot. 

“I just think it’d be fun to venture away from the neutral tones for once. Maybe there would be a mission where you did need to be found and-” Nat’s cut off by coms in our ears. 

“Ladies, enough salon talk,” Tony’s voice comes through. “We have a situation on the northeast corridor where we could really use your help!” 

“We’re coming!” Nat groaned. “God. Micromanager is in full force today.” 

“Besides, Y/N’s skin complexion wouldn’t work with a neon green. Maybe a pink, though…” Tony continues before his coms cut out, and he’s back to shooting things from the sky.

“Oh, pink would be really good with your skin tone,” Nat seconds as we turn a corner. 

“No one is dying their hair pink! I could use some backup!” Bucky’s shouts come from the comms next.

“Where’s Steve?” Nat asks, pausing at a fork in the halls and signaling for me to follow. 

“Caught up at the moment,” Steve’s grunts came through my earpiece. 

“Almost there, Barnes!” I note as we come to the hall where he’s supposedly located. “And I’ll have you know, if I want to dye my hair pink, I’ll damn well dye my hair pink!” 

“Guns, Y/N,” Bucky groans. “I have guns going off around me and at me. I’m not worried about a fake scenario right now. I’m worried about a really real one that’s-” He’s cut off and grunts a few times. “Please just-” 

The two men he was up against fall slack to the ground, and he’s left panting with relief as he turns back to me, standing at the end of the hall with my gun lowering back to my side. 

“Please, what? I like it when you use your manners,” I smirk as I walk up proudly to him. 

“You need to be humbled a touch,” he notes, shaking his head as he checks his weapons and reloads them while I walk to stand by him. 

I roll my eyes before assessing our surroundings as he gears up. “You’re just jealous because the girls have more fun with undercover makeovers. You want a pink wig too?” I tease, poking his shoulder. 

He playfully shoves my own and makes me teeter some as I laugh. 

“I got the information!” Steve’s shout comes through the comms. “We can wrap this up.” 

“Thank God,” I groan, adjusting my holster on my hip. “I have dinner plans.” 

“Sorry to interrupt your schedule,” Tony snarks. 

“It’s ok. You can compensate by paying for my meal,” I say back, pushing the button in my ear to keep it in place. “Speaking of compensation…” 

“Y/N, I swear if you say you stole my credit card information again,” Tony groans. 

“What, me? No… I would nev-” 

“Shut it. I don’t even have the energy to fight you.” 

I turn to Bucky and wink, and he’s biting back a laugh with a wide smile. 

“You’re a mess, you know that?” he says lowly, the comms not picking up on us. 

“You like it,” I shrug and start moving down the corridor, where Nat’s waving us on to follow. 

“That I do,” he hums, following behind me and playfully kicking my ass with the tip of his boot. “Now, these dinner plans…” 

“Interested?” 

“More than you know…” 

____________________

Back at the compound, freshly out of the shower, I hear a knock on my door. “Just got out of the shower, but the doors unlocked!” I shout. 

“Dinner’s arrived!” Bucky shouts, shutting the door behind him carefully. 

“Thank God. I’m starving,” I grumble, throwing my sweatshirt over my head after getting dressed. “I’ll send Tony a thank you card later for covering tonight's meal,” I hum, drying my hair with a towel as I come into the room. 

The greased takeout bag smells fresh of hole-in-the-wall dinner food, making my mouth water. I grin as Bucky places it on the coffee table in front of my couch and starts arranging the containers for us to splurge. 

“No, you won’t,” Bucky responds to my thank you card comment. 

“No, I won’t,” I agree, jumping over the back of the couch and bouncing into the seat next to him. “Hmm, you smell nice.” I’ve come to learn, and so has Bucky, that his body wash might as well be my kryptonite. 

“I can say the same for-,” he bumps me with his elbow before his eyes narrow on my exposed shoulder, and without a second thought, he grabs my arms and moves my body to face him. “What’s that?” 

“What’s what?” I ask, looking down at the spot he’s glaring at as best as I can. 

“You got a cut,” he points out, hovering his fingers around the area and moving my sweatshirt out of the way. 

Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have cut the neckline to half my sweatshirt after that stupid TikTok trend I saw the kids doing… Or at least worn one that wasn’t butchered tonight.

“Buck, it’s literally a scratch. And I’m genuinely not downplaying it at all,” I note, grabbing his wrist and trying to move his hands away, but they have an iron grip on me. 

Or should I say, vibranium grip on me?! Haha! Get it?.. No? Ok, moving on…

But seriously. The cut was just that. A cut. It wasn’t anything like the night we talked things out months and months ago. That one had become slightly scarred, whereas this one will be scabed over in the morning and likely be gone in 2-3 days. I might as well have gotten into it with a cat who was pissed when he figured out he’d been put on a diet. 

