#messed up fic

[mexigum]

Hello Tumblr,

I've once again come crawling back to ask for help finding a fanfiction... about Hetalia..

I might have a problem, a nostalgia problem

ANYWAYS! does anyone here know the name of that one Gerita and USUK fanfic where Italy ends up in a mental asylum for being gay during the 1940s/50s. And like, America works there as a doctor but he's secretly just as insane as his patients if not worse. Because he and England are just straight up serial killers who call themselves the "Message Man". I think Italy loses an eye to them at some point?

OH! And France runs the damn place as a priest of all things.

I read it a couple years back during middle school/first two years of highschool. I want to reread it but i don't remember the name and can't find it. :( and with the whole, authors going scorched earth and deleting all of their fics recently, I'm worried that it might be gone forever. I can't be the only one that remembers this fic, I could have sworn that it was really popular at the time.

[soldrawss]

Something something 16yo 2k12 Mikey gets sucked into a portal and sent into the RISE universe and ends up helping raise the RISE kiddos AU

[clockwayswrites]

5 Times the JL Learned Batman was Married and the 1 Time They Met the Spouse.

One. Two. Three.

“I am sure that it is clear to everyone that the mission was almost a complete disaster.”

“Almost?” Superman asked with a smidgen of a smile.

Hal thought it was brave and very, very stupid of Superman to ask that while Batman was glaring at all of them like he’d squish them if they were just small enough for him to step. And if it wouldn't get his boots too dirty.

Batman’s glare narrowed to focus on Superman alone. “We’re alive. Barely.”

“Batman—”

“No,” Batman shut down Supes’ argument with a barked word. “No. While you might be unconcerned, not all of us are indestructible, Superman.”

That finally made Superman lose any amusement that he had and he look away from Batman, properly cowled. Hal felt a little sorry for the guy, but also Supes deserved that. Not all of them were naturally bullet proof and Batman didn’t even have any powers (it seemed).

“Everyone write up a report: what went wrong, what little went right, and what we should do differently. We will discuss it next week. Expect there to be more training sessions scheduled soon,” Batman ordered.

And then he turned and left with an overly dramatic flare of his cape.

“What?” Hal asked.

“He’s just… leaving?” Superman asked. He sounded a little lost.

Batman didn’t just leave when there was work to be done.

Diana rested a hand on big blue’s shoulder. “I believe you rather overstepped, my friend.”

Oh he was more hurt than any of them knew.

Hal jogged after the retreating form. “Hey, hey Spooky, wait a sec!”

Batman’s shadowed form almost hunched forward on itself as he stopped but didn’t turn around.

“What?”

“Just…” Some of Hal’s bravado left him now that he was actually having to ask; luckily Hal had bravado in spades. “I wanted to make sure you were too badly hurt. You took some hard hits out there and like you said, not all of us are bullet proof.”

Hal wasn’t sure if Batman would answer. More, Hal wasn’t sure if Batman would answer him of all people. They had found more of an understanding with each other lately: Hal let Batman do the planning and Batman trusted Hal (a little) to break the plan in the field, but they still clashed a lot.

Then Batman let out a weary sounding huff of air. “There is nothing major. Everything will heal, though I could use plenty of ice and a good whiskey.”

Hal let himself chuckle at that. “Man, I feel that. A good whiskey, or lots of bad beer, sounds good. I just wanted to make sure. You’re rushing out of here like there’s a fire on your ass. Would hate for you to be bleeding out or something.”

Another long pause that Hal tried not to fidget through.

“It’s late. I would like to get home to enjoy my anniversary while there is still any of it left.”

“Your— oh, shit, yeah man, get out of here!” Hal said, waving Batman away.

What the hell, Hal wondered as he watched Batman sweep away for a second time, Spooky was married?

[arrimorr]

Every security guard in Hl1 being the same freaking dude is still one of the funniest things ever to me. Barneys.....

Like what the hell is this.

[blindmagdalena]

All of a Sudden, There You Are

3k. homelander x gn!reader. pining. pure fluff! an older fic that desperately needed cleaning up. rewritten for a consistent perspective and added 600-some words. gif credit. AO3 link.

As Homelander's stylist, it's your job to ensure he looks his best, whether he's saving the world or saving face in front of the cameras. After nearly a year servicing him, things between you change abruptly.

Familiarity and consistency feed a base need in all of us. So much of what is best in us is bound up in the permanence of those around us that it becomes the measure of our stability. For Homelander, there are precious few things in his life that offer him any such quality of solidarity. People come and go. It's the nature of the business that has always been his life.

He's stopped paying attention to the PA's, interns and other worker ants that rotate in and out. Their faces blend together in a bland sea of normality and mediocrity. They're little more than cogs in the machine of his contrastingly extraordinary life.

Funny, then, that you should catch his attention amidst the insectoid buzz of it all.

It happens quite abruptly. He's just sat down before a brightly lit vanity where it's your job to style his hair and makeup, as it has been for the last several months. You greet him good morning, as you do every time, but for whatever reason... He notices you today.

"Remind me, what's your name again?" Homelander asks, watching you draw a comb from your kit.

That visibly catches you off guard. You offer only a dumbfounded stare for a moment before snapping to attention, smiling sheepishly as you introduce yourself. The name doesn't sound familiar to him. Had he never actually asked? Probably not. There’s rarely a point in bothering.

He hums contemplatively. "You've been styling me for a while.”

"Yes, sir. About eight months now," you say, using the comb to begin working product through his hair. He’s fairly certain this is the most he's ever spoken to you in all that time.

That sounds like both a long while and yet no time at all. It's nothing in the grand scheme of his life, but in terms of the people he sees consistently, that puts you in a shockingly small pool of individuals. Inevitably they move on, whether by choice or because they’ve found a way to irritate him enough that he has them dismissed.

He can recall his last stylist not by their name or face, but by the way they’d always manage to spray product in his eyes. They hadn’t lasted two days. The one before that he can’t bring to mind a single detail of.

