#i totally get birdie though

[when-jaguars-are-sick]

okay, so first off, I just have to say that I picked up on Isaac / Oliver vibes, but I thought it was just them being besties, but if they ever get together in a romantic way, just know that I will SQUEAL in happiness

look at the whole group being together 🥰

I swear, I just wrote an f-ing novel here🥲. I hope y'all cry enjoy!

!TW! Harassment, violence, heavy angst and trauma

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I want you to meet my friends.”

Aiden looked at Spirit with genuine surprise, staring at her for a second before grabbing the remote and pausing their movie.

It was their first movie night since Spirit’s appendicitis incident. She’d left Isaac's house just two days before, and it was now Friday. And now, out of nowhere, she asked that?!

“Really?” Aiden’s eyes were wide.

Spirit was looking down at her hands, her face slightly pink. “I mean, you already met Isaac and Oliver. You might as well meet the rest of them.” She then looked at him, feeling embarrassed when he didn’t answer right away, so she continued, “We all go to the End of Summer Festival downtown every year. And it’s tomorrow, so. . . I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to go. But it could be fun, and—”

Aiden’s surprised look melted away and he started chuckling at her, making her freeze. “What?”

“I think I’m rubbing off on you,” he said, smiling. “Normally, I’m the one who rambles when I’m nervous.”

Spirit blushed and frowned. “I’m not nervous. I’m just—”

“Spirit,” he said softly, stopping her from beginning to ramble again, “I’ll go and meet your friends.” He bumped his shoulder against hers, getting a small smile back from her. For a minute, he just looked at her. The red streaks in her hair had faded slightly, and were looking more like rose gold at the tips. And she was wearing an all-black outfit (knee-length black cargo shorts, an oversized black tank top, and silver chains and accessories).

He felt his heart racing.

C’mon, you idiot, he yelled internally.

“Spirit.” He felt his cheeks growing hot, both excited and anxious to simply ask the question he’d wanted to ask her on the day she got appendicitis. They’d know each other for months now. He loved his dates with her. He loved talking to her. He loved being around her.

“Yeah?” she asked, trying to read his face.

He took a deep breath. Part of him wanted to wait, and wanted to ask her at a restaurant, wearing better clothes than just sweatpants and a t-shirt. But another part of him wanted to be introduced to her closest friends as more than just her friend.

Clearly, the latter part was winning.

“I wanted to ask you if. . .” He swallowed anxiously, his face burning and his heart beating.

“Are you okay?” Spirit asked, brows creasing slightly. “You look nauseous.”

He shook his head, chuckling slightly because he did feel a little bit nauseous, but not for the reason she was likely thinking.

“Aiden, are you—”

“I like you, a lot,” he blurted suddenly, blushing all the way to his ears. “And I wanted to take you out and ask you this in a. . . I guess, a more romantic environment than my living room, but I just. . .” He paused, dropping his face into his hands to laugh at himself. “God, I’m rambling. Ironic.”

Spirit felt her face growing hotter. “Aiden. . .”

“I like you,” he said again, dropping his hands and meeting her eyes. “And I want to know. . . will you be my girlfriend?”

— — —

“Everyone’s late,” Keiko grumbled. “How the hell can EVERYONE be late?!”

“Just be patient,” Amberlynn said, munching on some fried Oreos.

Keiko chuckled at her. “Says the girl who bought food cuz she got bored of waiting.”

“Shush.”

They were waiting in the parking lot, looking for their friends’ cars. Keiko perked up when Jordan’s nice silver Honda arrived. She parked near the entrance and came out with a huge smile on her face. Eliana emerged the same expression.

“Heeeeyyyyyy,” Jordan said, grabbing Eliana’s hand and running with her to Kei and Amberlynn. “Are we early?” she asked when she realized no one else was there.

“Actually,” Keiko said, crossing his arms and raising a brow at his sister, “everyone, including you two, is late. You’re just the earliest of the late people.”

“And you are too perfect,” she shrugged, while Eliana smiled and rolled her eyes at her girlfriend.

“It’s Jor’s fault. She spent twenty minutes deciding between grey and white eyeshadow.”

“White won, obviously,” Jor said, batting her eyes at El jokingly.

Oliver arrived next. Then Isaac, just a few minutes later. When Felix and Atticus arrived, Amberlynn waved them over with an excited grin, oblivious of the chocolate on the corner of her mouth.

“Guys, this if Felix and Atticus,” she said happily.

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” Felix said happily.

“Hiya,” Atticus said with a small wave, a bit shyly.

There was only two people left. Birdie arrived with her hair in shin-long-multi-colored braids instead of her little fro she’d been sporting for a while. Felix seemed in awe of her colorful hippie sense of style.

Now, one person left.

“It’s weird for Spirit to be this late,” Amberlynn said, and Eliana agreed.

Birdie looked at her phone. “She’s not answering my texts.”

“So, where are you from?” Jordan asked Felix, already acting like besties with him.

“London,” he said. “Bloody hell, I love your makeup. Do you do tutorials online?”

She raised a brow, looking proud. “Should I?”

He nodded. “I think so. I’d love to know how to do a fade like that.”

Atticus, Isaac, and Keiko were all chatting together. Though everyone—besides Felix and Atticus—was aware of how strange it was for Spirit to be so late.

Isaac pulled out his phone to text her as well when a familiar sky-blue BMW entered the parking lot. His eyes widened and he smiled, elbowing Oliver slightly. Oliver also felt a smile spread on his face when he noticed.

“I’ll call her again,” Eliana was saying. “Maybe—”

“Hey, Spirit!” Isaac called, making all conversations halt. “Hi, Adien.”

Spirit felt her face grow hot as she made her way over to her friends. “S-sorry I’m late,” she said, trying to act normal despite all the eyes on her. The air was filled with tension and confusion. Poor Felix and Atticus had no idea why the mood had changed so much.

Amberlynn spoke first, looking at Aiden. “Who’re you?” Spirit was also bringing someone new??

Spirit swallowed, trying to avoid looking at Isaac and Oliver’s smiling faces. “Guys, um. . . this is. . .” Spirit felt Aiden’s hand brush hers, and she looked at him as he gave her a small smile. She took a deep breath, looking at her friends and saying, “This is Aiden. . . my boyfriend.”

. . .

For a minute, silence.

“WHAT?!” Jordan exclaimed, eyes widening and a huge shocked smile on her face.

“Fucking finally,” Isaac said, and all the shocked girls turned to gawp at him.

“You knew?!” Amberlynn exclaimed, walking over and whacking him in the shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell us?!”

“Jerk,” Eliana scoffed at him, and Jordan nodded in agreement, crossing her arms and glaring at the blonde. Birdie stayed quiet.

Isaac held up his hands sheepishly backing away from the girls. “Woah woah, I’m not the only one who knew! Olive also—”

“You’re on your own here,” Oliver said with a smirk, hands on his hips. “I only found out a little bit ago. Plus, no one gets mad at me.” He did a little hair flip, earning a pouty glare from Isaac.

The bickering continued—Felix whispering into Atticus’s ear, “I wish we had popcorn” while watching the drama—whilst Keiko and Birdie made their way over to Spirit and Aiden.

“I honestly don’t know what to say,” Keiko said with a surprised chuckle, looking from Spirit to Aiden and back to Spirit.

“I remember you,” Birdie said with a small smile. “You’re Spirit’s ‘friendly acquaintance’ from that day at the mall.”

“Yeah,” Aiden said, adjusting his glasses nervously. “It’s nice to see you again.” Then he looked at Keiko. “And it’s nice to meet you.”

“Same,” Keiko said. He then looked at Spirit. “But you have a shit-ton of explaining to do.”

Spirit nodded, rolling her eyes. She smiled a bit, feeling more relaxed.

The bickering ended and everyone else came over.

Jordan came first, grinning from ear to ear as she said out of nowhere, “You are the chosen one, and my fucking hero.”

Spirit felt her whole face burn and she glared at Jordan, and Jordan ignored the look while watching Aiden blush and get flustered and confused by her random comment.

“I, um. . . th-thanks?”

Spirit let out an exasperated sigh and pinched Jordan’s arm, making the girl yelp and pout. “I thought you’d deny yourself romance your whole life, girlie. Let me have my fun.”

“Your ‘fun’ is annoying,” Spirit stated, and Jordan rolled her eyes and smiled.

“I’m Jordan,” she said to Aiden. “Call me Jor.”

Keiko then introduced himself. Then Amberlynn.

Everyone introduced themselves, and Amberlynn then introduced Spirit to Felix and Atticus, who were genuinely entertained by the whole situation.

“I repeat,” Isaac said to Spirit when everyone began to calm down, “fucking finally. It took you two long enough.”

“Whatever,” she said to him, but she couldn’t stop smiling.

— — —

The festival took place downtown, and that meant not only the streets with rows of restaurants and shops and buildings, but also the downtown park which had much more. The festival was crowded and buzzing by the time all of them finally left the parking lot. Along with the regular popular downtown stores and restaurants, there was small shops, games, food, live music, and even small rides in the park.

“Okay, guys,” Keiko said to all of them. “We’ll meet at the Royal Scoop ice cream shop at 12:30 to get lunch together and see the magic show.”

“Got it!” Jordan said as she left following Eliana while El all but bounced on her feet saying, “I’ve gotta go to the art contest!”

“Wanna go see the beauty pageant?” Amberlynn asked Felix excitedly, and the two of them left together, abandoning their boyfriends.

“And then there was six,” Isaac said.

“Five,” Keiko corrected. “I’mma find that astrology lady who makes all of that cool crystal jewelry that Amber loves. She’s been wanting a black crystal.”

“I’ll go with you,” Atticus said. “Felix loves jewelry.” And then those two left as well.

Isaac, Oliver, Birdie, Spirit, and Aiden were the only ones left.

“Aiden,” Oliver said. “Anything you wanna do?”

“Oh.” Aiden ran a hand through his hair as he shook his head. “I’ve never been to this festival before, so I’ll do whatever you all do.”

“Tell me,” Isaac said with a competitive smirk, “What’s your opinion on Harry Potter trivia?”

While the boys all discussed the different competitions and games, Birdie pinched the sleeve Spirit’s baggy shirt, signaling for Spirit to bend down. Spirit bent a little, and Birdie whispered in her ear, “Why didn’t you tell me? Why Isaac and Oliver, but not me?”

Spirit froze, hearing the hurt in Birdie’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just. . . I didn’t. . .”

Birdie sighed. “You didn’t trust me to keep my mouth shut,” Birdie stated, letting go of Spirit’s shirt. “I understand. I’m not the best at keeping your secrets. I just wish I’d know my best friend was dating someone.”

“Bird, I—”

Birdie put on a smile, taking a step away from Spirit and saying to the others, “I’m gonna go see if they have the succulent shop again this year. See ya.” And she left, and Spirit watched her go with guilt twisting her stomach.

“Bye midget,” Isaac called after her while Oliver said, “Spirit, anywhere you wanna go?”

Spirit watched Birdie walk away for a second longer before putting on a neutral look and shrugging. “Wherever you guys wanna go is fine.”

