#that's just how those bombers ARE

[hayconrisa]

now that i have a place to talk about it i have to say that. as the resident plane nerd. shusterman did a pretty good job talking about the planes in the graveyard.

but the one thing i can not believe is the fact that the fucking COMBOM is a WORLD WAR 2 BOMBER. SHUSTERMAN. DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING TINY THOSE INTERIORS ARE. SIR.???????

i simply can not suspend my disbelief enough to think that a shit ton of computer and radio equipment + a team of like ten kids would fit. into the nose. of a . world war 2 bomber. bro that's just not happening. not even in a b-29. i know those planes look massive but trust me most of the fuselage is for. well. the bombs.

hey shusterman. look at this. do you. did you. um. Think? this is a b-29. the biggest bomber in ww2. do you see that tiny cockpit? and the tiny bunks? there's no way bro.... there's just no way.... even if they stripped the entire thing it's just not built for that kind of shit.

like i get that the plane has to be a bomber bc comBOM but c'mon... it could've just been a cargo plane... an MD-11 or even a fucking converted 767.... this is the one thing that hurts me so bad and IT'S HAYDEN'S WHOLE DEAL TOO AND IT JUST DOESN'T MAKE SENSE. GOD THE AUTISM. WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE

[yenhan]

TF141 X Retail worker!Reader

Masterlist

a/n: tf141 x retail worker!reader because the international student au reader is busy, lol

Synopsis: Kyle is the best customer you could ask for, but his teammates aren't as easy.

At first, London seemed like a dream. Hustle, grit, fashion week, the chaos of creativity all bottled into a city that never took a breath. Too bad the reality was different. It wasn’t the long hours that crushed you, it was the people, the endless ladder climbing, the sneers hidden behind faux-kind smiles, the stinging burn of rejection from agencies that only saw numbers, not vision. For someone like you, soft around the edges, it was suffocating. So, you left. “I didn’t fail,” you told yourself. “I just chose something else.”

Now, you were here, in a sleepy tiny town tucked far from madness, working in retail in a cozy boutique on the corner of a cobbled high street. The shop had charm. All reclaimed wood shelves and vintage Edison bulbs, racks lined with pre-loved jackets, silk scarves, old military coats with stories stitched into their hems. Some days were slow. Most were, but you liked the pace. You liked knowing the regulars by name, their styles by heart.

Your signature Ferrari bomber jacket hung over your shoulder, bright red, bold white racing stripes down the sleeves. It had survived seven years and at least three attempted red wine assassinations. Half the people who walked in complimented it. The other half gave you a knowing look when they spotted the prancing horse.

“I know,” you’d sigh with a smirk. “Being a Ferrari fan is practically a tragic personality trait.” The jacket made people smile. It made you smile. And in your world, that was enough.

Your favorite customers were a group of four men who’d started showing up sometime last year. You didn’t know how they found you, though it wasn’t surprising. Most of your customers came from word-of-mouth; a recommendation from a friend, or sheer luck during a caffeine-fueled detour. Either way, once they got in, they kept coming back.

Kyle was the first. Friendly, easygoing, with a sparkle of curiosity behind those warm chocolate eyes. He liked trying new styles, often picked your brain about fabrics and cuts, and wasn’t shy about flipping through racks with genuine enthusiasm. The two of you hit it off quickly. You’d talk fashion—designers, eras, tailoring techniques, so on and so forth. Every now and then, you’d catch him scribbling notes into his phone like he didn’t want to forget what you’d said. You had a stupid smile plastered on your face for the rest of the shift.

Johnny followed soon after. Something about his roguish charm and mischief wrapped in a thick Scottish accent made your heart flip. He made a game of flirting with you, asking which shirt made him look like a rockstar, which trousers “hugged the right bits.” You didn’t mind. It wasn’t sleazy and disgustingly creepy like Mrs. Lambert’s husband’s comments; it was just cheeky. “’s fun, right, hen?”

The Scot had been through something, there was a scar that curved into his hairline, and sometimes, you caught him checking exits a little too carefully, but he always smiled at you as if the world wasn’t heavy on his back.

One day, Kyle told you the others would drop by the shop for a quick tour. “The captain and lieutenant,” he explained, hanging a pressed crimson sweater on the rack. “Figured you might help. Price—John—needs to stop dressing like a dad who bought a motorcycle to impress his ex. And Ghost... well, he’s allergic to color. I won’t be there, love. Good luck.”

You laughed, finding his concerns exaggerated. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

And oh boy, you did.

—

The bell above the door chimed, and in walked two figures whose attires screamed ‘suspicious crime syndicate members.’ One was broad-shouldered, bearded, and wore a low cap over his brow. The other looming shadow wore black jeans and a hoodie, eyes unreadable under a dark skull-printed mask.

“Y’alright?” John Price’s voice was gravel and warmth, all wrapped in one delicious burrito. “You’re the one tryin’ to make us fashionable?”

“I try to guide people. Whether they listen is another matter.” You corrected him.

Ghost didn’t say anything. He stood by the door like a gothic statue, gazing from wall to window to floor, like the entire place might collapse under the weight of vintage cardigans. You offered him a polite smile. He didn’t return it.

So. That was Simon, you’d find out his birth name much much later.

Gaz had warned you. But warnings didn’t quite prepare you for the presence of someone who could dissolve into a shadow if he really wanted to. You felt your smile falter a little. “Be gentle with the lieutenant, bonnie. He’s got the fashion sense of a funeral director. Easily spooked, tha’ one.” You remembered Johnny saying it. That Hulk of a man didn’t really seem easily spooked or affected by anything at all. But you’d learned not to trust the Scotsman’s judgement on people. Last time he said your newborn nephew looked like Sid from Ice Age and you’d never felt so offended.

“Well, let me know if anything makes you feel like you’re on a runway show,” you offered lightly, mostly to Price. “Or at least less of a fashion crime.”

That earned you a huff of amusement from the captain. “That obvious, huh?”

You studied him openly, eyes running over his old leather jacket, faded jeans, boots that looked like they’d seen more mud than pavement. “I'm getting 'I'm about to start a podcast about whisky and post-divorce toxic masculinity' vibes.”

Ghost let out a short snort. Yes, that sound had come from him. Price, on the other hand, barked a laugh and pointed a finger at you.

“Cheeky. Sorry for the trouble, birdie.”

—

The next thirty minutes were… interesting.

Price started by rejecting everything. Every coat was too soft, every shirt too ‘bloody posh’, every jumper looked like something his dad would’ve worn to the pub. But he kept trying them on, kept letting you adjust the collar, roll up sleeves, hold a mirror just right. “Don’t see what’s wrong with the leather one I’ve got.”

“John, you don’t want women to guess you’re divorced and why just by your looks.” You deadpanned behind a rack. The man stopped complaining after that.

“Tell me the truth,” he inquired once, eyeing a fitted navy peacoat. “Do I look like someone who owns a boat?”

“You look like someone who pretends to own a boat to impress his Tinder date.”

He gave you a mildly confused look. “What’s Tinder?”

Meanwhile, Ghost hadn’t moved an inch. You tried subtle nudges. Held up a long black coat with silver snap buttons. No response. Picked out a designer knit jumper with a high neck. Nothing. Finally, you took a risk.

You stepped closer, gentle but not meek. “Look, I’m not gonna try and make you wear lime green or anything. But you’re a tall guy. Broad frame. You could make half of this stuff look terrifying in a clever way.”

He tilted his head just enough to make the skull motif shift with him. “Not here to impress anyone.”

“Fair. But comfort isn’t just about fabric. It’s about feeling like yourself. Or... the version of you that you don’t mind being seen.”

Silence. Again. After a moment, he reached out and you had to stifle your holy hell as he plucked the coat you’d offered off the rack. Then he disappeared into the changing room.

You turned back to Price, whose eyes held something vaguely amused. “I owe Kyle a pint,” he winked.

Ghost walked out of the fitting room, and the entire shop seemed to still for a moment. The coat suited him like it had been tailored specifically for his bulk. The wool draped across his shoulders and the belt cinched just enough to emphasize the lean strength of his torso.

…

“Could be worse.”

You beamed. That was a five-star review coming from him.

Eventually, both men found something they liked. Price left with the peacoat and a rugged forest green henley. Ghost kept the long coat and to your absolute delight, picked up a navy blue shirt as they were checking out. You didn’t mention it. You figured calling attention to it might break the spell.

At the register, Price handed over his card with a smirk. “Suppose I owe you an apology, birdie. Thought this’d be a waste of time...”

“Don’t worry. I’ll pretend you were a nightmare and insulted my entire stock.”

“Attagirl.”

—

Later that evening, Kyle poked his head back in while you tidied the place back into shape. “They liked you,” he cheered.

“I’m irresistible.”

“Nah, seriously. You made Ghost wear something that wasn’t from a tactical catalog. That’s magic.” You rolled your eyes. However, when he left and you locked the door behind him, a little glow lingered in your chest.

[inbabylontheywept]

How is your life so interesting

Normally, I just kind of laugh this question off, but I've been asked enough times I'm gonna take an honest stab at it.

So, the first thing worth considering is whether the story itself is all that interesting, or whether I am just a good storyteller. My most popular story is about cutting a lot of worms and half, and crying, and then being comforted by my mom. That's not a terribly uncommon or hard to imagine event. A lot of my stories more about the telling than the substance.

There are also some stories that are weird, but they're weird in ways that I also find, like, relateably weird? It might just be that I knew a lot of athletes in college, but I don't think eating raw eggs is that weird. Eating 15 in one go is, but I was roommates with a guy that ate like, three for breakfast, three in his in-class protein shake, and another three at dinner. That guy was attending ASU on a gymnast scholarship, but also, he genuinely ate 5 dozen eggs a week. That seems much more normal than eating 15 in one day.

To say nothing of eating raw onion. Tons of people eat raw onions. It baffles the non-onion eaters, but it's a super common thing. Especially in Mexico.

Some of the stories happen because I am better at noticing story-worthy events than most people. I can't tell you how many times I've been in public, and seen someone do some weirdass thing, and then had to nudge my wife and to get her to watch it too.

If I had to point to the parts of my life that are truly, genuinely, bafflingly weird, they would be my dating stories, and. I dunno. My general thermonuclear dumbass event posts. And I can break down why those two are interesting pretty simply:

I was unbelievably bad at dating. The majority of the time, that just meant that there was a few minutes of stilted small talk and never get a call back. But the thing is, Mormon culture strongly encourages dating as like, a social-practice thing, and I was very motivated to get good at it, so I just kept trying and trying and I think I went on at least 200 first dates before meeting my wife. I genuinely believe that if anyone went on 200 first dates, they would get some pretty incredible bad date stories too. Especially if they had autism. I know I write well, and I can sound very charming here, but it took me a very, very long to get decent social skills. I am just a disturbingly persistent learner.

I am very convincing. This is helpful when I am interacting with other people, because it can do things like, convince them to let me into their secret facility, or convince them to not vote Republican again, or to save at least put the company match into their retirement accounts. But when I'm just debating something with myself, my convincingness works against me: I am very good at tricking myself into believing that bad ideas are, somehow, actually good. This is part of why I have so much sympathy for the right wing lunatics that I work with. Every time I meet a crazy person I go, ah, but for the grace of God, go I. Anyway, this does an unfortunate thing where my excellent verbal skills drive my poor decisions, which results in the very odd combination of welll written, articulate stories about someone being A Fucking Idiot. Like the condom bomber story. I think this is also why most of the lawyers that I meet are insane in their personal lives.

Anyway, those are my theories! I'm gonna tag @lizardho because we mostly had the same childhood, but she has a better grasp on what normal people look like than me, and perhaps she'll have her own theories on the weirdness of our lives.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 10

Added dividers because I felt like the time skip/scene change would become confusing without any indication of it.

