#mobile home steps ideas

[philbridges]

How To Build Mobile Home Steps Cheap

How To Build Mobile Home Steps Cheap

Cheap and easy way to add steps to your mobile home. 00:00 Intro00:22 Starting the steps03:10 Cutting the boards05:10 Follow us 🙏 Subscribe, 👍, it helps a lot!!➤❓/ 💬: ask@straightarrowrepair.com➤ Follow https://straightarrowrepair.com/pipf ➤➤I get a little for the channel-no charge for you if you use the links:➤➤Shop Amazon https://amzn.to/3CxD1T4➤➤Tool lists & recommended products🧰…

[bortalis]

My concepts for the development progress of an Iterators Puppet

-my ideas below

-Feasibility Study  

[1]: First autonomous control module, any instruction to be given must be done manually through physical means (the keys), outputs were shown through the screen. A very primitive system, however, did its job proving the greater machine concept was achievable. While it does look like a lens above the monitor, this was a simple status gauge for benchmarking.

-Prototyping and Development  

[2]: Now with the capability to wirelessly and audibly communicate to receive instructions and inputs. The system was no longer directly integrated into the facility, and resided on the first instance of an iterator's arm. This was considered a feat due to the complications with isolating the control module from the rest of the iterators components, while keeping processing power. A permanent connection/umbilical was needed to sustain life and function though. 

To “talk” back, they were crafted with multidimensional projectors, the mobile arm allowing the angles and variance for this projection. Only later into development were advanced speakers installed for optimized understanding, however the extra computing power required to synthesize proper speech was found to strain the contained module, so this function had rare use in the end.

[3]: At this point there was a change in perspective in the project. What once were machines to simply compute and simulate, were now planned to be the home, caregiver, and providers. The further the project came to fruition the more religious importance was placed upon these “random gods”. From this stance not only did the puppets have to manage and control their facilities, they had to communicate with the people and priests. To represent benevolent beings who will bring their end and salvation. In this process iterators began to take a more humanoid shape, to better reflect their parents. Development was focused on compacting the puppet closer to the size of an ancient for this purpose. This stage was the first to incorporate a cloak/clothing into their design considerations, to further akin themselves in looks. The cloak would hide the iterators' engineered bodies and give a body to their silhouette. 

[4]: As bioengineering and mechanics were rapidly progressing due to the void fluid revolution, this allowed plenty of margin for developing the outer design of the iterator puppets. This prototype was the first to incorporate limbs for the purpose of body language. This was another step in the drive to give a body to their random gods.

-Final Iterations

[5]: First generation iterators had the final redesign of puppet bodies. Far different from their first designs, they are fully humanoid. Their bodies are shaped to be organic and as full of life as they could at the time. Their center of sapience has fully settled within their body, as can be seen as their unconscious use of limbs without the direct intention for communication. This can also see how they manage their work, where many of the functions (which can be done with just an internal request) are operated through physical gestures of their limbs. Their puppet chambers also allow for full comprehensive projection, where many of their working monitors are displayed. It is seen how iterators prefer to utilize their traversal arm to transfer between the current working projection window.

These designs were hardy and nearly self-sufficient, only requiring minimal power from their umbilical to charge. (However was still limited in the terms of internal power production, for this first generation extensive batteries sufficed)

[6]: Later generation not only incorporated advanced bioengineering internally, but externally. While still a hardened shell, their body plates have been incorporated into the organics of the puppet, maintaining the protective requirements while barely leaving a trace of hinges or plates. This “soft” skin had drawbacks, such as reduced durability to the first generations, this was offset by the greatly enhanced repair speeds and capability this type of skin allowed.

Internal power generation was implemented into these late generation models. If the case arose, the Puppet could be disconnected from their umbilical and still be conscious from an undefined period of time. (However this would limit the operating capacity of the puppet when running self sufficiently) This greatly eased maintenance works, as the Puppet could still run the greater facility wirelessly while work was done on the chamber, arm or whatever as needed.

[embarrasingmf]

₊˚ෆ | phone troubles | S.B (1)

SUMMARY: After Butcher leaves you to watch Soldier Boy, you decide to teach him to use a mobile phone.

WARNINGS: not proofread, mention of drugs, implied drug use (it’s only ben doing it), swearing, maybe OOC ben???

WORD COUNT: 885.

A/N: changed the title layout to make it look nicer / neater! ALSO WHY IS THE GIF SO FUCKING BIG HJHJGJGJGJGJFJ

part two! | part three! | part four!

To be frank, you thought that putting Soldier Boy on board was a bad idea, but Billy Butcher — the guy who was technically your boss — ignored your hesitance and released him from a three decade slumber.

You always stayed away from Soldier Boy, or Ben as you had soon found out, your mistrust and the fact that he was just slightly radioactive kept you away.

Ben didn’t seem to mind either, he never paid much attention to you.

But, the universe and Butcher seemed to have different plans other than you keeping your distance from Ben.

Because now you were standing in the middle of a motel room, Butcher in front you and the rest of The Boys standing near the door.

“I am not staying back to watch Soldier Boy.” You scoffed, crossing your arms across your chest like a petulant child.

Butcher barked out a laugh, “Well somebody needs to watch ‘im.”

“Why not make you or Hughie do it? He seems to trust you two the most.” You offered with a shrug.

“I’m the leader of this operation,” Butcher said simply. “So I needa be there on this little mission.”

You shook your head. “Nope. Not doin’ it.”

Butcher scoffed, “Oh come on, luv! Just do it!”

You shook your head again just in a more firm manner this time.

“If I tell you to do sumthin’, you do it.” Butcher said firmly, taking a step closer and pointing a finger at you.

You raised your hands in mock defense. “Okay, okay! Just don’t kill me..” You grumbled.

Butcher let out a triumphant huff before turning to the rest of the people in the room,

“Alright, let’s get outta here.”

You watched Butcher and the others fill out of the room before you turned to Ben, who was sitting on the bed while holding a The Seven merchandise cup in his hand.

“Can you believe men wear this pussy-gear nowadays?” He asked incredulously and pointed to the TV, you turned to the TV to see an ad for a baby carrier that a man just so happened to be wearing.

“It’s the 21st century Ben—“ You started, but Ben cut you off.

“Soldier Boy. It’s fuckin’ Soldier Boy you refer me to.” He demanded, shooting a glare in your direction.

“Crimson Countess used to call me Ben, the fucking bitch…” He muttered under his breath, moving to sit at the couch and crush some cocaine.

You stayed silent for a bit after that, eventually decided to just scroll through your phone.

—————————————————————————

After about thirty minutes of mindless scrolling on social media, you spared a glance in Ben’s direction; who was struggling to change a channel with the remote.

“Hey, Be— Soldier Boy.” You quickly corrected yourself, not wanting to face Ben’s aggressive wrath for fucking up what name he demanded you call him.

“Hm?” Ben looked in your direction, raising an eyebrow.

“Come here,” You patted the empty space on the sofa beside you.

Ben crossed his arms defiantly. “And why should I?”

“Because I want to show you something.” You rolled your eyes. “Now come here.”

Ben begrudgingly got up from the cocaine patch he had made himself after ‘the last batch was too weak’ on the table before walking over to the couch.

He plopped down on the space beside you, and you could’ve sworn you bounced a bit because of how heavy this man was.

“Here,” You shoved your phone into his hands, and he looked at your Home Screen.

“Why do I fucking need this?” Ben looked over at you with a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

“Because I wanna see if you can work a phone.”

“I obviously can’t. I couldn’t even work the shitty remote.” Ben grumbled, tempted to shove the phone back in your hands.

But then he accidentally swiped to the side, and he watched as the apps that previously showed up just slid to the side as new ones popped up.

“What the fuck..?” His eyebrows furrowed in barely visible awe.

“You got the hang of it already!” You said with a light laugh, making an up gesture.

“Now swipe up to see the apps I’ve had open.” Ben followed your instructions, swiping up to see what apps you had open previously.

“Huh, that’s so weird.” He mumbled, poking at the screen a bit before he eventually opened an app.

“What is this?” You looked over and notice he was in your messages.

“This is how you text and call people.”

“Like I can text Butcher or Hughie right now.” You continued, and Ben seemed to have an idea in his head before scrolling down a bit to find Hughie’s contact.

You watched as he started slowly typing with just one finger, soon spelling out the message: ‘Hey pussy-boy’

Shaking your head, you looked up to meet Ben’s mischevious gaze.

“Seriously? Don’t send that-“ But it was too late, Ben had already hit send as soon as you met his eyes.

You sighed. Yet, you knew that Hughie would know Ben sent it.

Ben was the only one that called Hughie pussy-boy.

Turning back to your phone, you swiped up again and picked another app for Ben to explore while you showed him how to work a mobile phone.

—————————————————————————

feedback is appreciated, especially since this is my first drabble after not writing for a while!

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Dp x Dc Crossover

Danny and Ellie somehow get tangled with Cadmus and frozen for study later. Obviously it comes to the JL’s attention and they all go ‘oh no another clone’. Anyone’s choice of who they think it is or if it’s a collection of people they took DNA from and meshed together to make these two sassy children.

Would be funnier if they came to DC universe by accident and didn’t have time to really learn about it before capture. The result being they have no idea superheroes are a thing and the heroes just thinking ‘these kids were traumatized and held captive, they don’t even know who Superman is!’ and cue another layer of hilarious misunderstanding.

When confronted about the whole clone thing, Danny immediately defends and protects Ellie. Obviously. Then they notice he was not defending himself, to which Danny goes ‘I’m not a clone!’ The heroes look at each other in clear doubt. ‘Oh he was in denial or seriously didn’t know who he was made from. That will make this harder.’

I may have started something though…

They found a discrete laboratory hidden in plan sight, underneath an office building. When researched, they found connections to Cabmus.

Considering the last encounter they had with the organization, they wanted to be prepared. Hence why when the small team noticed Batman walking down the stairs, Superman followed behind with a tight expression.

“Report.”

Red Robin stepped forward.

“Two cryo-stasis containers holding two nearly identical people. The first a male, approximately 13-14 years of age. Stable. The second a female, younger, approximately 10-11 years of age. Also stable, but her stats are lower than the boy’s.”

“What do you know?”

“Virtually nothing,” Connor says casually. “There are no documents left behind, digital or physical, and there are zero labels on these things.”

They arrive toward the back of the basement where the two frozen containers were sitting upright. One unit obviously smaller than the other most likely holding the girl. Batman has to peer down into the larger unit to see the boy’s face. Frost collected on his eyelashes and black hair like a forgotten doll. No movement from either forms, not even breathing.

“So we don’t know who they are made from,” Superman pushes, clearly displeased.

Batman keeps looking at their faces. The curve of their noses, the shape of their jaws, the positioning of their cheekbones. They didn’t look like Connor. No, they reminded him of someone else.

“We suspect hybrids of some sort,” M’gann contributes. “A mixture of different heroes if I had to guess, but there is no way of knowing with our lack of information without waking them up.”

“Can’t you look into their minds?” Clark questions.

M’gann squirms at the directness and Connor steps forward to defend her. Tensions rise.

“No, sir. They are frozen so there is hardly any brain function except to keep them alive. They aren’t even dreaming.”

She looks them over sadly, obviously distraught with not being able to connect to their minds in anyway.

Batman turns to Red Robin, the younger already watching him.

“You see it too, right?”

Batman grunts. Yes, he saw it.

“Is there a way to move them?” Batman brings back the focus.

“The containers are connected to the buildings power and then a back-up generator in case of emergencies. We’d have to switch the power to something mobile and there’s no telling what kind of effect that would have on the kids,” Connor explains, against the idea of moving them.

“It’s six in the evening. Most everyone in the building above as gone home for the day,” Red Robin helpfully adds.

“Evacuate the rest. Then call a medical team.”

“Wait,” Superman interrupts as the three younger heroes jump to do as instructed. “You’re not thinking about waking them up now, are you?”

“You have a better idea?”

Batman doesn’t even look at him as he studies the stats on the old screen connected to the nearest pod. This one holding the boy. He’ll be the first one out seeing as he’s the more stable one.

“They could be dangerous. They could try to attack us.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Batman deadpans. He didn’t state the obvious that they were children who had been frozen for who knows how long. If anything they’ll need reassurance that they were safe, not weapons in their faces as soon as they wake up.

Clark was not happy with his decision, but as long as he didn’t antagonize them Bruce left him alone.

It wasn’t long before they were ready to begin. Three medical personnel stood several yards back behind the heroes. Red Robin begins the defrosting procedure and they have to wait maybe an hour before the door slides open. There is a breath among them as they wait for his eyes to open. Instead they hear a cracking of thin ice and the boy falls forward without the door holding him in place. Connor is the one to catch him before he hits the floor face first.

Superboy turns him to lay him flat on the floor, the boy’s body still stiff with cold. Frost makes his hair and eyelashes brittle. His lips are a faint shade of blue.

“He isn’t breathing,” Connor informs quickly.

One of the medics push forward first, oxygen mask in hand.

“Bring the thermal blankets. We need to get his core temperature up,” the woman urgently instructs.

They get to work quickly in warming up the boy who is too small and fragile. After several minutes of the medics squeezing air into his mouth and rubbing his limbs and chest to get the blood flowing, the boy takes a breath. Then another. He coughs roughly, his throat scratchy, and starts to shiver.

“There we go.”

He whimpers and tries to move his hand, but the action is jerky and unpracticed.

“His eyes,” M’gann informs them, finally able to get some brain activity. “He can’t open his eyes. The ice-“

Connor takes a water bottle the medics brought and poured the room temperature water over his eyes to melt the ice holding them together. The boy jumps in surprise and tries to turn his head away but Connor continues until he can manually wipe away the ice and water from his eyelids.

Blue eyes. The boy has bright sky blue eyes. They aren’t the Krytonian blue, but they were still familiar.

He blinks and squints and looks around, breathing picking up at the people surrounding him and the unfamiliar environment. M’gann, sensing his distress, kneels down and sets a warm hand on his leg.

“It’s okay. No one here will hurt you. You’re safe now.”

He doesn’t relax, but he seems to at least understand her. He studies their uniforms and then her face before his eyes flick to something behind her and they widen. His breath stutters in his chest, making him wheeze out on the exhale.

They look behind the green skinned girl to see the smaller pod still holding the little girl, no change in her status.

The boy reaches out a shaky hand toward it, scraping against the cold concrete in his lack of energy to lift it.

“She’s okay too.”

He opens his mouth to speak, licks his lips, tries again.

“-ou-,” he rasps. His breath hitches and he’s coughing again. They help him onto his side.

“You want us to get her out?” Red Robin interprets.

The boy squints through the tears from the lack of oxygen at the hero. His expression is scrunched in discomfort and worry. As enthusiastic as he can manage, the boy nods.

“Okay, we can do that. You just have to wait, she needs to thaw out, just like what we did with you,” Red Robin explains to the boy.

He nods again in understanding, his eyes glued back to the girl in the pod. He still shivers harshly and his breathing isn’t regular but he’s not panicking and in no shape to attack them, so it seems like they were in the clear with that one.

While the girl is thawing, they get him more comfortable with warm blankets and get him to drink some water for his throat. He still wasn’t moving much except to curl up on his side and breathe on his colorless fingers. Every time he swallowed he cringed like he was drinking acid, so talking was off the table for now.

The boy was fighting sleep by the time the container door slide open. Connor was there and holding her before she could fall like the boy had.

Superboy lays the girl down close to the boy, seeing the pale hand reaching for her. As soon as he backed away the medics were on her to get air in her lungs and warm her body same as they did for the boy.

The boy watches, quietly holding her hand. Siblings it looks like it. Seeing them side by side was startling. They seemed to be clones of each other, one just younger and the opposite gender, but they were the same.

It was concerning as the number of minutes increased and there was no change. She didn’t breathe or move. She looked dead.

“Get the defibrillator,” the medic ordered, urgent.

The boy surprisingly wasn’t panicking, instead he held a hard determination that made some of the heroes curious.