“Alrighty then,” Isaac said with a smile. “Let’s go get dunked!”

— — —

Spirit dunked Isaac into the dunking tank on her first try. He barely got to taunt her.

After the blonde came out, soaking wet and laughing, Oliver went.

“Good aim,” Aiden told her, impressed and smiling. Spirit tried her best to smile back, but she still couldn’t shake the guilt that Birdie’s words brought her. Aiden noticed that her smile was off, but didn’t say anything since Isaac was walking back over.

Some little kid managed to suddenly dunk Oliver, and his squeaky yelp make Isaac—and almost everyone else around—laugh hysterically. Spirit only chuckled a bit.

“Heeeeeyyyy,” Isaac said, hooking a wet arm around Spirit and making her yelp and try to shove him off.

“Oh my God, you’re soaked! Don’t touch me!”

Aiden laughed at the two. When Spirit managed to push Isaac off, he ran over to where Oliver was laughing and trembling like a puppy after getting out of the cold water, and she looked over to a food stand she’d already looked at a few times.

Following her gaze, Aiden realized it was a Korean Corndog stand. He smiled at Spirit. “Wanna go grab a snack?” he asked her.

She didn’t look at him, shaking her head. “I only have enough cash for lunch and a few games. I don’t wanna waste it.”

Aiden’s brows creased slightly at the way Spirit’s voice sounded. Sad? Why?

“I’ll pay,” he told her, grabbing her hand and making her look at him. He smiled as he squeezed her hand, and she couldn’t help but smile back and squeeze his hand as well.

Isaac and Oliver went to play a dart game while Spirit and Aiden walked to the Korean Corndog stand, hand in hand. Spirit— to no surprise—got the hot Cheeto corndog, and Aiden got a potato one. They just began to walk around the festival while eating.

“I like all your friends,” Aiden said, smiling. “They’re all so. . . unique. You’re part of a very interesting friend group.”

Spirit smiled at that, a bit of Cheeto powder on the corner of her mouth. “Thanks. They all like you too—I can tell. Sorry if they were weird at first though.”

Aiden chuckled. “I think it just showed how close you all are.” The corndogs weren’t all that big, and Aiden finished his after five minutes. After walking around for ten more—and winding up in the part of the festival in the downtown streets—he was aware that the combination of cheese, potatoes, sugar and a deep fryer was gonna cost him.

“I-I’ll be right back,” he said sheepishly, his ears red with embarrassment. “I saw a store with a bathroom. Could you wait here for a minute?”

Spirit nodded, squeezing his hand before letting go, and he left while Spirit walked to a closed building and leaned against the wall, pulling out her phone and checking her messages. She wanted to text Birdie, but had no idea what she’d say.

“Damn,” she muttered to herself, leaving her messages to scroll on TikTok. She was about to open the app when suddenly:

“We need to talk.”

Spirit froze at the voice, not having to look up to know exactly who it was.

“Go away, Zeke.”

She felt his arm creep around her shoulders, and she wanted to kick him in the gut, but didn’t want to cause a scene. She told him again, “Go away. Now.”

“Come with me, just for a minute, hot stuff,” he said, leaning close to her ear. She could smell weed on him. She knew better than to make Zeke upset when he was high.

“Fine. But stop touching me.”

Zeke backed up and Spirit finally looked at him. He had faded scars of his own from their last fight, and his hair had been dyed a mix of yellow and orange. Spirit scowled as she followed him. “Keep it quick. I’m supposed to meet somebody.”

“Chill, hot stuff.”

Spirit didn’t like this. She followed Zeke around the corner of a building and into the alley there. Her heart began to beat faster as memories from her middle and high school years came back. The alley was quieter and dark enough that Spirit knew no one could see them just by passing by.

“What do you want?”

“Just to talk to you,” he said, getting closer. Spirit backed away. “Y’know, I think we should be friends again. Let’s just forget that ugly little incident, baby.” He reached out to touch her shoulder, and she slapped his hand away.

“Fuck off. If this is all you wanted to talk about, I’m leaving.” She turned to leave, but Zeke roughly shoved her hard enough to slam her against the side of the building and scrape her face a bit. Before she could turn to punch him, he slammed himself against her, pressing her front against the building and holding her hands behind her back.

She started to scream, but he used his other hand to cover her mouth. “Annoying bitch,” he swore, kissing the back of her neck and making her scream more, but she knew no one could hear her. In her pocket, her phone began ringing.

She struggled harder, managing to free one arm and elbow Zeke, making him groan and back away a little. She turned and swung a punch at him, but only got his shoulder before he punched her jaw, knocking her to the ground. She groaned, dizzy from the hit. She felt tears in her eyes as Zeke bent down, grabbing her wrists and forcing his lips on hers, and she felt as helpless as a 13-year-old again.

Zeke stopped, shoving her hard one last time before standing. “I miss you, hot stuff,” he chuckled. “Call me.” He kicked her leg before running a hand through his hair and walking out of the alley.

Spirit stayed exactly where she was, frozen. Eyes wide. Holding her breath without realizing it as her heart raced. She felt sick. She was dizzy and wanted the world to swallow her whole.

She had tears streaming down her face.

Her phone rang, and she snapped out of her panic enough to take a small, shaky breath and pull out her phone. She had a couple texts from Isaac and Oliver, and the calls were all from Aiden. More texts were coming in from her other friends, and she saw that it was past the time they had to meet up.

Her hands shook and she could hardly breathe as she shared her location in their group chat. That’s all she sent before putting her phone away and curling up where she was, feeling disgusted by the feeling of Zeke’s lips on her neck and mouth. She hated him so much. Memories flooded her head, and she again held her breath without thinking, falling into the clutches of a silent panic attack.

Minutes? Hours? Spirit had no idea how long she was there with her thoughts racing.

Stop, she yelled in her mind, cursing at the unwelcome memories. The memories of every time Zeke called her baby. The memories of him forcing her to take a puff of his vape, or of him pulling her hair or laughing at her for crying over her dad. . .

Memories of the times when she wasn’t strong enough to fight back. Like just moments ago.

Black spots were appearing in her vision, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t even feel the burning in her chest. The memories were too overwhelming.

Stop.

Stop!

STOP!!

“Spirit? You in here?”

Spirit didn’t hear those words. There was only the awful memories. . .

“Oh my God.”

Spirit felt hands on her, and felt her heart beat a little faster. Zeke, she thought.

“Spirit, breathe! Look at me, you’re okay!”

“What happened?!”

“I don’t know!”

Spirit felt like she was being shaken. She felt dizzier than she did before.

“Spirit, you have to breathe!”

That was not Zeke’s voice.

“Look at us, Spirit,” another voice—also not Zeke’s—said. Spirit blinked, reacting slightly. Birdie.

“Spirit, you’re okay. Okay? You’re okay.” Spirit felt arms wrap around her. More than one person was hugging her tightly, and Spirit snapped out of her panic enough to feel the burning agony in her chest. She gasped, choking on air as the memories faded and she found herself back in the alley.

She sobbed as she swallowed air greedily, shaking and crying while Birdie and Isaac held her. Aiden was also there, his eyes wide, confused, and terrified by what he just saw.

“You’re alright,” Birdie whispered to Spirit hugging her tightly.

Spirit took in breaths, and let them out for a long time until they slowly went from frantic to calm but shaky.

Isaac pulled away and looked her in the eye. “You okay?” he asked softly, but Spirit didn’t answer the question. At least, not with a yes or no.

Instead, she sobbed one more time and said quietly, “Zeke.”

Isaac’s eyes widened, and Birdie also pulled back with a look of shock.

“Shit,” Isaac cursed, standing. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

“What’s going on?” Aiden asked, starting to really freak out. Spirit was finally calm enough to actually notice he was there, and she wanted nothing more than to hug him.

Isaac looked at Aiden, frowning deeply, looking both sad and pissed. “A situation that I’m sick of,” Isaac answered, pulling out his phone. “I’m texting the others.”

— — —

Spirit had Birdie’s arm around her, and she held Aiden’s hand tightly. Isaac walked behind them as they made their way to the parking lot where most of the others were.

“I told Felix and Atticus to keep enjoying the fair,” Amberlynn said, brows creased with worry.

“And Jordan and El are telling some officers we found about what happened,” Oliver said.

Keiko noticed the bruise on Spirit’s cheek and the scrapes on her face, and he looked pissed. All of them were.

Aiden was still confused, but he was more concerned. He felt Spirit squeeze his hand suddenly, and he looked at her. She was looking at the ground, a sad and empty look on her face. He hated seeing her like this. He hated that someone had clearly hurt her in the short time he left her alone. And the way her friends were acting told him this wasn’t a new or strange situation for them.

“I want to go home,” Spirit suddenly said in a small voice, very different from the usual strength in her tone.

“Let’s go,” Birdie said to her softly.

“Wait.” Spirit turned to Aiden and leaned against him, and he instantly understood and let go of her hand to hug her tightly. She wanted to stay there, held by him, engulfed by his warmth, and he didn’t want to let go of her. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she said quietly to him, barely loud enough for him to hear.

He nodded, and she stepped away, letting Birdie put an arm around her again and guide her away.

Aiden watched her go before turning to her friends, still freaking out. He looked at Isaac. “What’s happening?!”

Isaac shared looks with the others before sighing and saying, “There’s a guy named Zeke who used to harass and hurt Spirit a lot. She saw him again a few months ago, and he hurt her again today. But that’s all I can say. If Spirit wants you to know, she’ll tell you more. Okay?”

Aiden felt almost sick. But there was something familiar about the name Zeke.

“We’re all heading home,” Keiko said to Aiden. “I’m glad we got to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Aiden nodded, still processing. “Same. It was nice meeting you all.”

Everyone else went to their cars, and so did Aiden, but he didn’t even turn his car on. He just sat there, thinking. He wanted to be with Spirit right now. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to strangle whoever had hurt her.

And he felt a heavy guilt in his stomach because he left her alone. His vision blurred as tears stung in his eyes.

He eventually managed to make the drive to his apartment, but the memory of seeing Spirit curled up in that alley still burned in his head. Not even 24 hours ago, he’d asked her to be his girlfriend. And now, this happened.

With a pained sigh, Aiden decided that all he could do was wait for Spirit to talk to him. He wanted to apologize for leaving her alone, and he wanted to be there for her, but he just made sure his ringer was on and waited.

It’s really all he could do right now.

[wonderjanga]

Why… Why Do You Look Like That?

Billy learned a shapeshifting spell. He immediately takes advantage of it. Like, the little black bird you see flapping through the sky, may or may not be Billy as a little birdie. The little black rat with the most piercing blue eyes you’ve ever seen that’s stealing your pizza? It might perhaps be Billy. Let him have his fun.

Marvel: *transformed into a little parakeet and eating a piece of bread Flash accidentally left out*

Supes: *sees him* “Oh, hey there little fella.”

Marvel: *chirps and flys over*

Supes: *lets Marvel land on his finger* “Dang, I haven’t seen a parakeet in a while.” *pats Marvel’s head with his finger* “How’d you get in? Did you sneak on a zeta?”