I really need an answer on how y'all feel about Immortal x Dupli-kate cuz depending on the popular opinion stuff will change 🤐 I'm willing to split a lot of people up for the drama and/or miscommunication nonsense

Enjoy!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 10 >>next

Some place where the supernatural meets the normal, a little place called The Oblivion Bar, John Constantine simply sat shocked at the words he managed to hear and process through his mushed brain. Bobo closes his hung jaw, drinks his whiskey, and pats his friend’s shoulder as the man mumbles a sobering spell, cringing at the effects. “I should go. Good luck, John.” And so, the chimpanzee quickly makes his exit, leaving the Laughing Magician and Death of the Endless to their business.

“I need you to walk me through this again, luv- wasn’t quite paying attention.” Constantine shook his head as he fully turned to face the smiling entity. “You and who did what?!” He hissed, voice barely above a whisper as he tried not to bring attention to what they were saying. This was bad. Really bad.

“Lady Gotham and I took a liking to Batman’s youngest daughter and-“ John quickly interrupted her. “And gave her magical powers beyond my comprehension and immortality- yes, I heard that, did you?!” The man rubbed his face, the thought was making him want to get drunk until he dropped. ”Have you gone mad? Giving a mortal immortality is more of Dream’s style you should know better-“

Death only smiled at him, amusement filling her eyes as she gently laid a hand on his shoulder making him tense up. “She was lonely, she deserves every happiness those powers and eternity are bound to give her. You’ll understand once you see her.” And boy, did John laugh his gut out at that as he shook his finger. “No- no, no, no- there’s no way I insert myself into that mess- Bat’s family is already a mess and reeks of you without magic- No- There’s no way- that’s bonkers-“

Death gets up with a bright smile. “Thank you, John.” Her words make him stutter almost choking on his breath at the audacity. “Don’t thank me ya loon! I’m not going to help her, I’m not even going to see the moppet!” He can only yell and cuss as she leaves.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

 “Alright, Cecil-“ The old man immediately interrupted you, the little communication device in your ear buzzing with life as he told you to not use names. “… Dude… I’m miles in the air, first of all! Second, that was like a really common name once. it’ll take a while to find you specifically, and I doubt anyone could anyway- you seem like the type that would erase himself from the gov’s documents.”

“Anyway-“ You didn’t give him time to say anything else. “What house am I supposed to go to again? And why?”

The old man sighs at your antics, rubbing the side of his forehead as he feels the headache coming while he gives the address once more. “Your brother’s teacher, Mr. Hiles, has been the mall bomber. It took us a while, he was smart about it, kept his search into biological bomb-making off the internet but he wasn’t that thorough about his paper trail.”

“Be prepared for anything and a confrontation.” The older man cleared his throat. You always made him nervous; you were an unexpected equation in everything, something he couldn’t control without risking Earth. Donald and everyone else just took his weariness and suspicion as him being overly cautious, but Cecil could tell something was clinging to you that just gave him nightmares.

“And thank you- usually I would have sent someone from the Teen Team but…uh-“ His eyes followed the action on another screen. “They’re busy. Your brother and father are helping them.”

“You’re nervous. Yapping again. Chill, I’ll take care of it. Just because I don’t want to be your little puppet doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep people safe.” You found the man irritating, but for now, he was being sane, actually doing his job, so you couldn’t complain. “Getting closer to the target. Going dark.”  Was the only warning the man got before the com was powered off.

Finally ready to land you politely greeted the man, walking through the training both Cecil and Nolan provided at the start of your vigilantism. “I didn’t expect to get caught quite this early, and I certainly expected… more conventional authorities when the time did come.” Professor Hiles just sighs and welcomes you in by your birth name. “How did you-“

“Are you kidding me? Mark is unable to shut up about you. And you forget to wear your hood more times than you do wear it.” The man said as he took off his sweater. “Follow me, I’ll show you to the fourth missing student. I assure you, I have no intention of resisting.” Well… This was easier than expected.

As he started to confess about how he started doing this, he led you to his basement. “Mr. Hiles, while I understand the loss of a child to suicide, a divorce, and the loss of a job ruined you until you hit rock bottom, avenging your son like this-“

“I’m not avenging the death of my son. That would be far too cliché.” Your eyes landed on the teen strapped to the table once he turned on the light, breath hitching as you saw the skin of his arms merging sloppily with the metallic torso the professor modified. “It’s the destruction of my life that has me seeking revenge.”

“The domino effect of pain and sorrow that these monsters create. Children who spend too much time at the mall, attend parties, consume alcohol, and play sports when they should be studying and doing homework.”

“I understand your ire, I’m not one for parties or drunks, but not all kids who do that stuff go to extremes, that’s a flawed logic- it does not give you the right to play god and do-“ You tried to placate him, keeping your tone soft and even, to try and make him see reason. “What I did to all of them, turning them into living bombs, an instrument with which to exact my revenge… my crusade to end the pain and sorrow by these- ‘popular’ kids… I feel no guilt for.”

“I can’t think of a more appropriate end to my crusade-” Mr. Hiles ripped open the shirt he was wearing, revealing the same mechanism the unconscious teen had. “-than the death of a superhero!” You quickly acted, not letting him talk more beyond that as the timer set to 50 seconds started trickling down while you grabbed him, breaking through his ceilings and roof and flying high in the air.

“Is this really how you want to die? Suicide bomb? You still can make this right- you don’t have to die like this just tell me how to deactivate it!“ Your eyes remained on the clock. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen. The man just chuckled a dry, humorless laugh. “Do it. There is nothing for me anymore.” Five, four, three.

You couldn’t tell if what you felt was sorrow or shame, but you knew you were defeated. The man was going to get one final death, but it won’t be yours. As your flight came to a stop well above the clouds, you threw the man higher in front of you as the clock struck one second, and as it hit zero, the bomb detonated, the range and heat of the explosion destroying any remains while pushing you back a bit.

Your eyes remained on the cloud of smoke it created. If the cops found him before you did, the bomb would have wiped out the neighbors, too. That’s what hero life was, what it is. Sacrifices left and right that only made you feel more at odds with this job than before.

As you went back to the house, you activated the com, putting it back into your ear. Cecil immediately informs you that the police are en route as well as his clean-up team. “Get an explosive ordnance disposal technician, too. There is a teen in the basement, the bomb doesn’t seem active yet, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. I’ll send a report of what happened soon.” You stayed until Cecil’s people showed up, just to be sure the boy was still breathing and that the bomb wouldn’t activate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Helping Brit and the other heroes clean up the rubble from the alien attack helped keep your mind off things. The Brit enjoyed talking about his kid and wife, yapping until he needed to take a breath and then starting again keeping a smile on your face.

You enjoyed helping clean up, especially when there were no casualties, today wasn't that type of day. But it had become the easy, relaxing part of the job, pick big rubble up, place it into the waste trucks, pick another piece up, make sure to not hit the man in the trench coat, put it in the waste- wait…

Your head snaps back to the man, squinting as your eyes meet. You each take a second to take each other in before your eyes widen in surprise. “Hello, luv. I’m-“ You couldn’t help your excitement as recognition finally settled into your brain. “I know you-“ Your words made John cringe and tense up. When others said that it never ended well for him. “You’re Johnny Con-Job, the lead singer for Mucous Membrane, dude, your band got me into the punk culture.”

That… wasn’t what he expected. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud of that or fight back the mental breakdown that was creeping up his spine. “You’re a bit young for that slop, no?” You just shrug. “Your songs got me to finally put myself first, to get the courage to sneak out, see other stuff beyond the walls of my first house, help others, and leave my neglectful family before they could seriously hurt me.” Her words worried him. John never took Bruce as the “lock his kids up” type, but the man was as paranoid as they came, he wouldn’t put that above him.

“It may be slop and shitty vocals, but it’s what I needed to hear.” You teased him while putting the rubble in the waste collector. He watched as you approached him with a soft smile and sparkling eyes. He could see what Death meant. “I need to talk to you. I’m not quite sure about what luv, but I think it’s about Batman-“ He didn’t get to finish, as soon as the name left his mouth, he was grabbed by the throat and lifted well above the clouds, way too close to the ozone layer. “Did he send you?” you hissed, giving his neck a warning squeeze.

Yup. He definitely saw what Death meant as your eyes glowed a Lazarus green. “Nno-“ He choked out. “Did Bruce Wayne send you?” her question was met with the same answer. Your grip softened, grabbing him by his coat instead of his neck as you brought him closer. “Then why are you here?”

“We need to talk in private…” He whispered as he realized the situation.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

This was a whole mess that John Constantine knew he should have stayed out of- he knew! From Bruce to the whole family basically ignoring the kid, not even telling her about the vigilantism, to the rogues taking her in and doing a better job of raising her to her running away and getting adopted by another hero- a hero that John knew wanted to conquer the world, the whole fucking race wanted to, the fucking demons had a problem with that and wouldn’t stop complaining to him like he can fix it- he takes a deep breath in. “Why are you telling me all of this?” He whined, rubbing his face as he sat on the edge of some skyscraper with you.

“I’m not hiding my past, I’ll happily snitch and tell a reporter that Bruce Wayne is a shit father, they all just assume I’m Nolan’s actual kid that was in the hospital for a deadly something or whatever.” You shrug. “Please don’t- not because I care about the bellend- I just don’t want to deal with… Huh. Now that I’m thinking about it, that may be great blackmail.” His words only made you snicker.

He didn’t know where to begin. Did she know about the Viltrumite? Was she in cahoots with him? Should he tell her any of that? Would she even believe his ass? Maybe he should get the JL involved...

The scruffy man shook his head. “Not why I’m here. You said your hero name is Sorceress? Great, so you know you have magic powers, that makes it easy-“ John took in your shocked expression. Of course, it wasn’t that easy, it never could be. “If this was another world, I’d call you crazy.” You told him simply. “But Midnight City is cursed, and I guess that makes sense… Is that why I can hear the shadows speak?”

John nodded before doing a double take, asking you to elaborate on the shadows speaking part.  “They just speak, whisper, giggle the whole thing. They can also emit what they feel. They’ve always been present, they’re not as strong here, but I think that’s because they’re more tied to Gotham and Midnight City… or just- where there is more darkness.”

“Well, you’re not far off there, love.” The man nodded in agreement as his eyes drifted to the dark dome around the cursed city. He knew where to start. “This is going to be a long explanation, you better strap in, hen, and let me finish before you ask questions.”

“You remember the painting and murals you made of gods and other entities, demons, angels, the whole sort, in Gotham and here? Yeah, they brought the attention to you from the entities you drew. Some of the moppets took them as a higher form of offering than others, a few of them decided to stick around you.”

“Those have also decided to- ‘bless’ you with a few gifts, I’m not sure of all of them, but I know specifically that Lady Gotham offered the shadows as a companion and protector, and I know that Death of the Endless has blessed you with… well, immortality.” There was no way of walking around that fact. “I don’t remember if any of these two also gave you your powers, I was quite sloshed, but someone did.” John looked at the kit, taking in her shocked expression before he nudged you a bit. “Come on, kid, say something. You got me all worried here.”

“It’s all just- a bit much.” You mumble. “Yeah, I get it. A lot for you to shoulder, but I’m sure you’ll power through- oh, thanks love… Wha- How-“ John’s eyes moved from the beer in his hands to the energy can you were looking at. You just shrug. "I wanted to know if I could, thought…” You narrow your eyes at the can in your hands. “I’m not sure if this is made out of thin air or just- teleported or something.”

