#angst gremlins

[wiltedwish]

Let's go Angst Gremlins!!!! We got talented people on our side!!!!

"I WANT TO BE...

DELUSIONAL."

Song:

Coloured Cale frames provided by @papitasuprema

For the LCFAngstVSFluff2025 event on discord

This is my submission to start off my theme. Delusional White Star and his obsession with Cale :3

[thebibliosphere]

A friend gifted me Gotham Knights on Steam after I expressed a vague interest in it. I believe my exact words were, "The color of the cover art is very cyberpunk bisexual, and I love that for them."

A lot of key smashing ensued, followed by, "No, wait, you have to play it, you have to. Don't ask why. You'll know when you see it."

After spending a substantial few hours with my new dopamine generator, zipping around Gotham as various different heroes, grappling my way across the skyline, and driving my motorbike into walls (sorry, random Gothamites.) I got to the part of the story where Dick Grayson is seen drinking from a bisexual-themed Bludhaven mug (WE WANTS IT, PRECIOUS, WE NEEDS IT), followed by Babs posting a gossip article in the literal batfam group chat (I have no idea when she actually sent it, I keep forgetting to check the chat lmao) where Dick fully leans into being Bruce's son by being the biggest, sluttiest fuckboy imaginable when the male interviewer asks Dick if he has a "type" then describes the way Dick drops his voice to an "intimate purr, his gaze for me and me alone" followed by the most bisexual response ever which can be summarized as "People are gorgeous. All of them. Why restrict myself to an archetype when the world is full of beauty?"

And can I just say, as a slutty, slutty bisexual *chef kiss* love that for him. That and all the nude photoshoot offers he seems to be getting lmao.

Combine that with the interactions where Tim talks to the batfam about his boyfriend, asking for relationship advice (Babs telling Tim she's hopeless with guys, so to ask Dick instead), Dick suggesting Robin and Nightwing should go to Gotham Pride in costume so people know the batman are firmly in camp LGBTQ+ (followed up by an email between Babs and Jayson where they talk about wanting to go to Pride to support Tim so he'll know they're proud of him), the rainbow flags in the living room, and the trans, bi, pan and I think non-binary flag (need to check, might be demisexual) bike color options, I can honestly say I'm having a lot of fun careering round Gotham like the most terrifyingly competent, backflipping, Solo Pride Parade that's ever swung out of the skyline to dropkick a cop into oncoming traffic.

[astermagnolia]

DP x DC x Spiderman

THIS CAME TO ME IN A VISION WHILE I WAS MINDLESSLY WORKING AT MY JOB

Ok, recently I've been into the "Spiderman gets transported into Gotham" fics and suddenly I thought "Danny and Peter stuck in the same body while trying to survive Gotham"

(if you want to write this go ahead)

OK STICK WITH ME

Peter gets transported to Gotham after Dr. Strange does his spell but it (the spell not strange) takes things further and transports him to a new dimension with no Peter Parker. He ends up climbing out of a Lazarus pit, his body in absolute pain.

At the same time, Danny is fleeing his home dimension because *whatever you decide* and ends up flying into a portal and overshadowing a person that's, for some reason, in the portal (Lazarus pits are portals to the infinite realms). Because of the weird fuckery that is ectoplasm, Dannys ghost status, and the Lazarus pits, Danny and Peter end up sharing a body but neither realize it yet.

Peter passed out instantly while Danny is kinda out of it (and driving the body he thinks is his) and ends up wandering Gotham, finds some clothes, and finds an abandoned building to sleep in.

Peter wakes up thinking he did all this while on adrenaline and just shrugs it off. He wanders Gotham and then goes back to the building he woke up in, that's when Danny wakes thinking he overshadowed someone and freaks Peter out as well.

Both pass out in shock.

Danny was the one to wake up the next time they woke up and tries to go ghost but can't (something changes though). He tries his other abilities and those work. He goes to find his reflection and his face is different but has his familiar black hair and blue eyes. Peter wakes up and speaks to Danny on his head and now both freaking out again. They calm down and talk about what happened.

Peter says that's his face and body but with black hair and blue eyes. They try to switch which causes dizziness but Peter is in control now with brown hair and hazel-green eyes.

Basically: when Peter is in control of the body he looks like himself. When Danny is in control, the body has black hair and blue eyes. When Danny 'goes ghost' while in control then he gets his white hair and green eyes, but the body doesn't change.

I'd like to think they have to learn each other's abilities now. danny has to learn how to not stick to things (plus he gets to try how gravity actually affects him now) and how to deal with the spider sense.

Peter has to learn basically pages worth of abilities😭. He has to learn not to go through things, turn invisible, start floating, etc. Peter can't go ghost and when Danny passes out when he is in ghost mode, it just turns off but maybe during extremely stressful situations or life and death moments, Peter can go ghost, it doesn't last very long though.

Time for some silly shenanigans:

Danny runs into Jason for whatever, maybe he was robbing him (even funnier answer, Danny was stealing Jason's bike wheels) and Jason gets him food. Next time, Peter runs into Jason and Dick while Peter was dumpster diving for, idk, tech parts. Dick and Peter are talking while Jason is staring at Peter. Internally, Peter is freaking while Danny isn't helping.

Then Jason asks if he has a twin.

Danny is losing it, just laughing as Peter has to deal with this. But Peter-blurt out the first thing in your mind-Parker says "yes, we got separated and I'm looking for him while I'm staying at my uncle's apartment".

