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cheapshrimpysheep · 9 days ago

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Dating in a Dream - Kalim Al-Asim

SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating?

CHARACTERS: Kalim Al-Asim x Reader 🦦🦐

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda)

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and Kalim’s dream (Eng Server)

WORD COUNT: 3.540 words

COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

I hope you enjoy 🦦

Dating in a Dream: Idia / Epel / Rook / Vil / (Kalim) / Jamil / ...

“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho announces. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”

Right after, what was heard were Vil's screams. After calming down, scolding you and Grim for not warning him about what dream to dream trips were like, and arguing a bit with Idia to the point where Ortho had to get in the middle peacefully to stop the discussion, Vil and the others finally look around to try to figure out where you all are.

They realize that, once again, you are not in Night Raven College and that the architecture is very similar to Scarabia and Scalding Sands, but also... that it's unbearably HOT! To cool off, Grim doesn't think twice before jumping into the huge fountain right next to you. A fountain with a statue that caught everyone's attention.

“That old man seems familiar, somehow.” Silver comments.

“That's the legendary Ruler of the Oasis.” A familiar voice explains. “He was a very upright man. When something worried him, he'd never keep it to himself. He consulted his retainer for everything... And they solved those problems together. In fact, he even revised the law to adapt to changing times. Isn't that cool?” Kalim reveals himself. “Here at Qasr Sultanate Academy, we honor the Ruler of the Oasis's spirit of magnanimity.”

“KALIM?!” Everyone is surprised to see him in those white and turquoise clothes.

“Hm? Have we met before?” Kalim asks. “Sorry, I'm not very good at remembering faces!” You see the dreamer's bird around his head. “Are they your friends, (Y/N)? Sorry I don't remember if you've introduced us before.”

“You still remember me?” You ask.

“HUH?! Of course I remember you!” he looks at you sadly. “Aww... Are you mad that I don't remember your friends? I understand and I'm so sorry...”

He was clearly so sad at the thought of hurting your feelings that you felt the need to tell him that you weren't mad and that he didn't need to worry because no, you never introduced them to him yet.

“Are you sure you're not mad at me?”

“No, no, of course not. Forget the question.” You needed to know more about that dream world, so you get into character. “I think I got a little confused too. It's okay.” You give him a reassuring smile.

“Really?!” Kalim widens his eyes in surprise. “I don't think I've ever seen you get as confused as I do. Ah hah hah! Maybe it's one of those couple things where they start to share traits after being together for a while.”

“Hm? Couple things?” Silver asks.

“I guess reintroductions are in order. I'm Kalim Al-Asim, a sophomore at Qasr Sultanate Academy, and (Y/N)'s boyfriend.” He says with a huge smile.

Everyone looks shockingly surprised.

“Hm? What's wrong?” Kalim asks. “Oh, maybe you weren't expecting us to be so close because of our clothes. Speaking of which, why aren't you wearing your uniform, (Y/N)? But now that I look at it, you seem to be wearing the same clothes as them. Oh! I know, they were your classmates at your previous- ah!” Kalim's smile suddenly disappears and the regretful look returns. “Oh... sorry... I forgot for a moment that you weren't from... here...”

“Oh, it's okay.” You try to shrug it off. “These clothes... um...”

“Are a gift.” Vil says. “But don't worry about it. (Y/N), you can change your clothes if you want.” Vil says, encouraging you to do so.

You say yes, and that new clothes might be better for that whether.

“Yes, you’re right. You don't have any headwear to block the sun, and the fabric your clothes are made from doesn't seem very breathable... Ah!” Kalim gets concerned. “Now that I'm looking, you guys are seriously sweating!”

“Rgh... This black fabric is absorbing the sunlight.” Sebek says “It's like I'm in a sauna!”

“Same.” Ortho agrees. “My gear's internal temperature is rising so sharply, my cooling systems can't keep up...”

“Oh gosh, are you okay? Hold on, I'll get you some cold, refreshing water! Respite in the scalding sands, a neverending party. Dance! Sing! Oasis Maker!”

And it starts to rain gently on you all.

“Mmm, that truly is refreshing!” Sebek says gratefully. “I can feel the water's coolness seeping into me.”

“While I appreciate the gesture, you shouldn't splash water into people's faces. You'll ruin their makeup.” Vil says. “Could you put some in this cup instead?” He summons a cup in his hand.

Upon realizing that they are also mages, Kalim begins to ask about the school they came from. You also discover that Qasr Sultanate Academy is an Arcane school as well and Kalim says it was built by his father for him two years ago.

“Ooh, say! I'm sure something brought us together.” Kalim says excitedly. “You should tell me more about your own school!”

“Ah, this presents a perfect chance to probe fo weakness in the dream!” Ortho comments discreetly.

“True. But...” Vil addresses Kalim. “It's far too sunny out here. I don't want to get a sunburn. Would it be possible to head indoors for this discussion?”

“Ah hah hah! Why move, when we can just have shelter brought to us? There's a nice breeze going, after all. Hey, everyone! Prepare a party!”

Kalim claps his hands and a bunch of people start organizing things. Rushing in with parasols and tableware, laying out rugs and setting out food dishes. Kalim explains that they are retainers who came here with him from home.

“Oh, (Y/N), do you mind if I try to change your clothes?” Kalim asks as the retainers prepare the picnic “I love it when we match!” You accept and he becomes even happier and more excited. “Okay, this has gone well the last few times. Let's see if I can do it again.”

Kalim raises his staff and transforms your NRC uniform into a white and turquoise uniform similar to the one he is wearing.

“You always look so pretty in those clothes.” He says super happy. “You remind me of the Ruler of the Oasis's daughter. But I must have told you this many times because I remember you telling me that our story was backwards, and that I was more like the princess and you were more like the commoner. Ah hah hah! But regardless of your clothes, you know you're my jasmine, right?”

“Jasmine?” You ask.

“Yeah, like the flower that the princess's beloved offered her. Aww, if only I could summon a branch of them now... but I still don't have a good grasp of those spells.”

And then, discreetly, a familiar red magic carpet appears behind Kalim, taps his shoulder to make him look back and gives him a jasmine bouquet before flying away again.

“Ah hah hah! I think he's feeling shy around so many new people.” he hands you that bouquet with a cute smile. “I have to think of a way to thank him later.”

“Kalim Al-Asim.” Ortho asks after the picnic is ready. “You and (Y/N) make a beautiful couple. If it's not too indiscreet, may I ask how you two met?”

“Oh, yes! Of course!” He seemed excited to tell the story of the two of you. “You know, they're not from-” he stops and looks at you, as if looking for approval to reveal that information. You nod encouragingly. “They're not from Twisted Wonderland.”

“Oh! Truly?!” Vil acts surprised, as do the others.

“Yeah! Here at Qasr Sultanate Academy we have a magical artifact called The Hourglass of Clairvoyance. It’s a giant hourglass with magic sand that allows us to travel to other places. At the beginning of this school year, (Y/N) simply emerged from the sand at the bottom of the hourglass and Grim at the top.”

“Oh, so I'm part of this too? Nice!” Grim comments to himself. “Wait! If I'm part of this... Where's my tuna tray?!”

One of Kalim's retainers appeared beside him with a golden tray and when he uncovers it, it is full of glass jars of tuna stacked in a pyramid.

“That's what I'm talkin' about! Mrah ah ah!”

“Yes! The party is ready. Make yourselves at home and eat up!” Kalim says with a smile. “We've got a whole spread here and plenty more where that came from. To our meeting today! Cheers!”

And everyone does so.

“Mrah... That breeze they're makin' with those big fans feels so good!”

“Right?” Kalim agrees. “The sun's rays can be harsh in the Scalding Sands... But it's also arid, so it's pleasantly cool once you're in the shade. You should try some of these crackers with blue cheese. They're really good. Eat up!” Kalim proceeds to shove the crackers down Grim's throat.

They talk a little more about Qasr Sultanate Academy and Night Raven College. Sebek, as expected, found a way to show how proud he was to serve the great Malleus Draconia, and Kalim proved to be quite knowledgeable about Briar Valley's textile products thanks to the things his father told him. This also made Sebek mention the story of the King who got rid of all the spinning wheels in the kingdom to save his daughter, and Kalim says that he finds the story as beautiful as the story of the Ruler of the Oasis's daughter who fell in love with a commoner and in order to see his daughter happy, the Ruler of the Oasis changed the law so that she would be allowed to marry whoever she wanted and not just someone from royalty.

“I can imagine how happy the couple was.” Kalim says before turning to you, holding one of you hands affectionately, look you in the eyes and tell you: “I myself would be devastated if I couldn't be with the person I love the most just because of a silly rule.” and he kisses your cheek.

Meanwhile, Vil, Idia and Ortho talk among themselves about that dream, which to anyone else would be crazy enough to be unrealistic, but in the case of a guy as rich as Kalim ends up being plausible enough. They needed to discover the crucial moment in Kalim's life that Malleus' spell was trying to suppress so they could use it to wake him up. They were wondering why he didn't remember NRC, where he seemed to be very happy, when you and Grim joined the conversation.

“Hmm... This could fit what happened with Rook.” Idia theorizes. “A route that avoids a tragedy that unfolds due to attending Night Raven College.”

“What kinda tragedy would Kalim goin' to Night Raven cause...? Ah!” Grim realizes.

“Is it what happened over winter break...?” You question.

“What's all this commotion?” A familiar voice makes itself heard. “What's going on, Kalim? Nobody told me to expect company! How many times must I tell you to always inform me ahead of time when inviting guests? If you had...” You see Jamil wearing the same white and turquoise uniform as you and Kalim. “...I would have arranged for an even finer banquet and a whole band!” And with an uncanny smile on his face.

“JAMIL?!” Everyone says in astonishment.

“I'm surprised you didn't tell me either, (Y/N).”Jamil continues, still with that strange, happy and relaxed smile. “You're usually the one who reminds Kalim of these things when I'm not around. Come now, Kalim! If you're holding such a fun-filled event, you should invite me. After all, aren't we best friends?”

“Sorry about that! I just ran into them over by the fountain when I was looking for (Y/N). They're here from Night... uh... something, an arcane academy in a foreign land.”

“Ooh, I see! I'm Jamil Viper. Like Kalim, I'm a sophomore here at Qasr Sultanate Academy. I hope I can be just as much of a friend to you as my best friend Kalim and his partner (Y/N). Nice to meetcha!”

“What's wrong, (Y/N)?” Kalim asks you as the others introduce themselves back to Jamil. “You're looking at Jamil funny.”

“Oh, it's just... Jamil is not like this, Kalim...”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“Hey, Kalim.” Jamil says. “I don't see your favorite ice cream in this spread. Shouldn't you serve that to our guests?”

“I figured they'd want a regular meal first. But hey, I'm getting full, so this should be a good time for it!”

“In that case... You should make a run to the kitchen and fetch some for us, Kalim.”

“He DEFINITELY wouldn't say that!” You, Sebek and Silver say in unison.

“Huh?! What's with the yelling all of a sudden?” Kalim asks.

“Kalim, think long and hard.” Silver says. “You grew up with Jamil. He's your friend. Is this really how he acts?”

“Huh? Wha? You guys know Jamil?”

“Yeah! And all this best friend talk...” Grim says annoyed. “Remember over winter break when you told him you wanted to be friends? He shut that down hard with a big fat 'Not on your life!'”

“Not on... your life? Jamil said that?”

The dream world starts to distort and Kalim begins to remember what happened that day in Scarabia.

“Urgh! What was that just now? Augh, my head!”

“Kalim! Hey, snap out of it!” Fake Jamil interferes. “You people... You're assassins after Kalim, aren't you?! Guards! GUAAARDS!” The floor was painted black by the goop that appeared to transform into the guards. “Seize these street rats!”

While the others fought the darkness figures, you managed to escape and run to Kalim to tell him not to listen to that Jamil.

“Are you going to tell him to believe you?” Jamil says with a mocking smile. “Oh Kalim, there’s someone I'm dying to introduce you to.” He takes out his magic pen. “Say hello to your precious,” he makes your headdress disappear. “Desert” Your upper clothes turn into a worn and baggy t-shirt. “Bloom.” The rest in baggy, torn pants and your shoes disappear.

“(Y/N)?...” He holds your hands and looks into your eyes, confused.

“Not quite.” Jamil stands between the two of you to separate you with a push. “An impostor posing as (Y/N). An identity thief!”

All of that makes Kalim's head hurt even more, the ground becomes unstable and the darkness takes you away from them.

“Kalim, stay with us. (Y/N) is safe inside the academy building, and the guards are here now. It's okay!”

“Hey, Jamil... You're my best friend, right? You wouldn't betray me, right?”

“Of course I wouldn't. Why, the very idea!” Jamil assures him. “Such a terrible thought has never even crossed my mind! Not once!”

“STOP LYIN'!” Grim shouts. “You betrayed Kalim bad, and you knocked us all to the end os the earth!”

The world distorts again and the scenery changes to where you and the others landed that day. The end os the earth, a dark and cold part of the Scarabia desert.

“The ends of the earth...? Whoa! It's freezing!” Kalim is startled. “What's going on here?!”

“Oh, poor Kalim.” Fake Jamil says. “You must be reeling from the shock of betrayal after showing these people such hospitality.”

The world distorts again and the scene returns to Qasr Sultanate Academy.

“Look at me, Kalim. As long as I'm here for you, you've got nothing to worry about... Right?” Fake Jamil uses his signature spell, Snake Whisper, on him. “Kalim, trust me.”

“Rgh...” Kalim closes his eyes as if trying to resist, but when he opens them again his pupils are glowing red. “I trust you... Jamil...”

“He's trying to manipulate you!” You try to warn him again.

“Manipulate... me? Jamil? Augh!” With yet another headache from Kalim, the world distorted again.

“I would never do that. Don't believe that imposter street rat. Look at my sincere gaze. Do these look like the eyes os a liar?”

Vil tells Kalim not to look Jamil in the eyes, but the fake Jamil keeps talking about how they've been friends since they were kids, and how they had always been open and honest with each other, never worrying about their social status. That he is Kalim's closest companion and Kalim is his.

“You're right...” Kalim says despite the headaches. “We're best friends that can be honest with each other... Rrgh!”

But this is where Vil interferes and says that being honest is far from being an attribute of Jamil. That underneath that composed expression, he's poised and ready to strike at the neck of those who dare get ahead of him. And the smoldering, hungry mindset is the reason he put Jamil on main vocals in the NRC Tribe.

That name sounds familiar to Kalim, but the fake Jamil tries again to convince him not to listen to Vil.

But Vil continues, talking more about how Jamil is not the kind of generous soul that affirms everything about him. How Jamil complains, looks down on others, always got a scheme or two up his sleeve, and is hardly trustworthy. Vil would never want someone like him as his most trusted retainer. But Kalim is positively stubborn and that's what makes him continue to insist on trying to be true friends with Jamil. But is also what makes Kalim him and what makes him so fearsome.

“What kind of wealthy business heir is content to remain in an imposter's clutches?” Vil concludes. “Stop cowering and wake up already, Kalim Al-Asim!”

“Kalim, look at me.” Fake Jamil insists. “I'm the only one you trust!”

“Rgh... No.... Not... the only one... Not anymore... and Jamil knows that... the one I trust... Aaagh!”

The memories return to Kalim, a sequence of events from that winter break and everything that followed after that. The dream is broken, and Kalim wakes up. The scene changes to Scarabia's lounge that day, the cloudy sky darkening the place, the red lights on the lamps and through the clouds and a slight chilling fog around you all.

The fake Jamil tries again to help Kalim and show concern, but Kalim pushes him away. It's true that Jamil worries about Kalim, but not because they are friends, because he is the boss of Jamil. He likes and wants to be friends with Jamil, but the real one, not that one.

A battle against that fake Jamil takes place, until that figure turns into black goop and disappears. The clouds dissipate revealing a beautiful starry night sky, the lights turn a warm yellow that illuminates the lounge and the fog disappears.

“Kalim! Are you all right?” Silver asks worriedly as he sees Kalim sobbing and huffing after the fight.

And that's when Kalim breaks down into tears. Seeing him like this, crying kneeling on the floor alone, you can't suppress the urge to kneel down beside him to hug and comfort him.

“How... How could I fail to realize that Jamil was a fake?!” He says crying on your shoulder. “I really do want us to be true friends... The kind that can be totally open with one another! But... in the end, I choose a version of Jamil that fit my own narrative. How can I ever face Jamil again?”

But then Kalim realizes something else, and lifts his head from your shoulder to look at you, now dressed in the NRC uniform.

“Wait... You... We are not dating either, are we?... Ah!” He pulls away from you, blushing and almost falling backwards. “Aah, I’m s-sorry! I-I didn't mean to... huh...”

You also liked Kalim, but his friendly and loving personality made it difficult to tell if he really had a crush on you or not. A question that was answered in that dream. However, you still ask about it.

“So... You really like me?”

“Hm? Yes... you never noticed? Ah hah hah! I thought I never hid my feelings.”

“In (Y/N)'s defense,” Vil explains. “It's more a question of when someone is so... loving to everyone, it becomes difficult to know who is really special to you and who is not.”

“REALLY?! Aw... I’m sorry, (Y/N). I didn't mean to confuse you. But... I also don't want to make you uncomfortable... I'm sorry if I did...”

You say it was a surprise, but that you didn't feel uncomfortable, quite the opposite, and you reveal your feelings for him too. Kalim gets astonished for a second, but then he shows you the biggest smile and throws himself at you to hug you with more tears in his eyes.

“Should we leave you two alone for a moment?” Ortho asks.

“Ah hah hah! Sorry, sorry.” Kalim stands up and extends his hand to help you get up as well. “It's true that Jamil was the only person I trusted, but that was before I met you. You are the person I trust the most, (Y/N). Now and forever.”

“Kalim is so extra that this sounds more like wedding vows.” Idia comments through the tablet. “Can someone PLEASE end this mushy torture?!”

Vil clears his throat quite loudly. “Far be it from me to ruin the moment, but could we get back to the main topic?”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right.” Kalim turns his attention back to the rest of the group. “I'm totally lost on why I look like this and why any of this is happening. Could someone fill me in on what's going on?”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#Twisted Wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst fluff #Twisted Wonderland Fluff #Kalim Al-Asim #Kalim Al-Asim x Reader #kalim x reader #Dating in a Dream

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wachinyeya · 29 days ago

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A major review of over 67,000 animal species has found that while the natural world continues to face a biodiversity crisis, targeted conservation efforts are helping bring many species back from the brink of extinction.

The study draws on data from the IUCN Red List, the world's largest database of species conservation status. The researchers say their results, reported in the journal PLOS Biology, highlight both the successes and the need for urgent action.

The world is facing a global biodiversity crisis, with 28% of more than 160,000 assessed species threatened with extinction, and an estimated one million species facing this fate due to human activities. However, conservation measures can be successful if there is concrete evidence about what works.

The researchers, led by the University of Cambridge with the IUCN, BirdLife International, and Oxford and Durham Universities, used Red List data to assess whether conservation measures had been put in place, and whether those actions had a positive impact on a given species' conservation status.

"We found that almost all the species that have moved from a more threatened category to a less threatened category have benefited from some sort of conservation measures," said lead author Ashley Simkins, a Ph.D. candidate in Cambridge's Department of Zoology. "It's a strong signal that conservation works."

While there is no 'one size fits all' solution, the researchers observed some connections between conservation success stories. Many of these species live in isolated areas, such as islands, where intensive conservation efforts—such as habitat protection, captive breeding and reintroductions—can be fully implemented.

"While biodiversity loss is a genuine crisis, it's vital that we celebrate the success stories wherever and whenever we can," said Simkins. "It's so hard for a species to improve its conservation status, but with the right effort, we can turn things around."

The Iberian lynx, once the world's most endangered cat, has rebounded from just a few hundred individuals to a few thousand. Likewise, the kākāpō, a flightless parrot from New Zealand, has benefited from dedicated recovery programs. And the European bison, which was hunted to extinction in the wild in the early 20th century, now roams parts of Eastern Europe thanks to sustained conservation efforts over decades.

Marine species have also seen dramatic recoveries. Humpback and blue whales, once driven to the brink of extinction by commercial whaling, have made a comeback after an international moratorium on whaling. However, despite these success stories, the study found that six times more species are declining than improving.

The researchers say that, like human health care, preventative measures in conservation are preferable and more cost-effective to emergency interventions.

"Humans have gotten pretty good at what could be considered 'A&E' conservation—focusing on species at very high risk of extinction," said Simkins. "What we're less good at is preventing species from becoming threatened in the first place. We need to move beyond treating the symptoms of biodiversity loss and start addressing the root causes."