“A cut’s a cut,” Bucky argues, looking up at me. “Did you clean it?” 

“Yes, I cleaned it in the shower with the rest of my body. I disinfected it, and it has that balm on it. And before you ask,” I say just as he opens his mouth. “Yes, it’s that special medical cream you had Banner make for me. I’m set.” 

Bucky had become a little more intense when it came to my injuries since about three missions ago, I had moved at the perfect time to redirect a knife headed right at him, but it sliced my palm in the redirection, and much to my misfortune, it was laced with something. 

To add to the list of medications he’s had Banner concoct specifically for my clumsy self (which were in the double digits at this point), I now have a poison control cream that counteracts most toxins and keeps me from saying hello to Heaven sooner than I hope. 

“You don’t feel weird or anything?” His eyes are scanning mine and my face for any lies or other injuries I haven’t told him about, and I’ve come to learn if it makes him feel better to double-check up to 20x before being satisfied, I’ll allow it. 

“I’m right as rain,” I nod, smiling at him softly, squeezing my grip on his wrist in reassurance. “The only thing I’m feeling is hungry and tired. So, what movie are we watching that I’ll inevitably fall asleep on you during?” 

He hesitates for a moment and then nods, dropping his hands and going back to the food. 

“I was thinking Tombstone,” he answers, grabbing one of the to-go containers with fries and a burger and handing it to me. 

“Another Western? What’s got you on the cowboy kick?” I ask, taking it and popping it open, instantly assaulted by the smell of freshly seasoned fries. 

“You keep nicknaming me cowboy, so I figured I should have a little background knowledge of the profession,” he winks at me over his shoulders as he gets his own food together. 

“Oh, yeah? You like the nickname?” I ask, nudging him with my knee. 

“When it comes from you? Yeah. Sam? No. Without hesitation, I will start adding laxatives to his protein shakes if he keeps it up.” 

I laugh at their friendship, and we start up the movie, diving into our much-deserved greasy meal. 

_____________

The next day, Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Wanda are lounging on the living room couch, all doing their own thing. Wanda and Sam are watching Sex in the City. Steve was reading a book called The Secret War of Laos, and Bucky was on his computer, fully engrossed in whatever was on the screen.

Nat clears her throat, and I stand next to her in a baseball cap with my hair completely hidden underneath. Everyone looks up, and instantly, Bucky’s eyes fall on me. He smiles for a split second before it drops, and he furrows his eyebrows at my appearance. 

“We have an announcement,” Nat smiles mischievously. 

“Oh God…” Bucky rubs his temples and looks down in his lap in seconds. 

“You don’t even know what we’re going to say,” I argue, not able to hold back my laugh. 

“I can use context clues,” he grumbles before looking up, his eyes squinted as if he had a bad headache forming, and it was already making his eyesight worse. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Nat waves him off as Sam and Wanda chuckle, and Steve looks oblivious to what is happening. “Anyway. Y/N and I made a bet and, well… Y/N lost.” 

“Surprisingly, not mad about it,” I shrug, arms crossed over my chest.

“Of course, you’re not…” Bucky mumbles, shutting his computer and putting it to the side.

“What did I miss exactly? Because everyone seems to know what’s happening…” Steve asks, confused, taking in everyone’s reactions. 

“Come on. Let’s see it.” He interlaces his hands and rests them in his lap as he watches me. 

I smile at Nat, who’s also grinning wide, and move to take the ballcap off.

“Awesome,” Sam is the first to say something, and Wanda claps and gushes. 

“Oh wow, that’s so cute!” She smiles widely. 

“Whoa. That’s…” Steve turns his head to the side.

“Pink,” Bucky finishes for him. His eyebrows raise in what looks like surprise as he takes in my new hair. 

“Do you like it?” Nat asks the group, and there’s a mix of reactions as they talk over each other. 

I laugh with them for a little before walking over to Bucky’s side of the couch. Plopping down next to him, the crew talks about their own personal transformations they’d like to take and quickly forget about us in the corner. 

“Thoughts?” I ask, smirking up at Bucky as I sit almost wholly tucked into his side. His arm comes around my shoulders, resting there as he looks at me from the side. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he chuckles once, taking it in up close now. 

“Eh, I thought a change-up would be fun. Change. Is. Good,” I shrug, poking his chest with each word. 

He moves to touch my hair, and as soon as his fingers touch it, his face contorts into an investigative look. 

“What?” I ask, biting my lip as he’s already catching on to my ploy. 