Typically humans only become exceptional to him for how they grate on his patience. You’ve somehow managed to avoid making yourself noteworthy in that regard. Before today you had served as little more than a properly functioning gear in the well-oiled machine of his life.

Now it's as though you suddenly exist to him. Blood, flesh, laughter and all.

"Gooood morning," he greets you the next day, once again triggering another flare of surprise in you. He’s aware of the strangeness of his initiation, but behaves as though he isn’t. He flashes you one of his trademark Hollywood grins.

"Good morning to you, sir," you say with an answering smile that catches his eye. You sound pleased, which tickles something pleasant in the back of his own mind. He likes how well you’re mirroring his shift in mannerism.

He waves his hand dismissively. "Please, Homelander is fine. You keep it awfully formal."

You're actually quite pretty, he notices. Not exceptionally so, not like the celebrities and figures of social influence that someone like him brushes shoulders with on a daily basis, but... pretty nonetheless. He doesn't remember you being this pretty before, and speculates while you work whether you've changed something about yourself. He cannot put his finger on what exactly that may be, though.

He’s perceptive when it comes to the things that matter. Until yesterday, you hadn’t.

You laugh sweetly, pushing your fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut as you do. You’re good with your hands, much better than the last stylist. He’s sure he made note of that at some point, but in the same way someone notices when a door stops squeaking. You take it for granted after the first time.

"I'm a creature of habit. Might take me a couple tries to adjust," you warn, covering his forehead with your palm as you spritz product into his hair. You never let any of that sticky crap get on his face, much less in his eyes. You take measures to ensure his comfort, even though he’s never scolded you. You seem to do it entirely out of reflex simply because you care enough to.

"Well, you've made it this far. You've got time to adjust," he says. Now that he's seen you, he finds that he doesn't care for the thought of you being gone. More than that, he starts actively looking forward to the time he spends in the chair with you. What used to be a monotonous aspect of the celebrity side of his life becomes a comforting ritual. 

The two of you chat with surprising ease, like old friends made new. He tells you about himself, vents to you about work and personal business alike. In turn he learns about you and the life you live beyond the time you share with him. It’s nothing extraordinary–not like his–but it's yours, and for some reason, that’s enough to make it interesting.

The more he grasps that you are an entire person outside of the service you provide him, the more he wants to know. He doesn’t give a fuck about your elderly cat, but he does like the way your voice changes when you talk about it. His mind drifts when you tell him these little anecdotes, and he wonders what you tell the people in your life about him. He wonders if your tone similarly changes when you do. Do you speak fondly of him? Days turn to weeks. Little by little, Homelander discerns small changes in himself. There’s a slight pep in his step these days. The sun feels a little warmer, the thrum of crowded events less irritating. His attitude towards interviews flips; even the ones he used to dread he begins to anticipate. He knows you’ll have him looking and feeling his finest. He knows that regardless of what awaits him, you’ll have something to say about it that will make it easier to smile for the cameras.

Thinking of you is sometimes all it takes.

When he has nothing on his schedule to be styled for, he sulks. On those days, he misses your laugh the most. 

He makes sure the products he keeps at home are the same as the ones you use. The smell of them reminds him of the smell of you, of your knock-off Dior perfume that fades too quickly after you apply it, which makes it just perfect for his keen sense of smell. The humble subtlety of you, your sincerity and gentleness, have become a boon against the unfeeling corporate reality of his life. On the days he does see you, he begins to miss you before he’s even left you. Now, as he walks to his next scheduled appointment with you, he’s painfully aware of the beat of his own heart. His stomach is twisting in on itself, though he isn’t hungry. If anything, he feels a little nauseous. The closer he gets to the door, the louder the cacophony inside of him becomes. Is he sick? That shouldn’t be possible, but he can’t understand what’s happening to him. Pausing just outside the door, he takes in a steadying breath.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Taking a moment to collect himself, he gives his face two quick pats on either side, shaking his head. Get it together, he tells himself, stepping into the dressing room. 

“Gooood morn–” Homelander cuts himself short, looking around the empty room. His brows pinch. He isn’t early. Pursing his lips, he takes a brief stroll about the room, clutching his hands behind his back. He peers down the hallway, cutting through the layers of wall with his vision. No sign of you on the grounds yet. He clicks his tongue. 

You’ve never been late. Unable to settle, he paces for a while. He has the thought to call you, but he realizes he doesn’t have your number. Why doesn’t he have your number? It seems such an obvious thing to have despite the fact he’s never needed it.

He’s just pulled out his cellphone to track it down from Ashley when the door suddenly opens and his head snaps up. The initial relief he feels is cut short, turning cold in his chest when the person who steps through the door is most definitely not you. “Good morning!” the woman greets him, her voice chirpy and grating in his ears. She’s not really happy to see him. She doesn’t know the first fucking thing about him. At most, she’s another sycophantic drone who’s only pleased to breathe his air. In his upset, she looks freakishly distorted, her smile overly wide and fake. His leather gloves creak as he curls his hands into fists. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks, voice as measured as he can manage it. His anger hits in an unreasonable surge, hot like lava from a volcano. This woman’s only crime is the fact she’s not you, and yet it’s enough to make him want to rip her head off her shoulders, spine and all. The woman hesitates in the doorway, her chipper demeanor flipping to a fearful one. “Uhm, my name is Lisa, I’m supposed to style you to–” “Where is my stylist?” he interrupts her, prowling towards her like a hungry predator. He says again, louder this time, voice full of anger and anxiety in equal measure, “Where the fuck is my stylist?!” “I– I don’t know!” Lisa yelps, stepping backwards from him. “I was called in as a last minute replacement! They said– they said there was an accident, or–” Homelander pushes her roughly out of the doorway, blowing past her with a frustrated growl. She hits the wall hard before crumpling to the floor like a lifeless sack of potatoes, but he doesn’t even register it. He calls Ashley, stalking down the hallway, his footfalls loud with fury. Why the fuck didn’t anyone think to tell him? “Ashley!” He snarls into his phone the second she answers. “Tell me where the fuck my goddamn stylist is.”

