#canon divergence

[pineapplehazard]

Imagine

Canon divergence where Buck and Eddie didn't become friends after the grenade

Instead of the 'you can have my back anyday' dialog, one of them try to compliment the other but end up saying some that deeply vexes the other and then they're back on their rivalry

Still at work they manage to work together perfectly well, but they're definitely not becoming friends anytime soon (so do they think)

So they continue with small snarky comments here and there, they kind avoid each other during calm times at the station, but never to a point where it's really uncomfortable for the rest of the team, it's just a little awkward rivalry between them

Somehow they still do things to help the other : Buck still is the one that brought Eddie and Chris back after the earthquake, and he also sends Carla in Eddie's direction (just less directly), Eddie helps Maddie move...

They don't even admit to themselves that they care a little about the other (like Buck totally getting why the girls at the cowboy bar would want Eddie's number) (like Eddie being more bothered by Taylor Kelly when she talks to Buck than to the others)...

When they're dosed they get pretty friendly and cuddly, they might even say some stuff to each other... But they awkwardly do as if nothing happened on the following shift

On Halloween, Buck leaves Abby officially

Then Buck, Actually happens

Eddie gets worried for Buck during the Lola/Norman intervention and get angry at him afterwards for being too reckless (like trying to negotiate with an armed woman not knowing if you will help or anger her more)

The Thomas and Mitchell emergency happens, and Buck comes to certain realisations about himself (bi bi bi) that he thinks about all day

Then he goes to the bar with Chimney and Maddie and while they're singing he receives a drink 🥁🥁 from Eddie! (who was supposed to meet friends from the academy) (the drink is a peace offering?)

Then they weirdly flirt over beating each other at pool or darts or something "wanna go for the title?" card is thrown

Maddie and Chim join them but end up both leaving when Chim offers to drive Maddie home > the boys are in the middle of a very competitive match at that point, Chim is worried leaving them alone might lead to a murder not-so-mystery

They continue playing and drinking and Idk how they get there exactly but they end up making out in the bar's bathroom (and then Eddie's house) (Chris is at Pepa's)

They wake up being all awkward saying stuff like 'this won't happen again right ahah?' and then Buck is about to leave and suddenly they're making out again

So this become a regular thing, while at work they get a little friendlier. The rivalry is still there but there's no bite to their little comments anymore

Now Eddie tries to get Christopher into his new school and needs to contact Shannon. They do not get back together (Eddie doesn't know what to do with his attraction to Buck and men yet, but he's not about to be snooping around with TWO people) but they do start seeing each other more often

Buck thinks Shannon and Eddie are back together, he doesn't initiate anything more than friendly with Eddie anymore (still he can't resist when Eddie initiate it)

Seeing as he's not sleeping with her but actually talking, it's easier for Eddie to trust Shannon again to be part of Chris life (but since the school transfer happened later than in the show, maybe the reunion still happen at Christmas)

Buck and Eddie still take Chris to see Santa, and after the 'you two have an adorable son' Buck feels guilty about liking the idea, he feels like it's not his place, especially now that Shannon is back

Shannon, Eddie and Chris do more family outing after Christmas (it's a little soon to leave Chris alone with Shannon yet so, step by step) and now Buck feels like he need to step away completely from Eddie and Chris's lives.

Around the same time, Doug happens.

Which means that with the emotional turmoil this brought, Eddie is not surprised that Buck is more distant, he just thinks Buck needs time to be focused on Maddie and Chim for now

Then 911 going down and the bank heist go approximately the same, just things are awkward between Buck and Eddie

They do end up talking, and clearing the miscommunication around Shannon (they decide to still keep their situationship (it's a full relationship at that point they're just too dense to see it) a secret at work until Eddie finishes his probationary year at least)

maybe after that Buck even get invited to a family activity with Shannon Chris and Eddie (that's when, seeing Buck doing something cute with Chris, Eddie realizes he's falling in love with that guy) (Shannon realizes that too and she's teases Eddie about it afterwards) (that's when they realize they never got divorced) (Shannon actually help Eddie with being okay with his sexuality)

Then Shannon dies. And it kills Eddie a little too. Buck stays by his side at every step. He helps put Christopher in bed, he helps planning the funeral, he gets Shannon's stuff out of her apartment... He doesn't know if he should come to the funeral, if Eddie wants him there, but of course he does (Chris too really need the support)

He doesn't go to the family dinner the next day though, and doesn't see Helena and Ramon try to make them come back to Texas. He doesn't see Eddie being reprimanded for bringing a stranger in such an important moment for Christopher. Ramon is enough of an asshole to imply maybe buck was there because Shannon was sleeping with him (in a derogatory way)

The serial bombings start. Eddie voices his concerns about Chris' school getting targeted after they receive the school bag call, but Buck tries to reassure him with facts about serial killers and patterns and he starts to info dump on serial killers and oh wow Eddie's in love with him.

Then boom the firetruck explodes, Buck almost dies and Eddie holds his hand through all of it.

Buck survives and Eddie tells him he loves him and Buck thinks it's only because he almost died.

Eddie offers Buck to move in with them at least until he recovers, since the house in adapted for Chris already

Buck refuses at first, then he talks to Maddie and tells her everything about Eddie, she advise communication with Eddie (about the I love you thing because that's what's blocking buck really)

They communicate (🎉) and Eddie makes a beautiful love declaration to Buck and Buck tries to do a beautiful declaration back, but he's crying and on meds so it's a bit wonky but Eddie loves it anyway

Eddie's ceremony happens, Eddie tries to make sure his parents and Buck exchange as little as possible (actually he tries to make sure his parents talk to anyone from the team the least amount he can) and after the ceremony they start moving Buck's things to Eddie's house

[katsfixationcorner]

Sleepless Nights

tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader

Chapter One

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes is struggling to put his life together after the Blip. Free from HYDRA’s control, he now has the freedom of choosing how he lives his life but he has no idea how. He’s somehow managed to maintain moderate normalcy but his constant nightmares serve as a reminder that he could never be anything more than a killer. Before he can truly heal, he needs to deal with his lack of sleep, which proves difficult until a chance encounter intertwines his life with that of his neighbor across the hall.

Warnings: Slice of Life, Canon-divergent, Slow-burn, Friends to Lovers, Neighbors Trope, Depictions of trauma, No use of Y/N, Possible future smut (this chapter is safe)

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I’m not a mental health professional. All trauma/mental illness depictions are based on my personal knowledge/experience. If any depictions are incorrect or misrepresented, kindly educate me.

This is my first fic! I hope you enjoy~

I do NOT consent to have my work copied, translated, or run through AI.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Change makes James ‘Bucky’ Barnes uncomfortable. He’s trying his best to be okay with it but he still has a very lengthy list of things he’s trying to work through. Dealing with change isn’t exactly at the top.

When things change, bad things happen. It always starts with the small things normal people don’t notice: a mailbox gets left open, a neighbor’s doormat gets skewed, the subway train he takes to his therapist appointments is five minutes late.

Then it escalates. It always escalates.

Instead of random instances, it manifests in the people around him: the neighbor’s dog barks at a late hour, a nondescript van parks on the street outside his apartment complex, a stranger gives him a second glance at the grocery store. It’s always the things that other people don’t think twice about that Bucky can’t ignore. When he ignores them -when things slip by his radar- people around him get hurt or disappear.