“This isn’t,” he rubs a piece of hair in between his fingers, studying the texture. The crease in between his eyebrows drops instantly, and he deadpans to me. “It’s a wi-” 

“Shhh!” I hush him, almost jumping in his lap as I cover my hand over his lips. He freezes, eyes wide, and his hand instinctively goes to my hip to balance me. “Let me live this fantasy a little longer,” I smile, holding back a giggle. 

“This is a fantasy of yours?” He asked behind my hands, words muttered and raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe fantasy isn’t the right word-” 

“Because it’s starting to turn into one for me,” he cuts in, and I can feel his smirk in the palm of my hand. 

I slowly drop it, astonished at his confession. “I’m sorry. Did I hear that right?” I ask, peering at our friends who are now arguing with Sam about growing an afro, which he is all for, apparently. 

Instead of answering, he licks his lips as he brings his hands to the wig and plays with strands of it.

“Maybe not the pink, but… How’d you feel about a violet?” he asked, eyes slowly rising to mine. 

“Oh. My. God…” I say lowly, sinking back in my seat, pressed to his side. “Did we just discover a new kink of yours?” 

“I fear we may have…” His voice was low and made a shiver go down my back. 

“I hold no fear at all,” I smirked back at him, looking him up and down. “All I feel about that statement is excitement…” 

“Where exactly did you get this? Because it looks pretty realistic…” His fingers still play with the wig, which, thanks to Nat, is a higher-end one. How he caught on to it being a wig is impressive. 

“Doesn’t matter,” I shrug. “What matters is I happen to know they carry all the colors…” I smirk. 

“Interesting.” 

“Interesting indeed.” 

He starts to stand up, and I’m confused by the action until he turns and offers me a hand up, and once I’m standing, he leans down to whisper in my ear, my hand still in his.

“We can keep this one for now. I have a few ideas still.” 

I look up at him, pleasant surprise on my face. “You know how I said change is good?” He nods with a smirk, his hand squeezing mine in response. “This,” I motion between us. “This is a change I’m glad happened.” 

“Same here,” he winked, pulling my arm to I’m be flushed with him, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulder, escorting me out of the room.

“Where are they going?” Nat asks, confused at our sudden leave. 

Everyone turns to see the tail end of us leaving, and Wanda laughs after a second and quickly covers her mouth. “God, pray for her,” she says under her breath, and Nat gives her a look. She tries to play it off by coughing and shaking her head. “Sorry, something in my throat.”

Marvel Tags:

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My Lovelies Forever:

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Bucky Barnes Tags:

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[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

How To Plant Snapdragons | 15

Task Force 141, Keegan & Konig x Female Criminal!Reader

Previous Chapter / Masterlist

“I need to put you down.”

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, your arms tightly wrapped around his shoulders, and your legs locked together circling his waist. You shook your head in disagreement, feeling as though he would disappear the moment he slipped away from your grasp like grains of sand, and all of this was merely a fever dream.

Keegan sighed out loud, his hands traveling from your thighs then underneath your butt, and hoisted you up, to keep you in place. He took some steps forward, peeking around the corner of an alleyway, and slowly slid down to the ground. His hands took nest around your waist and adjusted you on his lap.

“Fine, let's stay here for a short while,” he said in a low voice, his warm breath fanning your ear.

You clawed onto his clothes and forced yourself to let go. You pulled away from him and gazed into a pair of icy-blue eyes, which you didn’t expect to behold so soon, to have him before you in an unwanted place like this, when you left his side over a year ago. But it was just like this, all the times you had spent with him, always at arm's length, never truly in his arms—never he was yours.

Nonetheless, you couldn’t help but reach up to his mask and pull it down to his chin, tracing your fingers over the line of his jaw which felt a hit rough from the stubble.

You were never his, and yet, you found yourself questioning what he had been thinking over the past year as he pulled you tight to his chest.

You wanted his mouth on yours, and now, in this dark alleyway that smelled of sewers, under the cold rain, on the run from the hunting shadows, it was happening. Your lips parted as his thumb brushed over their petal softness, and you combed your fingers into the undercut at the nape of his neck.

Keegan felt tingles wash down his back, like what you have always done to him as he closed the gap between your mouths, first with the utmost gentleness, then with the hunger of a starved man. You made a delicious little sound, which he drank and responded with the same hunger, sparking a fire in his stomach that he had once lost.

He didn't want it to stop.

You didn't want it to stop, yet you knew you didn't deserve such a wish, and so, you pulled away, or tried, but he kept you in place.

