#my hand slipped ^^

[wilt3d-r0zes]

Remember my post from like half an hour ago yeah i finished the fic

(it’s ba d guys im sorry (not badly written just... just bad)) also btw this is part of my rewrite AU but you dont have to read anything else from it to read this lol

Summary and AO3 link: 

(He’ll never hear Horace again. Never get scolded for messing up a procedure by him again, and never help him figure out parenting because he’s always wanted kids of his own and they were all learning how to have/be a dad together and he’ll never have that again–)

or, I wrote the missing scene of Oliver and Kaz returning to Mighty Med between Mighty Med and Lab Rats: Elite Force because I keep wanting to (I MIGHT write Oliver's meltdown that happens after this later idk) https://archiveofourown.org/works/45477223

Oliver and Kaz hadn’t found Mr. Terror. She’s in the wind, and her hideout they had been tracking her to had been blown to bits by the time they got there. The flight back to Mighty Med lasted maybe fifteen minutes, meaning their entire trip took an hour and a half max.

Which is why when they touched down outside of Mighty Med it was even more of a surprise to see nothing but a half-crumbled building. The Mighty Med logo was proudly on display at the top of it all, and there were superheroes, both dead and alive, strew about. Some were struggling under debris, some were standing, and some were helping others out of it all.

Some weren’t moving at all.

The one that stood out to them most was Skylar, who was digging through the rubble with the most panic they’d ever seen on her. She’d been at school, trying to live a normie life since she didn’t have much hope of ever getting her powers back.

Oliver and Kaz ran over to her, checking on anybody they passed– checking pulses, asking if people were okay, Oliver helped pull the rubble off a couple people too.

When they got to Skylar they realized why she was digging through that one spot. Horace’s name tag was sticking out from under a massive piece of debris that… probably killed him.

“Skylar, what happened?!”

“I don't know!” she’s crying, and it’s one of the first times they’ve ever seen her cry, “I came back from school in time to see the entire hospital collapse!” 

They take a panicked, gasping breath, and step back when Oliver gestures, “I got it, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

They watched him lift the rubble with an ease he shouldn’t be capable of. Underneath was the half caved in face of Horace Diaz.

The broken, half-scream, half-sob that was wrenched out of Skylar was anything but human. It was followed by barely a second of silence before she fell to her knees, one hand covering her face and the other reaching for Horace.

She’s sobbing, guttural, terrifying noises mixed with frantic gasps for air like a drowning victim suddenly coming back to life.

Oliver managed to drop the rock behind them, and stay around for a few seconds before he cleared his throat and muttered, “I’m gonna go help the others,” and ran from the scene, like he was gonna throw up if he stayed any longer.

(He might’ve, the sight was one more gruesome than they’d ever seen. His jaw was shoved back into his throat, blood and gore painting the entire scene and the rocks around him red. The right half of his skull was completely collapsed, bits and pieces of brain scattered to the right)

Kaz might throw up, but he can’t… move.

While Skylar’s reaction was visceral, deep, pained screaming, Kaz feels like he’s been disconnected.

Like his emotions shut off at the sight of a father figure just… being gone. 

Again.

(He’ll never hear Horace again. Never get scolded for messing up a procedure by him again, and never help him figure out parenting because he’s always wanted kids of his own and they were all learning how to have/be a dad together and he’ll never have that again–)

It? Hurts?

He’s not sure. 

Everything feels far away, he feels lost. Like someone kicked him into space and he’s just aimlessly floating. His thoughts have screeched to a stop for what might be the first time in his life. 

He’s confused.

Why did this happen?

He thinks someone might be touching him, but he doesn’t think he can focus on the real world when Horace’s body is right in front of him covered in blood and–

Skylar stopped screaming at some point, and it’s just enough to have him refocus on the world in worry. Enough to just barely process that she’s standing in front of him, alien pink snot and tears smeared on her face. Her too-big, unnaturally pink eyes are bloodshot, but her lips are moving.

What’s she saying?

