#situations prompt meme

[philtstone]

I know I already sent a Put Em In A Situation ask, but an alternate option to mix things up: Juliet + Gus, forced to lie about something

Summary: The zombie apocalypse comes to Santa Barbara and turns Juliet into a liar.

Stranger things haven't happened, thank you Gus, but that's not to say there isn't always still time for it.

Y'ALL!!!! i did it. i caved. i wrote a zombie apocalypse au. i feel like the reasons why all of these idiots would effortlessly survive the end of the world are pretty self evident. anyway, gus and juliet my beloveds, and i'm really quite proud of this one ... enjoy!

"The fact that I still have to get my period in the middle of the freaking zombie apocalypse is the height of twenty-first century sexism," Juliet declares angrily, as she makes an emphatic beeline toward Shawn and his armful of stolen Wal-Mart items anyway. "What's the point of scientific progress if birth control can't survive the collapse of civilization? You know who doesn't have to worry about this? Men! Unfair! Anti-feminist, frankly!"

"I'll make sure to tell the zombies that next time we see them," Shawn says, helping her spread the bags out on the ground and handing her the one she's looking for. She digs into it to find Kotex – he sprung for the good stuff, she thinks with a surge of affection, Juliet would've just grabbed the first thing off the shelf – and sniffs a little bit when he pats her gently on the shoulder. Then she tears into the little cardboard box with more vigor than it objectively deserves and stalks off to face the indignity of squatting behind the Blueberry's cracked back bumper while Shawn and Gus graciously direct their focus to the rest of their haul. "Wait," Shawn adds. "I got us air-freshener, too."

"You got us air freshener?" she hears Gus ask skeptically. "You couldn't even remember to do that when it wasn't the end of the world, and you get us air freshener in the middle of the zombie apocalypse?"

"We don't know if zombies can smell blood!" Shawn protests, and Juliet lets out a miserable groan.

Anti. Feminist.

She hadn’t loved the idea of splitting up – or of sending Shawn and Gus off on their own into an abandoned big box store – but someone had to guard the car, and this area is pretty abandoned, anyway. Not even in an eerie way. Just a sad, end-of-the-world one. Besides, the boys have been nothing but competent and reliable and ever-so-useful in a crisis since this whole mess started. Somehow, as the days have gone by, Juliet’s anxiety has only grown anyway. 

“What if they can smell air freshener, Shawn?”

“You know what? No. They can’t smell both at the same time. I don’t care that real life doesn’t operate by a constrained set of rules like every zombie movie we’ve ever seen. There have to be limits to this!”

The limit, Juliet supposes, is that Gus can almost always smell the zombies coming before the zombies can smell them. 

read the rest on ao3!

[forecast0ctopus]

danbert sketches

[blueflipflops]

Baby Switcharoo

Here's another short dpxdc prompt

"Daddy!" Dick instictively caught the kid before she kissed the floor despite knowing she can fly and-- wait a damned minute. That is not Mar'i.

Meanwhile...

"Papa!" Danny smiled as he braced himself for the flying missile of a child that raced to him. He swirled them around when he caught her making her giggle as her legs swing. Hold the fuck up-- This is not Ellie.

[b1gtimerush]

lights, camera, action! a collection of scenarios / plots from yours truly.

amnesia. one of our characters loses most of their memories.

bodyswap. both of our characters swap bodies.

co-parent. both of our characters suddenly have to raise a child together.

dream. one of our characters visits the other in a dream.

earth. both of our characters find each other on post-apocalyptic earth.

flashback. both of our characters are stuck in the past.

flashforward. both of our characters are stuck in the future.

greencard. one of our characters marries the other for a green card.

groundhog. both of our characters are stuck in a time loop.

haunt. one of our characters is dead and haunting the other.

ink. one of our characters writes/draws the other into existence.

investigate. one of our characters is hired to investigate the other.

job. one of our characters will do anything for a pay-check, the other hires them for an odd job.

kin. one of our characters meets an alternate universe version of the other.

language. one of our characters has been cursed to speak nonsense, somehow the other is the only one who can understand them.

magnetic. both of our characters are magically magnetised to each other.

number. one of our characters is in trouble and was given the number of the other to call if they needed help.

ogre. one of our characters turns into an ogre at night.

possession. one of our characters meets the other while possessing someone else's body.

quest. both of our characters set off on an adventure/journey together.

rescue. one of our characters saves the other from danger.

resurrect. one of our characters comes back from the dead.

sleepwalk. one of our characters always sleepwalks to where the other is.

taken. one of our characters finds the other after they've been kidnapped.

transplant. 'where's my boyfriend?' 'who do you think gave you the heart?'

urgent. one of our characters is injured, the other is their emergency contact.

vegas. both of our characters wake up married after a drunk night in vegas.

wish. one of our characters makes a wish and the other shows up as a result.

x-ray. one of our characters develops x-ray vision, the other is the only person they can't see through.

yeehaw. both of our characters are in the wild wild west.

zing. both of our characters are struck by lightning and can now sense each other's thoughts and feelings.

[seattlekrakenpromptmeme]

Hopefully (not) just one dinner: A Seattle Kraken Prompt Meme 🦑

You asked for it and we're giving it to you: a Seattle Kraken prompt meme for the '24-'25 season. We're open now and we'll stay open ALL SEASON.

🦑 How this works 🦑 This year we’re keeping the prompt meme open all season long. Prompting opens NOW and the collection closes on June 30. There are two soft deadlines: Valentines Day 2025 and the conclusion of the Western Conference Finals 2025. There is a hard deadline of June 30, at which point the collection will close for posting and prompting.

🦑 What do I do? 🦑

Leave at least one but no more than 50 prompts (if you use a burner to leave more, mod will neither know nor care.) Pairing prompts must at least one member of Seattle Kraken or Coachella Firebirds organizations, past or present. General, non-pairing prompts must involve the team, franchise, or Seattle in some way.

All fills welcomed - fic, art, podfic, poetry, fanmixes, creative nonfiction, whatever you can think of! Fic must be a minimum of 100 words and all other works must be equivalent effort.

Read FAQ and Rules.

🦑 Schedule 🦑 Prompts open: NOW Posting opens: December 6 Soft Deadline #1: February 14 Soft Deadline #2: Western Conference Final conclusion 2025 Collection closes: June 30

Questions? Ask! Anon is on.

[the-person-on-the-bridge]

DPXDC Prompt №4

Caring Ra's makes me so soft, you'll have to put up with it.

Ra's really cared about Jason, maybe in his own way, sometimes like a jerk, but he cared. In some ways, Jason considered him closer than Bruce. Jason disagreed with Ra's in many ways, but considered him his second foster father, although he would never admit it. Ra's considered Jason his son, although the guy diligently denied it.