The researchers also emphasize the need for collaborative, locally driven conservation. In Papua New Guinea, for example, conservationists worked with local communities to replace tree kangaroo hunting with sustainable forms of animal protein, including farming of chickens and fishing—an approach that benefitted both people and wildlife.

"It's vital that we as conservationists are working with stakeholders, rather than dictating to them, whether that's an Indigenous community in Papua New Guinea or a farmer in Somerset," said Simkins.

"Conservation doesn't have to be a zero-sum game—there are compromises that can benefit both the natural world and human society."

"In this climate of constant stories about wildlife declines and insufficient political action to protect nature, it's important to realize that there are also many success stories and that conservation efforts are making a real, demonstrable impact on the world," said co-senior author Dr. Silviu Petrovan, also from the Department of Zoology. "Conservation works if given the chance."

"This research sheds light on which actions to save species have been effective, and what interventions are needed," said co-author Dr. Stuart Butchart, Chief Scientist at BirdLife International. "Governments need to turn their words into actions, and rapidly scale up efforts to save species from extinction and help populations to recover. Safeguarding our natural heritage for future generations depends upon this."

"The IUCN Red List of Threatened Species informs and guides on-the-ground conservation decisions; actions which are further guided by the research presented in this publication," said co-author Craig Hilton-Taylor, Head of the IUCN Red List.

"Almost everyone will have their own favorite example of a conservation success story, whether it's the bald eagle in North America, or the red kite in the UK," said Simkins. We need joint action to ensure these positive stories aren't the exception—they're the norm."

#science #animal welfare #biodiversity #endangered species #environmentalism #environment #nature #animals #conservation #critically endangered #endangered animals #success stories

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admrlthundrbolt · 5 months ago

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Danger To Myself (Krampus x Chubby Easter Bunny Reader)

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After reuniting with his brother. Krampus didn't think his life could get any better. How will he deal with meeting a cute chubby bunny on top of that. Will he be able to keep his instincts under control?

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Hey guys, I'm back at it again. I have a confession, I love Krampus. Ever since learning about his legend, I've been a huge fan. So when Red One showed him in such a different light, I knew it was my time to shine.

Anywho, hope you enjoy.

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He frowned at the mirror in front of him. Don't get him wrong. He was happy to rekindle his relationship with Nick. But a reintroduction dinner wasn't something he had been expecting. Still he was happy the other man wanted him in his life.

A knock came from the bathroom door. Breaking him away from his contemplated thoughts. Combing a hand through his already tousled hair. He opened the door, seeing the man on his mind.

His brother was cheerful as always. Slapping the taller man jovially on the back. That quickly turned into a tight hug. Nick was always one for physical affection. “What are you doing all cooped up in here. The guest are arriving.” His smile was wide and inviting.

Everything that the goatman wasn't feeling. Running a hand across his face, he shook his head. “Nicholas, I do not understand why you wanted this. Is it really a necessary thing. To introduce myself to all of these people?”

Taking the man's shoulders into his hands, he faced him. “Look at this as the start of a new thing. No more being holed up in your castle. I know you enjoy everyone's company there. But this is a golden opportunity. Broaden your horizons and all that.” Patting his shoulders a few times. He led him to the dinning room.

All the while he grimaced and regretted agreeing to his brother's offer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ok, so maybe his brother was right. There were a lot of new people to pop up since his banishment. It hurt to admit that they were also more interesting than he would have guessed. Jack Frost was a prankster, that he already made plans with to torment Nick. Garcia had finally grown out of his awkward teenage phase. It was still fun to tease him about it though. All in all it was a good time and dinner hadn't even started.

Then you walked in. He always knew he had a thing for larger women. But you were a different kind altogether. You were wide and plush, the perfect picture of fertility. It made his fingers twitch at the thought of how they would sink into your pliable flesh. His pulse was pounding as he took in your other more animalistic features. The flopping bunny ears, button nose scrunched, and cotton tail poking out of your pants. It was enough to have him gripping his drink to hard. The sound of shattering glass caused many eyes to swing his way. But the only ones he cared about was yours.

Your face became concerned as you rushed his way. Shifting the large dish you held to one hand. You grabbed his palm and looked it over carefully. Your touch was gentle and warm. Like a fire on a chilly winter night. Shifting his hand in your own soft one, relief washed over your face. Looking up at him you beamed. “Seems like there wasn't any harm done. But what else should I expect from the great Krampus.”

He flushed under his fur. Between your compliment and having to stop himself from reaching out for your touch. It was an intensity that he hadn't experienced before. One that he wasn't sure if he should give into or shun.

Before he could speak Nick's wife was coming over with a broom. “Oh, must have been a faulty glass. Let me clean this up.” Sweeping the broken bits into a festive dust pan, she smiled. “Eostre it's been to long.”

Bringing the smaller women into a one arm hug, you nodded. “Far to long. Especially if your using that outdated name. You know I prefer (Y/N) now.” Keeping your arm around her, you join her. Leaving the room for who knows where.

If he had an excuse he'd follow as well. Until then he'd have to wonder what was in your arms. Savoring the feeling of your name on his tounge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't long after that that dinner was served. It was quite the spread. Many of the items were Geman in origin. His bother did always know his favorites. Including the different varieties of alcohol. Piling his plate high, he sunk into the feast.

Everyone tucked into the food. Enjoying bits of conversation between bites. As he finished off his serving, eager to go in for seconds. Something caught his eye. A large dish half filled with a familiar dish. He wanted to kick himself for not noticing it sooner. It was a childhood favorite, Geman Baked Eggs. Ignoring all if the other platters, he scooped a large portion onto his plate. Bring a spoonful to his mouth, he had to pause. It was enough to make him hold back a moan. Butter, cheesey, and like velvet on his tounge. Better than any he had ever tasted before.

He quickly went for another bite. Only to be startled by your gaze on him. You were smirking and had raised an eyebrow at his obvious enjoyment. A part of him was defensive, while another was intrigued? He wasn't sure what to make of your attention.

Nick interupted the tension building between you. “Oh, I'm glad you noticed the casserole. The first time (Y/N) brought it over I told her how much you would enjoy it.”

His gaze snapped from you to his brother and back. You made this delicious dish from his homeland?

Your smirk seemed to widen at his confusion. Shrugging your shoulder, you leaned forward. As if you wanted to share a secret with him. Without a second thought he copied your motion. “We do share a similar history. Animalistic legends bound to a holiday. Just differing in attitude, that's all. Plus I always have plenty of eggs on hand.” You ended your statement with a wink.

Slumping a bit in his chair, he pondered you words. It was obvious you were tied to Easter. But he had never thought to visit the other legends from his own country. Always opting to stay tucked away in his keep. Or in the old days, with his brother. Maybe he had missed out on good times.

Returning your smile, he said. “It is a wonderful dish. You do our homeland proud.” Tapping a fist to his chest, he tips his head in your direction.

This causes your expression to become more sincere. Your foot begins to thump rhythmically on the ground. Something you hadn't done since a young age. Taking a gulp from your glass, hoping to cover up your embarrassment. “You should come by sometime.” His face shifts to one of surprise. “I can you know, show you around the farm. Give you a tour of the operation.” You hope that it didn't come of as desperate as you thought it sounded.

Nodding again he went for another bite. “That would be nice.” He would take his brother's advice. His horizon did seem to be broadening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had given him directions to a vast glenn. It was filled with various flowers. Shrouded within a large thicket of old trees. It was a sight he hadn't enjoyed in quite some time. Looking around the beautiful scene before him, he grew nervous. What if you regretted allowing him here? Would he do something to offend you. Causing you to kick him out. Yet another place he would be banished from.

Shaking his head, he frowned deeply. How had you wrapped him around your finger after only a single meeting. He felt like a boy with a school crush. As his eyes landed on you across the field. He couldn't find it in himself to care. It just mattered that you wanted to spend time with him.

Jogging over to him, you smiled brightly. “I'm glad you could make it. It wasn't to hard to find was it?” You shuffled your feet a bit. It was always felt awkward the first time you invited someone over. The anxiety of it all made you foot want to bounce.

His heart flutter, between your concern and flustered appearance. He was sure this day would overload his senses. “It was no trouble, kleines Kaninchen. I am looking forward to today.”

You had to steady yourself. Little rabbit, you had never been called such a thing before. It was this moment that you were thankful for your fur. Not wanting the embarrassment of him seeing your blazing cheeks. “That's good. Now let's head down the rabbit hole.”

Snatching up his hand, you took off. He was startled at the strength your soft hand held. Sure he had expected speed. But the power in your hand wrapped around his own. If he had to guess, he belived it would be no challenge for you to carry him. Even at the hastened pace you were going at. You were practically lifting him off the ground.

He would have continued marveling at your strength. If it wasn't for the fact that you were pulling him towards a very small hole in the ground. Before he could call out, the burrow widened. Easily large enough to fit the two of you. Jumping in, you gave him a mischievous look over your shoulder. His breath caught as he plummeting down with you. And he could confidentiality say it wasn't the fall that caused his breath to stutter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It didn't take to long for the tour. Even if the farm was large, how else could you provide so many eggs and chocolates. There were only a handful of key buildings to show off. You offered to tell him all of the hens names. But the suggestion overwhelmed him. So you moved on from the vast field.

Coming up to a large building, you leaned towards him. In a low voice you said. “Don’t let the ladies know, but this is my favorite pass time. I could spend plenty of time with their feathery rumps. This though, will always be my passion project.”

Heading through the entrance, he could see what you meant. The sweet smell of chocolate filled the air in a delightful way. You made your way through the facilty. Nodding to the fellow woodland workers as you went. He knew being a goatman himself, it could be hard getting along with others. So it was a shock to see so many other animalistic humanoids. It made him feel oddly at ease. Though as he looked down at you. It seemed that was a feeling he was experiencing more and more.

Finishing up your conversation with a fox woman you nodded. Grabbing his arm, you wrapped it with your own plush one and continued forward. “I think you’ll enjoy our next stop as much as I do.”

The warmth of you body spread into him. If you were taking him there, he was sure he would enjoy every moment of it. “I will hold you to that, kleines Kaninchen.”

There it was again. The way it rolled from his tounge had you fighting off shivers. Your smile softened as you guided him deeper into the building.

Opening the door to your final destination, you glanced at him. Taking in his wide eyes and surprised expression. Stepping away from him you swept your arms wide. “This is our quality assurance room.” Candy was lined up, from wall to wall. It was organized by type and batch number, showing the sheer amount of variety. Making you way over to a smaller table, you waved him over. “I thought you might be interested in some of the more traditional chocolates. Though there is plenty more to try. If your taste is a bit more exotic.” You didn't miss the way his eyes seemed to dilate at your suggestion.

Heat pooled in his belly and he had to pause. You were a temptress, no a goddess of seduction. His muscles burned to pick you up and indulge in your taste. Bringing his face closer to yours his eyes become half lidded. “What would you recommend?”

In a flash your eyes lit up. Grabbing a speckled egg shaped chocolate you placed it to his lips. He was a bit shocked at your sudden change in demeanor. Still it was hard for him to resist your excitable nature. Closing his lips around the small confection, his eyes widened. It was creamy and smooth. As he bit into it he was surprised at the rush of spiced liquor flooding his tounge. “You are full of many surprises kleines Kaninchen.” Steping closer, he pressed his body against yours. “Show me more.”

You wasted no time, jumping up and wrapping your arms around his neck. Your lips moved feverish as they collided with his. He met you with just as much ferocity. Bringing his up hand to firmly grasp your plush bottom. He reveled un the way his finger sunk into you malleable flesh. Your bodies were flush against one another. Thrumming in the throws of passion.

When the door suddenly swung open. A deer man was looking over a clipboard as he entered. “Hey (Y/N), we need your….” As his gaze lifted from his work he gasped. Lifting the papers to his face he backed out of the room. Stammering out apologies profusely along the way.

Breathing heavily, he gently lowered you back to the floor. The both of your pulses were hammering in your ears. You sheepishly looked at him through your lashes. Admiring his rugged features as he gazed down at you. “I guess we could have picked a better place for something like this”

He smirked and nodded. “Perhaps I could return your hospitality. Have you ever explored in the depths of a castle?” His eyebrows raised suggestively as you giggled.

Resting your hand on his firm chest, you beamed. “I'm always up for a new experience. I've heard of a castle that has eternal Krampusnacht. I wonder if they can keep up with a bunny there.”

Your taunt got his blood boiling. Hefting your plush body up with one arm, he grins. Your lips met in another scorching kiss. “We will have to see, kleines Kaninchen.”

With that the two of you made your way out. Hoping that you hadn't mentally scarred you worker. But eagerly anticipating what your next meeting might bring.

#red one #chubby reader #krampus #chubby reader x krampus #plus size reader #mutual pining #romance #flirting #animal traits #making out #hormones #dinner #reunion #chickens #food #attraction

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dandelionsresilience · 6 months ago

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Dandelion News - November 8-14

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles!

1. Agrivoltaics for sustainable food, energy and water management in East Africa

“[… C]ertain crops […] thrived under the partial shade provided by solar panels. The shade also helped to reduce water loss through evaporation, leading to more efficient water usage. Additionally, rainwater harvested from the panels could be used to supplement irrigation needs.”

2. The world’s largest wildlife crossing is now standing in California

“The structure crosses a 10-lane freeway and has been built to help protect all sorts of wildlife[….] And it’s not just for fauna: some 5,000 plants grown from seed collected within a five-mile radius have been nurtured in two specially created nurseries. The bridge will be topped with wildflowers, shrubs and native grasses that will also benefit insect populations.”

3. Judge rules the military must cover gender-affirming surgery for members' dependents

“[Judge] Torresen found that [gender-affirming] surgery is indeed medically necessary and that the Defense Department had not shown that any important governmental interest was advanced by denying the coverage.”

4. Social Media Can Boost Caracal Conservation

“The team found that searches on the species doubled after the project [using “social media to educate about the caracal”] launched. […] ”The research demonstrates how a public interest in urban ecology and the global phenomenon of ‘cats on the internet’… can be harnessed to leverage conservation action.””

5. US Labor Board Bans Captive Audience Meetings to Ensure 'Truly Free' Worker Choice

“[T]he National Labor Relations Board on Wednesday ruled that employers cannot force workers to attend anti-union speeches. [… W]orkers will no longer have to take part in so-called "captive audience meetings," which employers often use as a union-busting tool and a form of coercion.”

6. Study links grazing with plant phenology and abundance

“In general, plants where caribou or muskoxen were present experienced earlier green-up and greater abundance later in the growing season. “We're used to thinking of the timing of plant availability as impacting the productivity of grazing animals, but not the reverse," Post said.”

7. Frog populations once decimated by disease mount a major comeback

“"These results provide a rare example of how reintroduction of resistant individuals can allow the landscape-scale recovery of disease-impacted species, and have broad implications for amphibians and many other taxa that are threatened with extinction by novel pathogens."”

8. California Announces Special Session To Protect Trans People

“Newsom’s directive is clear: safeguard reproductive healthcare, support immigrants, and shield LGBTQ+ people from what is viewed as existential threats to civil rights and democratic norms. […] California has a unique opportunity to set the blueprint for other states in resisting a Trump administration[….]”

9. When ‘OK, Boomer’ Means ‘Let’s Go Protest’

“Youth activists across the country recognize the efforts of their eco-minded predecessors and welcome them as mentors, role models, and collaborators in their battle against the climate crisis. […] “The idea that Boomers don’t care, he said, is “just misinformation.””

10. How Aussie Waste Warriors are Redirecting Excess Food to Those in Need

“A growing movement is working to reduce perfectly good food going to waste by redirecting it to homes and charities. [… C]haritable organisations [… are] transforming fresh produce that would otherwise have gone to waste into millions of cooked, nutritious meals for people in need each year.”

November 1-7 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

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lucky-bucky-boy · 2 years ago

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Changing Tides

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 6790

Summary: You and Bucky get paired together for undercover missions a lot because it works beautifully, despite the fact that you don't really even interact at home.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, limited use of Y/N, LOTS of pet names (pretty girl, baby, i think baby girl, my girl etc), praise kink, oral f. receiving, slight angst, reader is in denial for a good bit of this, angst if you squint, reader is a part of the team, this piece takes place in an AU where everyone lives together and everything is happy

A/N: Oh. My. God. I did NOT intend for this to be this long, at one point I thought I was going to have to make this a two-parter but I got it all in here. I really enjoyed writing this, please let me know what y'all think!! :)))

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my writing and/or fics anywhere without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed and highly appreciated!

Hues of velvety violet and radiant amber mixed, painting the evening sky like a scene out of a museum. The scent of warm sea salt was still palpable in the air, the crystal like water of the wide-expanding ocean reflected the light of the setting sun. Dancing specs of light could be seen in the darker shades of the sky, stars bright and clear against the inky color.

The cold metal of the hotel balcony pressed against your exposed skin, shirt having risen up as you leaned over it slightly. The view was beyond breathtaking, something you would argue belonged on a movie screen. It was serene, offering a moment of reprieve from the typical chaos you endured in a day, and a distraction from the man currently sitting in the hotel room behind you.

Hate didn’t describe the emotions you felt for the brunet. On a daily basis, there was an underlying disinterest but every now and then a seething annoyance would bubble at the mere thought of the former soldier. You couldn’t pin-point why. Bucky himself had never done anything to wrong you after his rehabilitation and reintroduction into society, and you could easily say nothing the Winter Soldier had done counted towards your feelings.

The odd part of it all is the Bucky and you worked well together, great even. More often than not, you found yourself partnered with Bucky on just about every mission the two of you had; from quick in and out missions to undercover operations like the one you were on now. The communication was great, the two of you easily fell into a rhythm and could read each other’s body language like you’ve known each other your whole life. It was easy to slip into a faux-domesticity with him, which was a stark contrast to the daily life you lived.

The day to day with Bucky involved a lack of any form of contact. You’d avoid the gym if he was in it, would eat in silence if the two of you happened to be in the kitchen at the same time, eye-contact was consistently avoided - Really, the only time the two of you were seen together at home was during group training sessions and team-building nights. You were sure to never make it awkward for the rest of the team, never bad mouth or be outwardly annoyed at Bucky’s presence, you just really couldn’t care less if he was there or not.

“Sweetheart,” his voice carried from the room, light and sweet, almost intoxicating with a feeling instantly having your gut turn and catch your skin aflame, “Did you want to go out for dinner tonight or just order room service?” His voice got nearer as he moved to join you on the balcony.The cool metal prosthetic wrapped around your waist as he stood next to you.

A soft hum left your lips, gaze moving from the horizon to the prosthetic then to Bucky’s face. He adorned a slight scruff, long hair pulled back into a low bun; His eyes nearly twinkled as they reflected the setting sky in the distance, he wore soft maroon button down and black chinos that truly made him look like a normal, well-off guy. Tony and Peter had finally managed to perfect the color needed to make Bucky prosthetic look like a normal arm which easily sealed the deal on assuring that there was nothing major that could be easily spotted to dox the two of you as agents.

The flight to Morocco was long and the next 10 days were easily going to be even longer, the last thing you wanted to do was be anywhere but a soft bed. “Room service,” you replied, matching the tone he had asked the question with. You leaned your head against his shoulder, moving your gaze back to the ocean, “Did you do a room check and get our things set up?”

He nodded, “Everything inside is clear and put away,” he squeezed your side softly when he said inside, a subtle emphasis to communicate where it was safe to not be in character. “I’ll go order the room service, you can go shower and get comfortable. I know how much you hate the airport.” He chuckled softly at the end, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline before making his way back inside.

You let out a soft sigh, making it inside as well and closing the balcony door behind you as you did. This really was going to be a long 10 days.

The bitter taste of the wine nearly made your mouth water, sitting somewhere between too intense and the perfect thing to take the edge off. The first full day had been smooth, an easy itinerary of walking and exploring the city. From the outside, the two of you easily looked like a love sick couple; matching clothes, a large diamond in your hand, Bucky always opening the door for you and your soft smile that just couldn't seem to leave you face; but in reality you had been mapping the city, learning the back alley ways and locating any ports that may be needed for a quick exit.

The small patio of the restaurant adorned a handful of tables, lanterns lighting the area in a soft romantic glow, lucious plants filling in any space, the open space allowed for ease of blending into the crowd while watching any passerby on the street. Bucky had taken up a game of footsie with you, chattering along about some of the shops you had passed along the way.

“Is there any shop you’d want to make your way back to?” Bucky took a sip of the wine in front of him, eyes fixed on you intently.

