#crying my eyes out writing this

[coffeeismycallsign]

The 90s and early 00’s English equestrian aesthetic was perfect. Hunter green breeches with tan patches, team polo shirts and that waterproof jacket with your barn logo you begged for. The GPA helmets with the center stripe, the original GR8 from Charles Owen, the fluffy sheepskin halters eq horses had for shows, dark saddles with light knee rolls and a fluffy pad. Sheepskin everywhere. Brass hardware and nameplate bracelets. The smell of Marygold spray. It is 2003 and the dark November 5pm creeps over my after school jumping lesson; my friends and I walk our horses out, counting the quarters we have to see if we can split some hot Cheetos from the vending machine while we wait for our parents to pick us up. Stained uggs replace our riding boots as we pack up to go. This is my Roman Empire.

[starrystevie]

it was all supposed to be a joke. they were supposed to be in steve’s backyard with all their friends and family in shitty lawn chairs, holding cans of budweiser and jamming to whatever song eddie was in the mood for that day blasting through the speakers. steve was supposed to be in front of them all in a tuxedo t-shirt and powder blue dress pants, flowers in his hair that had been teased to high heaven and dark black sunglasses to keep out the bright sun. that’s how they had planned it all those years ago when they’d been high and drunk and young and in love.

but somehow instead, the yard is full of flowers and benches that hopper and wayne put together with spare wood for everyone to sit on and there’s an archway at the end of the aisle and soft acoustic songs spilling gently out of the speakers. steve’s still at the front, that was always supposed to happen, but this time he’s wearing an actual tux, light cream with a boutonnière and everything, and his hair is pushed back just so. there’s no flowers in his hair and no sunglasses but it’s cloudy enough of a day where he doesn’t really need them anyway.

they weren't even supposed to do this. there wasn't supposed to be a grand entrance and a walk down the aisle, no flower girls or ring bearers or anything remotely traditional. but what started off as, "well, i wouldn't mind walking down the aisle," and "i think exchanging rings would be cool," and "who cares if it isn't legal, i'm going to marry you anyway damnit," turned into this beautiful day of friends and family and love.

robin’s standing beside him in a tux of her own, pinstripe grey donning a pocket boutonnière that matches nancy’s bouquet, with a few notecards in her hands. and speaking of nancy, she’s heading down the aisle in a flowing dress, and when her eyes catch robin’s, she crinkles her nose before blowing her a kiss. she stands opposite of steve as eddie's not-quite-bridesmaid and grips her bouquet tightly, her eyes never leaving robin's.

and then there's dustin. he's in a tux that matches steve's and he has his curls pushed back with probably too much gel and a tie that suzie got him for their 3rd anniversary. the best thing he's sporting, though, is the smile on his face and the ring box in his hand and the joy in his eyes as he looks out at the crowd. having him there as best man and smelling the cheap cologne he wears so he seems more grown up calms steve's ever beating heart enough to where he doesn't think he'll throw up from nerves anymore.

all of their loved ones are surrounding them in clothes steve’s never seen before but he couldn’t care at all what they’re wearing because they’re all smiling wide and bright at him. he catches himself rocking back and forth on his feet so he shakes out his hands and holds them behind his back to distract himself. his stomach is rolling with waves or butterflies and when he catches joyce's eye in the front row, she mimes taking in a deep breath which he instantly copies. the soft grin she sends in return tells him that he thinks it could actually work to settle him. mothers have that healing way about them.

he’s never been good with weddings, always fidgeting in a too tight suit his mom picked out, but he never thought he’d be this antsy at his own.

steve's just about to give up and sprint down the aisle to get eddie so they can run away together and leave nerves and or butterflies behind him, but then the music stops. he sees lucas changing out the tapes quickly, giving a thumbs up to mike who throws one to will who runs back behind the shed to where he knows eddie is waiting and when will pops his head back out to run back to his seat, it hits him.

he's getting married.

steve doesn't have time to think about it anymore than he already has been for the last 8 years because eddie's coming around the corner of the shed.

'here comes the sun' is playing out over the speakers, soft and perfect, and eddie's smiling, wide and beautiful, and steve can't help but mirror it back to him. the clouds overhead seem to hear them, hear the song and hear their hearts beating in time with each other, because as soon as eddie gets to the aisle, bright warm rays of sunlight peak out and make the rhinestones he demanded line the lapels of his own black tux shine like real diamonds.

steve stops breathing. he swears he does, and he knows his family are all feeling the same way. he can hear a few gasps, hears joyce muttering what she thinks is a silent, "oh my god," in hop's ear, and watches how wayne stands up just a bit straighter from his front row seat.

eddie glides down the aisle like the drama king he is, soaking in the looks from everyone they care about and soaking in the sun that seems to come out only for him. it's like the sun knows he's a star, too, and wants to come out to be with one of it's own. eddie's always been sunshine and starlight and a blinding thing to look at and take in. he's the light, steve's the moth, and a few clouds on their wedding day could never change it.

"well, that was insanely good timing," eddie whispers to steve once he reaches him. his grin softens and he brings up a hand to wipe gently at the tear tracks on steve's cheeks. "hi, baby."

and steve can do nothing but choke out a laugh, catching eddie's hand in his own so he press a kiss to his palm. he thinks he can feel eddie's heartbeat against his lips and, even if it's his brain playing tricks on him, he likes the sentiment that it brings. "i love you so fucking much."

it's eddie's turn to get teary-eyed and the sun glints off the tears that fall down his cheek before heading back behind the clouds, dotting quick-to-fade sparkles on his face like a wedding present.

steve kisses him. he can't help it. it's nothing but a fast press of lips, watery smile to watery smile, and everyone is cheering except for robin.

"hey! it's not time for that yet," she says with a pretend scowl, arms pressing to each of their chests to keep them apart. it's enough to leave nancy giggling where she stands behind eddie, her laugh like bells bouncing off of the trees surrounding them. "just give me like ten minutes and we'll have you married and you can kiss all you want then."

steve swears he can hear mike groan at that which cause him to grin which cause eddie to grin back and then they're holding hands like it's the only way to get through the next ten minutes. and it might just be the only way to get through it. knowing them, if they didn't hold on tight, one of them would make a move first and there'd be hands around waists and fingers tangled in hair and robin would hate them forever because she wouldn't get to do her speech.

it's after vows are shared, after rings are on fingers, after kisses are pressed to lips and cheeks and temples and hands and everything else they can quickly reach, that the two of them get some peace. everyone is inside eating snacks and drinking cheap champagne, and it goes unspoken that they're going to take some time for themselves. take some time to bask in their new maybe not-so-legally real but as real as could ever be in their hearts marriage.

they make their way, hand in hand like they've always been meant to do, to a table set up for them. eddie pops a bottle of champagne that they pass back and forth between themselves as they share cheesy smiles and champagne-laced kisses. and it's as they look into each other's eyes, fingers lacing so their rings clink softly against each other, that the sun peaks out to say hello once more.

[izzy-prizzy]

no i just-

Imagine after a certainly bad moon, Poppy is just sitting there beside Remus' bed, where he lies unconscious, covered in bandage, still healing scratches all over him..

She just sits there, looking, staring at her boy, no thoughts in her head, all blank..

She doesn't realise how much time has passed since she was sitting there until Minerva comes in.

"Poppy..?" the voice whispered softy.

And when she looks up to Minvera, it's like the silent spell broke. She couldn't hold it in longer. Her lips are trembling and before she knows tears are streaming down her face.

Minerva is there by her side in an instant, holding her as she cries against her.

"He's just a boy.." She croaks out.

"I know.."

"He's.. just a boy, Minerva.."

[storgicdealer]

I MIGHT ACTUALLY DIE

[johnslittlespoon]

plsssss can we talk about bucky getting his revenge and edging gale

gale edging john post | yes we cannnnn !! eta: ykw. i need to just turn this into a proper oneshot since this ended up being over 1k words. new wip created </3

john may be a man of little self control, but after that incident, he decides he can be at least a tiny bit patient so he can catch gale off guard with it when he gets his revenge. because the next few times they're fooling around, gale's expecting a retaliation, john can see it in the way he tenses up and glances at his face before he comes like he's waiting for it, but john never follows through with it. he wants gale to let his guard down, and that he does.

so a week or so later when john's kissing him and feeling him up and asks ever so sweetly if he can tie gale's wrists behind his back, gale doesn't think anything of it. john likes to take control occasionally and gale sometimes likes the feeling of not having to worry about making decisions, getting to let john call the shots, and john always puts extra time and effort into the way he touches gale when he's restrained because he likes to watch his darling blondie squirm.

john has him sit in his lap facing him, letting gale lean against his shoulder to take the pressure off his legs while john works him open on his fingers, already riled up from the pretty gasps gale's making against his neck but reigning himself in because he's gonna need to have some self control for once.