When Jason and Danny make up the wedding guest list, Jason, without hesitation, enters Ra's there. Sending the invitation, Jason wonders if his father will agree to come to the celebration. A week later, he receives a reply letter saying that Ra's will

Jason is very happy, but does not understand what kind of chaos this will entail.

***

Everything was going great before the celebration. The costumes were ironed, the dishes were cooked, the guests did not try to kill each other. Perfect.

Then Ra's comes into the hall. And then chaos begins.

Batkids:*shouting and threatening* Bruce: You can't be here Batkids: *falls silent* Ra's: Why is that? This is MY son's wedding, his husband appeared from MY Lazarus Pit, I have every right to attend Danny against the background of deafening silence: Jason, calm down your fathers Bruce and Ra's: DANIEL

***

[blackjackkent]

Ask prompt fill for @astreamofstars for this ask meme: Questioning Sentences, Vol. 33 Jaheira/Khalid (and others) - “Are you getting my wife into trouble?” Two fills for the price of one cos I couldn't decide if I liked this idea or the other one better for this prompt so I did both. XD Set during Siege of Dragonspear, but doesn't include any spoilers.

-----

“All right.” Caden sways blearily on his feet, gesturing with the tankard in his hand. “Are you ready… for the master plan?”

“Minsc is ready,” Minsc agrees eagerly. “For a plan which Caden makes is masterful indeed!’

They make a rather comical tableau, gathered together in the shadows at the edge of the coalition camp. Caden is pacing unsteady circles, occasionally stopping to lean on one of the nearby trees. Nearby, Minsc and Rasaad sit side by side; Minsc has drained his mug completely and his eyes are wide with inebriated enthusiasm, while Rasaad is holding himself to ramrod stillness, the alcohol only evident in the slightly unfocused look in his eyes and the amused smile playing around his lips.

And there’s the cat, of course, which is prowling through the grass around Caden’s feet. Unlike Caden and the others, though, the cat almost melds into invisibility with the shadows. Its fluffy coat is dark gray except for a stripe of white along the tail, leaving the glint of its eyes the only obvious sign of its presence.

“Steady, Caden,” Rasaad says with a low chuckle, watching his friend take another gulp of ale. “If you are not careful, I believe you might pitch over.” 

He takes a sip from his own mug and glances over her shoulder back towards the center of the camp. No one seems to have noticed them sneaking off; most of the army has gone to sleep and the fires are burning low. The guards on watch are attentive to threats from the outside, and they have little interest to spare for the erstwhile Hero of Baldur’s Gate and his friends lurking drunkenly outside Torsin de Lancie’s tent.

“Nonsense,” Caden says gravely. “My balance is perfect and my ideas better still. Now--” He points at the cat, who is watching him with a glassy-eyed attentiveness, its tail lashing back and forth. “The key to it all.” He swings his hand in a wide arc and points dramatically into the darkness. “...A hole.”

Minsc turns his head to peer in the direction Caden is pointing and the wall of dark green canvas that sits there. “A tent,” he corrects Caden earnestly.

Caden blinks, then releases a very uncharacteristic giggle and downs another mouthful of his drink. “Nooooo,” he says, over-enunciating. “There’s a hole in the tent.” He points again at the cat. “And you can fit through it.”

The cat mrowls thoughtfully, then flops over onto its side and rolls so it is looking at Caden upside down. 

“Exactly,” Caden says, nodding several times vigorously. “And then - havoc. Shred de Lancie’s shirts. Steal his sword. Whatever you can think of.”

“It would certainly serve him right,” Rasaad agrees. He smirks over the rim of his mug as he takes another sip. “We would send Caden himself, but we have all seen his attempts at subtlety.”

“Shuuuush…” Caden whines, laughing, and punches Rasaad gently in the shoulder. This does, in fact, overbalance him and he sits down hard in the grass next to the tent’s front peg. “Oof. Well?” He grins goofily at the cat. “What d’you think?”

The cat climbs slowly and methodically up Caden’s arm until it is balanced on his shoulder, and begins to knead its claws vigorously into his shirt.

“Ow.” He grunts. Reaching up, he picks the cat up and sets it back on the ground, climbing unsteadily back to his feet. “I’ll take that as a yes. C’mon, Rasaad and Minsc and I will keep guard, and you can--”

He stops abruptly as, turning, he bumps into a man standing in his way who seems to have materialized out of the shadows. “Oh. Hello, Khalid,” he says, blinking rapidly like a child caught raiding the pantry.

Out of armor, Khalid looks about an inch shorter and considerably less broad than he usually does; his mop of dark hair is mussed from his helmet and he’s dressed for bed in a loose, dark tunic and a pair of Calishite-style trousers. “G-good evening, Caden,” he says cheerfully; his weariness from the day’s travel is evident in the thickness of his stammer, but he grins good-naturedly. “Are you g-g-getting my wife into trouble?”

Caden cocks his head at the older man innocently, an effect marred a little as he sways back on his heels. “Dunno what you’re talking about,” he says.

“Mmhm.” Khalid peers past him at the cat who has begun to groom itself, its fluffy tail curled up over its back. “S-she is not in b-bed, and that c-c-c-cat looks familiar. Are you quite sure?”

Caden follows his gaze and shakes his head. “It’s just a cat,” he says, very seriously. 

Khalid laughs. “There is n-n-no fooling me, C-Caden, I’m afraid,” he says.

At the sound of his voice, the cat’s head suddenly shoots up. Darting past Caden, it hurls itself at Khalid’s legs and begins circling him, rubbing up against his shins and purring ecstatically. 

Khalid’s grin softens. “Y-you see?” he murmurs. Crouching down, he runs a hand slowly along the cat’s silky fur from head to tail-tip, and the purring rises in volume like the rumble of a distant thunderstorm. “I would kn-know her in every shape,” he murmurs. “Though… the s-s-s-stripe on her tail is a d-d-dead giveaway.”

The cat nips at his hand, and he chuckles. “Am I g-g-giving away your secrets, my love? I’m s-s-sorry.” He raises an eyebrow at Caden. “N-now - out with it. Are you g-g-getting my wife into trouble?”

There’s a low hissing sound, and the wildshape melts away, leaving Jaheira, curled awkwardly on the ground, pressed against his thigh. She looks up at him with a bleary smile and pokes him in the side. “How dare you?” she says reprovingly; the words, though carefully pronounced, have a distinct tipsy slur. “I do not need the boy’s help to get myself into trouble.”

“Ahhhhh, I s-see.” Khalid’s eyes widen and he juts out his jaw, mock-appalled. “A d-d-drunken band, the l-lot of you.”

“I believe you have mispronounced ‘criminal masterminds,’ Khalid,” Rasaad says with a sage nod. 

“Well, t-t-tell me, then,” Khalid says. His lips twitch with amusement. “What c-c-conspiracy can you be m-m-masterminding at this t-time of night?”