Pushing himself up onto his elbow, he leaned over the girl and started weakly pushing the blankets out of the way. Thinking he was just helping to make the medic’s job easier, M’gann helped until her torso was exposed.

“You need to back away so they-“

She stops when she sees him tug at the girl’s white shirt to get into direct contact with her skin, hand pressed to her chest.

“What are you-?”

He narrows his eyes in concentration.

Red Robin unconsciously takes a step back when the boy’s blue eyes change into a glowing toxic green, illuminating the girl’s face, frost shining in the light. The hand pressed to her chest also starts to glow the same green until it seeps into her skin like she’s absorbing this weird energy. It reminded them of Starfire actually.

The green in his eyes fades as soon as the unknown green energy is lighting up her entire torso just under the skin. He pulls away and looks expectantly at the medic holding the defibrillator. She flinches into moving, setting the machine down and charging it. She’s hesitant to touch the green energy but the boy nods in encouragement, not looking concerned for anything but the girl’s health.

“Clear!”

It takes one shock for the green energy to disperse through her body and cause her to gasp. The girl starts coughing harshly and the boy pulls her to lay on her side facing him. Connor quickly helps the boy to cover her in blankets. The boy goes as far as tucking them around her and taking one of his own blankets to pile on top. He was moving more easily now even if it was sluggish.

M’gann gasps quietly just as the girl starts sobbing, whining when the act of crying hurt her throat. The boy pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her under his chin so they could barely see her. They watch as he calmly comforts her until they are both eased into unconsciousness.

Batman give Superman a pointed look as he passes him. Clark doesn’t respond.

“Get them to the Watchtower med bay,” he orders.

It’s Superman who picks up the pile of two children tangled together and wrapped in layers of fabric, nearly throwing them at how light they both weighted. The three younger heroes follow behind, Tim mumbling about “Lazarus pits” and “Jason”, M’gann twisting her fingers in anxiety, and Connor keeping a close eye on the two kids being carried by his original.

It’s unsurprising that it’s Connor who volunteers to say with them when they are settled down in the med bay, still clinging to each other in sleep.

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

““The girls are unable to say anything because they are always being policed. You can’t ask questions, you won’t get the evidence on a silver platter. But when you are going around, you hear things and see things,” Singh explains, sitting in a nondescript office, piles of cardboard files all over the floor, documenting the thousands of girls they have rescued over the years, approximately 4,000 at last count. 

“Most of the time the girls are locked up and they are only allowed out when a customer comes in. To ensure they are not interacting with the customers, the brothel keepers are always banging on the door and take away the mobiles of the customers.”

As a result of an 11-month long operation, conducted before the pandemic, Guria India were able to rescue 136 underage victims of traffickers, resulting in 61 brothels being shut down.”

In the narrow alleyways of Meerganj, the notorious red light district in the city of Allahbad, a man dressed in a brown kurta with a rucksack walks past the dilapidated brothels shouting ‘lipsticks for sale, good prices.’ 

He barely warrants a glance, one of dozens of street sellers who stroll down the alley daily, hawking their wares, a common sight in the hustle and bustle of cities in India.

Word has got around that he’s selling good quality products like Max Factor and other brands the brothel girls recognise from billboards featuring their favourite Bollywood actresses. He’s cheaper than the other sellers and lets them pay in instalments. 

A group of young girls flock to him, picking up bright lipsticks and face powders, to make them look older than they are, or perhaps not, depending on the client’s preferences.

But this is no ordinary seller. He is from Guria India, an organisation which rescues and rehabilitates women and underage girls trapped in the sex trade. 

He has been working undercover, disguised as a cosmetics seller, gathering evidence of victims of traffickers who have been forced into sex work, many of whom are underage and often thousands of miles away from home.

“You are working on a razor’s edge. There are no second chances. One wrong move and you could be killed. It’s not like a movie where you get a retake,” says Ajeet Singh, Director of Guria India.  

The nature of trafficking is changing and so activists are having to find new and innovative  means to take them on. 

Singh said he came up with the idea of posing as a make-up seller after he found that the brothel owners were always one step ahead of him. 

“It was always very difficult to rescue the girls because someone would leak the information and the brothel keepers would move the girls. The girls were not a priority for the system, so the police were not helpful. We had to be proactive in getting the evidence.”

Using rudimentary equipment he bought from Delhi, including spy cams concealed in a pen and button, he began scouring the streets of the red light district for almost a year. 

“Make-up is something very enticing for girls. If you go to India, you’ll see street sellers in every city so I knew I would blend in,” he said.

“The girls are unable to say anything because they are always being policed. You can’t ask questions, you won’t get the evidence on a silver platter. But when you are going around, you hear things and see things,” Singh explains, sitting in a nondescript office, piles of cardboard files all over the floor, documenting the thousands of girls they have rescued over the years, approximately 4,000 at last count. 

“Most of the time the girls are locked up and they are only allowed out when a customer comes in. To ensure they are not interacting with the customers, the brothel keepers are always banging on the door and take away the mobiles of the customers.”

As a result of an 11-month long operation, conducted before the pandemic, Guria India were able to rescue 136 underage victims of traffickers, resulting in 61 brothels being shut down. 

Social media ‘weapon of choice’ for traffickers

The sting, which was signed off by local people, used undercover filming to collect evidence against offenders. When enough had been gathered, ten members of the Guria India team joined police as they carried out dawn raids, using iron cutters to access properties where the victims were being held.

There are an estimated 1.2 million children under 18 working in brothels in India, many of whom have been victims of sex traffickers. Approximately 75 per cent of the cases Guria India dealt with involved under age victims ranging from just six months to 17.

The majority of these trafficked children are from lower castes and more than half of them are from families living below the poverty line.  

While many of the girls sold to brothels are trafficked by relatives or family friends, in recent years, social media, with its low-risk and high rewards, has become the weapon of choice of traffickers, luring victims in with lucrative job offers or promises of marriage. 

“The internet and exploitative romantic relationships are key factors for trafficking in recent times,” said children’s rights activist Bharti Ali.

“Often, the police don’t start their search in cases of adolescent girls immediately as they believe it to be a case of elopement. Many cases end up in girls being sold further by the boy/person they trusted or who promised them false marriage.

“When girls go missing, parents often try to search within their own community, her friends and relatives. This is when they lose critical time. When they suspect that she may have eloped, they may tend to not report at all to protect family honour … The girls too are unable to report as the traffickers keep a close watch on them.”

For victims of traffickers, their introduction into the world of prostitution is a brutal and violent one, in which they face beatings, gang rape and starvation. Some victims also reported having chilli powder placed on their genitalia and being subjected to electric shocks. 

Among the girls they have rescued is Sarita, who was just 12-years-old when she was sold to a sex trafficker by her older brother and was transported 700 km away to work in a brothel. 

“My mum was working in Mumbai and I lived with my sister. My brother was a drug addict. He told me he was taking me to see my mum but instead he sold me to a trafficker. I was locked in a room and beaten and raped by several men. I managed to find a phone and called my mum,” she said.

Sarita’s mother, along with the police and Guria India activists, were able to rescue her and relocate the family. However, the majority of victims are not so lucky. India remains a socially conservative society and victims of trafficking will often be ostracised by their families and community. 

Rescuing victims of trafficking is only half the battle, while keeping them out of the hands of traffickers presents another challenge. 

Rehabilitating victims back into a society which was already hostile to them in the first place is difficult and often the girls will end up falling back into the hands of traffickers. 

In one case, 57 girls who were rescued by Guria were sent to a shelter home in Agra for rehabilitation, but were re-trafficked by the superintendent of the centre. Just this week, the superintendent was acquitted by the Supreme Court and Guria India is currently fighting the decision. 

Despite the setbacks, Singh remains hopeful. “Although I don’t think we can eradicate child prostitution in my lifetime, I’m hopeful we can set the foundations to make the change,” he said.

And sometimes all it takes is a rucksack and a Max Factor lipstick. 

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Pilot | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 4833

A/N: This is gonna be the slowest of burns. Every Saturday, these will publish at 3:00 PM CDT! I hope you all enjoy. Taglist/Requests are open!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

A trail of men disappearing spanning decades had brought you to Jericho, California. It seemed it would be a pretty standard hunt. From the moment you arrived, though, you knew this would be different.

You’d run into other hunters on jobs before, but none as strange and belligerent as John. John was all you knew him by. He was rough around the edges, and in all honesty, a complete dick. You had unintentionally gotten into an unspoken race with him to see who could finish the hunt first. Both of you refused to back off and go find another job; you just out of spite and him… you had no idea why a guy old enough to be your father was being so petty and territorial about this hunt. And perhaps that’s what fueled your fire to finish this hunt before John could. You thought maybe he knew something you didn’t about the hunt, and you were desperate to find out. But then… he disappeared. 

About a week into the “competition” you were having with John, he disappeared. You didn’t see him around Joseph Welch’s house, the Breckenridge Road home, or the Centennial Highway Bridge. It was completely puzzling. He didn’t seem like the type to up and leave in the middle of a job, but you brushed the unsettled feeling you had aside to keep pushing through your hunt. 

You had torched the body of Constance Welch the same night you guessed John left. You were just about to leave town, and then, Troy Squire ended up dead by what you assumed were Constance’s hands. 

You pulled up to the Centennial Highway Bridge in yet another stolen car. 

‘One of these days I won’t keep putting a neon sign on my back by stealing cars and actually find a way to buy one,’ you thought.

Almost as if on cue, another car pulled up next to yours. Except this car— a black 1967 Chevy Impala— was way nicer than the shitty sedan you’d copped for the time being. 

Two young men in the most layers you’ve ever seen anyone wear in the California sun stepped out on either side of the car. You pushed aside the thought of how attractive the shorter of the pair was and kept walking toward the taped-off part of the bridge where a few officers were milling around a crashed car. 

“Is that Troy’s? Oh, my God,” you shook your head, making sure the officers could hear you. 

“Ma’am, you are not supposed to be here,” an officer told you, trying to keep you from walking any closer to the car.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I just—” you sniffed, “—I’m his cousin. We were really close growing up, and I, uh, just had to see this for myself, um, do you have any idea what could’ve happened?”

“We were wondering the same thing,” a deep voice called from behind you, making you wheel around.

‘Fuck. The Impala dudes.’

“And who are you?” the officer you’d been speaking to asked.

“Federal marshals,” one said, flashing a badge.

‘Goddammit, more hunters.’ You held back an eye roll, doing your best to stay in character.

“You two are a little young for marshals, aren't you?”

The one you’d found attractive initially flashed a smile. “Thanks, that's awfully kind of you. You just had another one just like this, correct?”

The officer you’d been speaking to didn’t seem too convinced by their story, but replied anyway. “Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that.”

“Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?”

“No. Not so far as we can tell.”

“So, what's the theory?” the taller guy asked. 

“Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?” The officer seemed to remember you were standing there as he spoke. “Ma’am, I really do need you to go.”

“I was just about to—” you started, before the shorter guy cut you off. 

“What kinda crack police work are you doing; talking about sensitive information in front of townies?” He was cut off with a grunt; apparently the other guy had stepped on his foot. 

“Thank you for your time,” you told the officer, suddenly feeling very awkward. You turned on your heel, hurrying away. 

***

After the bizarre incident with the other two hunters on the bridge, you went down to a local diner to get something to eat. You were puzzled as to why Constance was still around after you torched her bones. You flipped through a few pages of your journal when you saw the two hunters from the bridge walking in with two goth chicks. 

‘What the fuck. First John, and now this.’

The shorter one of the pair caught the glare you threw their way over your shoulder. He had a smug look on his face you couldn’t quite read as he sat down in a booth with the girls and his partner. You did your best to listen in on their conversation as you sipped your drink. 

“I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did,” you heard one of the girls lament. 

You recognized the voice of the taller one. “He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?”

“No. Nothing I can remember.”

“I like your necklace.”

“Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents—” the girl laughed, “—with all that devil stuff.”

“Actually, it means just the opposite. A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.”

“Okay. Thank you, Unsolved Mysteries,” the other guy’s voice broke in. 

You held back a small laugh. You hated to admit it, but he was pretty funny. 

“Here's the deal, ladies,” the pretty one said, “The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything… What is it?”

Your eyebrows drew together, your back still turned to the group.

“Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk,” a new voice chimed in. 

“What do they talk about?” the two boys said in unison.

It got a little harder to hear as one of the girls quieted her voice. “It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago. Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”

‘Yeah, yeah, I already know that. They are way far behind me in the process.’

“Well, thank you for your time, ladies,” the voice of the taller one spoke amidst some rustling. You figured they were getting up to leave. 

You dropped a twenty on the table, let the door shut behind the group, and stood to follow the boys out. You hung back a little while you watched them head to their car. 

“I know you’re back there, sweetheart,” the pretty one called without turning around.

“I know you do. I was just testing you,” you said, walking closer. “Look, I’ve already got this one covered. You guys should find something else.”

“Not a chance,” the pretty boy replied. 

“Look, man—” you started. 

“We’re just looking for our dad,” the taller one cut you off. “We think he’s working this same job.”

“Wait, is your dad’s name John?” you asked, surprised. 

Both of them started toward you, their shock and confusion evident. “How do you—”

“Whoa, easy,” you giggled. “He was here a few days ago and then he just, pfft,” you imitated a puff of smoke, “disappeared.”

The pretty boy ran his hand through his hair, looking frustrated, while the taller guy continued talking to you. “Was he working with you?”

“Hardly,” you scoffed, “we were kind of in an unspoken competition to see who could smoke this bitch first when he disappeared. And then, Troy ended up dead a day later. I thought maybe he was connected to Troy’s death some kind of way.”

“I don’t think so,” the taller one answered. “I’m Sam, by the way. This is my brother, Dean.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N),” you shook Sam’s hand. When you reached for Dean’s, though, he rolled his eyes at you without taking it. 

“Oh-kay,” you muttered. 

“Sorry about him,” Sam told you. “He’s—”

“A bit touchy?” you smirked.

“Yeah,” Sam laughed. 

“I can hear you two, y’know,” Dean snarked. 

“I know,” you quipped. “So, what’s your theory on your dad?”

“We have no idea,” Sam said. “We were hoping you might know.”

“I have nothing for you,” you shook your head. 

“Well, do you know anything about the case?” 

“A lot, actually. Chick’s name is Constance Welch. She’s a woman in white. She lives at the end of Breckenridge Road. I talked to her husband, and he definitely cheated on her. He buried her in a plot behind her house. I went there and torched her. I was just about to leave town when your dad disappeared, Troy wound up dead, and you two showed up.”

“Then, there’s gotta be something else keeping her here,” Sam told you.

“Okay, then what?”

***

“So this is where Constance took the swan dive,” Dean said. The three of you looked over the railing of the Centennial Highway Bridge. Sam had been nice enough to force his brother to let you tag along. 

“Okay, so now what?” Sam asked.

“Now we keep digging until we find Dad. Might take a while,” Dean responded.

“Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday—”

“What’s Monday?” you asked. 

“I’ve got an interview with law school.”

“Oh, shit, no way!” you smiled. 

Sam smiled back at you before Dean cut in. “Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?”

“Maybe. Why not?” Sam cut back.

“Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?”

“No, and she's not ever going to know.”

“Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.” Dean kept walking down the bridge. 

“And who's that?”

“You're one of us,” Dean said. 

Sam hurried around him. “No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life.”

You felt really awkward doing what felt like intruding on a private moment. Your eyes began to scan the railing of the bridge opposite you.

“You have a responsibility to—”

Sam cut his brother off. “To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back.”

You were doing your best not to listen in on their conversation when Dean grabbed his brother by the collar and shoved him against the bridge railing.

“Uh, guys—” you started, your eye caught by what looked like Constance standing on the railing of the bridge.

“Don't talk about her like that,” Dean grumbled at his brother; ignoring you.

“Guys!” 

“What?!” Dean turned to face you, stopping when he caught sight of Constance. Constance then stepped off the railing. 