Now when you live in an apartment building people disappear all the time. People move out frequently. Just this month alone Bucky has already noticed several people he doesn’t recognize walking to and from his building.

It’s unnerving.

Unsettling.

Bucky likes to keep tabs on those around him. When he can’t, bad thoughts flood his mind like a running faucet filling a bathtub. Who are they? What do they do? How long will they be around? Or worse things like: Do they know who he is -who he was? Do they know which unit he lives in? Has he bolted the front door? What about the windows? If he has to make a run for it, could he make the jump to the building next door?

Sometimes the bathtub overflows, spilling his thoughts out of his head and into his bloodstream. When that happens, he freezes, unable to do anything more than sit with his back to a wall and his eyes glued to his front door. His small apartment becomes enemy territory. Every sound -no matter how mundane- explodes in his ears and triggers violent involuntary tremors. His entire body goes into lock-down mode as he prepares to defend against a non-existent threat. It often takes hours for Bucky to recover the ability to move let alone care for himself.

He doesn’t go anywhere on those days, even if they happen to interfere with his schedule.

Bucky likes his schedule: morning workouts, grocery shopping every other Monday, lunch with a friend on Wednesdays, therapy on Thursdays. It isn’t much but it makes him feel normal, like he’s a regular person who isn’t still trying to heal from a lifetime of trauma. Every other day, Bucky stays at home trying to catch up on things he’s missed and doing his damndest to get through the day without losing it.

Not even the promise of sleep offers him any sort of respite. The night only gives way to new terrors, the kind he can’t escape no matter how good a day he’s had. Nightmares -flashes of blood, pain, and an innocent person’s pleas- overtake him every time he beds down for the night.

Nothing helps - and he’s tried everything. Thanks to the serum, his body devours medication, alcohol, and other nasty habits he’s given into too quickly to feel any effect. The TV -though helpful at first- has become more annoying than useful. Leaving a window open to let in the city ambience isn’t an option, and the thin apartment walls won’t mask any music he has on for long. At least not at the volume needed to make any meaningful impact in his sleep schedule.

He doesn’t even have a stereo.

Most nights the nightmares wake him violently, bolting him upright so suddenly his torso jerks forward and his breath gets caught in his chest.

Tonight is no different.

After a particularly distressing one, Bucky finds himself woken by his own choking gasps. As he struggles to regain control of the air flowing into his lungs, Bucky presses his hands against the floor underneath him. The blanket between him and the wood is thin and scratchy. In an effort to still his breaths, Bucky slides his flesh hand across the fabric, picking absently at the tiny lint balls dotted along the blanket folds. The soothing action is safe enough to direct his mind towards; it carries no weight nor threatens to trigger any locked memory.

With every passing minute, Bucky’s breathing becomes less strained and more manageable. He tries to turn his attention to the room around him. The living room is dark, the moonlight streaming through the thin blinds being the only source of light in the room. From what he can see into the kitchen, nothing seems off or disturbed. Both areas are bare with only the essential furniture. There’s no dining table, though there is one barstool in the kitchen. The sofa, coffee table, bookshelf, and TV are all in their usual locations.

Taking note of his surroundings starts to help Bucky regulate his breathing. Just as he was regaining composure, Bucky’s body flinches suddenly as he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. He tenses, pulling his knees up to his chest as he prepares to roll out of the way of an attack. Though as his eyes adjust, the silent assassins morph into shadows dancing across the kitchen counters.

He lets out a breath and leans against the cool leather of the sofa. Bucky does his best to redirect his mind to the room. He can see the front door now. It’s still dead-bolted. Good. Maybe he can actually get through the night with only this mild incident.

But as his panic turns from a roaring fire into simmering embers, the memories begin to seep into his mind threatening to reignite the blaze.

The wall suddenly seems way too close. Screams and gunfire begin trickling into the stillness of the dark apartment. The sound starts at a low hum in the back of his mind. But before long it grows into a roaring avalanche threatening to bury him under the weight of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky groans out a swear as he drags his hands down his face. He grips his head tightly as if he can keep the torment at bay with pressure. It doesn’t help. The panic threatens to return, forcing Bucky to make a decision: either try to relax and go back to sleep or do something about it.

After barely a second of thought, Bucky concludes there’s no way he can sit still. Before he pushes himself off his makeshift bed, he extends his legs so they burn from the stretch, grimacing at the stiffness caused by sitting still for a while. He eventually detangles himself from the bed sheet then manages to pull himself up.

Without thinking about it, Bucky wanders in the direction of the bathroom. The cramped enclosed space provides a more secure environment than the living room. Bucky feels like he can breathe a bit better in here. The screams that followed him, however, won’t let him rest.

With his body still on autopilot, Bucky pulls back the shower curtain and turns the water on, not caring about what temperature it’s been set to. As the screams get muffled by the running water, Bucky stumbles his way to the sink, gripping the edges tightly as he leans into it. He lets a minute pass before he forces himself to look up at his reflection.

Bucky looks awful. The dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and unkempt stubble make how little he’s been sleeping obvious. Even his eyes -usually a cool steely blue- are muted and grey. Scars litter his shoulders and torso, evidence of a tortured past etched into his skin. Even if -by some miracle- he came across someone who wasn’t aware of what he’s done, they’d know the second they saw how destroyed his body is.

He can only stomach a few seconds of glaring before his gaze drops to the dog tags around his neck. He doesn’t like who he sees. It’s been such a long time since he has that he’s not even sure he ever thought differently. When he looks at himself, all he ever sees is a man broken beyond repair - the shattered remnants of a soldier HYDRA ripped apart.

The rushing water pulls Bucky out of a new set of spiraling thoughts. He makes an attempt to shake them away before straightening up to peel off his sweat soaked boxers. They get tossed into a corner as Bucky steps into the shower.

Bucky doesn’t spend a lot of time under the water. He doesn’t even wash much, only enough to get rid of the layer of sweat on his skin. Once it’s gone, he feels a bit better. The water becomes cold rather quickly (not that it was very warm to begin with). By the time Bucky decides to get out, his teeth are chattering and his body trembles from the low temperature.

Bucky’s always cold. He always has been. At least since…it doesn’t matter. The discomfort of being chilled to the bone is something he’s used to, something normal, something he deserves. He doesn’t even notice it anymore. The fact that the room never even steamed up leaving him to get hit with a rush of cold air when he opens the shower curtain doesn’t even phase him.

Bucky shakes the intruding thoughts away then tugs a towel free from the wall rack like he does every day and pulls it across his body carelessly. It’s only when his skin is rubbed raw that he stops, realizing now that he’s been dry for a couple minutes. A small exhale leaves his lips as he returns the now-damp towel to its place

Bucky isn’t quite sure what to do now. The screams have dulled and he’s left with the quietness of his apartment. The silence never helps with the storm brewing in his mind. Bucky knows it’s only a matter of time before he can’t continue pushing his memories away.

Though he isn’t sure what to make of the thoughts seeping in and out of his consciousness, he does know one thing: he’s sure as hell not going back to sleep.

With a sigh, Bucky retrieves his boxers from the floor then walks into his bedroom. Like the rest of his apartment, it’s sparsely decorated. The dresser by the door is practically brand new and rarely used. It’s where he keeps his comfortable clothes -underwear, socks, one pair of sweatpants, and some t-shirts Sam forced on him- while the items he wears more frequently are folded in neat piles on the edge of the bed. The bed, which is just a mattress on the floor, is only made with a fitted sheet and a singular pillow. Several small boxes containing various pieces of his life Steve put together for him cover the surface.