Marvel: *grown ahh man voice* “No-”

Supes: *screams*

By the way, this Ma Kent kept parakeets. My abuela kept them so she gets to because I said so and for the sake of this post.

He then saw Krypto the Superdog and was like, I wanna be that. He’s been chilling as a dog, fighting crime because why not? It infuriates the heck out of Adam. So, after about a solid four months of this…

Marvel: *turned into a dog*

Krypto: “You!” *flies over*

Marvel: “Me?” (Since Marvel can understand any language, that includes animals, right?)

Krypto: “Yeah, you’re the pet of a superhero, right?”

Marvel: “No?”

Krypto: “No? But you’re wearing the same thing as that Captain Marvel guy?”

Marvel: “Oh uh… Nah. I’m just his friend.”

Krypto: “Oh yeah! Well, I’m Superman’s friend, and you’re that other guy’s friend. And since you have powers, and I have powers, and I know a whole lot of other animals with powers, you should totally join us!”

Marvel: “Us…?”

Krypto: “The League of Super Pets!”

So, yeah, the League of Super Pets tried recruiting him. Yippee. He did feel bad he had to reject him though.

Marvel: “Sorry. I kinda already have a job at the moment.”

Krypto: “You do?! With what? With who?”

Marvel: “My friend. Again, I’m sorry.”

Krypto: *dog sigh* “It’s fine.” *slowly flies off looking back every now and then*

Then, every now and then, he’ll turn himself into a tiger just for Tawny.

Reporter: “Aww look at these two pretty kitties!”

Marvel: *looking like a tiger*

Tawky Tawny and Marvel: *both sitting at a table, drinking tea and talking classily*

[merowkittie]

request: “Ні!!

Im not sure if your taking requests for writing, but if you are I was wondering if you could do a Wolverine and Deadpool x S/O who is very strong but doesn't look it?

If that makes sense...

Like the S/O is very sweet and shorter than them. But she is a total powerhouse! She can easily lift extremely heavy things, or can punch really hard.

Like even harder or stronger than the them!”

@klerns-birdie

thank you for your request! since i did write something similar to this before, i tried to switch it up as best as i can, sorry it’s a bit short =]!

warnings: none / not proofread =,]

wade testing your strength:

“holy shit, peanut! that actually hurt!” wade whined and held his bicep, looking at the blossoming bruise forming, only for it to disappear in a minute.

huffing, you rolled your eyes and kissed your teeth.

prior to you punching your boyfriend in his huge biceps, he was continuously bothering you. literally riling you up because in his words,

“it just turns me on whenever you or logan are angry.”

which prompted a glare from said man, and a scoff from you since you were pretty well tempered and only got angry on missions really. so he kept poking at your arms, tickling your neck, play fighting your legs, and when he LICKED your cheek, all mercy went out of the window.

so you reeled your arm and in a flash brought it down into his arm. logan applauded you for it, saying a gruff, “atta girl.”

usually, you’d let wade or logan do whatever! you truly didn’t mind, it’s just sometimes the constant nagging (as much as you love him) gets a bit too much!

“what happened to my sweetheart??” wade asked, putting your hair that’s fallen in your face behind your ear.

“still here.. just stop bothering me so much. we can cuddle if that’s what you want?” you looked up at him, and he swore he could’ve died at that moment.

you looked so sincere and adorable with huge eyes looking up at him, and a hand tugging on his shirt.

he folded instantly into your side, mumbling a little sorry even though he didn’t really mean it.

logan also testing your strength:

unfortunately this wasn’t your fault! compared to these two hunks, you’re tiny. so of course you’re going to struggle to sleep at night with wades heavy leg and arm strewn across you.

but what really tied the knot here was the fact that logan slowly started to lay on top of you. logan, who’s skeleton was made out of metal. metal that was HEAVY.

so as soon as half of him fell on top of you, squirming as quietly and gently as you could, you tried to squeeze out of that position.

and honestly, it was working until logan threw his own arm over you to secure you in the spot you found yourself in.

both men were knocked out in dreamland, where you wanted to be but couldn’t because of the weight on top of you. at the point, you wouldn’t be surprised if you died due to lack of airflow or something!

calling for help wasn’t even a liable option because blind al would be sleeping by now since it’s damn near 1AM, wade is knocked out drooling on your neck, and logan… he sleeps like someone’s grandfather!

there was one last option, but you didn’t think you were that strong for it..

as best as you could, you turned a bit in logan’s grasp and began to pick him up as much as you could to put him to the side. you literally didn’t understand how a person could be THAT heavy. but given the fact he is basically made of adamantium that obviously explains it.

but jesus… cuddles with him just end up deadly!

after a huff and one more push, logan was off of you and you silently cheered and clapped your hands together in praise. he groaned on the side, as much as he is a heavy sleeper, he always knows when you or wade are trying to slip out of bed or move around which disrupts his sleep and causes him to wake up and glare very very menacingly at you.

"bub?" he grunted as he turned back to you, squinting in the dark.

a sheepish smile made it's way to your face and you mouthed a sorry at him. "you kind of heavy y'know.."

he just rolled his eyes at you, and wrapped an arm around your waist, cuddling up to you like a cat.

with a sigh you just thanked whoever above for your mutation because as much as it's hot to suffocate under a sexy man, no.

the end is a bit abrupt.. sorryz!! hope you enjoyed <3

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Okay now that I've reblogged that one post...

Holy shit

Like, please understand me. This is how I already interpreted these relationships after reading Journal 3 but like

Wow Ford really was in a weird kinda complicated gay situationship with Bill and Fiddleford, huh? When he's all alone on Christmas in tbob he's all like "Oh yeah haha of course...of course. You have. Yeah. You have a wife, F. How could I expect you not to leave. I am totally not secretly hoping you'll turn around and come back to me, or that you'll even bring your family back here if you have to so I can see you. I'd retreat to my dreams but I haven't seen my muse in weeks and I miss him so badly. I'm so alone"

He and Fiddleford aren't even dating but it's hard not to get the light impression that this situationship is such that Ford kinda treats Bill like his comfort triangle from his head and dreams and Fiddleford like his comfort best friend in his lab. Like he's sad on Christmas that his boyfriends left him alone, you know? Of course it's definitely more complicated than just that, but they are dear companions to him

Or when Bill finally comes back and Ford is pissed

"You return now? After all of that, after me missing you so badly, almost dying, wondering if I'd dreamed it all up. You return now like it was no biggie? Did you ever mean the things you said? Did you not find some other scientist or some other big brain to talk up? Have you found someone else? Another partner?"

And then Bill, dodging the question was like "Funny you think I'm cheating on you as if you haven't been spending all that time with F. The side bitch. The third wheel. You've even considered telling him everything, even though you know he has second thoughts. Heh. A little birdie told me he dreams of shutting down the project even."

Leading Ford to be like "Aw hell how could I accuse my muse of such a terrible thing when I haven't been a saint. He's right! F has been much less motivated lately and I've just gotten so paranoid from the isolation. I'm so sorry for my baseless accusations."

I don't even have a lot to say I just love these three. Fiddleford put up with a lot of shit from Ford while also dealing with his own problems and trying to help him regardless, while Stanford saw him as a comfort and a good friend but ultimately someone who was of lesser mind than he and couldn't see things through his eyes, while Bill was in Stanford's corner actively making him worse and contributing to his isolation (trying to get him to drop Fiddleford and actively feeding his paranoia), while Stanford was seeing both relationships of his with stars in his eyes and rose tinted glasses because he refused to do some introspection

There's so much stuff that journal 3 and tbob added to the equation that's just bad/shitty all around. Can't believe Ford went through a double divorce/breakup despite not having ever been married (or, at least, despite not even officially dating them sorta)

The entire situation in the past is just tragic and hilarious and concerning all at once and that's what I like the portal trio for tbh

[katsukistofu]

not sure if ur still taking requests but if u are would u be willing to write a hawks x prohero!reader where he finds her wearing his own merch?? ty!! i came from ur coffee mixup fic and it was just soo good i sent it to one of my oomfs and we had a mutual freak out over it 😭😭🫶🫶

awww that’s so sweet and cute omg !!! thank you very much my love i’m so happy you two enjoyed it ( >▯<) <333

picture perfect

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ hawks x prohero! fem reader. fluff. cursing. slightly suggestive. reader has ice quirk. ★ your boyfriend sees you wearing his merch and just can’t get enough.

“Dooo-ve?” Keigo’s teasing, saccharine voice is laced with barely concealed amusement. He leans against the frame of your shared bedroom's door, taking in the view of you lying on your back with an appreciative look on his face.

His heart skips a beat, getting to see you on your rare day off from patrol. Watching you, sitting there all pretty in a sweatshirt with his face on it. Your hair is messy, your socks, albeit both very cute and fuzzy, don’t match in color in the slightest and the fresh coat of polish on your nails is already chipped even though he just painted them for you during your weekly spa day yesterday.

Keigo's breath catches as he stands there, and he swears he’s never seen a more gorgeous view in his life.

The numerous sunsets, the iridescent clouds he's been so close to that he could reach out and touch them, the bright stars in the sky as he flew under them, all paled in comparison to you. Even witnessing you knock a villain out cold with a blast of your signature ice yesterday on live television, still only came second to seeing you all comfy and cozy like this.

There's a soft, giddy smile plastered on his handsome face, and he makes it so, so hard to keep up your act. “What’s that you’re wearing?”

“Nothing,” you answer from your comfortable position his side of the bed. You nonchalantly swipe on your phone to continue scrolling through your feed.

Your boyfriend’s grin only widens, and his sweet butterscotch eyes are half-lidded when he speaks again. “Trust me, I know what nothing looks like and it’s definitely not tha—ow!”

He laughs when he receives a plushie of himself flying to his face, which he easily catches in his hands. Keigo’s lips fall into a cute, overdramatic pout. “You just threw me!”

“You’ve got wings for a reason, birdbrain.” You roll your eyes and stretch your arms out. “Now come cuddle me I’m cold.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” Keigo immediately puts the plushie aside and joins you on the bed, pulling you into his warm embrace with eagerness. You’re always cold, but he never minds. Just means more opportunities to hug you, which he gladly jumps at. “Back to my question though, is that my new sweatshirt that just came out from my merch line?”

“No?” Your tone is innocently coy, and it drives him insane. In a good way. “I think you mean my fellow pro-hero boyfriend, Hawks’s merch line?”

“Damn.” Keigo muses, playing along with your little charade. His finger grazes the hem of your collar and you shiver at his feather-light touch. “Your boyfriend’s Hawks? Lucky guy, having a pretty girl like you wearing his merch. Making me jealous over here.”

You out a giggle. "He says that all the time, actually."

"Oh? He better be, or I just might steal you away." His lip brushes over your ear as he continues to murmur. “And I couldn’t help but notice that your boyfriend looks a lot like me.”

“What a coincidence,” you tease, playfully running your hand through his soft, golden locks and bringing them to rest on his cheeks.