The three of you broke off in a sprint toward the spot she’d leapt off. You searched the water below. “Where'd she go?”

“No idea,” Dean answered. 

Your visual search was interrupted by a bright light coming on in the corner of your eye. Dean’s Impala’s headlights. 

“What the fuck—” Dean trailed off.

“Who's driving your car?” you asked him. 

He responded by pulling the keys out of his pocket and jingling them. 

“Oh.”

The car jerked to life, heading straight for you and the boys. You broke into a sprint yet again, doing your best to outrun the car; a task that proved impossible. 

“Jump!” you screamed, and the three of you threw yourselves over the side of the bridge. You thankfully caught a bit of the bridge that jutted out over the water and pulled yourself back up, groaning.

‘My arm’s gonna be sore as a bitch in the morning.’

“Dean?” Sam yelled down to the water below. “Dean!”

“What?” came his aggravated response. 

You looked down to see a mud-covered Dean crawling out of the water. You couldn’t hold back a laugh upon seeing him.

“Not funny, sweetheart,” he called up to you.

“My name’s (Y/N),” you answered. “Don’t call me sweetheart. It weirds me out.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

“Guys, you can argue later. You okay?” Sam called down to Dean.

“I’m super,” his brother responded.

You and Sam climbed back over the railing of the bridge while Dean made his way up to you. The car had stopped only a few inches from where the three of you dove over. Dean busied himself inspecting the engine while you sat with your back leaned against the passenger’s side door. 

“Your car okay?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now.” Dean shut the hood. “That Constance chick, what a bitch!”

You chuckled to yourself at his antics. “Alright, well, I don’t think the bridge is what’s tying her here. What now?”

Dean raised his hands in frustration, flicking mud off his hands in the process. 

Sam caught a whiff of his brother. “You smell like a toilet.”

***

Your next stop was a motel. When you went to check in, the clerk informed Dean that another man under the last name on Dean’s card had bought out a room for the whole month. And so, you and the boys went poking around John’s room. 

Every surface was covered in newspaper clippings, magazine articles, photos, hastily scribbled notes, and bits of red tape tying some of them together. 

“I knew John was weird, but this is a whole new level,” you commented, slightly in awe of the frantic scribblings covering the wall. 

‘'Don’t talk about him like that,” Dean grumbled. “I'm gonna get cleaned up.” He started toward the shower. 

“Hey, Dean?” Sam stopped him.

His brother turned around. 

“What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry—”

Dean held up a hand, cutting him off. “No chick-flick moments.”

Sam laughed. “Alright, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“You guys are strange.”

Dean rolled his eyes at you before disappearing into the bathroom. 

You started looking around John’s room. A closer look at the walls of information revealed pages on demons, witches, possession, and other bits of newspaper referring to mysterious deaths unlike anything you’d heard before. One was an obituary clipping from 1983; taking you aback. The picture was of a gorgeous blonde woman named Mary Winchester who died in a house fire. Her picture was surrounded by other house fire deaths and linked by red thread to multiple of the demon and witch articles. You walked over to his dresser where there was a picture of a much younger John holding two boys who you assumed were Sam and Dean. 

“You guys were cute kids,” you told Sam, showing him the picture.

He smiled sadly at it. 

After a brief melancholy pause, you spoke up. “So, what’s your deal? College? Law school? Part-time hunter? That doesn’t add up.”

“My, uh, my dad raised us as hunters after my mom passed,” he explained. 

“I’m sorry,” you told him, sitting on the bed next to him. “Was her death the reason your dad became a hunter?”

“Yeah. I’m not exactly sure what happened; I wasn’t even a year old yet. Dean remembers way more than I do, but he said our dad was never the same. Anyway, two years ago, dad and I got into a fight. I wanted to go to school, and he wanted me to stay and hunt. So I left.”

“Dean said you got a girl now? Was that the voicemail you were listening to a few minutes ago?”

“Yeah, actually. Jess. She’s— she’s amazing. I’m excited to get back to her.” You could see how much he loved her just in how his face lit up talking about her.

“I’m sure you are,” you smiled. 

“So, what about you? What’s your story?” he nudged your shoulder with his. 

“Meh, not much to tell.”

“Aw, come on—” Sam rebutted. 

“I’m serious!” you laughed. “I’ve just always hunted. Never knew anything different.”

“I know that’s difficult.” His tone became serious again. 

“Nah, it’s not so bad. I enjoy it. Brings me a little peace, y’know?” you shrugged.

“You sound like Dean.”

“Speaking of which, he’s taking forever and a day in the shower,” you joked. You bounced over to the bathroom door, leaning your ear on it about to knock. “Hey, princess—” 

You were cut off by the door opening and stumbled into Dean’s chest. 

He caught you by the shoulders. “You were saying?” 

You shoved off him, annoyed by his smug smile and quirked eyebrow. “Sorry.”

“Anyway,” Dean began, “I'm starving, I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. You want anything?”

“No,” Sam said.

“A burger would be great,” you told him. 

“Wasn’t asking you,” Dean said. 

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Aframian’s buying, anyway, so what difference is it to you?”

“Nothing, it’s just fun to rile you up.” He winked and smiled at you, amused at your aggravated expression before closing the door behind him. 

You shook your head. “Dick.”

Sam laughed. “You get used to him.” He went back to his phone, relistening to his girlfriend’s voicemail. He furrowed his brows before pressing it to his ear. “What?” He stands up, catching your attention. “What about you?” He huffed when he hung up the phone, rushing over to the closed curtains to peek out. 

“What, what is it?” You crossed your arms.

“Police got Dean. We need to leave.”

“Shit.”

Sam quickly pulled away from the window which you understood meant you had company. You hid under the bed, anxiously waiting to see the officer’s boots make their way into the bathroom. You began scooching yourself out from under the bed frame, and when he’d slammed the door to the bathroom open, you and Sam snuck out of the room. Thankfully, Sam had Dean’s keys, and the two of you sped away from the motel in Dean’s Impala.

“Well, shit,” you breathed, your heart still beating quickly.

Sam huffed out a laugh, still recovering from the adrenaline.

***

You and Sam were headed to Breckenridge Road to hopefully figure out how to stop Constance. Since you had torched the body, then maybe something in her house was keeping her alive. 

After Dean’s arrest, the two of you were intent on getting Dean and getting the hell out of Jericho before anyone else had a run-in with the cops. 

Sam’s phone rang, and he answered quickly. “Hello?” He tossed a look your way. “Actually, it was (Y/N)’s idea.” You had no doubt he was referring to the fake shooting you’d called in to the police department so Dean had an opportunity to escape. You motioned for him to give you the phone.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” you told him once you had the phone to your ear. 

“Yeah, whatever, sweetheart,” Dean’s gruff voice responded.

“I told you not to call me that.”

“And I’ve made it pretty clear I’m not going to listen. Hey, give the phone back to Sam. I gotta talk to him.”

“And why can’t you tell me? Don’t you trust me? I’m offended, babe,” you quipped. 

“Don’t objectify me.”

“Hey, you started it with the whole ‘sweetheart’ thing.”

“C’mon, (Y/N), give him the—”

“Shit!” you screamed, dropping the phone as the car came to a screeching halt. “What the hell, Sam?”

“Constance,” he replied coolly. He kept a level head despite the tense situation. 

You looked up at the rearview mirror to see her in the backseat. “Fuck.” 

Constance’s hauntingly beautiful voice melodically flowed from the backseat. “Take me home.”

“No,” Sam answered. 

You saw her glare as the doors started to lock themselves. You whipped around to start trying to reopen them. The car began jerking forward. 

“What the hell, Sam? Stop!” you told him. 

“It’s not me.”

You looked over to see him holding his hands up. The steering wheel was moving itself. You turned back to the door, struggling to get the lock open. Eventually, you wound up at Constance’s abandoned Breckenridge Road house. The car’s rumble quieted and the headlights turned off. 

“Don't do this,” Sam pleaded, still holding his hands up. 

The ghost flickered, sounding sad. “I can never go home.”

‘That’s it.’

“You're scared to go home,” you realized. When you turned around to look at her, she had disappeared. Before you could even turn back around, you felt the bench seat reclining forcefully. 

“Sam!” 

Constance sat atop him, begging him to hold her. 

“You can't kill me. I'm not unfaithful. I've never been!”

“You will be,” she hummed. “Just hold me.”

You fumbled for your gun hidden under your top. Before you could fully aim at her, you felt your back make brief contact with the Impala’s door before flying through the air. You barely registered Sam yelling your name as you groaned in pain on the dead grass beneath you. 

You rolled around, trying to regain your wits and recover when you heard the sound of multiple gunshots. 

“Sam!”

“It’s me, (Y/N), stay down!” Dean yelled. 

Suddenly, Dean’s car burst through the front of the abandoned house. You pushed yourself up off the ground; your joints and back aching in protest. 

“Sam! Sam! You okay?” Dean called after the car. 

‘I’m fine, Dean, thanks for asking,’ you thought. 

The two of you climbed over the rubble to the passenger’s side window. 

“I think,” Sam responded weakly. 

“Can you move?” you asked.

“Yeah. Help me?” He reached out to his brother. 

Dean pulled Sam through the window of the car. “There you go.”

You turned to see Constance looking sadly at a picture she was holding before slamming it to the floor. She glared at the three of you harshly, forcing a bureau across the floor to pin you to Dean’s car. 

You groaned in pain once again as Dean struggled to push the furniture off. You stopped your struggle at the lights flickering and the sound of water rushing down the stairs. 

“You've come home to us, Mommy,” the echoey voices of Constance’s children sang. They appeared behind her, hugging her as she screamed. In a surge of energy, Constance and her children began melting to the floor. Constance’s resounding scream seemed to get louder and louder with each passing moment, the flickering of the lights becoming more and more intense. You squeezed your eyes shut until the screaming subsided, suddenly feeling the pressure on your stomach relieved. All that was left of Constance and her children was a puddle of murky water on the floor. 

“So this is where she drowned her kids,” Dean said while you rubbed your stomach, recovering from the pressure of the bureau. 

Sam nodded. “That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them.”

“You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy.” Dean slapped his brother on the chest where he’d been injured by Constance.

Sam laughed despite the pain. “Yeah, I wish I could say the same for you. What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?”

“Hey. Saved your ass,” Dean commented, starting to look over his beloved Impala. “I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car? I'll kill you.” 

You giggled at Sam and Dean’s banter. Sam and Dean started to get back into the car, and you idled awkwardly. 

“Whatcha doin’? Let’s go.” Sam looked at you expectantly. 

“Go where?” you asked, feeling stupid. 

“I think we make a pretty solid team. You should tag along.”

“What?” Dean asked while you started shaking your head. 

“No, no, I shouldn’t—” 

“You should. I’m going back to school, and I know Dean’s gonna be lost without me trying to find my dad.”

A slow smile crossed your face. “Thank you. That’d be nice, actually.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything to the contrary. And with that, the three of you set off to drop Sam back off at college. 

***

The thing Dean so desperately wanted to tell Sam that he couldn’t tell you earlier was that his dad had left coordinates to a place called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado in the journal he’d left behind in Jericho. John was getting weirder and weirder by the minute. 

“AC/DC. I like it,” you said from the backseat. 

“Thanks.” Dean cracked what seemed like a genuine, lopsided smile at you for the first time in the rearview mirror. “Sam thinks it’s mullet rock.”

“Yeah, well, it’s better than Kiss and Poison.”

“True that.” Despite the fact that he was agreeing with you about something as mundane as music, his tone was still guarded.

“How far is Blackwater Ridge?” you asked Sam, who was looking over a map. 

“About 600 miles,” he answered.

“Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by morning,” Dean cut in. 

Sam suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Dean, I, um…”

The older brother deflated. “You're not going.”

“The interview's in like, ten hours. I gotta be there,” Sam tried to reason.

Dean nodded, disappointed, and returned his attention to the road. “Yeah. Yeah, whatever. I'll take you home.”

The mood in the car had turned tense, awkward, and sour, and remained that way for the rest of the drive back to Sam’s college.

“Dude, you go to Stanford?” you asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” he nodded, sheepishly.

“Alright, smartass, look at you.” You nudged his shoulder with your balled fist. 

Dean rolled to a stop in front of Sam’s apartment complex. 

You and Sam got out of the car. You gave him a quick hug goodbye before climbing down into the front seat. 

Sam leaned into your rolled-down window. “Call me if you find him?”

Dean nodded. 

“And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?”

Despite Sam’s chipper tone, Dean’s disappointment was clear. “Yeah, all right.”

Sam patted the car door twice before turning away. 

“Sam?” Dean called before his brother could get too far. “You know, we made a hell of a team back there.” 

You felt a pang in your heart at Dean’s indirect attempt to try to convince Sam to stay. 

Sam nodded with a half-hearted smile. “Yeah.” 

Dean then began to drive off. 

The two of you didn’t get any more than five minutes down the road before you felt something was off. You could no longer hear the steady ticking of Dean’s watch breaking through the almost awkward silence. Sure enough, when you looked over at the wrist he had perched atop the steering wheel, the watch was stopped. 

“Dean,” you said. You tapped his watch’s face with your fingernail. 

He matched your worried glance, immediately turning the car around.

The car had barely stopped before you and Dean were leaping into action. You let Dean take the lead in rushing up to Sam’s apartment. 

Dean kicked the door to the apartment open, calling out to his brother in the process. You gasped when you caught sight of flames licking at the ceiling coming out from what you assumed was Sam’s bedroom. 

You heard Sam’s voice weakly calling his girlfriend’s name as you rushed to get him out of the smoldering room. You just barely caught sight of a body bleeding from the stomach burning on the ceiling before you and Dean dragged a screaming Sam out of his bedroom and away from the fire. You fought him every step of the way out of his apartment complex. 

It didn’t take long for the fire department to show up and the police to start asking questions. A small crowd had gathered to gawk at Sam’s smoldering apartment. Your face was steely as you watched the firefighters carry Jess out in a body bag. You and Dean took the brunt of the questions the police had, allowing Sam as much space as he needed. 

You and Dean soon headed over to the Impala where Sam was packing up the weapons cavity of the trunk. Both of you seemed too scared to ask Sam what was running through his head, and neither of you had any idea what to say. 

Sam threw a shotgun into the weapons box before muttering, “We got work to do,” and slamming the trunk shut.

You threw a look at Dean, who shook his head in response. Biting the inside of your cheek, you followed the boys into the car. As the three of you left Sam’s apartment in the rearview mirror, you realized the course of your formerly relatively boring life was changing very quickly. 

‘Damn you, John. Wherever you are.’

[i-cant-sing]

Yandere Dabi accidentally made reader blind

*sighs* it's time for another fic idea:

Imagine Dabi terrorising the city and doing evil shenanigans, the usual stuff, and while he's welding his fire quirk, you- an innocent civilian gets hurt in the process. Now look, a lot of other civilians got hurt too, but what made you stand out was the fact that you locked eyes with him, saw his face right before your retinas were burned by the blast of fire aimed at a hero past you.

You were taken to the hospital, where you got the news that you'd be blind for the rest of your life now and Dabi had begun stalking you from the moment you woke up from surgery, only because he thought you'd spill his identity to the police or whatever. But you didn't, probably because you forgot his face, but "probably" isn't good enough for him. He needs to be sure you won't rat him out to the authorities, so he continues to stalk you and eventually develops yandere tendencies for you.

Of course, as he falls in love, he also begins to feel guilty as he sees you struggling with your daily chores because of your new disability. I mean, you worked at a school, volunteered at orphanages and nursing homes, fed strays, the perfect daughter, friend, employee.

You are the nicest human ever and Dabi made you blind😭

He sees that you can't continue working at the school, and he sees its harder to volunteer when you haven't learned how to deal with life without the ability to see. And his chest hurts when he sees you break down at nights, in your apartment alone because you don't know how you'll be able to take care of your aging parents as their only child, when you can't even walk in traffic without help.