A soft hum left your lips, swaying your head back and forth softly as you thought. “Well, I wanna hit up the history and art museum, so maybe we could see if there’s any other cute shops there? If not, I’d definitely like to look at the jewelry store and bookstore we passed on the way here.”

“Mmm, I do think it’s time to get my pretty girl a new necklace,” the words fell off Bucky’s tongue like he sweet talked you on the daily.

There was that feeling again, the uneasiness that laid in the pit of your stomach and your skin heated up. Maybe this was why you couldn’t stand Bucky outside of missions, maybe you just didn’t want to deal with this feeling constantly. “You spoil me enough, ya know,” you offered a soft giggle, “I can assure you I don’t need any more jewelry, my love.”

Bucky smirked softly, cocking his eyebrows up at you with a knowing look on his face, “You may not need it, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to do it anyways.”

You shook your head, about to offer a rebuttal as the waiter set your food down in front of you, all thoughts being lost to the amazing sights and smells. “This is easily my favorite part of our trips,” you stated, the distraction of food keeping you from noticing the way Bucky’s gaze stayed on you and a soft smile lingered.

Six days of being enveloped in Bucky’s presence, and thankfully it was getting easier by the moment. It had been a smooth operation so far, the information being easy to locate and gather without raising suspicions. As a result, Tony had said to take a day to relax, lay low and assure no one was able to realize there was something more to you two.

Bucky had made a home on the balcony of your hotel, a book in hand and a coffee sat on the little table next to him.He been there since the early morning and it was easily almost noon, not that that you were bothering to check the clock. A day off meant a day of sleep and eating, nothing much more than that.

However, sleeping wasn't something your body wanted to do so you found yourself with a forgotten movie playing on the television, your gaze consistently going back to him. You weren't sure why, but you couldn't keep your eyes off him. You'd been sitting for the past God knows how long trying to figure out why you couldn't pull your eyes away from him. His hair was down, something he didn't do quite often, almost always finding it easier to have it pulled away from his face. From the angle he was sitting, you could see his light gray button down was still completely unbuttoned, his jean shorts a little too snug around his thighs. He occasionally sipped the coffee that was most likely cold at this point, turning the page of the thick novel occasionally. His lips would purse, eyebrows scrunch occasionally, or a small chuckle, or even a shake of his head as he reacted to the words on the page.

The wind picked up some, indicating a small rain storm that was destined to his later in the evening was starting to make it's way in. Bucky pulled a hair tie from his pocket, tying his hair into his typical low bun before picking his book back up. And it finally hit you; Fuck he's pretty.

The thought immediately made your body heat up and the instant feeling of something in between shame and excitement sat low in your belly. It was like a well known secret your subconscious kept for years finally made it over the wall of denial in your brain, immediately making your thoughts run wild; Fuck he's so pretty, more than pretty actually. What if this is why we've been weird for some many years? Wait. Why would that make it weird? Wait. Why is it weird? Why do we get along so well on missions and then act so differently at home? Oh My God… Has the team been trying to set us up?

Shaking your head, you jumped up, apparently too suddenly because Bucky broke his concentration on his book to glance over at you. You could feel he was watching you move around, the only thought in your head now was to get out for some fresh air as you deciphered the flood of thoughts. You grabbed some fresh clothes, slipping into the bathroom with a heavy sigh once the door was closed.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, attempting to ground yourself. Okay, what the hell is going on? The question kept repeating itself over and over in your head as you slipped into a summer dress, a sage flowy piece that Natasha and you bought for this trip specifically. It was cute, and Nat was right when she said it complimented your skin; definitely different than your normal attire but still comfortable.

Walking out of the bathroom, you were relieved to find Bucky still where he was when you entered. After slipping on some sandals, you moved towards him, immediately aware of every detail of your very being. "Hey," you kept your voice soft, waiting for him to pull him eyes from the book and look up at you. There was something about how brightly his eyes shone with the golden sun beating down on him, there was a sense of both innocence and mystique, and the instant feeling of safety just from holding his gaze. "I'm heading out to get some coffee, do you want a fresh one? You've been sipping at the same cup for hours now."

Bucky glanced down at the cup, then to his watch, eyes going wide for a moment before a soft chuckle left his lips. "I've been out here for 4 hours already, shit. Yeah, I'd love a fresh one, doll. Thank you." He offered you a soft smile, "Just get me a-"

"A latte with three honeys on the side," you said matter-of-factly, "I could order for you at just about anywhere at this point." It was a teasing joke, one Bucky laughed at, but you instantly cursed yourself for even saying it.

"We do spend quite a bit of time together," he hummed out, "Did you want to go out for dinner or get room service tonight?" He asked, picking his book back up as he prepared for your departure.

"Let me see how I feel after I get back. But if we go out, it's your turn to pick. I picked last night." You stated before leaning down to kiss his hairline, still needing to keep up the act just in case someone was managing to spy; or at least that's what you were telling yourself. "I'll see you inna bit."

After returning with the coffee, still finding Bucky to be where he was when he left him, it was an instant decision to find a way to give yourself more time a way from the man that had your mind absolutely scrambled. Grabbing a book of your own, you let him know you'd be down by the pool if he needed you, using a quick excuse about wanting some change in scenery before the rain came as you left.

You weren't entirely sure how long you'd been out there, it couldn't have been too long, but you we're aware you were reading the same page over and over again. The words seemed to mix together, jumbling about and not registering even in the slightest, your brain still attempting to make sense of what you were feeling.

You never denied that Bucky was attractive, that's admittedly part of what made undercover missions easy. You never denied that you two got along well on missions, but you couldn't explain or pinpoint why you didn't get along at home. Sure, you were never hostile or rude, but it was exactly friendly or outgoing either. No matter how much you thought and walked through your early memories of Bucky, you couldn't make sense of anything.

At this point, you knew pride was part of the issue. You knew the team would be able to walk you through, at the very least Nat or Pepper or maybe even Steve, but you could never admit to them what you were currently feeling or going through. The only thing you wanted to do, needed to do was to act normal until you got home. Then you could just hide away and go back to not having to interact with the man that was causing you turmoil.

"There's my pretty girl," Bucky's drawl quickly pulled you out of your thoughts, causing you to jump at the sudden push back to reality. Seeing you jump caused Bucky to chuckle, especially as you turned to glare at him and his bright smile, "It's getting late, baby. We should go get some food."

He moved to the lounge chair you had made home in, kneeling down next to you so he was eye-level. There was that feeling again, low in the pit of your stomach that had your skin warming. "There's apparently food trucks at a park about not too far. Why don't we head there and get some food to bring back and watch a movie?"

Instinctively, you reach to tuck a strand of loose hair behind his ear, offering a soft nod and a smile, "That sounds perfect."

You wanted nothing more than to kiss him, the thought immediately making your already warm skin heat up more, feeling flustered and like a school girl. It's not like you haven't kissed, it was just agreed upon that it was reserved for dire need situations. All other physical touchs; hand holding, forehead kissing, even smacking each others ass was okay to sell the facade that you were a happy couple.

Bucky picked up on the change, a look of slight worry on his face, "You okay, doll?"

The laugh that left you was slightly anxious, holding the book in your hand up as a quick white lie, "Yeah, you just came down at a particularly… intense scene."

He immediately laughed, kissing your forehead as he stood up. "You're so cute. Let's get going though."

The bustling crowds offered a great distraction - Bucky stood proudly by your side, fingers interlocked together and swinging your joined hands softly like a love sick couple. The both of you scanned the crowd, trying to figure out where to go and what to get.

The lines weren't too long, there were nearly a dozen trucks, and live music playing. The sun was finally setting, more clouds rolling in and bringing in a cooler breeze that allowed for a reprieve from the beach heat. There were benches with umbrellas set up, lantern lights adorning some posts and wires around the lot. It was cute, and if it wasn't for the mission you were still technically on, it would feel so wrong to be here with Bucky.

After a moment of thought, you looked at Bucky, lips slightly pursed in thought, "I have an idea." You stated matter-of-factly.

He cooked an eyebrows at you, intrigued and slightly amused with your tone, "Let's hear it then."

"Let's get a platter or some random menu item from every truck then go back to the room and eat there."

Bucky looked around and nodded, "Ya know what, doll, that sounds fantastic. Do you wanna divide and conquer or go one by one?"

It was then that you realized the clouds were darkening, and the rain was definitely going to happen sooner than later. "Let's divide and conquer before the rain comes."

With a nod of agreement the two of you split, heading to either end of the trucks and working your way to each other. With the lines being shorter, it didn't take too long to get through them all, the both of you holding multiple bags stacked full of food and tied tightly. Quick words were exchanged before you started heading back towards the hotel, hoping to make it back before the rain.

The effort was fruitless though, with just maybe a few hundred feet left before the hotel you were staying at, the cold rain begins to pour down, the dark sky opening up and letting go every ounce of water it was holding on to. With loud gasps from the both of you, and small playful shriek even, you two took off running into the lobby, screeching yourselves to a stop as you entered and stood on the mats in front of the door. You were breathing heavily, attempting to catch your breath; a quick glance to Bucky showed you he was doing the same.

After a few moments, the two of you made eye contact, bursting into immediate laughter. You were both soaked head to toe, the only thing saved was the food. His shoes make a sloshing sound and your feet slid around in your sandals, you clothes clinging to every inch of your bodies. You were easily a sight for sore eyes, but it couldn't have been funnier.

"Why didn't either of us think about the rain?" You managed to get out through your laughter.

"Who knows, but let's get upstairs so we can get dry." He managed to respond.

The elevator ride up felt like an eternity, the cold of the AC feeling more intense from your wet skin. Bucky opened the door for you, letting you in first. He set the foot down, immediately kicking off his shoes. "Go shower, get warm. I'll pull out a change of clothes for you and we can swap when you're done."

Something about the direction made you freeze momentarily, causing him to look up at you, "(Y/N), you're freezing. Go shower. I'm fine to wait." His voice was soft and caring and there was a part of you that wanted to tell him to shower with you.

In the dim light of the room and the soaking wet clothes made him look even more divine, like he was sculpted from the gods themselves. You nodded, handing him the bags before making your way towards the bathroom. You closed the door, then quickly opening it to call out but he cut you off, "You want an oversized shirt and a loose pair of shorts, gets your ass in the shower." His tone was demanding but still playful. You caught the look in his eyes, mischievous, playful, and a hint of something you didn't want to recognize.

You kept your shower quick, ready to be in comfortable clothes and a bed with good food. After quickly drying yourself as much as possible, you wrapped yourself in a towel, and stepped out into the bedroom. Bucky stood in only his boxers, his own clothes in one hand while he scrolled through the television with the other. It wasn't the first time you've seen him with this little clothing, but something about it now made your mouth dry and your skin heat up.

"All yours," you said, grabbing his attention as you moved to the bed where he laid your clothes out for you.

"Thanks, doll. I'll be quick. You can pick the movie," he tossed the remote onto the bed before disappearing into the bathroom himself.

You stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm yourself before slipping into the clean clothes. Bucky had already made work of getting creative. He pulled the ironing board from the closet and set the food up next to the bed, had fluffed the pillows up into a sitting position, and already gotten drinks for the two of you. By the time you had decided on a movie, Bucky was coming out of the bathroom.

Immediarely, you mind started short circuiting again. He looked soft. He had on a light blue shirt and a pair of light gray shorts, his hair was towel dried and brushed against his shoulders, a slight wave to the brown locks. He slid in bed next to you, getting himself situated and comfortable before handing over the massive spread of food for you to start digging into.

After about 20 minutes of eating and watching the movie in a comfortable silence, Bucky turned the volume down some, "Can I ask you a question?" The tone of his voice alone already told you how he was feeling. There was a sense of worry, anxiety almost to him.

"Of course, what's wrong?" You asked, sitting your food to the side so you could turn to look at him.

Bucky followed your lead, moving the food he had off the bed as well before taking a drink, trying to have a moment to articulate how he was going to ask what he wanted. Even though Bucky was sure the room wasn't bugged, he knew that there's was never a 100% chance of assuring that. The fact alone could make talking about things outside of the mission difficult, and this one one of those moments.

"How's the trip been for you? I know we haven't been on one in a while and I just want to make sure everything's okay, that we're okay." He had turned fully to look at you now, the worry in his voice making it to his eyes.

"Oh…" the response was immediate, and you regretted it instantly the second you so that worry on his face grow, "The trips been wonderful, and uh…" You sighed, toying with the blanket around you, "We're fine, yeah. I'm just… not here?" You said, sort of motioning to your head to get the point across.

Bucky cocked his head some, the worry turning to confusion. "Are we going to be okay when we go home?"

That was something you couldn't answer. What was okay. Was okay how you normally act? Was okay something different? Something better? Something worse?

"Uh… maybe?" You offered, immediately wincing at your own words. You sighed deeply, "I don't really know how to explain what I'm feeling."

"Okay," Bucky took a moment, letting you both sit in the uncomfortable silence that was the lull in the conversation. He was doing his best not to become frustrated, he knew there was most likely no easy way for you to communicate what you wanted to say or even what you were feeling, but he's been able to tell for the past couple of days that things, specifically that you, have been off. "What do you know?"

Your gaze met his again, taking a deep breath in to try to gather the courage to say what you needed. "Things feel… different?"

"Different?"

"Different."

Bucky stared at you for a moment, mind calculating and analyzing has he tried to decipher what you meant. In an instant it all clicked, and you didn't miss the way his lips curled into a quick smirk before his features soften. "Do things feel different when I call you my pretty girl?"

He watched as you immediately became flustered, averting your gaze and watching your chest rise and fall quicker. He thought he had sensed your heart rate quickening throughout the past couple of days, but he had honestly assumed it was anxiety from the mission. He had no reason to think it could be something else; Well, until now.

"(Y/N)," your name came as firm and demanding, causing you to look at him. The smirk on his face was more evident now, "We can continue this conversation now, or when we get home. But just remember, you're my favorite book to read."

You were instantly lost for words, mouth opening and closing as you processed what he just said to you. Waiting until you were home was going to be far too long, but talking about whatever this was now? Right now when you were flustered beyond belief, that flippant warm feeling filling every valley and curve of your body?

"Just say the word, doll, and I'll act like everything is normal. I'll go back to watching the movie and eating and ignoring the obivous."

A soft shake of your head was all you could muster as you search desperately for a will to stop the inevitable, or the courage to beg for it.

"Words, (Y/N). Use your words."

"I don't want normal." You swallowed, taking a shaky breath you continued, "I don't want this to go back to normal."

Buckys lips turned to a smile. "You don't want this to stop when we go home?"

You shook you head more feverishly, "No, I - Fuck, what have you done to me?" You groaned out.

"The same thing you've been doing to me for years, I suppose." His tone was matter-of-fact, cool and calm almost.

"What?" Your eyes had gone wide, mouth dry, and that God forsaken feeling low in your stomach was growing.

"You heard me. Obviously, we'll have some talking to do when we get home." He chuckled

Bucky moved as if he was going to grab the food, stopping once he heard, "No," come out of your mouth, "No. I want to talk about it now."

He looked back at you, eyebrows raising as to silently ask how.

"I want to…" You sighed, shaking your head in disbelief at yourself before leaning forward, cupping the back of his neck with your hand and pressing your lips to his.

This kiss was different; It was electricity filled, igniting every nerve in your body. You could feel the heat from your ears to your toes. It was intoxiting and addicting.

Bucky waisted no time in kissing you back, even letting out a small groan at your sudden assertiveness. His prosthetic hand held onto you waist, the other cupping your face as the two of you broke years worth of tension in one swift motion. Bucky pulled away first, taking in the plumpness of your kiss swollen lips, the sluttering of your lashes as your opened your eyes to look at him, and the darkness of your gaze that was stricken with last.

He looked just as enthralled, blue eyes dark as the night sky and hooded with desire, cheeks flushed slightly beneath his scruff. It finally clicked what the feeling you've been having all week was. Lust; pure, unadulterated lust for the man who was currently pretending to be your husband.

"Well damn, doll," he offered you a toothy grin, squeezing your waist, "Wasn't expecting that."

"Sorry-"

"Don't be." He bit his lip, studying your face for a moment, "Whatcha thinking, pretty girl?"

You couldn't help but get flustered, "That I want more. A lot fucking more." You hand moved up from his neck to card through his hair, his breath hitching some as you did. "Please, James, I need more." Your voice had a slight whine to it, something you hoped he wouldn't be able to resist.

"If I knew you sounded so pretty begging this would've happened years ago," he grumbled before kissing you again. This time though, he re-situated himself, helping you move to straddling him and doing his best to let you still have some semblance of control for now. His hands gripped your hips, keeping you from being able to move away from him.

One of your hands cupped his face, the other running down his clothed chest. You lips move in sink, a squeeze on your hips eliciting a small moan from you that he took advantage of, using your open mouth to slip his tongue in. You could feel the tent in his shorts growing, sitting hard against your core.

An experimental grind of your hips pulled a moan form the man beneath you; The sound was music to your ears, and enough encouragement to do it again.

Buckys hands moved, bracing you as he flipped you over to give himself more leverage and take control. Just as he begin to grind himself against you, he moved his lips from your to your neck. He kissed his way down to your pulse point, drinking in the sweet sounds you made. He sucked softly at the skin, moaned himself when you pulled at his hair.

Any rationale thought was gone at this point, any fears or anxieties you had pushed to the back of your mind as pure pleasure and desire took over the forefront of your thoughts. Once Bucky was sure he would be satisfied with the mark he left on you, he pulled back some to look you in the eye.

"Are you sure you want this?" He breathed out, offering you an out.

You nodded so quickly he couldn't help but laugh softly, "God, you look so fucking desperate, doll. You want me to fuck you?" He had a slight tease to his voice.

Another nod is all you could muster, but that wasn't good enough for him. "Uh uh, come on. Use your words. Need to hear you say it if you want me to do it."

You whined at his demand, pouting at him slightly, "Please."

"Please what?" His tone was more stern now, "If you want to continue, I need to know you actually want this."

His insistence to make sure you were consenting pulled at your heart strings. You nodded, "Yes, Bucky," you kept your voice soft before adding a slight whine and plea to it, "Please fuck me."

He smiled, kissing you much softer than had had before, "I'd do anything you asked me to." His words sounded like a promise that had you own emotions bubbling up.

Bucky leaned up for a moment, pulling off his shirt. He motioned for you to sit up and pulled yours off as well, groaning softly when he sat you skin. "Such a beautiful, pretty girl. Look at you," his hands ran up and down your sides and he took in your body before making eye contact with you again, "Most perfect thing I've ever seen, ya know that?"

He could feel your skin heat up at his comments, watching you squirm. "Take your shorts off, doll." Bucky moved off the bed, kneeling on the floor at the edge, "C'mere." He demanded.

You aren't going to deny him at this point, feeling yourself so tightly wrapped around his finger that you'd follow him into hell if it meant he kept talking to you like this. Once you were close enough, Bucky grabbed your thighs and pulled you to be perched on the edge on the bed, legs on his shoulders with his eyes level with your core.

"Look at this sweet little pussy," he squeezed your thighs tight, "You're fucking glistening, doll." He started pressing kisses to your thighs, avoiding the very apace you needed him at. "Smell fucking divine, I just know you're gonna taste even better."

Bucky watched as you already started fishing the sheets, squirming and biting you lip to hold back any noise. He already decided it was his job to make it impossible for you to hold back. Bucky moved his right hand to interlock with yours, taking his left arm and using it to put pressure on your waist, the cold feel of the prosthetic a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. Just as he squeezed your hand, Bucky licked a thick stripe from your core to your clit, genuinely moaning at the taste.

He wasted no time in drowning himself in your essence. Bucky licked and sucked, offering the occasional nibble, until you were grinding yourself in his face. Once soft gasps and moans were falling freely from you lips, he moved his left hand to your core, the cool digits of his forefinger and ringer figuring prodding your sopping hole. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking softly as he pushed two fingers in, relishing in the fact that your moans got loud.

Bucky pulled him mouth away, moving to you thighs and sucking hickies into the soft skin while his fingers worked magic. He already knew your body so well, years of working together on intimate missions allowed him to learn how to tell what you liked versus what you loved.

After leaving a few marks, he leaned his head against your thighs, looking up at you through his lashes and watching had your chest rose and fell and you head was thrown back in pure pleasure. "I was fucking right. Taste like honey, could drink you up all fucking day."

He licked a quick stripe again, from where his fingers were to the hilt inside you all the way to your clit. "So, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to continue eating your sweet little pussy until you cum all of face then I'm going to fuck you nice and deep so you feel my cock for days."