he sweet–talks gale through it, telling him how good he sounds, how well he's doing as he sinks down on his cock, guiding him with hands on his hips so he doesn't unbalance himself without the use of his own hands where they're tied behind his back with a belt. he stays still at first, letting gale ride him slowly, keeping his hands loosely on his waist while praising him and talking him into that foggy needy headspace until gale's thighs are trembling and john takes pity on him (and frankly is so hard he doesn't have the patience to keep his own hips still anymore).

so he runs his hands down from gale's waist to his ass to hold him in place while he rolls his hips up into him, watching the way gale's eyebrows pinch and his pretty lips fall open in a silent oh as john angles himself in a way gale couldn't with his own movements. lets his mouth run as he slowly picks up his pace, all the coos of "so pretty", "you're taking me so well", "you feel so fucking good", loving how reactive gale is to every word and every thrust.

he moves his hands to gale's hips to get a better grip, can tell gale's getting close because he gets noisier, losing his filter and letting out breathy little "fuck"s and "john"s, head rolling back on his shoulders to bare his neck, rocking his hips down to meet john every time he fucks up into him. and then just as he gets the warning of "close", he pulls gale down by his hips to bury himself deep in him and stops moving completely.

the whine of desperation that tears out of gale's throat when he lifts his head has john knocking his skull back against the wall, cock twitching hard enough inside gale that he's sure the blond can feel it. he watches gale's biceps flex when he instinctively tries to get his hands free, feels his hips try to squirm out of his hands to keep moving, but he keeps him pinned firmly down, dizzy at the way he clenches down around him.

a plaintive "john" pulls a groan from him, but he composes himself, lifts his gaze back up to gale's face and lets the corners of his lips quirk up, purrs out a "yeah, sweetheart? something wrong?"

laughs at the way gale cusses him out, a rare sight of his little spitfire with a mouth on him, though the effect is a lot closer to being hissed at by a kitty than actually being convinced to move. john lets him run his mouth, murmurs a "cute" once gale's done, and then promptly hammers his hips up into him just once, swearing under his breath at the way it punches an open–mouthed moan from gale. rocks his hips up into him a few times before going back to a quick and rough pace, the sound of skin on skin getting both of them flushed.

it only takes a minute before gale's hips are twitching into his hands and whispered pleas are falling from his mouth and john thinks he's never had to use as much self restraint in his life as he does when he forces himself to stop moving again, once again yanking gale down against him, holding him still in his lap.

gale really fights it this time, enough so that it's a merciful distraction for john from how close he himself is (trust his idea to backfire as he ends up edging himself along with gale, he thinks) when he has to use proper strength to keep him in place. any blood that might've still been lurking around his brain rushes south the moment he sees gale's eyes getting shiny with frustration, cheeks all pink and lips red and flushed from biting down on them.

"not so fun, is it?" john taunts, but his voice comes out a bit more raspy than he would've liked, evident how much the stop and start is getting to him too. it's probably karma, because he knows he's being more mean than gale was to him, but he can't help it; those blue eyes look so pretty when tears are threatening to spill over when he's desperate and needy like this.

gale wriggles in his lap the best he can, still furiously chasing his orgasm, head finally falling back in frustration before he lifts it again, looking john in the eyes, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and letting it go. he whines quietly and whimpers out the sweetest "please, johnny," almost crying in his impatience, and fuck.

john doesn't mean for his hips to twitch up at that, but they do, hard. gale sobs out a broken sound at the way john's cock hits just where he needs it to in his accidental movement, and gale spills over his stomach completely untouched, just like that. john swears and drives his hips up into him in an attempt to quickly amend his slip up, moaning loud at the wrecked noises that immediately start bubbling up out of gale as he fucks him through his orgasm.

he tips over the edge himself from the desperate sounds the blond starts to make as he crosses the line into overstimulation, feeling gale's hips jerk frantically in his hands, fighting to get away from the incessant rhythm of his cock inside him as john shudders through his own orgasm, fingers digging into gale's sides.

he slows down to a gentle grind of his hips when gale collapses against his chest, face pressed to his neck, shivering at the slow drag inside him and whining pitifully when john eventually pulls out, settling him down on his thighs while he reaches around to undo the belt and free his hands. his heart bursts at the way gale instantly wraps his arms around him, clinging to him as they both catch their breath, john petting his hair and showering him with praise.

he eventually huffs out a laugh, murmuring a "sorry buck. payback's a bitch, but that was an accident, i swear." gale groans against him in complaint, lightly nipping at his shoulder in retaliation, too tired to fight back, but john's sure he'll pay for it eventually.

it's confirmed with the "better watch your back, darling" that he gets when they're both pulling their clothes back on, but to john, that sounds less like a threat and more like a good time, and he shoots gale a crooked grin to let him know as much.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

@dollsuguru pspspspps……….. the teeniest tiniest sneak peek just for u ………………..

[jgracie]

On Father's Day, I just wanna imagine Jason's reaction to his little toddler daughter finally being old enough to draw him a card and its messy and poorly decorated and you can barely understand what does it say, but the baby presents it and Jason just cries of happiness

STOP ☹️☹️ because obv you’ve celebrated father’s day ever since ur daughter was born (and if it happened while u were pregnant u had a mini celebration too 🥳) but all of those were just you decorating and getting cake n all that & yes he ADORES you and is so so grateful for all the effort u put in nothing can beat the feeling of getting a handmade card written by his daughter herself 😣 i feel like he probs forgets she’s old enough to make a card as well so he gets it n is so surprised for a second 😭😭😭😭 literally puts it on his work desk or wtv keeps it for LIFE that card is dying with him 😫

[puppiesandnightlock]

LINK: Last Friday Night

Cowritten with the lovely @livingtobethevillain, who's idea set us off on this road ;-;

Summary: Damian wasn’t one to go out of his way to cause scandals or to give the masses something to gossip over. He tried to distance himself from his family in that aspect. He liked the way his name was kept out of the papers, unlike his father or siblings. It was something he took pride in.

Or something he did take pride in. Because as the saying goes, love makes you stupid. And well, Jon wanted Damian to have fun. Damian had reasoned that a couple drinks wouldn’t hurt. But once Damian had passed the threshold of ‘a couple drinks’ that's when the trouble really started.

TL;DR Damijon + friends go out and party, Damian gets a bit too drunk and everyone thinks this is hilarious

Anyone who knew Damian would know that being caught by the press doing anything “improper” was simply unheard of for him. 

His brothers and father had hundreds of scandals, memes, audios on the internet but surprisingly, even having been brought up in the spotlight, he’d rarely had any.

But of course, Jon had to change that.

There was an awful lot of truth when people say love makes someone stupid, and as much as Damian was loath to admit it, he was as weak to the emotion as anyone, and it had led to many things he’d come to cringe at.

Although, admittedly there hadn’t been any as…spectacular as this one, though.

It was not a special occasion by any means that led to these events, just a meet-up with some friends at a local bar near Met U. They’d parked a few blocks away and were walking down to the entrance, hands swinging between them.

Damian took a deep breath, letting the warm air slide in and out of his lungs before looking at his husband out of the corner of his eye.

“Jonathan, if you have something you’d like to say you are welcome to say it.” Damian said, the corners of his mouth quirking up in amusement.

“Well-I-I just-” Jon stuttered before clearing his throat and gathering himself. 

“I wanted to ask if-well I couldn’t help but notice that you're always the one in the group that stays sober on the nights we go out and I wanted to ask if this time, would you want to be the one to, y’know, party.” Jon rubbed his neck with the hand not intertwined with Damian’s, the other man raising an eyebrow. “This isn’t like-a scheme to get you drunk by the way, I know how it sounds. I just…I want you to have fun.”

Damian's expression softened. “Thank you, love. But you don’t need to worry, okay? I have plenty of fun even when I am off to the side.”

Jon snorts and Damian scowls playfully. 

“Last time we went out you were so high strung that you nearly drop-kicked a guy ‘cause he bumped into me.” Jon laughs.

“He shouldn't have bumped into you if he didn’t want to face the consequences.” Damian responded dryly. 

“Yeah okay,” Jon says, rolling his eyes. “Just-try to let yourself have fun. I'll be the one that plays lookout tonight, alright? You don’t have to worry about anything.” 

Damian hums in acknowledgement. “You feel very strongly about this.” 

“I do.” Jon gives a crooked smile and Damian can’t help but give a small but genuine smile back. 

“Well, we’ll see when we arrive.”

That was neither a yes or a no, but a small victory nonetheless. They weaved through the crowd of college students, staying in a comfortable silence until they reached the inside of the bar. 

They were quickly spotted by Kathy, who dragged them over to where Colin and Maya were sitting, already with drinks in hand.

“Damian!” Colin slung an arm around his neck, not quite drunk but enough alcohol in his system to be rendered tipsy. 

“Wilkes.” Damian ducked under the grasp, momentarily regretting the evening. 

“So, who’s gonna stay sober this evenin’?” Kathy called from where she was hanging off of Jon, much like Colin had Damian a few seconds before. “Y’all can count Colin off the list.”

“Jon is, I believe.” Damian responded, slightly awkward.