Constantine just slowly looks back at his beer mug… She was taking this better than most. He hoped it was because the shock hadn’t worn off yet. Well, he’s had worse things in his mouth, he's sure, so with a shrug, he takes a sip, humming with delight at the taste, muttering something about this being real beer. “You’re here to help me, right? Like- with my powers… I- I think I need help with this whole worshipping gods and demons- entities- thing, too.”

He knew the easy way out would be to say no, to just leave, she had done just fine without him… But that isn’t what came out of his mouth. “Sure, poppet. Just keep on giving me this fine beer.” Given his track record with people and magic, he shouldn’t feel this accomplished at your happiness, but he was always quite selfish, so he returned your hug, even if he was a bit stiff.

“Now- usually the normal thing is to go from small stuff to big, teach the basics, but I’m not one for rules. Have you ever wanted to teleport via portals?” The big mischievous smile you gave him was all the answer he needed.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You came home at the same time as Nolan and Mark, everyone’s first stop after greeting Debbie was their bedrooms to refresh themselves before going back to the dining area. “I’m going to be honest, Nolan, the longer hair and full beard fit you better than the silly mustache. Right, mom?” You couldn’t help the teasing as the whole family ate. Debbie looked at Nolan with a scrutinizing eye, before sighing and giving an amused smile. “I’ll definitely miss the beard.”

Mark snorted at the teasing as Nolan pouted, brows furrowing. “It’s not silly- it’s a rite of passage into manhood by the Viltrumite culture-“ you couldn’t help but interrupt. “It’s still a silly-looking mustache. What does the Viltrumite rite of passage for women look like?”

Nolan’s momentary displeasure at the mustache comment was overlooked as the inquiry about the Viltrumite women was brought forth. “Huh… I’m not sure, I never really paid attention to that. I think some cut their hair.” A puff of air escaped you in amusement before deciding to tease him some more. “Well, you clearly weren’t planning for a daughter that’s sure.”

Debbie just took in the chatter. She enjoyed the easy atmosphere, the laughter of her kids. “So, how was everyone’s day?” She asks once the chatter stops. “Oh, I met the Teen Team and helped them with the Flaxan attack, dad got kidnapped by them while I was trying to gather up survivors, made friends with Atom Eve, and met an alien called Allen who apparently got the wrong planet.” Mark shrugged.

“I spent the last eight months enslaved by an army from an alternative dimension, although it seems much less time has passed here. About a week ago, I led a revolt against my captors and regained control of my powers. Today, a team of scientists from the rebellion found a way to get me home.” Nolan lied as easily as he breathed.

“One of Mark’s teachers was turning his classmates into organic bombs in order to take revenge on kids he felt were like the ones who led his son to commit suicide. He turned himself into a bomb also and tried to take me out with him but clearly, it didn’t work in his favor. Helped clean up after the Flaxan mess, and met the lead singer of Mucous Membrane who apparently is a mage. He was here on behalf of Death herself to help me and tell me that my powers aren’t because I’m a meta, they’re magic. Oh, and also, I’m allegedly immortal.” You took a sip of water. “Lex also wants to know if anyone would be interested in attending one of his rich folk parties.”

At the quietness of the room, you lifted your eyes from your plate to look at everyone’s shocked glance. “What?” you ask with a mouth full of food.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

That night, the teens wanted to sleep with their parents, both needing reassurance. Debbie and Mark were already gone, sleeping deep and peacefully. “Dad… You awake?” your question was whispered as your head lay on Deborah's shoulder. He answered with a warm hand squeezing your shoulder and a quiet hum. “...How do you move past people you can’t save or the people we have to sacrifice?”

Nolan wasn’t sure how to answer that, he’d never felt anything for the people he couldn’t save. He knew that if he had to save earth’s people or his kids and wife… Well… Earth can be populated again. “You look at the people who you did save. We can’t always save everyone, that’s the sad reality. It’s… painful. But it’s a truth all heroes have to come to terms with. Even I can’t save everyone.” Nolan wrapped his arms around his girls and son tighter, pulling everyone closer. “If all you could save was a person, you still did everything you could. If you couldn’t save anyone, you just have to keep your head high and try again.”

You snuggled closer into your mom, feeling her arm instinctively wrap around you as you draped yours over her and Nolan’s stomach, your fingers laying on Mark’s wrist. The sad reality of being a hero...

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou

I'M REALLY SORRY IF I FORGOT SOMEBODY- MY DOC SOMETIMES FORGETS TO SAVE AND I HAD TO READD PPL

[chalantzah]

IN A WORLD OF BOYS, HE'S A GENTLEMAN

hamzah x clueless reader oneshot

friends?lovers

| warnings include - slushynoobz humour, & fluff

‘ fancy restaraunt mukbang vlog’

“alright, intro time. everyone look good?” martin says, holding the camera up as he films you and hamzah, who is dressed in a navy blazer, with his ‘mama needs a blunt’ shirt peeking out from underneath, topped with none other than cargo pants to really tie the look together, you didn’t fight him on his decision, because to each their own.. but you dressed more appropriately to make up for his joke of an outfit. you wore knee-high boots, a slip dress, and a leather oversized bomber jacket with a print on it’s back.

martins outfit was also unserious- the bottom half included dress pants paired with fancy shoes, while the top half consisted of an emoji print zip-up hoodie, with his ‘find x’ shirt peeking through from underneath the jumper. you all stood next eachother, martin in your left, and hamzah on your right. he pulls you in close, arm around your shoulder, and smiles at the camera to do the intro.

a few minutes of walking pass, and martin dramatically informs the camera that we have finally made it to the restaurant.

“welcome to my crib.” hamzah teases to the camera, leaning on one of the grand pillars that stood close-by to the entrance of the restaurant. the restaurant itself looked like it was a castle worthy of royalty to own. the camera turns to you, letting out a laugh, at hamzah's pun, making him smile to himself.

“boi if all three of us put our money together we couldn't even buy the one of those pillars.” you gesture to the one he’s currently leaning on.

martin’s behind the camera, rolling his eyes at you and your jesting, then flips the camera so it faces him “incase you guys are new here, we aren’t picky eaters around here, so prepare to see some food you guys probably have never seen before because- well- rich people foods aren’t accessible to everyone, and every time you guys subscribe to us, we will plant a tree, because trees make paper, and paper makes money so you guys can be rich one day, just like us.” he rants, making movements with his hands, and giving a sympathetic facial expression to the camera, you and hamzah death stare him and stiffle your laughs- letting martin absorb his embarrassment.

“hey- my reservation was booked under my good friends name, khloe kardashian - is that anywhere in you system?” martin tells the receptionist.

i look at hamzah who’s already covering his mouth with his hand to cover a shocked laugh, pointing the camera to martin.

to both mine and hamzah’s surprise, the woman replies with “yes- table for three- for khloe kardashian...” handing martin the reciept that showed our booking number, booking name, and the table we were assigned.

“bro- why would you do that?” hamzah asks martin, still laughing.

“what? i told you- i read that they charge average people more than celebrities, you gotta do what you gotta do in this economy boi.”

“motherfucker they can tell you’re not khloe .” i emphasise, “yeah well i did say she’s my good friend, never stated that i was her.” martin sassed back, as our waitress walks us towards our table.

after ordering your meals, the camera faces all three of us, the order of seating going: martin, then hamzah, then you.

“you guys are probably wondering why mandy isn’t here, and that’s because she refused to leave the house until its spotless, so while we all eat good food, she’s setting a good example to all women, and cleaning” martin explains making unconvincing faces, and expressions during his explanation. which has me and hamzah nodding convincingly to play along with martins sarcastic, misogony-mocking joke.

the mukbang dinner ends up being a mix of gagging at how inedible some of overpriced dishes are- then seconds later moaning at how good the others were.

another thing that the dinner was full of, was hamzahs touch- he would constantly reach over to the tissue box halfway across your side of the table, when he had many clean napkins sat infront of him, he also enjoyed nudging you with either his shoulder, or knee, when he waiting for you to say your commentary about the food to the camera.

but it was all friendly.. right?

outside, the air is cool, the night dark but not too cold. the camera’s still rolling. martin’s talking to the camera about the “world’s most expensive mukbang in history,” but you’re not really paying attention anymore. your feet are screaming from the boots you chose to wear to fit the aesthetic of the video.

you try to keep up with the two friends, but the shoes are becoming unbearable to the point where it’s not cute and unnoticeable anymore.

hamzah senses your discomfort right away, of course. he turns around and raises an eyebrow.

“hey, you good?”

“yeah, just—” you wince and shift your weight from foot to foot, “these boots are brutal, wearing heels through a 30 minute walk, big big big mistake.”

he looks down at your heels, then at his own sneakers, and smirks. “alright, i got you.”

“what?” you start to protest, but he’s already crouching down, taking off his sneakers. “wait, you’re not serious.” you watch as he slips his feet out of the sneakers. “no you’re lying- you are not walking home barefoot bro.”

“dead serious. and no i’m not gonna be barefoot- give me the heels.”

“no way.” you laugh, but it’s already happening. he’s kneeling next to you and sliding the zip of your boots down, completely unfazed.

you step into his sneakers, feeling immediate relief. they’re way too big for you, but honestly? in this moment they’re the comfiest thing you’ve ever worn.

“how do i look?” he asks, slipping your knee-high boots with a 4” heel on like it’s no big deal. he stands up, wobbling a little but making it look… oddly natural. “dude how did your feet fit into that- theres so much toe space in your sneakers for me.” you ask with genuine wonder.

“oh trust me they do not fit, my toes are all getting compressed into one toe as we speak- but its kinda therapeutic.” he defends- unconvincingly as he coughs to cover his pain.

you throw your head back laughing. “cmon- this is torture to look at just give me-” and right as you begin to beg for your shoes back, hamzah makes a run towards martin who was atleast 20 meters ahead of us by now.

the way this man was running, you would think he just learned how to walk approximately 10 minutes ago.

martin’s behind the camera, trying not to laugh too loud. “this is gold, man- girls get yourself a man who would do this for you.” he flips the camera to show your feet in huge sneakers, alongside hamzah and his new heels. “boyfriend material- am i right?” martin nudges you and winks at the camera. “dude now they’re gonna speculate .” you roll your eyes at him “yeah but more clicks and views!” martin jokes and dances his tongue to the camera.

hamzah either didn’t mind the fact that they would get dating speculations- as he just stayed quiet, or he was too focused on the pain in his feet.

probably the second one though.. yeah?

hamzah then grins, obviously pleased with himself. “content for the people.” he winks.

NOTE i hope u enjoyed my first piece of actual writing, if you guys love this I may possibly turn this into a short series, but right now its just a one shot :)

thank you for reading.

taglist - @aalanahh0 @noturbabe22 @martiniibluee07 @mopslusher @ladylincoln @officialthrad @urfavblonde27 @infinitefireflies @notmeee3 @slicdfo0t @beybeys-world @shytrashpastadream-blog

if you joined my taglist and havent been tagged, please go and like the taglist post from your MAIN blog, or message me from it, as tumblr doesnt allow to tag sideblogs :)

[rwbyangst12]

I would like a fanfiction that combines the original premise of Oz with Dorothy being a young child (8-12 since it's her book ages and her movie age) and instead of 1900 it's like in the original book it's 1939 and Wicked. Dorothy is worried for aunty Em and Uncle Henri because not only is it the Great Depression and part of the farmhouse is here with her but she's worried because they're have been talks of a potential war (the movie came out in August 25th and the war started in September 1st) but she's worried that her Uncle Henri might be drafted and her aunt might go with them cause what if they think she's dead)

While walking down the Yellow Brick Road Scarecrow asks why Dorothy keeps saying they need to ration they're things? Asks why she's so worried about food? Why is she so insistent on not buying a new dress? You've already re sewn and cleaned those same clothes for the past month. Boq is made of metal and has no clothes, the lion is a lion and therefore does not need clothes, and I'm a scarecrow I can't take my clothes off.