He chuckled when he felt your walls flutter around his fingers, "You like the sound of that, pretty girl?" He curled his fingers, hitting the spongy spot that had you gasping for air and eyes rolling into the back of your head. "Look, you're already so close to the edge. You better soak me, baby."

Bucky didn't fall short on his word, getting back to work on your clit with his mouth. His scruff added a nice sensation that bordered on pleasurable pain, fingers moving st the perfect pace and curving expertly, mouth switching between sucking and kitten licks. His right had squeezed your own hand, encouraging you to let go for him.

The pleasure was building quickly, it was intoxicating and inhibition destroying. You leaned up, using your free hand to grab hold of his hair and pull, giving you leverage to grind on his face. Bucky moaned against you, and truly giving you everything he was worth in his determination.

It didn't take much longer for you to fall over the edge, moaning loudly and body convulsing. Your legs squeezed his head as he continued to work you through your orgasm until you fell back, panting for breath.

Bucky pulled away, chuckling softly with a proud look in his face. From his nose down, he was absolutely glistening with your slick, "God you're fucking hot, using my face like that."

Bucky stood, pulling his shorts off, using them to wipe his face some, then tossing them to the side. "Can't wait to see your pretty face when I fill you up. Your gonna take me so good, aren't you?"

You nodded, already getting worked back up. You sat yourself up before he had the chance to grab you, leaning up and carding your hand through his hair again and guiding his lips to yours. You moaned at the taste of your own cum on his lips, reaching down to wrap your hand around his cock, jerking him slowly.

He pulled away from your lips, breathing in sharp. "Uh uh, doll, you can do that another time," he kissed your forehead, a sweet gesture that was a drastic difference to what was currently happening, "Right now, I wanna be buried inside you, making you cum all over me again. Cmon, lay back down for me."

You stole one more kiss before resuming your prior position. Bucky stood at the edge of the bed, pulling you back to the edge and holding your legs spread wide. "You can tell me to stop at any point," he said softly, "but unless you do that, I'm not stopping until you're thoroughly filled with me."

You nodded, offering a desperate, "Please, Bucky. Want all of you," and moving to hold your own legs up as the extra step to prove how much you wanted this.

"So fucking perfect," he groaned out. Bucky grabbed his length, teasing your slit a few times to get his thick tip left before finally pushing in. He was slow, listening to your gasp as he stretched you out so nicely.

Inch by inch, he pushed in until he was bent over you and all the way to the hilt, your lower bodies completely flushed. "You feel fucking amazing around me," he moaned out, kissing every inch of skin he could reach. Just as you were starting to whine, he pulled all the way out before slamming back in, causing you to moan out loudly when you felt him in the deepest parts of you.

Bucky set a brutal but rhythmic pace, changing it ever so slightly until he heard your moans and whines change to be deeper and louder. He moved one of your legs to his shoulder, which somehow allowed him to go even deeper, alternating between full thrusts and grinding against you.

He reached down between the two of you, rubbing circles in your clit with his thumb and watching as your whole body begin to shake with intense pleasure. "Look at you," he moaned out, "Better than my wildest dreams. You gonna cum again for me, already doll?"

He didn't need an answer at this point, he could tell from how your walls were squeezing him that you were close, and as much as he hated to admit it he wasn't far behind you. Bucky kept his movements consistent until he felt you fall over the edge again with a high pitch moan, his hips finally flattering as you squeezed him like a vice, quickly chasing his own high. A few erratic thrusts and he spilled into you with a moan of your name.

Bucky let your legs down, taking a few deep breaths before pulling out of you. He laughed lightly as you whined at the loss of him. He disappeared to the bathroom, cleaning himself up before bringing back a warm, damp wash cloth to wipe you down with. Bucky pressed softly kisses to yoh skin and he wiped you off, kissing your lips before tossing the cloth to the side and climbing into bed with you.

He helped you move back to laying normally in the bed, laughing once he noticed the credits of thie movie were rolling. He wrapped and arm around you, pulling you into his side and letting you get comfortable on him."How you feeling, doll?"

"Good, a little weird, but good." You said, voice drenched in exhaustion.

"Weird how?" He asked, rubbing his fingers up and down your back.

"Good weird. Happy things are gonna be different when we get home."

With how you were laying, you missed the way Bucky smiled down at you, "You don't understand how happy it makes me that I'll get to treat you like this all the time."

"Really?" You asked, already finding it hard to keep your eyes open.

"Doll, I've been yours since the moment I met you, someone was just too stubborn to notice her own feelings." He squeezed your side before going back to rubbing your back, "Get some sleep, we can talk in the morning."

#bucky barnes #marvel #seb stan #marvel smut #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fan fiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #james barnes #james barnes smut

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thankskenpenders · 11 months ago

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After a recent interview where Iizuka said it was possible for IDW characters to show up in the games, I've seen some discussion about how the characters need to be introduced "the right way" for people who don't read the comics. And, like, this is obviously true to some extent. You want to convey why people unfamiliar with them should care about these characters, instead of just assuming everyone already knows who they are and their whole backstories and everything. (Anyone who's watched Disney+ Star Wars already has some easy examples of times where they were like "you guys already know this character from the cartoons, right?" and casual fans were completely lost.) But I think people are overestimating how much work this would actually take, especially people who argue that the characters need full-blown reintroductions in the games that depict their backstories all over again and treat them as characters Sonic doesn't already know

I think it's easy to forget that not everyone who plays Sonic games has played every Sonic game. Kids especially. Every single major recurring character in the games debuted before today's generation of Sonic kids was born, and as such every new game is someone's introduction to those characters. The games with the introductions for the Chaotix, Blaze, Silver, Omega, Cream, the Babylon Rogues, Fang, Mighty, Ray, etc. are straight up not available at all on modern hardware without resorting to emulation. To many people picking up Team Sonic Racing or Mania or whatever, those characters are already some random characters Sonic apparently already knows from some previous story. These are not things that every single person who picks up a new Sonic game is intimately familiar with. And yet the games don't feel the need to stop and recount their entire backstories every time they appear.

Also, like, even if you have played every single game, Sonic already has a long history of introducing new characters with little to no fanfare, often treating them as characters Sonic has already met. Core characters like Tails, Amy, and Metal Sonic were really just dropped into Genesis era sequels with no explanation for people who didn't read the manual (i.e.: most players). Sonic has a kid sidekick and a girl who has a crush on him and a robot duplicate now, just roll with it. The modern era would continue to do this with characters like the reimagined Team Chaotix, or Orbot and Cubot, who just appeared in the games one day with no setup. We got along just fine.

(This is to say nothing of the nature of the creative medium the IDW characters originate from, where every new comic arc is treated as somebody's first and supporting characters are periodically given reintroductions to get newer readers up to speed. We've been over Whisper's backstory multiple times now.)

Again, obviously I do want characters like Tangle, Whisper, and Surge to show up in the games with compelling introductions that do the characters justice, but I think people are overthinking how much effort that actually takes. You do not need a whole elaborate adaptation of Whisper and Surge's backstories in the games just for them to have a cameo. You can have Sonic already know them, and if the details are even relevant you can convey that stuff in other ways - brief exposition in the dialogue, context clues, in-game character bios, new stories that showcase their important character traits without 1:1 recreating the stories that have already been told, out-of-game promotional videos and animated shorts like the ones they did to get people up to speed on who the hell Fang is, etc. This is pretty basic stuff when writing for a long-running multimedia franchise.

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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

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Part 3 for mean!Simon

Content: Consensual dom/sub between Simon and Johnny; dubcon interactions with reader and Johnny. Simon is a dick per usual.

When Johnny comes home, the first thing Simon does is set him back to rights. He's been gone a bit, long enough to need a refresher on how things are done. Just in case he's gotten some silly ideas about who calls the shots.

So once he's through the door, squeezed a little "oof" out of you, and stuck his tongue down your throat, Simon hauls him off for a "reintroduction."

Simon gets him off fully-clothed, whining and panting on his boot, before he's satisfied that Johnny's not forgotten any of his manners. He's rewarded by getting to suck Simon's cock unguided for a little while, drooling and moaning and choking himself to tears. It makes such a pretty sight, Simon is almost tempted to save his discipline for another time.

Almost.

"Up."

Johnny's flushed face twists with dismay, but he drags himself away.

"What have I always told you about your toys, hm?"

Cock-drunk, it takes Johnny a moment to understand the question and develop an answer.

"Tha' I hafta earn 'em," Johnny answers, voice ruined.

Simon hums, carding his fingers through Johnny's sweat-soaked hair.

"And to keep 'em?" Simon prompts.

"Take care of 'em."

Such a smart, well-trained boy... mostly.

He yelps as Simon twists his fingers into his mohawk and wrenches his head back, exposing the vulnerable line of his bobbing throat.

"Then you want to explain what the fuck you've been doing with that pretty pussy I got you?"

Johnny's blinks, sputters. But it's obvious he doesn't understand what Simon means or why he's in trouble. Simon sighs in disappointment, knowing that'll just upset Johnny more.

"'S my fault, I s'pose. Thought you were ready." He shakes his head, eases his grip on Johnny's hair. "Thought you knew how to take care of such a nice toy."

He remembers the unmarked skin of your plush thighs, your round ass. Tsks and shakes his head, watching Johnny paw wordlessly, pleadingly, at his pants.

"M'sorry, sir," Johnny whimpers, puffy bottom lip wobbling. "M'sorry, I'll do better."

"Fuckin' right you will," Simon growls, curling a hand around his vulnerable throat. "Because you're not getting her back 'til I've taught you better. Understand?"

Johnny only just bites back a whine. But he sees the way Simon's eyes narrow and quickly nods, leaning into the hand on his throat, body going lax in submission.

"Yessir," he slurs. "Understood."

Simon strokes his thumb over Johnny's pulse, rumbling with approval. "Atta boy. Your first lesson: if you don't mark something as yours, it's free for the taking."

He hauls Johnny up and throws him face down on the bed.

"Let's begin."

By the time he's done with Johnny, the sun has gone down and the house smells like food.

It seems you haven't been idle while they've been preoccupied. Dinner is simmering on the stove and you're just finished turning the dishwasher over.

You turn as Johnny enters the kitchen, expression carefully neutral when you notice the slight limp in his step and the new, dark marks on his neck. He comes right up to you, slinging his arms around your waist and burrowing into your hair.

"Missed you, bonnie," he sighs. "Didnae say so earlier in all the excitement."

From the doorway, Simon watches you blink and carefully circle your arms around him in return. But your body stays rigid, slanted ever so slightly away. Would maybe even be leaning back if not for the counter against your spine.

"It's alright, I um... I got it from the kiss," you assure, patting his shoulder.

He nuzzles in a bit and you seem curious, confused. "Everything okay, Johnny?"

"Aye, jus'... LT says I cannae play with you for a while."

Your eyes dart to Simon, going big and nervous when you realize he's observing.

"Ah. W-well... uh, we can worry about that later, right?" you soothe, gently pulling away to look him in the eyes. He's bit sniffly still, even though Simon made sure he was good after "lesson." You just seem to comfort him like a favored stuffy. "Let's get a proper meal in you for now."

Johnny nods, clutching onto yours hand as you lead him around the kitchen. Collecting serving bowls, spoons, ladling out stew in generous portions - at least for two of the servings - all with one free hand.

Johnny is quiet, drowsy. You keep glancing at him, but he only sways into you whenever you stop moving, rubbing his cheek against yours.

"Havnae been takin' care of you right," he mumbles as you're reaching for tumblers from the cabinet. "LT is gonnae teach me better, though."

You freeze, blood draining from your pretty face. Your eyes flick fearfully to Simon, right where you last saw him. He doesn't so much as twitch, staring you down until you visibly swallow and turn away. There's a little tremble to your hand now as you finish getting the glasses.

"That should be... interesting," you manage. "Ready to eat?"

"Aye, m'hungry. Missed your cooking."

You muster up a shaky smile and gently hand him a bowl of stew.

"That's good to hear, Johnny. C'mon, before it gets cold."

You send him off to the dining table. In his absence, you draw in a deep breath. Then pour Simon a glass of bourbon, taking both it, and his bowl of stew to his customary spot at the head of the dinner table.

He stalks from his place in the kitchen doorway, purposefully crossing you at the corner so that you're forced to flatten yourself against the wall and sidestep. While he seats himself, he hears you getting yourself a water, collecting your own bowl.

When you return, you try to sit next to Johnny as usual, who's sat at Simon's right. This way, he acts as a buffer between you two. But Simon clicks his tongue and you pause, turning to him with a curious blink.

"Over here." He gestures to his left side, putting you across from Johnny.

"Oh... um, okay."

You shuffle around to the other side, still shaky as you set your bowl down and take a seat. Simon watches you for a long moment as you studiously avoid his gaze, eyes on your water glass.

"This is your spot from now on. Understood?" he asks.

You tilt your head enough to make it obvious you're answering him. "Yes, sir."

"Look at me when you answer," he corrects.

You twitch a bit, shift uncomfortably as you force your eyes to look at his chest.

"Yes, sir," you repeat, soft and conciliatory."

"Atta girl," he gruffs. "Now fuckin' eat, the both of you."

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Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #mean simon

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silusvesuius · 4 months ago

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reintroduction for Marelea, my first skyrim spawn. bosmer stripped of instincts and needs that was molded into an ugly abomination by some shady, but smart!, individuals. shameless mary sue o' mine. sort of a failed 'superior lifeform' so.. fittingly, it has an incredible capacity for magicka as a result of the… let's say… experiment done on it. simpled down the initial design it had just a little bit. 🍀🔮🎎☀

i tossed and flipped its story around a bunch of times in my head and i think i finally reached an idea i like the most. it washes up on solstheim and is a temporary captive of tel mithryn after talvas discovers it. Give it a year or two; it just becomes a raven rock based menace (terrorist) and an adversary to neloth, headache to all. talvas is the only one to call it a "she" just because that makes it easier for him to empathize with Marelea.

This ^

#tes #skyrim #oc #marelea #my art #i'm thinking it's 'one of many' or one of few rather..#but it is the last one standing. The inherent token-ness and marysue value in marly is priceless......#it fits in the very recognizable 'malevolence adolescent who is actually 1000 years old' category but that's just cus i do love that #marly is just all around Special. My first birth 💘SKYRIM💘

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lay-z · 5 months ago

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💒 Day 9 – Separated

A continuation to 🎁 Day 1 – All I want for Christmas (is you), which means it’s set in the same universe!

Synopsis: Happily married for several months now, you and John spend your first Christmas as newlyweds in Glasgow with his family.

Pairing: John Soap MacTavish x fem!Reader Warnings/Info: NSFW, 18+ | military!Reader; domesticity; married life/established relationship; humour; fluff; cussing; male masturbation; oral sex; hurt/comfort; angst with a happy ending (Yay!)

Word count: 3.6k

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

You shiver despite your warm layers of clothing and stifle another yawn as you wait for the front door to the MacTavish's home to open. The large house is adorned with bright lights and decorations, even in the front yard, and a traditional Christmas wreath has been hung up at the old, heavy door.

The noise inside is muffled, but you can already hear the music, chatter and overall chaos.

Next to you, your husband glances over, a crease of concern between his dark brows as soon as he notices the dark circles under your eyes and the way your shoulders slouch with fatigue.

"Ye alright, luv? Ye're no’ gettin' sick on me, eh?" He reaches over to rub your back over your thick winter coat, trying to shield you from the freezing gusts of snow-speckled wind.

"Nah, 'm fine," you reply, yawning this time and smacking your lips before smiling over at him, "Just tired again."

John nods, curling his muscular arm around your waist to pull you closer into his side, leaning in to kiss your temple – and discreetly check if you might have a fever as his lips linger.

"Aye, hen, t’was a long drive here." He remarks, muttering against your skin before pulling back with an exasperated sigh as he lifts his fist to knock once more.

It’s your first Christmas as a married couple and while the both of you intitially wanted to spend it alone together, his family kept nagging and begging him to come back to Glasgow to celebrate the holidays properly with the whole MacTavish clan, like in the old days. Cue your own family giving you hell for choosing your husband’s side of the family over them.

Needless to say, the past couple of weeks have been rather stressful, with your responsibilities serving in the military and being part of the 141 breathing down your neck, too, along with John’s own reintroduction into his military service, which caused you two to have less time for each other than you both expected.

“I’ll give ye a massage later,” John says, his voice dropping to a promising murmur, “How does that sound?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, making you huff a laugh as you lean in to hug him back and rest your cheek against his chest, limbs feeling heavy already.

“Doesn’t sound too bad.” You glance up at him, admiring his handsome face with a soft smile, and your heart gives a sudden flutter like it did when you first started fooling around in secret, back when you first joined the task force after him.

The door cracks open eventually, and a wave of warmth embraces you immediately, making you shudder as you cling to John. His mother pokes her head out and her bright blue eyes immediately light up.

“Well, if it isn’t my handsome son and his bonnie bride.” She smiles warmly, eyes crinkling in the corners as she pulls her only son into a hug, “We’ve been wonderin’ where ye are!”

“Hello, ma.” John mutters while his mother, always the overly affectionate one, cuddles him tightly and ruffles his short dark hair; the hair he’s been growing out and grooming differently since getting rid of his Mohawk and trying to hide the gnarly scar on the side of his head.

Then, you’re attacked next, but as you go in to reciprocate her welcoming hug, she keeps you at arm's length instead, her hands planted on your shoulders as she looks at you, eyes narrowing slightly.

Meanwhile, your gaze flickers in confusion between John’s and hers while she keeps scrutinizing you, grasping your chin and tilting your face as she hums to herself.

“Uhm, Rosemary... Good–Good to see you again,” you try tentatively, offering an awkward smile as your arms drop and hang loosely at your sides.

John takes your hand, chuckling nervously, “Ma, dinnae be weird now.”

“Och, dinnae be silly, John! Let yer mum check on her bonnie daughter-in-law.” Rosemary pulls back, her blue eyes sparkling strangely as she flashes a beaming smile before waving her son off dismissively and stepping to the side to usher you both inside.

When John picks up your luggage again, he doesn’t let go of your hand.

The atmosphere inside the big, old house is welcoming and warm, loud and chaotic, as usual. All of John’s four sisters are present with their partners and children, and even some uncles and aunts have been invited with their spouses.

At some point after the sumptuous dinner, when wine, scotch and eggnog flow steadily, and the language barrier between you and your in-law family becomes more apparent again once they all keep slipping into Gaelic, you swiftly find a corner in the living room where you’re able to take a much-needed breather while John is busy entertaining his young nieces and nephews.

Taking a few slow and deep breaths, you try to get rid of the queasy feeling in your stomach that caught you off guard since sitting down at the long dinner table earlier.

Perhaps you are overworked and definitely overwhelmed, unable to relax and unwind after the past couple of months of round-the-clock action; whether it was helping John with his ongoing rehabilitation, the wedding, the following honeymoon, or the countless deployments and field trainings, all while trying to adjust to married life.

You’re happier than you’ve ever been in your life, there is no doubt about that, but it’s been... tough. Even you must admit that to yourself; you’re exhausted.

As you glance down into your half-empty wine glass, you swivel the ruby liquid inside a bit while you feel your mouth suddenly fill with saliva at the lingering sour taste on your tongue. It’s an odd reaction and you swallow thickly, wrinkling your nose before setting the glass on the small side table next to the armchair you’re lounging in.

Suddenly, John appears from the crowd, crouching down in front of the armchair. His stubbly cheeks flushed a pinkish hue from the alcohol, his cerulean eyes gleaming with love as he gazes up at you like a devoted puppy yearning for some praise, “Everythin’ alright, my love?”

You cup his jaw and caress your thumb over the apple of his cheek, giving a curt nod, a small smile playing on your lips as you meet his gaze with half-lidded eyes.

“Just tired, baby.” You repeat the words for the umpteenth time in the past few days it feels.

“Mhm,” John rests his cheek on your knee as you rake your manicured fingers through his short hair and his eyelids flutter briefly as he sighs deeply, “Aye, could take a nap, too.”

John leads you to one of the guest bedrooms upstairs where he’d previously carried the luggage. However, as he switches the light on, you’re met with a peculiar sight.

“Seriously?” You snort, peeking up at John with a raised eyebrow while he rubs the back of his neck, smirking sheepishly and giving a shrug.

“First come, first serve, I guess,” he chuckles, “At least we don’t gotta share our bathroom with anyone.”

You hum, pursing your lips as you nod, “Don’t have to share a bed, either.” You quip, making a vague gesture at the two single beds with Christmas themed bed sheets, separated by a wide bedside table.