Bucky went through them once. When he came across a collection of old photographs, he dropped them back into the box then closed the lid. He couldn’t bring himself to look through the pictures, especially when most of them contain the face of someone he loved, someone he doesn’t have anymore.

He hasn’t touched the boxes since. It’s easier to ignore them, but he can’t bring himself to hide them away in a closet. So there they sit, taking up space on a mattress he never uses.

Bucky doesn’t even notice them anymore. He drops his boxers onto a clear spot on the mattress then pulls on the first things he grabs: a pair of worn jeans and a simple long sleeved shirt. As he gets dressed, his gaze wanders past the boxes, stopping on a plastic hamper at the foot of the bed. It’s practically empty but Bucky takes it anyway. He spends the next few minutes tossing anything he can find into the basket. He doesn’t care what’s fresh and what isn’t; he just needs to do something.

When he returns to the living room, Bucky bunches the sweat stained blankets together then shoves them into the hamper. He walks around the room once -grabbing his shoes, keys, detergent, and several dollars worth of quarters- before exiting the apartment, locking the door, and making the descent to the complex’s laundry room.

The laundry room is probably the only place outside of his apartment where Bucky feels relatively safe. It’s in the basement so it has no windows and only one entrance, and it’s never quiet. The machines are old and rumble whenever they’re in use.

It’s perfect.

When Bucky pushes the door open, a wave of hot air bursts free and hits him in the face. Bucky takes a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs. The stale warm air helps relax his muscles. After half a minute of standing in the doorway absorbing the heat, most of the tension leaves Bucky’s shoulders. He takes another deep breath, exhaling slowly, before finally stepping into the room.

None of the machines are in use so Bucky gets to pick whichever ones he wants. He makes his way to the far end of the room, depositing the hamper and detergent on top of the last washer. He takes his time filling the machine, ensuring every piece of clothing is right side out before tossing it in.

Bucky doesn’t mind the monotony of the chore. If anything it gives him something else to focus on. Thankfully the machines are pretty simple. Of all the things he’s had to learn lately, using these laundry machines has been the easiest by far. Press a few buttons, give it the amount of money it asks for, then wait for the timer to beep. Easy.

As the washer roars to life, Bucky leans back against one of the dryers and crosses his arms over his chest. He watches the machine rattle while trying not to pay attention to the time on the display.

Thirty minutes.

He could easily head back upstairs and take a few laps of his apartment before the machine goes off, but he can’t seem to make himself move. The thought of leaving his things here unsupervised leaves a knot in the pit of his stomach.

No, he won’t leave, only so the odd feeling goes away. Besides, he doesn’t mind standing for long periods of time. Lord knows he doesn’t have anything better to be doing.

By the time Bucky’s machine reaches fifteen minutes, his mind has been efficiently distracted. He no longer lingers on the terrifying thoughts in the back of his mind. They’ll eventually force themselves back to the front, but it’s manageable for the moment. That is until any calming thought he has is ripped away by the sound of the door opening.

Bucky’s eyes snap up to the intruder - a young woman carrying a wicker hamper with a plastic bag hanging from her wrist. She stops in her tracks when their eyes meet. A look of surprise and hesitation crosses her features before it shifts into a polite mask of neutrality. She gives Bucky a nod then continues forward as if she never stopped at all, unloading her own laundry into a machine near the doorway.

Bucky watches her cautiously. He’s never seen her before and that could be dangerous.

Sure he’s down here doing laundry at- Wait, how late is it?

When she pauses to place her phone on the machine, his gaze flickers from her back to the analog clock that hangs over the middle-most washer.

Would a normal person do their laundry at a quarter to three in the morning or is she here because he’s here?

His eyes narrow when the thought presents itself. He redirects his gaze back to her and continues assessing the situation. She could just be going about her own business, but Bucky doesn’t know that.

He needs to be sure.

He scans the stranger while she closes the machine, eyeing all of her movements with suspicion. Her hair is tied up and messy - she must just be up at this hour normally. If she came from somewhere, Bucky muses, she might have been more put together. Her shirt has no pockets nor do her pants. They’re tight, hugging her form comfortably, so Bucky decides it’s unlikely she’s concealing any weapons. Though he knows that means very little when his own body is practically a weapon.

Plastic rustles as she digs through her bag in search of her detergent. Once she’s finished, she ties the bag and places it on top of the machine along with her hamper. She groans quietly, leaning forward to input the settings she wants then picks up her phone. Bucky can’t see what she’s doing from where he’s standing, but when her machine turns on he realizes she was just paying wirelessly - something he hasn’t learned to do nor does he wish to.

Unlike Bucky, the woman feels safe enough to leave her belongings unsupervised. She doesn’t pay him any mind - as if he isn’t a threat - when she turns to leave, leaving her bag and hamper on her machine. Bucky watches her walk away until the closing door blocks his view.

He really shouldn’t bother, he thinks to himself - though his mind decides otherwise. She’s in the same building he lives in, using the same machines he is at the same time he happens to be here. None of that can be a coincidence. He’s never seen anyone down here this late, and he unfortunately has a habit of doing laundry in the small hours of the morning. He also happens to know just about everyone in the building (at least their face), and he doesn’t know her.

He needs to be sure.

It’s difficult - even for him - to catch the sound of the stranger’s footsteps through the rumbling of the machines. By the time her faint steps reach his ears, he’s already moving towards the door. He stalks quietly through the hall, catching up to her just as she rounds a corner. She doesn’t seem to notice him at all, barely looking behind her as she climbs up the stairs towards the first floor. Bucky waits at the foot of the stairs, pressed against the wall listening for any disturbance. Only when he hears her reach the landing above him does he make a move, taking two stairs at a time while remaining silent and light on his feet.

This dance of theirs continues until the stranger breaks her pattern and opens the door leading to the third floor hall.

His floor.

Cursing under his breath, Bucky bounds up the stairs, managing to catch the door with the tip of his foot before it closes. Before she has a chance to notice anything, Bucky slides his foot free then closes it carefully, holding it open enough to see through yet in a way that it doesn’t look open. He waits for a second to pass, ensuring she isn’t paying any attention to her surroundings, before glancing through the crack between the door and the wall.

True to Bucky’s suspicions, the stranger walks down the hall only to pause in front of his door. Bucky’s breath gets caught in his chest. His eyes never leave her, fully expecting her to make an attempt to break into his home, and preparing to interfere. To his surprise she doesn’t pay his door any mind. Instead, she turns to the right and reaches for the door across from his. In less than a second, the stranger -who Bucky was absolutely sure was after him- disappears from his sight, retreating into the privacy of her own apartment.

It’s only when Bucky hears the click of a lock does he realize the tightness in his chest has eased. He’s been so careful up until this point and yet one woman manages to get past him - and she lives directly across from him.

Bucky comes to a conclusion rather quickly: he needs to figure out who she is. It’s not for him, he reasons as he retreats to the laundry room. If she happens to be an ex-HYDRA agent or some form of secret service, he as well as everyone else could be compromised.