“You're the one who didn't want to let go, now you're the one pulling away?” He muttered on your lips, resting his forehead against yours, and your noses touching one another.

You forced a smile upon your face. “We need to get moving, yeah?”

“Touche,” he remarked and averted his gaze onto your shoulder. “Let’s treat this first.”

You nodded, and reluctantly and slowly, you got off his lap, letting him rummage on kit he had behind him. “We don't have time to stitch it, so a bandage should work for now,” you said, patting his chest for a knife and found one. With it, you tore your sleeve off leaving your shoulder bare, and put the knife back in its place.

He didn't utter an answer, but you knew he was listening and agreed to your statement as he pulled out a bandage from the kit. Lifting your arm up, he quickly wrapped your wound with the bandage, wincing at the tugs he made to secure the fabric in place, but he didn't take long till he tied it up on a knot.

You rolled your shoulder and squeaked when he flicked your forehead. “Bro, the fuck?” You rubbed the sore spot.

“Don't move it too much, idiot.” He got up on his feet and extended you a hand. “And don't call me ‘bro’ after you kissed me.”

“Well, I was just trying to make sure I can still move,” you scoffed and took his hand with your good one, letting yourself be pulled up to your feet. “And you are the one who kissed me, bro.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and pulled his mask back up to his nose. “You initiated it, bro.”

You rolled your eyes, which he copied, and when you met his eyes once again, you couldn’t help but smile. He shook his head at you and placed his hand on your head, ruffling your hair which was already a mess. You grumbled as he started to walk and peeked around the corner for the second time. With a motion of his hand, you quickly followed him into another alleyway, and from your peripheral, you saw corpses scattered on the street, blood staining the pavement red.

You heaved a loud sigh and something crackled from your comms, Soap’s voice coming in.

“Bravo 7-1, in the blind . . . how copy?”

Just before you could click on the comms and speak, Keegan covered your mouth with his hand, pressing you against the wall as a Shadow passed by. He waved his hand, telling you to stand by, and with practiced movements he rushed towards the contractor, plunging his knife through the neck. He dragged him back to your position and carefully laid him down so as to not trigger any unwanted noises. Then, he nodded at you.

That moment, the lieutenant answered, making you sigh in relief. “This is Ghost, how copy?”

You clicked on the comms and in a hushed voice, you said, “Snapdragon, uh, Shampoo to 141, how copy?”

“Shampoo?” Keegan echoed, confusion clear in his voice.

“Long story,” you simply replied to the man, pulling a face as you listened to the 141’s reply, but it seemed like they couldn’t hear your answer at all as they went on a conversation of their own, then cursed out as it dawned at you. Your way of communicating back was the throat mic that you forgot to remove after burning Valeria’s house and Ghost took it back to the ship. “Fuck, they won’t hear me.”

Keegan reached for the wires on your vest, carefully eyeing each one. “They don’t seem damaged.”

“No, but I talk with them through a throat mic.” Your hand flew to your neck, rubbing the sore spot where you scratched and clawed. “God, damn it.”

Keegan watched you tap your feet against the group rapidly in repeat, one of your mannerisms that he picked up throughout the years you spent with him. Seeing your dejected gaze on the ground, mapping out your next moves in silence, he removed his earpiece, disconnecting it, and reached for his comms. “Russ to Walkers, how copy?”

You snapped your head at his way, eyes widening at the mention of surnames, and voices that you had longed to hear.

“Hesh to Keegan, on the way to save a British ass,” then a second of pause, “although, I don’t think this one is British. Ehh, Scottish, maybe?”

At the same time, a quiet voice answered, “On it.”

Your vision began to blur, tears threatening to run down from your eyes as you realized how much you missed their voice, how you prayed and repeated their words over and over again in your head, in fear that you would forget about them. And you let the tears fall as a searing touch, one you would burn the world for, wiped them off your cheeks.

You buried your face in Keegan’s palm, hand cupping over his, as you bit down on your lip, to silence your sobs.

“Good, I’ve got our lady,” Keegan announced and pulled you into his embrace, muffling your cries in his chest.

Immediately, Hesh demanded, “Put her on, let me talk to her. Put her on, Keegan—”

“Shut up, won't you? She's preoccupied.” Keegan swiped a strand of hair from your face and rested his chin on top of your head.

“Preoccupied?” David repeated. “You're not fucking her in the middle of the street, are you?”

Keegan had never rolled his eyes so hard until this moment. “Why the fuck would I—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you glowered, pushing on Keegan's comms, and sniffed to stop your disgusting snot from dripping on his vest. His words made you pull yourself together, almost literally making you push the remaining tears back in your eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” a chuckle reverberated from the comms, getting you to smile. “Hey, how've you been?”