“Och, we’ll make do,” John snickers, pulling you into his side and grabbing a handful of your left ass cheek over the wool dress you’re wearing before leaning down to bury his nose in your neck, “Jus’ like the good ol’ days back at the barracks, baby.”

He nips at your neck, making you giggle as you tilt your head and lift your shoulder, trying to shield yourself from his playful ministrations.

“You mean the days when you’d begged me to let you into my bed?”

John lets out a mock scoff, straightening up and rolling his broad shoulders after letting go of your ass cheek with one last squeeze, “I never had to beg ye.”

The both of you know that it's a blatant lie.

He clears his throat, “Wanna bet it’s gonna be ye who asks ta move the beds together? Whining for cuddles an’ kisses from yer man like a wee lassie?”

You pout at him, brows setting in a feigned frown as you sidestep him with your arms crossed over your chest petulantly, “You’re on, MacTavish,” you huff, “–and you’re so gonna lose this bet.”

“Winner gets a nice treat, aye?” He suggests with a boyish grin, following you into the bedroom.

After unpacking together and settling in, John leaves you to have one more drink with his father downstairs while the rest of his family is either leaving and bidding their goodbyes or retreating to the other guest bedrooms.

And while you can barely keep your eyes open as you change into your pyjamas, brush your teeth and go through your nightly routine in the adjacent bathroom, you feel simultaneously too exhausted and unable to find sleep as you finally lay in your assigned single bed.

This restlessness feels strange, and you must actively keep yourself from tossing and turning on the mattress as you lay in the darkness alone. You even go through the various sleeping techniques which you’ve learned on duty, the ones that have helped you catch some shuteye on missions in the past, though to no avail.

Your eyes are burning behind your eyelids whenever you shut them, and your mind can’t seem to quiet. You’re terribly aware of your heartbeat, the soreness of your limbs and the queasiness in your gut, and in this moment, you can’t help but yearn for your husband’s presence; for him to slip under the covers behind you and his large, strong hands to roam and touch your body in a way that distracts you from this discomfort you find yourself in.

Time passes, and while you’re still unable to fall asleep, you’ve manage to turn your mind off by focusing on the various sounds in the house; deep voices engaged in conversation downstairs, the flushing of toilets, the dull footsteps of someone walking up or down the stairs–

You’re lying on your side, facing the wall, the pillow hugged to your chest with your head flat on the mattress, and your eyes shut as you’re simply dozing, when the door to the bedroom creaks open and John staggers inside clumsily.

There’s a pause before the door clicks and locks again, and you know he’s checking if you’re asleep, so you play along and stay still. You expect him to fold, to come crawling into your bed and lose the bet, and the thought of him desperately pawing at your flimsy pyjamas to get to your goodies, makes your lower tummy flutter with excitement and anticipation.

So, you listen as he disappears into the bathroom, how the toilet flushes after he takes a comically long piss, the running of the faucet when he washes his hands and brushes his teeth, all while your heart keeps thudding against your ribcage while you suppress a wicked grin.

When John emerges from the bathroom, he smacks his hand against the light switch, unnecessarily forceful like he always does, and–

Your eyes blink open, eyebrows furrowing, when he walks past your bed to slip into his with a low grunt. The single mattress creaks under his weight, the covers rustle as gets comfortable, sniffling and smacking his lips like a dog getting ready for the best sleep in his life.

And just when you want to turn around to make your wakefulness known, your breath stutters in your chest as you hear him spitting – presumably into his palm.

You don’t know how long you’ve been holding your breath for, frozen in place as you listen to the slick sound of his hand stroking his cock, but it’s been long enough to have your own body react to it as your thighs squeeze together discreetly, wetness spreading between your folds as you try to get friction on your pulsating clit while your heart feels heavy in your chest.

Suddenly, you’re going through a myriad of emotions and it’s something you haven’t experienced before. You feel aroused, excited, betrayed, sad, angry, frustrated, disappointed – and it’s all too much when the sound of John’s husky groan and shallow breaths reach your ears.

“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me – John.” You mutter, saying his name louder as you perk up in your bed, glancing over your shoulder at him in the darkness and barely able to make out his silhouette.

“Are you seriously jerking off right now?”

John sputters, his movements stilling before he has the audacity to bark out a laugh, “Ah, I didnae ken ye’re awake.” His Scottish brogue is more apparent now, his deep voice a little breathless.

“Yeah, well... I am!” You hiss, sitting up fully and leaning against the headboard of your bed, blood boiling and heating up your cheeks with agitation and before you know it, your eyes start stinging and welling up with fat tears while your bottom lip wobbles.

“Woah, wait–” He chuckles, though more in confusing than disbelief as he tries to interpret your reaction, “Are ye... mad at me for havin’ a lil’ wank?” His thick brows draw together as he listens intently, his cock still throbbing in his fist.

You sniffle, shoulders trembling with restraint as you wipe furiously at your eyes and cheeks, though the first tears have already slipped and stained your sleepshirt. It’s so out of character for you. Normally, you would simply tease him for this. Hell, you have a great sex life together; have rubbed one out next to him just to rile him up in the past. This should be nothing to you, but for no other apparent reason than a matter of principle, it is, and you can’t stop your mouth from blurting out more words.

“Y’know, it’s just funny to me that–that you actually seem to be enjoying this bet and ugh separation between–between us,” you babble, ignoring logic in favour of the cocktail of raging emotions wreaking havoc inside you.

“What? No! Baby, please, I–” John stammers, becoming more confused and overwhelmed with each hiccup and sob coming from your bed from the other side of the room, “Ye’re the love of my life, please–” He tucks his still semi-hard cock back into his boxer briefs before scrambling on his mattress to turn on the lamp on the bedside table.

When the bedroom is illuminated by the lamp’s warm light, John immediately sobers up as he assesses the strange situation, and his stomach drops as he spots you curled up on the single bed, hugging your knees and muffling your sobs. He can’t count on one hand the times he’s seen you cry, so this is more than alerting.

“Ach, fuck this bloody bet.” John huffs and in an instant, he’s up on his feet and nearly flinging himself onto your bed; strong arms cooping you up in an embrace as he shifts you around until he’s sitting with his back against the headboard, cradling your shivering form against his chest.

“Steamin’ Jesus, ye’re really scarin’ me right now,” he mutters against the crown of your head, nuzzling your hair as he rocks you gently, “Can ye tell me what’s goin’ on, hm? Please?”

“Fuck, I–I don’t know,” you wail and whine into his bare chest, coarse dark hair scratching against your face as you try to burrow deeper into his embrace, all while his bulky arms tighten around you like steel rods, “I just... I need you.”

And then, when you shift and climb into his lap to hump and grind your clothed pussy against his upper thigh, John gets really confused.

He blinks dumbly, “So... ye’re not mad at me? Ye’re jus’... horny?” His cock twitches in his briefs when you bite your puffy bottom lip and choke back a keening moan.

“Shut up,” you whinge, hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders as he surveys your odd behavior with a mixture of amusement and concern, once he’s sure you’re not sick or hurt.

John chuckles huskily, his hands trailing down to grasp your hips, “Should’a said some, hen.” He purrs as he tugs on the hem of your sleepshirt teasingly before pulling it up over your head when you lift your arms up obediently.

His pupils dilate as soon as his eyes drink in the sight of your pretty tits. When his hands trace up your stomach, he can feel your skin pebble with goosebumps, and when his thumbs trace the underside of your naked breasts, he notices your slight wince while your cute nipples stiffen instantly, making his mouth water at the sight like Pavlov’s trained mutt.

“Sensitive tonight, are we?”

You swat at his biceps meekly, letting out the most pathetic little whine that has John’s heart thudding and his cock chuff to full mast. This is so unlike you, and it makes him reel internally.

“Fuckin’ hell, ye’re killin’ me here. I need a taste of ye, love.” He mutters under his breath and leans in to kiss you deeply, all teeth and tongue, before he picks you up and manhandles you like some ragdoll until you’re lying on your back underneath him, gazing up with a desperate, pleading look in your glossy, bright doe-eyes.

You help him take off your pyjama pants next, movements sluggish as you burn up with desire and need while John nudges your legs apart before settling between your thighs, getting in position like a sniper on a mission.

John holds your upper thighs in a firm grip, keeping them spread for him as he drags his nose from your crack up your wet slit, parting your folds and inhaling the familiar scent of your arousal deeply as he goes, though it somehow seems more intoxicating as ever. And the first taste of your cunt has his mind go berserk, synapsis firing in the most primal part in his brain as he swallows hard and growls against your folds.

You clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling your whimpers, “Oh...god... Johnny.”

You taste absolutely divine and you’re practically gushing from your little hole like never before as John drapes your legs over his shoulders, spreads your velvety folds with his fingers and starts licking and suckling on your clit like a madman; completely and utterly possessed by you as he slurps and laps up your slick arousal, making sure not a drop goes to waste.

The first orgasm hits you hard and leaves your pussy convulsing almost painfully as white-hot pleasure wrecks through your flushed body; making your toes curl and your back arch off the mattress while those dull throbs of pleasure-pain have you begging for Johnny’s thick fingers to fill you up. And he eagerly complies by plunging both middle and ring finger into your dripping cunt while the feeling of his thick, golden wedding band stimulating your entrance has your eyes roll back into your skull.

Your doting husband eats you out for what feels like hours, way past the soreness of his own jaw, until you’re nothing but a limp, twitching mess on the narrow mattress, and even then, he doesn’t let up.

“Can’t stop, baby,” he grunts against your swollen clit, his voice muffled by your slick flesh as he pumps and curls his fingers inside your fluttering channel, “Ye taste too fuckin’ good.”

Clutching the steaming mug of freshly brewed coffee between your palms, you stifle another yawn as you sit at the kitchen table before you catch the significant glance John shoots in your direction, a prideful smirk tugging at his lips and his chest puffed out even more than usual as he converses with one of his brothers-in-law.

Yes, you’re tired, but at least you know why today. Smiling to yourself, you hide it by taking a sip of your coffee.

“Havin’ a good mornin’, Mrs. MacTavish?”

Your eyes flicker up when John’s mother sets a full plate of breakfast in front of you. An array of bacon and eggs, sausage, baked beans, toast and fried mushrooms – a sight that had your mouth water in the past but your nose wrinkle in the present.

“Cannae stand the smell, eh?” The older woman chuckles, patting your back affectionately, “Jus’ wait fer the morning sickness, lass.”

As you gaze up at her in confusion, you catch that same strange and gleeful twinkle from yesterday in her eyes. Your eyes narrow slightly, “I’m sorry, Rosemary, but what are you talking about? You’ve been dropping hints like that since last night.”

Rosemary clicks her tongue and raises a dark eyebrow as if surprised you haven’t caught on yet before she reaches into the pocket of her apron and then takes one of your wrists to shove something that feels like a pencil into your palm.

“I kept them around when my daughters got married,” she explains softly, though it confuses you even more until you look down at the object in your palm, “I ken this would be the biggest Christmas present for Johnny... and for all of us, too.”

Your stomach drops and your eyes widen as you stare at the pregnancy test.

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap #tf 141 #cod:mw #cod advent calendar 2024 #johnny mactavish #reader insert

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mistresscitrusslice · 6 months ago

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The Season 2 Opening. We Must Discuss.

First of all, small beans. Instead of static, lifeless statues, this time we get moving humans. Mel features significantly more than I expected, so she'll probably be a much more major character than I expected for a non-champion character and I'm so happy for her. I believe the use of moving people instead of statues signifies that immense change will be happening. What we thought was literally set in stone in Season 1 will be turned on its head in Season 2.

Okay, on to the really concerning matters.

Yuhuh. Jinx moves too fast for me to get a good screenshot, but she gestures like this around her face a lot. I think we all already know about the Caitlyn-Jinx parallels, but my sister suggests it could be a red herring for the actual resemblances she has to Silco.

Sis gets credit for the following observation, but Caitlyn's daydream sequences about shooting Jinx are controlled and clearly separated from reality unlike Jinx's.

However, sis has not seen ep 2 yet, where Caitlyn does have that moment in the arcade where she shoots her vision of Jinx among the wooden dummies. Not only does this more closely resemble Jinx's hallucinations, it also parallels Jinx shooting the harmless crow in s1 e5. By the time the strike squad are about to leave, she can clearly tell that what she thought might be Jinx was really just a harmless wooden standee. Startling, but harmless. She shoots it anyway.

Caitlyn is totally gonna spiral more, and maybe she'll start losing her grip on reality too, but for now, she has more in common with Silco than she does with Jinx. Did anyone else get reminded of Silco's coat when Ambessa put the supervillain cape on Caitlyn? The collars don't look similar but they still eerily resemble each other, you get me?

Ok back to intro stuff

Vi wipes off her name from her face. That's two tattoos that are rendered impermanent in this opening theme. In the Fenty x Arcane video, they mention that Mel's golden freckles are tattoos. Later in the intro song, we also see her golden freckles gone. Change, impermanence. That seems to be a theme here.

Vi is literally erasing her name from her face. In any normal circumstance, I'd say that means she wants a change of identity, a desire to start over. However, I know that Vi's League lore involves amnesia. Does she really drink herself into that bad of a stupor? Jkjk. I assumed that her amnesia was replaced by the Stillwater imprisonment to explain how she got topside and with the enforcers, but perhaps I was wrong. Maybe they do still intend to go the amnesia or partial amnesia route with her.

The teasers implied that Vi shares the genetic trait that has Jinx predisposed to hallucinations. It's possible that this eventually contributes to her loss of memory, but I wouldn't call it quite yet. However, if this happens during her emo era when I'm assuming she has no support system, she'll be very vulnerable, unlike if it were to happen while she was still partnered with Caitlyn, in which case they could easily fill in most blanks in her memory.

I have no idea what to make of this. It's clear as day what they're paralleling, but why? Why the flashlight scene? My best guess is that they're trying to draw on déjà vu, implying a repetition of history, but why this particular moment? They could've easily chosen anything else in Jayce's s1 arc. He has many more memorable moments than this. Let's see, I'm literally making this up as I go.

This meeting was a pivotal moment for Jayce. Both his meeting with Viktor and his meeting with Mel changed his fate. The Viktor one is pretty self-explanatory, but without meeting Mel, they would've both just gotten exiled or locked up again. With Mel, they had someone in power who could vouch for them.

That begs the question, is Jayce meeting someone new? Or is this a reintroduction to someone he's already known before, a new meeting after a long time apart or after a significant change, maybe a change in them both. I believe it must be someone who was involved in the original hallway scene.

Jayce is either looking at Mel again or at Viktor. Given the amount of Viktor/Mel parallels in Season 1, I believe Jayce is looking at Viktor after he's undergone his likely final evolution. That'll obviously be another pivotal moment for him... but will it be a good one like it was with Mel? Viktor has power now. He's performing miracles. He's, like, two steps away from parting the Pilt River like it's the Red Sea. He seems to hold a grudge against Jayce, though, for *checks notes* saving his life? Jk I know he feels like he's losing autonomy and like Jayce didn't respect his wishes with the Hexcore and Jayce obviously couldn't let Viktor die when he'd fought so hard to stay alive before.

Anyway, I feel like this could easily be both a good omen and a bad omen for Jayce. More than anything, I feel like it'll be an epiphany. He is quite literally seeing the light. The light at the end of the dark tunnel? The light of the heavens at the end of his life? The light of a revelation sent by a god he once knew as a man?

Seeing Mel screaming bloody murder during the opening, this was the first place my mind went to. The pose doesn't match up exactly, and Jinx/Powder's screams are definitely wilder, but I feel like there's definitely something here. Is there anyone else who screams like this, thrusting their head forward and keeping their arms back?

We also see the shadow hands from this earlier shot:

I'm thinking of the Black Rose (is that their name?) kidnapping her in thin air, incorporeal hands reaching at her and snatching my joy the love of my life Mel away. It could also represent people grasping at the power Mel wields, both as the wealthiest Council member and as a Noxian princess, one of the closest people to Ambessa, the one wielding the most power right now.

Mel is really out of her depth right now. Her power and influence is up for grabs if she dares to blink and let her guard down. I'm also surprised that we don't see her fight back at all when there's danger around. I thought she might have more battle experience as she was raised by Ambessa. For those people wondering about her magical powers, I think she would've used them by now if she had them. Council attack aside, which could've been Viktor's magic, she wasn't able to do anything about the memorial attack or her own kidnapping. I think they're trying to show us that Mel is not as untouchable as she presents herself. Under the right circumstances, she's just as vulnerable as any civilian.

The sliver of light? My sister pointed out that it looks just like the crack of light between two double doors. Almost closed... or barely open? It appears in pretty much everyone's shot in the opening, but it's right down the center of Mel's face here. Is she torn between two sides? Is this about an impossible choice she has to make?

The spotlight is also on her. That's two sources of light. It looks like a red sun. All eyes on her as the surviving voice of the Council?

And her expression... shock, fear, horror. The heavy breathing, the look on her face... I feel eerily like I've seen it on someone else before. I can't place who, but I'm getting déjà vu from this. Does anyone else recognize this expression and these mannerisms?

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reasonsforhope · 10 months ago

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"For over a decade, the Yosemite toad has been recognized as a federally threatened species, after experiencing a 50% population decline during the Rim Fire of 2013.

The wildfire, which encompassed a mass of land near Yosemite National Park, made the amphibian species especially vulnerable in its home habitat.

Native to the Sierra Nevada, the toads play a key role in the area’s ecosystem — and conservationists stepped in to secure their future.

In 2017, the San Francisco Zoo’s conservation team began working with the National Park Service, Yosemite Conservancy, U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service, California Department of Fish & Wildlife, and the U.S. Geological Survey.

The goal of all of these stakeholders? To raise their own Yosemite toads, re-establishing a self-sustaining population in the wild.

“Over the past several years, SF Zoo’s conservation team has been busily raising hundreds of these small but significant amphibians from tadpole stage, a species found only in the Sierra Nevada, for the purpose of reintroducing them to an area of Yosemite National Park where it was last seen 11 years ago,” the zoo shared on social media.

By 2022, a group of toads were deemed ready for release — and at the end of June of this year [2024], 118 toads were flown via helicopter back to their habitat.

“It’s the first time anyone has ever raised this species in captivity and released them to the wild,” Rochelle Stiles, field conservation manager at the San Francisco Zoo, told SFGATE. “It’s just incredible. It makes what we do at the zoo every day worthwhile.”

Over the past two years, these toads were fed a diet of crickets and vitamin supplements and were examined individually to ensure they were ready for wildlife release.

Zoo team members inserted a microchip into each toad to identify and monitor its health. In addition, 30 of the toads were equipped with radio transmitters, allowing their movements to be tracked using a radio receiver and antenna.

The project doesn’t end with this single wildlife release; it’s slated to take place over the next five years, as conservationists continue to collect data about the toads’ breeding conditions and survivability in an ever-changing climate. They will also continue to raise future toad groups at the zoo’s wellness and conservation center...

While the future of the Yosemite toad is still up in the air — and the uncertainty of climate change makes this a particularly audacious leap of faith — the reintroduction of these amphibians could have positive ripple effects for all of Yosemite.

Their re-entry could restore the population balance of invertebrates and small vertebrates that the toads consume, as well as balance the food web, serving as prey for snakes, birds, and other local predators.

“Zoo-reared toads can restore historic populations,” Nancy Chan, director of communications at the San Francisco Zoo, told SFGATE.

Stiles continued: “This is our backyard, our home, and we want to bring native species back to where they belong.”

-via GoodGoodGood, July 11, 2024

#yosemite #yosemite national park #california #united states #amphibian #frogs and toads #frogblr #frogposting #toadblr #toad #endangered species #wild animals #biodiversity #wildlife conservation #wildlife #good news #hope

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anonymousewrites · 7 months ago

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A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 2) Prologue

Saiki Kusuo x Reader

Prologue: Relationship

Summary: Saiki reintroduces us to the cast.

Quick Key:

“Hello” -Saiki speaking telepathically

Hello -Saiki thinking

“Hello” -regular people speaking out loud, Saiki speaking with telepathy

Hello -regular people thinking

Mouse Note: We're back! Just a cute reintroduction to characters and our beloved pair, but we are back. Updates will be Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays unless I fall behind or have to take a break, which is unlikely. And without further ado, welcome back to A Not-So-Disastrous Romance! It's such a fun story, and we've got a ton of fun moments going on this book. Please comment your thoughts, it helps me continue to write, and I love hearing your thoughts!