Down the road he begins to realise that this child isn't as okay and innocent as she seems with all of her skipping and dancing with the way she looks out the corner of her eye behind her pigtails or re checks her basket Incase they dropped anything.

Imagine because of all the interruptions, being attacked, the road itself, and then the wizard being a fraud she takes longer to get home. Perhaps instead of two-three months in Oz she's there for two-three years. The shoes don't work and Dorothy believes she's just killed two women even though it wasn't her fault at the time(Elphaba is alive but she's still in hiding with Fiyero) and got kidnapped and locked in a basement and almost burnt alive. She thinks that now she's never going to make it home. But you have fresh food and clothes here do you really want to go back. She can't help but think to herself before snapping out of it reminding herself of Aunty Em and Uncle Henri.

Or if Dorothy does make it home her Aunt and Uncle somehow end up sending her back because not only has World War ii begun but now that America is a part of it and Kansas was essentially a training ground for USAAF bombers and fliers so when she's back in Oz she looks for Fiyero or Galinda and Explains what happened.

Fiyero didn't know a potential war was on the horizon in Dorothy's home world. If he had known would he have sent her back or would he have kept her in Oz even if it was against her will. He takes her to Elphaba and explains what happened and they managed to reach out to Glinda and help give her a proper education, she gets taller thanks to a proper diet, she's at least somewhat healthy thanks to available medicine and hygiene products in Oz. She's lived longer than she thought she would have in Kansas and a lot longer than she thought she would have here in Oz. A LOT longer.

Also potential Dorzma and realising that Oscar Diggs is a name of a guy that went missing a few decades ago that her parents and guardians talked about with their families because this guy with a hot air balloon disappeared in a storm and no trace of him can be found. Obvious propaganda against a coloured women and a selective group of people because I believe Aunty Em not Uncle Henri would've raised her that way. She still wants to meet the wizard in hopes of going home but she's still suspicious because of how she was raised in this au.

[clockwayswrites]

Danny is a minx and I am not responsible for him.

Okay, so, you all voted and I, um, failed? We didn't get to cuddling. There should be cuddling coming? Idk, darlings, this was my third start on this and Danny took over. I've got no say in this anymore. Canon-typical violence, crude language, cross dressing, discussions of prostitution

---

“You think you can fucking play us like that?!”

The shout carried easily through the crisp fall air. Red Hood sighed and changed direction away from his safe house and towards the noise.

“—fuck you up for that! Give us our fucking money back!”

“Fuck you,” snapped back a voice that Jason had come to recognize over the last several months. Right then the words dripped in fake, but damn convincing, heavy Crime Alley drawl, but Jason knew it all the same. “If yous don’t got it, don’t bet it. If yous don’t got game, don’t play it.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t think a little girl like you gets to say how this goes,” a third voice growled.

Hood clung to the edge of the roof just long enough to drop silently into the alleyway next to the dive bar. From the quick glance sent his way he was only noticed by the damn minx, so he leaned casually back against the grimy brick wall and unholstered his gun.

“Right? Yeah! Yeah, bitch! You don’t get to say how this goes!” the first voice shouted again. The guy’s shoulders were squared up as if he was some sort of threat in his overpriced, knock off bomber jacket and ill fitting jeans.

It almost made Jason want to sigh.

Actually, fuck it, Jason gave in and sighed loudly, knowing how it sounded through the modulation of his helmet. Bomber Jacket and his buddy, I Swear This is Real Italian Leather, spun around and then cowered so quick Jason swore they gave themselves whiplash.

“So,” Jason said with every ounce of disinterest he could put in his tone, “how does this go? Because right now, I’m thinking that it’s you two who are gonna be going before I put bullets between your eyes.”

“Right, um, yes Red Hood,” Bomber Jacket cowered and grabbed desperately at his friend’s pleather jacket to pull them out of there.

“And gentleman,” Jason said, making them freeze in their steps, “next time you lose your money to a pretty lady, you leave her the fuck alone about it.”

They nodded frantically as they backed the rest of the way out of alley and then took of running.

“I think you made one of ‘em piss himself,” the minx said, looking from the alley way to Jason with those striking aqua eyes.

Jason just shrugged and holstered his gun. “Probably.”

The short, tight skirt clung to the minx’s legs, pulling up enough with the sashaying steps that Jason had to wonder how everything stayed hidden. He kept still as fingers tipped in bright pink nails walked their way up his chest to the red bat. Aqua peered up from below thick, dark lashes. “And did I hear right? You think I’m a pretty lady?”

“Hair is nice like this,” Jason said brushing a gloved finger through the black strands that just brushed the edges of the chin. “But surprised your cock isn’t hanging out of that skirt with how short it is.”

Danny let out a started laugh, resting his forehead against Jason’s chest for a moment before he patted it and backed up to a more respectable distance.

“Duct tape and body shapers works miracles.” The fake Gotham accent was gone and replaced with the faint Midwestern drawl that Danny only seemed to let out around Red Hood. “And don’t make that face, the duct tape is outside of the panties.”

“You can’t see my face,” Jason pointed out, a bit grumpily because he had been grimacing at the thought.

“I was still right though,” Danny said with a smug little smiling pulling on his cherry red lips. It was a good color on him. He leaned back against the wall and spread his legs in a way that Jason couldn’t help but follow with this gaze. “Everything is fine down there, Boss, just a little squished. Offer’s still on the table if you want to check out the good. No charge for my darlin’ knight.”

Jason snorted at the continued offer from Danny; it was practically as good as ‘bye’ between them at this point since Danny seemed to offer it every time. “I’m not going to be one of your Johns, Danny.”

“Told you no charge. Could just be two people who like sex,” he offered with a little shrug, but pushed himself off the wall to leave. No, Danny pushed himself up off the wall with a wince.

Jason was at his side in an instant. “One of those fuckers get you?”

“No, so no hunting them down,” Danny said. His voice was confident, but the way he actually leaned on Jason’s offered arm was worrying. “Just a bad John— ex John. That’s why I’m sharking pool instead of working the corner.”

As if Danny had to work an actual corner anymore. He appealed to a very specific type of client that could pay to have something pretty and convincing on their arm and still get what they wanted between the legs and in the sheets.

“You taking anything for it?” Jason asked.

Danny just shrugged. “Nah, Boss, nothing over the counter works on me really.”

“Clinic?”

Danny snorted. “As if. They can test for STDs and that’s about as much as I want a clinic near me.”

Jason resisted the urge to cuss at Danny. He got it. After all, he only trusted Leslie or Alfred really— or a family member in a pinch.

Maybe he could just bluster Danny into getting some help. “Right, come on.”

“What?” Danny asked, digging his heels (and fuck those were some heels) into the ground.

Not willing to put with that right then, Jason just swung his arm under Danny’s legs and scooped him up like he was nothing. Fuck the Johns really had to be able to throw Danny around if they wanted that sort of thing.

“Boss, Hood, what the fuck?!” Danny hissed.

“Safe fucking house is what the fuck so I can check you over.”

“Boss, if you wanted in the skirt—”

“Danny, shut the fuck up and let me make sure you’re alright, alright?” Jason asked, looking down at him.

Danny stared back with a frown. Then his sighed, like it was the biggest concession in the world to make. Finally he rested his head against Jason’s chest. “Fine, Boss, whatever you say.”

“Thank you,” Jason said, more gently than he meant to.

-

Jason had to suck in several careful breaths as he took in the wound splashed across Danny’s ribs. “No fucking John did that to you and if they did—” if they took some sort of hot poker to Danny’s side— “I’ll kill them if they did.”

[thatdisasterauthor]

Wildland Firefighters Deserve Fun Children's Museum Exhibits Too!

Why do the structure crews get to have all the fun, huh? Go to just about any children's museum and you're likely to find a little fire station or a fire truck, probably with some fun but flimsy costumes, maybe a fake fire hose to haul around or a toy axe. There's probably a mural on the wall of a cartoon burning building, complete with dalmatian. And kids love it! So many kids fall in love with the idea of being a firefighter at those exhibits.

But not once have I seen or heard of a similar exhibit for wildland firefighters. Possibly this is because most people don't realize that wildland firefighters and structure firefighters are not the same thing. Which is all the more reason to have an exhibit about it for kids, honestly! Let's start the learning young about what wildland fire is, how to stay safe from it, and what wildland firefighters do via an interactive, playful exhibit!

Since I work as a wildland fire dispatcher and study disasters, and I've designed museum exhibits before at other jobs, I figured this was an "I'll just do it myself" sort of scenario. And thus, my little wildland exhibit was born!

The idea behind this exhibit is to create a simple, semi self-directed play area for ages ~4-8 themed around a wildland fire scenario of protecting a small cabin from an approaching wildfire. It would have three main play areas: the Velcro Forest, The Cabin, and the Firetruck Climber, and there would be simple signage sharing facts about what wildland firefighters do and how they are different from structure firefighters.

The murals throughout the exhibit would be detailed, showing the diverse terrain wildland crews can work in, and also some of the support they get from aircraft like helicopters and slurry bombers.

Play Area 1: Firetruck Climber

The firetruck climber would be modeled after a Type 4 wildland engine, simplified into a kid friendly structure. It would have working lights that are non-flashing and low light for sensory safety, and the lights could be turned on and off from within the cab. Inside the cab is a dashboard with a toy radio, moving wheel, and two seats. Along the side of the truck is an interactive panel of pump controls, and a series of cubbies to store the play gear in the exhibit just like real wildland firefighters store their gear in their trucks.

The play gear would include costume yellow shirts, green pants, and boots just like what wildland firefighters wear, with an explainer that they wear very different gear than structural firefighters and don't use any portable breathing systems. Other gear would include toy Pulaskis (the wildland specific type of axe), toy hoes and rakes, and toy chainsaws.

Play Area 2: The Velcro Forest

One of the main techniques for fighting a wildfire is removing the fuel it needs to burn, and that's what the velcro forest is all about. It is on the side of the exhibit closest to the fire (but the fire is not moving directly at it! You never work in front of a fire!). The trees are plastic covered foam blocks held together with velcro so they can easily be knocked down and then "cut" apart with the toy chainsaws. There are also moveable foam bushes on the ground.

The ground mural would include a strip of brown where anything on the forest floor had been scraped away to dirt, to represent the technique of cutting line.

Simple signage would explain the concept of removing fuel and cutting line to help stop the movement of dangerous fires.

Play Area 3: The Cabin

The third play area is the cabin you are trying to protect from the oncoming fire. This area would primarily be focused around the concept of defensible space and how a home can be protected by clearing away landscaping and removing burnable items from areas such as porches.

Gift Shop

To carry the learning outside the exhibit itself, I'd love to the gift shop carry things like children's books about wildfire (though there aren't a ton to choose from, sadly), toy wildland firetrucks, wildland fire kids costumes, things in that vein.

--

So yes! Wildland firefighter based children's exhibit! I think it would be great fun, and serve as a good way to introduce children (and their parents) to the knowledge that wildland firefighters are very different than structure firefighters. Will this sort of exhibit ever actually exist? Who knows! But I sure think it should.

Subscribe on Patreon here.

[chocsra]

imagining your first meeting with young! toji, where he just had escaped the zenin clan and was searching for means of a job. leaving home to others could be sad or relieving—as it is a sign of independence. a sign of toji's independence left scars down his back, arms and unique one that ran down the side of his lip. conscious of the way his own blood treated him, toji wore masks to conceal the lower half of his face during work.

that's when you, a young university student, were walking through crowded streets. way too occupied on securing your morning coffee, especially since you received a gift card from a friend recently, bumped into a tall, masked man, carrying at least eight pizza boxes.