Homelander is at the hospital within minutes. The staff puts up a meager effort to enforce protocols, but he’s The Homelander, and after a lie or two, they eventually let him through. He hates the smell of hospitals. The sickly mix of bleach and illness, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. They never should have brought you here. You should be in Vought’s med ward.

You should be with him. When he finds you, you’re sitting with the hospital bed halfway reclined, wearing nothing but a hospital gown. The vibrant reds and blues of his suit paint a sharp contrast to the stark white walls of the hospital room when he steps inside. You have a pudding cup in your hand, though you nearly drop it when you see him in the doorway. His hair is woefully unstyled, splayed loose in every direction from his flight. “H-Homelander,” you sputter, choking on your bite of pudding. You swallow, clearing your throat. He’s walking towards you. The closer he gets, the faster your heart beats in his ears. “What are you doing here?” “Are you okay?” He asks, blowing off your question entirely. He blinks and his vision flickers through your clothes and skin alike. He scans your body for internal damage, for broken or fractured bones. You’re not wearing a cast or anything, but he needs to be sure. You nod, clutching at the blanket, wearing your confusion plainly on your face. “Yeah, I’m okay, it’s probably just mild whiplash, but I’m getting an x-ray to be–” “You’re fine,” he breathes more to himself than to you, his relief palpable. He can hear the flustered patter of your heart clearly. With the adrenaline wearing off, he’s beginning to feel that sickly familiar feeling that he had experienced in the hallway; butterflies rampant in his stomach, battering their wings frantically inside him. His jaw feels tight, his tongue too big for his mouth. Staring at you now, frail and precious as you are in this ugly hospital bed, he realizes what’s the matter–what has always been the matter–he is deeply and incurably in love with you. “Are you okay?” You ask, taking in his tortured expression, his wildly wind-swept hair. The obvious concern in your voice and in your eyes churns his already twisting gut. “No,” he says, the response knee-jerk. Even though the room is still, he feels as though the world is spinning around him. “No, I think I’m in love with you,” he says, expression twisted up, like he’s figuring out each word as he says them. Your heart skips a beat, your breath catches in your lungs. It’s as if the words have paralyzed you. Homelander laughs. It sounds a little hysterical. 

“I’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new with me,” he says, reaching out to cup either side of your face in his gloved hands. “I love you,” he says, voice firmer now, the realization setting in fully. He looks slightly delirious with it. He’s discovered a secret that he should have known all along, that seems so obvious in hindsight. Of course he loves you, because you love him. The gentleness in your hands as you touched his face, the care in your fingers stroking through his hair far longer than both of you knew you needed to. You dedicated yourself like no other to showing him reverence in service of him, and is that not love in its purest form? And yet, you don’t look to share his elation. You look like you’ve been struck by lightning, expression wide and bewildered. You still haven’t taken a breath. Homelander’s smile falters. “What’s the matter?” He asks, tone dropping a touch. “This is good news! Great, even.” For every second that you do not speak, the beat of his heart feels heavier in his chest. Why don’t you look happy? Finally, you suck in a shaky breath. He watches you with all the intensity of a viper poised to strike.

“I…” You hesitate. You lift your hands and grip his wrists, squeezing them through the thick fabric of his gloves as if to convince yourself that he’s really there. Maybe the accident was worse than he thought. Did you hit your head? 

Panic swells in his chest. It hadn’t occurred to him you might not reciprocate. The thought makes him ill.

“I never…” your eyes turn glassy, welling with tears. “Say it!” he wants to shout, his own heart hammering loudly enough to nearly drown out your words.  “I never would have thought–or even dreamed–in a million years that you might love me back.”

love me back.

Like a dying ember roaring back to life, Homelander’s demeanor reignites, his faded smile broadening once more. 

“I realized it when I was worried fucking sick because you didn't show up,” he says, leaning closer to you. He’s brought the scent of ozone from the sky he tore through on his way to you, but all he cares about is the faint smell of pudding lingering on your lips.

He huffs a laugh. “They sent in some idiot to fill in for you. Like they could replace you. I almost tore her head off,” he says, giddy with euphoria. Your expression shifts, brows furrowing. “Wait, what? You almost-” “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he interrupts, his voice a low rumble. He can already taste you in the breaths you’re close enough to share with him, and he’s never been hungrier for anything–or anyone–in his life. You fall silent with a shiver, nodding minutely, eyes falling shut. “Please do.” His lips meet yours in a gentle press. He deserves a medal for not crushing you with the sheer magnitude of his desire. You all but melt against him, settling into his grip as smoothly as you settled into his life, his mind, his heart. When the two of you break apart, you make a breathless noise that shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He feels hyper aware of your every sound and move.

God, how he wants to feel every part of you. 

You move your hands to touch his face and he leans into the softness of your caress. You’ve been close enough to kiss more times than he can count. The fact it’s only now occurred to him to do so seems like lunacy. Your eyes dip to his lips, your thumb brushes the bottom one. He catches it with a quick kiss and you laugh your sweet bell-chime laughter.

Pushing your hand into his hair, the wondrous joy in your expression becomes tinged with amusement. “And people wonder why I use so much gel,” you murmur, smooth the wild splay of his hair down with both hands, cupping the back of his head. Homelander smiles wide and boyishly, which prompts you to kiss him again.

“I’m not having some kind of brain bleed hallucination right now, right?” You ask quietly, the tip of your nose lightly pressed to his. He brushes his lips against yours between words. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he purrs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Despite the ugly fluorescent lights and the dreadful hospital stench all around, you look resplendent in your joy.

He had been right. It was love that you touched him with. It had been subtle, imbued in your every movement, and for months he had soaked it up until, unbeknownst to him, he fell into it as well.

“Trust me when I say you’ll be seeing a lot more of me from now on,” he says, brushing your nose with his.

Maybe instead of tearing them limb from limb, he’ll send flowers to whoever the sorry son of a bitch that rear-ended you this morning was. Who knows how much more time he would have wasted before he realized he was utterly smitten with you.