That's when Dabi decides to step in. Sure, you may have seen his face, but you haven't heard his voice, right?

He makes the first meeting seem like a chance encounter, bumping into you and catching you before you fell. Faking concern when you apologise for being blind, he takes you to a nearby cafe and offers to buy you a coffee for the one he made you spill.

And eventually, he asks you out and now you're two dating. You think he's the sweetest guy, always helping you but never patronising. And sure, deep down Dabi's heart jumps whenever he catches you in a danger, but he knows he shouldn't be coddling you. How else will you navigate?

Then again, the deeper Dabi falls in love with you and the more yandere he becomes, the more he wants you to become dependent on him for everything. But he has to be smart; he doesn't want to drive you away just because he wants to wrap you up in bubble wrap.

He helps you use you walking stick, gets you Braille, and with your permission, he babyproofs the house a bit (mainly because he saw the bruises on your leg from the sharp corners you bumped into).

And since you two are not living together just yet, he worries what would happen to you if he's not there. So he stays a while longer, hiding in the background just until you fall asleep, making sure you have your mobile (with his number on speed dial) near you.

But Dabi can't always be there to watch you. He's still pursuing his successful career as a villain, so without your knowledge, he installs cameras in your house, purely out of concern and not because he's a creep. Yes, even the ones in your bathroom are just in case you slipped and hit your head.

After some time, you two do end up moving in together. He of course modifies his house so that its more safe for you, like rounding off sharp edges, installing devices that let you know when youre near stairs, etc. And Dabi just absolutely adores spending time with you. Be it cooking, he's right there with you as you tell him all the steps to your favourite recipes and taste test food (he blows on your hot food), dance slowly in the kitchen while the pizza bakes in the oven, straddle you and tickle you until youre near tears, or cuddling on the couch as you enjoy each others silence. You're so nice, so kind to him. He won't ever say it outloud but you being blind is a huge positive for him because he doesn't get insecure with the way he looks. Plus, he can smile as much as he wants without feeling like its tarnishing his "villain image" (he has absolutely melted when you said you adored the way he laughed. Stfu bitch, hes never laughing again😭💖🫶) And you're great at matching his vibe too. He can see the way he's rubbed off on you, how you joke about your disability, the two of you surprising people with your dark sense of humor.

He can be intimate with you, because you feel perfect against his charred skin. When you touched his staples and his burned skin, his breath hitching when you pulled your hand away, your brows frowning. Did you find him ugly now that you knew he didnt have smooth, pristine skin?

When you didn't say anything for a few seconds, he asked if you'd like to know what happened to him.

You shrugged. "Only if you want to tell me. I just want to know if it hurts when I touch your skin." Hes so glad you can't see because my man had tears falling down his face. Why are you so concerned for his well being??? Why are you so sweet? Why Why Why Why-

Not to mention the way your parents absolutely ADORE him???? Like, the first time he met them, they immediately welcomed him into their homes and into their hearts. Dabi is like so overwhelmed because he's never felt so accepted and loved. Your parents never once looked at him differently because of his scars, and Dabi knows he looks like a criminal for sure, but your parents???? They don't care. Hell, they've already begun telling him all your embarrassing childhood stories and are inviting him to family gatherings and have already decided what clothes he's gonna wear for the family Christmas picture. And Dabi has realised that both you and your parents are way too naive and trusting and so so so so precious, he's adopting all of yall😭😭😭 (like fr, your parents just saved themselves from being killed and/or thrown into a nursing home).

Anyways, years pass by, Dabi had left the crime life the day you got hurt in his house and he wasnt around to help you. Now he works from his home office and you work at the school for visually impaired. Your relationship has reached it peak and Dabi pops the marriage question and you say yes. But before you guys can get married, someone (maybe an ex, or a cousin or friend) reveals to you who he really is and how he's the reason you're blind, and Dabi is eavesdropping because he needs the prefect opportunity to both kill the guy who spilled his secret and catch you before you run off.

"I know."

"You know?"

"I know. Always have. And I'd appreciate it if you don't bring it up ever again. Also, you're not invited to the wedding." You said before having the guy leave the room.

"You can come out now, Dabi." You called him inside.

"How did you know I was here?" He asked standing in front of you.

"I'm smart like that." You chuckled.

"Y/n- you knew?" He asked quietly, wanting to confirm what he'd just heard. You nodded. "How? Why didn't you say anything?"

You sighed. "You're not the only one keeping secrets, Dabi." You sat down, patting the seat next to you for him. "I have a quirk like you do. I have a heightened sense of smell. So, I pretty much recognised you from the moment you bumped into me."

"Huh? How could you recognise me? We never met before that." You shook your head. "We didn't meet before, but I noticed you the day of my accident." Dabi's mind couldn't stop at how you chose to refer his attack as an "accident", which is exactly what it was. You were never his target. Honestly, you're the best human being, an actual angel-

"I only noticed you because you smelled like charred barbecue."

.

.

.

"WHAT?!"

"Hey, no yelling!" You scolded. "That day, I was walking home when I was suddenly hit with this intense smell of grilled barbecue and I was superrrr hungry that day, so I was like I gotta get me some of that and then I looked up and I saw you."

Dabi listened to your explanation, and he honestly wouldn't have believed you if he hadn't spent so much time with you to know how your brain works. "If you knew who I was, then you knew you lost your eyes because of me. So, why did you..." He couldn't complete his question, afraid of you admitting to leading him on just so that you could take revenge and hurt him by pretending to be in love.

You cupped cheek. "It wasn't your fault. You weren't aiming for me. Besides, you and I both know that I would've been dead that same day if you wanted me to."

"Still... I am a bad person-"

"No, Dabi. You're not." You cut him off, not wanting him to taint himsslf with such foul thoughts. "No one is born good or bad. People just do good things or bad things, as circumstances force them to. The world isn't so black and white, Dabi. Everyone's got a grey area."

A tear fell down his cheek, and Dabi pulled you in for a deep kiss. "God- You're just- perfect." He whispered against your lips. You smiled and pecked him once more before settling on the couch, your head on chest.

"So... I smell like charred barbecue?" Dabi asked, playing with your hair. You hummed. "And it doesn't bother you?"

"Nope!"

"Why not?"

"I love charred barbecue. They're the best pieces!"

Ah, if you keep saying things like that, Dabi will need to buy you bigger diamonds.

Fuck it, he thought pulling out his phone.

He's already ordering one online.

Now imagine someone hurts Dabi's baby, and she dies. That'd suck, huh?

[satorhime]

. ･｡･ self checkout ࿐ nagi seishiro.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ content ㆍ﹒fluff, aged up!nagi, pro footballer!nagi, height difference (reader is shorter than nagi), shopping trips, slightly suggestive, established relationship. f!reader. w.c. 2k & not proofread.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ synopsis ㆍ﹒nagi enjoys running errands if the two of you go together. & ໒꒰ྀི ´ ꒳ ` ꒱ྀིა notes: baby’s first blue lock fic !! honestly i’m supa nervous bc i haven’t written 4 them before n i’m still figuring things out but i hope u enjoy reading this anw <333

“this date is so tiring,” nagi laments for the fifth time since you stepped through the automated sliding doors of the neighborhood supermarket. he blows out a breath from his puffed cheeks, sounding as if he is on the verge of collapsing while you browse the shelves for pantry essentials and late night snacks. “when can we go home?”

a trendy song from a summer spotify mix croons over the tinny speakers overhead, its bubblegum pop lyrics interrupted every now and then by a cheery voice advertising new items and upcoming discounts. the supermarket is busier than when you and seishiro usually stop by, which isn’t all that surprising considering it’s the end of the day. college students carry armfuls of instant ramen and sugary sodas for study sessions and old ladies browse for medicinal teas while parents push full carts of groceries, ignoring their wailing children who press their little noses against the frosty glass of the freezers, begging to be given overpriced ice creams locked away inside.

and you resist the urge to roll your eyes with exasperation, glancing over to where your boyfriend leans heavily on the handle of the cart he has been tasked with pushing for you— his long fingers tapping away at a mobile game on the screen of his phone.

“that’s because,” you begin, wagging a finger at him when you turn around and toss an item into the bottom of the cart. “it’s not a date, sei. i told you that i had to run errands today and you insisted on coming with me when you hate it.”

���‘s’boring at home when you’re not there, so it seemed like a good idea at first,” he shrugs, rolling the cart further down the aisle when you’re on the move again. slothy, midwinter gray eyes drag lazily over your body— taking in the way your faded t-shirt (which is, really, just one of his old ones) rides up a little on your body, exposing the cute little dimples in the soft part of your back as you stand on your tiptoes, struggling to reach one of the higher shelves in the freezer section.

you are well aware that nagi hates daily tasks. things such as making the bed in the morning, washing the dishes after dinner, or visiting the laundromat once a week requires too much energy from your drowsy footballer boyfriend, but it makes you happy to know that he tries, even if he falls asleep while doing it; that he will do anything if you are involved, and nothing if you aren’t.

like right now, he abandons his mobile game and the shopping cart in the middle of the aisle without care to come over and help you, making a mother of two-under-two glare at him viciously. he snorts, sliding his hand into the back pocket of your denim shorts, a romantic comedy habit of his when the two of you are walking anywhere together. nagi’s head tilts cutely to one side, blinking owlishly up at the shelves. “which one d’you wanna get, shortstack?”

“i am not short,” you huff, twisting your mouth to one side at his teasing, but you point to the item you want— an assorted pack of ice lollies. “shelves are designed against short people. and i dunno— are we in the mood for ice cream or popsicles?”

it’s hard to make a decision because freezers full of summer treats line both sides of the aisle. tubs of gourmet gelatos, variety packs of creamy ice candies, and an endless selection of mochi with custard fillings in the middle that make your mouth water at the thought of bringing them home with you.

“i’ll eat them no matter what anyway,” he shrugs, unwilling to be the one to choose, but then his gray eyes glance down at your lips, then back to the items in front of you. you swear that his eyes darken to a stormier color, even though his expression never changes. “you make cute sounds when you suck on ice pops, and you always taste sweet after. get those.”

and then he faces forward, browsing the selection of ice creams with interest, as if his words didn’t short circuit a current in your brain. you’ll never understand how seishiro can say the most outlandish things so casually, only to return to what he’s doing while you’re left attempting to calm your fast heart.

“ice pops it is,” you say, a little winded. “make sure to get the second pack, and not the first.”

“mhnn, why’s it matter? the second one’s farther back. they all look the same to me.”

“they’re not. the first is one everybody has touched or returned.”

“that . . . makes sense,” he considers it, then he nods, lips formed into a little ‘o’ shape. “okay, we’ll get the second one.”

you watch as he steps forward, pushing the first pack of ice lollies aside to select the second as you requested, reaching the item with ease and heavens, it’s moments like these when you are reminded just how much bigger seishiro is. he’s always towered over your shorter height and it’s so, so unfair how he uses it to his advantage, making your tummy burn at the sight. frosty air wafts from the open door of the freezer, bringing chills over your heated skin. “‘s a good thing i was here, since you’re so little— there was no way you could reach it.”

“‘m not little,” you mumble, all pouty because nagi is squishing your cheeks between two finger pads. “you’re just so tall. it’s unfair.”

“want me to be shorter?” he asks, and before you can ask what he means, nagi drops the pack of ice pops into your hands and deflates dramatically, bending down to drape himself over your frame. his head tucked against your shoulder, the footballer’s milky fringe tickling the skin of your neck as he closes his eyes. “man, now ‘m even more tired.”

“seishiro, you’re heavy.”

“i know,” he sighs, eyes shuttering below thick lashes, but he makes no effort to move away from your body. instead, his hand slithers under your shirt. making you shiver because his fingertips are dewy and cold from the arctic blast of the freezer and the frozen treat he picked up. you hiss, squirming under his touch as his fingers trail across your belly. “but i’m tired ‘n’ you feel s’soft, like a pillow.”

“nagi, off,” you wheeze, his extra weight making it hard for you to properly breathe. it’s easy to forget how solid he is, straight lines of athletic muscle that usually has you cow-eyed and cooing, as long as it’s not weighing you down in the middle of a supermarket. you try to shake him off, but the midfielder only squeezes you against his body even tighter, his slightly damp lips pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “we’re never gonna get anything done like this, you lazy boy. if you don’t wanna walk, go wait in the sitting area with the grandpas.”

he sighs in defeat and shakes his head, pressing his lips together in that cute frown he pulls whenever he’s thinking. then, he’s dropping his arms from you suddenly. “mmhn, got a better idea.”

“and what’s that—”

you face nagi, only to catch your boyfriend with one foot in the shopping cart as he tries to hoist himself over the railing and inside of the basket.

“sei, you can’t fit in there—!” your eyes flicker between him, and the elderly man judging the two of you at the other end of the aisle. “you’re too big.”

“you’re always saying things like that,” he says, and the innuendo intertwined in the words flies over your pretty head because with one boost, he’s hopping over the railing and sinking into the cart, the metal rattling in protest. you stand there, dumbstruck as he settles. “now i can stay with you without walking.”

“yeah, but now that means i have to push you,” you grumble. “i should leave you here and get a new cart.”

but it’s hard to refuse when your boyfriend is that cute. his impossibly long legs are folded against his chest so that he can fit inside the shopping cart comfortably, taking extra care not to crush any of the delicate items surrounding him. the lower half of his face is buried into the collar of his soft hoodie as he absently chews on the drawstrings, but you can still see the sanrio bandaid you put on him yesterday after he got a nasty elbow to the cheek during football practice.

even though you two are already receiving strange looks from other shoppers passing by, you grip the handle, pushing the cart and your boyfriend dutifully, rolling it onto the next aisle.

“you look ridiculous,” you tell him, but you’re grinning. “but here, you’re on list duty. what do we need to get next?”

nagi’s eyes dutifully scan over the shopping list open in the notes app of your phone, his fingernail scrolling the screen lightly.

“it says ‘ramen because my greedy athlete bf keeps eating it all’ so y’need to get . . . oi, you mean me—”

“i wonder who wrote that there,” you whistle innocently, plucking the device out of his hands, wheeling him away fast.

the rest of your shopping trip is a blur, except for you turning a corner too fast and nearly dumping him out of the cart or the weird looks shoppers continue to give you because by the time you’re lining up in the queue, nagi is buried under the items because he takes up too much space. there’s a bag of rice on one shoulder, a pack of ramen on the other and fresh radishes sprouting from the snowy peaks of his head. not to mention, he’s still holding the pack of ice pops, condensation dripping over his hands.

“you’re making them melt, sei.” because he runs hot a heated blanket in the summer, and you can sympathize with the poor popsicles being defrosted in his big hands.

“‘m gonna eat one so they won’t— oh, hey this one is lemon,” he says, prying open the cardboard lid and tearing open the plastic wrapper of a lemon crème ice pop. tongue peeking out to lick before he’s holding it over his shoulder for you to taste next. “try it. i don’t sound as cute as you when i eat them.”

“sei, you’re not supposed to open those before we—” but nagi pushes the cold treat between your lips insistently, your eyes rounding wide, whining in protest as the ice pop hits your sensitive teeth. but it does taste good— creamy, sweet and sour flavors coating the surface of your tongue. “oh, it’s sh’good. we should get another pack.”

“see? y’make the cutest sounds when you suck it.”

“shut up, seishiro.”

you begin placing the items on the conveyor belt, listening to the irritating bleep, bleep, bleep of the scanner as the cashier rings up each product. you’re not frugal, but you peep at the total on the screen every now and then with a wince.

“that’s it for you, or are you buying the man in your cart too, ma’am?” the cashier asks, glancing at nagi as he finishes off the melting ice pop in the shopping cart, chin resting on top of his knees.

“no,” and you giggle, cheeks warming as you roll your eyes in exasperation. “this one is already mine.”