Cheers went up, and Maya tipped her glass towards him. “All grown up, aren’t you, little brother? Gonna join the grownups for some fun?”

He scoffed, taking a seat next to her. “Hardly. Just because I did not join the rest of you imbeciles in becoming inebriated doesn’t mean I was less of an adult.”

“Hey!” Jon put a hand to his heart, mock-offended. 

“Not you, of course,” He was quick to remedy the statement, both sharing soft smiles that left their friends gagging. 

“I’m too sober for your disgusting PDA,” Kathy announced, waving a hand to get the attention of the bartender. 

“Amen to that!” Maya sipped from her cup, Damian’s answering unimpressed expression being undermined by the blush that heated up his face at their words. Jon only laughed in response, placing a chaste kiss on Damian’s cheek, before then starting up a conversation to update their friends on recent solo missions, although they were worded to sound like typical civilian jobs to any possibly prying ears.

Kathy brought over a refill for Colin and Maya, as well as Damian’s first drink of the evening. 

“Figures.” Colin snorted, looking over at the glass. “You’ll never grow out of rich boy shit, will you?”

“This is perfectly acceptable.” Damian sniffed, looking mildly insulted. Jon patted his shoulder, nodding along. 

”Whipped.” Kathy muttered into her drink. Jon coughed, the rest of them snickering.

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

They went on like this for a good five minutes, Damian on the brink of losing his mind for all of it. It was better to save his grievances until the night was in full swing, as things would only escalate from there, and there was no use in wasting his breath when it wouldn’t be heard over the loud music.

It wasn’t long before the group needed another round of drinks. Jon volunteered to grab them and motioned for Damian to follow. Damian tilted his head in a silent question but followed anyway. The pair made their way through the crowd, their hands naturally linking back up as a way to stay close. 

“Are you alright, Dearest?” Damian asked upon arriving at the main bar area. 

“What? Oh yeah, I'm fine. I actually wanted to check on you again.” Jon admitted sheepishly. 

Damian huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes fondly. “Of course,”  

Jon fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “You know I wasn't trying to pressure you earlier right? You don't have to get balls to the wall wasted-I just-”

Damian squeezed Jon’s hand reassuringly. “Beloved. I know you didn’t mean any harm. I am well aware of my autonomy, believe me. And if I do get ‘balls to the wall wasted’ that is my choice. Okay?”

Jon laughs and his shoulders slump in relief. “Yeah. Okay. Sounds good. Is that-like-the plan then?”

“tt-of course not. Who do you take me for? Richard?” Damian scoffed, his face scrunching up at the mention of his older brother. 

Jon grins. “I mean-”

Damian glares. “Finish that thought, Kent. I dare you.” 

Jon barks out a loud laugh. “Wouldn’t you call me ‘Wayne’? I did take your last name.” 

“You’re an imbecile.” Damian said, the effect was lost of course seeing as the pair’s hands were still connected and there was an unmistakable fond note in his tone. 

It wasn’t much longer before Damian and Jon were able to get the group's desired drinks. Sliding back into their claimed seats, Damian stayed tense, back straight as he sipped on his drink and surveyed the room. He was quickly offset as he felt a light smack hit his shoulder. 

“Relax, Darlin’.” Jon said, looking exasperated. 

Damian sighed, rolled his shoulders and focused on the conversation that was being had at the table. 

“And then, you’ll never believe this, he tried to hit on me!” Kathy waved her drink around, Maya and Colin cackling.

“I was like, excuse me sir, does this look like the face of someone ready to drop their panties? No! I have a knife to your throat.” 

Damian snorted at that, Jon looking over, pleased. As time went on, the music seemed quieter and the lights not as blinding. Damian had already well entered tipsy-zone, onto his fourth drink now, and the world blurring together into a perfect mess.

The rest of their friends were past the safety zone and on their way to an early morning monster hangover. 

“Beloved, have I told you how much I love you today?” Damian had draped himself on top of his husband, looking at him with adoring eyes, caramel skin dusted with a pink flush. 

“Yes.” Jon chuckled, keeping him close. “But I’d love to hear it again.” 

Damian hummed and leaned in close enough that their breaths mingled and Jon could smell the alcohol on his husband's breath. 

“I love you.” Damian said quietly in the very little space between them. His husband leaned forwards to close the distance and place a chaste kiss on his nose.

“Love you too.”

Damian laughed in response and leaned back just enough to breathe, his arms comfortably wrapped around Jons shoulders and one hand propped to play with the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“You’re pretty.” Damian mumbled. 

Jon flushed immediately, ducking his head with a small laugh. “Thank you, darlin’, you’re not half bad yourself.”

Damian tilted his head with an indulgent smile. “I'm absolutely stunning and we both know it.  What’s that one song? The one that’s like-'I'm sexy and I know it’? Yeah, that's me.” 

Jon coughed, unsure whether to burst into laughter or blush harder. “Sure is, D. You've always been the more confident of the two of us.”

Damian groaned. “Well yeah, but do remember-you have every reason to be confident in your appearance as well. I mean-I love you for many reasons but one of them would absolutely be how ethereal you look at all times.”

He went with the ‘blush harder’ option, resisting the urge to duck his head again and instead peppering Damian’s face with little kisses. “You’re so sweet when you’re like this.”

Damian laughed in response to the kisses, lightly pushing Jon away and rolling his eyes. Jon gives a crooked smile and Damian takes another drink from his glass. 

“I'm not sweet, Jonathan,” he scoffed. “I’m simply an honest man. And the truth I'm living is that you're the love of my life.” 

Damian leaned in to steal another kiss from his blushing husband before leaning back again and sipping from his drink. 

This time Jon did hide his face a bit, sure he was burning from the words. Their friends who had previously been on the dance floor returned, Kathy leaning on Maya and Colin stumbling over with a grin on his face.

Damian sat up upon seeing their friends. He downed the rest of the drink he had been drinking and waved them over. 

“Hello peasants.” Damian smirked. “Glad to know none of you are passed out in the bathroom.” 

“If anyones ending this night passed out in the bathroom, it’ll be you. I’ll eat my shoe if I can’t hold my liquor better than you can, assassin training or not.” Colin challenged, leaning over.

“Yeah sure, Wilkes. Whatever you say. I’ll bet you check out before we even get started. What, with how you're leaning off to the side?” Damian scoffed, pointedly ignoring the way he was also leaning a bit too far to the side when he wasn't paying attention. 

Colin called for a round of shots, leaning towards the other side at Damian’s observation. 

“C’mon, how many do you think you can do? Before passing out, of course.”

“More than you, I'm sure.” Damian challenged.

“Bring it, Wayne.” he picked up a shot glass, the rest of them looking on, Kathy and Maya cheering while Jon looked mildly concerned.

Damian patted Jon’s fidgeting hands reassuringly. “Stop looking like that,” he said, picking up his own glass. “Go back to being embarrassed. That was cute.” 

“Hey!” Jon protested, his voice going unheard as the girls counted down.

“1, 2, 3!”

Damian and Colin both swallowed down their shots, both of their faces screwing up for a moment at the strong taste.

“Gonna give up?” Colin grinned, picking up a second one. He tipped it towards the other boy, a challenge clear in the gesture.

Damian scoffed and snatched another shot. “I hope you’re prepared for the hangover you’ll experience tomorrow. I’ve heard blackouts are worse than normal hangovers.”

“You’re gonna eat your words, rich boy.” 

By the fifth shot, both were beyond the bridges of completely wasted, Colin more so then Damian. Jon plucked the 6th glass from both of them, giving them both glasses of water instead. 

“Okay, no one’s getting alcohol poisoning tonight, thanks.” 

“Aw, why not?” Damian pouted, head tilting in amusement. “Go big or go home, right?” 

“Mm, yeah but I'm the one taking you home, and I love you too much to let that happen.”

Damian slid off his chair and leaned into Jon, standing between his legs, chest to chest with his husband. 

“I love you too, beloved.” Damian tilted his head up and caught Jon’s lips with his own. Jon made a surprise noise before melting into the contact. Damian's hands coming up to tangle in Jon’s hair before Damian was pulled away by the collar of his shirt. 

Damian turned and glared at Kathy, while Jon was catching his breath. “Excuse you.” 

Kathy grinned in response and shrugged. “Keep it to the bedroom, lovebirds, I don't wanna see it.” 

Damian muttered a couple unsavory words under his breath but sat back down in his own seat. 

Jon momentarily mourned the loss of his husband, joining Damian in shooting Kathy a less-than-pleased look. 

“Like you haven’t done worse,” He scoffed. “At least you haven’t walked in on us, unlike some people who don’t understand the concept of locked doors.” 

She seemed to have been silenced with that, only snickering a bit as she snuck a sip from Maya’s half-empty glass, sitting abandoned on the table.

From there time flew by, Jon sat in place for a long while, just observing and having lost Damian at some point. Jon exasperatedly looked around throughout the crowd and it was only when Maya stumbled out of a dance circle that he was able to ask where his husband had wandered off to. 