"oh— i'm sorry!—" you stammer, head cocking back to peer up at the taller man, before registering that at least five of those pizza boxes were falling straight into the asphalt—like right now.

like some sort of strange freak accident, you attempt to catch a few, but only make contact with one of the boxes as it flings off your head. heaving in a ragged breath, you finally meet the man's gaze as he looks at you in pure disbelief.

and in the haze off the moment, he must've taken his mask off, because from the look he's giving you and the scar right on the side of his lip, you thought he was definitely going to fuck you up.

ivory skin, short strands of raven hair and untamed bangs poking his nose bridge filled your vision. along with a strong scent of musk and unwiped ass. "okay.." a raspy mutter leaves his throat, expressing the first words ever from this foresaken stranger you just met. "one.. two.."

you shuffled on the ground to pick up the fallen boxes and a few pizzas spilling out in slight fear of your life. why was he counting? were you going to be blacklisted for life?

"okay, let's just think about how much money this all is for compensation."

and from the awkward glances from strangers on the street and a few children you could swear yelling, —"mommy, look! an idiot!" you finally felt a sense of slight reassurance and comfort as he bends over to pick up the rest of the pizza boxes on the ground.

"zenin toji," the ravenhead mutters, brown eyes gazing to yours every chance you were looking away. "just call me toji, though." in the heat of the moment, your eyes ran from his beaten up sneakers, to even more roughed up jeans, to his black bomber jacket, matching the messy locks of his hair. intaking that the scary potential gangster guy you just harrassed was kind of cute, though definitely needing to take better care of himself. and in the awkward heat of the moment, your hands brushed with his bigger ones whilst picking up a stray pizza.

and instead of enjoying some free coffee, you spent the rest of your morning deciding the amount of money the two of you should split on the compensation of this stupid disaster. the good thing? you got his number, but thats just a silly thought lingering in the back of your head. toji was way too stingy for someone confident enough to carry twelve pizza boxes in a crowded city.

"you were the one who bumped into me.. so you should pay at least 70% of it. seriously? m'not doing this shit today, let's meet up again tomorrow and decide, same place."

✧ chocsra™

inspired by this post. @fushitoru

[mactavishsgfandwife]

Possessive/Dominant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley Headcanons 🎀

i don’t know if possessive/dom is the right word but idk 😋 he’s just big and scary and loves his favourite girl sexual references so mdni!

ghost who secretly loves those cute little girly dresses you wear - him in the black polo shirt that hugs around his thick biceps and you in that mini skirt. he loves how sweet you look, seeming so innocent and vulnerable as if you just need a man like him to protect you and save you from those bad men who wouldn’t treat you right. it doesn’t matter that he’s a bad man as well, that doesn’t count. and he thinks you look so pretty with that skirt around you ankles, too. ;)

ghost who will always have a hand on you in public - he needs people to know that you belong to him, that you’re his sweet favourite girl and he’s your guy

ghost who, on a similar note, bought you both matching rings - so that even though you’re not married, and he is away on a mission, you’re still together. he’ll send you photos of him wearing his ring while he’s at work, in the same style photo as this

ghost who idk but this is so him

ghost who is so protective over his little girl… a man comes up to you in a bar and starts flirting, not making much effort to hide his long glances at your body. just as he tries to grope at you, a sleazy smile on his face, a dark shadow swoops over him - a man, more like a giant, with a firm, muscular hand gripping tightly around your waist. military boots, long black cargo pants that can’t quite hide his meaty things (and that bulge between them) with a black bomber jacket draped over one of his broad shoulders. dog tags dangling from around his neck and a full sleeve of tattoos, including numerous black-eyes skulls that started out from his rough skin. this guy was terrifying. safe to say, that creepy guy left you alone.

ghost who has a dedicated album of photos of you on his phone - mostly, he just uses them to look at when he misses you or when he’s bragging to the others about his pretty little bird, but sometimes he likes to use them for other purposes. god, seeing your sweet little face, happy and smiling at the camera… you’re such a good girl for him…

ghost who’s definitely the kind of guy to fantasise about protecting you from danger

just a quick silly one, thanks for reading! xx (I think my love of big protective sexy scary older men shows through way too much here this is very self-indulgent lmao)

[bybobbysbeard]

Arrivals

Day 8 for @bucktommyfluffebruary: surprise read on ao3 read other days here

Buck smells like an airport. He couldn’t accurately describe what that smell entails, but he knows he stinks of it. He’s exhausted, his feet hurt, and his bad leg is swollen from the pressure changes. He wants to take his sneakers off, drink a massive glass of icy-cold water, and fall into bed; in that order. 

But no matter how crappy he feels, he won’t let a single word of complaint pass his lips. Any discomfort he’s experiencing has to be dwarfed by what Maddie’s going through. She just did the same amount of traveling as him, and she's six months pregnant. Thank God they were only in Pennsylvania for the weekend. His Mom’s retirement party went well, Buck didn’t make a fool of himself, and Maddie was glowing. But being with his parents was as exhausting as ever. 

And that’s not including the fact that they still have no idea how to deal with Buck dating a man. 

They have never cared about anyone he’s dated before, as long as he wasn’t embarrassing them or getting a girl pregnant. And then they saw him with Tommy at Maddie’s wedding. They didn’t say anything, but Buck could feel his Mom’s eyes on him the whole time. Even as he escorted a half-asleep Tommy to his Jeep, they only waved half-heartedly. He assumed they had decided it was a phase, and didn’t need to introduce themselves. 

When he told them on Friday that Tommy was on special deployment, or he would have brought him along, his mom stuttered over three different sentence starts. She finally ended up with, “I didn’t realize you were still with him.”

Before Buck could think better of it, he said, “Technically, I’m with him again.” That had kicked off a barebones explanation of their break-up and reconciliation, which his parents had not reacted well to. 

The rest of the weekend continued in the same tone.  

The pointed, leading questions, which he pretended to misunderstand. The insinuations that he didn’t know his own mind, which he ignored. The blatant aspersions against Tommy, blaming him for confusing Evan and leading him on. Those he addressed immediately, and at one point, it would have devolved into a shouting match, if not for Maddie. 

Suffice to say, he’s happy to be back in Los Angeles, even if he still has an hour long Uber ride ahead of him. Normally, he knows his family would be tripping over themselves to pick them up from the airport, but Chimney is home with a still-sick-but-recovering Jee, and the rest of the 118 is on shift. Most disappointingly, Tommy’s still fighting the wildfires up north, piloting water bombers for another week and a half.

Buck will be going home to an empty loft. 

The baggage carousel comes into view, so Buck parks Maddie by a nearby column and goes to wait for their bags. She’s digging her cell out as he turns away. He checks his own phone, finds ‘welcome home’ messages from the group chat, but nothing from Tommy. He’s probably in the air. Or sleeping. Eventually, a familiar navy bag and maroon suitcase come into view. His duffle gets slung over a shoulder and he leads Maddie’s wheeling suitcase over. They head towards Arrivals without any words exchanged. Maddie’s walking slowly, obviously tired, breath puffing out of her mouth as she rests one hand low on her belly. Buck wraps an arm around her shoulders and she leans into him. 

“I wish Chimney and Jee could have come with us. He’s so good with Mom and Dad, and Jee is so distracting.” She sighs. “I’m sorry again. About what they were saying. I wish they would just be happy for you.”

“It’s alright Mads, I wasn’t about to let you fly to Hershey all alone. I can deal with them for a weekend.”

She lapses into silence again. They turn another corner and step onto an escalator, finally descending to ground level. The Arrivals area is a wider section of the terminal, an open space, right by the main exit. Floor to ceiling windows let in the setting sun. There’s people all around, reunions between travelers and their families happening in a hundred different languages, a hundred different cultures. Buck steers them through the crowd, hearing the laughter and tears in the voices surrounding them. There’s a line of people by the doors, holding signs. Sunbeams edge everyone in gold.

One of the signs says “Buckley.”

Wait, what? His eyes jerk from the sign to the man holding it. 

Holy shit. It’s Tommy. How?!

Buck stops dead. Their eyes meet. He knows his mouth is hanging open. Tommy’s smiling widely, almost laughing at the dumbfounded expression that Buck knows he’s sporting. His face crinkles adorably with the force of his joy. His eyes are sparkling. 

The arm Buck has around Maddie’s shoulder jerks her to a stop too. People continue to stream around them. She darts a look at his face, bursting into laughter and following his gaze to Tommy. She waves, still giggling. Tommy’s already striding over, eating up the distance between them until he's close enough to touch.

Two big hands settle on his cheeks, pinkies applying the smallest pressure to his jaw. His teeth clack together when he finally remembers to shut his mouth. A chaste, gentle kiss is pressed to his lips.

“Hi baby. Welcome home.”

Stupidly, all Buck can think to say is, “you’re supposed to be in Oregon.”

Tommy chuckles. “I was, but the Canadians showed up early, so they sent us home.” His hands drop down to wrap around Buck’s. Their fingers intertwine without Buck’s input. “Surprised?”

Buck nods. He recognizes he’s staring, like Tommy is a hallucination that might disappear at any second, but it's been nearly three weeks since he’s seen his boyfriend. He’s just had a shitty weekend in his hometown, playing the part of a dutiful son to strangers, while worrying about his sister and his unborn nibling, and dealing with the casual disregard he’s come to expect from his parents. Only this time, there was a nice heaping tablespoon of biphobia sprinkled on top. He needs a minute.

Maddie lays a hand on both of their elbows. “Good timing Tommy, I was worried we were going to beat you to the exit.”

Buck whips his head around to stare at her. “You knew!”

She giggles again. He spins back to Tommy. He’s flushed from laughter, radiant in the early evening light. Buck’s gaze darts over his face. His blue eyes, his crow’s feet, his perfect teeth. The cleft. He’s beautiful, and he’s here for Buck. 

It feels like his brain finally comes back online. Tommy’s here. For Buck.

Buck lunges forward, driving a little oomph out of Tommy and wrapping his arms around him tightly. He squeezes and lifts, hoisting Tommy a few inches into the air, making him flail and squeak out an undignified noise. Maddie snorts, bending at the waist, helpless with mirth. Tommy’s hands land on his shoulders, fingertips digging into the muscle, little spots of warm pressure. 

“Evan! Put me down, oh my God. I missed you too!”

[op1umeyes]

— Morning Smoke

💜 — Synopsis. You knew you had a thing for the one person who had a clear distaste towards you. But maybe having a wet dream about him- while sleeping in the same room as him- was probably a good thing.

💜 — Warnings. Rushed writing. Unedited. Dry humping. Clothed grinding. Reader and Spencer smoke cigarettes.

One year, eleven months, and six days. Thats how long you’d been working for the BAU catching serial killers, bombers, and rapists by observing every detail if their crime. You’re a valuable asset to the team, your brain working on the same page as the rest of the team with just a different design. 

During your time at the BAU, you recieved many titles. Caffeine fiend(Aaron), best friend(Penny), mama (Derek), and idiot- affectionately- (Emily). The only person that hadn’t called you anything other than your first or last name, or agent was Spencer Reid.

There was a barrier between the two of you- unspoken, of course, but there was just some kind of wall seperating you from him. You didn’t blame Spencer for keeping you at at arm’s length: you were just some new agent who would eventually transfer. Admittedly, it hurt when Spencer politely uninvited himself from the activities you went along with. And it felt like a gut punch when Spencer chose the farthest seat from you on the jet and chose to move away from you while giving profiles to the police. But you figured he had his reasons.

“Y/n,” Emily murmured, nudging your arm. You looked up, bleary eyes focussing on the dark haired woman in front of you. You blinked.

“What’s- hey!” You cried out indignantly as Emily snatched the cold cup if coffee you had started to reach for. “Emily.”