[live-laugh-lenney]

Can you please do a fic where the reader and George Clarke absolutely hate each other they always argue but she’s best friends with Chris, and she goes on a night out her girl friends leave her and she’s drunk and scared men are hitting on her hard so decides to ring Chris but he’s asleep and George answers his phone and comes picks you up it ends up them two arguing but also something where they hook up (wether that’s the same night or different) please??

the ending to this feels almost rushed but i know i've promised this a few times... let me know what you think!

"come on."

the words come out of yn's mouth as a low grumble but it was loud enough to catch the attention of the guy stood beside her in the pub's smoking area. the time on her phone said it was quarter to two in the morning, the street on the otherside of the road was empty and baron of people walking passed, and the pub was becoming less and less busy as people got into their taxi's and uber's and went off home to nurse hangovers in the morning.

yet, here she was.

stuck in the middle of the london, all by herself and in a vulnerable state, as she tried to call the one guy she wanted to see in her moment of need. her best friend. who was, no doubt, asleep because he was sensible and chose to stay in that night rather than spending it getting drunk.

"everything okay?"

"yeah," she mumbles it lowly to show her disinterest, her eyes staring at the screen of the phone in her hand as she scrolled through all of her contacts to find christopher dixon's home number because calling him mobile number hadn't worked, "i just can't get hold of a friend, i kind of need him right now."

"can i be of any assistance?"

"no," she responds bluntly and she could feel the way he was taken aback by her abrupt answer, "i just want to go home. my friends have left me here by myself, i have no way of getting home and no one wants to answer their phones to help me."

"it is almost two in the morning."

"yeah, i know that," she scoffs it out sarcastically and she rolls her eyes, landing on the home landline to chris' flat, "no offence but i don't need any company right now. cheers but-"

"not just gon'a leave a pretty girl in a pub by herself," the guy says and, for the first time since she heard his voice, she looked at him - dressed in jeans that were too tight for his legs and a shirt that he definitely chose in hopes to pick up girls with the way he had his muscles on show - as she held her phone to her ear and listened to the dial tone beep through the speaker as the other end rung through the flat, "i'll take you home."

"yeah... no thanks," she shook her head, her face contorted with a look of pure disgust at the repulsive invitation he was insinuating; what had started out as a girl's night was always going to end as a girl's night, not leaving with a bloke she had never met before and waking up in an unknown bed the next morning. "We all know how that invitation ends and i'm not after that, thanks."

"oh, come on-"

"no," she shook her head and took a step to the side, furthering herself away from him to give him a hint of how she was over being nice to him and how she was over the conversation that she never wanted to start. her attention turning towards the phone that was warm against her ear. "answer the phone, idiot."

as she was about to give up and press the red button in the bottom corner, coming to terms with the fact that he was most probably asleep and completely dead to the world, the sound of someone picking up brought some comfort to her racing mind.

"hello?"

"chris, it's yn."

"newsflash, it's george. you know, one of the other guys who lives in this flat and got rudely woken up by this call."

"oh."

she gulps thickly, the lump in her throat aching, and she really wished she hadn't bothered. it wasn't that she hated goerge; it was the exact opposite... he hated her, for some reason, and she had no idea why. she wanted nothing more to be friends with him, making it three out of three successful friendships that she'd made through chris... except he was having none of it.

"i'm so sorry, i just-"

"i told you, babe, you can always come back with me."

yn's eyebrows furrowed as she tried to hold back the upset tears that were threatening to spill from how scared she was, the interruption making her lose her train of thought, and it was only when george spoke down the line that she felt a little intimidated.

"who's that?"

"just some guy-"

"is he bothering you?"

yn sighs and takes a glance out of the corner of her eye, checking to see if the guy was still standing close to her, already knowing that he was listening intently to her conversation and hadn't any plans to go elsewhere.

"yeah, a little," she responds and, on the other end of the line, she could hear him rustling around and moving in a pace that she could tell was quick and in a rush, "i just, my friends left me alone in this pub round the corner from waterloo and i'm all by myself right now and the pub is closing and i'm out the front and he's just here and i don't know who he is and-"

"okay, alright. i'm coming to get you, okay?"

"i don't want to be a bother, george," she heard him grunt back in response to her and she could feel a tear slip down her cheek, "i was trying to get hold of chris but-"

"chris would rip my bollocks off if he knew i didn't help you when you called. especially when you're on your own in london, drunk, with some creep standing with you."

"but-"

"i'm leaving now, okay? send me your location and i'll be there as soon as i can, yeah?"

she couldn't tell if it was the happiness to know she was being looked after or whether it was the scared feeling that had overcome her - or both - but she struggled to keep back the tears that were burning her eyes.

"thank you, george."

it came out as a wet sob and she didn't care if anyone who looked at her and thought she was too drunk and weird. her previous problem of being hit on by someone she'd never met before, the same guy, didn't seem to want to leave her as he slowly sipped on the pint he had poured into a plastic cup.

"just stay safe until i get there, okay? go find a bouncer or someone from the staff and just say your taxi is on its way. stay away from the guy who's bothering you and keep to places where people can see you."

-

"yn?"

her head snapped up from where she was staring at her phone, to see george walking quickly down the street , his hoodie pulled over his head and he'd matched loose cotton shorts with it yet skipped out on pulling socks on as he opted for sliders, because he was in a rush to leave the house and had no time for trainers.

"yn. that's such a pretty name," she heard the guy say but she was no longer interested in anything he had to say, moving from her place on the bench she had chosen to wait upon and grasping the strap of her bag upon her shoulder, "oh, babe, it's a shame you chose him over me. he's got nothing to give you."

george felt his fists curl up under his sleeves yet he chose to not make the situation worse for her.

"when a girl says no to you, she means no," george calls out over to him, staring with a look of dark anger behind his eyes, "back off and maybe try being less of a creep, lurking around drunk girls, and you might just get lucky."

"george-"

"come on," he grabs her hand and tugs her away from the direction of the pub, desperate to get her away from the stare of the guy that was bothering her, "why the hell didn't you call any of us sooner? you were there for how long, by yourself, before you realised?"

"not long," she admits, "i'd only just realised as they were kicking us all out. i went to look for them at the booth we were in and they'd left."

"how many times have we told you to not hang around with those girls? they've been nothing but trouble for you," he reminds her and she rolls her eyes, legs burning from trying to keep up with his long strides back to the tube station, "what kind of friends do that to their other friends? bad friends, yn. they're not your friends-"

"i'm not a child, george," she interrupts him and pulls her hand free from his grip, standing still in the middle of the pavement as he came to a halt from her sudden movement, "don't speak me to like i am one."

he sighs heavily and brings his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips before dropping his arms back down to his sides, watching as she swayed to and fro from the way her world must have been spinning from alcohol.

"alright," he held his hands up in surrender, "i'm sorry."

"you should be," she retorts, "stupid."

"don't backchat me like a teenager and i won't speak to you like a child," he insists and turns on his heels, wanting to hop back into the warmth of the underground station and get back home as soon as possible, "now come on, i want to go home."

"my home. take me home and then go home yourself."

"no, my home," george calls back, hearing her scuffing behind as she tried to keep up with his pace so she wasn't left behind and out of his sight, "i'm gonna look after you, you can have my bed, and you can talk to chris in the morning because he's gonna have some choice words for those girls."

"i don't need you to make me feel worse."

"i'm not trying to make you feel worse."

"you are."

"yn," george sighs, "i'm too tired to argue with you, okay? can we just, we just need to get on the tube, do a couple of stops, then we're home. i'll argue with you tomorrow."

"i don't want to argue with you anymore," she frowns, "i just want to be friends with you. i don't like it when you're angry all the time with me. i've done nothing to you to make you treat me so badly."

"we are friends, idiot."

"no, we aren't. you're always moaning at me, you never say anything nice to me. i'm surprised you even came to get me," yn says, "only you, george. every other one of chris' friend's like me... television is my favourite but you-"

"i do like you, yn," george sighs heavily, "but this is a conversation we don't need to be having in the middle of the road, outside the train station."

"i want to have this conversation-"

"no," george shakes his head, "it's a conversation for when you're sober and not full of whatever alcohol you've ended up spilling down yourself."

he stares at her for a moment and she squints her eyes back at him, in a feigned annoyed look, feeling the chill in the air and the alcohol mixing in her system and as well as her belly. and she couldn't bring it in her to argue even more.

"fine."

-

yn stumbles through the front door and into the darkness of the flat belonging to the boys and she was thankful she wore flats opposed to the heels that were her second choice shoe for the night. a click of the lock filled the quiet as george closed the front door behind him, keys jingling with his keyrings as he dropped them in the bowl in the entryway, shuffling further into the room. as she slid her shoes off, not knowing where she was leaving them, a lamp flicked on and she took in the living space around her.

"you could have taken me home."

"not a chance," george grumbles lowly, shrugging off the over-layer he chose to brave the night air and draped it over the back of the sofa in the middle of the room, "i think chris would have murdered me in my sleep."

"i wanted to go home."

"and i wanted to get a full night's sleep but here we are," george shrugs his shoulders and she folds her arms across her chest, like a child in a tantrum, "you can have my bed, i'll sleep on the sofa."

"george-"

"please don't argue with me, okay? i'm giving you my bed, don't make me change my mind," he warns her and the interruption was enough for her to close her lips and forget about what she was about to say to him, "i don't know what you think is happening between us but i do care about you, okay?"

she could hear her heartbeat pounding behind her chest in the quiet of the room and she looks at him, properly, for the first time that evening.

"you don't show it."

"i don't know how," he scoffs and it's more aimed at himself than at her, his feet take him across the stretch of empty space before he stands before her, "you're chris' best friend... i'm not going to be the one to step in the way and ruin that."

"you could have treated me better. spoke to me nicer. actually made me feel like you wanted me around."

"you're not listening, are you? i like you, you idiot."

for the first time that night, she couldn't find the words to come back to his response. she stared at him, dumbfounded, with wide eyes that couldn't tear away from the way he was walking towards her. and she didn't realise her mouth had gaped open until his hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb pushing her the bottom of her jaw, lingering his touch that had her tilting her head into his palm.

"but-"

"you've always got something to say, haven't you?" and if he didn't have a smile twitching at his lips, hidden beneath the growing facial hair that grew from his upper lip, she would have taken offence to his words, "i wanted this conversation with a sober yn. not slightly drunk, in a mood because her friends abandoned her, in the middle of the night and stood in the middle of my living room."

"you-" she gulps back the lump in her throat and he smiles softly, "i don't believe you."

"are you trying to push my buttons?" he asks her, the gap between them slowly closing, "because it's working."

"and what happens if i push the last one?"

"i think you know already," he says it so softly yet it held so much behind it and yn couldn't stop the tingle in her belly that brought goosebumps to the surface of her skin and the way his breath washed over her face, warm and minted from when he'd done his nightly routine before bed, had her weak at the knees, "go on, push it."

her eyes dart between his, that stayed focused on her face, and the way his lips looked so inviting and soft. teasing and taunting her. her tongue slipping out between her lips and licking her own because they felt dry.

"what if chris finds out?"

"you're a grown woman," george mumbles softly, "i think you can make your own decisions, huh?"

it's the first time she feels a tremble in her hands as she brings her arms up, resting her forearms on his shoulders and letting her fingers comb through the hairs at the back of his head. soft strands so gentle against her cold hands.

and george seizes the opportunity to test the waters of the situation by pressing his lips against hers in a peck, quick and messy, before he pulled away and waited for a response... a verbal response... yet it never came.

because it came in the form of a reciprocated kiss, fingers digging deeper into his hair as she pulled him closer, his arms wrapping around her waist as he brought her into his chest and held her tight in a hold that made her melt. he wanted her to have control, on her own terms, to test herself out in what was happening.

"chris is going to kill me," she says softly, "you guys were off limits."

"he'll get over it."

yn laughs softly and drops her forehead to his chest, his arms still tight around her waist and just couldn't let go of her, and there was a comfortable silence that swallowed the two of them. the previous moments playing on their minds.

"fancy sharing that bed tonight?"

he grins at her question, hearing the hidden desire in her voice, and presses a kiss to her head.

"i'd love that." x

[two-white-butterflies]

when he goes down on me

Description: A struggling accounting student meets a successful lawyer. A relationship blossoms. With a few social media excerpts.

Pairing: thranduil/reader

Warnings: age-gap

There was a saying around the school - only the accountings get the accountings. While all the students from the other majors were out partying and dancing until their heels hurt from jumping, the accountings were stuck memorizing business terms and calculating debits and credits until their fingers hurt from routinely tapping their calculators. It was a figurative hell on earth.

And you have always been fond of burning.

It was seldom to see you attend a party, but miraculously your schedule cleared up and there weren't any quizzes or lectures in the vicinity. "Are you already missing the comforts of Harvard?" your father teases and you crack a smile. "God, don't remind me of studying." You groaned while slumping on the leather couch.

You've almost forgotten about the comforts of your childhood home after being surrounded by flashing white lights and empty cans of redbull, comfort wasn't exactly in your vocabulary. "I'm just saying; you ditched school to attend the neighborhood gathering and you are cooped up in this humid living room, avoiding everyone who wants to talk to you." He emphasizes, encouraging you to come out.

"Please, those people saw me grow up. I hardly think that I'm missing out." You reasoned, returning your attention back to your cellphone. "- all they ever talk about is me getting married, or at least having a boyfriend." You added while scrolling past a TikTok video about some random guy bashing Crumbl cookies.

The people in your parent's close circle were typical upper-echelon folks whose only means of communicating with some 20+ year old is asking them about marriage. Of course, your usual reply would be that you are not seeing anyone and they'd blink at you like fucking reptiles. They can't fathom the idea that a young, intelligent and relatively good-looking (not ugly) woman still didn't have a husband.

It did make you happy that they found you interesting enough to have a husband but it was infuriating that being married was the only thing they cared about you. They belonged to a different time, you tell yourself before your mind drifts back into TikTok.

"We have a new neighbor, he's a good fellow but he's a little too young for our crowd. I don't think that he's old enough to relate to Geert's Hoover Deluxe jokes. You should talk to him, you've always had magic with your words." He encourages, and a sigh escapes your mouth. "Dad, I'm not talking to one of your golf buddies." You groaned. Maybe it was a mistake coming here.

You still needed to study for the licensure test, that test was something that you could not fail. It was the first step to your CPA to Lawyer plot-line, if you are unable to handle the pressure of the licensure exam then maybe you aren't equipped with Law School. Then, maybe you should just drop out and become a stay-at-home daughter like your other friend, Magnolia.

"He's a lawyer. He handled that case that you were fixated on, the one with the ballerina and her father. Of course, he defended the ballerina." He did his best to remember your teenage ramblings about Oonagh, the ballerina, and her treacherous ex-husband, Gilbert. "What?" You pry your attention away from your mobile phone. Johnson v Johnson was the court case that began your fascination with law, and the guy who defended Oonagh Johnson was in the same house as you! Goddamn.

Thranduil wanted to let the ground consume him whole. He's spent a lot of time with businessmen and world-leaders alike but BBQ with his neighbors was a different type of embarrassment. He couldn't relate to them in matters of American life or farming, and he honestly doesn't know enough about the outsourcing industry to make a decent connection with these folks.

Of course, he could relate to their wives about perfume, but he doesn't want to be that cunt who talks to random people's wives. He seriously wanted to go home, but then he sees a figure in his periphery. A woman with amazing hair, walking towards him and suddenly everything was happening in slow motion.

She takes a step, her hair moves along with her, the wind is her willing assistant and her lips turned upwards. A smile. Is she looking at me? He tries to hide the fact that he was looking over his shoulder. Maybe she's looking at someone behind me? He thinks, but then again, there was no one standing beside him, save the rose bush.

"Hey," you greet him and suddenly he finds himself leaning back into his true self. The confident defense attorney who charms everyone that he speaks to. "Hey?" He raises an eyebrow, as if he's teasing you. "My dad told me that you were the one who defended Oonagh Johnson back in 2012." You opened your mouth to speak.

Always straightforward. Time is gold.