“-eah i don't know, i think he and Colin are dancing somewhere. I know Kathy went to get them some more water.” Maya laughed. “Never thought I'd see the day that Damian Wayne got shitfaced in some random bar but here we are.” 

Jon snorted and let Maya stride over to Kathy. Jon–now with a direction in mind–headed over to find Damian on the dancefloor. 

Jon wasn’t disappointed by what he found. Damian and Colin were each having the time of their lives drunkenly dancing and then proceeding to laugh their asses off at the other at the drop of a hat. Jon’s eyes wandered back to Damian and Jon let out a choked noise upon seeing the man's newest attempt at dancing. This time he moved his hips and let his hands drift up his sides. The lights above them washed over his handsome features nicely, his dark eyes feeling like something Jon could get lost in. 

Someone bumped into Jon and the spell was broken by another round of laughter from Colin and Damian. Jon strode forward and wrapped an arm around Damians waist. 

“Hey, darlin’. Having fun?” He said fondly. 

Damian twisted in Jon’s hold and pressed close, as he had done multiple times that night. Jon was beginning to sense a pattern.

“I am, thank you for asking, dearest. Me and Colin were dancing.” Damian said, only slightly slurring his words. 

“I think it might be time to head home, hun. It’s late and I can guarantee that tomorrow you're going to want as much sleep as possible.” Jon stated, rubbing his hand soothingly up and down Damians back.

Colin whined. “Awe c’mon, night’s barely begun. We’ve been here, what? Two hours?”

Jon laughed. “Try again. We’ve been here for about four and a half.” 

“Damn, alright.” Colin shrugged. “Just make sure to tell Kathy when you leave. You don’t want her losing her mind when she can't find y’all at the end of the night.”

“Will do. C’mon, D.” He led his husband back to where the girls were, Damian doing as much as possible to stay close to Jon, hanging off of him like a baby koala. 

They stopped at the table, Jon being pulled into a seat while Damian unlatched himself and proceeded to sit in his lap instead of the many available seats, arms going around Jon's neck.

“What’re you doing?” He chuckled.

“Is it illegal to take a seat now? Unbelievable.” Damian scoffed.

“I-Okay, we need to get you home.” Jon shook his head fondly, before pulling out his phone and sending a quick message to the group chat.

“There. Now they know that we’re headed home. Are you okay to walk or do I need to carry you?” Jon said, only half joking. 

Damian huffed. “I can walk perfectly fine.” 

Jon raised an eyebrow.

“You’re lucky I'm madly in love with you or else your disrespect would not go unnoticed.” Damian said, sounding fond. 

Jon smiled softly. “I wouldn't have thought that you’d be an affectionate drunk, but here we are.” 

“M’not drunk, I'm just…hm. In a good mood.” Damian insisted. 

“Of course, of course.” Jon rolled his eyes, before sliding Damian off his lap and steadying the both of them. 

“Time to go home, Dames.” 

—--------

The light was much too bright out, Damian decided as he opened his eyes, despite the protests of the hammer going off inside of his skull. The blackout curtains were drawn shut, but the tiny sliver of light coming through them seemed much more like a flashlight shined directly into his face.

With what he’d admit was mild discomfort, he shifted in bed, drawing a small noise from his husband, who was apparently not asleep.

“Good morning.” The words were whispered but sounded like a megaphone, causing Damian to swat at him.

“Speak quieter.”

“I guess the hangover isn’t treating you as well as you’d hoped.” Jon’s voice was much more amused than he would have liked, but at the moment, he hadn’t the energy to comment on it, only grumbling.

“This is all your fault.”

“It always is, isn’t it?” Jon gently pushed back a few loose pieces of hair around his face. “You didn’t have to get as…compromised as you did, but you Bats can never back down from a challenge.”

“And you kryptonians do?” Damian snorted, wincing as the action jostled his body. “Beloved, if you ran from a challenge, i don’t believe we’d be here.” 

Jon hummed in acknowledgement. “So, moral of the story is we’re both stubborn and competitive. Yeah? Me slightly more than you, of course. ‘Cause you’re just a sweet baby angel aren’t ya, honey?”

Damian scoffed and subsequently cringed again, Jon’s previous snark was replaced with soft, exasperated affection.

“I’ll grab you some painkillers and some water. I'll be right back, darlin’.” Jon clambered out of bed and shuffled himself out of the room. 

Damian closed his eyes and willed the headache to go away. 

“Hey, we’re both off today from day jobs so that’s nice–oh and I was planning on calling Bruce and asking about us sitting out of patrol for tonight-” Jon rounded the bed and quickly handed off the aforementioned items. 

“No.” Damian mumbled. 

“You really can’t think you’re alright to patrol tonight-” Jon said slowly.  

Damian glared tiredly and Jon crossed his arms. 

“I’m fine, Jon. Stop coddling.” Damian insisted. 

Jon sighed in response but didn’t push. He crawled back into bed and picked up his phone only for his eyebrows to shoot up into his hairline upon seeing the mass amounts of notifications on his homescreen. Tiktok, instagram, snapchat. Any kind of social media and there was someone mentioning him, or trying to get his attention. It wasn’t too unusual. Not really. Jon always had at least a bit of attention due to marrying one of Gotham’s sweethearts. But even then, this was excessive. Curiously Jon randomly opened one of the Tiktok videos that people had been sending him–and Jon couldn’t help the laugh that shook his body upon watching. 

“Shut up,” Damian uncurled just enough to glare at his husband. 

Jon didn’t even attempt to stifle the chuckles that escaped his mouth. 

“You’re famous, Dami.” Jon snorted. “Again.”

Damian huffed and sat up to snatch Jon’s phone. It took all of five seconds for Damian’s face to flush upon recognizing himself from the night before. 

It was an edit, Damian vaguely remembers himself and Colin dancing with each other and apparently the people had  not only seen but recorded, uploading the clips onto the internet for frivolous purposes like these.

Damian glared at Jon and gestured pointedly with the phone, ignoring the looped music playing from the device. “This is your fault.” 

Jon laughed harder. 

Their ship name was trending again, along with different variations of Damian's name. The rest of the morning was spent with his horrible husband watching various edits and reading posts aloud to him.

Of course, it was all followed up by being doted on the rest of the day, which may or may not have made up for everything.

When the evening came and he slipped on the suit, Jon tried to talk him out of it again. 

“Really, Dami, I think they’d understand, people have called off patrol for less.” He plucked the mask from his husband’s hold, putting out the puppy eyes he knew made the other’s resolve crumble.

“Jonathan.” Damian huffed, reaching up for the mask, eyebrow raising as it was held above his head in a childish gesture. “I will not be brought down by a generally harmless illness and an unfortunately timed headache.”

“A hangover, babe.” Jon kept the mask above his head as if they were bickering preteens and teens all over again. “You never drink enough to get properly wasted, so now that you have, it’s not going to be kind to you.”

“You’re being childish, give it to me.” Damian scolded instead, refusing to lower himself to the grounds where he’d jump. He’d need a running start to reach above Jon’s height, and frankly, he was not in the mood for this, nor willing to waste what little energy he had left.

“Just stay tonight, i’ll stay with you,” He pleaded once more. Damian sighed, looking out of the apartment window at the darkening sky.

“I will end patrol two hours earlier.” He offered, headache thanking him as it thrummed in his skull. 

Jon scrunched up his face, analyzing him, before handing him the mask, resigned. “You shouldn’t even be going out. I’m a horrible husband for condoning this.”

“You were a horrible husband when you let me go viral due to my antics while inebriated, no matter how pure the intentions.”

Jon whined. “You’re so mean.” 

“So I've been told.” Damian snorted.

Jon sighed and handed over the mask, it was quiet for a moment as Damian checked over his gear. 

“You have to admit that the reality of you being a party drunk is pretty damn funny-” Jon said, breaking the silence.

“Jonathan.” 

“I know you’re embarrassed, it's okay honey-'' Jon grinned. 

“I am not embarrassed-” Damian huffed. 

“You totally are!” Jon laughed. 

“You are on thin ice, habibi.” Damian turned away from Jon and made his way out into the night.

“You know you love me.” Jonathan chirped, following close behind. 

“I suppose that’s why I married you, isn’t it?”

—--------

Damian was beginning to wonder if he should have listened to his husband.

The sudden jolt of nausea had caused him to nearly miss a swing from his grappling hook, looking downwards not helping whatsoever. He made it finally to the designated rooftop his siblings had told him to go to. On a normal day, he would have seen where it was going, but at this point, he was much too out of it to care too much.

“Hey Demon.” A voice from behind him caused him to jump and he turned, seeing his second oldest brother grinning at him, helmet under his arm.

“Todd.” he crossed his arms. 

“He got you, didn’t he, Baby Bat?” Tim appeared next, a smirk on his face. “Must be a bit disorienting for you, huh?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re on about, Drake.” Damian sniffed, turning around and silently begging every deity known to man that his siblings wouldn’t mention his…late night escapades. 