[demaparbat-hp]

The Crew is boisterous and loud, full of traitors, inside jokes, and secrets. The scum of the Fire Nation. The forgotten tiles on the Empire's Pai Sho board. The ones who change the game.

But most importantly—they're a family. And no matter how much they complain about their boss (teenage menace that he is), they'll do anything for their Prince.

Anything.

.

The Crew is the heart and soul of my fic For the Spirits. No one really knows just how important they will be to the story...how important they already are.

[tommykinard6]

Here’s something I shall drop into the void

Buck waited for another two weeks after he first saw the text bubbles on his phone, opening his and Tommy’s chat at every possibility to wait. He waited for those bubbles to reappear, for a sign that Tommy was still thinking about him. But there was no sign, no bubbles, no nothing.

Buck had changed Tommy’s name in his phone to his own nickname in a valiant attempt to keep himself from reaching out. It didn’t take long for him to change it back, something in him desperately needing to see Tommy’s name. He was grasping at crumbs and he knew it.

Two weeks later, he nearly dropped his phone as the text bubble reappeared. His heart sped up and a lump appeared in his throat as he watched with baited breath. He was alone in the gym and he was glad of it. His friends meant well, he knew, but he didn’t want his phone snatched away from him again.

He’d already seen his future get snatched away. He couldn’t bear to watch it happen again.

The bubble went away, then reappeared just as the tones went off, calling five stations to a fully involved apartment fire. Cursing under his breath, Buck shoved his phone in his pocket and ran for the engine.

He checked his phone again just before arriving at the fire, heart sinking at the lack of message or bubble.

***

The blaze didn’t go down for hours. By the time they got back to the station, Buck had forgotten about his phone for the first time in weeks. As everyone else hit the showers, he finally pulled it out of his pocket for the first time in hours and froze.

There was no text message.

There was, however, a voicemail.

Buck’s feet took him of their own accord into the bunk room, away from any distractions. He fumbled with the buttons before shoving the phone to his ear. He couldn’t hit play fast enough.

“Evan.” Just hearing Tommy’s voice again made all the emotions surge, anger and sadness and longing and confusion all gelling into a thick lump in his chest. “Or B-Buck. I don’t know if I have the right to call you Evan anymore.”

It would always be Evan. Even for Tommy. Especially for Tommy.

“I just-I needed to say something. And I know you’re on shift. Probably at that fire downtown. Be safe. Please.” Buck didn’t know that he’d ever heard such uncertainty in Tommy’s voice. It was unfamiliar and unsettling. He didn’t like it. “This might be the coward’s way out. And I hope you don’t feel obligated to listen. I just need you to know something. You deserve answers, ones I didn’t give you before.”

There was a long moment of silence on the other end.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I want you to know that. I ran away because of my own problems, not because you did anything. You talked about me being an inspiration, but Evan, Buck, I’m anything but. I wanted nothing more than to agree to moving in. It wouldn’t be your place though. I have a house. It makes more sense to move into mine. I wanted that. I still want that and it’s not fair to you.

But at the same time, I realized that you-you think I’m a much better person than I am. Evan, you’re-you’re fucking amazing. You love unashamedly, you keep your family close, you aren’t afraid to be yourself. I’m always afraid. I’m never good enough. I’ve never been enough. Done some shit that I can never undo. Said shit I can’t take back. I hurt you, I hurt Abby, I hurt a lot of people by being a coward. Hurt myself most, I think, and I’ll never be deserving of you. And I was afraid of you figuring that out for yourself.

I shouldn’t have said all that shit about needing to explore. You don’t need to do that for your identity. I said you should because I knew that you would find someone worthy of you. It’s not me. I wanted it to be. I really fucking wanted it.” Tommy’s voice broke. Buck swiped at the silent tears running down his face, disturbing the soot settled there.

“I’m fucking selfish cause all I want is that future we had in front of us. I’m an idiot for letting you go and I would be an idiot if I tried to stay, knowing I could never deserve you. I’m so-so confused and lost and I just miss you. I love you and I’m a mess.”

Buck choked out a sob, scrubbing at his face.

“That’s not fair. I shouldn’t have said that. That’s not fair to you.” Tommy was quiet for another moment. “I think what I’m trying to say is that I ran because I was scared of you breaking my heart. I knew if I ran first, it would just be hurting myself. You hurting me, it’s something I could never predict or prepare for. It’s the unknown. Because all you’ve ever done is make me happy. I’ve never felt more alive than with you. Every moment we were apart sucked and these last few weeks…” Tommy trailed off again. Finally, he blew out a deep breath.

“I’m a mess. I thought I was put together. I thought I’d done my time in therapy and had worked through these issues, but I haven’t. I’m-I’m back in therapy now. I’ve got a lot of shit to work through. Feels good to tackle it though. I’m doing it for me mostly, but I’m also doing it for you. For us. Even if you would never take me back, I’m doing it because we deserved it. Because you deserved it.

I would take everything back that night if I could. I have no right to ask you to listen to this. I don’t know if you ever will. I have no right to beg for your forgiveness. To ask you for another chance. But if you let me, I would. Maybe not yet. I-I gotta work through some shit first. But I would spend every day and night for the rest of our lives making it up to you. I would never leave you again, not my choice. I’d spend the rest of my life making sure you’re loved and that you never doubt it.

You owe me nothing. You deserve better. You could tell me to fuck off, or ignore me. I’ll respect whatever you want. You never signed up for this. I’m so sorry that I hurt you.”

The line went silent for a long time. Buck had to check to make sure the voicemail hadn’t ended, sniffling as he did so.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You’re it for me and I should’ve fought harder to tell you. I should’ve told you I love you. I have a lot of regrets, Evan. You’ll never be one. Letting you go will be my biggest.”

And the voicemail ended.

“Fuck.” Buck whispered, rubbing away the tears from his eyes. “Fuck. Goddamnit.” He pulled up the automated transcript of the voicemail and read it until his eyes swam again. He saved the voicemail and the transcript before pulling up their messages.