Caden downs the rest of his mug. “Messing with Torsin de Lancie’s tent,” he says matter-of-factly.

Khalid tilts his head slowly to one side. His eyes flick over the tent, to the hole in the fabric at its rear, then to Caden, then to Jaheira. Then he starts to laugh. “Ahhhh, I see,” he says, shaking his head ruefully. “Well… why d-d-didn’t you say so in the f-f-first place? C-carry on.”

[novelconcepts]

I’m curious to see what you’d do with Taivan and the role swap from the prompt list!

14 - Role Swap

It's a funny thing, what being told you're a slacker from birth will do. A funny trick played on the unsuspecting child. Sometimes, it results in the Natalie Scatorccios of the world: adamantly leaning in, dressing the part, cloaked in the reckless prestige of the burnout. Sometimes, it results in proving the point, making a game of it, making it your own.

And sometimes, it results in Van Palmer.

Taissa has been watching Van for years, curious. The way she bumps elbows with Nat, you'd think they ought to be twin terrors. Grown from the same seeds, watered with the same reluctant care. The same ember of raw potential buried beneath bad luck and worse parenting.

Except where Natalie leans in, armored in leather and nicotine, Van chooses instead to dip into the fire and come out the other side polished as glass. Where Natalie grimaces and rolls her eyes, Van bares her teeth in a snarl that looks so much like joy, it lights something behind Taissa's ribs. Where Natalie leans in, a joint dangling from pursed lips, Van assesses every angle of the cage she was born into.

And sets to work tearing it the fuck down.

Bafflingly, she's always laughing. Laughing, when she scores the highest in every single class. Laughing, when she races perilously from between her goal posts, booting the ball so far downfield, the goal is nearly single-fucking-handed. Laughing, when she crosses her arms over her chest, taking in Coach's advice and Shauna's scowl with the same feverish amusement.

Laughing, when she takes Taissa by the collar in an empty locker room, kissing her until Tai can't imagine doing anything else.

It must be exhausting, to be Van Palmer, she thinks sometimes. To have that GPA, to be the MVP of game after game, to walk the streets of Jersey like God Himself has handed her the map to the exit ramp. It must be exhausting, to house so much ambition in a five-foot-six frame. Taissa, relaxing between her parents in the evenings, can't fathom it. Taissa is content being good enough.

Maybe that comes from growing up with people who ask and answer, who empathize rather than envy. Maybe it comes from a securely middle-class tax bracket. Maybe it's just pure luck of the draw. She's going to be okay, she knows. She's smart. She's talented. She's capable. She doesn't need to kill herself to get out of here. Things have a way of working out.

She tries telling that to Van, and Van only laughs harder. "Maybe for you," she says sweetly, arms bracketing Taissa in the grass. Then she's kissing Tai again, and the conversation is over. All such conversations with Van go this way. A layer of steel behind her smile. A layer of don't-push-it couched in jokes. Fire so hot, it begins to melt whatever dares look too long at the flames.

All conversations with Van go this way. Tai wonders how much weight is on the other girl's back. Wonders how she keeps her head so high. Wonders if she sleeps.

She'll learn, eventually. In the woods, when Van takes the lead so easily, it's almost scary. In the woods, when Van's good-natured sense of humor gathers the others to her like freezing children to a bonfire.

In the woods, when Van raises her head in the dark, eyes blank, teeth bared. Ambition has a price, Taissa realizes. Ambition has a price, and Van's been paying for years.

Exhausting, it must be. She gathers Van close, presses firm lips against her hairline, feels the desperate gallop of her heartbeat. Exhausting, it must be. Van Palmer, the consummate refusal to burn out. Van Palmer, burning so brightly, she might just consume them all.

[ancxentgates]

Send "... I fucking need you." for my muse's reaction:

Your muse has had a high stressful day, and all they want to do is relax when they get home. However, upon returning home to find my sitting on the couch, something breaks in your muse and they can't fight the urge to just be with mine.

[seidenbros]

A is talking on the phone to someone, while B comes up behind A and successfully distracts A with kisses to the neck, making A end the call early.

Baking together for the first time, which ends with flour and other ingredients where they don’t belong, and lots of laughter.

Lying in each others arms after having sex, while A finally confesses their feelings, and B falls asleep before they can even hear it.

Tracing your fingers over your lover’s freckles or even connecting them with a pen while they are asleep.

Sitting in silence watching the stars, hands inching closer, until they finally interlace their fingers, smiling to themselves.

Giving your crush your scarf and your gloves in cold weather, because you want to keep them warm.

Waking up to your lover pressed against your back, already awake, but they don’t want to get up just yet.

Coming home to find your lover made a pillow fort, ordered pizza and already got a movie set up for you to watch in that fort.

Going to a family wedding with your best friend, who you introduced as you boy-/girlfriend so that your family doesn’t try to set you up with someone - that means you’ll also share a bed for the night.

Coming home to smoke in the kitchen, because your lover wanted to make a cake for you, but is an absolute disaster in the kitchen.

Teaching your crush how to dance, because they want to know the basics for an event, which ends in lots of body contact, beating hearts, and an invitation to be their date for said event.

Being on the phone with your lover and they tell you “I love you” for the first time before hanging up, which makes for a very interesting next meeting.

Being at a loss for words, not able to express how you feel, so you just pull the other one close and kiss them instead. Actions speak louder than words.

Making it through a family dinner or some other event to come home and help each other out of these clothes. Unzipping a dress, unbuttoning a shirt with lots of soft touches and kisses that turn carnal at one point.

You come home drunk from a party, and your partner takes care of you, makes sure you get to bed safe, have enough water, and you tell them that you appreciate it, but there’s this wonderful person, who already has your heart, so you have to behave.

Going for a drive in the middle of the night, because you both can’t sleep, listening to your favourite songs and singing along, trying to be louder than the other one.

Surprising your loved one with recreating your first date, asking them if they remember all of that.

Scars tell the story of where we’ve been, they are a part of us, and you show that to your loved one with kissing all of their scars.

[parapsychoiogy]

star trek ocs doodle dump they mean the world to me

[philtstone]

24. Showing up injured at their friend/mentor’s house: for shawn? :)

[emerges from writing this fic bloody and beaten and on the verge of collapse] ill explore karen vicks character in an overly complicated post-episode missing scene fic or die trying! set immediately post "right turn or left for dead". i genuinely dont know if im happy with this but i also cant figure out how to fix it. actually, it would have probably been easier to write if i was willing to rewatch the episodes its based on. which i am not, because i am a sensitive little soul. so i winged it. i think there are like 10 different ideas that crop up and theyre all equally fascinating as character threads but i have no idea if i tied them together in an even remotely coherent way. also, WOULD she say that??? i had to call my brother twice to ask. this is what yall get for sending me actually interesting prompts, huh

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Henry’s voice said on the phone. “I’ll send Shawn over with them on his way out. He's going in your direction, anyway.”