“God, you look so fucking perfect.” Keigo groans. You’re already a sight for sore eyes, and the feeling of your fingers in his hair nearly causes him to ascend heavenward. “Next time my marketing team drops something, you’re totally modeling it.”

“I’d rather it be for your eyes only,” you say, and the dimple that appears on his cheeks at that makes your stomach do a little flip.

“Shit, birdie.” Keigo uses a hand to fan himself exaggeratedly. “Is it hot in here or is it just you?”

“Still pretty cold actually, though that might be my quirk talking. I think you’re the hot one.” You hide a cheeky smile as you feel him he hook a finger through your belt loop and firmly drag you closer on the bed in response, forcing you to turn around until your knees hit his with a soft bump.

“Guess I need to work harder at warming you up then.”

A little while later after dinner, his hair is held back with a fluffy, pink Hello Kitty headband which matches the one on your head.

“Okay, I know you said for my eyes only but can I take a pic with you for my socials? Pleaseee, baby?” Keigo begs a little later, leaning into your touch while you carefully apply his sheet face mask on him. “You just look so good I wanna show you off.”

You frown. “I don’t want a bunch of your thirsty fans on my ass, Kei.”

"They're just jealous of what they can't have." He tips your chin up and says it in a tone so matter-of-fact it makes you let out snort.

"Pretty sure it's the other way around," you mutter, using your thumbs to gently smooth down the edges of his mask on his face, and your eyes catch his, brimming with affection so intense and unadulterated you catch yourself feeling a little breathless all of a sudden.

"What?" You tilt your head. "I'm right."

"Nah, I am. You didn’t get that award for hottest heroes on the charts for nothing.” At the comically skeptical look you shoot him, he huffs out a laugh. “I’m serious! Sweetheart,” Keigo’s voice softens. “I know you don’t believe it when the press says it, but when I’m always telling you you’re beautiful, you know I mean it, right? Every single time.”

With warm cheeks, you mumble out, “I know.”

“That’s my girl. You’re everything to me, y’know?” You nod shyly and the sweet, familiar curve of Keigo’s lips makes your insides melt into a puddle of chocolate fondue. “Good. I’m right and nothing you can say or do will change that.”

“Not even if I eat your last chicken nugget?”

“Not even if you eat my last chicken nugget.”

And he says it with such certainty that you can’t help but break into a smile of your own too.

[yeyinde]

lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him.  (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6k notes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met. 

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really. 

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with. 

Stupid. 

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine. 

Because maybe you are, too. 

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent. 

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him. 

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you. 

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him. 

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married. 

And where does that leave you? 

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber. 

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both. 

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar. 

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet. 

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight. 

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush. 

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways. 

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape. 

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore. 

Moving on. Moving forward. 

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent. 

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this. 

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him. 

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness. 

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location. 

You send him your pin. 

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way. 

You met Kyle Garrick at university. 

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre. 

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met. 

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap. 

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care. 

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed. 

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth. 

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?" 

And that was that. 

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them. 

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him. 

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him. 

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain. 

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart. 

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square. 

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots. 

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring. 

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner. 

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots. 

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes. 

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest. 

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it." 

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you." 

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult. 

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes." 

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid." 

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it." 

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought. 

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot. 

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips. 

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain. 

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks. 

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all. 

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you. 

Except—

It isn’t. 

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes. 

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know? 

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips. 

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort? 

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him. 

He’d know, he said. 

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic. 

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around. 

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement. 

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken. 

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison. 

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat. 

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet. 

He seems to understand. 

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here." 

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance. 

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him. 

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it. 

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do. 

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area." 

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe." 

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—" 

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat. 

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame. 

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold? 

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state. 

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish. 

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back. 

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy). 

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making. 

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away. 

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign. 

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now. 

Because you do. 

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts. 

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too. 

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin. 

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences. 

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same. 

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam. 

And oh. 

Oh. 

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing. 

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it. 

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it. 

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always. 

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him. 

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun. 

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. 

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free. 

Confessing goes like this: 

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears. 

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands. 

"...and that's basically it." 

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you. 

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all. 

You want it. Want him. 

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam. 

But he isn't. 

He's here with you. Still. Still. 

"I just—," you say, or try to. 

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth. 

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated. 

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation. 

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence. 

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin. 

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain. 

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take. 

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air. 

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you. 

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind. 

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox. 

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke. 

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable. 

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames. 

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown. 

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home. 

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all. 

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it. 

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this. 

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration. 

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two. 

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food. 

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along. 

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling. 

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know? 

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

[robinhills]

ROBINHILL HEAD CANONS🪽

god I love these cuties 🤭

ALSO BOOTHILL AND ROBIN DUET?!?! ROBINHILLIES ARE BEING FED😻

જ⁀➴

1: They go to karaoke together.

2: she gives him little love notes with lipstick kisses on it and he saves them in his hat.

3: whenever they go out together he starts flirting as if he doesn’t know her.

“ya got a boyfriend, sugar?” “You are my boyfriend.”

4: his pet names/nicknames for her: sugar, angel, sweet cheeks, peach, darlin’, Birdie.

her pet names/nicknames for him: dear, honey, love, boot, BOOTY??

5: he knows all her songs by heart , duh (he’s a fanboy you can’t tell me otherwise)

6: he teaches her how to ride a horse, and when she gets scared, he just rubs her head and distracts her with small talk. (side note: I rode a horse once, never again, scariest shit I’ve ever done.)

7: she learned how to fix machines (cause he’s a cyborg) so she can help him if he ever gets hurt.

8: when she’s on concert tours, he randomly show up in the hotel room she’s staying at to surprise her, she never is.

“Honey! I’m home!” “Dear…This is a hotel..”

9: she asks to try his whiskey every time he has some even though she never likes it, and he finds it funny, and a bit cute.

10: he likes nibbling and playing with the wings behind her ears

11: he totally waits backstage for her after her concerts with a gift.

12: she writes little poems for him.

13: she worries about him easily.

14: he wakes her up in the middle of the night for midnight margaritas, and they dance together in the kitchen.

15: he buys roses and stuffed animals for her every time he shows up late to something or misses something.

16: he wakes her up every morning by tickling her wings.

17: she makes special little songs that she only sings for him, and holds small mini concerts with just them.

18: she hates the fact he smokes and tries to get him to stop by rewarding him with sweets, but he always wants something else. “I’ll give you this bar of chocolate if you stop smoking today!”

”you know that sugary shirt ain’t ‘onna convince me”

“than what will?” “How about a smooch, sweetcheeks?”

“Oh…alright”

and of course, she gives him a little peck, before hiding his cigarettes.

19: she reads poems to him before bed.

20: he likes picking her up and spinning her around whenever she’s upset, because it always makes her laugh, and to him, her laugh is the sweetest thing in the world.

𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི

[birdiewriteslit]

hii can i request 23/24 w jack hughes please?

“sober secrets, drunk deliveries”

jack hughes x f!hischier!reader

birdie’s 300 celly

i legit love this so much

From the beginning, Jack was very clear with you about keeping your relationship a secret from your brother. You told him countless times that Nico was harmless, but Jack couldn’t be convinced.

Maybe Nico showed the boys a different side of him in practice and in game, but you knew him as your lovable older brother.

Until Jack had told you a few weeks into your relationship that you were off limits to him, you didn’t even know Nico talked about you to the team at all.

When he introduced you to Jack during family skate a few months back, you immediately took a liking to him.

He was funny and easy to talk to, although apprehensive to get too close to you because of Nico’s supposed “threats.”

Over the past few months, you’d gotten to know Jack better and started a secret relationship. A lot of the time, sneaking around was hot, and the thrill of potentially getting caught fueled your desire, but you were getting restless.

You hadn’t said it to each other, but you loved Jack. You were serious about him and you knew he felt serious about you. You felt guilty hiding something you loved so much from your brother, who you obviously loved the most and told almost everything to.

That led you to tonight. You, the WAGs, and the team were out celebrating at a bar after a big win.

With a mixture of alcohol and the restlessness previously mentioned, you were being a little bit riskier than usual.

“Jack,” you said, tugging on his sleeve. “Jack, pay attention to me.”

He turned his head, his eyes locking onto yours, his mouth parted. “I am, baby.”

Uh oh. Jack was drunk too, and he didn’t even notice when he let the word slip. Ignoring the looks on Luke’s and Dawson’s faces, you giggled, taking his hand and pulling it around your shoulders, pressing your body into his side.

“If you were,” you teased, dragging out the last word and interlocking your fingers with his. You made an effort to whisper, but it came out louder than you intended. “You’d know I wanna be in your bed right now.”

“Jesus,” Breathed out Jack shamelessly. “I’ll take you there right now, say the word, honey.”

Nico had made it to the table, and at this point in the conversation, he heard pretty much everything he shouldn’t have.

Luke eyed Nico’s shocked expression. “I need to excuse myself,” he said awkwardly, tapping Dawson’s shoulder, signaling him to follow him and leaving Nico alone with you and Jack.

Both of you remained oblivious to your brother, too wrapped up in each other and the alcohol. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat that you realized he was standing there.

You took your eyes off of Jack but didn’t step from him. “Oh, hi, Neeks. This is my boyfriend, Jack. Do you know him?”

Jack, on the other hand, sobered up pretty quickly when he saw Nico, and immediately dropped his arm from your shoulder.

“I know him, but I’m not really sure why you’re dating him,” Nico joked, sounding pretty unaffected.

“Are you mad?” Jack asked quickly, like a child asking a parent for forgiveness.

“Why would I be mad?” Nico asked.

Jack gestured to you, pointing back and forth between you like it was obvious. “‘Cause she’s off limits, according to you.”

“I only said that so nobody would bother her, but I don’t think you’re bothering her.” Nico shrugged, nonchalantly sipping his beer.

“Can I say something?” you interjected, raising your hand. “I totally knew you’d be cool with this because you’re the best brother ever.” You rounded the table and practically launched yourself onto Nico, completely disregarding the fact that he was holding a drink.

“Okay, time for you to go home,” Nico laughed, setting his spilt beer bottle on the table and patting your back. He glared at Jack from over your shoulder. “You’re not taking her, though. I don’t mind if you date her, just never talk to her like that in front of me and we won’t have a problem.”

Jack’s face burned red at the thought of the conversation that Nico overheard. “Sorry, Cap.”

Nico nodded, his glare replaced with a pleasant smile and he guided you to the bar’s exit, much to your dismay.

[ladyloveandjustice]

My Top 12 Favorite Anime of 2023 (and more)!

This was a great year for anime, so here's a long list of my top 12 (including some bonus great anime). If you get tired of clicking the review links, check out my anime overview collection for all of them here.  You can also check out my list of favorite manga here!

Some of these are ongoing, so consider those only a review of the first cour-- no official endorsement on the rest because it hasn't aired yet!

Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch From Mercury (Season 2)

When I listed G-Witch in last year's top anime list, I prayed the show wouldn't betray me. Fortunately, it didn't! Though the final half of the show was a bit rushed, it remained must-see, compelling sci-fi full of exciting twists and turns. And I adore the well developed romance between the robot-piloting protagonist and precious girl, Suletta, and her fierce fiancé, Miorine.  Whether you’re here for starcrossed queer lovers, robots wrecking each other, tense battles between opposing political factions, or morally-horrifying moms on a revenge spree, you’re in for a treat.

See my full review here.

Yuri is my Job!

Hime is roped into working at a cafe where the waitresses playact as students of the fictional all girl’s school from a beloved novel series. However, Hime finds her co-worker, Mitsuki, has an inexplicable grudge against her. Thus begins a tangled web of romance and wounded feelings among the girls in the cafe! Yuri is My Job seems like a fun comedy boasting a cast full of quirky lesbians, but then reveals itself to be a complicated and fascinating examination of performance- as it intersects with queerness, girlhood,  and the desire to be “likeable” and “cute". It's top-tier lesbian drama full of fraught relationships and it's absolutely worth a watch.

See my full review here.

The Apothecary Diaries (still ongoing, review is for the first cour)

Though it's still going, I have to sing the praises of this dazzling anime about a saavy apothecary who uses her medical expertise to solve the many murders and betrayals in the Emperor's palace. MaoMao is a fantastic lead, a poison-obsessed gremlin who's whip-smart, deadpan, and fun to follow. The Apothecary Diaries has intrigue, well-developed characters, and an impeccable atmosphere. It tells a great range of stories, from romantic triumph, to bittersweet tales of recovering from grief, to pure tragedies. I'm totally hooked.

See my full review here.

The Magical Revolution of the Reincarnated Princess and the Genius Young Lady

When Euphie is dumped by her fiance at a ball, the oddball princess Anis rescues her.  Euphie becomes Anis' assistant in her quest to develop magical tools. The girls also start to develop feelings for each other, while discovering a conspiracy among the nobility. I'm always desperately in need of cool lesbians having action-packed fantasy adventures, and Magirevo delivers. The characters grow in entertaining ways, we get to see them fight dragons in killer action scenes, and the romantic development is completely satisfying. It's a simple story at its core, but the lovable characters, joyous queerness and jubilant execution make it a great watch.

See my full review here.

Birdie Wing: Golf Girls' Story (Season 2)

In the second season of the anime about girls homoerotically golfing while dealing with the mafia and ludicrous family drama, Birdie Wing remains a bombastically absurd sports anime that is fun all the way through. Please come watch these girls get ridiculous sports  injuries, scream their super golf attacks, experience extremely extra plot twists--and be super gay with each other, of course. The finale didn't go quite as hard as I wanted (and the romance is more subtexual than I wanted), but you need to allow yourself to experience the madness of Birdie Wing.

See full review here.

Skip and Loafer

An endearingly dorky, earnest, and driven girl moves from her small town to Tokyo. While she struggles to adjust, she befriends a nice popular boy who's got some baggage. Skip and Loafer is a show that’s like a warm hug. It's sweet, entertaining and funny. It handles adolescent struggles with tender nuance. There's a emphasis on kindness, connection, and looking past stereotypes and misconceptions. It also includes a trans character who's treated with respect (and is a great character in general!) Let this show touch your heart.

See my full review here.

Undead Murder Farce

An immortal woman has had most of her body stolen by a mysterious man. Reduced to a head carried around by her maid, she teams up with a half-demon man to track the thief down while solving supernatural mysteries all across Victorian England.

This a fun, campy mystery series starring three asshole weirdo protagonists,  it’s bursting with supernatural creatures and literary references. We've got Sherlock Holmes, The Phantom of the Opera, Carmilla and more...along with a vampire murders and werewolf drama galore. UDM is a wonderful romp with stylish, slick direction... and it’s unexpectedly really gay.  I’m aching to see more of these scrappy misfits and their adventures.

See my full review here.

Migi & Dali

A story of twins who are pretending to be one kid in order to fool their foster parents and find out who killed their mother. It starts out as an utterly absurd comedy becomes a impressive and genuinely tense murder mystery that is incredibly moving at times, all while keeping up it’s signature brand of goofiness. There’s genuine commentary on abuse, the damage you can do to children by forcing perfection on them, the struggle of being a foster kid, grief and recovery and more. There's also some great character development. It's a weird one, but it's absolutely worth sticking with.

See full review here.

Pluto

Somebody is killing the most advanced robots in the  world and murdering humans alongside them. A robot detective is trying to track this killer down, but he might be compromised as well. Pluto is a tense, tense, tightly plotted robot murder mystery that keeps you on the edge of your seat. Through robots, it explores the idea of being a tool in a corrupt system, and tackles subjects like war, imperialism, and the nature of hatred. It's a masterful psychological thriller with stunning animation and a rich story.

See my full review here.

Scott Pilgrim Takes Off

This anime approaches the story of Scott Pilgrim and Ramona's seven evil exes from a brands new angle, and the results are great. We get a exploration of relationships and regrets, the messiness of communication and connection, the trials of becoming an adult, all with the signature goofy video game antics. Characters neglected in previous iterations finally get their due, new facets of the story are explored, queer relationships are delved into more, girls kiss...and it's all accompanied by phenomenal animation and a killer soundtrack.

See my full review here

Soaring Sky! Precure

Sora lives in a world called Skyland and wants to be a great hero. When rescuing the kidnapped baby princess, she falls through a portal to earth. There she meets her fellow magical warriors, and as Precure they protect the princess from the villains!

This vibrant, warm-hearted adventure got me back on the Precure train! This series boasts a lot exciting firsts for the franchise--the first official male cure, the first main cure that's eighteen years old- but above all, it has a lively team of characters with who have an entertaining dynamic and enjoyable individual journeys. It's often very funny, the baby has a surprisingly good character arc, and it's bursting with magical girl (and boy) goodness! It's also not afraid to give you an emotional gutpunch when you've been lured into a false sense of security by all the fun times. If you're new to Precure, this is a great jumping on point, and if you've watched it before, this is a series you won't want to miss.

I'm in Love with the Villainess

Rae is reincarnated as the heroine of her favorite dating sim. But she has no interest in romancing any of the boys- she’s head over heels for Claire Francois, the snooty villainess.

Villainess may not be as polished--storywise or animation-wise-- as these other entries. It's a messy series, it has plenty of problems...but it's also very fun, and it touched my queer little heart like no other. Queer people get to indulge in our imperfect faves too, and the silly shenanigans, blatant lesbian wish fulfillment, honest advocacy for queer people, and the joy and earnestness of the series works for me!

See my full review here.

Some Other Great Anime:

Frieren: Beyond Journey's End (still ongoing, review is for the first cour)

Frieren is a long-lived elf who was once part of an adventuring party that saved the world from the Demon Lord. But now her friends are passing away and the world is moving on. She decides to retrace her old party's journey so she can understand what she's feeling.

Frieren is both an interesting examination of what happens after the hero saves the world, as well as a meditation on mortality, grief,  and the endless march of time. It takes you on a quiet, beautiful and sometimes touching journey though a pastoral fantasy world. There's some breath-taking animation and excellent atmosphere to enjoy.

See my review here.

Spy x Family (Season 3)

Spy x Family is pretty much staying the course from when we last checked in,  though this season gives a lot more attention to Yor, and I love the cruise ship arc and all the ridiculous fights she gets into a lot! That arc contains some of my favorite gags of the series too (like Loid’s  attempts to be a cool dad). Otherwise, Spyfam has settled into a series that intends to be around for the long haul, so don’t expect too much forward plot momentum. And Yuri (the man, not the genre) unfortunately still exists. Overall it was good season and remains a fun  adaptation. Yor, please step on me.

[zomb-rabbit]

For Marble Hornets - I was wondering if you could do Tim + Brain, with a S/O that’s on the shorter side but is strong as hell! Like the cute little S/O can just easily lift up them or just casually could handle crazy hard physical activities.

@klerns-birdie aaa i hope this is okay !! i didn't mean for this to take as long as it did, thank you for being so patient with me <3 totally let me know if you want me to change anything in here :))

· · ·

📹🚬 Tim Wright / Brian Thomas x fem! tiny but mighty reader :]

Tim ;

honestly it catches him by surprise every time

he knows you're strong, don't get me wrong, but he forgets just HOW strong

if you two ever moved, or even just moved into the same room in the house, he'd end up standing in the hallways watching you manage to take your entire large desk through the corridor without a problem with wide eyes

tbh does double takes when he gets to see you flexing in any way, especially if it's your back

he does still offer to help you carry things though, he wants to help out even if he knows you could be carrying 3x whatever it is he's offering to hold 😭

Brian ;

LOVES IT

he thinks it's the cutest thing honestly

like absolutely you're a badass that can do whatever you put your mind to it seems like

but you're so LITTLE next to him he cannot take it seriously

he finds it a little funny whenever he comes into the living room or the bedroom when you're vacuuming/sweeping under the larger furniture and you're just casually holding up this huge ass object that's about twice the size of you

if there's ever a moment where you're flexing (on purpose or you're just lifting something heavier) i feel like he's the type of guy to hype you up with some kind of cheesy flirting

[athenamikaelson]

can i request a kol x reader one shot where the reader just moved to MF and is really shy and the MF gang are all shocked when they find out she likes/is dating kol🥰

Kol Mikaelson x Shy!Reader

Word Count- 1.2k

Warnings- Light Swearing

Request- can i request a kol x reader one shot where the reader just moved to MF and is really shy and the MF gang are all shocked when they find out she likes/is dating kol🥰

“So Y/N,” Caroline leans over to me a sneaky smirk on her face, “has there been anyone who’s caught your eye since you’ve arrived in town?” I can feel the warmth of a blush start to make its way onto my face. Elena and Bonnie stop their talking next to us and give me a questioning look.

“Ya Y/N, has there been anyone?” Bonnie asks with an encouraging smile on her face. I stare at all three of them and from their giggling I can tell the blush has turned my face beet red.

“You can tell us Y/N if you want, if not don’t worry about it.” Elena tells me, placing her hand on top of mine in a comforting way.

“Don’t judge me ok?” I ask them, which gets me multiple nods of heads and “Of course nots.”

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, “Kol Mikaelson.”

After a long moment of silence I open my eyes and see all three of them with a mix of confusion and fear etched into their faces. Embarrassment starts to flood my entire body as I watch them try to process what I’d said.

“Ok I know I’m not the ideal dream girl or anything and I know he is totally out of my league but-“ I start to ramble but Bonnie interrupts me.

“No Y/N! It’s not that! You’re perfect, it’s just…” Bonnie looks over at Elena and Caroline who look like they’re trying to find their own words, “It’s Kol, he’s just so intense you know. You’re so sweet and kind and he’s so… not.” Bonnie says with an unnerved look.

“I know he can be a bit crude sometimes but he’s nice to me.” I say trying to defend the man I’d come to grow fond of in my short time of knowing him.

“Really?!” They all ask surprisingly.

“Ya I guess. I mean whenever we see each other he always goes out of his way to talk to me even though I can’t start a conversation for my life. And when I told him that people have told me that I come off as a freak because of how quiet I am, he told me that some people are too idiotic to see that the quietest people are always the ones with the most to say.” It was the first time in a long time that it felt as if someone had truly seen me and heard me.