Saiki sighed in irritation as every single one of his bothers at school (aka “friends”) were reintroduced (even if only a week had passed since his birthday party). He really didn’t need the crowd. He could have made it extremely quick. For example:

Himself, Kusuo Saiki: psychic who has uncontrollably powerful abilities, loves coffee jelly

His mother: kind and considerate, loves her husband

His father: the annoying parent, loves his wife

Nendou: idiot, his mind can’t be read

Kaidou: believes/pretends he’s some anime protagonist, stupid

Kuboyasu: former delinquent

Toritsuka: pervert, medium, a nuisance

Hairo: way too intense

Yumehara: wants more screentime, has a crush on Kaidou (bad judgement)

Teruhashi: prettiest girl alive according to most people, has a crush on Saiki (not good)

Mera: hungry

Saiko: rich

That was all the annoying people in his life that people had to meet.

“Hey, Kusuo!”

Now for someone Saiki was fond of. Really, more than fond of. Saiki turned in his seat to face the final person entering the classroom. They were a pure ray of sunshine with a smile to match, and Saiki found himself far more willing to put up with his bothers so long as they were there.

(Y/N): Saiki’s significant other, his favorite person, angel, amazing cook/confectioner, wears germanium earrings that mean he can’t hear their thoughts, ray of sunshine, the only person Saiki is ever excited to be around, protects Saiki from bugs and bothers, etc. (Saiki could go on for a while)

“Hello, (Y/N),” said Saiki.

Thankfully, as he turned to address (Y/N), the rest of the Saiki K cast meandered away, having gotten their time in the spotlight.

“So, have you recovered from your party?” asked (Y/N). They grinned and laughed. “I know crowds aren’t your thing.”

“It wasn’t as terrible as it could have been,” said Saiki. You were there. And that was the day they had admitted they liked one another and decided to start dating.

(Y/N) just smiled at Saiki. They didn’t need him to say that he was glad they had been present; they could read him well enough. He was their boyfriend, after all. (Saiki was their boyfriend. Boyfriend! (Y/N) still couldn’t believe it and was positively giddy)

“Well, it’s not like you’ll have to deal with another party for a while,” said (Y/N). “And I’ll keep your actual birthday more low-key.”

Saiki deadpanned. He doubted that. He never had luck with these things; he knew he’d end up with a giant party where all his bothers (friends) followed him.

“I’ll make sure you get coffee jelly, at least,” said (Y/N).

Saiki perked up again. He could always count on (Y/N) to think of something for him.

(Y/N) chuckled at his instant reaction. He was a total sucker for sweets, and they knew it.

Saiki looked at them as they laughed, and his heart softened. He really didn’t deserve them.

“I’m going to Café Mami after school,” said Saiki. “They have a promotion.”

“For coffee jelly?” said (Y/N). Saiki nodded. “I’ll go with you.” Saiki mentioning it was his way of asking them to go.

And, hey, (Y/N) wasn’t going to say no to a date with their boyfriend.

I still can’t believe it.

Saiki and (Y/N) both let out a pleased hum as they took a bit of their coffee jellies. Café Mami was delicious as always, and since they already went their together before they were dating, it wasn’t strange for them to still be seen together, just the two of them.

Together, Saiki and (Y/N) had decided to keep their relationship lowkey. First, none of their friends were…calm, for lack of a better word (others would include: discreet, normal, not-embarrassing). Second, some of the people they knew would make some problems (see Teruhashi and her crush on Saiki while being friends with (Y/N)). Third, Saiki and (Y/N) didn’t really care about people knowing their business. It didn’t feel necessary.

So, for now, they weren’t going around announcing to people that they were dating. But that was alright. Saiki and (Y/N) had each other. That was all they needed.

Taglist:

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@painstakingly-juno

@characterreaderwriter

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#saiki kusuo #saiki #saiki kusou no psi nan #kusuo saiki #saiki x reader #saiki k #kusuo saiki x reader #saiki kusuo x reader #kusuo x reader #the disaster of psi kusuo saiki #tdlosk #a not so disastrous romance #x reader #gn reader #nb reader #x gn reader #x nb reader

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fanfics4all · 6 months ago

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Crossing Paths

Request: Yes / No Hey I was wondering could you write for Luke Alvez where y/n is Hotch’s daughter and she was like 17 when the show started and the team loves her and she’s kind of like a mini Spencer and wanted to be just like her dad and when she was old enough she went to work in Afghanistan and when she’s there she meets Luke and they fall in love but then she gets transferred and they know if they’ll see each other again and all Luke has of her is a Polaroid picture he took of her that he carries with him. She gets back to the BAU in season 11. When Luke starts working there she is injured from a previous case so she’s not in to see him straight away so when she comes in and the team introduces her to Luke she acts like they were just friends in Afghanistan ( not wanting to announce in front of everyone and her dad) but when they are alone it’s a very heartfelt reunion and very fluffy @sxphia-g

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Luke Alvez x Fem!Hotchner!Reader

Word count: 1493

Warnings: Nothing I think

Y/N: Your Name

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*Luke’s POV*

I had many expectations when stepping into the BAU, but seeing her again was not one of them. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see her again, not after we were separated in Afghanistan. Her transfer tore us apart and all I had left was a single Polaroid as a reminder. I kept the photo close, folded it carefully, and tucked it into my wallet as if I would bridge the distance between us. But here she was, just as I remembered, maybe a little different. She looked a little worn from the line of work we both knew all too well.

When the team introduced her as ‘Hotch’s daughter’, I kept my expression as neutral as possible. My heart was racing to see her in person again. She nodded politely at me, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips as if we were nothing more than people meeting for the first time.

“Alvez, nice to meet you.” She said with a lightness I recognized. It was the same one she used in Afghanistan when they couldn’t be anything but professional.

I couldn’t help but be impressed. She was brilliant, just like her Father and Reid, a natural in the world of profiling and deduction. The team adored her, and from what I could tell, she was every bit as committed to the work as I remembered. But we weren’t on just professional terms back then, and the reality of it hit me hard when I caught her gaze from across the room. Her eyes softened for just a second like she wanted to reach out and hold me.

After what felt like an eternity, we finally found ourselves alone in one of the small rooms of the office. The door clicked shut and for a moment, neither of us spoke. We just took each other in after so much time apart.

“Luke…” She whispered, her voice barely above a whispered. It was like no time had passed. I crossed the space between us in a heartbeat, pulling her close. My hands rested on her shoulders, I was afraid to let go.

“God, I thought I’d lost you for good.” I whispered, my voice thick. I looked down at her, trying to take in every detail as if I could memorize her all over again. She was different, but somehow the exact same. She had the same spark in her eyes, the same quiet strength that had captivated me back in Afghanistan.

“I missed you.” She admitted softly, her hand coming up to brush my cheek. The professionalism we held up during our reintroduction faded away, leaving only the tenderness we hadn’t been able to share until now. We stayed like this for a moment, lost in each other, both realizing how much we held onto the hope of this reunion. A reunion we never thought would come. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close as she rested her head against my chest. We stood in silence, feeling the steady rhythm of each other’s heartbeats. It was a quiet reminder that we were both finally together again. After a few moments, she pulled back, looking up at me with that familiar glint in her eyes that I’d fallen for so long ago.

“Did you keep it?” She whispered, but I knew exactly what she was asking. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my wallet, and carefully unfolded the worn Polaroid. Her face in the picture was younger and carefree, her smile wide and bright as she laughed at something I said before snapping the picture. I remembered that day so clearly, the warmth of the sun, the laughter that filled the air, and the unspoken promise between us.

“Every day. It got me through some rough times.” I whispered, holding it up so she could see. Her eyes softened and she reached out, brushing her fingers over the image before looking up at me. There was a hint of sadness mixing with the joy in her expression.

“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. I tried not to get my hopes up.” I felt my chest tighten.

“You don’t have to hope anymore. We’re here now. We’re back.” We both fell silent, sharing a tender look, knowing we’d have to navigate this new reality cautiously.

There was the team to think of, Hotch to think of, and we weren’t the same people we were back then. There was a lot more on the line now, but somehow, standing here with her in my arms, I didn’t feel like any of it mattered.

Just then, the door cracked open and JJ poked her head in, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Hey, Hotch wants to debrief on the last case. You two ready?” We exchanged a quick look, our shared secret settling into a comfortable place.

“Yep, on our way.” She replied smoothly, pulling away with a professionalism that almost made me chuckle. There was a small, knowing smile she sent my way, one that promised we’d pick up where we left off as soon as we had a moment. I watched her walk out, the weight of the photo in my pocket felt a little lighter, and followed her out of the room.

As the weeks went by, Y/N and I sipped into a rhythm, balancing work with the unspoken bond we shared. It wasn’t easy. We kept things low-key, but every time our eyes met across the bullpen, every time we passed each other in the halls, there was a spark that ran deeper than words.

One late night, after the rest of the team had gone home, I stayed behind, working on case files. I thought I was alone until I heard a soft knock on the door and looked up to see her leaning against the frame. She had that familiar, mischievous smile on her face.

“Burning the midnight oil?” She teased, slipping into the dimly lit office. I chuckled, dropping my pen.

“Could say the same for you. What’re you still doing here?”

“Oh, you know…” She shrugged, coming closer.

“Couldn’t sleep, thought maybe some company would help.” She took a seat next to me and we slipped into comfortable conversation. Memories from Afghanistan waving into stories from recent cases. Being around her felt so natural like no time had passed at all. Eventually, the conversation slowed, leaving only the soft glow of the lamp illuminating our faces. She looked up at me, her expression vulnerable, her voice soft as she spoke.

“Luke… sometimes I wonder if we’d still feel like this, even if we hadn’t been through so much back then. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like I can’t let go of that version of us, you know?” I reached out, taking her hand gently in mine.

“Afghanistan brought us together, yeah, but what I feel… it’s so much more than that. We’re not just some memory for me. This…” I lifted her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“...This is real.” She held my gaze, the weight of my words settling between us. It was something we both needed to hear. Afghanistan had been intense, but what we had not was grounding, rooted in shared dreams and hard work. We stayed like that, the quiet comfort of each other’s presence enough to fill the room. But then she tensed, a small frown creasing her brow. I noticed instantly, my thumb brushing over her hand.

“What’s wrong?” She took a deep breath, her gaze dropping to our hands.

“It’s just… my Dad. He’s protective. I don’t know how he’d react to this, to us. He’s always been supportive, but when it comes to me, he’s got blind spots. And you know, you’re not just any guy, you’re a part of his unit now, too.” I nodded, understanding her concerns. Hotch wasn’t just her Father, he was my superior and a man whose respect meant the world to me. We both knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but my grip on her hand tightened. It was a quiet reassurance that I was ready to face whatever came our way.

“I’ll talk to him. When the time is right. He deserves to hear it from me. But you gotta know, nothing, no one, could make me walk away from you. Not after everything we’ve been through.” I said firmly. She looked at me, her eyes shining with gratitude and love. Leaning in, she brushed a soft kiss to my lips, one that held all the promises we didn’t need to say out loud.

“I love you, Luke.” She whispered, her voice full of all the warmth and strength I’d come to know so well. My heart swelled and I pulled her close, pressing my forehead to hers.

“I love you too, Y/N, and we’ll figure this out together. One step at a time.”

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goblin-jr · 19 days ago

Text

PHASE III: REINTRODUCTION PROTOCOL

=============================================== CONFIDENTIAL – GOTHAM PSYCHOSOCIAL RESEARCH UNIT CASE FILE #: JX-1989 DOCUMENT TYPE: Postmortem Longitudinal Trial Summary TRIAL NAME: A Character Study in Grief TRIAL MASTERLIST: A Character Study in Grief TRIAL DESIGN: Three-Phase Emotional Disruption Model STATUS: Closed SECURITY CLEARANCE: ALPHA+ ===============================================

Study Brief

Subject B re-entered Subject A’s life under concealed identity. Initial interactions were indirect, progressing to sustained proximity and emotional reinforcement.

Subject A developed attachment under misidentified parameters. Full identity disclosure occurred under emotionally heightened conditions. Results indicate unresolved grief, enduring attachment, and high volatility.

Read full report below.

---

(click on links to access log)

🎙️ [ACCESS: STUDENT BROADCAST ARCHIVE — HARVARDRADIO.COM] Podcast Transcript | The Crimson Hour Ep. 68 | “She Said No (And That’s the Problem)” | Host Commentary

📎 [ACCESS: UNIVERSITY CORRESPONDENCE — HARVARD.EDU] Termination Notice | Financial Aid Rescission & Enrollment Discontinuation | Issued October 14 | Confidential Addressee

🚌 [ACCESS: TRANSPORTATION RECORD — GOTHAM COACHLINES] One Way Bus Ticket | Boston to Gotham | Purchased October 16

🏚️ [ACCESS: HOUSING CONTRACT — GOTHAM CITY RENTAL BOARD] Lease Agreement | 1448 W. Park Row, Apt #4B | Signed October 19 | Tenant: Y/N

📘 [ACCESS: EDUCATION RECORD — GOTHAM CITY ADULT LEARNING CENTER] Enrollment Confirmation | Bridge Track Program | Issued October 24 | Student: Y/N

💼 [ACCESS: EMPLOYMENT LOG — GOTHAM CITY UNIFIED LABOR DATABASE] Multiple Positions | Service & Gig Work Ledger | Active Record | Employee: Y/N

Subject A: Age 21 Subject B: 3 years, 4.5 months post-resurrection April 27

Jason arrives early.

For once, he’s calm.

No adrenaline. No ghost-rage in his blood. Just nerves.

The rain started earlier this year.

Jason was already at the grave when it did—hood up, hands in pockets, the crowbar long gone. He’d showered. Put on clean gear. The plan was simple:

Show up. Say hi. Let her see him. Let her believe it.

He practiced it all in his head—what he’d say, how he’d say it, how he’d wait until she smiled before falling apart.

10:45 p.m.

She shows up early.

Jason sees her silhouette first, cutting through the fog. Slower than usual. Shoulders hunched. Hoodie sagging under the weight of rain and long shifts.

Her shoes are soaked through. No blanket. No bag. No book.

Just her. Exhausted. Smaller somehow.

She stumbles once stepping over a root. Doesn’t even curse. Just keeps going.

Jason’s breath catches as she hits the clearing.

Something’s wrong.

She doesn’t talk to the grave right away. She just touches it—soft. Like she’s asking permission. Then lowers herself to her knees like her bones weigh more this year.

“Hey,” she says quietly, forehead brushing the stone. “Sorry I’m early. I couldn’t go home first.”

Jason doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just listens.

“I had a shift. Then another one. Didn’t think I’d make it if I sat down.”

A long breath.

“I got kicked out,” she says flatly. “Harvard. Rich boy temper tantrum. He made some calls. They pulled my scholarship.”

Jason’s hands spasm. His body cannot decide whether to clench or let go.

“I didn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t.” A pause. Her voice drops. “Didn’t want him- Bruce- to be right about me.”

She talks for a while.

Tells him about the bus ride back. The coffee shop job. The night classes. The leak in her ceiling. The time she had to eat a granola bar for dinner and pretend it was fine.

She doesn’t cry. Not once.

She just talks.

Soft. Matter-of-fact. Like reading off damage reports.

Jason’s whole body buzzes with the wrongness of it. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. She was supposed to joke. Tease the stone. Curse Darcy and flirt with ghosts.

But tonight?

She just… fades.

After about an hour, she stops talking.

No goodbye. No inside joke. No “see you next year, dumbass.”

Just silence.

She curls up beside the grave. Hood pulled over her head. Shoes still wet. Breath fogging in the cold.

And sleeps.

Jason had been waiting for this all year.

She showed up soaked, empty, too tired to fake it. No jokes. No book. Just her knees in the mud and her pride holding what was left of her together.

And he knew— She would hate this.

She would never want him to see her like this. Not exhausted. Not unraveling. Not defeated.

She would rather die than be pitied.

So Jason stayed in the dark.

Because tonight wasn’t about him.

And love meant not crossing the line.

🕵️ [ACCESS: PUBLIC THREAD ARCHIVE — REDDIT.COM/r/GothamSightings] Community Report | “Red Hood in Southside Again???” | User Submissions Logged

📣 [ACCESS: CUSTOMER FEEDBACK LOG — YELP.COM] Review | Bean & Gone Café | Reviewer: Chad R. | Entry Updated May 8

💳 [ACCESS: TRANSACTION RECORD — LOCAL MERCHANT TERMINALS] Receipts Logged | Excessive Tips Flagged | Bean & Gone / Munchie Mart

🧾 [ACCESS: LANDLORD CORRESPONDENCE — DELVECCHIO PROPERTY MGMT] Maintenance Confirmation | Pest Control Approved | Unit: Apt #4B, Tenant: Y/N

Y/N snapped the tip drawer shut harder than she meant to.

Again.

The register beeped like it was offended. JoJo didn’t even flinch—just looked up from her phone with that deadpan stare that meant she was either judging her or waiting to help bury a body.

“Another hundred?” JoJo asked, not even blinking.

“One-fifty,” Y/N muttered. “On a twelve-dollar order.”

JoJo whistled low. “Okay, but at what point do you find your mystery billionaire and marry him for healthcare?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She grabbed the bills, shoved them into her apron, and stalked toward the back.

That night, she emptied every envelope under her mattress. Every absurd tip. Every impossible number scrawled on receipts. Every crisp, creased bill she couldn’t bring herself to spend.

$4,329.72.

In cash.

No name. No signature. Just guilt.

She sat on the floor and stared at it for a long time.

And then—like a switch flipping—her hands started to shake.

Of course. Of course.

Bruce Wayne.

That smug, shadow-lurking bastard must’ve found out she was back. Working double shifts. Eating gas station ramen. Sleeping under a flickering ceiling light with duct tape around the base.

And instead of calling— Instead of knocking— Instead of saying one fucking word—

He sent money.

She found an old envelope in the junk drawer. Dumped the cash in, fast and angry. Grabbed a pen. No flourish. No flourish was needed.

keep your guilt money.

She folded the note once, sharp. Taped it to the envelope. Stared at it like it had cursed her bloodline.

It was after midnight when she left.

She didn’t take the bus. Bus costs cash.

She walked.

Across half the city. Past busted streetlamps and cracked sidewalks and three of the corners she used to sleep near in high school. Past the bakery that always smelled like disappointment. Past the train station she’d once left for Harvard from.

She didn’t stop.

By the time she reached Wayne Manor, her feet hurt and her coat was damp and her fingers were numb—but her spine was made of fury.

The gates loomed in front of her, tall and polished and exactly as she remembered.

She stood there for a minute. Just breathing.

Then she crouched. Picked up a rock from the edge of the path. Slipped it into the envelope.

Weighted.

Final.

And then—without a word— She threw it over the gate.

It landed with a thunk on the gravel drive.

Y/N turned and walked away without looking back.

Let him read the note. Let him choke on it.

She didn’t want his money.

She wanted to be left the hell alone.

BATCAVE — May 22, 2:13 AM

Status: Debrief in progress Subjects Present: D. Grayson, T. Drake, D. Wayne, J. Todd, B. Wayne

“So, are we just not gonna talk about the fact that Killer Croc was wearing Crocs?” Dick asked, toeing off his boots near the console. “I mean, that’s commitment to the bit.”

Tim didn’t look up. “I already filed it under ‘mental warfare.’”

Damian scoffed from the corner. “You’re all idiots.”

Jason ignored them. Sort of. He was leaned back against the armory wall, picking at the edge of his gloves like they’d personally wronged him.

Until—

ALERT: PROJECTILE DETECTED. PERIMETER BREACH. LOCKDOWN SEQUENCE INITIATED.

Every screen in the cave lit red.

“Who the hell throws something at the manor?” Tim muttered, already flipping through the camera feeds.

“Someone with a death wish,” Damian deadpanned.

“Someone stupid,” Bruce corrected, stepping forward.

Jason just moved toward the screen. “Pull Sector 12. Zoom in.”

The exterior cam locked on. Gravel path. Gate lights. A single envelope lay on the drive, still spinning slightly from impact.

Not a package. Not a threat. Not a warning.

Just a rage-fueled piece of paper addressed in sharp black ink:

TO: BITCH WAYNE FROM: GO TO HELL

Underneath that, written in all-caps and vengeance:

KEEP YOUR GUILT MONEY.

The envelope had torn slightly on impact. Caught on the gravel. A few crisp bills peeked from the split. One hundred dollar note folded clean. A rock the size of a fist visible inside, for weight.

Jason’s stomach dropped.

It was his money. Every tip. Every envelope. Every silent drop at her register or mailbox or door.