"Yes, it was a terrible thing what happened to her." He breaths. The case seemingly close to his heart just like this case was to you. "I know that it sounds a little creepy but that is my favorite case in the history of the world. I was thirteen years old-" you rambled and he releases a breath that he was unaware that he was holding.

Thirteen years old in 2012. I feel so old. He muses.

"- I didn't know what I wanted to be, and then I saw you and Oonagh on the news. I knew then that I wanted to be in the same spot as you, defending women, minorities, children. I knew then that I wanted to give what was due. Justice." You finished rambling, he notices that smile on your face.

It reminded him of himself back in his rookie days, that hopeless glimmer in your eyes mirroring back to all the years before him. Some dreams remain dreams, and others turn into goals. "Well, that case is close to my heart. I don't think I've ever told anyone about this before but my mother was a victim of domestic abuse, her father was not a good man, and when I defended Oonagh, I felt some sort of retribution..." He pauses. I shouldn't tell this to a stranger.

"It is a different kind of power that you feel when you do something right. Yes, it is every citizen's right to defend themselves in the court of law whether or not they are guilty or innocent, but I think that you'll realize this when you do become a lawyer. It feels like a breath of relief when you bring true justice to the innocents." He continues. A feeling that feels so far from me now.

"Yeah, I don't know how I'll deal with choosing cases when I'm an actual lawyer but my dad says that I don't have to think about that until after I actually pass the bar." You chuckled nervously. He pries his attention away from his current woes, "Oh, are you studying law right now?" He inquired, his body leaning closer to yours.

"Oh no, I'm studying Accounting right now. It's my pre-law course." You informed, and he slowly finds himself respecting you. "I wish that I did something cool like that, my pre-law was Polsci and I wouldn't recommend it even to my worst enemy." He chuckles, his conscience floating away and instead is focused on you.

The shining starlight that has come to guide him away from this existential crisis. "I've heard a lot of things about that major. Some people say that it doesn't really equip you in law school, but the Polsci majors that I know are such cool people." You smiled, only beginning to realize that the man standing in front of you was h o t.

Hot with a capital 'H'.

He had a cleanly shaven face, and beautiful golden blonde hair that seriously rivaled those of the Targaryens that you watch on HBO. (You are still stuck in Season 5 of GOT due to being on studying jail.)

"That major did not help me in law school. It gave me an overview but law school is ultimately a different demon." He warns, staring deep into your eyes. She looks good, he thinks. "Well, hopefully if I pass next year I'll be able to apply for law school. Are there any universities that you recommend?" You ask and he ponders.

"I finished my degree in Harvard-"

"Fuck," you interrupted him. "No, I'm sorry." You gasp.

"I study in Harvard right now. It's just I found it - I don't know." You mentally cringe, accepting the fact that you've let go of your chance with dating this hot lawyer man. "It's alright, I was gonna say to not study in Harvard. Stanford is much better. I've found really formidable opponents who finished their degree in Stanford." He smiles, finding your quirks to be adorable.

It is not everyday that a woman walks into his life and talks about his best case to date, and then laugh about stupid stupid things. "The food isn't really that great to be honest," you mumbled. "Some things never change." He mused. "Oh wait, I'm sorry. I haven't introduced myself. I'm Y/N Saint." You offer your hand to shake and he takes it.

"Thranduil Greenwood." He smiles while shaking your hand. He lets go of it, and then remembers. "Daniel's your father?" He asks. "Yeah, but he's not really my biological father, he adopted me when he married my mom." You provided a bit of a background information.

He tries to make the conversation longer, in the hopes that you wouldn't walk away from him or that you'd leave at least an email or a number or a facebook profile so that he'll have some way of communicating with you. "He's a nice guy." He compliments.

"He's more than nice," you smile.

Suddenly, your phone rings. "Oh damn, sorry. I really have to catch a plane, but it was so nice talking to you attorney. Um, do you have a phone or anything. I'd love to keep in touch." You turn the alarm off, and focus your attention back to him. He unlocks his iphone and hands it to you. You glance at his wallpaper. "It's my son." he answers, not bothering to hide that fact about him.

"You have a wife?" You tired to keep your tone nonchalant, but it comes out jealous and icky. "No, his mother left when he was born. Funny enough, I couldn't blame her anyways. I was twenty, she was nineteen and she had an art degree." He jests and you try your best to find an instagram app on his phone.

How old is this man anyways? All he had on his phone was whatsapp, imessage, a few apps that were there when you buy the phone, and then two different email apps (email for apple and gmail.) Which made you want to laugh at him, as it was adorable, but you decide to open his notes app. "I don't have any social media except for instagram so I'll just write my username down and hopefully you do have an Instagram at home." Your voice turns nervous at the end.

There was a 50/50 chance that Thranduil had an instagram. "Goodbye, it was nice talking to you." You greet, handing him his phone, but before he could reply - you sprint away.

yournamesaint: mornings like these...

liked by 891 others

>comments

ingridhorstefe: the type of thing u see before going to bed - yournamesaint: chug redbull and the bed becomes a theory - ingridhorstefe: id reply something smart abt management theory but my brain is fcking fried

"Thank you for helping me set up an Instagram account, Tauriel." Thranduil thanks his intern before taking a sip of his coffee. "I don't think that you should post anything for legal reasons, but I already fixed your profile and privated your account. I also told everyone in the firm to follow you, Legolas says he'll only follow you after you get 10 followers so everyone won't think that he's following a bot." Tauriel continues, and Thranduil has no idea what those words mean.

"It is about time that I enter the realm social media. I mean, it is one thing to not have social media but Atty. Elros has an instagram and he's literally fifty something." Thranduil jokes. "I did tell you to sign up, which reminds me, you should follow Atty. Alfred." Tauriel presses the 'follow' button on his screen.

"As much as I hate Atty. Elros he has an amazing feed." He jokes again, and Tauriel nods agreeing with him. "He's actually an excellent photographer, I've heard a story about him actually. I heard that he wanted to be a photographer at first but then had a change of heart because his twin brother became a neurosurgeon..." Tauriel informs.

greenwoodlaw_ has requested to follow you

yournamesaint wants to call you.

"Hello," he greets seeing your face on the other end of the line. "Hey, I'm surprised to see you with an instagram. I mean I'm not stalking you or anything, it just says 'new' on your profile." You found yourself explaining to him, and he responds with a laugh. "Tauriel, my staff, helped me make this account. I figured that it was about time that I make one, I mean even the old lawyers in the neighboring firm have their own social medias." His big eyebrows merged together.

"I was about to give you my phone number yesterday but I remembered that I didn't have a line. I wouldn't be able to call you or reply to the text messages." You reply uneasily. Your father has pestered you about getting a line since the moment you bought your phone, but you shook him off saying that no one texts or calls people in their mobile number anymore. You were wrong.

"I didn't really bother paying for that since it's a distraction." You settle your phone on the desk in front of you, not bothering to adjust it to an angle that'll make you look better. There is no use fighting against what you really look like. "I understand. Shouldn't you be studying?" He asks and you shake your head.

"I'm free, miraculously, but I'll start on some reviewers in an hour. Better safe than sorry." You inform.

"You must always be on your feet." He says.

"You sound a lot like my professor." You teased. "- but thank you for the advise, I shall use it well." You add.

Tauriel walks inside of his office, carrying a stack of files. "Oh, it looks like you've got a lot of work to do." You smile. Tauriel raises an eyebrow but he gives her a glance telling her not to ask any questions. "I guess this is goodbye. I'll call you again tomorrow."

"Goodbye,"

"Bye."

[amirasainz]

Hello there. I love your work. I was wondering if you could write one where baby sainz is pregnant with charles and alexandra baby.

Oh my god. This was so hard to write. I hope I did an okay-ish job. My requests are always open! Enjoy reading! -XoXo

The Pregnancy

Amira’s heart raced as she stared at the positive pregnancy test. She was only 21, and her relationship with Alex and Charles was still in its early stages—just five months old. How could this be happening? Tears streamed down her face as she sat on the toilet seat, overwhelmed by the news.

Unaware of her distress, the apartment door swung open. “Dove, we’re back home!” Alex’s voice echoed through the hallway. She exchanged a puzzled glance with Charles when they received no response. Concerned, they called out to her again. “Jolie fille? Are you here?”

Then they heard it—the heartbreaking sniffles coming from the bathroom. Without hesitation, they rushed to the door. There, they found their beautiful Amira, tears staining her cheeks. “Oh my god, baby, what happened?” Alex and Charles approached her, their worry evident. They immediately ran to her, took her in their arms and whispers sweet nothings in french in her ear. "Tout va bien, mon amour" or "Je t'ai, bébé" was the things she heard. Sometimes Charles would even say "Niente può ferirti, amore mio".

Amira’s sobs subsided after what felt like an eternity. Charles cradled her face in his hands, gently wiping away her tears. “What’s wrong, bébé?” Alex asked once more. Instead of answering, Amira held up the positive test, her emotions laid bare.

She had mentally prepared herself for a difficult conversation—a potential breakup, perhaps. But what unfolded surprised her. Alex and Charles erupted in joy, hugging her tightly and peppering her cheeks with kisses. “Oh honey, you have no idea how happy you make us,” Alex exclaimed.

“You’re not mad at me?” Amira whispered, her voice trembling.

Charles grinned, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Of course not, mon amour. After all, it takes three to make a baby.” His wink was playful, and Amira felt a rush of relief. She was no longer alone; she had her partners by her side. And in that moment, despite the unexpected circumstances, she felt a warmth that eclipsed any fear. What unfolded now was a nine moths journey.

Ah, the joys and challenges of pregnancy! Emotions running wild, cravings taking unexpected turns—Amira’s journey was far from ordinary. But nestled within those moments were the seeds of a beautiful story—a tale of love, anticipation, and shared dreams.

Charles and Alexandra, devoted partners, reveled in the miracle unfolding before them. Their princess, Amira, carried their future—a tiny life nestled within her. The princess treatment they bestowed upon her was more precious than any crown. They doted on her, their attentiveness unwavering.

Charles, ever the thoughtful one, brought home gifts—a tangible expression of his love for his three favorite people. Sometimes it was a soft blanket for cozy nights, a whimsical mobile for the nursery, or a book of bedtime stories to read aloud. Each gift held a promise: “We’re in this together.”

And Alex? Well, she took on a new role—the fashion curator for Amira. It was common knowledge that Amira Sainz was a stunning woman. But pregnancy transformed her—radiance multiplied a thousandfold. She floated through sunny days in pretty summer dresses, her baby bump a testament to life’s magic. Alex’s choices were impeccable, accentuating her glow. The two of them weren't able to look away from their pretty girl.

Their protectiveness knew no bounds. Amira wasn’t allowed to step out of a room without at least one of them by her side. Shared showers became intimate moments—her baby bump a delightful obstacle, yet they navigated it with care. The warmth of water, the closeness of skin—these were the memories etched into their hearts.

At night, they cocooned her. Alex half beneath her, Charles spooned against her back. Their hands rested on her belly, feeling the flutter of life within. They whispered promises to their unborn child, their love a lullaby. And if anyone dared approach their Amira, they wedged themselves between her and the world. No one touched their perfect girl without permission.

Amira’s pregnancy was a symphony of emotions, cravings, and shared laughter. She had the best of both worlds—the thrill of Formula 1 and the tenderness of love. As the days counted down, they dreamed of tiny fingers and sleepy smiles. And when the moment arrived—their baby’s first cry echoing through the room—they knew their lives had changed forever.

Three hearts beating as one—a family forged on racetracks and whispered promises. Amira, Charles, and Alex—their love story had just begun.

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

Claws

《Stray/Catlad!Jason Todd / Reader》

-

Smiling brightly, you happily walk beside the dark-haired boy. He pays you mind, head in a book, ignoring you. A scowl on his face as sound of your foot-steps copying his.

Sighing, he closes the book, pausing, waiting for you to say something. His attention fully on you.

"What." He asks plainly, glancing over your love-sick smile as you happily hold two tickets in your hand. "Hi Jason! I just wanted to know if you would want to go too a movie with mw this weekend?"

Eyes brimming with hope, you watch him frown deeper.

"Can't. I'm busy with work."

"Oh! Well, that's okay. Maybe-"

Jason pockets his book, heading to his bike as he hops on. Putting on his helment as he starts the engenie and drives off.

"...Aw man..." You sigh, deflating as you look at the tickets. Noticing in the corner of your eye a cat themed book mark on the floor.

Picking it up, your face warms up as you beam at the written initals on the back.

"Well, theres always next time! Hmmm.. Maybe I'll pass this tickets to Bruce.. I don't wanna tell Dick though. He'll probably get upset.."

You hold the book mark close, skipping along home.

-

Turning away from the night sky, legs swinging back and forth on the ledge. You overhear a grunt, you glance down. Seeing a fight down below. Catwoman scratching at Batmans chest with her claws as he grits his teeth.

There goes a calm patrol...

Getting up, you feel a hand grab yours, twirling you around, your body bumps into a familar chest...

"Panther..."

You said politely, rolling your eyes with a smile. Taking a step back as you look at him with slight caution.

"Heya Purr-ity~!" He says snarkly, licking his lips as you turn away.

"Eyes up here." He states, grabbing your cheeks. His claw like gloves digging into your face as you gaze at him doe-eyed, scoffing. Swatting away the hand, the wind becomes stronger as your tickets fly out from your pocket.

Damn! You forgot to leave them in your civilian clothes!

Eyes widening, you try to grab them, but was beaten to the punch..!

"Huh... Didn't know you liked the books." He mumbles.

"Well, kinda. I got into them recently and saw the movie was coming out..."

You recalled Jason throwing his copy of the book at you after you spooked him on accident. Hoping to ask him out to a cafe together, instead, you got a free book and a bruised forehead.

What luck!

"...And you coincidentally had two tickets.."

"Yeah? I was gonna' give them to Batman instead-"

The male laughed, throwing his head back at the idea of Bataman watching a romantic historicall fiction movie. All in his get-up as he grumbles nonsense.

"Yeah, no..." He smirks, holding the tickets tighter. "No way he's going to do that! Sides', who he'd go with? Catwoman? Yeah, instant rejection." He says dryly, shrugging his shoulder. "Even those Bird-Brains know better to give that to their Boss."

He mentioned Nightwing and Robin, shrugging.

You sneakily try to grab the papers back, yet he easily dodged.

"Guess' you and I are going."

"Wha-?"

You feel him pick you up, slung over his shoulder. Half-expecting him to throw you. Instead, he starts running as he carries you!?

-

Jason Todd in this Au, is succsessfull in stealing the wheels off the bat-mobile. That catches the attention of certain cat-like thief. So he becomes her protege. Super Easy.

I headcanon Jason being kinda closed off in his Au, but slowly becomes more open. He's happier in his own little world with his books and Selina's multiple cats.

-

"Panther..? No.. Move! Move please! Move you stupid cat! Panther!"

Pushing away the thief, the sound of a crowbear smashing into your sides rung in the desolate area. "AUGH-!" You scream, Joker laughing as you fall and crash into one of the shipping crates of Joker-Gas.

"..Purrincess..?" Panther spoke slowly, the nickname a bit bitter on his tounge, more fond of Purr-ity. Yet it meant nothing now, no sweet familiar giggle. Nor playful banter..

Instead, horrible laughter.

In this Au, Jason doesn't die. But hates Joker in general. While.. Heroine(Y/N) doesn't suffer OG Jasom Todd fate..

Possibly, but super close calls.

Also, made up a small au where she has a Ric Graysom situation, so a possible idea too. Dunno, I wont decide.

"D'aww... How sweet! Give it up for lovers!" The clown cackled as the henchman stare in horror. Blinking out of his shock, the thief snarls in a animalistic manner. Yelling as he grab one of his guns, pointing at the head of the stupid clown.

-

"Wow..! Ears! So cute!" You said in awe, wearing your civilian clothes as the thief grumbles. Looking away, not bothering with you. Even when you and the other, "hostages" sat as Catwoman snagged the musem jewlery.