Buck: you’re gonna say all that to me in person. And then we’re going to talk about it. No more making decisions for me, but we’re going at your pace now not mine

Buck: and I’m going to say it back in person

Therapy would do them both good. Maybe therapy together would help too. And maybe it would all be for nothing, but even as much as it all still hurt, Buck wasn’t going to deny himself what he wanted anymore. These last weeks had been hell enough.

Buck: and it’s still Evan for you

The bell went off in that moment and Buck wiped his face again hurriedly, grimacing at the realization that he hasn’t even gotten to shower yet as he ran out of the bunk room. The others looked him up and down in concern as he climbed into the truck, but he didn’t pay attention. He didn’t even know what kind of call they were going on, too in his own head to listen. His mind just kept looping on,

I love you

[wolvesofinnistrad]

Daydreaming about logan and wade getting zapped into a diff reality again except this time theyre IN their variants bodies, Logan being "where tf are my claws!?" Wade freaking out because all his scars and shit are gone, both freaking out because they woke up in bed naked save for wedding rings and then Laura knocks on the door like "are you up i want breakfast!" (Laura is like 11) them having to play house husbands while also figuring out what happened to put them here.

[ifyoucandaniel]

Dark Matter by @mysterycyclone and art by @spidey-art 🖤

she’s finally finished!! this has been in the works for like nine months now, but i wanted only the best so she truly feels like my baby after all the time and work that went into it.

i wish i could have found a way to include more of the gotham/batfamily side of things in this since thats literally the premise, but honestly i have so many batman binds peter deserves a bind all to himself 🖤

this is one of my all time favorite fics ever and i knew as soon as i read it that i would have to make a bind worthy of it and i’m pretty happy with it! i actually scraped my entire original design that i came up with back in like january when the last chapter came out because i realized it just wasn’t the direction i wanted to go with it. so when i couldn’t find anything that really matched what i had in mind for the chapter number designs and headers i drew my own. please be kind, abstract goop is not my usual style lol

anyways! everyone should read this and check out @spidey-art ‘s art because it’s beautiful and they were so kind as to let me use it for this bind!!!

DO NOT BUY OR SELL FANFICTION! please respect fandom and the authors and learn bookbinding or ask a friend who binds! this was entirely handmade and not for sale!

[ghostbsuter]

Danny had everything under control! He did!

It's dark out, time ticking to zero, and he's desperately trying to hide the baby yeti along the shadows of the alleys.

He's so so dead. Even more than he is right now. Turning full ghost even.

When Frostbite finds out that he'd taken his eyes off Snowdrift for five seconds and ended up in the living realm with no preparation, very short notice, or plan, he will never trust Danny with babysitting again!

Oh ancients.

"Hey there— is that a yeti?"

Great, a hero.

Swirling around, Danny stands in front of Snowdrift, hiding their form barely, their fluff and form peeking from behind the legs.

"No—"

"Greetings! My name is Snowdrift!"

Danny glances at the yeti cub as they stand next to him.

"Snowdrift, this is a stranger danger situation, remember what I told you about those?"

The cub peers up at him, confused. "Name no name and call for Dad?"

The teen nods.

Snowdrift looks at the hero, and a light bulb goes off. They quickly slide back behind Danny's form, simply peeking from the side now, curious.

"You saw nothing." The halfa turns to the hero, grinning nervous yet threatening.

"I'm not sure this is how it goes—"

[stripedstarsblueflags]

lots of tension after the sprint today so in case you missed it here's lando gently brushing the back of his hand on oscar's chest and also both of them having taken off the glove of the hand specifically to hold (lando took the right off on his way over)

[artistmarchalius]

Cockney Rhyming Slang Phrases Part 1

Part 2

In a previous post I went into Cockney rhyming slang history and gave some tips on how to use it.

In this post I’ll give you some commonly used Cockney rhyming slang phrases, phrases that I find funny, as well as some phrases that I think would be useful for Spider-Verse fic writers specifically.

So let’s get started!

A-B

Adam and Eve - Believe

E.g. “I don’t Adam and Eve it!”

Apples and Pears - Stairs

E.g. “He fell down the apples.”

Aunt Joanna - Piano

E.g. “Play me a song on the old Joanna!” Or “Get on the Joanna and we’ll have a sing song!”

Barnet Fair - Hair

E.g. “How do I fit my barnet under my mask? Wouldn’t you like to know.”

This is a very common Cockney phrase; you’ll hear a lot of true Cockneys talking about getting their barnet done.

Barney Rubble - Trouble

E.g. “Looks like someone’s lookin’ for a Barney!”

Bread and Honey - Money

E.g. “I ain’t got enough bread for that.”

Bird Lime - Time (in prison)

E.g. “He’s doin’ bird.”

Bird lime is a sticky substance you spread on trees to catch birds (now illegal, thankfully). You can understand why people relate it to feeling trapped.

Boat Race - Face

E.g. “He’s got a handsome boat!” Or “Shut your boat!” Or “I’m not just gonna show you my boat race, mate. Secret identity and all that.”

Bottle and Glass

I’m going to let you figure this one out.

E.g. “Look at the bottle on that guy!” Or “I slipped on the steps and went bottle over tit!”

Brass Tacks - Facts

E.g. “Let’s get down to brass tacks!”*

*Some people think that this phrase originates from the Cockney rhyming slang, however others say that it is referring to brass tacks used in upholstery or tacks that were hammered into sales counters to indicate measuring points. I don’t have the answer.

Brown Bread - Dead

E.g. “He’s brown bread!”

This is an example of a Cockney rhyming slang phrase that you don’t abbreviate. You always say “brown bread” and never just “brown”.

Bubble Bath - Laugh

E.g. “Are you having a bubble?”

This is meant more in an irritated sense rather than joyful laughter, like saying “You must be joking!” Or “Are you having a laugh?”

Butchers Hook - Look

E.g. “Let’s have a butchers at that.” Or “Take a quick butchers at this!”

It’s good to keep in mind that there can be multiple Cockney rhyming slang phrases for the same word, as well as multiple Cockney rhyming slang phrases that start with the same word. For example, ‘Birds Nest” and “Bristol and West” both mean chest, and “Birds Nest” and “Bird Lime” both can be abbreviated to “Bird”. For the latter, context is important for knowing what someone is talking about.