Of course, God is dead and Damian could always count on the others to stir the pot even more.  Dick hugged him, and mentioned nothing, thank fuck, but Stephanie was another thing.

“You’re all over the internet, Dami!” Steph cackled, shoving his phone in his face. The brightness was too high for his liking and he batted it away, grumbling.

“Little brother, not in shape for patrol.” Cass said, sounding serious but the mirth was dancing in her eyes.

“Baby’s first awful hangover!” Jason cheered, ruffling his hair. “Surprised your gorgeous husband whom you love so much and is the best person in the world didn’t make you stay.”

Damian cringed at the use of descriptions, just one of the things from when he was drunk off his ass and waxing poetic about his partner going viral on the internet. 

“He attempted it. I am perfectly fine, thank you.”

“You’re too young for this,” Dick wailed. “This is my baby, you guys, this is not right-!”

“Grayson.” Damian grumbled and his oldest brother clung to him. “Stop.”

Jason snorted. “C’mon don’t beat him while he's down. Plus. You’re, what? Ten years old?”

“I am twenty four!” Damian hissed.

“Four?” Tim echoed, shit-eating grin splitting his face open. “Holy shit you guys, he’s still a baby.”

“Drake.” Damian growled as he was held tighter. “Sleep tonight and you will not wake tomorrow.”

“Dami,” Dick whined. “You got drunk-” 

“Yes, we’ve established this.” Damian grumbled. 

“You’d think with all the bitching you’ve done at us, you’d never even touch alcohol.” Steph said, still scrolling on her phone. 

“I am an adult. I am allowed a couple drinks-” said Damian. 

“More than a couple.” Cass shook her head while the rest of their siblings stifled their laughter. 

“Need to go home.” She declared, poking at him affectionately.

“I’m fine.” Damian would never admit to the whine that laced the words, swatting at Cass’s hand.

“Uh-huh,” Jason snorted.

“I blame Jon.” Damian grumbled. 

“How could you say that about the love of your life?!” Steph gasped in mock offense. 

“He’s the one who encouraged me to ‘have fun’. I was merely making him happy and…got carried away.” Damian flushed and elbowed Dick at his responding coo. 

“God, you guys are so gross. Ew, Look you’re practically grinding on him-” Steph flashed her phone in Damian’s eyes again and Damian hissed. 

“He is my husband. Stop being a voyeur, Brown.” Steph’s face screwed up in disgust. “And I swear you turned up the brightness on that vile device just to spite me.” Damian scowled. 

“Maybe I did, what’re you gonna do about it? Stab me? When you can’t even walk in a straight line?” Steph grinned. 

“You’re all dead to me.” Damian deadpanned. “Also that is a gross dramatization. If I was that compromised I wouldn't have come to patrol at all.”  

At the responding looks of skepticism, Damian sighed. At that moment there was a thump and the crunch of gravel as another person joined them. None of the young adults had to look to know it was their dad, or as he was now, Batman. 

The immediate silence weighed over them, louder than the previous conversations. Anticipation hung in the air as he cleared his throat, seemingly waiting for a greeting.

“Father.” Damian glanced at him, seemingly unconcerned over the possibilities this exchange might bring.

“Damian.” Bruce responded stiffly, looking rather uncomfortable. Damian raised a brow, seemingly scandalized.

“Names on the field, Batman.”

“Right, well, how has your day been?” Bruce coughed, much to Damian’s confusion.

“Fine..?” Damian narrowed his eyes at him. “What are you getting at?”

“Last night seemed to have been very eventful for you.” There was a choked wheezing noise from behind him, undoubtedly one of his brothers. 

Damian flushed, crossing his arms and looking much like a petulant child then the adult he was supposed to be. “I’m far past legal age, father. I’m married, I no longer live under your roof, there’s really no need for-”

“I don’t think we really ever had a talk about safe drinking, son.” Bruce cut him off with a seemingly concerned tone of voice.

“Father, we absolutely do not have to-”

“You should always have a limit, and I know that you do, but please remember to have a designated driver, and stay hydrated.” Bruce’s voice was tuned out by Damian’s own fuming thoughts, his siblings barely concealed laughter echoing in his mind.

This was humiliating. Here he was, surrounded by absolute hypocrites, all clowning on him and giving him talks. He was Damian Al Ghul Wayne (Kent), for fuck’s sake! He’d been building up his tolerance since he was a child, granted not that it had been exercised recently past a glass of champagne at a gala, but still. 

“-amian? Damian, are you listening to me?” He snapped out of his thoughts, Tim seemingly doing a dolphin impression next to him, high pitched shrieks and rumbles of barley held back laughter.

“No.” Damian scowled. “You’re all hypocrites, how dare you have the audacity to treat me this way when each of you have had much worse versions of this than I have! At least I didn’t go around trying to flirt with anyone other than the person I am actually with.”

”Pretty sure he just called y’all hoes.” Steph stage-whispered, Tim now in a fetal position on the rooftop and rocking back and forth while Jason cackled loudly.

“Furthermore, yes, while my tolerance isn’t exactly what it used to be, it certainly looks better that I am actually of the correct age for something like this, and everyone seems to have taken it as positive publicity. This was my choice, no matter how other elements may have influenced it.”

He let out a long breath, looking up with annoyed glance. “And besides, I was kept safe by Jonathan, who didn’t let any of us go past a limit, and cared for me and attempted to get me off of patrol.”

”Whipped.” came from somewhere in the crowd, followed by a gagging noise and something that sounded like a dying vacuum. 

“Tt.” Damian turned. “I’ve had enough of you imbeciles. I’m retiring for the night, and you’ll do well to stop gossiping for God’s sake.”

The tips of his ears were dusted pink, betraying his mortification over the events. He moved to shoot his grappling hook, tripping and landing on his face due to the dully pounding headache at the back of his head that was meddling with his senses.

That was the tipping point for his siblings, and the poorly concealed laughter began to scream out near hysterically. 

“What, were you all hit with laughing toxin?” Damian brushed himself off, looking moments away from stomping his foot like a toddler. “You’re insufferable, the lot of you!”

He swooped away, entire body burning in shame. God, he should have just listened to Jon. Not that he’d tell him though.

—----------

Damian was considerably less flustered by the time he entered his home but the tips of his ears still felt warm when he thought back to the mortifying encounter with his family. 

“Of course all of them had to be present to humiliate me. None of them can be bothered to make time for any event of actual importance but oh as soon as there's blood in the water everyone shows up. Sharks, the lot of them.” Damian muttered angrily. 

“So how was patrol?” Damian looked up to see Jon leaning against a doorway nearby. 

“It went well, nothing interesting.” Damian said, lying through his teeth. 

Jon looked amused. “Liar.” 

Damian held back a groan. “And why do you say that, Jonathan.” 

“Aside from the fact that you look more pissed off than usual, you have your tells.” Jon looked fond. 

“What may these tells be, exactly?” Damian raised an eyebrow.

Jon shrugged with a grin and finally made his way over to Damian before wrapping his arms around his waist. 

“You inhale a bit through your nose and deliberately make more eye contact when you lie. I’ve always assumed it was to keep your heart rate controlled and to make what you're saying be taken more seriously because usually you hate direct eye contact.” Jon explained.

Damian did groan aloud at this and Jon laughed quietly. Damian scoffed but couldn’t help the way his eyes softened at the sound and the way he leaned into Jon’s touch. Damian and Jon were again chest to chest but this time they just existed in each other's arms and swayed slightly to the soft sound of a song that only the two of them could hear. 

“Seriously though, are you alright?” Jon pulled away slightly before he finally spoke again after an indiscernible amount of time had passed. His voice was soft and slightly concerned. Damian sighed and pulled out of his arms completely in order to get out of his suit. 

“I’m fine, I promise, habibi. Slightly embarrassed due to my family's idiocy but fine nonetheless.”

Jon hummed. “I’m going to take a wild guess and assume they saw the videos online.” 

Damian snorted. “Stephanie made it her mission to scroll through as many as she could.” 

“Of course she did.” Jon rolled his eyes. 

Damian pulled off the last bits of armor and quickly pulled on a pair of sweatpants that had been lying around as well as a shirt he didn’t doubt belonged to Jon seeing as it hung a bit loosely off his frame. 

“I would like to go to bed now.” Damian said, coming to lean into his husband’s side once more. 

“Sounds good to me. I did put out some water and painkillers for you if you need them, though.” Jon said. 

 Damian's headache abruptly made itself known now that Damian’s attention was brought back to it. 

“Ah, yes. Water and medication, then sleep.” Damian winced. 

Soon, Damian and Jon were able to fall back into bed and wrap themselves around each other under their duvet. Damian hid his face in the crook of Jon’s neck and Jon tilted his own to the side in order to rest his chin atop the soft strands of Damian's hair. Before long, both were fast asleep and soft snoring filled the room. 