“You want the truth or the filtered one?”

“Since when do you filter anything you say?”

“Touche.” You snorted. “Well, tortured, imprisoned, and now I'm here, I guess?”

“I said the unfiltered version!” He yelled through the comms, and muttered a curse, making you shake your head. “Not the short version,” he finished.

“It'll be too long of a talk, man.”

“Good point.”

“Are you alright?” Logan joined in.

You giggled at his question and wiped the excess rain water from your face. “Yeah, never been better. I feel like I could take on anything right now.”

“That's you when you're high,” the younger Walker remarked, making you gasp, his brother laughing and Keegan stifling a laugh.

“Is this a reunion or a roasting competition?” You questioned.

“Both,” he simply answered.

You rolled your eyes, and silence rolled in for a moment, which you immediately broke. “Hey, make sure to mention me to the 141 or show them something that tells them you're not a threat.”

“Rog,” Logan quickly replied, ever the quiet and straightforward man more than Keegan.

“This guy's looking funny tho,” Hesh commented and you knew immediately what he was gonna talk about. “A mohawk, really? He looks like a rooster. It gives off the vibe of someone who made a bad decision in life. He should have just shaved it all off.”

You shook your head. “Like you can talk.”

“At least I don't look like a stegosaurus.”

You covered your mouth, clamping your lips, and closed your eyes to stop the laughter threatening to escape from you. You thought your first impression of Soap was bad, referring to him as a rooster—an ostrich even, and here your brother was, calling the Scot a dinosaur.

You removed your hand from your face. “You need to stop,” you demanded, breathing heavily to calm yourself. “Because if you don't, I won't be able to stop laughing and we will get compromised.”

“Rotten pineapple looking ass.”

“Stop—”

“The dark evil troll from Trolls Movie.”

“Hesh—”

“The visual representation of hair growing on the tip of the penis.”

“BWAHAHAHAHA—hmph!” Keegan's hand clamped over your mouth, but it didn't stop you from laughing on his hand, hitting the Sergeant’s arm. Your body trembled, your eyes watered and it felt like air had been knocked out from your lungs.

You were so going to hell for this.

But your laughter immediately died down as you heard footsteps rushing towards your location, and you shot a look of apologies to the sergeant.

He shook his head at you and gestured at you both to get to work, just like the old times.

Soap looked over his shoulder once more, eyes narrowing at the dim alleyway behind him for the third time. He could have sworn he heard some voices, but everytime he took a stumbling step forward, his footfall and the conversations between Shadows would drown out the noise which had been following him for a few minutes now.

He got in contact with Ghost, but he had not heard a word from their bonnie since he escaped on his own. And the Lt. even stated that you stayed behind to let him escape and gave him a phone to contact Price, but the phone had died down due to the unfortunate weather.

 Although, at first, he was a bit cautious of what you wrote on the notebook, at the moment, their last resort was to believe your words, and his mission now was to get away from the Shadows, meet up with the lieutenant and get Price.

Only, if he wasn't so dizzy right now that it seemed like everything was spinning and he fell on his knees.

“Hey.”

Shit. He rushed back up on his feet. That sounded American.

“Leave me no choice.”

The next thing he knew, a hand covered his mouth. He struggled to get out of the man’s grasp, the slickness of their clothes made it hard along with the fact his arm was hurting and he was dragged back into an alley.

Just as Soap got hold of the man's arm, something was shoved before his eyes, making him freeze. A photo of a woman between two men, hugging one another and sporting huge and bright smiles on their faces. His eyes widened at the features of the woman.

Bonnie.

“Recognize her?” Hesh let go of Soap and slowly backed away from him, still showing the photo whilst he raised his other hand in the air.

Soap pushed himself to the wall. “That's . . .” he trailed off, scanning the man from head to toe. Sounds American, looks American.

“My sister,” Hesh confessed and stashed the photo in his pocket. “We're here to help around, by her request.”

Soap frowned. “Ye donnae look like her.”

“She's adopted.”

That made him frown even more. How could someone just casually say that? But more importantly, why didn't you mention any family members to the 141 before? Heck, now that he raked his mind about you, he barely knew anything about you at all. You were like a big puzzle with so many pieces missing and the pieces he had in his hands might even be lies.

“If you don't believe me, feel free to ask anything that can make you believe me,” Hesh offered and reached for his kit, fishing out a roll of bandage and a stim shot, which he threw at Soap.

Soap easily snatched it from the air and stared at the ivory fabric, then met the man’s eyes, cerulean ones to viridian. “You couldn't stop Shepherd from capturing her?”