“It’s time to go back to the hotel. Hotch’s orders,” the dark haired woman said, nodding to the team behind you.

You nodded. “Okay.” You stood up and hastily tucked papers into the manilla folder you were working on. “I’m ready.”

“Put those files down, y/n,” Hotch commanded, raising a tired eyebrow in your direction. “If I’m tired, you have to be a dead woman walking.”

You put the file down and pulled your coat on without protest. You’d only actually seen Hotch exhausted a handful of times. And Hotch was right: you did feel like you were about to fall over. Maybe having an iron deficiency and drinking coffee off an empty stomach wasn’t a very pleasant experience…

The ride to the hotel was over in a blink of an eye- a really ling blink apparently. You hadn’t even known you had reached the hotel until the inevitable and only boy genius Spencer Reid shook your shoulder gently to wake you up. Truly, you thought you were dreaming when you opened your eyes and Spencer’s face surrounded by a mat of curly hair greated you. His furrowd eyebrows relaxed when you looked around.

“Let’s go, l/n. You’re rooming with me,” Spencer told you after locking the car.

If you were in the right state of mind, you probably would have bent over giggling from the way Spencer put his arm around you as he led you into the building. But you weren’t so you just rested your head in the juncture if his shoulder and neck. He smelled good for someone who’d been awake for God knows how long. If you concentrated you thought you could feel the heat of his palm around you, moving in teeny tiny circles.

By the time you reached the bedroom you were practically unconscious in Spencer’s arms, yours and his go-bag around Spencer’s other arm. Spencer gently set you down on the bed closest to the door and put your go-bag in the bed beside you. “You should probably get changed, but I know how tired you are. I’ll shower tonight so you can shower tomorrow,” he explained, brushing a baby hair out of your line of sight. “Goodnight.”

“G’night, Spence,” you mumbled, eyes caught in the way Spencer’s lips moved and twitched. He was an expressive man when he was tired, and you caught the rare smile that graced his lips.

You hoped you would remember the blush on his cheekbones that matched the color of his lips when you woke up the next morning.

Birds chirped. The bright sun shone through the blinds of your home, patterning your room with strips of orangey-yellow. You turned over and saw him.

“Hey, you,” Spencer greeted. His hand came to rest gently on your cheek and pull you up to his pink lips. Your leg fluidly moved to straddle Spencer’s right leg.

Breathlessly you muttered a “good morning” before your hand tangled in Spencer’s curly hair, tugging his head down to meet your desperate kisses.

Spencer moved his thigh up to rub harshly on your core. You gasped sharply and ground down to meet Spencer’s thigh. “Oh fuck,” you whispered, watching Spencer’s back arch as you palmed the massive tent in his pants.

A strangled cry left your lips when Spencer’s massive hands fell onto your hips and controlled your movements. “That’s my girl,” Spencer growled, your hands feeling up Spencer’s chest and tracing the curves and lines of his neck. As your orgasm approached, your hands grasped Spencer’s face and harshly pulled him into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you murmured, eyes fluttering closed.

“Y/n,” Spencer murmured, voice low.

“Fuck,” you cursed. “Jus’ like that,” you slurred.

“Y/n,” Spencer repeated, one hand sliding up to your shoulder.

Your jaw clenched and your hips jerked violently.

“Y/n.”

You shot up in bed, sweat soaking your forhead and hair. You looked around wildly, chest heaving. 

In front of you sat Spencer Walter Reid, eyes beady with sleep. “Are you okay? You sounded like you were having a nightmare-?”

“Fuck, fuck,” you whispered, running a hand through your hair. “I’m- yeah I’m alright. I just-“ you exhaled. “Go back to bed, Reid, I’m alright.”

“A-Are you sure?”

You wanted to groan. The ruins of a spoiled orgasm simmered away in your blood. “Yes. I just- Yeah it was a nightmare. I’m gonna- go get ready.”

“L/n, it is 4 o’clock in the morning.”

You thanked the dark lighting for concealing the dark patch of your pants due to your arousal. “It’s- Please go back to bed.”

“Talk to me,” Spencer pleaded, grabbing your hand.

“It��s nothing, Reid. There’s nothing to talk about. Go to bed.”

“It’s a proven fact that people who discuss their nightmares with someone increase their happiness and healing process by more than 50%,” Spencer rushed.

“Reid it’s embarrassing. I can’t-“ you shook your head. “I’ll- please, Reid.”

The moonlight glinted in his eyes as he searched you for answers he knew you wouldn’t give him. “Are you- y/n. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Your jaw tightened and you looked away. Your thighs burned- you must have been humping the blanket between your thighs. “Reid, you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

You threw your hands up. “I know you don’t like me, Reid. It’s kind of obvious, so I’m just saying that you don’t need to have a therapy session because we’re rooming together.”

Spencer genuinely looked offended. “I don’t hate you,” he murmured. “I never have.”

You scoffed and stood up, dream completely forgotten. “Could have fooled me, Reid. Go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You left Spencer on your bed, bringing your go-bag to the tiny bathroom.

— 💜

After scrubbing you skin raw you finally exited the shower and pulled your hair into a braided updo before pulling on some clean clothes.

The sky was still dark when you exited the hotel, cigarette box in hand.

You sat in the ground, smart enough to know not to willingly wander too far outside of the vicinity of the rest of the team while at an unfamiliar location. “Goddamnit,” you murmured, lighting up a cigarette and watching the sun start to stain the concrete.

Visions of dead bodies filled your mind. Empty coffee cups getting tossed into a trash can, bloodstained hands as you ushered a victim away from the unsub, the ringing in your ears after an SUV blew up near you. When you joined the BAU you hadn’t known that every day you looked into the eyes of those possessed by evil, you would lose a part of your soul trying to save each and every person you saw.

But the team had it’s pros. A group of people you mostly called family, good pay, paid sick leave, mostly free flights, a badass title, and introduction to some very fine specimens (read: Spencer Walter Reid).

Speaking of Spencer, you were thinking of the conversation you both had. ‘I don’t hate you. I never have’. You snorted and lit another cigarette, holding the smoke in your lungs until familiar white spots danced in your vision.

“Y/n.”

You looked up. Spencer stood near you, hands fidgeting. You could see his eyes avoiding yours and suddenly you felt like laughing. After all of this time thinking one of the hottest people you’d ever met hated you, he was standing- nervous- in front of you. “Yeah?”

Spencer sat beside you. “Didn’t know you smoked,” he tried, looking towards the rising sun.

“You refused to make comversation with me for about a month when I started,” you said lowly. When Spencer sighed beside you, you added “I don’t normally. Just when… things happen.”

Spencer nodded. “Oh.”

Silence fell over the two of you as you exhaled. You offered the cigarette to Spencer, raising an eyebrow when he accepted.

“I want to talk to you,” Soencer said finally, snuffing out the cigarette.

You lit another one. “So talk.”

“Well, I… I’m sorry.”

When Spencer didn’t say anything for another few seconds, you turned to him. “Is that all?”

Spencer dropped his head into his hands. “Look, I knew I was keeping you at arm’s length. I thought… I thought keeping you away would make sure that I didn’t…” Spencer sighed.

“Reid, I need tou to really spell it out for me. I can’t keep dancing around your riddles,” you said, facing the sun.

“I love you, y/n. I thought that if I didn’t talk to you, let these feelings grow… Maybe I could harbor my attraction to you.” 

You felt your heart skip in your chest.  “You didn’t consider telling me this? What if I felt the same?”

Spencer looked at you, a confused look in his eyes. “You didn’t like me like that and I couldn’t force you to love me too. You’re way too good for me anyway.”

“I do,” you reply, nodding. “And I’m not too good for you, Spencer. If anything, you should find better than me.”

Prolonged eye contact and silence fell over the both of you.

“Ask me now, Spencer. Make up for lost time.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Spencer lips at your request. “Do you like me like I like you, y/n?”

You nodded, mirroring Spencer’s smile. “I do like you the way you like me, Spencer.”

“Does that mean I can kiss you?” Spencer asked immediately, eyes dropping to your lips.

You closed the distance between the two of you, hand sliding up the nape of Spencer’s neck to tangle in his curls. Spencer’s lips were skilled, leaving you wanting more as he pulled away.

“So, about that dream I had earlier,” you started.

A sly smirk replaced the smile on Spencer’s face. “I knew what you were dreaming about, I just couldn’t stand listen to you knowing how weird it would be for me to face you at work the next morning.”

You felt your face warm up at Spencer’s words. “Oh. Well. Sorry for waking you up, then.”

Spencer just shrugged. “I’m not- you sound very nice. I guess I will admit the fact that I told you about talking about your dreams was completely false. I just wanted to pry.”

You shook your head with laughter, the sun peeking up even further in the sky.

[arc-misadventures]

The Blond Stepson

Blake: Hey, Jaune.

Yang: Sup vomit boy!

Jaune: Hey, Blake what's up?

Blake: So... we have a question.

Jaune: Oh, what is it?

Yang: We've met, Weiss's family. Her sister, and her mother. But, then you went up to her mother, and said, 'hi mom,'

Jaune: Yeah, so?

Blake: You have blond hair, and deep blue eyes, Weiss, her sister, and her mother have snow white silver hair, and ice blue eyes. How is she your mom; Shouldn't you have any matching visible traits, how are is she your mom?

Jaune: Oh that, yeah I can understand why you'd be so confused. Yeah, no, Willow, that's, Weiss's mom name. Yeah, she not my birth mom, she's my stepmom.

BY: Stepmom?!

Jaune: Yep, Willow Schnee is my stepmom.

Blake: Does that mean, Weiss is your stepsister?

Jaune: Yep, she's my younger stepsister.

Yang: Oh, I guess we never realized you were siblings because you don't share the last name?

Jaune: Well, technically speaking when my dad married my stepmom, we took the, Schnee family name as our own. My full name is, Luna Jaune Arc-Schnee. But, after my dad died a few years after marrying into the, Schnee, I decided to go by the last name, Arc to honour his legacy. That, and because of my appearance most people wouldn't believe I was a, Schnee just as you guys pointed out.

Blake: Oh that makes sense.

Yang: Wait, your first name is, Luna?! Hahaha! Why do you have such a girly name?!

Jaune: Several reasons. The origin behind my first name revolves around some clever name trick involving my last name, Arc. An arc is part of a curve, an arc has a crescent in part of it. Legends say that there was once a thing called a crescent moon before it became the, Shattered Moon we all see in the nights sky today. And, lastly another name for the moon is, Luna.

Blake: Ohhh~! An etymology lesson~!

Yang: Cool story bro, but it's still a girly name.

Jaune: True, it is a girly name, and it was going to be the name of my younger sister.

Blake: W-Was...?

Yang: What do you mean by that?!

Jaune: Miscarriage.

Blake: M-M-Miscarriage?!

Yang: O-Oh... I'm sorry to hear that... I'm sorry I made fun of you, Jaune... Uhh... Luna...?

Jaune: It's alright, you didn't know, and I've long since come to terms with what happened. And, please just call me, Jaune. Only, Weiss calls me, Luna. But, only when she's angry at me...

Blake: But, isn't, Weiss always angry at you?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Only, when she is really, really angry with me...

Yang: Hehehe~!

Blake: That's a shame, Luna is a nice name for you.

Jaune: Thank you, Blake.

Yang: But, how did your dad marry, Willow Schnee? Isn't she married to that, Jacques Schnee guy?

Jaune: Blake?

Blake: ...

Yang: Did you kill him, Blake?!

Blake: What, no! The White Fang killed him!

Yang: Oh...!

Jaune: Yep, members in the, White Fang killed him via a suicide bomber. Mom was soooo distraught with his death. But, good thing that he died, Jacques may have been making money, his antics were causing all hell to everyone.