You sweat a bit, not partically used to his cold shoulder. Often him hogging your vigilante time instead.

-

Pressing a soft kiss on your knuckle, you eye Jasons bloodied hands worriedly. Sure, you adored the contact, but you were worried.

"Thank you, for your help- B-but your hurt!" You make sure your hands cup around his. Worriedly glancing around for a bandage or calling one of the officers.

Protective Nightwing Lol.

"Don't worry, (V/N)! Got one of the paramedics right here!"

You pout as Nightwing gets in the middle of you and Jason. Pushing the health care hero between you two. The Big Bird ushering you to Bat's side.

[What?? More Batboys as Cat Thiefs?? Yes. Originally, i wanted to call him. "Alley-Cat", but found out there already was one! Anyway, yay! Comments and art are always wanted and appriciated!]

[angelsuecult]

bundle of joy | s. crosby

warnings: none that I know of?

summary: Sid feels guilty about missing too much time with your newborn baby and is doing his best to keep up on a particularly restless night

wordcount: 4.6k

a/n: back with some girldad sid! I hope you guys like this one as much as i did writing it! also im going to try to post more often as long as i keep having ideas! anyway enjoy!

The house feels softer tonight, like it’s finally taken a breath. Sidney’s home, and the weight that usually sits in your chest—the one that settles in every time he’s away—has lightened. You’re both exhausted in different ways, piecing together this new rhythm of parenthood. There’s a quietness about the evening, a gentle peace, as you watch Sid watching her, mesmerized by the little miracle beside him. It’s almost like he’s studying her, absorbing every tiny expression, every noise and stretch.

The game’s over, the travel bags are set aside, and he’s finally here, laying with your daughter with the kind of admiration he once reserved for stepping onto the ice. Sid has this tenderness that makes him almost reverent, as if he’s still in awe that she’s real, that she’s his.

Dinner dishes are still in the sink, and a warm, sleepy atmosphere hangs over everything as you sit nearby, watching Sidney and your baby girl on the floor, her little cheeks pressed against her blanket for tummy time.

Sid is lying on his stomach, his head resting on his folded arms, totally captivated by her tiny features, the way she furrows her brow in concentration, her delicate fingers splaying against the blanket as she wobbles slightly. She’s getting stronger every day, her head lifting just a bit higher each time.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but you know Sid has been feeling the weight of being away—the way he hovers around her every chance he gets, like he’s making up for all the moments he can’t be there. She’s only ten weeks old, yet his heart aches each time he misses even a second of her life.

As if sensing his thought, she makes a delighted little noise, her whole face lighting up, and he laughs softly. “Okay, okay, I hear you,” he says, reaching out to gently tickle her sides, watching her squirm with joy. “You’re just a bundle of joy, aren’t you?”

She kicks her chubby legs, her little hands pressed into the soft blanket as she lifts her head, wobbling slightly as she tries to hold her balance. And every time her gaze lands back on her dad, her face lights up in the sweetest smile.

“Look at you, so strong already,” Sidney cooed, his voice soft and full of pride. “You’re making Daddy look bad, you know that? I don’t think I was doing half of this at your age.”

She gurgled back, a happy, nonsensical sound, her wide eyes never leaving his face. Sidney felt his heart squeeze, a warmth spreading through his chest as he reached out to brush a gentle hand over her back, his fingers feather-light, reassuring. The start of the season had taken more time than he wanted away from his girls, but this moment — her looking at him like he was her entire world — was exactly what he’d been longing for.

Every few minutes, he would pick up one of her favorite toys, holding it out for her in an attempt to keep her entertained. But no matter how he waved the little stuffed bear or shook the rattle, her attention never strayed far from him.

“She’s obsessed with you,” you say softly, smiling from where you’re watching them. You’ve seen her go wild for her toys and the bright colors of her mobile, but nothing lights her up like Sid’s voice, his gentle touches, the way he looks at her with that unending awe.

Sid laughs, a warm, almost shy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he keeps his eyes on her. “I think I’m the obsessed one,” he replies, unable to stop himself from smiling as she wiggles her way closer, her tiny hands clutching at the blanket beneath her as she babbles at him.

“You’re not even gonna look at your favorite toys?” he teases softly, nudging one of the soft blocks with his finger to catch her eye. But she only giggles, her face lighting up at his voice, and he laughs, clearly thrilled she’s so focused on him.

She lets out a soft, happy coo, reaching her chubby little hand toward Sid. He beams, taking her hand in his much larger one, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “You’re just the sweetest little thing, aren’t you, princess?”

She makes a delighted noise, all bright eyes and tiny, wiggling fingers, her whole little body lighting up at the sound of his voice. She watches him with utter fascination, her eyes tracking his every move as he leans closer, making a gentle raspberry sound that makes her giggle. The little coos and gurgles that follow are filled with pure joy, as if she can’t believe how lucky she is to have her dad right there.

He lifts a little plush penguin, giving it a soft shake to make it squeak, trying to get her attention. “Look, sweet pea, it’s Mr. Waddles,” he coos, giving the toy a gentle wave. But she just blinks at it once, then goes right back to staring at him with a look of pure adoration. He can’t help but laugh, warmth filling his voice as he lowers the toy.

“Oh, so I’m the favorite, huh?” he murmurs, leaning in close. “Sorry, Mr. Waddles, you’ve been replaced.” His voice is soft, tender, the same way he speaks to you in quiet moments. It’s clear she has him wrapped around her tiny finger.

Sidney grinned, scooting even closer, so his face was right next to hers. The two of them shared a silent understanding, a bond that needed no words. She reached out with one tiny hand, resting it on his cheek, her fingers barely grazing his skin, and Sid could feel his heart swell.

He lifts a soft, crinkly book to her, giving it a shake. “You don’t want to play with this one, either? This is a good one.” She gives him an adorable little frown before her eyes settle back on his face, and he can’t help but laugh. “Fine, fine,” he says, dropping the book and settling onto his elbow so he’s even closer to her. “I guess I’ll just have to keep entertaining you myself.”

He talks to her, telling her about the game last night, how they pulled through in the third period, even throwing in some dramatics, his eyes lighting up as he describes each detail in a gentle, funny voice. She stares up at him, her gaze never wavering, and every so often, he pauses to brush a finger over her tiny hand or to press a kiss to her head, whispering little things only meant for her.

He let her tiny fingers grip his finger, her little hand wrapping around it with surprising strength. “You know, I missed you guys this week. Daddy’s been gone too much, huh?” The guilt he’d been carrying all week melted away, at least for now. Being here, watching her, feeling her little fingers on his skin — this was exactly where he wanted to be.

When she seemed to tire a bit, her arms wobbling from the effort of tummy time, Sidney gently rolled her onto her back and scooped her up, bringing her close to his chest. She snuggled in without hesitation, a satisfied little sigh escaping her lips, and Sidney pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

You laughed, shaking your head. “If she wasn’t overdue for a bath, I’d leave you two to your little love fest. But she’s getting a bit—stinky.”

Sidney pretended to gasp, looking down at her with an exaggerated expression of shock. “Stinky? You, my little angel? No way.”

Her eyes still fixed on him, clearly reluctant to leave her special time with him. Sidney chuckled, lifting her up into his arms with the same gentleness he always did. “Alright, stinky butt, it’s bath time. Let’s get you all cleaned up.”

He padded down the hall toward the bathroom, her head resting on his shoulder as he held her close. She gave a little sigh, already so at ease in his arms, and he couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You smell like trouble, you know that?” he murmured, amused by the little puff of air she let out in response.

He took his time, cherishing every moment, his hands gentle and steady as he helped wash each tiny arm, each pudgy little leg. She never took her eyes off him, her smile wide and pure, her complete adoration for him clear in every happy babble, every soft coo.

As you dry her off, Sidney’s hands are gentle as they towel her tiny body, careful and tender in a way that only comes from a love he’s discovering more deeply every day.

You watch him with a soft smile, knowing he’s been missing moments like these more than he’d ever admit. With the season in full swing, he’s been away more often than he’d like, and though you always reassure him, he still carries the weight of wanting to be here for every second, every milestone.

He gently lifts her into his arms, cradling her close as he turns to you with a soft smile. “Come on, let’s get this little one to bed,” he whispers, carrying her to the nursery, dimly lit and perfectly peaceful, designed just for her. Her crib is tucked beneath a mobile that slowly spins with soft woodland creatures.

His movements gentle and careful as he laid her down on the changing table, her little legs kicking out as made tiny noises, those adorable baby coos that melted his heart. He grinned, running a thumb over her soft skin. “Let’s get you ready for bed, sweetheart,” he whispered.

He dressed her slowly, savoring every little wiggle, every soft sound she made. “You’re gonna try and sleep so well for us tonight, huh?” he cooed, securing her diaper and slipping her into the soft pajamas that you had picked out earlier. They were navy-colored, adorned with little stars—your favorite, and now his too.

You watched from the doorway, leaning against the frame with a sleepy smile. This had become your nightly routine: bath time, lullabies, and then watching Sid handle the last bit of getting her dressed and ready for bed.

Sid turned toward you, holding your little girl close to his chest, her tiny hand resting against his shoulder. “She’s perfect,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the calm of the moment.

“She is,” you agreed softly, stepping into the room. You rested your hand on his back, the familiar warmth of his body bringing you comfort. Despite everything, you had never once doubted what a good father Sid was, or the love he had for both of you. But you knew how much he hated missing out, and that guilt sometimes crept into moments like these.

She let out a soft, sleepy sigh, her little body snuggling further into Sid’s chest. You both fell silent, watching her drift off in his arms. These moments were precious—the stillness, the quietness that settled over your little family as the day wound down.

Sid carefully placed her in her crib, pulling her soft, knitted blanket over her. His hand lingered on her for a moment, watching the rise and fall of her breathing, as if committing every detail to memory. He turned back to you, taking your hand and leading you out of the nursery, quietly closing the door behind him.

In the dim light of your bedroom, the fatigue of the day began to weigh on you. Sid helped you slip into bed, pulling the covers up as he joined you. His hand found yours beneath the blanket, squeezing gently.

These days, Sid’s schedule seemed to pull him away more than either of you wanted, and though you hadn’t said a word, he could see it. The way motherhood clung to you—something beautiful but heavy. Sid hadn’t known it could be like this: the love, yes, but also the guilt, especially in moments like these when he could hold his tiny daughter, damp curls pressed to her head and sleepy eyes blinking up at him, feeling like he'd missed so much already. He was trying to make up for lost time, just as much for you as for her.

It had been a whirlwind since her birth, every day a blend of deep love, a bit of exhaustion, and a growing sense of awe at the little life together you had created. The guilt had slowly crept in, especially when he saw how naturally and constantly you tended to her. You never made him feel like he was falling short, never once said he wasn’t doing enough. But Sid felt the weight of what he could be doing — what he wanted to do for both of you.

He’d started noticing the little things, the way your shoulders slumped when you finally sank into bed at the end of the day, or how you’d stare off with a distant look as if you were running through a mental list of the million things you had to do. It struck him that you were tired in a way he hadn’t quite understood before becoming a dad. This was a different kind of tired — a kind that meant you were giving every part of yourself.

Sid had long made a silent vow to himself when she was born. Whenever he got the chance, he would take on the nightshift — he’d be the one to wake up whenever she cried, needed comfort, a bottle, or just to be held. Whatever it took to let you rest, he was committed to it.

The night was thick with stillness, save for the faint hum of the baby monitor on the nightstand. Sidney lay with one arm wrapped around you, listening to the gentle sound of your breathing, each rise and fall a comfort he’d come to rely on.

Just as he started to drift off, a faint cry cut through the quiet, little and insistent. It was that particular sound he was learning to recognize—It was just past 1 a.m. when he heard her. She stirred first, little whimpers escaping before her cry broke out, sharp and insistent, as if she were testing her strength. He could feel you stirring, instinctively moving to sit up, but he was quicker.

“Hey, hey, shh,” he whispered, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I got it, baby. Go back to sleep.”

You murmured something, half asleep, but the warmth of his hand and his reassurance kept you in place. Satisfied that you were settling back down, he slipped out of bed, letting you settle back into the warmth of the blankets. The nursery was just down the hall, but as he walked through the quiet house, he felt his heart swell with excitement, knowing he’d get these next few hours with his little girl.

When he entered the nursery, he found her lying in her crib, tiny fists waving in the air, her face scrunched up in a way that was almost comical.

“Hey there, little one,” he murmured, reaching down to scoop her up. “You miss me already, huh? Can’t blame you. I missed you too.”

She wiggled slightly, her little face pressing against his chest as he held her close. Her cries softened, her tiny hands curling into his shirt. Sid could feel the small weight of her body, the warmth of her cheek against him, and it made his heart ache with love. These were the moments he’d missed, and he could feel just how much they meant to him now, holding her close in the stillness of the night.

As he swayed gently, he whispered to her, his voice barely above a murmur, ““What’s the matter, huh? You missing some snuggles? Or maybe you’re just checking in on me, making sure I’m still on duty?” He smiled softly, rubbing her back with gentle circles, just like he’d seen you do a hundred times. ““Well, I missed you, too, you know. Just because I’m over there with Mom doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about you.”

She let out a small, contented sigh, her face nuzzling into his shoulder, and Sid chuckled softly. “That’s my girl,” he whispered. “See? We got this.”

Once she settled, Sid carefully placed her back in the crib, watching her for a few long moments to make sure she was comfortable. Her little body relaxed, her face softening as she drifted back to sleep, and Sid let out a quiet sigh of relief.

After a while Sid slipped back into bed beside you. “She went down easy,” he whispered, a hint of pride in his voice as he kissed your shoulder again.

The second time she woke, Sid felt her cries before he fully registered them, his instincts kicked in before he was even conscious. He was almost up when he noticed you stir, your hand reaching out instinctively. Before you could lift your head, Sid’s hand was there, resting over yours.

“It’s okay, babe,” he murmured, squeezing your hand gently. “Stay in bed, I’ve got her.”

You opened one eye, looking at him, a mix of gratitude and exhaustion in your gaze. “Are you sure? You’ve barely slept yourself.”

Sid just smiled, brushing a hand over your cheek. “I don’t mind. She’s only this little once, right?”

You smiled sleepily, sinking back into the sheets as he stood, heading once more to the nursery. This time, her cries were a little louder, more insistent, and when he picked her up, he could feel her squirming, fussing against him. He rubbed her back, bouncing gently as he paced the room.

“Oh, I know, sweetie. You’re really mad this time, huh?” He chuckled softly, walking over to the window, showing her the soft moonlight outside. “Nothing like a good cry in the middle of the night to get all that extra energy out, huh? Are you working on your lung power?”

She hiccuped, her cries faltering slightly as she listened to his voice. Sid kept talking, the sound of his soft words seeming to calm her. “There’s my strong girl. You can tell me all about it, I’ll listen. I’m all ears. But maybe we could talk about it in a whisper? Just for now? Mom’s still sleeping.”

Her little head leaned into his shoulder, her cries softening to soft, hiccupy breaths as he continued to sway, whispering to her.

“There we go, that’s it. I knew you had it in you.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, feeling the warmth of her tiny body as she settled against him. “You know, sometimes Dad needs these little reminders, too. I miss you during the day, you know that? So I don’t mind these late-night check-ins. Means I get a little extra time with my girl.”

After a while, she was calmer, her breaths evening out, and Sid was able to settle her back into her crib. He brushed a hand over her hair, smiling as she nestled down, her tiny fist clutching her blanket. “Goodnight again, baby girl. Sleep tight, alright?”

As you both settled into sleep, Sid’s arm wrapped around your waist, you felt at peace. The challenges of new parenthood weren’t easy, but with Sid by your side, they felt just a little lighter.

It was the third time that night that Sid heard her cry. It was early—too early, the sun hadn’t even started to rise, and the world outside was still fast asleep. But inside, their baby girl’s cry pierced the silence, loud and insistent, the kind of hungry wail that signaled she was ready to eat now.