Bonnie, Caroline, and Elena just stare at me for a moment before Caroline cracks a big smile and starts talking about how cute that is and how she’s so happy for me. When she’s done Bonnie gives me a comforting smile.

“I’m happy that someone makes you feel that way Y/N, I just want you to be careful and safe ok? Kol and his family can be unpredictable and we wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know, and it’s just a little crush anyways, there’s no way Kol would really give me the time and day.” I give her a shrug of my shoulders.

“Kol Mikaelson would be lucky if you gave him the time of day Y/N.” Elena tells me.

“Thank you guys.”

—-

“Hello Quiet One.” I turn in my seat to see Damon Salvatore smirking at me. I just rolled my eyes and went back to watching Jeremy clean the bar after he asked to keep him company at The Grill. I can feel Damon move out the barstool next to me.

“So I heard from a Little Birdy that someone has a crush on the wild Mikaelson?” When he says this I whip my head to look at him and am faced with the vampire smirking at him.

“Who the hell told you that? I whisper-yell at him. Damon just stares at me for a moment before reaching over the bar and pouring himself a bourbon.

“Just a little birdy.” I let out a sigh and fought the urge to strangle him.

“I’m honestly hurt that I wasn’t the first to be told, My Little Quiet One. I thought we were besties.” Damon throws a hand over his heart in a mocking way.

“We're not besties.” I try to tell him which makes him shake his head.

“Yep, we are. You’re the only one I know that will keep my deep dark secrets and won't try to see the wrong in my ways.”

“It’s not my job to make you be a better person Damon.”

“Exactly! Try telling Elena that, or Stefan, or Ric. You and I work well together.” He pats me on my shoulder, I go to shrug his hand off when it’s ripped off by someone behind us.

“It doesn’t really look like she wants you touching her, mate. So keep your hands off.” I freeze as I recognize the British accent and who it belongs to.

Damon turns in his stool, “Agh, Kol. My least favorite Original. Y/N and I are the bestest of friends so you can back off.” He glares at him, which earns an even nastier glare from Kol. I stare at them for a moment before standing up, which gains Kol’s attention.

“I need some fresh air.” I say as I try to get away from Kol as quickly as possible.

I’m able to get one breath of fresh air before I hear the door next to me open and Kol walks out. He catches my eye and makes his way over to me, which makes me start walking in the opposite direction, until I feel a hand grab my upper arm.

“Where are you off to, Darling?” Kol’s voice comes from behind me. I try to take a deep breath and focus on my breathing so my heart rate isn’t as intense as it currently is.

“For a walk.” I turn to look at him to find him already staring down at me with a ghost of a smirk on his face. A face which happens to be a breath away from my own.

“Fantastic, then I walk with you.” I just freeze and look at him, I start to shake my head at him.

“Why would you want to do that?” I ask him. Kol stares at me for a moment with a confused look.

“Because I fancy you, Darling.” I feel my brain shut down as I just stare at Kol, he must find the look on my face entertaining because he lets out a huff of a laugh.

“Cat got your tongue, Darling?”

“Why?” I shake my head at him in confusion and denial.

“Why wouldn’t I? You surprised me.” His answer to my question only makes me more confused.

“How could I possibly surprise you?” Kol stares down at me and the smirk on his face slowly morphs into something softer as he looks at me.

“I’ll tell you over dinner tonight.” He says as he takes my hand and kisses it. He gives me one final look and starts to walk off, leaving me in shock.

“Wait, tonight!” I try to yell after him. He turns around and smiles at me.

“I’ll pick you up at 8, Darling.”

[live-laugh-legolas]

Oh, I really like your headcannons!!!! I would like to ask how do you think the members of the brotherhood (especially Gandalf) would react to the fact that the reader has wings and is also going on a journey (this was inspired by the valkyries, so I imagine how she would fight with these wings)

The fellowship x winged!reader

Aragorn:

-A huge weight is lifted from him knowing someone like you is on their side

-I also totally think he would be prone to motion sickness

-So if you ever have to fly him over a large gap or something he will need to sit down for a little

-“I’m never doing that again”

-He will help you preen your wings after battle to get the blood and dirt out of places you can’t reach

Legolas:

-He has absolutely heard about legends about your people

-He is so honored to get to meet you

-Watching you fight is so fascinating

-Will just take a moment to watch before almost getting beheaded in his distraction

-Calls you “birdie” in elvish

Gimli:

-You do literally anything with your wings and he is like “YEEESSSSS!”

-He’s such a cheerleader

-We also know he loves the powerful girl bosses

-So you are a top tier in his opinion

-I imagine that a winged being wouldn’t like being underground so he tries to keep you distracted with stories while in Moria

Boromir:

-My first thought was that Boromir would be like Thor when he met the Valkyrie

-He’s such a fangirl

-Ngl, after seeing you fight he’s a little timid

-I mean everyone else saw that right? You just decapitated that orc with your wing

-So badly wants to show you to his brother who would be awed

Frodo:

-He doesn’t know much about your people but he’s adamant to learn everything

-He is so thankful you will be helping him on this journey

-When he gets exhausted from lack of sleep because of the ring you carry him on your back and he can hold onto your wings

-Have him help preen your wings to get his mind off of his troubles for a little

Sam:

-Thinks you must be an angel when he first sees you

-He’s a little intimidated

-Ok, maybe a lot intimidated

-But that’s only because he thinks you must be one of the most beautiful creatures to walk middle earth

-He is concerned what you will eat if what was caught for dinner was a bird

-Would it be weird if you ate chicken? It feels unethical

-Actually probably gives a stern talking to whoever caught the bird because what if it was upsetting for you

Merry:

-Take this hobbit for a flight

-He will be so excited

-He would absentmindedly pet your wings (if you were ok with it)

-Maybe just give him a feather to play with

-He also makes so many bird jokes

Pippin:

-He doesn’t want you to think he is disrespectful

-So he doesn’t ask

-But he really wants to pet your wings

-They just look so soft and silky

-Until they are dirty from battle; but would help you pick twigs and dirt out of them

-“so…um…do you take dirt baths?*

Gandalf:

-He probably knew you before the council, and probably is the one who invited you

-You have been friends for a while

-He is vague but smug when someone asks about you

-He likes to see people’s reactions to you

-You’re like his party trick; he’s like ✨tada!✨*jazz hands to your wings*

-It gets old, but not to him

-He rides on an eagle and you fly next to them

-He refuses to let you fly him anywhere unless absolutely necessary

-But will be a backseat driver even though there is nothing to backseat drive about

———————————————————————

I love a winged reader and I have my own little oc in my head that I regularly have in this scenario. I’m a sucker for winged characters ngl. I don’t really know the Valkyrie so idk how accurate this will be to them

Also I may update this at some point cuz I don’t think I did a good job with it especially considering how much I think about this just in my own time; so sorry

[nathaslosthershit]

[3] Who is Birdie Hughes?

Mat Barzal x Hughes!sister

Part of the Birdie Hughes AU

Here is the link for the Masterlist 

Summary: Why Birdie is out of the limelight and the 3 times the Hughes brothers talked about their big sister

The three Hughes brothers becoming huge hockey stars and seemingly getting those talents from their parents, was a story told over and over. 3 out of 3 Hughes boys ending up in the NHL at the same time truly showed the talent this family possessed. But there was a fourth child, the oldest and only daughter of the family, that wasn’t so much in the limelight. This was on purpose, Birdie never wanted too much attention on herself, and she thought that with three famous superstar hockey brothers, she wasn't interesting enough to warrant attention. It was shortly after Jack was drafted, and the family began to gain much more popularity, that they were all asked to be interviewed, when she sat them all down to talk.

“I don’t want to be interviewed.” She stated, firm but not unkind. “I don’t think I could handle that.”

“Well, Birdie, we will have someone there to help you out and talk you through it ahead of time.” Her dad said.

“I know that, and I know if I said anything stupid or whatever they wouldn’t include it. I just think I don’t need to add my input. They don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

“Sweetie, they asked you to do it because they want to know. They want to hear what you have to say as the oldest.” Her mom reasoned.

“Come on dude, you are part of the family, it would be weird if everyone but you were interviewed.” Jack argued. They didn’t understand, which wasn’t their fault. Birdie didn’t know how to articulate how she was feeling. She loved her family, she loved hockey, and she loved how her brothers were talented and had bright features ahead of them. What she didn’t love was the guilt she had always felt for quitting. She was good and she enjoyed playing, but she simply wasn’t competitive enough. She didn’t feel the need to practice day in and day out, she never stressed about whether her team was going to win because she simply enjoyed playing. After a particularly bad season had ended in high school, her coach had sat her down and berated her. Accusing her of not caring enough, of letting down her team. She vowed then and there that the only times she would be playing was for fun. She didn’t want big arenas full of fans and the best hockey equipment money could buy. She wanted the public rink and to play with her family for fun during the weekend and days they had off. 

When Birdie had finally told her family she was done, they were confused. After a bit of pushback they finally decided that if she wasn’t going to be happy, then there was no reason to make her continue. She missed it, of course, and she felt terrible for quitting, but over time she felt less and less guilty. 

She didn’t want to talk about that though, she didn’t want to explain. She also didn’t want to feel like she was less then because she chose a different life than what her brothers did.

“You can mention me, I don’t want to totally not exist from your lives publicly. I just don’t want to be interviewed right now.” She said firmly. 

Silence filled the room, till they all began to nod.

“Also, just call me Birdie. I don’t need my name out there so some crazy fan can dox me or something.” This she passed off as a joke, but they all knew she was serious at the same time. 

Ever since then, the public has known little about the mysterious first Hughes child. Comments here and there from the boys or their parents about their sister and daughter, but not much more. A childhood photo here and there, but since Luke’s draft day, there hasn’t been much of her, unless it was a hockey game she went to support her brothers at. 

Over time though, this began to change.

It started with Jack.

Out of everyone, Jack hated interviews the most. He knows it has become somewhat of a joke and over the years he just couldn’t bring himself to care about hiding his annoyance. Luckily, Jack was only doing a small sit down to talk about his family. Nothing about a game he had played where they would ask if he was sad they lost or some shit.

“Now your whole family is very close it seems. How have they impacted your career and helped you grow?”

“Uh yeah, obviously we are close and they all mean the world to me,” what the fuck is he supposed to say? “Growing up with three siblings has honestly really shaped me as a person. I owe so much to my brothers and sister. Beyond hockey even. Having three people you are sort of forced to love and grow with has been a blessing, even if they are annoying. Birdie, my sister, has had the most impact I think. She has always been kind of a, um, mentor, I guess- I don’t really know how to say it. She helped me become a better person, I don’t even want to know who I would be if I didn’t have her to somewhat keep me in check growing up. She lives not too far from me, compared to the rest of my family, so when I moved to New Jersey she helped along the way. She also did so much to help me when I was younger. Driving me to practice, driving my friends to practice too. Also school, she is the smartest person in the world, I swear. Always gave me shit for tests I would do bad on, but would always offer to help me study. And I gave her every single essay to proofread, which led to more bullying from her, but I never got too bad of a grade after she put her input in.” He was actually smiling and laughing, which is not common for Jack during an interview.