That’s what he tells himself, at least, as he glances into the bag the woman left on her washing machine. Nothing but detergent and dryer sheets. Bucky scoffs to himself then returns to his own machine, leaning on the wall this time so he can watch the door.

It’ll take a bit of time and effort to find out everything he needs to know. It took him a couple months to clear everyone else on his floor. Maybe the nightmares will leave him alone if he can prove that no one near him is out to get him.

Besides, he’s got nothing but time.

[hwang-inhos-fish]

You know how In-ho took the phone from his underling to address Gi-hun directly at the very end of S1? "You should get on that plane"?

What if In-ho kept calling?

He has that phone's number now. And honestly he could find out how to call even if Gi-hun switched phones / numbers.

Imagine that In-ho, unable to help the obsession / addiction, gives in and reaches out, too fascinated by this player / winner to turn down a chance at conversation. After all, he can keep his voice anonymous with the mask.

And Gi-hun, baffled by the Games, haunted by the need to find who runs them, to UNDERSTAND, finds that he can't turn away from that opportunity either.

Their games of verbal moral chess begin early.

They have two long years of sporadic, intermittent phone calls, often long ones, to build a rapport.

He and Young-il would get on like a wildfire, the chemistry IMMEDIATE, even stronger than canon - like they've known each other for years...

[jesterday00]

If I’m gonna draw him kissing his first romantic unofficial partner I have to draw him kissing his wife too. That’s not what I drew but whatever lol I love them

[lonisaiou]

Pit-Fighter Jinx inspired by @creator_ping !! I've fallen in love with this concept

[neverenoughmarauders]

A cursed blessing

Written for @Jilymicrofics | WC: 921 | February 2025 prompt: Fables

'Can we read the Tale of the Three Brothers?' 

Harry is looking at Lily with pleading eyes. She knows the look well. It is not too dissimilar to the one she would use as a child to bully her parents into reading her favourite bedtime stories.

It would have been endearing.    

'Not today,' Lily says, feeling her stomach tighten in painful, guilty knots. 

'Please!' 

'Another day.'

'Never, in other words,' Harry says, crossing his arms and sending her an annoyed look.

Even at seven, he is so much like his father. His dark hair sticking up at the back. The same incredulous expression when he doesn't get it his way. He is perfect. 

Lily wants to be the mother Harry deserves. But that is only one of the many things she desires for her son; one of the many things she is unable to give him. 

'Why don't I read it to you?' 

Lily turns to see Sirius in the doorway. He's leaning casually against the wall. Typical. She should have known he would ignore her instructions to wait downstairs. 

Sirius' visits are frequent, but not frequent enough to avoid exciting Harry. It had been a struggle separating the two earlier, convincing Harry he had to go to bed, when Harry knew Sirius wouldn't be there when he woke up again.

Sure enough, upon hearing Sirius' offer, Harry immediately sits up.  

'YES!' Then adding hastily: 'Please, mum!?'

His green eyes are shining brightly with excitement. His favourite story, read by his favourite person. Lily wouldn't have been able to say no even if she had wanted to. 

'Of course,' Lily says, trying to smile; trying to sound like she's not swallowing a sob. 'Just behave yourselves, both of you.'  

She tucks the duvet tighter around her son's body as he lies down again. Despite the painful throbbing in her chest, Lily cannot help but fall even more in love with her son, who is now trying to look like the picture of a well-mannered boy. Unfortunately, he's at a considerable disadvantage. He is James' son after all. 

Once Sirius starts reading, Lily escapes downstairs, closing the door to the living room for good measure. She can't bear to think of that cloak. Sirius had been the one to give it to Harry this year. The last time Lily touched it, she swore never to use it again. 

She hated it. She hated James for giving it to her. To Harry, really. 

The owner of the cloak cannot die, if the legend is to be believed. When James had thrown that cloak to her as the door burst open, he had made his choice. In the fraction of a second he could have grabbed his wand, he had chosen the third Hallow, the way his ancestor had. The real power of the cloak is to protect others. Dumbledore had tried to explain this to her later. 

The cloak remains a cursed blessing. Safety at a great cost. The offer of a future, but one which Lily has only partially been able to live. 

James' quick thinking had enabled him to fool Voldemort. He had raced into the corridor, knowing, perhaps, that he was running towards his own death. His last words had been a plea to Lily to take Harry and run. A lie. Lily was not to run. She understood that much. Not then. Just keep still until the right moment.

There had been a flash of green light. The sound of something heavy hitting the floor. It's not James, she had told herself, knowing she was lying. Then she had seen the hooded figure moving towards the stairs. Voldemort had not seen her. Or Harry, who she had pressed closely to her chest, reminding herself why she couldn't fight. Why she couldn't take her revenge. Why, above all, she had to keep living. 

James' cloak had done its job. As she heard Voldemort reach the upstairs landing, she had started moving as quickly as she could manage towards the door. There was no other way out. 

Silently. Invisible. Petrified. Harry's life depended on her not getting caught before she could apparate. 

What kind of mother puts a silencing charm on their child? What kind of wife steps over her husband's corpse? 

'You okay?'

Sirius' question pulls her back to the present moment. He has taken an armchair across from her. 

'No,' she answers bluntly. 'You?'

'As well as I can be,' Sirius says, leaning back and studying her with his grey eyes. 'Spending my day with my Godson and - you.' 

There's a moment's hesitation before he says the final word. Once upon a time, Sirius had used to call her his best friend. 

'And what in Merlin's name does that make me?' James had complained. 

'I would have thought that was obvious,' had been Sirius' constant reply, often accompanied by raised eyebrows. 'My best friend's husband, of course.'

But with James gone, some words; some phrases; some feelings had been stripped away from both of them. Sirius could no longer use the two words because they belonged to someone else. James. His James. Her James. 

Lily met Sirius' eyes. It was a very Sirius like reply. As well as he can be. Because 'fine', 'good', 'happy', are unavailable words—are unavailable emotions. They're not fine. 

They are alive, because they owe James that much. And because James left her something more precious to her than anything else in the world. He left a bit of himself. He gave her Harry.

[gothamite-rambler]

Duke Thomas gets added to the payroll

Bruce Wayne (seeing Duke walk past his office): Duke.

Duke backwards walked to Bruce’s office.

Duke: Sup?

Bruce: Did you check your bank account? The direct deposit should’ve hit.

Duke: The what? Oh you were serious about that?

Bruce: Of course, you’re not only my son, but you do work for me and you deserve an income.

Duke: Thanks dude, but I can’t take your money I work at the library.

Bruce: Duke, trust me. You deserve this. I do it for all my kids… except Tim.

Duke: Why not Tim?

Bruce: Long story… he owns part of my company, plus he- he definitely embezzled a lot of my funds before I noticed so him working at my company is his paycheck.

Duke (alarmed): That was him?!

Bruce: Yeah, but that’s not important currently. You enjoy your first payhcheck and I’m proud of you.

Duke: Thanks man.

Duke left the office, checking his phone as he walked to his room. He nearly dropped his phone seeing the four digits in his bank account that had five dollars in it three days ago.

Duke (shocked, happy): Three- Three thousand dollars?! Woooooooo! I’m eating good tonight! No wait, game stop here I come!

Duke ran out the house passing by Stephanie and Jason.

Duke: I can finally buy a PlayStation!

Jason: Wait until he finds out it’s a monthly payment.