He thought she hadn’t noticed.

Turns out, she had. And she walked it all the way here just to give it back.

A beat of total silence.

Then—

“…Wait,” Tim said slowly. “That’s your money?”

Jason didn’t answer.

Dick turned. “Dude. You’ve been funding her anonymously? For months?”

Jason crossed his arms. “I wasn’t trying to be anonymous.”

Damian snorted. “You failed spectacularly.”

Bruce stared at the monitor, unreadable. Still. Barely blinking. “She thinks it was from me,” he said finally.

“She would,” Tim said. “You’re the obvious choice for unsolicited financial intervention.”

“And she still threw it back,” Damian murmured, almost impressed.

Jason crossed his arms.

“I mean… you guys saw that, right?” he said. “She didn’t keep it.”

Dick smirked. “She chucked it with incredible form. Like varsity softball form.”

“Yeah,” Jason muttered. “She’s pissed.”

“You sound proud,” Tim said slowly.

Jason turned away from the screen, tugging his gloves tighter.

“Oh, I’m so proud,” he said. “Bitch Wayne got a rock in the mail. From my girl.”

“She doesn’t know it’s you,” Bruce said, not impressed.

Jason ignored that.

He looked at the envelope one last time, then at the gate, then—somewhere no camera could track—toward her.

“…New plan,” he muttered.

Tim looked up. “New what?”

Jason cracked his knuckles.

“I make contact.”

The plan wasn’t complicated. Jason liked it that way.

He knew the alley behind her building was dirty, damp, and full of rats—human and otherwise. He also knew a low-level dealer had been working the block for weeks now, pushing light stuff to drunk college kids and the occasional night school burnout.

It wasn’t urgent. Wasn’t worth the suit. Wasn’t worth the attention.

But it was behind her apartment.

So Jason made it urgent.

He didn’t dig too deep. Didn’t check security. Didn’t run a full recon of the building. He didn’t want to know how bad it was. Not yet.

He showed up just before sundown.

Climbed up to her window. Plopped right down. Moved like smoke. Didn’t let himself look through her window—just paused long enough to slide a folded note through the small crack in the pane.

“Temporary stakeout. No danger to you. Lock your windows. —RH”

He noticed the broken latch right after. Rusted. Hanging by one screw. He made a mental note to have a second chat with her landlord. Maybe something about a crowbar this time. Or a window.

Jason repositioned on her fire escape. Cross-legged. Still. Watching the alley below like he’d done it a thousand times. He felt calm. Capable. Like this was right.

She’d come outside.She’d see the note. She’d see him.

And then, she would feel their undeniable connection, open the window, and profess her love. It was foolproof.

Y/N got home around midnight.

Her backpack was heavy. Her jacket soaked. She had a paper bag under one arm and her keys already in hand before she even reached the stairwell.

She didn’t look up. She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the note. Read it. Sighed. Crumpled it in one hand.

Then, with the kind of exhausted precision Jason had only ever seen on grieving people and nurses, she reached for the curtain—

And closed it.

Not angrily. Not dramatically.

Just… done.

Lights off. Lock turned. Curtain drawn.

Jason stayed on the roof.

And for the first time in years, he wasn’t sure what to do next.

STAKEOUT — DAY FOUR

This was officially the worst stakeout of his life.

Jason had done rooftop surveillance during hailstorms. He’d staked out mob hideouts in January without gloves. Once, he ate an entire protein bar that turned out to be six months expired just to avoid blowing his cover.

None of that compared to this.

Because at least in those cases, he had a target. A mission. A job to do.

Here? He was just... loitering.

Loitering outside the window of a girl who hadn’t looked at him in two days. Not since Day Two, when she peeked through the curtain for exactly 1.5 seconds and then closed it like she was doing pest control.

He hadn’t moved since sunset.

He’d counted exactly four rats, two alley cats, one dealer (still mid-tier, still boring), and zero signs that Y/N had any interest in acknowledging the helmeted vigilante nesting on her fire escape.

He was starting to take it personally.

His back hurt. His patience was thin. And his coffee had gone cold sometime around 9:00 p.m.

He was just about to call it—just about to tell himself he’d leave in five minutes, tops—when the window creaked open.

Not a curtain. Not a crack.

The full window.

Jason sat up straight, instantly alert.

Y/N leaned out.

Arms crossed on the windowsill. Hair pulled into a messy knot. Hoodie two sizes too big and sleeves pushed to her elbows.

She looked directly at him. “Listen,” she said, voice still dangerously even. “If this is about Gerald, I’m gonna stop you right there. Because Gerald literally ties his drug pouches with ribbons. He once left a baggie in someone’s mailbox with a thank-you note.”

Jason stared.

“I know this,” she continued, getting started now, “because I taught that man how to do cursive T’s a few months ago for a hundred bucks and a stale Pop-Tart. He paid in exact change and said, ‘Thank you, miss.’”

Jason opened his mouth.

She did not let him speak.

“Gerald,” she said, gesturing like she was introducing a sitcom character, “is not a threat. Gerald is a part-time dealer with a Yelp rating and mild anxiety. I could break his kneecaps in under two minutes and still make it to night class.”

Jason made a noise—could’ve been agreement, could’ve been fear.

She narrowed her eyes. “So unless there’s an actual cartel hiding in the bodega freezer, you can stop loitering on my window like a sad gargoyle and go bother someone else.”

Jason scrambled. “He’s… connected.”

Y/N tilted her head. “To who?”

Jason waved vaguely. “Bigger cartel. Out-of-town operation. Could be gun-running. Definitely not cursive.”

Y/N looked unimpressed.

“Right,” she said slowly. “Well, if you’re gonna keep lurking out here, just don’t scare the cats.”

Then she closed the window.

Didn’t slam it. Didn’t storm off. Just… shut it. Quiet. Final.

Jason stared at the glass, stunned.

So much for the moment. So much for the bonding. So much for the water.

Still—he smiled under the mask. She offered to commit acts of violence for him.

The plan was working.

💚 [ACCESS: VENDOR NOTICE — GERALD’S GOODS / PUBLIC MARKET BULLETIN] Store Update | Continued Operation Approved | Restrictions Applied

STAKEOUT — DAY ELEVEN

It was getting bleak.

Jason had been camped out on her fire escape for eleven days. Eleven. He’d missed two minor muggings, skipped one whole safehouse rotation, and was now on a first-name basis with three alley cats and one concerned mailman.

Y/N had spoken to him exactly three more times since the Gerald Incident.

None of them were what he wanted.

Day Six: “You left food on my window ledge. That’s how raccoons get in.”

Day Eight: “Could you stop tapping on the railing?, I have work in 4 hours”

Day Nine: “Stop feeding Gerald. He keeps offering me coupons.

He’d pivoted his strategy. Brought better food. Left sticky notes with dumb jokes. Tried being helpful. Nothing worked.

She hadn’t smiled. She hadn’t invited him in. She hadn't even asked his name.

So on Day Eleven, just after midnight, Jason gave up all pretense of having a plan.

He knocked on the window once, then leaned in slightly and said the dumbest possible sentence:

“…Can I use your bathroom?”

Y/N blinked at him. She was sitting on the floor with a mug in one hand and a book in the other, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, expression unreadable.

A long pause.

Then she said:

“Are you serious?”

Jason shrugged. “I’ve been out here for, like, two weeks.”

She stared. Jason stared back. Internally panicking.

Finally, she sighed. “Fine. But if you bleed on my bath mat, I will kill you.”

She opened the window.

Jason crawled inside like a very polite burglar and immediately forgot how to function.

The place was small. Lived-in. Clean in the chaotic way that meant she was too tired to fake being put together. Books stacked everywhere. Couch slightly lopsided

She pointed to the bathroom and didn’t look at him. “There. In and out. Don’t touch my stuff.”

He nodded, heartbeat in his throat.

Once inside, he immediately did not pee.

He closed the door. Locked it. Turned to the sink.

The bathroom was small. Clean. Faintly pink. The kind of space someone maintained out of habit, not vanity. The light above the mirror flickered when he flipped the switch, then steadied. There was a hair tie looped around the faucet. A half-dead succulent in a chipped mug by the window. Toothpaste cap missing. A towel slung over the back of the door with an embroidered flower on it that looked like it came from a clearance bin at Target.

Jason stood in the middle of it, helmet still on, and breathed.

Then—slowly—he reached up and took it off.

The air was cooler on his face than he expected. The mirror caught him in full: tousled hair, dark circles, and that look he always got when the silence stretched too long—like he might flinch from his own reflection.

He looked awful. Not in the way he usually did. Worse.

Like a guy who hadn’t been sleeping. Like someone who’d been sitting on a fire escape for eleven nights hoping a girl who read Pride and Prejudice to gravestones might eventually say hi.

He stared at himself for a beat longer than was comfortable. Then splashed water on his face. Twice. Rubbed his palms over his jaw like it would help somehow.

It didn’t.

There was soap in a tiny ceramic dish shaped like a shell. Glittery, pastel pink. He stared at it for a full three seconds before muttering “what the fuck” and using it anyway.

The water smelled like coconut and something warm. Maybe vanilla. Maybe whatever scent meant “someone lives here and it isn’t you.”

He dried his hands on the towel. Realized too late it was her towel. Hung it back up very gently like it might press charges.

And then—because he was already spiraling—he started looking.

Not like a creep. Not really. Just... glancing.

There was a cup full of bobby pins. A near-empty mascara tube. A jar of Vicks vapor rub. Painkillers. A pack of gum. One very battered razor and—

Her shampoo.

He picked it up like it was evidence. Opened the cap. Took a quick sniff.

Then froze.

Yep.

That was her.

Citrus and something warm. Something he couldn’t name. Something that smelled like sleep and soft laughter and the back of her hoodie after she’d been walking all day.

He blinked.

Stared at the mirror again.

“This is insane,” he said, out loud, to the drain.

The mirror agreed. Silently. Cruelly.

He didn’t stop snooping.

His hand reached for the chapstick next. Pink. Untwisted halfway. Sitting like a loaded weapon on the shelf. He hovered. Pulled back. Reached again.

Nope. Nope.

He could not mentally survive indirect lip contact tonight.

Instead, he turned on the sink again, splashed his face a second time, and looked around.

Panic.

He hadn’t flushed.

If he walked out without flushing, she’d know. She’d definitely know. And then what? She’d think he didn’t pee? That he had a shy bladder? That he was snooping?

Which he was.

But not in a weird way.

Just a tragic, emotionally stunted way.

He flushed.

Waited.

Washed his hands again. Overcorrecting. Citrus soap. Same towel. Same careful dry.

He stared at the door. Helmet back on.

Then—deep breath—he stepped out, greeted by the sound of rain pattering against the living room windows.

The rain was biblical.

One of those Gotham storms that sounded like it was trying to peel the skyline off the bones of the city. Thunder in full surround sound. Water hammering the roof like it was holding a grudge. The alley behind her apartment was already pooling into something that looked vaguely like a swamp.

Y/N stood at her window, hoodie sleeves pushed up, coffee mug empty, expression flat.

She stared down at the alley like she was waiting for it to apologize.

Then, without turning her head:

“…Yo. Gerald dipped.”

Jason, stepping into the living room, gave a dignified response . “What?”

She nodded at the alley. “Lace parasol finally gave out. Rain probably took it clean off his stupid little head.”

Jason craned his neck. She was right. Gerald’s usual folding chair was empty. The cooler full of whatever he sold was gone. A crushed Monster Energy can rolled through the runoff like it was fleeing the scene.

She turned after a moment. Raised an eyebrow. “You planning to just crawl back out there and rot?”

Jason blinked. “...Kinda?”

She sighed. Loudly. Like she was annoyed at the concept of him existing in space.

“I can’t afford the liability of you slipping off my fire escape,” she muttered, walking toward the kitchen. “You fall, you sue, I end up selling a kidney. That’s not happening.”

Jason just watched her.

She didn’t look at him when she said it—just opened a cabinet, pulled out a can of generic brand cola, and set it on the counter without ceremony.

“You want to sit for a while?” she asked, like it physically pained her.

Jason nodded. Too fast. Too eager.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sure. I can—uh. Thanks.”

She walked back toward the window and flopped down onto the couch like gravity won a bet. Jason followed, cautiously, perching on the very edge of the opposite cushion like a man trying not to disturb a wild animal.

Then he realized the problem.

The soda was still on the counter.

And he had his helmet back on.

Y/N glanced over at him, then back at the can. Then—without a word—she stood, grabbed it, opened the drawer, pulled out a bright pink curly straw, jammed it into the can, and handed it over like this was normal behavior.

Jason hesitated.

She stared. “You gonna take it or what?”

He did. Very carefully.

And then, with all the dignity of a man in full tactical armor drinking diet cola through a Lisa Frank accessory, he took a sip.

They’d been sitting in silence for maybe five minutes when she asked, “You affiliated with the bats?”

It wasn’t aggressive. Just flat. Tired. The kind of question that didn’t come from curiosity, but muscle memory—like checking the lock twice before bed.

Jason didn’t move right away.

He could feel her watching. Not suspicious. Not fearful. Just... waiting. Like someone who’d been burned before and had learned to ask the hard questions first.

He set the soda down slowly. Let the pink straw curl on itself like a secret.

“No,” he said.

It was the truth. And a lie. Both, kind of.

But it was what she needed to hear.

He could see it happen—the slow loosening in her jaw, the unspooling tension in her spine, the way her fingers relaxed against the fabric of the couch like she’d been bracing without noticing.

“Good,” she muttered. “Those freaks never told me he died.”

The room was quiet after that.

Jason didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

He just let the rain fill the silence. Let it hum against the windows like white noise. She didn’t look at him again for a long time.

When she finally spoke, it was softer.

“Sorry. That was... blunt.”

“You’re good.”

She exhaled slowly, eyes flicking back to him.

“You don’t seem like one of them anyway.”

Jason shrugged, watching her carefully. “Yeah?”

“You loiter. You drink soda through a straw. You’d trip in a cave and die instantly.”

“I’m an apex predator.”

She rolled her eyes. “You brought me dumplings in a shoebox.”

He raised the can again like it was a toast. “And yet, here we are.”

She didn’t smile. Not fully.

But the corner of her mouth twitched. And for now, that was enough.

She didn’t ask for his name. He didn’t offer it. They just sat there, listening to the storm try to peel Gotham open.

Eventually, she stood. Picked up his empty can. Tossed it in the recycling like it didn’t mean anything.

By the third week of the stakeout-that-wasn’t, Jason had a rhythm.

He came by every few nights. Always late. Never announced. He didn’t knock. Didn’t text. He just appeared on the fire escape like a guilty habit, boots scuffed, helmet fogged, and body language trying not to look like it needed a place to rest.

And somehow—without ever being formally invited—he started staying.

Y/N never asked why he came. He never said.

She just opened the window.

Their nights followed a strange kind of pattern. Jason would crawl in like a very large, heavily armed housecat. She’d be in her usual hoodie, curled on the couch with her laptop balanced on one knee and a heating pad strapped to her lower back like a battle injury.

The apartment wasn’t really built for guests. The living room was also the kitchen, which was also the dining room, which was also just the room. But she made it work. Kicked a blanket off the couch. Cleared a corner of the table. Pretended this wasn’t weird.

At first, they just sat.

Sometimes she put on old episodes of Chopped and yelled at the screen. Sometimes he read the crime blotter and gave her commentary like a feral news anchor. Sometimes they didn’t say anything at all. Just sat. Breathing in the same room.

She never asked who he was. He never offered. And that silence between them felt sacred. Like a ceasefire they didn’t dare break.

Then—one night—he brought food.

Takeout. Thai. Still warm. He said it was extra from a thing. Didn't elaborate.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. Just pulled two chipped plates from the cabinet, set them on the counter like she did this every night.

Jason hesitated. Hands still full of the plastic bag.

“I already ate,” he said.

She didn’t look at him. “That’s fine. I haven’t.”

Next time, it was shawarma. The time after that, dumplings. Then pizza. Then stir fry. Always with the same line:

“I ate already.” Or: “Can’t really eat in the helmet.” Or: “Not hungry.”

And every time, Y/N would split the food between two plates. Hand him one. Sit on the floor. Eat in silence.

And every time, he wouldn’t touch his.

On the fourth night, she snapped.

“If you’re gonna sit there like a haunted statue and watch me eat, you can leave.”

Jason blinked. “What?”

She set her fork down. Hard. “I’m not doing pity dinner.”

“It’s not—”

“Then eat.”

“I can’t—”

She stood up. “You can’t or you won’t?”

Jason opened his mouth. Closed it.

“I’m not your project,” she said, voice low now. “You don’t get to show up here, drop off food like some sad vigilante DoorDash, and act like that counts as caring.”

His stomach twisted. “I do care.”

“Then sit your ass down and eat something.”

Jason stared at her.

She stared back.

He sighed—quietly—but took it.

Then came the blanket.

He kept it by the window now. A faded throw with frayed corners that smelled faintly like her shampoo and dust. Jason threw it over his head with practiced ease, tucking the ends under his chin so his face stayed hidden and his hands stayed free.

Y/N called it “his little cryptid cloak.”

He couldn’t talk with the blanket on—no voice mod, no helmet, no disguise—so he didn’t. He just sat there. Eating silently. A ghost in tactical gear, chewing sesame chicken like it was sacred.

Y/N, however, did talk.

She talked the whole time.

Mostly to fill the space. Sometimes to punish him.

“…so then my boss says we can’t wear sneakers anymore, like it’s a ‘professionalism issue,’ but I know for a fact Jo-Jo showed up last week in flip-flops and nobody said a damn word.”

Jason hummed under the blanket. She took it as agreement.

“And this girl in my psych class keeps saying ‘let’s circle back’ like we’re on Zoom in 2020. I swear to God, if she says ‘let’s unpack that’ one more time I’m going to commit tax fraud on her behalf.”

Jason nodded. Fork to his mouth. Still silent. Blanket bobbing.

Y/N sighed dramatically. “This would be less one-sided if you weren’t eating like the Phantom of the Opera.”

Jason flipped her off.

From under the blanket.

She snorted. “Okay, rude.”

He kept eating.

She kept talking.

It was the most peace either of them had felt in weeks.

📄 [ACCESS: INTERNAL OPERATIONS LOG — WAYNE FAMILY DIVISION] Mission Report | Subject Missing Post-Injury | Filed November 25 | J. Todd (Red Hood)

Y/N’s fork scrapes the bottom of the takeout container.

It’s the last of the noodles. Cold, borderline questionable. Hood dropped them off two nights ago and she meant to finish them sooner, but time’s slippery lately and grocery money’s been tight. She’s sitting on the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over her knuckles, heating pad dead beneath her, the hum of the fridge the only sound in the room.

She doesn’t bother with music anymore. She misses Spotify Premium.

She’s halfway through another bite when it happens.

THUMP.

A sharp knock—no, a thud—against the windowpane.

She freezes.

Head snaps toward the sound. Fork clatters to the plate.

For one wild second she thinks it’s a bird. A raccoon. Gerald, reincarnated.

But then she sees it. The shape.

Helmet. Leather. Bulk.

She exhales sharply. Stands. Walks to the window and pulls it open with more annoyance than alarm.

“What—”

Then she sees the blood.

His whole right side is soaked. The dark of his jacket is darker still, and there’s a sharpness to the way he’s standing—angled, braced, like the wall is the only thing keeping him upright.

“Hood,” she breathes. “What the fuck—”

He doesn’t answer.

He stumbles forward—tries to step in—and her hands shoot out automatically, catching his arm. He’s warm. Too warm. His breath fogs the glass behind him.

“Oh my god,” she mutters, voice rising. “Sit. Sit down—now.”

He doesn’t resist. Just slumps, knees buckling like he meant to collapse. She guides him down to the couch—his usual spot—and watches, horrified, as he leaves a full handprint of blood on the cushion.

She kneels beside him.

“Where are you hurt? Hey—hey, look at me.”

He doesn’t lift the helmet. Doesn’t move. Just leans back against the armrest, breathing shallow.

“Okay,” she says, standing. “Fine. Stay there. Bleed or don’t, I’m getting the med kit.”

She’s already halfway to the bathroom.

She returns with the med kit and a clean towel she’s been saving for emergencies. Turns out this qualifies.

He hasn’t moved.

Still slouched against the couch, right leg extended, gloved hand pressed loosely to his side like that’ll keep the blood in. She kneels beside him again, tosses the kit open, and gently lifts his shirt to reveal his ribs.

His breathing hitches. She ignores it. She can’t stop shaking.