As always, I’m not an expert; a true Cockney would know far more than I do. I just want to share the knowledge that I have. I hope that someone will find this helpful, informative, or entertaining at the very least.

I’ve got more Cockney rhyming slang phrases coming, but if there’s any other areas of British slang you’d like me to go into, let me know and I’ll see what I can do!

Happy writing and happy speaking!

My other British slang posts: Cockney Rhyming Slang, British Police Slang, Terms of Endearment, Innit VS In’t - a PSA

[wwilsonbarness]

i messed up...

pairings:  bucky barnes x pregnant!reader

summary: you go against what you and bucky agreed, how will he react?

warnings: angst, pregnant reader, asshole bucky, none more i think?

word count: 1219

a/n: Bucky's a major ass in this but i have part two started if anyone is interested :)

Feedback, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) 

I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated on any other platform.

part 2

masterlist

You didn’t mean to mess up this bad, you just wanted a normal day, a day where you could leave the tower alone without an Avenger there to protect you. 

You knew what you signed up for when you and Bucky became official. He had told you so many times that being with him put you at risk but you didn’t care, you loved him too much to be without him. He had insisted that since that day you would have someone there to protect you at all times, you knew it was in a loving way it was a lot to handle, and ever since you and Bucky discovered you were pregnant it had only gotten more intense. You knew it was for the better but it was suffocating you, which is why you went to the store alone this morning. It wasn’t far from the tower and you would be back within the hour, surely nothing could happen in that time?

On your walk home your phone started to buzz, and not just once but it kept buzzing until you opened the chat and the messages started loading in. They were from Sam, the first was a picture of you, from just 15 minutes earlier, you were reaching up to the top shelf in the store and your shirt had risen up, making your bump slightly more visible. How someone noticed that you have no idea. The rest of the text messages were fairly calm but the last one made you panic.

Sam

where are you? let me know you’re okay please Y/n are you safe?  He doesn’t know yet. 

Shit. Bucky was going to be furious at you, he had told you so many times not to go out alone because of this very reason. Now everyone was going to know that you and Bucky had a baby coming. You and Bucky had both agreed that you would keep your pregnancy between as few people as possible, for the baby’s safety and now you’ve compromised that. Only the other Avengers, your family and a couple of friends knew about it. 

Unintentionally you slowed your pace for the rest of your walk, sending Sam a quick text to let him know you were safe and on your way back.  You were scared to face Bucky but at least you could tell him yourself before he found out online or by Sam. 

It doesn’t take long even with your slow pace to get back, you hesitantly push the button for your floor, mentally preparing yourself for facing Bucky. He had been especially insistent on keeping your baby away from the public because of his long list of enemies and being a part of the Avengers meant that list was forever growing. 

When the lift dings and the doors open you pause for a second before stepping out, first you check yours and Bucky’s bedroom but it’s empty so you head for the common room. When you walk in Bucky’s there, as well as Sam, Tony, Natasha and Steve. At first glance things look normal, and no one notices you walking in until you speak. “Hi..”

That’s when Bucky turns around, his jaw was clenched together, brows furrowed, anger practically seeping out of him. He knew. You want to apologise but you can’t manage to get any words out. A few seconds pass before Nat’s voice breaks the silence. “Are you okay Y/n?” You nod towards her, fidgeting with your fingers trying to distract yourself from the shouting match you knew was about to begin. You’d seen Bucky angry before but never this much and never because of you. 

“Bucky, I’m so-“ You couldn’t finish your sentence before he interrupted you 

“Did you not listen to anything I said to you? Did you really just ignore everything? I told you this would happen but what? You just did it anyway?“ 

“Buc-“ He wouldn’t listen, his words were spilling out of him. He didn’t even know what he was really saying. He was just so scared and angry at himself for not protecting you and your baby. 

“You’ve seen what the people we deal with can do and you still acted like a complete idiot.” You could hear muffled sounds of Sam and Nat trying to stop him from going any further but all you could focus on was Bucky’s words.  

“No. How could you make such a careless mistake?” 

Your eyes were growing wetter with each word he said but you tried to keep yourself composed. You didn’t feel as if you had any right to be upset, you were the one who messed up. 

“I wasn’t trying to..” You attempt to interrupt him and defend yourself but at this point you knew that was pointless. 

“I mean seriously,” He pauses for a moment, contemplating his next words, “it’s like you don’t care about our baby at all.”

Oh. That one hurt. He had to know you cared right? Your baby was everything to you. Could he really think you didn’t care?

Tony had stayed quiet up until now. “Enough James!” He screeched from behind Bucky, “I won’t let you talk to Y/n like that, either calm down or leave my tower.” 

You knew he was going to be angry at you but you were not prepared for this much of it. Bucky stares at you for a few seconds before he walks out, dropping his head down to your stomach and scoffing as he does so. Now it wasn’t just anger you felt from him, it was disappointment too. 

You can’t bring yourself to move from the spot you’ve been standing in since you arrived, the only thing breaking you out of your trance was someone’s hand on your shoulder. You weren’t sure who until they spoke. “Y/n? Are you alright?” 

It was Sam, you manage to turn to him and stutter out, “I‘m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” He brings his hand up to your head and pulls you gently towards him for a much needed hug. “He’s not angry with you, he’s just scared. It’s gonna be okay.” 

“I just wanted to do something for myself, I don’t want to have to rely on an Avenger everytime I want to go to the store.” 

“I know, he shouldn’t have gotten angry like that. I’m not making any excuses for him but he’s never felt love like he does for you. You and this baby are everything to him, he’s scared to lose you.” 

“Do you think he’ll forgive me?” Your voice is quiet, almost too quiet but Sam can just hear you.

“I know he will, he just needs some time to cool down.” You nod your head against Sam’s chest, part of you knew Bucky would forgive you but an even bigger part of you believed you had messed up too bad. 