So now Peter has to come with a whole backstory and reason why they're separated and why he won't go to the police. ("Acab bitch" Danny says and Peter repeats without question. Jason this time loses it while dick pouts and peter is horrified by what he said)

Peter and Danny making up fake identities, families, and backstory.

i think it would really be funny if Danny is the ghost prince (waiting to be crowned after his death) so the Infinite realms are up in arms about their beloved prince being missing and his last known signature/location is the dc universe. so now JLD is scrambling to find him and all the while he is just chilling in someone's head.

some fun/interesting arguments: the way they view death. peter is a very "do not kill" guy, basically his ideals align with batman (maybe. I'm not extremely knowledgeable in spiderman lore) and Danny-being a ghost/the ghost king-has different views. i think he's still a "try to save everyone" type of guy but has exceptions.

maybe they share dreams which leads to horrifying nightmares.

another fun thing: they're both inventors so they can look at a microwave and just break it apart to build something new.

another point: Danny's weirdness as a ghost

Peter: did you just stick something in our body??? i cant feel it??

Danny: oh yeah. i do that sometimes. im pretty sure i stuck our phone in out chest.

Peter: Get it out?!??

anyways, this is all i got. yall can take this and run with it. add onto it or remove something. this is brought to you by- peter gets flung into Gotham and that one fic where Danny and young Jason kind of merge so Jason is Danny's ghost half

Edit: i made a post about it

[orellazalonia]

The Loop You Won’t Let Die

Summary: Bucky is fatally wounded on a mission. You rewind time again, again, and again, hundreds of times. Each loop, you lose a little more of yourself. Finally, Bucky realizes what you’ve done. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to manipulate time to a limited degree. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Death. Memory Loss. Emotional Deterioration.

Word Count: 3.5k+

A/N: I am hoping y’all will like this because I sure did. Happy reading!!! ♡

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

You’ve never been good at accepting the things you can't control. It’s a trait that’s followed you for as long as you can remember. From the moment you first realized your power to manipulate time, to rewind, reset, undo, you were thrilled. However, you came to realize that you held something dangerous in your hands and that it came at a cost. You were never able to rewind it all away. Not the pain, not the guilt, not the consequences.

It was supposed to be simple at first to test your power. No one expected you to use it on something so… delicate. You didn’t understand the gravity of it, not when you first rewound time to save a child who wandered too far into the street. The child's life was saved, and everything went back to normal. At least, it felt that way. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been lost in the process, your ability to forget.

And then came Bucky.

The first time you met him, it was on a mission. Some joint operation between S.H.I.E.L.D. and a few of the Avengers. You’d been part of the team tasked with gathering intel from a Hydra facility that was holding someone important who had crucial information on a new weapon. The mission wasn’t supposed to be complicated. But that’s how things always go, isn't it? You weren’t prepared for the chaos.

The explosion rocked the compound, sending you flying across the ground. You were dazed, but before you could register the pain, you saw him. Bucky was already moving to shield you, taking the brunt of another blast, the force knocking him down. You'd heard the stories, seen the flashes of the Winter Soldier’s past. But this was real. This was human, a man who had been broken, rebuilt, and forgotten.

You reached him instinctively, adrenaline spiking. You felt the sharpness of his blood in the air. The metal arm, the familiar, haunted expression in his eyes; the man you had read about in the files was here, right in front of you, struggling to get up.

He looked at you, and something passed between you then. Not recognition, not understanding, but something else. An acknowledgment of something lost. A silent kind of empathy.

"Stay down," You said quickly, hands already at his side, pressing against the blood that began to spill. "I can help. Let me help."

His expression didn’t change, but he nodded, as if he knew you could. As if he knew you wouldn’t let him die here. You didn't realize how true that would become.

It wasn’t long before you began to notice things about him. It was small things at first like how he seemed to stay on the perimeter of conversations, never quite fully engaging. How he always looked like he was on the edge of a nightmare, his eyes haunted even in the quietest moments. How he never quite trusted himself, not really, not after everything Hydra had put him through.

You, too, understood that weight, though you didn’t wear it the same way. Your power, the ability to manipulate time, had long since been a burden. But you didn’t carry it in silence the way Bucky did with his past. You didn’t need to ask him why he closed off. You understood it in ways most people wouldn’t. You understood what it was like to feel broken, to have the world try to take away something fundamental from you. So, you never pushed. You stayed in the background, offering quiet support during missions, sharing small conversations where he could let his guard down a little.

But it was when you first showed him your power that things began to change.

It was during another mission that went wrong, a hostage situation where things got messy, and you were forced to make a choice. There was no way to save everyone. But you saw Bucky, standing there, his arm pinned under rubble, the enemy advancing. You felt the panic of the moment, his life slipping away in real-time. So, without thinking, you rewound it. You manipulated the timeline, reset the scene, and in an instant, the world around you shifted.

When you opened your eyes, you were back before the blast, before the rubble, before the threat. But this time, you acted. You moved faster, knew the exact sequence of events that would unfold. You saved him.

It was the first time you showed Bucky the extent of your power.

“Did you…” He was breathless, looking at you like he couldn’t quite comprehend what had just happened. His hand that had once bled from where the rubble had crushed him moments ago was normal, it was as though it had never happened. You felt him staring at you, processing the truth.

“I can rewind time,” You explained quietly, meeting his gaze. “Change things. Undo them.”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, voice rough and raw. “What does that mean for you?”

You had to think about it. Your ability was both a gift and a curse. You couldn’t rewind everything. Not the pain, not the way time bled into your mind. Every reset took something from you: memories, emotions, the strength to keep going. But you kept doing it. For all of them.

You were unable to provide an answer, but he didn’t need words to understand.