Hesh raised his brows. “Goddamn, she's hiding this much from you lots?” He clicked his tongue rapidly. “You’re mistaken.”

“Mistaken?”

“She let herself be captured.”

Ghost stared at the photo the man in a skull mask showed to him. He positioned a knife against the man’s neck and had him pinned against the wall. But he remained unmoving from his place, inching the blade closer to the man’s throat. “What's this?”

Logan stayed silent for a moment, eyes unblinking, boring straight to the lieutenant’s eyes, and in a monotone, he said, “A photo.”

“Fuckin’ hell—I know what a photo is,” Ghost grunted, pushing him harder against the surface, but the man remained unfazed. They were at the top floor of the cathedral where they could see most of the vicinity, and just as when he thought he was alone, with no Shadows following him, lurking in the dark to strike him, this man appeared like a ghost on the hunt for another ghost.

“A sibling photo,” Logan quipped.

Ghost frowned underneath his balaclava, annoyance getting onto his nerves. “You're her brother?”

Logan nodded. “We came to help.”

Ghost narrowed his eyes at him. “Why should I believe you?” he questioned and darted his eyes down to the man's hand, watching him reach for his comms.

Logan disconnected his earpiece and with a click, he spoke. “Gremlin, come in.”

Not a few seconds later, your voice echoed from the comms that the lieutenant now could hear. “You with the Lt. now?”

Ghost's grip on his knife slightly loosened and held back the sigh of relief that threatened to rush past his lips.

“Yes,” Logan croaked.

And your next few words made something that Simon had already buried in the dark long ago to step into the light once again.

“That's a relief. Take care of him for me.”

Keegan already getting in action while Simon is still walking to that point 💀 (I had fun thinking of insults to Soap's mohawk, sorry not sorry) The Walkers being menaces tho, and I'm sorry for the late update, I forgot I didn't upload it here on Tumblr.

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own

Taglist: @yyiikes , @the-faceless-bride , @cassiecasluciluce , @annoyingstrawberryballoon @unicorngirly1, @thriving-n-jiving, @squidalapobre, @tallicaside @eustassh

[lizardywizard]

A tangent, but I hope you don't mind that this inspired me.

They say we aren't meant to have a home? Then they forget the rule of beasts: home is where you lay your head. For a night, for a year, for a lifetime, home is where you set your weary body down and say, here I will rest; here I have the right to rest. Home can move, but we always have it with us: we carry our homes on our backs, or dig them where we may. Home can be an opportunity, an unclaimed cave, a squat. A patch of soft earth? That's home again, not just for ourselves but for the plants we can tend and the bugs and birds who'll feed on them, the whole cycle of life. Put your paw on the ground, feel that it's true.

Home can be a statement: a theta-delta in your window, a faery star in your garden, plural rings scratched on your local blank wall. Home can be an action: if you heard someone howling, you'd feel it was safe to join in, wouldn't you? So be that safety for your kin. Howl and others will feel free to howl too. lt's hard, so hard, but you can learn to walk the world as if you have the right to be in it - because you do, just like anyone else.

Just remember also the crucial part: it's never just your home. It's the home of everyone who lived here before you, every weed that wants to grow, every bee that wants to sip nectar, every coyote roaming the fringes of your neighbourhood in search of trash to eat. The homeless addict, the bratty child, the eel, the spider, yourself: the universe has placed us all here and we all belong. Respect the life that shares your home, and don't uproot it more than you need, because we all need each other to thrive. And especially respect the Indigenous people, whose communities have cultivated a relationship to the land over thousands of years only to have it cruelly torn away, fracked and paved and poisoned by those who believe that the earth can be bought and sold. Respect their sacred spaces, even if you don't personally believe: if you want a good relationship with the local entities and spirits (and you do), this is not optional. Learn from them and you'll find that even humans can be a keystone species.

In these modern colonial cultures, we've been alienated from the simple truth: all the world is our home, all of us, together. It always has been. There is not a one of us who was placed on this earth and does not belong, and no law, no border, no man with a gun, can take away that soul-deep right of all creatures.

Welcome Home

thinking about this page from @sleepvines’ lovely zine “Kind”. been thinking about it a lot actually. it’s so simple but I got kinda choked up reading it. I wasn’t sure why it hit me like that at first.

welcome home. I didn’t even know there was one. there’s a home? what does this home look like? I see dry leaves and stones and singing around a fire and dancing. somewhere I don’t have to pretend to be human or “normal” . We all take off our human masks and we laugh about it. How hot and stuffy it was having those things on. Fangs and claws glinting in the moonlight and wings around bodies in an embrace. Howling together and more than one tail wagging. Growling and barking and drumming in intertwined rhythm. WHO’S that beast? WHO’S that beast? you’re that beast. you’re here and you’re home. Welcome home.