You reach into your bag and take out the small white teddy you bought, when you read the words printed on its tiny outfit you start to cry harder. It read, “Best Dad Ever”, you just hoped Bucky would forgive you so you could give it to him. 

If you could go back to this morning and change your decision you would. You just want things back the way they were. 

[underhell69]

fanart for @moosemann404 portal fic 'learned unhelpfulness' i really like this dialogue exchange in ch 4 :p

[blueberrybeomgyu]

୨⎯ "comfort person" ⎯୧ (cyj)

+*:🤎:*﹤descrip. : comforting yeonjun!!

+*:🍓:*﹤content : smut, sub!yeonjun, domtendencies!reader

+*:🥞:*﹤warnings : 18+ mdni!!, cockwarming, there is absolutely no mention of a condom in this story i am so sorry please practice safe sex, dubious consent maybe but idk, yeonjun does slip into subspace here, intercrural sex, handjob for like 2 seconds, reader calls yj yeonnie, jjunie, and sweetie ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ

+*:❤️:*﹤word count : 2.1K

+*:🤎:*﹤masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *

Yeonjun’s having a hard week. You’ve been making sure he’s getting full nights of rest, but he still looks physically drained constantly. He just shrugs and shakes his head noncommittally when you ask him what’s wrong, so you stop asking and figure that he’ll tell you when he’s ready.

You still want to do whatever you can to help him, making him warm meals and washing his hair when he’s too tired to do it himself. Tonight, you’ve decided to keep him warm and cozy on the couch, bundled up in blankets while you guys watch his comfort movies. You check on him every so often, glancing at him. Sometimes he smiles, and very rarely he lets out a small chuckle, but it’s obvious he’s barely focused on the TV. The next time you look at him, his eyes are on the ground and he’s lost in thought.

“Yeonjunie?” You call out, and his eyes flick over to you like he forgot you were in the room. He looks so tired, it breaks your heart, so you slide a little closer to him and rub his back gently. “Would you like to do something else?” But you’re not really sure what you would do instead—you’ve fed him and ran him a warm bath already. 

Yeonjun shakes his head and mumbles, “This is fine, I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head as well, running your fingers through his hair and smiling when he melts into the touch. “You have nothing to be sorry for. We can do whatever you’d like.”

“Just wanna be close to you.” His voice is so soft and sweet, eyelids low and blinks slow, and his lips are fixed in a pout.

“Okay, we can do that.” You snuggle up closer to him. His skin is soft and scented from the bath, and you place a kiss against his neck appreciatively. His breath hitches, so you do it again and again until he’s breathing quickly. You stop and look at him when his hand comes up to grab your arm gently.

“I’m sorry, Yeonnie. Did I go too far?”

He shakes his head again. “It’s not that. I wanna be with you, I just don’t know if I can…” He trails off. It seems like he has more to say, but he doesn’t open his mouth again, so you work with what he gave you. 

“D’you want me to touch you?” 

He shakes his head, buries his face in your neck, and wraps his arms around your torso. “No, wanna hold you.” You hum and think in silence while rubbing his back again.

“We can try cockwarming, if you’d like,” you suggest. It’s come up in conversation before, something you two could do if you want to be intimate but aren’t physically up for sex, but you’ve never actually done it before. “Would you like that, sweetie?” Yeonjun’s hair tickles your skin when he nods. You smile, happy to be able to offer him some help. 

Per your request, he pulls his member through the fly of his loose boxers. The couch-side table has a drawer with emergency lube in it, so you pull that out while Yeonjun is getting himself settled. You lay in front of him, and he hides his face in your neck again as you slowly stroke his dick, getting it nice and wet. He makes little sounds, and his hips twitch, but he doesn’t move other than that. 

You don’t wanna leave the warm blankets to take off your clothes, so you lift your t-shirt up and pull your panties to the side. It’s a little bit of a struggle, but eventually, Yeonjun’s head pokes against your opening. You keep your leg draped over his hip, your knee pressing against the back cushion, and Yeonjun lets out a small whimper as you guide him in.

“This okay?” You ask once your hips are flush against his, and he nods again. You settle into all of the feelings—the soft scent of Yeonjun’s hair (he used your blueberry shampoo), the dim lighting from the movie still playing on the TV, the rise and fall of Yeonjun’s chest against your body—and everything is so tender and safe.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

The two of you stay like that for a while. The movie you had on has gone off, and another one auto-played. The volume’s low, lulling you into a dreamy state, and you almost fall asleep, but the sound of your own involuntary moan clears the fog from your mind. 

Yeonjun’s arms are wrapped around your body in what you previously thought of as a warm embrace, but soon realize is him holding you in place as his hips jerk into your own. His thrusts are uncoordinated and shallow, but they pull another moan from you as you feel his cock sliding against your walls.

“Jjunie,” you call out, but he doesn’t answer. His breath is quick and harsh when it hits your skin, and you realize he’s asleep. You run your hand through his hair again, and his head falls back weightlessly. His eyes are squeezed shut and his cheeks are puffy, proving your point. You mean to make a noise of endearment, but it comes out as a whimper as your walls flutter around him. You’re so wet you can hear it, and you figure you must’ve leaked a lot to accommodate the weight of Yeonjun in your cunt. 

His lips are still fixed in a pout, and you’re overcome with the need to kiss them, but he’s still a bit too far down. You settle for running your thumb across them and debate whether to wake him up or not. Part of you wants to let him sleep because you know how tired he is. Another part of you feels bad for him, wants to fuck him (and be fucked) properly, so he can actually get some rest. 

Yeonjun’s lips part from your touch, breaking the barrier that’s holding back his noises. His grip on your torso gets tighter, pulling you closer to him as small gasps and whines tumble from his mouth. His thrusts are harsher, shaking your body, but still shallow and awkward, and you can tell he’s getting frustrated by the way his eyebrows are furrowed. 

You decide enough is enough – the poor baby obviously needs your help. You reach your hand down to halt the movement of his hips. He’s flush against you, and still weakly trying to thrust, but you hold his hip in place and pepper kisses along his forehead. He seemingly gives up, hips settling for grinding against you. 