The relationship between you and Bucky grew slowly after that. He began to understand you in ways you didn’t even know how to explain. You never talked about the toll your power took on you, but somehow, he always seemed to know. He’d ask you about it with a careful quietness, never pushing too hard, but always aware.

It was a delicate balance. You both walked around each other’s fragility, never forcing things, but always aware that there was something unspoken between you, an understanding that transcended words. You both had scars. But he was the kind of man who never let you carry the weight alone. And you, in turn, made sure that when his nightmares got too loud, when his mind fractured from all the things Hydra had done to him, you were there.

And one day, it all fell apart.

This mission was supposed to be straightforward.

Bucky and you, side by side, infiltrating a Hydra base to disable a weapons system. Nothing the two of you couldn’t handle. He’d been in worse situations and so had you.

But there’s always that one variable, always that one thing you can’t account for. The moment when the mission goes wrong, and everything unravels in the blink of an eye.

Bucky takes the first hit.

You’re there, just a step behind, but it’s too late. The bullet hits him right in the shoulder, spinning him off balance. You hear him grunt, feel the tug of his body as he collapses to the ground. Blood, dark and heavy, stains the concrete below him, it wasn’t any ordinary bullet. His metal arm is a blur of motion as he tries to pull himself up, but it’s no use. His movements slow. His breath becomes ragged.

You don’t even think. Your heart pounds in your chest, and your mind screams. You don’t want to lose him. Not like this. Not when there’s so much more you need to say. To do. To live for.

Rewind.

The world shudders around you, pulling you back to the beginning. The mission resets. You find yourself in the same place with everything the same, but you know what’s coming. You know what you have to do.

This time, you’re faster. More prepared. You have to be.

You move ahead of Bucky, keeping your focus sharp, anticipating the angle the sniper will shoot from. The plan is simple. You’ll get to the control room first, disable the weapons system, and clear the path for him. He won’t get hurt this time.

But something goes wrong. A twist, a misstep. The shot rings out from a different angle, and Bucky is hit again, this time in the chest. He crumples to the floor with a choked gasp, blood pooling around him. His eyes lock with yours, wide with shock and pain.

“Not again,” You mutter under your breath. "Please."

Rewind.

The third time is no different. No matter how many angles you try to cover, no matter how many ways you attempt to divert the sniper’s aim, Bucky always falls. Every time, it’s the same. Every time, you lose him. And every time, you’re forced to go back. Your mind becomes a haze of timelines, of trying to change the same sequence of events that always ends the same way.

By the tenth loop, the crushing weight of the failure begins to take its toll. You can feel it in your bones, the exhaustion of it all. The tension in your muscles, the faint tremor in your hands. It doesn’t matter how many times you reset. The result is always the same.

The bullet. The blood. His body crumpling. His eyes losing their light.

Rewind.

By the thirtieth loop, you're no longer just running through the motions. You’re starting to lose yourself. Every time you reset, something is chipped away. Maybe it’s your clarity, your sanity, your sense of time, or maybe all three. You can’t remember if you’ve already tried this particular strategy or if it’s the first time. You’ve forgotten the feeling of his hands in yours when you weren’t on a mission. Forgotten the sound of his laugh.

And yet, you keep doing it. For him.

But no matter how you try, no matter how you fight, he dies again. And again. And again.

Rewind.

The fiftieth time is when you break.

You’ve tried every strategy, every variation, every distraction. You’ve shot the sniper first, thrown grenades to create chaos, tried to fight through the whole base alone, but nothing works. Every loop, the result is the same.

Bucky dies, and you’re the one who has to watch it. Over and over.

You find him in the same position again. The same injury. The same wound. His hand, trembling, reaching for you in his final moments. His voice, strained and broken as he mutters your name. The world spins, distorting in the corners of your vision. It’s too much.

“Stay with me,” You beg hopelessly, tears burning your cheeks once again.

His eyes flicker. He’s fading. You can see it in the way his chest rises more slowly. His lips barely form a smile, and it breaks your heart. "I’m sorry," He whispers. "I’m so sorry."

Rewind.

When you wake again, you’re in the same place. The mission has started over, but it feels like you’ve been doing this for a lifetime. You know exactly where you are, what you need to do. But it doesn’t matter. You’re exhausted. Broken. Every reset feels like a piece of you is being torn away.

You barely register his presence next to you. The way his arm brushes yours as you move through the base. He’s always there, always close, but you don’t look at him. Not anymore. You can’t.

This time, he dies again.

And it’s then that you finally realize something: it’s not just the mission that’s killing him. It’s you. Your power. Your need to save him, to do whatever it takes, even if it means losing yourself.

Bucky’s last breath is quieter than the others. This time, he doesn’t even speak your name. When the world shifts back again, the weight of everything crashes down on you. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep losing him. You’re falling apart.

He’s alive in like normal at the start of your next loop, but you can’t meet his gaze. You can’t pretend anymore. His presence is suffocating now, and you can’t stop the dread from creeping up your spine.

“Hey,” He says softly, his voice full of concern. “You good?”

No. You’re not good. You’re shattered, and the weight of his repeated death is too much to bear. You give him a short lie that you’re fine only to watch him die again later.

-

By the hundredth loop, you stop trying to fix things. You stop trying to make the perfect plan, to save him. Because each time, you lose a little more of yourself. A little more of who you were before this madness.

You’re no longer sure if you’re even human anymore. You don’t recognize the face in the mirror. The loops have become your reality. And the more you rewind, the more you forget. What’s real? What’s memory? What’s a life worth saving when you’re already so broken?