Stephanie: I’ll tell him later. Want to go tell Tim about it first?

Jason: 100% yes.

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Nightmare

KANG DAE-HO X READER

Summary- Dae-ho wakes up from a nightmare, with you being the only one by his side to calm him down.

Warnings- Mentions of PTSD, Nightmare, ECT.

A/N- Thank you, @tomgregtruther101 @errruvande @momoko-world @thethreeeyed-raven for encouraging me to write this!

Word Count- 1,223

A low mumble awoke you from your slumber. Typically you were a heavy sleeper, but when it came to Dae-ho it was different. You could have slept through a firework show. Though, the second your beloved got up to use the bathroom- you're up with him.

It bothered the sweet man at first, he hated waking you up. After some reassurance that you didn't mind, he warmed up to the idea. This night, however, was not like many.

It was not uncommon for Dae-Ho to wake up frazzled. He would get something warm to drink from the kitchen, and lay back down. (Praying he didn't wake you). On the much more common occurrence, you would awake with him. In turn, you'd be the one making him something warm to drink, possibly something sweet to snack on. Then the two of you would cuddle until he was fast asleep.

It was honestly comforting for you as well, being able to be his anchor was flattering. He trusted you like no other.

Dae-ho was not Frazzled though, and he didn't wake up to get a beverage.

He was thrashing, hard. His legs slightly kicking, arms jumping up every few seconds. With an impossibly scrunched face, he mumbled again.

"Dae?" You whispered out. The only response you received was a hit to the side, a stray flaring hand had got you.

The mumbling quickly turned louder, now sounding like a cry or groan. It worried you beyond recognition.

"Dae-ho." You pressed a gentle hand to his shoulder. His body jerked away from it. Very uncharacteristic.

A disfigured 'no' left his lips, a struggled sob escaped. He had managed to kick the comforter off of himself, and the bed.

You were now sat on your knees, looming over him. "Dae-ho!" You firmly grabbed both of his shoulders, shaking him.

A loud gasp erupted from both of you as his eyes shot open, you had no time to make a comment. His legs pushed and kicked, separating himself from you. At that singular moment, in his fear struck mind, he didn't seem to recognize you.

He had already found himself against the headboard of the bed, his hands pressing tight against his ears. You had barely blinked in all his movement.

With gaping eyes, a pounding chest, and heavy breathing he looked at you. Almost as if you were the one who hurt him.

"It just me, Dae-ho, its just me..." You spoke as soft and low as you could. You didn't approach any closer, but put your hands up to appear less intimidating.

His eyes just darted across the room in response, body curling further. His lip quivered, face and body drenched in sweat.

"You're okay, you're safe. Dae, you're safe. It's just me... It was just a nightmare, everything is okay..."

He swallowed thick, slowly nodding his head. His gaze now stuck on yours. His scared and nerve wrecked appearance crushed you. It was opposite of the man he appears to show to everyone, only you knew of his nightmares.

"I'm going to come closer, I promise I'm here, I'm real, you're at home. Safe in bed..." You shuffled over on your knees, hands starting at his forearm.

He slightly flinched at your touch, but made no attempt to move away. Your hand caressed across his arm, going to his own hand. You tenderly unravel his tight grip on his head, tangling your fingers in his.

A large sigh left him, his head falling back in frustration. He was now back to reality, though still beat and weary. Water glossed over his eyes. He bit his lip hard, trying to fight away any tears. He thought it would make him seem less of a man to cry in front of you. You couldn't disagree more.

"I'm so sor-" His voice cracked as he tried to speak, a couple tears has managed to escape. You didn't let him finish, his face was pressed deeply into your chest within seconds. He truly didn't know what he was apologizing for, for waking you? For having a nightmare? For his frequent PTSD attacks?

You had quickly taken his frame into your arms. He would have admitted that your knees pressing into his thighs was uncomfortable, but he didn't care right now. You were with him, holding him, and loving him. That's all he cared about.

"Don't you dare apologize, you've done nothing wrong." You cradled his head tight, pressing kisses to the top of his crown.

You managed to twist the two of you around, your back now against the headboard with him in your lap. He was quiet for awhile, you simply rocked him back and forth for a little bit.

His arms found themselves wrapped around your waist. He held onto you for dear life... Almost as if you'd fade away if he let go. You heard his breathing shake every few breaths, but he was calming down.

Continuing to rock, you reached your hands up to his hair. It was half up, half down. The hair tie pulled out of his hair easily enough. You were able to considerably comb through his hair with your fingers. A simple action you knew he loved.

While one hand worked at his soft black hair, another rubbed circles on his back. "Feeling better?"

He sniffled, leaning up to look at you. He couldn't meet your eyes, almost embarrassed. His meek, "Thank you." was accompanied by a nod.

You brushed through his hair, even with him sat up. "Want to talk about it?" You never wanted to pressure him into anything he wasn't comfortable with.

"Just the typical... but you were there, you were who I was shooting... It was like you were the enemy... I just- I can't describe it.. It made no sense-." His voice shook again, so you interrupted him.

"Exactly, baby. It was a nightmare that will never happen... Because I know you would never hurt me, that you would do anything to protect me?" Your tone implied a question.

He nodded furiously, now making direct eye contact. There wasn't a phrase he agreed more with. He looked at you like a loyal puppy.

"See? It was your sweet little mind playing mean tricks on you..." You rested a flat palm to his cheek. Taking in how handsome he looked in the moonlight.

He puffed, now more light hearted, and fell back onto your chest.

"I promise I will keep you safe from all the nightmares and mind games." He was frustrated at your words.

"But that's supposed to be my job..." He said, face conveniently still upon your breast.

You smiled warmly, "Yes, it is. And you fulfill it perfectly. I couldn't be happier. But, you must let me take care of you as well..."

He didn't respond, his internal monologue had a million points to argue back. But he didn't. He embasked in the moment, squeezing you tight again.

You took the silent request, resuming your back rubbing and head scratching.

From experience, you knew he would not fall asleep any time soon. That you'd probably fall asleep before him, no matter how hard you tried to stay up. All you could do for now was whisper how much you love him, play with his hair, and hum silly melodies.

And he was content with that.

A/N- Okay, so erm. I feel like it was rushed (it was), but I also feel that way about all my works. So... Please let me know how I can improve. Also this is my first time writing something like this, so I hope it wasn't terrible. XOXOXOX LOVE YALL

[kelin-is-writing]

HELLO???? PRO-HERO TOUYA???? I’M FOLDING SO BAD—?????

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

thinking about playing with geto’s hair to help him unwind after a stressful week

the air hangs heavy, oppressive with summer's clinging humidity—a fitting backdrop to the surge in curses running rampant through japan. your days blur into an unrelenting cycle: exorcise, write reports, collapse in your dorm. you call it a blessing, a chance to strengthen your technique—but deep down you know that each mission brings you closer to the brink.

the fatigue is nothing short of infectious, spreading through jujutsu high like a virus. but this week, geto's weariness went beyond mere exhaustion—it teetered on the edge of total defeat. you and gojo had noticed it immediately, an unspoken observation of his too-polite words, dull eyes, and the barely-there smile he wore like armor.

although gojo is usually aloof when it comes to these types of social cues, his six eyes truly lives up to its name when it comes to geto. gojo notices his unfinished meals and lack of appetite, resorting to (in very gojo-esque manner) attempt to hand-feed him and offer up his most sacred sweets.

you'd teased gojo for his attentiveness, but he'd fire back that you were no better, always rushing to geto's side the moment he'd returned from a mission, dragging him along to a number of alleviating activities. you'd even made the mistake of inviting him to a smoke sesh with shoko, a decision you were still getting shit for since any invite to geto automatically extends to gojo—the embodiment of shoko's nightmare blunt rotation.

but today geto had been particularly elusive, so you find yourself messaging gojo privately to discuss your concern. unsurprisingly, gojo is a little too eager to engage...