In her short tenure as the junior detective to Henry Spencer’s lieutenant, Karen Vick observed two things:

First, that he was a far more clever strategist than most people gave him credit for. Despite the ongoing wreckage of his impending divorce and a kid who was slipping through his fingers as everyone looked on, Karen didn’t agree with the other junior detectives’ impression of him as a smash-the-door-down old school hard ass with thinning hair and a worst attitude. The man played four dimensional chess right out of a bonafide Star Trek episode. When he really wanted something done, Henry Spencer could bullshit and bluff and battle plan with the pros, and half the time you’d get too caught up in the blustering misdirect to realize his game was intricately thought out three steps in advance.

It was how they caught the Shorttown Killer, and also how they got that idiot Trembley at the mayor’s office to finally replace their coffee maker. Karen went home to her then-boyfriend, now-husband, and, right before bed, pulled out an old school workbook and took notes.

The second thing was that Henry Spencer loved his son. 

Not a lot has changed since then, Karen thinks, staring down the weirdness that she now faces through her open front door.

“… Oh — Mr. Spencer,” Karen says, because it’s rude not to greet your employees when they show up at your home outside of work hours, and are also your old friend-slash-colleague’s kid. “Hello. Thanks for — bringing these over.”

“Dad said it was urgent,” Shawn says.

Urgent isn’t quite how Karen would describe it, but hearing through the grapevine that your department might be facing an audit sometime in the next quarter does light a fire under the proverbial ass. Karen would rather bend a few rules and make sure the last year’s i’s and t’s are dotted and crossed right than leave her detectives vulnerable to the whims of a mayoral stooge. 

In general, Karen prides herself on caring about the people under her command just enough that it inspires genuine friendship and loyalty. The just is important. Care needs tempering – it’s important to pull back, press pause, keep certain lines uncrossed. It’s especially important if you want to be successful as a woman in an authority position where lives are often on the line. 

What she’s saying is that she tries to make it none of her business what her employees get up to in their spare time. She really genuinely does. She’s shut O’Hara down gently midway through the twelfth sweetly-frazzled attempt to overshare about her dating life (or her efforts to befriend her next-door neighbor, or the endearing personality quirks of her last cat – rest in peace, Triscuit, you will be missed –) enough times to be well-versed in the art of I Won’t Ask, You Won’t Tell, But You’ll Probably Know I Care Anyway.

An invaluable rapport to maintain. In any situation, Karen thinks, but especially when you’re a person who regularly hires and works alongside Shawn Spencer.

She’s not sure whether what she’s looking at right now makes her want to second guess or double down on her usual policy. 

“Special delivery,” Shawn adds, like everything is super normal.

Karen narrows her eyes. She glances behind them into the quiet residential street.

“Shawn,” she says.

“Yes, Chief?”

“You didn’t drive here, did you?”

“Ha,” he says, half rolling his eyes to accompany a weird aborted grin. “No. Even I don’t think riding a motorcycle with a concussion is a good idea. What if someone who wasn’t me got hurt? That’s — that would be no good, then you’d have to arrest me. Wouldn’t that be a huge bummer for the whole team, Chief? Gus would cry. And my dad wouldn’t let me take his truck.”

Karen stares at him. Shawn stares at the ground.

“I got a cab,” he says.

“And you are … taking another cab – home?”

Shawn looks quite suddenly like he’s going to be sick.

“Sure,” he says. 

Shawn looks terrible. Bruised face, bags under his eyes, and a weird frenetic energy twitching in his limbs that doesn’t pair well with his general air of exhaustion. He’s holding his shoulders stiffly and can barely meet her eye. His t-shirt and sweatpants are rumpled, like he slept in them, even though it’s too early in the evening for Henry to have woken him up to send him here, and when he thrusts the promised files out into the air toward her, abrupt and, admittedly, Shawn-like, he only just hides the awkward wince that immediately overtakes his left side.

The last couple days have been a bit of a whirlwind, so Karen can’t say she necessarily blames herself for not looking more closely. 

Even so.

Slowly, Karen reaches forward and divests him of the case files. They slip a little bit, because Karen can’t seem to stop peering shrewdly at Shawn’s face while she does it, and on instinct he reaches forward to stop the stack from toppling. 

It does help, but the autopilot he moves on makes it harder to mask what is to Karen’s eyes a very obvious flinch. 

“Alright,” is all he says. “Well, good to see you. Time to head back to the old hay stack.”

Like a needle in a haystack and time to hit the hay, Karen supplies needlessly in her own head. Aloud, she says, in many ways against her better judgment, 

“Mr. Spencer, are you okay?”

Shawn sways on the spot for a second, one fist clenched, mouth half open. For a strange moment, Karen gets the impression that he’s trying really hard not to say the wrong thing.

“... As rain,” he finally manages, then nods to himself like he achieved some great feat. “Okay. Well –”

“Did something happen to your shoulder?” 

“What? No!” Shawn’s eyes flutter closed and he shakes his head, “I’m – fine, Chief. It’s not – I mean, I’m – normal, fine. Fine in a normal way.”

“That’s not something an individual who’s fine in a normal way would say,” Karen says. 

“Uh, is it not! It is. I would know, because I am that individual. It’s – I was – there’s just mild – pfft … stab wound – or something, who would even …”

Is Shawn broken? is the unhelpful thought that pops into Karen’s head. She’s never heard an attempt to bullshit collapse so quickly into pathetic nothingness before – certainly not from Shawn.

Perhaps even more than his father, the kid’s a pro.

And then the rest of the sentence catches up with her.

“A mild stab wound?”

Oh boy. She watches Shawn’s eyes widen with the panic that proceeds an unquestionable blunder.

“Chief –” 

“In.”

“Chief, I really, really don’t think –”

“Inside my house. Now.”

He’s certainly uncoordinated enough that he doesn’t put up much of a fight. Karen herds him  through the door as firmly as possible and leads them in a beeline past Richard’s office toward the bathroom, ignoring the reedy stream of consciousness that spills out of Shawn’s mouth as they go.

“Oh, hey, woah, it’s been like forever since I was in here. Did you redecorate? I swear that lamp wasn’t there the last time we visited. It could be the tacos I had earlier, but I’m sensing a distinct neo-modern Chinese aesthetic going on here, Chief, which calls to mind the merits of cultural appreciation in suburban home decor – hey, is that your husband’s office? Can I meet him? Is he home? That man is a true enigma to us, Chief, and it’s leading me to believe that he must possess all the facial and personality qualities of the pop superstar Mr. Pitbull Worldwide –”

Richard is home, actually, and Karen needs to alert him to the fact that they have an unexpected house guest, so, ignoring Shawn completely, she calls out,

“Honey? Shawn Spencer’s here for a couple minutes about a work thing! I’ll go up to put Iris to bed in a second!” in the finely-honed There Are Many Layers Of Complicated To This secret married tone that Richard should probably be able to catch through the closed office door. 