Sid blinked awake instantly, feeling the tiny pang of exhaustion in his body, but it didn’t matter. He could hear how deep you were sleeping beside him, finally getting the rest you so desperately needed. You didn’t stir, and he was relieved for that. He had promised he’d take care of everything tonight, and that’s exactly what he intended to do.

Sliding quietly out of bed, Sid moved through the hallway with practiced stealth, heading to the nursery. As soon as he entered the room, he found his baby girl squirming in her crib, her face scrunched up in frustration, those tiny fists waving in the air. Her cry was urgent but not frantic, a signal to him that she was uncomfortable, but also that she knew help was coming.

“Shh, I’m here, sweetheart,” Sid whispered, leaning over to scoop her into his arms. The moment she was against his chest, her cries softened a little, though her face still showed her impatience. He smiled, adjusting her tiny body against him, holding her close. “I know, baby girl, you’re hungry, huh? I’ve got you. Let’s go get your bottle.”

As if on cue, she let out another cry, and Sid chuckled softly, rubbing her back. “Okay, okay, we’ll get you taken care of,” he whispered. “Come on, let’s get you a nice breakfast, yeah?”

He walked with her through the house, each creak of the floor carefully avoided as he carried her toward the kitchen. The house was still so dark, but Sid knew his way around even without lights. Her little head rested against his chest, her soft whimpers filling the air as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“It’s okay, we’ll get you fed in no time,” he murmured. He could feel her tiny heartbeat against his chest, the way her breath hitched every few seconds as she calmed down in his arms. It made his own heart swell with love. These were the moments he craved, the quiet, intimate times when it was just him and his daughter.

Sid carefully warmed the bottle, keeping one hand on her as she nestled against him. She was still hungry, still fussing, but being close to him seemed to soothe her just enough to stop the full-on crying. Once the bottle was ready, Sid tested the temperature before cradling her more securely in his arms.

“Alright, sweet girl, here we go,” he whispered, holding the bottle to her lips. She latched on immediately, those big, wide eyes locking on him, and for a moment, everything else disappeared.

Sid walked them back to the nursery, her soft suckling the only sound in the stillness of the house. He sat down in the reclining chair, easing into it carefully as he watched her drink. His hand rested gently on her back, supporting her, while the other held the bottle steady.

“You’re getting so big,” he said softly, his voice full of awe. It was incredible how much she had grown in just 10 weeks. He couldn’t help but marvel at her every day—at her tiny fingers that clung to his hands, her soft cheeks that had filled out since the day she was born, and the way she gazed up at him, as if she already knew him completely.

As she finished the bottle, Sid wiped her mouth gently with a cloth before lifting her to his shoulder to burp her. “You did so good, baby girl,” he murmured, rubbing her back in slow circles. “I’m so proud of you.” It took a few moments, but eventually, a small, satisfied burp escaped her, and Sid chuckled quietly.

She was much more relaxed now, her body soft and pliant against his as he settled her back into his arms. He extended the recliner, shifting her to lay comfortably against his chest. Her head rested right over his heart, her tiny arm tucked under his, as if giving him a hug, while the other lay beside her face, curled into a little fist. Sid draped her small blanket over her, ensuring she was warm, then pulled a larger blanket around them both, tucking a pillow under his arms to keep her safe.

He looked down at her, her eyelids fluttering as she began to drift off, her breath evening out into soft little puffs. Sid couldn’t stop staring. The way her face softened as she fell asleep, the gentle rise and fall of her tiny chest—it was everything. These were the moments he’d been missing, the ones he craved.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice full of love. “You’re just perfect, you know that?” His lips brushed against the top of her head, his arms tightening around her as he rocked the chair ever so slightly. He could feel her settling into him, her tiny body molding to his as if she belonged there, right over his heart.

Sid let out a quiet breath, overwhelmed by how grateful he felt. In this moment, there was nothing else—no guilt, no pressure, just him and his baby girl, wrapped in the quiet of the early morning. This was what he had missed. Not just the milestones, but the quiet, in-between moments. The way her body relaxed against his, the soft warmth of her skin, the trust she had in him to keep her safe.

“You know,” he whispered, “I’m so lucky to be your dad.” His voice was soft, full of emotion, even though she was too young to understand. “I’m gonna be here for you, no matter what. I’m always gonna take care of you.”

Her tiny hand twitched slightly, her fingers curling against his chest as she let out a soft sigh in her sleep. Sid smiled, his heart swelling with an overwhelming sense of love.

“And your mom,” he added, his thoughts drifting back to you, peacefully asleep in the other room. “She’s the best, you know? She’s taking such good care of you—I’m just trying to keep up.” He chuckled quietly, brushing a finger gently along the curve of his daughter’s cheek. “But I’m getting there, baby girl. I’m getting there.”

The house remained quiet, the early morning still cloaked in darkness, but Sid didn’t mind. He would stay like this for as long as she needed, holding her close, listening to her soft breaths as she slept. He kissed her head again, inhaling the sweet scent of baby lotion and her natural warmth.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her, for you. In moments like this, it was easy to forget the worries and the pressures, the things that made him doubt if he was doing enough. All that mattered was this—being here, being present, and making sure his little girl felt loved and safe.

As he rested his head back against the recliner, Sid kept one arm securely around her, the other resting on her back, his fingers lightly tracing patterns along her tiny spine. He couldn’t stop watching her. Every little movement she made, every soft sigh, was precious. He felt a deep sense of gratitude, knowing that despite the hard days, despite the exhaustion, he got to be a part of this—these quiet moments, these little pieces of magic that made it all worth it.

He couldn’t help but marvel at how perfect she was, every little detail of her face, her tiny nose and delicate eyelashes, the way her mouth twitched slightly in sleep. She was his whole world, and in that quiet, early-morning stillness, he felt a peace he’d never known before.

“You’re my whole heart, little one,” he whispered, his voice full of warmth and love. “Thank you for letting me be your dad. I promise I’m gonna do my best to be the dad you deserve.”

With that, he settled back, letting himself drift off with her tiny heartbeat pressed against his body, her soft breaths filling the quiet of the room as the first rays of dawn began to light up the sky.

[luvzshy]

Hey! I love your work! I have an idea for you: reader and billie decorating for their babys nursery ✨

Home

The nursery was a blank canvas, waiting to be filled with colors, textures, and memories. As you stood in the middle of the room, you felt a rush of anticipation. The walls were freshly painted a soft, muted green, but it still felt empty, like a puzzle missing its most important pieces.

Billie burst into the room, a roll of whimsical wallpaper tucked under one arm and a mischievous grin on her face. “I think I found the perfect design!” she announced, unfurling the wallpaper to reveal a playful pattern of animals frolicking in a garden.

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on your lips. “Are we sure we want to go that bold?”

“Absolutely! Our kid deserves a fun space,” she replied, her excitement infectious. “Besides, I can’t wait to tell them about the giraffes!”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Alright, let’s see what it looks like.”

As you worked together, you could feel the connection deepening. Billie took the lead, expertly aligning the paper on the wall while you assisted, passing her the paste and smoothing down the edges. “You know,” she said between giggles, “I always imagined decorating the nursery with you would be a wild adventure.”

“Wild? More like controlled chaos,” you teased, recalling the minor mishaps—the paint splatters on your clothes and the brief battle with the tape measure.

“Hey, chaos is my specialty,” she replied, shooting you a playful wink.

After several hours of laughter, teamwork, and a few snacks scattered across the floor, the wallpaper was finally up. Billie stepped back to admire your work, her eyes wide with joy. “Look at that! It’s perfect!”

You couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride as you both admired the room. It was filled with personality and warmth, a reflection of the love you both shared. Billie’s hand found yours, squeezing gently. “I can’t wait to see our little one in here,” she said softly, her gaze dreamy.

“Me neither,” you replied, your heart swelling at the thought. “We’re going to make so many memories in this room.”

As you began to arrange the furniture, the sound of laughter and joy filled the space. Each piece you placed held meaning—a rocking chair for late-night feedings, a soft rug for tummy time, and shelves that would soon be filled with books and toys.

“Should we hang the mobile now?” Billie asked, pointing to a cute cloud and star mobile you’d picked out together.

“Definitely. It’ll be the finishing touch,” you said, feeling the happiness radiating between you.

With the mobile in place and the last touches added, you both stood back, taking in the nursery one final time. It was more than just a room; it was a testament to your love, a promise of the family you were building together.

Billie wrapped her arms around you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. “I love this. I love us,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

You turned your head slightly, catching her eye. “I love us too,” you replied, feeling the warmth of her embrace envelop you. In that moment, everything felt right.

[zinthelost]

Logan should have been the key to healing Charles' broken heart in dofp.

(In a non-ship way)

While it gave us the great scene of Charles talking to himself, I hate that that was the answer in dofp. I argue that Logan actually was the "right guy" to help Charles right then.

Charles was broken in dofp because of heart break. At the core of the X-Men Charles is offering love, family, and home to people in need of it. And in dofp his first two attempts at that have failed spectacularly.

With Raven he felt he had a sister, fully and without qualification. They were siblings and he loved her and the mansion was their home. But she leaves and casually informs him it was never her home and he was so very easy for her to leave behind. She was his sister since he was 12 and in the 20 years between First Class and Dark Phoenix he sees her twice.

With Erik the cut was even deeper. As with her, he found someone wounded and immediately bonded to him. Here was someone who had been abused horrifically, was elbow deep in blood, seeing only rage and pain in himself, surviving but not living. And Charles saw his heart and offered him love and a home. As with Raven, he said "You're wonderful. I'll love you and we'll be family and this will be your home."

And Erik threw him away.

Charles can't hope anymore. His heartbreak is a devastating blow to a telepath.

Now we have Logan. Logan originally came to Charles a wounded man. Abused, elbow deep in blood, seeing only rage and pain in himself, surviving but not living, but with a good heart. He's the perfect mirror to Erik but when Charles offered him home and family, Logan stayed. And stayed and stayed.

As cherik shippers we focus on Erik being at Charles' side in the dark future, but so is Logan. At the end Charles is flanked by them both. One in front and one behind. Charles doesn't leave the plane till Storm and Logan have stepped out first. They're being hunted by machines and Charles is a telepath in a wheelchair. He is utterly vulnerable and helpless against this foe. Logan is there in the position of a bodyguard. In the movie "Logan" they expand even further into this dynamic and as someone who's been there, I cannot fully express the depth of love and devotion that would be necessary to do what Logan does for Charles in that movie. Caring for a loved one with dementia and mobility issues is hard. And ugly. But Logan is still holding on to Charles. This is his family and he's not letting go.

Erik and Raven threw Charles away, and we know from DP that Hank does as well in this timeline. But in Logan all Charles' love is reciprocated. And through Logan's memories Charles could see the school he builds. All his X-Men. His family.

Without his powers Charles has no idea of any of this. Logan is just some dude who showed up and said "I'm from the future. Grab your coat, we gotta break your ex out of prison and save the world." When Logan offers up his mind to him is when Charles could finally see that the future he's building will be good. His love WILL be reciprocated. His future self just telling him "You'll suffer and that's good because you can use it to help people" isn't enough. That's the opposite of hope, that's literally radical acceptance: a coping mechanism for when there is zero hope.

But! If you change that scene just a bit. Now Logan is certain that he's the problem. He readily admits to Charles that he's not the guy. He's totally wrong. It was meant to be Charles that went back, but they're stuck with him. Logan intends to send Charles to himself but Charles' powers are barely firing. He stumbles on to Logan's pain and recoils. Logan encourages him again and now he's looking forward but instead of jumping right to the target, he's wary after the hit of pain. He has to make his way there gradually. He sees his school. He sees his found family. It's all through Logan's perception so he feels how Logan came there, sees the clear mirroring to Erik, sees that this time his faith was rewarded, feels Logan's trust and love. Sees that when it all falls apart Logan is still there as are so many of his X-Men, that their family bonds are ironclad.

Then, and only then, he meets his older self. And yes, his powers hurt. Yes he will naturally draw to him the most wounded of people. But (and this is an important but) the payoff is that these people are wonderful and they love him. It's not all pain for the sake of others, he also gets happiness. He gets a home full of family and children and hope. His empty mansion that once held only pain and abuse and loneliness is now a true home.

All his older self offered to him was a future of self sacrifice. Logan could have offered him a future of family. Logan was the key to healing Charles' broken heart.

[constantlyembarrassed]

Just Some Light Stalking

Summary: Penelope has been pushing Spencer Reid to get some form of social media for years. Suddenly, he has an Instagram acount? 

Paring: Spencer Reid x Reader

Authors Note: Hi! This is my first post! If you see this please interact :) I would love to meet more people in this community! Oh and the "..." show the change to the alternating story or time.

Warnings: None

Spencer had never been one for cell phones. Let alone social media. Despite Penelope's constant insistence, Spencer only used his cell for the occasional work call.

Yet, there it was. Spencer Reid's Instagram account. The profile wasn't blank. Minimal, yes, but not blank. The account had a profile picture, name, and, pronouns. But just one. One tagged post from its only follower.

. . .

"Pleaseeee," you begged. Your arms were tightly wrapped around his bisep, leaning all your body weight on Spencer. His opposite hand held your white heels and clutch from the night as you walked home. "It won't kill you, Spence."

"Actually, Mobile phones release radiofrequency energy, or radio waves, that can be absorbed by bodily tissues. In the past, studies have linked heavy mobile phone use to certain brain tumors. Not to mention the chemical effects-," Spencer began. Somehow, he still managed to use his hands (though full) while speaking.

"Spencer," you loudly interjected. Dragging out the "r" in his name as you spoke.

"Why is using social media so important?" He said, furrowing his eye brows.

"Because."

"Y/n, because, is the worst explanation you could possibly provide," Spencer chuckled.

. . .

Why would Spencer Reid have an Instagram account. More importantly, why was he not following his favorite tech analyst ... or JJ, Emily, Morgan, Rossi, even Hotch. His only Follower was someone named, y/n? Who was y/n? Why didn't Garcia know y/n?

Y/n. A college girl in Virginia. Class of 2025. Recent posts for the school rivalry game, her cat, her birthda- .

"Oh. My. God" Garcia said out loud. Her fingers had stopped typing to stare blankly at the screen. "Oh my god," she repeated. "Oh my god, oh my god!" Now she fully stood up, frantically shaking her hands.

The cover photo was your favorite of the night. The club lighting was dark, almost black. Purely lit by the disposable flash. Your dress was white, covered with blue and green flowers. You were blowing out the "21" cake candles. Spencer sat to the left, his arm resting on the back of your chair. A smile of pure adoration across his face as he watched you. The only post Spencer Reid's Instagram account was tagged in. Posted by y/n. His only follower.

Almost immediately, the line boomed,"DEREK MORGAN!"

"Whoa-Whoa, baby girl, what's wrong?" He said in a concerned tone.

"Did you know?" She spoke accusingly. "Did you know about her. How could you not tell me. Me of all people. I love love. I -" She said overdramatically.

"Garcia, you know I love you, but I have no idea what you're talking about." He replied, smirking.

"How, Derek Morgan, could you not tell me about boy wonder's girlfriend!"

. . .

"My man!" Derek exclaimed. He walked through the bull pen with an extra pep in his step the next mroning. Spencer grimaced at the call while sipping his coffee. "A little birdy told me something," he followed with a rythem in his voice. A large grin was spread on his face.

"Oh, Do tell." Prentiss said comming from the kitchen with a fresh cup.

"Pretty Ricky here, has been holding out on us." Derek said, gesturing to Spencer.

"Holding out?" An anoyed Spencer replied.

"Spencer Reid's got a girlfriend." Derek declared.

Spencer's shock manifested as he almost spit out the coffee he was drinking, clumsily fumbling with the cup.

Once Spencer finally regained a shred of composure, he swolowed hard, licking his lips before frantically asking,"h-how did you even?".

"You may be the genius, but I know all." Garcia said, smirking at the good doctor as she headed to the round table.