Where is home and how do I get there. How can I help the beasts that need it get there. Where is home. There’s a home? I thought beasts like me weren’t meant to have a home. But you said welcome home. I’m welcome. We’re welcome. Home.

a home for all beasts. it’s not so impossible.

[etclouie]

hi honey, there’s physically never enough rick grimes fics out there so could i ask for prison era rick with this prompt?

“You could try and sleep it off?” “I don’t think that will change the fact that I’m carrying your child, sorry.”

˚୨୧⋆｡ prompt/s; “You could try and sleep it off?” “I don’t think that will change the fact that I’m carrying your child, sorry.” — from 50 dialogue prompts

˚୨୧⋆｡ warnings; implied age gap (not specified but rick is older), reader is pregnant, uhm just they both worry about keeping the baby safe

˚୨୧⋆｡ a/n; going through it rn cause of college but i’m trying with reqs still

— celebrate 600 with me?

the day had been longer and more draining than every other day, so by the sun was setting you were ready to go to bed. simply exhausted from your day. 

the gentle cascade of the sun shined through the small prison windows, coating the plain walls with a soft orange tinge. 

tonight, the prison was quiet. quieter than usual and it had an eerie feeling to it. there was always something going on, or someone making noise but nothing. 

most of the group had gone to bed, only you and Rick remained awake. he was just outside the cellblock, pacing back and forth as his thoughts grew too heavy for him to sleep. 

you and Rick had been together for a couple months now, and quickly grew closer which led to you getting pregnant with his baby. 

your relationship started as quick sleepless nights together that got complicated by emotions neither of you had been prepared for— especially with Rick grieving Lori in the beginning. 

currently though, you were sat on the bottom bunk in your shared cell. one of your hands resting on your stomach, a small reminder that there was still good in the world somehow. 

you hadn’t really spoke to Rick all day, both of you being split up in your different jobs around the prison— yours less straining than any other jobs going, yet it still tired you out just the same. 

Rick knew you were feeling off, you’d been quieter than usual too. 

not noticing that he was standing in the cell door, his hands shoved into his pockets as he watched you. 

"you alright?" 

his voice pulled you from your thoughts, nodding slowly. his movements were calculated and cautious as he squatted in front of you, one of his hands taking yours. 

Rick had quickly become familiar with the signs of your discomfort over the past few weeks— many of them even similar to Lori when she had Carl and then Judith. 

tonight however it felt different, more serious. he couldn’t tell if it was the pregnancy or something else that was eating away at you, but wanted to make you feel better. 

“long day”

Rick frowned at your words, his thumb soothing back and forth across your knuckles while your free hand followed the same movements across your stomach. 

part of his didn’t believe your words, you looked exhausted. 

"you don’t look alright”

he continued to pry, now fully in your space as he watched you carefully. his free hand laying on top of yours in your stomach. 

his eyes searched your face for a moment before his gaze dropped to both yours and his hands resting on your stomach. his expression softened even more. 

"if you’re not feeling well, you could try and sleep it off?" 

he suggested gently, his hands leaving yours to cradle your face. he let out a hum as you nestled into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut briefly before opening again. 

you looked at him, your lips parting as though you were about to say something, then closed again. after a long pause, you exhaled and a frustrated sigh escaping your lips. 

"i don’t think that will change the fact that I’m carrying your child, sorry”

Rick’s heart skipped a beat at the bluntness of your words, but he didn’t retract away from you. instead he looked down at the ground for a moment, the weight of it all setting in. 

he knew you were right, but the idea of it had been gnawing at him for weeks. 

part of him thought it was too soon, for him to have moved on and to have another baby— but also for you. you were younger than him by quite a few years, and it ate him up inside. 

"i’m not tryin’ to ignore it," 

he started, his voice a little rough with a mix of exhaustion and something softer, more vulnerable. 

"just… i’m tryin’ to figure out how we keep you safe— both of you”

you shifted your weight, your eyes softening as you studied his face and seen the worry bouncing around in his eyes. 

"i know, i’m scared too Rick”

you replied, your voice low. your hand that was previously holding his went to his jaw, soothing your thumb across his cheek as you pulled him closer. your forehead resting against his and both of your eyes fluttering shut as a heady sigh fell from his lips. 

he swallowed hard, the silence between you both was thick and filled with all the things neither of you could say. 

but despite everything— despite the fear, the violence, the unknowns— he couldn’t help but reach for you, his hand soothing from your stomach and finding its way to the small of your back. 

his touch was careful, almost tentative as if he was afraid he might break something precious.

he couldn’t promise you everything would be okay, couldn’t promise that he’d always have the answers. but in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to give you stability in this world that had none to offer.