The next time Bucky dies, you don’t even speak. You just let the world crumble, knowing that you’ll try again. And again. And again.

During one of your next loops, Bucky can feel something’s wrong. He’s always been able to read people, even before everything that happened. You’re different now in the sense of being much more distant and quieter than you were a few hours ago. You still move with precision, and you still have the same sharp focus on every mission. But your eyes, those once bright eyes that shone with warmth, now carry a depth of sorrow he can’t quite place.

It’s subtle at first. The way you recoil when he touches your arm. How you don’t meet his gaze for too long. How your voice, when you do speak, trembles just enough for him to notice. He watches you. He’s seen this before. But this time, it’s different. There’s something more. Something deeper.

-

It happens after the hundred and thirtieth loop. You’ve grown so tired, so worn down that you can barely keep track of the details. It’s becoming harder to find the motivation, the drive, to reset. But you push yourself, as always, because he needs you to.

Once again, you’ve failed. Bucky is dead. Again. The blood pools around him, his breath fading into silence. His final words are a shadow in your mind, repeated over and over: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

You reset the timeline, but this time, it feels different. The world doesn’t reset as quickly. It lingers. You’re slow to stand, slow to move. The pressure in your chest is suffocating. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve done this. But then you feel a hand on your shoulder, warm and firm. You know it’s him without looking. The touch is a relief in its familiarity, but it also makes your heart ache more than it should. You don’t want him to feel this. Not like this.

“Stop,” Bucky says quietly. His voice is low, but the command is there. It cuts through the fog in your mind.

You don’t respond. You can’t. You’re terrified of him seeing you, seeing what you’ve become, what you’re willing to do to save him. You’re terrified of the way you’re slowly losing yourself in this, and the last thing you want is for him to understand.

But he does.

“I know what you’re doing,” Bucky continues, his hand tightening on your shoulder, forcing you to face him. His gaze is sharp, the deep blue of his eyes searching yours with a depth of understanding that makes you want to collapse.

“No, you don’t,” You whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Yeah,” He says quietly, his voice breaking just a little. “I do.”

You shake your head, turning away. "You don’t get it. I… I can't lose you, Bucky. I can't-“

“Stop,” He interrupts, his voice firmer now. “Stop trying to save me.”

Your body tenses. “I have to. I can’t lose you.”

“You’re killing yourself to save me,” His voice is full of raw emotion. “You’re breaking, and you can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep doing this for me.”

“I’d rather lose myself than lose you,” You say quickly, too quickly. The words come out of you without thought, without any real sense of control. It’s all you’ve been trying to do, isn’t it? Save him at all costs. You’d sacrifice everything for him, even if it means losing yourself in the process.

But Bucky, he doesn’t want that.

“No,” He says firmly as his hand cups your cheek gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I won’t let you destroy yourself like this. You can’t keep trying to save me like this.”

For a long moment, you stand there, frozen. His touch grounds you, even as the weight of his words presses down on your chest. It feels like the world is spinning too fast, like everything you’ve done, everything you’ve sacrificed, is suddenly meaningless.

“Bucky,” You breathe, the tears finally coming. “I don’t know how to stop anymore. I can’t… I can’t let you go. I can’t-“

He pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “You’re not alone in this. You don’t have to do this by yourself. I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Please… stop doing this to yourself.”

You close your eyes, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek, the steady rhythm grounding you. “I can’t… I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried to fix it. I don’t know how to stop it.”

“You don’t have to,” Bucky whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. “Let me help. You’re not alone in this. I’m not going to die again, not if I can help it. But you have to trust me. Trust us.”

The weight of his words crashes over you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself breathe. You let yourself believe, just for a moment, that there’s another way. Another chance.

“You won’t die,” You murmur, as though testing the words on your tongue.

“I won’t die,” He affirms, his voice soft but firm. “But only if you let go of this loop. Let go of the pain. Let me be here with you.”

The silence between you two is heavy with the unspoken promise. The possibility that, maybe, there’s a way forward that doesn’t involve sacrifice, doesn’t involve losing yourself. That maybe, just maybe, you can live without having to rewind the world every time something goes wrong.

“Together?” You ask quietly.

“Together,” Bucky answers, holding you close.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to believe that it’s true….

Until you don’t. Because he lied. He dies again. It was futile.

You stop counting.

Somewhere between the hundredth and thousandth reset, numbers stop meaning anything. You've tried ambushes, distractions, extraction before contact, calling in the others earlier, shielding him, shielding yourself, leaving. You've tried pretending you were never there. Tried running. Tried fighting harder. Stronger. Smarter. He always dies.

And now he knows. Bucky sees it in your eyes even before you reset. You don’t have to say it anymore. The moment things go wrong, he just looks at you, and there’s this helpless, aching resignation in his voice when he mutters, “Don’t.”

But you always do.

The loop consumes you like erosion that’s slow and invisible. You forget details. You forget whole days. You forget what smiling used to feel like. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. As long as he lives.

Rewind.

-

This time, you're quiet when the bullet rips toward him. You don't scream his name. You don't even blink. You step in front of him.

The impact knocks the air from your lungs. Your body hits the ground before the pain registers. Heat blooms across your ribs like fire. And for some reason, Bucky manages to take out the sniper this time, the threat gone. He drops down beside you instantly.

His hands pressing into the wound, voice shaking. “No. No, no, no. Stay with me. Stay with me!”

Your mouth tastes like iron. Your fingers twitch, reaching weakly for his cheek.

“I did it,” You whisper.

His hands are covered in your blood.