“Alright,” floats out her husband’s pleasant voice. “Tell him hi from me.”

Perfect. There’s about a ninety-three percent chance he understood.

They make it to the bathroom, only stumbling slightly. Shawn says,

“-- or The Rock. Does your husband look like Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson? I really think that would make so many things about the Chief Vick family make sense –”

Karen closes the bathroom door with a snap and crosses her arms.

“Sit,” she says, in a voice that even he knows brooks no argument.

Shawn does. He looks – well, beyond uncomfortable, and more than a little bit miserable, and probably closer to completely dissociating than either of them are prepared for. Karen wonders belatedly if he's gotten any sleep at all in the last forty-eight hours.

“I’m assuming you have not been to the hospital.”

He gives her a baleful look, like he really expected better of her. She only just stops herself from rolling her eyes in response. And there’s that huge goose egg on his forehead, too. What, exactly, he got up to in between Carlton’s wedding reception and oh-eight-hundred hours this morning Karen has no idea, but he looks like someone’s run him through the world’s most aggressive industrial tumble dry cycle and spat him mercilessly back out. 

Or maybe over with a truck.

Sending a silent prayer to the universe that Iris never hit puberty and remains a sweet-tempered six-year-old forever, Karen gets to business.

“Well, I had to at least ask. Shawn. Does it need stitches?” He mumbles the answer the first time, and then looks beyond startled when she grabs him under the chin so he’ll look her in the eye. “Listen. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. But you’re going to tell me the truth. Got it?”

Shawn grimaces so hard at her words it’s almost a flinch. 

“No,” he says finally, clearly enough that she hears him. Karen raises an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think it needs stitches,” he articulates, but doesn’t meet her eye.

“Hm. Alright. I have gauze and tape in the medicine cabinet. Can I … is it alright if I pull up the sleeve of your t-shirt?”

Released from her hold, he groans and presses his face into one palm. “Chief –”

“I don’t really know what you expected, coming here! It’s not like I’m any less of a hardass than your father.”

“Yeah, but I can bitch back at my dad,” Shawn says, sounding like he’s finally realizing the magnitude of his mistake. Karen smiles grimly.

“Tough. Now pull your shirt up while I get the first aid kit.”

While Shawn proceeds to wrestle awkwardly with his t-shirt in a muted shuffle against the toilet seat, Karen rummages efficiently through the cabinet and eyes him through the bathroom mirror. He seems oddly reluctant to expose himself. In fact, in a stark contrast to his usual insistence on making his presence and contributions as obtrusively obvious as possible, Shawn seems intent on shrinking into the aforementioned Asian-flavored floral wallpaper (which does need an update, unfortunately) with all the equanimity of an anxious chameleon. Karen feels her eyebrows crease. Taking the first aid kit in hand, she brings it over and deposits it into his arms, ignoring his small startle.

“How about you hold that,” Karen says. Shawn does, against his chest, like a pillow. She walks around him and surveys the damage, antiseptic gauze in hand.

He wasn’t lying about the severity, at least. It’s a shallow thing, already mostly congealed, and has only stained his shirt in a small smattering spot of crusty brown blood.

Karen swabs at it with the alcohol using light careful fingers.

“Ow, ow ow ah –”

“Don’t be such a baby. It’s hardly a life-threatening injury.”

“Super insightful, Chief,” Shawn snaps, as genuinely sarcastic as he’s probably ever been with her, “never thought of that myself. Totally the reason why I just had to go to the hospital.”

He doesn’t pull away, but she can feel the tension radiating through his back. She blinks, one eyebrow crawling up her forehead. 

Alright then. So that’s how it’s going to be. 

“I’m assuming your father doesn’t know about this,” she says.

Shawn grunts, noncommittal. Huh. Maybe he does know, then, and has just been disallowed from doing anything about it right now.

She tosses the first used antiseptic wipe into the trash.

Goddamn four dimensional chess.

She supposes she’s never been bad at the game. She may as well work her way backwards through the moves: Guster, the most obvious node in Shawn’s turn-to-in-a-crisis-system, would never voluntarily abandon his friend in a time of need, so Karen assumes that whatever this is has either already included his support or not been made known to Gus at all yet. Henry’s likely exhausted his own usefulness in the situation, and Detective O’Hara is …

Karen has to work very hard for her hands not to pause in a way that gives away her hard-earned mental sleuthing. A bad feeling wholly unrelated to her ill-advised hangover of the day before begins to bloom at the back of her gut.

“You have really small hands, Chief.”

Shawn’s voice is notably more subdued than before.

“Do I?” 

“They’re like … little kangaroo hands. Like the mom kangaroo from Whinnie the Pooh.”

“Didn’t you know?” Karen says, not unkindly. “They’re given out at the hospital when all first-time moms leave with their baby.”

He lets out a tired little laugh, more boyish than he probably means it to be, and in spite of herself Karen feels her heart clench. She isn’t blind. In all her last seven years as the leader of their chaotic little precinct, she has never seen Juliet O’Hara look as ill as she did yesterday morning. The usually sweet-faced young woman had all the pallor of a Victorian ghost, and stood so far away from Shawn in any given room that to an unassuming observer he might have had the plague.

There are only a handful of things, Karen thinks, that could have invited that particular evolution in their dynamic. She rips the surgical tape from its canister a little bit more harshly than is strictly necessary and fights the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“So,” she says conversationally, laying the tape down in neat, gentle little strips, trying not to pinch the wound too tightly. “Any fun plans for the evening?”

Shawn sniffs. She can see him gripping his hands together over his knee from where she stands above him.

“Um, yeah, uh –” he clears his throat, “you know me, Chief. We’re working our way through a Robert Guillame marathon, which means some good old fashioned Benson, running commentary on the quality of that child acting, naturally.”

“Naturally.” 

“Then Gus and I were gonna hit up the new, the new chili cheese joint up by Hermosa, you know – they’re doing sliders –”

“Chili cheese sliders?” Karen hums, contemplative.

“Buy ‘em by the pound,” Shawn agrees. “Then I was thinking of getting a tattoo, maybe a belly button piercing, I’ve been really – really needing a change – would you let Iris get one, if she asked?”

“A tattoo?” Karen clarifies, cutting off the next piece of tape. The skin around the cut is warm to her touch but Shawn’s arms have goosepimpled. The hair at the back of his head sticks up unstyled, like he slept weirdly and couldn’t be bothered to fix it come morning.

“Of a marmoset. That’s what I’m thinking. With distinctly effeminate vibes.”

“Well, Dick hates marmosets. So I’d probably encourage her toward something else. Perhaps a sea lion.”

“Like Shabby.” The nervous note has bled into his legs again, and his earlier subdued tone has gone back to sounding strained. “Yeah, that’ll – that could be it.”