S. Gojo | Today at 9:37 PM nd u saw how quickly he excused himself after giving his report ?? he didn't even scold me after yaga pointed out that my handwriting was completely illegible :0

You | Today at 9:39 PM sooo you knew that it was illegible? mbn to never worry about the consequences of your actions & ofc i noticed!! he seemed restless during that whole meeting

S. Gojo | Today at 9:40 PM just say ur jealous lol nd I noticed that too it was pretty distracting u think hes still on edge from the mission?

You | Today at 9:43 PM in his defense it doesnt take much to distract you i dont even think his mission was particularly difficult though didn’t he exorcise a bunch of grade 3 curses

S. Gojo | Today at 9:43 PM yeeah but remember he still has to absorb them hes trying to increase his collection i could yak rn just thinking ab it

You | Today at 9:45 PM truee idk how he does it honestly it must be rlly wearing him down tho i rarely see him now :(

S. Gojo | Today at 9:46 PM yeahhh he keeps hiding out in his room classic avoidant tendencies

You | Today at 9:48 PM astute observation dr. gojo that would imply he needs some space huh

S. Gojo | Today at 9:48 PM rightttt but

You | Today at 9:50 PM but? (i like where this is going)

S. Gojo | Today at 9:50 PM luckily space isn't in our vocabulary (i knew u would) lets go bother him :3

You | Today at 9:51 PM im alr omw to u :3

stuffing your phone back into your sweats, you begin making your way to your co-conspirator. it's pitch black outside save for the dim light of the flickering lantern hung at the dorm’s main post, but gojo’s room is only a couple doors down. you push open the slightly ajar door and are met with a tart, saccharine scent wafting from gojo’s not-so-secret stash of hard candy.

squinting forward you spot the culprit red-handed, splayed out across his bed, and likely one candy away from a sugar rush. your exasperated exhale breaks him from his sugar trance and he rolls over to prop himself up on his side, crinkling about eight discarded candy wrappers in the process.

"so nice of you to join me tonight~”

you wrinkle your nose at his lopsided grin, “gross satoru, a grown-ass man eating in his bed.”

gojo sneers peering over his glasses which are slowly slipping down the slope of his nose to retort, “and you are a grown-ass woman who still sleeps with stuffed animals so I don’t wanna hear it.”

he sticks out his bright red tongue before tossing the empty wrappers onto the floor to clear up some space. you consider pointing out the digimon plushie that's visible from underneath his bed but decide to let it slide, seating yourself next to him. you are instead much more interested in gawking at the ginormous bag of candy sitting before you.

"there's actually no way you plan on eating this entire bag yourself, right?" you eye his glossy, red-stained lips "your dentist must hate to see you coming."

“and I would happily take on that challenge but—" he pauses to lift a piece of candy wrapped in shiny gold paper, "I actually picked up this bag earlier because I noticed it has these hard candies with honey filling.”

"how considerate and out of character of you," you tease.

he pouts puffing his cheeks out defiantly, "yeah so this stays between us because I can't have you running around ruining my feared, distinguished, and carefully constructed reputation—"

"of being an arrogant asshole?" you finish.

"no silly, I was gonna go with alpha male."

he smugly turns over to lay flat on his stomach, picking out the honey-filled candies and kicking his feet that hung off the edge of the bed. ah yes, the tell-tale sign of an alpha male giggling and kicking his feet while rummaging through sweets.

"right."

you lean back onto your hands making contact with something hard beneath the blanket. upon further inspection, you uncover gojo's beloved nintendo ds littered with sailor moon stickers. you lift it onto your lap tracing a finger over the peeling edge of a bright-eyed feline luna.

gojo glances over at the movement, "I'm just about done, bring that too."

you sit upright pocketing a couple pieces of candy for yourself along with the ds while he shoves as much candy as physically possible into his grey flannel joggers. stretching your legs out you rise to your feet pulling him up by his arm along with you. you’re pleasantly surprised to be met with the soft, warm brush of his skin rather than the cold pressure that is the icy barrier of his infinity.

although you should be accustomed to gojo deactivating his infinity around you, you couldn't help but lightly shudder as the comforting warmth courses through your body. because despite your argumentative banter, you reveled in the fact that the gojo satoru was surrounded by trusted friends who made him feel comfortable enough to let go of the technique temporarily. he hums softly kicking on his slippers and rising off the bed.

now towering over you, he shifts his weight, fully intending to take a long stride toward the door—until your hand presses firmly against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“listen—y'know I love you 'toru but before we go in there I'm gonna need you to promise to dial it down about five notches—" you take a breath and press your palms together in a pleading gesture, "so we don’t overwhelm him."

you’re met with a scoff and quirked snowy-white brow, “tch I'm not stupid I know how to read a room."

you release a shaky "okay" clearly unconvinced.

he rolls his eyes swatting at your hands and looping his arm around yours to pull you forward, “now let’s go visit our sweet sugubear~” you playfully bump shoulders giddy because you’re all too aware of geto’s ability to render you both docile.

lifting a hand to tug down your beige baby tee where it had bunched up from gojo’s arm, you allow yourself to be led to geto's room.

upon arrival, you are greeted with silence and the distant droning buzz of cicadas. the soft glow from gojo's ocean-blue eyes illuminates the door, and you can’t help but admire their determined sparkle.

“suguruuuu are ya in there? we know you are so let us in loser.” he accompanies his request with a sharp, forceful knock.

you snort at this tactless approach, slipping your arm out from his to swat at the back of his head. you take a gentler approach, knocking lightly, your plea sincere.

“hey um suguru, we know it’s late but we were hoping to unwind together since we haven’t really had a chance to hang out recently and we know how tiring the past few weeks have been for you and um...well all of us and well we y'know—” you pause from your rambling momentarily, banking on gojo swooping in.

“we miss you 'ru” he finishes loudly.

you both cock your heads sideways towards the door to listen for movement and jolt back when you hear the shuffling of feet move across the floor.

you lean in towards gojo, your voice a whisper, “he’s alive.”

geto's muffled voice responds, “yes yes I'm alive, sorry to disappoint,” his voice sounds strained yet still cracks into a low chuckle. he pulls the door open revealing himself to be dressed in a baggy black sweatsuit wrapped in a thick grey blanket that's pulled around his shoulders and draped over his arms. his eyes are clouded by dark bags and his hair is strung messily around his head, his lips fixed into a friendly, albeit forced smile.

gojo, slightly amused by the disheveled geto in front of him, opens his mouth to say god knows what, but geto promptly warns, “don’t make me regret opening this door satoru.”