“What are you talking about?” He breathes. “You’re gonna be fine. We’ll get help. You’ll be-“

“I broke the loop.” You manage a smile, cracked and fleeting. “You’re alive.”

His breath catches. He knows. Of course he knows. “You can still rewind,” He begs. “Please. One more. Just one more.”

You shake your head faintly. “No. This is the only way I could win.”

Tears slip down his face as he holds you closer, his voice growing frantic. “You can’t leave me. I don’t want this. Not like this. I’d rather die than lose you.”

You reach up, your blood-streaked hand brushing his jaw. “I’d rather lose myself than lose you.”

“You already did,” He chokes, voice breaking. “You already have, look what this did to you.”

You try to laugh, but it comes out as a wheeze. “Then let me rest now.”

“No. No-“ His arms shake as his shoulders crumble. “I love you. You don’t get to leave.”

Your fading eyes search his, and for once, they're not haunted.

“I know. That’s why I did this,” You whisper. “I love you too.”

Your hand falls and your breath stops.

And for the first time in hundreds of timelines, Bucky lives.

But in this one… You don’t.

[indieyuugure]

Can we have some indie angst please ?🥺

Angst huh?

Well…okay, have some Donnie angst (this is concept art for the arc in book 2 when Donnie is captured by Bishop so please excuse the rough sketchy-ness)

Brace yourself though

You little angst gremlins have been quite hungry lately. Hopefully this satisfies you.

(By the way in this version I have added Sydney, that character from 2003 in the Ylytis (didn’t spell that right) side plot but as almost a mirrored role to Donnie) (also double ps, she’s in her late 20s so there’s no romance here)

Hope you like these!

[the-broken-pen]

Can you do a villian with owl characteristics

The hero landed on the rooftop, and then had to stifle an immediate shriek as the villain–well. Not…turned, exactly, from their place sat on the edge of the roof, just…looked backward. With that, unfortunately, all too familiar disconnect between their head and their body. 

“God, I hate it when you do that,” the hero managed, and the villain blinked their slightly too big eyes at them, before grinning. 

“I am aware,” the villain said, and despite how often the villain had done exactly this, turning their head far past the “normal head turn ability”, it still took the hero a second to readjust to the sight. 

“Why on earth do you do villainy when you could make so much money working in the haunted house industry,” the hero said, and the villain squinted at them.

“Because I don’t want to work in the haunted house industry.”

“You could be making a lot of money,” the hero said, and the villain’s mouth twitched.

“What, and you would know? In all your freetime, spent being a clown?”

“I do not spend my freetime being a clown, you little shit–”

“You give distinct clown energy,” the villain observed, and the hero was literally never going to get over this in their entire life–

Footsteps, light an airy, dropped onto the roof behind them, and the hero had to stop themself from pinching the bridge of their nose like an exhausted mother.

“I thought,” the hero grit out, more tired than angry, “I told you to wait over there.”

“Did you?” Their sidekick said, and the hero could hear the grin on their voice even before they appeared in front of them. “Can you cite your sources on that one, chief?”

“Cite my sources–no. No, I am not citing my sources, and I am not doing this right now. Go back over there,” they gestured towards a rather distant rooftop, and their sidekick emitted an impressive pout.

“You do give clown energy,” their sidekick said petulantly, and the hero felt their mouth drop open slightly.

Yeah. They were never going to recover from this one.

“So help me god, if you–”

Their sidekick let out something akin to the unholy baby of a gasp and a squeal, eyes wide as they stared at the villain. “Oh my god that is so cool.”

The villain was making that tiny little smile when the hero looked at them, verging on the edge of soft. The hero was not in the least bit surprised.

“Hello.”

“You have wings,” their sidekick whispered, voice hushed and drowning in awe. They took a single step forward, as if the villain had some kind of magnetic draw to them, pulling the hero’s sidekick in.

“I do,” the villain confirmed. “Do you want to see?”

The hero had never seen their sidekick move that fast in their life. 

“I should have left you home,” the hero sighed, and their sidekick shot them a look that could have drawn blood. The next second, the villain was taking the sidekick’s hand in theirs, guiding it gently over the feathers of their wing. Their sidekick was, appropriately, awed, and the hero was doing their very best to not look too put out by it.

I’m their favorite, the villain mouthed over the sidekick’s head, and the hero had to use all of their very strong and wonderful and saintly will-power to not punt the villain off the side of the building and then ground their sidekick for the next seven years.  

“You are way cooler than them,” the sidekick confided with absolutely zero effort to lower their voice in any shape or form. “Like, way, way cooler. It’s kind of impressive. You’re lapping them with your cool-ness.”

“You are a wretched child, and I disown you,” the hero said, and the sidekick grinned at them.

“No you don’t.”

“I am ordering the papers as soon as we get home.”

“What papers,” their sidekick said. “There were no papers in the first place. You basically kidnapped me, a poor, helpless little street orphan, and shoved me into this ridiculously colored supersuit to do all of your dirty work for you–”

“You are not a street orphan,” the hero said, exasperated, and the villain, goddamn them, was still smiling. “Your mother is a teacher and you live in a three story townhome on the north side. Also, I distinctly remember you picking those colors, and then forcing me to find and dye the fabric for it.”

Their sidekick squinted, somehow mimicking the villain perfectly, before shrugging. “Can’t prove it.”

“I will call your mother right now–”

“Oh, and tell her about the superhero escapades? Yeah, okay, boss, you get right on that.”

“If your mother hasn’t recognized you and your snotty little mouth on the news by now, there’s no helping her.”

“My mouth is not snotty.”

“What? Sorry, I can’t hear you. I’m actually unable to hear whining and sass, in case you were wondering.”