It was quiet, save the soft noises of sleep. And despite the darkness of night, the love that they held for each other was as bright and clear as day. It would continue like that as long as they would stay together, a shining beacon of light through the harder times and lighthearted chaos. For now, though, they were content to stay like that, their bubble of home, warm and soft and full of love.

[wexhappyxfew]

folklore or whatnot

(a/n): for a month or two now, i've had three to four pages where i have blurb ideas just sitting in my drafts with no home or no direction, so now i've decided to utilize those pieces and do a little something with them for the silver bullets girls! AND! can happily say this snippet that i started with gets to see the light of day! early annie x brady mentions for anyone interested (i know we have the annie x brady girlies out there hehe), along with more of co-pilot francis montez (whom i wanted to do more writing for!), so please enjoy!! <3 note: LOTS more info regarding cpt birdie faulkner!! woo!

It had actually been Francis Montez that convinced her that she deserved to head out to the local pub that a good portion of the men from the 100th went on nights where they didn't have to stay on base.

Annie had considered the fact that Francis was actually coming around in more ways than one; after Annie's first successful mission aboard Silver Bullets, commanding their crew, from take-off, dropping the bombs and landing, Francis had turned to her in the cockpit and given her a firm look, with a smile itching at the corner of her lips. And ever since, Francis seemed to be making a more conscious effort to be around Annie. Whether it was because Francis was missing Captain Faulkner or was recognizing Annie's capabilities to command a flying fort, Annie appreciated it in more ways than one.

So, when Francis had come up to her mid-afternoon, as they were all stood around after a practice run, she had off-handedly mentioned the pub, and offered Annie to come along with them, "You don't realize how much you need something like that until you're there." Francis had promised. A majority of the girls were dispersed throughout the pub for the most part, huddled around tables with other men from the 100th or at dart boards, or taking a smoke break outside. It seemed everyone had their spots and positions and it was only Annie who felt out of place.

A replacement command pilot was enough of a set of shoes to fill, not even to mention what the reciprocation would ultimately be like.

"You want a beer?" Francis asked her as they stood side by side in the entrance. Annie felt a bit bad - Francis was clearly comfortable and used to this environment and Annie was holding her back a bit. Annie looked up at her co-pilot and nodded firmly, hiding the bit of hesitancy that was for sure living in her eyes.

"Sure." Francis nodded her head towards the bar.

"They're usually warm so…" Francis started, glancing her way with a small smile, "don't feel bad if it tastes a little funky." Annie watched as Francis got two beers and then pushed the warm mug into her grasp.

The thing was, it wasn't the warm beer or the atmosphere or even the people - it was the thought of alcohol in her system. She never had really had a problem until she had joined up and wondered if she'd become like her mother. Drunk as a skunk on any chance she had, downing beer and cheap liquor while her 15-year-old daughter ran the house. Annie swallowed nervously looking at the beer and glanced back up at Francis, who was staring at her confusedly (and with good reason).

"You good, Bradshaw?"

"Fine." Annie answered quickly, pulling the mug up to take a small sip, which did taste a little funky, "Where do you usually sit?" Francis quirked out a smile and nodded over to a table where she could see enough names to know it was certainly an officer-heavy section.

"Birdie and I….." Francis started, the 'I' getting caught in her throat a bit, "we always sat with them. As officers, ya know? Buck always saved us seats." Annie watched her quietly.

"Past few times though…."

"Yeah." Annie offered, noticing the sudden emotion warping Francis' eyes, "Let's go, let's have a sit." Francis nodded to her slowly, before turning and leading the way.

Annie watched the back of Francis' head, her dark hair down and curled, as she expertly navigated the tables and people in the crowd all around. It was very natural for her all of this - while Annie felt more stiff-backed than she ever had. She was trying to get better with that.

But, ever since maintaining the control of Command Pilot, everything she did felt monumental as in, if she fucked up, it would reflect on her crew. If she said something on the wrong end of a note, it'd fall back on, you guessed it, her crew. Her girls. And she didn't want others thinking of Silver Bullets badly, nor the possible swirling idea that Lieutenant Bradshaw couldn't lead like Captain Faulkner could - that losing Captain Faulkner was the worst thing to happen, but clearly obtaining Lieutenant Bradshaw had been worse. No. Annie was determined to make her impressions and personally, she wanted to make them worthwhile.

She was command pilot for Silver Bullets for a reason.

Clearly someone trusted her.

"Boys." Francis said as she approached, rounding on the group, as Annie's eyes quickly darted about the table, picking up the likes of Majors like Cleven and Egan, along with navigators Crosby and Payne (he went by Bubbles though, she was sure Bessie had mentioned that). Kidd was also there, with Brady and DeMarco and a few others where her mind was going blank. A few British pilots sat opposite, evidently quite, almost brooding. Annie looked to Francis again, watching as a few of the men called out to her, before looking to Annie who was still stood, frozen, with a mug of warm beer in her grasp.

"Francis Montez, you actually made it out, huh!" one of the Lieutenants called from beside Cleven - the name was gone from her mind as she watched him clap Cleven on the back before standing and reaching out a hand, to shake Francis' before the two turned and he was bounding towards Annie.

"Hey, Lieutenant, uh…."

"Bradshaw." Annie said quickly, keeping her eyes on the man watching as he smiled at her, eyes lingering from the British, to the man to her, coming around the table and wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

"Bradshaw, I don't think we've met, Curt Biddick, it's a pleasure to see you here tonight, 'specially mingling with a few guys like us, huh?" Annie saw Brady roll his eyes, as Biddick let out a chuckle, "I'm just joking with youse, I swear. Look, I'll buy you a drink-"

"Curt, do you really gotta do shit like that?" Francis said, pulling him from beside her, and bumping his shoulder, "Instead of a drink, how 'bout you offer her a seat, huh?"

"I think that's a great idea," Major Cleven offered as he stood from his, nodding to his spot between where Biddick had been and Major Egan who looked up at her with a wide grin, "Have a seat, Bradshaw." Annie looked to Major Cleven and nodded slowly to him.

"Thank you, sir." she said, stepping forward and settling herself into the seat, Cleven turning and grabbing another chair to pull up on her other side as DeMarco pulled in a chair for Francis and she settled between him and Major Egan. With almost the comfort of the men of the 100th around her, looking forward and seeing the British still watching her, quiet and contemplating, she felt slightly out of place under their stares. But, she was here for a reason, among ranking officers in the American Air Force.

"So," one of the British pilots - RAF possibly, RAF definitely - said leaning forward, care to introduce us to your new friend." The group sort of went…quiet if that was the word for it, "What happened to the other one? Too much to handle? Flying in broad daylight, huh?" Annie noticed Major Egan leaning back in his chair, looking ready to pounce himself across the table, and took it as her opportunity to intervene before someone said something they'd regret.

"1st Lieutenant Annie Bradshaw of the 100th. I'm Command Pilot for Silver Bullets, B-17. 418th." Annie said with a nod, "Captain Faulkner died on impact on a mission a month ago. I got the call and was beyond honored to fill those shoes." Looking at the British as she finished speaking, she reveled in the silence and sipped at her beer and then placed it back down on the damp wood of the table.

"So, no, not at all too much to handle," Annie said, tapping her fingers on the glass and offering a smile, "I just have the intention to do what I can for the bombing crew now and show I deserve to be here. Just like the rest of us. With a greater focus on the cause; winning the war."

"We all have our call to arms that we're answering to," Francis offered in, leaning forward against the table, "and people die every, damn, day, so I would offer you to reconsider any other thoughts towards Lieutenant Bradshaw while you sit here, okay?" The group fell into silence for a moment, as Annie looked to Francis who offered her a smirk and a wink.

Leave it to the co-pilot to have the command pilot's back; Annie made a mental note in her brain for that one.

"She's one of the best. Seen her fly myself." Brady supplied in the silence that had festered, and the whole table, Annie included looked towards him and he sent his eyes flickering around and offered her a nod. People started looking away and at each other, but she held Brady's gaze and offered a small smile in his direction. He didn't look away.

Brady's gaze was intense to say the least, but there was something in her to where she couldn't look away - offering up his own compliments in her own favor because the British had a bone to pick? She could feel the tops of her cheeks turning crimson and focused back on the beer in her grasp, attempting to forget about Brady's gaze that was evidently still on her.

"Silver Bullets, what a charming name," one of the British on the left said, "and that means….?"

"A single, tactile thing that can essentially be a game-changer, changes tides, send waves," Annie supplied quickly, looking up from her beer in record time, " I never got to meet Captain Faulkner but Lieutenant Carlisle told me that Faulkner named the fort herself. Folklore or whatnot."

"Basically means that the more you stop asking stupid questions, the more you won't have to dig yourself into a deeper hole, 'lright?" Major Egan said leaning forward, "Now, how about you all and your British manners give some respect to the lady, okay?"

"Bucky-" DeMarco started, but Major Egan held up a hand.