Blake: Yeah, things we're really hard on us faunas. But, after his death a lot of reforms we're made, and things got better.

Jaune: Yep, and while those reforms were happening, Willow met my dad, and they eventually got together, and I got my a new mom, a older, and younger sister.

Blake: Okay so, Willow Schnee is now your, Stepmom, and that is your stepmom.

Jaune: Yep that's Willow Arc-Schnee my lovely stepmom.

Blake: Oh, so all of you are called, Arc-Schnee?

Jaune: Yep.

Yang: So, that means your older sister, Winter. Full name is, Winter Arc-Schnee?

Jaune: Yep, that's my sister right there!

Blake: And, lastly, Weiss Arc-Schnee is your little sister.

Jaune: Yep, Weiss is my little sister.

Blake: So, what's it like have a family like them?

Jaune: What do you mean?

Blake: You've been a family since you've been what...?

Jaune: Five. I was five years old when my dad married into the, Schnee family.

Blake: So, what has it been like to be a part of the, Arc-Schnee family for thirteen years?

Jaune: Oh, well having a mom like, Willow is...

~~~

Jaune: M-M-Mom?!

Willow: Yes dear~?

Jaune: I c-can bathe by myself, I don't need your help!

Willow: Oh~? But, can't your mother bathe with her precious little boy like she did in the past~?

Jaune: M-M-Mom?! I'm not a child anymore, and the last time we bathed together you weren't naked?!

Willow: Oh, but I don't have any swimsuits anymore, and I don't want to get water on any of my clothes. Besides...

"Boing~!"

Jaune: EEP?!

Willow: I can't do this to you~!

Jaune: M-M-Mom?!

Willow : Willow~! I told you to call me, Willow, Deary~!

Jaune: W-Willow?! Y-Your chest i-i-is... Oh no?!

Willow: Oh no? Ohh~! My my my~! It's so big~! Don't worry, Jaune, i'll take care of it~!

Jaune: Ahh, Willow?!

Willow: Oh my~! It's so hot, and long~! Why, it's even poking out from between my breasts~! Which means I could even~?

"Chu~!"

Jaune: Ahh-ha-haa?!

Willow: Mmmm~! My, don't you taste delicious~!

Jaune: W-Willow?!

Willow: Now come on deary~! Mommy, wants you to give her another taste from the tap~!

Jaune: Oh gods... T-They're so warm...

Willow: Yes~! That's it, Jaune~! Give, Mommy her facial cream~!

~~~

Jaune: I think, Willow always wanted a son, so she accepted me on as her son with no hesitation. And, I liked that she did that. It was really nice to have a mom again.

Yang: Yeah, I know how it feels to live without a mom...

Blake: Did your sisters also accept you into the family?

Jaune: Uhh well... I'm never sure about, Weiss. Winter on the other hand.

~~~

Winter: Ahh~! Fuck!

Jaune: Ahh!

Winter: Come on, Jaune~! You're not giving up now are you?

Jaune: Not in the slightest! But, damn, Big Sis! You're really going at it! What kind of bastard did you have to deal with today?

Winter: Ahh fuck~! I had to deal with a bunch of stuck up assholes with, General Ironwood! Fuckers pinched my ass!

Jaune: What?! This is my ass! Only I'm allowed to pinch it!

Winter: Ohhhhh fuuuck~! Pinch my fat ass! Remind me who it belongs to!

Jaune: We've had angry sex before! But, damn you're furious! What else happened?

Winter: So deep~! I had to... Ahh~! I had to deal with... Ohh~! I had to deal with some pompous fucker trying to force a marriage with me! Again! Thinking that I'd marry that fat boar, when I have a real man taking care of me right here!

Jaune: Ahh~! You're so fucking hot, Big Sis~!

Winter: Don't I know it~! Now come on, Jaune~! Dump a fat load into me, remind me why you'll become my future husband~!

Jaune: As you wish, Big Sis~!

Winter: Come on! Come on! Come on! Fill me up! Fill me up! Fill me...?!

Jaune: HERK!

Winter: UuuuuuuuUP~!

Jaune: Ahh... Fuck...

Winter: So... so warm...

Jaune: Ahhh... Feeling better, Winter?

Winter: No... Maybe another load will help~!

Jaune: Alright~! But, please... Don't scratch up my back again...

Winter: Oh, Jaune~! You know you love it~!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Yeah... yeah I do...

~~~

Jaune: Winter tends to dot on me a lot. Honestly she tends to spoil me a lot. But, she did teach me how to use my fathers sword, we still spar together when ever we met. Though, to say it's a spar is a bit of a lie... It's usually a one sided slaughter as she vents out her frustrations out on me.

Blake: Well considering how angry we've seen, Weiss get. Her anger must be on a whole another level.

Yang: What do you expect from, Weiss Squared?

Jaune: Weiss Squared? Winter isn't...?!

Jaune: ...?

Jaune: Winter's taller, more developed, more skilled... Shit, Winter is, Weiss Squared...

Yang: Haha! Told yeah!

Blake: You best not tell her that, she'll probably lose it if you did.

Jaune: Yeah, Weiss doesn't like to be compared to, Winter, even me at times. Weiss has a bit of an inferiority complex.

Blake: Really?

Yang: It's because she's short.

Jaune: Yes.

Yang: So, what's like having, Winter Square Root as a little sister?

Jaune: Boo.

Blake: Yeah that was bad.

Yang: Tough crowd... Anyway, what's it like having, Weiss as a little sister?

Jaune: Well...

~~~

Weiss: J-J-Jaune...?!

Jaune: Hmm?

Weiss: Y-You're hand... Mmph~!

Jaune: What of it?

Weiss: J-Jaune... W-We're in the middle of class... Ahh~!

Jaune: So?

Weiss: W-We can't do this~! W-We'll get... Ohh~! Caught~!

Jaune: Oh, Weiss~! You, and I both know you like to do it in public~!

Weiss: B-But, in front of all our classmates~!

Jaune: You're complaining about that now? Didn't you hide under the desk for a snack~?

Weiss: T-That was... Mmmm~! Jaune~! Your fingers~!

Jaune: You feel quite moist~! You enjoying yourself~?

Weiss: MmmmmmMmm~! J-J-Jaune~!

Jaune: Just a little more~!

Weiss: Mmm... Ahhahhhuhhhh~!

Jaune: Make sure you keep quiet, Snow Angel~!

Weiss: EEP... MPHH?!

Jaune: Pity, you couldn't make a sound. I do love to hear you sing~!

Weiss: N-Not... Ahhh~! In public... P-People would hear.

Jaune: Don't worry, you were quiet no one heard you, you were quiet. Unless...

Weiss: U-Unless what...?

Jaune: Unless you're a bunny faunas with large ears who has a habit of eaves dropping on people.

Velvet: Eep!

Weiss: Gods dammit, Luna!

~~~

Jaune: While we don't get along in public, it's actually a ruse to trick people. We get along just fine. In fact, Weiss loves it when I dote on her, she likes to be pampered. Actually, if you ever get, Weiss, angry, like really angry. Throw white chocolate at her, she has an insane sweet tooth when it comes to white chocolate.

Yang: That's good to know.

Blake: Yeah, and thanks for telling us who, Luna is!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: W-What do you mean?

Yang: We over heard, Weiss mentioned someone named, Luna. Or, well, Blake did.

Blake: Even in the shower, Weiss can sing pretty loud~! Luna~!

Jaune: ...

Yang: Yesterday, Blake, overheard her moaning out that name when she peaked~!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Damn faunas hearing... If you'll excuse me, I need to make a call.

: Hey, Lulu, what's up?

Jaune: Hey, Coco, yeah I need to take care of, Snow Angels needs. You know any good love hotels?

Yang: They're going where?

Blake: Kinky~!

Coco: Oh~? You want to hear you little, Snow Angel sing~?

Jaune: Something tells me she needs to let lose.

Coco: Well, that doesn't surprise me. You know how pent up my little BunBun get's~! So, a good love hotel, I'd recommend the, Golden Lotus. It's posh enough for the little princess.

Jaune: Thanks, Coco I owe you one.

Coco: Let's go on a shopping trip then~!

Jaune: I'm not paying this time.

Coco: Phooey... Alright, I'll leave you two be. Have fun you two~!

Jaune: Thanks, Coco. Talk to you later.

Jaune: Okay, one more call...

Jaune: ...

: Jaune, what is it?

Jaune: Weiss? Opera house. Landing pads. Now.

Weiss: Y-Yes, Sir!

Jaune: Okay then...

Jaune: Now then... does anyone else know about the two of us?

Yang: Just, Ruby.

Jaune: Okay, I'll have, Weiss explain our relationship to you further. Till later then.

Yang: Bye!

Blake: Have fun!

YB: ...

Blake: They have a booty call codename!

Yang: Fuck that's hot!

[inbabylontheywept]

The Condom Bomber

The crux of the story is Brother Dean. Brother Dean was…is…a hate preacher. Red or blue, everyone agreed on that. His origins and his motivations, those were a little more mysterious. Different groups had their own legends. I had a class with a guy that was part of the campus pro-life movement, and the tale he gave me is the one that I give the most credence to. According to him, Brother Dean had started out as a “normal” pro-life preacher. He’d gone around campus, led parades, given speeches… And then he’d gotten punched in the face.

This led to a lawsuit against the school. Something about failing to provide adequate protection? The main result was that he got something like half a mil. Half a mil is an incredible amount if you’re still working, but he’d tried to use the money to fund a sort of pro-life career, and it had just… trickled down. Ten years later he was running dead low on funds, and had taken to the particularly dumb strategy of trying to get punched in the face again. You know. For economic reasons. It had become kind of a vicious cycle: He’d started off saying some objectionable shit to try and goad someone into taking the punch. The worse the shit he said was, the harder it became for him to find work doing anything else, and the harder it became for him to find work doing anything else, the less he had to lose by saying really objectionable shit. Throw in two years of living on ramen, and he was so desperate to get punched that he was quoting the Westboro Baptists. If you know, you know. The pro-life group, to their credit, hated him the most out of anyone. They viewed him as the ultimate sellout, someone who was actively making their positions and beliefs look worse by the day, solely for his own enrichment. The other conservative groups held him in the same regard. The rest of the campus hated him for simpler reasons. It would be difficult to find anyone more detested anywhere else on site. Brother Dean’s antithesis was the Trojan Warrior. TW was a normal student by day, but maybe once a month or so he’d don his hoplite armor and roam around, handing out free condoms. Trojan condoms. It was kind of his shtick. Between the costume, and the whole character that he had going on, most people didn’t really recognize his alter ego. I myself am pretty good with faces, so one day I noticed he was behind me in the foodcourt and decided to thank him by paying for his smoothie. Small tangent, but if you’re looking to get good stories, buying lunches for interesting people works like magic. TW decided that he was going to thank me for thanking him by giving me something like 10 feet of condom roll. I was mortified, aggressively single, and on SSRI’s. He was not sure how many of those were permanent. I wasn’t either. He wound up giving me just a handful, and said that if nothing else, they could probably be used as water balloons. I accepted. Who doesn’t like water balloons?

I finished my lunch with the warrior and left, considering targets for the "balloons". I passed by Brother Dean near the main commons and had my lightbulb moment. I spent a few minutes watching him from a distance, trying to find the optimal angle to get him without getting caught on camera (he always had someone filing in the background, it was a necessary thing for his hopeful future lawsuit). The time delay was useful for helping me realize that it really wasn't worth it. The sun had been bearing down so hard that the glue in my shoes had melted, and getting him wet would be a favor that day. 

So, mildly disappointed, I shelved my dream and left. 