Their sidekick let out an outraged little squawk, with a look in their eye that definitely meant they were one second away from tackling the hero, before the villain, still grinning, intervened.

“You know, if you ever get tired of them, I could always use a sidekick.”

Their sidekick whipped around, before going very still. “Really?”

The villain nodded, and the hero raised a hand in an attempt to stop the possible catalyst of the end of the world from occurring. “Okay, there is absolutely no way they can be your sidekick. One, you’re literally evil, and two, they don’t even have wings.”

Their sidekick visibly deflated at the last part, blatantly human shoulders slumping.

“That can be fixed,” the villain said easily, and the hero hauled their sidekick backwards before they could volunteer themself as the next test subject in the villain’s secret and probably insane scientist laboratory. 

“You are not bioengineering and then grafting a set of wings onto their body,” the hero said firmly, arms full of a squirming and outraged sidekick, who let out a whine.

“Oh my god you are no fun. I take it back, I’m going to disown you.”

The villain laughed. 

“You can’t disown me, you are literally a child.”

“Emancipation is a thing,” the villain offered, and the hero shot them a look as their sidekick attempted, and succeeded, to elbow them in the face.

“You are not helping.”

“In what world would you think I was trying to be helpful to you? Just curious,” the villain said, blasely, and their sidekick laughed before kneeing the hero in the vague direction of a vital organ. 

“Ow. Okay, okay, look, I am so proud you’ve been paying attention in training, but can you please stop trying to do permanent damage to me and my organs? They don’t like that very much. Or at all. Fuck–” their sidekick managed another impressively well aimed hit and the hero promptly dropped them like a sack of potatoes onto the rooftop. Their sidekick, stunned, waited a moment, wide eyed as they blinked up at the hero.

The hero maybe, possibly, did not feel bad, and was also maybe, possibly, going to have bruises. 

“Did you just try to gentle parent me?”

“Did the dropping feel gentle?” The villain questioned, and the sidekick looked like they were trying to muster up tears and failing.

“Did you just drop me?”

The hero rubbed a hand over their brow. “Don’t attack my organs and I won’t drop you.”

“You picked me up!”

“And you tried to literally sell yourself to an evil scientist.”

“There was no selling involved,” the villain interjected, remaining undeterred by the hero’s glare. “I do not participate in human trafficking.”

The sidekick made a flailing sort of gesture. “See! No human trafficking. I’ll even sign a waiver!”

“They are a minor,” the hero hissed at the villain, who once more, shrugged. They looked like they were trying very hard to hide a laugh. “They cannot legally sign that. Do not make me suplex you.”

Their sidekick stilled. “Wait, I kind of want to see that. Keep talking.”

“No,” the hero reprimanded, and their sidekick rolled their eyes. “Absolutely not. Who raised you to be so violent?”

“You did,” their sidekick said, and this time, the villain failed to hide their laugh. Their wings ruffled with the motion, and their sidekick’s attention was immediately drawn back. A second later, the pout reappeared, and the hero sighed. 

“Fine,” the hero said, and something akin to manic glee began to shine on their sidekick’s face. “But,” the hero added, and their sidekick groaned, flopping backwards onto the roof. They covered their face with their hands as they groaned. “No experimentation until your eighteenth birthday. You have to ask your mother first. And no time traveling to your eighteenth birthday, no age potions, no begging your speedster friends to run you there, no time vortexes, no trying to gaslight me into thinking you’re eighteen, and absolutely no attempting to get your age changed in the eyes of the government.”

The villain’s brow raised perpetually higher, while the sidekicked simply groaned again. “You never let me have any fun, you’re the worst, the absolute worst, nobody has ever suffered as much as I am right now–”

“I think you covered all of the bases,” the villain said, looking faintly impressed. 

“This is not the first time something like this has happened,” the hero said dryly. “Please do not give my sidekick wings.”

The villain eyed the hero’s sidekick, who was still moping rather dramatically on the ground. “I dunno. I’m kind of wondering what they’ll come up with to make it happen before their eighteenth birthday. And if they do manage it I kind of feel like that means they earned it.”

“Villain,” the hero hissed, and the villain simply laughed, popping their legs back over the edge of the roof and brushing off their legs as they stood up. 

“Oh, relax,” they murmured when they got close enough. “I would never. But you have to encourage children’s dreams, even if you don’t think they’ll happen. Or, at least, you won’t let them happen. It’s good for their development.”

“That,” the hero said pointedly, towards where their sidekick was throwing a tiny tantrum on the ground still. “Is not a child. That is a moody teenager who needs to work off some issues in their school drama program. Do not encourage them.”

The villain paused for a moment, considering. “Nah. I’m going to encourage them.”

The hero groaned, shifting to drop their head onto the villain’s shoulder. The villain’s wing came around to give them a gentle pat on the shoulder. “There there. Parenthood is hard.”

“I am not a parent.”

“Your creature has imprinted on you like a baby duck. Best of luck with that.”

“I am not a creature,” their sidekick protested from the ground. “I am a critter or eldritch horror at best.”

“Exactly what a creature would say,” the hero sighed, head still slumped onto the villain’s shoulder, and their sidekick let out a wordless shriek of rage from the ground. 

The hero allowed themself one more moment spent half wrapped in the villain’s wing before pushing themself off. They grabbed the center of their sidekick’s super suit, hoisting them onto their feet. “Alright, up you get. I’m calling it for tonight.”

Their sidekick kicked them in the shin. The hero simply looked at them. “Spoilsport.”