“I—I don’t know how to stitch,” she says, voice raw. “I’ve never done this. I can’t—”

“You can,” he rasps, barely audible through the modulator. “It’s just thread. You’ve sewn buttons, right?”

“This is not a button.”

“Still got holes.”

She wants to punch him. She wants to scream. She wants to cry.

Instead, she grabs the suture kit with fingers that won’t stop trembling and tries to remember anything she’s ever seen in a movie.

“Talk me through it,” she says.

Jason shifts, barely. “You cleaned it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Pinch the skin together.”

She does.

“Anchor the first one deep. Just push. Don’t think.”

She pushes.

He flinches. Hisses. But doesn’t stop her.

She stabs the needle through again, then again, lips parted, breath shallow.

“There. There. Keep going,” he mutters, slurring a little now. “You’re doing fine.”

“This is fucked,” she says.

“Totally,” he mumbles.

She gets through five stitches before she realizes he’s stopped answering.

Her head snaps up.

“Hood?”

No response.

“Hood. Hey—hey, come on—”

She reaches out, touches his faceplate. Cold. Still.

He’s breathing, but only just. Out cold. Head turned toward the back cushion, body slack, arm limp at his side. The moment she’d been dreading—being alone with this—has arrived, and it’s not cinematic. It’s not brave.

It’s awful.

“Shit. Shit, shit—”

She finishes the stitches with her whole body shaking. Wraps gauze with teeth clenched. Mutters every curse she knows under her breath. When she finally leans back, her palms are slick with blood and sweat and something else she refuses to name.

She wipes the blood off his helmet with the hem of her shirt.

Pulls a blanket over him.

And sits on the floor beside the couch like a kid trying not to look at the monster in the room.

She can’t sleep.

Not with him breathing like that.

Not with the way it hitches every few minutes, shallow and wet and wrong, like his lungs are trying to argue with his ribs. Like his body hasn’t decided whether it wants to keep going or not.

The helmet is still on.

She thought it was fine. He always wore it. Said he needed it. But now, in the silence of the apartment, with the storm finally passed and the fridge humming like it knows something she doesn’t—she’s terrified.

What if he can’t breathe in there? What if he suffocates and she sleeps through it? What if she wakes up and he’s just—

She bolts upright.

Back in her room, she throws open the dresser drawer and rummages blindly until her hand hits something soft and familiar—an old sleep mask. Faded pink. Fraying elastic. One of the eye patches has a cartoon sheep on it.

Stands there for a second, breathing hard.

Then she walks back out.

He hasn’t moved. Still sprawled across the couch, chest rising in slow, irregular beats. One arm fallen off the cushion. A streak of blood drying across the side of his neck.

She kneels again. Pulls the mask on.

Her hands find the edges of the helmet. “Don’t die,” she whispers. “Okay? You’re not allowed.”

Then—carefully, slowly, blind—she lifts it off.

It’s heavier than she thought. The inside slick with sweat. It makes a soft, awful click as it comes free. She sets it down on the floor beside her and reaches up—still blindfolded—and cups his face with both hands.

He’s still breathing. Better now. Less noise. More air.

“Okay,” she says, to no one. “Okay.”

She sits there like that for a while, hands still on his cheeks, thumb brushing a raised scar near his jaw.

Eventually, she lets go of his face . She doesn’t take off the mask. She just curls up on the floor, forehead resting against the edge of the couch.

And listens. To his breathing. To the radiator. To the silence.

And when she finally lets herself sleep, it’s with one hand still reaching up—just in case he stops again.

Morning comes slow.

It creeps in through the smudged windows, casting pale gold across the floor, the peeling radiator, the crumpled takeout bag on the counter. Everything smells faintly like ginger and sweat and blood.

Jason wakes with a start.

His ribs scream. His side aches. His mouth tastes like metal and dust.

And his helmet is gone.

His eyes fly open.

He’s still on the couch—blanket twisted around his legs, shirt halfway undone, gauze taped awkwardly across his stomach. The light’s too bright. His heart’s too loud. And his face is exposed.

Panic claws up his throat.

Where is it? Where’s the helmet? How long has it been off? Did she see? Did she see?

He tries to sit up too fast and immediately regrets it, pain flaring sharp under the bandages. He swears under his breath, scanning the room, chest heaving—

And then he sees her.

Y/N is curled up on the floor, still in blood stained pajamas, limbs tangled awkwardly against the side of the couch. Her head is tilted back slightly. She’s breathing soft and slow.

And over her eyes—

A sleep mask.

Cartoon sheep. Frayed elastic. Still on.

Jason freezes.

She shifts slightly in her sleep, fingers twitching near her face. Then, as if pulled by some unseen thread, her hand drifts across the floor, brushes against his boot, and pauses.

She jerks awake.

Slow. Groggy. Like the world is coming back in pieces.

Then she sits up, stretches, and reaches beside her without looking.

The helmet’s right there.

She picks it up. Holds it out.

“Put it on” she mumbles, voice hoarse. “You scared the hell out of me, by the way.”

Jason doesn’t move.

She keeps holding it.

“I didn’t look,” she adds, quieter now. “Just… heard you struggling. Figured you’d breathe better without it. Blindfolded myself. That’s all.”

Jason still says nothing.

Just takes the helmet from her hands like it’s made of glass.

Their fingers brush. He grips it tighter. Puts it on, turns the voice modulator on.

“…Thank you,” he says.

She shrugs. Leans back against the couch again.

“Don’t die on my watch, Hood. It’d really mess up my Tuesday.”

Y/N finally pulls the sleep mask off.

Blinding light. Crick in her neck. Her whole body feels like it got into a fight with a vending machine and lost. But Hood’s still alive. Still sitting upright. Still breathing.

She exhales.

“Let me see,” she says, already kneeling beside him again.

Jason stays quiet. Tilts to the side slightly so she can peel the blanket back. The gauze is still holding. The stitches are—surprisingly—not awful. A little uneven. A little swollen. But clean.

She stares at them for a second. Nods to herself.

“Not bad,” she mutters. “For someone whose only medical training came the guy getting stitched.”

He doesn’t respond.

She pretends she doesn’t care.

“Don’t pull them. No jumping off buildings for a while. No cartwheels. No gunfights unless it’s urgent.”

She stands again and heads for the kitchenette.

The fridge greets her with its usual charm: One half-empty bottle of ketchup. A jar of olives. A single carton of milk.

She opens the cabinet. Cereal. One box. Crushed.

She does the math in her head. Stares into the abyss. Then grabs a bowl.

It’s just enough for one.

She pours it. Adds the milk. Doesn’t hesitate.

Walks back over and hands it to him.

Jason stares at the bowl like it might explode.

She shrugs.

“You almost died. You get the Cheerios.”

He eats slow.

Careful.

The sound of the spoon scraping the bowl is soft, muffled beneath the low hum of morning and the fabric of the blanket he’s thrown over his head. She doesn’t watch.

She ducks into the bathroom instead.

Ties her hair up with one hand while brushing her teeth with the other. Swaps out the hoodie for her “functional” shirt—stained, slightly oversized, halfway tucked into her jeans. Her socks don’t match. One of her boots is damp from last night’s rain.

It’s fine.

She’s used to leaving chaos behind.

She grabs her bag from the chair, keys already in hand, and opens the front door halfway before she turns back.

He’s still there. Sitting in her living room. Still under the blanket. Still clutching the empty bowl like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“I’ll be back by six,” she says, voice casual, like this is normal. Like this happens every day.

He doesn’t answer.

She clears her throat. “You can stay. If you want.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, a nod.

Small. Barely there.

She closes the door behind her. Locks it with a click. And lets the day begin.

🧾 [ACCESS: PURCHASE RECORD — ROTHMAN'S / SUNDOWN GROCERS] Home Furnishing & Grocery Delivery | Buyer: J.T. | Delivery: Unattended Drop

Y/N unlocks the apartment with the usual two jabs and a kick.

Her shoulder aches. Her feet are soaked. Her last customer of the day tried to return a sandwich after eating it, and Gerald had the audacity to wink at her in the alley like they were co-workers.

She just wants five minutes to breathe.

She pushes the door open—

And stops.

Her bag slips off her shoulder.

She sees the couch.

Brown leather. Low-backed. Wide-seated. Big enough to drown in. Soft enough to hold you when you can’t hold yourself.

She stares at it like it might vanish. Then she drops her bag, walks straight up to it, and presses both hands flat against the armrest.

It’s real. Soft. Cool to the touch. The kind of expensive that doesn’t come from pity.

And that’s when she laughs.

A full-body sound, unexpected and too loud for the apartment. She laughs like someone who hasn’t had a real reason in months. Laughs like she’s going to scare the silverfish out of the drywall.

Then she spins. Right there, in her socks, on the peeling tile. A full circle. Like a rom-com idiot. Like she’s seven.

Because she knows what this is. She remembers.

“Hear me out,” Jason had said once, the morning Bruce took him away. “The penthouse. “Oh god,” she’d groaned. “The couch is leather. Brown. Like rich people brown. But not ugly. Real classy.” “No. Velvet,” she’d fired back. “Deep green. With gold buttons.” “Velvet stains.” “I won’t spill.” “You’ll definitely spill.”

It had been a joke. A fantasy. A nothing-future built on soda and sarcasm.

But now—years later— Here it is.

She’s dizzy when she sits down. Breathless. Tears on her face before she even registers them.

And the feeling hits her like thunder: This is permission. This is Jason—her Jason—telling her it’s okay to be happy again from beyond the grave.

The couch is the sign. The Hood is the messenger.

He sent her someone.

She presses her forehead to the armrest.

“You son of a bitch,” she whispers, smiling through it. “You sent me a friend.”

The couch smells like new beginnings. The lamp glows like a pulse. Her apartment—normally cold, narrow, gray—is warm now. Lived in. Soft.

Safe.

She curls up under the new blanket, legs tucked beneath her, heart still spinning in her chest.

And for the first time since he died, She doesn’t feel alone.

The next evening, Jason stood on the fire escape with a bag of food in one hand and a heart full of static.

He didn’t know what he expected. An eye-roll, maybe. A sarcastic comment about boundary-crossing vigilantes and unsolicited furniture. A quiet “you didn’t have to” said in that voice that meant don’t do it again.

He definitely didn’t expect the window to open before he even knocked.

Y/N stood there, framed in the fading orange light, hair pulled back, hoodie sleeves rolled to her elbows. She looked at him for a long second. No smile. No sarcasm.

Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

It was careful—not rushed or needy—but firm. Real. Like something being set down that had been carried too long.

Jason blinked. His arms didn’t move at first. He just stood there, stunned, feeling her heartbeat against his chest through layers of armor and hesitation.

Then he let out a breath and hugged her back.

Slow. Gentle.

Not because she was fragile. Because she wasn’t.

“…Hey,” he said, voice low in his helmet.

She gave a soft little huff of air. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh.

Then she stepped back just enough to look at him.

Her eyes were steady. Clear. Tired in a way that went deeper than sleep, but still soft.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

Two words. No qualifiers. No jokes. Just… gratitude.

Jason didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t think he’d need to. But she just stood there, letting the silence speak for both of them.

Then she glanced at the bag in his hand.

“Are those dumplings?”

He nodded.

She opened the window wider.

“Well. Don’t just stand there. Come in.”

He climbed in, boots hitting the floor with a thud. She locked the window behind him and flicked on the lamp.

Warm light. Soft couch. Two plates already out on the counter like maybe, just maybe, she’d been hoping he’d come.

They sat. Ate (Him under the blanket). Talked about nothing. Argued about whether Gerald was a criminal genius or just terminally polite. Laughed until their stomachs hurt.

And somewhere between the last dumpling and the first yawn, they stopped being ghosts.

They were friends.

Real ones.

At last.

🟥 [ACCESS: SUIT DIAGNOSTICS LOG — WAYNE TECH MONITORING] Biofeedback Report | Non-Combat Physiological Spikes | Subject: Red Hood (J. Todd)

🟩 [ACCESS: TERMINAL HISTORY — GOTHAM PUBLIC LIBRARY, #17] Search Record | Subject A - Flagged Queries Logged Feb 12 | Accessed via Public Network | Surveillance Filter: Active

APRIL 25

She didn’t look at him when she asked.

She never did when it was something that mattered.

Jason was sitting on the floor beside the couch, helmet still on, fingers fidgeting with the strap of his gauntlet like it might reveal the answers to every stupid thing he’d ever done. Y/N was above him, curled sideways, eating cereal from a mug because she refused to do dishes before midnight. The lamp flickered.

“You doing anything the 27th?” she asked, casually.

Jason’s heart dropped.

He didn’t answer right away. She didn’t press. Just took another slow bite, metal spoon clinking once against ceramic.

“It’s kind of a thing,” she said after a moment. “Not, like, a party. It’s personal.”

Jason made a noise in his throat. Neutral. Encouraging. Safe.

Y/N stared down into the last third of her cereal.

“I go somewhere. Once a year. Same place, same time. Every year since I was sixteen.”

He already knew where. Of course he did. But hearing it in her voice still made something crack.

“I bring a blanket,” she went on. “And coffee. And Pride and Prejudice, because I’m a walking cliché. I stay until morning.”

Jason felt like the helmet was too tight. His breath fogged up the inner HUD. He didn’t dare move.

“I don’t usually bring people,” she added. “Not ever. But I was thinking… if you wanted to come. You could.”

Jason’s head snapped up before he meant it to.

“You don’t have to,” she said quickly. “It’s dumb. Just me talking to a piece of rock for a few hours. But—” She hesitated. “You’re the first real friend I’ve had since he died. I figured… maybe you should meet him.”

Jason forgot how to breathe.

For a second, all he could hear was blood. Not in a poetic way. Literally—his pulse roaring in his ears, chest aching like something was trying to claw its way out.

Friend. She said friend. But the way she said it—quiet, steady, true—it was like being handed something breakable and sacred and entirely undeserved.

He couldn’t speak. Not yet. Just nodded once, sharp.

Y/N smiled, small and crooked. “Cool.”

She set the mug down on the floor beside him. Not on the table. Right next to his boot.

Then she flopped back down onto the couch and pulled the blanket over her face.

Conversation over.

Jason sat there, unmoving, watching the faint rise and fall of her breathing.

His helmet’s readout buzzed softly—elevated vitals. No shit.

She wanted him there. At the grave. Not as a soldier. Not as a name in her search history. As him.

And he said yes. And he meant it.

God help him.

Subject A: Age 22 Subject B: 4 years, 4.5 months post-resurrection April 27

She walked ahead of him, as always.

Jason let her.

The graveyard was quieter than usual—just the hush of wet grass under boots and the low, steady patter of rain trying to decide if it wanted to commit. Y/N didn’t bring a blanket this year. Or coffee. Just her hoodie, her voice, and him.

Jason followed in full gear. Hood up. Helmet on. Silent as the grave.

Literally.

When they reached the headstone, Y/N stopped. Took a breath. Then another. The kind you take before walking into a room where a version of yourself still lives.

She crouched beside the stone and brushed her sleeve across the marble like she always did. Her fingers lingered at the carved name.

Jason Peter Todd. Beloved Son.

Then she leaned forward and kissed it.

Jason looked away so fast his neck cracked.

“Hi, dumbass” she whispered. “The train was late. But I’m here. I brought someone, too. Hope you don’t mind.”

She turned slightly—looked over her shoulder, toward the shadow behind her.

“Come on,” she said. “It’s okay.”

Jason moved slowly, each step feeling too loud. The rain got bolder. He knelt beside her but didn’t touch the grave.

Didn’t breathe.

“This is Red Hood,” she said, gesturing between them like they weren’t already shoulder-to-shoulder. “He’s… my friend.”

She smiled at the stone. Then at him. Y/N kneeled, and pulled him down as well. They sat cross-legged facing the stone.

“The first one I’ve had since you.”

Jason thought he might die again.

“He’s kind of awful,” she added. “But he keeps showing up. And bringing food. And I haven’t wanted to punch him in two whole weeks, which is saying something.”

The rain thickened without warning—sheets of cold cascading from the sky like someone up top had finally lost patience.

Y/N looked around, squinting at the sky. “Shit. I forgot the umbrella.”

Jason, who hadn’t moved in at least ten minutes, reached into his jacket and—wordlessly—pulled out an umbrella-adjacent object.

Y/N blinked at it.

“Is that… Gerald’s lace parasol?”

Jason shrugged. “He left it in the alley. I picked it up on the way here. Thought we might need it.”

Y/N snorted. “God, you’re ridiculous.”

Then she opened it halfway and dragged him under it without asking.

It was immediately clear that it was not built for two people—especially not two people in armor and emotional ruin. Her damp sleeve pressed against his jacket. Their knees knocked. Her hair was sticking to his cheek plate, and she didn’t even bother fixing it. The lace was already soaked through; water dripped through every delicate stitch, pooling at the rim and falling in uneven plops around their shoes.

They looked at eachother.

And then—cracked. The kind of laughter that came fast and real, unfiltered and soaked through. Y/N doubled over, face buried in the crook of her elbow. Jason shook silently beside her, shoulders trembling, the sound muffled behind the helmet.

Gerald’s parasol sagged.

They kept laughing anyway.

She looked at the grave. Then at him. Then back again.

“I brought him,” she said slowly, easing out of laughter, “because I think you’d want to meet the guy who’s making me happy.”

Jason’s throat closed.

Y/N glanced up at him, voice dropping to a laugh-soft murmur. “You’d probably curse him out for cuddling with your girl over your grave. But you’d like him. Maybe.”

Jason couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Then—

“I love him,” she said.

The words hung in the rain like smoke.

She turned to him, expression open. Real.

“I don’t know when it happened. I just know I look for him now. In the quiet. In the space between days. I like the way he shows up. I like the way he listens.”

Jason didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

The rain hit harder.

She blinked at him under the parasol. “If that scares you, it’s fine. You don’t have to say anything.”

Jason didn’t move for a second. Then—

“Don’t be mad,” he said. Quiet. Rough.

She tilted her head. “What?”

He swallowed. Inside the helmet, his hands had started to sweat. “Promise me. Don’t be mad.”

“Red—”

“Just—just promise.”

Y/N hesitated. Her brows furrowed. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I promise.”

Jason closed his eyes for a half-second. Exhaled through his nose.

Then reached up and took the helmet off.

It was quick. Clean. No ceremony. Just a click, a lift, and suddenly—

There he was.

Her Jason.

Older. Sharper. Jaw clenched like it might break. Hair longer (is that a white streak?), damp with rain, curls flattened to his forehead. The same look in his eyes. Tired. Terrified. Hopeful.

Y/N stared.

Her brain went blank. Then full. Then blank again.

She opened her mouth and made no sound.

Jason flinched. “Y/N—”

“WHAT THE FUCK,” she blurted.

She lurched to her feet. The umbrella wobbled violently. Jason scrambled up with her, hands out like he was trying to keep her from bolting.

“No—no, it’s me, I swear—”

“You’re dead,” she said, pointing at the grave. “You DIED. This is YOUR GRAVE.”

“I got better?” he tried.

She made a noise like a boiling tea kettle.

Her hands clenched and unclenched three times. She spun in a circle. Muttered something. Took a breath. Shook her head. Stared at him again.

“You—you were dead,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“You’re real.”

“I am.”

She reached forward—touched his chest, right over the armor. “You’re breathing.”

Jason nodded, too scared to blink.

Then she did something he wasn’t ready for.

She laughed.

Wet, broken, stunned. One huff, then another. And then, she flung her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.

He froze.

Then melted.

Jason wrapped both arms around her and held on like the world was still ending.

She was shaking. Laughing and crying at the same time. His hoodie was soaked through now. So was hers. Neither of them cared.

“You’re such an asshole,” she whispered. “But you’re here.”

“I’m here.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“I’ll die happy” he said, smiling into her hair.

She pulled back just enough to look at him. Her hands framed his face like he might disappear again if she let go.

“You’re real.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice wrecked.

“That’s all that matters.”

PHASE III — REINTRODUCTION PROTOCOL: COMPLETE. CASE FILE #JX-1989 SUBJECT A: [Y/N] SUBJECT B: [J. TODD] STATUS: RESTORED

Final Investigator’s Note:

Subject A, long believed to be mourning an unresolved loss, made direct contact with Subject B seven years post-mortem under highly unorthodox conditions involving emotional confession, weather anomalies, and a formerly owned drug-dealer parasol.

Subject B removed helmet under extreme emotional duress. Subject A speedran the five stages of grief in under 60 seconds. No fatalities. Minimal property damage. Full romantic implosion.

Both parties appear to be fully alive. Fully in love. And fully ridiculous.

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