"Nah, nah, nah, I'm not done yet," Major Egan said and pointed a finger at her, "Lieutenant Bradshaw stood up to the challenge and took it like taking a bull by the horns, what the hell is your prob-"

"Gentlemen," Crosby said intervening, turning to the British pilots, "it's a pleasure really, but Lieutenant Bradshaw has fortified herself as an incredibly pivotal command pilot in the 100th. I mean, if you really need a visual for…such poor eyesight…feel free to come to Thorpe Abbotts any day of the week and she could probably rattle off a tour of Silver Bullets herself and fly you to France and back without breaking a sweat."

"Yeah, yeah, Crosby, thank you, yeah," Bucky said, leaning forward, "if you really thinking taking a few jabs at one of our command pilots I think-"

"I've never seen someone fly with such cool, calm, collected confidence that I have to practically reach over and make sure she's alive," Francis interjected, casting a glance at Annie, her gaze firm, as she looked back to the British, "anyone could die any given time or day. And Captain Faulkner happened to be in the crossfire. But Lieutenant Bradshaw has stepped up to the plate-"

"And hit a fucking grand slam-"

"Sir," Francis said glancing at Major Egan who held up his hands in mock protest, "if you have sort of questioning about Lieutenant Bradshaw and her confidentiality in a B-17, you can happily talk to me day or night - preferably night, but I know you do your runs then. Damn shame." The British sat in stunned silence. "So, please, feel free, but I assure you that Lieutenant Bradshaw is doing what she must and Captain Faulkner is rolling over in her grave knowing you're talking to her like this." More stunned silence. Biddick let out a low whistle as Major Egan leaned back and wrapped his arms around the backs of both her and Francis' chairs.

"Well, gentlemen, you just got bested by one of the best damn co-pilots in all the 100th," Major Egan said with a dry chuckle afterwards, "c'mon, what do you gotta say for yourselves, huh?" The British pilots continued to sit in an uneasy silence.

"Right." Major Cleven said, butting in quietly, as he laced his fingers together and nodded to the group, "Thanks for the drinks tonight, gentlemen." Major Cleven nodded to the RAF pilots, who began to protest as the group started to stand, Major Egan urging Annie to stand to her feet with her beer as she glanced back at the RAF pilots - stunned into silence and the sudden realization of having to pay for 6 to 7 drinks at their disposal.

Annie blindly followed behind Major Egan's bobbing head until the group had started to settle at a new table, away from that of the RAF pilots, whom Annie had taken a glance back to and who were slowly standing, adjusting themselves and muttering amongst one another.

"Last time I hear about their shit with Silver Bullets," Major Egan said from beside her as she settled into the open chair beside him, glancing up at the table and eyeing Francis, who was a few chairs down and nodding to her (which brought Annie a greater comfort than she could imagine), "Birdie used to sock 'em in the mouth with what she'd tell 'em. You could do that, but you're fucking eloquent with it, Bradshaw, so, they might've lost it if we kept at it." Annie glanced up at Major Egan as his sipped his beer again.

"They always got a comment," DeMarco muttered from across the table as he pulled his cigarette off his lip and glanced at Annie, "you get used to it, but it don't mean that it doesn't annoy the shit outta the rest of us. They went after Silver Bullets all the time. And they damn-well knew what it meant to."

"Birdie just never actually told them what it meant, ya know," Biddick offered with a grin and a nod, "she liked to mess with 'em all the time. Get in their heads, shit like that. She got 'em good. But, hey, you did much of the same so cheers to you, Bradshaw." Annie let out a small laugh and scratched behind her head.

"I'll be honest, I've been through enough higher order bullshit in my time and just didn't want to have to hear any sorta sob story from their mouths," Annie admitted honestly, earning a few chuckles from the table, "you get enough of that from back home. Didn't need it here to." A uniformed grouping of nods and agreements and 'Amen to that' echoed about, with people clinking glasses and smiling at her - and for a moment, she felt she won a bit of something deep in her being, for even just a statement like that.

Annie slowly glanced to her left and found Brady there - their few conversations hadn't been anything stellar, but he'd been nothing but kind to her after their first unexpected meeting together on the tarmac. She smiled at him, when she caught him watching her and she watched as his gaze subtly softened and he leaned toward her a bit as she opened her mouth to speak.

"Thanks for saying that. Back there." Annie said with a nod, as he grip on her beer became tighter, "You didn't have to, but I appreciated it." Brady watched her with a grin on his lips and nodded as he leaned towards her ear over the loudness of the group.

"You're a good pilot, Bradshaw," he said quietly and with a genuineness in his voice that it made her heart resound to even the mere compliment that anyone could give anytime of the week, "and you get sick of hearing their comments on what a whole other crew is doing with their flying and all. You handled them well, in my opinion." He leaned back from her and nodded to her with a small smile, his eyes glowing. She watched him and then found her smile again and smiled back.

"Thanks." she said with a nod, and he grinned wider at her, "If you don't mind my asking, they said…much of the same to Birdie?" Brady nodded quickly, sipping his beer again before looking at her (in that damn good looking uniform of his that would make a rock look stellar she thought), and turning his body towards her in the chair.

"All the time." Brady said, "'Course she had us, we didn't let the Brits get all their jeering out that they wanted, but Birdie held her own, and she usually would get them pretty good. Had them practically squirming in their seats. It's a bit of a treat sometimes, ya know?" Annie smiled at the thought and sent a glance to Francis, who was engaged in a serious looking conversation with Biddick and Kidd.

"And Francis?" Brady smiled at her.

"Francis always gets her digs in, they must be learning to suspect it at this point, but they should've played better when you were sitting there. They know how we all are at this point and you're no different. New ranking officer or not, we don't let shit like that slide." Brady affirmed to her and Annie smiled at him, with a look of thanks in her eyes. Brady watched her quietly for a moment as she seemed to soak in his words, before clearing his throat.

"What's this about some folklore, huh?" Brady asked her, almost innocently and sweetly enough that she looked up at him with a surprised chuckle.

"What?" Brady grinned as he leaned forward.

"Silver Bullets. Back there, you said it meant something…folklore or whatnot. What's that about?" Brady asked her, sipping his beer, "The most Birdie let on for us what that it was enough to kill us all or something like that." Annie watched him and broke into a rather loud chuckle and shook her head at him, before leaning against the table and sighing.

"Supposedly it killed werewolves, I don't know." Annie said, looking to his eyes, "You'd have better luck talking to Margie about all that though, she's into all that ghost sorta stuff." Brady let out a laugh at her words and nodded to her.

"I'll have to keep that in mind." Annie grinned.

Something about Lieutenant John Brady made her want to keep talking to him - his quiet confidence and inviting nature made her insides feel warm and almost curious to know more about himself, his story, him. She didn't have a lot of people like that back home - being young and taking care of an army of siblings who had practically been ready to call her 'Mom' instead of 'Sister' was traumatizing enough, not to even mention her lack of schooling or social outing.

Annie slowly sipped her beer again, cringing a bit at the liquid and its warmth and glanced over at Brady again, who was back to sipping his own beer and listening in on a conversation with Major Cleven, Major Egan, Crosby and Bubbles. A small smile hit her cheeks as she watched him laugh, something about him magnetic and touching all at once.

"Hey. Bradshaw." Annie looked over at Major Egan and watched as he leaned beside her, wrapping an arm around her chair and pointing to the beer, "Just. Let me know if you don't end up finishing that up. I could take it off your hands, easy." Annie watched him for a moment.

"Are you really that much of a fan of warm beer, sir?" Egan let out a dry chuckle and shrugged.

"You gotta go where the getting is good, I guess. And what else is around here except empty fucking fields and trees every square mile. A warm beer at this point is a good beer." Annie let out a laugh and slid it towards him.

"All yours." she said, "I don't drink much anyway."

"Ahhh, hey Buck, you got a fellow Saint here," Egan said, leaning over to Major Cleven and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, "she don't do much drinking either. Maybe you two can both go taking shots of water together." Major Cleven let out a chuckle as Annie rolled her eyes the slightest bit and caught Brady's slightly cold stare at Egan - but Annie didn't really care.

From the interactions she'd had with Egan, it was all in good fun - he was all in good fun. He was always looking for fun, a distraction from war. She didn't mind.

She liked the two Majors - Buck and Bucky - they'd been sweet as anything, with a bit more jeering from Egan if she was telling the truth. But they seemed to understand what it meant to have an all-female crew in the group and she appreciated that. It meant that when Birdie had been here, they had looked out for her, too, and with her, they were making sure of it.

"Hey, Bradshaw, you want a Coca-Cola?" Annie looked over at Brady leaning towards her, with a thumb jabbed over his shoulder to the bar, "Since someone took your beer-"

"Sure." Annie said, looking at him, while waving off Egan who was looking ready to start singing a musical nearly, "It's all good….I'm not a fan of beer much anyway. Here and there." Brady smiled at her, the corner of his lip curling upwards into a near-wider grin.

"Warm beer just doesn't do the trick, like beer back home, huh?"

"You got that right." Brady chuckled.