He’s scared now, because he can’t understand her

He knows she’s speaking English but he can’t understand her, what’s going on? Why does it hurt? Horace is dead.

“Kaz!” 

He thinks he’s fallen. There’s a sharp pain in his leg, he must’ve hit a corner when he landed.

(When did he fall?)

“Oliver!” Skylar screams, unable to grab Kaz before he goes down to his knees. His pant leg rips loudly when it and his leg catches on the corner of a piece of the wall. He’s not responding, but he’s crying.

Face entirely blank, hands twitching. There were sparks around him, and that’s what brought Skylar out of her own misery. Something sparked and it popped against her skin and dragged her back to see Kaz.

Xe tried to get his attention, to no avail. He moved enough to look at her at one point, and for half a second his brows drew together in confusion before his glazed eyes dragged back to Horace’s body (his body, his body).

Then he was falling, and he’s still not responding.

Oliver is by her side in an instant, climbing over a still-half-intact wall to get to her from where he was unburying the body of Solar Flare, “What’s wrong?”

“He’s not responding!” xe shouts, and xe’s crying again, eyes burning in reaction to the kyiers pouring out of them.

“Kaz?” Oliver crouches down, grabbing Kaz’s other hand (Skylar had one of them, squeezing it in a pattern he’s only seen her use when scared or hurt), “Kaz, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

Oliver knows their powers are still out of whack because they’re suddenly filled with a cold panic that radiates out from their chest. Ice crackles as it forms across their clothes, assisted by the mid-march chill. 

They try to keep it from their hands, but when they feel cold water drip off their hands they’re reminded that Kaz probably won’t even notice it.

(He’s not noticing much of anything right now, which is freaking Oliver out because Kaz is always a creature of sound and movement, always doing something but now he’s just sitting there staring blankly at the corpse behind them and fuck Horace is dead dead DEAD–)

Kaz is cold.

His hand is, at least. It’s a weird feeling amongst the not-feeling he’s experiencing. It makes it feel like he’s ever so slightly less lost in space. Like he’s still out in space but he can see the spaceship he’s supposed to be on.

A moment later, he feels cold and wet, and that’s enough to make him rip his hand away from whatever is wet and shake it out, “Gross!” he squawks, wiping the water(?) off onto his dirty jeans, “What was that?!”

“Kaz!” Skylar sounds relieved, and he’s engulfed in a three-person hug a second later, “You’re back!”

“What? Where’d I go?”

(He’s back on his spaceship now, and his spaceship is emotional repression and pretending like there isn’t a body in front of him)

“You weren’t responding to anything,” Oliver sounds quiet, the kind of quiet he only gets when they’re having Sad Boy Hours at sleepovers.

“Sorry, man, I don’t know what happened,” he lets out an awkward laugh, eyes firmly trained on the weird vaguely heart-shaped rock that’s just beside Skylar’s too-big shoes, because he knows if he sees it he’s going to fall out of the window he’s still leaning from.

Oliver lets go a few minutes later, but Skylar keeps him buried in her arms. They’re shaking now, and he’s pretty sure they’ve started crying again, “I’m going back to helping people out of the wreckage, okay? If you need me just yell.”

He feels a spark of anger, because why isn’t Oliver crying? Why isn’t he screaming, why isn’t he pissed?! Why does he seem perfectly fine when Horace is dead!

“What the hell, man?!” He’s saying it before he can stop himself, shoving Skylar off and standing to his feet (Why does his leg hurt? Is he bleeding?)

Oliver doesn’t get a chance to say anything, furrowing his brows and opening his mouth to speak only for Kaz to cut him off.

“How are you not pissed?!” he gestures over where to knows the body is and pretends he’s just gesturing at the rubble, “He’s dead<, they’re all dead, Oliver, and you’re acting like everything is fucking fine!”

“Kaz–,”

“No, because this is bullshit! We should be mourning and you don’t seem like you care at all!”

“Kaz, please-,”

“Why aren’t you angry?!”