“She must be your favorite huh?” The interviewer said laughing.

“Oh she is everyone’s favorite. Although we all know Luke is her favorite. That's only because he is the youngest. She calls him ‘her baby’, which she has said since she was 6 and he was an infant.”

Luke

“So, Luke, a lot of talk from Jack about your sister. Something about you being her favorite?” The interviewer asked.

“Oh, of course I'm her favorite. Not even a question. She loves to tell me how I will always be her baby brother, despite how old I get, which is kind of annoying.” he laughs.

“Most people would find it endearing.”

“Yeah until she visits you in college and starts yapping about how you are ‘her baby’ to all your new friends. They all thought it was hilarious and I had to put up with them calling me ‘baby Hughes’ for like a month.” 

Quinn

“Tough game today, Quinn.” The reporter said, not really a question but he still waited for the captain’s response.

“Yeah. I have family here today so the loss is a little more upsetting.” He said somberly. He really hated interviews sometimes.

“Your brothers were here?”

“No, uh my sister. She surprised me last night. Didn’t know she was coming till then. She works in New York so I don’t get to see her as much as my brothers do. Something that I am jealous about.”

“Ah yes, the first Hughes child. You two being the oldest- are you guys close?”

What a weird question. But honestly, Quinn would rather talk about his sister than the game.

“Of course. It was just us for a little bit and I was more of her younger brother then, but once the other two came along we became each other’s confidant. I love it when she visits, and she is a better guest than my brothers so,” he laughs.

“You said she works in New York. Is she also involved in hockey like her siblings? Seems like a family trend so I wouldn’t be surprised.” The reporter said. 

This pissed Quinn off and he knew he had to be careful with how he answered this. Being so close, he was the first person she told when she was thinking about quitting hockey. He knew why she felt awful and he hated it. He also knew that this question would upset her, so he had to do something to make his answer one that wouldn’t hurt her even more.

“No, she actually works at a museum. She is easily the smartest out of all of us.”

“Ah so sort of a ‘black sheep of the family’, right?”

“Not whatsoever. We all love her, and since I was young she has been like the coolest person to me. It's honestly hard to explain what she does because it is much more sophisticated than me playing hockey or you asking stupid questions for a living.” Honestly, he would have dragged the interviewer more, but was soon let go because they could tell he began to have an attitude that wasn’t very good for a captain. 

“Fucking idiot” Quinn muttered after he left.

“What's wrong?” Birdie, who had waited outside for him to be done, had asked.

“Nothing, just- you are smart and talented, and everyone is so proud of you for what you do. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“Quinn, what happened?” 

“The interviewer was just stupid. I had said you were here and they asked if you were involved with hockey. When I said no they were rude about it. Then I got mad. Fuck them though. Your museum shit is much cooler.” “Cooler than being a professional hockey player that makes millions of dollars? I don’t know about that, Quinn.” She teased. She was used to it. It was worse when people who actually knew her had added their two cents in, but some random interviewer wasn’t going to upset her. She wouldn’t let it. “But thank you. I am not upset, I promise.”

“Love you, B.”

“Love you too, Q.”

[breakerwhiskey]

260 - TWO HUNDRED SIXTY

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

It took me the better part of a day but I think I’ve done it. I think I’ve written out your whole message. It…I honestly have no idea what it says. I was so focused on the individual letters, barely any words formed from it as I went.

I…I should go get Harry. But she’s sleeping and…I think she needs the rest. After—we’re still working through things and I think—no, I know—we will be for a very long time. As we waited for your message to finish transmitting, we talked a lot. We maybe got a little…distracted from time to time, but she put it all out on the table, everything she’d been thinking and feeling that she didn’t tell me. Things she didn’t even write in her notebook. And I told her things…we aired grievances and shared the times when we thought we might get close to something, back in New York. She talked about how she felt about Pete and listened to me when I talked about him and…and she was really kind when I couldn’t parse the good from the bad, when I didn’t want to just write him off as a violent criminal. I mean, I don’t…well, there are a lot of things I need to work through and it doesn’t all have to do with Harry.

Well. I could fill you in on all of it, on every detail, but…these broadcasts have been mine, separate from Harry, as much as anything in my life can be separate from Harry, and there are some things with her that are separate from the world. At least for now.

I know I said I might stop transmitting now that we’re safe and I think…I think I am going to take a break. Disappear for a little while like you’re so fond of doing. I’m—well, I think I’m happy and I’m not totally sure what to do with that feeling. Especially since it’s laced with…well, Junior is still out there, we’re still trapped here and even though I know what it’s like to kiss her, to— I don’t think I’ve forgiven Harry yet, not fully. She knows that, she…she’s understanding of it. Genuinely. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try to get there. Especially since I know I haven’t been the paragon of healthy communication and perfect relationship behavior so there are things that I need to…that I need her forgiveness on and, well, I think she wants to try to get there too.

All that said—well, I don’t know what I’m going to find in your message and I hope it’s not goodbye forever, but maybe this is a goodbye for now. I want only good things for you Birdie. I hope you get a little peace of mind. A little closure. I’m discovering eve the tiniest glimpse of it really does wonders.

Okay. Here we go.

“Dear Whiskey,

I am sorry that we couldn’t meet. You find yourself in a watch tower of my own creation. I wasn’t positive it would still be functioning in this timeline—you never do know when an earthquake or a storm is going to cause something to come toppling down—but I’m relieved to find that it is. I do wish I could have been there myself, but we can only enter timelines through great pains and effort and I have already interfered far more than we are meant to. Though I suppose my hand was forced when I ceased to be the only one communicating with you.

The person you know as Fox is, as you guessed, a purist. They want all people in all places to be instead in one place, following one path. They do not believe that anyone should be free to make their own choices and live with the consequences. They would prefer to guide your hand into another choice you cannot take back, all in service of what they deem to be correct. They know what they are; they even told you directly. Though they are not the figment of an author’s imagination, they are as close to Eternity as one can get. Though in this case, they are not the norm, but a rebel.

And I cannot claim there is nothing to re—rebel against. It is not a perfect system. It is hard, to watch people suffer in the worlds of their own creation, with no obvious recourse. Sometimes these timelines correct themselves, merging with each other or disappearing entirely. But even we, the keepers and observers of these strands, cannot fully comprehend the intricacies of why certain shifts are created.

As you know, you are not the first person for whom I have tried to bring comfort in a lonely universe. Not all alternate worlds are as empty as yours, but some are even emptier. And yours, was of course, becoming more empty all the time, though that may not be a bad thing for every person involved.

Fox told you you’re too late because the timeline has shifted once again. I’ll explain that in a moment but first I need to talk about the shift that preceded it, that caused an angry man to seek vengeance. A few months ago, Fred Billings’ mother—“

Fred. That’s his name. Fred. Wow, I, uh—anyway—

“Fred Billings’ mother, who was her—who was here, vanished from this place and merged with her correct timeline. Both Fred and his father perished in a car accident on New Year’s Eve 1974, and the widow Billings’ life was forever changed. Fred woke up here one day to find that his mother—who he had lived with in some degree of contentment for the last six years—had vanished. Meanwhile, she was waking up in the place she was from, with no memory of this world.

That’s what would have happened if you had killed Junior. Or, at least, that is what Fox and I both suspected. That it would have aligned enough with the timeline of your origin and you would’ve been sent back. But you should know, if that were to happen, all of this would seem like a strange dream. Your memories of the last seven years would be filled with the experience of that other you. The events you’ve experienced here would not inform your life. I have not brought you here to keep you from making that decision for yourself, but because I thought you deserved to have all the information relevant to what Fox was asking you to do. They forced my hand when they told you to kill Fred—I could not let you do that without knowing the full consequences.

However, it is a moot point. As I said, something in the timeline has shifted again. You have merged—you have merged with another offshoot, your circumstances have once again changed. I wish I could give you the information that would help you navigate this new world—I wish I knew if this meant more potential allies or if this meant that you were closer to getting back home than you were before. But we cannot see all. Fox has their ways of seeing more than most, but I suspect even they are uncertain of what this shift has brought.

I do know that yours and Harry’s fates are irreversibly intertwined. I cannot think of a decision on any timeline that would separate you as you are now. In that sense, I take comfort in knowing you will never be truly alone.

On that subject, I have a final gift for you. I know you are going to cease transmitting soon. And I understand that, I do. But before you go silent, look at the radio system in front of you—“

…okay…

“Turn it on and tune to the very last frequency. Then switch on the delta tune to the positive and access the off-frequency just beyond that final channel.

Through some error that I know my superiors would like to correct, your transmissions have been reaching out—have been reaching outside of your world. In the same way that visions of the world you came from have bled into where you are now—” The polaroids I’m guessing— “your words have reached beyond their usual bounds. It is why they were able to reach your friends from across the country and after a year of listening to you, I have yet to figure out why this is happening at all.

Perhaps now that you are no longer alone, you don’t need this particular comfort. But you have spent all this time calling into the dark, hoping someone was listening, hoping someone would call back. Hoping that someone out there would find you.

You were found a long time ago. You were never really lost or alone. Many of them were alone, before they heard your voice. But the moment you called out, there were voices calling back, even if you couldn’t hear them.

Your friend, Birdie”

What…I don’t…I don’t understand—

Okay, tune to the last frequency…let’s see

[turning to the frequency]

“You were found a long time ago”…Who found—

[gets to the last frequency and then—

a cacophony of different voices, all the messages that Whiskey has not been receiving, from infinite timelines]

(an intake of breath)

Oh my god.

[static]

[click]

[yallemagne]

So I finished the first season of X-Men: The Animated Series of course. Highlights?

Episode 1 & 2: Night of the Sentinels

Jubilee's father really fuckin sold her out huh? And holy shit the fucking sentinels. Dog, why did you MAKE THEM SO BIG. I had expected like that they started small and got bigger ones when the X-Men were revealed, but no, without even alerting the nation that they were making these robots, they sent a giant ass robot into a mall to capture one teenager.

Me pointing out "huh Morph is getting a lot of moments here, I like it" followed by them immediately dying. Like damn. They really did that. No wonder the creators backed out of having Thunderbird be in Morph's role, that would have just been insulting. Especially since he probably wouldn't have been brought back.

"Tell Cyclops... I made him a convertible."

Cyclops refuses to apologize for leaving without Morph and Beast but instead offers Logan an opportunity for revenge. It's so them. These petty bastards.

Episode 3: Enter Magneto

Beast... you're so silly. So, Beast refuses a rescue by Magneto (he's imprisoned) because "I'm awaiting a fair trial that will prove my innocence"... girl. You are a giant blue man. So, yeah, another case where Magneto was right.

Sabretooth is such a fake-ass bitch, I love it. So, he shows up at the trial causing a ruckus and gets injured and the X-Men take him in and start treating him like their pathetic little meow meow. This couldn't possibly go wrong.