“You have a math test tomorrow. If you fail that because you didn’t sleep well your mother will literally skin me alive. Go on. Tell me she wouldn’t.”

The sidekick sighed. “Okay she totally would but also–”

“Nope. That was a complete sentence.”

Their sidekick was not bothered. “--Teenagers don’t even sleep anyways, so really, you’re fighting for nothing.”

“You took a four hour nap on my balcony yesterday,” the hero said, and their sidekick glared at them.

“Napping is not sleeping. It’s an entirely different thing. Like, it’s a vacation. Sleep is if I moved there, to another state or whatever. Dimension, Ohio, doesn’t matter. A nap is like a quick little visit and a pop back.”

The hero stared. “You are speaking a language I don’t understand.”

The villain barked a laugh. The hero watched their sidekick preen slightly, and vowed to murder the villain at the first opportune moment.

“That is absolutely enough out of you,” the hero said, then pointed a finger at their sidekick before they could say exactly what the hero knew they were about to. “Do not start reciting the First Amendment to me, you little heathen, do you know how many laws you break on the daily?”

“Vigilantism is illegal,” their sidekick said. The hero’s face must have done something truly horrific and parental in nature, because their sidekick winced, and, wisely, shut up. 

“I pinkie promise to do no more crime tonight,” the villain said helpfully, and the hero didn’t bother to turn around. 

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Maybe, but did it make you feel better?”

The hero hauled their sidekick up onto their shoulder, ignoring the attempted fatal moves their sidekick immediately began cycling through.

“Actually, kind of. So. Thank you for that. Now, I’m going to go drop this thing off at home–”

“I have a name!”

“And possibly apologize to their mother,” the hero finished. The villain simply nodded, like that was the perfectly natural thing to do. 

The villain watched the hero’s sidekick for a moment, before allowing a tiny smirk to play at the corners of their mouth. They’re like a baby you, the villain mouthed once more. 

“Never say that to me again,” the hero warned, but secretly, it made them feel a tiny bit warm. Yes, this is my heathen child creature, and I love them very dearly and want to drop them off a building.

Their sidekick attempted to rear their head around to see the villain, and failed spectacularly. “Wait, what did they say? Hero. What did they say, I want to know, hero, hero,” the sidekick began, and the villain watched, eyes luminous in the black, as the hero slid back into the darkness of the night, their sidekick’s voice fading all the while.

“Hero!,” the sidekick shrieked again. And the villain grinned.

[gremlinjimboblimbo]

I keep thinking about this one tbh

I could yap for HOURS about the emotionally manipulative and gaslighting relationship between Prescott and the Mad Doctor

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

AU where Curze and Corax are besties and they and their legions spend their free time jumping out of dark places to scare people

[surreallyy]

I didn't know how much I NEEDED Fig and Cody Walsh to meet

[thatgirlwithasquid]

dude’s having a fucking crisis in s3, good lord

[gremlin-girly]

Day 2: Hot Bath

Pairing: Steve Rogers x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: FLUFF, petnames (sweetheart), established relationship, domesticy-lovey-doveyness

Summary: A hot bath after a long day makes all the stress melt away... You run a bath for Steve for when he comes home.

Word Count: 289

@fluff-cember

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated (or put through AI)

A/N: I wrote this in a rush and accidentally tagged as gn then used "ma'am" in the fic; so deepest apologies for that! This has now been corrected.

Prev | Next | Flufftober 2024 | Masterlist

Steam clung to every surface it possibly could. The mirror was fogged, the cold porcelain of the toilet and sink had droplets of condensation running down their curved edges and you were sweating uncontrollably.

You'd half dumped a bottle of muscle relaxant bubble bath into the tub and a lit a few tealights were glowing orange around the edge of the tub. Pushing yourself to your feet, groaning as your knees clicked out of their kneeling position, you exited the bathroom, wiping your wet clammy hands on your jeans.

The click of the lock signalled Steve's return from work. You halted in your tracks, waiting for the door to open and smiling warmly at him with your arms outstretched. Steve's furrowed brows instantly melted away and he cast his duffel aside to rush in and sweep you up.

"Hey sweetheart," you chuckle as he squeezes you, your feet dangling loosely three inches from the floor. "There's a hot bath waiting for you."

Steve sighs into your hair, relaxing as he breathes. Your toes finally ease onto the floor as Steve lowers you, beaming down at you with a love-struck smile.

"What would I do without you?"

"I dunno. Keel over?" You shrug jokingly then peck his cheek. "Hurry before the bath gets cold. I'll make a start on dinner."

"Yes ma'am." Steve nods, kissing you again before making his way to the bathroom as you shooed him away, looking back once he reached the doorway. You were already grabbing things from the fridge to prepare dinner, humming away to yourself. It was such a small thing, so mundane, but Steve's heart skipped anyway as he entered the bathroom.

He couldn't help but wonder what would he do without you?

[bakugotrashpanda]

Too Sweet

Dabi x Reader WC: 545

A/N: have a warm up, I've been listening to Too Sweet on loop for hours.

Dabi turns the corner down a back alley, his stride near on running. But Dabi doesn’t run. He saunters without a care in the world. Sometimes he walks at mall-walker speeds if he needs to hurry, but run? No.

Even as your footsteps echo off the brick walls surrounding him, he refuses to run.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” The desperation in your voice has him pinching his eyes shut. How long is he supposed to do this? How long are you going to chase after him?

“Nothing to say, Doll.” He throws a hand up to wave you off. As if that’ll deter you.

“Nothing to say?” Your footsteps pick up speed. Dabi takes the corner, hoping to lose himself in the maze of brick that normal people won’t even look at. “You broke up with me over a text saying you were leaving the country, and then I see you a week later?!”