“Because I can’t be, Kaz!” Oliver raises his voice to match his best friends, “Because I need to help people out of the remains of our <i>only fucking safe place</i>, Kaz! Because if I feel a single thing right now, I’m going to have a meltdown and I can’t do that right now!” he runs a hand through his hair and looks away, breathing heavily, “I just can’t right now, Kaz.”

Kaz doesn’t say anything, just watching Oliver go. Watches him wave down one of the nurses he doesn’t remember the name of and ask her to help him search for survivors 

(and bodies.)

[tio-trile]

Some Deadpool x Wolverines for my friend

[spicymancer]

Beck, it's not even laundry day.

[pisscentral]

uh oh

UH OH

[adas-trashheap]

'muffled music and dingy bathrooms'

[minryll]

sleeping in the heart of paradise

[itsmeaxumii]

im going insane :))))))

[knockknockwhosthereartistism]

I’m sorry I’m not him

[lacquerheadd]

taste

[tagerrkix]

rage.

[oooocleo]

blorbo parade continues 🙏

patreon

[arianiziolek]

What if they always greeted like that? He did miss this. Po tej scenie w grze, pomyślalam, a co jak sie tak zawsze witali? Jak smarkacze z gimbazy? Narysowałam tu specjalnie Gortasha mlodszego, ale prawda też jest taka, że jeszcze nie potrafie wypracować jego fantastycznej twarzy jak należy.

[riant-draws]

sillies

hilarious au belongs to @ handymanbill

[nauti-ca]

projecting onto kaladin again

(fixed his scar)

[tojisun]

the first time that biker!simon suggested that he drives you around on his bike, you were terrified to the point of declining his offer.

“i can’t,” you mumbled, fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater, your lips downturned in genuine disappointment. “‘m sorry.”

you couldn’t meet his eyes, nervous that perhaps you’ve made him upset, but simon just took your hands on his – your small palms fitting snuggly against his gloved ones – and squeezed gently.

“you don’t have to apologize for anything, sweetheart,” simon replied, pulling you close until you were forced to tilt your head up to finally meet his gaze. you rove your eyes over his features, taking in the dimple of his cheeks as he gave you a smile, all boyish and breathtaking.

“don’t worry about it, yeah?” he asked before wrapping you in an embrace after seeing your hesitant nod.

he’s right, you know that. you shouldn’t have worried about it at all, but simon had always loved his bike. had always loved the thrill of the ride; the way the wind whipped against his skin or how the sounds of the road are intensified even with his helmet. you knew it was an irreplaceable experience so of course you truly couldn’t let go of his request.

it sat there on your mind every time he picked you up in his car, his harley tucked in the garage for the day. it curled around the crevices of your heart whenever simon kissed your temple before going out for a night ride with the boys.

“take care, okay?” you would say.

“always,” he would reply, kissing you on the lips again as though sealing his promise before pulling his helmet on and hopping onto his bike. he’d kiss the edges of his gloved knuckles where your initials lay then drive off.

it sat there in the pit of your stomach until one friday afternoon, you tugged onto his sleeve and whispered, “can i hitch a ride?”

the smile on simon’s lips was blinding and you couldn’t help the swoop of giddiness that filled you up when he snatched you from you stood, lifting you up before twirling you around the room.

“you sure you want this?” he asks now, blinking down at you as you fiddle with the zippers of your leather jacket. you look at simon, watching as he twirls your helmet in his hands, and even through his balaclava you can see how his face is pinched in doubt.

(you still can’t believe how simon had stowed away your very own helmet, murmuring how he got it as a valentines gift but decided to hide it when he saw just how hesitant you were when he made the offer.

“i was scared that if you saw i got you y’r own helmet, you would’ve felt pressured to agree to ride with me,” simon whispered, rubbing a thumb at the visor before shooting you a small smile. “stop pouting, love. i know you well, after all.”)