"so scary sugu, don't be so mean," he dramatically shivers and you can hear the pout lacing his voice. you giggle into your palm at geto's stern look and gojo tugs sheepishly at his unruly milky-white hair. he approaches the darker-haired man placing a firm hand on geto’s shoulder before continuing inside. you follow suit and hear geto's lock click back into place behind you.

gojo immediately makes himself comfortable kicking off his slippers at the foot of the bed and falling face first onto geto's pillows with a sigh. he pulls out the candy from his pocket and drops a handful beside him. you remove your slippers and neatly arrange them while geto sulks over to the bed. he sits upright next to the candy and you drop yourself beside him pulling your knees into your chest. you all bask in comfortable silence before geto is the first to break.

"already infesting my bed with your sugar addiction huh, satoru?"

"no sufogu, bwought dese fa you" his words come out jumbled from the press of his mouth to the pillows.

geto lifts a single candy to his lap and carefully unwraps it. you lean into his side and point, "these candies are filled with honey 'ru, thought they could soothe your throat some."

geto gingerly lifts the candy to his lips proceeding to gently coax out the flavor, savoring the sweet taste. he tilts his head back, eyes crinkling into a thin line and shoulders easing.

“s'good, thank you."

while he revels in the soothing effect the candy is having on his throat you shift your attention towards his hair situation.

"did we wake you? it looks like you just had the nap of a lifetime." you reach up to twist a strand of hair that somehow defies the laws of physics sticking out horizontally.

"no, not at all," his eyes soften casting downward, "sleep's been more like a privilege lately."

gojo's dumbass barrels right past any underlying message there, nuzzling his face deeper into the pillow, "s'cwazy cuz you haf the soffest bed."

as expected, geto with the patience of a saint, is unbothered by his lack of awareness, reaching out to affectionately ruffle gojo's hair, which earns him a soft, satisfied sigh.

you roll your eyes at how pliant and disgustingly submissive gojo had magically become in a matter of seconds. in turn, you thread your fingers deeper into the stringy black clump that was currently geto's hair.

"ugh there's no way you let your precious hair get this tangled, it physically pains me to look at," you clutch your chest dramatically.

geto reaches up to touch the hair in question, his fingertips lightly brushing against yours. he swallows uneasily, "it's gotten pretty bad huh."

you shoot him a sympathetic look carefully removing the hand in his hair to avoid yanking his scalp. you would never admit it aloud but there isn't much you wouldn't do for him; he's reliable, a comforting presence, and his character is unshakable. no matter how unpleasant or dismissive you and gojo could get at your worst, geto was there. so you didn't hesitate to make him an earnest offer.

"let me untangle it. I just so happen to be extremely skilled at detangling, probably from my years of experience—“ you gesture to your own hair twisting a loose curl around your finger, “—and don’t worry I make adjustments for the tender-headed, just ask utahime."

"wait who said I'm tender-headed?"

you snort and simply gesture to the ground, "just sit down here, okay?"

you try your best to mask your excitement since you love geto’s hair: it’s jet-black, long, and soft to the touch. it always smells fresh, with a hint of vanilla from his shampoo. it’s honestly attractive refreshing to see such well-groomed hair on a man.

geto silently complies, crouching next to your feet to fold up and place down his blanket before retrieving his brush from a nearby drawer. anticipating the whine of an excluded gojo, you reach into your pocket and toss his ds onto his back.

"here satoru, so you don't get bored in the next minute"

he eagerly turns over and powers on the handheld device. he is so easy to placate, if he wasn’t a gojo you would frankly be concerned for his safety.

geto settles between your legs, back against the bed, and expresses his interest, "whatcha playing there 'toru? pokémon?"

you start to nimbly section off his hair using the brush and begin working on the ends.

gojo shuffles closer to the two of you and tilts the screen so geto can get a look.

"nintendogs?" geto asks sounding exasperated and you catch a quick glimpse of a black-and-white spotted puppy pawing at the screen.

you suppress a giggle because gojo truly never disappoints and continue working your way up your section unraveling a particularly large tangle.

"try not to sound so disappointed 'ru its so fun~ its got tons of adorable doggies to play with and its harder than it looks! honestly its a lot of work."

now that absurdity earns him a laugh as you smooth down the top of your section mumbling under your breath, "yeah work."

"well I don't know about all that—but I'm glad you've discovered this month’s hyper-fixation" geto responds with a yawn.

"thank you...i think," gojo replies before quickly being distracted by the incessant yapping of his digital pets.

you take your time working through geto's hair, carefully pulling apart tangles and smoothing out ends, admiring the glossy shine reflected in the low light of his dorm. once thoroughly detangled, you brush through his thick locks while running your fingers through his bangs that don’t quite reach back far enough.

you hear a low hum when your fingers lightly scrape along his scalp so you continue your ministrations to hopefully allow him some semblance of peace. the yapping coming from gojo's direction becomes white noise as you get lost in thought admiring the silky-smooth feel of geto's hair against your fingers.

the satisfying swish of the hairbrush running from root to end sounds strangely cathartic. you note how his hair has grown considerably since the last time you had seen it completely down. it cascades down a little past his shoulders curling up slightly at the bottoms when released from the confines of the brush.

you gather all his hair back intending to indicate that you had finished until you notice a breathy rumbling being released steadily from his mouth. you peer over his head to see his eyes gently resting shut, with a tranquil expression softening his features as his lips part slightly with each slow breath.

somehow he has managed to look perfectly serene, yet impossibly striking. it was a relieving sight to see after this past week made you believe that his face had become permanently fixed into a frown.

"hey—“

you swiftly press a finger to a startled gojo's lips gesturing to the sleeping geto that had slumped into your lap. gojo quickly powers off his game and cranes his neck to get a good look at geto's face.

he stifles a laugh and wraps an arm around your shoulder, "mission accomplished huh?"

you nod contently as a warm gust of his strawberry-scented breath fans your face.

gojo seats himself next to you and begins running his fingers through geto's newly tamed hair. geto releases a long sigh and you can't help but think its awfully cute.

"bet I can do a better hairstyle than you can" gojo challenges, because of course he does. you still take him up on it though; partly because you're competitive, and partly because you want to keep soothing geto through his much-needed slumber.

you smirk at gojo before parting geto's hair down the middle. taking the left side you begin splitting it into four parts to work on a fishtail. you had always wondered how one would look on him if he ever let down his taut bun.

glancing towards gojo whose eyebrows are furrowed in deep concentration, you notice his glasses had been completely removed as he’s struggling to complete a french braid. the braid is somehow tight, loose, chunky, and thin all at once—effectively securing your victory. his pale fingers weave clumsily through one another to continue down.

gojo scowls looking dissatisfied with his work thus far and begins undoing his current progress. near geto's temple the braid had twisted awkwardly and as gojo pulled the strands apart he was met with resistance accidentally yanking geto's head back suddenly.

the motion jolts you all backward and shakes geto awake releasing a pained wince from the rough pull.

"what the fuck guys”

"gojo you had one job" you moan. gojo's white eyelashes flutter apologetically and he rubs soft circles into the spot he had just pulled.