"I'll be back-"

"I can get it." Annie said, her hand jutting out to stop him by the arm, but he turned to her and offered her up a wink before heading off.

Annie watched him go before turning slowly back to the table and finding Francis watching her from across the table. She raised a brow. Annie couldn't contain the smirk and shook her head. Francis chuckled. By this point in time, she'd never felt more comfortable in a group of people and in a bomber group.

Maybe flying B-17s had always been her ultimate goal, despite everything in her life up to this point in time. Maybe all her reckless youth and sped-up childhood was for this. To come into this moment in time as a Lieutenant in the Army Air Force, with the title of command pilot for an all-female group. Maybe that's what all along, everything was coming to a head as. Maybe for once in her life, she was earning something instead of giving. Maybe she was doing it all at once.

Maybe.

Life seemed to be full of maybes at this point - and maybe, she was okay with that for now.

[4ggravation]

thinking about egg sethos realizing that being a man is an option through cyno again and sobbing

[buwheal]

Bro the askers treat spamton so much better on that askblog.

While over here we send him drawings of his joints and tell him "go puppet boy go!"

Honestly I love seeing the difference.

LOLLL they do… and maybe a little bit of that is my fault based on the ones i choose because im really picky with the ones i do answer (being nice to him, in this case) because there are SO many people who are trying to make him feel better, but ultimately they always bring up something or other to remind him of the shit he’s gone or is going through..

..Like,, “so you know how youre always failing and you’re uh… maybe alone with the (physical) things you’re going through? Yeah? Well ive failed too. Sometimes. Hope you feel better after i just reminded you!” Kind of stuff. Obviously im very much exaggerating what people say but YIPPPEESS its like they’re trying to get him to cry or something. I appreciate their efforts and how much the care but damn i dont think that they’re thinking about how that’d sound to him, especially since his immediate thought towards things like that is that its ingenuine.

I think less of Loki’s audience wants to see him suffer. A lot of mine do. LMAO. The difference /is/ funny.

[lunarharp]

qifrey's birthday and silly stuff

[iamthepulta]

The best thing about Italy and Europe is that linen just- exists here. I can go buy a shitty cheap 100% linen dress like I would go to Fry's and buy a shitty cheap 100% polyester dress in America. Absolutely revolutionary for my wardrobe. I can't actually buy wardrobe enhancements because I have a carry-on suitcase, but the fact I still have the option is amazing.

[entriprises]

i think there is a distinction between cathy being alone and feeling lonely and that people tend to get that wrong about her. for a very long time, following the passing of her husband, people assume's she's lonely, but while it's true in some parts of her grief she doesn't for a moment consider herself alone. she's got kate, who is always on her hip or in her arms. she's not lonely. she's got a child to raise and a farm to take care of. it's a quiet sort of life that she enjoys -- she likes solitude and she doesn't mind some of the alone time that comes with kate being in school or at sleepovers or even at a sleepaway camp. there's loneliness in between it, but she's not a lonely person by any means.

it's after when kate goes to new york, when her property no longer has a bunch of 20 somethings running around and yelling and working that the loneliness truly sets in for her. by then, most have already grown to know cathy that way -- the more independent and single personality, but she lingers around the community spaces and markets a little more. she's thrilled to spot an old friend of kate's out and about. she's lonely, she misses her kid, she misses the vibrancy that the farm held in the last couple of years. when javi stops by, ("i almost didn't recognize him" liar) it truly does bring her a little bit of warmth that he remembers her, the place, that he's doing alright. kate showing up, with tyler right behind, people to sit around a table with? she's wide eyes and high spirits. tyler's staying for dinner. tyler's spending the night. you know the barn is always yours to use for whatever projects. we have spare rooms. yes the spark is back in kate, but there's also some more connection for cathy, there's someone to listen and sit with her.

[boxwinebaddie]

UNCLE NINA WRITES WEIRD JK STAN LETTERS!

hello benevolent angel people!

( because you're wonderful but bc you're doing gods work by supporting my dead fanfic from hell. c:’ )

so this is a lil...experimental? but bc i've been dabbling on that one ask large lore ask that set before kyle knows raven of crimson dawn is his stan, i've gotten very attached to writing the silly jersey letters to dead stan in his journal again. ( again, nina lore is that it's what a friend had me do when my first cat passed away.

i still write to her. <3 )

but this is just something i wrote to get back into the habit of writing again. i put it on docs and i used a font which...okay? tbh, i think looks exactly like i want jk's handwriting to look. like its very swirly, he is my calligraphy king. i didn't proof it bc i just wrote...all of it tonight like a weird crazy person.

also i realize jk sounds...a lot like me

— but he Is me, tbh?

like in some facets i did give him lil pieces of myself so he could grow into an uber tall thicc as hell academic hot jersey talk shit get hit boy.

( i also do think he's a lot goofier with stan in his little letters esp since he doesn't think that anyone is going to read them they are just his lil vent space. let it out king! )

as for the timeline...i think it's pre!rm bonus content? like i dropped a little context about stuff that happened before the fic, but i think it's probably written anywhere in the last 1-2 years of rm before kyle went to that crimson dawn concert. i'm not sure what compelled me to write it i just...really like vulnerable jersey just being a jersey dirtbag but like kneeling by the stan shrine and asking for light.

speaking of...as far as triggers go. mostly the spelling is just bad, help, but jersey does talk a lot about stan dying and is very...distressed about it. he's also...really depressed and is not at the moment coping super well, but is reaching out for help. <3 always reach out for help when you need it. i didn't mention anything specific, but he does just mention thinking he's not a good person, feeling ugly, unworthy, lost, etc...TW FOR HIM BEING SO VULNERABLE AND CUTE ALSO.

he is...my secret loverboy prince.

he is my lo-...

my L-

anyways...ROLL CLIP!

[skoulsons]

“You’re up early.”

She was, and the only reason for that was because Joel was way too loud making his coffee and getting out the pans to cook breakfast for her before he left for patrol.

Joel was never loud, especially never loud enough to wake her.

“I heard you,” she mumbled, trudging over to the kitchen still wrapped in a blanket. She pulled a chair from their table out, facing him at the stove. “Everything okay?”

He nodded.

Everything wasn’t. He dreamed she died. It was a montage of every time it’s ever crossed his mind. Her in that bloody grass. Her skin ravished by an infected child in an abandoned van. Her face ripped apart while trapped underneath Sam. Her body, cold and pale on an operating table. Her, her, her.

Every single one played clear as day in his dreams, tormenting him with every possibility his my mind could conjure.

“Joel-“

“Nightmares. ‘S’all it was.”

“Okay…” she started, rising from the chair. “You always have me talk about mine, so…” Ellie approached the countertop opposite of him, jumping up and sitting atop it, her dangling feet hitting the lower cupboards

He hesitated before turning to her, eyes locking with hers as he sighed.

She was right. She didn’t always go into detail, he didn’t need her to, but he wanted her to release them somehow; and at night when she clings to him immediately afterward, that’s when it’s the easiest. And when she can’t talk to him, she writes or sketches them down when words can’t- don’t suffice. Anything that keeps her from compartmentalizing how they make her feel or what they make her think.

But Joel. He’s always the one to take care of her that he’s never had an out or a way to talk or feel them in a healthy manner, not like he tries to give her. Ellie tries to get him to verbalize something, but Joel is a damn brick wall when it comes to directly talking about his feelings, so it never goes anywhere.

But when it’s 5am and there’s the tiniest glint of sunlight that starts to rise and offers a faint, glowing light to their kitchen as they’re full of sleep and still in the midst of navigating these feelings, it’s easier to talk. They’re more malleable.

“It was you…” he started, doing some lazy hand motions to try and convey the word he desperately did not want to say alongside her name. “Repeatedly. Different scenarios just…over and over again.”

Her eyes went soft, understanding in a way that only they could understand.

She had the same ones. He knew.

“Figured I’d make you breakfast now and leave it in the fridge for you to heat up later so I could get a head start on patrol and… try to forget about it all.”

Joel cleared his throat, kicking up imaginary dust off the tile floor as she watched him.

Ellie reached her hand out and made grabby motions with her fingers. Joel noticed, a light, sleepy chuckle escaping his lips as he stepped towards her, both her hands holding onto his one. He stood beside her, their hands falling against her knees.

She rubbed her thumb over his hand. “Are you okay?”

He smiled. He knew that meant a plethora of other questions that they didn’t have time to cover. “I’ll be alright, Ellie.”

She nodded her head, still rubbing her thumbs across his hand. “I know. Just… wanted to check up on you.”

“And I…” he started, leaning over to kiss the hair above her ear, “am happy you do.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder as he brought his other hand in, covering all three of theirs and squeezing tightly.

“Since you’re up, how about helping me with breakfast? Wouldn’t turn down your old man, would you?”

She smiled, tapping her feet against the cupboards. She squeezed his hands and kissed his cheek briefly before jumping off the counter. “Can’t say I didn’t think about it… but,” she said, opening the fridge door. “Not for the world.”