“never surer,” you say with a giggle before showing yourself off to him.

simon hums appreciatively, beautiful eyes narrowing in muted desire. “should see you in leather more, sweet girl. look how beautiful you are.”

you playfully swat at his arm in your embarrassment before standing still when simon lifts the helmet in his hands with a quiet beckoning. you let him fit it on you, your hair gathered in one of his hands and the other gently sliding the helmet on your head. all throughout, you watch the way his eyes crinkle in delight, his touch so reverent, and it makes you choke on the intensity of your love for this beautiful man.

he taps at the top of your visor when he is done, then he is stepping away to prep himself for the ride.

“c’mere, sweetheart,” he says when he is done. “y’got nothin’ to worry about, not w’me here.”

his words burn you, filling you up with encompassing warmth that tickles your cheeks and dips into your neck. you giggle as you shake off the last of your nerves before stepping close, hovering beside his harley, waiting for his instructions.

it wasn’t long or complicated by any chance, but you can see simon’s cautiousness shining through and that eases up your own worries.

there are things for you to remember, he says, things that would ensure your safety and his. and you take him seriously, nodding when he points at his bike and tells you where to prop your feet up, where to sit, where to hold. then, he holds your hands and says that you call all the shots; that if you want to stop, to squeeze his shoulder three times and he’s pulling over.

“this is all about you havin’ fun so don’t push y’rself, alright baby?” simon murmurs, ending his tirade.

then, he takes you for that promised ride.

you two planned to go to the park, just somewhere that’s far enough from your place but still within the expansive stretch of the city road’s smooth asphalt. he asked if you would’ve preferred the beach, but that was a two hour ride and you truly couldn’t handle anything that long. when you told him so, he laughed and kissed the top of your head and said, “then i’ve got the perfect place for you.”

the purr of the machine between your legs is unusual, if not a little bit weird. your grip on simon’s waist must be painful but you don’t have it in you to loosen up, especially not when the speed kicks up to match the traffic. you bite down a squeal when he makes a turn towards the highway, your stomach flipping when you physically feel the bike leaning to your side, almost like it’d fall anytime soon.

of course it doesn’t because simon’s a damn good driver but the adrenaline is coursing through you in waves, surprisingly dousing the fires of your anxiety and replacing it instead with a pooling elation because this feels so fucking good.

you don’t even realize that your hands have loosened their hold onto simon, gripping just enough not to fall. you lift your head from where it’s pressed on his back, tilting just enough to see past his bulk and to take in the dizzying colours of the trickling dawn. the wind is cool even with your jacket, and even though your helmet and visor is obscuring your nose, you take a deep inhale.

fuck. you might just get addicted to this.

the next time that simon swerves to exit the highway, you no longer bite down your squeal, letting it instead rumble from your throat and into the air. simon’s shoulders shake and you realize that he’s laughing, high from your reaction. you couldn’t help it but giggles flutter from your lips, full of the thrill of this experience.

the park comes to view soon and you pout, wanting to keep the drive going. but simon pulls over, parks, and only when the engine stops do you feel the numbness spreading through your legs.

“you doin’ okay over there, sweetheart?” simon asks, remaining seated, unable to stand with you still holding onto him.

“mhmm!” you reply. “i can’t stand up though.”

he barks out a laugh. “oh yeah. that might take a while.” he reaches behind him to rub at the sides of your thighs, massaging whatever he can reach.

you hum, rubbing your hand on his abdomen. “s’fine. ‘m not rushing.” you nuzzle your helmet on his back, falling into silence as you feel yourself unravel from the short experience. you breathe in deeply, the air fogging your visor, and say, “i loved that, si. thank you so much.”

simon’s hold on your thighs gain strength, squeezing gently. “of course, sweetheart.” you hear the happiness in his voice, breathless from his own rush of dopamine. “thank you for trusting me.”

“always, baby,” you reply, squeezing him again, muffling your giggles when you heard his surprised wheeze at the action. “i’ll always trust you.”

(ext.01) (ext.03) // mlist!

[yunwooz]

wooyoung 💌 invitation from the house of ateez