“Yeonnie,” you call out, swallowing down another moan and shaking him delicately. He stirs. “Wake up, sweetie.” Eventually his eyelids lift and his pretty eyes peek out, and you smile warmly at him. “Need help?”

He follows your eyes down to where your cores are connected, and even in the dim lighting you can see his face redden. His hips stop grinding into yours.

“Shit, ‘m so sorry.” His voice is thick with sleep and hushed from embarrassment. You giggle.

“That’s alright,” you say. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Uh– I’m not sure,” he says, but his hips are twitching again. Your walls squeeze around him, and his eyes shut tightly. “I’m not…can’t hold myself up.”

“That’s okay. I can do all the work for you, Jjunie.” You hold his hips as you slide him out of you, and he lets out a breathy moan. 

“Oh, my,” you breathe out, because there’s so much liquid. Yeonjun’s cock is coated in the sticky, white fluid, a mix of your wetness and Yeonjun’s precum.

“Fuck,” Yeonjun breathes out. You look at him, and he looks up at you, but his eyes fall back down to the vulgar sight. The sight of his dick twitching, leaking more precum out of the tip, springs you into action. You lift up from the couch to hover above Yeonjun’s hips, giving him a few seconds to lay on his back. In the meantime, you slide your wet panties off. When he’s all settled, you straddle his hips and grind your wetness against his length.

“Mmh~ Y/N,” he moans breathily over the sticky, wet sounds, and his hands come to rest on your hips.

“Does this feel good?” You ask around your own breathless noises. 

“Y-yea, but I’m g-gonna cum.”

“Don’t wanna cum, Jjunie?” 

He shakes his head against the couch, roughing up his hair. “Wanna feel you again, w-wanna be inside you.”

On a different day, you might’ve made him cum like this then fucked him, but he’s in such a tender headspace, and you don’t wanna push him too far. You stop the movements of your hips and instead lean down to press a gentle kiss on his lips. He’s kissing you back immediately, and his hold on your hips tightens as he grinds into you.

You pull away from the kiss and say with a smile, “Thought you wanted to stop that.”

“Feels good, ‘m so hard,” he says. You move a little lower, straddling his thighs instead, and take his member into your hand. You stroke it a few times, slowly. His hips try to thrust into the touch, but your weight is holding him down. He whines in discontent.

“Y/N– please don’t t-tease me, I c-can’t take it.” 

You hum at that and kiss his cheeks in apology. You lift your hips and align his tip with your opening. You both groan when you bottom out, and Yeonjun nearly sinks into the couch cushions.

Yeonjun’s going to slip into subspace. You can tell from the way his eyes are already glazing over and his hands are laying uselessly by his sides. You lift them up to lay them by his head instead, and hold yourself up by pushing them into the cushion. His finger twitches, and you lean down to kiss it gently. 

“Gonna move now, okay, sweetie?” 

He nods, staring at you in wonder. You give him another smile and slowly lift your hips, sliding until his head is hooked on your entrance. You whimper at the feeling, but it goes unheard under Yeonjun’s breathy whine. You slide down again and build a pace.

“Fuck, you’re so warm and s-soft and–” His words fall off as your pace quickens. He’s so pretty, body rocking up and down against the couch as you bounce on his cock, and his hips buck up to meet you halfway. His eyes stay on you even though it looks like he’s struggling to keep them open, and his hands repeatedly ball into fists just to unravel. “So good, it’s so g-good, not gonna last long.”

You’re angling him to hit your sweet spot dead-on, and you’re not gonna last long yourself watching Yeonjun fall apart below you. He’s usually more composed to this, but he babbles the most when he’s in subspace, feeling so many emotions and needing to tell you, needing to let you know that–

“I’m gonna– cum, fuck, N/N, don’t stop, please, don’t–” Only then do his eyes squeeze shut, mouth hanging open and hips meeting you halfway as you send him over the edge. He’s still fucking up into you, even as his noises raise in pitch and his hips jerk from overstimulation, until you’re reaching your own high, moaning out praises just for his sweet ears. 

It takes every ounce of strength left in your body to not collapse on top of him. His hips are still twitching, and he whines as you slide him out of your heat.

“Are you with me, Yeonnie? Can you look at me?” You ask when his eyes don’t open. They flutter open prettily as soon as you ask, though. They’re still spacey, his mind still a bit far away, so you pepper kisses along his torso while he comes to. His fingers come down to tap on your thigh, grabbing your attention, and when you look up at him, he puckers his lips.

“Aw, you want a kiss?” You ask joyfully, so endeared by him, and you give him another gentle one since he’s still fragile. “Was that all okay?” You ask after pulling away, rubbing your thumb along his cheek. He nods. “Think you’re gonna need another bath?” You ask, ‘cause his boxers are soaked, and his skin is glistening with sweat, and you figure you’re in a similar state. He nods again.

“Okay, sweetie. Let’s go get you cleaned up, then you can rest, okay?” You help him out of his shorts and lead him to the bathroom. 

In the warm, soapy water, you scrub him off and give him a listening ear as he finally tells you how shitty his week has been, and how you helped him through it even if he was too drained to give you a proper thank you. He gives you one now, and you guys rinse and dry off before snuggling in bed, exchanging more sweet kisses, and drifting into sleep.

✧･ﾟ: *

a/n : my very first yj work yay!!! this fanfiction being released from the dungeon after being in my google drive for weeks :

this story on ao3 :))

[blindmagdalena]

Say It (Directory)

Homelander x f!Reader

18+ 11.6k. AO3 Link tags: obsession, second person (no y/n), possessive behavior, dubious consent, mild torture (not of the reader), canon typical violence, psychological warfare, unhealthy relationship, corruption kink, dirty talk, fingering, cream pie, cum play, lite blood, mirror sex, lite dacryphilia, praise kink, instances of sublander, overstim, angst. Homelander is his own warning.

There is an undeniable primal violence to love. It can bring out the very best in us as easily as it can bring out the very worst. In the wake of Homelander's constant, oppressive brand of love, you have uncovered aspects of yourself that would have been better left buried.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three