“All in one night, huh?” Karen says.

“I –” Shawn doesn’t even hiss when she presses down with a cotton gauze to cover the last of the thickened blood. His legs are properly jittering again. “I was – yeah, y-you know me, Chief, total night owl.”

“Shawn?”

“Yeah?”

“What about going home?”

Silence. Shawn doesn’t answer for a moment long and pregnant enough that Karen wonders if her question will be ignored entirely. 

Then,

“Chief,” he says finally, in an awful, tiny little voice, “I really, really fucked up.”

Finally, her hands do falter in their ministrations; as emotionally exuberant as Shawn often is, she doesn’t think she’s ever actually heard him close to tears. For a horrible moment she wonders if Shawn Spencer will suddenly start crying atop her toilet seat for reasons neither of them are capable of discussing honestly. Then she wonders if her horror makes her a terrible boss.

Boss – mother – person.

Oh, dear.

She sets down the surgical tape and lays a ginger palm over the newly-bandaged gouge in his shoulder. It’ll probably scar, but not at all badly. She doesn’t like to think about the far more obvious one just below, puckering in a violent yet unassuming divot. Another narrow miss for Henry’s boy. 

At this point there are so many of them to count, Karen has to question the statistical likelihood of the whole thing. Becoming a mathematical anomaly is, Karen can attest with confidence, not exactly the future the Lieutenant Spencer she knew dreamed of for his increasingly unmanageable teenager. 

Doing what he loved, on the other hand – absolutely. Being with a person he loved, even more so. Karen grits her teeth at the irritating web she’s spent the last six years constructing around herself and wonders if this evening right here is some kind of cosmic karma for leaving Iris in the care of nannies for the first three years of her life.

That sounds like the kind of thing those horrible parenting magazines and Karen’s mother-in-law would claim, anyway.

“Shawn,” she says slowly, because she has to at least knock this possibility off the list before risking her career in an attempt to mediate her detectives’ love lives, “did you … you weren’t – unfaithful, were you?”

“What?!” 

Shawn yanks his shoulder away and whirls around to face her with such a look of horrified betrayal on his face that it’s almost comical. 

“No!” 

Thank fucking God, Karen thinks. Aloud, she says,

“Well, I’m sorry, I had to at least ask!”

“No! No! What the hell, Chief!”

“Oh would you be quiet! I’m gathering my evidence here!”

“How could I – I would never – you’d even think that I could –”

“I know! Shawn, for God’s sake –” He’s scrambled to his feet in the cramped bathroom space, glaring, and has probably messed up all that surgical tape in the process. The half open first aid kit and his crumpled shirt press lopsided against his front and her garbage can is now full of oxidizing bits of cotton. Karen officially gives in to the urge to press her palms against her forehead. “I had to ask!” she repeats finally. “You and I both know you’re not gonna give me much else to work with, and you sounded so – so sad!” 

Shawn barks out a hysterical little laugh. Karen almost growls in frustration. 

“I am not going to risk all the very hard-earned rules I have in place without knowing for sure that my instincts aren’t wrong. Is that so hard to appreciate?”

Does it count as sound police work when the framework for your investigation is an unacknowledged lie? Karen doesn’t really know. Probably there’s another math metaphor to be made in there (you screwed your proof from the very beginning, maybe, Richard the professor would definitely have thoughts), or just a straight up joke. How to solve a case that’s cold before it ever has the chance to go live; a cover-up if she ever saw one. Unlikely that O’Hara will peep a word, and things will be a true mess for a few weeks, if she can’t make an educated guess about it. And no one will be explaining anything to Carlton, either …

Right before their goddamn audit, Karen thinks, aggrieved. She wonders if Henry considered this in his calculus. Send Shawn over, have her deal with him. Offer a huge unspoken you’re gonna be walking into a shitstorm tomorrow canary for her perennially chaotic mess of a coal mine. 

She can’t help but feel begrudgingly grateful, but that doesn’t mean she and he won’t be having words about this later.   

“Jesus, Karen,” Shawn mutters, pressing his face back into his free hand. Karen shakes her head and squares her shoulders.

“Well then! Back to the issue. You fucked up.”

“You know what? I can’t talk about this with you.”

“Oh, Mr. Spencer, I assure you I am more than well aware.”

Shawn blinks at her between his fingers, looking genuinely confused for the first time since he showed up at her door. 

Karen does not bother to clear up his confusion; it’s better this way, anyhow.

“Will you be sleeping at Gus’s place or your father’s?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“I’m – I don’t –” Shawn doesn’t meet her eye. The earlier thread of anxiety is back. “I wasn’t …”

So, neither. 

“Put your shirt back on,” she says. “We’re relocating to the living room.”

“Chief –”

“That was an order, Mr. Spencer.”

The living room is as quiet and mundane as it was an hour ago. It’s past Iris’s bedtime – she’ll have to go up, and soon at that. Karen seats her guest, retrieves a mug and a bag of chamomile from the kitchen, and removes the fluffy throw blanket from the basket behind the couch on her way back in. He’s deflated completely by the time the tea and blanket are set in front of him. Small and exhausted. Caught. It’s a horrible way to think about it. But she can’t avoid the hundred yard stare – Karen has seen it one too many times in people only just realizing they’re about to go away for life.

“Shawn,” she says, firm as she can make it. “Drink the tea. You’re dehydrated.”

“I’m … what?”

“Your lips are dry. You shouldn’t be dehydrated with a concussion.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Karen suddenly wonders if he’s going to get up and leave. She has experience with these things – she knows a runner when she sees one.

“I might as well have,” Shawn finally whispers.

She doesn’t catch it the first time. “What?”

“I – I might as well ha – Chief, I …” Deep shuddering breaths. He’s finally shutting down, she realizes. She can’t send him back out like this; Henry would give her the stink eye for a month.

Goddamn Spencers and their goddamn irritating overcomplicated lives.

Karen pushes the tea directly into his hands and tilts her chin so she can meet Shawn’s eye. He’s still lucid enough that she doesn’t think he’ll start hyperventilating, but now that the outrage and adrenaline has worn off, the symptoms of shock are pretty hard to miss. “Shawn,” she says again, and wills for him to understand.

“What if she – what if I never –” He can’t get the full sentence out. He looks at her, eyes wide and terrified.

Life sentence, Karen thinks again. The messy stack of files Shawn brought over sits almost unimportantly on the coffee table between them and a memory comes to her, unbidden, of words penned carefully in the corner of a modified police report that she pulled the minute the door closed on the McCallum case seven years ago. 