A week later the monsoons hit. I left one class and ran to a campus computer commons to try and get some shelter and study between classes. Just before I got through the door, I saw Brother Dean, umbrella in hand, setting up his speaker and mic. He wasn't technically allowed this far into campus (the commons were owned by the city) but he'd gone to where his audience was and security was probably holed up somewhere cozy. I could hardly blame them. 

I made it up to the second floor and started studying when the mic picked up. All glass buildings are not very soundproof. He was loud, and he was annoying, and he was outside a library, under a balcony, and-

And I had condoms. Water balloon condoms. 

And he was under a balcony. 

I put my laptop away, pulled out my condom roll, and went to the bathroom. I wasn’t sure how big a condom could actually stretch, so I just kept filling it until it was about the size of basketball. Maybe a smaller watermelon? And thus armed, I waddled my way out into the halls. I cannot emphasize enough just how unsubtle this was. I was cradling this big, overfilled condom like some sort of phallic ghost baby, and it was so heavy that I sort of had to squat as I went. People saw me. Lots of people saw me. I passed by one room full of computer science students, all learning C++, and three of them waved at me. And I waved back in that my-arms-are-full-but-I’m-excited-to-see-you-too way, where you jut your wrist up a little bit and flap your hand around excitedly. I did, eventually, make it to the balcony. The building’s high ceilings made the second-floor thing kind of a misnomer: I was easily forty feet up. I scooched my way to the edge, and the view I had… it was perfect. Brother Dean was directly underneath, thank God. If he’d been even seven or eight feet out, I’m not sure if I could’ve shotput the condom-bomb far enough to hit him directly. Better yet his cameraman was only a few feet away from him, far too close to catch any action going up 40 feet above. I managed to wrestle the payload onto the balcony, and with a gentle push, I sent it and Dean to destiny. I realized that I’d made a mistake almost as soon as the condom began to fall. You know that sound that bombs make in cartoons, that long drawn out whistle? The condom made that sound. I had a second education in the seriousness of my mistake when the condom hit Dean’s umbrella. It did not pop. Of course it didn’t pop. I had no experience with condoms, I swear to you, I promise, I did not know how much they could stretch. You can fit your whole leg into them. You can fit them over whole park benches. A gallon and a half of water was nothing compared to that. It broke Dean’s umbrella. It hit the top, and it snapped the stem like a twig, and then-

Violence. Unspeakable violence. It clipped Dean’s shoulder and stretched down to his knees before recoiling back to its original shoulder height. It did not bounce. It floated in space, no wasted energy in the collision. One hundred percent of the kinetic energy, all 3300 Joules of it, were discharged into this sad wretch of a man. He did not collapse. There was no time for that. He rotated on his axis. It was as if the hand of God had reached down and grabbed him about his waist, only to twist. In a fraction of a second, his head filled the space where his ass had been and his ass filled the space where his head had been, and then his cheek, carried by the shuriken motion of his body, slammed into the pavement with a noise like Shaq slam dunking a porkchop. Maybe wetter.

He did not move.

I panicked.

I want to make it clear: I did not mean to assault this man. I meant to get him wet and embarrassed. But I also have to confess that this was a beating. Mike Tyson himself can only put about 1600 Joules into one of his punches, and if he hit me I would bounce off five walls before I fell. I would not wish 3300 Joules upon anyone.

I walked into the building and sat myself in the back of the C++ class. The people next to, to my immense and eternal gratitude, did not question why I was wet.

A minute later, Brother Dean stormed into the building with his microphone.

He yelled. He screamed. He hollered. He informed the entire world that he had been assaulted, with a condom, by someone on the second floor. I was ecstatic that he was alive. 

Every person in that class knew who had brought this hell upon them. Every single one of them knew it was me. And if I’d done this to someone else, some Steven Crowder, some Ben Shapiro, someone would’ve thrown me to the wolves. It would have only taken one person in that room of sixty. But Brother Dean was hated by everyone, literally everyone, and so the entire class sat in silence.

Some of that silence was gleeful, and some of it was bored, and some of it, a very small amount, was directly disapproving, but even the disapproving silence carried an understanding. A note of, “Yes, yes, that was very irresponsible, and you should not do that again, but who could blame you? Something needed to happen. Not that something, but…something.”

Security could be given grace to ignore the man when it was raining, and he was just outside the building, but they were not given such grace when he was inside with a microphone. Just a few short minutes later, a golfcart pulled up, and he was summarily marched out. There was maybe a minute of silence after that before the professor announced that his class was not open to visitors.

I left. He’d made his point.

It was a few weeks before I saw Brother Dean again, and his black eye still hadn’t healed all the way when I did. He was, however, still preaching the same old things as always. Percussive maintenance works better on vacuum tubes than human brains. I will say that he definitely made a point to stay away from balconies after that. And the next time it rained, I actually went out to watch him put his speaker and his mic into the back of a wagon and wheel it off the campus.

It appeared that he’d developed some opinions about the kind of weather he was willing to preach hate in.

[luulapants]

why are americans not doing anything about doge. or ice for that matter. from an outsider's point of view, you are all just complying with everything.

ive heard that doge are setting up illegal email servers in some government buildings. why is nobody like. breaking them? the federal data center for ice is in vermont. why is nobody like. setting it on fire? i mean you americans love to talk about your guns so much and how they are for fighting tyranny. and yet... nothing?

you all seem way too complacent and okay with this. in the reblogs of your doge post there are so many people saying things like "there must be SOMEONE who can stop this." you have to do stuff yourself. nobody is going to save you.

Most Americans don't even understand why they're not resisting (hence the "SOMEONE needs to act!"), which is that we're already a fascist police state. Our regular police are militarized and willing to kill or disappear citizens. 0.6% of our population was incarcerated before Trump ever took office. Resistance leaders end up mysteriously dead or disappeared - it's been that way for decades. I think most Americans have a sense, consciously or not, that anything more than symbolic protest is a potentially fatal act.

It's notable that "Somebody should do something!" usually imagines an individual act. A lone gunman. Self-immolation. A suicide bomber. These are our model of "taking action." Most Americans are so detached from any sense of community, especially where politics is concerned. I was taught as a kid that talking about politics is rude. If people had better access to solidarity networks, if they were able and willing to talk openly with their neighbors and colleagues, we wouldn't have that same sense that resistance = certain death.

Meanwhile, another segment treats this like politics as usual. I see one Reddit post talking about the potential for American concentration camps, and the next post down reports that Donald Trump's polling numbers are down. It's surreal. The average citizen can't quite feel the difference in their daily life. Not quite. It still feels like something that's happening on TV, so they can pretend for now. People don't want to die for the cause because they're in denial that we're past the point of no return and they're in denial because they don't want to die.

I have no idea what our country will look like in three months. I couldn't have predicted the current state three months ago. I hope, as things get worse, people seek community and solidarity and work together toward resistance. I suspect, however, that the first resistance will come from individuals whose circumstances became extreme enough to die over. I also suspect those individuals will rarely, if ever, be able to take action anywhere near meaningful power.

Why aren't people shutting down the servers in government buildings? I can't speak to every building, but in GSA, there are alarms on the doors and guards with guns between regular workers and all things DOGE. I can't speak to every agency, but the IRS had armed DHS agents walk a bunch of fired accountants out "for security purposes." We're not the most militarized country in the world for nothing.

One bit of bleak hope: they're breaking their own systems. The US government has crazy security protocols to prevent things like, say, burning down a data enter. They're firing the people that wrote those protocols. I can't imagine they'll replace them with anything near as comprehensive or effective. I think burning down a federal data center would be near impossible for a citizen today. I have no idea what the country will look like in a month.

[yawujin]

uggh i genuinely can't remember if you've done this already (ignore if so!) buuuut could i req with allies and axis seeing their s/o wear their clothes? i absolutely love these type of scenarios i could never get tired of em lol

heyy !! i really love these scenarios too! i think they're adorable, so thanks for the request 🤍

{ request } allies & axis | wearing their clothes ♥︎

type • established relationship , romantic relationship , cute , light hearted , scenarios , imagines , china is RICHH , england is a little intimidated(?)

❥ allies

america/alfred f. jones

he takes one look at them and smiles. who knew that his bomber jacket could look so cute─and stylish ─on his love?

a thought pops into his mind; he should get them a matching jacket! now wouldn't that look nice?

"stay right there!" he exclaims, going on to grab his phone to take a quick photo. "...and pose!" he jokes. he needed to capture how darling they looked in his clothing <3

england/arthur kirkland

they call his name, to which he just replies with a "yes?"

barely looking up from an article in the papers that has caught his attention, england sees his love wearing his very own forest green uniform blazer. he takes a double take and just stares.

he wants to say they look fantastic, elegant, stunning, distinguished. all those wonderful discriptors of how great they look in this moment.

he blinks, looking away. england is clearing his throat and swallows hard before speaking: "you look nice," he kicks himself for not speaking up. "come sit." which is subtle wording for 'oh god, come sit next to me so i can be in your presense for a little while longer'

france/francis bonnefoy

france is not one to hide his feelings. he lets them manifest however he sees fit, which usually is on his face.

his eyes go wide when he sees that his love is wearing his clothes, rushing towards them to get a better look.

france give them compliment after compliment , admiring how it looks while they're wearing it, to commenting how the colors bring out their eyes.

"you already look good in whatever you wear, so it's only natural you look good in my clothes."

canada/matthieu williams

when they joke around with the idea of them "stealing" his clothes, canada welcomes them to dig through his closet anytime to find more clothes that they think will fit and/or look good on themselves

he didn't know what he was expecting them to find, but he didn't expect them to look this adorable while wearing them

"maybe you should wear sweatshirts more often, eh?"

russia/ivan braginski

he's confused on why they would want to wear his clothes since they are so big they'll just end up not fitting them.

"if you need to be warmer, just come to me for hugs, yes?"

he's not going to admit how much he adores seeing them wear clothes that big in size 🫢 nope

china/yao wang

he takes one look at them and figures 'no, this won't do' and takes them shopping immediately

they want to tell him that they weren't implying that they wanted a new wardrobe 😭 but all the beautiful expensive clothing inside the store was so captivating

"there, see? now you don't have to wear mine"

they kind of just wanted to see if china would think they were cute or not, but new clothes works too ദ്ദി´▽`)

❥ axis

n. italy/feliciano vargas

"ve...since when do you look so stylish?" italy flirts with them

he thinks they look really cute in his clothes, although they are only slightly bigger on them

nevertheless, he invites them to borrow any of his clothes from his closet anytime <3

germany/ludwig beilschmidt

he's kind of just staring in awe. he hadn't realized that his clothes could look that big on somebody else.

in typical germany fashion, he asks for them to fold his clothing neatly after they are done wearing them

he steps away for a while with the image of them in his clothes stuck in his head. he can feel his own heartbeat speed up. verdammt. he thinks to himself. that was so cute. they're so cute...

japan/kiku honda

similar to china, japan sees this act as a subtle hint that his love wants to buy clothing just like his

"if you wanted to match shirts with me , you could have just asked..."

he thinks about it a second more and a visible flush of pale red appears on his face. japan begins to blush at the thought of you two wearing matching clothes/pyjamas 🫣

prussia/gilbert beilschmidt

doesn't think much of it other than the fact that of course they would want to wear his clothes...they're awesome, he's awesome

"are they comfy?"

he asks half jokingly. when they say yes, his smile widens and he tells them that they're welcome to wear his clothes all they want. maybe his awesomeness will rub off on them too

s. italy/lovino vargas

he wants to tell them that they look funny, dorky, and just outright ridiculous while wearing his clothes

oh, but he can't...he thinks that them wearing his own clothes is actually pretty adorable

"yeah, you're cute. now give them back." he huffs

that image of them will now replay in his head for the rest of the week day