"didn't mean to sugu"

you roll your eyes at his allergy to explicitly apologizing and shove him away from geto's head. dejected, he slowly inches himself to the edge of the bed until he slides down next to geto. he pops a hard candy between his lips that seemingly appeared out of thin air and leans his head onto geto's shoulder.

you swear you can make out a hushed murmur sounding close to a sorry. geto hums and you go back to playing with his hair. you decide to make an effort to style his hair in a way that he can achieve on his own. you lift gojo's head gently to retrieve the hair that had been trapped underneath so he can snuggle in closer, and you begin working on a half-up, half-down style.

once satisfied you make the executive decision to loop the half-up ponytail into a bun and pull out his bangs to frame his face.

geto’s voice calls wearily out, "having fun back there?" his eyes are half-lidded from dozing off, and at this point he’s completely malleable to your touch.

"I'm actually taking this opportunity very seriously sugu."

you retrieve your phone and open the front-facing camera, handing it to him. he positions it in front of his face to view the finished look.

the corner of his eyes crinkle, but you can still make out the deep violet of his irises scanning over your handiwork.

"I actually like this a lot, it looks great," he praises.

gojo cracks an eye open so he can weigh in.

"I don't hate it."

at that you flick the nape of his neck harshly and geto chuckles at the subsequent wince feeling rightfully avenged for earlier.

“so seriously how do I look?”

“pretty—“ “—handsome” you and gojo both blurt out at once.

an awkward silence follows, and you can't help but giggle at your brazen, synchronized boldness.

searching for a way to ease the tension, your eyes fall back onto the camera in geto's hand and you motion towards it to refocus everyone's attention, "well we've clearly established that you look great so don't let the photo go to waste."

you catch his lips curling slightly before he complies, extending his arm to get a better shot. gojo leans back onto geto's shoulder and lazily holds up a peace sign, his cheeks tinged strawberry-red to match his lips. you scoot forward resting your chin on geto's other shoulder, tilting your head slightly and flashing a playful grin.

“perfect, my new lock screen,” you say, giving geto’s bun one final twist.

geto chuckles, low and warm, and gives your knee a gentle pat. “well, in that case, I’m honored.” he shifts his weight, stretching his legs out, visibly more at ease than when you’d first arrived. beside him, gojo, not missing a beat, looks up, hands folded across his chest.

“but of course, I'm more honored, I'm literally the honored one”

geto looks over the image zooming in slightly, "keep talking and you'll be the one cropped out satoru."

this ignites their usual bickering and you scoff. you watch as geto’s shoulders softly shake with laughter and you swear he seems lighter, the tension of the last few weeks loosening. maybe, just maybe, things could return to normal soon.

at least, for this moment, you all felt a little more like yourselves.

[madbalalaika]

Commission for my dearest friend @teilzeiteinhorn 💖 A scene from a MDZS fanfic love, in fire and blood by cicer

[thesunwillshineonusagain757]

I have an AU that I though up and it makes me squeal every time I think about it. What if Clark found Conner, but instead of being a teenager, he was a newborn?

Naturally, Clark would panic — he's never dealt with anything like this before. Him having been a child at one point being his extent of experience with children. His first instinct is to call his parents, but this isn’t just a Clark Kent problem —it’s a Superman problem.

So, in a moment of desperation, he turns to the only person he thinks might be able to see the bigger picture: in comes Batman.

It results in Bruce comes back to the Batcave after a long night of fighting the Riddler. He’s tired, maybe even a little annoyed, and what does he find? Superman sitting on the floor of the cave, cradling a crying infant, pleading softly, “Please don’t cry, because if you do, I will too.”

Bruce doesn’t know what to do at first — he’s completely out of his element crying Kryptonian and all — but he can’t exactly say no when a baby is involved, especially a half-Kryptonian one.

Safe to say, Dick is immediately obsessed with the baby and spends all his free time playing with him. Meanwhile, Bruce and Clark’s relationship takes a surprising turn. Because if there’s two things Bruce Wayne is known for, it’s his baby fever and his obsession with Kryptonians.

If you want to read it… I started writting it enjoy!

[pixelpubph]

To all the Dippers and Mabels in other timelines who had to go home alone that summer

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt

Jason’s return to Gotham as the crime lord Red Hood is significantly hampered when he saves two kids from being trafficked and suddenly finds himself nagging the two to eat their vegetables and do homework on time and, dear lord, your names are Freeman and… Batson? Yeah that’s it, Jason is not waiting this one out until they’re both suddenly dressed in traffic light colors and swinging around the city with an overgrown furry.

Freddy and Billy are a bit confused by the flash adoption via menacing Gotham guy, but it certainly helps that he’s not threatening to send them into the system and that he cooks them meals every day . And also “Billy, I think he might be the new vigilante! That is so cool!” “… do you mean the new crime lord?” “Same thing! Isn’t the helmet awesome!?”

Batman and Robin are… not sure what to make of the new crime lord that, on one hand, keeps antagonizing them to no end, and on the other hand was recently spotted at a meeting with his lieutenants where two masked kids burst into the room to scream about the kitchen being on fire and pointing at each other yelling “It’s all his fault!”

[brothersfuck]

Sam, at six years old, is excited to go to school. He thinks he'll meet new friends. John tells both him and Dean to watch their backs and walk to school. Monday to Friday. Dean is only ten but he walks Sam to class and picks him up too. Sam holds Dean's hand tight, and Dean just smiles at him with no words said.

Sam, at eight years old, finds out why John is really always out. He thinks school is his only escape from home, and as long as Dean is there, no matter how many schools they go to, he'll be okay. Dean is twelve now, and he's hanging out with girls more than usual, but Sam can understand it. No one likes boring, and Dean is supposed to be cool. Sam thinks Dean is cool. Dean doesn't pick him up anymore.

Sam, at fourteen, hates school. Dean tries to coax him out by telling him he'll be by his side all the time, and Sam only curls further into the balled up position he's pushed his skin and bones into, for warmth, he says. For familiarity. Dean is eighteen now, and this is the first time in a week that he's come back home. Sam can't bring himself to look at Dean.

Sam, at seventeen, realizes that nowhere is home enough, and he'll never be able to fit in. His dad rarely comes home and Dean is out for weeks now; in bars picking up girls, scamming people for their money at pool. Sometimes both Dean and Dad are home, and Sam thinks it'll be much easier if he did it when both of them are here. He confesses he's going to stanford, and John tells him he has no place in this family. He's free. He feels it in his gut.

Sam, at twenty-three, has a knife lodged in his spine, and he wishes he could curl back into his balled up position. Dean tries to coax him out one last time, and Sam doesn't answer just like he did at eight. Dean cradles him like he used to when he was six, and Sam's hand comes up to squeeze Dean's. Dean let's out a sob. Sam isn't warm anymore, just like when he was seventeen.

Dean, at twenty-seven, lays Sam down on the old worn bed, lifts his cold arm up and shovels himself underneath the space he made to be closer to his little brother. There's the silent flick of the safety going off. And Bobby finds them that way.

[gothamite-rambler]

"Weird Questions from a Weird City: Batfamily Edition

Duke Thomas: What’s your biggest fear?

Jason Todd: That I’ll never be good enough for anyone.

Tim Drake: Everyone hates me and talks about me behind my back.

Dick Grayson: Vampires.

Jason Todd: ...

Tim Drake: ...

Dick Grayson: I got turned into one once and nearly killed peoples. It's a bloodlust, you never know when you'll be fully quenched and every non-vampire is a succulent vessel... But I'm not a vampire anymore and that is in my past.

Dick eats his apple after that.

*silence*

Duke Thomas: Holy crap stick, Batman.

Tim: Can I change my option to Dick Grayson?

Jason: Same.