Date: May 4th, 1995. Reporting Officer, Spencer, Lt. H. Perpetrator a caucasian male, brown hair, five foot nine, insists on wearing those stupid earrings just to spite me. What the hell do you want me to write here, Chief? Spent two hours in the fucking principal’s office convincing them not to expel him one month off from graduation. All that effort, and I still booked the kid. It’s gonna follow him for life, and it’s gonna be me that did it to him. For life. You think he’ll ever forgive me? He’s the greatest thing in my pathetic little world and he keeps breaking my heart, and I can’t even properly accept that it’s my fault. 

How’s that for a fucking crime.

She needs to go put her daughter to bed. It’s the thought that keeps running through her head, oddly enough, like a strange antidote to the impotent anger and heartbreak and frustration she’s feeling for the people under her care.

With all the notes she took in that little workbook, she still let herself become complicit in the painstaking, convoluted resolution of Henry’s mistakes without accounting for all the variables.  

Richard’s footsteps sound muffled in the next room; he’s made his way upstairs in Karen’s absence. She needs to go. She wants to hear the soft and sleepy love you Mama that with her unpredictable hours and regular long nights isn’t nearly routine enough.

“Shawn,” she says evenly. “Do you love her?”

It’s hard to reconcile the smarmy kid who tried to barter with her for twelve hundred a day with the devastated young man sitting on the couch in front of her.

“Chief …” he starts, barely above a whisper.

“Good. Then she’ll see that. Detective O’Hara is a smart and observant woman. What she chooses to do next is her decision, but … you might be – well, comforted by the fact that she’ll know that – truth.”

Shawn stares at her. The tea steams in front of him, cooling in increments. She takes a deep breath and gets to her feet, patting his uninjured shoulder brusquely. 

“I have to go check on Iris. When I come back down, I can drive you to the Psych office.”

Iris is fast asleep when she gets there. A library book lays open face down over her stomach, and her soft brown hair fans out against the pillow, silhouetted by the soft glow of the unicorn nightlight in the wall above her. Karen turns off the bedside lamp, tucks her daughter in, and kisses her forehead. Just before she leaves, she hears it: murmured, half-awake.

“Love you, Mama.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Karen goes back to her living room, car keys in hand. She’s planned her next move in the driver’s seat enough times throughout her career that it shouldn’t be too hard. 

[soulprompts]

REASONS TO CUP A FACE. ( A PROMPT LIST. )

with the help of some very talented and amazing friends, i present to you an unexpected, very spontaneous meme list based on the beautiful art of cupping someone's face! there's a mix of romantic and platonic here, and even a few that defy the boundaries of normal relationship dynamics! i hope you enjoy! as always; DO NOT ADD TO THIS LIST NOR CLAIM IT AS YOUR OWN!

[KISS]: sender cups the receivers face in their hands before drawing them closer for a kiss.

[CHECK]: after an unexpectedly violent situation, sender frantically rushes to check if the receiver is okay, cupping their face to look closer.

[CLEAN]: sender affectionately wipes a smudge of sauce from the corner of the receiver's mouth, cupping their face in the process.

[LIFT]: sender gently cups the receiver's face and lifts their chin so the receiver is looking up at them.

[COMFORT]: sender cups a distressed receiver's face in their hands and steadies them by resting their foreheads together.

[ATTENTION]: during an important conversation, the sender takes the receiver's face in their hands and firmly directs their focus on them.

[MAKE-UP]: while applying make-up on the receiver's face, the sender cups their face in order to keep them still.

[PRIDE]: after the receiver succeeds in a remarkable achievement, the sender cups their face and tilts their foreheads together to express how proud they are of them.

[WHISPER]: in order to have a private, hushed conversation with the receiver, the sender cups their face and draws them close to make sure they can be heard.

[HAIR]: in the process of pushing the receiver's hair back from their face, the sender lets their hand rest against the receiver's cheek a moment longer.

[GROUND]: during a moment of intense emotional stress, the sender gently takes the receiver's face in their hands to ground them until they're calmer again.

[WONDER]: unable to comprehend how incredible the receiver is, the sender decides to simply cup their face in their hands and marvel at them instead.

[LAST LOOK]: before going into a situation that may result in their death, the sender takes a moment to cup the unaware receiver's face in their hand, just to take a final look of admiration at them before they go.

[SACRIFICE]: the sender cups the receiver's face tenderly to distract them, right before shoving them out of the way (to safety) and facing an attack alone in order to buy the receiver enough time to escape.

[BELIEF]: in a moment where the receiver is lacking in self-confidence, the sender cups their face tenderly and professes their faith in the receiver's abilities.

[DISBELIEF]: after the receiver has done something completely unexpected (and reckless) the stunned sender cups their face in their hands while trying to get them to explain why the hell they did it.

[BETRAYAL]: trying to keep the receiver calm before the big reveal, the sender cups their face gently to keep them steady, and then reveals that they're the villain.

[WOUND]: after the receiver has been wounded, the sender tries to keep them calm and conscious by cupping their face in their hands and talking to them to keep them focused.

[INJURY]: after having been badly wounded themselves, the sender tries to reassure the frantic receiver by cupping their face and comforting them.

[RAMSAY]: after the receiver commits a culinary crime, the sender presses two slices of bread against either side of their face, cupping their face to hold the bread in place, and calls them an idiot sandwich.

[genius11rare]

In regards to the 'How the Fenton parents take Phantom' id imagine when Phantom was announced to be joining the JL they were paranoid , but had to admit that if hes seemingly vetted by:

Superman who is the practical epitome of Heroism

Mr. 'i have a contingency for that' Batman

and Wonder Woman who literally has a Lasso of Truth....

Between overall public perception since Phantom isnt just in Amity , the GIW either being disbanded or having to go even more into hiding / cut ties with Fentons due to all eyes on Phantom so they cant really control the narrative , and just so many stories from all kinds of people and demographics (instead of 'pretty much the teenage student body of Casper High + plus some notable adults' , others being mostly indifferent instead of hateful) around the world

At somepoint even they had to admit 'Either weve stumbled upon the biggest conspiracy ever known.... or Phantom really is just Some Guy (TM) trying his best'

Id imagine its around this time Danny reveals himself.... they need a bit to process their work

DP x DC prompt #78

There's a reason why the black lantern ring turns all who encounter it into mindless, crazed zombies. It's because the black lantern ring wasn't designed for living people, it was designed for ghosts. Enter Danny Fenton, the newest member of the Black Lantern Corps.

[mahgyu]

Sukuna won't confess, but your laughter is his favorite melody. Sukuna has a sarcastic sense of humor and often responds to situations with scathing and ironic comments. But despite his grumpy observations, he knows exactly how to make you laugh and loves to admire your smile, especially since he knows he caused it.

Sukuna won't confess, but he could spend hours watching you do literally anything. Whether it's cooking casually or even tidying up the house enthusiastically while dancing to the sound of your annoyingly cheerful songs that he detests. But if you catch him staring at you for too long, he'll respond with a click of his tongue and tell you to hurry up soon.