"i’ll keep you safe— both of you, somehow but i’ll figure out how”

he whispered, his voice hoarse, but full of determination. and somehow, in that moment you believed him.

⋆˚࿔ reblogs are highly appreciated 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[pleasestayawayidonotlikeyou]

Hellows...we needs more star sanses! Requesting for these beautiful skeles in a first meeting with a fem reader, but they kinda bumped and accidentally kissed each other. UwU

pls. take ur time and take care of yourself too 💛

I'm Sorry, got stressed that ink's part didn't get saved and never touched this again- I'M SORRY TRAVELER!!

Featuring: Dream, Blue and Ink.

Masterlist

Blue

"Shit shit shit I'm late!"

You breathe heavily while running as fast as you could, you've woken up an hour later than normal, trying to get to the cafe you work in as fast as possible, this has happened before and your boss was not happy about it. You were barely even awake, since your vision was a bit dizzy from not eating breakfast and rushing, that you didn't even see the skeleton with a blue cape in your way, bumping into him and falling down.

You let out a squeak as you felt his chest hit yours, his teeth against your lips, a short kiss that you quickly broke by moving your body up, facing the monster's empty sockets as a darkish shade of blue spread all over his face.

"I'm so so so so sorry sir!!" H-here, let me help you out.."

As you got up, you extended your hand towards the unknown skeleton, which he grabbed as support to get up, passing his hands on his clothes to try and get some dust off.

"Uuh... Thanks..."

When he looked back, you were no longer standing in front of him, it took him a while to see you in a crowd running inside his favorite cafe..

Dream

Another day, another room to clean... You were taken by Nightmare as a maid, not that you had any better choice since between old guys who'd give you a tight, sexualized uniform plus giving you glares and staring at your private parts and the king of negativity who'd let you live on the palace and give you a good enough payment + an actual proper maid uniform, you didn't have to think twice, did you?

"Huh? What was that noise?"

You turned your head around not seeing anyone, yet the sound of a vase breaking certainly caught your attention, maybe it was killer and dust fighting? No.. they were on a mission.. maybe one of Killer's cats decided to roam the place and broke something? Well, whatever it was, you were the one that needed to clean it anyways.

Your footsteps echoed though the hallway, you signed seeing the broken glass on the floor, quickly grabbing your broom and sweeping it to the trash, yet you almost didn't hear heavy breathing since a figure ended up bumping into you full force, throwing both him and you on the ground, your lips smashing into his for seconds before he lifts himself up.

"Oh gosh, I'm so so so sorry! We need to get you out of this place!"

You look at him with a confused expression as he grabs your hands, lifting you up too.

"Uhh... Sir I work here.."

"What?"

"Dreamy boy come back here!"

Killer's voice was heard from the distance, the unknown skeleton looked back and started running, disappearing on the halls as you see both Killer and Dust run past you with a knife and bones on their hands.

"There isn't a normal day in this godman Castle.."

Ink

It was a beautiful day outside, birds were singing, flowers were blooming, on days like this, humans like you... Were walking home with groceries bags on your hands.

It didn't take long for you to get home, you lived some minutes from the market anyway. You unlock the door with the key, placing the bags down on the kitchen table and begin to unpack, organizing everything in their designed places.

"Fuck I forgot the eggs."

You sign, hitting your forehead with your hand as you turn around, ready to leave, were the eggs necessary now? Not really. Then why did you go to the store again? Because you knew you'd forget about them the next time.

The cashier looks at you confused and holds back a giggle when he sees you carrying the box of eggs on your hands, scanning your card and asking if you want a bag, which you decline, it's just some eggs, they really aren't that heavy, he smiles and wishes you a good day for the second time.

You were getting close to your house, you smiled, thinking about getting back in your pj's and watching cartoons all day, or maybe playing some video games..

Your thoughts are quickly interrupted by a skinny skeleton running against you, bumping into your body making you trip and fall, his teeth ended up pressed against your lips, yet the kiss was broken quickly as he lifted himself off you.

"Heh, not even taking me to dinner first?"

He giggles as you look to your right, seeing the eggs cracked open on the stone ground.

"My eggs!! Fuck now I'll have to go back to the store again..."

You mumbled touching the open box ripped on the ground, you turn your head to look at the man, yet in his place was a note and a 5 dollar bill.

'Sorry there!' was written on the piece of paper, leaving you with five dollars and already a bad start to your morning.