Dabi grimaces. That one was on him. He didn’t know how to end it, and all the stupid advice he got ranged from ‘say you cheated’ to ‘go somewhere public and end it. And he chose ghosting you after texting. Naturally, he fucked that up by wanting one last look at you, and you saw him.

You were a golden apple he couldn’t have. A ray of sunshine in his dingy world that he selfishly wanted and took. And you went willingly.

Corrupting you would have been easy; hang out with him long enough and you’d be hooked on the same shit he was, chasing the same thrills as him. A fallen angel in the underbelly of the city.

But that stupid little voice in the back of his head – some people call it a conscious? That voice told him to knock it the fuck off. But you were addictive. You showed Dabi a love he’d never had before and gave generously. He wanted more. 

That was his wake up call. Drugs? If one source was cut off, he could always find more. Stealing? Not a problem. But love? He knew he wouldn’t be able to get more if you left. He could deal with withdrawal from a lot of things, but never finding the free flowing kindness only you could provide? How the hell would he detox from that?

A hand hooks his elbow and he stops. Bracing himself doesn’t prepare him for the wall of emotion that hits him like a truck. He wants to scoop you into his arms, tell you that it’s all okay now. Kiss the worry off your face. Replace it with ecstasy that only he can give you.

As much as he wants to do that, what he needs to do is taint any memory you have of him so you leave him alone.

Sometimes being cruel is the only way to be kind.

His long fingers tuck under your jaw and angle your face toward his. Thumb skimming your lips, he presses and your mouth parts to let him in. Willing. Eager. Head over heels. He can work with that. 

He drinks in your face one last time, memorizing the adoration shining in your eyes like constellations. “You’re too sweet for me,” he murmurs.

Time for a performance of a lifetime.

[alaskan-wallflower]

steve doesn’t sleep a lot because when he’s at home, his dad sometimes just barges into his room and belts him awake for something small, and the lot gets cold and sleeping on the ground isn’t very comfortable, so he drifts off at work sometimes. sodapop has found him in the break room a number of times with his head on his backpack in the most uncomfortable sitting position ever just trying to sleep. sodapop will pick him up and guide a still sleeping steve to the floor, where he puts steve’s head on his stomach and lets him sleep for a little bit because soda’s softer than concrete, or wood, and there’s no danger where soda is.

on those days, soda will bring steve back to his place. while steve’s in the shower, sodapop makes the bed in his old room all nice and makes sure to fluff up all the pillows and blankets. he brings a big slice of cake up and some leftovers from dinner the previous night upstairs because he knows steve’s probably hungry, and when steve gets out of the shower and is done eating, soda will wordlessly lay down and wrap his arms around steve’s waist and play with his hair/scratch his scalp while kissing his head until he can feel his breathing even out.

sodapop who loves to spoil his boyfriend, that’s all

[excelsior-dreamer]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jeremy Knox & Jean Moreau Characters: Jeremy Knox, Jean Moreau, Annalise Knox, Bryson Knox, Mathilda Wilshire, Warren Wilshire, Leo Foster (All For The Game) Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, today on Piper's Manifestation Fic: i want jean to parallel renee so fuckin bad, anyway. actual tags, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, (for brief mentions of the nest), Physical Abuse, Verbal Abuse, canon typical homophobia from jeremys family, Derogatory Language, canon typical use of slurs by the wilshire family, mostly warren tbh he calls jean the f slur like four times, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Dysfunctional Family, i think thats really about all i need to tag for this one, its fairly tame in the grand scheme of my fics, but as always lmk if i missed one :], god this is so long. this one got away from me lmao Summary:

"You can't mean that."

Jean pressed his thumb against Jeremy's lower lip. To his credit, it was incredibly effective in shutting him up. "I do not say things I don't mean," Jean repeated, voice low. "You needed help. I would have gone to the Nest if that was where you had been. You are my partner, my captain, and my friend. I would have come for you no matter what."

That time, Jeremy did choke on the emotion, though it could have also been a sob. He'd just stopped crying, but suddenly it looked like he was about to start up again. It wasn't even what Jean had said, though that certainly wasn't helping. Mostly it was how dead certain Jean sounded about it. Like it wasn't even a question. Like he really would have stormed the Nest, where he'd suffered for years and almost died outright at least once, just because Jeremy needed him. And it was— it was a lot. Jeremy couldn't remember the last time someone had been willing to put him first like that.

Honestly, he wasn't sure anyone ever had.

title from eulogy by Christabelle Marbun

once again this is being posted because @zombiecowboy65 is the sole reason it exists and put this idea in my head :]

[crabsnpersimmons]

I’m curious about the onesie now

also @pizzaplex-stargazer cuz you noticed too!

here's what Moon was rocking before Clip started making clothes:

after their PizzaPlex went under, the DCA bois had to figure out a lot of things, one being: clothes. unfortunately, Moon's really big, so he struggled to find things that fit him and were comfortable. the onesie is the first thing he found that fit him and made him feel really cozy. so he still wears it at home (he prefers comfy clothes at home anyways) when he needs a pick-me-up.

of course, he can't work at the salon in a bunny onesie, so here's what Clip made him (under Sundrop's direction):

Moon does prefer comfy clothes, but he has to admit, sometimes he likes the attention these clothes get him. he's iffy about them though, he feels that they show too much of him and he prefers the specific kind of comfort that comes from being an amorphous bundle of coziness.

[aliteralactualfactualgremlin]

Humanities strongest idgafer (I’ll cry if you show me satosugu angst)