Sukuna won't confess, but if you want the world just for yourself, he'll give it to you in seconds. In the rare moments when he agrees to take you out for a walk, he meticulously observes what catches your eye in the store windows. When you mention liking a certain product, Sukuna plays hard to get, saying he didn't bring enough money to spend on trivial things solely to hear you grumble about how much you that one wanted it until he gives in and buys it for you. And when you just stand there looking, without mentioning wanting him to buy it for you, Sukuna will be dragging you into the store again, with a scowl on his face and mumbling something so low that you can't completely hear. But when he sees you smiling with the new gift in your hands, that scowl softens, and he'll ignore your questions about how he guessed you had your eye on it.

Sukuna won't confess, but he feels like he might go into withdrawal if he goes without your silly messages during the day. When you're apart, you flood Sukuna's phone with messages, whether it's with cat memes you found on the internet, telling him random and nonsensical things that just happened to you, or cute statements like: "I miss you :'( ", "Have you eaten properly? Are you drinking enough water? ", "ily ♡ ". He'll respond to these messages with ten times less enthusiasm than they were sent with, but only Sukuna is aware of the silly smiles he lets slip while reading them.

Sukuna won't confess, but he comes home yearning for your loving treatment. Obviously, he even pretends not to care about the tight hug you give him while balancing on tiptoes and showering kisses all over his face. And even though he's rolling his eyes with indifference, the stroke he gives to your hair and the sincere kiss on your forehead discreetly show how much he missed you during the day, possibly even more than you.

Sukuna won't confess, but building a family with you is his biggest dream currently. Yes, he's not good with kids at all, but when you're lying together, with your head on his chest and sleeping comfortably while he gently strokes your face to not wake you up, Sukuna is immersed in thoughts of having a baby with you. He thinks about how you would look even more beautiful while pregnant, Imagining how the child would look like or even which of your personalities they would inherit.  Sukuna falls asleep with these thoughts, certain that, even though it's hard for him to make it evident, you are everything in his life.

Well cliché, I know, but I'm so in love with the Grumpy x Sunshine prompt 😞

Comments/reblogs are appreciated 💕

ㅤㅤㅤ

[feyburner]

In ur version, does Batman or Superman even approve of Kon and Tim being together?

Lol sorry I’m sure you intended this as an art prompt but instead I used it as a silly little writing exercise.

Clark Kent (Daily Planet) »

Hi! Do you have a moment to chat?

« Bruce Wayne

That depends.

Clark Kent (Daily Planet) »

On what?

« Bruce Wayne

On the subject matter, Clark Kent, Daily Planet Reporter.

Clark Kent (Daily Planet) »

Shoot. hang on

Superman (Justice League) »

Hi! Do you have a moment to chat?

« B

How many times a day does that happen

Just tell me. I can take it

Superman (Justice League) »

Not… that many…

« B

How many records are we scrubbing.

This week.

Superman (Justice League) »

Listen

You are the one who chose to make secret phones that are identical to normal phones

I don’t know what you were expecting

« B

It’s precautionary. In case they get lost.

They’re not identical. The Batcell’s haptic interface hardware is superior to the iPhone’s.

Slightly bigger too.

0.3mm.

Superman (Justice League) »

I’ll refrain from the obvious comment

But know I am thinking it

« B

So there’s a visual difference.

You have x-ray vision.

Superman (Justice League) »

If you think I’m going to x-ray my phone to figure out if the haptic interface software is 0.3mm larger than an iPhones every single time I need to send a text you are nuts

That’s you

« B

Learning memes are we.

Superman (Justice League) »

That’s not a meme. It’s a reaction image

I think

« B

Doesn’t a reaction image have to be sent in reaction to something? By definition?

Superman (Justice League) »

I dont know.

« B

I don’t either.

Superman (Justice League) »

Okay.

« B

You said you wanted to chat?

Superman (Justice League) »

Yes

And let me just preface this with:

I am about to tell you something and I need you to be, with all due respect, so normal about it

« B

Jesus fucking Christ, what happened?

Superman (Justice League) »

Nothing!! bad

Nothing bad

« B

Where are you? Can you call?

Superman (Justice League) »

Ok calm down, I’m fine, everything is fine

I can theoretically call but I think this is the kind of thing you’re going to want to sit with, on your own, for a second

Maybe 30 full seconds actually. Maybe sit for 30 full seconds before taking any action

« B

Kal El, I am catastrophizing at the speed of sound.

Superman (Justice League) »

Then I bet it will be such a huge relief to learn that all Im going to say is I have it on good authority that Superboy has something to tell you, and normally I would never breach his trust like this, but again: I cannot emphasize enough that I need you to be so, so normal. When he tells you. Which I have reason to believe he will, imminently

« B

Alfred has just informed me that Superboy is on the doorstep.

On the doorstep, Kal.

Of my home.

Superman (Justice League) »

Huh!

« B

He’s asked to speak with me in the parlor.

“In the parlor.” Quote.

I forgot we had one of those.

What is this.

Superman (Justice League) »

Well

I think there’s a chance Kon is about to be very, very brave, to your face

And—keep in mind I’m saying this as someone who thinks the world of you and has boundless trust and faith in your ability to be kind, selfless, and accepting—

If he doesnt leave that house with a smile on his face and a spring in his step I will ruin your life.

« B

Jesus.

I know you’re only threatening me because of that, thing I said. Last time.

And yet, it’s still effective.

Superman (Justice League) »

« B

Yeah.

Superman (Justice League) »

Yeah?

« B

Yeah.

Superman (Justice League) »

:)

« B

:)

I have to go meet your kid. “In the parlor”

Superman (Justice League) »

Be nice :)

« B

I will.

I know what he’s going to say anyway.

Superman (Justice League) »

Oh?

« B

He, and coincidentally also Robin, needs to work on his situational awareness.

With an emphasis on remembering to scan the environment for CCTV cameras.

Superman (Justice League) »

Ok to be fair there are a lot of cameras these days

« B

The incident in question took place on the rooftop of Wayne Tower.

Superman (Justice League) »

I see.

« B

Yeah.

Superman (Justice League) »

Yeah.

Unrelatedly are you coming over later?

« B

So you can ruin my life?

Yes.

Superman (Justice League) »

See you then :)

« B

Yes.

Wait.

It’s not weird now that…?

Superman (Justice League) »

Holidays may get awkward but I’m sure we will all cope.

« B

Okay.

:)

Superman (Justice League) »

Tell Kon I said hi!

« B

I will.

*

« B

Hey it’s Batman. I fucked up.

Superman (Justice League) »

What??

« B

Not with Kon’s thing. That went fine. But we kept talking and I mayh ave let something slip and I’d liek to apologize in advance bc I htink he’s on the way

Superman (Justice League) »

Kons at my window???

« B

Sorry.

Superman (Justice League) »

I will ruin your life!!!!!

« B

Nuts.