"Come on, they're gonna kill him!" "Good." *turns around* "WHAT?"

"He's a threat." "He was near death." "Not near enough."

They just keep giving Wolverine all the best lines.

Episode 4: Deadly Reunions

Sabretooth, my poor little meow meow... all you did was a few itty bitty kitty murders... That's what Charles is saying at the start of this episode.

Xavier truly does try to get to the root of Sabretooth's anger with some super therapy, but alas, Sabretooth is just That Bitch. We do know that a competent telepath can temper his anger though, just look at Birdy.

They leave Jubilee alone with him acknowledging full well "this man is more dangerous than Wolverine... have fun babysitting!" He's restrained in a chair growling "let me at 'em" as Senator Kelly is being racist on TV and Jubilee very kindly turns it off and he's like "sowwy I'm twying to be a good boy... 😿" So of course Jubilee sees his restraints are hurting his wrists and releases him to help. Hahahaha. Oh girl.

If this were a show being produced today, I could totally see Sabretooth being accepted by the X-Men because "daww look he's angry just like you Wolverine" being drawn out into a longer arc where he actually gains their trust so it creates a genuine rift in the team... but also maybe he's not that patient for a scheme like that.

(also I know the show probably isn't going with the continuity that they're blood-related, but Wolverine telling them Sabretooth is nothing but trouble and getting hit with "but he's just like you 🥺" is very brother-coded okay?? Anyone who has a terrible older brother can relate.)

"Alright you egg-sucking piece of gutter trash. You always liked pushing around people smaller than you. WELL, I'M SMALLER! TRY PUSHING ME!!" << that's some little brother dialogue.

(… Morph would have listened to Wolverine about Sabretooth. Morph knows the Deep Lore.)

Episode 5: Captive Hearts

Callisto saw Cyclops and immediately said "I'm gonna make him my trophy husband", and while that is a valid reaction, no means no, hun.

They literally establish Storm as the Morlock's future Moses basically with her promising to come back for them when the time is right and they feel safe to breech the surface. And then they gave Magneto that role in '97. Ugh. He has the nerve to say Xavier just left them down there when it was in fact Storm that respected their right to self-determination.

Episode 6: Cold Vengeance

I love every time I see Sabretooth, he's just so silly-looking. No wonder everyone else imprinted on him like "hehe silly orange kitty" he's so BIG. He's incredibly top-heavy, just look at his bazongas.

We got through this with no sacrifice of Inuit life but a sombre sentiment that they'll be abandoning the old ways rather than rebuilding their homes.

Episode 7: Slave Island

Jubilee and Gambit have a nice little dynamic. He's the first person Jubilee used her powers to protect and she does it multiple times. I imagine he's like her cool older brother with street smarts.

No wonder Gambit was suspicious of Genosha in '97. Can't really trust that all is well when the foundation of that place was quite literally built with slavery.

This just makes Magneto's "tsk tsk Charles didn't use his wealth and resources to ship a load of UNWILLING Morlocks to Genosha for their own good" comment in '97 all the more frustrating. Man can be a dumbass.

Anyway--- CABLE CABLE CABLE. My silly little big boy.

Episode 8: The Unstoppable Juggernaut

Juggernaut is such a funny guy. I feel like usually, the big guys don't get to be the wise-cracking type, so this piece of shit was fun to watch.

Also just love Colossus, he's perfect.

Episode 9: The Cure

It's hard to feel bad for Warren when he's literally rich and funding a project that can be easily weaponized to hurt mutants. Sure, he was tricked and wasn't actually funding his "cure", but it would have been awful even if he got what he wanted. Just wear one of those collars for the rest of your life, jackass.

HOW IS NO ONE CHECKING IN ON THIS RESEARCH?? This experimentation on human beings is taking place with no government interference???

Pyro and Avalanche are fucking don't even try to convince me otherwise. Pyro, I don't care where you are from, I'm gonna be so weird about you calling every man you meet “darling”.

Episode 10: Come the Apocalypse

The public will see literally any villain and be like "A RENEGADE MUTANT!!" Like yeah sure I think Apocalypse technically is a mutant?? But like they really just profile all criminals as mutants.

Again, not sorry for you, rich boy.

Poor Rogue, having to absorb all these men's damage.

Episode 11 & 12: Days of Future Past

Bishop is a fucking traitor holy shit. Sure he gets better but damn. Girly was really like "The face-eating jaguars would never eat my face." and then was immediately told he was no longer needed.

"Someone... or something has come back through the time portal." "CHECK PLEASE! TIME PORTAL?"

"You kids better behave yourselves; I'm staying behind to babysit."

"Okay, ROUND BOY. Let's dance."

Wolverine has all the best lines.

Wonder why Mystique specifically chose to impersonate Gambit for the assassination. Perhaps he seemed the most likely? Perhaps a grudge against him for his relationship with Rogue?

Episode 13: The Final Decision

I'm so fucking disappointed that the fate of mutantkind lies in the hands of Senator Kelly because, dog, I wanna shoot him.

When you make a giant racist robot factory and even the giant racist robot factory is smart enough to recognize that mutant rights are human rights and so it resolves to protect humanity by replacing it with robots. Fucking dumbasses.

Honestly makes you wonder what the fuck Trask thought he was doing coming back in the new series. He knew that starting up another Master Mold would inevitably lead to the robots replacing politicians' brains with computers and he DID IT AGAIN ANYWAY.

Seeing Chuck and Magnus working together always warms my heart. And then they go right back to being enemies.

That Mister Sinister teaser at the end was... I'm not gonna say it.

[yelenasfloppyhand]

Hi! I saw that your requests are open! I was wondering if you could write a Jason Gideon x Reader where Gideon has insecurities and gets jealous easily (because there's an age gap and because the reader is drop dead gorgeous). If you could also add the reader reassuring him and telling him everything the reader feels for him (in the context that all that hadn't been spoken out loud yet) that would be awesome.

If you don't want to write this fanfic then that's totally okay! If you do write it though, please tag me, because I really don't want to miss that!

Have a lovely day! <3

Thank you so so much for the amazing request @leylovestaytay I hope I was able to execute this in the way you wanted it to be.

Jason Gideon × gn!reader

Summary: he's jealous and you aren't sure why, until you confront him about his feelings.

Warnings: none? Age gap mention.

"What was that?" Your normally cheerful tone suddenly shifted, a small scowl now apparent on your usually smiling face. As you and the kind detective were casually joking with one another during the investigation of a case, Gideon suddenly interjected, making a sharp comment that you both should be working rather than 'sitting on your asses and talking.'

You watched as his brows furrowed in confusion, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What was what?" he asked in genuine confusion, as if his behavior thirty minutes ago was either normal or hadn't even happened at all. With his arms crossed over his casual t-shirt and blue overshirt, he looked like any other guy. The fact that someone as well known as Jason Gideon dressed so casually was impressive, comforting, and helped you to see him not as some revered criminal profiler, but as just another person.

"What is wrong with you today? You normally don't care when I sit back and take a break, in fact you encourage taking a break from working. So I'll ask you again what was that?" Your tone felt unnatural and uncomfortable on your tongue, almost like a bitter taste that won't go away.

"Nothing is wrong with me today." Unusually he doesn't defend himself, infact you would almost think he was completely innocent if you hadn't witnessed the event it's self. "Did I do something wrong, did I upset you?" You ask, almost hesitantly.

This time when his eyebrows furrow they take on a more horrified expression. "Why do you think you did something wrong?" He sighs slightly, clearly upset by your assumption that you'd done something to upset him. In his eyes you were perfect, to him you had no flaws, to him it was like aphrodite had sculpted you herself. But that was the problem, you unintentionally were his problem, you were gorgeous and young, full of life even. And that absolutely terrified him, he'd been held at gunpoint, he'd watched people die and yet nothing terrified him more than his own feelings.

You shrug, "I don't know. You just seem..." You find it hard to search for the correct words to display how you truly feel, and the truth is that you don't know how you feel, of course you know, but you don't actually know. You know that you would do anything for the man in front of you, you know that you would give your life for his, that if the chance arose you would love him -if he let you-.

"Upset? At you?" He asks with a soft almost sad smile. He sighs "Oh Birdie" you could feel your lips twitch at the nickname. Once he'd invited you round to his apartment for dinner as a thank you for saving his ass on a case, and you'd asked about a book on his shelf about birds, he had spent a good half an hour talking about his love for birds, which were his favourite and why. So for his 49th birthday you'd painted him a watercolour bird, you'd never seen him tear up before that moment, he had felt truly touched by the gesture, he treasured the painting even going as far as to keep it on his desk next to pictures of his son.

"What?.." You fiddled nervously with the button of your cardigan. His saddened look at the way in which he softly uttered your nickname caused butterflies to arise in your stomach, this wasn't an unfamiliar feeling when you were around him, in fact you'd become accustomed to the feeling each time you made eye contact, or each time he uttered your name. This time however it felt different, like the stars had aligned in the midnight sky.

"I'm not upset at you, honestly it would take a lot for you to even annoy me. It's not you" His words feel heavy, like they sink in the air before my brain absorbs them.

"What is it then?" You ask with perplexed expression, you felt genuinely lost.

He lets out a chuckle, nervousness painting his features as his lips pull up onto a smile. "It's not you I'm upset at, I guess I'm upset at myself." He frowns slightly before staring at a nearby tree. "Did you know that birds are monogamous?" He asks casually.

"... I didn't" you respond slowly. "I'm sorry I don't really understand where this is going, unfortunately I lack social skills." Although it wasn't a joke you were certain it sounded like one.

"After I divorced my wife Jill I had assumed that was it, that I'd never be able to find love again because of this job. It felt wrong... the way you made me feel, the way you make me feel. I hate it, but I love it and I know I shouldn't. You're not exactly someone a man my age should be attracted to." He sounds almost ashamed by his own words and feelings, like he gets stabbed in the heart with each word he says.

"I'm 38... I'm hardly young." You laugh finding it almost funny, of course you aren't laughing at him, but almost the irony, you'd often told yourself that it wasn't right to be attracted to your boss, the man was not only your superior but also older than you. "I'm still lost... about the bird thing." You admit sheepishly.

He chuckles before continuing. "I thought that I was a bird, that I would only ever have the experience of love once, that I would only be granted the experience of being loved. What I'm trying to say... is that I think I would like to love you." He seems confused at his own words, his eyes closing with a sigh as he drops his head to his chest.

"... is that why you told me off earlier?" You ask with a small smirk.

"I didn't like that guy, he kept staring at you like a piece of meat." Gideon frowns, in all honesty he was annoyed that the man was making you smile, he felt annoyed when he realised that you could have anyone in thr word that you wanted, after all the detective was closer to your age.

"Oh my god you're jealous" you laugh. "The Jason Gideon who is as cool as a cucumber was jealous of some detective." You throw your head back as you laugh. He began to chuckle along side you, the sond was like a song from the heavens. Your laughs mixing together beautifully.

"I would like to love you too." You admit comfortably.

Note: I am really sorry if this isn't well written or up to a good enough standard (I actually don't have an excuse I'm just a bad writer 😭)